litterbug, Jitterbug, punch

"Please do not feed the squirrels as they have their own nuts to enjoy."



This was the sight that greeted me as I walked past the park today. The world has gone completely loony, I fear. Attempting instead to inculcate a sense of sanity into myself, I arrived home and perused the local paper, where two local residents were busy complaining about why the council hadn't bothered sweeping residential roads in 40 years. I hope they won't take it as remiss of me if I remind them that the issue is why the litter is there in the first place, and that is because idiot people are too lazy to locate the nearest bin to drop their shit in, so they would rather leave their mess on the street for someone else to slip on/tread in/kick elsewhere. What it basically boils down to is idle parents not teaching their kids good citizenship, and that's where most of society's problems lie. The Government may very well set all the targets and objectives it likes, but no amount of nannying from Whitehall will ever alter the fact that parents are the ones who can most drastically affect their kids' behaviour.



I turned to the thought of my impending dissertation and tried to set out some first ideas, seeing as I probably won't do much work in the first few weeks of Leeds, and before long I will be struggling once more. My dissertation is, broadly, gender constructs in the motion picture soundtrack of Mulholland Drive. As we (all living, breathing men) should all know there is a very infamous lesbian scene in that film. I bet £10 I get assigned to Rachel Cowgill for my dissertation, if for no other reason than that she's the most blatant dyke ever. The first track on the soundtrack is Jitterbug, a quaint track which sets the scene yet basically gives the first 2/3 of the film away.



With thoughts of jittering dykes still ever-present in my mind, I set off on the humdrum weekly food shop. Spent £30 on alcohol for the impending house party, but it was worth it. I got 6 bottles of cheapish white wine, a huge 1.5 litre bottle of Martini and several litres of fruit juice to make a sizeable amount of punch. This is in addition to the 1 ltr of 4x distilled imported Gordon's, 1 ltr Bailey's, 1 litre Smirnoff Red, 1 ltr Curacao, 1 ltr plum brandy, 1.6 ltr Ouzo, 1.3 ltr Bombay Sapphire, 0.25 ltr Hamond's, and some dodgy looking whisky. If that sounds a lot, it isn't, when you think there's 30 odd peeps coming. In any event I'm not rich enough to bankroll everyone's booze so everyone's been asked nicely to bring a small amount of drink themselves.



Arrived home to find my cat writhing around in pretend agony in the hallway. It's not the first time I've seen her do this ... maybe she's developing a feline case of Munchausen's syndrome. Who knows. Also I need to borrow someone's hi-fi for the party as mine has decided to pack in with under 2 weeks to go. Fortune vomits on my eiderdown once more.



Listening to: Jean Michel Jarre: The Concerts In China