Crapulentus sum!

Dear Diary,

Where am I? Saturday night wasted, garn (gone) outta there, dog gone gonnan hot dang drunk too much. Tarnation! Scrumpy and smoke (after doing my Latin coursework, naturally) then it all began rapidly to go downhill. My vision is blurring, walking home was a wobbly one. At least Ron is fed, watered and snuggled.

Just as I was trudging home, losing control of my motor functions but with most faculties still their, the wind suddenly kicked up. Dark clouds gathered. The annoying same everyday jingle of the ice-cream van.

The wind has begun to howl. Louder outside my window now, trees sway. I had to cancel going to MikeMcLœd3’s place on account of being drunk on a Saturday night. Well, that and what sooth-sayers say.

(what television weathermen [and weatherwomen] have predicted of late)

The highly irritating jingle of ‘I’m Popeye the sailor man’ goes again, the wind dies, but it will pick up again soon.

It’s harsh, I shoulda caught up with MikeMcLœd3 weeks ago. I have to sober up and get on with my Latin. It’s harsh man. Anyway. I must sleep this headache off, and try to ignore the storm brewing (gathering momentum as we speak) raging tempestuous gale, whilst tackling 3rd Declensions for the first.

Max.

Moriband

Dear Diary,

At the end of the last gig, we walked back. I had only just enough money to get to my Latin tutorial the following day. Gulliver had left when I awoke, late for class. He lost his toolkit on the way home and had flaring haemorrhoids. The mæstro just turned up at my house to look for it; then gave me a piece of his mind. His failed marriage, his lost tool-kit, and all the broken pieces of his life surfaced, and I am blamed for all his woes.

He does not understand that I had only just enough to get to the first class and back, and could not afford to share a taxi. He said he would’ve covered it, but did not say this at the time. He just arrived here on the premise of looking for his lost toolkit (some of which were hand-made) then bam! Called me a c- in my own front room. Had it been any other man I would have given as good as I got. Instead I remained calm, quiet, let him say his piece then he saw himself out. That was the end of that; the very moribund of No electrickery. It doesn’t matter a jot, because of my changing profession. As a wise man once said: It is far better to learn, then teach history, than become history.

It is time to move on. My film appearance for Fox’s production of Thomas Hardy’s Far From The Madding Crowd is tomorrow. I have earned more in two days filming than a year of playing music at the café. I have had quite enough of dealing with temperamental musicians in my life. Time for a change, it is time, to become a licentiate. B.A. (Honours) in Humanities with History specialism and Classical Studies specialism here we come. Nothing can stop me. I will be a Doctor of History one day. It might take me quite some time, but time passes. Life changes. I am thankful to be here, have a roof over my head, and many fine books on order (all pertaining to my studies).

Maximus Latium.