As the legendary Hercule Poirot paces the room before the elaborately dressed 30s rich folk, so I, dear reader, pace mentally before you, our glorious readership, and present you with irefutable evidence of Iain’s demise.
Iain is off to the so called cream fields on the morrow. And though me and my fellow editorial staff have a vague concept of what the deceitful organisers of this festival of horrors want the public to believe is it’s intention (Some sort of dance music thingy…) I have now conclusive proof of the true purposes and inconceivable depths to this most horrific of enterprises.
Upon mention of the name ‘Cream Fields’, Editor-in-Chief Sam was immediately visited by a vision of rolling pastures overflowing with dairy produce and cows. It was this prophetic imagining that opened my eyes to the truth. A land of rolling pastures overflowing with dairy and cows? Cream Fields? There is a place on this island that fits that terrifying description, a fell, dark place from whence no man ever returns, at least not in spirit.
Of where do I speak?
The West Country….
And so Iain goes for what must be one of the final stages of his initiation into Bristolancey. His mancunian soul will be torn apart, unless, as we must hope.. his will is strong.
Doesn’t get more conclusive than that right there.
Tom
i have just noticed that i have not noticed iain online in a couple of days, maybe three. this unsettles me slightly, as he is not usually out of touch. this means that he is either away somewhere, or has got so bored that he has folded down into a singularity.
he could of course be down in bristol, he has that house there after all. and if he is, he will no doubt be engaging in riotous shenanigans of boozery and debauchation.
i think i’ll take this lull in the iainformation stream to thank the man for talking to me after i bashed my car in the other week, he did good, as i was pretty wound up about it. of course, we know how iain loves driving, so i think he was probably just trying to convince me not to take my soul away from the car gods; motorcules and automemnon.
sam.
i got a text from iain on the same night i asked him to come visit me at asda. it read; “Mate, you wanna ure your shisha pipe. Its the best thing ever.” he appears to have had a mighty good time.
i’ve only remembered to post this now because i’m talking to him and he has just informed me that wednesday’s brmc trip to liverpool is off because he is skint. which is fair enough. he was already skint before he went to debauch in bristol. he drove. what a trooper.
further participation in this conversation has yielded this utterance from iain; ‘i wish i was working, i neeeeeeeed money’. that is about the only time i’ve seen him elongate a word or use incorrect spelling on msn ever. evarrrr. so that’s noteworthy.
sam.
Filed under: where's iain?
this weekend, iain has gone down to bristol to reunite with his uni housemates for a weekend of sodomy. this is straight from his mouth as well, he intimated as much to me on our drive on tuesday evening.
i don’t think it’s gonna be an actual orgy, but there’ll probably be some bum-squeezing.
iain’s housemates are male.
also, i sent this text to iain today: “Dude come visit me before ten. I’m all on me own.” regarding me working at asda. iain responded with a very touching “Im in bristol you plum.” and that is why i make this post. ’cause i’d forgotten he was down south.. bumming.
sam.
