Skip to main content

What a boring c**t

You know, I almost did a very stupid thing, and copied all of my most interesting tweets from Twitter into a blog post. I didn't. Not because it was a senselessly narcissistic thing to do, but rather it would show up what a completely dull twit I am.
Outward gaze, latent writer, outward gaze...
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Ah, memories, how fleeting etc

Cleaning up the old FB inbox, I came across a message (see below) from a chum who reminded me how indifferent the Universe can be to the trials of mere mortals.   Firstly, my name isn't Chris (although Mark may have been protecting my identity - no need old bean!) and secondly, I'm not sure The Hayes Island Snack Bar sells pies... Still, on the first point, Ninjah (residents of Cardiff will know exactly which 7 foot bin-thumping rap star I'm talking about) called me Nick for ten years, and the lovely Lisa from Jazzy Jackets in the market insisted my name was Matt. When set straight they were respectively mystifyingly unperturbed (Ninjah didn't care - he preferred Nick to Gareth), and embarrassingly forgetful (I became instead "Maaaaa - shit! - Gar!")   Anyway, I have no idea about how genuine this extract courtesy of Mark Thomas may be, but it warms my cockles nonetheless. Enjoy.   13 November 2008     Mark Thomas can't remember things the way they happene...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...

Foolish Oaths and Rash Promises

Not meaning to put myself in the same bracket as any of the 1000-faced heroes of legend, but in an attempt to cultivate positive, creative habits rather than reinforce old, less salubrious ones, I made a rash public promise that I would write a poem every day for a month, starting on the 14th January to the 14th February inclusive, meaning 32 poems over the next 32 days.  I hereby pledge to write one poem a day for the next month, up to and including 14th February. — Innominate Primate (@TheMightyBuch) January 13, 2015 This is something I think I need to do, to make sure I follow through. I've tried things like #100HappyDays , have told myself I would attempt 50 sit-ups and press-ups on waking up each day, or would get up at five am and do an hour's writing before showering and getting ready for work, but up to this point I have been incredibly consistent in the breaking of my word to myself. Guilt lends fuel to the shame spiral engine, and down I would go, into brown b...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...

Dribbles of concern

I was wandering around after work (read: walking home), musing on suitable subjects about which to blog and avoiding students on bicycles and cars intent on killing something, anything, at crossings and junctions, when I was distracted by the thought that I had never shaved every day ever. New job, new skin care regime I had reasonably assumed before starting - along with new Gap jumpers, Gap corduroys, Gap shirts (and you know what? I strongly dislike Gap. Go figure) and an errant H&M pullover - and had stuck to it for the full week without so much as thinking about not shaving. But now I was. . I'm not sure why shaving has become such a standard requirement for suitably dressed men past the age of university slackerdom. I regularly enjoyed 3 weeks worth of fluff up until the age of 32, even once the lovingly groomed ponytail had been ceased to be a feature of my daily routine, having been hacked orf during a moment of drunken clarity one drizzly Tuesday afternoon, aro...
Post a Comment
There's a bit missing...