H2O

I read in the paper today that a goldfish was caught swimming up a street, in Gloucester. Apparently it's being looked after by firecrews until its owner is claimed. The bit of this that i don't get is how on Earth anyone is going to recognise thier pet fish, when they all look exactly the same.
(I would be getting complaints from fish owners around now if anyone read this blog. My only consolation for its lack of readers is that i can subsequently write whatever i want, and nobody will complain. Perhaps, if i include the MI5 'key words', i will have some secret-service readers. Here goes: BOMB, AL QUAEDA, TERRORISM, PLANE, EXPLODE, JIHAD, WESTERN OPRESSORS, INFIDELS and, not to discriminate, IRA, ULSTER, CATHOLIC PIG, PROTESTANT BASTARD)

Yes, so i think that waiting for a fish to be reclaimed is quite daft. On top of the fact that the owner probably has other slightly more important things to worry about.

After extensive studying of 'ma telly', i have come to the conclusion that i don't really want to move house for a bit, because living on a hill seems to have a nice advantage (being that i can look down on those flooded out of their little abodes, in a condescending fashion, and gloat that although they may not have to walk up a big hill every time they go out, they do have to invest in a big water pump, for their big flood).

In more pressing news, i also stumbled across an interesting article about 'Oscar the Angel of Death', which is in fact a cat, not an angel. Apparenly it predicts when people will die, in the nursing home that it frequents.
If only i could get hold of it, i would drain Coral of all their cash....

Tequila, Tequila

Another weekend wasted to alcohol, eh?

Yes, 'same here'.

Sometimes, i am probably one that slightly overstates my drinking exploits, in order to help the momentum of a story/excuse some fat horror that i've been with on a night out/disguise being a bit of a lightweight in comparison to how big i am.

However, in regards to the Friday night just gone, i can safely say that even conservative estimations as to how much i drank are likely to be 'quite big'.

The moment that eye contact was made with the tramp fluid that is '20/20', i knew that sobriety would not be on the menu for the night.
Some clever bastard once said "The name '20/20' was chosen, as it is inversley proportional to your vision after drinking a bottle".

I have to agree.

Invariably, Count. Tequila rose from his glassy grave, to smite us all with his poison (we drank some tequila). After that, memory is actually hazy.
Often, the old 'hazy memory' tactic is employed when a large portion of the night was just too cringeworthy to bear thinking about. BUT, from this night, my memory is actually operating in blocks. Shit ones, with giant holes in...

Due to the previously mentioned cretinity (i have coined a new term, see!?), the weekend has been fairly dull and uneventful.

There is one thing that i think is worth sharing.
I have located, via a fellow perpetrator, a photo of my 'as previously blogged' bus shelter surfing!

Yes, the gurning idiot with his tongue hanging out of his head like a mental is indeed me.

Tell you what i want, what i really, really want - Less corporate grab reunions?

So, the world famous Spice Girls have reformed.
This comes to me as no real surprise.
It was inevitable that 'Posh' would start to feel shunned by the 'stardom' of her husband, that 'Ginger' would get depressed over her failed solo career and that 'Scary' would shag Eddie Murphy. So the only foreseeable option was a reunion! Woo! etc.

I'm not too 'anti' when it comes to reunions (take Izzy Stradlin making friends with Axl Rose again, and playing some shows... That was 'gold'). However, the motive for doing so, i always question.

All of their crap lives seemed to have reached a crescendo of shit, and a quick way of making some dosh for paternity lawsuit/diet/trying to get people to look at you for something other than your husband seemed to be as easy to predict as Paris Hiltons' sudden change in 'post-captivity morals' to achieve.

I for one will definitely be watching the new Spice Girls or should i say Spliced Girls (regarding the alleged voice-syncing with a studio track) whenever they get screened my TV, for purely research purposes ('wink wink', 'nudge nudge', 'fumble fumble', etc.)

Other than the most important story on the planet (obviously being this), it seems to not feel very different at all that Captain Black from Captain Scarlet has taken over as PM.... It even feels soothing at the prospect of him 'turning bad', just like the real Captain Black, and then starting a war with Russia, or something else that's really fun....

Anyway, Bye!

