Listen and Love

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Caught you, so take cover. Never saw it coming 'til you put me on again. Had you and no other; the game, the lies, are getting old.

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Baby is this love for real? Let me in your arms to feel the beating of your heart baby, the beating of your heart, baby.

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radio.blog.club:

"For boys For girls For emo "

On the Whittard's Winter Sale

Whittard's, like every other over-priced, product-whoring consumerist outlet this year (as well as for countless years before), is having a sale. This is not to be unexpected, if you hadn't already guessed, largely due to the fact that they no doubt have one every year, as does just about everywhere else (apart from the good people at Apple and GHD. Bastards). And, despite the rather negative emphasis used above, I quite like Whittard's. For one, they are purveyers of exquisite cups, saucers, and mugs. For another, they also happen to stock a lot of hot chocolate, and in particular, this God among gods:


I don't know if you can see too well, but, if you look carefully, just under "HOT CHOCOLATE" you can find the word "WHITE". Yes, powdered white hot chocolate. But this, dear reader, is besides the point.

You see, in the past Whittard's has lured me in with fine, subtle, and elegant arromas. This first lead me to my dear friend Whitey. However, this time I was coaxed in not only by the promise of what could be more hot chocolate, but the word "sale!" jumping out at me from all over the inside of their front window. Suitably enchanted, I walked in.

Reasonably lighter of pocket I walked out about 10 minutes later, after having sniffed, poked and admired all that was to sniff, poke and admire. However, the weight in my pocket was recompensed by the fact that there was a much more substantial weight in my hand. I had, in fact, bought the following:

A beautifully striped teapot, cup and saucer for one, reduced from £20 to a mere £5 (and I am a sucker for what I'd like to consider a "bargain");
a bag of Whittard's fruit infusion "Cinnamon and Orange Rooibos" (which is African red tea with added cinnamon and orange zest); and, a free tea strainer, which was very nice of the people at Whittard's, even if it was the display model.

All this cost me £8.20.

£8.20 for a teapot, a cup, a saucer, some tea (foreign muck at that) and a strainer. I think I did pretty damn well for myself-

Apart from I don't like tea.

Something You Don't Want to Piss Into

Yes, that's right. As you can no doubt discern, you discerning fellows, you, from the title of this entry, this particular blog is about our good friend the rough horizontal movement of air.

Traditionally, Greecian sailors "scare away" what they
consider "bad winds" by taking their uniforms off, flapping
them around and looking as terrifying as possible.

Let me not mislead you, dear reader(s), this is not a scientific rant. Oh no, it's far more of a "pissy Joe" kind of rant. You see, it's pretty windy in merry old York right now. To demonstrate this, the following has been sliced out of a screenshot I took but moments ago!


CAN YOU SEE IT?! Yes! 37mph winds! Southwesternly ones. Not that the southwestern part is all that important I suppose. It just lets you know, if you keep your bearings, in what direction it's likely you'll fall over.

Prior to being awake and realising just what an awful day it is today, I was asleep and knew just how bad today was going to be. Last night I was swanning around the internet (very late last night, I ought to add) thinking that I'd get a nice lie in tomorrow, a nice, enjoyable, fluffy, marshmallowy lie in, when I realised I had to be on campus for 9:30, without fail. My heart shed a tear as I tore my clothes off and leapt into bed that night.

I tend to sleep with the window open most nights too, for all you burglars out there, in a bid to reduce what I like to call "boy-smell".


Boy-smell, as the name would suggest, is the unpleasant, musky funk that inhabits a room after a boy has been in it for any period of time, even mere seconds. Leaving the window open constantly reduces this, as it turns out that fresh air feasts on boy-smell, literally engulfing it and gorging itself into a fat, miasmic lump of satiated breeziness. However, because I left the window open all night, and these winds developed some time at maybe 4 in the morning, I was woken up by the sound of what appeared to be a bronchial elephant swallowing a whistle. Oh yeah, it was raining too, before I forget (as if I could...).

But hey, it's only... 10:30?! I shouldn't be awake right now, or it should atleast be later than that time so that going back to bed wouldn't make me feel so much like the elderly! Hot piss.

Oh screw it, naps were invented for a reason. A perfectly good one, I'm sure. Not facilitated by laziness in the least.

The Tuesday Morning (?!?!?!!!!) Update

Yes, I know what you're thinking: "morning?!", and yes, I'm just as shocked as you are, but I have serious revision that I need to get done (ought to be doing right now, infact...), and that's the way the cookie crumbles.

Just a quick post to let you all know that I'm not dead, despite the month long hiatus. As to why I'm not posting: I have ran out of narative drive and, as a result, have been rendered completely incapable of translating real life into something which resembles an amusing read, even in the most dire stretches of the phrase "real life" and "resembles amusing". However, I'm flexing the old literative muscles for this brief run and hopefully getting things back to regularity, if lectures on special relativity allow it.


This is all I have time for right now, and it was really, just to reiterate:

I ATEN'T DEAD.