SHITFIT

What the fuck is wrong with me? I've had two shitfits in the last two weeks, for the most ridiculous stupid things. Although I may be the most highly strung person I've ever met, I've always prided myself on being easy going on the outside so people don't see my inner issues. If you know these inner issues (or you read this claptrap) then count yourself very special. To me anyway, who knows what other people think of you.

Anyway, the problem is, I've had these freak outs in front of the one person I didn't want to be weird around. Firstly because she wouldn't lend me a book, and secondly because I got left behind when I was invited to lunch. For fuck's sake, normally I would have made a joke about it but instead I got really annoyed, like a child's temper tantrum. I'm sure the reason I've had these shitfits is to do with said person. Because I've been denied time with that person. 

So believe me, from this day forward, it's all being bottled up and coming out here. No more public outbursts, no more heart on my sleeve.

I consoled myself by buying a new coat. It's a spring/summer version of my winter coat but in navy. It adds to the Serge Gainsbourg/Paul McCartney look I'm trying to create. I want to wear it whilst listening to La Responsable by Jacques Dutronc (thanks James). In fact, that is now tied with Stranglehold as the music that plays in my head when I walk into a bar. Much like Hurricane plays when Wooderson walks into the Emporium.

('roids clockwise from top left: Paddy & Chez, obscured, at Ben's stag do when the camera spat out two photos; Mark and Joe showing that nobody fucks with the Jesus; Danielle in mid hair ruffle; me being calm)