illustration
photography
astonishingly, there are 59 wise, brilliant, beautiful people online, apparently.
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Wednesday, 14 May 2008 21:39 |
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I wonder if a gang of loose horses is a good sign. or something. not that I believe in signs. but it's not every day you come across a flock of horses like these.
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Wednesday, 14 May 2008 01:19 |
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You know when you've just done something, anything, in some kind of situation and you come away and think FUCK, why didn't I say/do THAT? I do those all the time. Well, right now I'm damn proud of myself, because I actually did the right thing for a change. On Monday, I had to take 'im indoors outdoors to the train before lunch, a 20 minute round trip. I had my eight year old with me. When we got back from the station, something felt wrong as I walked in the front gate. I couldn't see or hear anything, but there was something wrong. I had seen two boys turn to look at my car as I had driven past them 20 minutes before, I saw them in the mirror and this plus two burglaries in the street the day before had me on edge. I held tight to my kid, and we went down to the back of the house, where it's easier to see the whole house. The kitchen door had been wrenched open. We'd been burgled. As I stood looking at the door, wondering what to do next, I heard shufflings from upstairs. They were still inside. I just wanted them out of my house. I didn't want to confront them, I didn't want to stop them, I didn't want the vindictive stupid little bastards to know that I knew their faces. I just wanted them away from my kid and my house and me. I screamed at the top of my lungs and shouted as loud as I could "get out of my fucking house you fucking little bastards", grabbed my kid as hard as I could by the hand and scarpered out of the side gate and locked it behind me. I heard them escaping as we escaped. I called the police and my neighbours gathered round the front of the house as they began to understand what had happened, and I could tell them all about it. Luckily, the spotty drug addled shits had managed only to stuff my ipod into their disgusting pockets... everything else they'd found was waiting in a pile on my bed, which they'd left once I interrupted them.. virtually nothing... a couple of broken cameras and my blessed wonderful camera that normally is always by my side (like my ipod) but had inexplicably left at home. I'm afraid this is about the worst writing you'll ever get from me... I'm exhausted... I'm writing this at 2 a.m. too scared to sleep for the second night in the row, in the same room as my kids. We've locked ourselves in. Scared to leave, scared to stay. My kid is absolutely terrified and won't leave my side. Her sister doesn't know anything about it. Of course the police know who did it, but I got the official GNR shrug of "there's fuck all we can do about it, luv, unless we catch them in the act, and anyway, they're minors... we'd have to let them go the next day". I've resolved to electrify the new place, from the ground floor up, with the doors and windows wired up to the mains, in the hope that it'll work like those bug zappers you get in restaurants. zzzzzzzzzAP. this cheered me up immensely yesterday, along with the shared outrage from all my friends that knew about it. This is a hosse posse, by the glorious mr. Wally Torta. Please note the Guernica reference and the sheer and extreme cleverness of the man. He should have a medal. 
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Sunday, 11 May 2008 17:06 |
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aren't site statistics rubbish? It's all very jolly knowing how many people visit one's doings on the internet, but why would I want to know what your operating system is? There's nothing in any of my stats that tell me what you're wearing, if you're a good person or an arse, whether you're reading this in bed or at your desk, whether you're laughing, crying or just bored, staring blankly at the screen wondering how you sunk so low. Underwear? Smoking anything? Vehemently anti-smoking anything? Are you a pink fluffy or a beige?
It's nice to see when you've arrived from somewhere else, like another blog or a googling, but I want to know what you thought once you'd arrived. If you googled my name, was it THIS lucy pepper you were looking for or was this a horrible shock? If it WAS me you were looking for, why one earth were you looking for me and was this a horrible shock? When you multifold pornseekers get here looking for something repulsive and find no nasty bits to look at, what do you do next? Do you have a look at the rest, or do you sod back off to your sordid little holes? And do I WANT you to look at the rest or to sod off back to your sordid little holes?
