and Baby's Breath.
I haven’t written on here for a long time. Alot has happened and this place has been forgotten.
Whats new? Lets see, a rubbish relationship has been sent to its grave. Ive had to give up my dog. Currently scared about the future but trying to keep my head above the water.
How do you know when things have gone so wrong that the issue is no longer resolvable? How can you make a judgement call to walk away when you dont want to and more importantly, don’t know what you have done wrong to start with?
Previous experience has taught me one thing. Set your ground rules and don’t give way or else people will take advantage and walk all over you. I have my set rules. Check. I’m certainly no push over. Check. But what happens if someone treats you in the wrong way and has come at you from an unexpected angle?
How do you deal with this problem then? Am I over – reacting? Being selfish and self-centered? Or is what I’m feeling real and not just some dramatised, attention seeking self induced issue?
Sometimes I think it would be better if I was in a coma. Then life would know exactly who mattered the most. Would anyone actually miss me? And by anyone, I mean the important ones?
I didn’t want to argue. I want to be looked after, but instead, 90% of the time, I get spoken to like shit. Treated like a mother looking after their child. I never know where I stand or the true feelings of anything anymore.
The odds are not favourable.
“All you need to know about the male brain.”
How ludicrous is that? There is nothing to know. I love men, thats my problem, but they really are total idiots. Constantly saying the wrong thing, doing something stupid and the list goes on.
Even now, im sitting here, and my bf has just woken up,got on his bike and gone off to meet someone called nathan at work who also has a bike. Its like a little gang of sorts. I have just realised that in reality, i have no idea who he’s gone to meet. He could just have easily gone to see a nathan as he could have a gemma. Whats to stop him? I’d never know.
I dont trust him, i admit, i dont trust anyone. Everyone is extremely likely to break your heart, misstreat you and shatter your trust. Im just as likely as anyone else, infact i have done that. I spent three and half years with a fantastic guy to one day break up with him. We hadnt fought, we hadnt fallen out, neither of us had cheated, so it came as a real shock to him when i decided id had enough.
I know everyone will be saying that if you dont trust the other person then whats the point. The point is that i love him and its my faul entirely. He’s given me no indication that something dodgy is going on. He’s done everything ive asked for and the end result is always me not satisfied and continue to pick fights and argue. I assume i make his life utterly miserable so why wouldnt he want anyone else? I am a bitch and everything is a major problem. But then i suppose if you were in the state i was in, you might be a little depressed.
I cant see to stop thinking the worst. Due to the fact the worst always happens. Every man ive ever gone out with (all different in personalities etc) all treated me the same in the end. Alex strung me along for 12 years and made my life utterly hell, before finally running off to Norwich with his gf. Even after he had come onto me and we made a fatal error he blamed me publicaly for it all. I am the slut and he is a guy who made a mistake. A mistake that he covered up for a year even when he’d told me he’d confessed straight away. Prick face the nicest man ive ever met. A self harming anorexic who was insatiably jelous of his twin. He ran off with his ex gf who hed been sleeping with the whole length of our relationship. I found out a week after he’d moved in then i proceeded to have a nervous breakdown. For months i knew hed been shacking up with her, and always confronted him. He made me out to be the insane one for having these thoughts. ‘How dare you not trust me, why would i want her when i could have you.’ (She was horrendously ugly.) Then i found out. I knew i hadnt been the nut job and that i had been right. THe only person who believed me was simon! I lost everything because of him. My best friend who was going out with his older brother at the time. She said i was to blame. Nice friend. All my friends id made through him and his family and then him.
I waited two years before i got with anyone else and ii didnt exactly pick it well. I was lonely, fed up, bored, all my friends had found someone, and two years of just shagging had got to me. I realised taht two years had changed me. Made me a horrible cynic with no trust. I’d become bitter and twisted and decided to use everyone i came into contact with. If you werent my friend, then i was going to fuck you. Then id see if you stuck around as either a friend or something more. If you didnt, then bon voyage. Darren was a dream. An alcoholic coke head engeneer who was in love with his french best friend. He used to lie to me not to come over and say he was tired, and then shed come over. I dont know if anything happened with her, but he as trying i know that. He was a selfish arsehole. He’d invite me round of promise of booze and drugs, and be sat there watching match of the day all night. Then he’d listen to music then he’d go to bed after he’d played the game of ‘whind me up.’ In the end i gave him the boot.
That solves it, i must be terrible in bed.
