there it was the hostel, gothic point ,teeny tiney, wooden floors and the united nations, breakfast was sahara desert dry mueslis,oranges and toast. i went into over kill.
Montjuic was the epic journey on which me and chucky would rendezvous. ametro ride and yonder stood the MNAC, museum of art.we hurtled up the boulevard then all of a sudden i didnt know it but it was there.a glance right,i know i seen you boy.amaf*ck,barcelona pavilion,it was my guiness beer.it aint no ordnary building, no siree.it is the architectural haj. gleaning walls of marble, cruciform glinting colums,her statue cradled in a pond.i shed a tear.i drooled litres, swam away to the next location. montjuic, the home of the olympic games,it was high,high up in ths sky,chucky nearly died,but i soldiered on,i wasnt carrying him,no sirree.this aint vietnam boy.he was built like a brick sh*t house.
the stadium ,a little japanese man drew it,tadao ando. its domed with a segmented roof, its skinned in fabric, im sure its cool.
perched on a lower tier, the calatrava telecommunications tower, its tangible like a shell,.it was so sharp and glistening i nearly pricked my finger.i snapped and i skecthced,we got back on our horses and to the medieval castle we rode.
the horizon,yonder, the blue ocean sits..
joan miro,was in a white washed building, i paid my tom and stashed my bag, i moseyed around.he uses colour, he uses free hand, he uses sculpture,he's crazy and i like it.
barcelonetta, johan told me it was toit, to get there its down la rambla- a strip heaving with tourists, with muggers and a sewerage stench.its good for macdonals, burger king and a subway too.its seedy its busy, it just aint for me. a walk along the beach, a quick stop in the Catalan history museum,too much knowledge.back on the streets,through little nooks.barcelonetta, its working class, its huddled by the sea, it has long narrow narrow streets tall too.i saw the facteted zig zag, timber clad exteriot of the coderch building.a lil ol d granny enterd.i bought some biscuits and bananas and munched them on the beach,ooh how i miss the beach. in the distance sat frank gehrys Pisce and his 'scraper .i didnt have to peel the sticky pages of a university library book, it was there and i could touch it. and then there she was most gorgeous girl id ever seen.i had to stare,i drooled and swam away.i emerged ffrom the wet and began to walk,to walk until i bled,i wanted to see so i continued. but i couldnt take it any more, i didnt have the poewr,the sun was a setting and an hours walk back would see me
the rain came down,and i swore.but the museums were open.picasso's sits in La ribeira,old royal palace it was.narrow creviced streets, shiny cobbled stones,and postcards at every corner.i was enlightned ,the museum did it for me.picasso painted in a classical style,i never knew it, then he morphed out of sobriety into colour, chaos and intuition. again i could see and touch all that i had seen in books.i moseyed around the gothic area,woa,what an area.its lined with creepy gargolyles,im scared i cry 'mummy'.
action hero knows his come here for the Gaudi stuff,hes been skirting round it like lone ranger the woman he loves.the day is full,he packs his water bottle,and rides rides hard.he shoots a left,in the distance the flowing lines of cassa battlo, aah.the mirrored light refelcting off of her mosaiced face, she has many openings, alien like portals.she is like this growing,organic membrane.its a most dynamoc building as many of gaudi's are.
casa milla,supposdedly his crowning glory, its a monolith, crested in sculpted, twisted turrets,chimneys and framed views.the lines are not straight,where was his ruler. it was a hard ride but a ride that was good for the soul.and oh waht a sight it is,Sagrad Familia.this aint no ordianry building i tell you.its just not the way things are meant to be.it seeems chaotic,yet it has integrity,it has light-much of it.it has height,it is as though g-d himself had one of those wine bottles over which a candle may melt,and after many a candle lit dinner,that wax build up grows into something beautiful. parc Guell, its a park,a massive park, it has grand paths and lil paths,pocked with stoned tunnels and alcoves,colums of sculpted rock,and jazz buskers.it has a plaza,its edge trim, mosaiced seating this aint no ordinary park,a dragon sits at its very entrance.
i had met a few good folk in hostel number one,but since they were leaving, then this lone ranger must ride
so anyhoo i rode until i found myself in a hostel called Kabul.it was absolutely carazy.they had a bar,and we drank,they had beds and we slept alittle bit,they had a pool table and i didnt play,i watched a middle eastern lad nearly tear the felt.they had showers and i did shower,they had breakfast,-an excuse for corn flakes and they had dinner-not as good as my moms bolognaise.i saw a gaudi, 3 of them, casa batllo-it scared me, its alien facades, its mosaicing,its elasticity: casa mila-she was large, she sits on the corner, her monolithic plastic form imposing herself on carrer de garcia. i visited her attic, it was bulbous, free flowing, her paarabolic arched form intrigues. and parc guewll.now that lad is cooked.when i saw his buildings the movie Alien haunted me.i saw an olympic park and i threw my bottle top in the bin, amassive solar powered panel thingy above and a hertzog and de meuron forum.and a skateboard, and the museum of contemporary art.i continued to walk until my feet they did ache,i never ate a tapas,but i had a subway sandwich or two:).i bought trousers i bought tshirts,i saw easy jet and i flew.bbut what a holiday it was,but i think i need another more relaxing vacation. gothic point in the gothic area. it was in a crevice and colured orange,it had an upstairs and another upstairs.,it had timber floors that creaked and rooms without views.i was bed 210D.there were lads in my room that snorred and chicks and oaks that wouldnt shut the f*ck up,there was me in my jeans, the blue kick ass ones, both day and night, sun and in rain..hostels are like camping,
so i wander the streets like the wandering hero looking for action.the streets are twisty and windy, im in the gothic area and im scared, so i buy a bott of water and a cupla nanas, and the pakistani says'watch your bag kiddo, there be some nasty creatures in these parts'.so i blurt;grathias, adious ,strike a match on the wall, light a fag(a play play one) and ride on.
that night i wandered around getting my bearings polished
wednesday morn, i crack open to the creak of a wooden floor board,grip a bowl of the best,a cupla slices o toast and some shyte jam.so i look around,i eye the table it responds and strolls over to me.so i sit down, and chuck the veteran of eyeraq 1, pulls up a chair,we get chatting.typical questions fly-how why? wheres you been?,when was you last home cooked meals?,you carry round a teddy?.so we decide we'll kill the day together and up a mountain we would ride.the Jaume 1 metro was the ride on which our epic journey would begin.no rubber gloves here,for the spanish have flair.Montjuic was the epic journey on which me and compdre, who i was now calling chucky would rendezvous.i didnt know but it was there.a glance right,i know i seen you boy.amaf*ck,barcelona pavilion,it was my guiness beer.it aint no ordnary building, no siree.it is the architectural haj, .it was so sharp and glistening i nearly pricked my finger.the horizon,yonder the blue ocean.since the old cty of Barca is pretty haphazard,little nooks and crevices outta whicj little spaniards and tapas bars emerge.
Monday, February 27, 2006
untitled 15.11.2005
'if music be the food of love, play on, play on'
a hammered day, sunday was,with its red eyes, it furry mouth and stale smoke stained levis tshirt. twas a day to fly beneath the radar, remain unnoticed stealth-style. twas a day i didnt need.
Manchester United were playing the chelsea,and that was all that concerned our hero. he headed off to a stinky shwetty pub that shimmed of yesterdays stale pig vomit, gripped a pint of that syrupy shyte they call Pepsi for they pleaded guilty to not having Coca Cola and strollled over to the 48inch tv.having screamed and yoddled like Heidi in the Alps carrying Toblerone from the barn, United were finally victorious and i could once again enjoy my existence as a humanoid on this planet called earth. Glorious.
as science fiction as this might sound i was that eve off too meet a tsoogoo tsoogoo to catch a flik- War of the Worlds for the cheap seats at 4 squiddinks a pop. but unlike me i pulled into Leicester square on the Morden via Charing cross train well early. i probably got there so early that i could have made a cigarette ashtray out of pottery clay. but instead decided to take a stroll around the oh so Soho.its always super duper to see a city when the crowds have returned to the cracks in the walls and all that is left is the residue-the drunken scot,the the stains of the previous eves vomit, the debauchery of an emancipated 18 year old that doesnt know his tequila from his gasoline, and the sweaty stench of greasy kebabs. the city reveals itself somewhat, it bares all and holds no surprises.anyways i was coming to the end of my sojourn and heading to the movie,now strolling down charing cross, when lo and behold (..no the lord didnt reveal himself to me in the form of a burning bush) rather i could hear the sounds of true music,Rock n roll-the blazzing riffs of a sickly played fender and the tiney crack of the percussion. so i followed the beats like Jughead to a burger and arrived at the St Martins school of Dramatc Art.
out of the building, which remided me of my Castle Greyskull action toy where He-man lived,was a wee queue. so i milled around thinking,'i gotta get my scrawny a*s in there, man.' so i hung around and eventually an organising official (i knew he was an official by the big tag around his neck that said, 'official'.) came out the door and i asked him how i could gain access to this gig. he said, 'sorry champ this ones for VIP's only.' so i was like, 'ah what says that once the doors close and theres space for one more, then could you let me in?' so the good geezer said ,ah alright son lets take you on in, but if anyone asks, answer youre a student.' honest, true story.so i get past all the ticket shyte and the bouncer heavies and roll downstairs, to the 'Underground', then the dude says, help your self, the bar is on the house.
i simply couldnt believe what was happening.its like when youre wee a kid and all you wanted to do was gnaw on the wall,cos it felt good.so im in there,my eyes are just oozing custard and red jelly, im loving it.the peaches around me were dressed like the typical rock chick ive come to love- red red lipstick,that jet black hair cascading down half her face , the blushed cheeks,fishnet stockings, the suit,the heels,that sorta grunge look that simply kills me. the lads were so greasy, jamie oliver coulda organised a sunday fry-up, bangers and all in that sickly hairdo.the tight dinner jacket and pencil jeans,the mud dirty converse kickers.sick im telling you, sick.
that night was an absolute screamer,the one ive been looking for on this ragged lil island.I think ive scratched the mole that london is and slowly slowly its beginning to reveal itself - its not about the people, its not about the rat race,its not about the lady who is carrying her bags up stairs and no one offers assistance, its not the fact that every shop owner tries to screw you, or the expense of booze,london is truelly an extra ordinary little island. i think its about the culture,the music,the shnacks,the drinksh(best said in a sean connery accent). its this dynamic city where if youre not somewhere that somewhere actually mutates and morphs itself into something else.
the monday eve,saw me extremely lambasted from tiredness, but nevertheless i managed to up and head to the movie i missed so joyously the previous eve-War of the Worlds. the headlines, 'The greatest action epic of al time',the dailymail.yeah riight and im a jet pilot of the 51st squadron of intergalactic super aviators.'how could you do this to me oh great spielberg, and tom cruise?,youre like a 3squid vegetatrian buffet,such potential, only lacking the meaty ingredients.'
do i hear tuesday eminating from the peanut gallery?.ah another lecture at the royale institute of british architects.this time Moshe Safdie spoke,an israeli acrhitect who left me dazed.hadnt seen or heard much of this lad,knew he did the holocaust memorial in israel but thats about it.so i went into the lectuire not totally energised then all of a sudden he started tossing these glowing white effervescent(sick little word) pearls of wisdom at me. it was like this meteoric shower,and i was just soaking them up. this oke wasnt full of shyte. he was a humble gent,an albert einstein lookalike. as rough and hard a lad as i am i nearlly shed a tear. he spoke of landscape and its inherent natural beauty,he spoke of architecture as though it were music,he spoke of architecture as that which transcends fashion.its architects like moshe safdie that are the reason i have chosen this profession.man alive i left that lecture hall feeling totally sweet.
my adventures for the week id say culminated in a trip back to the barbican for a splash of the London symphony orchestra.when i tell you that i was waiting in a queue and some oak offered me a ticket, i aint lying.the problem here is the oak offered me a ticket that his mate who was standing next to him had paid for.this ticket wasnt coming free, i reckon i had already cashed in my 'good deeds' coupons on the last free ticket i received.now im gonna have to help more ladies with their bags up the tube stairs. so i handed over 5 squids and moseyed on inanyhoo classical music is great,it differs from a rock concert. you dont have your lunatic boozed up nacho munching hooligans moshing around like mental patients in a sanatorium, rather you got your old geezer in bow tie farting to the tunes of 'the sound of music.'
i really dig classical cos everyone is plucking their violins like a turkey thats ready for a good basting on a chilly eve.the guy with the symbols gets like 3 oppportunities to be fanmous,but no one really gives a shyte.then there's the conductor who waves his magic wand, and im sure if he clicked his heels 3 times, and said 'theres no place like home, theres no place like home' he'd be infornt of his telly watching Opera winfrey reruns.
all in all a killer week, and one you should try.hang in there oh far flung ones.from the scratchings of a wandering lad,the chaitoman, russian bear hunter, master swordsman
'Goodnight you princes of Maine, you Kings of New England."
a hammered day, sunday was,with its red eyes, it furry mouth and stale smoke stained levis tshirt. twas a day to fly beneath the radar, remain unnoticed stealth-style. twas a day i didnt need.
Manchester United were playing the chelsea,and that was all that concerned our hero. he headed off to a stinky shwetty pub that shimmed of yesterdays stale pig vomit, gripped a pint of that syrupy shyte they call Pepsi for they pleaded guilty to not having Coca Cola and strollled over to the 48inch tv.having screamed and yoddled like Heidi in the Alps carrying Toblerone from the barn, United were finally victorious and i could once again enjoy my existence as a humanoid on this planet called earth. Glorious.
as science fiction as this might sound i was that eve off too meet a tsoogoo tsoogoo to catch a flik- War of the Worlds for the cheap seats at 4 squiddinks a pop. but unlike me i pulled into Leicester square on the Morden via Charing cross train well early. i probably got there so early that i could have made a cigarette ashtray out of pottery clay. but instead decided to take a stroll around the oh so Soho.its always super duper to see a city when the crowds have returned to the cracks in the walls and all that is left is the residue-the drunken scot,the the stains of the previous eves vomit, the debauchery of an emancipated 18 year old that doesnt know his tequila from his gasoline, and the sweaty stench of greasy kebabs. the city reveals itself somewhat, it bares all and holds no surprises.anyways i was coming to the end of my sojourn and heading to the movie,now strolling down charing cross, when lo and behold (..no the lord didnt reveal himself to me in the form of a burning bush) rather i could hear the sounds of true music,Rock n roll-the blazzing riffs of a sickly played fender and the tiney crack of the percussion. so i followed the beats like Jughead to a burger and arrived at the St Martins school of Dramatc Art.
out of the building, which remided me of my Castle Greyskull action toy where He-man lived,was a wee queue. so i milled around thinking,'i gotta get my scrawny a*s in there, man.' so i hung around and eventually an organising official (i knew he was an official by the big tag around his neck that said, 'official'.) came out the door and i asked him how i could gain access to this gig. he said, 'sorry champ this ones for VIP's only.' so i was like, 'ah what says that once the doors close and theres space for one more, then could you let me in?' so the good geezer said ,ah alright son lets take you on in, but if anyone asks, answer youre a student.' honest, true story.so i get past all the ticket shyte and the bouncer heavies and roll downstairs, to the 'Underground', then the dude says, help your self, the bar is on the house.
i simply couldnt believe what was happening.its like when youre wee a kid and all you wanted to do was gnaw on the wall,cos it felt good.so im in there,my eyes are just oozing custard and red jelly, im loving it.the peaches around me were dressed like the typical rock chick ive come to love- red red lipstick,that jet black hair cascading down half her face , the blushed cheeks,fishnet stockings, the suit,the heels,that sorta grunge look that simply kills me. the lads were so greasy, jamie oliver coulda organised a sunday fry-up, bangers and all in that sickly hairdo.the tight dinner jacket and pencil jeans,the mud dirty converse kickers.sick im telling you, sick.
