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 »
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“Want some skunk geezer?”
Pardon? “Some skunk?”
Do I want a skunk? “Yeah. Want to buy?”
Why would I buy a skunk? “You being funny?”
Am I being funny? “You is being funny, pretty boy.”
Oh Jesus.
So I get out of the tube. East London. Not sure what part. But already it looks dodge. Balls. Never considered this when booking stand-up gigs. Presumed central-ish would be grand. Anywhere close enough to Picadilly. This seemed close. And it was. Just also dodge. Hmm. Not sure which way to go either. East? Which way did I come out? I’ll head to that Starbucks, do some sussing. Oh right, just up the road a bit? Cheers boss, and an espresso to go. So I’m back strolling up the street. Convinced Starbucks guy pointed me in the right direction. Looking for a venue whose name is now eluding me. King’s Arms? King’s Cross? Queen Bishop? No clue. Oh yeah, the Goat’s Head? I think that’s it. Hang on, what does this dodgy looking hooded dude want… Pardon? Oh right, I think he’s trying to sell me some skunk. No clue what the funk that is but- He’s getting angry. Time to walk faster. Hey hup. Quicken the pace, hang 0n, giddy up, the Shepherd’s Cross, found the place, in I go, skunk, back up away to funk! Continue Reading »
Ever look out the window and wonder who was the handsome feck staring back at you and then you realise that the window is actually a mirror??! That happened.
Ever been DJigging and a randumb Irish guy comes up to you to say “Are you the guy from Cork? Your GAA team is Continue Reading »
Let’s pretend today’s Monday. Ok. Where was I… oh yeah, flashbacks have been flooding in all day. Flashes of all kinds. Time to fill in the blanks. Funny old weekend. Getting back on track. Good chunk of buddies giddied up to Coachella for the weekend. Back to my solo Joe galavanting. Turned out a treat. Not sure exactly why. I do know there shall be more solo Joe in the future though. Weekend of DJigging. More DJigs the merrier. Good for the soul. White abyss needs to be filled up. Either that. Or my glass just keeps on being refilled. DJig on. Even if it does lead me down paths full of nuts and nutters. Continue Reading »
The past 36 hours have been eventful enough, at times, so I’ll write in blocks of events, perhaps even split the posts up, who knows, we’ll see how it goes!
I’ll start with Wednesday night, the big Maxim party I was invited along to, ish. My buddy seems to have a meddle of jobs, including doing talent work for Maxim, along with promoting and DJ’ing in cool clubs here in L.A. Also off to Cannes for a week for some reason. I know. Lucky b*****d. Anyways, he asked me along to the party, starting off in Santa Monica, then on to the club My House for the after party. I am not a fan of Santa Monica, so decided I would only go to the after party. (Ahem, that is a lie, I love Santa Monica, I just cant afford a $100 round trip cab out there).
To be honest, I think some people actually believed me when I said I was number 1040 on Maxim’s hot 100. Ignoring the fact that the list consists of just girls, who are good looking, and not apes (well, maybe a few are). That criteria rules me out for starters. Seeing as there were well over 100 hot women at the party, I thought the best way to get to the top, was to simply ask them what number they were. I was number 1040. I hope I win. When is the raffle on? I thought there were only 100 of us though. Fingers crossed. A good line for the party, I thought anyways.
The talent at the club was funbelievable, even if they didn’t make the top 100, I would not have held it against any of them. Myself and my buddy stayed in the outside area for most of the night, not a fan of sober dancing, or screaming at people trying to talk to them inside, with music and my accent making conversations non-existent. Slow to start with, but once a group of girls mistook me for Russell Brand for about 5 minutes, I was back in the swing of things. On a side note, I am sure he is sick of people mistaking him for me too. I must ask him next time I see him.
There were a few actresses in there that I recognized, but no clue of names. Also a tremendously hot Australian girl who we were having a bit of banter with, but it turned out she was a lesbian. For once, however, I managed to make a joke because of someone else’s accent, even if it was horrendous(ly good). When asked how long she’s in L.A, she replied “I’m here for one wake, then New York for a wake, then back to L.A for two more wakes.” I told her how sorry I was to hear so many people she knew had passed away, hope she was doing okay. Ha, if only she had not been a lesbian! (Although now that I think about it, I do tell girls, whom I don’t have interest in, that I am gay, but obviously she wasn’t lying. Obviously. And not sure if whom was used correctly in that sentence but I tried).
One other funny incident was with a girl that I am fairly convinced was Mandy Moore. It’s hard to tell really, changing looks, hairstyles, dark clubs, and all that, but it is Hollywood. Lindsay Lohan was also floating around in there (again, I think/presume it was her, I’ll start asking for an i.d from now on), but no small talk with her. And I do think that she might have left with the Aussie girl, so her story might be true! Back to Ms. Moore. Next to her at the bar, looking quite hot, I enquired if she was Irish, not sure why but a good ice breaker. I think she told me that she was 1/7th Irish, her surname was Moore (looked like her, same surname, thats why I think it was her) Oh yeah, in Ireland we actually pronounce that Moo-er. Say it with me. Moo-er. It comes from the Irish word whu-er. Eh, I mean hoover. The bar man gave me a free shot at least out of it. And she laughed. And told me to have a good night, nice meeting an Irish guy. And walked away. Wuu.
All in all it was a good night. Hopefully the few photos I took with my disposable camera worked, although there were issues with the flash. You think a $10 camera would be fool proof! I’ll have to wait until however it is I get those photos out of it for me to find out. Strangely got a few emails from girls, numbers are a thing of the past! And finally finished up with me getting kicked out of another club for not buying more apple juice. Even though I had 4 apple juices in front of me. But that is another story completely, one which is not fit for the blog.
Enough Talk, More Writing! 
