It's been a short and eventful festive season, filled with shocks and awe and many a present giving and taking. I recieved four wash bags, so I believe the giving part was mainly clouded by the hidden message that I should get a bath, although it could be interpreted as well that I spend too much time in the bathroom. I now own more moisturiser than could possibly be used in the space of my lifetime. At least my face isn't flaking off. For now. Tigermilk!
So yes, eventful, full of buying and selling, much like a stock market of christmas cheer, but with more drinking. Since I have reached my quota of drinking, I shall furthermore cut out on alcosauce till the next christmas. So the bottle of Jager and two bottles of single malt are going to have to wait for all the joys of consumption. I would state this tale mentioned here to be the worst experience;
Alas I was returning to the joys of Hull, and down the Clive Sullivan way I passengered, and towards the joys of the Hull christmas market I was anticipating. I'd been sliding to work every day and through seeing the massive Manchester district of a christmas market, wouldn't have minded some overpriced staring at sweets and mulled wine. However on arrival of Hull I couldn't help but think something was wrong, it felt quiet, bordering on empty, like an area where the apocalypse has been announced and a few stragglers have not been informed. I had to purchase a bathrobe for a small Norwegian from La Senza and had a heavy night at the usual haunts in the previous 12 hours ago. So in La Senza I felt like a pillock, and upon finding out I had no money on me, had to go run and borrow some off siblings. But I felt it was all in good humour, until it wasn't and became awkward. I still cannot get over how small it is now, Manchester suddenly feels like the norm, Hull now feels a thousand times smaller, and the 115 bus route now feels walkable.
What I'd do to be able to own the Adelphi. I'd kill to be a young Paul Jackson. But in a way I could imagine that being my own Hell.
I would post a painting of a little house down Ventnor street, but unfortunately I cannot find my camera lead. But if it's any condolence having kicked my turntable into working I can inform that Tigermilk is an amazing album and you should probably hit yourself in the teeth for not owning it.
I'll add it later :D I'll end on a proverb, you lucky twats.
To be happy for an hour, be drunk
To be happy for a year, fall in love
To be happy for life, take up gardening
FIN!
Love Dougal XxxxxxxxxxX
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