that night was an absolute screamer,the one ive been looking for on this ragged lil island.I think ive scratched the mole that london is and slowly slowly its beginning to reveal itself - its not about the people, its not about the rat race,its not about the lady who is carrying her bags up stairs and no one offers assistance, its not the fact that every shop owner tries to screw you, or the expense of booze,london is truelly an extra ordinary little island. i think its about the culture,the music,the shnacks,the drinksh(best said in a sean connery accent). its this dynamic city where if youre not somewhere that somewhere actually mutates and morphs itself into something else.
the monday eve,saw me extremely lambasted from tiredness, but nevertheless i managed to up and head to the movie i missed so joyously the previous eve-War of the Worlds. the headlines, 'The greatest action epic of al time',the dailymail.yeah riight and im a jet pilot of the 51st squadron of intergalactic super aviators.'how could you do this to me oh great spielberg, and tom cruise?,youre like a 3squid vegetatrian buffet,such potential, only lacking the meaty ingredients.'
do i hear tuesday eminating from the peanut gallery?.ah another lecture at the royale institute of british architects.this time Moshe Safdie spoke,an israeli acrhitect who left me dazed.hadnt seen or heard much of this lad,knew he did the holocaust memorial in israel but thats about it.so i went into the lectuire not totally energised then all of a sudden he started tossing these glowing white effervescent(sick little word) pearls of wisdom at me. it was like this meteoric shower,and i was just soaking them up. this oke wasnt full of shyte. he was a humble gent,an albert einstein lookalike. as rough and hard a lad as i am i nearlly shed a tear. he spoke of landscape and its inherent natural beauty,he spoke of architecture as though it were music,he spoke of architecture as that which transcends fashion.its architects like moshe safdie that are the reason i have chosen this profession.man alive i left that lecture hall feeling totally sweet.
my adventures for the week id say culminated in a trip back to the barbican for a splash of the London symphony orchestra.when i tell you that i was waiting in a queue and some oak offered me a ticket, i aint lying.the problem here is the oak offered me a ticket that his mate who was standing next to him had paid for.this ticket wasnt coming free, i reckon i had already cashed in my 'good deeds' coupons on the last free ticket i received.now im gonna have to help more ladies with their bags up the tube stairs. so i handed over 5 squids and moseyed on inanyhoo classical music is great,it differs from a rock concert. you dont have your lunatic boozed up nacho munching hooligans moshing around like mental patients in a sanatorium, rather you got your old geezer in bow tie farting to the tunes of 'the sound of music.'
i really dig classical cos everyone is plucking their violins like a turkey thats ready for a good basting on a chilly eve.the guy with the symbols gets like 3 oppportunities to be fanmous,but no one really gives a shyte.then there's the conductor who waves his magic wand, and im sure if he clicked his heels 3 times, and said 'theres no place like home, theres no place like home' he'd be infornt of his telly watching Opera winfrey reruns.
all in all a killer week, and one you should try.hang in there oh far flung ones.from the scratchings of a wandering lad,the chaitoman, russian bear hunter, master swordsman
'Goodnight you princes of Maine, you Kings of New England."
mash and peas 27.07.2006
ah rhis weekend kicked off on friday,since the office that i push paper forgave us the day off.last week was an absolute killer.i grafted the wholeweekend and into the weee hours of the morning like an absolute mine shaft worker.i managed to endure such hardship, all with my trusty can of heinzbeans with the pull off lids.hmm beans.the wednesday of that weekend saw me and my trusty sidekick or rathercomputer neighbour catch a taxi from work at round 2am. so i decided to converse with ivan the driver,a true family man who lived in a neighbourhoodwhere 'everybody knows your name'. but it was a proper lag,cos he kept oncalling me 'guv'.so these days im loving the word 'guv'.ivan the driver managed to get into some serious architectural discussion which was ratherinteresting coming from a driver.he even led me to type the word 'cocks andsomething or other' in google inorder to determine the style of their(cocks) work. he dropped me off only after giving me an intinerary of buildingswhich he deems superb.one weekend ill be off checkin them out.the dude threwin a short tour of a man-munching serial killer by the name of Manson.apparently after the neighbours reported a horrid stench from thisguys house,the coppers found fingers in the drains where this upstandingcitizen resides. anyhoo the driver probably screwed me out of loot by driving past this little piece of history and by babbling on a lot.but hey iwasnt paying..he he.satyrday was an alright sorta day,caught the springboks making biltong outof the aussies and the eve was spent on a boat, a stationary boat on the Thames.but this was one of those parties whereby you try consume as muchbooze as your pocket allows in order to have fun,but to no avail.ah sweet mary jane,the day that i was most lookign forward to had finally reared its little turtle head.i was heading off to oxford,the nearest old city to london. what aripper,the day kicked off blazing down with rain,but i feared not and woreshorts. my once lecturer, mentor and fellow austinpowers fan, jono picked me up and for free range omelettes and burgers and a wee bit of culture we didgo.ooh how i love fat chips.theres a library, a round one called the boleian, and bicycles, gazilionsof them.you see oxford is a university and connected to the varsity are many a college,quiet similar to frat houses in america i can imagine. thesecolleges look after the students needs like tutoring,food ,thelord,tranquility,opportunities to hand feed baby deer,to drink,to row andother such thiings. one of the colleges we visited was mordelen (i think thats itprononuciation). its actually written as magadalene, but the educated folkprononuce it Mordelen,and should you pronounce it in any other way thenyoure considered an absolute heathen, a horror, an uncouth, hairy backedsavage.wow the lawns of each of the colleges were immaculately kept,i happened tosimply cross a stretch of lawn when jono shouted 'dude get the hell off that grass',and i was like 'whatever' and he was like'i aint shi*tin youboy'. he then led me to the halls where the students do their munching,theseuber long narrow halls are complete with uber long rows of tables,with little lamps at wee intervals,and wood panelled walls,and at the head of theeating hall sits a little step onto which the professors perch (probablyensuring that the lads eat their peas).i havent jumped on the harry potter band wagon but i reckon this is exactly out of a harry potter scenario.from day one i always thought the beer here was absolutely shyte,i wasdrinking fosters and carling,and then jono took me to this little pub,the ceiling was so low i had to stoop, then he ordered me a proper beer,whichwas fruity,bitter and hit me for six,so now ive become a little morediscerning in my choice of ales.anyhoo my far flung friendskeep it realthe dan
chip cookies
just to quell everyones beliefs that i typed that gargantuan hairy email during company time, i didnt. i typed it in the early hours of each night via candlelight with an old 50s type writer.but what i did ,was etch my thoughts into my forearm with a bllunt rusty meat cleaver so as not to forget them.
lo and behold a new week began and i am thankful. last week was pretty toit. benny from my office chooned me he was keen on a footie match, and i responeded with an , 'ai i is there like a bear'. and so last tuesday we blazed a trail outa the office so fast that before you could finish reading the irish book of inventions or the ethiopian cook book we were at the station and off to Loftus road footbal stadium we did go.the home of queens park rangers, a mighty side indeed. its absurd cos the stadium sits at the intersection of south africa road and bloemfontein road.we sat in south africa stand.these folk here go nutter for their footie teams,they swig their booze,munch their fat chips,stick their kids in little supporters t-shirts, swear like a storm trooper and chant great lil warcries.all making for a fun family night out,the only problem is chances are if u support a shyte 1st division team,then you gonna go home cryin week after week.anyhoo the game turned out allright,it was a little school boy-ish.football was far from the greatest,and mark fish put in a sterlingly shyte performance.
thursday 11th saw me with my classical cd collection amounting to zero and many other classical aficienados mosey on over to the royal albert hall, its a concert hall, a round one in south kensington. its interior is decked out in red plush seats and red curtains,a real pimpin 60s fit out. anyhoo the cheap seats were being sold round back, didnt i feel like a commoner. so i splashed out 4 quid and went to stand in the 'golden circle'.the circle is in front of the musicians, so youre basically right up their nostrils, and only an armstretch away from scratching their foreheads,-i suppose the acoustics arent so great at depth.so im standing in the pit minding, minding how hot it is and i happen to over hear a conversation. the lil lady, 'so she's got a new interest. the old dude in khakis responds, 'right, a boy friend?, whats his name?' she replies, ' a horse, its a horse.' welcome to london my dear boysatnding within the pit with me was like standing in a bag of liquirice allsorts,there were just so many types of different folks.the one oak that killed me was this old dude, a scrawny rat i might add,with shoulder blade length greasy gray hair, wearing his cycling kit-.cooked,
sunday carved it up like a carazy man at the design museum.it was uber toit cos they had the history of the surf board exhibition. now im loving surfing,its culture,its freedom its creativity and the surfer uber babes that seemd to enjoy it too. did i mention the great view of the thames from the museum.it was also groovy cos this museum was like the mini-me of museums,1/8th the size of nearly every other museum i had trekked through, so one could complete the museum with daylight to spare.oh and the toilets.you see im a lad that can appreciate a well designed toilet.i hope the dude takin a leak didnt mind the photo i took....oh well.
wednesday the 17th saw me tubing my way to limehouse, a once town hall, then a boxing gym and now a venue for DORKBOTS conventions, dork being the operative word.and oh my word were there dorks.this was a proper geek fest housed in a truelly colonial mansion-symetrical staicases,extremely high ceilings, ornate wrought iron balustrading,a massive glass window covered in growing ivy lighting the stariwel ,real timber strip floors and a whole lot o geek-izadry. great building indeed. the leader of the revolution was this spaniard, probably alfonso was his name,he like many of these other turbo nerds had big afros, glasses, and spoke a language i had only read about in comic books or seen in late 80s movies.anyway the first techie freak ,ben,,went on about a database of foods which he had scripted in the form of a computer programme, anyhoo he's hoping that a potential cook can grip his/her laptop, type in carrots and come out with about a gazillion things a human can do with carrots.so not to bore me or you folks ill kill this stroy pronto, but believe me it was atrue story.
farewell folks, this weekend sees me in manchester the home of man united.ooh cant waitfrom the scratchings of a lad who listened to the jackson 5 growing up, adieu
lo and behold a new week began and i am thankful. last week was pretty toit. benny from my office chooned me he was keen on a footie match, and i responeded with an , 'ai i is there like a bear'. and so last tuesday we blazed a trail outa the office so fast that before you could finish reading the irish book of inventions or the ethiopian cook book we were at the station and off to Loftus road footbal stadium we did go.the home of queens park rangers, a mighty side indeed. its absurd cos the stadium sits at the intersection of south africa road and bloemfontein road.we sat in south africa stand.these folk here go nutter for their footie teams,they swig their booze,munch their fat chips,stick their kids in little supporters t-shirts, swear like a storm trooper and chant great lil warcries.all making for a fun family night out,the only problem is chances are if u support a shyte 1st division team,then you gonna go home cryin week after week.anyhoo the game turned out allright,it was a little school boy-ish.football was far from the greatest,and mark fish put in a sterlingly shyte performance.
thursday 11th saw me with my classical cd collection amounting to zero and many other classical aficienados mosey on over to the royal albert hall, its a concert hall, a round one in south kensington. its interior is decked out in red plush seats and red curtains,a real pimpin 60s fit out. anyhoo the cheap seats were being sold round back, didnt i feel like a commoner. so i splashed out 4 quid and went to stand in the 'golden circle'.the circle is in front of the musicians, so youre basically right up their nostrils, and only an armstretch away from scratching their foreheads,-i suppose the acoustics arent so great at depth.so im standing in the pit minding, minding how hot it is and i happen to over hear a conversation. the lil lady, 'so she's got a new interest. the old dude in khakis responds, 'right, a boy friend?, whats his name?' she replies, ' a horse, its a horse.' welcome to london my dear boysatnding within the pit with me was like standing in a bag of liquirice allsorts,there were just so many types of different folks.the one oak that killed me was this old dude, a scrawny rat i might add,with shoulder blade length greasy gray hair, wearing his cycling kit-.cooked,
sunday carved it up like a carazy man at the design museum.it was uber toit cos they had the history of the surf board exhibition. now im loving surfing,its culture,its freedom its creativity and the surfer uber babes that seemd to enjoy it too. did i mention the great view of the thames from the museum.it was also groovy cos this museum was like the mini-me of museums,1/8th the size of nearly every other museum i had trekked through, so one could complete the museum with daylight to spare.oh and the toilets.you see im a lad that can appreciate a well designed toilet.i hope the dude takin a leak didnt mind the photo i took....oh well.
wednesday the 17th saw me tubing my way to limehouse, a once town hall, then a boxing gym and now a venue for DORKBOTS conventions, dork being the operative word.and oh my word were there dorks.this was a proper geek fest housed in a truelly colonial mansion-symetrical staicases,extremely high ceilings, ornate wrought iron balustrading,a massive glass window covered in growing ivy lighting the stariwel ,real timber strip floors and a whole lot o geek-izadry. great building indeed. the leader of the revolution was this spaniard, probably alfonso was his name,he like many of these other turbo nerds had big afros, glasses, and spoke a language i had only read about in comic books or seen in late 80s movies.anyway the first techie freak ,ben,,went on about a database of foods which he had scripted in the form of a computer programme, anyhoo he's hoping that a potential cook can grip his/her laptop, type in carrots and come out with about a gazillion things a human can do with carrots.so not to bore me or you folks ill kill this stroy pronto, but believe me it was atrue story.
farewell folks, this weekend sees me in manchester the home of man united.ooh cant waitfrom the scratchings of a lad who listened to the jackson 5 growing up, adieu
Friday, February 24, 2006
lemon curd 24.10.2005
back in september when i could still wear a tshirt every day, i went to see this exhibition on sustainable design in bricklane. bricklane is like little india in britain,great curries and super styling vintage clothing stores, and apparently it has the highest concentration of rats too.so folks be afraid of that curry, be very afraid.it also has as a whole bunch of exhibition spaces.the sustainable exhibit was pretty quirky i might say.there was a chair made out of many blocks of timber,like the game jenga,and a chair made out of a bath and a chair made out of someones mom's favourite crockery.it was a mellow exhibition, not getting too outta hand like most exhibitions tend too.one could get outta hand hammering the free booze and shnacks that are often on offer.having gripped a pint we then watched some seriously uber babes in this open air fashion show, a sick lil eve indeed.
i returned to bricklane that weekend keen on some serious second hand store shopping when all of a sudden my blinger inbox received a message.it was from a friend of mine,kay,we'll call her special k for the purposes of the email. anyhoo she asked if anyone wanted her bicycle,and i duly responded that id take it off her hands. so now perched in my room sits a flaming red cycle ready to carve up the streets of london, its ready to be ridden easy-rider style, its ready to get me groceries,its ready for me to pick up sugars, its ready -it just needs a human being to ride it.
you know what ive learnt about living on my own, its that when you throw something on the floor in your room, it actually stays there.
im trying to get my last action hero-ass to spain,barcelona.the wee problem is i booked the ticket,now it clearly states on the visa rules:'do not purchase the ticket afore ye go', so i thought, gsus im bullet proof, why wouldnt i get a visa,and so it came to pass that theyve rejected my request....... twice.
so im off to see the milennium dome with gello,2 weekends ago,(i actually feel sorry for the people i drag on my expeditions). so we're searching for the dome, we can see it we just cant get to it.eventually i ask this wee little blonde belter where o where we can get access to the dome, and she's like, 'the dome?, and she points to it, 'there it is', and im like 'no, we wana go to the dome' and shes like, 'why would you wana do that?', so i say so i can touch it, caress it, ive travelled the world to see it. so she says, 'well you wasted you money'.thanks love
a couple of weekends ago dave and richie met me in picadilly eager for some serious action. i was under a bit o pressure cos i had chooned these lads all these crazy storys about me, the last action hero.so we set off like a crazed bunch of banshees in a noodle bar to seek a party.we found ourselves at a place called alphabet which i had researched on the net.what a dump.they sold us rancid mexican beer, played shyte beats and called themselves a lounge.anyhoo we blew that rice paddy so fast and moseyed on to macdonalds.next stop we said whatever it is we'll just go in and have a cupla.so me and richie enetr this place,dave was held back by the bouncer while he shlurped his coca cola with M-shaped ice cubes.i thought it a wee strange when all i could see were oaks..gsus we hopped on our trusty steeds so fast and never looked back.