Blah, Blah, Blah

With everything of academic importance long dead and buried, i have had chance recentley to indulge in life's finer aspects.
I purchased on Saturday, a ticket to see heavy, screaming baby-rapists 'Enter Shikari', which i think i shall thouroughly enjoy, until being sucker-punched by some idiot in make up (whom i will swiftly deal a comeuppance to).
My interest in this band is best described as fickle.
I initially heard them and dismissed them as music for fat 'Games Workshop' people who perspire more than i drink in water on an average day.
However, it seems i was slightly harsh in my judgements, as they are actually this: GOOD

I am schedueled to see them in November, which will be quite nice, and that

In other very important news, it seems that Terry Bears has stepped down as Premiere of the cuntry.
This actually feels a bit weird, as i've been used to seeing his mug and likeness quoted hand-in-hand with the word 'Prime Minister' every time i watch TV (and Prime Ministers' Questions (i don't watch that. That is for rotund geeks (wait, i do...)))
It will be quite nice, i think, to have a completley contrasting face to Ted's. Garry Black, the new Prime-Monster seems to look like (to borrow the phrase) "A sack of potatoes, crudely slashed open to form a mouth".
Poor, un-smiling Prime-Minister

In VERY presseing news:

I urge you all to keep reading http://lordlikely.blogspot.com , as it is the best piece of history literature ever found...

Bye!

Post exams

Finally, the exams are over. After all of my long, labourious revision, there is nothing left to sit.
What also placed itself quite nicely into the equation was a horrid vomitorrr bug, which i 'came down' with yesterday. Thankfully, the exams were over upon recieving this little gift of nature, as my seven trips of stomach-emptying action occured at fairly sporadic intervals.

What wasn't very nice about this bug over other ones i've had (And i don't really get many, as i like to think i'm vaguely healthy and therefore have a very 'burly' and built-up immune system) is that even when my stomach was completley emptied of all food, 'the bug' kept insisting on trying to make me vomit.
This didn't really achieve anything other than pain, as there was nothing to vomit...

In other news, summer is approaching, and due to this, i have turned into one of those people that i'd have previously called a twat/fag.
I have ceased all alcohol/drug/junk-food intake, and am trying to get fit/'fit' again.
If all goes well i will no longer have to force ladies to meet me via GHB or Cholroform.

Sgt. Pepper!

I've been listening to the "Radio 2"s thing where they get a load of artístés from nowdays (some of which are good, like The Stereophonics and Bryan Adams, and some of which are utter wank, like Razorlight and 'The Kaiser Chiefs') and try to re-record the Sgt. Peppers' album.

I love how much struggle is created when having to record to reels of tape, where the tracks can't be raped by 'ProTools'. The whole process of having to record the perfect take of something, rather than knitting together 10 shoddy bits appeals to me (i am a pedantic twat, in many respects).

All in all, i think the various bands did quite well on re-recording the album. My favourite being the Stereophonics' 'reprise'....

What doesn't come as a surprise is that the prized twat, Johnny Borrell didn't turn up. The drummer was singing (as on the original 'Little Help From My Friends'), but surely he'd have been able to lend his shit rhythm guitar, like he does all over Razorlights' songs?
Johnny Borrell? Johnny Bumhole. (I am implying he's shit, see..)

Anyway, yes, i liked the album.
Was good.

Television

The time has come for the filth that is 'Big Brother' to again pollute our usual television viewing. Everybody i speak to seems to be aware of it's nauseating nafness, but they still watch it....

What i've never really understood is the 'pleasure' that some obviously derive in sitting down on their sofas, watching other people do exactly the same thing..
Is it the 'closet voyeur' that is burning inside of the masses, telling them to keep watching, incase something exciting happens ('John has poured a glass of milk and drank it!' or 'Charlotte has performed a variety of interesting relocation acts: she has sat on the sofa, and then a futon, and then went back to the sofa')
The program really is just a fix for pedants and sexual deviants...

