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Friday, January 23rd, 2004
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11:55 pm
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Richey and I have been on an educational trip to Wales to meet his twelfth century equivalents.
They didn't get on. He said their music was "backward" and "hippy". They threatened him with extreme physical violence.
Pleased to note his Middle Welsh is coming along nicely.
Gerald is sulking. I'm not even sure why this time.
current mood:  worried
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| Saturday, October 18th, 2003
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1:56 am
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Gerald seems very interested in ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) barbarella69. He really is a rubbish priest.
If she's trying to precipitate Six's regeneration, incidentally, she's going the right way about it. Although I must add that it would be a very bad idea if she wants to get on his good side. Regeneration makes one awfully grumpy. (Although given Five's history with a certain arch-enemy, killing me doesn't seem to kill one's chances entirely...)
I'm feeling positively dull compared with my other selves, despite Richey's continued crisis. Perhaps I engineer drama for myself to stave off the tedium? A drastic option, but almost tempting at times, especially when Gerald's in the throes of a new book. I could have sworn that I made a point of not volunteering to proofread this one...
Ho hum. Life goes on and so forth. If anyone would like to pop round for tea, it would be appreciated - I really am feeling quite at a loss, which is rare for me. Even my inner resources are not actually limitless, it seems.
current mood:  thoughtful
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| Sunday, September 21st, 2003
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1:02 am
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| The Potion Maker |
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| thelouddoctorium is an opaque, acidic peach liquid created from the bile of a Snark. | | thebeigeonenium is a cloudy, porous white solid gleaned from the pollen of a prickly-pear cactus. | | Mixing thelouddoctorium with thebeigeonenium causes a violent chemical reaction, producing a cloudy brown potion which gives the user the power of spitting acid. | | Yet another fun meme brought to you by rfreebern |
While investigating the academic uses of this Internet thingummy, I confess to the occasional lapse into frivolity.
The results though, I feel, are worth it.
Even Richey almost smiled, and was prevented only by the weakness of his smiling muscles.
current mood:  amused
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| Tuesday, August 19th, 2003
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2:19 am
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I must confess to finding all this rather bewildering. The TARDIS is currently emulating the speed of the "Internet" as it was in the heyday of Richey's musical career. I've had to bribe her to support HTML at all, let alone at any plausible rate. I suppose it's rather touching that she and Richey are getting on, but a trial nevertheless. I think it was to comfort him after some controversy-courting imbecile in the New Musical Express wrote a wilfully iconoclastic article to the effect that Richey was "dead weight" and his band had blossomed without him. Now, I'm no expert (despite what my friends at Rolling Stone so kindly say) but this is arrant nonsense. Even Gerald agrees, and he persists in regarding the electric guitar as a particularly vile form of demon, although he enjoys "Motorcycle Emptiness". (Thankfully he has yet to encounter a motorcycle).
Anyway, the consequence of all this is that Richey is playing some extraordinary interpretations of The Carpenters in the bathroom where he has locked himself, and I can't keep up with "Gallifrey". Dreadful as they are, perhaps another of those - *ahem* - "shag scoreboards" might be in order?
Dear me, this is all very demeaning. It's shamefully addictive, rather like that programme "Neighbours" that Richey persists in watching. I do hope I haven't contracted "kitsch"...
current mood:  anxious
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| Saturday, June 21st, 2003
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2:39 am
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*sigh*
Richey is sulking. I said something, or didn't, or did something, or didn't. Or something. I miss Ace. At least she wasn't quite such a danger to herself.
I took Gerald to a "Manic Street Preachers" concert for a perspective on current Welsh culture. It was when they were still any good, so Richey couldn't come because of the whole paradox bit. Gerald too has now taken to horrific misery, but I think it's more out of fear than belated adolescent despair. I just hope he doesn't self-mutilate. It could be unwise pre-penicillin.
Gallifrey, much as I love it, no longer seems to offer much to those of us who aren't sleeping with at least four of the other members. If anyone would like to prove me wrong, I am available for cake and discussion, so long as it isn't of clothes or boys.
That said, I feel that I probably owe yourfutureruler a sympathy fuck, but that's entirely up to him.
Zoe seems more than usually unbalanced, incidentally. If Two would like to do something about that...?
current mood: bored
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| Friday, May 9th, 2003
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11:54 pm
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Five is still having rampant sex with the Master. Ho hum. What it is to be young...
Richey is still sulking. Against my better judgement, I introduced him to Gerald.
My better judgement was right as usual.
