Why is that shoe-laces always come undone on WALKING boots? It's been bugging me for the last five months. I walk for miles in them and the (double) knots remain tight, yet I sit down at my desk in work for fifteen minutes and they come undone...? Weird.
Apart from the shoelace problem, everything is pretty rosy here. Barbeque season has started in earnest, we've had three in the last week and they've all been absolutely fantastic!
I'm not feeling in the slightest bit creative today after staying up until 3am performing home surgery on a strange lump on the back of my head (see lovely pic) with a penknife, a pair of tweezers and a sewing needle. I've had the bump for a few years but never really paid it too much attention. The other night it decided to grow to about twice its previous size and become extremely painful, so I made up my mind to do something about it. My housemate (Archer) came home at about twelve, saw the blood/pus soaked tissues lying around in the bathroom and noticed that I was clearly having trouble so he decided to help out. Archer had consumed in the region of two litres of cider so was quite happy to help jam a sewing needle as far as he could into my head (we managed to get it in about an inch deep!!). I'm not sure what we actually achieved in the end, apart from making me bleed profusely, as the bump is still there today - I might have to make the trek to the doctors. Ho hum.
I'm becoming quite fond of my low-quality phone pictures, they're serving as a brilliant memory aid for the night before. I've only had a phone with a camera on it since January, previously I'd made do with one that just does normal things, like make calls. Another fantastic quality of this phone is that I just can't seem to type in peoples names in capital letters when I'm drunk, "Where's the use in that?" I hear you ask. Well, it enables me to easily identify any new names that I'd entered into my phone the night before as all the other names are in capital letters. This weekend I apparently met a GEmma, a SalLy, a RacHEl and an Isirph Mike (I suspect it's supposed to be Irish). Result.
One barbeque was a bit mental, a house-full of girlies had invited about four of us boys over, but after an hour we numbered about ten. I held the responsibility of being head chef and produced some quality food, the girls were incredibly happy as they'd just cremated about twenty sausages before we arrived. It was a bit of a strange bbq in a 13 year olds school disco kind of way, all the boys were outside having a laugh whilst all the girls were inside getting wasted... we all mixed up in the end anyway and headed out for a cracker of an evening in the Students Union.
Another barbeque was hosted by two 'George' mates Steve and James. The food was again plentiful, as were the free drinks and the laughs. We didn't stop laughing the entire time, and fueled by more booze and a few tokes on a smoke we decided to start setting fire to things (always a winner at a party!). There are plenty of videos and photos of the events of that evening and once I figure out how to upload my low-quality phone videos, I might link to them*.
On an extra note, this creased me up in the morning when I was rooting around for ketchup in Phaelon Towers, it's a jar of Madras sauce with an odd message on it:-
Your scared of me aren't you David?