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  Mon 23rd May 2011

It's 2am and in one of those unsensible mucked up sleep patterns you can fall into when you haven't got a proper job I am wide awake, quilt-wrapped, with a half finished bottle of cheap Aussie white left over from Thursday's book group by my side. I've been through a sociably drunken drama of Blackpool's tragic own goal self-relegation against Manchester United, before foolishly deciding to have a little nap. Four hours later and I'm wondering where the party's at.

I've got a train to Leeds tomorrow at 10ish, partly in order to see the witty, potty-mouthed and sexy Kim, one of the best-looking women in Leeds (there's quite stiff competition, being "good-looking" "in Leeds"). We're going to Bedlam, properly known as The Angel. In a precipitate but what turned out to be a well-advised move, I also invited Tina.

Tina you (and I) don't know yet, but in the section where you list your likes she put Thomas Hardy and Father Ted, and in the one where you're invited to mention your favourite book she put "Gödel's Incompleteness Theorem". Well, that was like an overclocked LED shining off the page. If you've never come across Herr Gödel, you're missing out on a fabulously subversive intellectual journey, and a good way of making yourself look even more geeky than you might already appear is to buy any of the numerous exegetical works in which it is discussed and work through it, dismissively ignoring your lover's entreaties to sex, a cheese and onion sarnie, or a gripping end of season David and Goliath relegation battle, while you concentrate on a fatal inconsistency in the axioms of number theory.

Anyway, Tina. I immediately wrote to her. With the disinhibiting effects of drink, I mentioned that I was meeting Kim tomorrow in Leeds, and asked her along. She can't come tomorrow but wrote back saying that, due to a couple of unwelcome stalkerish knobheads, she's lied about her location. She actually lives in a small town with a mainly ovine-based economy, nearer Lancaster. I probably should have waited a decorously restrained interval to mention it, but I asked her to a reading of Thomas Hardy's poetry in Lancaster next month, slightly worried whether I'd come across as overkeen as the men she's avoiding.

She replied (this is all in the past hour) with a most intriguing message saying "...I know you have a bit of an aversion to that site [Facebook]..."

How does she know that? Just a week ago I came off Facebook. Have I got a stalker from Settle? Am I being virtually investigated by a goodlooking fortysomething into Thomas Hardy and problems in the philosophy of mathematics? Is she reading this? Because if she is, she can "investigate" me any time, wha-hey!

1 comment

Comment from: heybartender [Visitor]

Well now, that’s intriguing, isn’t it?

Mon 30th May 2011 @ 07:55


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looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person


M / 56 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.


There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

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