I want to know if you've been before and, if so, when and how often. And in how many ways has it changed your life. What you eat for breakfast would also be quite a useful piece of information, then I could write more towards the muesli market or the marmite market. Are you a cat person or a dog person or a ferret person? Might you be a British tourist git or a socially aspirant Portuguese git or a man with an unnecessarily shaven head who looks like a penis who reads what I write and thinks "that bitch is writing about me!"? Are you wildly intelligent or an idiot? Do you get it or not? How filthy is your computer screen? Can you see the pictures properly? How many microbes do you have on your keyboard and do you care? (I think microbes on keyboards can only be a good thing).
THOSE are the kind of stats I want on my multifarious internet doings, please. I wonder if sitemeter could oblige?
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Friday, 09 May 2008 22:20 |
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<< Start < Prev 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 Next > End >>
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oldsflash
SEPTEMBER 28, 2005
I fell asleep on the end of one of the girl's beds this evening. Which meant that I woke up at 12.30am with work still to do. And I'd had almost three hours of sleep. So I got to it and did the work feeling quite refreshed. Then I fancied a cup of tea while I finished what I was doing. So I went downstairs to the kitchen, made a cup of tea, came back up to the sitting room where I have constructed my second office (which consists of a specially bought vit-cushion which is just for me to sit on the floor, where I belong, the coffee table and a little basket for all my junk to be chucked into to save it from four little hands), forgot that tea makes me even more wired than coffee does and so decided to draw something.
And what better subject than me, in my newly constructed second office (which is a damn sight more comfortable that my corridor version), being really wound up by hearing strange noises all over the place.
I'm used to wooden houses creaking. But this one is made of concrete. How does concrete creak? But it does.
I've heard next door's cockerel going off on one again, though sadly, I haven't heard it being murdered or exploding or being taken by aliens. Maybe tomorrow.
I've heard foxes and owls in the wood.
I've heard stupid people racing cars on the main road.
I've heard several different people being brutally murdered with axes.
I've heard someone being dragged along the road rolled up in a carpet (presumably one of those brutally murdered with axes).
I've heard maniacal opera singing on the other side of the village.
I've heard a clock ticking that doesn't exist.
And I'm thinking maybe I should put a sticker on the kettle to remind me not to drink tea in the middle of the night.
Good morning. |
newsflash
aren't site statistics rubbish? It's all very jolly knowing how many people visit one's doings on the internet, but why would I want to know what your operating system is? There's nothing in any of my stats that tell me what you're wearing, if you're a good person or an arse, whether you're reading this in bed or at your desk, whether you're laughing, crying or just bored, staring blankly at the screen wondering how you sunk so low. Underwear? Smoking anything? Vehemently anti-smoking anything? Are you a pink fluffy or a beige?
It's nice to see when you've arrived from somewhere else, like another blog or a googling, but I want to know what you thought once you'd arrived. If you googled my name, was it THIS lucy pepper you were looking for or was this a horrible shock? If it WAS me you were looking for, why one earth were you looking for me and was this a horrible shock? When you multifold pornseekers get here looking for something repulsive and find no nasty bits to look at, what do you do next? Do you have a look at the rest, or do you sod back off to your sordid little holes? And do I WANT you to look at the rest or to sod off back to your sordid little holes?
I want to know if you've been before and, if so, when and how often. And in how many ways has it changed your life. What you eat for breakfast would also be quite a useful piece of information, then I could write more towards the muesli market or the marmite market. Are you a cat person or a dog person or a ferret person? Might you be a British tourist git or a socially aspirant Portuguese git or a man with an unnecessarily shaven head who looks like a penis who reads what I write and thinks "that bitch is writing about me!"? Are you wildly intelligent or an idiot? Do you get it or not? How filthy is your computer screen? Can you see the pictures properly? How many microbes do you have on your keyboard and do you care? (I think microbes on keyboards can only be a good thing).
THOSE are the kind of stats I want on my multifarious internet doings, please. I wonder if sitemeter could oblige? |
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