Wibbly Wobbly - 16/29 October 2003 / part 1
Sire,
vaseline, germaline and vicks, that's Keith's winter survival kit. The leaves are falling from the trees, the sun is much lower in the
sky. I'm stoned and wondering about this 'n that, no music on, listening to the clock tick and the fridge gurgling and the noises of
the house, time for a bit of thinking. Spent a week without going to the pub, they phoned the other night to see if I was o.k. and I
had to promise to be in tonight, will get shot if I don't. Am ready for it again, oh yes, let's get mental. With a little help
from Miss hash and Miss vodka, the cutest little ladies you have ever seen, one's a bit lumpy and the other one's very
transparent, but they are so beautiful, baby, beautiful. Happy days are here again... Just seen a gorgeous woman, quite posh
looking, she gave me a nice look (can't think why 'cos I'm a scruff, flying jacket and torn jeans that I've been decorating in)
but then I saw that she was walking a fucking poodle and I thought fucking hell how can anyone go out with a woman
that's got a fucking poodle! I've had a good few days of confronting things head-on and before that just got off me map for a few days
and now it's time to get off me trolley again, though I've got to finish off the picture rail for my friends tomorrow, so not
such a mad one tonight. Nick Warren. Intensify. Blow-fish. Bloated blow-fish. Bus - loads of bloated blow-fish. What the fuck
is a blow-fish? I know what a blue fish is, but what the fuck's a blow-fish? Ikey-mo. Candles and incense, Nag champa. Strange
rumbles in the jungle about silver chairs. Dark and mysterious ancient ways awaken and start to peer about, trying to make out
what's what.
Saw 'The man we never see' today or is there another one who we never see, I'm not sure but I don't think so. He has a bicycle in the yard but never ever rides it, occassionally he'll pump the tyres up and oil it but never rides it. Keith and I moved it from one side of the yard to t'other that morning we worshipped the cactus, even putting identicle oil-spots on the floor 'cos he'd recently oiled it but I don't think he's noticed. He lives on the top floor opposite Irwen the Zombie, who sometimes can't even say hello, poor bastard. Will write more about Irwen the Zombie 'cos he's not sinister like Peek-A-Boo-Man he's just a zombie and he doesn't do or say very much and when he does it's very, very, slowly. Sounds like P.A.B.Man has been at it again, lots of strange noises from his gaff as ever. I just cover it up by putting music on.
Bowling - alley lane. Down it we go. Up or down. Nearly finished Joyce's Ulysees, second time I've ever read it, needs a few times, gets better, U.p. Up. Strangely enough there was a thing on Radio 4 recently about a reading of it on C.D. She taught me how to yodel, yodel-eh-hee-dee yodel-eh-hee-dee. No she didn't, she taught me how to feel like a piece of shit, dead shit. Or how about the theme tune of The Archers, are you ready boys and girls, one, two, three, da-da-da-da-da-da-da etc etc sky. Must be a presbyterian obviously. Blue loomers. Cass and Slide Remixes. Sometimes you have to push yourself, sometimes you have to push harder, sometimes this is heartbreak. She's coming out of my mouth, she won't shut up. Rendered incomprehensible by the vast digestive tract, or biscuits. Or another biscuit. Belch. "More tea vicar?" "No thanks just buns."
Nicht Gebroken. Nothing is broken. Naughty priest. I suppose the infinite is infinite by definition. Or a deaf technician. Four-spring-duck-technique. Or another death, Leopold. Bibbly bobbly. Wibbly-wobbly world. We all walk the wibbly-wobbly walk. We all talk the wibbly-wobbly talk. We all wear wibbly-wobbly ties and wink at all the girls with wibbly-wobbly eyes..... And have a wibbly-wobbly feeling, yes a wibbly-wobbly feeling in the morning. That's one of Chalky's songs and he's always fucking wibbly-wobbly, starts on the cider at six in the fucking morning and most days usually makes it out for a few on his route, slowly, with his stick, in his slippers. I saw him on the bridge one day and he stood there wibbly-wobbling on his stick and he said, "By, I don't need no laxatives this morning when them fucking cannons went off", and he toddled off. The Grand Turk had come in on the morning tide, blasting it's cannons. I was sat next to him in the pub one day and Al turned from the bar and goes "Oh look at these two reprobates here, Old Chalky and Young Chalky." Chalky replies, "I'm gonna wear a sign saying 'Nowt To Do Wi't' Firm Nextdoor." Unter den Linden. Doh. Fah. Blow wind blow. Underfloor central-heating as an implement of doom, or bloom? Lapp. It up. You Dancer.
