Work hard, play harder, check balance, work harder

Good evening, one and all, and may I welcome you to the next instalment of “Method to my Madness” – the officially unofficial subtitle to my most every thought that wriggles forth from keypad or pen and onto the digital, or indeed the wood-born, page. I cannot promise anything more than a stream of consciousness, so do with it what you will, and good on you – should you make it to the end. (Adam’s discovered “Hyphens, and their many misuses”. A good-read.)

It is at this early point into the post that I find myself already rather lacking in the way of knowing where we got to, regarding my life to date. Bear with me whilst I check…

Ah yes! Prior to my rather depressing, honest, and rather inebriatedly composed poem, I was busy holding up a sign to all nearby Oxfordians that said: ROB ME! ROB MEEEE!!!!! That is, you all/you caught but a shallow glimpse of the truly magnificent glory of my bike. It serves me well to this very day, carting me to and fro from my “local” gym (5miles away) three time a week, only to run myself ragged the other end with 3hr sessions of badminton or footy. Ah the joys.

It’s been a busy ole life in the past few weeks. As I started to settle into the role at work, every other aspect of life decided to jump up and demand recognition. Who knew it’d be so damn hard to keep in contact with every last family member and friend, even now when my friend base has quite depressingly, and rather dramatically, depleted since those schooling years. My “To Do” list reads like the desperate attempt of an anterograde amnesiac to note down every number they can remember. Call Grandma, call James, call Calli, call Dan, etc., with many names being left off not by choice, but for the very reason that I have not the mental capacity to remember that which I have not yet remembered…

As for the title of this rambly post, it pertains to the rather lavish/poisonous lifestyle I’ve been leading these past few weeks. Every weekend brings with it a new temptation, a new and foolish way to make it seem like little money is involved, but spiral wildly out of control due to being away from all the cheapness that comes with not living at other people’s houses. Food’s a killer. And I don’t mean that in a Burger King kinda way. I mean bread, pasta, chicken, cheese, milk, eggs, BASIC stuff, costing me both arms and a half a leg, so that I may hobble awkwardly home, holding my shopping by the teeth, attempting a painful smile at the thought I earnt nectar points for “bringing my own bags”. I honestly don’t know how people with cars can afford to even flush their bloody toilets, resorting to a “til we start to gag” policy, and enforcing a one-off-purchase, good quality plunger.

So, last weekend, I went to see my mates in London, attending an EP launch of The Breadstealers second EP, at the good ole Wheelbarrow in Camden, and so I feel obliged to plug them a lil. They’re a crackin’ bunch when bashing out the tight and evolving rhythms, really gettin’ the record buttons pressed deep into the drums of our ears as a the hooks of the songs set in. But yeh, take a look at that link, whoever wrote that says it a helluva lot better than I do.

I think it’s time for the picture round. I’m proud of my Argos-bought, Adam-built furniture, and even as I sit and survey my room now, I still find myself nodding in appreciation at the clutterless floorspace that now surrounds, where once a dense and unmanageable web of clothes, racquets, shoes and wires, caught themselves about your ankles, or hid whenever required. But no longer! For I, armed with but an allen key, assembled these mighty organisers. Behold their minimalistic majesty:

Ok, they might not look like much, but they’ve given m
e enough room now to swing a cat in, let go, and still take a good second-and-a-half before I here a furry thud against the wall.

Hmm…other than one of my work colleague’s atrocious parking at tesco, I’ve little else to show you, photo-wise…

It would seem that, following my rant about food, I have somewhat lost the tenuous thread that was my line of thought, snagged somewhere on a rocky edge of an idea, and far from hooking a decent catch. So maybe I’ll succumb to my ever-potent stumblings, and lay this post to rest.

Ciao for now, dear readers.

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