WANKSTATION NUMBER 9

Of course that title is just an attention grabber and there is no truth in it. It’s just a cheap trick that employes scatological means to get you to dive into this entry…

It’s the monday after a weekend away in tourist hell and I’m still very jaded. Tomorrow night if I regain my sense of humour and my bowels I may make the case for tactical nuking of certain “tourist meccas”, but until then I thought I would turn your monday evening into the most dull experience of your week so far by posting up some pictures of my workstation.

Weird, perhaps, but I’m pretty pleased to have a desk to waste away the hour upon hour of sexless evenings in here in Jamaica. Sorry, what I meant to say is work hard at writing word pieces that are more readable than some of the dribble that appears in mountain biking publications (that includes websites because whether it’s right or not, which it isn’t, are taking over alot of the space in our brains we used to reserve for those times of the month when a new shiny magazine used to appear upon the newsagents shelves).

I haven’t actually had a desk to work at for…at least a year and a half, maybe longer, depending on whether a dinner table counts. It’s one of those little things in life that you don’t know how much you miss it until you’ve starved yourself of it and then got it back.

My desk is basic but it’s my space. A zone where I can put my mind to things and get work done or procrastinate for hours on end, possibly pesting a girl, writing gibberish on 2FLAT or updated my status (“Seb Kemp is waiting for his newest vile porno to finish streaming”).

Below is a aerial shot of my desk which contains: One five or six year old Powerbook, one bottle of brandy, one small bottle of Fire Water, two empty Redstripe beer bottles, one dictaphone used for talking to myself with when i’ve drank too much of the above, three lollipops in case someone pops by, one Ipod Nano filled with tunes that I only know half the names of the bands, memory sticks used too infrequently for saving files, one 2009 calendar which is adorned with pictures of girls in pink undies (one blonde, one brunette), one chunk of Juniper wood because it smells so good, a book with a swaztika on it (it’s not what you think, it’s a really good crime novel called A Small Death in Lisbon), a bunch of mags (an old Nat Geo so I can teach myself something clever when I’m crapping, an five month old Dirt Mag so I can remind myself of the deminishing target audience, and an 18th month old copy of ozzy bmx mag 20/20 because I need to keep myself in touch with the little wheels), and underneath the desk is a small ice cooler that keeps more beers slightly cooler than room temperature.