(no subject)
I have lots to say. I will handily label pragraphs shall i? OK:
Birthday
My birthday was lots of fun, messy messy fun. Someone slept in Preston train station and got off with a woman ten years his senior, someone lost their wages, everyone looked pretty. Sadly an awful lot of people couldn't make it, due to work/illness/other such excuses, but I think the reduced numbers still rocked it.
The day of my birth itself was magnificently surreal, with a Bratherton family meal, complete with honourary Brathertons Biggie and Richard (the Canadian counts as a real Bratherton), all of us either still drunk from the previous day or determined to get back to that stage.
I learnt, amongst other things, that my parents will put up with an awful lot. And that my sister 'doesn't believe in space'. Space. Such good value. And something of a baptism by fire for the Canadian. He survived.
Moving house
Not sure I detailled it here, but basically our house has been bought by a tall and sinister dutch man who intends to move in. Along with his friends. Oh, but we can stay. And pay the same amount of rent for half the space. Panic ensued, along with much mocking of his name (Klopp) and some wonderfully original swearing from Mikey.
First up, this is sad. Because our house is huge and in a great location, and, frankly, we're unlikely to find anything as good for the same price (especially if it's a place for just me and the Canadian).
BUT! We have prevailed, and after much fruitless searching for houses either miles away, a bit rank, or, usually both, a woman at the letting agency suggest we view an apartment in a newly built complex. It wasn't listed on the wall, but she described it and it sounded great.
OK, it's a little more expensive (about £15 a month extra each, no big deal) but it is:
a) Brand new, so a blank canvas, and
b) fucking gorgeous.
We're talking Magnet kitchen and a bathroom straight out of a hotel that I can't afford to stay at. Heated fucking towelrack muhfuckers. Plus it's even closer to my work than I currently am (I am currently a whole, exhausting ten minute walk away) and it's gated. This is significant because the Canadian is away a lot with work and I've never lived alone before. But this way, only residents can get in.
And, did I mention it's next door to a gay club? And so close to Joe and Judith that they'll quickly be sick of the sight of me!
We've been buying nice things, like a kettle and a colander that go with the kitchen. I'm not even sure I'm going to allow other people to pee in our toilet. An upcoming trip to Ikea should seal my fate as an actual adult, which is freakish and scary.
Seriously though, in the space of a few months I seem to have suddenly grown up. I don't even want novelty mugs and things in the house! I kind of always thought that by 22 I would be sorted. But then again, I always thought by 22 I'd be thin. What I'm saying is, perhaps this is being an adult for me. Maybe I don't need to have all the answers and no neuroses, as long as I can hold down a job and pay for a roof over my head with the man I adore. Which all seems to come surprisingly easy, given my previous record with maturity.
Job
My job is AWESOME. Have I said that before?
It's just brilliant. Even when, as in the last two weeks, I'm working really hard and not reading magazines (I've read every one of them now anyway). I spent today mostly stencilling. But that's essentially drawing, and I always wanted to earn my bread and honey doing that.
I met Lee, the official apprentice, last week. I asked him what exactly his duties consisted of (after he spent an afternoon sitting on the sofa and going to HMV) and he replied 'Pretty much the same as yours'. In fact, the only thing he has been taught that I have not yet, is how to set up a machine. And how hard can that be, really? He advised me to practice drawing in each individual style (new skool, etc) and, when I go to the colchester convention in September, to buy a cheap power pack and machine. And then, my friends, I am an apprectice tattooist. Which, face it, is much cooler than your current job.
Tomorrow I am heading back to Crewe to bid my farewells to Jacqui Nevin. I don't know how I'll thank her as much as I need to. But that'll be the end of that. I'm not going back to Crewe after the Summer (I couldn't leave the Canadian now I'm so used to him being about. He's gone away for the night and I feel bereft), I'm not going to spent my entire life as a mental, and I Can Too have a job. In your face.
Birthday
My birthday was lots of fun, messy messy fun. Someone slept in Preston train station and got off with a woman ten years his senior, someone lost their wages, everyone looked pretty. Sadly an awful lot of people couldn't make it, due to work/illness/other such excuses, but I think the reduced numbers still rocked it.
The day of my birth itself was magnificently surreal, with a Bratherton family meal, complete with honourary Brathertons Biggie and Richard (the Canadian counts as a real Bratherton), all of us either still drunk from the previous day or determined to get back to that stage.
I learnt, amongst other things, that my parents will put up with an awful lot. And that my sister 'doesn't believe in space'. Space. Such good value. And something of a baptism by fire for the Canadian. He survived.
Moving house
Not sure I detailled it here, but basically our house has been bought by a tall and sinister dutch man who intends to move in. Along with his friends. Oh, but we can stay. And pay the same amount of rent for half the space. Panic ensued, along with much mocking of his name (Klopp) and some wonderfully original swearing from Mikey.
First up, this is sad. Because our house is huge and in a great location, and, frankly, we're unlikely to find anything as good for the same price (especially if it's a place for just me and the Canadian).
BUT! We have prevailed, and after much fruitless searching for houses either miles away, a bit rank, or, usually both, a woman at the letting agency suggest we view an apartment in a newly built complex. It wasn't listed on the wall, but she described it and it sounded great.
OK, it's a little more expensive (about £15 a month extra each, no big deal) but it is:
a) Brand new, so a blank canvas, and
b) fucking gorgeous.
We're talking Magnet kitchen and a bathroom straight out of a hotel that I can't afford to stay at. Heated fucking towelrack muhfuckers. Plus it's even closer to my work than I currently am (I am currently a whole, exhausting ten minute walk away) and it's gated. This is significant because the Canadian is away a lot with work and I've never lived alone before. But this way, only residents can get in.
And, did I mention it's next door to a gay club? And so close to Joe and Judith that they'll quickly be sick of the sight of me!
We've been buying nice things, like a kettle and a colander that go with the kitchen. I'm not even sure I'm going to allow other people to pee in our toilet. An upcoming trip to Ikea should seal my fate as an actual adult, which is freakish and scary.
Seriously though, in the space of a few months I seem to have suddenly grown up. I don't even want novelty mugs and things in the house! I kind of always thought that by 22 I would be sorted. But then again, I always thought by 22 I'd be thin. What I'm saying is, perhaps this is being an adult for me. Maybe I don't need to have all the answers and no neuroses, as long as I can hold down a job and pay for a roof over my head with the man I adore. Which all seems to come surprisingly easy, given my previous record with maturity.
Job
My job is AWESOME. Have I said that before?
It's just brilliant. Even when, as in the last two weeks, I'm working really hard and not reading magazines (I've read every one of them now anyway). I spent today mostly stencilling. But that's essentially drawing, and I always wanted to earn my bread and honey doing that.
I met Lee, the official apprentice, last week. I asked him what exactly his duties consisted of (after he spent an afternoon sitting on the sofa and going to HMV) and he replied 'Pretty much the same as yours'. In fact, the only thing he has been taught that I have not yet, is how to set up a machine. And how hard can that be, really? He advised me to practice drawing in each individual style (new skool, etc) and, when I go to the colchester convention in September, to buy a cheap power pack and machine. And then, my friends, I am an apprectice tattooist. Which, face it, is much cooler than your current job.
Tomorrow I am heading back to Crewe to bid my farewells to Jacqui Nevin. I don't know how I'll thank her as much as I need to. But that'll be the end of that. I'm not going back to Crewe after the Summer (I couldn't leave the Canadian now I'm so used to him being about. He's gone away for the night and I feel bereft), I'm not going to spent my entire life as a mental, and I Can Too have a job. In your face.