So, I was in Newcastle yesterday...but I'm not going to bore you with the details.
What we made over the course of an afternoon, a few pints and plenty of profane language will speak for itself once the necessary turd polishing has taken place and I can throw the finished products up on here for public consideration.
Eyes peeled, kiddies.
Instead I wish to tackle the microcosm of events that took place entirely from the left pocket of my Henley's parka.
Oh, but I'm being obscure again.
I befell the wrath of my first critic on Friday - oddly enough exactly one week since I began this cathartic little endeavour - and 'mildly pissed off' taken as a given, I was more notably surprised that it hadn't arrived via the expected channels.
In fact, it came from an entirely uninvolved party.
To save on utilising any language that may involve whipping out a thesaurus to decipher it's complex connotations, the long and short of the matter runs thus...
Expostulation:
Dear Madam,
Your little blogging sessions
Are a riddle of indiscretions
And 'inappropriate intentions'.
I'll admit I'm less than pleased.
Reply:
Love,
It upsets me greatly that
Being blunt is cause to hate me
But it's cool, because you're crazy...
And that's my cue to leave.
For the record, that's exactly what I did - leave well alone I mean.
I'm getting too old for middle-school mind games and to be honest, if you have to go light a candle and channel a sense of humour to grasp the meaning of my fairly simplistic writing then you probably shouldn't be putting yourself in the position whereby you'll come to read it.
Further to this, I believe I have personally learn't a valuable lesson in regards to Edinburgh literary fashion: One must wear their head up their arse as opposed to their heart on their sleeve.
Upshot, don't expect any more candid emotional blogging for a while - I'm switching back to my 'out of hours' style where I can abandon the realm of any intellectual depth and stick to chatting shit, smiling vacantly and cracking self-deprecating jokes.
In the end, all experience is just another potential poem and this one is going to be hilarious.
Annie.
<3
What we made over the course of an afternoon, a few pints and plenty of profane language will speak for itself once the necessary turd polishing has taken place and I can throw the finished products up on here for public consideration.
Eyes peeled, kiddies.
Instead I wish to tackle the microcosm of events that took place entirely from the left pocket of my Henley's parka.
Oh, but I'm being obscure again.
I befell the wrath of my first critic on Friday - oddly enough exactly one week since I began this cathartic little endeavour - and 'mildly pissed off' taken as a given, I was more notably surprised that it hadn't arrived via the expected channels.
In fact, it came from an entirely uninvolved party.
To save on utilising any language that may involve whipping out a thesaurus to decipher it's complex connotations, the long and short of the matter runs thus...
Expostulation:
Dear Madam,
Your little blogging sessions
Are a riddle of indiscretions
And 'inappropriate intentions'.
I'll admit I'm less than pleased.
Reply:
Love,
It upsets me greatly that
Being blunt is cause to hate me
But it's cool, because you're crazy...
And that's my cue to leave.
For the record, that's exactly what I did - leave well alone I mean.
I'm getting too old for middle-school mind games and to be honest, if you have to go light a candle and channel a sense of humour to grasp the meaning of my fairly simplistic writing then you probably shouldn't be putting yourself in the position whereby you'll come to read it.
Further to this, I believe I have personally learn't a valuable lesson in regards to Edinburgh literary fashion: One must wear their head up their arse as opposed to their heart on their sleeve.
Upshot, don't expect any more candid emotional blogging for a while - I'm switching back to my 'out of hours' style where I can abandon the realm of any intellectual depth and stick to chatting shit, smiling vacantly and cracking self-deprecating jokes.
In the end, all experience is just another potential poem and this one is going to be hilarious.
Annie.
<3
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