I wanted to mention a lot of things in today's blog but a combination of a hangover and wasting time looking round places that are advertised as 3 bedroom houses but in fact only have one bedroom and two cupboards - unless the cupboards leads to Narnia, you cannot live in it! - or somewhere that when Tom asked me who would possibly live there at the moment the only reasonable answer I could give was 'goblins', I don't have time to relay much. Wow that was a long sentence. Possibly the longest one I've ever written. No need for that type of sentence length again. If anything, it merely uses up the minute amount of minutes (look at that, two words spelt the same bit mean different things. Ooh la la Mr Douieb, you be fancy with the vocab games today) that I have left. I need to churn this out quicker than a cement mixer being operated by a fairground operator who can hear screams. That was a terrible analogy. Sorry. So here are some things I wanted to talk about but can't:
- Apparently to dress up as a zombie you have to think about how you became a zombie. I don't like this. I want less effort in Halloween costumes thanks. I don't want to have to study Strasbourg in order to groan a bit and stick fake blood down my shirt. I was thinking of wearing my wolf onesi, but I fear something might happen to it and that would be awful. Instead, if I can find my zombie stuff, I'm just going to be undead me. I got bitten while being me, somewhere on the way somewhere else. Will that do gore impersonating puritans?
- Craig Campbell's 'Not So Incredible Hulk' is my favourite Halloween costume so far.
- My gig last night was so dire, that I told people at the party as I had died earlier that evening and yet was still roaming around, I had come dressed as a comedy zombie.
- Last night's 'compere' was the worst comedian I've ever seen ever. I won't say who it is, as that's mean, but his name rhymes with Smiles Smawford. I'd heard tales about this man, and can't for the life of me work out how is ever hired for anything ever. I'd find it funnier to watch someone walk on stage and start hacking away at their own limbs with a saw blade. FACT. I rarely would ever insult anyone about their act or be so harshly bitchy but the only joke I could possibly fathom might be contained in this man's act is the actual manifestation of his comedy career.
Right so with that done, now to tell you about the best thing I witnessed yesterday before I depart blog wise. Woodstock Road, a street between my home and Finsbury Park station, has recently become my favourite freak spotting point ever since a few months back I witnessed a man fighting a hedge there with a stupidly high level of animosity. He wasn't mucking about, and in no way was beating around the bush as much as just going straight for it. Yesterday's oddball took the biscuit though. I swear this is true and I was open mouthed in confusion as I saw this. An Arabic looking man, probably in his 40's, left his front door on a crutch, hobbling out of the home as he hugged his wife and kids and waved them goodbye. They stood in the door was as he took his time limping away with some sort of obvious foot injury. I was walking behind him, and as they closed the door, and he got two minutes down the road, he swiftly picked up his crutch with his left hand, lit a cigarette and raced off down the road in an incredibly fast paced. Amazing. Like the Kasier Solze moment in Usual Suspects. What? You haven't seen it? Oh. Sorry. Although your fault for not seeing one of the best films ever. I have no comment to make on this man. No insight as to why he might have done that. Just sheer amazement. Sheer and utter amazement.
Ponder that dudes and dudettes. I'm off to get undead and start trying to think of moments in my life where I've felt undead to empathise with my character. This morning, at about 9am is probably a good starting point.