sunday saw me have a massive hang over, something i was yet to experience. we had planned to go to greenwich the night before, so it came 14.30, sunday, the sun was ablazing and kev told me they were in greenwich, so i thought damn a day like this cannot be wasted. as shyte as i felt and although it felt like i had a dead rat rotting in my mouth, i got up and bolted for greenwich which is like an hour away.to get to greenwich one hops on the super tube and shoots the northernline till Bank,then its a sweet ride on the DLR.the dlr is this uber cool train,glazed on all sides, driverless,and has plush chairs.it rides high above the city, and circumvents canary wharf-a slick utopian city developed by business men,and it looks it.its another class of travel, you should try it-at a stretch you coulf feel like buck rogers in battle star galactica. anyhoo i met the lads at starbcuks at around 5, whatched them shlurp their shlurpys, did an about turn and headed back....so much for wasting a day.
a crazy series of events evolved over the morning of the 13th.it was yom kippur, a fast day.i needed to make my way to south hampstead synagogue.that was done either via super tube or bus.as i motioned to the tube i saw that it had been gated up, honestly i swore like a starship trooper and wandered what the f*ck the lord thougth of me now.however there was a replacement bus, so to the bus stop i did go.i waited for a while and then an uber cute uber babe came to wait with me,she asked if the bus was going to finchley road,and i responded ai.so we got talking,and i found out she came from scotland and she has a lad in souf africa.anyhoo we boarded the bus and she chuckled at me cos i always say 'sweet' and 'dig'.meanwhile im thinking ,'the heavens are opening for me to repent for my sins and im busy scoring chocloate chip cookie points with miss scotland runner up to miss venezuela of 2004.anyhoo we alight the bus and i walk her to the tube station,she then(this part kills me) hugs me, yeah thats what i said, hugs the chaito man and requests my cell phone digits.i dunno man,
this most recent weekend saw me trying to achieve the goal of the previous weekend.to see the thames river barrier and park.i returned to docklands.here i got to see a building,the cascades. its a residentila block, block of masonry, chiseled, faceted, revealed and sitting on the banks of the thames.having skecthced and photographed it, i made my lone ranger way back onto the DLR in search of the elusive thames barrier. now this place was more than a stones throw away,. en route i passed the london city airport,a sick little aoirport indeed. its crazy the sorta transport network that throbs its way through london.so i get to this area called north woolwiich, but its a wee late for me to get there cos i could see the barriers,but that didnt mean i could get there before dark. i see this ferry,its free, its large its crossing the great thames and it desreves to be ridden by the chaitoman,so i figured f*ck it, lemme hop the ferry get to the otherside,do an about turn michael jackson-style and return to london town. i mount the ferry like the lone ranger would Silver, and it starts to roll.i happened to be standing next to danny,his names daniel,but he preffers danny.he points out the evo 8 mitsubishi on the ferry and says, 'that evo 8, its a porsche killer, its a masreti killer, its a ferrari killer.'now you gotta picture this dude, he's proper ganstar style, decked out in bling,dressed in way-too big jeans, like when youre a kid and you couldnt hold it in, and what youre left with is a wee lille brown package, white sneakers and a west end massive top.i wanted to say, 'its too big for you dawg.'but he probably woulda popped a cap in my scrawny ass, so i shut the f*ck up. anyhoo i agreed with him and asked if he watched 'top gear, a sick lil motor show. i chooned him they showed the Evo 8 killin a ferrari, and he was like 'yeah yeah, i saw it mate.'anyhoo he told me he knows people who kill peolpe,and im thinkin,hmm cool.he mentioned he'd been to the cape flats and knew the stukkie brothers.we got on discussing how 50cent is an absolute joke,and most people really do die after getting shot like 9times.
i did get to see the thames river barrier which is a series of stainless steel clad sorta armadillo shapped pods, being closed.the closing happens once a year and me gello and richie samir saw it man,we saw it. the adjacent park by the way.is gloroius,the kids would do well not getting grass burns
ah folks this email absolutely exhausted me.im happy to get it outta of here, and i only hope you enjoy it.hang tufthe chaito man,the action figurine that evey kid wants to own
i returned to bricklane that weekend keen on some serious second hand store shopping when all of a sudden my blinger inbox received a message.it was from a friend of mine,kay,we'll call her special k for the purposes of the email. anyhoo she asked if anyone wanted her bicycle,and i duly responded that id take it off her hands. so now perched in my room sits a flaming red cycle ready to carve up the streets of london, its ready to be ridden easy-rider style, its ready to get me groceries,its ready for me to pick up sugars, its ready -it just needs a human being to ride it.
you know what ive learnt about living on my own, its that when you throw something on the floor in your room, it actually stays there.
im trying to get my last action hero-ass to spain,barcelona.the wee problem is i booked the ticket,now it clearly states on the visa rules:'do not purchase the ticket afore ye go', so i thought, gsus im bullet proof, why wouldnt i get a visa,and so it came to pass that theyve rejected my request....... twice.
so im off to see the milennium dome with gello,2 weekends ago,(i actually feel sorry for the people i drag on my expeditions). so we're searching for the dome, we can see it we just cant get to it.eventually i ask this wee little blonde belter where o where we can get access to the dome, and she's like, 'the dome?, and she points to it, 'there it is', and im like 'no, we wana go to the dome' and shes like, 'why would you wana do that?', so i say so i can touch it, caress it, ive travelled the world to see it. so she says, 'well you wasted you money'.thanks love
a couple of weekends ago dave and richie met me in picadilly eager for some serious action. i was under a bit o pressure cos i had chooned these lads all these crazy storys about me, the last action hero.so we set off like a crazed bunch of banshees in a noodle bar to seek a party.we found ourselves at a place called alphabet which i had researched on the net.what a dump.they sold us rancid mexican beer, played shyte beats and called themselves a lounge.anyhoo we blew that rice paddy so fast and moseyed on to macdonalds.next stop we said whatever it is we'll just go in and have a cupla.so me and richie enetr this place,dave was held back by the bouncer while he shlurped his coca cola with M-shaped ice cubes.i thought it a wee strange when all i could see were oaks..gsus we hopped on our trusty steeds so fast and never looked back.
sunday saw me have a massive hang over, something i was yet to experience. we had planned to go to greenwich the night before, so it came 14.30, sunday, the sun was ablazing and kev told me they were in greenwich, so i thought damn a day like this cannot be wasted. as shyte as i felt and although it felt like i had a dead rat rotting in my mouth, i got up and bolted for greenwich which is like an hour away.to get to greenwich one hops on the super tube and shoots the northernline till Bank,then its a sweet ride on the DLR.the dlr is this uber cool train,glazed on all sides, driverless,and has plush chairs.it rides high above the city, and circumvents canary wharf-a slick utopian city developed by business men,and it looks it.its another class of travel, you should try it-at a stretch you coulf feel like buck rogers in battle star galactica. anyhoo i met the lads at starbcuks at around 5, whatched them shlurp their shlurpys, did an about turn and headed back....so much for wasting a day.
a crazy series of events evolved over the morning of the 13th.it was yom kippur, a fast day.i needed to make my way to south hampstead synagogue.that was done either via super tube or bus.as i motioned to the tube i saw that it had been gated up, honestly i swore like a starship trooper and wandered what the f*ck the lord thougth of me now.however there was a replacement bus, so to the bus stop i did go.i waited for a while and then an uber cute uber babe came to wait with me,she asked if the bus was going to finchley road,and i responded ai.so we got talking,and i found out she came from scotland and she has a lad in souf africa.anyhoo we boarded the bus and she chuckled at me cos i always say 'sweet' and 'dig'.meanwhile im thinking ,'the heavens are opening for me to repent for my sins and im busy scoring chocloate chip cookie points with miss scotland runner up to miss venezuela of 2004.anyhoo we alight the bus and i walk her to the tube station,she then(this part kills me) hugs me, yeah thats what i said, hugs the chaito man and requests my cell phone digits.i dunno man,
this most recent weekend saw me trying to achieve the goal of the previous weekend.to see the thames river barrier and park.i returned to docklands.here i got to see a building,the cascades. its a residentila block, block of masonry, chiseled, faceted, revealed and sitting on the banks of the thames.having skecthced and photographed it, i made my lone ranger way back onto the DLR in search of the elusive thames barrier. now this place was more than a stones throw away,. en route i passed the london city airport,a sick little aoirport indeed. its crazy the sorta transport network that throbs its way through london.so i get to this area called north woolwiich, but its a wee late for me to get there cos i could see the barriers,but that didnt mean i could get there before dark. i see this ferry,its free, its large its crossing the great thames and it desreves to be ridden by the chaitoman,so i figured f*ck it, lemme hop the ferry get to the otherside,do an about turn michael jackson-style and return to london town. i mount the ferry like the lone ranger would Silver, and it starts to roll.i happened to be standing next to danny,his names daniel,but he preffers danny.he points out the evo 8 mitsubishi on the ferry and says, 'that evo 8, its a porsche killer, its a masreti killer, its a ferrari killer.'now you gotta picture this dude, he's proper ganstar style, decked out in bling,dressed in way-too big jeans, like when youre a kid and you couldnt hold it in, and what youre left with is a wee lille brown package, white sneakers and a west end massive top.i wanted to say, 'its too big for you dawg.'but he probably woulda popped a cap in my scrawny ass, so i shut the f*ck up. anyhoo i agreed with him and asked if he watched 'top gear, a sick lil motor show. i chooned him they showed the Evo 8 killin a ferrari, and he was like 'yeah yeah, i saw it mate.'anyhoo he told me he knows people who kill peolpe,and im thinkin,hmm cool.he mentioned he'd been to the cape flats and knew the stukkie brothers.we got on discussing how 50cent is an absolute joke,and most people really do die after getting shot like 9times.
i did get to see the thames river barrier which is a series of stainless steel clad sorta armadillo shapped pods, being closed.the closing happens once a year and me gello and richie samir saw it man,we saw it. the adjacent park by the way.is gloroius,the kids would do well not getting grass burns
ah folks this email absolutely exhausted me.im happy to get it outta of here, and i only hope you enjoy it.hang tufthe chaito man,the action figurine that evey kid wants to own
touche 08.07.2006
saturday, abig day in the eyes of the world,a day organised by sir bob,andigot to experience it even though that experience was similar to placing atvscreen in your garden alongside the bbq,getting 55000 screaming english speaking hoolgans to join you,and a gazillionn potty loos an arms stretchaway .i dunno,i cant say that now ive seen any of the bands that performedlive.but what made up for the day was the sick little cheese and tomato and cucumber baguete,a classy piece of culinary wizadry if you ask me,althoughit was lacking a dash of pepper,which i prepared pre-boarding the tube tosouth kensington. i bubble wrapped that little nasty with bananas,apples andsome seriously great pretzels.wowon sunday i decided i needed to spend some loot,being big sale time,theremust be something for the chaito man to get his hands on,lo and behold,hecame home empty handed. but next weekend is another weekend,and i shall overcome.ah what a crazy day today has been.it all started when i donned the mickeymouse t-shirt i bought at euro disney today,munched a cherry yoghurt and 2toasts, packed my lunch-a can of tuna,a massive wholewheat baguette,tub of coleslaw,an apple and a tin opener as well as a 5page editorial on PutinsRussia and headed for the uber tube.oh what a dandy day it was to be. so impreparing to read my 5 page editorial on 'Putin's Russia' which i had pickedup off the last tube the night before- that night before was spent having acouple of uber expensive,bleached, french beers in picadilly circus, whenanannouncement over the train PA tels us that 'this train has been redirected,those travelling to Bank need to disembark this train and pickupanother train'. so im thinkin 'gsus f**ing christ,im trying to read howvladimir is screwing over russia and now i have to hop tubes,bollocks'. so iget off at camden with a gazillion inmates and to the next platform wego,which was like ten people deep. i waited initially like a decent humanonly to see people behind me squeezing into the already tightly packed tubes,then i thought' f**K all you pommie bastards,this next train,the 3rdone id waited for, is mine,all mine-and so it was,unlucky for the chick whowas perched under my pits-he he(just kidding,i bought a couple of Status deos from back home,theyre an absolute dream).my mind then harked back tosouth africa and the joke about them taxis- 'black taxi,theres always spacefor one more' .so im chilling on the tube having a lag to myself,so i thought id chat the lad next to me ,so i say,'hey what a lag, yesterdaylondon wins the bid-supposedly with an efficient transport system-todaythatsystem resembles a heap of shyte'. so he sorta smiles to acknowledge me...5minutes later he starts talikng in a russian tongue-all my goodhumourwasted. anyhoo it came to pass that before every tube stop the driver wouldbelt out that 'due to power failures we wont be stoppping at this station'.that continued beyond my station too,eventually we're let off atlondon bridge which is about a tiger woods drive away,and let me tellyou,tiger woods was stroking that ball real far this day.but it was somewhatsurreal when all us inmates burst out of the tube station like a melonbeingsquashed and all the seeds are just spewed out of the innards of that sweetmunchable melon. there were gazillions of moaning pommies on the streets,thesky was way over cast,everyone was now just moving to their destination butin droves-extremely surreal.my sense of this city now is that its extremely rapid,extremely harsh,no-one really gives two shytes about you.like i ask this little chick atthebus station,'sorry can i assume that all these bus numbers pass throughthisstation,so she looks up at the bus sign and says,'no you can assume thatonly THOSE buses pass through this station',so then i interjected and said,'well then thats not an assumption,but fact.'(just a wee aside)anyhoo i eventually got to graft like 30 minutes late,and only then did myflat mate fone me and tell me that some supposed levis-tshirt,calvin klein wearing Al Qaeda lunatic place a bomb in the tubes.anyhoo it was now time to get home,and oh lord a mission indeed.for somereason i walked to an area not very different from the hallowed turf ofhilbrow,gsus i was scared,i almost shed a tear,then thought of me mum's spaghetti bolognaise.anyhoo after trudging through the rain,passing areallycool tshirt shop,i eventually hopped on any bus and asked the bus to takemenear to camden from where i could possibly get home,a good bus driver indeed.he told me when to 'alight' the bus.(i dig the word alight). and sothrough my wee journey, i met a dude from PE,a surfer ddude at that andtogether we made our way home.me and Casey shared a greatexperience,hopefully he'll teach me to surf one day. stay well my far flung and not so far flung friendsa memoir from an indelible ladthe chaity man
apple juice 15.06.2005
so i always thought theatre was a wee bit gay. i used to hang out with
this sugar from varsity and she used to drag me to her Wits 3rd year
productions,and boy would i have rather chewed broken glass,and so
trauma set in just like gangreen would have to a wounded soldier,and i
was tainted never to step into a theatre so much as to use the hands
free flush urinals.....but then i arrived on a wee island called GREat
britain and and 'we will rock you' was showing.the band queen provided
the music,ben elton,the production. my work's exit,enter barbican tube
station,exit tottenham court road station, the search for cheap
munchies from Tesco,and a 23 quid ticket into the dominion
theatre-uber small,uber intimate,an upper tier front row seat--as a
kid one would wanna spit down to the bottom to see how fast it would
drop,strangley i wished to do it again,cigarette stompy burnt red
carpets,antiquey decor with those little side terraces for the uber
cool folk, and hands free flush urinals-only problem,i had to touch
the taps to turn them on,but thats for another day.sweet mary
jane,this show ripped my heart out,and oh what a joy it was,filled it
with vanilla custard and returned it to my limp body. as manly and
hairy a lad i am,this show brought me to shed a wee tear,it made me
sing along to 'fat bottom girls'and i enjoyed it,it made me shout out
'RockNRoll',it made me feel like a kid of the 70s,even though i am
one. im a big fan of rocknroll,of the culture the dress,and this
little show expressed it all,man alive.the sets were absolutely
glorious,from massive screens,to swivel platforms and some seriously
groovy guitar playing geeks in the background,the cast was like my
moms spaghetti bolognaise...i just wanted to munch it.
