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Cold war

  Sat 2nd April 2016

As if any more incentive to move out were needed...

Irritating lodger, whom I wish would accidentally swallow a load of fentanyl and heroin, gets back from his hols in London. Usual pissing and shitting and washing and flushing at 5am, heating on, raging away at astronomical cost.

Next morning, I open the fridge to get the black pudding for my breakfast out, to find a note perched on its top shelf.

My first reaction: "Could you not fuck in the general direction of off, Irritating Lodger?"

My second reaction: "No, looby, it's you that's got to fuck off. You've got to find your own place, get some more hours, and get your own front door key and leave them to it."

I am so irritated with my situation, to the extent that I am actually going to do something about it.


Comment from: [Member]

I’d leave him a little bastion of ordure in his tupperware.

Sat 2nd April 2016 @ 11:58
Comment from: [Member]

Good idea.

FFS, teenagerish passive-agressive notes in shared houses. Thought I’d seen the last of them thirty years ago.

The irony is that, of all of us, he cooks the least. It’s all frozen pizza and tinned soup.

Sat 2nd April 2016 @ 12:07
Comment from: Hannah [Visitor]

Isn’t he the asshat who gets upset by the smell of proper food? What a dick. The sooner you get to Kirsty’s house, or even Trina’s boat, the better.

Sat 2nd April 2016 @ 15:54
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Arsehole, love, the word’s arsehole. We’re English :)

Yes, tis him. He complains all the time, about everything. He comments on my food, saying it stinks. This is when for example, I am eating skate wings and charlotte potatoes and mange tout and he’s eating tinned soup.

Sat 2nd April 2016 @ 17:15

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sat 2nd April 2016 @ 22:17
Comment from: ehy dolooby [Visitor]

They do Exile. Honestly, this is going to be the beginning of somethting new. I am glad and happy that that he is being such a dickhead because it’s making me act rather than moan about it.

Sun 3rd April 2016 @ 01:19

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

M / 58 / 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?
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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.
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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.
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One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
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The working man is a fucking loser.
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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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63 mago
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