Out on the streets
As of yesterday we are officially Homeless.
By “we” I mean Ben and myself. Ben being another Adelaide Drunkard (ya gotta love us) who has made the essential Holiday Visa pilgrimage to London. My lease has run out on my one bedroom place, and we were looking to move into a two bedroom apartment…only we haven’t found one yet. I had to move out yesterday, and so we are now homeless.
Though “Homeless” is a little melodramatic, and conjures up images of living in a cardboard box stinking of urine, and screaming insane conspiracy theories to random people on the street. We have a variety of places we can drop our filthy bodies, and cheers to Dr V who let us crash at his place last night. He lives above a Hotel, so it was just like my School days living above the Prince Albert Hotel back in Adelaide’s West End.
Now that we will be sleeping on a variety of floors and couches for a short while, I guess the correct term would be “dossers”. But that conjures up images of guys propped up in their sleeping bags typing emails back home on their wireless laptops about how “faarking grouse the London Eye excursion was”.
So I guess the most appropriate label would be “residentially challenged”.
We’ll find a place soon. The field is narrowed down, as I need a South-West suburb with an overland train station in order to get to my job out in the fucking Dagobah System. Though they don’t call them suburbs over here. It’s Borough, or Hamlet or Shire or some bull shit.
Nothing else really to report in this post, other than that I was 90 minutes late for work on Friday because some thoughtless bastard threw himself in front of one of the South West trains.
Also I got a haircut 20 minutes ago. I had to lose my long sideburns, because I was starting to look like a serial killer. The hairdresser was a gorgeous blonde Polish girl who couldn’t speak a word of English, and hummed along to the 80’s songs on the radio. It was a nice change, because Hairdresser small talk is some of the most depressingly inane banter you can find.
Time to leave this Internet Café and head off to a Barbecue at Chuck’s house.
Hopefully Chuck will let us sleep on his couches, what with us being “residentially challenged” and all.
By “we” I mean Ben and myself. Ben being another Adelaide Drunkard (ya gotta love us) who has made the essential Holiday Visa pilgrimage to London. My lease has run out on my one bedroom place, and we were looking to move into a two bedroom apartment…only we haven’t found one yet. I had to move out yesterday, and so we are now homeless.
Though “Homeless” is a little melodramatic, and conjures up images of living in a cardboard box stinking of urine, and screaming insane conspiracy theories to random people on the street. We have a variety of places we can drop our filthy bodies, and cheers to Dr V who let us crash at his place last night. He lives above a Hotel, so it was just like my School days living above the Prince Albert Hotel back in Adelaide’s West End.
Now that we will be sleeping on a variety of floors and couches for a short while, I guess the correct term would be “dossers”. But that conjures up images of guys propped up in their sleeping bags typing emails back home on their wireless laptops about how “faarking grouse the London Eye excursion was”.
So I guess the most appropriate label would be “residentially challenged”.
We’ll find a place soon. The field is narrowed down, as I need a South-West suburb with an overland train station in order to get to my job out in the fucking Dagobah System. Though they don’t call them suburbs over here. It’s Borough, or Hamlet or Shire or some bull shit.
Nothing else really to report in this post, other than that I was 90 minutes late for work on Friday because some thoughtless bastard threw himself in front of one of the South West trains.
Also I got a haircut 20 minutes ago. I had to lose my long sideburns, because I was starting to look like a serial killer. The hairdresser was a gorgeous blonde Polish girl who couldn’t speak a word of English, and hummed along to the 80’s songs on the radio. It was a nice change, because Hairdresser small talk is some of the most depressingly inane banter you can find.
Time to leave this Internet Café and head off to a Barbecue at Chuck’s house.
Hopefully Chuck will let us sleep on his couches, what with us being “residentially challenged” and all.
posted by Beef at Saturday, May 05, 2007
2 Comments:
charles honor... chucky boy..
he has the voice to match that beard... "warning! the material..."
he was head boy in school, and now
he just received head.
if he's drunk enough maybe even give some too
legend.
I fucking laughed so hard at the dagobah reference that I choked on my gum and caused a scene in my office.
If you were homeless here I would totally let you sleep on my couch.
Dagobah.
Fuck.
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