Friday Night Drunk (not quite the blues)

Yes, it's Friday night and all my calls to my companions have failed to yeild fruit. Tom came over last night and we had a blast. I promised him the third and final part of Robot Chicken, which was hilarous. "My Lord.", "Stormtrooper", "My Lord", "Stormtrooper". Catch it if you want to know.

We have a great but brief time. Tom has given me loads of musical tips, most of which I have acquired. Of latethat being, The Breeders, PJ Harvey, some Hendrix, Traffic, Certain Neil Young albums, Medeski, Martin and Wood (Tom's No.1 band) among others. I think he appreciates the fact that I actually follow up and get these recommendations. In a time where correspondance is so easy and yet so not forth coming from the vast majority of folk, I think he feels comforted by the fact that I listen and respond to what he says.

As stated previously my pals here have diminuished by 50% to 2 individiuals; Tom and Patrick. I have met others, but there seems little in common. I suppose I could hang around the Post to pick up some more friends but I don't really fancy doing that. Instead, I bought a badmington set today, so Oi and I were out the front on the road hitting the shuttlecock back and forth. Good exercise and good fun.

I watched Cousin Bette today with Hugh Laurie and Kelly McDonald which was great. PaperMan tomorrow. I have been even contemplating watching The Squid and the Whale again as it brings such mirth, rather like Withnail and I.

Funny, things we love and are so assured are brilliant, yet fall so flat when shown to others. At least Tom loves Withnail too and does a dab hand at quoting from the movie.

I have of late, but wherefore I know not, lost all my mirth and



indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly


frame the earth seems to me a sterile promotory; this most


excellent canopy the air, look you, this mighty o'rehanging


firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire; why, it


appeareth nothing to me but a foul and pestilent congregation of


vapours. What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, how


infinite in faculties, how like an angel in aprehension, how like


a God! The beauty of the world, paragon of animals; and yet to


me, what is this quintessence of dusk. Man delights not me, no,


nor women neither, nor women neither.
 
and Tom's great quote;
 
"We'll be found dead in here next Spring."
 
and;
 
Oh you little traitors. I think the carrot infinitely more fascinating




than the geranium. The carrot has mystery. Flowers are essentially


tarts. Prostitutes for the bees. There is you'll agree a certain je ne


ses quoi oh so very special about a firm young carrot. Excuse me. Do


help yourselves to another drink.

and;
 
It is the most shattering experience of a young man's life when he




awakes and quite reasonable says to himself: [He puts his hand on his


heart] I will never play The Dane. When that moment comes, ones


ambition ceases. Don't you agree?


 
Evening all!