The Life of Reilly

I hate BT

2006-04-25T14:41:00.000+01:00

Just got off the phone with BT. They piss me off like no other. Awhile back I had serious problems with them. First it was trying to get broadband swapped over. Then it was them taking quarterly payments out while I was out the country. Then billing me for payments when I try to close an account. Now they hae upped my direct debit because they bill me in advance. Its ridiculous. What other company bills you in advance. Do you go into a restaurant and pay then decide what you want to eat? Do you go buy clothes by handing over you cash when you go walk in the door, then go see I there is anything you like? No. It really pisses me off. I'm ropeable at the moment. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. Bastards.

Changes

2006-04-22T16:48:00.000+01:00

It's been a pretty full on time of late round these parts.

I was just starting to see my way clear of the stagnant time I have had since Xmas. So close to being on my feet again, and then my Granny passed away. My dad flew over from NZ and I quickly made my way to Glasgow. My dad and I had a fuckup at the airport, and ended up paying through the nose for tickets, which stung a lot. What followed was 2 and a half weeks of arkward times, far too much to drink and way too many fry ups.

The funeral was quite hard to be honest, and death, well for me anyway is a very reflective time. I went through a lot of things in my head to do with my own mortality, and how I treat myself. I learned a lot in those few weeks. I fell out with my Dad a few times in those couple of weeks, as I can't stand the lectures that usually come after spending time with him. The funny thing is, and I know my Dad thinks this is rubbish, but some of what he told me has started to rub off.

There is now a sense of normalcy in my life and a good sense of well being. All I have done is quit partying for awhile, curbed the booze and fags and started eating well at regular times and going to bed early. Believe me it's an odd feeling to be bright as a button at 8.00am. So much more time in the day. I've been exploring the commons a`nd parks around my house on my bike and I've started doing filopino stickfighting once a week for confidence, self defence and general fitness. I can't begin to tell you how much fun it is! I'm hooked. Things are started to look up. I even have a second interview next week at a job, that I'm dying to get. Fingers are crossed.

Here's to you Granny Reilly, wherever you may be now. x

The Klepto Boys

2006-03-28T16:43:00.000+01:00

Things are looking up. I've had a few weeks work, and a number of windfalls recently. Not money, mind you, but things which I have found. Now I kinda collect stuff. Those who know me, have seen this silly habit a lot. I tend to collect random objects and act like a extra on whose line is it anyway. Well in the last two weeks my pal George and I have found 2 random objects that actually have some use. The first was an empty keg of beer discarded on the side of the road. We lugged it home. The next morning we set to it, turning it into a bbq. It kind of looks like this. I know what you guys are saying. It's cold outside. Who cares. BBQ meat tastes great, and considering my recent fascination for Jerk chicken and all things Jamican, it kind of has to be done this summer. We have a good back garden, a ton of dub and reggae records and a penchant for a few jazz ciggies and cold beer, once the summer kicks in, our homemade jerk pit will be wafting sweet smells of bbq jerk chicken all over South London. It'll be Notting Hill Carnival with out the pickpockets. Excellent. Next thing you know I'll be getting all nostalgic and trying to dig a kiwi hangi through the patio. Lets hope that don't happen.

The next item we found was this. It's a ECKO Stereogram, probably from the sixties. It's in PERFECT WORKING ORDER. It even had the legs and brackets and the original paper slipmat and price sticker on the turntable. It's got a valve amp that produces the a warm sound that is simply brilliant. The cones are getting a little brittle, but that's all thats might need replacing, and maybe a new needle. It's basically in mint condition, and yes, my klepto buddy George and I found it in the fucking street. Cool eh?

It was the centrepiece of our whole flat's combined birthday party/bbq last Saturday night. Everyone went gaga over it. We have a good record collection at our place, which got a good bashing on the night. It was a fantastic night, but it went by too quick, and in a moment of "relaxation" I burnt my jerk chicken on the bbq. It also took three days to get over the hangover properly. It's no real surprise however. I am getting older. I surprised myself by tapping my foot to James Taylor and Neil Young and Cat Stevens on the ol' Stereogram, and actually liking it. My pal George are on the eye out for some nice bunnets, and started calling each other Jack & Victor. Roll on Summer, to thaw out my tired bones.

Happy St Pats Day.

2006-03-17T10:25:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Three cheers for liver damage!

Ricky Gervais Vs Natwest.

2006-03-15T15:38:00.000+01:00

I was almost late today for my first scrap of work in ages. Thanks a lot Natwest, Brixton.

This bank teller in Brixton really pissed me off today. I felt like giving her a 100 paper cuts with the bloody cheque she wouldn't cash for me. What really grinds me is the fact that I had gone into the bank 2 weeks earlier and done the exact same thing. She didn't like to be told this fact. She started to get quite shitty with me, as they tend to do being protected by glass. I'm wondering if the vacant pram next to me would be strong enough to smash the glass and lunge at her with a paper cut assault. She was probably pissed off about me telling her about her job, but I think the main reason bank tellers get so irate so quickly is because they can't seem to count. Surely not you say. Trust me, I think bank tellers can't count nothing. To prove my point do this. Go into any bank and join the massive queue to get served. Hmmm you think this is going to take a good ten minutes. Why is that you ask?

Because there is ONLY 3 FUCKING TELLERS ON WITH 6 AVAILABLE BOOTHS. The stupid tellers are getting irate because on average people are waiting to be served for a lifetime. You usually have better things to do than stand around waiting for some pleb to push some buttons and take your money, or whatever.

What makes is worse is the the tellers get up out of thier chair and fuck off with some bit of paper out the back, to have a fag, cup of tea or chat about Eastenders or some other worthless topic. It's the safety of the glass panels that makes them so smug. See how smug they look when we, the great unwashed send glass flying everywhere with a barrage of empty prams. Just look at thier faces when single mums, workers, pensioners jump the counter, not to steal anything mind, but to just give the tellers a nice slap, tell them to put more staff on when it's busy, and not to be so condescending to the public, because if we didn't have to use the stupid bank, they wouldn't have their stupid job.

I ended up storming out the bank, shooting "fuck you" looks at the Natwest hydra behind the glass and bolted to the tube for my assignment.

One hour later.

I'm expecting Ricky Gervais to walk round the corner and give me a motivational introduction any second. My first freelance job of the year has landed me on the set of "The Office". It's surreal. I can't keep my eyes off a huge sweaty guy with nhs glasses, a bald patch ala Phil Collins with a little greasy ponytail. In a suit no less which is spilling out over his 15 pints of ale a day belly. Riveting stuff.

The guy I'm supposed to be working for is in a meeting and running late, which is par for the course in the industry I work in. Suits me fine. I can wait all day if the meter's running. The big drawback is where this assignment is. It's in Cockfosters. For the benefit of international readers, that's about an hour on a tube from the "urban safety" of Brixton. It's where livestock roam the streets, people drive combine harvesters and from looking around this office it looks like there's a few flocks of sheep grazing in several cubicles. Though the assignment I'm gonna get isn't gonna rock my world, and the people here seem somewhat normal in a suburban way, I'm kind of glad I got some money coming in at last.

Spooky

2006-03-06T16:47:00.000+01:00

I couldn't help myself with these two.

One guy is a political puppet of Hamas in the Middle East, and the other is a political puppet acting undercover as a CIA agent in the Middle East.

My last day in Vietnam

2006-03-03T20:54:00.000+01:00

I was watching the news today on the box and noticed a familiar looking face on the telly going to prision in Vietnam for a spell. It reminds me of a story that I must tell you all.

It all started when I was travelling in July 2004. I had been all through Vietnam for about a month and I had made may way to a tiny border village called Chao Duc to stay for a night before floating up the river and across into Cambodia.

It had been a typical pain in the ass journey in a cramped mini bus packed to the gunnels with an old grannie and her doting entourage, a pockmarked corrupt looking sweaty cop, and some shit tour guide who couldn't be arsed talking. Which suited myself and 2 pals, who couldn't be arsed listening. The trip was in typical Vietnamese fashion. Bumpy roads, the most god awful Chinese version of westlife playing on a tinny stereo system which just so happened to postioned just above my head. To add insult to injury I had a seriously sprained knee that I had some how mysteriously acquired the night before while out "socialising."

Anyway we arrived at Chao Duc, and I was not much of a happy camper by this stage. Hopping (literally) out the minivan I was quickly surrounded by about 20 guys all with horse drawn carts and no horses, all screaming at me to pick them to take me to the local guesthouse. I was in no mood for anyone screaming at me, and I uncharacteriscally lost it and started screaming back at them. Dumb idea. All I got back was a lot of "oohs" and "ahhs" and some girlish sniggering. Typical. To cut a long story short, I got on the back of the cart, and watched the horse/boy take me 2 minutes down a road to what turned out to be the only guesthouse in the whole godforsaken town.

My friends and I settled into to our rooms and decided to get some food. No luck, however as everything was shut. However there was an older English looking guy sitting on the porch with a tray of bread, cheeses and fruit, and most noticably a few bottles of red wine. You don't see this type of spectacle very much Vietnam. He invited us to join him, and we all started getting into the wine and food.

He seemed a well read, interesting chap. He knew about New Zealand, commenting that he was in the play version of the Rocky Horror Picture show playing none other than Dr. Frank-N-Furter. Impressive. He then started tell us about crazy times in Bali in the 70's where he was in rickety beach shacks with local prostitutes and been startled by huge geckos running over his bare ass while I suppose being on the job. He was full of stories. We all commented that he should write a book about it all. He told us that he had. We kept on asking his name, and he kept on saying his name was Paul. Something was nagging in the back of my head. This guy was famous, but for what ever ever reason, I couldn't put my finger on it. He eventually leaned forward to us all and lowered his glasses and said, "my names Paul, but some people call me Gary."

The penny dropped. We we're sitting across the table getting sloshed on vino, in the middle of nowhere with Gary fucking Glitter. Now that his secret was out of the bag, he started to tell us what had been really going on with him. He was on the run from Cambodia, where the President had been trying to kick him out for the last 2 years. Turns out the President used to fly over his rather palatial grounds every 2 days in a helicopter trying to get a glimpse of what was going on in there. I shudder to think what that was. He then said he was staying illegally in this border town, trying to get his immigration sorted out. A likely story. He was bummed out (no pun intended) that he couldn't go back to Cambodia and that he couldn't show us his pad in Phnom pen, or put us up there. Yeah right. Could you imagine it. Try saying that to anyone.

Fellow Traveller: "Where did you stay in Phnom pen Reilly?"
Me: "Oh, at Gary Glitters place?"
Awkward silence for about a minute.
Fellow Traveller: "Hey dude, I think I might get my own room, instead of sharing"
Fellow Traveller: Mutters under breath "Pervert"

That would be about the sum of it, really. The rest of the night, he was holding court with his fantastic stories, plying us all with wine and trying to get hold of his "18 year old Girlfriend" who was out getting drunk with people her own age and from what I gathered was trying to avoid him.

It's a weird feeling where you are genuinly interested in this guys storytelling and seemingly charming manner, but at the same time just want break a wine bottle on his bald head and yell at him "You fuck kids, don't ya." It's a very strange headspace to be in. Eventually I needed to sleep and had enough of his wine and food. I shook hands with him, felt instantly replused and managed to force a smile and scurry off to my room. I bolted the door, had a drunken shower and washed my hands about 5 times. The next day we left early, my pals and I quite stunned by the whole event and happy in the fact that we were going up the river and well erm... not up the Gary.

Lost

2006-03-03T20:51:00.000+01:00

The whole month of February was an entire waste of space. I don't even want to get into the subject, it's so boring.

Rage against the machine

2006-01-31T16:39:00.000+01:00

I've been neglecting my blog lately sorry.

The truth is I've just been playing the welfare game. It's great! You get to wait 8 weeks and counting for them to sort out your benefit. You stand line in for hours, collect hundreds of phone numbers, and listen to hours of great muzak. You get to see South London streets by having to walk to interviews because you have no money. Great! You're diet is suffering because you can't afford to feed yourself propely. Cool! You have bills to pay! You have to apply for crisis loans. Yippee! You end up waiting for 4 weeks to get your national insurance number only for them to loose it and have to start again. Woohoo! It's £54 a week. Bonus. It's great, this welfare game.

Note to self: Get a job.

I wanna be your dog

2005-12-14T00:49:00.000+01:00

So there I was queuing outside the Job Centre at 9.00 on a freezing Monday morning. (Grim I know, but my work has dried up as far as I can tell till the New Year. Here's hoping.) So, anyone I'm standing looking in to the Job Centre through 2 sets of glass doors at these smug security guards, lazily propping themselves up on some lecterns. There was three of them. It's 9.00am by my watch. People are tapping on thier watches and then tapping on the window. It's freezing out here. I look around at everyone outside. It's freezing. Someone taps the window again. The security guys don't even look up. I feel like a dog. I'm sure all the other people feel the same. They make us wait another 3 minutes. In that time I'm visualising being a dog, a big fucking scary one, and ripping those security guard limb from limb. Feels good. Finally we get in, and I have to actually ask Pedigree Chum a question. I get a blank reply and am pointed towards the stairs.

