Something for the Weakened

Archive for April, 2005


April 24th, 2005 by

Hello children. Some of you may have noticed that it’s all gone rather quiet over this end recently. A reason? I’m afraid that I have none to give. Most of my recent attempts at anything remotely creative have met with utter indifference from my brain and left me sprawling, slug like in a variety of corners. Contrary to one of the more recent posts, I’ve not even made the effort to carry a pad around with me. Hopefully this torpor will be shaken off at some point in the not too distant future, but as far as time scales go, I wouldn’t like to say when. Hopefully no more adolescent existential crises will arrive to plague me, but who can say. I need some sort of direction in life. Working out what direction that is may prove tricky. Bear with me, if you can be arsed.

081 811 8181

April 19th, 2005 by

I seem to remember that being the phone number for Going Live. It annoyingly lodged itself in my head in jingle form earlier today. Just after I’d finished listening to Joy Division. Connection? I wonder . . .


April 12th, 2005 by

A variety of ideas have entered my head since last I dictated to you here. Unfortunately, due to my lack of short (or long for that matter) term memory, I can only remember the shittest of them. And those I’m not even going to deem worthy of posting. I have thus decided to carry a notebook and pen around with me from now on, that way the crackers won’t go AWOL from my skull again. In theory, at least. In practice I’ll probably just end up forgetting the pen. And the pad. And the ideas. Service as normal really. Please call again.


April 11th, 2005 by

I sometimes get the feeling that people on crutches are faking it. I’m not levelling this at all people with crutches, nor am I trying to have a pop at the disabled. It’s just that every now and then I see someone walking around with them, but they don’t seem to be putting any weight on them. It just makes me wonder, that’s all. It might be that they’ve almost healed I suppose, but it still strikes me that some of them might just be cries for attention. I don’t think I’ll be kicking anyone’s away to test my theory anytime soon, not unless they’re really old and won’t be able to catch up with me if they don’t need them. It would be good to be proved right, but a ninety year old woman thrashing you with a big metal stick isn’t much fun.

I mean, wouldn’t be much fun.

Wouldn’t be.


Needless Linkery

April 8th, 2005 by

A little something for all of you who hated Nathan Barley. If you can’t make out the subliminal message, have a look here.

Here’s a way to watch the Hitchhiker’s Guide film for free (if you live in the right area). And the official site’s worth a look too.

Go to the peripenultimate paragraph of this article for some needless stereotyping of the meanness of the Scots.

If any of you can get this to work and burn it onto a disk or something, I will happily father your children.Now I just need the theme to Let’s Pretend. “Shaker shaker shaker shaker shaker shaker wow.” There’s a classic.

Also read something about an illness which kills thousands of smokers a year being very nearly cured. Unfortunately I can’t find it now. Hope it wasn’t a dream. I always said I was immortal . . .


April 7th, 2005 by

A quick suggestion for you all. Whether you’re avid Newsnight viewers or not, try to tune in to the programme about 11.00ish. The BBC have forced them to start doing weather forecasts and you can see how unimpressed the presenters are by this. Especially Paxman. Try and see it before he uses his immense power to have it stopped. I’m now full of chives and must sleep. Until the next time . . .

Extract (5)

April 5th, 2005 by

The headline writer sat in his corner, another day’s detritus littered around his threadbare socks. Crayons lay snapped next to the rough, doodle-covered sugar paper mounds that were his trade. He craned his neck to look at one of the miserable puns his brain had shat out earlier that morning. It made him shiver slightly.

The sound of a key being turned in the door barely registered in his perceptions. Everything had become such a well-worn routine that it failed to elicit interest anymore, let alone surprise or thoughts of escape. His head raised, his gaze meeting that of the ashen faced sub-editor as it did each day.

“Nice work, Terry,” said the sub-editor in the same measured tones he always used. Though the sub-editor had called him Terry for as long as he could remember, he was no longer certain if it was his real name. “Particularly the one about Kennedy.” The headline writer said nothing. He had run out of real words. Only facsimiles of real language could escape his grammatical gravity now. The sub-editor knew this only too well and didn’t wait for a response. He produced a small bowl from behind his back and handed it to the headline writer.

“Here’s your gruel then, Tel. Barry’ll be along in a minute to empty your bucket. See you tomorrow.” He locked the door as he left.


April 5th, 2005 by

Evening all. I’m so out of practice at these things that this my third attempt at starting. I won’t even go into how many false starts the anthropological rant I’d planned went through before its abandonment. It was one actually. It needs thinking through and at this moment in time neither my body nor brain could really cope. Odd moods persist at the moment, possibly related to my waking at four o’clock every morning over the past fortnight. No matter what time I go to sleep, the wake up time seems to be the same. I’d blame dawn or it’s chorus, but the time doesn’t seem to have been effected by the clocks going forward. It might be the reason for the weird pulsing at the back of my skull, though everyone knows that that’s far more likely to be some sort of brain worm burrowing it’s way out, now that it’s feast is over. Obey brain worm. Brain worm is friend.

Slightly Returned

April 3rd, 2005 by

Hello everybody. Sorry for my absence, but I’ve been in a sequence of odd moods , most of these leading to a general apathy towards getting anything down here. That or copious amounts of booze have rather held me back. I very nearly got around to writing my own obituary in a sort of Reggie Perrin way a couple of days ago, but thought better of it. Anyway, hopefully these minor strops should now have passed and regular updating will resume from now on. I have nothing else to say at this moment. Tomorrow.