Apathy UK

Booyakka. This season of merriment is already beginning to take a noticeable toll on this intrepid Doctor’s constitution. It started about a week ago, in earnest, and apart from the odd night of restrained alcoholic indulgence, it has not stopped since. A few examples of the detrimental effects. On Saturday afternoon, after a Friday night of lager, wine and cava and passionate/drunken love making with a large lady of considerable means, a few hours sleep, a plate of Dr Bruce’s Speciality Scrambled Eggs, it was off to Ivyleaf for a leisurely nine-hole knockabout with a good chum. A means of restoring one’s internal homeostasis before the unavoidable evening’s onslaught of prawn curry and cold lager with honoured invited guests. Now, we must all bear in mind that, unlike many other undertakings, I have never failed to finish a round of golf. Never, despite hailstorms, gale force coastal winds and playing like a fucking muppet. Until last Saturday. The eggs were giving notice of a sudden ...

Well, goddam it, due to unforeseen logistical problems, I found myself taking the day off. Which was nice, after the weekend of hockey, late nights, excessive inebriation and being attacked by a good mate, who obviously has a strand of lunacy running through his genetic ladder. Having barely survived all that, it was a pleasure to be able to return to bed, fleeing the testicle freezing morning, and watch flipped out Jap movies. However, I failed to remember that Cris was supposed to be filling in some more of me tat tomorrow, a day which will now find me employed. Drattage! I want the fucker finished so that I can decide if I want it extended over the ankle and under the foot. It just started itching a little today, especially just below the knee. That Kamolisan cream (for sore nipples and baby’s bottom rash – and now for tats) is the shit. Better than prep H and Savlon. The scab is not hardening up and just brushes off – hopefully taking no more than just the overfill of ink under my ...

|Instead of that obviously pre-prepared dribble at the airport about the last weekend that you were down making me forget that I am over you, what I really wanted to say was,”Gemma, FUCK OFF!” I didn’t keep it to my original three words for several reasons, the most prominent of which was that there was a large chance that you may have taken such an outburst the wrong way and kneed me one right in the balls. “Well, how should I have taken it?” is a fair question and I will tell you how. There is no way I could ever want to stop being friends with you, you are far too exceedingly cool and entertaining for that to ever even be a consideration, but as you pointed out on numerous occasions and I eventually realised, that is all you have ever and will ever see me as. A friend. Which is great, although admittedly I did not feel that way at first. It took awhile, a few years, the odd tear and probably about eighty barrels of beer but I had come round to the idea and this meant I could be ...

Thoughts on designing my third tattoo: Intended to be black shape down left leg outside hemline: Initially thought maybe a Polynesian style. Samoan or the like. These are all very personal tattoos and mean special unique things to each wearer. So, can’t directly rip one out of a mag/website. Got me thinking though – design my own, with its own special meanings to me. So, here I am. What’s important enough and relevant enough to have on me for the rest of my time? My Mantra: “Woke up, Got up, Went out and Got laid, Then died and Got Buried Dead in the Grave, Man.” In Chinese symbols, or hieroglyphs perhaps? Or letters within the shapes? Okay so probably hieroglyphs down ze leg avec a few lines to add form and structure. Maybe not necessarily Egyptian hieroglyphs. There must a more than one system of pictographs. Maybe create my own. Reach a compromise of emphasis between meaning and aesthetics. N.B. Other things to ponder upon. A) Explosion in popular...

So, went and played tennis against Viv. She did not appear to be in the best of moods and it seemed I could barely raise a titter out of here with even my most extremely banal and ludicrous antics. So we knocked the balls about for awhile and it became clear that she was quite handy but nothing that the Brucemeister couldn't handle. Shortly afterwards I had to face the fact that my backhand had left me for warmer climes but I was having a laugh so I was not too concerned. Eventually she consents to playing a game or three and we start serving it up. Viv spent the whole time umming and awwing and sighing and making disgruntled faces (which she does very well) but she took the first set off me 6 - 2. I must try and make it quite clear that I was not being competitive at all, I was enjoying myself playing a leisurely game of tennis with this fine filly in the morning sun. With the first set finished Viv says she has had enough because it is dull. "Dull?" said I as we lef...