Next hurdle. Waiting. I'm used to waiting these days. You have to wait for everything in this city. Buses, ATMS, Banks, Supermarkets, on the phone. The list goes on and on.
I look around at the other people waiting. Theres some Iranian guys, a pregnant lady, some old frail people, and some blinged up chavs. Plus me, the semi normal guy. I spy the lady next to me filling in her form. I can't help reading it. She's old, maybe in her 60's, and it turns out she hasn't enough money to buy food or any shopping. It's fucked. I won't go into what I was thinking, it's just too depressing.

Anyway, my name gets finally called. I get this guy. Let's call him "fuckwit." Don't get me wrong, this guy is trying to help, and I'm grateful, but he is such a fuckwit. He's the type of guy who tries to be your best friend, has his pants up way too high, a check shirt done all the way up, amd a make poverty history bollocks wristband on. First thing, it's the "are you Australian Routine." Then moved onto to South African, then Holland?? and then I told him New Zealand. Then he gleefully told me his wife is a Kiwi. Me thinking: Fuck's sake mate, your wife is a Kiwi and you can't tell my accent. You guys must have a great relationship. Wow. She must be sooo interesting, just like yoooou. My interview went on for 40 minutes. When he found out about my redundancy and the big wedge I recieved, he actually said "fucking hell, that's good." He then blushed and said "I meant flippin 'eck that's good." I feel myself slipping back into dog mode and am looking at his face thinking "could I bite his nose off in one cleanly? How much blood would come gushing out? Would it gush? After what seemed like an eternity, I get told to sit back down and wait for my name to get called for the second part of my interview. Oh joy.

Nearly an hour goes by while I've been watching the workers mill around the office, asking each other questions, security guards texting all the time, a very waspish old lady who sees a co-worker who must have come in late. Most of the people who work here are afro-carribean. I have no problem wih that, but the old waspish lady is white. So is the receptionist. The old lady who must be the boss tells off the late comer to work. She walks away like she has told off an animal. She then walks directly to the receptionist and starts talking to her, having a right old natter. I feel dog mode coming on. How cool would it be if I just ripped out that turkey neck of that old bitch, and all the blood squirted all over the receptionist. I would then spit out the gristle on the security guard and run like hell.

Back to reality. I get called up again and go through 40 more minutes of drivel. Couldn't find any jobs. I know this, that's why I'm here fuckwit No.2. I end up telling this lady about 5 times that I'll be probably working in the New Year, and that at Xmas my industry slows down. She tries to get me a job painting real estate signs. She's not getting the message. To make matters worse. She can't type or spell. This makes the interview go even slower. Thankfully my beastly insticts are kept at bay and eventually my time is over. It's been three hours. I walk out the place, the same security guards slouched over the same lecturns. I think, how cool would it be just go and piss on their legs. That would move them I bet.

I walk out and towards the main road. What a ordeal, what a place. However this didn't prepare me for what I saw next. Inbetween two cars parked in a loading bay, I saw a woman, who I assumed to be homeless, a drunk and or an addict of some kind squatting down and having a shit. Fuck me, I've seen it all. Maybe we are just dogs? I quickly walked away, my mind reeling. That was the proverbial icing on the cake.

Worst thing is I have to go back tomorrow, because I didn't have all the right paperwork. Typical.

Serious block

2005-12-07T05:00:00.000+01:00

Life is becoming very stagnant for me of late. I haven't had any work for about a month, money is tight-ish, I've been sleeping all day and getting up at like 4pm. I've been staying awake all night watching crap TV and not leaving the house much. The weather is cold and grey, and Xmas is round the corner. I'm just trying to make it through the next few months until some work comes along. I've been extermely bored and lack lustre with everything, including this blog. Hopefully I'll wrestle myself out of my wallowing trough and try and get myself busy to while away the times like now, when I have so much free time it bores me shitless.

Stay tuned.

Eight Reasons for hibernation

2005-11-14T14:28:00.000+01:00

Reason One for hibernation.
I have not been working much and trying to be conscious of my dwindling money, and non-existant savings which seems to evaporate the minute I step outside the house. Hence, the best cure for not spending money is not go out.

Reason Two for hibernation.
It's freezing cold out there. I don't like it. It's not natural. I'd have fur if I was meant to go outside in this baltic weather.

Reason Three for hibernation.
A sudden urge to eat really heavy food. Namely pie and mash with oodles of gravy. I even drank a mug of gravy the other day, and y'know what, I loved it. I'm basically gravitating towards food that will warm and fill me up and set like a nutritious bowling ball in my belly.

Reason Four for hibernation.
I think this reason is directly linked to reason three. Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep. I can't seem to get enough of it. It might be because I'm trying to digest a bowling ball, or maybe because it gets dark at at friggin' 4.30pm. By 7pm my body is saying "You should be getting tired now, it's pitch black outside, and polar bears are rummaging through the bins." Sleep is also a great way to combat cabin fever, which I've been suffering due to reason one.

Reason Five for hibernation.
I have strong feelings that I may have been a bear in a past life.

Reason Six for hibernation.
Winter in this Kingdom seems to be three quarters of the year. Unless I go to Glasgow, where it's more like four fifths of the year. Also it seems if you venture outside you have to wrap up like a michelin man. Not a good look in my book. Great if you happen to get stabbed however.

Reason Seven for hibernation.
The winter blues. I think I get them. Infact, I know I get them. I've seen the light boxes on telly, I've tried to recreate the same effect, by sitting in front of the fridge at night with the door open. This leads to me getting more cold, and a compulsion to eat the contents of the fridge. Again, not a good look.

Reason Eight for hibernation.
I tend to get rather grumpy in the winter. All my mates notice it. Thank God they put up with it. I know I wouldn't. It's a by product of reason one. When you spend a good time alone, like a week, without hardly saying a word to anyone, with hardly any phone calls, you tend to retreat into lumbering bear mode*. Well I know I do.

So there you have it. Eight bloody good reasons to hibernate. The only hurdles I can see is somehow paying the rent for three quarters of the year whilst being in my bed, and how I can get nine months of pie and mash into my fridge.

*This usually for me is getting up at around 10.30, lumber into the lounge, with duvet intact, switch on the telly and get totally engrossed with the English version of Jerry Springer. Sit warm and snug, and smug at the fact that your life ain't never going to be as shit as the ones your watching on the telly. Usually after a while, I wrap up and scurry to the shops and get a Frey Bentos pie-in-a-tin. (It's the crack of the pie world, honest) and a few spuds. Make the food, and demolish it. Then I usually go for a nap till 3.30ish. When I wake up, I usually do the dishes (just so I have a sense of routine and not to incur the wrath of my flatmate. Now it's getting dark, and I slump back into the couch and watch mind numbing telly. Flatmate comes home, we exchange grunts and I usually stay put, remote stuck in my paw. Constant channel flicking then ensues, with little spurts of internet surfing. Eventually I'll get bored, then I'll retreat to my room (cave) and get under the duvet in my bed, and watch a dvd on my laptop until I nod off.

I just re-read that last bit. What a fantastic life I lead!.......not.

365 days of verbal diarrhea

2005-11-04T12:05:00.000+01:00

Well, it's been a just over a year since I started this blog. I've had 6727 people visit it as well. It amazes me that ANYONE EVEN bothers. I looked at my stats at the search terms that actually brought people here.

"traditional polish smalec picture"
Why anyone apart from myself wants to see a picture of polish double fried pig fat, is beyond me, but hey I'm glad I'm not alone on this one.

"tumors in fried chicken"
Maybe someone out there is trying to scare themselves into not eating fried chicken. Like I tried, miserably. Bird flu? Bring on the chicken, I don't give a flying fuck.

"pigeon poison recipe"
I have no idea what the hell this is about. But I have a sneaky feeling that they are talking about what goes into kebabs.

"penny wood methamphetamine"
This is the lady who looks like an Orc from Lord of the Rings. Oh, shes a meth freak too. I wonder if many people going to New Zealand spot Orcs these days. I'm sure they don't have to look too far.

"satanic scotland"
Ahhh, St Nick Cave. The patron saint of satanic scotland, where it gets dark at 3.00pm and there are crows that steal babies from prams, and everyone drinks far to much, and food ain't food till it's fried.

"tennents lager"
The super strong stuff. I haven't had the balls to try it yet, and looking at the people that do drink it, I'm in no big hurry either.

"British sheep puppet"
My mind is racing with this one.

"Cocaine in coconuts"
I'll take a bunch thanks!

"frey bentos pies"
I'm not the only one who has a fascination with meat in tins. But jeez, pastry as well. Find me Frey Bento's daughter, I'm on one knee.

"nightmare hsbc"
We all know how much banks suck. But these bastards take the cake. High Street Banking C**ts

"can i take lemsip with sudafed 12 hour"
Like I can offer profession medical advice? I'm sure I've had a heart attack, stroke, and a few seizures, and that's most weekends.

"The KLF + fish"
Great band, great umm, er fish?

"george the fourth brixton"
Anyone want to accidently lose control of an 18 wheeler on Brixton hill on a Sunday morning? I'll buy the gas.

"Looking for love in all the wrong places"
Anyone know the right places? Email me please.

"give us an article on child traffiking"
Like I'd know anything about that, but I hear you can fit 15 to a tea chest if you pack em properly. (I'm going to hell for that one)

"how people end up on the streets"
Spend 6 months with me, and we'll see how we go!

"Is my Life a mistake as I can't find a Job"
You poor sod. Try child traffiking, I hear the money's fabulous.

"skunk brixton 2005"
Surely Lambeth council's new community slogan?

"spiders on drugs"
Thank god it's spiders and not pidgeons on crack. All of our eyes would have been well pecked out by now.

"George Bush"
Now, even saying these two words together, make me feel like I've eaten a shit sandwich.

"Living the life of Reilly"
We'll since this actually is my last name, and I'm alive, and judging by the puerile trash I've written over the last 12 months I am indeed "Living the Life of Reilly". Well kind of...

A big squishy kiss on the lips goes to Smacked Face, whom this whole blog wouldn't have even been born, Mikey Ray for being terrible at spelling, James for being James, Babs for making me laugh, Ms G, Finn, Peter, Simon and anyone else who has graced my comments box. I've probably missed a few out, but hey, tough shit, as far as I'm concerned you ain't even alive till you're in my address book.

Have a good one.

What's the point?

2005-10-25T14:24:00.000+01:00

Not much has been going on, except the usual.

Which is... Working for the advertising man, creating ads for shit you you don't want or need, dealing with idiots the whole way home, queing for food, money, whatever. Then finally getting home, try to hopelessly to connect to your flatmates. Then manage to cook some food, watch some bullshit on the box and then collapse into bed and do it all again the next day. In the rain.

Until the weekend, where you have high hopes of getting out of town, seeing art, eating nice food, or basically anything that doesn't involve getting absolutely, totally off your head on what ever you can find. But most of the time you buckle and get absolutely, totally off your head, and while this is happening, it's great. Come Tuesday, you are feeling in a "What's the point in Anything" mood. I found some song lyrics that totally sum me up today, which so happens to be a Tuesday.

Normal transmission will return soon.

Cigarettes & Alcohol by Oasis

Is it my imagination
Or have I finally found something worth living for?
I was looking for some action
But all I found was cigarettes and alcohol

You could wait for a lifetime
To spend your days in the sunshine
You might as well do the white line
Cos when it comes on top . . .

You gotta make it happen!

Is it worth the aggravation
To find yourself a job when there's nothing worth working for?
It's a crazy situation
But all I need are cigarettes and alcohol!

You could wait for a lifetime
To spend your days in the sunshine
You might as well do the white line
Cos when it comes on top . . .

You gotta make it happen!

Deflated

2005-10-19T16:23:00.000+01:00

I'm in the process of moving house, and I'm looking at places in Dulwich at the moment. I decided to ride there on my bike to check it out. The place is up a gated road, and the whole place is surrounded by parks. It's very, very quiet and quite a steal at £300 a week. It is a nice bike ride to get there.

I like to cycle in the Autumn. It's a short time, with the leaves all changing colour, but I dig how you can see the seasons change almost in front of your eyes. Also a bit of exercise and fresh air is a welcome change from loitering around dirty Brixton Hill, so the ride was a welcome change.

On the way back from viewing the place, I was flying down a road, and tried to foolishly bunnyhop up onto a curb, and in the process got a back flat tyre. Bastard.

There is nothing worse that being stranded, with a dead bike. I made the most of it, determind not to get grumpy and started strolling back to Brixton, my bike in tow. God knows the walk will do me good.

Anyway I spied a gas station and a air pump. Sweet, I'll see if the inner tube is the problem. I went to pump up the offending tyre, and saw this sign.