i do believe this world is a far lesser place now that the great
freddie mercury has perished,may his music live on.
so dont be gay go to the theatre,however avoid student productions
even if its for something else youre after.
by the way,apparently there are vast amounts of oestrogen in the water
here,did somebody mentioned web feet.
keep it real
the dan a memoir from his head
this sugar from varsity and she used to drag me to her Wits 3rd year
productions,and boy would i have rather chewed broken glass,and so
trauma set in just like gangreen would have to a wounded soldier,and i
was tainted never to step into a theatre so much as to use the hands
free flush urinals.....but then i arrived on a wee island called GREat
britain and and 'we will rock you' was showing.the band queen provided
the music,ben elton,the production. my work's exit,enter barbican tube
station,exit tottenham court road station, the search for cheap
munchies from Tesco,and a 23 quid ticket into the dominion
theatre-uber small,uber intimate,an upper tier front row seat--as a
kid one would wanna spit down to the bottom to see how fast it would
drop,strangley i wished to do it again,cigarette stompy burnt red
carpets,antiquey decor with those little side terraces for the uber
cool folk, and hands free flush urinals-only problem,i had to touch
the taps to turn them on,but thats for another day.sweet mary
jane,this show ripped my heart out,and oh what a joy it was,filled it
with vanilla custard and returned it to my limp body. as manly and
hairy a lad i am,this show brought me to shed a wee tear,it made me
sing along to 'fat bottom girls'and i enjoyed it,it made me shout out
'RockNRoll',it made me feel like a kid of the 70s,even though i am
one. im a big fan of rocknroll,of the culture the dress,and this
little show expressed it all,man alive.the sets were absolutely
glorious,from massive screens,to swivel platforms and some seriously
groovy guitar playing geeks in the background,the cast was like my
moms spaghetti bolognaise...i just wanted to munch it.
i do believe this world is a far lesser place now that the great
freddie mercury has perished,may his music live on.
so dont be gay go to the theatre,however avoid student productions
even if its for something else youre after.
by the way,apparently there are vast amounts of oestrogen in the water
here,did somebody mentioned web feet.
keep it real
the dan a memoir from his head
apples 14.06.2005
ey my good friends,
so last night was an absolute ripper,went to china town for chinese
munchies,handed over a testicle in payment for the graze, but ill
recover,although ill feel a little out of balance for a while.i hopped
on the tube that eve to find a whole bunch of young germans dancing to
the tune of an accordian, it was absolutely crazy,in total contrast to
the flight of the morning tubes whereby everyone is pondering the da
vinci code,or paulo coelho.
so our intrepid hero wearing a teenage mutant turtle suit,with his
smurf underpants exposed,fighting the biggest bears known to human
kind and carrynig around a hip flask full of the best that mother
russia has to offer has been working like a proper pommie of late in
an architecture firm,its crazy but its full of architects. work is
most joyous,the coffee here is great,and the czech republic lad
alongside me is a joy,i have a window seat and swivel chair,the
carpets are green,and the toilet cubicles are drywall,theyve got a wee
library which i need to get involved in,and drinks last monday saw me
getting a lil frot. im in the business of building buildings,and i
just received an invite for this bird karens birthday,a joy indeed.so
london is an apple at the mo'-i just wanna munch it.
i bid u adieu friends
the dude russian bear hunter and master swordsman
so last night was an absolute ripper,went to china town for chinese
munchies,handed over a testicle in payment for the graze, but ill
recover,although ill feel a little out of balance for a while.i hopped
on the tube that eve to find a whole bunch of young germans dancing to
the tune of an accordian, it was absolutely crazy,in total contrast to
the flight of the morning tubes whereby everyone is pondering the da
vinci code,or paulo coelho.
so our intrepid hero wearing a teenage mutant turtle suit,with his
smurf underpants exposed,fighting the biggest bears known to human
kind and carrynig around a hip flask full of the best that mother
russia has to offer has been working like a proper pommie of late in
an architecture firm,its crazy but its full of architects. work is
most joyous,the coffee here is great,and the czech republic lad
alongside me is a joy,i have a window seat and swivel chair,the
carpets are green,and the toilet cubicles are drywall,theyve got a wee
library which i need to get involved in,and drinks last monday saw me
getting a lil frot. im in the business of building buildings,and i
just received an invite for this bird karens birthday,a joy indeed.so
london is an apple at the mo'-i just wanna munch it.
i bid u adieu friends
the dude russian bear hunter and master swordsman
cucmbers 13.09.2006
in my previous wanderings i failed to mention an excursion to the great east.ill tell you how great the east is through this little incident. so im on the tube blazing it down the central line like a bat outta hell,im sh*t scared cos i have no need for speed.eventualy the train halts, two hooligans get out the tube and proceed to do push ups, kiss the floor and shout out, 'its great to be back in the east.' so much for concerns of hygiene.
reason for hanging out in the east? my well wiked blood cousin lives in them parts.the day was set out for cousin Ad to show me the sights and sounds of an emerging area, bethnal green.we wandered through to a wee market,normally i think flea markets are absolutely shyte.theyre always selling the same tie-dyed shyte.but this market was all fresh produce-home made stuff like olives and cheeses,a lot of pig and chicken and fudge,it was au-natural which i quite dig.we also moseyed on down to this farm,the Hackney inner city farm.its a wee lil 'twilight-zoney' cos i had just read 'animal farm'.wonder what john edwards the clairvoyant woulda said about that one. anyhoo we saw chickens and ducks,and theyre all just cruising around plucking things and munching stuff,and a massive hog,woulda made for a dandy spit. we landed up at this lil greek place for munchies,so my cuz pulls out this joke about lone ranger and tonto, i cant repeat it cos im shyte at jokes, but boy we had a proper chuckle.so i said dude you should do comedy and he said,nah
manchester,a place known for its hooliganism(very appealing to me) was a 4hour drive and we was there.great little city i tell you, only 3rd to birmingham and london in size.its pretty industrial, pretty low rise, prety suave and full of pretty uber babes.its a little crazy cos half of the inner city was obliterated by the gun toting IRA,however apparently the mancuniians thank their sweet,lucky stars that it happened, cos what coulda have been a giant sized dump of a city is actually quiet glorious(best said int he queens english after shes eaten a cucmber sandwich). so i got to stay at a friend, lisa B and she missioned me around from the goth strewn lawns alongside the urbis museum to the goth filled alternative shopping area, to the home of the greatest football side this side of the ganges and beyond.we managed to go out saturday eve to a disco beneath an hotel and i managed to get a little toasty, and although i was on home ground(old trafford that is) i couldnt take full advantage ifyouknowhaitimean.anyhoo great little city once again and worth a visit oh and a tadoa ando building sits alongside the bus station.
so from hooliganism to craziness.ITS CRAZY BUT THESE FOLKS GO NUTTER FOR these biscuits called jaffa cakes, and macvities digestives.theyre those biscuits your mom left in milk to go soft when you were young and had no teeth,and your ouma keeps them in the bottom cupboard and pulls them out when youve been a good lad.in SA we're built tough,we're built to dip an ouma,and oh its good.jaffa cakes are a soft cookie with like orange jam above and then coated in choccie.i dunno id rather chew broken glass.
it was a tuesday that i found myself with lisa B in regents street at an open air film festival.ah sweet mary jane.i always though open air film was always a tad impossible, i mean surely you could see the screen, but then the sound would be problematic.and how true my thoughts were.but it was incredible, cos they cordened off this lil street which was buffered on foursides by say 5-storey buildings.one edge was pregnant with bursting restaurants and the other not so. the 'courtyard' created was then filled with seats and restaurant tables. the movie showing was, 'cool hand luke' starring the great paul newman.it was a pretty groovy movie, one definitely for my future dvd collection.im sorta into my old picture shows. the thing is i dig movies i just dont like cinemas, this was chilled cos you sorta pitch your tent on the floor and sprawl out,so theres no geting too close to anyone.
anyhoo good folk, keep it real, dont do drugs and stay in school,.sweetly danny champion of the world
reason for hanging out in the east? my well wiked blood cousin lives in them parts.the day was set out for cousin Ad to show me the sights and sounds of an emerging area, bethnal green.we wandered through to a wee market,normally i think flea markets are absolutely shyte.theyre always selling the same tie-dyed shyte.but this market was all fresh produce-home made stuff like olives and cheeses,a lot of pig and chicken and fudge,it was au-natural which i quite dig.we also moseyed on down to this farm,the Hackney inner city farm.its a wee lil 'twilight-zoney' cos i had just read 'animal farm'.wonder what john edwards the clairvoyant woulda said about that one. anyhoo we saw chickens and ducks,and theyre all just cruising around plucking things and munching stuff,and a massive hog,woulda made for a dandy spit. we landed up at this lil greek place for munchies,so my cuz pulls out this joke about lone ranger and tonto, i cant repeat it cos im shyte at jokes, but boy we had a proper chuckle.so i said dude you should do comedy and he said,nah
manchester,a place known for its hooliganism(very appealing to me) was a 4hour drive and we was there.great little city i tell you, only 3rd to birmingham and london in size.its pretty industrial, pretty low rise, prety suave and full of pretty uber babes.its a little crazy cos half of the inner city was obliterated by the gun toting IRA,however apparently the mancuniians thank their sweet,lucky stars that it happened, cos what coulda have been a giant sized dump of a city is actually quiet glorious(best said int he queens english after shes eaten a cucmber sandwich). so i got to stay at a friend, lisa B and she missioned me around from the goth strewn lawns alongside the urbis museum to the goth filled alternative shopping area, to the home of the greatest football side this side of the ganges and beyond.we managed to go out saturday eve to a disco beneath an hotel and i managed to get a little toasty, and although i was on home ground(old trafford that is) i couldnt take full advantage ifyouknowhaitimean.anyhoo great little city once again and worth a visit oh and a tadoa ando building sits alongside the bus station.
so from hooliganism to craziness.ITS CRAZY BUT THESE FOLKS GO NUTTER FOR these biscuits called jaffa cakes, and macvities digestives.theyre those biscuits your mom left in milk to go soft when you were young and had no teeth,and your ouma keeps them in the bottom cupboard and pulls them out when youve been a good lad.in SA we're built tough,we're built to dip an ouma,and oh its good.jaffa cakes are a soft cookie with like orange jam above and then coated in choccie.i dunno id rather chew broken glass.
it was a tuesday that i found myself with lisa B in regents street at an open air film festival.ah sweet mary jane.i always though open air film was always a tad impossible, i mean surely you could see the screen, but then the sound would be problematic.and how true my thoughts were.but it was incredible, cos they cordened off this lil street which was buffered on foursides by say 5-storey buildings.one edge was pregnant with bursting restaurants and the other not so. the 'courtyard' created was then filled with seats and restaurant tables. the movie showing was, 'cool hand luke' starring the great paul newman.it was a pretty groovy movie, one definitely for my future dvd collection.im sorta into my old picture shows. the thing is i dig movies i just dont like cinemas, this was chilled cos you sorta pitch your tent on the floor and sprawl out,so theres no geting too close to anyone.
anyhoo good folk, keep it real, dont do drugs and stay in school,.sweetly danny champion of the world
green eggs 15.09.2005
theres a place jhust north(i think) of england, its full of leprechauns, irate northen folk, four leaf clovers, pots of gold and a whole lot of Irishes, its called dublin, and ive penned it as Dubbers. so i dropped onto the land of guiness via Ryanscare (ryan air), and boy was i scared.although kalula airways was cheap, this place takes cheap to further levels.so as we took off and managed to get some sorta altittude the Boeing found itself caught in a dash of turbulence.im not the biggest fan of rollr coaster rides, however i have been on a couple, and for sure they end after 45 seconds.this little air flight i feared cos it was bound for 1,5hrs.thanking goodness the jet plane flew alright.
dublin wasnt what i expected, i didnt see Bono in the streets, i didnt see Irishes getting hammered on Guininess, i didnt see a lot of creamy white folk with red cheeks, i didnt see the Commitments in their red cadillac, i didnt see teeny pebbled, maized streets glistening wet in the evening moonlight, i didnt ssee people in worn jeans and old worn in leather boots i didnt see people screaming 'vir foks seyks ,Jimmy (i did however request that a foxy lady say those words to me.) but what i saw was a globalised,commercialsed city, what i saw was a fu**ing macdonalds and burger king, and every other globalised store one cares to imagine.im seriously pissed off with globalisation like im pisssed off with flowery apples. call me that 60's lad but i still play golf with wooden clubs and i dont talk when someone else is putting. i feel i should been born when Ouma made the rusks, when jack daniels wasnt made by 20 something snotty coke drinking macdonlads munching, intel-pentium-suit wearing engineers.
one of the nghts we went out and i just hammered the vodka like a drunken russian on an ice pack fishing for whales to calm my nerves after my disillusionment, and a good night i did have. that night we entered this club and so like me in a cheerio sorta way, i said to the bouncer, 'ey dude, howsit going bru?, and so he reponds in a massive irish guiness swirling lepracuan wrestling accent, 'great thenks fer asking'.
theyve really got the craziest names in them parts like Carmac, and Aine and Oefen and Jimmy.dubbers also has a great history of writers-orson welles, bram stoker and james joyce and then music the U2, Thin lizzy and those uber hot chicks from the Corrs.i visited with Pia this road,grafton road and at its centre in the middle of the road, on an island sits this massive needle, a shimmering stainless steel needle, a needle that pierces the sky,'becareful folks not to puncture your lung', is what was going through my mind at the time
i did a bus sighting tour with this dude joe,a souif african living in dubbers.i dunno, bus tours they border on being seriously gay.cos you cant really here the dude in your earphones and by the time youve looked left,the guide has already told you to look right.so we hopped off at the Guiness tour.honestly i couldnt have given to sh*ts as to how guiness is made.the dude joe was loving the idea of going to the guiness 'disney world',he even chooned the sugar at the entrance that coming to guiness was something he always wanted to do, it was like his pilgrimage. so we forked out a portion of our testicles just to go in and wander the museum, it all ended, thank the lord on the top floor of the building whereby each person was served a pint of guiness which is like a heap of marmite topped with shaving cream.certainly not for those folk that watch and do jane fonda exercise videos.
so the other night i headed off to south bank for a splash of culture and to the national thetare we did go, it wa the Aristocrats that was written on the tickets, a question to an afrikaaner as to where the john was and a request from a russian for a frikkin beer and into the theatre we were seated. you think braveheart was tortured, try sitting through this one. anyhoo i saw Ian 'Gandolph' mckellan in hs pimpin blue rods and cheesy tussers white loafers.i was gonna say 'wasap with Frodos hairy feet', but then i thought better. anyhoo good night was had by all.it was topped by a wee trip to the OXO tower for a brief view of the thames at night.glorious view i might add.
the next weekend i went to my cousins wedding and on the invitation it said formal blck tie.so i was like, whatever, black tie doesnt really mean black tie. and so in a white stripey colloured pringle shirt and sorta green khaki rods i headed into the venue.and folks when an invitation says black tie in england you take heed and wear a black tie.i was the only dude in anything other than black, i repeat the only dude in anything other than a black tie.anyhoo i had a good time, munched like a savage, danced like a mexican on fire and got home late.
anyhoo folks keep it real, keep it sustainable and dont swim after youve had a big meal. from the scratchings of a hairy mandan chappy chaitowitz
ps i saw in soho brittany murphy being filmed for a movie.i wa there man, i was ther.
