This time I actually had my driving test. Let's get that tension out of the way quickly and reduce this blog to nothingness. There's no conflict anymore. Good.
Woke up to some Mini Viva song on the alarm clock at 7:20, 40 minutes before I was due to be picked up by my instructor. I got ready and put on some incredibly old and comfortable clothes and walked to the local petrol station to get an overpriced energy drink, obviously, that is more important than eating. Obviously. Walking down my road, I noticed immense traffic. Some may think it's ironic, as my test was cancelled due to traffic and now I may not get there due to traffic. Stop. It isn't ironic, just annoying as fuck. I shouted "WHY?!" like a maniac at which a driver leaned out of his window and said to me "Well, I'm not happy about it either, mate."
That put me in my place really. And I'm not your mate.
Eventually got back home and watched Oliver! for a few minutes, listening to "You Have to Pick a Pocket or Two" several times. Best song in the film. A decision was made, I would get rid of all bodily fluids now and save time later. Not that bodily fluid, I didn't have all the time in the world. As soon as I start, the phone rings and I'm the only one awake. It was bound to be my instructor, Gere, complaining about the traffic. Will anything go well?
Eventually, he drove me through the traffic and we started practicing. Stalled three times and couldn't put the car in gear half the time. This made me happy. Get the mistakes out of the way now. Kill everyone in the car now, nobody has to do the test. There's a good chap.
Eventually (second time I've used eventually, fuck me), we got to the test centre, immediately went to the toilet and took my piss for confidence. Got back for my driving instructor to say, "Do your fly up, I think that's a minor." His stand up DVD come out at the end of time itself. Pre-order it.
Examiner came out and checked my license (both parts), but not my theory pass certificate. Is this your first day on the job, missus? It was a woman. Cue jokes about them not being able to drive. Which they can't. Stereotype? Yeah, your point? Stereotypes don't appear out of nothing. They are true. So shut up. She then checked my eyesight with a license plate in the distance, all fine until a letter came up that could have been W or M. I took my time and then said W. She was fine with that and we walked to car. After a quick glance, I noticed it was an M. This was not going to be a good examiner. A hypocrite at least. Then she asked me to open the bonnet, which I did, and tell her where the oil was and how to check it, which I did. Smooth. We went inside the car and she asked me about the headrest. WHAT?! Who cares about the headrest?
"Where should the headrest be?"
"Behind your head."
"But where?"
"...the back of the head."
"No, not exactly. Adjust it please."
Fuck off "Alright."
This went on for at least a fortnight. And I got a minor, although you should only get a minor if you answer BOTH questions wrong. Complaint if I don't pass.
Started driving and there was a left turn. Nothing in sight, and I LOOKED. Damn hard. There was only a learner car driving at 4mph. This was the gap. I had found THE GAP. I went and there was a slight swerve in my turn. She jumped out of her seat and went for the wheel like a maniac. Or a fascist (?). I quickly started driving as if would get the wheel away from her. She seemed content to just write stuff about me, like a gossip suffering withdrawal symptoms. I could have pulled the wheel out of the car, but that may be a minor. Several turns in a row. What are you playing at?
Three point turn/turn around in the road. Viciously looking at both sides all the time, like a mute who was trying to refuse the sexual advances of a hippo. Minor for lack of observation. Get out of town, you deviant. Had to pull over about seven times as this indecisive woman chose a spot to parallel park or reverse around a corner. When the examiner is more nervous than the examinee, that's a bad sign. And I was sweating buckets. BUCKETS. I think she gained her own tropical climate.
Dual carriageway. Minor for speeding, even though I was changing lanes down a hill and if I had braked to slow down, I would have died. Hey, always stay to the speed limit, kids. Even if you're about to die. I learned that the hard way, by living. So yeah. Roundabouts were fun, I found several of THE GAPS. Awesome.
Parallel parked. She was mute, so I never knew when she wanted me to drive on. Awkward standing still for three minutes. Reverse a little bit.
"Drive on."
I hate you.