I thought, what a joke. Even air isn't free in this town. I muttered to myself and kept walking.

London was grinding me down yet again, and looked like the sky was going to open up to piss all over me. Yay. By the time I got to Herne Hill I was in a bad mood. I turned a corner, and literally a bicycle shop fell into view. This blew me away. I've never noticed it before. They were open as well. I checked the bike in, to get the tyre done, and walked home, with a spring in my step through Brocky Park. I swear the clouds parted too, and the sun shined on me.

Thanks London, you suprised me today. Keep up the good work.

Top tips.

2005-10-14T10:42:00.000+01:00

Today I used my sure fire way of getting on the bus. And you know what, I'm going to share this top tip with you. As most of you may know, getting on a bus can be a crash course in urban warfare. Apart from elbowing people in the face, I have a more subliminal way of making sure I get on the bus. Honestly this works maybe 80% of the time.

Step 1: Just hang out, looking for your bus to come along the road.
Step 2: Spy your packed bus hurtling towards you.
Step 3: Quickly move to the curb
Step 4: This is the most important part!
Step 5: Make sure you get eye contact with the driver
Step 6: Flag down the bus
Step 7: Smugly get on the bus.

People look at me when I do this, and usually think, What an idiot, the bus is going to stop here, look at all the people that need to get on the bus. The thing is that, the bus driver sees your hand, and unconsciously will stop the bus where your hand is. Thus making me the first to get on the bus, with the hordes of minions behind me. So they should be as well. Try it, fair readers.

As you can tell from my inane babble above, not much has been going on round these parts lately. Well quite a lot has really, but I'm not too sure if I should even bother commiting it to here. It's just the usual really.

Benders of epic proportions, locking myself out of my house for days, somehow managing to get a busted nose from myself and a pal having a slapping competition, passing out, people drawing on me, a mate trying to turn me into Adam Ant with a bottle of tippex. And that was just one night. What a great bunch of mates I have eh?

All that and I'm insanely tired all the time. It must be the onset of winter. I'm positive I need to hibernate.

Pleasures of the Flesh

2005-10-04T10:24:00.000+01:00

Now, those lucky people who have graced these pages before might have been aware of my sudden enlightenment in the area of vegetarianism. It’s been a flash in the pan my friends, and that pan is now rapidly filling up with bacon, beef and chicken. Yum.

The first aromas of change came about with my drunken late night flirting with fried chicken. The late night drunken drumsticks and I have been casually seeing each other for a few months now, and this are going well I suppose. We have our little spats, but after a few beers I’m always back, gracing her doorway, a few gold coins in my hand.

Whoa there! I’m going off on some weird chicken love shenanagins. Back to the story at hand. Soon after eating the late night chook, I decided to at least get a little more healthy and buy the chicken myself and cook it. This resulted in simply the best roast chickens, and the best chicken soups... ever.

The rest was down hill. The pork and beef got re-introduced in Poland in glorious fashion. Pierogis, Polish sausage, and other weird delights. Infact I have a large weak spot for Eastern European food at the moment, which has only been compounded by my local shop selling a ton of Polish food. None of the packaging I can read, but I’m slowly making my way through the aisles, much to the delight of the shopkeepers, who I assume think I’m a Polish guy with an incredibly good New Zealand accent.

The latest craving, which I blame squarely on the weather is pies. Back in New Zealand, the humble pie was almost a delicacy. A gas station staple, in some areas of town filled with some gourmet fillings. In some nice pubs, even promoted up to the ladder as a main course. It was all good. The great combonation of fluffy pastry, some steak and gravy, and if you were game, maybe some cheese through it. Still to this day the best steak and cheese pies we’re the little $1 ones you got from Georgie Pie. (Those readers not from New Zealand, will have no idea what I’m on about, but those who are well... you know I’m right.)

Trying to find a decent pie over here is well, like nigh on impossible. The closet I have found (to be honest, I haven’t looked that hard) is the classic pie and mash shop. For a kick off, the pies are tiny, and you eat them upside down. Weirdos. Next is the extras you can get. What is up with jellied eels man! Fuck that, that’s one English tradition I won’t be throwing down my gullet in the future.

The next in line is a little canned treasure that a workmate put me onto. It’s Frey Bentos, pie in a can thingy. (by the way the neither of those subhumans in the Frey Bentos picture is me. Not by a long shot.) To be honest it could use a lot more filling, but, the pastry lid on the filling, when you open the tin, well is nothing short of a stoke of genius, I actually had great pleasure watching that puff pastry rise in the oven, and even more pleasure demolishing it. It’s all good, and a steal at £1.69. I might however start making my own pies, which are to be reckoned with, and have been known to be a handy door stop, a makeshift discus and will make you feel like you are digesting a bowling ball. Funnily enough my pie making days started when I lived in a cold climate for a few years, not dissimilar to London, England. Good old Christchurch, New Zealand.

Tomorrow I will put foward my case for hibernation.

Perspective

2005-09-28T13:40:00.000+01:00

I was having a bit of an off day yesterday, basically getting over yet another monster weekend, and noticing that summer has slunked out of the picture for yet another year, and feeling for the first time in ages a little homesick. Great. Not.

I caught the bus home to Brixton from London Bridge, climbed upstairs, found a perch to aimlessly gaze at the life going by. I was feeling quite mopey. Heading up towards Elephant and Castle there is a lot of University digs, with lots of lone people in lone rooms, maybe toiling with work, maybe not. It looked like a lonely life. It probably isn't, but that's what was going through my head. I thought to myself, I'm glad I'm not in those shoes. Further along the ride I saw some homeless guy begging. I thought to myself, how did he end up like that? Surely he has some family? Again I thought, I'm glad I'm not in those shoes. Next up I saw a lot of people in a checkout line in a cost-cutter. Everyone looked miserable, nearly all were buying booze, going home alone to wipe out their day, well that's what was going through my mind. They were probably not, but hey, I'm wallowing on my busride. Yet again I thought, I'm glad I'm not in those shoes.

By this stage I was feeling pretty glum, and for some fucked up reason quite enjoying it. The bus turned a corner, and so did I. I saw a man walking a puppy. The puppy was bouncing all over the show, constantly playing with his owner, the owner had such a huge grin, and was having a great time with his puppy. Next thing a small child started singing a song she must of learned to her mum on the bus. I caught the eye of what looked like the most proudest mum, and a really happy child. I started to feel better. The bus came up to my stop, I hopped off, crossed the road, and spied a few of my best mates in our local boozer. We had a few drinks and had a good laugh about the antics on the weekend.

I woke up this morning with a killer hangover, but I had been reminded again that if I'm feeling homesick, maybe feeling a bit crap, or that this huge city of London might be grinding me down, that there's a lot more people out there with a life that is 100 times worse than me, and that my mates mean a lot more than I might think sometimes.

It's funny, how sometimes it takes the simplest thing like a bus ride to give you a bit of perspective.

Isn't life great.

Random mindess violence

2005-09-27T12:39:00.000+01:00

My weekend was going fantastic up until 9.00am on Sunday Morning. I had spent times with my best friends, frollicked on the river Thames on Friday, spent Saturday at new found friends places, went to another funny-ass party on Saturday night, and winded up at a friends studio on Brixton Hill. Pretty much par for the course.

It all started to go wrong, when we left my mate's studio. A few of the boys I was with we're keen to go up the road to a horrible pub called George the Fourth. For a bit of background, this pub attracts mainly white Eastern Europeans, Israeli and your typical white English yobs. Oh, the music is the shittest hard house music you have head ever. (Like any hard house is good?) I didn't want to go, and granted the place has a certain novelty value, but in general, has a seedy underbelly, that I really don't want to be exposed to.

We were walking up towards the pub, I was lagging back, basically not wanting to go in, and some guy caught my eye, swigging from a vodka bottle outside. He started to come towards me. He turned out to be Russian.

Russian: "What are you looking at?"
Me: "Err, Nothing"
Russian: "Stop spitting at me when you speak"
Me: "Err, what?"

At this point, my pals came over and some disjointed conversation started. I didn't catch most of this but it was going along the lines of "Go back to your own country" I can't remember who was saying what, because I had started to walk down the hill, away from it all. I then saw a couple of guys walk over to what must have been thier friends and join in in the conversation.

Next thing I saw was my mate Mikey getting smacked in the jaw, by one of the guys who had just joined the conversation. They we're just looking to start a fight. Mikey didn't retaliate, and in the space of maybe 10 seconds my other mate George was getting belted by the Russian guy and the English guy who had punched Mikey in the first place. The English guy was trying to smash a wine bottle over George's head. It didn't break, but George was bleeding and had copped a bit of a shiner. George bolted, and Scott, my other pal was closet to the gang now, walking down the hill after us. They started laying into him now. He kept on falling over and he got kicked in the ribs, and once in the head.

For some reason they stopped and dissappeared behind a van. We kept on walking down the hill. They had gone. Thank God. We we're all dumbfounded, confused and generally freaked out. George was looking quite bad, so we all scarped back to my house and got him cleaned up. He's going to be ok. Bit of a shiner and a sore arm. Mikey may have lost a tooth, and has a very sore jaw. Scott has bruised ribs I think. I escaped unharmed.

What freaks me out about this is, well speaking for myself, I tend to live in a bubble, with all my close friends. The outside world doesn't really come in that much. You hear about muggings, and random violence all the time, people getting stabbed and raped. The news is filled with it. And to some extent, that's all it is to me, just news. But when it comes right to your doorstep and bursts your bubble, well that's a different story.

I'm not a violent person, and I'm pretty sure none of my friends are, but as we found out on the weekend, there's a few members of society who are. I've been thinking a lot, since then what drives violent people to be the way they are? In the end I have given up counting the possible reasons. There are too many. Where do you begin? Shit job, Shit upbringing, Parents beat them up, Can't make it with the ladies, Drink too much, Dead end life, They actually like the buzz? The list goes on and on.

It pisses me off that I'm even giving these wankers on the weekend some of my time, by actually thinking about what their life must be like?

Why am I bothering? I don't really know. All that I do know, is that I don't want any thing like what happened on Sunday morning come into my life, or any of my friends lifes ever again.

Rainbows and lollypops will resume tomorrow.

Open letter to Mr. Bush

2005-09-22T14:08:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Look at this photo George. It's hurricane Rita, which is on it's way to Texas. Look at the size of that thing. Fucking hell. I hope that your nation, laughably run by you and your moronic buddies, has all it's emergency services sorted out. Maybe you have, considering it's your old stomping ground, and that your government totally fucked up with hurricane Katrina.

I wonder how these current "acts of God" go down with Christian America, who coincidently got you into power? The Book of Revelation, perhaps? End of the world? Maybe you should think (if that's possible) how your country is contributing towards Global warming. Maybe considering signing The Kyoto Protocol perhaps?

Funny how your addiction to oil is going to be thwarted for a while in the Gulf of Mexico, and the reason possibly is linked to your actions of a nation, burning those fossil fuels. Ironic huh?

Again funny, how, because of these "acts of God" is going to make the price of oil sky high, impacting on the worlds economy? I'm sure you'll be ok, eh? And all your mates. You'll probably make a bit of cash out of it right?

Funny also, that your welfare state has bubbled up to the media surface, being the richest country in the world. You can't even provide for your own people Mr. Bush. Sorry that's not totally true. You can't provide for the poor, sick and ethnic people of your nation.

Your's sincerely,

Mr. Reilly

P.S: How's the war in Iraq going? Quite "civil" I'm sure.

P.P.S: Go fuck yourself, c**t.

P.P.P.S: Sorry for all the language, but I hate you with a passion. Do us all a favour George, go have a hunting accident, or walk out in front of a bus, please.

Kate Moss, whatever.

2005-09-19T10:35:00.000+01:00

So Kate Moss is a cokehead. Who would of guessed that one eh? Whoop-de-fucking-do. She also sneaks away at a dinner with Nelson Mandela to "powder her nose"? Again, big deal. She's a fashion model for god's sake. She isn't some political figurehead, big corporate bigwig or scientist. She's a girl from Croydon right? With a questionably pretty face? She's got rodent features if you ask me.

Anyone with half a brain could figure out that almost everyone in the fashion industry, or most entertainment industries to be honest, does some kind of drug at some point of their career. It goes with the territory. It probably don't stop at the entertainment industry either. If you are rich, like to party, odds on you might have a cheeky line from time to time. Or a lot, as this case may be.

I picked up a News of the World on Sunday morning. What a great paper that one is eh? Proper journalism eh? Anyway it turns out that Naomi Campbell's old personal assistant who ironically was sorting out some gear for Ms.Moss at the Mandela party, spilled the beans and sold the story to the papers, after the photo of Kate hoovering up some gak appeared in some tabloid last week. For a good wedge of dough I bet. I wonder if anyone else's PA will follow suit and shop their old employees? Imagine it. I'd buy that paper. For talkings sake, imagine the headlines if say for instance, someone close to Tony Blair decided to do the same? Blair on the bugle! Cherie's on Crack! Downing Street Druggies!

