A friend of mine said that mid-convo the other day and I thought it sounded amazo. I reckon it sounds great because Australia doesn't really have any mountains. It does technically, but they're not the sort of mountains you'd see in the Alps or the Himalayas. It's as flat as a pancake. I love that title though. If I ever get a cat I'm one hundo percent calling it that.
I think I desire a cat a lot more than I'd actually ever want a cat. The reality would come crashing down after about 20 minutes of murderous high pitched cooing and emotional transference. I just bumped in to a funny old pussy in Glasgow, his name was Callum according to literally everyone who passed me by. Three people passed me by the whole time I was stood next to him and every one of them gave me the low down on Callum. Age: 18, Hobby: Catching mice: Lives: Up there with 2 men (a cat of the gays?), Status: Not actually blind although he seems it. I'd be well up for a cat like that, old, pretend blind, gay friendly and catches mice just like in the cartoons. Heavens to Murgatroyd.
Scotland's straight up like that. Whatever the hell you do, don't fuck about in Scotland. In the words of Scotsman and Big Borther 4 winner Cameron Stout; it's not big and it's certainly not clever (fucking about that is). My friend tried it on in Glasgow with a taxi driver and she ended up being pelted by 1p coins whilst standing in the cold, grey Glaswegian rain. Those pennies hurled at her in slow-mo elegance and danced about her feet in sheer, mocking, misery. People normally only dream about those sorts of histrionics. The Scots are making them a reality.
It feels great being back. The spirit of adventure and escape that I felt at Glasgow Airport (Pure dead brilliant by the way) heading for the balmy South felt undeserved and barely earned, but it was palpable all the same.
What felt even better was hearing Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B Hawkins at Eat today. Especially that break down bit towards the end.
That was nuts.
I think I desire a cat a lot more than I'd actually ever want a cat. The reality would come crashing down after about 20 minutes of murderous high pitched cooing and emotional transference. I just bumped in to a funny old pussy in Glasgow, his name was Callum according to literally everyone who passed me by. Three people passed me by the whole time I was stood next to him and every one of them gave me the low down on Callum. Age: 18, Hobby: Catching mice: Lives: Up there with 2 men (a cat of the gays?), Status: Not actually blind although he seems it. I'd be well up for a cat like that, old, pretend blind, gay friendly and catches mice just like in the cartoons. Heavens to Murgatroyd.
Scotland's straight up like that. Whatever the hell you do, don't fuck about in Scotland. In the words of Scotsman and Big Borther 4 winner Cameron Stout; it's not big and it's certainly not clever (fucking about that is). My friend tried it on in Glasgow with a taxi driver and she ended up being pelted by 1p coins whilst standing in the cold, grey Glaswegian rain. Those pennies hurled at her in slow-mo elegance and danced about her feet in sheer, mocking, misery. People normally only dream about those sorts of histrionics. The Scots are making them a reality.
It feels great being back. The spirit of adventure and escape that I felt at Glasgow Airport (Pure dead brilliant by the way) heading for the balmy South felt undeserved and barely earned, but it was palpable all the same.
What felt even better was hearing Damn I Wish I Was Your Lover by Sophie B Hawkins at Eat today. Especially that break down bit towards the end.
That was nuts.
No comments:
Post a Comment