All has be quiet on the wonderful blogaruu. Head down. Editing on. So far, so mighty. Soon ye shall see and read and laugh and weep and dance and be merry!
Oh ’twill be a glorious day, to be true.
Besides that, I have kept my venturing out to a minimum. Bar some improv shindigs (mighty) and the odd Christmas shopping hunt (also quite mighty). Although, I did go out Saturday night. An odd occurrence: I was not DJigging. Blip in the system. Matrix messed up. Threw me for a loop. What to do? I know. I’ll just go to the bar where I was meant to be DJing, collect a cheque owed to me and have a pint or nine. Because people simply love going into where they work when they’ve the night off! Look-at-me-outside-of-work-hours, kind of thing. Clown. Continue Reading »
Car services picks me up. 9 bells. Slightly late. Balls. Farewell to Bob. Out the door. Back to London. Single parenthood over. 9.15. Good to go. Off to Van Nuys. Private airport. Same one in Entourage, I’m told en route. The Man. The Jack. Chowder. Charlotta. And a late ape. Weekend break in Miami. The Man’s generosity knows no boundaries! Giddy up! Flight leaving at 10 bells. Are we going to miss our time slot because of the late ape? Nay. No check-in. No security. Nothing. Drive up to a gate. Press the buzzer. Stay in the car. Drive through. Drops you off at the jet. Hassle free. Private on. Nice jet? Unreal. Like a G6? I think so. Oh Jesus. Jump out. Driver takes care of your luggage. You can just admire the view. No ID check. No shoes off. Belt off. Pants down. Nada. Just stroll on. Sit down. Stewardess says hi. Champagne? Bloody Mary? Cup of tea? Ehhh. All three? Oh Betsy!! Drug barons must be zipping to and fro? Miami on!!!
Does anyone remember my German teacher’s name in secondary school? Slightly odd German lady? Anyways, back when I can’t fully remember, I had a German exam in school. Questions and essay. Took my time. Didn’t want to rush. Get the essay word for word perfect. Make sure it looked all neat and tidy. Like a plonk. At least a neat plonk. Time ticking. Almost finished. About to hand it up… Oh Jesus… Forgot to add that sentence in the essay part. Added it. Just aboot to hand it back up. Until I remembered another mighty sentence. Oh sweet Lord, I must add that!?! Kept adding. Tweaking. Fixing. Making sure it was spot on perfect. Time starting running out. Didn’t care. Just needed to fix this. And that. Time ticking. Me tocking. Kept going. Teacher waiting. Hand it up. It’s fine. Stop trying to fix it. Time up. Hand it up now or I won’t take it, she said. Two minutes, I aped. She left. I fixed. Ran after her. Declined my late entry. Ah please… Accepted it. After she told me to cop on. Almost failed the exam because I was a perfectionist. Pardon… ? What’s that? You think I’m a perfectionist? Why thank you! So kind… Continue Reading »
Driving Home From The Beach (The Feeling Of) – Teen Daze
Past few days have been spent galavanting aboot good old San Fran! Forgot how mighty it is up here. Not quite up there with L-Hey but still dancing on in her own way. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s actually a city with streets that have people and tall buildings which run parallel to other streets that are filled with more buildings and people who are all scurrying around by foot and there’s a centre to the city which is actually downtown and all this is walkable or tram-able and it’s a city! As opposed to a sprawled barren desert. Which does have streets. But the good ones are all about a 5 minute drive from each other. And go on for miles. And all the good stuff is spread out over those miles along these streets. So you can only really drive. Which means you then just spend a lot of your time sitting in traffic. Which is fun. I suppose. But a city buzz does make a nice change.
Although the fact that all the folk I know in San Fran are so sound and I haven’t seen them in so long might be more of the reason why it is so mighty here. Ridiculously sound. Go on the Irish! Go on the people understanding my accent! Go on the endless levels of boozing on! Go on the use of ‘sch’ instead of just ‘s’… ‘Schome nice pint of Schtella. Divil a bit.’ Whatever divil a bit actually means (Anyone?). Go on the endless cups of tea! Chats about tea! Go on the Irish-ness! Reason I’m up in San Fran was to go to my cousin’s wedding. Mighty night, to be true. Day after. Maybe the day after that too. Might has been flowing! An added reason for the trip is so I can get some writing done. Well actually, some reading first, and then some writing. Read. And. Write. Dance. On. Plan. On. Reading part has been going well. Ish. Wuu! Writing part has been… Well… Tut… Honestly… I have a problem. Another, says you. Divil a bit, says an Irish man. Problem must stop. Ruining me. Need help. Starting to Tweet the funk out man!! Continue Reading »
To be true, it has been a mighty, mighty, mighty week of art club. Gems and masterpieces cropping up all over the place (You never do know!). Make art all the way! Art on! People who don’t get my gibberish seem to be getting a tad annoyed by all the abstract art comments. Well, apologies, that those folk did not get it. Perhaps I have been a tad too abstract. Perhaps. Blame the art. And the spray paint fumes. Although, always good to smell a bit of paint. Anyways, good news for those oddly annoyed. Last night, unfortunately, art club went into a hiatus. Boo. Bring back the art. Bring back the freedom. Tut. So, in an attempt to keep the buzz from art club flowing, there was only ever one option… Try something else new. And that indeed I did do. God loves a tire. And a trier. Which is why I went along to a class earlier today. More an audition. Good old improv… Continue Reading »
Two age old conundrums which have confused apes for never: Which is more important, petrol or cake? Tough one. Good one. And the other… What does a bucket and a chariot have in common? That is a tad easier. Starts with an M and ends with an ape. Wuu. Lucky them! If you have been reading my gibber since way back when – when what? – or one of the hundreds of thousands of people to have read my book of gibber, you might remember my love affair with… The Bucket. Remember. Shudder. The One. Heartbreak. Ridicule. Agony. Frustration. Sadness. Despair. Delighted. Well, delighted when I eventually sold my old truck and stopped going on and on and on about it. My old truck which looked like a rusty old bucket. Smelt like fake tan. Kept breaking down. Which is the technical term for when you run out of petrol. Yes indeed, I am that clueless. Well, was that clueless. Slightly better now. Although this gibber begs to differ… Continue Reading »