Photos from the past month.

'Negi' Sam Russo reports back to his ball 'n' chain.


Havin' one out on Jugs' couch in Norwich.


£3 burritos at Los Taquito's


Three of my pals.


Practice space.


Fathead.


Yo sucker, got a big mouth.


Jesu.

Through being cool.

Nick Hornby considered in his book ‘High Fidelty’ whether people were sad because they listen to pop music, or whether people listen to pop music because they’re sad.

So, are people are alienated and outcasted from the majority because they listen to punk rock, or whether they listen to punk rock because they are alienated and outcasted?
There’s something about that romanticised question that makes me not want to answer it.

I went to a university dudes' house party this weekend just gone that made me feel just like that.

I fell asleep on the stairs and got kicked out before my friend was also shown the door for shouting at a girl who was wearing a dead fox around her neck. It was fashionable… or something.

It wasn’t too unlike this:



Along with an increased intake of K, I’m starting to dislike people more and more. Correlation between the two? Nah…



That's Tommy and El Morgan. Tommy employs me to write for his zine. El is a drugs and alcohol counsellor. She says K is bad. Whoo...!

In a bit.

GNV, FLA

My top five records that I want to listen to right now at this present moment after I’ve pretty much finished all my chores for today and while the sun is blaring through the parts of my window I can see.

1. Apologies, I Have None – ‘Two Sticks, Six (soon to be multiple) Strings’
“It doesn’t matter what you’ve got, because we’re all in this together”

2. Calvinball – ‘Live Fast, Go To Bed Early’
“As the train pulls away I can almost hear you say ‘goodbye, farewell and amen’”

3. Above Them – ‘Blueprint For A Better Time’
“Stay what you started, become what you’ve wanted”

4. The Arteries – ‘Waffle Soul and Beer’/’Blood Sweat and Beers’
“Reap back what they sow”

5. Bangers - everything
“You’re better than most, she said, as I put my shirt back on”

All my favourite bands are my friends.

One thing they’ve all got in common? Later this month I’m going to Gainesville for a weekend with almost everyone I know.

On a down note, I got a text from Chas yesterday saying that Lightyear are playing a secret show in Derby tonight. However much I would love to go, I refuse to comply with the train fare.

In a bit.

Trains, buses and cool dudes.

I have a love/hate relationship with trains and buses. They can be exhilaratingly rad one time, then cock crunchingly boring the next.
The last trains home to where I grew up were usually fun – drunk posh married couples, angry people, happy people, sleeping people. And there wasn’t enough room to lift a finger. For fourty minutes twice a weekend, all those things culminated into a rarely bad time.
Namely, it was always fun meeting people from Berkhamsted and letting them know that my mum wrote a main column in their local paper about her kids.

“Yeah, I was the one who went streaking down the High Street on Harry Potter launch night/fell asleep on a train and woke up in Northampton/told my school careers advisor I wanted to study Journalism to write for a porn magazine”.



Anyway, so buses. Fucking buses.
Twice in the last week, TWICE, two strangers have met in the two seats in front of me, flirted unashamedly and ended up eating eachothers’ faces off by the end of the journey. Man, romance rules.
I should get buses more often.

Last week I went to a ‘free party in the woods’ up by the Univeristy of Sussex campus with some friends who were there to make some dollar by selling laughing gas.
I guessed there would be the rad-dudes-wanting-to-fuck-a-fresher-and-get-mashed-up-and-dance-then-punch-somebody vibe, but I still went with an open mind.

It was shit. It took me back to sitting on a metal fold up chair at youth centres around Buckinghamshire at school peoples’ discos having nobody to dance with, feeling twitchy with a tight spine I couldn’t shake off.
Maybe if I was on pills then I might have enjoyed it. MIGHT have. But I don’t do pills. Or have a flowing supply of glowsticks. Or wear a dumb hat.
That last one may or may not be true, but the point is this: the party was full of lame douches whose only aim of the night was to go back to their room and type in their Facebook status how ‘mental last nite waz’.

I ended up going back to my friend’s flat and talking shit/playing songs until sunlight.
That’s what I like.

In a bit.

Pinks and punks.

I make a tit out of myself way more than anyone should be even allowed to, which is most likely the reason why I won the prize for ‘Most Likely To Sell the Big Issue’ in my end-of-school yearbook.
To be honest I wasn’t too bothered about it. I mean, a dude in The King Blues used to sell it right? Now, he’s on the front cover of it in impeccable Inspector Morse fashion.



Today I cocked up at the laundrette like a massive erect pink. To save my embarrassment and potential loss of what dignity I have left to lose, I’ll write this: it’s true what they say about mixing colours in a ‘warm wash’, and nobody likes it when a student type asks them for 2p that he lacks in washing funds.

Needless to say, I can now wear underwear which doesn’t smell like Big Foot’s dick.



'Thou shalt not commit laundry.' I need to get my priorities straight huh, Milo.

I still always feel a bit hollow when I think about the show I went to see in a boxing club on Watford high street on my 15th birthday: Captain Everything!, Gallows, Latterman, Tellison.



I wrote a song yesterday about trains and buses and 2006-esque Watford punk rock.
The day I stop getting that shining feeling when I play a song is the day that my bed-sit falls into the sea. Or maybe I’ll just quit. Fucking up is pretty easy anyway.

In a bit.