Right, after several pedantic little turns, we got back to the office and I got my result. Passed. With 11 minors. Quite inside a pass, but she gave me "the benefit of the doubt". Go away, you're giving me a tumour. Bitch. Extremely harsh marking, by someone with less nerves than Scooby Doo. A pass is a pass. First time pass. Take that.
If you haven't done a first time pass, then you can't drive. Probably a woman too. So fucking there.
I'm going to go live without an ID for 20 days.
No, who the fuck carries their passport around with them?
Monday, 26 July 2010
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Driving Test 21/07/2010
Early morning for this. I had to wake up at like eight. Nightmare. Slipped down the stairs. I wondered if I could get out of the test with a slipped disc or detached retina. Probably, but without a refund as the DSA have neither compassion nor a soul.
Went round the track once before the test. The track. I sound like a moron. As if there is one track. Anyway, on this short practice, everything went well, but then again, I think I'm a better driver than everyone else in the county, despite only learning for a year. Banter between me and the driving instructor about football and his trip to China. Why the fuck are you in China? I have a driving test.
We get to the test centre after the strangest parking maneuvre of all time.
"Right, turn all the way around, reverse close to the curb, not too close, don't get close to the car."
Sounded absurd in my head. Probably perfectly normal.
Get inside the centre. Nice adequate chair.
"Do you need the toilet?"
I do, now that you had to mention it. What if the instructor says something about a toilet during the test and I instantly piss? Have I been Pavlovian conditioned? "Yes."
Shit toilet, but quite clean. Get outside. Feeling confident, like everytime I take a piss. IF I CAN PISS, I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Yeah, the test was cancelled. Due to intense traffic. Hmm.
I just drove round your track. There was no traffic, but I suppose that would make a horrible test, as nobody ever drives when there's traffic. There is never traffic. Never. That's in the Highway Code. Also, my test was then organised to Monday morning at 9:07. An incredibly specific time. When there is a rush hour of people going to their desk jobs. What? There's never intense traffic in Rush Hour obviously. Have you never been to work? Or seen that horrible Jackie Chan/guy who isn't Chris Rock film? PLENTY OF CARS.
Update tomorrow. Unless it's cancelled again due to there being roads. Even if it is cancelled, I'll write something. Sigh.
Went round the track once before the test. The track. I sound like a moron. As if there is one track. Anyway, on this short practice, everything went well, but then again, I think I'm a better driver than everyone else in the county, despite only learning for a year. Banter between me and the driving instructor about football and his trip to China. Why the fuck are you in China? I have a driving test.
We get to the test centre after the strangest parking maneuvre of all time.
"Right, turn all the way around, reverse close to the curb, not too close, don't get close to the car."
Sounded absurd in my head. Probably perfectly normal.
Get inside the centre. Nice adequate chair.
"Do you need the toilet?"
I do, now that you had to mention it. What if the instructor says something about a toilet during the test and I instantly piss? Have I been Pavlovian conditioned? "Yes."
Shit toilet, but quite clean. Get outside. Feeling confident, like everytime I take a piss. IF I CAN PISS, I CAN DO ANYTHING!
Yeah, the test was cancelled. Due to intense traffic. Hmm.
I just drove round your track. There was no traffic, but I suppose that would make a horrible test, as nobody ever drives when there's traffic. There is never traffic. Never. That's in the Highway Code. Also, my test was then organised to Monday morning at 9:07. An incredibly specific time. When there is a rush hour of people going to their desk jobs. What? There's never intense traffic in Rush Hour obviously. Have you never been to work? Or seen that horrible Jackie Chan/guy who isn't Chris Rock film? PLENTY OF CARS.
Update tomorrow. Unless it's cancelled again due to there being roads. Even if it is cancelled, I'll write something. Sigh.
Hoodie Day 20/07/2010
When do people usually collect Leavers' Hoodies? Usually at the end of your last term, right?
WRONG. It's apparently in the summer holidays, when everybody has forgotten about leaving or anyone they left. Good work LHC (Leavers' Hoodie Committee).
