It’s a beautiful day. I shouldn’t be here writing my weblog. I should be outside making the most of Aberdeen sunshine. I will. Later. Actually I have been staying at my brother’s who has gone for some Ibiza sun and will do for the rest of the week but I decided what with the sun being out an’ all that I would walk home to my real house (no not Duncan donuts). It’s a good half hour up hill walk that I have maybe successfully completed four times in my 7 years of residing where I do. It was a brave decision to make in this heat what with the sweat patches and rosy complexion that were definitely going to occur. I took a back route to avoid as much of the public as possible. I took the scenic route of the pretty west-end mansions. This area is populated mainly by trees and oil industry people but mainly just trees. It’s impossible to see most of the taking-the-piss huge houses but just knowing they are there in all their stupid glory was enough to push me on to the top of the hill. What’s the point in houses so big that contain 50 odd rooms and only 4 people? That’s just greed. It’s perfect celeb haven but of course, Aberdeen houses no celebs. It does host local radio DJs who think they are close to god and of course football players but for anyone who knows the team Aberdeen will understand that these players wish to remain as anonymous as is possible and keep themselves to the trees in these wooded areas. I got some odd looks as I puffed and panted up the actually-not-that steep hill, with my bright yellow tee shirt and overly pierced ears. I think I was too brightly coloured to be classed as a robber but it’s possible they did think I was a misfit from the ‘naughty boys’ school situated only 4 minutes away. Who else wears yellow the colour of artificial daffodils? No one I know. And so I made it home after tripping over only four bouncy castles and 8 small children decked out in prada and driving around in ‘kid cars’ that would have shamed any Mercedes. And here I am, recuperating and preparing for the walk back into town, having reclaimed some belongings and downed 2 litres of water and having sponged the BO stains from my shirt. At least it worked off my continental breakfast of fresh orange and crossaints and pan au chocalat. I really can’t spell in foreign. I am going to meet Beautiful Boy to try and gain a position in a beer garden. Queen of Fun and I tried in vain to do this yesterday but a sliver of sun really does get everyone out in small clothes, sipping beer in the chilly wind. Yesterday was a day of ‘hanging’. I appreciated my day off work fully and completely, especially with the addition of sun. So Queen of Fun and I hung, did nothing that required actual planning, drank some – not much, and watched musical Buffy and looked up dead people on the internet. For all you sick folks check out this site
. It’s really not for the faint of heart. We got carried away and our ‘quick look’ out of curiosity turned into a 2 hour gawp at bits of faces and lots of blood and my favourite, a five foot turd. Real famous dead people also feature. I’m not sure why I care and why my usually queasey self had to look at these things but look I did and the more I tried to avert my gaze from the brain matter, the more I had to look. I think Queen of Fun’s fascination was far more disturbing and the amount of stuff she knew about dead people and the bits of them was just plain weird and almost led me to throw her out on her sick ass but I put it down to her 2 ciders. I should have expected this behaviour from anyone who drinks cider. Class.
Listening to: Alanis – under rug swept
Mashed up dead people
My nosey mum
Sardine breath despite having eaten no sardines