Tag Archives: inane shit

I have never

I am 28 years of age, 29 in under a month, and there are things in the world I have never done.

I don’t mean like bungee jumping, because why the hell would I ever do that. I don’t mean like surfing, because shut up I’ve just never surfed plus I’d be terrible at it because standing on something while it’s moving is too hard. And I don’t mean like knowingly eating squid, because fuck off squid you’re clearly an alien being.

No, I mean things you might expect me to have done. I have, for example, never used a fax machine. For all my endless japery about sending faxes (I’ve just been reminded about fax humour, which is hilarious, by someone making fax-based comments on Twitter), I have never actually used a fax machine. I don’t really know what they do. I certainly understand little of how they work.

For all my worldly handsome wonderful well-travelled..ness.. ish.. I have never learned to drive. I don’t see how these two link, really. Sorry.

I have never been to Poole – well, apart from going to one person’s house there but that doesn’t really count – even though I’ve lived next to it for nigh-on three years now.

I have never been hit by a car, though naturally that’s just testament to how excellent I am at crossing roads. Good enough that I might start putting it on my CV as a skill. That and ‘walking up mountains (N.B. mountains that are easy to walk up only)’.

I genuinely don’t remember ever having bought a rucksack. All the ones I have or have had in my life have been hand-me-downs or, as is the case with my Best One, a free gift of corruption thanks to my job.

I have never intentionally dyed an item of clothing. I have never worn large can headphones while walking down the street. I have never used the night bus in the Bournemouth area.

There’s lots of inane crap I’ve never done, come to think of it. I’ll have to send someone a fax about it.

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Inane shit at 2.25am

My collection of books (it’s called ‘a box full’ technically) has finally had a dent made in it for the first time in months since I bothered to actually read one of the papery wads of words contained within it.

Unfortunately the book I read has had that effect that so much of a certain Doctor of Journalism’s work has on me, which is to make me want to fuck it all off and do something real – something that matters.

Then again, I stand by the notion that nothing anybody does actually matters, the pursuit of wealth is a pointless undertaking and those motivated more by money than by enjoyment of what they do are idiots in the extreme.

But that’s also veering away from the concept of doing something that matters, as something that matters can indeed be something that you enjoy. For example, if I was to get a job as Superstar Broadcast Journalist Covering War And Shit, I would probably enjoy it (bar the massive fear of death and inability to speak to locals in anything other than Embarrassing Idiocy).

No point to this, I’m just thinking out loud and annoying the world with entry 618 or something, though I still have a few more catch up entries to complete, all about my time in Japan. As if it matters or you care.

They’ll come tomorrow though, because tonight I have to rest and dream of a world where anything I did mattered. Here it doesn’t, and I’ve just deleted a load of text there that was too whiny even for here.

Welcome to any newcomers – get used to this inane shit.

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