So, it’s the end of another year and time to reflect upon everything that has happened over the past 12 months. I wonder how many million weblogs have opened with that trite platitude today? Well, mine might be the million-and-oneth but I’m not about to join them in retrospectively summarising the best and worst of everything that has gone before. I spent most of 2006 in jail, and if you want to know how it went you can trawl through the ten months worth of prison blogs and decide for yourself. Right now, I’m only interested in the precise moment I’m living through, and when that moment’s passed, the moment after that and so on until eventually I grow old and succumb to Alzheimer’s and wind up unwittingly experiencing the same moment on repeat till death do me and my muddled mind apart. So what can I say about this particular moment that I’m caught up in? Well, not very much to be honest. Or at least not very much of interest. Given my propensity for verboseness, I’m sure I could write a 10,000-word dissertation on the subject of this very second, but I have a feeling I might lose you after the first paragraph, much as I am with the first paragraph of this blog. Grant me a stay of execution for a few more lines if you will, however, and allow me to briefly set the scene. That way you’ll be able to understand just why there isn’t much to write home about right now.
It’s 9:45 on the evening of December 31st 2006 which, by my reckoning, makes it a little over two hours until New Year. It is a time when even the nerdiest of bloggers should be out living the moment, not blogging it. Unfortunately, there is the small matter of the electronic tag around my ankle, preventing me from venturing out and fucking whores, stabbing junkies and, oh yes…celebrating the New Year. Of course, just because I’m stuck indoors doesn’t mean I can’t still party like it’s almost 2007. Indeed, as I type these words, there is a veritable party nestling in my right trouser pocket, containing enough magic beans to shoot me skywards and leave enough left over to land me another spell in jail should the drugs squad pay an unexpected visit. Frankly though the goodness contained therein is no fun when ingested in its current state, for in order for the magic to take effect, there needs to be one special ingredient added to the mix - company. As it stands however, I’m all out of companions. My girlfriend is at work, my daughter is asleep in the next room and thus the only company I have is the television, and the last time I checked, the TV didn’t do Class A’s. (Although given the amount of Columbia’s finest that has been snorted off its glass cabinet over the years, it may well have passively absorbed some and unwittingly acquired a raging coke habit.) You could be forgiven for thinking that I must be a right Johnny No-Mates to be unable to muster a solitary drinking buddy to see me through the New Year, and in some ways you’d be right. In mitigation however, I’d like to point out that as I stay several miles out of Aberdeen, even if said mates were to make it out here, they would be effectively stuck in Nowheresville until the 2nd of January when public transport resumes, or until they staggered back into town, which could take even longer. So all in all, it’s not shaping up to be the most bacchanalian of Hogmanays. In fairness however, I hadn’t originally anticipated being at large at all right now, having been scheduled to spend all of 2006 and the first quarter of 2007 in jail, so to even be able to sip black coffee at the kitchen table and type up this blog is a bonus, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
Aside from summating the previous 12 months with the aid of bullet points and themed lists, the other hot topic that bloggers the world over are no doubt pontificating on right now is that of New Year’s resolutions. Once again I must dissent, partly because I’m not like them (my blog is unique, didn’t you know?) and also because I have no resolutions to pass. The way I see it, I spent most of 2006 in jail, so even if I spend the whole of 2007 masturbating and eating Twinkies, it’s got to be an improvement. Short of splitting up with my girlfriend, being diagnosed with syphilis (the precipitate, presumably, for being dumped by the missus) and going back to jail - all of which are within the bounds of possibility - 2007’s guaranteed to be a good one. There are a few things I’d like to get done this coming year, including such lofty goals as keeping The Trash Whore Diaries regularly updated, but that hardly constitutes a resolution; more of an aspiration. Incidentally, if you’re wondering why updates have been somewhat sporadic ever since my liberation from that building with bars on all the windows, my excuse is thus: every day, upon being awoken by my daughter, who has been unfruitful in her attempts to rouse her mother, I am assigned, by default, the morning shift. This