Travelling Punk

Oooh lala.
I have been away for some time, haven't I?

I am too tired - is that an excuse? Should I make one?
I was holidaying in the sun last week - although the sun was also holidaying, so it rarely shone. However I did manage to spend a fucking ridiculous amount of money, which is always nice.

Other tiresome updates include my first ever hen party - pretty much what I expected, drunkeness, 'wild women' with a license to be lewd, a male stripper (shudder) and dancing with/avoiding/fighting with 'stags'. Why are men even more ridiculous and pawing when they are drunk?

I won't regail you with every detail - however one particular ass-face sticks clearly in my mind, for yanking on my hair as I walked past. Totally unprovoked. I have short fucking hair - it's not like it was even easy for him to get a handful. Anyway. After much insulting screeching (aimed at him) and tears (I am a crap drunk who vows never to drink again every time I touch the stuff. Please, if I am drunk and you see me remember only one thing - forget everything I said, and never remind me of what horrors I did.) we made up. He was a fool though. I think he may have thought my hair was a wig - which is insulting in a makes-me-laugh-you-fool kind of way.

Anyway. Eurgh. Fool - pulling my hair.

Also, after great indepth discussions about porn during holidays with the missus he decided, while I was out henning it up, to see for himself what all the fuss is about.

Sheepishly he informed me the following day, worried perhaps I will discover his illicit brush with sex-on-the-net and judge him a dirty old perve (he is right, this would likely be my reaction, I am reactionary). After confessing his sins to me, the minister, he is absolved, and vows, mainly on the foul taste left in his mouth from that experieince, that it is not something he plans to do again.

I tell him some people like to feel dirty.

Today I skived off work for a bit, drove 50 odd miles, bought rubber gloves, created lasagne (yes, created) avoided washing up for as long as possible, cried a little inside over the Subtext debacle and the fact that it is STILL not done (for fucks sake this is killing me - why do I do this to myself), vowed to fill in the application for a volunteering position at the women's refuge that has been lounging on my sofa for weeks before I actually meet up with them next week, and drank water as I am still cleansing my system after Saturday.

Good/bad news is I have another hen party next week, then weddings for the following two weekends. Will I ever have a normal blood:alcohol level? This is all after swearing off the stuff after the Notts 'Drop in the Ocean' music festival at which I got so utterly tanked my missus came home to find me asleep in the garden. *Sigh*

In parting, a big knob in the tennis world said today that women should not get the same amount of prize money as men for winning Wimbledon. He based this on the 'fact' that it is the only tournament that still has unequal prizes, and that men are better at tennis. I'm sure Maria Sharapova is better than my missus at tennis, proving this theory instantly wrong. I declare him, for sheer idiocy and mindboggling stupid arguments, a foolish fooligan. He may have been called Andy - I am not a tennins fan.

After than diarrohea of brain draining nonsense I bid you adieu...