Get Some Young: More Brighton nonsense & Muppet Treasure Island

It has been about 5 months since I last saw Dean, far too long by any mans standards to live without that sullen faced callous bastard offering reasons why you should just give up on life and kill yourself; and the overwhelming desire to go there and sit and drink and do fuck all except sit in his dingy unchanging twilight zone of a room, talking for hours on end about how Tim Curry deserves an Oscar for his sterling performance in Muppet Treasure Island, in my case, finally won out.

So, we all know it's boring to be in the company of people who spend all their time talking about Muppet Treasure Island and reminiscing about some jokes thing someone did in days gone by (in our case, apparently even the story about that time we almost killed Dean has run its course, which is a shame). However, as Dean and I pretty much talk exclusively about those two subjects, the standard procedure of our rendezvous has become 3 hours maximum in a pub, then, to spare society, confining ourselves to his room to watch Muppet Treasure Island on repeat until loss of consciousness occurs. Before waking up circa 4.30am to do it all over again.

This is a very roundabout way of excusing my Brighton instalments for the past year and a half, which, if laid alongside one another, the photographs would probably all... ALL... look like they were taken the same day. Such is the sterile static abundance of Dean's shit room.