I am very, very, very ill. I couldn’t be more ill if I tried. I’m sneezing and everything. *achoo*
I hate being ill. It makes me angry about everything. And now, I have lost my voice. Picture this : My angry little face, turning purple. My mouth opening to spew out mild obscenities. And nothing comes out. I can’t take it anymore. I need therapy. I need a new game to tackle. Anything.
Right now, I am at school, spreading my minion germs throughout the social scum that are those at Ashington High School. Not sure why I’ve been put in front of this computer but yeah, there’s not much else going on in the interwebs. So hi.
I haven’t got much to complain about today. Everything is equally bad, evil, satan-ish and my life is generally full of the mundane and the confusing.
Something I would like to point out though, is that if you aren’t interested in a band, you do not belong on the barrier in a music venue. After spending 5 hours crushed up against a middle-aged, sweaty man, who had no apparent reason to be there. at a gig, I have become a barrier hater. He spent the whole time, on Facebook. What the hell? Aswell as Mr Sweaty, was an equally sweaty security bloke. Who, although he had the whole barrier to stand against, spent the whole time IN MAH FACE. The entire thing was sufficiently ruined. The only reason I didn’t just die there and then was the presence of a one Billy Lunn. William. Yummy.
So the next time I find myself in a crowd of sweaty music fans, I’m not going to bother fighting off angry goths to establish a good barrier position. It’s not worth it. It’s so damn hard to get up there, at the front. A sign of power and superiority. Only the very best find the way there. So why was I surrounded by middle-aged people on Sunday night? BAH.
Some short, fat lady wearing a crucifix was literally fighting my little sister for a spot. What’s going on, old people? What are you trying to prove? It’s all good though because she got a good elbow in the face and disappeared into the oblivion of the crowd.
I think the old people are plotting against us, fellow ‘yobs’. I fear a war is at hand. I will report back Monday night, on the state of the crowd in the o2 academy. If my one and only Luke Pritchard is being licked and stroked by middle-aged men, I will declare war. Officially. It’s just not cool.