We could also pick what colour we wanted for our hooded jumper. No. They should not all match. Don't be silly and traditional. Don't have common sense. Y'hear?
On my way to Pretentious Name Park where everyone was collecting the jumpers. I had no idea where this park was. A clever idea teleported into my mind: What if I pretended to be blind so somebody could lead me to the park? This could have leaded to hilarious consequences, but I do not live in a sitcom, nobody would have believed I was blind (especially not with my mp3 in my ears) and it's utterly ridiculous. Maybe in some other, more extreme, situation.
Got there in the end. I am a male, I have sense of direction. Just as I was about to enter the park, I heard people shouting my name and running towards me, as if I just skipped onto a train track with the Express only five minutes away.
"That's the wrong park, silly!"
"...but the message said to come to Pretentious Name Park."
"No, the park next to Pretentious Name Park, Smaller Park."
"Then why didn't you just say Smaller Park?"
"Dunno, maybe it wasn't clear."
Yeah, maybe it fucking wasn't. "Oh, OK."
Fun was had, for about ten minutes. Went to Generic Supermarket to get Generic Beer. ON SALE.
Rest of the story is a bit boring. Bla bla bla. Someone didn't turn up. Damn her.
At least the jumper was good quality. As if I'll ever fucking wear it.
WRONG. It's apparently in the summer holidays, when everybody has forgotten about leaving or anyone they left. Good work LHC (Leavers' Hoodie Committee).
We could also pick what colour we wanted for our hooded jumper. No. They should not all match. Don't be silly and traditional. Don't have common sense. Y'hear?
On my way to Pretentious Name Park where everyone was collecting the jumpers. I had no idea where this park was. A clever idea teleported into my mind: What if I pretended to be blind so somebody could lead me to the park? This could have leaded to hilarious consequences, but I do not live in a sitcom, nobody would have believed I was blind (especially not with my mp3 in my ears) and it's utterly ridiculous. Maybe in some other, more extreme, situation.
Got there in the end. I am a male, I have sense of direction. Just as I was about to enter the park, I heard people shouting my name and running towards me, as if I just skipped onto a train track with the Express only five minutes away.
"That's the wrong park, silly!"
"...but the message said to come to Pretentious Name Park."
"No, the park next to Pretentious Name Park, Smaller Park."
"Then why didn't you just say Smaller Park?"
"Dunno, maybe it wasn't clear."
Yeah, maybe it fucking wasn't. "Oh, OK."
Fun was had, for about ten minutes. Went to Generic Supermarket to get Generic Beer. ON SALE.
Rest of the story is a bit boring. Bla bla bla. Someone didn't turn up. Damn her.
At least the jumper was good quality. As if I'll ever fucking wear it.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Someone turns Eighteen 19/07/10
Good friend turns 18. Attendance required.
BBQ at his swinging pad first of all while we argue what time to get there at the club. We do want free entry to the scum palace after all. We decide for 9:30 and I have no clohtes for clubbing. Therefore, I go home to the other side of the city, get changed and take the long trip to the club before the rest get there. I start to drink the bar dry whilst the others are not allowed in, except the birthday boy and others who came earlier. Still a sausage fest.
Drinking. Drinking. Still drinking.
Eventually saw a girl I knew, let's call her Kerry, with her friend Shannon. Have you noticed the Irish connection yet? Quite interested in Kerry so got dancing away. Response was good, encouraging, but unfortunately, she has a boyfriend, so I did not try anything else. Saying I should have? Where the fuck were you dragged up?
I got home, after clubbing my arse off, and found out that she was not actually in a relationship. Ergh.
This is one of the many occasions where fate + ignorance cockblocks me.
The rest of the night is faded in boozy memory. Someone asked me for a fag and I told them to go to the vending machine, and they did. Fascinating.