dublin wasnt what i expected, i didnt see Bono in the streets, i didnt see Irishes getting hammered on Guininess, i didnt see a lot of creamy white folk with red cheeks, i didnt see the Commitments in their red cadillac, i didnt see teeny pebbled, maized streets glistening wet in the evening moonlight, i didnt ssee people in worn jeans and old worn in leather boots i didnt see people screaming 'vir foks seyks ,Jimmy (i did however request that a foxy lady say those words to me.) but what i saw was a globalised,commercialsed city, what i saw was a fu**ing macdonalds and burger king, and every other globalised store one cares to imagine.im seriously pissed off with globalisation like im pisssed off with flowery apples. call me that 60's lad but i still play golf with wooden clubs and i dont talk when someone else is putting. i feel i should been born when Ouma made the rusks, when jack daniels wasnt made by 20 something snotty coke drinking macdonlads munching, intel-pentium-suit wearing engineers.
one of the nghts we went out and i just hammered the vodka like a drunken russian on an ice pack fishing for whales to calm my nerves after my disillusionment, and a good night i did have. that night we entered this club and so like me in a cheerio sorta way, i said to the bouncer, 'ey dude, howsit going bru?, and so he reponds in a massive irish guiness swirling lepracuan wrestling accent, 'great thenks fer asking'.
theyve really got the craziest names in them parts like Carmac, and Aine and Oefen and Jimmy.dubbers also has a great history of writers-orson welles, bram stoker and james joyce and then music the U2, Thin lizzy and those uber hot chicks from the Corrs.i visited with Pia this road,grafton road and at its centre in the middle of the road, on an island sits this massive needle, a shimmering stainless steel needle, a needle that pierces the sky,'becareful folks not to puncture your lung', is what was going through my mind at the time
i did a bus sighting tour with this dude joe,a souif african living in dubbers.i dunno, bus tours they border on being seriously gay.cos you cant really here the dude in your earphones and by the time youve looked left,the guide has already told you to look right.so we hopped off at the Guiness tour.honestly i couldnt have given to sh*ts as to how guiness is made.the dude joe was loving the idea of going to the guiness 'disney world',he even chooned the sugar at the entrance that coming to guiness was something he always wanted to do, it was like his pilgrimage. so we forked out a portion of our testicles just to go in and wander the museum, it all ended, thank the lord on the top floor of the building whereby each person was served a pint of guiness which is like a heap of marmite topped with shaving cream.certainly not for those folk that watch and do jane fonda exercise videos.
so the other night i headed off to south bank for a splash of culture and to the national thetare we did go, it wa the Aristocrats that was written on the tickets, a question to an afrikaaner as to where the john was and a request from a russian for a frikkin beer and into the theatre we were seated. you think braveheart was tortured, try sitting through this one. anyhoo i saw Ian 'Gandolph' mckellan in hs pimpin blue rods and cheesy tussers white loafers.i was gonna say 'wasap with Frodos hairy feet', but then i thought better. anyhoo good night was had by all.it was topped by a wee trip to the OXO tower for a brief view of the thames at night.glorious view i might add.
the next weekend i went to my cousins wedding and on the invitation it said formal blck tie.so i was like, whatever, black tie doesnt really mean black tie. and so in a white stripey colloured pringle shirt and sorta green khaki rods i headed into the venue.and folks when an invitation says black tie in england you take heed and wear a black tie.i was the only dude in anything other than black, i repeat the only dude in anything other than a black tie.anyhoo i had a good time, munched like a savage, danced like a mexican on fire and got home late.
anyhoo folks keep it real, keep it sustainable and dont swim after youve had a big meal. from the scratchings of a hairy mandan chappy chaitowitz
ps i saw in soho brittany murphy being filmed for a movie.i wa there man, i was ther.
no name brand 03.10.2005
once a week the office i make paper clip aeroplanes for plays softball, alhough it has come to an end now since the winter has partially kicked in.anyhoo the team has this budget for shnacks and drinksh.so we heave many a bag of booze on the tube and since its been pretty hot,boozing kicks off,so much for drinking and driving.its a real chuckle cos we pitch up at regents park,all uber chilled full of beer and ready to play.the opposing team on the other hand have arrived decked in their 85%polyester,25& cotton printed tshirts-how gay.anyhoo we got our asses totally bludgeoned, and oh what a joy its been
thursday after work was a killer.i just sat at my desk picking a scab,and not wanting to go home.then i noticed a couple folks from work were heading off to shakespeares globe and i wanted to join, and so i hailed a train, which stopped for me, go figure, and off to london bridge tube stop i did rail.5squidders was what it cost and for 2and a half hours i was a plebiean, a peasant and oh what a joy it was. at school the great readings of mr shakespeare used to put me into my misery, it used to tear at my heart,it used to force me into watching shyte high school plays just to try understand what the godamn scribe meant by 'hither and thither'. lemme tell you this was totally sweet.the globe is open air and extremely intimate in its proportion,the floor slopes towards the stage so hobbits too can see over my shoulders.the thespians, were modern day in their attire, and acrobatic in their action,they swung from the ceilings, and from the terraces, they blazed through the crowd and engaged with us too.the lord pished on us, and i froze to 1inch. it was great and ill do it again
so weve just landed in our new offices,its all open plan and we arent allowed to eat or drink our cuppa joe at our desks.it sorta grates me to the point where i wana gently glaze my eyeballs in piping hot sugared caramel and sprinkle them with pecan nut chips.the other option is munching your sarms with the whole office upstairs,uh no thanks.but our office is really sweet , actually worth a photo shoot, so you can catch me in Hello...uh Architects Journal, out soon in a store near you.
i borrowed a cd from one of the lads in the office, it happened to be titled 'the war of the worlds'.this little compact disc brought back many memories, largely cos my folks have it on vinyl. we used to spin that vinyl like crazy childern high on red juice.those were the days when we had snotty noses, wore only one tshirt- red ones with aeroplanes emblazoned thereon -they were the days when me and my boetie would jol test macth cricket in the garden during the morning, followed by bmxing then lawn tennis in the road.the album brought back the days when we'd drink so much red juice we'd throw projectile vomit very much similar in style to a jackson pollak artwork.glory days and a righteous cd indeed.
before i left the city of gold, the land of home cooked meals, clean sta-soft underpants and shyte radio, i requested from my hairdresser that he ought to give me a haircut thatd last 2 years.that 2year bush wack lasted a mere 4months and so it came to pass that a bush whack was required ,and off to the barber ( a working class hairdresser) i did go. a little italian he was with a fumingly putrid breath and the flair of a hairy backed butcher in a white vest. anyhoo i showed the wee macaroni munchin oak a pic to which he could work his magic.and so he chopped and he cut and he thinned and he brushed and then he was done.and i was like 'hmm dude dont you wanna take a lil off the sides?',and he responded with a lot of anger,'this is the way the picshure looks',and im like,'design is a process,just like a good haircut'. with that fury it was though i shoved a massive italian sausage in his mouth,he shut the f*ck up and finally a hollywood ending endured.
Ah 'London Open House'-tis 2 days inwhich many or precisely 607 buildings in and around london are opened up to the public, from residential, to commercial, to government to sports facilites, its a great idea.a great idea which brought me close to tearing my eyeballs out, separating the whites from the irises and grilling up an all-english fry-up.now im the sorta lad that has a massive problem when ordering from a restaurant menu that has 8 options., like i said i had 607 options in like 15boroughs.eventually i had a sorta game plan and so moseyed onto Islington, nearest tube Arsenal and a stroll past the new aresnal footie stadium, needless to say i never took a photo. first stop was a wee house, very rustic, honestly, something i couldnt call home. next stop was another house.so im sorta smelling where its at,and eventually see a tall dude with an annie-style afro, and the guide book.i asked him where i could find the next houses i intended to see, and he responded,ah mate theyre only open on sunday...so im like gsus f**king holy crickey sh*t cr*p test*icle(lance only has one).so that ruined my day.i did however find a daniel liebskind university building, wawaweewa. sunday was a lil better cos i was gona focus on 1house and a community centre, the problem was the community centre was in islam area, how did i know?, you might ask, cos i saw mecca-cola.the building was a childcare centre which was very similar in style to liebeskinds mertopoloitan university which i saw the day before.one thing you never ever do is tell an architect that their work looks like someone elses. i experienced her wrath.
thats it for this fine day,im gonna tuck into my dates,dry peaches and suagr fruits which my folks sent my way.from the scratchings of a hairy ladi bid you adieu
thursday after work was a killer.i just sat at my desk picking a scab,and not wanting to go home.then i noticed a couple folks from work were heading off to shakespeares globe and i wanted to join, and so i hailed a train, which stopped for me, go figure, and off to london bridge tube stop i did rail.5squidders was what it cost and for 2and a half hours i was a plebiean, a peasant and oh what a joy it was. at school the great readings of mr shakespeare used to put me into my misery, it used to tear at my heart,it used to force me into watching shyte high school plays just to try understand what the godamn scribe meant by 'hither and thither'. lemme tell you this was totally sweet.the globe is open air and extremely intimate in its proportion,the floor slopes towards the stage so hobbits too can see over my shoulders.the thespians, were modern day in their attire, and acrobatic in their action,they swung from the ceilings, and from the terraces, they blazed through the crowd and engaged with us too.the lord pished on us, and i froze to 1inch. it was great and ill do it again
so weve just landed in our new offices,its all open plan and we arent allowed to eat or drink our cuppa joe at our desks.it sorta grates me to the point where i wana gently glaze my eyeballs in piping hot sugared caramel and sprinkle them with pecan nut chips.the other option is munching your sarms with the whole office upstairs,uh no thanks.but our office is really sweet , actually worth a photo shoot, so you can catch me in Hello...uh Architects Journal, out soon in a store near you.
i borrowed a cd from one of the lads in the office, it happened to be titled 'the war of the worlds'.this little compact disc brought back many memories, largely cos my folks have it on vinyl. we used to spin that vinyl like crazy childern high on red juice.those were the days when we had snotty noses, wore only one tshirt- red ones with aeroplanes emblazoned thereon -they were the days when me and my boetie would jol test macth cricket in the garden during the morning, followed by bmxing then lawn tennis in the road.the album brought back the days when we'd drink so much red juice we'd throw projectile vomit very much similar in style to a jackson pollak artwork.glory days and a righteous cd indeed.
before i left the city of gold, the land of home cooked meals, clean sta-soft underpants and shyte radio, i requested from my hairdresser that he ought to give me a haircut thatd last 2 years.that 2year bush wack lasted a mere 4months and so it came to pass that a bush whack was required ,and off to the barber ( a working class hairdresser) i did go. a little italian he was with a fumingly putrid breath and the flair of a hairy backed butcher in a white vest. anyhoo i showed the wee macaroni munchin oak a pic to which he could work his magic.and so he chopped and he cut and he thinned and he brushed and then he was done.and i was like 'hmm dude dont you wanna take a lil off the sides?',and he responded with a lot of anger,'this is the way the picshure looks',and im like,'design is a process,just like a good haircut'. with that fury it was though i shoved a massive italian sausage in his mouth,he shut the f*ck up and finally a hollywood ending endured.
Ah 'London Open House'-tis 2 days inwhich many or precisely 607 buildings in and around london are opened up to the public, from residential, to commercial, to government to sports facilites, its a great idea.a great idea which brought me close to tearing my eyeballs out, separating the whites from the irises and grilling up an all-english fry-up.now im the sorta lad that has a massive problem when ordering from a restaurant menu that has 8 options., like i said i had 607 options in like 15boroughs.eventually i had a sorta game plan and so moseyed onto Islington, nearest tube Arsenal and a stroll past the new aresnal footie stadium, needless to say i never took a photo. first stop was a wee house, very rustic, honestly, something i couldnt call home. next stop was another house.so im sorta smelling where its at,and eventually see a tall dude with an annie-style afro, and the guide book.i asked him where i could find the next houses i intended to see, and he responded,ah mate theyre only open on sunday...so im like gsus f**king holy crickey sh*t cr*p test*icle(lance only has one).so that ruined my day.i did however find a daniel liebskind university building, wawaweewa. sunday was a lil better cos i was gona focus on 1house and a community centre, the problem was the community centre was in islam area, how did i know?, you might ask, cos i saw mecca-cola.the building was a childcare centre which was very similar in style to liebeskinds mertopoloitan university which i saw the day before.one thing you never ever do is tell an architect that their work looks like someone elses. i experienced her wrath.
thats it for this fine day,im gonna tuck into my dates,dry peaches and suagr fruits which my folks sent my way.from the scratchings of a hairy ladi bid you adieu
happy meals 05.12.2005
saturday 12 rolled through the door like a snowball onto an apalachian timber village,and so i thought id drop into the theatre. billy bumpkin elliot was what i had penciled onto my dorm room door and so round 12 bells i rode hard until i got there, hitched my horse to the nearest bobby on the beat and mosseyed on in to the Victoria Palace.there was a thinning queue,however i asked the pony tailed sugar, 'whats the story love,can i get a ticket?', and she was pretty apologetic and said there were none. i noticed her name tag it said , 'victoria palace, so i said thanks victoria,ill see you soon.'
id wanted to get close up like most people do to a power station , Battersea power station. i think my hair might have stood on edge similar to the time when youre in high school and all the kids in your class make you touch the 'van der waal generator cos you look weird doing so. its like a big loaf of bread,red in brick and art deco in style-woulda made a great slice of toast in its day. it has 4 immensly elongated white projecting chimneys,-wouldnt mind toking one of 'em. it sits in a barren wasteland, soon to be revived into a shoppping mall, a sad sad day i say. i captured a cupla images and blazed on my merry way.
saturday night was an absolute stormer of an eve. please do not read on any further should you be squemish, demented, have a tender heart, find that people walk all over you or if youre just a sorry sod.Mj from work had sent out an email asking if anyone wanted to come over to her place for a 'soup evening'. im thinking whatever,itll probably pass unnoticed,and so i thought it had, until the thursday before the saturday i found an email in my inbox waiting to be deleted. so i figured i check out this party, since at least my liver wouldnt have to go through the torture of being pickled cucumber-style by cheap english booze and it would have been something i had never done before.
i get to sainsburys, picked up a herd of carrots and a bulbous butternut as they galloped towards me and to the deep south i did go. i get there and i hear im the only lad there. im thinking either its the sorta day all lads contemplate with a carrot in hand or we'll just make soup and discuss world politics.the plan was then to butcher your poor little veggie into smithereens and then lob it,alive and squeeling, into a boiling pot of salt, pepper, stock, and a hint of coriander.thank goodness for that soup for it subdued the onset of scurvy for a little while longer.it sounds a wee lil gay but it was a damn fine soup and an eve that id tell my grand kids about, i might even do a screenplay on it.
the next morn, all hung over because of those carrots and suffering an immense overdose of beta carotene, glowing orange and all,i headed off to cambridge at round 12.30,and pulled into the university town round 14.30,with the sun setting at some ridiculous hour like 16.30, that didnt give me much time to paint cambridge up by number.so if ever there was an instant just-add water tour of cambridge,then ive done it.it was a rather superficial glance at the town,but toit nonetheless.at cambridge you can punt, you can pint and you can climb a hill, you can snack on a Maccers or a pie or two. you can run the courtyard before the dial turns 4 with 'chariots of fire' the background score. you can buy a scarf, red yellow blue, you can touch a cathedral-theyre stoned too.a bicycle can be ridden,every ones doing it-the uber toit blonde belter with those cherry pie stained red lips,the grandma on her way to Tescoes to eat an orange and spit the pips, as well as the professor too with his brown jarmins and sweat stained armpits. a great little town, however i ought to return to give it a lil more respekta
the following weekend saw me see stuff that id never really seen before,one being a sweet a*s snowboarding store,man alive, the store is gridded in these boards and skis.the hefty boots and clip-ins are pretty 'space odyssey'.snow just seems too foreign for me at the mo.but just like i wana surf,so i wana board.the boards were properly crafted, chisseld pieces of resined artwork, worthy of any modern art museum. theyd probably set you back more te*ticles than you have. but a joy indeed to see.the other stores were the music stores-the guit and drums stores. this wee road will make any rock fan drown in their own drool.denmark road is choccers full of all the wood,the brass, the air a good kid needs to survive in an urban jungle.i dont play an instrument but sure as shyte i love the sound,maybe someday ill start a rock band.
