Hey hey cat’s, kittens, body movers, groovers, rabble rouser’s, heartbreakers and life takers!
It has been a while since I last got up to get down, and tonight, sans groove shoe’s, I bring you an update of my comings and goings; tooing and froings. I have all bar nought to report.
I had satans version of gastro three weeks ago, lasting 15 fox days, ending with hospitalisation.
National Suicide Prevention Conference in Perth Western Australia followed. This too lasted 15 fox days.
Uncle Gil, one legged and 77 years (539 fox years) beneath the belt, passed away Monday the 28th of July. We laid him to rest Monday the fourth of August.
I stopped drinking cider a month ago, and am all the trimmer for it; however, I have befriended Guinness; hence the jury is out on how long lived this will last for. Smoking was also ceased a month ago with the use of patches. Totally ineffective. Too hard to roll and a bastard to light. They also gave me a rash.
Sometime recently I tripped over and grew a beard. Not a gay, well maintained hipper than a hip thing, something more akin to Grizzly Adam’s on a bad beard day. Plus I have developed what I like to term ‘ultra blonde’ whiskers sometime in the last few years. As such my beard is red with dashing lashings of ultra blonde scattered through out. Children fear it, women cower in its presence, men cross the road to walk past it. “Need I say more?” laughed the badly burnt Albanian boy.
Have not written a bloody thing in all that time. Even worse, the love of my life, she that is my wife, has had me doing ‘man’ jobs. Things that involve tools and swearing. Jobs of that nature are not by nature in my nature; particularly as I have ‘sexy fingers’, and fuck everything I pretty much touch.
So, without further exposure to my borish ramblings, click the funky drunken sailor pic., Johnny Cash doing a Nine Inch Nails number. Any groovier and it would be ‘The Life Aquatic”.
Hamish, a utility kilt wearer, and devilishly dodgy but good.
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