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.