Sunday Bloody Sunday

What's in the bag, kid? Gold? Drugs? Dirty Clothes?


Nobody likes me, not a single letter. Go easy on yourself kid, you'd have to be pretty special to get any sort of mail on a Sunday.


I have often walked on this street before and the pavement has always and always will stay beneath my feet, unless the marina floods, I suppose.


Bloody flags.


Uh oh, down I must go. What horrors await me? Piss? Shit? A bag of shit that's been pissed on?


What the hell is this? It looks like it's been drawn by a child. Oh.


Wind St.


For centuries the people of Swansea have stuck their gum here. Every night a terrible monster comes and devours it all. Nobody knows what the beast looks like or where it comes from, but we know for sure that if it didn't have the gum to feast on, it would eat our children.


Nando's. Very strange. It is both of those buildings which have only just been built. Why would they make it look like two separate buildings? I don't know. That man was drinking a can of Carling.


Ask what?


I really like Varsity. It's a beautiful building inside and out. Becci and I used to go there all the time, before she left me all alone. Nobody else seems to want to go there. Good food. A shame.


Great offers, my arse.


When the castle was destroyed by the Germans, vikings or time or something else, it was decided that it would be rebuilt to look like it was a castle from the year 2046, a perfect blend of medieval and Coca-Cola technology.


Two traffic cones going for a swim. They grow up so fast.


Oxford Street. Luckily it was Sunday, and so I was free from Clipboard Charity People.


So I get to buy stuffed toys that were made by blind Chinese kids with no arms in North Korea for 1p an hour for halfprice? No exactly madness, is it?


Ah, the carnival is in town.


That is where I get my haircut. Cafe Ole is new. I'll probably never go in there.


I need a haircut, but it's Sunday and only the rich and famous can get their hair cut on Sunday.


The Pool Sanctuary. I've never been there, because I'm not a cunt. Below is the Potter's Wheel, I've been there many times, because I'm not a cunt.


St Helens rd, where everybody knows your name, as long as your is Mohammed. Some people were lurking outside the Mosque.


Fruit glorious fruit, cold coffee and bastards.


If I had a pound for every time I accidentally went in here and had food thinking that I was getting on the Northern Line I'd have no pounds.


More fruit. Such exotic wonders that my eyes have never seen. What the hell are those orange things, for god's sake?


Seriously, videos.


This is where I wash my clothes. It isn't as close to my flat as it should be.


This is my machine. I use it everytime.


These are my clothes.


These are my clothes in my machine. Exciting, no?


Like a fine fine sand, the powder will magically remove the stains of my clothes and soul.


£2.40! It used to be something else.


7. Hand Relief with Breasts Exposed


What was once a church is now an Indian restaurant. What would Jesus say? I know he wouldn't like it, who would? I expect that if I went AWOL for two thousand years I'd come back only to find my flat had been turned into a Chinese bowling alley. Is nothing sacred anymore?


Whilst my clothes were going getting wet and soapy, I went to sit outside the Guild Hall.


I sat on this bench, a good old fashioned painful wooden bench.


I read this. Like an idiot I bent the cover in my bag. I read the chapter about the woman on the holy mountain. Good stuff.


Hello, what's this? It's only a bloody pigeon.


My oh my, that bird can strut. I like your style. Come sit with me for a while.


Have you ever had your photo taken? If you want to make it in this business you need to make sacrifices. How do you think Geri Halliwell and the Pope started out?


We sat and watched the sun neither rise nor set. We were the only two people left in the world. Never before had I felt so close to someone, for the first time in my life I was happy.



Quite tragically a van pulled up and ten masked terrorists grabbed the both of us and took us to an abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere. Birdy was killed and I only managed to escape by stabbing a guard in the throat with a biro. By the time I got back to Swansea my clothes were gone.