Yo Ho Ho and a Barrel of Angst
Avast, Landlubbers! Greetings from the Depths of the Bloglodytes Sea! My belly feels like a keg'o'rum, my throat feels like a chest full of swordfish! Arrrrrrrrrr!
Right, now that that's done, I can actualy write about something useful (It's International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and the whole point of having a Blog is to mark things like that). I meant to update all through the weekend, thrilling you as I made my way across the Scottish coastline, but forgot that as soon as I come within eight miles of Aberdeen all my desire to do things leeches out of me like the guts of the Goose with the Golden Organs in the middle of a town in the Wild West. They say you can never go home, and, as I just did, they're obviously wrong, but I can kind of see what they mean. On arrival, I discovered Aberdeen had decided to live up to its record of torrential rain and moronic traffic decisions, and found more cones littering the street than there are in the pond beside Pollock Halls (Students, eh? They've employed a very grumpy man purely to fish things out of there. There was a chair on Saturday). Some of the buildings seemed to have switched position. It was cold. Franz Ferdinand's new album wasn't actualy out because I'd misread the promotional posters in two different ways. It was rubbish.
It got vastly better, though. I bought an incredably nerdy book about the future, met my friends and talked for hours, and picked brambles covered in interesting desieses. I ate real food. I slept in a real bed. I had a bath. It's amazing how even after a week small things like that are so infinately novel, but it's great, like being the Sultan for the day. I had a great time. Then I came back and everyone smiled. They hadn't noticed I was gone, but I won't go into that.
I have to go, sadly: my book review for the paper isn't writing itself, although I'm not sure I can improve on its motivation. I tried to write one about the greatest book I've ever read, then gave up and decided to try one with the Hypnodog in it. He's all over popular culture, after all.
Right, now that that's done, I can actualy write about something useful (It's International Talk Like a Pirate Day, and the whole point of having a Blog is to mark things like that). I meant to update all through the weekend, thrilling you as I made my way across the Scottish coastline, but forgot that as soon as I come within eight miles of Aberdeen all my desire to do things leeches out of me like the guts of the Goose with the Golden Organs in the middle of a town in the Wild West. They say you can never go home, and, as I just did, they're obviously wrong, but I can kind of see what they mean. On arrival, I discovered Aberdeen had decided to live up to its record of torrential rain and moronic traffic decisions, and found more cones littering the street than there are in the pond beside Pollock Halls (Students, eh? They've employed a very grumpy man purely to fish things out of there. There was a chair on Saturday). Some of the buildings seemed to have switched position. It was cold. Franz Ferdinand's new album wasn't actualy out because I'd misread the promotional posters in two different ways. It was rubbish.
It got vastly better, though. I bought an incredably nerdy book about the future, met my friends and talked for hours, and picked brambles covered in interesting desieses. I ate real food. I slept in a real bed. I had a bath. It's amazing how even after a week small things like that are so infinately novel, but it's great, like being the Sultan for the day. I had a great time. Then I came back and everyone smiled. They hadn't noticed I was gone, but I won't go into that.
I have to go, sadly: my book review for the paper isn't writing itself, although I'm not sure I can improve on its motivation. I tried to write one about the greatest book I've ever read, then gave up and decided to try one with the Hypnodog in it. He's all over popular culture, after all.
posted by Turnip @ 2:10 pm
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