Blogaruu! Jamaduu. It’s been too long. I have been busy. Editing this new book. Almost done. Gibbering aboot. Book fairs and the likes. And. Shooting some RanDumb stuff to show some TV people and the likes. Mighty hoot. Here are a few photos. Still going. More the merrier. As a wise man once said: You miss all the shots you don’t take, so never turn down a free booze. Something like that. Shoot on!
How are you today? I am good. That is nice. Long time no gibber. Hope you’re not sour. It’s been a month since we spoke last. So much gibber to flow. Where to start? Yesterday a guy at the coffee shop called out my name as Muck when my coffee was ready. Muck?! What a hoot. Now, what else… Continue Reading »
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 »
For reasons unknown, all names shall be culled from this blogaruu. Except for mine. I’m going full on narcissistic. Tropical Hayes all the way!
So it’s the day after Halloween. Actually, the night. Limo pulls up outside my abode. It’s time. Put on my private jet pants. Grab my bag. Scuttle out. Hop in. High fives. Hello’s it going. And we’re on our way. Bob Hope airport. Here we dumb. Get lost en route. Find it again. Arrive. Punch in a code. Drive through a gate. Get out of the car. Look at our jet. Say hi to the pilot. And just walk on. The mightiest way to travel. No lines. No queues. No security. In. On. Out. Mighty!
Must say, this jet was the best I’ve been on. Leather here. Plush there. King size bed in the back. Pardon? What do you mean? A bed? In the back? Yes. A big old bed in the back. Mile-high-ty! We sit down. Hostess brings us a round of champagne. When in a Rome… Cheers! Wheels start rolling. You’re getting comfortable. And then suddenly you’re up, up and wahey! Way faster than a regular jet. Almost goes up like an elevator. Shwooop. Air born again. New beginning. On our way to an island in the Caribbean. Pants off. Caribb on! Continue Reading »
It’ll be all white on the night! Ha ha, should be good all right. We’ll be dancing all night long (all night), all night long (all night)! One of the downsides of booking me to DJ a big White Party is that those phrases will keep popping out of my mouth leading up to it. Pop on.
So it’s Labor Day. End of the summer. Bank holiday weekend. Sunday night. Big party. And I’m DJigging classic Irish folklore songs. Put on my finest whitest rags. Pack up my equipment. Stroll up the ridiculously steep street I live on. And I’m at the SkyBar. Ready to go. I kind of got ready really quickly just before I was meant to be there so didn’t cop on that I was in all white. Looking very tampon like. Not my normal attire. Enter through the velvet rope. Meet the manager. Asks me if I’m pumped. I pretend I am. Informs me it’s going to be a huge party. One of their big three. Halloween. Christmas. White Party. Oh right. So it’s going to be a big one? Oh right. Dance on!
Early start. Nine bells. Not expecting it to be busy. Poolside looking very dapper dressed in white. White flowers floating in the pool. Savage view of all of L.A sparkling over the side. All very decadent. Top bar is looking cool. Staff all in white too. Looking sharp. Or glamorous. Depending on their chromosomes.
Set up. Plug in. Good to go. Just keep it chilled for the first two hours I’d say. Parties are notorious for getting going late here. Start late. End early. The two o’clock cut-off time is still one of L.A’s worst flaws. Anyway… And a one and a two and away we go! Music. On.
“For most writers, there is always a tension between a lived life and a life of writing.” A Hodgkinson
Fair point. So after being a hermit for a while, the past two weeks have been spent galavanting. Full. On. Fun!
Unfortunately little time spent blogaruuing. Luckily. A picture paints a thousand words. So I have developed into a photo ho. Lights. Cameras. Flashing. Helping me remember what actually happened the night before…