Note To Self

Note to self: when one has managed to bruise one’s tailbone through falling on one’s arse while ice-skating on Friday, it is not particularly smart to commemorate this injury by going to a drum’n’bass club that very night, and it is even more stupid to throw caution to the wind and indulge in more booty-shaking at The Roots gig on Monday.

Notes to self, eh? Why don’t I ever listen to them?



In my hall’s somewhat lacklustre attempt to celebrate St George’s Day, there was bickering over finding someone to play God Save The Queen on the piano.

Me: Tay, God made you more musically talented than me. You should play it.
Tay: God also gave me a fiiiiine ass to sit on, and that’s what I’m doing right now. (plonks himself down in my seat)
Me: Fine. So what if I say God also gave me a fiiiiine ass to sit on, and I’m also gonna sit on it right now? (I plonk myself down)
Tay: Well your ass ain’t finer than mine.
Me: Oh yes it is.
Tay: Oh no it’s not.
Me: Well my ass can kick your ass’s ass!

So much for my brilliant legal mind and rapier wit.