That is why i am (as with every edition of Big Brother since watching an hour of one of the series' a few years ago) continuing to boycott this wad of wank and watch real television (like CBBC and 'Friends' (i am of course joking. Those two things are joint second on the "Jones' list of deplorable broadcasting"))

As mentioned on the blog of Paul Rose, i am no doubt going to be excluded from numerous 'Big Bruv' conversations in the coming future, but the knowledge that i haven't succumbed to the daft 'mob mentality' viewing of this trash is keeping me going!

In other news:

There's some girl missing in Portugal. Apparently.

Oh noes...

The day before yesterday (Tuesday..) i had two 'AS Level' Psychology exams ...

These weren't as bad as i thought they'd be, actually (in saying this, the usual outcome is a grade far worse than usually predicted. 'Sod's law', i think it's called)

One think i do remember, when writing a commentary on a particular study (Solomon Asch, conformity), i started to drift into strange 'N3TA' speak, and had to cross out sentences that would make absolutley no sense to an examiner (or make the examiner feel extremley sorry for me, due to lunacy). Some of these were subconcious omissions of quite important grammatical characters (which, in all fairness, were just normal mistakes, but for the sake of the blog entry....), and others were the more contrived substitutions and swappings of letters in words, which on the internet, would result in hilarious comic effect, but to an examiner, probably just a load of red pen and a sick, beaming smile to their podgy faces as they scrub at the paper, desecrating my poor grades.
Common sense got the better of me, and the errors were changed, which is a good thing.
One thing i did leave in was that the study was 'glaringly obvious' (fact!)

On a rather different note, i went out last night, which resulted in me getting a 'boost' (via a hand) on to the top of a bus shelter, as a result of one of the 'party' losing a foam ball on top of it, and not bearing to part with it (and being too lazy/fat (combo) to climb it themselves).
My stomach churned when five minutes later, some other twat just threw the ball away, in a brazen fashion, which caused me to say 'BASSTAARDDD!', inside.

I am off. More revision needed...

Goodbye
and that

Nightey Night

After long deliberation, i had made what is possibly the most daft decision ever.
I decided that going to a job interview would be far less fun than getting 'wasted', so cancelled it!

To say that (with my newfound 'gold pass' to tosserdom) i got a bit decadent could be the understatement of all eternity...

Testament to the level of my godawful intoxication came from the fact that, out of the blue, i found myself standing (and, i daresay, trying to dance) on the pole in the middle of the bar that we were visiting.
Further proof that my 'executive decision making' skills weren't quite fine-tuned was highlighted by the fact that, after dawning on me that i'd been standing there for a good few minutes (demolishing whatever 'street cred' i had left by becoming the epitaph of 'white boy' dancing ), it took me a further two minutes to actually get down....
One small thing made me 'do a smile' when i thought about it afterwards:
Throughout all of the 'pole incident' i had managed to take a full glass of JD and Coke up there with me, drink half of it, and get back down, all without spilling a drop! (Or at least, without spilling an amount that somebody in such a state would notice).

The rest of the night was fittingly 'cool', with the usual 'things' occuring, including what can best be described as a 'stare out' between me and two sportswear-clad gentlemen who thought that making constant eye contact with me would somehow result in me speaking to them (or something). This was, with hindsight, quite scary, as i was probably in for one of two things:
1) A fight (which i'd like to thing i'd have one. (honestly, i could have!))
2) A right bumming (which i don't think i'd have 'won'...)

Anyway, exams etc. approaching, so i must vacate the realms of 'blogger' for a few days, and reviiiiseeeee!

Ebeneezer Bad....

Dilemma, it seems...

Since the last bloggings, I have been upto numerous 'things' (yes, yes, raaapeee!), but most of them aren't really worth talking about (due to trial pending... (no, i am not a sex offender, it's just really boring stuff that you honestly wouldn't bother reading)).

As a nice break to the hard, monotonous day, and also as a celebration of completing 18 arbitary units of measurement on the planet, I will be accompanying a few friends out on a 'social gathering' ('pissup, coupled with sexist jeers and wanton substance abuse-athon').
At this point, I introduce the 'spanner' to the hypothetical 'cogs'... That is:
employment

For a moment there, you thought i worked! No! I'm not that daft. I am however, one step below that level of farcity, and have agreed, after a long period of unemployment on medical grounds ('lazy bastard syndrome'), to attend an interview, the morning after the said booze fuelled adventure.

