Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Put it away Igor...

Scant are my tales to tell.

Was in a bad way last week, right through the weekend in a jock with the spluttering, the sneezing and the what not...Over it now, restored to the fittest of health and taking it handy in Co. Lucan on a day off. You can't go wrong.

I think it was the resurrection of Monday night pints that saved me. Raf, Fennell and myself hit the Long Stone for a few sociables and some banter. As sessions go, it was only dipping toes in the water but it was sorely needed. Those barmaids are ganting on it too, just you wait and see...

Expect to see me in Crawdaddy of a Thursday evening lending my ear to Factro, Bill's band, and then hitting the homestead again of a Friday. What's Good about it though? Ne'er a lick of liquor to be got...

Johnny just sent me on a still of Igor Biscan's member snapped during last weekend's Merseyside derby. Really didn't need to see that. However, Igor's a bit of a legend, no? It used to be that his name would be uttered with the trepidation of a Smicer or Traore. NO MORE! The Croatian Platini is all of a sudden a galloping delight of a playmaker, with inch perfect passes and aggression to match.

When Hamann inevitably fucks off in the summer we have the perfect foil for Stevie's replacement!

Ends.

Wednesday, March 16, 2005

Splutter

Yes sirree Bob, a bad aul knock out here.

Can't take much more of this ailment, sat since Monday with the mother of all unwellnesses. Still, when it's time to blog, it's time to blog...

Took off for Germany on Friday morning last, and dammit if we weren't boozing in Dublin Airport at 5.46am in the morning. I checked. Hit Heidelberg after a poxy delay and met up with the Kenny lad, who had sportingly taken the day off to get myself and Johnny and Kev very fucked up indeed.

German beer is great. Ein Pils bitte! See? Fluent after a stein. Lightweight that I am I had to take a nap after a few crafty ones in the apartment, but Brian had left directions most accurate and it wasn't long before the cloudy me met the lads in the Mecca of O'Reilly's for an evening of even cloudier merry-making.

The photos tell the tale, the reddening of my facial features testament to our imbibance. Mention must go to Kev for overcoming the hurdle of lesbianism, while myself and John indulged in the finest of scotches - Oben to its takers - at EUR8.00 a pop.

Bolloxed.

Saturday took us back to our spiritual home for the rugby (I still couldn't give a rat's ass, by the way) and myself and Stef went searching for the muzak of David Hasselhoff. No joy. He's not as popular over there as various websites, press releases, TV shows and promotional stickers would suggest.

On then to the sightseeing part. We took a long walk down the river and caught the beauteous sights on the other side. Kev, meanwhile, busted up his leg while trying to mount a tree but he was inebriated so didn't care. Brian accompanied me as I bought a couple of novelty steins from a midget with fine Americanised English, and we then proceeded to Sean Og's and then The Dubliner.

At this point you're probably wondering why we didn't sample some proper Germanic hostelries. I don't really have an answer for this, save that we went where we were told and had a damn fine time being compliant.

I bowed out early enough and got myself into a taxi, beered back in the apartment some more and was soon joined by the boys, themselves the worse for the tear.

So, Sunday was the Blackburn game (cheers for putting us through that Kev) and goodbye to O'Reillys. Special mention at this point must go to the barmaids Anne and Niamh, both of whom filled out my journal with relish. More of that anon when I fish it out, but a part of me dreads to see our drunken scribblings.

Then the plane home, more delays, Pikey picked us up and listened to our drunken meanderings with patience and good humour before putting her boys to bed.

Monday - work - beginnings of all the 'symptoms of cold and flu' - Tuesday - written off with all the 'symptoms of cold and flu' - today much the same but at least I've blogged.

And I'm agasp at how much of it I remember.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Car Chase Terror

Listen to 'Car Chase Terror' by M83. My word.

It's a spoken word account of a (possibly) schizophrenic woman in the midst of psychosis, chased by a faceless demon, set to the most amazing whirring techno background this side of My Bloody Valentine. Really extraordinary.

One thing's for sure, though, I'm putting it away in time for Germany. One listen to that and there's no way I'm flying.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

I like the word shimmy

I've been musing on the greater evil: Brian McFadden or Paddy Casey?

Anyway, here we are, together again waltzing through my thoughts on the cybercomic plane. How the devil are you?

I'm stuttering, finding my true form only in bursts but spending increasing time stuck inside my own headspace. Doesn't make any sense? Tell me about it. I'm Joe Cole - short spates of creativity, put-downs and pick-ups before lapsing back into the shadows of the great football game in my skull.

I blame it on last Saturday night. There's something about the Hell that is Flannerys that makes me lose part of my soul for days after frequenting it. It's an uncomfortable meat market with lousy access and all sorts of posers in shirts. Even I wore a shirt. I gave up temporarily and to what end?

It's a pox is what it is.

Still, yesterday was Wednesday and restored some consistency to my swagger. Watched The Godfather you see. My own favourite scene has to be when Sonny finds Connie all beaten to shit at the hands of her husband Carlo Rizzi. He seeks Carlo out and unleashes unholy hell on his person, culminating in the patented 'bin-top to the skull' move. Now I'm not the most bloodlustful of men, but that scene's a dinger...

Speaking of bloodlust: This is a long shot, but if any of the builders working on our office at 3A Sth Princes Street are reading, please shut the fuck up with the drilling and the banging and the...

Just do one, lads.