My Life Since School Ended

Judging by pretty much every American teen comedy I've seen ever, the summer holidays after 'High School' ends are meant to be the best ever. They're meant to be full of brilliantly scripted banter, getting into random situations that end up embarassing/disgusting before getting pissed at a party where some ridiculously fit lass decides to have lots of sex with you before she goes back to whatever country she came from. My holidays are far from this:

I wake up in some weird haze and make my way downstairs based entirely on memory, rather than vision. I'll check the paper to see just how fucked the world is, what celebrity got her tits out/said something stupid/died and what's going on in the sports world. Real Madrid have bought all the good players, so Man City have bought Kevin Pieterson, Lance Armstrong and Roger Federer, and have been linked with an audacious trillion pound bid for Tiger Woods.

By about 1pm, the haze has just about gone, so I'll then send/recieve a text to/from Luke asking if he/I want to go Morrisons and buy something with enough glucose in it to last us the day. If there's any change left, that gets put together so we can lose at a scratchcard in an attempt to get some money to go out and get pissed at some point during the week, usually to no avail. Then we'll discuss what stuff we can't do because of the money we don't have, before getting destroyed by boredom and just lazing about, killing hours like Harold Shipman killed patients until we all go in and check Facebook to see if anyone else has done anything interesting. They haven't.

Hopefully my phone will go off with news that my football skills are needed, which they are on a surprisingly regular basis for a geeky internet blogger. If not, then I'll spend the rest of the night trawling the internet, refreshing Facebook every 5 seconds, whilst thinking of an amusing Twitter update that will gain me one more follower that wants me to see her 'hawt pics'. Which is not what I want, seeing as I've been resisting the stupidly tempting laddish urge to go on porn every 5 seconds and wank myself into some sexually repressed oblivion. After making some small talk with the family (because they did nothing interesting either) and making a few quotes that may become Twitter-worthy later, I get hungry. So I make some form of snack that involves toast becase A) it's the only thing I can properly make B) it's the most versatile food known to man, you can put owt on it.

Once hunger is taken care of, I'll go and get hygenic while despairing at myself in the mirror for being so damn bloody boring (and for moisturising, I'm a man for God's sake!), before trudging off to bed to watch DVD's that take place in a far more interesting world than mine. Smallville is my current TV series of choice, so I imagine what it's like to have superpowers while watching until about 4am when the glucose is just about wearing off enough for me to keep still for 2 bloody minutes so I can fall asleep. Then I'll wake up and repeat the whole sisyphean process again!