Things To Do In England When You're Dead

I saw Antony and the Johnsons two weeks ago, Vicar Street, not much to say sadly, did a cover of Leonard Cohens "The Guests" and David Tibets "Cold Black Stars". The whole gig was odd due to fact that beind behind a man singing in a big wig I could see very little motion, and sounding so similar to the CD, it was just like listning to the CD, if this is goods or bad is a matter of personal opinion. It was ahrd to get into the gig knowing I had to shoot right at the end to get to work, I may have even missed the encore, but I had no heart for it, not after beinh told there would be no "Fistful of Love" due to the lack of drum kit.


On brighter note, next Friday an amigo is visiting from England to come see George Clinton and the P-Funk All Stars.


This is an uninspired, unspellchecked, 101st posting.

April Fool's Day, more of an international tradition than I thought.

It seems only the UK has the tradition of morning only pranks, in Poland they can take all day to joke about. France take the whole thing from a totally different perspective, they dspend the day sticking pictures of fish to peoples backs, or so I am led to believe.

I've also been taught a French joke on the subject of April Fools Day:

A woman is in the final stages of labour and after the final push her baby is born. The midwife goes to pass her over but then grabs here away and starts swinging the baby around the room, then drops her before finally throwing the newly born child out of the window.
What are you doing! cried the distraught mother,
Ha ha, only kidding, the child was still born. April Fool!!! replied the soon to be fired midwife

A few weeks ago I read Andrey Kurkovs' most notable works, Death and The Penguin and Penguin Lost, partly due to the interest in Eastern European writting, but mainly for the love of flightless birds and a morbid obsession with obituaries. I bought the books because they where the recommended read, it being described as an ideal balance of black comedy and addictive writing. Addictive, without a doubt, the best testament to this being that I bought the second book despite not really liking the first, I just wanted to know what happened to Penguin Misha in the end of the tale. Other than that it seems the book was just an exercise in bizarre situations, no effect on me at all....


Until, a few weeks later, Penguins begin appearing in my dream, not just that but inflatable penguins with cryptic messages written upon them. The balloon thing I blame on the Hawaiian party I went to on Monday (For which I won best dressed) as there I came across the sad epiphany of my natural talent, making balloon animals. The damage that that could do the the ego is immeasurable, to see my degree go to waste in favour of street entertainer skills, and so my sleep has become very erratic and I've been sitting up and ranting in an alarming fashion (I'm told).


Things are so crazy I've even given up the booze for a while, such drastic times.

I have had some luck decoding the messages, I won't go into too much detail, but it has so far helped me in bagging a tall Sweedish blonde, which more than heals my ego, so yay me! I've also decided to sway away from black comedy and aim for the downright dark, feling a bit to bouncy for Henry Miller following the Sweedish blonde incident, so settling in Will Self for a while.