means that until my girlfriend awakens, I am left in charge of a 15-month-old tearaway. Fun as that is, in a hectic, not-a-moment’s-peace-to-myself kind of way, it is hardly conducive to blogging or indeed doing anything that requires sustained concentration. As it is, I struggle to manage a five-minute shave without my daughter lobbing my face wash down the toilet bowl, unwinding all the toilet roll, chewing the string off her mum’s tampons and throwing everything else that isn’t nailed down into the bath. By the time my girlfriend arises, it is usually time for her to go to work meaning that, once again, I am left holding the baby. And once again, I am not complaining, for it certainly beats a nine to five, or indeed a 24/7 in the jail. To get a moment’s peace in order to compose something blog-worthy I must first make the little one her lunch, then clean and change her, dress her in her outdoor clothes, put her into the buggy and set off on a trek around the village. By the time I have reached the other side, with a bit of luck she has fallen asleep, whereupon I can promptly nip into the local coffee shop, whip out my laptop and type frantically until the bairn wakes up demanding to be fed/changed/amused. And that is the longwinded excuse for my updates being slower than Saddam's heartbeat. In theory I could use the time when the wean finally goes to bed at nite to type, but frankly after running around after her all day, retrieving toiletries from toilet bowls and toilet bowl contents from nappies, I am too exhausted to type so much as a syllable.
According to the countdown timer on MTV2, there’s only one hour and two minutes until New Year so I guess I’d better sign off and post this blog, as I’ve still got to wash my hair and maybe - if I’m feeling really extravagant - roll myself a grass joint for the big moment. Well, it does only come around once a year, so why not indulge myself? I’m sure I’ll regret it in the cold light of the morning after, but as I said at the outset, I’m only concerned with the moment I’m living through right now, and right now I’ve got an urge to be reckless. Oh, and excuse me for being slightly premature, as is my wont, but Happy New Year my little Trash Whores. By the time you read this, 2007 will no doubt be in full swing so allow me to also impart the cheery message that I hope the comedown from your excesses was a bitch. Jealous? Moi? Not at all. Anyway, the bells are almost upon me and I must sign off so I can prepare to give myself a celebratory snog. I may be all alone at New Year but at least I’m getting to spend it with someone I love. Here’s to you, Kai. Happy New Year, gorgeous.
It’s 9:45 on the evening of December 31st 2006 which, by my reckoning, makes it a little over two hours until New Year. It is a time when even the nerdiest of bloggers should be out living the moment, not blogging it. Unfortunately, there is the small matter of the electronic tag around my ankle, preventing me from venturing out and fucking whores, stabbing junkies and, oh yes…celebrating the New Year. Of course, just because I’m stuck indoors doesn’t mean I can’t still party like it’s almost 2007. Indeed, as I type these words, there is a veritable party nestling in my right trouser pocket, containing enough magic beans to shoot me skywards and leave enough left over to land me another spell in jail should the drugs squad pay an unexpected visit. Frankly though the goodness contained therein is no fun when ingested in its current state, for in order for the magic to take effect, there needs to be one special ingredient added to the mix - company. As it stands however, I’m all out of companions. My girlfriend is at work, my daughter is asleep in the next room and thus the only company I have is the television, and the last time I checked, the TV didn’t do Class A’s. (Although given the amount of Columbia’s finest that has been snorted off its glass cabinet over the years, it may well have passively absorbed some and unwittingly acquired a raging coke habit.) You could be forgiven for thinking that I must be a right Johnny No-Mates to be unable to muster a solitary drinking buddy to see me through the New Year, and in some ways you’d be right. In mitigation however, I’d like to point out that as I stay several miles out of Aberdeen, even if said mates were to make it out here, they would be effectively stuck in Nowheresville until the 2nd of January when public transport resumes, or until they staggered back into town, which could take even longer. So all in all, it’s not shaping up to be the most bacchanalian of Hogmanays. In fairness however, I hadn’t originally anticipated being at large at all right now, having been scheduled to spend all of 2006 and the first quarter of 2007 in jail, so to even be able to sip black coffee at the kitchen table and type up this blog is a bonus, even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.
