The Cracked Earth @ Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts 2013

So after months upon months of shameless self-promotion (in which The Cracked Earth FB page was blatantly just Mark, particularly obvious when the status updates went from referring to the band as “we” to “I” and the moaning bagan), I was excited to finally see Mark on stage in all his head-banging, drum-banging, Elle-banging glory. I couldn’t come to The prestigious Peel in Norbiton (it says Kingston but they would say that to make it sound nicer to the unsuspecting non-metalheads) as I’d cut my foot in rehearsals and had to sit in Ashford Hospital walk-in centre for an hour. I’m saying that as if I’m rehearsing to be an acrobat or something. Never fear, I thought, I’ll check out the Marky D when he plays the actually very prestigious Barfly in Camden Town as I’ll be rehearsing all day that day @ the Roundhouse. Now I’m saying that as if I’m doing a bit o’ band practice myself, but we all know Mark’s the rock star here. To be honest though, I’m glad I didn’t drag myself out to The Peel that eve. It wasn’t because the first and last time I was there over five years ago, I bumped into the questionable snob that is Mat Carlin. With him were the likes of Daniel Appleyard and other TAT waifs and strays. Ol’ Carlin Premium Wanker here looked me up and down and sighed because I clearly wasn’t supposed to be there. Basically, I wasn’t dressed like a twat. Each to their own I say, I really respect Mark for pursuing his interests in performing, but people like Carlin have to put the unnecessary and unjustifiable musical snobbery aside. Okay, so that was five years ago, perhaps Mat’s changed. Probs not out of that outfit though.

I was glad I didn’t drag myself out to The Peel because I saw an FB status, of course left by Marky D, “RIP The Cracked Earth”. There was me having flashbacks of him deleting me off his Facebook in a huff over one of my blogs, thinking ‘ere we go, another drama queen episode. I thought the reason was most probs an empty audience, and envisioned no one turning up apart from the other Inbetweeners (Luke, John, and Matt), and w/ apparently none of the other Cracked Earth members promoting through the FB page (though Mark probably made only himself an admin, the diva), that vision was probably accurate. I then heard that the guitarist quit an hour before they went on. I imagined he looked at the tumbleweed floating by and threw the towel in. Mark wasn’t as angry as I thought he would be though, optimistic in that The Cracked Earth would be back in no time, equipped w/ a new guitarist. It better not be Shat Carlin.

Hopefully The Cracked Earth will be back in time for Glastonbury 2013. I know their kind ain’t usually about @ Glasto, and Mark would also be wary about being labelled a sell-out despite it being the only sell-out they’ll see (I obviously joke, I genuinely want to see Mark go far w/ this), but Glasto is certainly the definite festival we’ll all be going to that year. After I went in 2009 and called it my favourite festival while the usual lot were still believing that Reading Fest was the best festival ever with its extensive variety of music, diverse otherworldly activities, and friendly, laid-back crowd, the dirty dozen joined me this year and all agreed it blows Reading and any other festival any of them have ever been to straight out the water. That’s just Reading then. Amber made a sneaky return, making the stark revelation that she is indeed coming on down to Worthy Farm weeks before the festival. Rachel Harvey made a long-awaited appearance after always wanting to go to a festival, she says. She was allegedly relieved that Amber was coming as she wouldn’t be the only girl in the world. I say allegedly because she bloody loved being the only girl, having a different boy in her tent every night. But then again they were probably in there for Andy. Oh yeah, Andy came and his overall five-day presence was summed up when I was with Luke and listed off who was where and he responded with, “Who’s Andy?” Chris Osborne supposedly peeled himself away from Liquid for the weekend, despite arriving late and leaving early, blatantly he was just going to and from Windsor. He spent the majority of the weekend limping through mud, being all melodramatic about it. At least he got his money’s worth.

Matt came with not one but two Larmans, well one’s a Gooding but he’s basically a Larman, and that’ll make Bill proud of Jack. They added to the huge diversity of the names in the camp, Bill, Jack, Matt, Chris, Andy, Luke, John, and Sam. And Stephen of course, the Larman that used to be the more famous one but has now defected to the Black Country in a depressed stupor. He and his missus, Stephanie, were the camp’s couple, if you don’t include John’s midnight strays into Helen’s tent now and again, much to Amber’s scorn. Steph was the other girl then, not in Stephen’s life (McAllan was a long time ago), but in the campsite, though you wouldn’t believe it, when I listed to  Luke on the last night who was outside our tent and he replied with, “Who’s Steph?” On the first night, Amber and I explored the festival after going against the Larmans’ orders and straying off their path, but dear God I wish we had order when it became the first ever time I’d seen Amber drunk. She was mental, “This is going on your blog,” she’d shout. She knew it was. Getting herself into someone’s teepee and then chatting to a hippy about the meaning of life in a sauna. She’s bloody good fun to be w/ when drunk I tell ya. The following night @ The Park, where Amber got all drunk and rowdy, Luke and I saw a couple proper going for it, and I don’t mean lighting hot coals in the sauna, but that could be a good euphemism. Anything goes @ Glasto, and that’s why it’s the biggest festival in the world. I mean the shit that went down, man. Rachel Harvey holding hands with a different member of the camp every night, making silent enemies between Luke and Matt, she knew exactly what she was doing, luring ex-schoolfriend Amber into her web of womanly prowess. She claimed she didn’t know I could be such a pisstake until Glasto. Clearly she’s never read my blog. Tom Benham has, and told me after Glasto that he was expecting a blog on it as he should and would be in it. A mere mention @ the last minute is the best I could do. Glasto 2011 was amazing. 2013 FTW.

Teddy only started liking his nickname when Rachel used it. Amber’s moved on.

Amber gets tips to show Helen what for.

Tom sleazes up my friend Hannah. He arrived.

Rachel does her round, around to me.

Rachel and a mere fraction of her men.

Glastonbury Festival ftw.

John envisions Amber taking the picture

MY EYES!

So not long after the last entry, Mark and I had the emotional reunion that he suggested we needed in a comment on the post, in the glamourous surroundings of the Slug & Lettuce in Staines, alongside his bit on the side Elle, the swanky Lanzarote ladz Luke and Matt, and drunk TAT alumni that Mark described as “in for the pickings”. As expected, I thankfully didn’t leave there w/ a cracked skull thanks to the Cracked Earth. Mark did clear up a few things up, “to clear up a few things up… was i a dark place september/october time so was easily offeneded my part in this was very silly!” I couldn’t understand if he was asking me or anyone whether or not he was actually a dark place in September/October time, but I gathered he was tryna say he was in a dark place around that time. Weren’t we all mate, and that’s irrelevant anyway cos I posted the last post in November. Ha not really, but it does make you wonder, why was he in this dark place? Was this dark place him remaining up Elle’s arse, or was it clear that the honeymoon period between he and Elle was long gone, and trouble in paradise ensued? Perhaps that might be why her Facebook name at the time was Elle I’minadarkplace Holley. I’m only joking of course Marky D, I’m glad you’re no longer in this… dark place.

 

Perhaps he was still suffering withdrawal symptoms from Lanzarote months earlier, a comedown that not even Reading Festival could relieve. Or perhaps he just couldn’t forget some of the Puerto del Carmen carnage. I knew it’d basically be a dummy run of the new Inbetweeners movie, in which they go on holiday, from the moment we stepped into Disco Dave’s dilapitated minibus, a vehicle in which I couldn’t work out if the back door was open the whole way to Gatwick because he wanted it open or because it couldn’t close. In fact I can’t even remember if there was a door, there might’ve been one but it could’ve swung off halfway down the M23. Despite that, we still used him to pick us up when we got back, w/ him professionally picking up Stanwell’s Ganja Massive on the way home via central London. When we got to the airport, there were signs that Mark was already going by the ol’ “when in Rome” saying, probs why he thought he’d actually go to Rome this year, abeit w/ no clothes. His imminent lifestyle change was apparent when he was wielding a bottle of patron tequila in the middle of a World Duty Free shop, likening himself to Lil’ Wayne while wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, the long-winded identity crisis still going strong. There were quite a few young people at the airport, and we naturally assumed they were heading the same way as us. That all changed when we got to the departure lounge however, when it was basically half an old people’s home, and half a family holiday camp. The fact we seemed to be the only people inbetween the ages of ten and thirty immediately put Lanzarote bulldozer Matt in the firing line if everything went to pot.

