A place for everything…

Part 1, unwritten and unpublished, would describe the legacies of our shared culture, our rivalries, the Puritanistic escape from Popery, the shared desire for power and responsibility, the fortunate position our language takes as a default for the rest of the world, MTV, Hollywood, ridicule of the French (joke) and weird activities.

Part 2, here, simply documents that last night at Big Easy I took the opportunity to enjoy a remarkably fine double-thick cut Mignon - the size of a family car - cooked blue with piles of fries, onion rings, salad, peppercorn sauce, calamari, chillies, slaw, skins, wings, chips, and several fattening sauces all washed down with Dead-Man’s Mules and finished off with a bloody good deep slow-burning Scotch. (While the birthday boy settled for a mere 20 kilo powerlifting monster of the deep).

I see these efforts not only as a method for using up that extra belt notch, but also as part of a veritable training regime; practicing and preparing to be comfortable in ordering for a lunch a salad - with a 16oz Sirloin and blue cheese sauce ‘on the side’….

“We just need to sort the deposit, whether you want the bed and furniture and stuff, some other stuff I’m sure, but not that sure - watch out for that car - just how am I managing to stay upright… and look, here’s a coffee shop, quick!”

“Starbucks???”

“I used to have principles too…”

***

“I can’t believe I didn’t go to Download with you…”

“The three of them are up there and they play each other’s guitars!”

***

“With very few examples, no work could completely satisfy me; maybe 80% on the absolute best of days, but there’s always a significant part of my life that needs other stimulus, other sources of joy and they need time, and a life to live. Maybe that’s why I’m not killing myself in the city.”

“You should write that down or something, that’s exactly how I feel!”

“Just seems like common sense really. How do we split this fiver?”

***

“So the hero’s dead, the antihero is a total fucking psycho, and the sheriff’s dreaming of his own death.”

“And there’s no music; that shotgun sound is incredible.”

“What the hell did we just watch?”

Soho has cakes too, is there nothing you can’t get here?

(8 days to go!)