Oh well I suppose this will blow over soon enough (Sorry I couldn't resist), unless she decides to get serious and go harder like her boyfriend, King of the crackheads, Pete Doherty. Let's see how long those looks of hers will last then? She'll be another Roseanne Holland. Good God, what a poster campaign that will be!

Mob Rules.

2005-09-15T11:51:00.000+01:00

Since my lovely holiday has somewhat came to an grinding halt, I've been forced to travel on that wondrous beast that is London public transport. I'm starting work at roughly 9.00am in London Bridge and I have a few options open to get there.

The easiest, but longest option is the number 133 bus. The quickest, but painful option is the tube. I lazily got out of bed this morning, so today I was going to be a tube bitch. Getting closer to Brixton I saw a huge mob outside the station. Ohh I wonder what's going on? In Brixton it could be anything. Wackos on a rampage, little old ladies falling down the stairs, terrorists, whatever. This time it was 2 tube dudes not letting people in.

Turns out there was a signal failure down the line. Surprise! I managed to squeeze through and get down the stairs. I looked back and saw 2 guys in fluro jackets holding all these people back like a huge bunch of sheep. This blew me away. Two "officials" wielding so much power over the people. English people strike me as having so much respect for authority. All it would take is a rowdy person at the back (ie: me) to push forward a little to send the front row of people cascading down the stairs. A bit like that game in arcades with all the 10p pieces on sliding terraces. But no. All the docile humans waited for the fluro jacketed gatekeepers to let them down the stairs. How cute.

Due to the masses of people, the tube was rammed. Lucky for me, I was only going to Stockwell to jump onto the Northern Line to take me to work. I hopped off a rammed tube only to get on a moving cannery full of sardines. Ha! It couldn't be more packed.

This is where I noticed the second trait of English people. No one dared to look another in the eye. Sure, you could be wedged in someone's armpit, a briefcase up your arse, one hand on a railing, and another trying to shuffle an ipod with the other. But catch someones eye! Jesus Christ, stop the train. Full scale security alert! I spent the whole time trying to catch peoples eye, and giving them a smile. It didn't happen once. Sad eh?

The funny thing was, when people moved, due to being in some 3d version of twister and touched skin on skin, almost immediately the word "sorry" would come spilling out. Sorry? What the fuck? For what? Being in a crammed environment? Being English? Accidently touching someone? Saying "sorry" so flippantly but not looking another human in the eye and smiling? What a weird bunch of folk. Any way I hopped off at London Bridge, made a hasty exit out to the wet concrete world and scurried off to the relative safety of work.

PS: I'm getting the bus tomorrow.

Six weeks and back to square one.

2005-09-08T09:08:00.000+01:00

Well, it's been quite a while since I've posted, and I can tell you I have had a pretty darn good time of late. Infact 6 weeks of insanity, and wouldn't ya know it I've blown ALL my money. Needless to say I'm working again. (Like right now, waiting for a job to come in at my first freelance job.) So I'll tell you about my holiday. I did manage to do both things I outlined in my previous post. I went overseas and I went and saw my family.

Righto then, the overseas bit. I went with a couple of good mates, Tom and Asad from Reverberations to Krakow in Poland for a four vodka packed days. And packed full of vodka they were.

We arrived and were greeted by Oscar the promoter guy. He was well cool, and took us back, through the soviet style streets back to his gaff. Of course the first thing after the introductions to the housemates, dog and cat was the first of many vodkas. In Poland vodka is drunk neat with usually a little chaser. The chaser usually is apple juice, but this time it was apple with cinnamon, which quickly became known as "Strudel Juice". Boy o boy does that make vodka really easy to drink! We (polish)ed, (sorry couldn't help myself there) off what was in the house and and went to into the main square to check out the gig where the boys were playing.

It turned out to be a place called Prozac. It was kitted out really well and it looked like the gig the next night was going to be fun.

Highlights from Friday include; having a drunken laugh, possibly eating the most well made, tasty kebab ever and not breaking my cheek bone from been tripped up by a new Polish friend while giving Tom a piggy back in the main square, and subsequently falling face first on some ancient cobblestones.

Saturday morning was not so bad considering that our hangovers were not as monstorous as I was expecting. We went out to lunch, ate far too much mexican and moved our base towards a rather nice little apartment (thanks Oscar) that was directly above the club. After so much tucker at lunch, we all had snoozy afternoon kips and went out for a light dinner before the onslaught that lay ahead.

To be honest the night went rather quickly and I have quite a lot of photos, which most of are no way fit for public viewing. In general I thought we all acted rather responsibly and had a good time. Only when I woke the next day was I informed that we had well err... acted rather like a bunch of twats on a stag do. Here's what was relayed to me. Obviously I can't remember this I was passed out. After leaving the club, where Tom and I were supposedly extremely drunk I dropped a full drink on the stairs and had to be helped out of the club. I passed out on a bed, and then the fun began. Tom got into a drunken caveman style fight and started lunging at one of our new friends, Gregor. Asad was offering some groupie that came back to the apartment a line, and then started racking up some hefty chunks of leftover paella. Didn't think she got the rather quirky English humour.

Tom passed out, half on a bed, and Asad decided to exact some revenge. First was 2 full pints of water over him, a towel soaked in stale beer, placed near his face, an ashtray also placed near his face and a now well minging paella also right near his face. Well, what are friends for eh?

Sunday was a slow start as to be expected and it's a bit of a blur, nursing beers in beautiful surroundings. We were taken to a traditional Polish restaurant for dinner. What a experience that was. Some breads and dips came out. Sweet, until I spied what looked like a mug of soft lard with chunks. It was called smalec. It turned out to be double fried pork fat with bits of pork rinds through it. You spread this on your bread and douse it with salt, and tuck in. Well when in Rome they say. I didn't manage to rid my palate of that taste for well over 5 hours. The next course was a selection of soups, which all of them turned out to be very, very, tasty, my favourite being Barszcz czerwony. Which is a hot beetroot soup. The last course was a big wooden plate full of dumplings called pierogi. And to be quite frank, they tasted delicious. I was well chuffed, and to end the meal it was decided to go back to the club for a couple of quiet drinks. To cleanse the mouth of pork fat... of course. (By the way my veggie lifestyle seems to be on hold whenever i leave the country.)

The first shot of vodka nearly killed me. It was a layered concoction of vodka, cherry syrup and tabasco. My palate was well and truely cleansed, if not stripped. The second shot was a small shot of what looked like vodka. I thought I was going to be sick. It was like someone had slipped me a shot of aftershave. Turned out to be 80% proof vodka. The rest of the night was again a blur, but from what I can remember we invited half the bar back to the apartment, started wearing boxer shorts on our heads and started acting like general fools. I think I had a broom out at one stage and was trying to find 101 use for it. None of which was sweeping of course. By this time, I vaguely recall it was round about 4am and we had managed to dial-a-bottle-of-vodka. (Don't you just love Poland!)

Tom had to fly out at 7am that morning and was trying to figure out how to get a cab for 4.30am to get to the airport for his check in at 5am. I was trying to convince him to try and get a later flight. I was determind for him to stay. I got hold of his ticket and held it, looking for some number on the ticket I couls maybe ring and try and change the flight. Suddenly in a stroke of genius/insanity I whipped out a lighter and burned his ticket. Problem solved.

He now had to get a later flight. Everyone was in stiches, including myself, and the party got back into full swing, until everyone passed out. We eventually went back to Oscars place, spent a hour trying to book a flight for Tom and eventually had to go to the airport. Turns out Asad and myself were on the same flight. I managed to get Tom on an Easyjet flight, an hour after ours, all for a price of £200. It's probably one of the most stupid things I've ever done, basically burning 200 quid, which kind of partly explains why I'm chained to a keyboard now, instead of still living the Life of Reilly.

Next episode includes: Glasgow, and Secret Garden frolics, and a mind bending going away bash for ol' Smacked Face (sniff).

Living the the Life of Reilly

2005-07-21T11:02:00.000+01:00

Sorry I haven't been posting much, but life round these parts has er, well gone a bit haywire.

First off I've been to an amazing festival in the Norfolk countryside. I can't really tell you the name of it, because of the poshness and because I'm not really allowed to tell you anyway. Suffice to say, It's in a coubtry mansion, there is only 1,000 people invitied, and it's one of the best parties I've ever been to. We're talking amazing landscaped countryside, tipis, yurts, huge bonfires, old spitfires flying low overhead, lots of yummy food, swimming pool, yoga classes, random sound and light and glass sculptures, the odd celeb swanning about. The funniest was Sting, who when a friend walked by him muttered "I'll give him a message in a bottle." I almost pissed my pants. The music wasn't that great, but it didn't matter. It was a people party. I met some of the most soundest, friendliest bunch of folk ever, and made a whole new bunch of pals. I hated leaving, but on Monday I decided head back to Terrorism Town.

A couple of days, back into work, They decided to drop a bombshell on me. They can't provide enough new business for me to get my teeth stuck into, so they decided to pay me off. Bummer you think? Nope. It's a hefty payout. So much that for the next few months, I'm not even going to bother to look for work, until at least September. It's so ironic. I arrived in England a year to the day ago with literally a pound in my pocket. Exactly a year later I've got a huge wedge to play with in the middle of summer and no need to work for awhile. What a summer I'm going to have. Festivals, a spot of travelling, I might go to Europe with a mate soon, and I'll be going up to Scotland to see the whanau. It's going to be fun. I'll try to post, but I'm pretty much going to be gallavanting around quite a bit, and not be stuck that much in front of a computer.

You could say, I'm living the Life of Reilly.

P.S. Happy Birthday Mikey Ray, you old boot.

The weirdest day.

2005-07-12T16:16:00.000+01:00

Last Thursday, at the last minute I decided to ride my bike to work. I was so close to getting the tube. Like made my mind up walking out the door to ride. It wasn't a sunny morning, and even spitting a little, but I biked none the less. I'm glad I did. When I get the tube, I get into Kings Cross at roughly 9.50am. I don't even want to think what might of happened. It's far too horrible to contemplate.

When I got to work, I heard of a power surge had caused and explosion at Aldgate. Pretty soon, I heard of a few more power surges. This rung alarm bells in my head. Next thing I'm hearing is a bus being ripped apart. Then my phone gets no reception, and all I can hear outside is sirens. It's looking like a terrorist attack.

I work pretty much smack bang in the middle of it all in Farringdon, right next to the unmarked Reuters building, which is Fort Knox by the way. The rest of the day, no work got done, no texts could get sent, and I sat dumbfounded watching the horror unfold on a bbc news website. I went to the pub with most of my work, and everyone was cracking jokes and getting a bit boozed. I couldn't even finish a cider. I went back to work and a few text messages from family and friends started to trickle through.

Most of our building had gone home, and by 4.30 the decision was made to shut up shop and for everyone to make their way home. I felt sorry for a few people that lived on the fringes, knowing that they had a long trek home. I jumped on my bike and started heading south home. The scenes to greet my ride home were straight out of the zombie flick 28 Days Later. The street were deserted of transport, and the pavements packed with bewildered faces, trying to figure the best route home to safety. Very bizarre.

While riding, I got thinking this must be what it's like every day in Iraq or in Gaza. Except it's a combination of extremists and American & British forces blowing fuck out of each other. With innocent people getting killed in the process. I flew by a few pubs, which were packed. This irked me even more. Is it the great british courage. Get pissed in the face of terrorism?

Getting lost & fried chicken.

2005-07-01T15:28:00.000+01:00

I finally took the plunge and bought a push bike. This one to be exact. It's a lot of fun, and I'm enjoying being an urban road warrior instead of a tube bitch. It takes me usually 45 minutes to get to work, underground, but on the bike it takes 20 minutes. That is, when I don't get lost.

Which has been 3 times this week. It's all because of the most confusing, scariest roundabout in London. I'm coming from Kennington Park Road and I hit Elephant & Castle, (which is a hole by the way) and that's were it all goes a bit pear shaped. I'm not sure if its the buses, the merging traffic, fast motorbikes, or the sheer amount of lanes and roads off it that totally fucks me every time.

The first day I ended up heading to Waterloo Station, spotted the London Eye and then realised that I was totally going in the wrong way. I quickly cut across and found Southwark Station, which is my little marker, to know I'm on the right way to my way across the river, which is Blackfriars Bridge, on the way to my work in Clerkenwell.

The second day I went down Southwark Bridge Road, thinking I'd find my little marker, but alas I couldn't. So I cut across and found my marker. Found Blackfriars Bridge, and home free again.

Today I went down King William St, somehow mistook Borough Station for Southwark, cut across, thinking I was taking the same road as yesterday and ended up going across the Southwark Bridge. Fuck me, if that didn't totally screw me up. I turned and the next thing, I'm on my way to London Bridge. Wrong. Turned back, and then somehow ended at St Paul's. I knew I was kind of going in a semi right direction. Then I ended up at St. Barts hospital. I then spied the Barbican Towers. (Thank fuck for landmarks!), and weaved my way towards them. I saw the meat markets, and knew my way to work from there.

