DAY 1

I woke up startled this morning. As I wiped the cocaine from my upper lip, I heard the soft twang of metal outside my window. I slipped on my baggy, Indian trousers that I bought from Primark, and peered out of the window, wearing my best glasses, wide rimmed and lacking in lenses. There they were, the Janglers; tall, beautiful, dirty blonde hair that hadn’t been washed in days; baring a wonderful array of randomly coloured jackets. The “high society” of Badock, the reason I came.

I wanted to be like them. I needed some bangles for my ankles. I heard a rumour that there is an initiation, the initiation being a forced attempt to listen to Reggae-dub-jazz-metal fusion, whilst comparing bangles, rings and of course cocaine. They are very cool people.

I then ran to my sockets, realising that it would be a good idea to knock them open, and use the copper wires to make my own jangles. It would probably work. I study English and Sociology of course. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the plugs in the wall. I reached for the hammer that I keep in my room for safety, and began hammering, watching the splinters spray all over the floor, and my Indian rug, that I got from IKEA.

Your typical Badock resident

After recovering from the resulting electrocution that ran up my rather feeble spine, I cleaned up the blood from my hands and began making the bangles. They didn’t jangle around my ankles like the others did, but it was worth a shot.
Would they accept me? I really hope that they would.

DAY 2

Today was an amazing day. I had the initiation, and it was not exactly how I expected it to go. I was allowed entry to the room, and was at first amazed by the lack of actual light. There were scented candles, rugs of every make and design, an old shoe ironically hanging from the window, and what looked like the complete works of BANKSY.
I asked the tallest looking of the group, Enthralla, “Isn’t BANKSY a street artist?”
She looked pissed off. It turns out that some ugly charlatan from Hiatt Baker, realising their attachment to the edgy, ironic and cool, sold them copies of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, labelling them all BANKSY. The dick heads.

I was given a small pillow to sit on, as the room had a distinct lack of actual furniture, and we sat in silence, listening to white noise. After four hours, one of them asked me, “Did you go on a Gap Year?”
“Yes,” I replied. “I went to South East Asia. I feel I really found myself there, and talked to loads of Monks and priests and shit.”
They nodded in approval.
“Do you do Mushrooms?”
I nodded. “Of course, as soon as I took Mushrooms, I really saw a new perspective on life. I now feel as if we’re all connected, but they always try and put us in little boxes.”
“Who try to put you in boxes?”
I was stunned. I thought they would buy that crap.
“Uh…” I paused for a moment as one of them lit up a joint. “That shouldn’t be the question. Who doesn’t put us in little boxes?”
They bought it. This is the best day of my life. I am so glad I wrote about it in my blog, for all of the world to see.

As imagined by Edmund Wise