I dont really want much. I want old fashioned romance. You know, where the boy actually likes the girl and she knows it. But then, if a guy told me a thousand times every day, id still not believe him. Why me? Why would you choose me? I dont deserve it as there must have been something fundamentaly wrong for the previous ones to have gone.
I hope he comes back soon.
I’ve been in this poxy room for 2 weeks solid nearly and its safe to say, that I am/have gone crackers. Totally and utterly disintegrated.
I have fled the Kentish shores to follow the boy, all starry eyed and dreamy, to the Shire in Huntingdon to persue….well, i didnt persue anything, but him. Hes been working at the Old Bridge Hotel for 2 weeks now as head pastry chef, and while the money and position is excellent, I still get morose sitting about doing nothing while he’s occupying himself with earning a decent wage. He works 8am to 11pm most days including mandatory stints on fridays and saturdays, which entails leaving me in this matchbox sized room with only the xbox 360 and 2 brats for company.
Ive been job hunting, but similarly with the estate agent, I am having to do their jobs for them because they are to inept to function in the working world. Move over, you clearly dont know what your doing with your sodding job! All communication, as with most of these ‘types’ of things, is totally one sided, and i find myself and the boy getting stressed at the stupid things. Sitting about waiting to hear wether i have an interview, or wether the estate agent approves of our references etc etc.
The fact that i spend 24 hours a day (and a 15 minute trip to sainsburys has become a delight that im allowed ever 5 days or so) and all i have eaten is cheese sandwiches and crisps followed by a steady stream of coke or fanta. Oh, i havent mentioned that this shiting staff accomodation has no fucking kitchen!!!!! The reason equates to the fact that all staff can grab proper meals in the staff lounge at work every day. Thats great, but the boy doesnt seem to realise that a poor diet, coupled with intense monotony and expelling no energy, makes for a rather ratty little me. I pick fights when he comes home just for something exciting to do.
I NEED TO GET OUT, I NEED TO GET OUT, I NEED TO GET OUT….
Im starting to question wether this whole ‘il follow you anywhere’ move was a good idea. Romantic notions are NEVER romantic in real life. In fact, its a total nut ache. I have dellusional ideas that we would start a new life somewhere and our luck would change, but in reality, i think im more stiffled than i was in trashford. Im not in any shape or form ungreatful for what the boy has done for me since being here. He pays for my food….haha …scrap that… my snacks, and petrol and rent (when we move in till i have a job) but it seems as though i should be the greatful one and he doenst have to thank me for anything.
I gave up everything for him, and it wasnt because he asked me to, but its because i love him. I sit here all day with no money to go out, no friends to occupy me, up until today no internet and only his computer games. (some how my tomb raider got lost in translation on the way up here.) If i tidy the shit hole up, he descemates everything wihtout a thank you. Yesterday he needed to do some washing and told me ‘put some whites on when i go back to work.’ When i looked at him in my ‘ever so charmed way that i pull off without any trouble’ he shot back ‘its not like youve got anything better to do.’ Fuck me!! Quickly, you better knock me up so i have something to stay at home with. His excuse for coming home really late, straight away playing Pro Evo then falling asleep is that hes tired. I speak to him for all of an hour a day.
SOMEONE FIND ME A JOB OR I MIGHT KILL SOMEONE!!!
The babies are annoying me too. (god, im a ray of light…in fact that would be novel getting sunshine in this room. maybe its S.A.D or im sad.)
Rocket used to be the dominant one till he had his tail amputated. Then from the moment he came home, Forest took this opportunity to sieze power. He wont leave him alone. Following him about, jumping on him, bumming him, biting his tail etc etc. Rocket wants piece and quiet and to be left alone and Forest wants to irritate and provoke. Sounds familiar. He windes Rocket up so much that they end up fighting. All day long i hear wimpering and ‘fuck off’ chattering from him. Everything is Forests too. If the food goes out, fat boy gets their first, burys it so that Rocket doesnt get any. Hes so much podgier too than mine. Bastard rodent. I had to get stefs bike glove on the other day to seperate them. I saw what Rocket did to a syringe when we tried to give him his medication, im not putting my hands in the cage without protection, when they are tearing chunks out of each other.
