Young and camp.

Having returned from my week and a bit of camping (in various areas of the country) i have realised that I have not posted on the ol' blog in a while... though not, I suspect on quite the same level as others I might think of. (*cough* Laycock there is STILL only one post! *cough*) <- quite a lot to say in-between coughs as I'm sure you can imagine!

My holiday consisted of two parts - Devon and Greenbelt. One of which is a music festival and one isn't. I'm sure you can work out which is which.

I suppose I could start with Devon... or do a George Lucas and start in the middle and work from there.
In the spirit of this...

A LONG TIME AGO
IN A TOWN RELATIVELY BUT NOT QUITE THAT FAR AWAY REALLY... I SUPPOSE

ADAM LEGG

*que dramatic music that sounds suspiciously like the starwars theme*

(I cannot confirm or deny that this is actually the starwars theme due to copyright. However if you thought of the starwars theme while reading this feel free to sue yourselves. Just finish this blog first.)

EPISODE WHATEVER: THE PHANTOM SHOWERS

DURRR, DURRR, DEDEDE DURRR DURRR DEDEDE DURR DURRR DEDEDEDEEEEEE (you get the idea)

Adam Legg has arrived in Devon with the Black's (in the spirit of the douchebags who might interpret this as racism, it is not. My girlfriend is Emily BLACK... her father is Jonathan BLACK, HER MOTHER IS ANNE BLACK... you get the picture) all seems to be going well until they return from the beach.

Adam and Emily go to have a shower but are met with a curious case of facist showerdom.

(By now maybe the starwars music is getting a bit boring for the rest of you who aren't massive fans of the franchise. In which case I suggest "Build me up buttercup". You can accompany it with the idea of me and Emily with classic 80s style cheesy shocked faces if you feel the need. Maybe even some long-johns for me too?)

Can they save enough 20ps to keep clean or will they spin into itchy decay and grow mould in their armpits? ONLY TIME WILL TELL...

Moving away from the starwars nostalgia that I'm sure many of you were feeling during that little piece of variation on the usual blogging. Devon was rather good!

CELEBRATE GOOD TIMES, COME ON! (No prizes for guessing what spotify has just put on)

Back on track (and back to black!) The campsite showers! *Que DUN DUN DUHHHH* *Screaming heard in background* ARGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway these FACIST SHOWERS (okay I've been listening to Billy Bragg a little too much)

Okay well, the showers in the campsite take money before they wash you; a sort of "pass my showerhead with silver" sort of thing. (Not a sort of thong which spellcheck decided to suggest!) You have 4 minutes once the shower decides that your 20p is indeed not fairy currency or a piece of chewing gum and accepts it. Included in this the shower gives you a 1 minute period of grace for you to strip off and mentally prepare yourself for the frenzy that will follow. You do your stretches, jog on the spot, weigh up your shower and attempt to position yourself so NO WATER WILL BE WASTED. The shower demons are unforgiving.

Suddenly you hear a beeping noise and you run in! Only to realise that the beeping noise is someone else's and all the meets you is the cold, bitter feeling of disappointment while the shower laughs in your face! As you walk out, there is another beeping and the shower turns on. The Demons laughing again as they torment you! You slap yourself with showergel and move until the pathetic drizzle your shower gives you. (I was half tempted to start shouting "It's spitting! It's spitting! Everybody in!")

To add to the initial stress of trying to get clean in under 4 minutes you are supposed to listen out for other beeps that indicate intervals of time that have passed. However, to torment you further, the demons of the shower have put all the showers close together, so your shower is accompanied by a series of beeps; none of which you know what it means and any could mean that you are left more soapy and disappointed than a slag at a foam party.

If you are unlucky enough to not heed the warnings of the beeps you might end up in that state. There is a solution though. You can go stick another 20p in the meter outside (cross my showerhead with silver). While this may satisfy the demons of the shower, it does not satisfy the massive queue of unhappy campers who glare at you if you so much as THINK about putting that 20p in. You little bastard.

I have bought myself a straw hat. Emily hates it. I love it.

While we were on the beach I was thinking how a wedding on the beach is something people view as romantic, cute etc. (Sex on the beach has just popped up on spotify. How wonderful.)

However the cynical voice in the back of my mind was wondering about the practicalities of it that might not make it so appealing...

For a start, getting sand on your suit will probably result in the loss of your deposit on it, probably the same with the dresses... secondly the wind blowing sand in your face isn't considered massively romantic either, as the priest having to spit several times over the bride to get the sand out his mouth wouldn't give you a massive score on four weddings.

I will blog about greenbelt tomorrow as I am conscious about how long this one is getting

Talk later,

Adam xx

Hello my name is Russel and I am a wilderness explorer...

