a random start to this random project

paul wells turned to me yesterday and said "it'll never fucking work, will it really?" (the addition of 'fucking' to this sentence is due to my hormonal bitterness, which you can ignore). this is my probably unsucessful attempt at revenge.(die, sucker!). it is tuesday night, and as usual i have achieved nothing in the last 3 hours except cook a manky-looking meal for my pedantic mother and tell my brother to die in hell and to stop getting stoned in the garden. anyone should be able to admit that taking drugs in your own garden is pretty pathetic.

i am trying not to make this a viscious page of familial complaints, but 'tis a tricky task, my dears. on saturday my dad tried giving me some father/daughter advice "drinking isn't that good for you, sweetheart". nice, coming from the grahl of pure drunken-ness. it's getting hard to tell the difference between his two emotional states. when he is drunk he wanders around, redfacedly denouncing the labour government and counting his pension. when he is sober he wanders around, redfacedly denouncing the labour government and counting his pension. oh yes, and hitting people on the head and calling them "son", regardless of gender...

anyway, no news in the corner cult this week, although i love berengere's amazing description of the "beautiful girls and ridiculously suave boys" - the most accurate thing i've heard for ages... apart from paul's description of my drunken-ness "gwen could only take about five steps and then she would fall over. and why the fuck did you break that cigar?". sorry about that.

mental note to katrina: i was not lying on the floor because it was a lovely comfortable place to lie, i was lying there because i couldn't get up. k thanx.

seeya buddies xxx

ps. i love you really, katrina xxx