Who Is Andrew Beattie?

Welcome,

The day is Thursday, and the time is 19:55. I’m at my laptop in my dimly lit room listening to the a little Jefferson Airplane, it’s bitterly cold outside and at present, as it stands at the moment, Andrew Beattie wants a new PSP. He also wants some new jeans, 2 pairs to be precise, a couple of pairs of shoes, a new coat and some new CD’s. Books, he would like lots of them also and at least 2 new shirts, and a cardigan, a blue cardigan. No no no, Andrew Beattie doesn’t merely want these things, oh no. Andrew Beattie lusts after these material goods like a child lusts over a sherbet dip and a muddy garden. Andrew Beattie has no idea why he wants these things. He hasn’t wanted anything in this pathetic manner for a good while, other than books which he always wants and indeed has always wanted. He realises how daft his lusting for these things is because a) he has no money, not two beans to rub together (ill return to this in a little while), b) he doesn’t need any of it and c) the last time he had a PSP he didn’t use it and sold it to a friend for some change, a bag of jellies and a left-handed screwdriver. So why does he want it now? Why is he talking about himself in the third person? He just did it again, why is this?

And now for something completely different: Why would someone rub beans together? For what purpose other than wearing the beans down no little nubs of beans could rubbing them together possibly serve? What would someone want with nubby beans?

Right, back to my wanting stuff, it really makes no sense at all. I have considered the above points and came to the conclusion that I really, really shouldn’t get any of the stuff I don’t need but you know what, I’m pretty sure that I’ll buy myself most of it, including the PSP, which for reasons that I’ve already explained will be about as much use to me as a titty bar would be in the Vatican. I could have opted for strippers or even gentleman’s club there but titty bar just felt right and so I apologise for any offence caused – bloody prude.

I fear that I’ll never get to the bottom of my wanting stuff, knowing I can’t have it, knowing that I don’t need it, yet still wanting it badly fiasco and so I’ll just settle for not having any of it for now and waiting for this little crazy phase to pass. There, all better now and in the time that I’m waiting I’ll console myself by playing games on the PSP that I’m going to order tonight. Oh, shit.

On a much brighter note you will have noted as I have, with glee, excitement and bed wetting that the mornings and evenings are getting darker. This can only mean one thing Ladies and Gentlemen and that it is, as it stands at the moment it is, if my calculations are correct, 12 weeks till Christmas. Now you might think that it’s a little early for me to be getting exited and prepared for Christmas and you’d be right, absolutely bloody spot on. It is ridiculously early to be getting excited about Christmas and so someone please fucking explain to me why I am currently uploading 5 Christmas albums, all of them double albums, to my iTunes. I mean come on, Little Saint Nick, in October, sheesh, who does that? Did I just pretend to be upset by this behaviour? Well I’m not, not a fucking jot, I fucking well love Christmas and I like, no, I love, to get mentally prepared as early as possible.

It all starts around now when the nights get shorter and my journeys home from work are made using only the stars to guide me, on the train. In around a week I will begin to comment about how I’ve just noticed that my breath is beginning to fog after leaving my mouth to everyone that I meet which includes strangers in the street. I will pass this behaviour off as ‘making small talk’. In the first week of November I will go for my first Gingerbread coffee in Starbucks with my cousin. I look forward to this day for 10 months of the year and whilst I am aware that this wouldn’t generally be classed as normal behaviour, they do taste delicious, very delicious. About a week or so later I will start worrying about what I’m going to get people for Christmas presents. I will draw up a list of items that I would like and put a line through the ones that I couldn’t possibly pass off as a gift. I will then buy these items for myself and begin to worry about how the hell I’m going to afford to buy presents after treating myself so lavishly. During the first week of December I will buy all of the presents for family and friends and will have officially switched from work mode into Christmas enjoyment mode. This will annoy colleagues who will resent my not trying or even pretending to try but at this point I will be totally oblivious as their tutting and heavy sighing will be drowned out my constant recital of ‘holidays are coming, holidays are coming’. From here the real Christmas starts and that story really is for another day.

As much as I hate to make love and then dash off, or should that be as much as I’d like to make love and then dash off, I’m dashing off, literally running away. I’m not really, but I am going to settle into the evening with a glass of mulled wine, a mince pie, a little hand-held games console lusting and a cheap 70’s porno.

Until next time my friend,

Be happy.

Bye for now,

Andrew