7 April 2006:
Pepsoid. An experiment in creative writing. A journey. Fifty words each day. Where is it going? It is going nowhere, yet all journeys go somewhere. Always. The focus is the wordcount. The freedom is the lack of rules. Instinctiveness and structure, balanced on each side of a pivot. Pretentious? Perhaps!
8 April 2006:
The tall, skinny, big-breasted lady, in skimpy shorts, croptop and boots, entered the cave... Walked slowly to the dark heart of the mountain. Confusion. 'Where's the treasure?' she said into her intercom. 'How many times?' said her mum. 'You're not Lara Croft! Now get home and feed the cat.'
9 April 2006:
'Let me introduce you to my new pet,' said Heather.
'Okay,' said Jessica.
Heather sneezed again.
'You mean your new pet is--'
'A sneeze!' said Heather. 'Ain't she adorable?'
'Adorable...' said Jessica. 'I must get myself one...'
Heather sneezed over Jessica. 'There you are!' she said.
10 April 2006:
Globe. Cat. Hippo. Buddha. Elephants.
Duck. Computer. Calendar. MonÃ«t. Speaker.
Handbook. Coaster. Lamp. Keyboard. Mouse.
Carpet. Blind. Curtain. Glass. Rug.
Floor. Television. PlayStation. Magazine. Folder.
Sofa. Kitchen. Headphones. Boxes. Novel.
Bottle. Angel. Paper. Tower. Lead.
Brush. Tissues. Photo. Camera. Dictionary.
Sellotape. Pens. Wheel. Chair. Phone.
Candlestick. Post. EyeToy. Map. Radiator.
11 April 2006:
5. Gift pt.2
'But I don't want a pet sn--!' said Jessica, as she vainly attempted to avoid Heather's spray.
But to no avail.
Later that day...
'So how do I feed this pet sneeze?' said Jessica.
'Oh you know,' said Heather; 'just a bit of dust, some pepper, a feather or two.'
12 April 2006:
Overheard snippet of conversation...
I came down this bit the other day, there was a skip there... There was a push-bike in it! I thought, I'll have that, but I never did though.
It can't have been any good or some kids would have had it.
14 April 2006:
Damn! I forgot to write yesterday's blog! What does this mean? The end of the world? That my head will implode, shatter into a billion tiny pieces, then regenerate in the form of a small, purple amoeba-like blob? Or perhaps I'll just continue today and hope no one notices.
15 April 2006:
The neighbours arrived at 4 a.m. - which was typical for a Saturday morning. They screamed at each other and put on indiscernible dance music with the bass turned to 11.
'Damn it!' I said.
I went downstairs and knocked on the door. The shotgun weighed heavily in my hand.
16 April 2006:
'We've gotta sort this,' said Phil.
'Grab that baseball bat and let's go,' said Grant.
They strode purposefully towards the Queen Vic.
Phil stopped. 'What's that loud humming?' he said.
'And what's that enormous object floating overhead?' said Grant.
There was a bright white light.
Everyone was vaporised.
17 April 2006:
Today I bought a vanilla cream sponge and some kitchen towels with Nectar. Not loyalty points or Reward vouchers. Pure, golden, flowing Nectar. The food of the gods. No, that's Ambrosia... Well same difference. Whatever next? Spend Â£100 and get Divine Spiritual Essence? I tell you, the world's gone mad.