my hundredth post

It seems that Mat and Dave have activated the webcam in the kitchen, possibly in the hope of identifying any additional housemates who might be living here rent free. Or are they trying to catch me masturbating into the mayonnaise jar? (Fat chance: I always take it into my room). Anyway, it is a bit creepy, like being spied on by really rubbish sex perverts, the highlight of whose voyeuristic day is watching me do the washing up.

Maybe I should get some costumes. Put on a bit of a show.

I don’t need a high tech surveillance system to spy on them. While gathering the rubbish together in the garden the other night I could hear Mat babbling inanely away to himself through the open office window more clearly than if I’d been in the room with him. No doubt some student nurse in Highwood hospital (directly behind us) is writing a thesis on his stream-of-consciousness ramblings and their implications for Mat’s mental health. Not to mention mine and Dave’s.

I wish I could consult this theoretical student’s notes, actually, just to find out if - as Mat maintains - his verbal doodles contain genius. As far as I can recall, they mainly consist of popular songs with the lyrics replaced by obscenities. Well, we all do that, don’t we? Don’t we?

There’s a particularly irritating song by Freddie and the Dreamers - or is it Gerry and the Pacemakers? - that comes on in the shop over and over again. It goes like this: ‘I’m gonna hug and kiss you / Do you mind? / Make an idol of you / Do you mind?’ So annoying is it that it is impossible to hear the thing more than once without substituting your own lyrics: ‘I’m gonna beat you senseless / Do you mind? / Rip your fucking head off / Do you mind?’

Or is it just me?