Life’s tough sometimes. Luckily, I too am tough sometimes. Recently, my wife and I separated. Consequently, I have fled London and am now living in Bournemouth. I say living in Bournemouth, but it’s more squatting in Bournemouth. Bournemouth, for those who don’t know, has nice beaches, a relaxed, pleasant town centre and some of the dullest and shittest and stupidest people on the planet. I fit right in.

Luckily however, I am tough sometimes and although I may be dull and shit and stupid at the moment, I won’t be dull and shit and stupid forever. I’ve written a list, you see. At the top of the list I’ve written ‘2 Ways’ with two arrows pointing downwards. [By the way, this isn’t a very good post, is it? I think it’s been around seven weeks since my last entry and you’d probably be expecting something spectacular, and although my circumstances are spectacular – “my wife and I separated”; I’m “squatting in Bournemouth” – I’m not really doing them justice and just kind of glossing over them. Sorry about that.] The ‘2 Ways’ refers to the two different ways my life could be headed. At the end of one arrow I’ve written ‘Drink’. At the end of the other arrow I’ve written ‘Trumpet’, ‘Stoicism’, ‘Kickboxing’ and ‘Writing’.

Basically, if I continue to drink I’m in trouble. If, however, I learn to play the trumpet, practice stoicism, go kickboxing three of four times a week and spend the rest of the time writing then I’ll be fine. There’s a certain comfort there: knowing that if I do these four things then whatever life throws at me, I’ll be able to throw it right back at life.

Assuming you can be bothered, watch this space.


10 responses to “Bournemouth

  1. Well, well, I was wondering where life took you. I’m sorry life’s been shitty to you. I’m sorry you ended up in Bournemouth with all of us, shitty people, living here. Although you could always leave, right? Or, bear with us, shitty people, some of us are actually pretty all right.

  2. Tough as a boot, PTW, and only slightly better looking.

    I disagree with your comments on Fever Pitch. Pitches may be flowing, but tis nowhere near as entertaining as your prose. You are, without a doubt, the funniest writer I’ve ever met.

    Please don’t keep us hanging for 7 weeks again.

    very sad news on the missus front – is it f’shizzle, or just poetic license?

  3. My boyfriend teaches trumpet if that’s useful?

  4. Be tough, be honest, be kind, never compromise your ideals – all else will be ok Pitchy x

  5. Ah, Nina, you’re not all shitty, not by a long chalk. I said that to make the point about me being, dull, shit, stupid etc. that much funnier. It didn’t work.
    I’m afraid it’s not poetic license Cath Boundy. See The Adventures of Pitching the World for disconcerting poignancy.
    Jo: very useful, especially if he’s a kickboxing whizz too.
    Bingo: Yes.

  6. Welcome back, Pitchy! There’s been a beetroot-shaped hole in my life since you went AWOL.

    Bad news about your wife, very bad news about Bournemouth… here’s hoping for a reconciliation and relocation.

  7. Rust The Third

    Sorry to hear your news- anytime you fancy some Kickboxing you know where I am

  8. Sir Percy Earsludge

    Bad luck old sport. nil illigitimae carborundum.

  9. Auntie Alison

    Don’t take up with a strumpet dear, find yourself a nice girl!

  10. You can come up here and I can teach you to blow your own trumpet. Or better still you could blow mine. Plus I’ve got some boxing gloves so we could kick the fuck out of each other then go out in Finsbury Park on match day and shout “Cuz I’m from London mate, so what’s YOUR game?” to Celtic fans to practice our newly honed skills.

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