LonDumb – Part III

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Stage

Continuing on from LonDumb – Part I and LonDumb – Part II

Everything’s Gonna Be All Right (Oliver Nelson Remix) – Barry Manilow

So I’m at Will Call. On my right, a big huge queue. Chunky as funk. Balls, I’m going to be here ages. Steward nudges me inside the line. Thank you. Actually. Is this the only queue? Not unless I’m picking up VIP tickets? Actually, boss, I am! Points me to the walkway on the left hand side. Oh yeah. I see a V and an I and a P over that window down there. Skip on. Swoop the golden (purple) ticket. Take a look. Robbie Williams. O2 Arena. All access. AAA. Good to go. Let’s get this show on the road! Handed a map with my ticket. You are here. Go all the way over there. OK. This a way. Start strolling through the arena. Big old place. Bucket load of people. Toe to heel. Slow walkers. Place is packed. Feels like I’m at a soccer match. Except instead of everyone being here to see twenty two players on a pitch, they’re all here to see one man sing. Pretty cool. Rob’s poster all over the shop. Groups of fans singing songs. Daughters, sisters, mothers. All giddy. All ready. All aboard!

Five minutes later I’m still walking through throngs of people. Novelty has worn off. Out of me way. Kind of late, ish. Past the F gate. Scuttle past the G section. Get to H, holy ground. Although, huge queue at this gate too. Line snaking up and down and up and down and keeps on going. Huh? Thought I was getting VIPed through, all these people are too? This is a disgrace, I say! Ask a steward – Am I in the right place? Looks at my ticket. Almost drops to his knee. ‘My lord, I am not worthy.’ Starts kissing my hand and asking for my forgiveness. Kind of odd. Tell him to get up. Ask again if this is the right place where I should be? ‘Follow me!’ Drops what he’s doing (barricading a burly woman from skipping the queue). Parts the red sea for me. Through the crowd. Points to the H gate, the other one. Oh, right, mighty. Beckons to another steward, fills him in quickly about who I am (a triple A ticket holder!). They both then form a King’s throne for me with their arms and carry me seated the rest of the way to my entrance. Nice chaps, Ollie and Tim, I made sure to tip them well. (Never leave home without a tissue!) Continue Reading »

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LonDumb – Part II

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Charles II

Continuing on from LonDumb – Part I …

It’s A Long Way To Tipperary – Little Green Cars

What do you call a ponder pipe that just lays around all day? Mopey Dick. Badum. My first day in London, I was moping like no other. Woke up early. Phoned the prison. Spoke to Kailand. Told me her news – “They keep giving us bananas and milk for meals, I’m hooked on the milk.” Slurp. Filled her in on my news – US Embassy said there’s nothing they can do, magistrates decision so just have to sort it out when you get home. Some dose. Slurp. Kailand is upset. But still. Her spirits are high. Night’s sleep always helps in fairness. Or else they were spiking the milk.

It was then realised that it must be hard to keep conversations flowing with people in prison. Both had filled the other in in detail what had happened since we saw each other last (about 24 hours ago). After that, our news seemed insignificant or non-existence. I’d phone back and Kailand would tell me she had a nice non-English speaking conversation with an Indian woman about milk. I’d inform Kailand that the hotel room was nice but all the TV stations seemed to be showing was the Big Bang Theory. Then Kailand had to go to get more milk. I’d phone back. Find out if the milk was really cold or room temperature. Called off again to go brush her teeth if she wanted to. Phone back again and then… I was told Kailand had been taken away. Being brought back to the airport. Put on a flight. Which flight? Wouldn’t tell me? What time? Hung up on me. Dose. Wouldn’t speak to Kailand about milk again until she was back in L.A, eating some Thanksgiving turkey and egg nog. So that was a balls. Continue Reading »

LonDumb – Part I

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Border Control

Unbelievable – EMF

Cab’s outside. My clothes are still wet. What. The. Funk. Dryer mysteriously died the night before. Damp garments strewn all over my abode. Dry, funkers, dry!! Need to pack you, you and you. Need ye all for my trip to London. Vital I have that white t-shirt and that white t-shirt and that pair of socks, vita- Actually. I’ve over packed as is, so, I, don’t. Ha. Cab man’s beeping. Com-ing! And out the door I go. Flustered little whure. Still on time. Just leaving packing until the very last minute. But. Not to worry. On the road! Just swing by Kailand’s house. Swoop her up. My mighty London trip partner in crime. Honk honk. Out comes Kailand and her smaller suitcase up. How is hers smaller than mine? Maybe a more ergonomical packer? Is ergonomical even a word? Who knows, who cares, I’m sweating, lugging luggage, my top’s now off, panting in the back off the mini bus, Jesus, L.A is hot today, and now we are actually on our way. Off to England for a spot of tea and crumpets. LonDumb, here we… Ahem.

Sweaty Boy

Check in. Air New Zealand. Bumped up. Premium. Oh Betsy. Mighty. Notice Mischa Barton checking in one ahead. Moving up to the C-List of the world. Security. Sandwich. Wait. Board. Dancing. Suss out our seats. Appears we have done well. Premium means pod. As in instead of a cramped row of seats in the mule class behind, we are now swimming in space in a pod like container. Buckets of room. Kind of like First Class. But just not quite. Still. Pod class all the way. Flying like winners across the Atlantic. Mighty. Highly recommended!

Pod Air New Zealand

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The Lump

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Harvest Moon – Neil Young

For all of those asking, I’ve been on a breaking. Finished up a big lump of a book draft, over 171,000 words of muck. Some chunk. Needed a break for a week. Thank you.

While on holiday I’ve been spending some time in a couple of my buddies’ studios. Working on their albums. I sat in. Watched them weave their magic. Unleash their genius. Fun to watch. Funking mighty, actually. Some ridiculously savage songs on the way. Ye heard it here first! Gems all round!!!

While watching and inputing and twiddling and singing along, I also realised that them and I are all in a similar situation. Kind of. See, they’re working on albums. I’m working on a book. They have lots of songs. I have lots and lots of words. They need to pick out the best ones. And I need to pick out my best ones. Amazing.

However, mine is a far, far, far tougher task. Obviously. Continue Reading »