Tree tops and bunny hops

ouch!

The wordage that would be cried from my badly chapped lips, that is if they weren't in a mallowed state of catatonia, for i have had 'another one of those' big time stop over weekends, you know, the blurry, new beer buddy and freakasore types, from tales such as

'shirt stains and hop grains ' or 'drunken descent, zero repent'

ground zero levelled at 6.30pm on friday night, the lights blew out of the sky over soho square as Mr Sun crashed and monsiur luna donned his onion rings again for the home run to saturday morn. Centre Point towers sign smiled at me from on high, and i felt the big un-urge to go home, i also felt the first un-urge to go to the agency haunt downstairs, despite the cheap beer, arty farty screens and live dj of the Annexxe. Instead, i hollered Spaceman Luke on his cellular moby dick, and off to Elephant and Castle I flew, man that pink shopping centre still hums in darkness. The eves venue was the South bank University student union, where i got the chance to use my fake student id (Americans spend forever trying to look older, me, i try to look chickenny young) and drink 90's beers at 80's prices. Luke led me way astray as usual, and before long i was downing the new Guinness Extra cold with a submerged Tia Maria inside, which was the Deeeee in devine.

After beer to knit to, spewage of prose and the multiple sandwich in mouth trick, it was time to crashdown, so cabbage was leapt in and green rollered home we taxi'd.

Now when i say home, it clearly was not. Not mine, not Luke's, but the home of some little lady he has been 'cunningly entertaining' for a while. She lived in a top floor flat in Forest Hill, with another lady and a big horny bunny. Dylan was his name, a large, brown lop eared bunny, with free reign of the flat. While this is supercoolfoxycute it does have wee drawbacks, literally.

1: Said bunster has a litter tray, but sadly not the brains to utilise it's waste catching potential, so Mr carpet and Mr coach have stain collecting competitions and Mr John stands barefoot and sits in all remaining bunny-currants not claimed by the textile possee. Bunny should be punished.

2: Bunster also has the horn. Sue wisely has some of those animal slippers (oh the Ally McBeal kookiness) that happen to also be brown bunnies, and i think they are female. Yes that is correct oh psychic one, Dylan likes to hump slippers. We just tried to peacefully watch the telly and in the corner of our eyes Dylan is vibrating like a volkswagen beetle on viagra. The thing that puzzles me, is do my bare feet also look like female rabbits? Never mind, he's having his balls cut off this week.

After a very comfy night on the sofa bed, i awoke early saturday morn, to the sunlight streaming down through the skylight, and what an amazingly sunny day it was, yes, Mr Sun must have been on acid as it is still only March, and he's meant to be a bastard until that one week in June. A currant dodging slide to the window revealed a mega haiku, namely the view. By leaning out of the top floor window of a top of the hill flat, i felt like god, (or at least one of his toenails). I could see for miles, the millenium dome, canary wharf, houses, hills, trains and many many houses, each full of a handful of lives, how big yet how small it was, but one of those moments when i actually like London.

After watching the neighbours dog roll in the grassy yard and sneeze for a while, and played the households entire cd collection, the kids emerged. Despite my 'bloomin sunny-hey its park weather' protests, we ended up in the pub, watching the England vs Poland (or whoever) football match. Now i really want to spend the sunny afternoon in a dark gloomy pub, watching tv with a larger lounge of lager louts, no sir. I take my guinness and sit out in the sunny beer garden on my own, and dehydrate in the rays with a Guardian newspaper. Come sunset we all were wicked plyed of beer (england won apparently) and staggered on back with the buddies collected en-route, where we were treated by the hosts to a large meal and more booze.

Saturday night was drowned in another Elephant and Castle bar, a little dodgy Bedlam. But we managed to befriend (ie: insult with irony and without the victim's realisation) a Slovakian called Stan, i got him to introduce me to Luke, his new buddy, apparently i was John from France, but i didnt mind. I just managed to rescue Luke from being bundled (by a friend) into a departing strangers taxi, when it was time for us to negotiate passge home.

After a half hour ponder of the universe on our backs stargazing more drunken crashage in Forest Hill followed, where Luke managed to break the bannister on the stairs. Putting the clocks forward an hour really screwed with my mindette as i had no notion of where the hell i was and when the hell it was, it could have been christmas for all i knew. Result being we all got up at time X pm in the afternoon, and after the girls had cooked us roast dinner (they were way too kind!) we shot off into Notting Hill and back to lukes. En-route to Mr Baldwino's we rode the top deck like kings and mused of spontaneous prose and lateral thinking, getting from Michael Gorbachev to the Midland bank in five stages or Holsten Pils to princess Diana in 4. (Think lager), and he pointed out the home of Robbie Williams, a top floor flat in Notting Hill, nothing special, but there was a cool authentic stormtrooper costume in the window, and it was just a few doors up from Damon Albarns house, site of my Carnival tumble last year. The eve was spent trying to clean a rabid swamp fish tank and trying to download the new star wars trailer, at least one of these was a swimming success.

So the monday mists veil down, and the working week slides into the slot, where sunny smiles shot up, still, at least it's only a four day week, and i'm off home to Norwich on thursday.....

