You know when you've had too much partying when you mistake taking a fart for actually pooping and you're too lazy to, investigate.

Bucky done gun.

To have thought i was wallowing in self pity i ended up at club 77 last night trying to re-live my party animal past.
It started with an irrate french girl who accused me of stealing her mothers jacket which was a "expensive french label" i stupidly looked round with her under the table till i realised she had taken my cigar before i could advise her not to inhale , it was too late. Well i couldn't be bothered besides an hour later she was involved in some scrag fight with a tiny charcol-weilding art student and then she bursts into tears infront of some nobodies and scampers into the toilets for hours. Infact i lost track of time after i gave some "disapproving-looks-to-her-male-companion" who stood outside the toilet.
Stupid french bitch.
Jamie and i chatted away till the dancefloor looked more inviting, meaning we wouldn't be the only ones there making a fool of ourselves, the music was irratic.
I don't understand this new 80's industrial revival, it isn't even reworked merely played louder and mixed with very high pitched whistling sounds which really make you believe you have tinnitus.
Anyway the night progressed like most club-nights, the crowd came in, infact there was a crowd at club 77 which is rare. The old school were hovering round the back put ajar by these new art students. They are just soooo tiny!
One dear girl was so tiny i had to watch out for her or i could have decapitated her newly acquired bob-cut head with a swing of my elbows.

Why do people insist on taking drinks up on the dancefloor area and proceed to...drink? um it's a dancefloor... ????????????

I did come away feeling abit out of place, slight relic in an age of 80's retro bow ties , skinny clothes, devo-sunglasses at night (what?????) , boys in unbreathable paisley shirts and pastel ensembles.

Why do fat men with back hair insist on taking off their shirts?

The 'art performance' started quite late and was, well under-whelming. They had this girl dressed up in red sequin dress stuffed into two airbag breasts. She shimmied round the stage then plunged an audience members face into her breasts which popped, she manouvered the remaining breast into the center and had it popped whilst she was on the floor. Then she got some audience members to pump them up with bicycle pumps.
The end.
Now do i read something into this or do i just take it as burlesque-cum-nowhere?

Whatever happened to the huge igloo and belly-dancing inside? The neon body piercing or the german cannibal performance where he threw offal all over the floor and squirted the audience with fake blood which we later stomped on all night long?.

I missed the club 77 of old, the goths who've held onto their black lipstick/eyeliner and black hats, grey-felt just doesn't do it darlings.
The ones gripping the roots of Robert smith whilst screeching down avenues in something modern-european.
When haute meets rebel, when vegetarian is served on royal doultan.

So much for sentimentality.

It was nice to spend time with Jamie though.