The most ironic thing, is that all these diversions, and I still wasn't late. It's great, I'm feeling myself getting healthy and I've got a spring in my step, and not looking like a old sweaty dog, huffing and about to keel over. Which, believe me is not the sexiest look out there.

However there is a couple of little thorns in my side to becoming healthy. Namely booze and fried chicken drumsticks. They seem to go hand in hand. One drink at the boozer sometimes, well usually all times turns into maybe 5, depending on the night. Monday to Wednesday, 5 is usually tops. The other days are well... let's not go there today. God help me, if my local started to sell Magners Cider. I'd just check myself into rehab on the spot.

Anyway between my local and my road is the evil Pizza Ring. To be fair, the thin crust pizza isn't too bad, but the trans fatty temptations that lurk behind the counter. The mountain of golden crumbed, fried white meat wrapped around a carcass. You know you love it. Dirty chicken.

Lately, I can't seem to pass it up. It's terrible. The most utterly amazing fact of this strange compulsion, is that I don't even eat chicken! I pretty much just eat seafood, and avoid most meat. I might eat some types of meat again one day, but I'll never eat pork. Even though pork is mighty tasty, pigs don't sweat, and have massive tumors cut out of them because of this. Pig fat also, is so close to human fat, it binds straight away to your fat, and never comes out. Oh and cannibals call human meat, long pig. Ewwwwww. Whoops I'm off on one again. Eating deep fried drumsticks at midnight, pretty much undos all the hard work I'm trying to do by riding my bike to work. It's retarded. It's like a cheap smack addiction. I have to stop it! I want the lo-fat healthy version of Reilly, that I knew so well in my 20's, and all side orders of lassies that seemed to came along with that. Which is basically the whole underlying reason behind this mad health kick. So from now on, I'm going to try and curb my booze (a little) during the week, and run like the clappers home, and not get lassoed by the Pizza RIng at the top of my road.

Pray for me people, I need all the help I can get.

Thursday is the new Friday.

2005-06-29T14:13:00.000+01:00

I had a hell day at my job and was working till 8.00pm. My brain was pretty mushed by the end of it. Got the usual lets get a pint after work text from my pal Dobber. All good. The weather was balmy and I knew a cool beer would hit the spot, and wind me down after my long day at work.

I think I downed like 3 pints in about half an hour. The one thing I'm having a lot of trouble mastering is the whole drinking slow thing. I just can't seem to do it. God knows I've tried. Even tried switching from beer to rum one night, with diabolical effects.

Anyway Dobber had a hard day at work as well so he decided to get a bottle of buckfast to sip on, well for the energy, ya know. We didn't want to get caught swigging it in the beer garden, so we decided to mix it with Guiness. So was christened "The Black Monk". Sounds horrible, but is actually not to bad at all.

Fast forward, half an hour and I spied a reggae DJ that we were going to see up the road at the Telegraph. I told him last week that I'd burn him off some NZ Dub for him. I took him back to my place to and burned a cd for him. We went back to the pub and we all started having a jolly good time outside in the sun.

Eventually we piled up to the Telegraph and got into the skanking vibe. After a while I asked the guy I met, when he was playing. He then told me that he doesn't play much. I was a bit perplexed. I asked him again if he was Djing tonight. He told me he doesn't EVEN Dj. At that moment a guy, who looked a little similar walked into the Telegraph carrying a crate of records.

The penny dropped. I had invited a total stranger into my house, took him into my room, started burning a cd for him, left him in my room while I went pottering around my house. He could have been a bloody psycho, or a thief or thought I was up for a bit of bum sex. God only knows!

Anyway I had to get the cd back off him and give to the dj. I felt a bit sheepish, and bought the stranger, who was even a bit miffed by this point a Scrumpy Jack. This went on for a while. It seemed like everything was going to be ok. Then someone passed a spliff, that basically wiped me out.

I staggered out the Telegraph, quite early, and did the head in front of my feet walk, stopped in at the evil pizza place up the top of my street, got the standard drunken drumstick (which by the way is becoming quite a habit, and is scary because I don't even eat chicken.) Next thing, my alarm is going off and I have to go to the work.

I'm not too sure if I'll post the rest of my weekend, but did include:- The best curry I've ever had, a quiet DVD that turned into a bender at the Whitehorse, a few quiet drinks back at mine, a serious spanking session with belts, too much buckfast, russian cokes (the best shot ever!), semi naked pictures, and a spanish amazonian lady somehow ending up in my bed! Saturday afternoon consisted of getting quite toasted, me thinking that pavement's looked like travelaters, a small curling competition with brooms and ashtrays, a mad, mad party in Hackney, me and a friend cleaning up the party at the end (cos it was fun), a weird excursion to Stoke Newtington, and watching a Serbian freak mistaking essential oil for poppers, a wacko Irish guy playing early 1990's techno, and accompanying himself on a keyboard (he couldn't play to save himself) and a few dodgy things, that we only found out about after we left.

Salad Daze

2005-06-21T13:44:00.000+01:00

It seems like summer has finally arrived. What a difference a fat ball of gas 93 million miles away makes to London. Suddenly everyone decides to go outside, to bask in the heat. It's a nice idea. What isn't a nice is people who get burnt to a crisp. It's true what they say. "Only mad dogs and englishmen go out in the midday sun." The amount of sorry looking lobsters I saw on Monday proved me right. As a rule of thumb I usually duck for cover between 11.30 and 2.30. And for your skin's sake, put on some sunscreen or wear a hat. It's common sense.

Another interesting thing I saw is the willingness guys are to get their tops off and play football in the sweltering heat. Does heatstroke mean anything you you guys? At least get a few sunbeds in to give your self a base tan and save us all from the milk bottle white. (that sounds incredibly camp)

I'm digressing. Anyway on the subject of summer, I'm on a mission to find the best salad ever. I've got a few recipes, but I'm always on the hunt for some more. If you happen to read this, take a few minutes to add a recipe, and I'll dig up another recipe, to add to the vegetable pile.

There is a few reasons I love salads in summer. They seem like the perfect food. Not too heavy, really good for you, and with hot weather, who can be arsed standing in front of a stove? Not me. I just wished my local shop knew anything about vegetables. Nearly everything is rotting or shrivelling up. How do they expect anyone to buy this crap? Brixton Hill, sort out your vegetables please! I might have to venture down to Electric Avenue and buy a good supply of veges, or take the plunge and start getting a Abel & Cole's Organic box, once a week. The best reason however for being a salad freak for the next few months is to get rid of the few pounds of fat that have decided to stay put in my belly. Cheers Becks.

This brings me round to the final stage of my summer plan. Actually to do some exercise. Last time I attempted the gym it was a total disaster. I went, paid my dues and went for my induction. Easy peasy. Next time I went down to the gym it was rammed, and nigh on impossible to get on anything. Fuck you Fitness First. They told me to come in the morning at 6.30, as that time was less busy. This was at the beginning of the year. I tried it once. I made it to the end of the street and quickly turned around. There were like polar bears rummaging through rubbish bins, and penguins trying to waddle south. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Back to bed, to get up at a civilised hour.

To top it all off, I didn't read the fine print of my contract (as usual) and they kept on taking £45 out every month. Wankers. However I'm now an expert with dealing with the man, and got out of my contract. It involved talking through clenched teeth, asking for supervisors, and talking to everyone that would listen. It took a month, but it paid off.

So I've figured out, that gyms aren't for me. My gym card however makes a good chopper, so it's not a total waste. So, I've decided to buy a bike, and start to do a few laps of Brockwell Park, eventually, once I'm game enough, start to bike to work.

Wish me luck, I'm off to price bikes the noo.

Dick of the week

2005-06-20T18:00:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Following on from Pic of the Week, I'd thought I'd start posting "Dick of the Week". This is a bit old, I think this idiot got this little gem shortly after 9/11. But seriously, this one of the most dumbest things you can do to yourself.

A: It's not centred.
B: Schmuck will see it mirrored.
C: Why even do it?

I hope this guy doesn't get a passport and decides to travel. It would make a pretty easy target.

Pic of the Day.

2005-06-16T16:57:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Protests are continuing in Pakistan against the alleged desecration of the Koran at the US detention centre at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Hey mate, turn around I think the Colonel needs to be fried.

Freaking out.

2005-06-16T11:16:00.000+01:00

This sounds really bizarre, but I've been hallucinating smells. Like right now, I'm smelling fish and chips at my desk. Half an hour ago it was cloves. Shit, now it's fried chicken. Also I've got a weird sensation of cold spots on my neck and torso. Like dripping water. Fucking weird sensation. Like an itch that moves. I keep on thinking I'm spilling water on me. But I'm not.

For those who might know me as well, I haven't had mushrooms for breakfast either. Not on a school day anyway.

I've just been informed that a workmate just had an early lunch of roast chicken and steamed veges with Roast potatos, parmesan and pepper.

Note to self: Don't say your thoughts out loud, your workmates think you are a crackpot already. This however doesn't explain the fish & chips, the water sensation and cloves.

Pic of the day.

2005-06-14T15:57:00.000+01:00

Something I'd watch.

2005-06-14T15:24:00.000+01:00

Life is is a bit strange sometimes. Especially on the telly. I don't watch a lot of the box, but last night, I managed to plonk myself down for a bit of zoning out.

The news at 10 was on. Big news. The Michael Jackson verdict to be exact. Wasn't he lucky. Imagine him being sent down to prison. Jesus Christ. All the lifers would be queueing up to be "the guy who beat Michael Jackson to death with a pipe." Now that would be something I'd watch.

Anyway, back to the verdict. Anyone notice the pack 'o' wackos outside the courtroom. This one lady caught my eye. She looked like a Martha Stewart wannabe, dressed quite smartly in a green power suit. The thing is though, she had a wire cage in front of her that was full of white doves.

She started releasing the doves, one by one as the counts we're being read out. She's mental, right? You'd have to be. Think about it. "Hmmm, I might not work today, instead I’m going to get a cage full of doves and mosey on down to the Michael Jackson trial and release them one by one as the charges are read out." What if he was found guilty? Would she have bitten the heads of 'em? Again, that would be something I'd watch.

It's all about the music innit

2005-06-09T16:50:00.000+01:00

Hi, my name is Reilly, and I'm an addicted to music. I just discovered the I Tunes music shop. Fuck, this is going to be the death of me. I'm getting no work done. We have some pretty nifty computers at work, and a really fast internet pipe. This makes browsing music oh so easy.

I also discovered possiibly the most detailed, wide ranging music review site. It's called Allmusic.com. It's all catergorised and cross-referenced to bands that have similar influences. This makes for an infinite amount of music to check out.

Armed with my debit card details, I took the plunge and got an account. Most albums are £7.99 and you can buy tracks for 79p. You can send in your own mixes, and look at what other peoples tastes are. They have musicians playlists, and a whole lot of "essential" lists. I've been quite choosy in my picks however. I tend to be so narrow in my choices, only because I want to find exactly what suits me at the time. Nine times out of ten, you won't have heard it anywhere, but hey, it still exists.

In the last few days, I've bought Pink Grease : This is for Real. These guys are from Sheffield and are a bit glam rock, without being cheesy. (Is there such a thing?) They seem to pull it off. This album is a belter. No filler.

The next artist I bought is a retrospective by The Brian Jonestown Massacre : Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective. I found out about this guys from seeing a trailer at a film last week. The Film is called DIG! It looks really good. It's all about 2 bands, namely BJM and The Dandy Warhols. A film maker followed them around for 7 years and watched the Dandys bow to record company bitches and BJM, well basically implode.
From what I can gather. Anton Newcombe, the guy behind BJM is a genius though. They have gone through an estimated 40 band members but made have 10 albums in 5 years. 3 of them in a year, and to boot they have gotten a nod from Patti Smith, who has booked them to open the Meltdown Festival. Where are the Dandys these days? Bittersweet.
(On a meltdown note, Who can't wait to see Television. I'm wetting my pants over it.)

Next up on the buying spree is The Teenage Fanclub : Bandwagonesque. Released, just when first wave of grunge hit the sand in 1991. This is 42 minutes of pure power pop paradise. I fell in love with this album. Infact on Sunday afternoon, in a hungover state, while cleaning the house, I listened to this album 4 times in a row. I like it that much. Go the Fannies.

Today I bought a band called Flunk : Morning Star. They are a folktronica outfit from Norway. The lead singer has a honey voice that sounds a lot like Björk, except not so tweaked. Her voice, combined with ethereal soundscapes and acoustic guitars, make the hairs stand out on my arms. Serious goosebump action.

