Sunday, November 23, 2003

...Places I hate (not exhaustive):

5. Manchester.
Not the city per se. The occupants. Curse the bastard that invented the coded warning.


4. Clevedon.
A seaside town that's even more depressing than Weston-"super"-Mare. If you can believe that's possible.


3. Texas.
The city - for bringing up Dubya, and for "Dallas". Avoids being no 2 by having canned Kennedy.

The DIY store - for daring to make buying paint into a family day out (with their fucking patisserie/cafe, ball pit and kartoon kiosk). Again, number 2 placing avoided by this also being my parents' fault.


2. Swindon.
A museum full of trains that don't work any more, and a collective bitterness about not being allowed to be a city.

1. G-A-Y
A great venue that's squandering it's potential in the most hideous way. Every good thing about it is ruined by the management, the music and the cunts that go there.

A bar named after Keith Moon. Fucking fantastic.
The fact that it serves cans (fucking cans!) of Strongbow, Carling and Grolsh at £3.10 a pop. Fucking disgraceful.

The raised, inclined theatre-style seating area overlooking the mosh pit. Breathtaking.
The old men feeling themselves up whilst hanging over the balcony and drooling at the sight of the heaving mass of nubile boy-men below. Revolting.

The enormous fat lesbian wearing a "drink beer, play rugby" T-tent. Go to hell.

The cheer that wen't up as the expository bars of "Lay all your love on me" played. Deeply disturbing.

"Come tomorrow and see Alex Parks" (with continuous looping video montage of all our "favourite" moments from this year's fame academy). I'm afraid I can't. I'm slitting my wrists.


I did get a shag, though (and under 30 stone/years of age). I think this was what angered me more than anything else. I now want to go back.