Whiskey and green tea nearly killed me (at the KTV). I was found in a hutong haze Climbing up forbidden city walls, like a Bond Square bandit being chased by William Burroughs

Wow! Imagine having William Burroughs in your hallucination. That would be like having a dream come true, as it were. My own particular alcoholic hallucination, before I got carted off to the hospital, involved your bog standard Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse coming charging in through the front door but they did clean their hooves on the way in.

And my thanks to my gd frnd Clr who, in her seminal (I checked. It’s allowed. It’s good) academic treatise on “Literary Generations”, tells us that Burroughs was a heroin addict, a homosexual and had bad eyesight. 

Also Clr’s tome tells us that Burroughs wrote a number of books including “Junky” and “Queer”. Mmmm, I wonder what they were about.

Now, Ernest Hemingway, he was a real man’s man.

Can I also say thanks to Missie K for suggesting Supergrass for today’s lyrics and I’m sorry son Brian but Missie K and Heather C are encouraging me to spend your inheritance on CDs. And any other good looking women out there who’d like to help spend my money, it’s your call.

Slight literary theme there reflecting that I’ve joined a University writing class, with lots of really nice people, and that gives me access to the University Library which, a seriously sharp man who works there tells me, is open from seven in the morning until two the next morning! He’ll be telling me next it’s licensed (of no obvious interest to me) and has a reciprocity arrangement with the Arches for club nights. (Parfery-person, if anyone knows…)

Work-wise not the most productive of weeks. Feedback from the fire-alarm interrupted audition was that I wasn’t student-centred enough so can I pass on my apologies to all those students I’ve worked with over the last six years or so and obviously ignored, albeit unwittingly.

But on a more positive note, I have arranged to meet an expert on starting your own business to discuss setting up on my own. This expert’s office is in a high rise on the Wyndford estate, North Glasgow. Seriously.

Now those of you who know the Wyndford estate (Elaine) may wonder what kind of business I’m going into. Watch for the new e-mail address; Luckybags.com That’s all I’m saying.

Incidentally, a pal of mine called Thomson will have to devise a new business address cos, for some eejit reason, his e-mail address has a “p” in his surname, not the best ad for a potential proofer or editor.

My thanks to a very foxy lady (Hendrix song. It’s allowed) for telling me about her change of e-mail address and anybody else out there with new accounts (e-mail not bank), keep me posted. I’d also like to say thanks to new pal, Alison, for her ten point plan for my new career and can I say that if you want to buy only one book about Robert the Bruce, check out her catchily titled  http://www.amazon.co.uk/Wee-Guide-Robert-Bruce-Guides/dp/189987402X/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1223322868&sr=8-4

Incidentally, Hemingway married four times and had a son called Greg who changed his name to Gloria. Mmmmm…….

Cancergytiswise quite quiet. Me? Mood swings, but I think that’s been obvious to quite a few people. But Maggie’s Farm was quite interesting as we ended up discussing the Weathermen following the She-Bush’s revelation that Obama knew one of them. All very Bob Dylanesque and from an era when terrorist bombers tended to blow up each other rather than others.

And we did discuss a new 10 minute prostate cancer test, but why do even five paragraph reports have to devote two of them to how big a killer prostate cancer is? It’s okay. I know. I’ve written pieces like that as well. 

You’re right. I need to relax more. I have already ordered my copy of the dvd, “Zombie Strippers”, out next week.

And there’s also a few birthdays coming up soon (twenty-firsts and twenty-seconds), so I’ll take this opportunity……just in case. Happy birthday, appropriate friends and neighbours. Enjoy New York, Lauren.

And before Suspicious of Strathclyde starts worrying about my methods, a good memory is a basic journalistic tool – although it does help to find an old copy of a class register, about four weeks ago. Hey, I had it in case I needed to do updates. Updates’r’good, so far, so…..?

Okay let’s talk football, instead. I don’t like Ronnie Brown singing Flower of Scotland; did Charlie Nicholas really describe one of Scotland’s iconic players as a nation’s “taliban”; Iwelumo, after that miss, why don’t you go back to where you come from (Coatbridge, I believe); and to the tabloid letter writer who suggests that the person who scratched “Holly Goalie” on a Rangers player’s car was not necessarily a Celtic fan…how could we possibly have made that assumption? What were we thinking of?

By the way, the great Hunter S. Thompson (cf C’s “Literary Generations”) saw Hemingway as a mentor and guide. They both committed suicide in very similar ways. Mmmmm……I think I’m happier with last week’s Olde Worlde poets and even Franz Kafka’s scab.

You’re right. There’s a bit of writers’ block happening with the blook. It needs a wee bit of a push. But hang on. What’s this? Inspiration from Tony Blair’s old spinmeister Alastair Campbell, talking about his documentary on depression; “I’ve benefited from being open…as the openness of others (has) helped me.”

Throw in the importance of keeping it fun and that’s the reason for doing the blook, team.

Suddenly, I’m in the frame of mind to do a couple of thousand words after I’ve published this. I feel inspired again, project team, you’ll be terrified to hear.

So in that vein.

As many of you know, over the last six months or so, I have become very reliant on e-mail and have made so many mistakes in sending stuff, just cos it’s there. My favourite newspaper columnist, Alison Rowat of the Herald on a Saturday, (read her, journo students, she is just so good) has just published her e-mail etiquette guide. If only, Alison, you’d done this weeks ago, I might still have some friends.

Yes. I am Pavlov’s dog just waiting for that ping and, yes, signing off with a kiss….”is it a sign of matiness or a peck on the cyber cheek too far?” I have sweated blood over that one, even on occasions explaining why it’s there in the first place, and seeking guidance on the matter from my conscience aka Jeanette.

Part of the problem is that a lot of my correspondents are just a touch younger than me and I am often asked if I actually know anyone older than myself. There’s always my ex-wife, I suppose. She’s much older. 

Oh God, it’s her birthday soon. Thank goodness I remembered. Hang on. What would Hemingway have done? Married his nurse I suppose. Now there’s a thought. Mmmmm….. 

cya

Johnt850, for whom the bell tolls

xx (a wee bit tongue in cheek)

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