"Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah)"
What up? Well, red alert's over. Our hero was informed by a person with glasses that knew better than him that he had an infection in the upper tract. For those who don't know where that is, neither did I. When the good doctor sheila said we should investigate the tract, I said "Certainly". It was expected that I'd be taken to a room next door to have a look at some funky machine called a T.R.A.C.T. or something along those lines. But of course not. Ship shape again now.
Caught Wossy at the weekend. Mad. I turn over and plates with Ray Davies and Roger Daltrey's faces are getting smashed by cricket balls. Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah). A bit disconcerting to say the least. It's also revealed Oscar Wilde's doppelganger (Woss) has become a Lord by buying a square foot of land next to 'Lord Dappy of Daggenham's little patch, apparently. This gets a fellow thinking, "If a man who drives a bubble car can do it, surely I can?" Imagine it droogs, Lord Dread. I wouldn't be like Elton John "Oh just call me Bunny, everyone does," no, LORD Dread! The lads in the office would HAVE to refer to me as Lord Sergeant Dread, I'd insist upon it. "Good morning, Lord Dread" "Hello there, how are you?" "Would you like tea or coffee?" "Yes please, thank you very much" I'd fucking suit it. We all know it's coming.
It only remains for me to address some brilliant nonsense I've stumbled across on my travels across the world wide web. There have been many events to report on outside 'the devil's window' as some refer to the internet, however, such as the following exchange: Me: "I'm going to guess that's that Bulldog cunt" Bemused colleague: "Who's Bulldog?" Me: "You know, he does that International Love thing?" Amused colleague: "...Pitbull?" And there I was, thought I recognised a voice of pop and was very excited. Fucking shameful. Pitbull by the way - for the record, people of the internet, is dog shit. Anyway, two simple things said by two very simple people who shall remain nameless but never shameless.
The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: terrible namedropping and talking rubbish ahead. All ye faint of heart, turn back.
Sunday 14th December 2008
From Dubai to Singapore to Oz. Writing and fighting sleep, hard. 2pm and struggling. Sandra is class, more like me than her double. So far Freddy has been out the game and hasn't spoke too much. Mark plays Warcraft. But he's a real geezer. Just unpacked, sort of? Very classy here, hot, pool out back, room has its own PC, top draw. A swim will be in order later on I reckon, if I can be arsed. Watched the new Mummy on the plane, it's onto something I think. Loses points for the absence of Ms Weisz mind you. Jetlag is all the bad things of being pissed and that's it. Not my cuppa. No TV in my room, oh well.
"I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink"