Swansea at home

I won a competition! On my birthday! I don’t know when the last time I won something was. Well, possibly a three a side football match on Hove Lawns last July. But anyway, this made me very excited. Seven years of squalor trying to meet A Load Of Bull copy deadlines and selling myself outside football stadia across the country has been worth it!

It’s all going to my head. I am now going to write reams and reams of irrepressible patronising shit and submit it to every known orifice of the online literary world. I am going to finish the writing I’ve been doing for years and it’s going to get published in the best selling book of all time. I will expose all the girls I write about for monies and the tabloids will rape them. I am going to be invited to dinner parties and banquets and I will sit saying nothing and people will look at me in awe thinking I’m creating an introverted masterpiece, not just being a boring cunt. I will no longer drink rum. I will drink scotch. People will value my opinion on scotch. I am going to make loads of money and buy a thousand crash cymbals. I am going to die at twenty-four attempting to play them all at once. They will collapse over my bass drum against my snare and tear into my throat. And that will be fair.



What actually happened is this:

The lovely people (well, they sound lovely, though having never met them one can never be sure they are actually people) at The Pygmy Giant have published a true story I wrote. It is here:

http://thepygmygiant.wordpress.com/

My birthday was quite eventful as ever. They always end up messy. Always. I drink too early, drink too much, succumb to people making me drink more “because it’s your birthday,” descend into a ridiculous emotional state and end up running away from everyone relentlessly. Another version of this happened last night. That is all you need to know. I certainly missed my usual birthday partner in crime, that's for sure. Happy Birthday sir.