A drunken 750 words in My creative writing

750 words. That could be tricky tonight. See, we've been at the ocl town festival and I am a litt ditzy tiight. Not horrndously drunk but a little unstalbe on my fet, a ittle fuzzy of the mind. So I can probably only manage a hndred or so word, rather than the full 70. B ut I will certainly try my bet. Tonight has been fun. Being a Londoner I do find it slightly amusing that local people - country people - are so easily entertained. Stick an aerage pub band on a stag, give them a pint or two of beer and they'll be happy But nowadays I find I am happy with that too. when I first mvoed out hre, to the countrysie, I wondered how long it would take me to get used to the sights and smells. For exaple, out here in the countryside it gets very dark at ight. Far darker thn it got in urban Hampshire, and dei=finitly darker than it ever got in odon, where th nights never go off. And the farms worried me. Before I move here farms were mythical things, Only known of throgh children's books or The Archers. In fact I was shocked to discover a member of my new famiy (before I o cllously got dioerced) was a farmer, ebcause farmers ony xisted in chilren's books in my old life; they wreen't real people. and in the countrysde you are much more aware of th changing of the seaasons. In the town you gt winter, then it's summer, then it's witer again. Cold hot cold Wet dry wet. Brown green brown. That's as far as the seasons ever gete. But out here you are acutely awre of the winter encroaching on you, the darkening of the hederows and thesuddent disappearance of life here and there Then you delve ito winter, a cold dark grim time, but gradually you start ot see th eges of spring, the tips of spring emerge. First it will be jst the odd bud here and there, a slight change in colour of th bushes along the roadside. Over the weeks they'll turh from brown to beige to green and eventuly you'l realise that thosse dead lookin trees hve suddenly spruing into life and are full of leaves and blossoms. You wll tart to be awar of the sound of the birds inn the trees and the number of things flying around - bees, wasps, butterfules and flies. never otced thmin London.

Ayway, so her we are i the country side and we'r oig country pople things - like going to the local festiva. it's all oka. Nothing eciting. Nothing out of the ordinary. All vy predicatable really But everyone is having schb a god tie that you cantt reall begrdge them tir fun and youjust get carried away with the atosphere and find yourself joining i. So I've done some bopping and toe tapping to a pun band some drinkgin,some eating and some boogieing to Boogie Me, perhaps the best known band roubd these pats and xcellent fodder for your wedding or local eevent. And then we walked home alongside a very drunk man who apparently lived in Lodon, got divoerced and was sent here ... by whom we shall never know, BUt as we waslek alongside him I realised one thing - may like mydrin but thee will aways be someone more drunk than me, hrrah! So now I have neary two hundred words to go and i'm starting to think this was a very bad idea. On Thursday moningn whe I startd it seemed fine, but now I cant string two words together, I have made more speing mistakes than youd ver believe, I can't even get the mot impe word right and I certainly won be able to read this bak in the morning1 And still hve a hundred words to go'! So what can I do with those last few words? Maybe I shou try a poem ....

I lve in a town called Faringdon It's ok I guess but a bit dull And as I sit here tpying ownthese words I can write in full I wonder what the fuck Im doing here. This isnt my place. I never chose to be here. It was circumstance that bgouth e to this palce AND IT WILL BE CIRCUMTANCE THAT takes me away whether that be by choice ... or in a box. but eithr way I wont be here for the rest of my life and thank the fuck for that.