45 - And you could have it all. My empire of dirt.
All good things come to end. Some probably in the nick of time. I'm proud of my achievements over these last two weeks, I know only a handful of people who could show the dedication, commitment and drive to do absolutely nothing, not one thing of worth or substance for fourteen solid days in a row [planting the chilli's does not count as the cunts haven't budged a fucking inch yet].
Capped it off in style starting on St. George's Day, with a decent pub stint, drank with an Ex-Footballer called Ray, easily rudest and grumpiest man I have ever met, but great company, had about 7/8 pints then came back for a nap, then got Fish & Chips on Friday night [easily my favourite [[and best value]] takeaway].
Sat AM we picked up GF-Mam & GF-Dad2 from airport, and had some lunch with them, I was rushed into making an on the spot decision and chose poorly, then had a few beers while flicking between the football, snooker and racing. GF and I nipped to supermarket, where I splashed out on a nice Claret [actually wanted some port, but I think anything that rich would activate whatever malignant Gout gene sparking into life], then we ordered a curry.
And now...I'm proper fucked. Sitting on sofa, bloated, unshaven, tired and I've gotta do a night shift in less than twelve hours. Just imagine if I went back two weeks, gave myself a slap and did nothing but edit my manuscript, I could have sent a revised draft to The Ed [and I wouldn't be dodging her emails/Skype calls], and be wallowing in smugness, dare I even say pride right about now, instead of a Claret/Curry Sweat with wall to wall empty cans [thanks Mike].
Fuck. Fuck.
Detox starts now. I normally struggle, I find money is the problem. Lager and wine, and nice foods, and fresh breads are just too readily available, they call me out and whisper to me to consume them. I have to take a pragmatic approach and surrender all my cash and electronic payment methods to GF, who has no fucking problem with that. Which means, while I might cave in and have the very very odd beer or glass of wine, for [at least the next two weeks - perhaps even two month] I will be on diet of fruit, vegetables and water, with some carbs thrown in to keep me standing, my only perks will be a couple of cups of coffee at work. I will have to see if my ruined knees, and hips, and ankles [too much football, well too much being kicked years ago] can handle jogging, which I love but it actually is really painful, if not I will have to come up with another fitness angle.
But work is the real pisser, I've been on night shift for about a year now, and have just about had enough. Two weeks off has put things into prospective, if I were single, or younger, or both it would be fine. But its actually been nice having a semi normal body clock. So either I'll switch at my current work [coincidently I only chose night shift because I thought I would be able to spend 80% of my night writing, and then coming home to glorious sunny mornings and write some more, but it is the exact opposite, I'm too busy at work, and too tired when I get home] or I will have to look for a nine to five. I will not be going back into my old profession, I don't care about the pay, the perks et al, but it nearly killed me or I hated nearly everything about it, just need to get this book published, crank out a couple more over the next few years, then I can write what I actually want to, hopefully in some quiet little cottage somewhere close to a mirco brewery.
I've now went and depressed myself, and I've just realised I'm listening to Mott the Hoople as well, that doesn't help now does it [fucking cracking couple of hits they had though]. Going to download some new music for my phone today, shit I was meant to get some new headphones, fucking bastard, forgot! Anyway, then I'm going to watch a couple more episodes of SoA then try to get some sleep.
To end on a bright note, Newcastle sealed the league yesterday with 2-2 draw at home to Ipswich, Dr Who was vastly better than it has been for the last two weeks, and just downloaded Straight Outta Compton onto mobile.
For your viewing pleasure:-
Song to cheer you up.
And finally, another couple of classic letters sent into the ever magnificent The Viz:
How come rap artist Dr. Dre can use the 'N' word on his multi-million selling albums and win a MOBO award, yet when I used it at my son's football match I was asked to leave the park? Once again, it's one law for the rich and another for the poor. Reg Ashcroft, Bradford
Just in case Samantha Mumba comes round while the wife is out and demands a portion, here is the order I will do her in: arse, gob, fanny, arse. And if I have any left, I'll do the arse again.