In total boredom this past week, i have watched everything on stefs computer. Well, aside from the porn. Thats just a bit weird. Not the porn, i mean watching your bfs wank fodder. God im a lady. Anyway, my point being, that in this odd little collection there is loads of sniper-esq and SAS stuff. I watched Bravo Two Zero and then The One That Got Away which is the other side of the same story from chris ryans perspective. Its interesting to see how McNabb rose tints whats happens and makes himself out to be a hero where as ryan blames him for everything. To be honest, im more inclined to believe ryan as he survived the longest escape and evade in SAS history, why lie?? He already got his medals and like McNabb, would have made a marvellous career without tarnishing McNabbs name. McNabb was the leader of the patrol and it was his responsibility to protect 8 soldiers lives. I think 3, or was it 4? died in the patrol so of course he wants to save his skin. The most interesting bit is when the storm had kicked in and he claimed he tried to pass the message to stop, down the line of soldiers where as ryan claims he never said a word. Interesting? Hmm…. Anyway, ryan is a hard bastard. Ive also been watching his old tv show ‘finding chris ryan.’ Is that what its called? Tracking chris ryan? something like that. Anyway, SAS and SEALS go out and try and hunt him down on fake missions in different climates. The scariest one was the artic circle where the tracker team had sledges and shelter to live in, ryan had nothing except a tent and a bit of gear. Walked the whole thing on foot and with a wind chill factor the temp outside got down to something like -45. MINUS -45!!! If it goes down to 0 everyone in britain complains. Jesus christ. He collapsed in the snow and none of the camera crew etc could find him. He didnt make his rendevous point and ended up getting rescued after about 7 hours. He was suffering hypothermia and after getting treated, then went back out to complete the mission. THE MAN IS HARD AS NAILS!!!
Stef told me in a fight, hed prefer to fight mc.nabb as ryan is just TOO hard. I said bollocks to that, i reckon if you sat down with ryan and chatted hed prefer it, where as nabb strikes me as a total nutcase. But hes not harder!!
This is what my life is. Im playing assassins creed, watching SAS programmes including …haha…ultimate force….which i cannot watch without being reminded of that Extras episode, and watching assassination films like Hitman. If my estate agent ends up dead, dont be suprised to find it was me.
Final note, tues i am moving into my new flat. My very own place. No student hovel, no parental mortgage. Mine mine mine and its SOOOO pretty. 1 bed flat on Hartford marina. The open plan living room has french windows that slide open to a massive wooden balcony which overlooks the entire marina. House boats, fishing the lot. Its gorgeous and so still. Kitchen comes with fridge/freezer and washing machine which is novel for most flats, and a massive built in warddrobe in the bedroom. Yayy!! Im going to make the whole place retro. Just you wait and see.
x
Shockingly, events of the past week have unravelled leaving a trail of chaos and fun.
Where to start? Its always hard for me to pinpoint a particular place to start my stories.
The boys parents have left for sunny shores for three weeks which means a house to ourselves. I miss my life of doing what i want and when i want. Leaving mess about and knowing no one can shout at me. Breaking things, turning up the music loud and having noisey sex with no fear of waking some one else’s bloody parents. I have been relishing in the fact i feel a grown up again…granted im just a temporary lodger in someone else’s place…but the point is still marginaly similar.
‘Do you realise, we’ve basically made this place our own and feels like we are living together’ the boy said to me. Its true. We have been going out for just over a month, me rather reluctantly stepping into this situation and constantly morning the loss of singledom, but we have become ever closer. I can’t actually remember not going out with him or not having him at the end of a phone to chat to every day. I go to bed with him and wake up with him and it feels normal. I feel strange. Its all happened very quickly and thats a very scary notion. Like a train out of control on the tampered tracks but i dont feel im heading towards anything disasterous for once.
He rung me on thursday to tell me he’d had an accident on his superbike. I ran up to the end of my estate where it had happened and he was sitting on the floor looking very stunned. Im not the best person when it comes to things like this…fears of past events come flooding back and terror takes hold of me. I ring an ambulance, i speak to the paramedics…stef is slightly dissorientated. The bike is in pieces. A four grand beautiful bike which i nick named the mistress, smashed to smiterines on the side of the road. He’s loaded into the ambulance while they ask him questions. My dad turns up and i burst into tears. I speak to the boys boss who keeps ringing as hes late for work. I give him a piece of my mind and later events have unfolded to make me believe that i may have freaked his boss out slightly. Whoops. I talk to the police officer, having not seen any of it and arriving afterwards i was pretty useless but managed to blurt out infront of everyone ‘he’s getting rid of that fucking bike and when he gets the all clear im going to fucking kill him!’ The policeman walked off and the paramedics nicknamed me killer.
