Yesterday I spent an absolute fortune on nothing. The cheapest thing about the whole night was the taxi fare home; £15. We went to some resteraunt in Manchester called The Living Room. It was awful. It cost a fortune. The irony is that the food which cost so much is now flying out of my backside like water from a tap*. There was an awful vibe there. People dressed up like c#nts sniffing round trying to suss out who was the "alpha" and so forth. A real first class nightmare of a place. My flatmate Matt Mackay at one point quite perceptively noted about me that "he's all quiet, that means he's not enjoying himself". He was right. I've decided it's best not to talk in such situations, I'd just end up slagging off every f#cking waste of space jumped up pr#ck there was in the room and then start wondering why we were perpetuating their bullsh#t by attending such a venue. That sort of rant tends to ruin people's fun.
It's a shame really because the night had got off to a great start. There I was sat watching some rubbish mainstream TV programme called "When will I be famous" hosted by Graham Norton. People were doing their act and then being judged by fat f#ckwitted housewives and the like. I had a glass of wine on the go and my usual habit of slagging off everything that came on screen was in full flow; "pah, Graham Norton really has sold out and turned into an utter tw#t hasn't he?". Then suddenly Beardy Man** popped up and started laying down some phat tasty beats for everybody. It was amazing. There he was, smack bang in the middle of this mainstream programme. What a legend!
Shame life isn't always like that. The only thing that made it worth going out was the company. Surely we could have all just stayed in and watched telly instead?
*Hot water. Which stings. Yuk. I'll leave that there.
** Beardy Man is the beatbox guy at the bottom of this entry.