Oh my.

You know you're in for a good evening when you get home and your housemates are just about to watch some free-with-a-magazine type porn, involving "gothic lesbians and breast groping shenanigans in the kitchen".

"What is this? A party game?"
"Yeah. Pin the cock on the angel of vengeance."

"Foreplay is the distance from the door to the bed."

"Who would you rather have sex with; Chuck Norris, or Mr T?"

"I must say, there are a lot less shenanigans than I was led to expect."
"Dreadful."

"The fridge has spoken!"
"And the fridge apparently says... 'I heart midget vagine'. Nice."

Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if I was not physically able to make highly disturbing and inappropriate comments.

I apologise for the content.

Ok, I meant it. I really, really do apologise to anyone too young, or innocent, or, well, my mum, if she happens to read this.

I just wanted to recount a particularly amusing rant I had the pleasure of having, hilariously enough, in front of an old woman on the walk home from town with Catherine today.

We had been talking about Quakers, and how Cornflakes were originally developed as an anti-aphrodisiac, and sexual repression in general.

C: The flaw in their argument is the clitoris. If it's not there for pleasure, what is it? It doesn't DO anything else.
J: I think maybe it kind of evolved.
C: For what?
J: To give women a reason to have sex!
C: Haha! How do you mean?
J: Well, there's not much in it for a woman otherwise, is there? 'Great, so, you get to poke my organs from the inside for a few minutes, possibly resulting in me carrying an incredibly heavy squirmy thing INSIDE ME for nine months, and dealing with all the related nastinesses, then having to expel this thing, now the size of a football, out of a hole smaller than a penny, and look after the result of the whole mess for the next twenty or so years.' If that process doesn't at least start with a fucking good orgasm, frankly, I'd feel ripped off.

Again, I'm sorry.

I'M SORRY!

Third post in about as many minutes. BALLOONS!

This video is proof that I have had the privilege of knowing some of the coolest people on Earth.



How. Cool. Is. That.

Avast!

Right!

Everybody choose your pirate names!

I am 'Blind Dead McJones.'

And make it good, because you only get to choose ONCE.

Camping extravaganza!

And so I return, victorious, from a two-and-a-bit-day camping extravaganza, with what can only be described as:

• A 'healthy glow' (pink as a lobster)
• A shopping basket.
• A model windmill.
• 'Camping hair'.
• A small goldfish named Keith, in a sweet jar. Bonds' Nut Clusters, to be precise.

Observe! The empirical evidence of a brilliant weekend:



The weather, despite being forecast to be shit, was actually brilliant, as proved by this rather glorious picture of yours truly wearing some really rather ridiculous sunglasses:



During our epic scavenger hunt, we came across this:



The tiniest ice cream van in the world! In case you can't read it, the writing on the side says 'Minghella's'. My mum reliably informs me, the company is owned by relatives of the film director, Anthony Minghella. One can't help but think, then, that they could have afforded a slightly roomier van. But, islanders can't be choosers (dear anybody-from-the-island-who-might-be-reading: that was a joke) so I think the 'little van that could' should be applauded for its ice cream selling efforts.

The following picture is one of my favourites from the weekend: Dave, chilling out with Keith, our newly acquired fishy friend (who is sitting next to me as I type.)


I like to imagine the dialogue thus:
Dave: Yo Keith, how you doin'? You like the sunshine?
Keith: ... Fuck off.

Ben masters the new dance move that everybody's talking about - The Sprinkler.

Ben was on something of a roll with dancing, what with having invented 'Fish Raving' only hours before. Videos, hopefully, to follow.

I am the epitome of class.


This looks like some kind of rip-off of the promo shots for 'Skins'.


Some of the more memorable moments included Manley rolling around in the popup child's tent with his third beer at about 1pm on Saturday before we started to set up camp, yelling gleefully "This was thirteen quids worth of pure genius!"
(The tent later became Keith's tent. That's one well looked after bloody goldfish, I can tell you.)