 

When we arrived at our resort, the now notorious Elenos Apartmentos, John dropped the bombshell that he’d left his passport in the cab, just as he was getting out of the cab. The resulting chaos didn’t last long when the cabbie returned, but he probs didn’t even know about the passport, he just wanted more money. Our hotelier was a classic, showing us around his seemingly empty resort, but that all changed when we hit up the area’s nightlife, as it seemed the whole island was about (all of them Irish). What we soon realised though, is that basically you’d see everyone you saw that night every other night for the rest of the week. That included our two Lithuanian and Romanian friends, a pair of cocktease stalkers that seemed to be in your field of vision in whatever direction you looked in. It also included Raymond, the ringleader of the unlikeliest circus of alleged club promoters ever, including a Welsh Ting Tong who got Matt or John or one of us barred cos we basically spoke the truth and said that her club was empty when she heaved up those immortal words, “Alright lads, d’you wanna come to The Hippodrome?” I could’ve just gone to Kingston for that Love, but it didn’t stop these beasts, “Free shots, drinks, t-shirts… sex”. On the second night after spending the evening chatting shit w/ Uncle Dick, and before getting kicked out of another resort for making noise in their swimming pool w/ a bunch of confused Scottish girls, John, Mark and I fell for these phantom freebies and got dragged into what we thought was a strip bar which turned out to be a full-on brothel, equipped w/ Pat Butcher giving it out @ the bar.

 

Meanwhile, Luke was back at the apartment reeling, “MY EYES!” a statement that nearly had Matt beaten to a pulp when he made fun out of it in front of a bunch of Irish girls we found in the only good club there, Niki Beach. Or Nikki Beach, either one, I don’t even think the owners know. What they did know though was their iTunes playlist, which stretched out to a maximum of the same ten songs played over and over every night. Regardless, it was clearly the Que Pasa of Puerto del Carnage. Initially, the others expressed a huge distaste (especially Mark as expected, so it serves him right for having to end the holiday living out a Rick Ross music video and throwing [my] notes in the air above his Deutsch damsel in distress) for these pleasant girls, then the next thing you know, not only was it hard to shake these Dubliners off anyway, the boys were all on it like tramps on chips, namely Luke, but let’s not go there. Our next-door neighbours were a lovely bunch of Stoke scallywags, who again, Mark had something to say about. They were nice, until you put them in the same room as our Irish cream, when they turned into a load of scorned Northern yobs and unleashed into the geekiest and most classic of the Irish intruders, alongside a remorseless Matt, and this was before we ditched them for the Irish birds once we had dinner one night.

 

Go-karting, boat-pedalling, riding on camels and touring volcanoes, the latter on almost zero hours sleep for any of us. Me because I had to control Matt and Mark on some weird, wild, one-night binge. Ah Lanzarote, our first holiday altogether. It was actually grand as those Irish would say. Not gonna lie, it was bloody classic.

Disco Dave

Patron St. Mark

A sign of things to come.

Tunnel of Love.

Rockin' out w/ his cock out (later).

DELILAH.

Luke gets some Dutch courage.

Chillin' wit Rick Ross

John gets the 'ump.

Uncle Dick the waxwork

A Marky Delight

It’s been a while. A long while. Since the last blog entry eight months ago in October last year, I’ve actually gone into hiding. I mean, there’s no coincidence that I haven’t seen Mark since early September, enough time for Elle ThankfullynomorecringeFacebooknames Holley to of given birth to the heir to the Dawson Empire. I mean the last time I saw Mark doesn’t really count, as he and Elle were sitting in The King’s Head like Prince William and Kate Middleton, while all of us lot, John, Jeszke, DASH, Tony, Chris, Andy and I, had to sit around them like royal servants and court jesters. Elle really was the First Lady, as all the other girls; including a head-on face-off between the two special guest appearances of Sainsbury’s Basic Amy and Tesco’s Finest Katie Bowler, were condemned to the other side of the pub, occasionally coming over to buy a drink or muttering a few words to those on the top table. The conversation was hardly flowing, what w/ the Royal Couple lording it up w/ their backs to people, giving out one-word answers and the occasional glare. I should stop here though, as the reason my blog shut down and I ran away was precisely because I spoke about Mark on my last blog entry. Nothing unusual there, but what happened next baffled belief. Okay, so I might have totally showed Mark up but my blog is no stranger to that, and besides it’s not hard, he effortlessly does that himself, like when he just appeared in the most confused combo of ’07/’08, the Machine Head t-shirt/G-Unit spinner/perky Kia Pacanto look. Everyone knows my blog is all in jest, but then again, this isn’t the first time this has happened, and it’s interesting that it’s always the most avid readers who kick up a storm when they’re mentioned.

Remember The Malice is Rife back in 2005? The blog’s most obvious biggest fan, Jasmine, threw the biggest strop going when I joked about what Becca Somers [remember her?] had again, joked, about her. Still, it gave me the largest amount of comments my blog had ever received, and of course, any publicity’s good publicity. Then there’s DASH, who private messaged me after I slated him in Wa Gwan w/ RDN? in 2008, interrogating me about my jokes, paranoid that I saw him the way he felt everyone else at the time saw him, a joke [nothing's changed there then]. I then kicked up a storm when I visited him in Sheffield a year later and blogged about his housemates and their guests, which resulted in a huge lynch-mob against me, as if they didn’t have it coming, I mean if you went to Dan’s 21st you’d of seen them and know what I mean. Mark gave me the Load of Tripe Award for Inbetweeners Dance Festival, and if we’re gonna be handing out gongs then the Over-Reaction Award definitely goes to him. He commented, “still banging on about the past ur boring…”, as if I’ve always ever only documented about the present in my blog. When there’s been such a long break and so much stuff has happened, it’s only standard that I write about the recent past, particularly when drunk indie kids are getting thrown about The Hippodrome or trollied trollops are getting their offers on a plate rejected @ Niche. Then, out of nowhere, Dan Jeszke got in on the act, “Sam didn’t u get voted by all the girls as the alpha female?”, obviously referring to the recent Reading Festival, where the Alpha Male title was blatantly only ever going to be between Teddy and Tony, so I was more than happy to be the Alpha Female as opposed to the Pillar of the Community. Jeszke was just clearly still scorned from Inbetweeners Dance Festival, where he commented saying, “Not much of a mention for john and Steve, u’d think they wernt even there.” True, but that’s because let’s face it, Mark and Dan are classics, you can laugh w/ John and Steve, but good for them, you can’t laugh @ them as much. It was obvious @ Reading Festival that Dan took the blog to heart because he made a clear, conscious effort to not look like the Pillar of the Community during the crowds at Reading. Mark then suggested Dan be the Pillar of Society, so yeah Dan, you may have been successful in getting rid of looking like the Pillar of the Community, but only to now be the Pillar of Society, courtesy of Mark, so have it out amongst yourselves.

It doesn’t stop there though. John commented saying, “I thought it was funny”, which Stephen liked, before Mark had the last word as usual w/, “shit sense of humour”, seemingly completely forgetting that he’s always the one encouraging me to write a blog about whatever we do. Even if we went down the shop he’d tell me I’d have to write a blog about it. So how does that work out? Well, before anyone could answer, Mark then deleted AND blocked me from Facebook, as if there was no chance in hell that we’d ever speak again, no mutual friends, nothing. I called and text him, profusely apologising, and got nothing back for weeks ’til he finally replied and suggested “we stop this silliness”. I didn’t know where the “we” came in all of this but I of course agreed. At the end of the day, I am truly sorry if I ever offend anyone via my blog or otherwise and will express that if need be, but sometimes I don’t get how my sense of humour can be misconstrued by good friends who obviously know me and share my sense of humour. Nonetheless, I’m glad that’s all behind us now, sorry for still banging on about the past, I am boring after all remember. But see, it’s bloody classic! I just haven’t happened to see Mark much for a while, I’m sure I’m not the only one what w/ him on a number of Royal Visits w/ his Princess Elle. I invited him to Rhys’s gig on April Fool’s Day, but he text back saying he was in Rome. Didn’t sound too happy, and in the pictures neither of them looked too happy either. Well, would you be if your baggage got left in England and you refused to buy any clothes, therefore spending four days in the same underwear and everything? Sorry Mark, I just had to get that one in mate.