Six looks ridiculous.
current mood: relaxed
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| Sunday, April 6th, 2003
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10:59 pm - Anxiety
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Richey has been listening to too much acoustic introspection. He's taken to singing Leonard Cohen in the shower, and has written a song containing no slogans or anger. He's a little dazed himself.
He is actually less of a liability than Gerald at the moment. The latter is understandably upset, but when I said It's only a bishopric, he bit me. It was a little excessive, I feel.
It's lonely with just a depressive cleric, a depressive TARDIS and a depressive depressive for company. I may go somewhere a little happier for a while. Gerald keeps trying to hitch free pilgrimages, but I can't help feeling it defeats the object somewhat, not to mention smacking a little of idolatry. Anyway, it's a bit fraught out there. Bloody Crusader States.
Ho hum.
current mood: anxious
current music: Richey's new song, "Weeping Trees"
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| Sunday, March 16th, 2003
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9:15 pm - Sordidity
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The community continues its descent into squalor.
I wish I still had amnesia.
Gerald tested me on his works yesterday.
97% is apparently not good enough. Resit tomorrow.
He insists that the cat be called Gerald. i have told him it's not my decision but he won't listen.
I suggest Abelard.
Richey wrote an acoustic ballad today, then flaggelated for five hours from sheer guilt. It was troubling, although it did show a leaning towards the mediaeval which I find encouraging.
Anji came round for tea and spent several hours trying not to talk about Eight. It's sad, really. Richey may have a crush on her, but it is a mere drop in the oceans of his pain so she shouldn't worry.
I shall now have coffee and eat toast and ponder esoteric things.
current mood: anxious
current music: Discords from Richey's acoustic guitar
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| Tuesday, March 11th, 2003
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8:23 pm - Richey
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Richey is at present torn between the wish to acquire a LiveJournal and the wish to curl up and rock in a corner, sobbing.
The TARDIS does not like him. They have music fights in which I am deafened simultaneously by The Smiths and Richey's own works, which he plays obsessively as though seeking meaning.
I have attempted to introduce them both to the work of Leonard Cohen which is in my view far stronger artistically, but they complained of its 'blandness'.
Fitz seems quite troubled by what I have told him of our future relationship. It is of course an outrageous lie, but until he reads this post he doesn't know that. While I have enjoyed his trauma, I am not so heartless as to allow it to continue indefinitely.
Even Richey laughed. Which is saying something.
Gerald was very cheerful today. He has finished a work of penetrating insight and rare understanding, and is now going through putting in mad bits so that people believe it. I worry that he thinks too much of his sales figures and not enough of his academic integrity. He says I should 'lighten up and isn't this bit about beavers good'.
He may be right. Perhaps I should be having fun and so forth, but with both obscure literature and Richey's mental health to occupy me, it isn't easy.
Gerald hasn't forgotten about the test. Damn.
Richey says a sort of surly hello to everyone.
current mood: anxious
current music: Don't ask. Just don't ask.
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| Monday, March 10th, 2003
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3:04 am - Richey. Oh Lord, that boy...
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Richey is quite chipper today.
It seems his former bandmates are now horribly fat and embarrassing. He's laughing. A lot.
I am unsure as to whether this is a good thing. Obviously, it's nice to see him happy, but I'm not sure that it's worth encouraging the streak of schadenfreude it displays.
Tegan has just had a positive pregnancy test. It's all very messy. Of course, I can't possibly comment. What with the whatsit of time and all.
Gerald says that this is nonsense and I should be using my superior knowledge to impress people, but then he would.
He also asked how the books were going, and shouted at me for not having him on my interests list.
He is a trial sometimes.
current mood: worried
current music: Disraeli Gears. Overrated.
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| Sunday, March 9th, 2003
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5:46 pm - Freedom and Responsibility
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I really am becoming quite concerned about Richey. Although he has succeeded in giving up all but two of the substances to which he was previously addicted, and now weighs well over seven stone, I'm just not sure he's happy. I have become quite accustomed to the appellation "bourgeois cunt", and my first aid skills are improving rapidly, but saving the universe is quite frankly a piece of piss compared to saving Richey.
I have bought him the black paint he requested, and he is now decorating his bedroom. The TARDIS isn't happy.
I think it feels threatened.
On a lighter note, I saw Gerald of Wales earlier today. He gave me another five of his books. I tried explaining that I'd read them, but he didn't seem to think I'd been thorough enough. He's testing me on them next week.
My other selves are squabbling dreadfully. I have the greatest of affection for all of them, and sincerely hope that this is merely a temporary state of affairs
current mood: worried
current music: Richey's, unfortunately
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