windsor and eton,you catch a train from a station ABBA called Waterloo. plush red seats, red lcd dispalys and a whole lotta rail infornt of you.it has a castle, her royal majesty's and a school, for harries and andrews,football fields in and amongst wild brush,ducks and geese and a gun shop for popping foxes.its quiet crazy i say. tamara and i strolled around the agrarian town,getting my white kickers dirty and seeing my thumbs turn purple from the icy cold.so i see a pond and when you see a pond,you lob a stone,so i lobbed a stone and when you lob a stone,nature says,oh yes, she does, that itll sink,and so it didnt, it hit the surface and skidded wayne gretzky-style.i couldnt believe it. my first frozen over lake. it woulda been great to lick.
then it was off to the Redbull Railstorm.this was a kicka*s event held in trafalfgar square.redbull engineered a massive snowed ramp and handrails onto which the snowboarders, decked in west end massive pants and slick goggles could carve it up samurai-style. after the americans won the event the presenter,with his jackson5 afro and leopard skin coat announces a great gig to follow. hearing the sounds of AC/DC 'thunder',im thinking 'fu*k me,this is why im in london town,so i start bouncing gummy bear style,im simply blown away,then after 2 songs the lead singer says'ey everybody,this is my band,AC/..DC -the tribute band.'gsus h crumbs,dude what the f*ck,all of a sudden most people just did an about turn and went home to knit.
coffee,man. i drink decaf now.but drinking decaf is like drinking nonalcoholic beer.i dont like that kick,it takes me to places i dont wana be.
hang tuf old faithful, from the scratchings of a tired ladthe chaito man,russian bear hunter master swordsman and owner of a blue velvet dinner jacket.
id wanted to get close up like most people do to a power station , Battersea power station. i think my hair might have stood on edge similar to the time when youre in high school and all the kids in your class make you touch the 'van der waal generator cos you look weird doing so. its like a big loaf of bread,red in brick and art deco in style-woulda made a great slice of toast in its day. it has 4 immensly elongated white projecting chimneys,-wouldnt mind toking one of 'em. it sits in a barren wasteland, soon to be revived into a shoppping mall, a sad sad day i say. i captured a cupla images and blazed on my merry way.
saturday night was an absolute stormer of an eve. please do not read on any further should you be squemish, demented, have a tender heart, find that people walk all over you or if youre just a sorry sod.Mj from work had sent out an email asking if anyone wanted to come over to her place for a 'soup evening'. im thinking whatever,itll probably pass unnoticed,and so i thought it had, until the thursday before the saturday i found an email in my inbox waiting to be deleted. so i figured i check out this party, since at least my liver wouldnt have to go through the torture of being pickled cucumber-style by cheap english booze and it would have been something i had never done before.
i get to sainsburys, picked up a herd of carrots and a bulbous butternut as they galloped towards me and to the deep south i did go. i get there and i hear im the only lad there. im thinking either its the sorta day all lads contemplate with a carrot in hand or we'll just make soup and discuss world politics.the plan was then to butcher your poor little veggie into smithereens and then lob it,alive and squeeling, into a boiling pot of salt, pepper, stock, and a hint of coriander.thank goodness for that soup for it subdued the onset of scurvy for a little while longer.it sounds a wee lil gay but it was a damn fine soup and an eve that id tell my grand kids about, i might even do a screenplay on it.
the next morn, all hung over because of those carrots and suffering an immense overdose of beta carotene, glowing orange and all,i headed off to cambridge at round 12.30,and pulled into the university town round 14.30,with the sun setting at some ridiculous hour like 16.30, that didnt give me much time to paint cambridge up by number.so if ever there was an instant just-add water tour of cambridge,then ive done it.it was a rather superficial glance at the town,but toit nonetheless.at cambridge you can punt, you can pint and you can climb a hill, you can snack on a Maccers or a pie or two. you can run the courtyard before the dial turns 4 with 'chariots of fire' the background score. you can buy a scarf, red yellow blue, you can touch a cathedral-theyre stoned too.a bicycle can be ridden,every ones doing it-the uber toit blonde belter with those cherry pie stained red lips,the grandma on her way to Tescoes to eat an orange and spit the pips, as well as the professor too with his brown jarmins and sweat stained armpits. a great little town, however i ought to return to give it a lil more respekta
the following weekend saw me see stuff that id never really seen before,one being a sweet a*s snowboarding store,man alive, the store is gridded in these boards and skis.the hefty boots and clip-ins are pretty 'space odyssey'.snow just seems too foreign for me at the mo.but just like i wana surf,so i wana board.the boards were properly crafted, chisseld pieces of resined artwork, worthy of any modern art museum. theyd probably set you back more te*ticles than you have. but a joy indeed to see.the other stores were the music stores-the guit and drums stores. this wee road will make any rock fan drown in their own drool.denmark road is choccers full of all the wood,the brass, the air a good kid needs to survive in an urban jungle.i dont play an instrument but sure as shyte i love the sound,maybe someday ill start a rock band.
windsor and eton,you catch a train from a station ABBA called Waterloo. plush red seats, red lcd dispalys and a whole lotta rail infornt of you.it has a castle, her royal majesty's and a school, for harries and andrews,football fields in and amongst wild brush,ducks and geese and a gun shop for popping foxes.its quiet crazy i say. tamara and i strolled around the agrarian town,getting my white kickers dirty and seeing my thumbs turn purple from the icy cold.so i see a pond and when you see a pond,you lob a stone,so i lobbed a stone and when you lob a stone,nature says,oh yes, she does, that itll sink,and so it didnt, it hit the surface and skidded wayne gretzky-style.i couldnt believe it. my first frozen over lake. it woulda been great to lick.
then it was off to the Redbull Railstorm.this was a kicka*s event held in trafalfgar square.redbull engineered a massive snowed ramp and handrails onto which the snowboarders, decked in west end massive pants and slick goggles could carve it up samurai-style. after the americans won the event the presenter,with his jackson5 afro and leopard skin coat announces a great gig to follow. hearing the sounds of AC/DC 'thunder',im thinking 'fu*k me,this is why im in london town,so i start bouncing gummy bear style,im simply blown away,then after 2 songs the lead singer says'ey everybody,this is my band,AC/..DC -the tribute band.'gsus h crumbs,dude what the f*ck,all of a sudden most people just did an about turn and went home to knit.
coffee,man. i drink decaf now.but drinking decaf is like drinking nonalcoholic beer.i dont like that kick,it takes me to places i dont wana be.
hang tuf old faithful, from the scratchings of a tired ladthe chaito man,russian bear hunter master swordsman and owner of a blue velvet dinner jacket.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
jellied eel
this past weekend of the 28th burst itself open like a melon falling from a 2 storey high hotel building in vegas. i spread myself all over the show like a good creamy peanut butter on a freshly sliced doorstep-sized piece of bread.i scratched my neck wandering what to do.a lad from the hostel choond me he had heard St albans was a sick little rendezvous filled with highly recommended pancakes and Roman excavations thatd put Rome itself to shame. so i said, 'wjhat are we waitning for,compadre, lets get on our horses and ride, ride until it hurts.and so we did.getting to st albans requires a trip on the Thameslink.the thameslink is not a bus, its not a bicycle like my red one, nor is it a bullet train, rather its just your ordinary choo choo you had as a kid and beat your sister with. however should you catch the express train, now we talking,now we talking red bicycles, sick.i had never seen a train jettison itself around the track at such speeds apart from the days when i played scale electric at jon and robs house in the spare room.
St albans was alright,it had a cobbled high street, a cathedral a big park and a roman ruin,and arguably the worst pancakes or rather waffles ive ever consumed-i mean i dont eat many waffles but gsus H crumbs,throw me a frikkin bone wont you.so i drenched that puppy in excessive amounts of maple syrup-and drowned the poor bastard.all in all a good day out.
sunday strawberry sunday,Guildford in Surrey called and i answered. bochy lives in those parts and i visited him.hmm guildford,good little town to ride a bike,have a toot and wacth the locke rise and fall,its either that or the changing of the robots,mind you i didnt see any.
tuesday reared its head and to a talk by Jan Kaplicky of Future Systems me and some work mates did go.future systems were the architects of the Selfridges Blob in Birmingham and the press box at Lords.now their work is pretty flashy, makes al the glossy mags and as a result i was uber keen on hearing this oke. boy did that little glossy vener that i thought he was wrapped in disappear like a Marie biscuit thats been left in tea for too long.this oke spoke of sustainability and he built of stainless steel, he spoke of wind generated electricty and all his buildings were air conditioned.he spoke landscape, and he scarred them with blasphemous turds, he blighted modernism, he blighted classicism, worst of all he blighted the great Tescos(picknpay).he spoke of modesty, yet was as humble as a WWF wrestler.i dont like you mr Kanicky, but ill learn from you, oh yes i will.
wednedsay and the Lord shone His long lasting halogen lamp upon me.i hadnt planned much for the eve.so decided ill head to the Barbican-a concert hall, pick up some pamphlets cos im the boss, need the info, and take a gentle stroll home.so im in the Barbican and while there i thought,'ey why dont a chap like me check out a show,i mean there are a gazzilion humans here,something must be showing'?.so umbrella and jackie in hand i head to the box office.'All tickets sold out,wait on the right for return tickets.' so i mill around looking cool like all action figurines do searching for the returns queue when all of a sudden a pommie blurts out,'anyone want a free ticket'. boet lemme tell you how fast i gripped that ticket, it was frightening,i even scared me.
i sat upstairs in this sick concert hall not knowing what the f*ck i had just entered into. her name is Mariza of portugal.shes accompanied by three geet players-acoustic, bass, and portugues, 3 violinists and a drummer who played the obligatory solo.honestly i probably would never have listened to this song bird,but i was truelly mesmerized.she belted her tunes out in portugues.singing contemporary and traditional flavours.she made me feel like i needed to eat a chourico sausage and set sail for a land and conquer it, set up a drinks stand, colonise its people and call it mozambique.great great night, and one that just happened cos it wanted to.
i was reading the Metro newspaper getting my fingers dirty ink black flipping through the things to do page, when my eyes screamed at me for over seeing the Opera that was advertised.so i figured ey ill give that a good tonk.so me and Lisa B went off to Operatically 'pop the cherry' . 4 squids was all it took to be cultured,and in the bleachers we were seated.im sure i popped a vessel trying to see the bloody show.so at half time having mingled with the bow ties and skirts and triangle cucumber sandwches, we sneaked into the good seats.i had never been to such an ordeal,and an ordeal it was.4 hours of yowling actors and acttresses. but i do see the potential that opera has to offer.
so waiting for a tube on satruday eve in camden town, oiling my golf swing, 3 englishes shouted 'great shot'. i walked on and dropped the 2 footer for birdie.
today i wore a crinkled 100 percent pure coton shirt, its as crinkled as the apalachian mountains on a dry day, i dont know how to iron but i will learn forfor everything else theres mastercard.
adiue adiue.farewell my far flung friends untill the next time, from the scratchings of a tired lad,the chaito man russian bear hunter masterswordsman and soon to be action figurine,red bike sold separately.
St albans was alright,it had a cobbled high street, a cathedral a big park and a roman ruin,and arguably the worst pancakes or rather waffles ive ever consumed-i mean i dont eat many waffles but gsus H crumbs,throw me a frikkin bone wont you.so i drenched that puppy in excessive amounts of maple syrup-and drowned the poor bastard.all in all a good day out.
sunday strawberry sunday,Guildford in Surrey called and i answered. bochy lives in those parts and i visited him.hmm guildford,good little town to ride a bike,have a toot and wacth the locke rise and fall,its either that or the changing of the robots,mind you i didnt see any.
tuesday reared its head and to a talk by Jan Kaplicky of Future Systems me and some work mates did go.future systems were the architects of the Selfridges Blob in Birmingham and the press box at Lords.now their work is pretty flashy, makes al the glossy mags and as a result i was uber keen on hearing this oke. boy did that little glossy vener that i thought he was wrapped in disappear like a Marie biscuit thats been left in tea for too long.this oke spoke of sustainability and he built of stainless steel, he spoke of wind generated electricty and all his buildings were air conditioned.he spoke landscape, and he scarred them with blasphemous turds, he blighted modernism, he blighted classicism, worst of all he blighted the great Tescos(picknpay).he spoke of modesty, yet was as humble as a WWF wrestler.i dont like you mr Kanicky, but ill learn from you, oh yes i will.
wednedsay and the Lord shone His long lasting halogen lamp upon me.i hadnt planned much for the eve.so decided ill head to the Barbican-a concert hall, pick up some pamphlets cos im the boss, need the info, and take a gentle stroll home.so im in the Barbican and while there i thought,'ey why dont a chap like me check out a show,i mean there are a gazzilion humans here,something must be showing'?.so umbrella and jackie in hand i head to the box office.'All tickets sold out,wait on the right for return tickets.' so i mill around looking cool like all action figurines do searching for the returns queue when all of a sudden a pommie blurts out,'anyone want a free ticket'. boet lemme tell you how fast i gripped that ticket, it was frightening,i even scared me.
i sat upstairs in this sick concert hall not knowing what the f*ck i had just entered into. her name is Mariza of portugal.shes accompanied by three geet players-acoustic, bass, and portugues, 3 violinists and a drummer who played the obligatory solo.honestly i probably would never have listened to this song bird,but i was truelly mesmerized.she belted her tunes out in portugues.singing contemporary and traditional flavours.she made me feel like i needed to eat a chourico sausage and set sail for a land and conquer it, set up a drinks stand, colonise its people and call it mozambique.great great night, and one that just happened cos it wanted to.
i was reading the Metro newspaper getting my fingers dirty ink black flipping through the things to do page, when my eyes screamed at me for over seeing the Opera that was advertised.so i figured ey ill give that a good tonk.so me and Lisa B went off to Operatically 'pop the cherry' . 4 squids was all it took to be cultured,and in the bleachers we were seated.im sure i popped a vessel trying to see the bloody show.so at half time having mingled with the bow ties and skirts and triangle cucumber sandwches, we sneaked into the good seats.i had never been to such an ordeal,and an ordeal it was.4 hours of yowling actors and acttresses. but i do see the potential that opera has to offer.
so waiting for a tube on satruday eve in camden town, oiling my golf swing, 3 englishes shouted 'great shot'. i walked on and dropped the 2 footer for birdie.
today i wore a crinkled 100 percent pure coton shirt, its as crinkled as the apalachian mountains on a dry day, i dont know how to iron but i will learn forfor everything else theres mastercard.
adiue adiue.farewell my far flung friends untill the next time, from the scratchings of a tired lad,the chaito man russian bear hunter masterswordsman and soon to be action figurine,red bike sold separately.
enjoy coca cola
the last week saw our action hero ride south west,swim an ocean and arrive safely easyjet-style in barthelona. barthelona(best said in a tapas munching,siesta takin-even in winter, drunken spaniard in a bull ring kinda way),oh what a gloriously beautiful city.it has shyte parts too,but thats all the burnt crust on a great slice of toast.
a hostel, first stop,Gothic point. i meet chuck , a gulf war war veteran over bowl of dry muesli.we'll ride together.let us go.
placa espanya, the bull ring, the Rocky 1 stairs,i look right.i know i seen you boy.amaf*ck,barcelona pavilion,it was my guiness beer.it aint no ordnary building, no siree.it is the architectural haj. gleaning walls of marble-ooh in my eyes, cruciform glinting colums,her statue cradled in a pond.i shed a tear.i drooled litres, swam away to the next location. montjuic, the home of the olympic games,it was high,high up in ths sky,chucky nearly died,but i soldiered on,i wasnt carrying him,no sirree.this aint vietnam boy.he was built like a brick sh*t house.
the stadium ,a little japanese man drew it,tadao ando. its domed with a segmented roof, its skinned in fabric, im sure its cool.
perched on a lower tier, the calatrava telecommunications tower, its tangible like a shell,.it was so sharp and glistening i nearly pricked my finger.i snapped and i skecthced,we got back on our horses and to the medieval castle we rode.
