This is the longest I’ve ever gone without updating this infernal website, being a full nine days behind. I think the longest I’ve previously been backlogged is five days and so now I’m faced with a proper slog to get it back on track, but I don’t mind, it’s testament to being busy more than laziness and so it’s not such a bad thing to be so off the pace.
It’s now the 2nd of December and one challenge in writing up the next few days will be remembering what happened but I’ve got a fair idea and if I can’t remember will deliberately write about something that’s not date specific, therefore cunningly sidestepping my awful memory and not looking stupid. It’s a perfect plan that can’t fail unless I advertise the fact that is what I am doing.
I am tactless.
It feels quite strange writing Pathetic Lot after such a long break, and doubtless the next few entries will be a bit rubbish and disjointed because as I sit here I have absolutely no idea how I’ve done this for so long because it seems quite hard. I suppose it’s like when you come back from holiday and your house seems unfamiliar, it’s amazing how quickly you can get out of the groove. Madonna famously advised people to get into the groove but I don’t think she appreciates how hard that can sometimes be. The non-Blog writing diva.
It would save me a lot of precious time to just ignore the last few days and pretend I was in a mini coma, but we’ve been through this before and as we all know, if I was to miss one single day I would give up this pointless project for dead and never touch it again, such is my autistic approach to it. I’ve read that men have a so-called ‘collecting gene’ which is why we like neat rows of CDs we’ll never listen to, or a compete set of football stickers. What I’m doing here is collecting entries, and if my collection was ever to have a gap in it I would loathe it for the non-complete Blog is would be. It would instantly become my least favourite project of all time. There are actually a couple of days that have been deleted due to individuals complaining about the content that haven’t been rewritten and that annoys me because technically the last 481 odd days aren’t now complete, despite entries having originally having been written for them. Sometimes I cry myself to sleep over it.
I could rewrite them but that would make me certifiable because nobody would ever read them. They would be like the ‘secret’ tracks on a (particularly tedious) album that only play if you leave the CD playing for fifteen minutes after the last song has finished or whatever. I might rewrite them. I am a dick.
I must make sure never to murder anyone because I would then certainly become a serial killer. If I inadvertently killed someone called Alan then I’d think “that’s a bloody pain, that, because now I’ll have to kill every Alan in the world to compete my mental collection.�
I don’t mean that of course, and if you’re a police officer investigating the murder of two or more people called Alan in the future and happen to stumble across this, or are tipped off by someone who has read it, then I can assure you that I am not a murderer and what I am doing here is writing crap because I’m struggling to actually remember what happened in the dim and distant past of Thursday 23rd of November. I am living in the future now and so the past seems irrelevant and rubbish.
I do remember the main event of the day – I went to my first fashion show. It wasn’t in Paris or Milan but at my local pub, put on by Katie who occasionally works there and has her own clothes label. Her surname is Stephenson and she runs the company with her sister and so it is called Stephenson And Stephenson (have a look at www.stephenson-stephenson.co.uk).
I had been asked to MC it and arrived expecting to do this, but apparently they thought that it might be a better idea to ask someone to do it who would put in some preparation work and learn what they were supposed to be doing and so my duties had been given to someone else. This meant I could simply sit at the bar and letch at the lovely ladies who were modelling, along with every other beer gutted pervert who had turned up for the event.
It went really well – genuinely impressive and well received. I think Katie and her sister sold some clothes too so a success all round. I will advertise the next show they do in The Lion here and those of you living in Liverpool can come along and perv at the ladies too. Unless you are a lady, in which case you can come along and treat the whole thing sensibly, appreciate the clothes, and perhaps buy some?
You non-collecting weirdoes.
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