This is slightly rubbish really, as it means that I have to make one of two possible decisions:

1) Cut short the inebriation session, and leave early, dissappointing peers (and myself, for 'faggoting' out). This also resulsts in me getting less wasted than acceptable, on the "Jones' Scale of Intoxication", which simply will not do....

2) Going ahead with the originally forecasted cocktail of alcohol and MDMA. Have a 'hell' of a time, and most probably scare the interviewer into giving me a position, due to my (seemingly) caffeine fuelled enthusiasm, or get her calling security, due to my unorthodox fowardness....

Either way, one choice must be made, and i shudder to think of the consequences of any indecisiveness on my part.....

Ciao!
(Popular ending, with a quirky foreign language excerpt, from a language that i know no more of than the copy/pasted word above)

Just a quickun! (with some pleading)

Hullos!

'flying visit' as it were. I've gone from sweating like a nun in a dildo factory, to 'quite cold' in a matter of a day. This is quite shit. I demand that whoever controls the weather, revert it back to 'nice and hot', before i lodge complaints.

Also, on a wholly more important note, I WANT IZZY STRADLIN TO PLAY IN THE UK (along with one other person, at the moment, it seems)
To try (pathetically, in the form of one of those really sad 'e-petition' things) and get Mr.Isbell over, please be very kind (11 out of 10, on the Jones kindness scale) and click this link:

http://eventful.com/demand/D0-001-000123104-0

And click DEMAND! (which is believe, in a very similar fashion to a spoilt two year old, will somehow 'get' the attention of the said artist, and make him fly over and play... or something..)

Cheers!
Lloyd

Summer-ness

"God it's hot."
Slightly stupid remark to make, i know, as 'god' doesn't seem to help.... However, that's what i seem to have being exclaiming a lot of recent; what with the really hot weather!

Easter seemed to have been a bit of an interesting time. It started off like any other 'period of rest' (me, mundanely fumbling about the house, trying to make use of my time), but evolved to be something far more interesting!
Elaboration:
Due to being (what i like to think) a 'hard bastard', over easter, my alcohol consumption switched from beer, which, as we all know, is a drink for women, children and homosexuals (of which i am none! (well...)) to SPIRRITTSSS.
Basically, my nice bottle of absinthe got opened up, to mark the death of Christ (or whatever easter is about...), and as a consequence, my throat lining hasn't been the same since.
Drinking a shot of it seemed to create a mini napalm-strike, and, unlike other spirits, it stays for about five minutes.... This came as a small inconvenience to begin with, but evolved into some kind of sado-masochistic game.....

With further thought, Easter wasn't all that good. The best bit was really the above...

There was the odd bit of 'blinding everybody with my amazing frame' whilst sunbathing, but i didn't deem it worthy of blog-mentioning...

Other than my devoted religious beliefs, i haven't really done loads of recent, as the sun seems to be turning me into a stereotypical Mexan. Everything is too much effort, and when i do eventually begin to do something, it's just 'too damn hot'.
One solution, however, is this: do not hassle yourself with work in the first place!
(Other solutions of similar nature are welcome (providing they do not involve work))

This blog, as summer wages on, will become updated less and less frequently (i predict), so hopefully, the updates that do occur, will be of some vague interest.. to someone...

Goodbye!

Gay-Levels

Quoth Wikipedia
Decadence: a lack of moral and intellectual discipline

This is a rather round-about way of summing up the happenings of recent. Much like the 'id', 'ego' and 'superego' of the Jew with the funny name, it feels as if there are little bits of me niggling at me to do different things

(alternativley, these might just be hallucinations. It'd be shit if they were though. Surely i should be 'tripping' with decent results, like seeing hordes of naked ladies, with big ubbs...)

Anyway, one of these 'things' is to revise. I am in desperate need of doing this, and, though i've started, my current level of revision is just to conscience-satisfying degree that doesn't really accomplish anything.
For example, i'll sit there with a book for a long length of time ('time x' or alternativley 'fucking ages') during this, i will be 'reading' the pages. However, when i glance back across to the other page i've just supposedly read, it all seems new!
This has presented itself as a bit of a bugger for revision, as, well, its a bit pointless....

