Mirror in the Bathroom

Do you ever look out the window and think "I wish I wasn't working, the weather is absolutely amazing today"? Or, in my case, have you ever thought "The weather is really nice today, but I can't think of do other than piss about on the laptop/tv"? Yeah. This weekend, however, I received a phone call from a friend asking if I wanted to go to the park for a 'picnic'. Which sounded pretty awful. When I think of picnics, I think of an English gentlemen and his upper class friends in straw boating hats eating cress sandwiches before a splendid game of cricket. But getting drunk with friends in hot weather under a large tree actually turned out to be a very pleasant experience. We also unsuccessfully climbed trees, pulled an absolutely wasted friend away from a fight from some junkies, had a slightly surreal experience with a drug dealer, and almost threw up after an experience with marijuana.

The poor bugger didn't know what hit him

So the day provided me with a lot of bloggy sort of thoughts. You know, the case for marijuana legalisation, the consequences of drinking, generic stuff like that. But today I'd like to praise bathrooms. I spent a lot of time in there after my brush with 'weed', either standing over the toilet or lying in the bath, giggling and hugging a bottle of shampoo. Thanks to the fact that I live in a developed country, almost every building I go in has a room with a sink and a toilet at the very least. A hundred years ago of course, bathrooms were virtually non existent. And for many people, they didn't properly feature in the home until the early sixties. But I love everything about them. During a party, before a job interview, after an exam, it's a place of sanctuary. Sitting on the shitter, thinking about life and all that. The lock on the door (that's usually there) means that you are completely separated from the world and it's perceptions of you, as you contemplate morality or attempt to squeeze out last nights fajitas. And after your 10th can of lager, you can sing your heart out without any fear, ignoring the nagging thought in your mind that someone is behind the door sniggering. And it's the same for the shower and the sink - they are designed to cleanse. The whole bathroom experience is one of detox, poison, in the body, or in the mind, gets washed away. That's why I love bathrooms. Or maybe it's because I can walk about naked and not get funny looks for a change. Ahem.

The university term ends soon, and I have my work cut out. I really can't make a website. Help. Aside from that, everything is peachy I guess, thanks for reading!

The Kids Don't Like It but the Folks Approve

My mother, bless her, despite never reading this blog, gave me some excellent words of wisdom. "How the hell can you get inspiration for your blog if you never step outside your flat?". A slight exaggeration, but nevertheless, in there lies a dirty little truth. As you've seen from my past blogs I sometimes get a little lazy. So I go out during the day often, for a little run into town even if it amounts to nothing. But aside from playing with a cat when I was drunk, and walking along a street with a squirrel following on the wall beside (yes, I actually regard those as highlights in my increasingly boring weeks), the irony is that most of the noteworthy things in my life have happened at the flat. I stood on my headphones and broke them, I broke my mobile phone, and I broke the dishwasher. And my parents came up.

Derrick the racist dung beetle;
only included in a deleted scene 

Now yes, it's nice to see my folks. But this weekend was like an extended version of the recent phone calls I've been having from my mother (nagging, nagging, nagging), complete with disappointed facial expressions and the folding of arms. But perhaps worse than this is looking at a parent as they tap their hand impatiently in a particular way that reminds you - you did that exact same thing the night before. Whether we like to admit it or not, we pick up a lot from the folks. I'm told that I have my mother's eyes and my father's temper. My mother's ability to see the worst in people, and my father's love for the band Queen. And like how I'm glad that folks came up, but I also get a little tired of their presence, I'm glad I inherited a few traits, and relieved that my views are also a little different. My dad is one of those 'traditionally racist' sorts of people. He'll say "Oh typical, it's a bunch of fucking wogs blocking the road" or "Those slanty eyed bastards in the Chinese are fucking ripping us off again", but without having any desire to clear them off the face of the earth. So I'm pretty glad I'm not a carbon copy of my dad. And not just because of the hair-loss (which hopefully won't be happening anytime soon). Despite the general feeling that better technology is making us lazier, I'd like to think that in some respects, we are actually evolving. For example the way we view others. Thinking about it, aren't we just taking ages to reach normality? I haven't ever heard of racist dung beetles or homophobic chimpanzees. Maybe I haven't been watching David Attenborough's documentaries close enough.

Life updates - not much. There's something I'd like to complain about, but I'm not sure if that person reads this blog or not. It could be you!!!!!11111. Have a few essays and stuff, which I'm not panicking about (even though I really should be). Also if the 'A Beer from the Shower' people are reading this, I had a dream about you guys telling me I was cool. Wink wink, nudge nudge. Another drunk blog tm. Thanks for reading!