Apathy UK

Driving at speed with the desire to get home to the beachside bungalow at 10 pm with ice on the roads and two bald front tires left indentations on the steering wheel from my clenched fists. Life and limb are risked as a result of the apathy that flows throughout the system that governs certain aspects of decision making. Do I take two hours tomorrow to secure the safety of my vehicle or do I take the two pills tonight, that some kind soul left on the top of the TV after the last party, and sleep all day tomorrow? Well, let me see about that. Let's weigh the options, balance the benefits, adjust the scales slightly, realise there is only one sensible course of action and then ignore it blatantly and leave for the pub safe in the knowledge that when I stumble home hours from now I shall neck the two brown tablets without further thought. Which I did and now here I am. Sat on the sofa with Jack in front of the TV. Jack had a few beers at the pub too and now we are drinking a...

I have a few proper nouns to list. Firstly try these on for size: Elvis, Jim, Jimmy. Now try these: Mick, George, Lou. Everyone is expendable. Everyone knows the first three but struggle for the latter trio. Why? Well, because whilst the expendability is never in doubt, the lasting impression is. I have nothing more to say on the subject, it is obvious and I have better things to do. So, the Hunter is finally dead. His terrible and awful presence upon this sorry globe has come to an end at last, preceded by the curt cock of hammer and oily squeeze of trigger. I bet he used his magnum .44, with the extended barrel and optional optical sights. He probably would have taken the sights off as even an old and decrepit, foul-minded, drug-using spent invalid would have trouble missing a big ol' bald dome such as his from arm's length. He is gone now, spirit fled from Woody Creek, Colorado, away from his preening peacocks and bike and car and arsenal and information centre. Thank god he...

Adios Stockton, you Brilliant Nutbag. 

So, yes, been fucking ages since the last proper expurgitation (word? It is now!) of verbiage. Reasons being that my lifestyle has changed from North to South. What I mean is that polarity has become an issue - I have points of reference now. What was: Life of ease with a smidgen of well organised labour has, somehow, become an existence of labour with only a smidgen of life. But as Old Dear Ma has always said, it's quality not quantity. The sort of quality I need now resembles diamond. As in the carboniferous life I used to have has been squeezed to such an extent that I can chisel what I have left away and propose marriage with no fear over the expense of a very large and arm bending ring. Am I blessed or am I just beginning to sell out towards the almighty money exchange? I haven't lost any hair in the last two months of hard work. I am still grey free. I am fatter as I cannot make hockey practice (read as: two hours of flagellation) and I find the need to drink when I retur...

Will and Chris posing as PVC clad muppets 

Will catching a cold one 

Orange Sunday closeup 

Fucking Fuck-Fuck. This fucking beautiful picture refuses to stand upright! It keeps fucking lying down and refusing to get the fuck up-up. Fuck it!

Orange Sunday Sunset, Widemouth Bay 

So, yeah, Bruce has bought a camera and cannot help himself. Cris the tatooist had his 30th on Saturday. Not exactly banging, more bass-slapping. You know, all down and funky, godforsakenly effective cocktails, the ones that taste of kiddies' fruit juice but impact like demented alcoholic three-headed hounds of hell upon your levels of inebriation, some exotic greenery and excellent company. Nice.

Bruce a little pissed, pre-party style 

Jase, looking overcome with hilarity 

Trish and Clair looking lubberly 

Birthday Boy Cris, looking like a happy muppeteer! 

Bruce, generally out of fucus 

Breaking News! Osama Bin Laden has apparently released a new video in which he claims the recent earthquake and resulting tsunami were a direct result of actions committed by Al Quaeda. In a ten minute video recording, a man who resembled Osama Bin Laden and whose voice print has been given a 77 percent verification by the Federal Bureau of Analytical Voice Printing as to belonging to a felon previously identified as Osama Bin Laden, spoke of an inevitable 'turning of the tide'. King Canute anyone? Or was that tide of turn or was that Best Laid Plans? Anyhoo, more breaking news. Pope Louis XXIXXLCVXII or, fuck it, Louis the Octogenarian has made his point clear to the Western Press that a lack of prayer and contraception has played a major role in the recent human tragedy in the Indian Ocean. "Only mmmmphrrgum and a lot of hurummph might possibly save your soul." the Pope was heard to have murmured. Official sources have presently locked themselves in their hote...

Normally I'm a very chilled out sort of chap but presently feeling mildly heckled. Let me explain. This morning I handed in about a ton's worth of petrol receipts to my boss so there may actually be some hope of getting my money back. Being half Jewish, half Scottish and two thirds Tight-Bastard he went through them with a very fine and meticulous microscope stuck firmly up his arse. Doing so he discovered that on two occasions I had filled up with petrol in Bude a mere thirty minutes before I had to be at work in Plymouth, an hour away on a good day and with a favourable wind. "See here Bruce." he said. "See what?" said I and he pointed out the logic behind his conclusion that I was shirking my responsibilities. "Never!" said I, "But how then?" replied he and flummuxed I was indeed. Then it occurred to me that the small and decrepid rural petrol station I visited out of pity, may well have had their clocks an hour ahead. "Ah ha ha!...

I was pulled over by the police last night at about eleven o’clock. I had shut up the video shop at 9pm, met my uncle who was dropping off my car and then drove 15 metres down to the Carriers pub in it as it was raining and I am an apathetic git. In the warm and bustle of the pub I met Jack and some other friends. Jack, being of the nature of a Lincolnshire farmer, had donned his Wellington boots and tramped the five miles from Widemouth Bay to Bude, having decided that in such atrocious weather the only option was to get in it. However, some sliver of sense still remained as he had asked me to pick him up on my way home. Once sat at a table in the pub and having demanded a pint from Jack, the thrifty one, I decided that enough was enough and that the mild binges of the recent days left me no option other than to finish this pint and then head home for an early and sober night. My lager slipped down my gullet with practised ease and I sat tapping my fingers against the empty glass in w...

This entry is for someone in particular. You know who you are. Yes, you, the one in the scarf, with the dark eyes and long hair and soft lips. I just wanted to say that I am not convinced that you should read on but the choice is yours and, if there are any consequences, I shall attempt to deal with them in my normal fast-talking manner. So be warned. And thank you for a truly lovely weekend, made special purely by your company.

I am spending time up country, near London, doing a week's trial at a new job. The job is not trialing me, I am trailing it as for me to move from my idyllic patch in Cornwall, and for me to leave my apathetic yet functional coastal existence behind, the advantageous features of the new lifestyle are going to have to be pretty damn advantageous. I am working in Farnborough, a featureless suburb of London and a place that bleeds urban distemper into my soul. Melodramatic, moi? The job title is Headhunter and the role is to penetrate deep into large software companies around the world and steal their best executives and moneymen for positions at their competitors. All of which basically entails a high level of confident bullshitting down the phone line. I've done this before and despite my initial fears that I had lost the taste for 'lying for profit' it turns out that I am still as adept at it as I ever was. There is a mild buzz obtained when fooling some company Guard D...