Miami, Unreal! Private Jets, Dancing! Sludge, Eh…

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Miami – Will Smith

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!!!

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Come On Donkey!

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You know what you can’t beat? A donkey kick in the head. Particularly at 5 in the morning. Figuratively. Obviously. Kicking through a few barriers. Ploughing you on. When least expected. Wee hours of this morning. Sitting. Thinking. Still so much to do. Add layers. Do this. Do that. So much. To do. Especially the more I think about it. Keep thinking. Of how much there is to do. Nice cloud of frustration forming. Go on, wrap it around your brain. That’s the answer. That’ll get things done. Think. Think. Think. Why is it not getting done? Continue Reading »