Happier times w/ Mark, Jeszke, and the rest of the gang @ Reading Festival 2010.

The weekend I visited Dan in Sheffield and made a whole load of frenemies.

Lanzarote [Mal]Teaser

I dangerously published the last entry about thirty-six hours before I’d see Mark and Dan on the way to Reading Festival 2010. Dan I wasn’t too worried about but the thought of Mark letting his hair down @ Reading Festival and going for the booze like he did in Lanzarote made me feel like he’d go for me too, particularly after he left threatening, cryptic comments involving stones and glass houses. Unfortunately for Mark, it all went typically tits up as he published that comment and then deleted it, replacing it w/ a comment suggesting I write for The News of the World and that the award for the “Biggest Load of Tripe” goes to my last blog entry. If he just left his original comment, he would’ve seemed like such a cool, smart, witty force to be reckoned w/ because it did leave me intrigued. It was the well-known idiom where people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Admittedly I had to Google it as it was surprising and embarrassing that Mark knew that over an English student like me, but also I had to Google it just to check that Mark did get it correct, I mean it is Mark. I can’t remember if he did but he probs did, amazingly, and it’s a figure of speech on the lines of pot, kettle, black. I’m assuming it’s because I asked why he’s now leaving kisses and smileys @ the end of texts and comments, yet I used to do it as standard, which probs made me ooze bisexuality even more. Thing is though I don’t anymore unless the person I’m communicating w/ does, call it contrived but I think it’s polite. It only starts feeling a bit cringeworthy when I end up putting the exact same amount of kisses as them and they notice it, so they start testing to see if that’s the case by craftily experimenting and increasing and decreasing their amount in every message, to see if I do the same, it messes w/ my head I tell ya. You show a bit o’ sweet sentimentality and you get taken advantage of. But Mark’s been chucking ‘em out willy nilly, and it’s noticeable and shocking cos it’s Mark! He’s like the manliest thing other than a face-off between Teddy and Tony, equipped w/ his overworn Machine Head t-shirt, money-well-spent G-Unit spinner and perky KIA Pacanto. Is this what teetotalism has done to him?! And we can’t blame it on Elle WhatwillhercringeFacebooknamebethisweek Holley either, this started happening since… Lanza-fucking-grotty!

 2007 was the year most people went to university. Well, most people in our year, obv not most people in general otherwise society would’ve fell through centuries ago. While people like Akan and that lot, yes, it is Akan and that lot because do you know anyone’s names in that lot? Exactly. It’s like the Mandeep Mafia, to name the whole collective you mention the name of the biggest one. Oooh deep, I don’t mean the most physically big, I mean Akan’s not that big. Maybe the biggest personality? Hm yeah maybe not. Maybe the token ethnic minority then, which is quite forward-thinking. But yeah so anyway Akon ["Smack that all on the floor, smack that, for me some more"] and that lot went to Zante w/ Sally-and-that-lot and made it out as if they were the only people cool enough to be going to the most amazing place on the planet for the best time anyone could ever have anywhere, ever. While they were caught up in delusion, Mark, Luke, John and Stephen opted for a LADZ ‘OL IN MALTAAA GO ON ‘AVE IIIT!!! Okay maybe there was delusion in their part also as they were actually visiting Stephen in Malta and staying w/ his family, having a quiet break seeing the local sites and taking in the culture and the cuisine and the sea air. The only ladz ‘ol element in it was the occasional opportunity for some clumsy tonsil-tennis from an underage Mal[cock]tease in a night full of rejection and Luke IDing everyone. From what they’ve told me, all I can imagine of it is a school disco scenario where the few jailbait girls would be standing on one side of the room and the cockfest of boys would be standing on the other, w/ The Inbetweeners sticking out like sore thumbs being typically awkward Brits. Alas, I was still up for the jokes of it when Luke told me that if they were to pick anyone to join them the next time it would be me. I felt all special and privileged, like I’d won a golden ticket to see Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory or got picked behind the screen on Blind D-Date. He also said that DASH was blatantly tryna get in on the act, and he and the others were like, no, just no. It’s not gonna happen DASH, stop tryna make it happen. Too right though, I mean DASH comes in on the summer of ’07 after a couple of years of burying himself into his books and for about a quarter of it, Renée’s boobs, expecting to be welcomed into everyone’s arms. No DASH, again, stop tryna make it happen, it’s not gonna happen. He has an 18th birthday party in which he embarrassingly showed up himself and his family, and just because everyone only came to see the comedy show, he thinks he can just shimmy his way in. Again, stop tryna- arghhh he knows the rest.

 So anyway, there I was gleefully awaiting to add Malta to my summer ’08 antics alongside Reading Fest, Bestival, and as a last-minute replacement, Barcelona. I heard nothing of it, but then I thought nothing of it. I mean I can’t even remember if I knew the others were going the previous year ’til Luke started banging on about Maltese culture like the wise woman of the world that he is, and that was probably during take-off. But yeah, basically, they took off w/o me knowing, but everything happens for a reason, as well, the less said about that holiday the better, and for my own safety as well, otherwise the comments on this entry will probably be more overtly threatening than the last. After that, 2009 saw a welcome break from the ladz ‘ol notion so Luke then went into alpha male mode and donned his wellies for Reading, mostly because Tony wasn’t there to rival him. 2010 however, Magaluf? Malia? Aiya Napa? No, Lanzarote. But it’s still more ladz ‘ol than a glass of red wine in Malta…

Original 2007 and 2008 Malta line-up; Luke, Stephen, Mark and John;

Eventual 2008 line-up; John and an alarmingly menacing-looking Stephen and Luke;

2010 line-up; initially reformed Mark, replacement Larman Matt, and me w/ John and Luke.

Inbetweeners Dance Festival

 So I realise my last blog entry was a bit of a me-fest, but y’know, I was just saying what I’d been up to, jeez. But I know Marky D is the one in which we all love to have universal giggles @. He loves it, what w/ his admirably consistent obvious hinting @ me to write another blog post whenever some sort of major event brings us all together. New Year’s Eve, April Fools’ Day in Nottingham [we were bloody April fools I tell ya, it only led onto a Good Friday cos we deserved it, well Luke and I especially, what w/ getting DESTROYED], Lanzarote and even Warrior’s Dance Festival. In regards to the latter, idk if it showed but I felt well ill! Of all bloody days, seeing the likes of Chase & Status, Enter Shikari, Pendulum and The Prodigy live, I thought I wouldn’t be live by the end of it. It was quite classic how it all began, The Inbetweeners go to Milton Keynes Bowl basically. John started a thread on Facebook, curiously titled ‘Flop of the year’, in which the delightful Dave [I'll get to him later] bailed out on dropping us to MK and back. There we all were, squabbling, about who’d drive us, to the point that it inspired Stephen to finally embark on his first driving lesson. I just thought realistically, if the rest of us are drinking, then surely titanic teetotaller Mark should drive right? Wrong. Dawson wasn’t having any of it, ‘im not driving its johns mess!!’, before getting back @ me, ‘i think sam sud drive still yet 2 grace his car!!’ whatever that means. He graced my car alright, living it up in the front seat while John, Shreeji, DASH and Christina squeezed into the back. And that’s blatantly why he didn’t wanna drive, just so that he could lord it up in the front his way on the highway. It’s always him or Luke in the front. Mind you it is always him or Luke driving too.

 

 So there we were, swiping @ each other like schoolboys, before Mark decided to be all mature about it and state that whoever drove would get £10 off each of the others, basically paying for their ticket. However, he couldn’t help getting one last dig in by saying that Stephen would have to cough up £10 either way, which undoubtedly made Stephen the most determined he’s ever been about passing his theory test, which he did, well done Steve. The only other option was Dan Jeszke. Exactly. By this point it was evening and John went to call him, ‘bet hes in bed’. Jeszke was in bed. A bit o’ bitchin’ about Jeszke entered the thread, and I was pleasantly surprised that Dan [probably literally] looked past all of that and offered his services [Mark suddenly felt nostalgic @ that point, I wonder why]. I was putting money down already that it may just be his first unselfish act, but as expected, there were other terms and conditions in the contract we all had to abide to. We all had to get to his, provide a sat nav, and cover all parking costs as well! I mean bloody hell by that point I was ready to drive there myself. I totally didn’t mean to, but when I got to his car and he opened his door, I started to lift up his seat but to no avail. He had a five-door. He then started creasing about it, saying I thought he had a two-door, harhar. Er, in retrospect, I probably subconsiously assumed he had a two-door cos his door’s probably the only door of that car that’s ever been bloody opened. Thanks for the lift Dan, I’m guessing it’s a first and last for me now. Well I suppose I’ve totally blown my chances of stepping into the Jeszke mobile again, I’m assuming it doesn’t take a lot to be banned for life.

 

 Off we went and it was really good. Doorly dazzled, Plan B popped up, and The Prodigy brainwashed. They didn’t, but could’ve done though, during his rant on Invaders Must Die, I imagined everyone clambering out of the Bowl like rabid xenophobics, culling any nearby immigrant. Thank God I look white I thought. It was pretty unsettling, but you know when the beat kicks in all that’s out the fackin’ window mate. And Mark certainly went for it, throwing himself into any moshpit going, sometimes even bravely starting his own. Although I remember he started one that he also finished as no one joined in and just looked @ him instead, quietly going berserk. I tell you it’s amazing what Relentless does to him. It’s like coke, he hardly ever has it but when he does, it’s always memorable [sudden projectile vomiting @ Reading '08 anyone?] and he goes f*cking mental. Still, @ least he showed he was enjoying himself. Jeszke just stood there amidst the carnage like a misplaced lamp post, and sometimes I’d look over and it would give you that safe feeling you know, cos he was still standing, he was like that pillar of the community that meant you were safe too, it’s not all bad. However, sometimes he’d raise his hand @ the times you kinda had to do something, you know, if an anthem comes on, like Smack My Bitch Up or . In fact, in hindsight, the fact he only showed life during those songs is quite disturbing really. Hmmm. Bless the Jeszke, we love you really man. Especially when you kick us all out of your car when we’re falling back down a hill cos you refuse to rev up the engine to save petrol. Ahhh.
 
 After my last blog entry, Mark messaged me saying, ‘hey sam much as i love ur blogs i really wish u wudnt write all that crap about me as my family can all read that stuff!! as a friend im saying please stop xxx’ Firstly, it’s him that hints for blogs! And he’s one of the best providers of comic material! And secondly, ‘lol just dnt wana mum 2 c ‘marks having a crank!!”, even if she knew what that meant I’m sure she’d describe what she’s witnessed from you already in that way! And lastly, how come Mark leaves kisses and smiley faces in messages now? I said I’d write about Lanzarote and I can assure you I will be investigating exactly what happened on that fateful night in ‘Exotic Nightclub’.

 

 

Dan and Mark head into the Bowl.
The A-Team.

 

 

Shame Mark took it off.

 

 

Doorly.

 

 

Mark the Menace and his minions.

 

 

Chase & Status.

 

 

Plan B.

 

 

Enter Shikari.

 

 

Pendulum.

 

 

The Prodigy owned.

Siany-Lou Gets Blogged

Andy C, Jamie T, Marky D went down well, but that’s expected when the butt of the joke is none other than the comedy act Marky D, the same vein as the comedy act Daniel Ash, two classics that are the ultimate comedy act when put together. Mark loved it, and told me to target John in the next entry, who said we needed more entries on Mark. Mark then said we didn’t, claiming he wasn’t as interesting as John. I like how Mark makes it out as if we’re laughing w/ him, and not @ him. Don’t ever change, Mark. Shreeji meanwhile hates me, I’m assuming it’s because I featured a picture of her in ecstacy rubbing up against Ziggy Marley. So yeah, what is Shreeji doing these days? Doing loads of overtime @ work, allegedly. I don’t actually know why my friends take unannounced long holidays off the face of the earth. Shreeji, Jasmine, Luke. Maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s my blog. I mean, Jaaay kicked up a storm about the last entry when I went from saying I’d reveal what Shreeji was merely up to these days, to whether Jaaay was really a man or not. She texted me in explosive anger, telling me to ‘get rid of it’. Not w/ an exclamation mark, but a full stop. She meant business. Did I remove it? No. I then pointed out that she herself joked about her niche appearance in an FB status. ‘I’m allowed to!’ she said. It’s a free country Babe. I thought it’d be The Malice is Rife all over again, abeit w/o Becky Somers, and you can’t go there w/ her. That’s somebody’s mum! Also, I still don’t know what exactly I’d be getting rid of here, the line or genitalia? It was all v vague and ambiguous funnily enough. And Mark, if you’re after a Lanzarote lowdown, that’s the next entry, I wrote this entry way before we left, so crank away.
 
 So while other TAT alumni are popping out kids and getting married [Siany-Lou Gets Hitched proved a hit second sequel to Siany-Lou Gets Paid. The one before it was Siany-Lou Gets F*cked, currently out of stock due to popular demand] since my last entry, other shizzle I’ve been up to was the MYX VJ Search, an annual search held by the #1 music channel in the Philippines, MYX, for some cool new VJs, just in case the title didn’t give it away. I auditioned along w/ nearly five hundred other people and became one of the twelve finalists. It was all v fantastic but I voluntarily left early due to education back in the UK. The ‘safe’ option, I wouldn’t have left if my mum wasn’t advising me all the way from Italy to leave, not knowing, despite my best efforts of explaining across Eurasia, how big the opportunity was. Mi madre only had my best interests @ heart and I plan to return soon, to MYX that is, I recently visited the Philippines again for a couple of weeks, it was sweeeet. Back in London, I also worked @ Front magazine, interviewing Professor Green and reviewing Russell Brand’s new flick Get Him To The Greek [the issue w/ my Professor Green interview is out now, I have the edition w/ my other shiz in, call me!] amongst other things [ie. wandering around Soho asking for boxes big enough to fit a man in still makes me wonder why no one reported me]. I also finally went back to university and enrolled at The University of Kent in Canterbury studying English and American literature and creative writing, where I was also elected the first-year creative writing course representative. I mourned the death of MJ @ Glasto ’09, missed two DASH Bashes due to gallavanting in the Philippines [one in Ashford in Sept, the other his 21st in Sheffield last month. I'm sorry Dan. But more sorry I missed seeing Dan Jeszke riddled w/ lovebites and getting ostracised for merely letting John sleep in his car], and went out w/ a German model for a few months, who Luke likened to Heidi Klum, oh let me guess why, oh cos she’s a German model.

 

 Speaking of which, what the hell has happened to Amber? The last time we spoke was when she grilled me on my new beau, to whom she described as the Deutsch Damsel, what w/ Amb having a German fetish and all [it was the Goebster which did it, and she ain't the only one, eh Jayna *wink wink*]. I was waiting for that bombardment. Not long after though, she then slyly changed her own relationship status on FB to In a Relationship, and after all of the possibilites ran through my mind [Kiki, Number One, WATKINS], I bombarded her right back. However, she wasn’t having any of it, and hasn’t since. She has gradually shown more flesh via FB though, like revealing the identity of the new B/F. It’s like titbits, samples, TEASERS! Idk why the secrecy though, I mean, it’s as if she’s afraid I’d take the piss when I wouldn’t pisstake someone I don’t know and could potentially get on w/, in fact all I do know of the mysterious Lewis is that he looks a bit like Tony circa Sunday night of Reading Festival 2008. If anything, I’d take the piss of someone shutting me out for assuming I’d take the piss! I mean, why Amber?! Why?! After everything we’ve been through, hobnobbing w/ MC Hammer Watkins, strolling across the field w/ Olive Oil, lording it up in T*H*E. Whyyy?!