the horizon,yonder, the blue ocean sits., i see barcelona and and its glorious.
joan miro,was in a white washed building, i paid my tom and stashed my bag, i moseyed around.he uses colour, he uses free hand, he uses sculpture,he's crazy and i like it.
barcelonetta, johan told me it was toit, 'take your skateboard boy', to get there its down la rambla- a strip heaving with fat bastard tourists, with muggers and a sewerage stench.its good for macdonals, burger king and a subway too.its seedy its busy, it just aint for me. a walk along the beach, a quick stop in the Catalan history museum, 'im the boss,do i really need this info?'.back on the streets of the barcelonetta,its working class, her clothes hang from her buildings. its huddled by the sea, it has long narrow narrow streets, theyre tall too. through little nooks, through the little cracks, i see a spaniard or two. coderch,a residential block is perched at a corner,its facade is like a paper fan,be careful it might cut you.
a tube of biscuits and a cupla bananas,i munched them on the beach,ooh how i miss the beach. in the distance sat frank gehrys Pisce and his 'scraper .i didnt have to peel the sticky pages of a university library book, it was there and i could touch it. and then there she was most gorgeous girl id ever seen.i had to stare,i drooled and swam away.i emerged ffrom the wet and began to walk,to walk until i bled,i wanted to see so i continued. but i couldnt take it any more, i didnt have the power,the sun was a setting and an hours walk back would see me home,home for a kip.
the nights i did ride.my posse kelly,yesim,danielle and will.we drank and we walked. its a night city its a heaving city,its a lad with a six pack selling a can.
i had met a few good folk in hostel number one,but since they were leaving, then this lone ranger he must ride.
so i rode until i found myself a hostel. Kabul was its name,it was no war zone, but anarchy,it did reign.it was absolutely carazy.they had a bar,and we drank,they had beds and we slept alittle bit,they had a pool table and i didnt play,i watched a middle eastern lad nearly tear the felt.they had showers and i did shower,they had breakfast,-an excuse for corn flakes and they had dinner-not as good as my moms bolognaise.they had beer, litres of it for 3 euro.it was great and id do that again.
the journey continued with picasso in a former palace,he too can paint,in blue and in pink,he doesnt know where the ears go.he scribbles and he scratches ,from bulls to matadors to footballers.i bought a post card,i bought a case,theyre signed picasso,what a good lad.i saw a gaudi, 3 of them, casa batllo-it scared me, its alien facades, its mosaicing,its elasticity,its a wee outta place: casa mila-she was large, she sits on the corner, her plastic form imposing on carrer de garcia.shes a monolith, crested in sculpted, twisted turrets,chimneys and framed views .i visited her attic,her bowels, it was bulbous, free flowing, her parabolic arched form intrigues. and parc guell, her lines are not straight,where was his ruler? its a park,a massive park, it has grand paths and it has lil paths,its pocked with stoned tunnels and alcoves and colums of sculpted rock, it has jazz players, it has a plaza,it has edge trim.its mosaiced seating is a comfort. this aint no ordinary park,a dragon sits at its very entrance.now that lad is cooked. it was then a hard ride, a ride that was good for the soul.and oh what a sight it is,Sagrada Familia.its a cathedral,it towers the land,its a mutant i tell you.its dynamic its evolving,its 50 years on.i climbed the steeple,and vertigo kicked in,i climbed my way down,oh crikey i gotta blow.this building this thing its just not the way things are meant to be. its chaotic, it has order,it is art,it is math.it is light, it is height,it is a wine bottle cascading candle wax, 'ey little kid stop peeling it'.
i saw an olympic park and i threw my bottle top in the bin, i saw a massive solar powered panelled canopy above and a blue traingular hertzog and de meuron forum just to the rear..and a skateboard.through la ribiera,its dirt,its filth,i see it, its richard meir and his museum of contemporary art,its a white cube its shiny,its integrated.its a museum its a skatepark.i sat there for a while.itd be great to return.i continued to walk until my feet they did ache,i never ate a tapas,but i had a subway sandwich or two:).i bought trousers i bought tshirts, i saw with Deano the Nou Camp, it aint old trafford, but itll do, i saw easy jet and i flew.bbut what a holiday it was,but i think i need another goo goo cachoo.
that wee lil rendezvous left the chaito man limp as banana thats been beaten silly by a mob boss.hmm now back in london town.
london town,wow all of a sudden my mojo has totally evaporated, im trying to regain the hours of sleep that i had misplaced most pleasantly in barcelona. at the mo im uber slow, its taking me gazillions of hours to do simple tasks like dress myself and tie my own shoes, eat my corn flakes and whistle the tune to the 'sound of music' in G-minor.
not much activity at the mo, although i went to the chemical brothers concert saturday night.i had planned this wee lil excursion like 3 months ago.this time i made sure i had ticket in hand and a few pennys only in pocket.cos brixton aint no ordinary lil ttown.its scaery really scary,so be afriad be very afriad and i was,but now im cool. now these lads are arguably my favourite band,theyre the spine of my cd collection ,theyre the rock of modern religion, they are the extra cheese on your pizza hut pizza. but no it wasnt to be.
so i go to the concert which stated on the ticket, at 8pm.i mixed a wee lil concotion of russian bear hunting vodka and grape ribena, and onto the tube i did hop.before i got into the stadium i punished that lil gummy berry juice hard, obelix style.so im in the venue, brixton academy.ooh what a venue, the floor slopes, and if you have vertigo you might just toss cookies and watch it run.its a teeny venue with a gallery upstairs, and chewing gum stained downstairs.its decked out in this sorta classic feel with statues and ,i think, false trees.within the standing area they have these balustrades that you can hang onto should the crowd begin drooling.so thats where i stood.the shyte support band pulled through at like 10,so around 11 i gripped my last beer before the brothers emerged .by now i had sobered up and become weary and just tired of standing.then finally the chem bros decided to do their gig,they entered the arean jumping around like oompa loompas.and behind the 'turntables' they did go. hmm it saddens me to say it but id rather have been killing ants with a magnifying glass.they were alright,not what i expected.its a lil cheesy just watchin 2 oaks turning nobs.i reckon they just played the cds and we all went ape for it.i dunno.may my future concerts that i attend be far more unruly.
i go for the second haircut of the year, i wasnt even expecting to go for one, but hey a lads gotta maintain, he's gotta get that garden cropped botanical style.so i checked this place in soho a cupla weeks back.it was 5 squidders, so i thougth 'hey,thats a saving and whatever happens my bush, itll grow. so i pull into the place and on the door it says, 'for big breasted lady and good time' ring bell.riight and all i wanted was a haircut.so i realise theres 'another' door.i check inside, there are two japanese chicks, doing absolutley F-all.so i think for a few minutes wheteh the right descision had been made by me, then i decide F*ck it, ill just go balls to the walls and whatever happens ill still have short hair.so i sit down,not much english going on in these parts.so i show her my all famous student card picture and choon her to do it like it is sugar..so she grabs my hair, gently and makes a wee incision,so im like gsus f*ckin hell.so i ask 'have you ever chopped a lads hair?' and she responds in not so good engwish 'yes, my fathers'.somebody hand me a shotgun.all of sudden i bacame afraid,very afraid. basically i was now at a point of zero return,it was do or die.but then as the night rolled on,i eased up and let her take control.she snipped gently ,it was proper bonsai manoevores that she was pulling.this wasnt freestyle.this was controlled execution.i shall return to my japanese snipstress,cos shes fine ,very fine.
my cousin the other day pointed me in the direction of the columbia road flower market.so it was a sunday after i chooned 'adious' to doctor dave over a mean and nasty fry up that i visiited it.its a wee road down in the east of londres.its chockers full of uber babes and flowers.it was the first time that i had ever seen xmas trees on sale,weird,really weird. there are these big beer guzzling lads punting their pansies and violets and bulbs and what not.its good for a stroll and a pic i tell you.
yeah i did some skecthing, it stiil looks like im this kindergarten kid scratching on the toilet doors.but hey only time will improve it.
hang tu foh far flung ones, from the scracthings of an exhausted lad
the chaito man
a hostel, first stop,Gothic point. i meet chuck , a gulf war war veteran over bowl of dry muesli.we'll ride together.let us go.
placa espanya, the bull ring, the Rocky 1 stairs,i look right.i know i seen you boy.amaf*ck,barcelona pavilion,it was my guiness beer.it aint no ordnary building, no siree.it is the architectural haj. gleaning walls of marble-ooh in my eyes, cruciform glinting colums,her statue cradled in a pond.i shed a tear.i drooled litres, swam away to the next location. montjuic, the home of the olympic games,it was high,high up in ths sky,chucky nearly died,but i soldiered on,i wasnt carrying him,no sirree.this aint vietnam boy.he was built like a brick sh*t house.
the stadium ,a little japanese man drew it,tadao ando. its domed with a segmented roof, its skinned in fabric, im sure its cool.
perched on a lower tier, the calatrava telecommunications tower, its tangible like a shell,.it was so sharp and glistening i nearly pricked my finger.i snapped and i skecthced,we got back on our horses and to the medieval castle we rode.
the horizon,yonder, the blue ocean sits., i see barcelona and and its glorious.
joan miro,was in a white washed building, i paid my tom and stashed my bag, i moseyed around.he uses colour, he uses free hand, he uses sculpture,he's crazy and i like it.
barcelonetta, johan told me it was toit, 'take your skateboard boy', to get there its down la rambla- a strip heaving with fat bastard tourists, with muggers and a sewerage stench.its good for macdonals, burger king and a subway too.its seedy its busy, it just aint for me. a walk along the beach, a quick stop in the Catalan history museum, 'im the boss,do i really need this info?'.back on the streets of the barcelonetta,its working class, her clothes hang from her buildings. its huddled by the sea, it has long narrow narrow streets, theyre tall too. through little nooks, through the little cracks, i see a spaniard or two. coderch,a residential block is perched at a corner,its facade is like a paper fan,be careful it might cut you.
a tube of biscuits and a cupla bananas,i munched them on the beach,ooh how i miss the beach. in the distance sat frank gehrys Pisce and his 'scraper .i didnt have to peel the sticky pages of a university library book, it was there and i could touch it. and then there she was most gorgeous girl id ever seen.i had to stare,i drooled and swam away.i emerged ffrom the wet and began to walk,to walk until i bled,i wanted to see so i continued. but i couldnt take it any more, i didnt have the power,the sun was a setting and an hours walk back would see me home,home for a kip.
the nights i did ride.my posse kelly,yesim,danielle and will.we drank and we walked. its a night city its a heaving city,its a lad with a six pack selling a can.
i had met a few good folk in hostel number one,but since they were leaving, then this lone ranger he must ride.
so i rode until i found myself a hostel. Kabul was its name,it was no war zone, but anarchy,it did reign.it was absolutely carazy.they had a bar,and we drank,they had beds and we slept alittle bit,they had a pool table and i didnt play,i watched a middle eastern lad nearly tear the felt.they had showers and i did shower,they had breakfast,-an excuse for corn flakes and they had dinner-not as good as my moms bolognaise.they had beer, litres of it for 3 euro.it was great and id do that again.
the journey continued with picasso in a former palace,he too can paint,in blue and in pink,he doesnt know where the ears go.he scribbles and he scratches ,from bulls to matadors to footballers.i bought a post card,i bought a case,theyre signed picasso,what a good lad.i saw a gaudi, 3 of them, casa batllo-it scared me, its alien facades, its mosaicing,its elasticity,its a wee outta place: casa mila-she was large, she sits on the corner, her plastic form imposing on carrer de garcia.shes a monolith, crested in sculpted, twisted turrets,chimneys and framed views .i visited her attic,her bowels, it was bulbous, free flowing, her parabolic arched form intrigues. and parc guell, her lines are not straight,where was his ruler? its a park,a massive park, it has grand paths and it has lil paths,its pocked with stoned tunnels and alcoves and colums of sculpted rock, it has jazz players, it has a plaza,it has edge trim.its mosaiced seating is a comfort. this aint no ordinary park,a dragon sits at its very entrance.now that lad is cooked. it was then a hard ride, a ride that was good for the soul.and oh what a sight it is,Sagrada Familia.its a cathedral,it towers the land,its a mutant i tell you.its dynamic its evolving,its 50 years on.i climbed the steeple,and vertigo kicked in,i climbed my way down,oh crikey i gotta blow.this building this thing its just not the way things are meant to be. its chaotic, it has order,it is art,it is math.it is light, it is height,it is a wine bottle cascading candle wax, 'ey little kid stop peeling it'.
i saw an olympic park and i threw my bottle top in the bin, i saw a massive solar powered panelled canopy above and a blue traingular hertzog and de meuron forum just to the rear..and a skateboard.through la ribiera,its dirt,its filth,i see it, its richard meir and his museum of contemporary art,its a white cube its shiny,its integrated.its a museum its a skatepark.i sat there for a while.itd be great to return.i continued to walk until my feet they did ache,i never ate a tapas,but i had a subway sandwich or two:).i bought trousers i bought tshirts, i saw with Deano the Nou Camp, it aint old trafford, but itll do, i saw easy jet and i flew.bbut what a holiday it was,but i think i need another goo goo cachoo.
that wee lil rendezvous left the chaito man limp as banana thats been beaten silly by a mob boss.hmm now back in london town.
london town,wow all of a sudden my mojo has totally evaporated, im trying to regain the hours of sleep that i had misplaced most pleasantly in barcelona. at the mo im uber slow, its taking me gazillions of hours to do simple tasks like dress myself and tie my own shoes, eat my corn flakes and whistle the tune to the 'sound of music' in G-minor.
not much activity at the mo, although i went to the chemical brothers concert saturday night.i had planned this wee lil excursion like 3 months ago.this time i made sure i had ticket in hand and a few pennys only in pocket.cos brixton aint no ordinary lil ttown.its scaery really scary,so be afriad be very afriad and i was,but now im cool. now these lads are arguably my favourite band,theyre the spine of my cd collection ,theyre the rock of modern religion, they are the extra cheese on your pizza hut pizza. but no it wasnt to be.
so i go to the concert which stated on the ticket, at 8pm.i mixed a wee lil concotion of russian bear hunting vodka and grape ribena, and onto the tube i did hop.before i got into the stadium i punished that lil gummy berry juice hard, obelix style.so im in the venue, brixton academy.ooh what a venue, the floor slopes, and if you have vertigo you might just toss cookies and watch it run.its a teeny venue with a gallery upstairs, and chewing gum stained downstairs.its decked out in this sorta classic feel with statues and ,i think, false trees.within the standing area they have these balustrades that you can hang onto should the crowd begin drooling.so thats where i stood.the shyte support band pulled through at like 10,so around 11 i gripped my last beer before the brothers emerged .by now i had sobered up and become weary and just tired of standing.then finally the chem bros decided to do their gig,they entered the arean jumping around like oompa loompas.and behind the 'turntables' they did go. hmm it saddens me to say it but id rather have been killing ants with a magnifying glass.they were alright,not what i expected.its a lil cheesy just watchin 2 oaks turning nobs.i reckon they just played the cds and we all went ape for it.i dunno.may my future concerts that i attend be far more unruly.
i go for the second haircut of the year, i wasnt even expecting to go for one, but hey a lads gotta maintain, he's gotta get that garden cropped botanical style.so i checked this place in soho a cupla weeks back.it was 5 squidders, so i thougth 'hey,thats a saving and whatever happens my bush, itll grow. so i pull into the place and on the door it says, 'for big breasted lady and good time' ring bell.riight and all i wanted was a haircut.so i realise theres 'another' door.i check inside, there are two japanese chicks, doing absolutley F-all.so i think for a few minutes wheteh the right descision had been made by me, then i decide F*ck it, ill just go balls to the walls and whatever happens ill still have short hair.so i sit down,not much english going on in these parts.so i show her my all famous student card picture and choon her to do it like it is sugar..so she grabs my hair, gently and makes a wee incision,so im like gsus f*ckin hell.so i ask 'have you ever chopped a lads hair?' and she responds in not so good engwish 'yes, my fathers'.somebody hand me a shotgun.all of sudden i bacame afraid,very afraid. basically i was now at a point of zero return,it was do or die.but then as the night rolled on,i eased up and let her take control.she snipped gently ,it was proper bonsai manoevores that she was pulling.this wasnt freestyle.this was controlled execution.i shall return to my japanese snipstress,cos shes fine ,very fine.
