Cat Tatts and Hats

My alarm sounds... 8 o'clock? what the hell? My other alarm sounds. Fuck. Work. Bollocks. Suddenly a thought enters my head 'my hat, where is my hat?' another part of my brain quietly asks 'what hat?' MY hat. I get out of bed, fully clothed (that's handy), and stumble down the stair. My head hurts, but it's O.K. because there it is, my hat, my leather cowboy hat (I know what you're thinking but piss off it's cool). Relief fills me until the quieter part of my brain chips in with 'why does my wrist hurt?'

A tattoo, of my cat, on my wrist. Idiot. But you know, fun I suppose. I remember it now, I was tattooed, in a field, with a pint in my hand, having signed no sort of permission/liability forms at all. Awesome. It isn't that bad though. and the love I have for Hendrix(my cat) does shine through slightly.

I am reasonably prone to doing stupid things. I once flew to Tunisia for a bet. I won though, two pints... yeah, just two pints. But on drink, usually, I just fall asleep, have an argument, tell somebody/everybody I love them. There is then only one thing I can blame this recent hat buying, cat tattooing behaviour on. Festivals.

Every year in my hometown there is a music festival. It used to be world renown, no longer. It is however a massive excuse for the entire town to go out on the piss. This is all well and good and should be encouraged, however, people (myself included) tend to adopt a 'festival mentality.' This being 'it's OK, because it's festival.' This is the mentality that will one day get me killed, and already has my walking around looking like John Wayne. So now I have a problem... It's fucking brilliant. Seriously, doing things on impulse, not giving a fuck what others might think, is very freeing.

This is a reasonably high concept that will need thought(though I think I'm converted). I will tell you one thing that I have learned over the past 72 inebriated hours though - Hats. Are. Cool.

Evs

Tattoo :-
Actual Cat :-

Night and Day

Currently, there is a massive war on in my head, the remaining alcohol in my system is fighting bravely for its right to live. It wont win, I've been here before. It will however leave me a physical and emotional wreck for the entire day. Oh well, its not like I've got to work all day.

Ah.

This brings me to the point of my blog. I am an idiot. I went out yesterday, in the full knowledge that I had to work a (most likely) very busy bar in the night. No problem, I'll be fighting fit by then. However, the masochist in me, the absolute bastard that is 'drunken me' managed to arrange for himself a shift, in a completely different pub, for many (too many) of the preceding hours.

I am a lazy git (I promise) but somehow, for a day at least, I have 3 jobs. I'm not sure what to make of this, I mentioned in my first blog how much I hate money, but now I find myself so desperate for it that even when I am completely lacking in mental function I'm still trying to get more. I remember when I'd just try and get girls...

Maybe I'm changing, growing up, chasing pennies. Maybe I'm looking out for my future. Or maybe, I'm just not that cool anymore. Can you still be cool at 24? I hope so. Maybe then, I'm starting to get wise on my drink, that comes with age I've heard. Whichever it is, I'm definitely hungover... and I suppose it's about time I got ready for work.

Evs

Seagulls and Trawlers

Right, so, I'm quite an opinionated person(as is probably indicated by my having a blog in the first place). Therefore we can safely assume that this particular subject was bound to come up sooner or later, yes folks, it's the 'religion' blog.

As a child of say ten-ish, I was completely and undoubtedly of the opinion that Eric Cantona was God. The man as he was on the field is immortal. Now though I see him selling himself out to sky television... I mean sky? Does he really need the money that badly? And if he does, there is only one conclusion that I can draw, Eric Cantona is not The Almighty. This does sadly mean that Cantona's arrogance and bravado actually makes him a little bit of a twat, but more worryingly, if we follow this logic to it's innevitable conclusion, I think we can safely assume that there is no God.

Now I know that this is a tired old subject, I dont believe, why do you believe?/I do believe, why dont you? I'd like to say right now that I don't care. I don't. You can believe whatever the hell you want, but(and this bit is important) leave me alone.

Stop accosting me on the street telling me the word of Jesus, do not knock on my door and offer me a copy of 'The Watchtower.' I don't want to hear about Allah, Buddha, Krishna or Obi-wan Kenobi. I'm happy, and if you decide to attribute this to ignorance, let me be ignorant. I'm not trying to convert you to atheism. So what if I believe that the only time good things come from the sky are when I'm playing 'Call of Duty'?

I've never believed in any form of higher power, ask my mum, she'll tell you. It's not my fault, it's just not my thing but if it's yours, good luck to you - I kind of hope you're right. Peace and Love.

Evs

Wanted: Future

The future is a bloody scary place and I'm not entirely sure where I'm going to fit into it.

I've never really known what I wanted to be. I mean, past childish musings on becoming an architect(too much drawing), a history teacher(i don't know why either) or even a writer(makes absolutely no money). I've never felt I have a calling.

The odd thing is, I've had opportunities to do things, good, nice and perfectly respectable things and I've turned them down. For no other reason than an irrational feeling that 'it isn't me,' whoever that is.

Now though, the last couple of weeks or so, some of these opportunities appear to be coming round again and there are a few new ones right there along side them. This me though, the one who's fed up of muddling through, the one who feels that he might have to create a niche for himself, rather than hope it finds him(I really need to stop talking about myself in the third person), is looking to grasp the nettle as it were.

I don't know what I'll end up doing and I may well fail, but I reckon I'll probably have a fair bit of fun on the way.

I don't know what this blog is about, trying to replace a natural cynicism for a relentless optimism? convincing myself that things always work out in the end? Probably though, and kind of aptly, it's about not knowing and being alright with it for a change.

Evs

Money Now Please.

Well, um, hello?

This is my re-imagined first blog. To be honest I'm not entirely sure why anyone might like to read my random musings on stuff that may or may not,but probably will, be completely inconsequential. But well boy gee thanks for coming.

Today what's bothering me are bills. I get quite a lot of these and they are almost always asking me for money. I do not particularly mind this, it just amazes me how often they get it wrong.

Gas and electric bills with 'estimated' readings. Presumably they estimate that I am single handedly responsible for global warming.
Water bills where I am for some reason expected to pay the rates for my neighbours as well myself, while also remunerating them for their burst pipe. Certainly the bank of Evs seems to be well and truly open.
Then we come to the council. The lovely, lovely council who despite my repeated protestations and constant reminders still feel the need to threaten me mercilessly over my lack of a T.V. license. To them the fact that my flat had neither a co-ax, satellite dish or Internet connection was of little importance. I do not watch T.V. or at least, I did not watch it at my flat.
Further to this, these beautiful civil servants - bastions of society so they are- are constantly perplexed at my repeated questioning regarding my council tax. I live on my own, 'where is my discount?' I would ask. Oddly, now that I ask for a rebate, it's my fault. I did not inform them. Yes, indeed, I wanted to pay more than my share. Of course.

I hate money, I hate having it and I hate having to give it to other people. But what I really hate, is people asking for it. In big bold letters, sometimes red, always intimidating. Assuming that you aren't going to pay before they've even posted you the invoice. Bastards.

Evs