Thats your alphabet....!

You know those mornings when you just can't drag yourself out of bed? Even if the whole

room was on fire, you would just have to lie there, pull the quilt further over your head and pretend it wasn't happening. Thats kinda like me with the alarm. Monkey doesn't help the situation. He just reaches for the alarm, turns it off, grunts and then goes back to sleep. It also didn't help the fact that when i woke up I felt like absolute shit! Sore throat, blocked up nose. The good ole symptoms of the common cold. Really puts you in the mood to start the day. I just lied in bed, knowing I should be in my lecture, but just simply felt like if I went I'd be the annoying kid at the back who just sits there, sniffling and coughing the whole way through. I did not want to be that kid.

I did however manage to drag my dying self to the afternoon workshop. I say workshop, more of a filthy tuesday afternoon comedy club. I remember one quote:

Boy 1 to Boy 2: "you love getting the finger!"

Boy 2 back to Boy 1: "I love giving the finger!"

So, to say the least, everyone got distracted since that little outburst and left nobody in the mood for any serious work. Its not suprising though, everyone seems to turn into giggling messes every tuesday afternoon. It's just tradition I guess.

So anyway, upon arriving home, I found myself to be involved in one of the most disgusting tasks of my entire life. One minute Monkey was telling me we were having sweet & sour chicken for tea (yummy!), then the next minute my hands were covered in flesh and blood as I ripped chicken meat off the bone! I am, to be honest, extremely sqeamish where uncooked meat is concerned, but I'm not joking, my hands looked like I'd committed the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Good job the food was lush to make up for my hard work, amd tough stomach.

Moving away from that, a friend from Uni had asked myself and Monkey to go to the regular Tuesday night haunt for students in Leicester. A dingy, but suprisingly great club. How could we refuse? So, even though I was still felling like shit, I still agreed to go. What came next I was very proud of. I got ready in less than half an hour!!!! A miracle. And, whats more, I found an outfit I actualy felt good in for once! Double Jackpot!

So, we indulged in some pre-club drinks and the good old £1 a drink place. Oh yeah, cheap AND cheerful. Met up with a few other folk from my course, and after intoxicating ourselves to the point of merryment, discussing the classic Beatles V. Rolling Stones debate again and "pushing the horses face" a few times, we all left for the club. Like a troop of drunken soldiers. Well, we got there, and pretty much drank cheap and nasty drinks (the best for getting you wasted) and danced the night away to all the classics. Good times. Then, to my suprise, I found Monkey to be rather shit-faced! Bad times! Although, I must admit, it is quite humerous to watch him when he's like that. If you'd of heard some of the verbal diarrhea (sorry about the spelling, it's not a word I use often) that was coming out of him, you'd laugh too. I quote:

"JCB! JCB! Thats your alphabet!"
"I think I'm going down for a crime!" "What crime?" "I don't know, a crime i committed!"

There were many more, but as I was probarbly just as worse for wear, I cannot recall all of them. I should think those two proove just what I mean by verbal diarrhea!

So, after a kebab, and a burnt pizza (when I say "burnt" I mean "cooked to the point where even the tomato sauce is black") thanks to Monkey's drunken cooking, it was bedtime. Another tuesday night to remember.