On Monday I spend about 87% of my waking hours researching lyrics for my complementary tattoo with ___, sending the lyrics to ___ and getting shot down. I have now gone through every song released by Suede, Morrissey, The Smiths and Gene and we have not agreed on anything. And I refuse to have lyrics by any other band tattooed on me.
In any case after having submitted about 60 couplets to ___ I now give up and I’m waiting for him to come back to me with some suggestions. His one suggestion so far has been for me to have 1,2,3,4,5 tattooed on me, and for him to have 6,7,8,9,10. A sequence of numbers that complement each other. Obviously I shoot that down. So like Ross and Rachel choosing the name of their baby on Friends, each of us will take turns to come up with some ridiculous suggestion and the other one will veto it. This is going to end up great.
But I don’t mind really, I’m sure we’ll have something done eventually, and it will be really horrible and regrettable, but that’s fine. I want to have a stupid tattoo and I want to regret it and I want to be in some local bar in a suburban town when I’m 63, sipping a double scotch (having asked the barman to leave the bottle) wearing an ancient filthy leather waistcoat with my gut hanging out from the top of dirty, torn jeans with blood and ink stains on the thighs, grey long hair held in a thin ponytail, as two cocky provincial young bucks take a break from shooting pool, walk up to me and start taking the piss out of the tattoo on the top of my hip, and its faux-romantic “two hearts under a skyscraper” reference, trying to get a reaction out of me only so they can punch me, kicking an old alcoholic geezer while he’s down, really. But I won’t react, I can’t react, I’m taking in all the taunts but not interested in retorting, my eyes glaze blankly over them, my eyes are dead but seeing more than theirs, my eyes dead possibly because they have.
And on Tuesday I go to work and then to the gym.
And after the gym I go home and watch Greece.
And on Wednesday morning I’ve receive an email from Matty at work (once again: Matty has moved to Sydney now) and Matty says:
“As you might imagine there isn’t much / any coverage of the Euro 2008 champs so I may have to rely on you to fill me in on the inside gossip. Maybe London Preppy you could return to your punditry ways for my benefit”
And I says to Matty:
“Yes, the Euro 2008. I can only provide reviews for the Greece games I’m afraid. There will only be three of them so we better enjoy them.
Greece vs Sweden
This was a boring game where nothing happened for the first 67 minutes. Regardless, during that time I didn’t even move to go to the toilet in case I would miss something (mostly passes between the Greek defenders in the midfield, really). Then Sweden scored. Then I turned down the sound and went on the internet because I was upset. Five minutes later Sweden scored again. That’s when I turned it over to a Greek film from 1965, which at least I knew the end of and it wouldn’t disappoint me.
And that’s it. Greece vs Russia review on Monday”
Finally, there’s a new poll on the right. I wanted to check whether any straight guys, who I’m not friends with / know in real life actually read this. So the possible answers are that you are: a) a straight guy who I don’t know, b) a straight guy who I know, c) everyone else. I know 98% will fall under (c), but even if there are one or two straight guys that I don't know reading, erm, I’d like to know. Thanks.