Sunny Afternoon – The Kinks
Well, it was actually cloudy. Bad start. It was Sunday though, yesterday in fact. And I was lazing. Full on. Pants off. Couch on. Watching The Masters on TV. Adam Scott and Angel Cabrera battling it out for the green jacket. It’s about half three in the afternoon. Tired enough from the night before. Few boozes. Long week. Barren brain. Time to just chill out and do nothing. Golf on. Almost all my family love golf, adore it. The Hayes men, anyway. Watch it. Play it. Breath it. Always feel a bit guilty when I don’t watch a big tournament as a result. Especially when my Dad texts me to see if I might go to one if it’s on near me. One day, Dad, one day!
So I throw on the golf. Start getting into it. Handy that it’s really good as well. Tight at the top. Four way tie. Four horse lead. Courses for horses. All that. Maybe none. But now it’s down to two. Scott. Cabrera. Two holes to go. Ads come on. I’ll check my email quickly. Anything, anybody? Nobody, nothing. Just a Google reminder: Call up to Book Soup. What’s that for agai- Oh balls. That’s right. I must call up to suss out a few things. And. There’s that book club on today as well. What time is it on again – Four. Twenty minutes. Hmm. Fully forgot about it. Should I go? Only a ten minute walk. But the golf is good. I’ve watched it since the start. Can’t just not watch it now really on the last two holes. Shut up, you can, stop being lazy. Call up to Book Soup. Suss out that book club. See if anything happens. OK. Let’s go. Adventure on! Continue Reading »
Walking On Broken Glass – Annie Lennox
Pa Ranoid they might call me, if my name was Pa, Paddy, Pat or Patrick. Thankfully, it is none of the above. But I am paranoid. And I’m in a hotel lobby. On my final morn in London. Waiting for a car to show up to take me to the airport. Wondering whether I should just eat all this paper? Or… Can’t see any other option really.
So the day before Continue Reading »
In Dulci Jubilo – Mike Oldfield
Merry Christmas RanDummies and mighty blogaruu readers! Hope you are still getting your turkey sweats on. While you do, why not enjoy this piece which I wrote for an Irish paper recently. Pants off. Trifle. On!
A Hollywood Christmess Story
Is that Slash? Hmm. Is he looking at me? Hmm. Not sure. Is it him? Is he real? Am I drunk? What’s going on? Hmm. I’m going back for a kip.
Next morn. Stephen’s Day. Boxing Day? Not sure what they call it here in L.A. Eyes open. I’m on a couch at Robbie Williams’ house. Awake. Alone. Alive. Stiff back. Slept awkwardly. No sign of Slash. No sign of anyone. All left. Or upstairs. Sleeping. Sensible folk. Unlike me and my dry mouth. Tastes like glue. And so this is Christmas. Continue Reading »
Thrift Shop – Macklemore & Ryan Lewis
It’s a Sunday night. You’re sick of talking to banterless clowns in dead bars. So you go to a liquor store. And end up down an alley. Trying to have a laugh with some homeless guy. Who’s trying to take a drink from your brown paper bag. Life. Going. Well. Wake up the next day. Look in the mirror. Shake your head. Slap your soul. Say no more. Time to cop on.
Now obviously none of that actually happened. Ahem. However. Ever since that night, I haven’t boozed a drop. Not a sniff. Not a touch. Not a smell. Nothing more. Four weeks and counting. Booze off. Work. On.
Surprisingly, far easier than I anticipated. Thought it might be tough going dealing with clowns while DJing but stick a Red Bull in the system and you’re as dancing as ever. Obviously numerous advantages to this non-boozing too. Such as, the lack of hangovers. Sundays have taken on a whole new meaning, a whole new feeling. Even the lack of mysterious grogginess felt after you’ve only had one or two drinks the night before – Gone. Now refreshed. Clear headed. Raring to go. Thank funk too. No time to be hungover.
Coinciding with a lack of booze, has been an immense amount of work. From an intense trip down the well to get a show bible written, to starting an edit of book three, to planning trips to New York, the Caribbean and London, to setting up meetings in various places, to booking stand up shows here there and everywhere, to meeting producers, to greeting directors, to lining up actors, to gibbering on, to shooting a music video, to traveling all over for DJ jigs, to doing double shifts, to them blurring into quadruple ones, to getting a haircut, to brushing my teeth, to washing my socks, to writing this blogaruu, it has been pretty full on. Look. A hair was cut… Continue Reading »
Running Up That Hill (Louis La Roche Remix) – Kate Bush
Some things in L.A appear will never change. Not unless I do, anyway. Such as, people calling me by the wrong name over and over. Ever growing list at this stage. The usuals still apply. Merrick. Eric. Omar. Moved on a lot to Merk. Murk. Maaaaarrrk. Sometimes when I say my full name I get mistaken for a Mexican guy named Marquez. And then at one point someone working at Coffee Bean thought my name was America. Combination of being asked a question by two people at the same time: ‘Your name… Merrick?’ ’So a large coffee?’ Eh, Mark – Yeah… ‘Coffee for America!’ Although another time I asked for coffee recently I got the reply: ‘Cathy? I’m not too sure. Let me check – Hey guys, does a Cathy work here? Sorry man, no Cathy.’
So that was fun.
Considering all of the name confusion that has already occurred due to my accent and mumbles (along with everyone in L.A having lazy ears, tut), I was still a bit surprised about my name morphing earlier on today: Continue Reading »