I'm as it says in the title.
Richard went to the party on his own -- actually with his flatmate and a couple of others I'm only vaguely familiar with -- and I stayed in his flat and finished Guinness whilst considering how life is treating me at the moment. I came to the conclusion that life is a waiter. One who's a bit slow taking your order, calls your coffee eXpresso after the desktop publishing software and brings it when it's just a bit too cold. He gets a tip, but not a huge one. He brings you a mint.
I was sipped the last of the Guinness and I confess I smiled at the thought, especially the chocolate bit. I even went round the corner to buy a bar of something Cadbury and English, couldn't get back into Richard's flat so went home.
Sleep came over me before I could get round to writing a riposte -- by which I mean Richard's life story, or the alternative version, by which I mean the truth, of how we met -- but, yes, sleep came over me. And now I just can't focus on anything, especially something like this that requires such a literary treatment (only then will you get to grips with the guy).
Instead I flicked through the Guardian's Comment section and cross-referenced it with The Times. Neither of them like Nick Clegg, and, well, neither do I. I'm torn between old school Labour and new-wave Tories. But Richard loves the Lib Dems. I was flicking through his computer and I found he's on their mailing list. He said "I've got an e-mail from Nick Clegg", and there was a little satisfied grin. Smirk. Whatever.
Still, he's probably in a worse state than me, otherwise he would've pre-empted this post and criticised me for not going to the party.
Well, that's my creativity for the day poresweated out of me. I'm offto set up a Facebook account now, because there'll probably be amusing photos from the party and various artistic gatherings.
Hope you had a chilled Sunday, and that it was as boring as mine.
love Bagpuss
Richard went to the party on his own -- actually with his flatmate and a couple of others I'm only vaguely familiar with -- and I stayed in his flat and finished Guinness whilst considering how life is treating me at the moment. I came to the conclusion that life is a waiter. One who's a bit slow taking your order, calls your coffee eXpresso after the desktop publishing software and brings it when it's just a bit too cold. He gets a tip, but not a huge one. He brings you a mint.
I was sipped the last of the Guinness and I confess I smiled at the thought, especially the chocolate bit. I even went round the corner to buy a bar of something Cadbury and English, couldn't get back into Richard's flat so went home.
Sleep came over me before I could get round to writing a riposte -- by which I mean Richard's life story, or the alternative version, by which I mean the truth, of how we met -- but, yes, sleep came over me. And now I just can't focus on anything, especially something like this that requires such a literary treatment (only then will you get to grips with the guy).
Instead I flicked through the Guardian's Comment section and cross-referenced it with The Times. Neither of them like Nick Clegg, and, well, neither do I. I'm torn between old school Labour and new-wave Tories. But Richard loves the Lib Dems. I was flicking through his computer and I found he's on their mailing list. He said "I've got an e-mail from Nick Clegg", and there was a little satisfied grin. Smirk. Whatever.
Still, he's probably in a worse state than me, otherwise he would've pre-empted this post and criticised me for not going to the party.
Well, that's my creativity for the day poresweated out of me. I'm offto set up a Facebook account now, because there'll probably be amusing photos from the party and various artistic gatherings.
Hope you had a chilled Sunday, and that it was as boring as mine.
love Bagpuss
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