Beardie Wierdie..

Mes Amis

Artificial Styling Aids not permitted... Credit where its due, I found this through a link in the comments on Stuart MacBride's blog and its scarily appropriate at the moment with my attempts to regrow the beard. Honestly, I never knew beard growing was regulated - I'd better watch myself!

No wonder we're in credit trouble... Watch the news whenever you like and you'll see reporter after reporter reort on Britain's debt trouble and its no fuckin' wonder... Here's me working three days a week (one of them a Sunday) and I have to pay full council tax... Which means I'm going to have to start my own printing press if I want to do more than eat in a month! 50 fuckin p over the threshold. And even if I was 50p below I'd only get hekp for a few pence... Christ... Oh well, guess I'd better hope that book gets a damn fine contract whenever my lovely, wonderful agent sees fit to send it out. Although, the one thing that came out of all this was I finally met a Dundee city council worker who tried to be helpful. They do exist! But what pisses me off is that Dundee is so damn high in its council tax. I'm paying over twenty quid more than my friend in Perth (who's a solicitor and earns good cash) and his tax ain't exactly peanuts. Its a fuckin' ludicrous system. They may have been making fun of poor Chuck Kennedy for his plans of taxing based on income (look he may have sounded incoherent but the poor bugger had been up the night before because he just had a new baby - or at least his wife had had the baby and he'd just had to stay up, y'know, and do the fatherly thing) but at least it was almost fairer. And I don't mind paying a bit more if I'm fuckin' earning a bit more. Anyway, I'm going to go have a cup of coffee (or maybe just ground up mud) before I get any more angry.

No BSP... No more promoting myself as a writer on this blog (well, not much). Instead, go here where I'll talk about publications, submissions, the pain of redrafting and all the rest of the crap you do when you're trying to make a go of it as a writer. After all this place is about appreciating sprouts, not stroking your own (ahem) ego.

Its your birthday... Before Ms Simpson gets on here and laughs - I spent much of yesterday rolling around the flat like a beached whale and moaning (she knows because she called me and laughed viciously down the phone when she realised what was wrong). Yes, I had a hangover. But it was my birthday and the night before, an old friend had turned up and we'd gone for a few drinks which turned into more drinks and somehow, against my better judgement, we'd ended up in Fat Sam's at which point the night got a little hazy... Let's just say my birthday wasn't too pretty a day... Oh well, at least I got to strut my funky stuff (The nicest description you'll ever hear of a drunk Russel dance).

Anyway, mes amis that's all for now.

Au revoir

Russel