Listening To: Albion, Babyshambles
Reading: The Golestan of S'adi, S'adi
Eating: Nothing. All bloody day.
Drinking: the ink from my pen
If you're looking for a cheap sort set in false anticipation,
I'll be waiting in the photo booth at the underground station,
Oh, come away, say you'll come away, we could go
Anywhere in Albion.
This song is the sex. Almost as much the sex as Jeremy Brett. You know, I just realised he's the little poufter who plays Freddie in My Fair Lady. I always thought he was such a little wanker, letting himself get dragged about by a girl who didn't really care about him. And he's so masterful as lovely S.H., you'd never know he was a poncy little Scorpio boy who smoked sixty cigarettes a day. Brings a whole new meaning to desperately needing a fag.
Who am I kidding? Nothing's going anywhere, and neither will it.
Nothing new under the sun, and all that.
I really just want to be snuggled, damn it. And the damned Ocker's gone away. So I shall indulge myself in petty nonsense like this.
Beastly Little Things!
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