Previously, On VagueNet

Monday 13th August

I have to admit, that I've been in a bit of a melancholic malaise recently. Which means, in other terms, that I've been feeling awful, both physically and mentally and not up to doing any more than sitting on the sofa and watching films. I said a long time ago that I wouldn't bother apologising for not updating the blog since I'm fairly certain that nobody reads it, and also because every other posting would involve an apology at some point, but that's just not me. I do feel that some sort of explanation is in order.

It's Only A Flesh Wound

I made a promise to myself a while ago that I wouldn't whine about my medical stuff on this site unless it's comedically talking about nearly dying of a plague of lurgy. I've often written a page or so only to delete it and write something else for the day. Today I'm saying fuck it. I have Crohns Disease. In case you don't know what that is, it's intestinal ulceration and scarring. Which is incurable, I'll have it for the rest of my life. And occasionally it makes my life a living hell, especially with the stomach pains. To combat this, I'm on much medication each day, the side effect of this is that one of these is an immuno-suppressant meaning that when I have a light cold, I have it for 2 weeks and it nearly knocks me out. Which I've only just shaken.

On top of this I had surgery early this year which hasn't healed properly yet after 6 months and has re-opened twice since then. I'm being sent back for more surgery to cure the previous surgery any day soon. And finally I've recently discovered that my stomach isn't playing right so the food that I'm eating isn't being processed correctly. How much fun.

So yes, I've been hiding out at home for a couple of weeks. I might be up to facing the world some time soon.

Living in a Box

I feel inordinately proud of myself because of yesterday. Yesterday I spent an inordinate amount of time turning a big cardboard envelope and a box into a compartmentalised carrycase for 2 dreamblade wargangs. It's got 32 little compartments for figures (2 x 16 figures per warband), 4 for dice and papers and things, a carrying handle and a sealable lid. All the rough cardboard is covered over and the edges taped. It looks great. I just gotta work out how to finish it. I'll take a photo and show you later. You'll be really impressed. You'll want one too. Yes, I did spend many hours on a Sunday cutting up two boxes to make one. Leave me alone.

Final Fantasy XII

Alright, so I've not been too ill constantly to play video games. I might have spent a while playing Final Fantasy XII. Alone. Which sucks. The deal was that since I've never played a final fantasy game all the way through to completion before, I would do it with this one and do it while it's still a current game. And because they're so complicated I'd have a friend buy it at the same time and we'd play it roughly together. Which she's not done 'cos she's a lying harpy with the integrity of an X-factor contestant. So my wanders have been alone. But it's a great game that's so frigging huge that you'll never finish it. I'm into my 70th (ish) hour meaning that so far it's cost me around 40p per hour I've played it. Which means that for the amount of rampant cockbites online, it's more fulfilling and cheaper than World of Warcraft. Hah. Suck on it.

Writings and Scribblings

I'm struggling with the book. For some reason I've got held up in the first chapter with figuring out the story of one guy's grandfather (who's not involved in the plot) and stopped writing. Which is strange because I've been carrying the notebook round with me for a few months now and not bothered opening it. Balls to that, I'm gonna have another go tonight.

The 50 Book Challenge

I've found severe difficulty getting into some books. The Illuminatus trilogy would be a great deal easier to read if they had gaps between sections. The Andrew Harmon books would be easier if he spent more time making his work smoother than just jabbing in awful puns every two lines and the Balzac would be easier if it wasn't French. But I'm getting there, 13 in just over a month means I'll be done by Christmas.

All in all, who needs to go out and have friends and a life?

Letters to the Editor

Thursday 23rd August

Politically, I'm not one to comment on current affairs. Partially because what I find amusing is not exactly what other people would, but mainly that by the time I finish what I wanted to say then it's old news and nobody cares anymore.

Like Molly, the 4 year old from sunderland who was diagnosed with stress and depression because she couldn't go to the school that she wanted or something and so was proscribed with anti-depressants for it. Which is fucking ridiculous when you're giving pills to a 5 year old. Google it, it's real. Now it's not the kids fault, it's the mother being such a whining bitch that's just transferred onto the kid. And so the kid gets pills, the Daily Star sells a few more papers and everybody's happy. Especially Molly, she's got Prozac.

Now you take this week. In the past couple of days a 12 year old boy was arrested for a sausage assault. Which is absolutely hilarious to every single paper in the country it seems. Either that or outrageous. The Times (which I have been known to read, thank you very fucking much) even quoted a section of one of the 'Just William' books.

Because it's a sausage then the british sense of humour comes into play and marks it up as a great comedy endevour, just like you'd see in the pages of the Beano or on a seaside postcard. The only thing more striking to the british sense of humour would be for an old chap to accidentally drop his trousers while a nubile young girl jogs past. Because it's just a bit of fun, not to be taken seriously and simply a childish prank.

WHAT UTTER FUCKING BOLLOCKS

Lets take a glance shall we? As was mentioned on the news last night, he's already been in trouble with the police a couple of times and it's already been pointed out that he has to take sleeping pills for whatever reason, so the young skippy sounds like a right little charmer. Let's also not overlook the fact that his victim was a man who was on the receiving end of a line of harrassment incidents and if you're anything like me, you might feel the need to give the little shit a bloody good hiding.

Which of course we're not allowed to do now. If they catch us.

So you're telling me that being arrested, thrown into a cell and charged with common assault isn't a good life lesson then fuck you. Hopefully it'll give him something to think about, because to me, he sounds like a little scrote and should be slapped.

Of course, if this works, you'll be able to find me dressed as a clown in the middle of town chopping off heads with my comedy machete, because you know, the joke's got to come first, doesn't it.

Yours Sincerely,

Deeply Disturbed, Manchester

Catharsis in Flame

Wednesday 29th August

Yesterday I burned my house to the ground. It needed doing. A fresh start says I, and so what better way to get the ball rolling than with cleansing fire. Lovely orangey flickery burny fire. And since I'd made my mind up to do this, I decided that I might as well go the whole hog and make a few sacrificial offerings while making a start with ash and flame.

Effigies of all the people that needed to be burned had to be added to the pyre. And since I only got a C- at effigy making at school, I went for the closest alternative and grabbed a bottle of chloroform before heading out for my collections. A few people who thought they were better than me are, sorry - were, provably slower. The young hot racers in their little car with the big stereo didn't seem a match for the large pot-holes and the lumphammer. And the chatty bitches with the mobile phones and the exceptionally large earrings didn't seem amused by the piranha tank, even if I found it hilarious.

Obviously, as much as I needed to burn, I had to make some tough choices. For restitution for my recent medical problems, should I burn my hospital notes, or a small walrus? To cleanse my feelings of hatred towards all fellow humans, should I burn a phonebook, or a phonebook stapled to a moron? Obviously those were easy enough, but then I have to decide how much of my book collection to have in the house, same for my games and dvds. I eventually reconciled myself with leaving in the token offering of half a newspaper and a copy of ET for the 2600. (I have two).

Of course, there are always going to be people that say that such things are irrelevant, that such actions are destructive and of no intrinsic gain. That it's an inherantly dangerous thing to do to burn your own house to the ground and giggle incessantly. The people that thought they owned the house before they went out for the evening and I seized it as my own. They might complain for example. But who cares about them? I feel a heck of a lot better.