To round it off today, I bought Mark Lanegan : Bubblegum. He's the ex singer from The Screaming Trees. This album sounds like if you tied Tom Waits down the bottom of your garden and fed him gravel, whisky and the occasional shot of morphine for a week. It's moody, troublesome alcoholic blues. Just fitting my mood today.

God I love music. But someone take my debit card from me, before I'm homeless.

A quiet weekend at home.

2005-06-08T10:52:00.000+01:00

Sorry I haven't written much lately, but last weekend's antics stole my brain for a few days. The brain has been returned, however, and was reunited this morning when I woke up.

It was a typical weekend in my book. Friday started of with a few innocent beers down the pub. Was quite nice, glossing over the last week of work, and realising that I'd gone into this very pub, and sat in the same stool, every night for the last week. A home away from home you could say.

Then a pal of mine "Curly" made the typical Friday night suggestion. "Let's get a nose bag!" From there, things always seem to get out of hand. Well, round my way they do. He went off to get supplies. Meanwhile another friend "Dobber" popped in and told me of his new job, which was going to start next week, and the fact that he was going to be drug tested, so he had to be a good boy. This roughly translates as lets go on a bEnder of epic proportions. What could I do? Go home? Say no? Be responsible? I decided to join him. For moral support of course.

We went off to get supplies. Met up with "Curly" and went back to the pub, fully loaded and ready for action. "Dobber" decided that things we're going a bit slow, so he decided to double the dose. Soon enough, he realised that he should of waited a wee bit more. Ha ha. "Dobber" is a looney at the best of times, (with a heart of gold) but with this added enhancement well, he had me in tears. I then noticed my flatmate and a whole bunch of his friends pour into the pub. That can only mean one thing. Back to mine later. I don't usually have people back to mine, mainly because of the size of the place, and that there is far too many really expensive things that can be broken. And usually with my bunch of mates something usually gets broken.

Anyway "the girls" showed up at the pub and things we're in full swing. I think I must have been abducted by aliens at this point, because all I can remember is being on my couch, and it's early morning. "Curly" had gone for more supplies, and I had given "Dobber" a hospital gown to wear. (Read this to see how I aquired the gown.) That, and I noticed quite a few bottles of Buckfast lying around. Uh oh. Buckfast has an insane amount of caffiene, that coupled with all the other bits and pieces makes for a rather hyperactive time.

Like finding 101 uses for a colander, "dobber" trying to climb trees, turning a pestle into a unicorns horn, using a triangle into a stirrup, using the colander as a helmet, and a little plastic model of the Seattle tower as a lance and having jousts in my living room. That was pale compared to my amazement listening to "Dobber". He had the best stream of wasted rubbish I've ever seen coming out of someones craw. You had to be there. It was simply incredible.

Fast forward to my turn to get supplies. I was cruising down Brixton water lane and who should I see popping out of a dodgy housing estate. Shaun Ryder. We crossed paths. I thought to myself. That's Shaun Ryder. He looked back. he hopped into a waiting car and drove in the same direction. I kept on looking at him, and he kept on looking back at me. I stopped at the lights, and so did his car. I then did a tiny bit of freaky dancing - Bez style. He smiled. I smiled. Then I turned round to see a bus load of people looking at me with the "Isn't Brixton full of nutters look." Fuck it. It was worth it.

Next thing I remember it was 4pm and my front room looked like a five year old's bedroom, apart from all the booze, ciggies, spliffs, colanders, cheese graters, strainers, pots, and other assorted goodies strewn all over the place. We cleaned up and went to a mates BBQ. Found a couch, and got stuck into some rum for a few hours. Slowly a few people showed up, and a good BBQ was in full swing. It was a really nice way to end a day.

Highlights of the BBQ were rediscovering Teenage Fanclub, and mainly the song, "What you do to me." Which is two minutes of power pop heaven. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Finding a toy chihuahua, the birthday boy and myself getting mistaken for Starsky and Hutch (see above. The resemblence is uncanny) and wearing the loudest cardigan ever. It rocked. Eventually got home at 3.00am and slept till late afternoon.

Spent till late afternoon, slowly cleaning my gaff, to get some sense of normality back into my life. Got a call from my "Battersea Boy". He came down for a visit, and we went back to the pub for a few quiet drinks. A few turned into a lot. I switched from beer to rum, which was a bad move. You drink twice as much. It was quite a nice time though.

Then Scribe walks in. (he's quite a well known rapper in NZ, who is on tour at the moment.) I have met him a few times and we exchanged the ol' raised eyebrow greeting. Started to thin out later in the night, and I went to the loo, and found a battery and a fan on the floor. Don't ask me why, or how it got there, but there it was. I put the two of them together and bingo! It worked. I then sauntered over to were Scribe was sitting and popped down the fan in front of him, proclaiming "Here's you're biggest fan". He replied "it's not very big". I replied "We'll it's still a fan." Priceless. You had to be there. It was a hoot. The pub closed soon after and I stumbled home about midnight, and eventually got to bed. I woke, well rested and ready to combat another working week.

* The names are changed to protect the guilty.

Die, you motherf**ker.

2005-06-03T12:58:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I can't even begin to say how much this make my blood boil.

Considering how bad Africa is doing right now.
I'll make a point. Just picked off the bbc news site today.

22,000 people arrested in Zimbabwe and their homes burned to the ground.
Civil war in the Ivory Coast.
Child miners in the Congo.
No aid going to Niger.
The rapid increase of HIV/AIDS in Africa, and total lack of medicine to combat it.
Nigerian corruption.
Explosions in Burundi.
Sudan is starving.
Child traffiking in Benin.

With the huge push to help Africa's debt by the world's wealthier nations, it amazes me that American c**t decides to do this. Fuckface's defence budget is running into the billions, and he has the utter stupidity to say, and I quote "A key part of the plan did not fit with the US budget process." Maybe because you submitted a £1.3 trillion budget for next year, cutting back on welfare and schools, I might add, just to prop up your fucking pointless war machine.

You fucking monkey, there is blood on your hands, wanker.

*Sorry for all the swearing, but I'm raging here.

Genius.

2005-06-02T09:53:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

If you live in London, and travel through Shoreditch, you might notice some rather large characters spraypainted on roller doors and walls. Pretty cool eh. I think so.

We all know Shoreditch has long been a favourite place to be be seen and home to a lot of wannabe fashionistas. People trying to be hip and striving to have an individual style to the point of absurdity, that they end up all looking the same. Take all the stupid Keith Richards shaggy mane haircuts and wildly mismatched clothes that some blokes tend to wear. Very Nathan Barley. It's a funny thing to notice.

Shoreditch is also a popular place to position stickers, stencils and the odd piece of graf. I suppose it adds to the bohemian atmosphere of the place. The coolest thing about the art shown above is that all the letters are dotted over Shoreditch and Hoxton, so all you see walking down the road is a 12 foot high brightly painted character. They look good up close too. But the real message is what these characters spell out. A message to Hoxton and Shoreditch perhaps? Hats off to you Eine. Good work fella. You can see some of his work here.

I predict a riot.

2005-06-01T10:44:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I think it's a good thing what Bob Geldolf is doing with the Live 8 concerts. Well kind of.

Well for a kick off, I think it might kick off. Not the concert that is. I think the concert, well the Hyde Park one will put me to sleep, save for maybe Muse, The Cure, Velvet Revolver and at a stretch the Killers. The rest of the lineup, well it's all a bit too fashionable innit? I know it's a good cause and all that, but between Mariah, Elton John, Madonna, U2, Paul MaCartney, Sting, Robbie WIlliams they could probably buy Africa. Well maybe not, but you get the idea.

The main flaw I see with the whole Live 8 concerts is that Sir Bob is trying to get 1,000,000 people to go protest at the G8 Summit at the Gleneagles hotel. I think the idea of it is great, but the reality I fear if he pulls it off will probably get ugly. Just look what happened in Genoa the last time in 2001.

Poor Edinburgh will grind to a halt. I don't think it will be albe to cope at all. With all the tourists in July, a huge load of schemies looking for easy pickings, and a lot of people who will think there is a bit of "per-tay doon the toon." It's going to be chaos. Maybe Bob should have asked the people of the city first maybe? Or at least ask how the council is going to accomodate the influx for the week.

Of course there is going to be a ton of more police on patrol and they seem to be building a five mile long fence around the Gleneagles hotel as I write this, to keep out pesky protesters from rushing the hotel. Another great metaphor. 8 of the big bastards of the worlds biggest consumer nations, discussing what's best for the world without really asking the world or letting them anywhere near. Typical really.

But apparently he's urging it to be a peaceful affair. How exactly to you control the possibly of a million people protesting Mr Geldolf? You can't. All is going to take is a few hardcore folk to start hurling the molotovs at the cops, and it's all on. Bigtime.

If the worlds top 8 governments want to fix Africa before it dies, they need to curb the rampant corruption in African governments that siphons off all the aid that comes pouring in, sort out some kind of deal with all the assorted tribal militia running amok all over the continent, and try to somehow give all the people who leave Africa looking for better money in Europe some incentive to stay put and get a bit an economy going on.Maybe tell George Bush there is a whole lot of untapped oil in Africa and he'll send in the bully boys to create "democracy."

Here's a link to a spot of email terrorism from the make poverty history site. (which everyone is getting those naff white bands for, and incidently is supposed to be quite trendy.) I've had the banner on my site for ages, but geez it's all getting a bit "cool" now eh? Don't ya hate how people love to jump on the charity bandwagon.

Email Tony Blair and say your piece. I'm not gonna rant on to Tony about Africa, I'm going to ask him what he intends to do about the shit state of affairs in the U.K.

We'll see what happens.

Ticket to ride.

2005-05-25T11:05:00.000+01:00

I tried a little experiment yesterday.

I wanted to get to and from work without paying.

I started my mission at the Brixton tube. I approached the turnstile and produced an old ticket and with a quick slight of hand movement I appeared to place my ticket in the slot. At the same time I quickly followed the unsuspecting punter ahead of me. Yep I'm riding on your ticket mate, and you don't even know it. (I love that kind of thing.) So far so good.

Next hurdle is the maze that is Kings Cross. I know for a fact that the gates are usually open when you hop off the Victoria line and make your way over to the circle and metropolitan line. The turnstile I have to watch for is the one that lets you through to go eastward.

I saw there was an old lady in front of me having some trouble with her bags. Being the gentleman I was, I helped her and in the process looked at the guy who was watching the turnstiles. He saw me lugging this bag, with granny in front of me and opened the turnstile for granny, and in the process I slipped through and gave her her bag back. Genius, if I do say so myself.

Now only one more hurdle to get to work. I jumped off at Farringdon and joined the mob of people funnelling towards the turnstiles. I did the old slight of hand trick again, and pushed on through. Half of my mission completed.

The second half, the going home bit is a doddle. After work I went back to Farringdon to catch the overland train to Herne Hill, where I walk home from. They don't have turnstiles at the Herne Hill end, and because I catch this train with a work mate, it was a cinch to get a ride home. I simply told him that I was gonna follow him through the turnstile. No problem. I hopped on the train, happy that I had completed my mission.

I jumped off the train at Herne Hill and sauntered out. Hmm there is a big queue. I have a look and spot some old guys in blue coats at the gates. Fuck. The day I decide to ride free, these bastards show up. I've caught this train for months and this has never happened. The game is up. There is nowhere to run. I walk up to an old guy in a blue coat and basically hand my self in.

OG: Do you have a ticket.
Me: No
OG: Where did you get on the train?
Me: Kings Cross (For a laugh)
OG: How? They have a number of gates.
Me: Slight of hand, mate, and fox like stealth.
OG: What?
Me: I jumped the turnstiles.
OG: You know it's a £10 fine.
Me: Bill me.
OG: What?
Me: Send me the fine.

(I had £20 in my pocket, but there was no way he was getting my money, not today, not by a long shot. I had better things to spent my cash on. Like meeting Smackie for a drink at the boozer. I have priorities y'know.)

OG: We don't bill people.
Me: We'll you are going to have to bill me. I don't have the cash.
OG: You have no money on you?
Me: Nope.
Other OG: C'mon you must have a debit card, credit card?
Me: Nope ( I do have a debit card, but I felt like stringing this along a wee bit more)

The old guy then pulled out a little black book and asked me to write my name, address, phone number, postcode and what I did for a job.

I thought for a minute "Should I just tell him to fuck right off? Do I give a bogus name? Or do I tell the truth?"

I opted for telling the truth. He then started reading my rights like a copper. I sniggered. I couldn't help it. He then wrote down all the questions in his book and wrote down my reply (which I greatly embellished, since he was now writing it all down.) This process took probably 10 minutes, and by the end of it, he asked me to read it and sign it. I then got him to change a few bits, and I signed it. I then got his mate to sign it as a witness. Both of them didn't find it half as amusing as I did.

I mean if they want to play coppers, I'm going to play the annoying know your rights guy! Bastards.