 

 As for NYE, well what about it? Just cos we had a sick time in London the year before we ended up there again. Sitting in a Wetherspoon in Camden ’til past eleven, having to make do w/ the mileage of Trafalgar Sq to make out the distant fireworks. Shreeji made us get off @ every stop on the way home to vomit [maybe cos the night was such a let down], Matt got mugged [to which Luke reckons he saved the day as usual], and DASH came out to Stephen [we're still unsure whether it was during a teary heart-to-heart, a public toilet encounter or a midnight kiss], all around the same Slug & Lettuce off Leicester Sq we ended up in last year. @ least Luke had a better time than last year though, and he says we should rent out a place by the coast this year. Good idea Luke, you paying for it? In fact no, won’t you be in the Navy then? ‘Maybe.’

 

 

Inbetween shoots @ MYX w/ Kevin and Janine. Made-up like a Ken doll was how I repped British boys.

 

 

On my more recent Manila trip, w/ Miki, Toff, Mike and Nel @ Encore. We’re all MYXed, that’s for sure.

 

 

Contrary to how I look in this pic, I was more than happy to be alone in Hong Kong.

 

 

The issue w/ my Get Him to the Greek review, Skins feature, et al. I’m not constipated here btw.

 

 

Uni life. You can spot me w/ my gay highlights. I was probably drinking backwash but didn’t say anything to fit in.

 

Lisa and I in a giant pinball machine in the Shang-ri La @ Glastonbury Festival 2009. As you do.

 

 

Amber and I in happier times [Shreeji's KOKO 19th, where the b/day girl enjoyed rubbing up against Ziggy Marley].

Meanwhile, DASH preopositions a drunk Shreeji outside those Slug & Lettuce toilets on NYE ’09-2010.

 

 

Don’t ask. Just wait for the next entry. All about Lanzarote 2010!

 

Andy C, Jamie T, Marky D

 You know I could just say I was slapped with writer’s block and that would be it, but I’ve actually been quite busy since I last updated that blog. Oh sorry, it’s this blog. So since late January last year, yes, it’s been that long, like a year and a ruddy half [don't worry, there won't be any poignant, tear-jerking, One Year On bollocks], I’ve turned twenty AND twenty-one, giving me a new, combined, overall age of forty-one. Thus, we can now put this ‘writer’s block’ down to a mid-life crisis, and THAT, my friends, would most certainly be it. Okay now that’s just stupid. I’m still twenty-one. Since then I’ve qualified to Teach English as a Foreign Language through a wicked-awesome weekend in which Joshua Orlandini [whatever happened to that guy? Why should he be the first mentioned in this brand-spankin' new entry? South African gonad] bailed out on me [what was I expecting though, tbh, getting the guy to commit to something that he even arranges himself [like this TEFLting] is like getting Luke to say when he’s actually gonna join the Navy. ‘Sorry, I might be in the Navy then.’ JUST FUCKING JOIN ALREADY!] and there I was, entering late [of course, me and my purdy tardiness], into a room on Russell Square, containing a circle of mixed faces. ‘Hey!’ I said, stepping into the Circle of Life. ‘I am Sam. And I’m an alcoholic.’ Okay I didn’t say the last part but the rest is true. I say it was wicked-awesome cos I initially thought I’d arrive to a notice saying, ‘Sorry, you’ve just been conned into thinking you’re on a TEFL course, kthnxbi’, but instead met a variety of new people from a range of different ages, backgrounds and professions, which I probs wouldn’t have if Josh did actually turn up, Durban turban and all [we'd probs just be giggling in the corner, before going all shy and nervous when spoken to]. I planned to use my qualification during a seven-week stint in the Philippines, but was instead unofficially teaching the Cavite locals British English and not that made-up ‘American English’ gabble through the means of The Bomb FM, Monday to Friday, 10am to 2pm. Of course they probs couldn’t understand me what w/ my constantly shifting trans-Atlantic accent [I'd go from London to New York cos I thought my Brit accent was too thick] and my general tendency to chat shit 100mph, inbetween ‘contemporary pop, hip-hop and R&B’. Basically samey, mainstream, commercial crap that I got sick of after one airing of, wait for it, Sam’s Show. I’m imaginative.

 

 It was a good experience though. One time I dragged in my die-hard Jehovah’s Witness aunt to preach the good news of Jehovah to the unsuspecting listener(s) of Cavite’s [number] one radio station. Probably illegal, highly unprofessional and quite frankly, fucking mental, I thought what the heck, half an hour of this and I’ve preached to as many people as I should have done all my life thus far. And yes, before you ask, I do actually believe in what Jehovah’s Witnesses believe, after Luke said I put it as my religious views on Facebook to be all cool and controversial as if it’s the new Scientology, Kabbalah, or in Jayna’s self-obsessed case, Jainism. Enough of me pisstaking myself though, this blog’s about other people, a concept that seems to be slipping after my last entry only got one comment from the awkwardly-named Aoife Siobhan McGing w/ her mind-bending, Feltham-bred txtspk. This entry is dedicated to Marky D though. The guy always drops hints @ more blog entries, from literally poledancing inbetween the Larmans on the Tube on the last NYE, chuckling w/ the Chuckle Brothers as he goes ‘Sam you gotta make a blog about this’ [he wasn't referring to the poledancing I don't think he even knew he was doing himself, but to whatever Matt and Stephen were doing, I think it was them, it could've been Luke, Dan, John, Andy, anyone, otherwise I'm making false accusations of incestuous homoerotica], to a recent road-trip to Nottingham, again to poledance w/ the Larmanator that is Stephen, where, whilst his hand was firmly on Luke’s leg next to him driving his perky KIA Picanto, Mark was all, ‘I can just see the title of your blog entry now Sam,’ referring to his potential teetotal antics in the gun crime capital of England [somewhere a couple of gangsters like he and Luke should be fine in]. Back to NYE and Notts later, Marky D has been up to all sorts since the last entry. He’s been to both Liquid Windsor and Liquid Envy in Uxbridge, and trust me, Uxbridge or Liquid Envy aren’t envious places to be in, that’s for sure. As for the awful Liquid Windsor, the video of Mark asking a bewildered, intimidated and slightly amused Tesco nightshift worker if he can have a Frijj sums up a Liquid night perfectly. We also checked out New Slang @ Niche on a Friday night, which wasn’t actually that bad, it was just the overpriced drinks that were, oh and John and I ribbing Mark after he threw an intoxicated slag’s advances back in her drunken face. ‘I was wearing a Machine Head t-shirt!’ he said after, all self-concious and teary-eyed. Mark, you always wear that bloody t-shirt, it’s even featured in this blog before when you snubbed Shreeji’s KOKO 19th for a night on the tiles in Oceana w/ Johnny Boy on your arm. If you’re gonna blame it for ruining your chances w/ trollied trollops why wear it in Staines on a Friday night?