There is not much left. We have to act now or it will be too late to save anything. I know. Where’s the captain? He’s in the galley but he’s not alive. What!? He got a frying pan to the head. It’s not pretty. Shit. It’s just you and me then, man. Who’s in charge? What rank are you? We’re both lieutenants aren’t we? I got promoted last month. O yeah. Congratulations. Thanks. Fuck. I’m in charge. Shit. Okay, that’s fine. I knew this mission would be good for my career. Yeah right. Donna’s parents will be cool about the two of you getting hitched when they know you have power. Donna. Shit. We have to sort this out. I know. We’re about to go critical. No, you don’t understand. Before we shipped out Donna told me she was pregnant. Yeah? Congratulations, man! No, well, yes. Thanks. It is groovy. The only problem is that if she has a child outside of wedlock then the Family will take her. Shit. I didn’t think. Neither did I. She needs to get hit...

**CRASH** That was fun. Ugggh. Your irony is not appreciated. Owww. Look at you! I really hope I don’t look like you. Bleed much? No. I ain’t got time to bleed. Wait, what’s that from? Don’t tell me, I know. Wait, wait, I know it. Wait. Shit, there’s more of them. Hold on! Bastards! **CRASH** **CRASH** Stabilisers fucked. Life support wobbly. Thrusters coughing. Nearest planet? That big black one over there, I reckon. I can’t be sure because my wingmirrors are smashed. Looks cozy. Can you land there? I know I’m pretty shit at flying these things but to think that I could miss an entire planet….fuck. Yeah, I can probably hit it. Make it so. Wait, wait, I know that one as well. It’s right on the tip of my tongue. Fly, dammit, fly! O yeah, right. I got it Capitan. Should it be so warm in here? And why’s that flashing? Pants. Stabilisers fucked. Life support wobbly. Thrusters coughing. Radiation leaking. Bejesus Christ! Get a grip o...

Incidentally, before I am away to spark one on a bench next door in the yard of graves, let me quickly recommend a fine red for you. It is from Lindemans, who I think are located somewhere in Eastern Australia. It is called Cawarra and is as close as any Shiraz Cabernet will ever get to being a rainbow. Juicy during the primary stages, levels out in the middle and unlike alot of reds arrives back down to earth will a lovely palatable curve and leaves you sitting in the pot of gold there beneath.

As I sit down to write the sun dips his head goodnight. And Lo! What the Lord had said very much came to be! There was light, a great light, a really big ball of fire in the sky that warmed the earth and her inhabitants. Although many millions of fathoms away, this wonderful and enormous torch in the heavens had the ability to light the whole of the day and add brightness to every passing moment. Some moments, however, can be a little too bright and overly warm. Take for example, returning to my car after a long stint on the beach, the car having spent the time lazing in the sun. Thanks in part to the sun and the glass windows, my modest banger, normally only just capable of providing adequate power to break the speed limit and only then when going down a very steep hill, has developed immense internal thermal energy probably capable of laying to waste a small to medium sized hill village in Sicily. If that was your wont, of course. My wont, at this point, is normally to get into...

This point of the entry is crucial. There is a mathematical equation to explain the vital importance of quick action at this time. It is T=a(w)*h / S(w/3) + sR; where T= Time of Survival, a = Average heat for the day, w = the number of windows in the car, h = hours in the sun, S = speed of opening, sR= Sunroof. You might think that the sunroof should be included as one of the windows but once, and if, you manage to get the key in the ignition and start moving, an open sunroof will provide at least three times as much cooling wind rush, or CWR, as any window. I have frequently come close to passing out at this point, leaving my dehydrated and handsome corpse for some local fisherman to find a week later and then use as bait. So far, so good. Due to the appalling state of health of my short-term memory and my unbearable thirst, I normally forget the sting in the tale. The heat of the car is finally just bearable, you’ve started the engine and are now in a great rush to get some godfor...