He then informed me that he had to type this up for his supervisor and then he had to pass it on to the prosecutor , who would contact me in 7-14 days. Oh the delight I'm going to have when he calls. If he ever does.

That's the thing, I could have just given a fake name and got off scott free, but for some crazy reason I love to see the big backward bullshit wheels of buracreacy in action. Considering the amount of shit I've had with banks, and BT and any corporation usually I have to deal with, I want my £10 worth of paper work, pain and paper shuffling. I think they are going to call me, and when they do, if they do, I'm going to ask for a statement in writing and opt for written correspondence in the future as I would like records for my brush with authority. Ooooh, authority! I want to stretch out my £10 fine for as long as possible.

Fuck the system? Nope. Fill & file the system.

Transit.

2005-05-23T12:45:00.000+01:00

I feel I've been in transit for the last month. I'm slowly coming round to my normal (is there such a thing?) life. I just got back from NZ last week. The first week I was back home, I was suffering jet lag and finding it really hard to connect with my old home town. The next week I got slightly back into the groove and then went out to the west coast to Karekare for the weekend. I should have done this the minute I had got there, rather than sit outside skanky clubs, buying overpriced shitty drugs and trying to connect with people that I had so clearly now know that I have left behind. That's life though, eh.

I did however have some memorable times in the city, with some people that I know, but I wouldn't have thought I would have. You guys and gals know who you are. Thanks. The last week got all a bit weird, and I realised that there was still a lot of people I wanted to catch up with.

I wish now that I had spent more time with my family. By the time my Mum had driven me to the airport, and I had started my long ride home, I was feeling a bit homesick. A few things I realise now is that New Zealand is in the countryside, the beaches, and the wilderness. A city will always be a city, and that if I do ever go back to stay in NZ, I can assure you that I'm not going to fall for the living in the city trap. It's gonna be the west coast all the way.

A good whole 24 or so hours of travelling round the planet to land at Heathrow at 6.00am was surreal. I actually missed the damn place. Can you believe that? From lush green to tower blocks? I can't describe it. Comfort in concrete?

Totally weirded me out to be honest. After scraping enough dough to get a tube in rush hour traffic, lugging bags up Brixton Hill, dodging people, cars, puke and rubbish to my flat, by the time I got into my room I was beat, but strangely energised.

I slept for 30 hours. I woke up feeling really alone and broke as usual. I had a mate who I could rely on for a bit of company and cash, so I called him up. I stept outside and was greeted by the sun! Bonus. I have not had a summer here yet, and the fact the sun was blinding my eyes was an unusual but quite a welcome sight.

My mate has moved to Battersea, which I haven't been to yet. Another surprise. We took a long stroll through the park. How cool is Battersea in the spring! I loved it. Didn't even know I was in London. Had a lazy afternoon, a nice lunch a refreshing ale. It was a really nice day. I was stoked.

I then hopped on a bus that went through Chelsea. I haven't been through Chelsea before. What a different contrast to Brixton. The place just stinks of cash. Not my cup of tea, but still, from my perch on the bus still looked like yet another spot in London, I had no idea of even existed. This got me thinking. There is so much of this town I have yet to discover, let alone the rest of the country!

I'm now looking forward to Summer, and determind to spend a bit more time getting out and about, and maybe not so much time propping up bars.

I can't wait...

Space.

2005-05-11T02:08:00.000+01:00

In my last couple of posts I have been seemed to be slagging off good ol Nu Ziland a bit much. Hence this comment below.

"Your still on ya London honeymoon, you've been back five minutes and have written Aotearoa off in less than 2000 words. Bro, harsh. Where is the aroha??"
Aotearoanz

Well Mr.Aotearoanz, whoever you are, I don't think I've written off the Land of the Long White Cloud just yet. It's been roughly a week and a half since I landed back on these fair shores and it's taken that long to slip back into the pace of Auckland.

There are parts that seem to stand still in New Zealand, I suppose that's a part of the charm. It's just when you come home, only for a visit and only for a short trip it's taken half my stay to actually notice the things I miss about home.

I've been staying at a friends place that is in a really nice quiet part of town that is totally bush clad. This morning I woke to a few young Kauri trees, a couple of twittering fantails and the most crystal blue, pristine sky with a fat orange orb peeking between the trees. All from my window.

An hour later my friend and I were driving across the bridge, the harbour glinting, and all the buildings in the city looking postcard perfect. It looked really nice. I suddenly realised what I have been missing.

The sense of space. I can look as far as my eye can see in any direction. I actually have bearings here. All I can say is that it feels kinda comforting. I know where I am.

There is space between houses, personal space on public transport, space to wander around the city, space to think, space to shop and even space to park your car. All this is in the city too. Well maybe not on the housing front.

This weekend I'm heading out to the west coast of Auckland to a really nice spot called Karekare. I'm really looking forward to it big time. I wish I had more time to actually get round the country a bit more and have a bit of a road trip. That's the real N.Z. in my eyes.

I'm not going to go great detail on the other part of my stay which has been a constant highlight so far. It's no real hard guess to say that I have been eating a huge amount of the finest seafood and drinking a staggering amount of fantastic New Zealand wine. I have not spent a penny on gifts, clothes, music ( I will however grab the latest Fat Freddy's Drop album, and maybe the Mint Chicks. It is NZ music month after all. Click here for a review of new FFD album.)

I've had the most melt in your mouth sashimi, marinated mussels, huge scallops, crayfish, tiger prawns, and mountains of tarakihi, snapper, blue cod and orange roughy. I've almost been tempted to eat meat, a divine piece of organic aged beef to be exact, topped with tiger prawns and a bearnaise sauce. How do you say it? Surf 'n' Turf? Possibly two of the best matches in food that I can possibly imagine. I'm drooling, just thinking about it. If I have enough cash, i'll bring back a cache of fine NZ wine to drink with friends. (You know who ya all are guys and gals)

Just to rub it in a bit more, here's what I'm having for lunch...

Crispy Skin Fillet of Snapper with Citrus Baby Onion Confit and Pumpkin Reduction, washed down with a 2004 Kumeu River Pinot Gris. (Oh and yes, I'm gonna be broke when I come home, and probably be as big as a house.)

I think by the time I leave NZ to go back to London, I'll be having second thoughts, wondering why I'm off again to the other side of the planet to the concrete sprawl that is London. No doubt I'll feel strange for probably the same amount of time, as I have in New Zealand, but it will pass, that I'm sure of. Considering summer will be showing it's shy face in the next month. (I Hope).

P.S. I've managed to snare a nice camera for the weekend, so I'll have a wad of nice shots to post in the near future.

Welcome to nowhere.

2005-05-05T06:48:00.000+01:00

I'm kind of enjoying my little trip back home. Well sort of. I'm really enjoying getting a proper coffee, thank you Verona. I'm enjoying all the fresh seafood, thanks to Seamart. I'm enjoying catching up with friends, spending a few lazy days supping on Mac's Gold. It's all quite nice really.

I know things are cheap here, but things seem expensive. It's an odd feeling. The thing is I'm getting really bored, really quickly. I feel I've outgrown the place. I know the real New Zealand is not in the city, but in the beaches and wilderness. That's what makes this country so great. It's a shame that all my mates are working, or skint. Otherwise I'd be far away exploring the countryside that I love so much.

I'm taking up an offer to go out to beautiful Karekare to stay at my friend's place for a few days, and if I can stretch it, go out of town to an old friend's place in the Coromandel.

My friends are constantly pulling me up on the fact that I'm calling London home. But you know what, London feels like home now. When you leave a country, especially New Zealand, and see that there is a big world out there, and you come back a year later, well everything seems the same. And it is. Almost.

To be fair, there seems to be a cool few things happening in the K'Road area, artwise with the Disrupt & Misery Crews, and a few new galleries. There seems to be an awful lot of shitty housing going up, courtesy of Tony Tay. (This guy is ruining this city) The only thing that has really changed is me. That's the hardest thing to get across to people, is that I've moved on. It's hard not to come across as a snob, but how can you compare Auckland to London?

The accent is freaking me out a bit too. So wucked. I'm almost ashamed. That's so terrible, eh. I'm sure I don't sound like them, honest.

Get this to top it off. Stagecoach, which is the bus company that services Auckland had decided to go on strike. For six fucking days. Great, could you imagine the buses stopping in London for six days? Not bloody likely. Welcome to nowhere. Not leaving for anywhere, anytime soon.

Gone to the pack.

2005-05-02T00:57:00.000+01:00

I've been back in my hometown, Auckland for 3 days now. Getting here was a mission I'd like to forget. Nine hours on a plane from Heathrow to Bangkok wasn't too bad. The 12 hour layover in Bangkok was going to prove to be in an exercise in time wasting. Which I think I'm very good at doing.

I stepped out of the airport at 6.30am and walked into what seemed to be a gigantic sauna. I was dripping in about 5 seconds. Bummer. No change of clothes. I caught a cab to Khao San Rd to go spend a good few hours at my favourite guest house. On the way I was walking down a side street and bumped into a very friendly bunch of thai locals, who at 7.00am were blasted on Chang beer and Mekong Whisky. They asked if I would join them for a drink. Hell, why not. I had 12 hours to kill. Stayed with these freaks for about two hours, and then really needed to go get a kip, as I was getting into the swing of things, getting a wee bit pished and a young Thai bird decided it would be good idea to take a perch on my lap, in a typical "friendly" Thai kind of way. Didn't really feel like meeting any "new friends", so I made my excuses, left rather quickly.

Crashed out for a few hours, went out and bought a new t-shirt to replace my manky, sweaty top, went to my dodgy chemist bought 50 valium for 500 baht and hightailed it back to the airport. Sat in the bar till my flight, hopped on board and medicated myself and woke up in Sydney. Nice. Eventually got to Auckland and had chilled out at my folks house. Gorged on fresh fish and scallops and headed out to a party in K'Road.

I've been away a year, and to be honest the social scene is getting worse. I find drinks really expensive, the music really really boring, and worst of all you can't smoke in bars. How fucked is that. I had several odd looks, as I was about to spark up. A bar will get fined $4000 if they get caught. Its insane. Everywhere I went looked packed, but infact half the punters are outside smoking. It seems the only music played in Auckland these days is house. It's lame. It gets really old, and stale really quick. A vodka is $7.50 and a pack of smokes is a tenner. Don't even bother with any other bits and pieces. $60 a lolly is taking the piss a wee bit.

The real worry that I became quickly informed about was the amount of people that are literally going down the pipe. A "P" pipe to be exact. It's shocking. I heard of at least 7 people I know that have lost the plot on meth. Marriages breaking up, people in jail and people basically getting bankrupted by a crippling addiction. It really saddens me. A lot.

Guys and girls, a wee bit of advice. The only drug you should never take is the one you have to keep from anyone else. Staying up for days isn't a good look. Don't get me wrong here, I'm no angel, not by a long shot but there's one thing I know. I can walk away from shit that will get the better of me.

Seems people in NZ have never really thought that smoking "P" would turn into the pandemic that has Auckland by the balls. If you live in a small isolated island down in a corner of the world that hasn't really had a history of serious drug addiction, coupled with every cowboy with a chemistry set, asian drug syndicates, gangs and ready made market of sheep who really have no clue how addictive this drug is. It's a recipe for disaster. That's not even mentioning the insane amount of money generated by meth which is mind boggling, from what I understand.

The thing is, people seem to be turning a blind eye to it. I'd hate to watch my friends waste away and turn into junkies. Admit your problem, talk to someone, ask for help, go to NA, Rehab, go overseas, tell your parents, whatever. The best way to stop is exactly that. Stop. Sure it's gonna be a shit few weeks, but it's a hell of a lot easier than coming off booze or opiates, and that's the honest truth. Anyway, I've said my piece. Suffice to stay, I'm happy I'm not living here anymore, it's a depressing state of affairs. Moving right along.

I went to see Shihad play a live gig in Aotea Square yesterday kicking off New Zealand Music Month. It was raining, a little muggy and it rocked. Isn't Jon Toogood looking a lot like Iggy pop these days eh! I've met up with a lot of old mates, some who I haven't seen in over five years, which has been rather special. This week is fully booked up with lunches, dinner parties and I imagine quite a few nice vinos. Lets see how much my waistline and pounds are going to stretch in the next few weeks.

Anyway, must dash. I'm being taking to a new fish market for lunch. Yum.

AWOL

2005-04-27T12:38:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I'm off to Auckland for the next three weeks, so it's gonna be a bit sparse around these parts. I'll be doing a lot of catching up with mates, eating a ton of fresh seafood,seeing my family and generally doing a shit load of fuck all. If I can be bothered to get even near a computer in the next three weeks, I'll do my best to fill ya'll in on my little trip to Aotearoa.

Have fun out there kids, cos I wiil be :)

Looking for love in all the wrong places.

2005-04-25T16:30:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Friday started with a quiet drink at the pub. Soon turned into a bit of a piss bonanza. Last thing I remember was swigging buckfast outside the pub at about 11. Woke up at midday with a pineapple and someone else's scarf in my bed. Must have looked a right mess walking home with a pineapple in tow. Hangover all day. Badly.