See you tomorrow some time,
Nathan One
Capped it off in style starting on St. George's Day, with a decent pub stint, drank with an Ex-Footballer called Ray, easily rudest and grumpiest man I have ever met, but great company, had about 7/8 pints then came back for a nap, then got Fish & Chips on Friday night [easily my favourite [[and best value]] takeaway].
Sat AM we picked up GF-Mam & GF-Dad2 from airport, and had some lunch with them, I was rushed into making an on the spot decision and chose poorly, then had a few beers while flicking between the football, snooker and racing. GF and I nipped to supermarket, where I splashed out on a nice Claret [actually wanted some port, but I think anything that rich would activate whatever malignant Gout gene sparking into life], then we ordered a curry.
And now...I'm proper fucked. Sitting on sofa, bloated, unshaven, tired and I've gotta do a night shift in less than twelve hours. Just imagine if I went back two weeks, gave myself a slap and did nothing but edit my manuscript, I could have sent a revised draft to The Ed [and I wouldn't be dodging her emails/Skype calls], and be wallowing in smugness, dare I even say pride right about now, instead of a Claret/Curry Sweat with wall to wall empty cans [thanks Mike].
Fuck. Fuck.
Detox starts now. I normally struggle, I find money is the problem. Lager and wine, and nice foods, and fresh breads are just too readily available, they call me out and whisper to me to consume them. I have to take a pragmatic approach and surrender all my cash and electronic payment methods to GF, who has no fucking problem with that. Which means, while I might cave in and have the very very odd beer or glass of wine, for [at least the next two weeks - perhaps even two month] I will be on diet of fruit, vegetables and water, with some carbs thrown in to keep me standing, my only perks will be a couple of cups of coffee at work. I will have to see if my ruined knees, and hips, and ankles [too much football, well too much being kicked years ago] can handle jogging, which I love but it actually is really painful, if not I will have to come up with another fitness angle.
But work is the real pisser, I've been on night shift for about a year now, and have just about had enough. Two weeks off has put things into prospective, if I were single, or younger, or both it would be fine. But its actually been nice having a semi normal body clock. So either I'll switch at my current work [coincidently I only chose night shift because I thought I would be able to spend 80% of my night writing, and then coming home to glorious sunny mornings and write some more, but it is the exact opposite, I'm too busy at work, and too tired when I get home] or I will have to look for a nine to five. I will not be going back into my old profession, I don't care about the pay, the perks et al, but it nearly killed me or I hated nearly everything about it, just need to get this book published, crank out a couple more over the next few years, then I can write what I actually want to, hopefully in some quiet little cottage somewhere close to a mirco brewery.
I've now went and depressed myself, and I've just realised I'm listening to Mott the Hoople as well, that doesn't help now does it [fucking cracking couple of hits they had though]. Going to download some new music for my phone today, shit I was meant to get some new headphones, fucking bastard, forgot! Anyway, then I'm going to watch a couple more episodes of SoA then try to get some sleep.
To end on a bright note, Newcastle sealed the league yesterday with 2-2 draw at home to Ipswich, Dr Who was vastly better than it has been for the last two weeks, and just downloaded Straight Outta Compton onto mobile.
For your viewing pleasure:-
Song to cheer you up.
And finally, another couple of classic letters sent into the ever magnificent The Viz:
How come rap artist Dr. Dre can use the 'N' word on his multi-million selling albums and win a MOBO award, yet when I used it at my son's football match I was asked to leave the park? Once again, it's one law for the rich and another for the poor. Reg Ashcroft, Bradford
Just in case Samantha Mumba comes round while the wife is out and demands a portion, here is the order I will do her in: arse, gob, fanny, arse. And if I have any left, I'll do the arse again.
See you tomorrow some time,
Nathan One
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