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So I’m home.

I went to a rehersal, and was shouted at for being late. Shouted at for not knowing my lines (I point out that, instead of learning my lines, I have been learning the motivation for them. This means that although I don’t get the words right, I know what I’m supposed to be saying and therefore don’t dry up on stage. However this sounds an awful lot like the stench of Bullshit on the ears, so I didn’t say so. Even if it’s true 🙂 And shouted it for… er… Something I’m not sure of. If I find out I’ll tell you. 9 Days remaining until the performance.

Then we went to the pub, and I had a Screaming Orgasm (It’s a Cocktail, fool) and a pint of bitter.

A note on alcohol, while I’m here:
I drink. Occasionally I drink to excess. This is because I live in a culture (and, indeed, a microculture) that sees drinking as a social thing. I don’t drink on my own, neither when I’m alone, nor when nobody around me is drinking. I drink because it’s a social thing to do, and because I like the substance I’m drinking. This means I may be the only person with a pint of Pilgrims Progress, while surrounded by people with Bacardi Breezers. There is nothing wrong with this.

I object to being told I shouldn’t drink. That I should ‘Respect the temple of your body‘. Fact is, that if my body is a temple, it’s one of the strange ones in which they do strange things to hamsters.

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