In recent months, blogging has unintentionally drifted far from the range of things that I consider 'stuff what I do'. So much so that my regular creative output has devolved into bi-sentential picture blogs and embedded youtube videos of Schizophrenic dogs. This is basically me pseudo-philosophically saying sorry for the lack of updates.
Naturally I find I write about interesting shit best when there's work I should be doing; and on this occasion, I can assure you, there is so much.

The event that spurred this thought was an inquisition into the singlehood of my male friends.

For what purpose wouldst one be interested in the array of dashing young suitors amongst my associates? I asked the inquirer, 'Ann' the cleaner.

'Ah, was askin' becuss our Jenna 'asn't got a boyfriend, and ah was thinkin, you know some lads around 20-21 what our Jenna could date.'

'Before you go, we want sum numbers'

'Jenna' is a 19 year old care worker who happened to be in the year below me at Newbold. Although I don't remember her at all. She left school at 16 and from what I can tell, like many girls wavered on the binary career decision of care or health & beauty, before trundling down junction A. Likely owns a frightening number of NOW compilations and doesn't know what a lentil is.

I could tell by Ann's mischievous smile that Jenna knew nothing about this indecent proposal, as of yet. Jenna's obliviousness to this makes me feel a little shitty for making such unsubstantiated presumptions. But you know, it's interesting. Fuck it.

Something Ann should probably realise about my friends is that they predominately consist of intellectually-aggressive, nihilists who habitually and cynically satirize the behaviour and culture of the common man as an inexhaustible source of amusement. And therefore for the sake of all that is tranquil, should ideally not associate with the public in any way. Don't be offended; this is why we get on so well.

The thought of involving some my friends with such a modal specimen of crazy frog, ice-pop cultivation causes me to violently fidget and wretch as my brain blasts through the awkward matrix of social incompatibility and misunderstanding.
But should it really? Probably not. We all have social skills to varying degrees. Be this the knack for turning every answer into a deeper question till it boils down to 'what the fuck are you doing with your life?' and generally hope the conversation takes direction before you collapse their ego from the inside, or pretending to be invariably interested in whatever they're saying until your growing inner boredom makes you loose track and they end up head butting you. We've all got our hidden aces.

So the brain splinter I couldn't quite place was ultimately the catastrophically lurid mess of social spastication that is life. It's just this one inquiry happened to set off this train of thought which left me cross-eyed and drooling profusely as I “um”'d and “well, it's just that er...”'d for 8 whole seconds at the equally confused woman.

I told Ann I'd think about it and assured her that she had a better chance of being clotheslined by a thalidomide child. (ooh, politikul')

So more to the point, if you're a single male in the Chesterfield area and fancy a romantic encounter with our Jenna, Get in touch and I'll hook you guys up. *wink*