Monday, April 02, 2007

A Happy, Incoherent Post

Dazed and confused this morning, also intensely self-conscious after reading this - thanks Chip. Such an acute analysis of what this blog is about has rendered me incapable of posting coherently. Perhaps I should get hold of one of the tinfoil hats that now seem to be used in World of Warcraft. It might ward off malign or, indeed, flattering influences. Or I could have a dirt bath. It seems to have an anti-depressant effect. And, before you say anything, I am assuming that any article with 'lung cancer' in the second par is unlikely to be an April Fool. Also, as Dave Barry says, '...if we can't trust the Internet, whom can we trust?' And, on that basis, I hope I can actually get hold of an 8-bit tie, the best offer out there since the Wallace Stevens mug - tea (I am drinking from the mug at this very moment) and, on the reverse, a great poem, what more could a man ask?
PS. The happy strangeness of the day continues. That great, gifted rocker Pete Townshend - once an acquaintance - has appeared to comment on my Elton John post. Truly a day of omens and wonders. At university the great Nige used to say that, had he met Pete at the right moment, they could have changed the course of western civilization. He wasn't wrong, though Pete did a pretty good job on his own.

10 comments:

  1. I have never been a great fan of The Who, but I did read Townsend's Horse's Neck many years ago and, if I'm not mistaken, it was rather good. Sorry, my memory of that period of my life is a bit hazy.

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  2. Bryan,

    I've bad news. I'm afraid I've lost Edwina. I took her to Paddy Doyle's Donnegal Chocolate Mine on Sunday and she went all strange on me. First she came out in some awful allergic rash, then she started screaming obscenities at everyone in earshot. After a dozen or more "Fenian bastards, fockin cunts" - you know her turn of phrase by now - Paddy came out to see what all the commotion was and ended up throwing her headlong into one of his mighty chocolate vats. Roald Dahl would have been rolling in his grave!

    Paddy then turned on me and said "Bertie, you've your reputation." I realised the game was up and decided it was not the time to play the gallant, so I drove back to Dublin and have been lying low round at my Aunt Fionnuals.

    When Edwina recovers her faculties, let her know that much as we admire her, we'd like her to go back to Liverpool or wherever else it was that she comes from. In fact, just take her back anyplace, please. We've not seen the like of her before and hopefully we won't again. She is one headstrong woman, she is.

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  3. The only reputation you have, Bertie, is as bagman for your grubby builder-friends. Oh, and as an inarticulate, shuffling, simpleton and embarrassment to the people of Ireland. You're a goner in May! Even Edwina won't want to know you then.

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  4. Am I the only person here excited by the idea of a chocolate coated Edwina Currie?

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  5. Britain rides roughshod over the filthy Mick, yet again. And speaking of riding roughshod, how are you for a night in Friday, Chip?

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  6. Edwina, Friday is good. Just promise me you'll make me a chocolate Chip.

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  7. I don't make fucking promises, Chip. And you can take that any fucking way you like.

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  8. Er, I've just remembered, Edwina. I'm having my scooch looked at on Friday. Another time, perhaps...

    [Now backing slowly out of this conversation...]

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  9. Neil, you seem like an articulate, well-rounded sort of cove. I might just have a position I could offer you. We've something coming up in our consulate in Harare. Would you be interested?

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