"Dr Google has diagnosed me with some post-viral big word or other"
It seems like just yesterday we were conversing last. I've been ill. Dr Google has diagnosed me with some post-viral big word or other. Woke this morning, and normally the trip from the bed to the front door isn't one that sends me round the bend (although I do insist on having socks that say L and R on them just in case it gets too confusing of a morning, you know how it is) but this morning was different. "I've had the cold before, but this is different, I mean I really don't fucking feel well" said I to myself, to guarantee an intelligent answer. An old mate of mine once said to me "As far as I'm concerned, illness is all in the mind" with his eyes wide and a knife in his hand, which is a philosophy I usually follow to the letter. But today I found myself walking like an incontinent person after doing what incontinent people do best home from work early, praying my terrible illness would soon pass.
It has. My ordeal is over. How couldn't it be - I read this month's Mojo to discover they'd rated Sonik Kicks (Paul Weller's upcoming album) three stars. THREE FUCKING STARS?! Cher gets at least .5 of a star more than that! What is the music industry coming to? You guessed it - a pisspot. Speaking of which, Bruce Springsteen is turning heads and stomachs by covering an LMFAO 'song' with Neil Young. Is that a major pain in the arse I can feel forming? I think it bloody well is! The Boss and The Sugar Spinner covering LMFAO, anyone? No, me neither.
You currently find me at home surrounded by the squalor Manflu, or post-Manflu, or post-Death's Door, or fucking whatever, brings. Ever wonder if swine sit around, being their swiney selves and chatting about catching Manflu? They should, they absolutely should. Give me a spoonful of pig influenza any day of the week. Or just get Terry Pratchett over to film a documentary on me visiting Switzerland and putting meself out me own misery. You also currently find me wondering loudly to myself why this whole paragraph sounds like it came straight from a Lee Evans routine. "You think pigs say to each other 'Clean this place up, it's like a home in here!'?"
In a bit.
The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: May cause you to seek better things to do. Happy cringing!
Friday 12th December 2008
Woke up fine. Long, non-emotional car journey. Can't beat duty free shops, 1L Gordons - £12, Ben Sherman aviators - £20, toaster that brands toast "Celtic" - priceless. Plane had Dig Out Your Soul, took off to the sound of Falling Down, Gallagher would've approved I'm sure. Had the Big Yin's bio, the latest Mojo and my super-tubular Sudoku. Can't say fairer. Just arsed about with music on the plane TV (Wet Wet Wet, Duffy and the Modfather were my choices). iPod wasn't on once. G&T was bloody strong, stayed sober as a judge though. Think I'm acquiring a taste for whisky. Dubai seems to just be a tribute to luxury built by a society of monobrows, who like mazes.
"We've got a headstart for happiness"