A bit of disjointed rambling going on here.

This post isn’t about anyone in particular, but kinda links in with a conversation I had with my sister in the pub. We came to the conclusion that a high percentage of the population is made up of fuck-ups. It’s surprising how many people appear normal, but come closing time they reveal an unbalanced and slightly fucked up interior. Everyone is fucked up in their own way; it’s the new norm. Do you know anyone who doesn’t have a single issue?

This could be due to the way society is at the moment. It’s only illiterate scrotes that are being bred. Women with careers tend to have fewer children, whereas typically the people breeding excessively claim more than they contribute to society. I’ve nothing against people claiming child benefits for two children, but when you see a mother with five kids from four different fathers and three different marriages, it takes the piss. What this leads onto is the next generation following their parent’s example, and thus inflicting more leeches on society. Is evolution slowing down and getting ready to change gear into reverse? I don’t want this to come across as a class snobbery rant. I couldn’t give a fuck how much anyone earns, nor their social status. I just think that each individual should have to take responsibility and pay for their own lifestyle. Society is sending out the wrong message and rewarding the wrong people. You have to pay and work hard to get an education to support a career, in order to spend your life paying taxes and funding those who have don’t have the ability to close their legs.

The last week merged into one lump of déjà vu flavoured sameness; each night made up of random fragments of experiences lived several times before but with different characters. It occured to me last night that over the last few years I have been part of many different social circles, all of whom I had relatively short yet intense friendships with. Somehow most of these have now drifted apart. It’s kinda weird thinking about the people I used to talk with every day, yet now I neither have nor want their number. I do have quite a few ‘constants’; people who I regularly see and I like to think that our friendship will last.

There’s no-one in or out of my life that I wish I’d stayed in touch with, and I’m kinda glad that I don’t converse with some past friends, but at the same time it is slightly worrying. The chances are this time next year I’ll be hanging out with a different crowd. I wonder whose numbers I’ll no longer use when that time comes.

I had a weird semi pissed platonic kiss with a friend, which surprised me. She definitely only likes me as a friend, and I feel exactly the same, but it was strange in the fact that I don’t normally get intimate with friends; I always tend to associate affection with emotion. However neither were featured in this. Weird.

This all comes across as a bit of a downbeat, neurotic and uncoordinated typical Joey murmuring. I like to think it’s more of a caffeine fuelled, post weekend musing.

Joey goes out with his mate Stella
Gets wasted and looks for cinderella
Helston never ever gets no better
And Trelawney’s still disgusts
Drunk he stumbles into the fresh air
Screams calling Daddy Bear
None of us heard him coming
I guess his pink belt weren’t rolled out

Ullrich, Basso, Sevilla, Beloki, Gutierrez, Heras and Hamilton all received bans for either alleged or proven doping before this year’s tour started, and cycling suddenly became a clean sport.  For once we could all admire the bravery and determination displayed by Landis, taking on and beating the whole peleton despite having a dodgy hip.  Wrong.  He’s just given a positive testosterone sample (i.e. too high a level) after the 17th stage, and if the B sample backs this up, then he will be almost certainly stripped of his tour victory.

I had naively tried to watch the tour with a genuine belief that the vast majority of the peleton was clean.  I was slightly concerned but ignored the fact that the average speed was the 3rd fastest ever.  I ignored the similarities between Landis’s heroics, and that of Tyler Hamilton on EPO riding through the pain barrier and consequently grinding his teeth to the gum.  As much as I love cycling, I have now lost all faith in the professional side of it.

Last night ended up turning into one of those surreal occasions that are categorised somewhere between intriguing and disturbing.  A few of us went out for Cat’s birthday, with only Cat, Frances et moi lasting the pace.  We reluctantly accepted the offer of a party mainly due to the fact that we were half pissed and had no alternatives, and consequently ended up at a house of an Edmund Trebus in the making.  The entire place was filled with random crap, most notably buckets full of sludgy residue left over from making homebrew.  More disturbing were the containers in the bath which were probably filled with further supplies of alcoholic sludge, but could quite possibly have also concealed the odd partially dissolved body part.  Every surface was covered with dirty plates, glasses, women’s clothing and unidentified filth.  I didn’t venture inside his bedroom, but if it was inline with the rest of the house it would probably have had an impressive mountain of wanky tissues.

We escaped without contracting the STD that appeared to have established a firm grip of our host’s face, and also gained an entire box of Fruitella (?), which being the philanthropists that we are, kindly donated a bar to every letter box that we passed.  After all, who doesn’t accept sweets from strangers?

This is underlines both my need to get away from Cornwall, as well as my love for the fuckwits that occupy it.  A world without slightly unnerving eccentrics would be a pretty boring place.

Blue Anchor tomorrow night my loves?