The revision 'monster' aside, there are numerous other things that i 'need' to do. One has had too much time/attention/money delegated to it of recent, which is my primeival need to become inebriated.
I believe that, unlike most other humans, who drink for 'social reasons' (because they are liberal gays*), i derive some sort of energy from alcohol. Much akin to how Oxygen makes life quite nice for us, a huge, fuck-off, novelty-sized bottle (tankard) of '20/20' also does a similar job.
That said, 20/20 was probably the worst example i could use.
I reminded myself on Tuesday night of why the local wine-store has loads of the stuff left on their shelf, after i made a purchase of their 'pineapple' flavoured variant of the fortified wine. They either share brewing equipment with 'toilet-duck' bleach, or it is simply the most crap tasting 'drink' avaiable...

Anyway, revision, over the next few weeks, should really shift to priority over sadistically torturing my liver, as else i will be left with A-Levels in 'licking the floor outside of nightclub' studies and an AS-Level in 'advanced speech slurring combined with bigotry'.....

Grades! (Grades..)

Last week, results for the AS exams came through. To some this was a good thing. To me, this was a kind of good and bad blend.
To be honest, i didn't really revise too well (at all) for the exams. This was reflected pretty well in my Biology grade (E). i think that is one-up above a grade 'U' (which contrary to my insistence, doesn't stand for 'Unbelievably Great', but 'Ungradable' (in the negative kind of way.))

This grade was a small cue for me to start removing my fingers from my rectal cavity and actually do some revision. Either that, or face a "career in McDonalds"...

However, the momentary 'sad face' was replaced with a slightly happier one ('moderatley happy face', for the sake of consistency) upon recieving an 'A' grade in Philosophy (which came as a twisted surprise, due to me being unable to attend half of the lessons for that particular subject, due to timetable clashes).

I am currently 'gearing up' (procrastinating towards) revision, and have a couple of re-take exams to be dealing with. That, is that, in the field of boring sixth form studies...

As for the rest of life: High possibility of twat-acting this weekend, due to my undivided love for the patron Saint of Ireland, St.Maurice. Sorry, i mean St.George. Wait,.. you know the one. Basically, it'll be a huge pissup, in which i am guaranteed to either act the previously mentioned boob or offend some Paddys! (Irish, for those unaquianted with racist slang)..

So this weekend: "Tull be grand, meh boy!"

Goodbye! etc.

March

Hellos

It is March!

The last 'blog' was in February. This means i've let the blog become a tad neglected... How cruel of me...

Anyhow. Not loads is new (to be truthful, not much new-ness at all).

There have been significant advances in the field of surfing, as i have begun the 'painstaking' task of 'try to turn the board whilst standing on it' (i think there must be a technical term for this manoevure (possibly 'turning'?)), which is proving to occupy me sufficiently.

In the field of alcohol abuse, there has been a small advancement, due to a bad mixture of me possessing £28 and walking into my local branch of 'Thresher' whilst inebriated. (I decided to buy the most expensive bottle of absinthe on the shelf, which i am afraid to drink, due to price and alcohol concentration).
This incident followed a party from Mr.Daniel Broadley, who deserves a 'shout out', for putting on an ace show that said night.


Finally, i do remember mentioning an 'E-ilp' in an earlier bloggery. Thankfully, my guesstimate of the consequences was fairly accurate, and we've all got away with doing 'nada' towards the silly 'award'*.

(* Suitable point for wanton insertion of smiley faces and exclamation marks, but avoided for taste purposes)

There is little else to 'blog' of at the moment, apart from a nice 'omnibus' of parties approaching, which will see myself in the usual comical states of degenerate drunkness.. so, 'until next time', goodbyes! etc.

An interesting night..

Last night i went out.... This statement in itself is usually worth writing about. BUT, last night, i (specifically) went out on the town.

