This weekend Chris and his flat mate Chad spent the weekend trying to prove that I am in fact retarded. Case examples included me continuously spilling anything I eat down my top/trousers/sofa; walking into things; not understanding very simple concepts and not being able to go down stairs very quickly. I protested – arguing that these were just examples of things I wasn’t very good at, rather than proof that I am a bit slow.
But this entry is being written in my university library. I have locked myself out of the flat. I have keys for new flat, but as there is just a sofa and a fridge and bed in there at the moment – it’s not much use. What is the point of doors that lock without needing a key? It’s just asking for trouble.
I can’t even do any work here, my library fine is too large for me to be allowed to get any books out; I don’t know what my essay title is and I don’t need to do any research for any other essays.
The weekend passed by without much drama. Candy, Steve and Swish descended upon my flat at 3 in the morning on Friday night, pissed out their little brains. Mr Swish snaked across my kitchen floor after Steve pissed into a pint glass on the bus. Being stone cold sober it was certainly a strange experience.
We made it over to E Peliccis on Saturday morning, after months of trying to get there but nearly always finding it shut. We had to queue for a while to get a table but with guardian reviews and general infamy making our hearts run that little bit faster we didn’t mind. It didn’t disappoint either. One of the nicest fry ups ever. It’s a tiny tiny place, run by an Italian family who don’t write down your order, instead memorise the whole lot as if it were just one cup of tea.
There’s a really nice photo feature on it here http://www.classiccafes.co.uk/Pelliccifeature.htm
The rest of Saturday was spent drinking gin and watching Eurovision. I was a little gutted that we didn’t make it over to the Popjustice party – but with money restraints still in place it wasn’t much of an option. I love Eurovision – the concept of picking the lesser of a few evils as a winner is brilliant. There is so much good music being made in Europe at the moment, and yet the entries are always mediocre. There are so many fantastic pop writers out there – why don’t they enter?
My favourite entries were Maldova and Bosnia Herzegovina. The former being an odd pop punk song about grandmas drumming, and the latter being an all girl blonde trio in tiny pale pink frilly dresses. Greece won, with a girl in the formulaic boobs out, thighs everywhere raunch fest. Javine deserved to do a little better – she really didn’t deserve just 18 points. She had the thighs out, she had boobs spilling over the top of her dress; she had the obligatory ambiguous lyrics that ‘oh of course, aren’t about sex’. There was so little difference between our entry and Greece’s. We can’t even blame post war on iraq ill sentiment towards Britain anymore.
We move into the new flat today. It meant having to deal with our less than sharp-minded estate agent lady again. We had to go and sign contracts at half 1. For some reason the landlord wouldn’t be getting there until 2. He was late. So it took an hour to hand over the cash, put our initials on 8 pieces of paper, sign 4 bits of paper and get some keys. The estate agent’s father runs the place, I think that’s the only reason she got the job. It sure as hell wasn’t through competence. I shouldn’t be snobby but it drives me mad when people just don’t bother to do their jobs well because they are simply too lazy or just too thick. If you don’t want to put any effort into your job please go and work in an industry where you deal with things that are less important than the roofs over people’s heads.