BBQ at his swinging pad first of all while we argue what time to get there at the club. We do want free entry to the scum palace after all. We decide for 9:30 and I have no clohtes for clubbing. Therefore, I go home to the other side of the city, get changed and take the long trip to the club before the rest get there. I start to drink the bar dry whilst the others are not allowed in, except the birthday boy and others who came earlier. Still a sausage fest.
Drinking. Drinking. Still drinking.
Eventually saw a girl I knew, let's call her Kerry, with her friend Shannon. Have you noticed the Irish connection yet? Quite interested in Kerry so got dancing away. Response was good, encouraging, but unfortunately, she has a boyfriend, so I did not try anything else. Saying I should have? Where the fuck were you dragged up?
I got home, after clubbing my arse off, and found out that she was not actually in a relationship. Ergh.
This is one of the many occasions where fate + ignorance cockblocks me.
The rest of the night is faded in boozy memory. Someone asked me for a fag and I told them to go to the vending machine, and they did. Fascinating.
Sunday, 18 July 2010
Thorpe Park (For Free) 18/07/10
Severely overpriced with more shops than rides. Never go to this hellhole filled to the brim with scum. Unless you somehow get in for free. Perhaps through the hole in the fence behind Nemesis Inferno. Never used this secret passage, it may just be a myth.
Carrying on, the best way to go there is somehow without charge and to get there extremely early, so you can go on at least one ride (perhaps two, if you're an international sprinter) without the hassle of hour long queues. There will be some charge, as people need to eat and they charge you for parking without letting you know. Honourable people at least.
No great occurrences, let's go through the rides:
Stealth: Far too short, but a massive quick drop. Always ends up breaking or having a massive queue, one so long that you eventually forget what ride you are queuing up for, but are dying for a Pepsi. Thank you, severe advertising. Go to this ride at 9:00.
Nemesis Inferno: I always get the feeling that the designers just couldn't decide what to call this ride. Indecisive. Alright, go to this at 9:30 or it'll be queued to the max. Bit longer than Stealth, but not as thrill inspiring. Absolute idiots seem to love this ride.
Samurai: 45 minutes? You are having a giggle. Unless you sit on the edge, it is a massive waste of time. Do not be surprised if people realise at the last minute that they do not meet the height requirements. They live in ignorance to make themselves feel better about themselves only to embarrass themselves in front of everyone. Or could not be arsed to check. Only two options.
Slammer: Piss inducing. Frightening at times. Over very quickly. Oh boo.
Vortex: My favourite ride. Decent amount of time spinning and swinging around whilst everyone screams, wishing for their death and I can inflate my ego by not screaming. I AM better than you, I did not scream. So there. Queues are not that long either, but there is still a Fasttrack if you want. I'll get onto that later.
Colossus: Wow. Actually well worth going on. Get Fasttrack though. Two hours for ten loops? The math is not there. I would suggest going on this at 9:00, but it's never open at that time. Despite the schedule. Why does nobody stay on schedule? The best ride there, but I still prefer Vortex for the simplicity, nostalgia and lack of pretentiousness. Wow. I write some utter drivel.
Flying Fish: Nostalgia factor, but below average unless you're under 10.
Tidal Wave: One hour wait. Did not get soaked, despite success in previous Tidal Wave endeavors. I want a refund or some Thorpe Park credit for whatever the fuck I want. Ergh. Should have taken my shirt off to be honest. Then I would get a cart all to myself. Then I would've gotten wet. Maybe. If I lied on the thing. Larger surface area. Rambling.
Fasttrack: Hello. I would like to pay £60 to skip queues. please. Severely overpriced. And there's a massive queue for the Fasttrack. Maybe there's Fasttrack to get Fasttrack. There are special deals, where you get four rides for £10, but it'll be one big ride and then three like the Flying Fish, which has a wait of five minutes. Who needs Fasttrack for that except those with severe diarrhea? And also want to go on the Flying Fish? Shambles.
Never go to Thorpe Park. Unless you can get in for free. Or have low standards.
Go to Drayton Manor, which despite being stuck in a time warp, isn't half bad.