Oo, It looks like I’ve been terribly remiss, In getting round to writing this, Several inebriated weeks have passed, Since I submitted last, But I guess that it’s all okay, Coz I’m the only one who reads this anyway. So there. Aah, So there you are, The late Sultan of Omar, You’ve been hiding away of late, Spending your days and nights asleep in the fire grate, Making that warbling noise at eight pm each night, You seem pale, are you quite alright? Then I remember you were hung in 1741, Which explains you’re alabaster complexion. Yep. So, I really must up and away, I have a vital game of hockey to play, Even though my right shoulder is giving me gip, And I suspect my right hamstring is about to rip; But needs must as needs may, Especially on this rather sunny day, And with several key players unavailable, Those resilient Bude men left must lay their cards upon the table, To play together and play with class, So to triumph and ...

Zap. Bang. Fucking Wallop. Have you ever fallen so hard, for so long through such daunting spaces into a broiling cauldron of lust like I just did? Sitting here, I was, minding my manners and perusing the female bottoms mingling about the store when SMACK, in she walked, a dark haired, slightly taller than a midget, lip stud most assuredly off-centre and dressed like a Peruvian goat herder, beauty whose visage will simply transcend my bumbling attempts at describing it. Take it from this battle-hardened reporter, this girl was the mustard and by Jove, if you’ll excuse my wanton depravity, I wanted to spread her on my wiener schnitzel! My sausage of love has been dry for too long. It needs the kind of moisturising that Olay just can’t provide. So, I trip over my feet and tongue and realise that if I am to make sweet love to this little wonder woman I’d best buck up my ideas. Good God, but what a derriere! I think her name is Natalie. Or maybe just Nat. Natalie, Natalie, Nubile N...

Hold your fucking horses mate! Nat’s backs back and Good God does it curve in all the right places! I imagine that if she was lying on her side on a sun lounger, her pores open to the heat of the early afternoon sun and she winked at me as I popped the top of the lotion bottle, my heart might very well flutter and my swimming shorts rustle, and when I pour a line of the oil along the side of her midriff, I can see it dribbling down her back, like s sheen, a lacquer of love. Zip it. She’s just returned to this humble video shop to return Session 9, which I recommended to her last night, the night of my re-infatuation with her fine self. With her enveloping eyes rising to meet mine she answered that it had been sufficiently scary and she had heard voices later on that night. I could tell by the way her two friends were checking out my man breasts that they were sizing me up as a potential suitor. Incidentally, they too were fit, one blonde and tall who laughed at even my crappy jokes...

So, anyway, there she is in bare feet and jeans and her two tops, a pink translucent one over a black corset stylee thing, are fly to the uttermost. She’s coordinated even when she’s kicking back. I want some of her, in all kinds of ways, from the best to the very worst. Anyway, bare feet. Hot. She is melting my vitals. I’m sure she can tell as well as she challenges me to find for her the greatest film. So, nonchalant like, a bit like Vince Vaughn out of Clay Pigeons, I saunter around the counter and chuckle and run my long fingers through the beard and reach out to grab Nat’s left breast. NO!! I’m reaching out to grab Donnie. That’s right, Donnie. “This is the film you should have watched last night but it was out. Now it’s in. You must watch it Nat.” “Erm, okay Bruce.” Too fucking right alright! So then I make with the poignant video shop guy observation coz I gotta make sure she knows I’m smart as sin and a whole lotta switched on. “Yeah, you see, this film I’m holding in my ...

So there I was dropping a log in the gentleman’s lav in the back of the Tree, Stratton, North Cornwall, the Best Pub in the World. I kid thee not. It truly is the greatest waterhole in ze world. Check it – www.thetreeinn.co.uk Toilets are funny places. The number of occasions I find myself returning from the bog to a group of discerning friends and interrupt their conversation with the line,”I’ve just had a wicked idea in the toilet/ while I was having a slash/dump.” It all stems from those days of old when I used to lock myself in the toilet tripping my nuts off. All the white walls reflecting one’s rampantly out of control thoughts back onto oneself. Illuminating.

