# probably the most dire day this year barely hanging off at the tail end of storm darragh jebus is socalled life in the uk ever bleak wet streets and grey skies without end so bleak it makes you lightheaded like dinner in america it's no wonder 'the national character' appears to be a bunch of desperate professionally miserable loner nerds deep into books tea and board / bored garmz oh for a song that speaks directly and through my hollow soul one that feels like a warm comfy breeze on a cold winter night while sitting inside in a nice yet empty house overlooking the megacity walking against the wind and whizzing rain toward the local co-op (where apparently no grown man over 30 washes ir armpits the dirty stinkers it's often so bad i wanna gag puke) every time i go in there for a sandwich and the awful in-shop radio is playing and i see the utterly miserable lined face of the old mean woman with the bad back who works behind the counter and i hear the psychotic space hum of the overhead florescents beaming and buzzing down on quality low quality edible mass produced merchandise i get an urge a desperate barely concealed urge to sprint out of there and keep running right into the remains of the setting sun oh to never look back on this old tired and aggressively nondescript anti-life inna endland you know that scene regularly inserted into the comedy series father ted where ey suddenly imagines himself at a casino busy winning and cheering while surrounded by beautiful woman - yeah well that's my media spirit animal right there a terminally useless dream of wrong headed escape to a new allegedly far more interesting dynamic and exciting realty full of mystery and hyper adventure or at the very least a couple more quid in my pocket for those bad three quid cyberpunk ebooks i love to collect like magic literary beans // republic of bob