#112. Where'd you get those 'wiesers?

Watched Jeepers Creepers (hi Cliph) the other day. It was crap. Men in silly costumes just aren't scary. I don't care if it was meant to be tongue-in-cheek (was it?), but if I had paid to see it in the cinema, I would have walked out the instant those daft wings unfolded. Anyway, it must have affected me in some way, because walking home along my dark scary road seemed all the more dark and scary. My gooesepimples were bulging at the creepy fog, full moon and that hand-biting horse lurking about somewhere. It also didn't help that I had to duck into a graveyard to let cars pass.

Last Friday was Good Friday, and to quote Ste, "this catholic conservatism that's plagued us for so long" had closed all the bars. Except the moving ones, which some archaic bye-law allows to be open. Miraculously, I happened to be in one of said moving bars - in a train - albeit with only enough cash for one bottle of bud. Still, I felt special.

Speaking about feeling priviliged, I also got served out-of-hours in a hotel residents' bar during the week. Never been to one before, but they are apparantly open 24-hours. We only went for one, but the novelty was nice, and I felt all pipe and slippery.

This week, I'm mostly eating turkey sandwiches. Is it a tradition for turkey on easter, or do mothers just enjoy putting large flightless birds in hot places? All this wholesome eating has left my ideals and ambitions a bit distorted - I don't want to be in a rock band. I want to live in the country, eat a diet of fresh fruit and speak 7 languages.

Photos of London are coming soon, pending Malcolm's approval.