The guy walking in front of me: “Like Tarantino used to do.”
The woman walking behind me: “Horrible. Really, really bad.”

It was neither. It was about a fellow whose nephew shows up and asks him to help him be a hit with the ladies. But while it was about the art (or science) of seduction, it’s also about ree-lay-shon-ships. This lady sitting a few seats down from me laughed a lot at stuff that wasn’t remotely funny. Like, there’d be a cut to a new scene and she’d laugh.

Tomorrow night I will have houseguests:

man, its going to be farken choice. you are farkrn choice for putting us up for the night. perhaps you are innocent and naive and have never hosted dodgy rock n roll musicians in your innocent unspotlt flat before? yes, that’ll be it. if thats the case, apologies in advance. but hey, you might get a nice article for your zine out of it.

Oh my!

st00 came over and we watched the Brit Awards. J. Timberlake sang a medley of songs then Kylie came out and they performed “Rapture” and Justin grabbed her arse and it was magnificent. st00 accused me of liking Robbie Williams, and I was going to get all defensive and be like “I DO NOT LIKE HIM!!!!”, but then I realised that actually if I was in his rockstar manor with cocaine and champagne all that shit, I wouldn’t be complaining. Well, something like that, anyway.