Brendan

There is a row of old council houses running perpendicular to the row I live in that I have often thought would do very well converted into garages for our row. :-$

So it all ended sunny side up then. :))

I wanted to go for a reproduction battleaxe above the fireplace but the missus exercised a veto.

No thread to thread poaching now Sean.

On a highway to hell

Turkey is big, good value for money and dry which makes it a great holiday destination but a rubbish meal.

I wanna be sedated

Shout at the devil

Surely nobody drives in London, there is too much traffic.

Perhaps a genetic penchant for conversation over work. I feel I must have inherited this from my mother?s side as the non-Irish side of my family are all philosophical studious sorts.

Twist and shout

Besando chichando con surfer rosa,

I think I?ve said this before but as a kid I clearly remember there always being a queue outside the butcher?s (and the baker?s and the dairy) on a Saturday. I don?t like turkey anyway and I am considering doing Ostrich with apricot sauce for Christmas dinner.

I drive to Sainbury's when I need to get lots of stuff because I can't carry it all on the bus. I know that Mrs B has been guilty of driving the few blocks to the CPT just to pick her fianc? up because he had inexplicably forgotten how to walk.

The majority of people don?t want to take a stand against him because he validates their prejudices. If you want a loyal audience all you have to do is tell them what they want to hear.

It was the way you nutted him the first time you met.

Spirits moaning among the tombstones,

Sometimes I wonder myself Tillie. Those aircraft engineers hey lozzyloz. Always thinking up new and imaginative uses for ladies underthings.

What film is it where they make a sling-shot out of a bra and shoot frozen chickens out of it? Or did I do that? ??. Or dream it?

Tank Girl! Non spandex wearing. Although she does spend most of the comics in various states of undress.

Well Jah. I was feeling a little tender today but here is how it went: I was feeling a little strung out when I entered the Far Side for a beer before the gig. Mainly because in an attempt to get over the flu I had taken an obscure European brand of energy tablet, brought back from some holiday, which upon closer inspection of the packet revealed that it was basically ephedrine. This wasn?t good. I was paranoid and agitated. The big guy at the wrought iron table kept on looking at me threateningly. I think he thought I was staring at his missus. I was staring at his missus. Surely that strip of tartan couldn?t qualify as a skirt? Posh-Goth types anyway. Fukc ?em. Position myself at the bar looking the other way. Down 3 pints of the black stuff. Talk to Martin about mortgages. Go outside and smoke a tab. I felt much better about the general state of the universe. It probably wouldn?t last. We headed down to the Academy to find out that the tickets I had managed to get my hands on were for the seated upstairs section. So instead of jumping about and swapping sweat with teenage skater types and bespectacled, balding rockers I was going to be watching the world?s most iconic punk band from a pew up in the gods. Never mind. Starting to feel strung out again. Send Martin to the bar. Go smoke a tab in the toilettes. Kinda like school this. It even has the drunk 15-year-olds trying to be ?ard. Leave the toilettes. My nose thanks me. Find Martin who proffers beer. Warm Carling in a plastic cup. Standard issue gig juice. Two each. Good man. When we got to our seats Goldie was warming the crowd up with some heavy drum and bass. I?m not too sure why they chose him as an opening act as the drum and bass did seem a bit out of place. I wasn?t the only one who noticed this and as his set went on the crowd started to get nasty hostile. Little love lost as he left the stage flashing a two fingered salute. I was actually enjoying it. Must have been the ephedrine. Next, with a fanfare of English nationalism, which unfortunately seemed to play up to some nasty undercurrents in the crowd the Pistols took the stage and launched into Pretty Vacant. The whole set was pure balls to the wall, adrenalin fueled punk rock and I really wished I was downstairs in the thick of things. But it was, as was inevitable ad expected, not quite like seeing a real band. I felt like I was watching some kind of historical reenactment. Great to see and entertaining as all hell but only a reenactment of the real thing. But still the closest someone from my generation could get to it. A bit like someone with an interest in Scottish history watching Brave Heart. No, actually it was nothing like that at all. Stupid analogy. I was just obsessed with tartan after seeing that girl with the ridiculously short skirt in the pub. Analysis aside, the beer was kicking in and I was enjoying myself immensely. Word of warning though, jumping about on those tiny terraces up in the gods can be a tricky business. Luckily I didn?t lose too much beer and it was too dark for me to register the dirty looks. All in all. Am I glad I went? Yes! Would I go again? Yes! Was it kinda bemusing? Yes. As they ended with Anarchy in the UK and John Lydon drawled out the line ?Noooo future for meeeee? mentally I couldn?t help adding the caveat, ?except for millions of dollars in the bank a life in California and a career as a celebrity.? When I was leaving I noticed a family decked out in Sex Pistols shirts. Mum, Dad, son and daughter. This kinda summed it up for me. It was just a show. Something for the whole family to come and see before they all go senile. A bloody good show but just a show. Back home with my brain feeling twisted as a lay in bed and let the ringing in my ears sing me to sleep I couldn?t help being reflective and wondering: When is the next revolution going to come where the youth feel that they have a voice shouting out with all their angst against how the rest of us are fukcing up the world that they are going to inherit? Or is it time for something new? Has rock ?n roll reached saturation point as a vessel for teenage rebellion? Are we at a point where nothing new can be done and is it time for something else? I hope not as so far all the alternatives to rawk pale in comparison when it comes to good ol? air punching, foot stomping, anger ridding, adolescent catharsis.

Apparently it is near the construction sites for the Olympics. Whether is is on one of the sites seems unclear at this sage. http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/7090725.stm

Man who pass out under van wake up oily in the morning.

Well Citizen from what I can gather from the opening post I think crack cocaine is like normal cocaine but it goes in the other end. Although I have never heard people referring to nose cocaine before. :-S

Scoti was the Roman word used to describe raiders from Ireland who settled on the West Coast of what is now Scotland while Pict was Roman for ?painted? people. The Picts lived generally in the East and North East (I think). Interestingly so little survives of the Pictish language that there is some dispute as to whether it was, what we now call Celtic, at all. Although the general consensus is that it was Celtic but of the same family as Welsh and Cornish rather than that of Scots Gaelic. Sorry nothing to do with the football that. I just once spent a rainy holiday with nothing to read but my girlfriend?s Celtic History university books.