for those who dont know yet, which presumably is most of you, me and gabby have decided to call it a day. it was mutual in the truest sense of the word. i think she finally realised i am an idiot and not worth saving. we will be staying in contact throughout my stay here, although current work situations prevent me from seeing anyone other than workmates.

she is a very, very special girl.

dear reader,
i thought i was dying. i truly did.
after a gruelling 50 hour week, i noticed a rash on my palms. just blisters, i thought, and went on with my week. two days later said rash had become painful and purple, now covering the soles of my feet as well - making walking and touching anything very painful. bugger, i thought, better cart myself to the doc's office.
then something horrible happened. the doctor looked worried. and he didn't know quite what it was but he was 'very concerned'. he looked through some old textbooks, all the while wearing a worried and conerned expression. then he said it - "im very concerned you may have stevens-johnsons syndrome, im going to recommend you to a dermatologist immediately." fuck, i thought.

three thoughts crossed my mind:
a)syndrome...that cant be good

b)stevens and johnsons either discovered this syndrome and gave it its name, nevertheless considered it serious enough to give their names to

c) stevens and/or johnson died from this disease and their names were used posthumously and unforunately in dedication to this affliction.

after an hour or so of bricking myself in a waiting room, i saw the emergency dermatologist, who quickly established that i had a very mild case of stevens johnsons, and was therefore really not stevens-jonhsons at all. stevens johnsons syndrome is fatal in 3-15 percent of cases. what i had was just an allergic reaction to a run down immune system caused by working too hard. thats right...i am ACTUALLY allergic to work. nice as fuck.

it has all but cleared up now concerned reader, going back to work today. and remember...next time your in the doctors office and you hear the beep (beep), think of the fun you could be having BEING TOLD YOU HAVE A 'SYNDROME' AND THINKING YOU ARE ABOUT TO DIE...

another year, another std. the world keeps turning. apologies to those who have been tuning in to keep up to date with all things 'gareth' (which, as you may have noticed is well over 1000), only to be disappointed with my lack of posts. well, 60 hour weeks will do that to you. i have been working like a slave for the last month or two. new years was fun - had an open bar at work so 'invented' several new 'drinks'. many if not all of which contained sambuca...mmm...buca fun...

i will be meeting up with jonny( he who is global) for fun and games in melbourne fairly soon. from what i have been reading, we should have an interesting time.

think i may have to move out of gabbys parents soon, probs to a hostel. they must be sick of me by now. even i am.

i will try to blog more when i get time dear reader.

hello girls and boys. first let me apologise for the blog constipation - in truth i have had better things to do. first there was...the island...

an nearby island called rottnest. crap name, awesome place. every year the 17 year olds finishing school desdend upon this very small island to party like its 1999...when they would have been 10 and not really partying at all...

so in recap:

i) australian girls
ii) 17
iii) drunk as fuck
iv) half naked (and in many cases fully so)

i didn't know where to look. well, actually, i did. gab was very understanding, only punching me in the face 17, maybe 18 times a day. what a champ.

other things keeping me occupied: the ashes. like many people my age, my memory of ashes series is being trounced by moustachioed australians in increasingly convincing fashion. also like many of my generation my liking of cricket was rekindled by last years ashes triumph, if only for the 'did flintoff spew in tony blair's pisser' scandal. and of course pietersens impression of badger girl.
i like cricket. let me tell you something else: australians are obnoxious sportsmen who need to be taken down a peg. they're good at most sports and arrogant with it. i want to see england (and wales as i keep reminding people) beat the aussies because i would love to see their faces if we do. humble pie wouldn't even touch the sides.

i saw pearl jam play on saturday which was amazing. absolutely tremendous. you feel you are truly in the presence of rock royalty, which you are. eddie vedder was sloshed, drinking at least 2 bottles of wine on stage and falling over a lot. and we have chris martin...twat...

if you are lucky enough to be the fifth person to read this you will be the 1000th person to have read my blog, and you will win a special prize. to find it, you must first travel to swansea. when in swansea visit a hardware store and purchase a particularly nasty looking power tool - i suggest a circle saw as it not only provides the best value for money with plenty of saw refills, but also cuts through bone with ease.
you have the saw? good. next look up 'keil' in the local telephone directory. keep looking...keep looking...there, L.Keil, Dunvant. father of the beast. board a bus from swansea city centre (i recommend the number 21), being careful to take in the wonderful views of the gower. hop off by the spar. there it is... notice how the dark clouds gather above in a swirling vortex? thats owens house. you notice children crying in the street, dead animals litter the ground. decay is everywhere.
you enter the house.

on a throne of flies you notice a horned dwarf with cloven hoofs - this is owen. remembering your earlier purchase you pull out your circle saw and approach the beast. you turn on the circle saw and, starting at the face, slowly slice open owens body. inside is your prize. you have earned it noble warrior.

