a beautiful revolution: blog

Puny boy crying at the deep end

I am utterly bored.

My MSN social life is no longer enough.

My Skype sex excitement is beginning to wear thin.

I am tempted to throw myself in at the deep end;  see what happens - will he sink - will he swim - or will puny boy start to cry,  create a scene, embarrass his Cuban healed father once more by refusing to let go of his lime green rubber ring.

I am utterly bored.

I want to leave this sad-fuck-cul-de-sac

I want to throw myself in at the deep end.

But puny boys aren't very brave

Don't hit me - I'm from channel 4

The sky is blue

I decide to do a big super-duper man wash.

I sit in my garden and wait for my super-duper man wash to finish.

I've bought an external microphone for my camcorder. It is very good. I want to film/document something socially important - something only a white middle class man could really understand but I can't decide which of my neighbours to film - the Black family to my left  or the scummy thick-as-pig-shit family to my right?

I smoke a cigarette and contemplate

My washing is done.

I unload my super-duper man wash.

Clearly the BBC are more likely to show my film about the Black people.

I hang my super-duper man wash on the line.

But Channel 4 is more likely to want the scummy thick-as-pig-shit family to my right.

I go back into the kitchen.

There are a pair of ladies pants on my kitchen floor?

I have no idea who they belong to? They aren't mine. They don't look like Skys. They're defiantly not Iris's ... they must be Coffee Shop girls? She must have gone home one morning - knickerless?

How common

I am clearly better off without her and her cheap high street ways.

I decide to film them.

I then throw them in the bin.

I have another cigarette.

I think I'll film the thick-as-pig-shit family to my right.