Carrying on, the best way to go there is somehow without charge and to get there extremely early, so you can go on at least one ride (perhaps two, if you're an international sprinter) without the hassle of hour long queues. There will be some charge, as people need to eat and they charge you for parking without letting you know. Honourable people at least.
No great occurrences, let's go through the rides:
Stealth: Far too short, but a massive quick drop. Always ends up breaking or having a massive queue, one so long that you eventually forget what ride you are queuing up for, but are dying for a Pepsi. Thank you, severe advertising. Go to this ride at 9:00.
Nemesis Inferno: I always get the feeling that the designers just couldn't decide what to call this ride. Indecisive. Alright, go to this at 9:30 or it'll be queued to the max. Bit longer than Stealth, but not as thrill inspiring. Absolute idiots seem to love this ride.
Samurai: 45 minutes? You are having a giggle. Unless you sit on the edge, it is a massive waste of time. Do not be surprised if people realise at the last minute that they do not meet the height requirements. They live in ignorance to make themselves feel better about themselves only to embarrass themselves in front of everyone. Or could not be arsed to check. Only two options.
Slammer: Piss inducing. Frightening at times. Over very quickly. Oh boo.
Vortex: My favourite ride. Decent amount of time spinning and swinging around whilst everyone screams, wishing for their death and I can inflate my ego by not screaming. I AM better than you, I did not scream. So there. Queues are not that long either, but there is still a Fasttrack if you want. I'll get onto that later.
Colossus: Wow. Actually well worth going on. Get Fasttrack though. Two hours for ten loops? The math is not there. I would suggest going on this at 9:00, but it's never open at that time. Despite the schedule. Why does nobody stay on schedule? The best ride there, but I still prefer Vortex for the simplicity, nostalgia and lack of pretentiousness. Wow. I write some utter drivel.
Flying Fish: Nostalgia factor, but below average unless you're under 10.
Tidal Wave: One hour wait. Did not get soaked, despite success in previous Tidal Wave endeavors. I want a refund or some Thorpe Park credit for whatever the fuck I want. Ergh. Should have taken my shirt off to be honest. Then I would get a cart all to myself. Then I would've gotten wet. Maybe. If I lied on the thing. Larger surface area. Rambling.
Fasttrack: Hello. I would like to pay £60 to skip queues. please. Severely overpriced. And there's a massive queue for the Fasttrack. Maybe there's Fasttrack to get Fasttrack. There are special deals, where you get four rides for £10, but it'll be one big ride and then three like the Flying Fish, which has a wait of five minutes. Who needs Fasttrack for that except those with severe diarrhea? And also want to go on the Flying Fish? Shambles.
Never go to Thorpe Park. Unless you can get in for free. Or have low standards.
Go to Drayton Manor, which despite being stuck in a time warp, isn't half bad.
Saturday, 17 July 2010
The Brazilian-lite Experience 17/07/10
Well, it's a Saturday and my mother would like to visit a Brazilian festival on the other side of London. Having avoided these occasions several times, guilt caught up to me and forced me to go. My brother can run faster than me, therefore guilt/my father has not caught him yet.
45 minutes on the District Line. Creative Zen M running out of battery. The day already looks bleak.
I arrived (with my mother, obviously) and was instantly shocked by its looks. The only way it could have been more low-key was if it was actually just a key. School fetes look at this "festival" and thank their lucky stars for their £5 budget. There were the traditional food stalls, a highlight as when I have food in my mouth, I am not requested to talk. You could buy cheap sunglasses, always fun. Unfortunately, I was too big for the bouncy castle.
I have jumped the gun. I am Brazilian. Half of my family is. Therefore, it is not weird for me or my family to go to one of these. However, I cannot speak Portuguese, but I can understand it very well. This is used for comic effect later in my day.
Anyway, we go and meet my mother's friend, Krazee. No real names are used in this blog, just random associations of letters. We meet Krazee, who cannot seem to shut up and she introduces us to the rest of the workers there. I stay quiet, yet polite and say hi. I say "Hi" not, "Oi", so they immediately assume I do not speak Portuguese. "Oi" is a colloquial word for "Hello" in Brazil, not something that scum shout at you whilst trying to gain your attention and rob you. What was I saying?