 

 So after Lisa and I randomly stumbled across Andy C DJing a heavy night @ the improving McClusky’s last March w/ everyone’s best friend Adam, we caught Jamie T @ Glastonbury before more potential lady luck came to Marky D on that Nottingham trip. An absolutely classic caper, like the Inbetweeners going on a road-trip, as Mark, Luke, John, Andy and I visited Stephen for a house party where every guest paid £4 each to contribute to a huge tub of punch. It was filled w/ lethal spirits disguised w/ strong mixers, so as standard, Luke and I got, in his words and tone, DESTROYED! That also meant a lucky lady joined us afterwards for a bit of Lloyd Grossman and Brian Butterfield, and there was Mark, cracking jokes, wacking out impressions, getting everyone, including her, in a hysterical state. Alas, the most that happened after that was Luke collapsing next to a couple of twins. He woke up the next morning and while giggling said to one that all night he thought she was the other. Probs why the whole night he was groping the poor soul lying frozen beside him, who’s since developed agoraphobia and a fear of men. In terms of Marky D, I can’t stop there w/o talking about the other night @ the original New Slang @ The Kingston Hippodrome [The Works as it likes to be known these days]. Even though Luke tries to get away from the King o’ Crunk label as much as he can, he still spent the night demanding we stand awkwardly in the crunk room, where an unsuspecting pissed idiot bashed into Mark while dancing all over the place, to which Mark pushed him back. He then pushed Mark back, only for Mark to send him flying across the room, in which everyone seemed to make way for his human flightpath. The ever-so noble and diplomatic Lisa stepped in to cool things down, whispering things only she knows into the twatty victim’s ear [sweetnothings]. Meanwhile, after providing the highlight of the night [although Father McLean didn't seem impressed @ his protege Mark's actions] our v own Hulk Hogan stormed out in an attention-seeking sulk like that of NYE ’07. As for NYE ’09, well I’ll talk about that next time, seeing as it involves other blog favourites who we’ll catch up w/ since the last entry. I’ll answer questions like where’s *angry Carol Ash voice* ‘DANIEL!’? What’s Shreeji doing w/ herself these days? Is Jaaay really a man?

 

 Speaking of Jaaay, s/he and I went to the v first sole SHASH Bash [oooh it rolls off the tongue] in Wraysbury after CASH, that’s Carol Ash, invited me to surprise Shayla @ basically being there. It worked. ‘Oh Mother, you’ve made me the happiest girl alive!’ she screeched, embracing us both but stopping abruptly after seeing the androgynous Amazon Jaaay heaving in the doorway of The George [Inn] w/ a dead butterfly squashed all over her cheek. ”Oo the fuck is ‘e?!’ Shayla shouted, confused, scared, and visibly aroused all @ once. ‘This,’ Carol said, ‘is Surprise Number Two.’ @ which point Metro Station’s Seventeen Forever comes on and the classic DJ sums up the night perfectly w/, ‘Well, it was interesting.’ Oh, to be 17 Again *thinks back to Luke revealing his new svelte self @ Saira’s 17th b/day BBQ, bumping and grinding under a gazeibo* actually, fuck that.

 

 

Me getting Aunty Jingky to dish the dirt live on air.

 

 

Mark loves the camera. Happy New Year from The Inbetweeners.

 

 

The Inbetweeners in Nottingham, and Luke seeths @ Liquid Windsor, while Mark is lovin’ it.

 

 

We hit Liquid Envy in Uxbridge, Mark puts his best hardnut look on. Meanwhile, Mark and John missed out on Shreeji’s 19th.

 

 

Jamie T on the John Peel stage @ Glasto ’09.

 

 

The Hulk, before the push @ New Slang, The Kingston Hippodrome.

 

 

Jasmine, equipped w/ her deceased butterfly smeared on her cheek, w/ Anita and Shayla @ Shayla’s 17th. Jaaay’s one of the gals now.

Dear Me: A Letter to My Sixteen-Year-Old Self

Okay, so there’s a new book out on the market just in time for Christmas, entitled Dear Me: A Letter to My Sixteen-Year-Old Self. It’s a series of letters compiled by many, including Stephen Fry, Jonathan Ross, Yoko Ono, Elton John, Alan Carr, Debbie Harry, Annie Lennox and Patsy Kensit, to name a few, in which they write to their sixteen-year-young selves. From the hilarious to the heart-breaking, it’s poignant, revealing and nostalgic, and I thought it would be a good idea for a blog entry, as I have been rather quiet on the blogging front recently. Here goes.

Dear Sam,

As I write this, it’s nearing my twenty-first birthday, my début as it were, as in Filipino culture, a girl’s début is at eighteen, and a boy’s is at twenty-one. You, on the other hand, are still sweet sixteen, and nearing your seventeenth birthday. It’s not easy to give you advice as I am only twenty with few regrets, but so much will happen in those four years! At the moment you’ll be waving farewell to 2005, ah, in a few days you’ll be writing your entry ‘Adios 2005′ in your infamous blog, Samuel’s Space. You’re thinking of stopping it in the new year due to the lack of blog material, as after leaving school, everyone dispursed and the private jokes became few and far between. In addition, you have your own weird reasons as to why you’re stopping it, right? You’ll probably be touchy about it, but you’ll look back and laugh, which is a good thing. I mean, let’s face it, right now and throughout your first year of college, you’re a typically angsty teenager, who is experiencing change. Change is good, but during a catch-up in Nandos in the summer with Shreeji, Luke, John and Amber, you’ll be strangely adamant you haven’t changed in the short time since school even though the others will say they have. It’s funny, because you seem to easily adapt to change, embracing it sometimes even, yet at the same time, you’re somewhat scared of it. Basically, you think too much. And you’ll still be the same up until now, but @ least you’ll realise it soon. You’ll learn from your mistakes, and that’s what being young, growing up and maturing’s all about, learning, and living. You may be surprised, but you’ll be a notorious optimist. Just say yes more often, don’t be afraid of change and the unknown. Don’t think of the negatives, the cons, just do it, there’s only one way to find out. A lot of the time, it’s evident just by the things you wear, say or do, that you don’t care what people think. But really, you do still, and forget them! As I do have few regrets, I would tell you to stop being an arrogant twerp now, to stop being so emo @ times, to stop thinking so much, to believe in yourself, to get out there, grab the world and it’s opportunities, to have fun and to basically, sort yerself ahhht, but I’ll leave it there because you’re a typical teen, and anyway, you will do all of those things naturally, w/o anyone saying it to you. There’ll be blessings in disguise, clouds with silver linings and opportunities made from tragedies. Life is what you make of it mate, there’s no set path for you, you pick what paths to take. But at the same time, as ironic or contradictory as it may sound, everything happens for a reason, as there are reasons for those choices and decisions you make, you’ll see. You may not believe or get everything I’m saying, but really man, trust me, I should know! If you regret anything, it’ll mainly be the things you didn’t do, the paths you didn’t take, the things you’ll wonder what if. That’s life, that’s normal, there’ll always be roads not taken. As long as you’re happy and you believe you did the right thing, whatever or whenever it may be, then that’s all that matters. Sure, it may not seem like it at the time, but as I said, everything happens for a reason, whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I would tell you all the things you’ll get up to and what to look out for, but, I don’t wanna spoil the surprise, cos seriously, pleasant surprises are life’s natural highs noh! Just take life as it comes, and love your family, friends, and God. Take care Samuel/Samster/Reynolds/Reynolds Boy/Sammy/Sammy Boy! I’m v proud of you!

Love from,

Sam

P.S Here’s a pic of you on your twentieth b/day. Yep, your day will be the biggest snow day in Britain in your life thus far. Special huh. That’s the only pleasant surprise I shall enlighten you with. I just like how this picture still has some sort of vagueness to it, how it’s not incredibly revealing about how anything will be like in a few years. I mean, you’re still wearing that Thomas Nash jacket your madre bought you a few months ago hahaha! Have a good time Sam, do your thing, don’t let yourself or anyone else get to you, and keep up the good work!

 

Oh What a Night

 Perhaps overshadowed by the biggest amount of photos I’ve ever uploaded in one go, my last entry received no comments, apart from a convo between Jayna and I on the bleedin’ posted item, in which she tried to denounce her seedy fling w/ the Goebster, claiming it was all part of Shreeji’s sick mind. Zero comments is a first since the return of my blog, and something that off the top of my head, has only happened once before, probs cos it’s the first entry since everyone’s been back @ uni, and I never planned to write one during that time. Well, I’ve gotta finish what I started, and that’s the sick NYE. We returned to the pandemodium of the Tube, in which people were literally climbing over each other in order to get in to the station. We didn’t help the situation by constantly stopping and obstructing everyone’s way, tryna work out what way to go next, w/ Mark like a stuck tape, saying the crowded fiasco reminded him of going up to geography @ TAT. Trouble getting on the trains resumed, when we waited @ one spot on the crowded platform, hoping the doors would stop in front of us – the whole train flew past us. So there we were, running after it whilst tryna make sure we didn’t get shoved onto the tracks in the process. Once we were all on, DASH decided only then to say we’d got on the wrong train. One of his uni friends invited him to a house party she was @ in Camden – only in the text, she clearly said Caledonian Road, and even explained that it was on the Piccadilly line, although she put ‘picc. road’ but it doesn’t take a genius to work out what she meant. So there’s DASH, asking, ‘Who said Camden?’ Well, who else?! It was you, and even if someone else got the text, it could only be you to confuse Camden w/ Caledonian Road! He even then had the nerve to say he thought it was me who said Camden!