The night started pretty 'normal'. Turn up to a bar, and begin to drink 'light' beverages (Magners', etc.), and then slowly progress to less girly, more 'hardcore' drinks.
At some unknown point during the night, i knew the magic of rum-based cocktails had taken its effect, as i began to make the transition from 'reserved' Lloyd, to 'dance against big-breasted girls' Lloyd. My blossoming became quite obvious at the point where i decided to jump up next to the DJ and act as a conductor (a drunken, cretionous, 'thunderbirds movement-esque' kind of conductor). Surprisingly, the crowd's reaction seemed to be that most began to follow the 'dancing' that my highly seasoned limbs directed (and those of my friend). This might have been due to the fact that i had the attentiveness and charm of an escaped 'affectionless psychopath', whom it would be better to entertain with a 'smile at the mental' approach, as opposed to actually expressing how diabolically shit my 'moves' were.

Anyway. The dancing continued, until the point where i decided that having PA speakers rape my eardrums for 20 minutes wasn't a desirable thing, so i promptly made my 'subtle' escape.

The remainder of the night was, i see it, a repayement for my services to the barcrawling community of Plymouth. I watched a band. Actually, they were really brilliant. They were basically an Eastern-European ('Russian?', blurts my heavily misinformed, badly cultured and stereotype fuelled mind) set up, with a violinist, a double bass, a drummer (yes, those forrens play drums to, you know) and a bloke on an acoustic that also sang.
Sadly, i arrived quite late into their set (due to taking longer than expected to fall out of the previous said location (dancefloor of 'Cuba')), and only witnessed a limited number of 'tunes'. They did do some 'diddys' that i swear i recognise from numerous eastern-themed films (possibly my lewd/sublime pornographic interests) and a load of folk-y covers of popular 'heavy metal' tunes ("rock on, man." etc.). I think "ace of spades" comes to mind as one that they made brillance of. (Yuss, i said brillance. i CHOSE to spell 'brilliance' incorrectly. Ok? GOOD.)

After watching the band, i thanked the singer (as all good drunks do), and made a prompt exit (as prompt as other exit (2o minute exit). I then bought chocolate (Cadbury's Caramel), Vodka, and cookies.
After this, i consumed the aforementioned confectionary/alcoholic products, and walked home, happy and drunk.
I then woke up, in inverse states to the night before.

Drink, Drink-me-do

You! Yes, you. Read this!

As promised, i managed to haul my dormant anus out of my land of sloth. This only happens when there is a good reason to do so, however. So, when the prospect of drinking a crate of Foster's sprung up, i left the house quicker than V.C.s from a Napalm-struck forest (or some other badly fitting comparison).

The night started pretty standard: Turn up, watch the telly, crack the jingoist/sexist jokes (of course, this is only for the sake of the blog. I mean, would i actually crack a joke of that nature? (yes)), listen to unbearably loud music until there is that funny buzz in each ear that won't go away (no matter how much you drink....).

I got to about Foster's # 6 (i...i..i mean 10! What do you think i am? a lightweight or something?!) and decided that i'd try and emulate scenes of films that i'd recentley watched (bad move? Yuss!). Somehow, the 'Beerfest' way of drinking beers became a quite desirable feat to attempt, so i went about finding a sharp, stabbing implement, and proceeded to murder some whores.
Wait! That last bit was fabricated. I actually went and found stabbing implements (in the form of a friend's keys) in order to pierce the beercan in the side. (The whole manouvere involves shaking the can, stabbing it, placing mouth over just-made hole, and then opening ringpull. This allows maximum speed when 'downing' the can)

I decided to go upto the host's top attic windows, open it, and begin to perform the required moves. However, the first stab did not pierce the can, so i turned and faced my friend, and with a blasé attitude, began stabbing the can profusley. This resulted in a surprise explotion of the can, and a subsequent surprised Lloyd (me). In the following seconds, i managed to throw the keys from the window with surprise.
My friend began to point out my error with some level of enthusiasm (mostly involving words that include, but were not restricted to: 'fuck', 'jesus', 'oh-noes' and 'i love mens bums' (i cunningly added that last one, in case he reads this...)), to which i reacted with complete indifference and replied "Look! I did the Beerfest can trick!".

I was still brimming with enthusiasm when numerous rescue attempts were hatched and implemented in order to bring the keys back to the safety of the owner's pocket, from the roof of my friend's house, where they then lied.
One attempt reminded me of a poor person's take on the scene of "Mission Impossible" with the big tall room and zip-wire/rope. One friend leant out of the window, whilst holding my unstable, pissed-up hand, and slowly tortoise-crawled down the roof of the house, towards the keys.
He hooked the keys with his toes. Success was near! Then, in true piss-artist fashion, he let the keys slip, and they fell to rest in a new, exciting location: The guttering!