Aside from summating the previous 12 months with the aid of bullet points and themed lists, the other hot topic that bloggers the world over are no doubt pontificating on right now is that of New Year’s resolutions. Once again I must dissent, partly because I’m not like them (my blog is unique, didn’t you know?) and also because I have no resolutions to pass. The way I see it, I spent most of 2006 in jail, so even if I spend the whole of 2007 masturbating and eating Twinkies, it’s got to be an improvement. Short of splitting up with my girlfriend, being diagnosed with syphilis (the precipitate, presumably, for being dumped by the missus) and going back to jail - all of which are within the bounds of possibility - 2007’s guaranteed to be a good one. There are a few things I’d like to get done this coming year, including such lofty goals as keeping The Trash Whore Diaries regularly updated, but that hardly constitutes a resolution; more of an aspiration. Incidentally, if you’re wondering why updates have been somewhat sporadic ever since my liberation from that building with bars on all the windows, my excuse is thus: every day, upon being awoken by my daughter, who has been unfruitful in her attempts to rouse her mother, I am assigned, by default, the morning shift. This means that until my girlfriend awakens, I am left in charge of a 15-month-old tearaway. Fun as that is, in a hectic, not-a-moment’s-peace-to-myself kind of way, it is hardly conducive to blogging or indeed doing anything that requires sustained concentration. As it is, I struggle to manage a five-minute shave without my daughter lobbing my face wash down the toilet bowl, unwinding all the toilet roll, chewing the string off her mum’s tampons and throwing everything else that isn’t nailed down into the bath. By the time my girlfriend arises, it is usually time for her to go to work meaning that, once again, I am left holding the baby. And once again, I am not complaining, for it certainly beats a nine to five, or indeed a 24/7 in the jail. To get a moment’s peace in order to compose something blog-worthy I must first make the little one her lunch, then clean and change her, dress her in her outdoor clothes, put her into the buggy and set off on a trek around the village. By the time I have reached the other side, with a bit of luck she has fallen asleep, whereupon I can promptly nip into the local coffee shop, whip out my laptop and type frantically until the bairn wakes up demanding to be fed/changed/amused. And that is the longwinded excuse for my updates being slower than Saddam's heartbeat. In theory I could use the time when the wean finally goes to bed at nite to type, but frankly after running around after her all day, retrieving toiletries from toilet bowls and toilet bowl contents from nappies, I am too exhausted to type so much as a syllable.
According to the countdown timer on MTV2, there’s only one hour and two minutes until New Year so I guess I’d better sign off and post this blog, as I’ve still got to wash my hair and maybe - if I’m feeling really extravagant - roll myself a grass joint for the big moment. Well, it does only come around once a year, so why not indulge myself? I’m sure I’ll regret it in the cold light of the morning after, but as I said at the outset, I’m only concerned with the moment I’m living through right now, and right now I’ve got an urge to be reckless. Oh, and excuse me for being slightly premature, as is my wont, but Happy New Year my little Trash Whores. By the time you read this, 2007 will no doubt be in full swing so allow me to also impart the cheery message that I hope the comedown from your excesses was a bitch. Jealous? Moi? Not at all. Anyway, the bells are almost upon me and I must sign off so I can prepare to give myself a celebratory snog. I may be all alone at New Year but at least I’m getting to spend it with someone I love. Here’s to you, Kai. Happy New Year, gorgeous.
2 comments:
Hi,
This is a question for the webmaster/admin here at trashwhore.blogspot.com.
May I use part of the information from your blog post above if I give a link back to your website?
Thanks,
John
Sure, no problem.
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