 So anyway, DASH pisses us all off the train @ the next stop, so we jump on another train to the mysterious ‘Caledonian Road’. I’d never heard of this place, despite the Piccadilly line being my local line, but I’ve only ever gone as far as King’s X, and, lo and behold, ol’ Caledonian Road is one stop after that. The only other stop you can think of after that is Cockfosters, the name which used to give you the giggles when you got on @ age twelve, but it probs still has Teddy in fits of laughter. So anyway, we get to Caledonian Road and we’re confronted by a lift. It’s crowded, but the crowd manages to fit in. They’re all standing in the lift, facing us. Us lot, standing outside the lift, facing them. Everyone stares @ everyone in brief silence. The indecisiveness of the group has sufficed again and I think it’s absolutely classic. So, basically, a load of people are waiting for us to decide about whether we’re gonna get in the lift or not. We, on the other hand, are wondering whether we can all fit or not. Clearly we can, it was packed, but there was some space, enough. Even then, these people are clearly gonna make space otherwise they wouldn’t be bloody waiting for us! Whilst people are frowning and sighing, I jumped in, then Stephen jumped in, then Aoife, then we all did, in a clumsy, weird bundle, to the moans and groans of everyone in a momentary frenzy. Absolutely fantastic. One lift ride up, and everyone bursts out, all of them pissed off @ us. We walk out into north London’s version of Ashford – a ghost town. This is when DASH relies on a bloody Tube map to find out where a ROAD is! Then he takes out an outdated pop-up London map that he shamefully spent nearly £10 on, it’d be less embarrassing if he said he got it free in a pack of Coco Pops. @ this point, everyone grows sceptical about how good this party is, and scared that we’re all in the middle of nowhere w/ out of everyone, DASH @ the helm. We begin to walk, before the girls stop and start walking back. No, Aoife didn’t get a stitch, she sure sobered up though. DASH thought drunk Aoife was normal Aoife, and he’s scared that when she finds that out, she’ll think he thinks sober Aoife is a miserable bitch. Well. . .

 Y’know it’s time to go when Tessa puts on her lost, vulnerable look, while Aoife’s friend Lauren had already disappeared, probably got caught on a tumbleweed rolling by. We went after them as they went back into the Tube station. Too impatient to wait for the lift, we decided to take the stairs, which was an odd experience. No wonder there was a lift and everyone wanted to get on it, these stairs were a neverending, twisted helter skelter, and as DASH and I think Stephen had gone first, all I could hear while running down were strange, distant voices echoing up the tunnel, and everytime I got to a turn there was another set of identical steps, you had to of been drinking to imagine it, or maybe not for your own safety. When we got to the platform, Mark, Stephen and John decided to join the others in going home but that was probs because they couldn’t be arsed to wait for a lift or take the stairs. I’d already told Shreeji to meet us in Caledonian Road, so I couldn’t exactly just leave her when she was on her way, particularly after she too went on her way to Camden but had to get off due to DASH’s idiocy. Imagine if I just left her, it’d be as bad as what we’d all done to Teddy – again, due to DASH’s idiocy. Oh yeah, Teddy, whatever happened to that guy? After we weren’t allowed to meet him on a bridge, he told DASH to make sure we stayed where we were so he could meet us there. Of course, DASH didn’t, so when Teddy spent ages tryna get to us because of the crowds, when he finally got there, we were already on our way to ‘Caledonian Road’. A few ‘FFS’ later and Teddy tried to make his way back to Waterloo, again, slowly through the crowds, people throwing up everywhere, fights breaking out all over. When he finally got into the station, he found out the next trains to Ashford came @ 3:30am. FOR F*CK SAKE! Meanwhile, the others went home in disbelief that DASH and I were diplomatic enough to wait for Shreeji, and she soon showed up, w/ ‘Jew’ in tow, oh sorry I meant ‘Ju’.

 We go to this party and it’s some strange ensemble of postgraduates. Okay, they were our age, but they certainly seemed like [im]mature students. DASH’s friend was totally out of it, so that’s the reason we’re there out of the window. So we’re standing in the corner of a kitchen wondering what to do next when one of the weirdos introduces himself while waving a penknife around, clearly tryna be funny but failing miserably. Of course, a reaction came out of DASH, as when his back was turned, DASH delivered a classic Carolesque line, ‘I didn’t like that knife being waved around I tell ya!’ The weirdo then starts questioning Shreeji and Juhel’s relationship, before they start pisstaking him and he backs down and becomes somewhat normal. Though, having said that, we left and found him climbing up the house outside. We came back, after befriending some merry French next-door neighbours who were nicer than the people @ the party, took part in a brief, everyone-stand-in-a-circle debate about France while eating crisps, then realised we needed real food, so we took the Tube and finally got to Camden, and ate the said real food – in some grimy takeaway chicken place. We jumped on to the Tube home just before 4:30am when it stops being free, and got home @ 6am, was an action-packed, non-stop jokes night. @ around 2am, while sitting @ the Mad Hatter’s tea party, I returned Teddy’s missed calls, he was in the Waterloo toilets when I got through to him, probs sitting in there for a bit, getting his 20p entry charge money’s worth. I told him the others had gone home, and predictably, he said he’d go home too. @ 3:30am, when the only new trains that came were to Richmond, he asked when the next train to Ashford would come, and was told, 6:10am. FOR F*CK SAKE! He then jumped on to the Tube, luckily it was still free then otherwise woah, trouble, but then had to get off @ Acton Town cos, as he put it, ‘two clowns’ were dancing on the tracks. FOR F*CK SAKE! When he said two clowns, I actually had visions of two real clowns floating around on the tracks. He waited for another train, and finally got home @ 6am – the same time I did. Teddy’s NYE was certainly one to remember. FOR F*CK SAKE!

 Everyone blamed DASH whenever indecisiveness arose, as he was in charge of travel info on the Event. No word of a lie, DASH said John was ‘too lazy to do it himself’ in regards to the travel info, claiming he didn’t make much effort w/ the Event, w/ only himself as admin. DASH was obv insinuating that 1. He should’ve created the Event, and 2. If not, he should’ve @ least been made admin, to obv take control. John clearly made DASH do the travel info so that he himself wouldn’t be blamed by everyone, because that’s what our group’s like, and he knew DASH would happily lap it up out of everyone. Tbh though, DASH made things worse for himself, by constantly opening that pop-up tourguide that engulfed his face everytime. DASH was also furious that Teddy was blaming him for his shambolic NYE, it’s jokes how everyone points the finger @ DASH. When DASH dished the dirt on John and Teddy, I said this is great blog material, he then went off on one saying whatever he says ends up on my ‘bloody blog’. Almost. Was a sick NYE, though I don’t think Teddy would agree. Anyway, the March issue of FHM came out y/day, w/ my words in it, so yes, I was credited in it. I was also credited in the last issue, though I didn’t realise ’til I saw I was credited in this one. So yeah, buy it @ a recession-resisting £3.50! Out now! (Y)

“So much DRAMA!”