I won't go on and describe everything, but in a crude/condensed form: The keys were rescued when the same friend climbed on top of the kitchen (directly under the said piece of guttering) and fished the keys out, with a rake. One extremley important lesson learnt from this experience is that if i ever choose (for some unbeknown reason) to visit a fairground, the smelly pikies will not be conning me out of cuddly toys and tenners stuck to magnets, no! I have a mate who can fish keys from gutterings, so all of their simple ploys won't get us!

Anyhow, the rest of the night was pretty standard as far as drinking with me goes. I managed to nearly double the earlier quoted amount, and do various 'funny' things whilst inebriated.
I then went to sleep, and woke up.

Goodbyes!

Waging War!

Greetings!

Since the last 'blogging', which i believe occured only yesterday, you will be pleased to read that i have decided to post another, and not quit the whole world of internet-writings. That would a bit crap.

Since yeterday, lots of interesting things have happened that i can write about!
The above statement is false. Infact, this is the truth:

- 24 hours have passed
- I have changed my clothes
- I've cleaned my teeth a few times
- I've ate some food

I could elaborate upon these amazing revelations, but i will save that for a day where i really do have nothing to write about, as opposed to a day like today, where it seems i can write what was intended to be an introductory paragraph, and stretch it (much like the bathing suit of a morbidly obese woman after a standard pig-out... Or an analogy that is equally as bad as that..)

In 24 hours, not a lot has changed regarding the 'ILP' situation that i ranted about last time.
One thing has become of it, which i have found endlessley amusing:
Due to the complete lack of cooperation, and subsequent completion of the said 'ILP's, a new 'deadline' has been given for them:
"This time next week".

It's funny, the way that the meaning of the word 'deadline' is mashed around so much when used by our form tutor. The rough translation of what she really means is "Err, i can't really make you do these, as you are studying for actual a-level courses, but because the school blindly signed up to the scheme, can you fill them out.. or something..?"

Thankfully, our students have a great ability to read these special undertones and carry out the applicable course of action (doing fuck all).

Next time mister mc-bloggery visits you all, he will have something interesting to write about. Most probably the weekend's drunken escapades of trying to pull a lamppost or doing that funny Russian dance (or at least, it's what a stereotypical Russian dance is, to me) naked on a table.

However, until this point (the weekend), i have only got 'school issues' to write about.

See you later, reader!

Hullo, and welcome!

Hello there

Isn't this interesting. Aye?

My first 'blog'. I always used to think the act of 'doing a blog' was reserved for fat 'internet people' with nothing better to do with their lives.

It turns out i was right!
(But i am not really fat. No, really, i'm not!)

The topic of my first bloggg will be this:
bureaucracy

Don't ya just hate it? (yes, you do)

I've had a particularly bad experience with the consequences of this medium-length word at my sixth form. Yes, it can strike anywhere (yes, even there (anus)).

Basically, as some new intiative (presumably invented by opiate addicts, due to it being incredibly absract, inconsistent and preachey... (yes, all opium addicts are abstract, inconsistent and preachey)) the sixth form has begun to make us fill out "individual learning plans".

These sound like something that may be given to retarded nursery (kindergarden, for the Americans out there) children in order to plot out what to do during the duration of their morning play. However, the target market for the Individual Learning Plan (ILP, for short) is far from this (not so far, judging by some of my friends).
We are aged 17-18, and when given such painstakingly mundane and patronising activity questions, such as "How can you strike up a healthy lifestyle, between 'leisure time' and 'work time'?", i begin to wonder if having a mental age above 5 (infact, even having a mental age) is a requirement when wanting to pursure high(er) education.

Not to worry though. I, in my usual 'unconventional' form, have decided to create a model reply to the latest 'ILP' brainache.
It can be found here: http://download.yousendit.com/7C871E803D9AB4CE

Note its pettyness.

Now, i'm off.
"tune in" next time!