Discovery and caravanning

Morning readers! Bit of an early one today as I can't sleep and the bloody limited time wifi we have here is effectively run out at any second!
Currently sat up in bed (well... A sofa actually, details details) I have been listening to an artist in particular over the past couple of days who I've really come to enjoy after hearing her songs for the first time last week. More on her to come later!

Suspense! It's good for you. Deal with it.

This week I've been in the welshland trying to make heads or tails of the weather which seems to be more varied than the theories behind the death of bees. Personally I think someone somewhere challenged them to a hide and seek contest, the earth will be flooded in 2012 and we'll have an onslaught of bees appearing from various hiding places wondering if the human race will ever bloody find them!

On the whole though the weathers been rather nice. In the bits inbetween being surrounded by old people and feeling sometimes more out of place than a small nun at a human sacrifice, I've actually had quite a good time! I was joined in sunday by Emily with whom I've spent the majority of my time with. Unfortunately for her, she's has to put up with me for another week as I'm going away with her family to devon on Saturday (at some ungodly hour) which I am rather looking forward to!

Exam results are playing on the mind of many a British teen currently as they are released to us plebs on Thursday. To me this seems an unfair experience to put me through as I've been at the bottom of the ocean, shivering about it for the past few months and now it's even worse as the universities get the results before we do! Someone somewhere knows whether I'm into uclan or not; hoping the former!! Writers block, writers block, writers block... Sorry I fell asleep just after the sentence and forgot where I am going with it! Ermmmmmm.... Arghhh can't think of it! Oh well I'm sure you'll get over it; counselling should ease the pain.

Anyway to ease your suspense I have (the amount of times I just spelled that last word wrong is depressing) been listening to Megan Oliver! Two of her songs; Terrified and Travelling soldier (lots of "t"s there!) are rapidly becoming two of my favourite song. Forgive my mistake and blame it on tiredness if I'm wrong but I believe her genre is sort of countryish. (not countryman as spellcheck wonderfully corrected it to with it's facist (or racist if your spellcheck) regime over the English language) Even if you are generally a massive fan of country (though let's face it; your Stetson, pipe and banjo gave that one away didn't it?) I would seriously urge you to lend her an ear (dunno what she'd do with it) and listen to one of her songs! You could say it was music to my ears! :P

This is the bit where it gets complicated... I'm going to attempt to put a link on this post to her myspace (I know! Myspace!) and you can (and will goddammit!) give her a listen! Bear with me... http://m.myspace.com/artistprofile.wap?bfd=webnext&friendId=564423595 (managed it! Get in there!

Anyway sleep is beckoning again! Ttfn bloggers!

Adam

Stop, collaborate and... Zzzzzzz

Don't blame it on...

I am a chronic procrastinator. Whenever I really have to do something, something else becomes so vitally important the world might just end if I don't do it.

My room is a perfect example of this...

On and off my room hasn't been completely tidy for about 2 years. Sure it's been cleaned, vacced, moved around and repainted... but never completely tidy. I'd blame this on the sunshine, moonlight and the boogie if I could but somehow I doubt anyone would believe me.

Here are my reasons why the song has a lot to do with tidying my room (or rather lack of it)

Sunshine

The sun is a bitch when you are tidying you room. It makes everything look so inviting outside. When the sun is properly shining in Manchester (a phrase most might consider an oxymoron) it makes the world through your window look like it should be skipping through a field singing "it's all too beautiful" while surrounded by a yellow haze.

Moonlight

When evening comes and the sun descends below the wonderful horizon that is the Broomwood council estate; things start to happen...

... Not fangs, extra hair or an overwhelming desire to urinate against a lamppost...

...People start to happen. Everyone comes out at night, they let their hair down and whip you in the eye on the dancefloor with it...

...or just sleep.

Exciting and attractive opportunities arise for the chronic procrastinator at night; parties, nights out, good film, takeaway etc. However, if your anything like me, you will find that sleep attacks you first.

Sleep comes out of nowhere, like a ninja with chloroform... ironically, after I had written this I woke up at 4am wondering what the hell just happened. Now finishing this at 15.29 the next day and reading through this wondering exactly what was going through my head at the time. Probably pink zambuka... The show must go on!

This leaves us with...

Boogie

Now I, like I'm sure most of you do, tidy my room to music. This in itself isn't necessarily a problem, until a particularly catchy song comes up and I start dancing. This, for me, is the time where I decide to try out some new moves I have literally just thought of just then. This distracts me from room tidying, often for a good 20 minutes while I have the song on repeat so I can perfect said dancemove...

... I really need to get out more.

Some of the more smart arsed ones of you may have noticed that I'm talking about "Blame it on the boogie" by Jackson 5 to illustrate the point to this blog. Others may notice that I missed out "the good times" - All the times are "the good times"



...Back to fish...

Have had plenty of comments about my fish but none on the nature of what their names might be so suggestions please :D

Adam xx

Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.