Also, last night, after returning from our slightly (ha!) drunken bus quest to a rather piratey pub, Dave and I went to bed shortly after we got back, then Adam and Ellie went to their tent, and as Ben, Mark and Manley were still moving about getting ready we hear Ellie yell:
"Eugh, someone help me, I can't get out of the tent because Adam's being sick!"
The tent unzips and we hear Adam stumbling about.
Ben calls out, "Adam, are you ok?"
"I'm fine."
"Have you been sick?"
"I'm fine."
"Have you been sick?"
"No."
Followed very closely by *BLAAAAAARORGH*.

Lovely.

All in all, an absolutely bloody brilliant weekend.
Scavenger hunts FTW.

I regret nothing!

I am going to get shot for this.



"Yeah, kiss it bitch."
"Please... just let me die."

Ok, yes, it's childish (incredibly). Immature (extremely). And probably blasphemous (excruciatingly).

But it's the first thing that came to mind and, damn it, I thought it was pretty funny.

Halo memories

"Aha! Dr Turd, I presume."
[headshot]

I need to start having Halo DeathFests again. I miss the good old days.

Also, this may not have occurred to any of you, but the song 'Love Shack' is far, FAR more amusing when the word 'shack' is replaced with the word 'sack'. I'm just saying.

I'm sure there was a time when I wrote useful stuff in here.

Nah.

I am bad at titles.

And not just blog titles, either. I am having even less luck naming my novel than I am writing it, and that's saying something at the moment. The most progress I've made with any aspect of it recently is wasting three rolls of Benny's film on pictures of me pratting about posing for the cover. Now this may sound vain, but I just don't know anyone else who fits the description of the main character even vaguely - short, slim with long blonde hair - so don't start on at me about vanity. I had to stand in. Yes, I could have waited to find another model. In fact I might still end up doing that. But I wanted to feel like I was making some kind of progress - and let's face it, pratting around in a little dress, in a park, in the sunshine, taking daft pictures, is a pretty fun way to make progress.

As is the compulsory glass of Rosé wine in 'Spoons with your photographer afterwards. And the lasagne. And the cake.
Oh, the cake.

Anyway! In other, more Chuck-Norris-related news... today on my lunch break, with the aid of that wonderful invention known as Sky Television, I was able to actually watch a program containing Chuck Norris.
Walker Texas Ranger; I would come up with an opinion, perhaps even a review. Unfortunately, I didn't pay much attention to the actual program, what with being far too busy being amused merely by the presence of the Norris on my TV screen.
Such is my amusement threshold.

Also, I got to go in a hot tub the other night. It. Was. Awesome. I bet you are totally jealous. Go on. Admit it. You are.
Except Dave, because you were there too... but still. Everybody else! Haha.
Although spending an entire hour trying to detangle your hair, at midnight, is not so fun... it was totally worth it.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and tidy my room, which currently resembles the bastard offspring of an Oxfam shop and that beached whale that they blew up.

That is all.

Belated birthday times

"Get the sleep out of your eye, it's gross."
"That's true friendship, that is, being able to say to someone in the middle of a nice restaurant, you look like shit, sort it out."

"Wonder how much wine the three of us will get through tonight?"
"Two."
"You drove! Shit. I guess that's just the two of us then."
"Honestly? That probably means we'll drink more."
"Heheh. Bring it on."

"Could we order some wine please?"
"Certainly, I'll get the wine list."
"No, don't worry, just get us a bottle of your cheapest Rose."
".... now THAT was classy."

"Wow, I look retarded!"
What exactly the fuck did you expect when you uttered the words "here, take a picture of me with the 'reserved' sign on my head!"?

Good times at the Amelia establishment

I have literally been trying to remember this incident all week, and I finally did it.

"Your face."
"Your mum's face."
"That was crap!"
"It's 3am, I thought it was pretty good, considering."
"Your mum's pretty good considering."

Fisher and Elliott's slagging matches... good times.