mostly testicles, eyeballs and hoofs

I left the flat yesterday afternoon to head over to Manchester for a ‘meeting’ with Dave, our Record Comp Head Honcho with ‘tother members of our little beat combo. I had no particular reason to suspect that I would return several hours later with a belly full of San Miguel. Not that I didn’t assume that perhaps a couple of beers would be consumed by the other band members, but after yet another shocking revelation from my dear old friends at Halifax Bank earlier during the day, that I had once more exceeded my large overdraft limit- I therefore didn’t have a penny to my name. As a man who’s moral fibre consists of being too proud- well too embarrassed, to accept charity, I’d hoped that I could enjoy a odd glass of water, or even perhaps a solitary beer be offered by those kind hearted folks in the band. Yet when we arrived at the rendez-vouz point, a Spanish bar/restaurant off St. John Street, Manchester who’s name escapes me, I reluctantly accepted a beer. It then became apparent that good ole Dave was to provide food an beer for us all and the Dinny Skog ensemble…Pete, Guy, Gina, Scottie et al. How marvellous I thought as I sipped on a ice cool beer straight from the bottle and engaged in my usual pointless and non-sensical ramblings.

A good night was had by all despite my alcohol fuelled conversations and a minor beer spillage incident. I was also informed by both kloot’s Pete Jobbo’ and Steve; little tips of deleting websites on my ‘history’ that one would not want one’s other half to see, should that occasion ever arrive.

The festivities certainly made up for what, until that moment, had been a thoroughly irksome and miserable day. As mentioned above, I was yet again embroiled in another rant over the phone to my bank over their blatant disregard of human rights. Well actually that’s a tad harsh, but they had once more let me down. To add to my woes, I’d decided to go for a stroll to a local Texico garage in order to withdraw my last £10 (or so I believed) in order to buy some soup that should keep me stocked up for my lunch provisions. Upon the revelation that I had indeed exceeded by agreed overdraft limit, I trudged back in the ‘effing blazing hot sunshine to the cool surroundings of my office. It was 1pm, and I was pretty darned hungry, but too pissed off with my fiduciary problems to worry about how I would eat.

I distracted myself by watching footage from the Henry Rollins Show which I discovered the previous week. His US show has already had a fine roster of bands performing, and happily you can watch these performances by the miracle of the internet http://henryrollins.ifc.com/episodes/shelter.jsp?episode_id=0008 Watching footage of Dinosaur Jr and Death Cab for Cutie momentarily eased my pain but it wasn’t long before long my stomach felt incredibly and un-naturally void of substance. The two weetabix accompanied with sour and thoroughly unpleasant milk, which I’d had the misfortune to eat as my breakfast, seemed a hell of a long time ago. I decided the best course of action would be to drink as much tea as I could. This worked in the short term and prevented me from keeling over at my desk however I was pissing like a racehorse. At 4.15pm I decided that enough was enough and drove home in my excruciatingly hot soon to be ex-car for food and provisions.



Anyway, today I ensured that I wouldn’t be left to go hungry again and planned to bring a selection of fruit for my lunch. Alas, I forgot it. Thankfully I noticed my gaffe on route to work and Lisa thankfully provided me with £1 so I could get some food. How did it come to this?

This lunch time I idly strolled around the near by Stanley Foods looking to get the most for my solitary pound. After much deliberation I eventually settled on a Cross & Blackwell tin of Spaghetti Bolognaise wrongly assuming that you can’t go wrong with it.




I sat at my desk with a steaming bowl of it in front of me I closed my eyes and it was as if I was in Italy, all I needed was some parmesan cheese, red wine and a rude waiter. Of course, it is my duty to inform you that this, as you’d imagine, was a grievous error of judgement on my part. As I sit here writing these here blog, I can feel the re-constituted meat- no doubt cow offal containing mostly testicles, eyeballs and hoofs; eroding its way through my poor old body. My porr old Grandma made the finest spaghetti known to man –followed closely by both of my parents- perhaps I’d just been spoiled. No doubt it won’t be long before I hurriedly squirm my way to the toilet and dispense of last night’s tapas. I think I actually preferred yesterday’s predicament as surely pissing like the aforementioned race horse has got to be better than shitting like a chocolate fed puppy.

I enclose this picture to serve a reminder to me that I really ought not to be that stupid again. Ho hum.