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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

Drinky drink drink drink

Last night, it was Mister Al's birthday. Mister Al sent out an invitation to all of his friends to come along to his birthday drinks which began "Dear Bastards", and degenerated from there. Mister Al reads this blog, and therefore I am forced through politeness to say that Mister Al, and his Lovely Wife Rosie, are both very nice people. But I'd say all of that anyway. Because they are.

All of which is beside the point. It just sets the scene for this set of photos. I am not, contrary to popular belief a little bit drunk on public transport here in London very often. In Dublin, yes, I was very commonly quite pissed and on a bus, but in London I tend to get legless in and around the general vacinity of the Nest'O'Love. Partially through sheer laziness, partially because London is so vastly and unnecessarily large that it seems daft to get tanked up and then have to travel any distance while needing a wee and feeling a bit pukey.

But when I am on public transport (particularly the tube) I feel the need to get all artistic with the camera on my mobile phone. This, ladies and gents, is two of the seven part set of photos that I took with my phone last night trying to get the perfect shot of me and He Who Only..'s reflection in the window. This is photo number one, in which I hold my mobile up unnecessarily high, as if looking through an actual camera that has an eye-piece through which you must look:

He Who Only... is not interested. He's been through this all before. He knows what way it will end up.

Photos Two to Six are not going to published here, mainly because they're basically exactly the same as this one, in varying different states of focus, but never actually any better focussed than the photo already displayed above.

Let's skip to Photo Seven, in the series of Seven:

He Who Only... fucks off. And rightly so.


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