The William Harvey was inept as usual and sent him for scans on his spine and legs. Then proceeded to tell him to go home. Ive had him hobbling about like that for the last week and boy is he milking it. Ive banned the bike because hes a total lunatic on it thinking he’s Valantino Rossi. So what ends up happening, he fixes my car and tax’s it for me, buys me petrol and credit in return for me taking him at 7 every morning to tunbridge wells via geriatric road! Then i have to pick him up about 11 every night. 4 trips to tunbridge is not the way i wish to spend my life, but he did pay for everything so i have to love him for that.
I turned 24. It happened. No tampering with driving licences, just the inevitable acceptance that im getting old. Reflection makes me sad so i try not to do it. What have i achieved? Countless failed romances that have left me brutaly scarred, uni drop out, no job, money and a car that is actually illegal to drive till its taxed. For the first time in my life im at a loss as to where and what im doing. I fear i will forever be in ashford having babies and getting married and working a dead end job because its what im used to. I think id perish if i did that. Most of my friends had babies when we were young. I got over that, they were chavs, it was bound to happen, but now my paired up friends who are my age are having babies. What the hell? When did we become family producing age? Bf, flat, baby, possible marriage all by 24. Whats the rush?
Mugabe’s opponant has handed in his resignation, handing automatic victory to Mugabe. What a fucking suprise? I wonder what happened. Illness? Stress? Incompetancy? Do these sound feesable? No no, im thinking probably threats, violence and general life threatening ’accidents’ waiting to happen.
Mr Tsvangirai has claimed that there would be no point in continuing because the election would not be fair and just. So whats the best course of action? Handing it over to him anyway and admitting defeat without really trying. Humiliation was apparantly a major factor in the decision which leads me to wonder….”what the fuck did he think was going to happn?” Lets all sit down and give up without a fight shall we.
Why are we continually allowing that man to remain in power and commit terrible atrocities to its people?? I’m more than aware of the fact the U.N does not have any right to enter a state as all states should be goverened privatly, but what the hell?? Seriously, is it ok to sit back and watch as he flouts every national and international law?
On a totally different note, a judge in New York has told 50 cent he has to hand over any firearms he might be carrying, after his ex gf obtained a restraining order. Would this not have been better after he’d been shot 30 times or whatever? His lawyer is quoted as saying: “It’s nothing more than an attempt to rehabilitate his image.” Tee hee, stop singing about bitches, ho’s, guns and bling then.
Another note, how can people complain that Jay Z being on the bill for glasto, is the reason for poor ticket sales. Has this nothing to do with the fact the line up is a little too shite, its too much money and applying for a ticket is treated with more covert opporations than the fucking SAS are used to. I also believe that radio 1 might be responsible for ruining it a little too. ‘Hey! We’re live at glastonbury where its…raining…heres Madonna!’ Suck my dick Jo Whiley, you are NOT John Peel.
On a lighter note, Corey Feldman and Corey Haim are doing a documentary programme about their lives. Wicked…bring on the drugs and baby faces.
Most of my friends have lots of childhood memories. Memories from being tiny, old pets, places they visited, school antics. They can reel story after story off of hilarious times they got into trouble, scrapes and adventures. I don’t really have them. My mind doesn’t work on the details that are so significant to everyone else. My mind works on shapes, music, colour, feelings.
Everyone can remember the name of their first teacher, or their favourite one. I struggle to recollect any of their names, including the ones at senior school. It wasn’t really that long ago since I was there. Maybe its altzeimers thats doing it. Youthful dementia, now that would be interesting.
I don’t remember when I first heard it, but if I listen to the Travelling Wilburys, I feel really young again. I definatly know that it used to be played on a vinyl and that it was a tatty cover because I think I had gotten my hands on it when I was small, and had wrecked it. It had a peeling ‘Our Price’ sticker in the corner. It was something ludicrous like £3.99 and even then, Dad said vinyls were too expensive.
I remember a David Attenbourgh book that Dad kept on the shelf in the living room and I used to love. It had a black cover and was peeling at the edges and along the spine. I remember it smelling musty and old but it really wasnt. I remember there were lots of words in it but the photographs are what interested me the most. The green frog on the cover used to captivate me, and the hypnotic photos of sea creatures looked spectacular, all lit up in flurescent colours against the pitch black,deep sea. It was only later in life did I realise that the book wasn’t that great and that in reality, i’d decided to take multiple biros to the text and scribble on it when I used to thumb through it.
