(this post was written before the name one, which is why it reads slightly funny, if it wasn’t Friday evening I would re-write or proof read it, but, blah…)

You’re not a real blogger until you’ve apologised for not blogging. So here it is, sorry for the recent dry spell, nothing in comparison to the previous 2 month long droughts but i had the blogging groove recently, but lately I’ve lost the rhythm slightly. I had a weeks holiday last week, so went back to the mother-ship. It was my first time for six months or so, which was great, as for a day or so I felt like I was looking at everything for the first time again, with england x-ray specs on. It soon wore off, and I was watching trashy daytime TV and eating dairy milk unquestioningly, like the good old days.

Read more, you know you want to!

Dad picked me up from the train station (about mid-night), we turned one corner and sitting below the red traffic light was a girl who looked not a day older than 15 vomiting in the street, flanked by two police officers. I’ve heard this scenario mentioned by various German people here as there idea of what all English women call a good Friday night. I’d literally just arrived in the country and couldn’t imagine anything much more stereotypical unless it started to rain fish and chips, or I saw the queen waving at me from a castle. This was so perfect, it could almost have been plucked directly from a German persons imagination and played out for my enjoyment.

Getting home I saw my parents new home and laughed at the amount of storage space available. Everything was away in a cupboard or drawer, nothing on display. With surfaces clean enough to perform open heart surgery upon. Every house, a matching mini house next door, every house, a mini-expertly manicured driveway running all the way from the street to the little picturesque Lego houses. It felt nice to be back, a Lego man amongst Lego men.

Highlights of the trip:

- Latitude Festival - 3 days camping with Matt. Far less fights than I had expected. Seriously great festival, literature, poetry, cabaret, drama, stand-up comedy tents alongside the best music bill I’ve seen this year. Baby wipe showers, chewing gum teeth-cleaning rinsed with orange juice, wagon wheel breakfasts. Its great to run the body down to empty every now and again, cant think of a better way to do it than 3 nights in a tent, in a field, in the middle of nowhere (East Anglia), surrounded by English voices for a change. I’d actually forgotten how nice female English voices are, I’ve heard so little this year. Like angels, lower class angels, singing operatic gangsta rap.

- Being approached by a steward in the uncut tent waiting for Camera Obscura (conversation went something like this)

Steward: “Excuse me, you can’t smoke in here”
(We both look at each other to see if we’ve accidentally started smoking in the past 5 minutes without realising it)

Matt: “Ummm, we aren’t”

Steward: “yeah, just so you know you can’t light up in ‘ere”

Me: long pause “okkkkay…”

Matt: “there’s about 5,000 other people around us he should tell as well”

me: “geez, gone a bit minority report in here”

- I left the festival with a new passion for poetry, not totally gay after all!

- The National, Final Fantasy, Arcade Fire and I’m From Barcelona.

- All kinds of freaky late night shit, that I might write up another time.

Many more, but I’ve sort of run out of motivation for this post so I think I’ll knock it on the head for today. Have a good one.