>Been musing over beer listening to a new group called The Hollow. Not bad. Since the ages of 14/5, I’ve drunk beer and havent stopped. Many diversions from vodka and the Diamond White stage but I’ve always stuck to beer and then hit the hard stuff.
as a premier athlete, it takes its toll. No longer can I take for granted that my trousers fit or there is food in the fridge.
I sit here at home on a Friday night, planning to have a quiet but busy weekend but knowing secretly that, while there is no food, there is beer in the fridge….
Do I need a reason? I dont think so. Can you think of one? Nor can I. What harm can it do? Thanks…
Iggy Pop has just come on….beer is good, next is Jimmy Hendrix and abit of cocaine
See you when I wake up.
>Its never rains here, it pours. Having just run back through the eye piercing umbrellas wed by the Dawn of the Dead (Koreans) , I feel relieved to say the least. as i will be when i leave. little things make a difference, like slippers or drinkable water or pies.
Played some pool yesterday in honour of Buddha’s birthday. Looked for a pie to raise to the big man but alas, had to settle for a few beers. While peering over my book, secretly admiring the Irish girl, a stranger came in the bar. But he is no longer one. He couldn’t be. Forever etched on my mind to make me giggle. Armed with two cues (one for breaking, one for the delicate stuff), a half glove, a scowl and some big pants, he proceeded to entertain for at least half a day with cue throwing, moaning, sulking and all round poor sportmanship. The guy was, is and forever will be, rubbish at pool. I beat him, what more evidence do you need?
Though have been playing well of late. Beat a league guy four times in a row the other night. Unfortunately his wife then trounced me. Explaining his defeats to me, the German informed me that “his wife and I play different styles.” I know I shouldn’t have but I replied with the evitable “Thats right. She plays well and you play badly.” I got me coat with a giggle.
>I know what you’re thinking. this guy doesn’t shut up…. well its true. now i’m available 24/7.
alot musing in my mind these days. slight hangover, tiredness, sore eyes. reading the Outsider again at the moment.
“I didn’t look over at Marie (his girlfriend). I didn’t have time to because the judge told me in a peculiar way that I would be decapitated in a public square in the name of the French people. “
The melancholy way he says it always makes me laugh. Listening to “The Hurricane ” by Bob Dylan. First heard only a year (to my shame) on Joe’s MP3 on the bus heading to Rio last year.
That’s the same journey Joe told me about his mate playing football in Ireland.
Put on a Dublin accent
“You arrive at the bus stop 10am Sunday and they take you to the pitch. Anyone can turn up. Anyway, this farmer guy turns up. Sort of guy who’s been drinking since Friday and will continue till Monday. Turns with a six pack of beer. Drinks it all before the game. The gaffer leaves him on the bench and only brings him on with 10 minutes to go and they’re winning 3-0. Puts him upfront. What harm can he do there, eh? well, the ball comes to him, on the edge of the box, just him and the goalie. take it on, and score son. But no. This guy hits it first time. Arrows straight in, top corner. Everyone stands there, stunned. The farmer starts running to the corner flag for the celebration. Everyone chases. But farmer boy doesn’t stop at the flag. No. he contuines on, across the next pitch, people start to give up the chase. Farmer keeps running, jumps the ditch, climbs the fence and is away. Never seen again. They had to bring on another sub. They packed his clothes after the game. He never came back.”
As Joe said, “that’s some celebration.”