Killing time in the library. Really doesn't get any better than this, my productive streak has been quashed by the librarian trying to reinforce a quasi concentration camp regime due to all that sit in here must keep their heads down and work. Bitch.
BYOB? It's a possibility. Apparently room booking isn't that essential for gig time frivolities leaving thirsty electronic music lovers/ house mates that have been dragged along against their own will thirsty. However, never fear... The hub is here. I personally enjoy digging my elbows into the ribs of football fans to get my fix of toffee apple cider. But then again who doesn't. Momentarily that night I considered commandeering a Chelsea shirt and parading it amongst the Arsenal fans whilst sing the brainwashing Millwall chants drilled into me as a child. Now that would be a confusing sight for many a football fan possibly resulting in a brick being inbeded into my skull. Lets look on the bright side... Would be less painful then a breeze block.
Moving on. I ventured back up the Bromsgrove this weekend to visit the doting parents and sibling with a few wind band friends on the side. Nothing too exciting to report, apart from my appalling guitar hero skills being reinforced as I slowly began to realise that it was impossible to achieve a complete song whilst delicately sipping, slash, necking a glass of wine. It is my life ambition to complete a song... On the easy level.
In other news, the shower is surprisingly on better form however sporting an orange stripe of lime scale. Sexual. Miss Spicer will be dripping over this development as she washes the goose.
The toilet roll fairy has also gone on strike as she now supplies her own toilet roll for her arse only. How the campers at 9 Park View Road managed to go though a 9 pack in 4 days is a mystery. Either someone's been shitting fire balls or eating it due to lack of other substantial meals. The toilet roll that is. No one eats fireballs. That is rather frowned upon.
Must dash... Goose to locate!