Talking about Grunge with the Punchbowl Girl

So you probably want to know about what happened when me and The Punchbowl Girl went for drinks after work. It started off in Katy Daly's downing a few pints. The Punchbowl Girl wanted to go to the Ormeau Baths to look at some art and be like Betty Blue, she said that she is going to start reading books and that after Betty Blue finishes her book she'll borrow it from her.

I don't mean to make her sound as bad as all that because I'm picking up on the silly stuff she said because she talked for ages about how her big brother was into grunge and now he doesn't live at home she has all his grunge CDs, even though she put them all on her computer and doesn't touch them except to look at pictures of them all with their cool grunge hair and grunge clothes.

                                                   Grungers

I don't have grunge clothes (cardigans and ripped jeans) or cool grunge hair (long and greasy). I never talk about getting haircuts on here because I tend to just go in and ask for something that looks good, that or I used to bic it.

The Punchbowl Girl was talking away about some TV show she watches (an updated Sherlock Holmes - I haven't seen it) and I noticed her accent sounded a bit American.

"So did you used to live in the states?" I asked.

"No, I've lived in South Belfast all my life."

"So you watch a lot of American TV then?"

She stopped talking and her face went red. I didn't mean to put my foot in it but it was going to happen at some point. We went after that drink.

I have cool things on my mind

Sorry I haven't posted much this week. I've been lying in bed wanking away about the yankie doodle dandy. It made me think I've got to go and get me a girlfriend, one who makes me feel cool all the time!

I asked Fabian Wildman if he wanted to go to a rock and roll vomit party where I could meet ladies of questionable age and gender.

He told me he wouldn't because you're no one at those parties if you can't play guitar or bongos and don't have a Prince Albert.

I screamed the house down. This just isn't fair. I've wasted all my time smoking crack and feeling lonely and cool while geeks have been up in their bedrooms learning cool tunes or out getting their willies pierced.

The Sweaty Metallers and Mr Spoon came round to ask me to keep it down but I just stood in the hall screaming and balling my eyes out.

One of the Sweaty Metallers gave me a big hug and said I must be a nice guy and that he liked my scream. He said he wants me to sing for his Sweaty Metal band and that we'd never stop having Rock and Roll Vomit Parties.

This is the beginning of cool times!

Happy St. Patrick's day

Last night being St. Patricks there was a party on at the sweaty metallers' house and the whole street was invited except for me and Fabian Wildman. He doesn't really care though because he's fast turning into some low rent Ian Beale. It's bollocks.

I decided not to go round and trash the party so instead I got me a few cans and went down along the Lagan Meadows for a melancholy day. I hadn't gone far when I spotted a torn page lying on the ground.

Dear Diary

Today most totally rocked. I was at a party and all the gang were there. Julie, Peter, Chris, Cathy and Simon. That total bitch Cathy was there and she had been a total bitch about me pissing myself in her dad's taxi when I was drunk, everyone laughed at me and they weren't really talking much. I didn't like it. Chris threw himself down the stairs in an attempt to look cool (as if) and it almost worked until he broke his wrist (ha ha ha ha ha ha ha) and he went to causalty in tears. What a wanker? Eh, Peter and Julie had a big fight and Simon started boking all over himself in the middle of it, we all have a good laugh. I called him a fat wanker but nobody laughed. I wanted to go out and make fun of him but Julie started to cry. Peter left the house in a bad mood and I got to give her a big hug.

I wish he was you, she kept saying. The back of my forearm rubbed against her breast.



there it all ended. I wondered who wrote it. Anyways I almost didn't notice a girl sitting beside me on the bench crying.

I asked her what was wrong and she spoke with an American accent. She said she had come here because she wanted to do St Patricks in Ireland, and when she found cheap deals for Belfast she just thought that was the Protestant name for Dublin. She was staying in the International Hostel on the Donegal Road and she thought it looked nice but that there was rioting outside and all these people spitting at her and saying mean stuff about the Pope. I took her in my arms and rocked her gently. Then I took her back to my house for a hot fuck. She left at 5am to get a plane back to the states. After the hot love I gave her I bet she could just fly there herself on the intensity of an orgasm.