Miracle In The Rucksack

We've all been there. You've a night out planned but you're as skint as a dodo. Foraging tactics are required: an almighty search throughout the house for discarded or forgotten about money: pockets, drawers, cupboards, couch crevices, plant pots, the cafetiere (you just never know). I searched all of these but to no avail. 

Desperate, I vaguely remembered putting some cash in my rucksack during the summer festivals. I feverishly dragged it out of the wardrobe and reached down into its inner pockets. Alas, I felt no coinage; just a lump of paper; but no ordinary lump of paper. What I took from those inner pockets rocked me back on to my haunches: fifty quid in notes. Fifty quid! I had no idea I'd left so much mazola in there. It felt like a miracle. And what a story! Not only did I have fifty quid but I imagine the film rights money I'll receive, once Paramount hear about this, will be astronomical.

Icke (page) Turner

An hour to kill in Oxford: that'll be a trip to Waterstones then and a good, long browse through David Icke's books. I've recently got into David in a kind of 'intrigued observer' way. I'm not for or against his views but we do both support Leicester City, so I suppose that makes us kindred spirits of sorts. 

I have to say though, 'David, sort your book cover designs out'. Naive typography, cliched iconography and Day-Glo New Age graphics. You're not going to appeal to the ignorant masses with these visual monstrosities.

Moving on to a lighter read, I stumbled across a book called The Little Book of Thunks. Basically, a compendium of beguiling questions that have no real answer. It tempted me but the £8.99 price was 99 pence out of my weekly book budget. Instead, I decided to make my own Thunks up:
Q: Why isn't egg a type of meat?
Q: If a polar bear, Zorro and The Holy Ghost had a fight who would win?
Q: Are brushes really daft?
Q: If David Icke is right, do we get a refund?

David, sort it out, David, David, sort it out

All I Knew About Hangovers And How I Dealt With Them

The hangover. Not the film, although 'film' is to feature over these next few paragraphs of prose. When one has a day of leisure to accompany a hangover, the only question one needs to pose is, 'How do I deal with the hangover?' I decided to deal with today's with couch, film and fire (not to be confused with the 50s reggae band 'Earth, Wind and Fire').

The film I plumped for, off of iplayer, was pretty atrocious; I may as well had watched The Hangover. It was a sci-fi comedy called, something like, All I Knew About Time Travel And How I Knew It. It was lame as hell, but I suppose in the hungover site you don't really want to watch a sub-titled Russian art house film about a feta cheese fetishist's painfully slow voyage of discovery with a bisexual biochemist. And in any case, I'd watched that one last Tuesday: good in parts but let down by the ending when the biochemist remembers he owes a retired psychopathic basketball player 20,000 Euros and chokes on his omelette.

Guest Spot

William. Just updating my blog, as 4 months behind. I have no notes for what I did on Friday Oct 4. Would you like it as a guest spot? Can be anything you want. From a sentence to a few paragraphs. In fact, I might just stick in whatever you say in reply to this text.

Love to - just need time! Will get something done.