Dad once made a rug. Thats right, actually made a rug. I can hardly make a cup of tea without cocking that up. I was small and remember not the pattern, but the colours. It was maroon with brown and had bits of what I think was a white or cream colour mixed in. Sounds fucking awful and i’m not a 100% sure that it was even acceptable in the 80′s. This rug/carpet was massive and he used to curl it over while he was working on it and make a tunnel. I remember one time sitting in it with Dad and thinking this would be forever my new favourite hiding place. I don’t remember what I was wearing, what Dad said or how old he was. I just remember thinking that the new hide-out was cool and I would live there forever.
I remember one Physics class. Thats all. I remember it because the context was the only thing I was good at. I mean, really good at. One of those times it just sinks in. You dont have to study up about it but you just ‘get it.’ It was about the Solar System and I always wanted to go into something like that. Sadly, my maths, physics and chemistry skills weren’t exactly top of the pops. I wasn’t an academic and never excelled at subjects that didnt involve some creativity but I would give this a go! I remember putting my hand up to every question and left a blaze of gob smacked class mates in my wake. I even beat Natalia and some other brainy dipshit who i cant remember, in answering questions relating to this topic. There was another reason to hate me for making them look thick. But sod them, what did they know, I was going to work for NASA some day. The next day, I walked in proudly to my science room holding my head up high, thinking i’d turned a corner in lazy studying to find the subject matter had changed. Needless to say, the proud and stunned teacher of yesterday, looked at me dissaprovingly when I couldnt answer a single question, and like every other teacher at the school, wondered how and why I was there in the first place.
It’s been a while hasn’t it?
Granted this could account for many a subject but I think we’l focus on the clean version.
I won’t be returning to University to complete my third year. Lack of funds mean an inability to put a deposit and a months rent down on a new flat…ipso facto, I will be homeless. A bag lady. Granted a rather cool bag lady with lots of nice nicknacks, trinkets, not tinfoil, old shoes but lots of bin bags and furniture. I also can’t stand Kingston anymore. My life sadly, as dull as it is to admit, is based in Ashford.
So, it’s the all seeing eye that has prompted me to look for a good job. Well, this might be stretching it a bit and I’m aware a girl in my financial and uneducated position (i.e. lack of degree) means I shouldn’t be too picky, but no retail, call centers or cold calling for me. I have a short fuse as it is without having to re-live countless years of abuse from snotty customers and their arrogent views that the world revolves around them. I briefly considered the fire service(for about a minute), but only because two fully loaded trucks went past and I couldn’t help wondering how productive I would be in that enviroment. ‘Your house is on fire? Try having REAL problems love.’ Or….’Your child is trapped inside the burning inferno? I’d much rather stay here trying to hit on the fireman thanks.’ Sympathy is a virute.
I have a boyfriend now, of all the things. I had to ask my girls to hold my hand through the initial stages because I was extremely reluctant to give up being single. Its good fun and get a lot out of it….like STI’s. He’s cool. Rides a motorbike and listens to me constantly yelling at him for driving 192 miles an hour on the way to work. Threats of ‘if you come off and don’t kill yourself, I fucking will’ quickly ensue. I know I don’t understand the need for speed because I don’t have a bike, although I do love speed. But why he can’t just go to the track every weekend and blow off steam I don’t know. The normal roads aren’t maintained and the slightest thing could result in him landing on his head and ending up as a pile of mush. People on the roads are retarded so he doesn’t know what to expect every day and the weather factor. My boyfriend is a speed twat.
I met him on friday night outside three zero at midnight. He was meant to walk me home after he’d been at work but it was far too early for me to go home. I might be relationshiply (another made up word to add to the list) tied up (so to speak) but this does not mean I’m sacraficing anything. I walked out in a rather nice outfit to be greeted with ‘bloody hell, thought you’d be wearing more clothes.’ Charming. My friends had my back by calling him a Power Ranger while he was dressed in his leathers. Don’t think that went down too well to be honest considering I was slumped on the chair with Thom and Gurd crying with laughter. I used to like the Power Rangers, when I had no sense. I’ve also been told quite catagorically, that I am not allowed to do anymore drugs. Hmph. But speeding at 190 miles an hour is perfectly acceptable. Bitch bitch bitch.
This weekend made me realise that my girl mates (I refrain from the obligitory ‘girlfriends’ comment) are amazing!!!