Oh, right. They assume I know nothing about Portuguese, so it is fine to speak about me and what a terrible person I am because I do not know the language. Talking about me in front of my back, just in a different language. I understand all of this and reply with "Interesting conversation, good thing I don't know Portuguese, eh?" Silence is made. I am content.
Next, Krazee takes us to see the local church which has just been restored. This might be good. The history of some buildings is actually interesting at times. It all fell apart after one sentence.
"The angels are holding shields, I don't know what any of them mean, but..."
I was not aware she was a professional guide.
Afterwards, she starts talking about the restoration of the church, thanks to the local Brazilian community. She seems very proud, despite only being part of this community for three months. This is also after the rant about the Irish community being to small to make any significant steps in restoring the Church. I have found the only place where the Irish are not a major part of the community. Except Ireland, of course. They're just born there and immediately emigrate.
At this point, some other people walk into the church, one of whom is my age. And female. We introduce ourselves and take a liking to each other, mainly because we are probably the only two people with ages that round (to the nearest 18) to 18. Just when the conversation gets going, Krazee insists we have no time to chat, as does 18's mother, and we go separate ways. Take a drink. Fate has cockblocked me again.
I think now is a good time to describe the sheer idiocy of the purchasing system at this festival. They have added a middle man. You pay your money to someone to get tokens (everything was at the same price, £1.50, awful business scheme) and then you exchange the tokens for what you want. It seemed unnecessarily awkward. I tried to avoid this middle person, but was shot down by a woman wearing a cowboy hat. I think word had spread that I knew Portuguese and Sarcasm. Sarcasm offends the Portuguese a lot, it seems, as there is no sarcasm in Brazil. Apart from that, humour in Brazil and Britain is very similar. Male chicken can also mean penis. Very similar.
There was also a prison system. Lemme explain. You pay 50p and the local sheriff, a boy of about seven, takes you off to prison. The garage. You then pay £1 if you want to release that person. I thought this ingenious and paid 50p for Krazee to be taken away so I could go the fuck home.
45 minutes on the District line. Kill me now.
I blame the Irish community. If they had been bigger, it would be an Irish festival and they would have had better beer. Not SKOL. Why SKOL?
45 minutes on the District Line. Creative Zen M running out of battery. The day already looks bleak.
I arrived (with my mother, obviously) and was instantly shocked by its looks. The only way it could have been more low-key was if it was actually just a key. School fetes look at this "festival" and thank their lucky stars for their £5 budget. There were the traditional food stalls, a highlight as when I have food in my mouth, I am not requested to talk. You could buy cheap sunglasses, always fun. Unfortunately, I was too big for the bouncy castle.
I have jumped the gun. I am Brazilian. Half of my family is. Therefore, it is not weird for me or my family to go to one of these. However, I cannot speak Portuguese, but I can understand it very well. This is used for comic effect later in my day.
Anyway, we go and meet my mother's friend, Krazee. No real names are used in this blog, just random associations of letters. We meet Krazee, who cannot seem to shut up and she introduces us to the rest of the workers there. I stay quiet, yet polite and say hi. I say "Hi" not, "Oi", so they immediately assume I do not speak Portuguese. "Oi" is a colloquial word for "Hello" in Brazil, not something that scum shout at you whilst trying to gain your attention and rob you. What was I saying?
Oh, right. They assume I know nothing about Portuguese, so it is fine to speak about me and what a terrible person I am because I do not know the language. Talking about me in front of my back, just in a different language. I understand all of this and reply with "Interesting conversation, good thing I don't know Portuguese, eh?" Silence is made. I am content.
Next, Krazee takes us to see the local church which has just been restored. This might be good. The history of some buildings is actually interesting at times. It all fell apart after one sentence.
"The angels are holding shields, I don't know what any of them mean, but..."
I was not aware she was a professional guide.