my cousin the other day pointed me in the direction of the columbia road flower market.so it was a sunday after i chooned 'adious' to doctor dave over a mean and nasty fry up that i visiited it.its a wee road down in the east of londres.its chockers full of uber babes and flowers.it was the first time that i had ever seen xmas trees on sale,weird,really weird. there are these big beer guzzling lads punting their pansies and violets and bulbs and what not.its good for a stroll and a pic i tell you.
yeah i did some skecthing, it stiil looks like im this kindergarten kid scratching on the toilet doors.but hey only time will improve it.
hang tu foh far flung ones, from the scracthings of an exhausted lad
the chaito man
schnaks and drinksh
well ive just returned to the big smoke(london),thats what my cousin calls it .im sh*t tired again and ready for another holiday.mind you i think its the holidays that are leaving me deflated.
winter vakashin kicked my emaciated, scurvied body so hard, i landed with grass burns in my white rugby shorts in scottish land ,the land which is loathed by the englishes. The scottishes think that cos they live 'uphill', all their shyte pollutes the thames, and thats how they seek thier revenge on the englishes.sick lil story, but one that a true scottiser revealed to me.
it was to edinburgh that i was to pitch my tent, in kay's place,ray bones would follow and a party would be had.
what a wee lil town.its like Disney Land with its lengthy Royale mile,-scattered with fake mel gibson lookalikes,a mile of sinuously extended branches leading to wee low-ceilinged pubs,stub-your-toe, (and gsus did i stub my toe)cobbled markets,and kotch filled corners. this artery,this mile connects itself on one end to her royal majesty's scottish home-its a palace and at the other upper outcrop to a west end massive castle, the Edinburgh Castle-if i were He-Man this is where i woulda eaten my corn flakes. the only mickey mouse i saw was probably in the haggis i wasnt about to attempt. the castle looms over its rough inhabitants keeping a watchful eye for any willfully conquering englishes. the city is pretty dark and gloomy,not much colour id say except for the emerald painted grassy knolls and parks scattered round.it is a rather beautiful.groovy lil city,its a quiet,and gentle lil city, its not gonna start a riot in a chinese noodle shop,no sirreee.it has carrot filled kotch stains in every wee crevice and it has scottishes running around like hairy backed heathen screaming,'i hate the english'.the streets are always soaked,is it beer or is it rain? it has whisky,i bought my bro a litre,although im not a fan, of the whisky that is. theres a peak, nestled in the city centre. i climebd its peak, arthurs seat, its the height that scares me.kids in gumboots, they dont give a shhyte, they just run.its not the sorta city that lurks in a sweaty alley, ready to pounce on some knitted jerseyed old grandma. its gentle in its demeanour, but lacked that killer blue velvet jacket effect. again i trudged this wee city like id never seen a city before. i didnt bleed, cos its so small.
i toured the highlands in a cheesy touristy bus.'ey son, sya wana check if youre on my bus?' i said,'shure', so whats yer 1st name,mr shure?', im like'uh, dan' okay mr shure climb on, boy'. the tour guide was militant.'strap yourselves in kids,and i only vanna hear one click,'click'.when he said coffee break,we drank coffee, caffeinated all the way,when he said 'buy curio',we purchased lil scottish scarf that lil vietnamese kid made, and short bread, twas so dried i turned into a raisin.when he said 'photo'.we got off that bus and we snapped, we snapped so much i think i got arc eye-it burned holes in my eyes.the highlands are enigmatic, william wallace cried 'freedom' there, rob roy farmed shaggy cows there.ewan mcgregor scrathced his ass there and harry went to pot as the philosopher got stoned.it's deadly lunar landscape stares at you with its eveel eye, its mind blazingly beautiful,but it could hurt you oh yes it can. it was a decent journey,i dont think ill do the tour bus again.
i saw glasgow,i always had it in my mind that it was this sorta crystalline ,glossy city-it could cut you if you droppped it., oh how wrong my scratchy mind was.its really dirty,its really grimey,it smells like shyte and its swimming in regurgitated aftermath,i should have been wearing rubber gloves.it has old buildings, quiet extra ordinary at least. and it has one after-dinner mint sort a building-flashy exterior,and groovily shlurpy interior. glasgow buzzes and it's throbbing,its grey but its electric.i do like it. charles rennie mackintosh, no he's not a brand name for a butterscotch sucking sweet, rather he's all that scotland have to celebrate, nudge nudge wink wink.he's a great architect, he's architectrual pen had itself a funny bone.and that lil pen splotched itself quiet nicely in his assymetrical, red stoned buildings. he's glasgows hero, fossilized in a building called the lighthouse.i climbed its turret,vertigo kicked in and i cried, i grasped that railling with both hands so hard i heard my knuckles captain crunch.i skirted the walls of that turret and tore holes in my shirt,i got to the bottom with legs so jellied, they woulda been great with ultramel custard. how can an action figurine have vertigo, i shall overcome.
there was a bus and on it was written in lcd letters, 'chaito man this way to st andrews'. and on that bus i found myself.i sat next to this chinese dude who had just bused from london, he hadnt kipped in ages and looked as though he'd been through a chinese wash shop, all dehydrated, and as bleached as a noodle. i rolled into st andrews freezing.i dunno my body doesnt know whether its hot or its cold-my fingers turned icy purple and then went dead on me.its a pity all that ER viewing taught me only to intibate, i obviously wasnt paying attention when dr Green was resuscitating.anyhoo the bus travelled for like 2 hours through frost tipped trees,and rolling icy hills-true scottisher land.and my firste ever views of a whitened frosted, snowy landscape
the town itself is teeny, you could probably stick it into your pocket and walk away, no-one would really know, except maybe the organisers of the British Open.it has this cathedral,its broken,but its beautiful.and then it snowed,and i didnt know what to do,so i stuck my tongue out and munched a crystal.its really cool,you should try it.it was all new to me.so i walked and i walked, all the while growing a massive west end white afro until i reached the great Old course,old cos its the oldest club in the world.ah i nearly shed a tear.i gazed yonder, i saw ernie and the tiger,the goose and the shark, it was zoo out there. i played the first, drove the ball with a gentle draw, photographed meself on the bridge,grazed my knee on the road hole.'psst dont tell anyone but i made a 'pat cash' in a bush on the 14th.so i walked the golf course and eventually ran onto the beach,the beach on which 'Chariots of fire' was filmed.great beach,id have taken a plunge except fro the -5 degree temps, and the lack of sun tan cream spf 30.
my quest for a pringle jersey had now begun.i was at the home of golf, surely a pringle is synanomous with the great game. so i stroll into a store,'ah sorry mate we dont do pringle anymore, its outta fashion, burberry is where its at.'. so i mosey up hill and into another store i did roll.'hi there, apparently pringles are hard to come by in these parts.the wee scottisher replies, 'ah i know, its shyte'.that didnt matter i found the pringle i was looking for in a charity store.this uber little hand crafted yellow gem is special, really special.
i ate fish and i ate chips, the grease was great for lubricating my arteries, i photographed, and i wandered.what a day compadres,what a day.
back in the 'burgh', the festivals began. there was a procession, a candle lit procession,i never had a candle so i watched,a march up to calton hill,and we burned, yeah baby we burned..a poor grassy cow and a ship.it was pagan i tell you pure unadultered, mind numbing paganism.,then there was a fire cracker.and then it was home.
ah new years eve in scottish land.they call it hogmany, it sounds simalar to 'hoch a loogy', and thats what everyone in these parts does.theres spit in evry step,i nearly got stuck.i managed to drink like cos i was thirsty,went to a house party with great shnacks, and then rolled onto the streets all numb and bulletproof.wihtin milliseconds i lost my mates, counted 5.4.3.2.1..by myself and felt me attacked by an irisher,texas played,i could see two of her and new years was but a blur.i think i saw a fire cracker,i did i did.what a vacation
and then a train ride home.i sat next to this scottisher,he said he was a reincarnation of jesus,and he was a wallace,so his clan thougth he was god, and i sat next to him on a local british carrier, in economy class with red seats.crazy huh.
i bid yooou adieu adiue until another day my far flung friends
from the scratchings of warm lad
the chaito man, russian bear hunter master swordsman and soon to be action figurine, with battery operated tree munching dog, batteries sold separatley
winter vakashin kicked my emaciated, scurvied body so hard, i landed with grass burns in my white rugby shorts in scottish land ,the land which is loathed by the englishes. The scottishes think that cos they live 'uphill', all their shyte pollutes the thames, and thats how they seek thier revenge on the englishes.sick lil story, but one that a true scottiser revealed to me.
it was to edinburgh that i was to pitch my tent, in kay's place,ray bones would follow and a party would be had.
what a wee lil town.its like Disney Land with its lengthy Royale mile,-scattered with fake mel gibson lookalikes,a mile of sinuously extended branches leading to wee low-ceilinged pubs,stub-your-toe, (and gsus did i stub my toe)cobbled markets,and kotch filled corners. this artery,this mile connects itself on one end to her royal majesty's scottish home-its a palace and at the other upper outcrop to a west end massive castle, the Edinburgh Castle-if i were He-Man this is where i woulda eaten my corn flakes. the only mickey mouse i saw was probably in the haggis i wasnt about to attempt. the castle looms over its rough inhabitants keeping a watchful eye for any willfully conquering englishes. the city is pretty dark and gloomy,not much colour id say except for the emerald painted grassy knolls and parks scattered round.it is a rather beautiful.groovy lil city,its a quiet,and gentle lil city, its not gonna start a riot in a chinese noodle shop,no sirreee.it has carrot filled kotch stains in every wee crevice and it has scottishes running around like hairy backed heathen screaming,'i hate the english'.the streets are always soaked,is it beer or is it rain? it has whisky,i bought my bro a litre,although im not a fan, of the whisky that is. theres a peak, nestled in the city centre. i climebd its peak, arthurs seat, its the height that scares me.kids in gumboots, they dont give a shhyte, they just run.its not the sorta city that lurks in a sweaty alley, ready to pounce on some knitted jerseyed old grandma. its gentle in its demeanour, but lacked that killer blue velvet jacket effect. again i trudged this wee city like id never seen a city before. i didnt bleed, cos its so small.
i toured the highlands in a cheesy touristy bus.'ey son, sya wana check if youre on my bus?' i said,'shure', so whats yer 1st name,mr shure?', im like'uh, dan' okay mr shure climb on, boy'. the tour guide was militant.'strap yourselves in kids,and i only vanna hear one click,'click'.when he said coffee break,we drank coffee, caffeinated all the way,when he said 'buy curio',we purchased lil scottish scarf that lil vietnamese kid made, and short bread, twas so dried i turned into a raisin.when he said 'photo'.we got off that bus and we snapped, we snapped so much i think i got arc eye-it burned holes in my eyes.the highlands are enigmatic, william wallace cried 'freedom' there, rob roy farmed shaggy cows there.ewan mcgregor scrathced his ass there and harry went to pot as the philosopher got stoned.it's deadly lunar landscape stares at you with its eveel eye, its mind blazingly beautiful,but it could hurt you oh yes it can. it was a decent journey,i dont think ill do the tour bus again.
i saw glasgow,i always had it in my mind that it was this sorta crystalline ,glossy city-it could cut you if you droppped it., oh how wrong my scratchy mind was.its really dirty,its really grimey,it smells like shyte and its swimming in regurgitated aftermath,i should have been wearing rubber gloves.it has old buildings, quiet extra ordinary at least. and it has one after-dinner mint sort a building-flashy exterior,and groovily shlurpy interior. glasgow buzzes and it's throbbing,its grey but its electric.i do like it. charles rennie mackintosh, no he's not a brand name for a butterscotch sucking sweet, rather he's all that scotland have to celebrate, nudge nudge wink wink.he's a great architect, he's architectrual pen had itself a funny bone.and that lil pen splotched itself quiet nicely in his assymetrical, red stoned buildings. he's glasgows hero, fossilized in a building called the lighthouse.i climbed its turret,vertigo kicked in and i cried, i grasped that railling with both hands so hard i heard my knuckles captain crunch.i skirted the walls of that turret and tore holes in my shirt,i got to the bottom with legs so jellied, they woulda been great with ultramel custard. how can an action figurine have vertigo, i shall overcome.
there was a bus and on it was written in lcd letters, 'chaito man this way to st andrews'. and on that bus i found myself.i sat next to this chinese dude who had just bused from london, he hadnt kipped in ages and looked as though he'd been through a chinese wash shop, all dehydrated, and as bleached as a noodle. i rolled into st andrews freezing.i dunno my body doesnt know whether its hot or its cold-my fingers turned icy purple and then went dead on me.its a pity all that ER viewing taught me only to intibate, i obviously wasnt paying attention when dr Green was resuscitating.anyhoo the bus travelled for like 2 hours through frost tipped trees,and rolling icy hills-true scottisher land.and my firste ever views of a whitened frosted, snowy landscape
the town itself is teeny, you could probably stick it into your pocket and walk away, no-one would really know, except maybe the organisers of the British Open.it has this cathedral,its broken,but its beautiful.and then it snowed,and i didnt know what to do,so i stuck my tongue out and munched a crystal.its really cool,you should try it.it was all new to me.so i walked and i walked, all the while growing a massive west end white afro until i reached the great Old course,old cos its the oldest club in the world.ah i nearly shed a tear.i gazed yonder, i saw ernie and the tiger,the goose and the shark, it was zoo out there. i played the first, drove the ball with a gentle draw, photographed meself on the bridge,grazed my knee on the road hole.'psst dont tell anyone but i made a 'pat cash' in a bush on the 14th.so i walked the golf course and eventually ran onto the beach,the beach on which 'Chariots of fire' was filmed.great beach,id have taken a plunge except fro the -5 degree temps, and the lack of sun tan cream spf 30.
my quest for a pringle jersey had now begun.i was at the home of golf, surely a pringle is synanomous with the great game. so i stroll into a store,'ah sorry mate we dont do pringle anymore, its outta fashion, burberry is where its at.'. so i mosey up hill and into another store i did roll.'hi there, apparently pringles are hard to come by in these parts.the wee scottisher replies, 'ah i know, its shyte'.that didnt matter i found the pringle i was looking for in a charity store.this uber little hand crafted yellow gem is special, really special.
i ate fish and i ate chips, the grease was great for lubricating my arteries, i photographed, and i wandered.what a day compadres,what a day.
back in the 'burgh', the festivals began. there was a procession, a candle lit procession,i never had a candle so i watched,a march up to calton hill,and we burned, yeah baby we burned..a poor grassy cow and a ship.it was pagan i tell you pure unadultered, mind numbing paganism.,then there was a fire cracker.and then it was home.
ah new years eve in scottish land.they call it hogmany, it sounds simalar to 'hoch a loogy', and thats what everyone in these parts does.theres spit in evry step,i nearly got stuck.i managed to drink like cos i was thirsty,went to a house party with great shnacks, and then rolled onto the streets all numb and bulletproof.wihtin milliseconds i lost my mates, counted 5.4.3.2.1..by myself and felt me attacked by an irisher,texas played,i could see two of her and new years was but a blur.i think i saw a fire cracker,i did i did.what a vacation
and then a train ride home.i sat next to this scottisher,he said he was a reincarnation of jesus,and he was a wallace,so his clan thougth he was god, and i sat next to him on a local british carrier, in economy class with red seats.crazy huh.
i bid yooou adieu adiue until another day my far flung friends
from the scratchings of warm lad
the chaito man, russian bear hunter master swordsman and soon to be action figurine, with battery operated tree munching dog, batteries sold separatley
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