hello fuckwits. so you've come back for your gms hit (gareth myspace...if jonny can call 'jgg', then im bloody calling this!). like skag, gms offers only instant pleasure, and in the long run can cause infertility, sunken cheeks, a feeling of worthlessness and ultimately death. these side effects are remarkably similar to those caused by talking to owen keil.

in actual news, i have started work at a place called the mussell bar (...too easy...), although i am restricted to 3 hour shifts due to my ankle being weak and pointless...again, rather like owen keil.

i am going to be moving out as soon as i can string together a few shifts, a fact which excites as much as it daunts me. i will be leaving behind the west australian house of the year 2006, as well as the bronze medal winner in 'best pool in australia'. despite this, i am in truth very much looking forward to my financial and physical independence. although my chances of finding a nice place to live are small and feeble...very much like owen keil.

in a similar vein to my earlier 'donkey' blog, i have been sparing a thought for the turkey. a ludicrous looking bird, with a bubbly scrotum hanging from its already ugly face, it must also suffer the indignity of being a poor mans chicken. if a film is deemed particularly poor, it is dubbed a 'turkey'. turkeys cannot even enjoy the festive season, as they are plucked, cooked and carved, eventually becoming everyones least favourite meat by the time the obligatory boxing day turkey curry is rolled out. unlike the donkey though, the turkey carries itself with no dignity. it provides no real service. very much like owen keil...

in the interests of brevity, i will keep this final paragraph short and badly misguided...not unlike...i think you know where im going...

having recently discovered how to assemble my top 8 friends on myspace, i have compiled a list of 8 people. have you made it? it should be pointed out that owen is only there because of the '...enemies closer' complex, and russell brand because he's funny and famous. jon -do please attach a photo to your myspace - its making my top 8 look amateurish. if you didnt make it...dont worry. it just means i dont like you that much.

i learned today that on the day of my birth the number one uk single was 'karma chameleon' by culture club...fuck.

there was some guy walking around the london underground system on a busy monday morning peak hour. on his t-shirt, in huge writing and with a familiar symbol were the words "FUCK THE GAP". i can think of many ways to rebel, in fact i have dabbled in minor rebellion myself. but this must surely be the most pointless, and yet somehow elegant, act of rebellion since women tried (and failed) to get the vote. fuck the gap indeed.

tonight i tried my first southern hemisphere pill. it was actually very good. but i have noticed something very worrying: they dont believe in after hours banter. there we were, all getting along swimmingly and sharing outrageous and standard pill stories and then.... thats it. everyone went home. no after party. no talking shit with some guy who will soon be your new best friend. nothing.

admittedly i am trained in the swansea style of drug taking: "dont stop 'till you get enough...or unless someone has so you can bully them", so needless to say i was perplexed and slightly confused. surely it was time for playing dodgy songs? time for swapping horrible stories? exhausting all possible avenues of drug taking before belatedly and begrudgingly calling it a night. no such thing. the pills may be good, but the aussies have a lot to learn about pill culture. its a crying shame that i am forced to go home at bloody 4am when there is clearly a good 24 hours of drug taking left to be done. amateurs.

in better news, met a guy called tristan who was a star. and also wales drew with australia in the rugby: at least they cant gloat about that.

i couldnt keep away for long, it seems blogging is a part of me now. but please: do leave a comment or something as it makes it seem worth it. its nice to know people are reading, except owen who cant read, and neither is he welcome to read any of this. so owen, if you have read this please go back and erase this blog from your memory; it is not welcome to you. waspish pigeon.

the gloves are off, or rather, the crutches are. this blog may signal the end for my metaphysical meandering, and some actual stories. thats right - i am walking once more. the last time my clumsily maintained feet touched ground in unison was the 11th of august. in an effort to address a much more serious malady, my broken banter, i have applied for a job at a backpackers hostel. if anyone can fix my broken banter, who better than drunken irishmen and non descript european types? no one. thats who.

this blog will also serve as a statement, which i will announce in caps lock for added effect.

THIS WILL BE MY LAST BLOG UNTIL I ACTUALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT.

too many times i have found myself reading jonny's blog and thinking "wow...johns really going places ( i mean at least geographically), and my how his stories are so exotic and there is barely mention of soppit. how grand. and how i love johns new hair. and even more how i admire his bowels, which operate with the efficiency of a german metronome. and oh, i sigh, how introspective and self indulgent my blogs are. and how non eventful.

and so i have decided to abandon blog until i too have stories of blowing off snakes and being in 'nam and drinking vietnamese sperm with buses, and of meeting stop out, stay aways named jo, for whom little is a prefix, and share stories and STD's with her.

so i bid you adieu, sometime gareth blog reader. i will leave with a song...which you will not be able to hear because you are too far away...unless...no, that is not an angel breathing...it is me...singing 'its not unusual' by tom jones. not even the equator could muffle THAT noise.