So I just had this game of football with a right bunch o' nobcheeses - kids, really, got the skills, but not much tactical nous, concept of passing, etc - and that put me in kind of a foul mood. Made me hate Wakefield again. Made me want to get out of here. Made me want to move to Leeds, where I had a good game with good people the other week, and where the girls (and the boys) are prettier and seem to have a bit more going for them. Man, how many attractive women there are in the world! But not in these parts here. My brother's about the most attractive woman in this town...
Which reminds me: I went to Rocky Horror last night, in Sheffield, and that was good in parts. Dressed in see-through knickers and stockings (or tights; I can never remember the difference...) and those big red high heels, and got gawked at by ladies and had my picture taken (because you could probably see my nob 'n' balls) and felt alternately good and then like the old proverbial piece of meat, and when it was over I just thought, I wanna go home. Except I was in the middle of town there in my outfit and with some friends who wanted to do the pub thing before heading back to theirs to sleep on some floor and up 7.30 for the trip back north and work and not a dime or cent or even a penny in my pocket and no means of getting any, cursing the decision not to drive myself and there I was relying on others but I wanted to go home. So I said to my friend, "I'm going" - and then I walked out that bar in my high heels and knickers and through the town stockings/tights glued to my thighs and suddenly feeling just ever so slightly strange now there's noone else around dressed like me and the real world has come back into view again and I just think, I'm getting on a train, I don't really care what happens, fine me, kick me off, I just don't care. I felt liberated. I felt like the old me - and I guess that's the point of this pointless old, rambling old, terribly poor grammatically paragraph - like I did when hitching to Wales to pick up the car before this one, hours walking and fighting through the strange lands of the Manchester Ring Road, in woods and streams and canals and then when the battery died (or, rather, lack of battery, because I decided to try and make it back without one) I ate lovely mussels in the restaurant there and then slept (kind of) in the front seat chortling merrily and thinking what a wonderful day that was, like in days of old, like in days on the road when sleeping bag zipped up and thoughts of the day washing over you and thinking all the places you'd been, all the people, the different things, the weathers, the scenes...like something was happening. Why do I need that to feel alive? Why do I want madness - this very particular type of madness - in my life? How can I bring that wonderful, glorious madness into my life in this day-to-day world of work and house and normality? And how can I hope for anybody to understand that need when I can't even express it in something approaching English!? :-) Hoo-ha! Who cares? You could be my regular Saturday night thang - I'm gonna enjoy killing you - I got me a blueskin full of effin' sheep's beards and there's no way I'm gonna let you get away with it, you hear, you old snake of a dog you, you old Carmen Silvera horse whip monkey bush teeth hound soldier! A-ha! Take that! And Boyzone too! I gotta whispa somethin' to you, if only you'll hear my heart slugs cry...
Did that make sense to you? If only it would! And, if only it did, call a doctor (slash the cops) because you've got internal breeding arrangements and there ain't a pill on Earth gonna swap your Mother Goose for a large and friendly soft ha'penny drink, ya hear?
I's gots cheese - want some?
...
In other news, I was thinking of writing something nonsensical soon - if I can find the time. Cheers!
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