Cardiff Away

I am listening to Aphex Twin - Twin Girl Twin Boy. It's amazing and beautiful. Almost as amazing as the last thirty seconds of the Grand Prix I just watched. My four South American companions were all up on their feet celebrating, shouting, laughing. I had my red shirt over my eyes, hiding. But somehow, suddenly, everything changed. Beautiful. I am not a popular figure in my flat right now. It was Karl Henry's last minute winner at Charlton, April '08. But not really. It is only motorsport. It is nothing.

I made a list of things to do today on the back of a brown birthday message from my mother. It went like this:

- buy food
- write back to E.
- email EVERYONE (music loud!)
- go to B. Library
- eat food
- maybe hair cut
- maybe buy t shirt

I bought bread and butter. I did not write or email anyone. I am a wanker. I went to the library and found it was expensive to join the library. And annual. I ate jam sandwiches for dinner and a chicken and egg puff for lunch. I didn't find the hairdresser. I tried on some T shirts. I had to take my red one off and look in a mirror.

I am SO THIN I nearly cried. Seriously when you see me again you'll weep and want to put me in a pram. I am bones. If you see me again. I'll be so thin I'll be like Kate Moss on that Family Guy episode; when I turn horizontal no-one will see me. I'll float away. No girl will ever sleep with me. They will be pierced by my bones and die. It's a good job that both you bands reading have got Terra and Tim, for I will barely manage half a set before I crumble and you have to put me back together.

I saw some photos today. Of people at home. They look like they've grown up. Like really, different, but in a complete time is going on still way. It scared me. Nobody will be in Brighton when I get back. I will sit at the Fiddlers each night alone while all of you watch Arsenal or Tottenham lose from expensive bars 'cause you're fucking cockneys now. I will read the strange magazines there like I do when I arrive early for happy hour and no-one else does. I might vow to join the Brighton Sea Swimming Club after being inspired by an article, like last time. Maybe I will move back to Birmingham at some point. But nothing will be the same. Ever, ever again.

Too much beer. Well done Lewis. Goodnight.