So here I sit in a vague G 'n' T wonder why I'm considering a blog at all - maybe another last ditch attempt to diarise myself, something that has generally eluded me over 42 years, mostly either being the slight screamed scratchings of a 15 year old which descends into a shopping list of dull routine (went shopping, why doesn't Phoebe like me, shoelaces snapped, jerked off, got drunk, why doesn't Phoebe like me - is it because I get drunk and jerk off, or is it because why shoes are too loose and not becoming?), or an exact similarity but, say, 20 years later but interjected with deep philosophical leanings, such as 'When Religion walks in the room, common sense walks out, and 'Blimey, Phoebe never really did like me, at all, did she?' and so forth - something like the intensely fathom deep and fathomless ramblings of someone on mushrooms. And believe me I know - last time I ever did mushrooms I wrote, recorded and sketched everything and came out with 'Top Tip' gems which seem to involve my head being over warm because the psychedelic gems it was struggling to produce, by necessity had to sap all the body heat from my nether regions and make my willy go small. Fifteen minutes of the tape went to being the sample of a great Stoner rock tune called 'Neither do they have their teeth extracted' which has of course raced up the charts scattering girl-groups in it's wake.
So here I sit;
A 25 year old Ecuadorian girl recently thought I was truly 60.
I'm giving art advice to my 'straight-as-a-carpenter's rule' Stepfather.
My Dad is writing better poetry than me on his 3rd try,
and I'm soon off to Sylt, in Germany, to be artist in residence.
We could call this a mid-life crisis, but my maths is more than terrible, so I probably only have half a bakers dozen's years left, or a disappointingly long time to go.
But there is Canard Roti au Miel et aux Epices to prepare, and a fresh Gordon's to mix.
Cheers!