Pink Champaigne and the Pleasures that will be Mine.

I've taken to sitting at the masonic compasses at custom house square now in the mornings before work, as you know. I've also taken to downing a full bottle of pink champaigne before I can face going in. It makes things just bareable, though I had tried vodka the first morning and all I did was stagger to work (falling a few times) and spend the morning boking in the disabled bogs. I was sent home, I said I had food poisoning. In a way I suppose it's the same thing.

Champaigne isn't cheap though I buy the cheapest bottle I can find. I like it to be pink, it's tastier and it is a soft colour that reminds me there are things in this city that aren't bleak and trying to slap you into your place, wherever that is.

I'm staking a claim for my home now, so sometimes in the morning I sit in the bath and have a shave, whether I need it or not, and snuggle up to foamy bubbles and a bottle of pink champainge. If I have it in the morning then I don't drink one at the masonic compasses.

I will one day drink this pink champaigne in a bath full of lovely ladies and the radio blarring Snoop Dizzle, for now it's all I can do to keep from falling asleep in it, that's why I never drink a second bottle in there.

Kinky Mr Spoon

Today Mr Spoon called round to say that him and some of the other residents had heard of my pissing through Hooka and Fat Rab's door. He said they were all thoroughly disgusted and started going over some other crap about decent behaviour and animals.

I'd half a litre of vodka in me at this point so I asked him if he'd like to see the inside of his living room from my living room.

He said he didn't know what I meant.

I asked him if anyone had ever put his head through a brick wall and would he like me to do it for him.

He said no.

Then I told him that I'd let him off this time but he'd best fuck off and mind his own business unless he'd like to wake up some night and find himself dangling over his wife in a suspension harness.

He said I was vile and bared his teeth at me.

I asked him if they were false teeth.

He said they were.

I told him mine were real and unlike his they could break open boiled sweets.

He burst into tears.

I opened the door for him and he hobbled out of it dejected.

That felt great. I stuck on this snoop and JT song on repeat:



I danced round the living room until I boked all over the sofa. I'll clean it up in a bit but I'll have a snooze first.