About a month ago I read Zen and the Art of Writing by Ray Bradbury. Mighty book, highly recommend it. Two of the best things I got out of it: Continue Reading »
Tag Archives: L.A
Lazing On A Sunny Afternoon
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Sunny Afternoon – The Kinks
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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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Hold Me Closer, Private Dancer
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Dancing In The Moonlight – Thin Lizzy
Thirty minutes in. I think I might be drunk. A tad tipsy. High as a kite. On my way to skunks who are drunks town. In the non-literal sense. Obviously. Literally, I’m 45,000 feet in the air on the way to Miami. High flying. Fly in the sky. It’s early. Half seven or something. One hour earlier I was in bed. Two hours before that I was watching the end of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Mighty movie. Sidetracked me from packing though. And also meant I stupidly only had two hours sleep. So it’s early. I’m drunk. And I’m on a private jet. Oh yeaaah.
Private jets are Continue Reading »
Boring Bob
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Everybody Wants To Rule The World – Tears For Fears
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Harking back to my college days, oh what a lark, one thing that sticks out in my mind is texting girls on behalf of my friends. Not all the time, just some times, if they got stuck trying to woo a girl. Sometimes I still actually do it which might be a bit harsh on the unlucky girl – making her think my wit (or lack there of) is his wit and all that. I’ll get over it, I hope. Anyway, I was usually asked for help when a friend might want the girl to come out and meet him but she was leaning more towards staying in. Through my own means, I found one trick that almost always worked. The texting conversation might go as follows: Continue Reading »
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A Hollywood Christmess Story
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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 »
LonDumb – Part I
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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.
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!
Enough Talk, More Writing! 
