Here I am. Animating away on Milo. Just minding my own little business, listening to minimal techno at a volume bordering to painful to block out the constant buzz of people and loud machines. Blissfully ignorant of the sugary death in the kitchen. I decided early on that my motto this week was going to be "if I'm not bringing cake in to work, there is NO CAKE". And I'm not going to bring any cake. No no mister. No my healthy life is waiting. It’s, like, RIGHT THERE. Waiting. I had a salad for lunch you see. Salad. With tomatoes and everything.
So here the deal. I’m back in lovely (shit) Guildford again. As miss Hjort so sensibly pointed out, Guildford is a bit like the English version of "Flen". Well not really but now she said it I just can’t get it out of my mind. Days like this, Guildford IS Flen.
Midsummer was really good. And when I say really good I mean R to the E to the A to the L to the L to the Y to the GOOD. You get the point. So fucking good I found myself standing in the Milo kitchen Monday morning waving my arms around loudly proclaiming " there is NOTHING like Swedish summers people. NOTHING", almost desperately forcing pictures of "nyckelharpor" and blond girls with flower wreaths in their hair on to my dear animation colleagues. I do apologize btw. Back to my point. Midsummer and Sweden was so. bloody. good. But now I'm left with an empty echo of all the glorious fun, lingering in my mind like a three day hangover.. wait. that could be what it is... well never mind. I am now nothing more than the grey translucent shadow of a human. Staring out the god damn window and thinking about seagulls. Yes, fucking seagulls! And I HATE birds. They're nothing but rats with wings. Dammit. Why would I want to think about rats with wings!?
Once again back to the point. In my complete and utter misery I have decided to dedicate my week to "beach 2010" in the fatal attempt to feel better about myself. So no biscuits, no cake and no ice cream. I am however only human and when the Pirate (Gary the producer) offered me an ice cream yesterday I said yes. But no, today was going to be a good day. A better day. A day when I was good. Then there was the email. Biscuits. FUCKING BISCUITS. Yeah so someone's been to Italy and brought good stuff for everyone. How fucking lovely. And there goes yet another day when I was supposed to be good. Is there any point in even trying? HUH?
Ok I’m gonna stop now. Here's a lil' something for you head in bag-fans btw. And no, I would never ever fake a photo. Never! Jesus, people. Where's the trust.
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