Magpie Jay



Tree tops and bunny hops ouch! The wordage that would be cried from my badly chapped lips, that is if they weren't in a mallowed state of catatonia, for i have had 'another one of those' big time stop over weekends, you know, the blurry, new beer buddy and freakasore types, from tales such as 'shirt stains and hop grains ' or 'drunken descent, zero repent' ground zero levelled at 6.30pm on friday night, the lights blew out of the sky over soho square as Mr Sun crashed and monsiur luna donned his onion rings again for the home run to saturday morn. Centre Point towers sign smiled at me from on high, and i felt the big un-urge to go home, i also felt the first un-urge to go to the agency haunt downstairs, despite the cheap beer, arty farty screens and live dj of the Annexxe. Instead, i hollered Spaceman Luke on his cellular moby dick, and off to Elephant and Castle I flew, man that pink shopping centre still hums in darkness. The eves venue was the South bank University student union, where i got the chance to use my fake student id (Americans spend forever trying to look older, me, i try to look chickenny young) and drink 90's beers at 80's prices. Luke led me way astray as usual, and before long i was downing the new Guinness Extra cold with a submerged Tia Maria inside, which was the Deeeee in devine. After beer to knit to, spewage of prose and the multiple sandwich in mouth trick, it was time to crashdown, so cabbage was leapt in and green rollered home we taxi'd. Now when i say home, it clearly was not. Not mine, not Luke's, but the home of some little lady he has been 'cunningly entertaining' for a while. She lived in a top floor flat in Forest Hill, with another lady and a big horny bunny. Dylan was his name, a large, brown lop eared bunny, with free reign of the flat. While this is supercoolfoxycute it does have wee drawbacks, literally. 1: Said bunster has a litter tray, but sadly not the brains to utilise it's waste catching potential, so Mr carpet and Mr coach have stain collecting competitions and Mr John stands barefoot and sits in all remaining bunny-currants not claimed by the textile possee. Bunny should be punished. 2: Bunster also has the horn. Sue wisely has some of those animal slippers (oh the Ally McBeal kookiness) that happen to also be brown bunnies, and i think they are female. Yes that is correct oh psychic one, Dylan likes to hump slippers. We just tried to peacefully watch the telly and in the corner of our eyes Dylan is vibrating like a volkswagen beetle on viagra. The thing that puzzles me, is do my bare feet also look like female rabbits? Never mind, he's having his balls cut off this week. After a very comfy night on the sofa bed, i awoke early saturday morn, to the sunlight streaming down through the skylight, and what an amazingly sunny day it was, yes, Mr Sun must have been on acid as it is still only March, and he's meant to be a bastard until that one week in June. A currant dodging slide to the window revealed a mega haiku, namely the view. By leaning out of the top floor window of a top of the hill flat, i felt like god, (or at least one of his toenails). I could see for miles, the millenium dome, canary wharf, houses, hills, trains and many many houses, each full of a handful of lives, how big yet how small it was, but one of those moments when i actually like London. After watching the neighbours dog roll in the grassy yard and sneeze for a while, and played the households entire cd collection, the kids emerged. Despite my 'bloomin sunny-hey its park weather' protests, we ended up in the pub, watching the England vs Poland (or whoever) football match. Now i really want to spend the sunny afternoon in a dark gloomy pub, watching tv with a larger lounge of lager louts, no sir. I take my guinness and sit out in the sunny beer garden on my own, and dehydrate in the rays with a Guardian newspaper. Come sunset we all were wicked plyed of beer (england won apparently) and staggered on back with the buddies collected en-route, where we were treated by the hosts to a large meal and more booze. Saturday night was drowned in another Elephant and Castle bar, a little dodgy Bedlam. But we managed to befriend (ie: insult with irony and without the victim's realisation) a Slovakian called Stan, i got him to introduce me to Luke, his new buddy, apparently i was John from France, but i didnt mind. I just managed to rescue Luke from being bundled (by a friend) into a departing strangers taxi, when it was time for us to negotiate passge home. After a half hour ponder of the universe on our backs stargazing more drunken crashage in Forest Hill followed, where Luke managed to break the bannister on the stairs. Putting the clocks forward an hour really screwed with my mindette as i had no notion of where the hell i was and when the hell it was, it could have been christmas for all i knew. Result being we all got up at time X pm in the afternoon, and after the girls had cooked us roast dinner (they were way too kind!) we shot off into Notting Hill and back to lukes. En-route to Mr Baldwino's we rode the top deck like kings and mused of spontaneous prose and lateral thinking, getting from Michael Gorbachev to the Midland bank in five stages or Holsten Pils to princess Diana in 4. (Think lager), and he pointed out the home of Robbie Williams, a top floor flat in Notting Hill, nothing special, but there was a cool authentic stormtrooper costume in the window, and it was just a few doors up from Damon Albarns house, site of my Carnival tumble last year. The eve was spent trying to clean a rabid swamp fish tank and trying to download the new star wars trailer, at least one of these was a swimming success. So the monday mists veil down, and the working week slides into the slot, where sunny smiles shot up, still, at least it's only a four day week, and i'm off home to Norwich on thursday..... Magpie Jay

Menu (rabbit stew is off) Turn bob tale