Sell-Out, Moi?

Today I took another small step towards selling my soul to the 21st century.

In the early hours of this morning sometime between my umpteenth vodka & coke, some barefoot dancing to dubstep and reaching the end of another deck of cigarettes I loudly declared that I was to give up smoking.

There were witnesses.

So, as these thing undoubtedly go, I was accosted by my flatmate as soon as I regained enough coherence to part with money and we began the long trawl round the Internet to find the best alternative to the 'real deal'.

Our search quickly turned up a fantastic little company Blu who manufacture the most sleek, stylish and down right gorgeous electronic cigarettes, with cartridges available in a number of different flavours and colours...they don't ship outside the US.

After this bombshell and a few more hours of fruitless rooting, I had reached the stage of running to the nearest corner shop when Pixel (the aforementioned flatmate) called me through to his room - we'd had a breakthrough.

Not only had he found a fucking pink e-cigarette but the range of flavours were absolutely astounding. I quickly handed over my cash and a to this moment am grinning silently to myself whilst contemplating the possibilities, especially with winter setting in, of actually being able to smoke indoors especially when said cigarette tastes like peanut butter.

[www.liberty-flights.co.uk]

Outside of this the only thing of interest to report is as follows; apparently something I read on a bathroom wall in Henry's last night caused me enough offence to warrant a page of free verse which I give to you now, as it was found on my laptop this morning, unedited and utterly confusing:

“Don't be a bastard.
Be nice and it'll all work out.”
I mean, fuck, what's that even about?
Mate, I'm all for a little philosophy,
Freedom of expression,
Degrees of decency but
You seriously expect me
Petulant, pissant prodigy,
Veritable walking catastrophe,
To be sweet as pie?
Slap on that beguiling smile and
Kitten eyes whilst inside
A silent fire rages.
Excuse me whilst I flip you off,
Screaming “Screw these amateur sages!”
Filling up walls like pages
Turning stalls into confessional cages.
Dearest socialite scribe,
Next time you take pen to plaster or
Adopt the affectation of
Pseudo-psychic newscaster:
Give me naff jokes,
Drunken exclamations, salutations,
Crudely drawn cocks and
Their witty 'appreciation'.
It's not that I'm ungrateful or
Inherently hateful and I really do try
To play nice...most of the time but
Colour me crazy if when I sit down to pee
I don't much fancy a commentary
On my already dubious morality.

Annie

<3