198 - Bollocks

I’m glad I don’t live in Milton Keynes. Seriously. That’s worth a whole essay, that bit of gratitude. Admittedly, I’ve only seen the main drag. The hotel I’m in is bang in the middle of it. Behind me, out stretch tall buildings and a neutral square with restaurants that have ‘a’ in front of them. A Café Rouge, a Strada, a GBK and a Las Iguanas, among others. Further on, there’s a massive Sainsbury’s. For this, I was grateful: all excited by the wedding nail varnish (though not enchanted with the colour, for me), I tried applying some I’d bought. It looked well shoddy. And well red. Sainsbury’s sorted me right out with nail varnish remover and some sweat stop. Good work.

This is a picture of my family

From the Sainsbury’s, further up the US-style block boulevard, a massive Argos and a Homebase sign. Debenhams. All Bar One. Wetherspoons (x2 so far). Fuck me! My soul has crawled into the warmth of my armpit until it’s safe to come out again without getting eaten by the spirit of Next. If I ever walk out of Next with a storecard, I know it’s time to kill myself. When that happens, I’ll get help. Leave nothing to chance.

I think that if I continue this blog, perhaps I should start telling lies. By that I mean ‘making shit up’. Some of the blog will be true. Other bits will be invented. They’ll still be truthful, just not always actually true. What do you think? It’s one idea of many.