By D. Mulder
You can always rely on my flatmate, Captain Beefcake, to hurt himself in one way or another. Assuming nothing truly terrible is ever going to happen to him, it's sort of becoming good fun watching this guy return home from work everyday with yet another injury or another broken bicycle. Everything he touches breaks. Living with him is like living in the pages of Ubik. He's a fucking calamity.
Meanwhile, I've caused this disgusting mess to my beautiful little finger - sustained after I went climbing at Mile End Climbing Wall last week. I turned up telling everyone how easy it is to prance about like Gollum. It's not. It's horrible, hard work, scary and almost killed me.
One thing about it made me feel better though: Jesus God is the 'climbing community' ever a good lookin' bunch of people. Woah-ho-ho. No wonder they all chose a sport in which you spend the entire time facing a wall. I've never seen so many ugly people in one room. They were everywhere, some literally hanging from the ceiling. Still, beats watching all the posers in East London trying out their new Autumn Wardrobes. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO WHEN THE APOCALYPSE COMES? You can't live long on smugness alone, don't you know.