Afterwards, she starts talking about the restoration of the church, thanks to the local Brazilian community. She seems very proud, despite only being part of this community for three months. This is also after the rant about the Irish community being to small to make any significant steps in restoring the Church. I have found the only place where the Irish are not a major part of the community. Except Ireland, of course. They're just born there and immediately emigrate.
At this point, some other people walk into the church, one of whom is my age. And female. We introduce ourselves and take a liking to each other, mainly because we are probably the only two people with ages that round (to the nearest 18) to 18. Just when the conversation gets going, Krazee insists we have no time to chat, as does 18's mother, and we go separate ways. Take a drink. Fate has cockblocked me again.
I think now is a good time to describe the sheer idiocy of the purchasing system at this festival. They have added a middle man. You pay your money to someone to get tokens (everything was at the same price, £1.50, awful business scheme) and then you exchange the tokens for what you want. It seemed unnecessarily awkward. I tried to avoid this middle person, but was shot down by a woman wearing a cowboy hat. I think word had spread that I knew Portuguese and Sarcasm. Sarcasm offends the Portuguese a lot, it seems, as there is no sarcasm in Brazil. Apart from that, humour in Brazil and Britain is very similar. Male chicken can also mean penis. Very similar.
There was also a prison system. Lemme explain. You pay 50p and the local sheriff, a boy of about seven, takes you off to prison. The garage. You then pay £1 if you want to release that person. I thought this ingenious and paid 50p for Krazee to be taken away so I could go the fuck home.
45 minutes on the District line. Kill me now.
I blame the Irish community. If they had been bigger, it would be an Irish festival and they would have had better beer. Not SKOL. Why SKOL?
Why write a summer blog?
Why write a summer blog, you ask? Good question (from myself).
Well, it's mainly for me. As much as I'd like other people to read it, it's not the most important thing. I'm very sure people could live without my nonsensical (and quite frankly, rubbish) ramblings on my summer holiday. If they cant, well, it's a good thing I'm here then.
How is it for me?
Firstly, it helps my days pass by. Without a job (still), my days get boring and tiresome at a rapid pace. These blogs will help entertain me as I delude myself into believing I am writing something entertaining and witty. Which I am not. I lack the ability. So there. Smack straight in the ego.
Secondly, it helps to prevent my already weak writing skills from fading. I want to become a writer, got to get some practice, no matter how slight or frivolous the practice may be.
Finally, it may actually help me remember what happened during this summer. To be able to look back on this may inspire nostalgia and hilarity in my later years. If we haven't all killed each other by then. By later years, I mean in two years. Will not be reading this drivel on my deathbed.
So there, first post is done. SORTED. I will try and post everyday. Not everyday will be filled with treats, so luckily I have other "retrospective" events to write about from earlier on in the summer. Good. I'm glad I'm doing this.
Contact me in five days when I stop caring about this blog.
Well, it's mainly for me. As much as I'd like other people to read it, it's not the most important thing. I'm very sure people could live without my nonsensical (and quite frankly, rubbish) ramblings on my summer holiday. If they cant, well, it's a good thing I'm here then.
How is it for me?
Firstly, it helps my days pass by. Without a job (still), my days get boring and tiresome at a rapid pace. These blogs will help entertain me as I delude myself into believing I am writing something entertaining and witty. Which I am not. I lack the ability. So there. Smack straight in the ego.
Secondly, it helps to prevent my already weak writing skills from fading. I want to become a writer, got to get some practice, no matter how slight or frivolous the practice may be.
Finally, it may actually help me remember what happened during this summer. To be able to look back on this may inspire nostalgia and hilarity in my later years. If we haven't all killed each other by then. By later years, I mean in two years. Will not be reading this drivel on my deathbed.
So there, first post is done. SORTED. I will try and post everyday. Not everyday will be filled with treats, so luckily I have other "retrospective" events to write about from earlier on in the summer. Good. I'm glad I'm doing this.
Contact me in five days when I stop caring about this blog.
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