I went for a slow stroll along the beach today. Murray the weatherman had told me to expect warm coastal winds from the south and he wasn’t wrong. There was a spring in my step and a levity to my thoughts. I was jealous of those fellow walkers who had the company of fine dogs and so someone to throw balls or stones for. One long haired setter rushed up to me with expectant eyes as if I was about to pull a slab of steak from my pocket and when I didn’t he barked over his shoulder to his owner and shook himself dry before bounding off after some other intrigue. There was flying spittle and salt water all over my Ralph Lauren T-shirt. I was not bitter at all.

It suddenly occurred to me that this was the perfect opportunity to test run my chainsaw. The ceilings were low, the vamps were packed in densely and we had no other hope. I threw the stake to Sami and bent down to the bag. Sami uttered a scream of panic and then drove the stake into the bald vampire. It screamed and then seemed to implode. The others started to scream and Sami fell backwards over my crouching body and onto the floor. The vampires charged towards us just as I dragged the chainsaw from the bag and brandished it triumphantly over my head. Sami shouted something in French, which I did not understand, the leading vampire leapt into the air, I switched the saw on and ripped the starter cord, all at once. The beauty roared into life just as I arced it over my head and into the path of the descending vampire. The saw blade hit its head and did not stop. It felt like I was carving custard with a scalpel. Bits of the vampire fell all about me as I spliced the bastard in twain. ...

Sami pulled his revolver from his ankle holster, pointed it at the head of the smiling bald man and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed in the basement and the man’s head snapped backwards, his glasses flying across the room. I dived towards the bag, unzipped it and thrust my hand inside. I looked up at the bald vampire that had not moved and was still smiling. Black liquid was leaking from his right eye socket where Sami’s first bullet had hit. My hand felt a stake and I pulled it out. The vampire stopped smiling and started to growl a deep guttural moan. I shouted: “Tire, Sami, tirent le bâtard!” Sami fired again into the left eyeball which exploded over the vampire’s face. The growling got louder and the vamp began to stand up, using the table as support. I got up from my knees clutching the stake ready to leap across the table and drive the wood through the tweed suit and into the black heart of our blinded enemy, but then I noticed that our table was being surro...

He took the apparatus from my hand and I noticed a slight rise in the corner of his mouth. Perhaps at this point I passed out again or perhaps this bald man had the fastest hands in the West but he seemed to have the needle full and sticking into his arm in seconds. I heard Sami express his puzzlement with a grunt and I was about to speak to our new friend when he started to draw his blood into the chamber. Blood? Since when is blood black? The hypodermic was full of a black liquid and, despite his sunglasses, I knew the man was looking and smiling right at me. Since when has blood been black? The man was not in a hurry to inject the mixture into himself, he was just looking at us and smiling inanely and licking his cracked lips. Either due to physiological reasons or this extremely strange situation that had the hairs on the back of my neck erect, I could feel my rush starting to abate. Something was not right and I saw Sami reach toward the ankle holster on his right leg. This spurre...

“Bruce.” “Sami” “Bruce, lots of dead bodies. No blood. Maybe I am like a crazy man. I think only of Vampires.” “It’s true. I suspect they are at work in these troubled times.” “You do?” “Yes. These are the worst of times for us and the best for them.” “Was that not your Charlie Dickens.” “You are right. Sami?” “Oui, mon ami.” “Are you armed?” “I have two revolvers.” “Do you have a pencil.” “I have a pen. O. I see. No, I am not armed. Merde.” “Do not worry. I am.” “Ah Bruce, you are a Vampire Hunter, non?!” “Quietly Sami. There are strangers.” I was looking at the bald man in glasses opposite me. At some point, which I did not notice, he had definitely stopped smiling. Because of his shades I could not tell what his eyes were saying, or where they were looking. He did not look particularly happy. My mind was still immersed in the absolute stability of the heroin. I was happy. Perhaps this tweeded chap needed some. Maybe he had taken offens...