Old School? New School? Shit, I didn't even go to school!

I haven't been writing this Blog for the past few weeks as much as before, as I have been putting my energies into other stuff, like reading books on the First World War so that I can write a fucking essay, so please, fucking excuuuuuuuuuuse me! I was actually going through the old Blog posts and found one I was going to write a while back and decided as it's Friday night, then I might as well write it now, since my life is one long unemotional roller coaster ride and all that.

Do I really have to write another blog post? I don't even get paid for this...

I have a pair of shoes that I have had for quite a while now and they are my 'best' shoes in that they are not the ones covered in concrete which I wear to work, nor are they a pair of wedding shoes that make me walk like a dandy when I wear them, neither are they a pair of sandals that still have the dust of Greece upon them and finally nor are they a pair of running shoes that have been untouched since my Dublin days. No, they are none of these, they are in fact a pair of Airwalk skater shoes. In black. I like skater shoes as they are comfortable and have a slight resemblance to the footwear one sees in Judge Dredd. I can imagine I'm wandering the mean streets of Mega City One in my Airwalks, as I prance around the quaint cobbled byways of Olde Yorke. 

 'Drokk!'

Problem is, in recent weeks the insides of the shoes have shattered. Something in the soles is made of plastic (I don't know what so don't ask me what, do I look like a fucking shoe scientist? Go and ask Mr Clarks, Jesus) and these have been turned into shards through the action of me walking. And these shards in turn have been cutting into my feet making me hobble through the streets of Olde Yorke rather than prance. It is the same sensation as having a small bed of nails in each shoe. Like I'm walking on broken glass. I have not had a chance recently to go shoe shopping and as you know how much I hate that, I needn't go into details here. Needless to say, my feet hurt and I still have to face the unbearable prospect of buying new shoes...

Just back from the garage to buy some milk...

And this Blog post would not be complete without an exchange between He-Who-Cannot-Be-Named and I:

Him: happy valentine's day alex, i hope you got me something nice this year, since you obviously forgot last year, you jerk.

Me: Was it you that sent me that envelope stuffed with ginger pubes? Not cool, dude. Not cool.

Him: No that wasn't me. I sent you the baby bottle filled with a mixture of my blood and semen. Did you get it?

Me: Yeah. I drunk it thinking it was ribena.

Him: Who do you love most, damien rice or james blunt? and you can't say both!

Me: I like rice's whining, but blunt's rugged good looks. Oh! I can't decide! It's too hard!

Him: Your face is like a bag of shit that's been set on fire and stamped out by a gorilla.

Me: Your face is that gorilla, you brute.

Him: I hope you realise that the only reason i allow you to live is in case i need to harvest your organs one day.

Me: Don't bother, they're all fucked.

Him: Well, i wish you'd take more care of my property.

Him: Do you remember how during our degree i used to steal your lunch money and punch you in the back of the head in lectures? I still smile about that.

Me: I don't remember that at all. I do remember getting together with Julian Richards and Steve Roskams and flushing your head down the toilet. what larks ay?

Him: I do remember that. I wasn't laughing then and I'm not laughing now.

Me: I was and still am. So are those two, in fact, we all laughed like drains on Friday when I saw them. Julian was doing impressions of you.

Him: Julian can go fuck himself. He always picked on me. On our first dig he used me as a wheelbarrow for two days.

Me: It was for three weeks not two days. You're thinking of the time you had to clean the portaloo with your tongue.

Him: Thanks for opening up these old wounds. Now I'm walking home and i can't stop crying. people are looking at me with pity and disgust.

Me: Nothing new there then. I think my best memory of university is when Julian and I ran you over in that bus. I don't remember why Steve wasn't there. He must have been ill or something.

Him: You'll be fucking sorry when Ross turns up.

Me: Remember that seminar when Steve was stamping on your neck and shouting 'shit worm! shit worm!' over and over? How we all laughed. 

Except you, who couldn't breathe. 

I don't know what it had to do with the early Christianisation of Britain. Fucking funny, anyway.

Him: In a way you were hurting yourselves more than you were hurting me.

Me: No were weren't

Him: Shouldn't you be working?

Me: Shouldn't you be shutting your fucking sewer mouth?

Fin.