Some really old bullshit...

I had the wirdest dream last night... Joey Deacon had become some sort of councillor or polititian or something,
He was on TV on some sort of political debate and was being interviewed about proposals to add another Terminal to Heathrow airport.
He still had yo have that same guy translating to him, but he seemed to be getting his point across.
There was a wobble on the camera, and the view slipped downto his feet, just for a few seconds. I could tell he was still having trouble with his shoes.

It's funny, but those earth shattering, life changing moments always seem to come as a shock, blindsiding us at four in the morningwhen we're bleary eyed and half hungover.
Lately it seems that I'm ready, at the back of my mind, for anything that life is gonna chuck at me. I can't remmber ever so desperatley wishing for something to happen.
Not anything in particular, just something.

By far the most common name given to budgerigars is Joey. I remember one of my friends having a budgie called Joey, but we all thought he was named after Joey Deacon, on account of his inability to speak properly.
This is something that really worries me.

I watched that film last night, she said. It was fucking awful, I can't understand what you saw in it. And with that she left. Looking back I realised that I've gone off it anyway.

"Her flatmate was a policewoman, you know? When I stayed there once they started dancing round the living room, and this police officer just took off her top and bra, and danced and danced and danced.
In the car park of the flying saucer pub I saw a man have his throat cut. People kept running toget more and more toilet paper to try and stop the bleeding.
He was losing so much blood the paper would go red really quickly and as they kept putting more on the used-up paper was trailing out to the side of him.
It reminded me of that bit with the curtains in that film Rush-hour with Jackie Chan.

Not until it was too late did I realise that no-good would come from doodling in the margins.
Sometimes, when I found myself driving around late at night for whatever reason, after going to the pub or staying at a friends house or bowling or something,
I used to imagine that I was totally alone on the road, like the rest of the world had been wiped out by a nuclear war,
or probably some kind of virus that left the roads and garages intact, but wiped out almost all of the population leaving me to cruise endlessly around the post apocalypic world.
Usually this fantasy would stop there, but sometimes I would imagine other things I would do like break into a Police station to stock up on weapons, just in case,
or I would get one of every album from HMV andspend my days listening to all the music there was, or drive to the coast and sail a boat over o France so I could drive around europe searching for other survivors.
Sometimes if the main roads were too busy I would search out lonlier bleaker ways home to add to the experience.
My daydreams usully ended when I stopped at the all-night garage to get toffee flavoured milk shake.

There's a kebab shop on Balham high street that serves the greatest kebabs in the whole of England.
My friend Jimi told me about it, so one day we made a special trip down there so I could try it for myself.
Unfortunatley that day I contracted a bad case of the squits, I tried to fight through it and ordered myself he biggest tastiest looking item on the menu.
I took one bite and had to throw the rest in the bin.
It was really nice though, definitley a contender for the greatest kebab ever, but I just couldn't eat it.
Somehow I felt as if Ihad failed the kebab.
All apologies to the staff of Al-Kebabish Balham.

Last weekend a few friends and Iwent for a walk. I dunno what we were thinking, but it seemed like the right thing to do. We stocked up on rum and skunk and made our way into the wilderness.
We walked for 26 kilometers, across the chiltern hills we didn't pass any pubs and didn't see anyone for hours.
After the walk I found out I didn'tget a single blister.

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