I have a little notepad feature in my phone which I use to scribble down things such as records I plan to buy, things I mean to do, and occasionally, topics for blogs which come to me during the day. Sometimes after a night on the sauce that little folder becomes filled up with the most miraculous nonsense, which is promptly deleted the next day, though this week after a particularly heavy night out, I looked in my little blog topic folder to find 5 simple words, all in block capital: "HELL IS GEORGE MICHAEL RECORDS". I don't know what Mr Michael had done to upset me during the course of the evening, but it seems I wasn't in the mood to listen to "Fast Love" that night. While it might be a little dramatic, I don't think it is really tha far off the button - OK so George Michael records may not actualy be hell, but I'm sure they play an integral part in eternal damnation. I think my own personal hell would be to be bent over a couch and dry-bummed by all the members of Westlife while "Careless Whisper" plays loudly on a eternal loop in the background, and I have my eyes held open a lá A Clockwork Orange and I'm forced to watch a video entitled Glasgow Rangers Greatest Ever Victories. (They do say one man's meat is another man's poison. - that would probably be heaven for Alex Dick). Imagine having to do that for a million years. It's enough to make me start saying my prayers and pop down to the Church of Scotland this Sunday to pray for my soul.
After the fun, fun escapades of the filthy guest house last week, and the Bates Motel the week before, this week I was faced with the prospect of, for the third week running, having to stump up £160 from my own pocket to live in cold, shit accomodation so I could get to work. I decided against taking this path, and instead took a week's holiday from work and, tail between my legs, at the age of 27 came back to live at my parents house in Fraserburgh (though only for a week). It's oddly reminiscent of when I used to come home as a 19 year old student, the only difference being that before I would take home a big bag of laundry for my mum to do, these days I take it back and do it myself. Geneva is all systems go for this coming Monday, so barring some major catastrophe, or more likely me sleeping in and missing my 5am check in, by this time next week I should be in my office in Switzerland surrounded by a bunch of people chatting away in a language I don't speak. 2 months away from my girlfriend, my mates, my family, the Dons, and perhaps the most painful thing, most of my clothes. How will I cope? Find out next week when The Great Swiss Adventure begins...
Song currently stuck in my head - "Say It Right" by Nelly Furtado.
dissolvoray@hotmail.co.uk
After the fun, fun escapades of the filthy guest house last week, and the Bates Motel the week before, this week I was faced with the prospect of, for the third week running, having to stump up £160 from my own pocket to live in cold, shit accomodation so I could get to work. I decided against taking this path, and instead took a week's holiday from work and, tail between my legs, at the age of 27 came back to live at my parents house in Fraserburgh (though only for a week). It's oddly reminiscent of when I used to come home as a 19 year old student, the only difference being that before I would take home a big bag of laundry for my mum to do, these days I take it back and do it myself. Geneva is all systems go for this coming Monday, so barring some major catastrophe, or more likely me sleeping in and missing my 5am check in, by this time next week I should be in my office in Switzerland surrounded by a bunch of people chatting away in a language I don't speak. 2 months away from my girlfriend, my mates, my family, the Dons, and perhaps the most painful thing, most of my clothes. How will I cope? Find out next week when The Great Swiss Adventure begins...
Song currently stuck in my head - "Say It Right" by Nelly Furtado.
dissolvoray@hotmail.co.uk
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