Alex is back this weekend. I was fretting because I haven’t seen him since the whole ‘you slept with my boyfriend’ debacle (coming from his girlfriend, not him. That’d just be a bit odd.) I’m not worried about seeing either of them on my behalf, because in all honesty, one swift punch to chinny and she’l go down and one swift kick to the bollocks for him and he’l go down. I’m more concerned about the tension that will arise in Oranges due to my presence. Fear not, I’m off to Ikestock with Tina, Nick, Tara et al. Never been. Never heard of any of the bands but it does mean I get to spend all night drinking and laughing in a field with countless others, then sleeping in a tent with the lesbos. Should be interesting. I’l get another earbashing if I take anymore hokey cokey with me but sod him. I wish to have a laugh jeeves!!!
Interview for a receptionist job on Wed in Tannery Lane for the NHS. I think I stand a pretty good chance since I mentioned on the c.v that I was interested in people’s health and my Human Right degree (whats left of it) proves that. Its becoming increasingly difficult to get any job that doesn’t involve retail to be honest. They all want someone with experience, even for admin. How hard can answering telephones, talking to people, filing and using the sodding email be!! I do that on a daily fucking basis. Must remember not to swear. ‘You need a wheelchair? haha bad luck. No need to get up.’
How can companies expect people to have experience if they dont give it to people to start with? I mean, I’m not a chimp…honestly, so I can’t see me struggling. I went to Ashford Girls School don’t you know!!!!
On that point, Ashford Girls School has gone co-ed!!!? WTF? I lucked out there. 16 years of girls (which may be appealing to some, but not for someone that hates most girls to start off with.) Then as soon as I left it went co-ed right up to 18. If I’d been brought up with boys at school I doubt it would have been my downfall as soon as I hit college like it has done.
I hear Strawberry Moons is opening where the delightful M20 was….haha that was a great club. Bring back Flattys I say! Sticky floors and scummy people. Liquid is far too ‘refined’ now. Saying that, I was close to a fight the other Thursday night. In reality, no matter how much I would defend myself, the woman was massive and would have smooshed me.
I was watching Death Proof for the billionth time last night and realised that I want a mix tape. Not a c.d, I want a mix tape. I even have two cassettes to play it through….thats how retro I am. It would be so romantic. Filled with Tarantino esq music.
Hmm….
I seem to have become transparant. My dad listens to what I say and nodds in all the appropriate places, but doenst seem to realise im there anymore. Mum only pays attention to me when shes screaming at me in her drunken stupour or is drunk and dancing round the ’i fakely care about how you are’ scenario. I sent a bitter email today telling the boy that i couldnt trust him again and didnt want to speak to him and he even replied. This never happens. The letter consisted of him taking full responsibility but saying his gf was more important than friendship. He ended the letter with ‘so this is au revoir,’ and then proceeded to delete me off facebook friends. Thats stung a bit because ive been confirmed as meaning nothing and having been a mug for wasting 12 years of my life being friends. He took the power out of my hands because he was been sick of being shouted at for less than a week, and wanted to make someone else feel like total shit.
What a wonderful life i sometimes lead.
I’ve forgotten how much I like The Living End. ‘Carry Me Home’ sounds like the Vines (and i mean the good stuff like Get Free) crossed with something very familiar which i cant put my finger on.
I’ve been listening to all the stuff i stopped listening to about 6 months ago, and cant understand why i did. Stuff like Elvis and Johnny Cash…especially the Sun Record era. It makes me pine for my vinyls and record player thats still in my flat in kingston. I have this crappy Elvis vinyl that i got second hand in Camden last year. I tried looking for it on the net the other day and couldnt find it. Its a Sun press but i think its a re-release from about 1957 or something. Tacky pink front cover, terrible picture and the lps sound is awful but awesom at the same time. I love love love the stuff that wasnt his most famous and more upbeat. Sod all his love stories and maudling crap. Elvis was best when he was on stage jirating and having a good time. His maudling stuff always paints a fat bloated elvis image in my head and i dont like it.
I have two Johnny Cash LPS. One is something silly like a greatest hits from god knows when with my fave ‘Hey Porter’ on it. Think the grooves might be worn away on that track. Then my old flatmate gave me the ‘Live in San Quentin’ one. Fuck i love Johnny Cash so much.
When i get money the Stray Cats will be added to my collection.
But will never replace my two top fave vinyls i have….Nevermind picture disc and Bleach clear vinyl. They are fucking epic!!!
x
