Apathy UK

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It’s been an age since I’ve left any detritus on these pages. In the face of mySpace, then Facebook and now Twitter with a background of belated maturity, engagement, house purchase, proper job, this tired old blog has been left to fester. I do miss it though. Perhaps I can provide additions every now and then? But what to write and when? Busy at work, the kitchen is still far from complete, the sun is very much out and, oh yeah, I forgot, I don’t BLOG!!! Ha AH!! Almost got me there. Bloody social networking. Bollocks. That is all. Long Live Hunter S Thompson!!!!

Arrived in Hull for work at about 00:30, registered and then popped across road to take this. Being polite and nice, like I am, I went in first to ask if they minded if I took a picture of the outside of their fine establishment. It soon became clear that I had made a large mistake as there was no sign of the boss and instead only Fuck-witted and Demented-dwarf were on duty. Fuck-witted did all of the talking in this increasingly heated and irrelevant exchange as D.dwarf could barely see over the counter – he pulled himself up with his forearms on the counter-top, forearms like corded, tensile steel may I add. Conversation was joined by wizened whore with chips in one hand, bottle of sherry in the other and a severely disfigured face. Anyway, it went a little something like this: Me: “Good evening guys – I was just wondering if you’d mind me taking a picture of your shop? It’s for a mate who isn’t here who loves your shop a lot.” F-W.:…..(blank stare with one good and one glassy eye.)…

Alex and Bruce GO Rally Driving. “Three, two, one go.” Right foot down, left foot coming up and then down and change and right foot down and grin. Dust plume behind, track in front. Intense acceleration. “Easy left, leading fifty metres to right ninety degrees….” Steering wheel throwing the car from verge to verge. Flying up and down the gears. Small straight; “Hundred metres.” Time enough to blink. “Hard left, 50 metres, hard right…shit, potholes.” The car takes off repeatedly, the map pen flying on its string, and teeth chatter. “Skin up.” “Hard left, you’ve go to be joking, easy left.” Slight steering change (no problemo) and it’s into the left, tapping the break, feeling the sideways momentum, gliding around. “Skin up. I need smoke!” “Straight, 100 metres, leading upto 90 right.” “Look, I’m driving; I can’t skin up. Skin up.” “Seriously man…watch-out-the-deer! Jesus!” Car slides right fractionally. More revs and it’s back on course for the moon. “Straight. 200 metres. Well, have yo

Fucking Wahey! Opened one of my bank statements this morning and saw that I had earned 21 pence interest in the last month from my sizeable investment. Slowly realised, being that it was early in the day, that my sizeable investment was entirely comprised of overdraft and so looked again. 21 flipping pence earned from Goodle Ad-sense - in my first month! I was mildly elated. I thought the first thing to do was to conatct the bank and demand an enlarged overdraft limit - what with my new source of income! Refrained. So - the four people who read this dribble - at least two of you or one of you twice or something (not sure of the maths; gift horse, mouth, spatula) must have clicked on one of the above adverts. Thank you. The other twenty clicks were mine. I know I agreed not to click on the adverts on this page but they were just so damnably enticing to me. So - thinking earnestly of selling out and creating a blog or website that will actually have some regular and considerable traffic

I turned eight on holiday in Norway. We stayed in a wooden cabin a short walk from the forest and a large lake. It seemed like every lake in Norway had a rowboat on the shore. I struggled to push this boat out into the water. I would spend all day on the water. I made a fishing rod from a stick and a shoelace. Worms were nowhere to be found and the fish did not like blueberries which were everywhere. Twice when I was sat on the boat in the middle of the lake a noise made me look to the shore and I saw the same big black wolf. It drank from the water then looked up at me as I sat on my boat in my straw hat. It winked at me, a big wink I could see from far away and then turned and walked off. No one believed that a wolf had said hello to me. “Really Bruce, wolves just don’t say hello to strangers in a nice way and I’m not even sure wolves can wink.” said Mother. When we drove away from the cabin and the forest I saw a big truck parked by the track. It had a black carpet on the bonnet. I

The first time we met was in London on a wet day and I had just been soaked to the skin. Grey water dripped from my nose and hands and my black suit was now skin-tight. I stood still and looked skyward but remembered there was nobody up there. I looked down at my wet shoes and then she was standing in front of me chuckling. “Don’t you know never to stand next to a puddle in the bus lane?” “Don’t you know it’s not safe to talk to strangers?” “Well, some strangers are clearly not dangerous. Those standing in their very own puddle rank very low on my list of possible threats.” “What about if I had a knife which I wasn’t going to use but now I’m wet and pissed off and some lady is taking the mickey and I decide that perhaps, right now, I want to kill someone and she’ll do?” “Do you have a knife? Should I start running?” “No.” “No? No knife?” “ No knife. But I could drip all over you and give you pneumonia.” She kept her eyes on mine but tilted her head to one side and pursed her lips. The

Sidney sits at his desk staring at the flowery wallpaper behind it but really seeing the universe in all of its suffocating infinity stretch out before him. He can see what he believes to be the Milky Way (it isn’t) not too far off and then other clusters of stars and suns and cosmic debris all of which he cannot name. He blinks and focuses closer in, on the moon, and looks for the one area that he can correctly name. He has to wait about sixteen bars of Beethoven’s ninth symphony until the moon rotates enough so that he can point it out to himself and smile. “That’s the Sea of Tranquillity, Sidney my boy.” He notes the ragged edge of the crater that someone once told him was made by a crashing meteorite. Sidney thinks the sea has been well named and watching it float past always makes his brain slow down. But it’s difficult to stay focused on such a large and near object when all existence pans out in front of him, without boundary, edge or horizon. He lets the moon slip from his eye-