Dispatches from the Future (capital fuckin F)

My new Mp3 player is the approximate size and shape as a child’s eraser, weighs significantly less than a paperclip and, if I had too, I think it is entirely possible that I could swallow it. God knows why I would have too though; maybe if I was cornered by a foreign acronym and it contain classified files or something. It doesn’t by the way, it contain stolen Mp3s, most of which sound like an electric guitar trying to have sex with some childrens toys and some Fleetwood Mac.

Its one of those nights where exactly the rights stars align, the right amount of; booze, whatever chemicals they are putting in energy drinks, swaggering guitar music, sleep, lack of sleep and sunshine happen together to make me feel unreal, like a character in a badly written but enormously fun book.

I’m in the Square Peg after doing the usual half an hour of wandering round trying to choose a pub, the trouble with choice is you will never be completely happy, the nagging sense of “what if” is often the only thing wrong with your final choice, and sometimes that’s enough to fuck it completely.


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Now playing: The White Stripes - The Denial Twist
http://foxytunes.com/artist/the+white+stripes/track/the+denial+twist