You may have guessed that I have some repetition in my life. As alluded to in an earlier post (can't remember which), my life follows a pretty similar daily trend. Something along the lines of wake, wank, work, drink, sleep.
What I failed to mention at the time is that between the "work" and "sleep" part there is a whole lot of playing football, attending YOUR LMG Pub Quizzes, myriad social engagements, attending gigs, reviewing records, general pissing about and of course the 6 million band practices a week. You may ask if I am ever going to play live, since your stockpile of tomatoes is reaching optimum fleshy squishy softness...
So do I.
The questioning part, not the soft n squishy part. The running is taking care of the boep. Seeing as the tummy crunches were a roaring flop.
Speaking of running, I managed another marathon canter yesterday. An entire 5km with my BFF (Bastard Fucking Friend... no wait. Make that Bruce Fucking Fordyce) the torture master himself, Corporal Punishment. He was quite chatty yesterday. Apparently there were quite a few good looking young ladies all up and down the Promenade yesterday. The small patch of paving in front of my feet at any given moment was captivating all my attention...
Anyway, last night was a sad farewell to my friend from Sheep Shaggerville. At least we had Bosuns aka The Nectar Of The Gods From Mitchells Brewery to help ease the pain. And then wine until the wee hours back at the homestead.
As I was saying, can you sense a pattern here?
If only "detox" wasn't such a dirty word.
In other news, be sure to catch the mesmerising Shannon Hope live on Friday night. You'll have to book - not even sure if there is place left. Call Alma Cafe [021 685 7377] to avoid disappointment. Of buy a length of rope and find a sturdy roof beam.
Also, I finally did my bit for Mandela Day by pitching in at work to make sammitches for a night shelter and then delivering them. So much for my masculinity cred. Pass the mascara. To make matters worse, and to continue in the charitable theme, on Saturday I am wearing a large fluffy pink tutu and a tiara whilst hurtling along the R27 in a fury of kneecaps and elbows at breakneck speed (more like break ankle) in order to raise much needed funds. More details here. If you enjoy watching people making absolute tits of themselves and/or rubberneck involuntarily at car wrecks this is just the thing for you!
You had me at "tits"...
Now. Go read the heading of this post and try NOT thinking of 'A Forest' by the Cure.
And now look at the lovely picture just below it and see if it has anything whatsoever to do with the content of this missive.
NGDG: "I can't understand why someone would keep a photo of themselves on their desk. At least if you kept a mirror you'd be compelled to make an effort on occasion."
Spread The Love. Upstairs, Downstairs... In Your Nightgown...