Tuesday, February 1

The Sean Penn Blues

There's a lot of it about, apparently* - but not round here. Such symptoms as were (and I confess to some back when I wore a schoool blazer) vanished along with my cluster of zits.

So, all is bliss in Strictsville . . .

Hah. Today I had to clean some of my mother's shit up off the carpet. Cue Seven Ages of Man. Of course, were I Sean Penn, I could wallow in my nostalgie de la boue.

In compensation (well, such an event - I fervently hope - is not about to become an everyday occurrence - not on my watch, anyway) I am having some wine - my first for a month, for a whole fucking month. Just the one bottle. And I trust the Arse will entertain me this evening by kicking seven shades of the proverbial out of the Mancunian scum in the big fight.

Otherwise . . . all I'm seeing is cops and ambulances, cops and ambulances. In the middle of the night I lie awake, longing for the dirty old river. But I haven't lost all mirth.

Naturally, Sideways has yet to reach Strictsville. It's gonna be squirmful fun watching myself on screen.

* Here is yet another casualty - Anthony Howard: the old, fat, balding, gap-toothed, obsequious cunt.

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posted by DD @ 18:35 

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