crazy realitives are procceding to drink their burbon (started at 10am this morning) and listning to the rugby on a rubbish little radio standing in the cold outside. because it's apperently highly important to hear if, and i quote. "we kick the bloody french's poncy ass." this leaves me quite happily in bed, with my beverage filled laptop typing rubbish. bored out of my tree.

whole day has been rubbish. no sleep, got lost, sat in a public toliet for about an hour freezing. also met some nice young chap on one of my londsome wanders. tall, geeky with this benie that obviously his great grandmother knitted him for his third bithday.. we had a small talk. i say 'had a small talk' not had small talk, big difference. i decided to call him Tim. he suits that. thought he was the 'bees knees'.. Tim enjoyed telling me his favourite colour, his best friends' names, what he does in his spare time and all about his "high paying" job (obviously not mate with that thing on ya head) procced to tell me he just came out of a long relationship but 'will be right back on the track as he is quite the catch.' what hope has this boy got? i couldn't get a word in edgeways. and when i bluntly walked off he called after me 'don't you even want my neumber??' Tim, i didn't even care for your name. of couse i don't want you number you arrogant tosser.

good good day.