Facebook had been wack of late. I e-mailed them w/ an issue and they still haven’t got back to me personally, and probably won’t do. It’s minor, but it’s cos I don’t wanna have Jayna’s snide remark on Haps New Year! lost in cyberspace forever. Basically, Mark commented, followed by Jayna, followed by Shayla. Mark and Shayla’s comments appear on the actual Note, but didn’t on my profile’s Mini-Feed about the Note, whereas Jayna’s comment appeared on the Mini-Feed but not on the actual Note! Now the Mini-Feed news on the Note doesn’t hang around for long, and it’s the only record of Jayna’s smut comment. She thanked me for the mention and said she’d never had even thought she’d be mentioned in that ‘wonderfully sarcastic’ Note of mine. Be’ave, 1. Jayna, you’re a ledge, I’m sure it’s not just my Notes that you’re in, you’re probs all over the Net; Google, YouTube, RedTube, 2. Wonderfully sarcastic? Cheers Babe, but you’re just as sarcy yourself which is boomting. She said she’d never have expected any demand for those kind of photos in all honesty, so she was flattered that I said there were some. Well, tbh, I did imply that the only demand was coming from Mr. Goebel, so I’m sure you’re v flattered indeed, frothing @ the gash. Jayna’s FB photos have been flooding in, along w/ the demand, such as her pro pic that matches mine, snap on the passport photos.

 Shortly after my previous entry, I received an abusive text from Amber, ‘U bastard!’ Of course, it would’ve been abusive if it didn’t have the almost probably intentionally invisible ‘lol’ hanging off the end of the message. She said she was only tryna get her mention in the next entry, w/ fear that all of her NYE antics were covered in a few sentences in the last one and that was that! Why didn’t she just comment the Note instead of bombard me w/ a torrent of abuse? Well, Amber only used to comment my blog back in the day, before one time when she commented to her heart’s content, I pisstook it as I did w/ everyone, but I think I touched a nerve, because she never commented since. She said she wasn’t free on NYE, too busy crying within her four walls, but was free on NYD, once she was hungover from downing bottles of plonk in a desperate attempt to forget her troubles the night before, yet probably feeling better after she’d slept on it, a new day, new dawn, new year and all that. Teddy asked me about two months ago when I was gonna write another newsletter. Eh? It’s not as if I forward e-mails around to everyone, that was so 2004, or as if I hand paper out door-to-door, that’s so my religion. He added that my ‘newsletters’ are always about him, while trying to hide his half-delighted, half-saddened facial expression, in an unsure mix of self-flattery and self-wallowing, that he just can’t afford to show, as Teddy doesn’t show any emotion, let alone arrogance or upset, as he likes to think he’s too modest and strong for that. They’re not all about you either Bruv, you’re just one of the main stars, along w/ the indecisive motley crew of John, DASH, Mark, Amber, Shreeji and previously Jaaay, and if my ‘newletters’ were all about you, well, joke’s on who? I was surprised that he was one of the first confirmed guests on John’s NYE event, ‘well up fer it’ apparently. John urged me to click Attending to sway the Maybes and ‘Yet to reply’ invitees, so I did just that. He also gave DASH the lead in terms of travel, so there DASH was, putting all of the boring travel info on the event Wall. The way he does it makes no one read it, he does it in such an elongated, wordy way, all eloquent and flowery, just like his ten-text essay SMS. Ah well, @ least it gives him his only time to shine, and to feel as if he might have some responsibilty in what was a successful night, despite all of the night’s unsuccesses coming from him.

 I get a call @ home @ around 3:30pm from none other than wastegash DASH, asking me where I was. Er, where should I be? ‘Oooh, we’re all @ Ashford Station!’ No one told me, he then goes on to say that he did say that they’d be getting the 3:17pm train from Ashford and ‘we’ changed the event time [what's all this 'we'? The only person that can change the event time is John, you're on your own GASH]. The event time wasn’t changed, all DASH did was write a load of bollocks on the Wall that no one can be arsed to read, and all he said was that they were gonna go @ around 3:30pm – that’s so vague and ambiguous that it hardly automatically translates to the 3:17pm train from Ashford. So anyway, Aoife, Teddy and I were the only ones who didn’t go @ ’3:17pm from Ashford’ and I was then quite sceptical about Teddy cos, well, it’s Teddy, it wouldn’t be surprising if he was ‘well up fer it’ one min and ‘sorry but I think I’ll give it a miss, knackered from work today, got work tomorrow too’ the next, w/ the latter the most usual. I managed to get hold of Aoife first, as Teddy’s PA Chloe informed me more than once that Teddy HADN’T COME HOME YET. After Teddy finally called me back and confirmed he’d be making his own way to LDN, Aoife and I made our way to Feltham Station to find all of the trains were on the semi-fast service going the Wimbledon way cos of engineering works. Even though we could’ve got any train, as soon as one came, we rushed for it, but our tickets wouldn’t go through the barriers for some unknown reason. A member of staff came to help but seemed to be doing it in intensive slow motion. We managed to get to the doors just as they were shutting, Aoife slid on first w/ her waify frame, holding the doors open whilst screeching in her loud, infectious voice, ‘GET ON SAM! I’VE GOT THE DOORS OPEN!’ No, you haven’t got the doors open, you’re basically shut in them, and yes Aoife, I would get on. . . but YOU’RE IN THE BLOODY WAY! Alas, I somehow managed to squeeze in w/ my ticket flying as the doors slammed. Luckily, the ticket landed inside, as Aoife and I were tryna compose our breathlessness much to the other passengers’ amusement and apparent discomfort to Aoife’s loudness. The train stopped @ Twix for tiiime, before going back the way it came in an X No Way Out kinda way. Aoife was alarmed but soon calmed w/ some Strongbows between us, so lightweight Aoife got louder as the eve went on, swigging a can upstairs in Waterloo’s packed Burger King, to which a cleaner told her they haven’t got a license for her to do that. It wasn’t the drinking they were talking about probably.

 We managed to reach the others and found an alright bar, although the indecisiveness of the group began when we tried to leave. We got to a double door and went through one, realised we didn’t know where the exit was from there, all of us then went back through that door, then merely around to the other door right next to it, went through it, and despite everything being exactly the same, we somehow realised where the exit was, as if both doors were worlds apart when really IT WAS THE SAME BLOODY DOOR! We then hopped out onto the streets of Chinatown, and LDN @ night is awesome, particularly on NYE, the atmosphere and the crowds and the endless streams of jokes and randomness is great. We went into a packed newsagent w/ two aisles seperated by a two-sided shelf in the middle. Mark went down one, but was told by an old Asian shopkeeper, ‘Excoos me Sir, can you pliz moob and let dee customas troo pliz’. Mark obeyed and said himself he ‘had to get out’, all the while, Tessa, Stephen and I walked down the other aisle and right around into the next one, all the way down and out again for no apparent reason. Some of us waited outside while the others were purchasing the likes of ‘Butweiser’, ‘Heniken’ and ‘Guinnes’ and arguing w/ the freshy newsagents as the good deal on Fosters advertised all over the shop was somehow available @ all times apart from when we go to buy it. One of the characteristics of NYE in LDN is the free transport, particularly the carnage of the Tube. The Tube’s madness anyway, let alone NYE when it’s packed and free-for-all. So there we were, constantly tryna clamber on to full carriages w/o losing anyone. We finally got off @ Embankment and literally followed the crowd, the masses of people going to see the fireworks. It was all pretty fun and amazing tbh, so many different people in one place, it was like a rock festival w/ freshies. We seemed to be walking in a long line through the masses for ages, only to find out we’d been walking in a v big circle, as we ended up on the other side of Embankment Station, the station we’d just exited. Teddy only bought a return to Waterloo and not travelcards like the rest of us because he said it’d be pointless if he was only going to see the fireworks @ Southbank. Or more like he was being a miser and it wouldn’t of even cost that much more anyway. He was telepathically sending us weird messages from high up on one of the bridges, demanding we go and meet him on there. We weren’t allowed, so we managed to find an alright spot for ourselves. Afterwards, it was time to follow the even more mental crowds back to the crazy Tube, while some of us stopped on the way for a piss on what looked like a listed building. @ this, the hapless Met ran over, ‘YOU CAN’T PISS ‘ERE!’ Soz Mate, already have thanks. Btw, it was some of us boys, it’s not as if Aoife got down and started squatting on a stone pillar. Anyway, I’ll continue in the next entry, I may have mentioned midnight, but oh no, the fun doesn’t stop there, ‘so much DRAMA!’ as Teddy says, in his spot-on impression of the hotties from The Hills, flapping hands and all.