Tuesday, 25 August 2009

Eighteenf Night

Arrrrt mate wicked is it.

Tonight was smashing. 59 people in. Including, I am humbled to say, Danny Wallace and his enchanting wife Greta. And now I am drunk and must get up in shit fuck shit fuck 5hrs14mins.

Anyway. It was great. My friend Marn went home today, which was a great shame because I drew a lot of strength from him over the last few days. Not to mention what ace company he is, obviously. There are not many people with whom you can have a conversation about spirituality and consciousness over a tray of chips with cheese in the drizzle in Hunter Square.

Anyway. It would be reckless to continue to type. So, you know. Goodnight.


PS I met David Mitchell this evening, but refrained from telling him everyone says I sound like him. Wouldn't want him to think I was WEIRD OR ANYTHING COME ON PHWOARRR LET'S SEE ALL THAT LOVELY ORANGE SQUASH.

Ok shhh goodnight.

No, really. Come on. Goodnight.


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