I’m visiting Auld Ma Ruffs and reminded of the LKN that lives over the road. Was in my year in school and now owns his own house (boo) with 2 kids, uber Tory, also complained unsuccessfully when I won a poetry prize in the Eisteddfod seventeen years ago so FUCK HIM TBH.
Was just bumbling about with my guitar there, when we had a moment of awkward eye contact as he was popping out for a jog. Still shuddering.
The woman who lives further down my street who seems to like me very much but I avoid her. She suddenly swerves in conversation to discuss in great graphic detail how various relatives died in gruesome ways.
I genuinely don’t know if these things actually happened and she’s quite shaken up or if she just makes it up. I can’t actually remember her name either, I try to keep conversations to a pleasant hello.
There’s clearly something pretty wrong there but it’s a bit much when you’re just putting the bins out or something.
This guy who runs a load of cafes and stuff on the high street closest me
I got into a row with a driver who knocked a guy off his bike and he got involved and was all weird and aggressive and kept tapping me on the shoulder and I can’t tell if he remembers but I do
There’s this bit of the Taff near my house where the river gets so shallow the Swans just sort of stand there like twats/Milhouse when his bedroom’s flooded.
the person I knew in college who went to private school and all that but chose to live in anarchist squats. they also couldn’t clap in time, which I later found out was due to their dyscalculia, but that did not soften my heart
they also had a mowhawk which they’d DIY dye loads of different colours, and there was always loads of dye stains on their otherwise bare skull