A Blast From The Past...
... happened while I was sitting in the kitchen just now, listening to the Heart Wrenching Station known as Heart Wahn Oh Sicks... point... Toooh
Apologies for not posting for a few days, then again I'm not sure that many people are interested in a whinging boy posting random things of what has happened in the past 24 hours.
So, after my perrenial vow that I will Stop Drinking and Give Up Smoking I found myself in the kitchen pouring myself the dregs of some red wine, more drinkable and less caustic than the 2 for £5 that we normally guzzle with Great Gusto purchased from the wonderful Costcutters that we inhabit. Well, to be honest, it was £4.99 for ONE bottle, so the quality was pretty much ensured.
Ironically, after reading a magazine article stating that Indie is the New Black, and is replacing the original Black Music championed by our fellow human-kind over the pond. As a result I've pulled out all my black garments and black accessories (with the Union Jack emblzoned across all and sundry) and decided that the next visit to Boots will consist of Black Eyeliner, Black Liquid Eyeliner, Black Nail Polish and Black Hair Dye. Well, the latter is a bit of a luxury since my hair is almost black anyway and the last time (two weeks ago) I dyed my hair Blue Black has ended up just Black, with most of the Blue deposited on my lovely neutral coloured bed linen (I hate Beige)
So, while reading said article, mister 'Fiddy Sense' came on with some (excuse the lingo) Bird warbling in the background, I tried to twiddle the dial on the radio to come up with something a bit more decipherable. Cue, Karen White (who is incidentaly Black) singing Superwoman...
I last heard this song when I was 8 years old. Some woman singing that she'd laid out breakfast on the table but the eggs weren't quite right because some cunt of a boyfriend was ovi-intolerant made me feel upset. Not quite for the same reasons that she was crying about, but more so that I was a Growing Boy and at any time of day wanted any excuse to stuff my face, and given that I was plucked from the land that served Fries and Burgers and Bacon and Eggs and shipped to a land of Noodles and Rice and Rice and More Rice (half of which I had to pick off the sodding shag-pile after I'd deliberately-discretely chucked it on the floor) I was gagging from some Over-Easy Eggs (my mum later told me this is where Naughty Girls came from).
Anyway, I went to the theatre tonight to watch an abolute Gay Classic: Beautiful Thing. My Aussie Girl Friend came along in place of other half who was suffering from Throat Disease (which is anything pertaining to the throat). I had to give a quick 411 about the storyline to Aussie GF, and in true haiku style:
Council of South London,
Grey from Toil and Sweat...
Schoolboys Turn Gay.
The thing is, I never had a problem with sexuality. For ages I thought that everyone else was making a big Hoo-Hah over something that was quite simple. Boys like Girls. Boys like Boys. Girls like Boys. Girls like Girls. and Boy-Girls et cetera.... I never had a problem.
For those who are not quite au fait with it, mostly there is a transitional period of Angst and Denial and then coming to terms that mainly One is Quite Straight, and that they fancy Members of the Opposite Sex. The remainder like Same Sex Mates and carry on Angsting and Denying all manner of emotions. Then, there are some of us just 'happened' to be born Out and Proud, and this wonderful story charters the trials and tribulations of two lovely boys coming out at the tender age of 15/16 (it's legal now). Set on a Council Estate. With a Chav Mum. And a fabulous Fag-Hag who (thinks she) is the incarnation of Mama Cass.
It was brilliant.
Well. It is now the Chinese new Year Of The Dog. The parental unit forgot to ring me back after I'd left a long rambling message wishing them a Happy New Year and lots of Prosperity and Wealth and the rest. But to be fair, it was at 3 a.m. GMT and by that time they were well into the following day. This morning my grandparents rang me saying Happy Birthday and I had to remind them that it was the New Year, not my birthday.
But that's what happens when you come from a jumbled-up background, of parents that together have 4 different heritages between them.
Well, any excuse for a drink-up really, isn't there?
Apologies for not posting for a few days, then again I'm not sure that many people are interested in a whinging boy posting random things of what has happened in the past 24 hours.
So, after my perrenial vow that I will Stop Drinking and Give Up Smoking I found myself in the kitchen pouring myself the dregs of some red wine, more drinkable and less caustic than the 2 for £5 that we normally guzzle with Great Gusto purchased from the wonderful Costcutters that we inhabit. Well, to be honest, it was £4.99 for ONE bottle, so the quality was pretty much ensured.
Ironically, after reading a magazine article stating that Indie is the New Black, and is replacing the original Black Music championed by our fellow human-kind over the pond. As a result I've pulled out all my black garments and black accessories (with the Union Jack emblzoned across all and sundry) and decided that the next visit to Boots will consist of Black Eyeliner, Black Liquid Eyeliner, Black Nail Polish and Black Hair Dye. Well, the latter is a bit of a luxury since my hair is almost black anyway and the last time (two weeks ago) I dyed my hair Blue Black has ended up just Black, with most of the Blue deposited on my lovely neutral coloured bed linen (I hate Beige)
So, while reading said article, mister 'Fiddy Sense' came on with some (excuse the lingo) Bird warbling in the background, I tried to twiddle the dial on the radio to come up with something a bit more decipherable. Cue, Karen White (who is incidentaly Black) singing Superwoman...
I last heard this song when I was 8 years old. Some woman singing that she'd laid out breakfast on the table but the eggs weren't quite right because some cunt of a boyfriend was ovi-intolerant made me feel upset. Not quite for the same reasons that she was crying about, but more so that I was a Growing Boy and at any time of day wanted any excuse to stuff my face, and given that I was plucked from the land that served Fries and Burgers and Bacon and Eggs and shipped to a land of Noodles and Rice and Rice and More Rice (half of which I had to pick off the sodding shag-pile after I'd deliberately-discretely chucked it on the floor) I was gagging from some Over-Easy Eggs (my mum later told me this is where Naughty Girls came from).
Anyway, I went to the theatre tonight to watch an abolute Gay Classic: Beautiful Thing. My Aussie Girl Friend came along in place of other half who was suffering from Throat Disease (which is anything pertaining to the throat). I had to give a quick 411 about the storyline to Aussie GF, and in true haiku style:
Council of South London,
Grey from Toil and Sweat...
Schoolboys Turn Gay.
The thing is, I never had a problem with sexuality. For ages I thought that everyone else was making a big Hoo-Hah over something that was quite simple. Boys like Girls. Boys like Boys. Girls like Boys. Girls like Girls. and Boy-Girls et cetera.... I never had a problem.
For those who are not quite au fait with it, mostly there is a transitional period of Angst and Denial and then coming to terms that mainly One is Quite Straight, and that they fancy Members of the Opposite Sex. The remainder like Same Sex Mates and carry on Angsting and Denying all manner of emotions. Then, there are some of us just 'happened' to be born Out and Proud, and this wonderful story charters the trials and tribulations of two lovely boys coming out at the tender age of 15/16 (it's legal now). Set on a Council Estate. With a Chav Mum. And a fabulous Fag-Hag who (thinks she) is the incarnation of Mama Cass.
It was brilliant.
Well. It is now the Chinese new Year Of The Dog. The parental unit forgot to ring me back after I'd left a long rambling message wishing them a Happy New Year and lots of Prosperity and Wealth and the rest. But to be fair, it was at 3 a.m. GMT and by that time they were well into the following day. This morning my grandparents rang me saying Happy Birthday and I had to remind them that it was the New Year, not my birthday.
But that's what happens when you come from a jumbled-up background, of parents that together have 4 different heritages between them.
Well, any excuse for a drink-up really, isn't there?
posted by Marmoset at
11:51 pm
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