Went to meet a friend for a pint at mango landing at about 7.00pm ended up hanging out with her and went to the Dogstar to meet some of her friends. All was going well. Went up to the Telegraph in Brixton Hill for some party called Hectic. Was really hot and sweaty, and I was absolutely dripping in about 5 mins. Got really buckled and was having a bit of a hard time keeping cool. Not a good look at all.

Then went to some after party in Loughborough Junction. A couple of the people there seemed to be genuinely scared of me. This didn't help, me having a mock battle with a rubbish bin in their flat, and throwing warm beer cans at and into the fridge. Left at dawn and staggered back to this ladies place.

We cut through Brockwell park, and I was climbing over a really high railing, and tore the arse out of my pants, and was genuinely dangling from the seat of my troosers. Could have been really nasty but instead looked really mental. Couldn't get off for about 5 minutes. Got back to her place and then decided to go to the shop and get a bottle of buckie. Ended up going all the way to Stockwell, for a session with some close friends. Left there more worse for wear, took a wrong turn, and ended up getting lost and nearly ending up in Battersea.

We were sauntering along like a couple of jakeys. I was stopping at every single shop and getting a beer. It was that bad. Ended up in the Coach and Horses pub in Acre Lane, and sunk quite a few pints. I was feeling pretty sketchy by this point, had ended up having a rather terrible misunderstanding with the lady and ended up telling her exactly what I thought of her. It came out all garbled, and it got quite weird for a few minutes.

I was deflated a bit and things suddenly seemed really awkward. We then ran out of money, well to be exact, her money and then decided to go head home. She scurried off, and I decided to go drown my sorrows at the Whitehorse. I ended up dancing and prancing with the Dobber, and probably looking very, very camp. Scary.

Then we all piled back to Smackies place and got into the buckie yet again, and realised I've met my match in my new best mate, the Dobber. Had some unmentionable shameful acts of drunkenness, including too many rather compromising photos including yours truely sucking buckie out of Dobbers belly button. I even amaze myself with my own shamelessness. Passed out and woke up, not knowing where I was. Went home and had a shower, and then came to work.

Can't believe I'm still single.

Gimmie Danger

2005-04-21T13:05:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

"The only thing I thought might ever kill me off was clean living. I thought, How am I going to listen to that horrible noise I make without a gram of coke and a couple of double Jack Daniels?"

Iggy Pop

Happy Birthday James Jewel Osterberg. Thanks for being still alive, thanks for breaking the rules, and making some of the greatest music I've probably ever listened to.... ever. You broke the mold into a million pieces.

I'm a street walking cheetah with a heart full of napalm
I'm a runaway son of the nuclear a-bomb
I am a world's forgotten boy
The one who searches and destroys

Makes ya wanna go out and get drunk and fuck things up eh! Rock on Igg.

Blair witch.

2005-04-20T15:52:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Sorry, I haven't posted in a wee bit. I got a lot on at the moment. Between a very mad weekend, crazy Basque terrorist girls, going away parties, birthday dinners, a small Scottish invasion to my house, slagging off the pope, one very mad dobber, about 40 pints, dodgy substances, losing my phone, my house keys, extreme highs, extreme lows, a pending trip home to NZ in a week for a holiday, I've been too busy to contemplate anything worthy to post.

(P.S. Found the keys, and phone)

A load of nonsense.

2005-04-15T17:31:00.000+01:00

Two trailers kisses Dan, and Tokyo tickled umpteen progressive aardvarks, even though two bureaux fights umpteen schizophrenic dogs, and sheep drunkenly marries five almost angst-ridden dogs, yet two purple televisions abused the quixotic chrysanthemums, then umpteen botulisms grew up. Speedy elephants comfortably telephoned the cats. Five sheep untangles Jupiter, although Batman slightly cleverly bought one elephant. Two purple cats comfortably telephoned umpteen sheep. Two Jabberwockies gossips. One chrysanthemum fights five schizophrenic tickets, however umpteen elephants sacrificed two obese tickets.Umpteen sheep perused lampstands. The Klingons marries two almost speedy lampstands. One bureau kisses Dan. Five slightly bourgeois cats drunkenly tickled one putrid dog. Two bourgeois Jabberwockies perused five dogs. Umpteen quite progressive lampstands gossips lamely, although two wart hogs slightly easily tastes bourgeois chrysanthemums, however Jupiter quickly marries one progressive trailer, yet two quite purple Klingons kisses umpteen botulisms, but two cats abused the partly angst-ridden Jabberwockies, even though trailers sacrificed five bourgeois pawnbrokers, however one schizophrenic bureau kisses five poisons, even though one slightly angst-ridden orifice tastes two irascible poisons, then one bourgeois Macintosh ran away very noisily, yet five quixotic aardvarks quickly untangles Darin. Umpteen bourgeois botulisms auctioned off Quark, although the putrid bureau slightly easily kisses lampstands, and umpteen sheep perused tickets, yet umpteen wart hogs fights the almost schizophrenic bureaux, then mats gossips. One pawnbroker tastes progressive poisons. Five wart hogs ran away.

(Sorry, I'm bored and nonsense seems the best solution. )

Kebabalah.

2005-04-15T16:29:00.000+01:00

Following on from a totally insane email conversation, I've decided to start a new religon. It's called Kebabalah.

Here's my doctrine so far.

The whole world is Kebabylon. The only place to find refuge, and worship is in the many Kebabalah temples, which as you know are everywhere.

It's an ancient sacrifical ritual dating back to when Noah gave thanks after the great flood by roasting a lamb. God smelled the roasting lamb and sent a dove as confimation.

Now days the sacrifical lamb is in the form of a glowing alter with a rotating "meat obelisk" in a central position. The dove has been replaced by a pigeon, which will take small offerings when you leave with your "Feast of Kebabylon"

To worship is simple. You go into the Kebabalah temples and greet the guardians of the alter. You can usually tell who these Kebabalists are, they guard the alter with long, sharp knives.

The Kebabalist will skillfully shave some of the symbolic lamb from the alter and place it in traditional unleavened bread. He will then offer you the results of this years harvests. Mainly lettuce, onions, tomatoes and cucumbers.Then he will consumate the offering with garlic and or chilli sauce.

At this point you will be asked for a donation for the upkeep of the temple.

Please give the Kebabalist approximately £2.70 and thank him.

All that is left now is to accept the symbolic offering and consume it with vigour, and fully accepting Kebabalah into your heart and soul.

Join Me!

Political Nightmare

2005-04-15T16:15:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

For some reason, all my thoughts of late have been of a political nature. I'm not quite sure why. I have been listening to a lot of talkback radio, and actually reading newspapers. Two things I hardly ever do. Most of the time I'm the proverbial ostrich with my head in the sand, when it comes to matters of politics and religon. The main reason, is I get really wound up, really quickly at the state of play in the world. I usually keep most of my political views to myself, but lately a little has been spilling out here.

Poison 101

2005-04-14T11:14:00.000+01:00

I picked up a metro on the tube this morning, and on the front page was a mugshot of Kamel Bourgass, a supposed "Al-Qaeda" suspect. Very interesting article, namely about his attempt to make ricen and use it on the public in North London.

I had a look on the BBC news website and come up with this. Hmmm, it seems no ricen was actually discovered, just the ingredients. But the Porton Down laboratory, which analysed the material and equipment seized from a flat in Wood Green where Bourgass was living, said that a residue of ricin had been found when it had not.

Seems Mohamed Meguerba who was linked to Kamel Bourgass, supplied the information when under interrogation in Algeria, was adamant that two pots of ricin had been manufactured at the Wood Green premises.

I've no doubt, that Bourgass was a threat, and it was soon proved by his actions in stabbing a policeman to death on his accidental capture, and probably given enough time, would have carried out the attacks. But being a sleeper for Al-Qaeda? I'm not too sure. Most of the information on Bourgass, came from Mohamed Meguerba, who it seems is not the most reliable source of infomation.

From where I'm sitting, it seems that the media and police are all too quick to assume that people involved in some form of terrorism, and are possibly asylum seekers, possibly Algerian and possibly Muslim have to be linked to Al-Qaeda in some way. They seem to get the majority of information from other suspected Al-Qaeda terrorists that have already been caught. Don't you just love the media, and the government, and the pictures the like to paint.

Here the icing on the cake though, the BBC news site shows you pictures of what you need to make ricen. They black out the recipe of course, but it took me 30 seconds to find a recipe on the internet. (Funnily enough from an American website.) Then incredibly one quick link away, lists all the types of poisons and recipes.

Based on what I got off the net in a matter of seconds, and backed up by the helpful BBC I could go out right now and have a batch of ricen all ready to go in a few hours. You have to wonder how much a part the media in the western world, who is hell bent on exposing Al-Qaeda terrorists, namely to fuel the fire against the muslim world, plays in planting the seeds for budding young terrorists, living in the west, who obviously want to destroy the west.

Funny old world eh?

Pot calling the kettle black.

2005-04-12T14:39:00.000+01:00

Seems everytime I look at some news site on the web the whitehouse wankers keep on popping up all over the show. Heres a doozy by Donald "I'll kill you" Rumsfeld.

"Donald Rumsfeld, US defence secretary, has warned Iraq's new leaders against political purges or favouritism during his visit to Baghdad. He said that such behaviour could lead to charges of corruption and sap confidence in the yet-to-be formed government."

Ha! You have to be kidding me. If it's a US model that the new fledging democracy is based on, I can bet you horseshoes to hand grenades, that it will be corrupt and rotton to the core. I do think it's great that Iraq has a Kurdish leader, considering how badly the Kurdish were treated under the Sunni lead government. But you have to ask the question how did it get so out of hand in the first place.

Well... It was the 1980s. Saddam was America's puppet in Iraq fighting the Iranians who has just turned into an Islamic state after America's puppet - The Shah of Iran - died of cancer. Osama bin Laden was a buddy in Afghanistan and the Taliban was know as the MujaHadine Freedom Fighters. Reagan was trading arms for hostages to fund an illegal war against the Sandinista-controlled government of Nicaragua. And Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfield was making oil deal with Saddam Hussein. (see above)

They now accuse Saddam of gassing his own people and we want to put him on trial for it. And - if he did it - he deserves to die for it. But America gave Saddam the poison gas that he used to kill the Kurds - gas that he was supposed to use to kill Iranians.

Poison gas is illegal under International Law and America making it is illegal. But Americans are above the law - or specifically Republican presidents are above the law - and we make nerve gas and we gave it to Saddam to use to kill people in Iran - which Saddam also did.

So - you see - Republicans interpret the law differently than the rest of the world. It's OK to gas Iranians - but it's not OK to gas Kurds. If Saddam if found guilty then i- in my view - his partner Ronald Reagan is also guilty. Reagan gave Saddam poison gas to kill Iranians and Saddam did what Reagan wanted - but he just gassed some Kurds on the side.

Reality is different than American political fiction. Under International Law it's just as illegal to gas Iranians as it is to gas Kurds and the criminals include everyone who was involved which includes those who supplied Saddam with the gas with instructions to use it.

Reagan is dead now - and beyond the reach of the law. But Reagan was Saddam's partner in the gassing of the Kurds and a conviction of Saddam is also a conviction of Ronald Reagan - both of whom are criminals of war.

These kinds of acts only strengthed Saddam, until 1991 when oil hungry nations took notice as result of Iraq's invasion of Kuwait in 1990. Saddam Hussein declared that the invasion was a response to overproduction of oil in Kuwait, which had cost Iraq an estimated $14 billion a year when oil prices fell. Hussein also accused Kuwait of illegally pumping oil from Iraq's Rumaila oil field.

The UN Security Council called for Iraq to withdraw and subsequently embargoed most trade with Iraq. In August troops moved into Saudi Arabia to protect Saudi oil fields.The United Nations set Jan. 15, 1991, as the deadline for a peaceful withdrawal of Iraqi troops from Kuwait. When Saddam Hussein refused to comply, Operation Desert Storm was launched on Jan. 18, 1991, under the leadership of U.S. Gen. Norman Schwarzkopf.

The U.S.-led coalition began a massive air war to destroy Iraq's forces and military and civil infrastructure. Iraq called for terrorist attacks against the coalition and launched Scud missiles at Israel (in an unsuccessful attempt to widen the war and break up the coalition) and at Saudi Arabia. The main coalition forces invaded Kuwait and S Iraq on Feb. 24 and, over the next four days, encircled and defeated the Iraqis and liberated Kuwait. When U.S. President George H. W. Bush declared a cease-fire on Feb. 28, most of the Iraqi forces in Kuwait had either surrendered or fled.

Although the war was a decisive military victory for the coalition, Kuwait and Iraq suffered enormous property damage, and Saddam Hussein was not removed from power. In fact, Hussein was free to turn his attention to suppressing internal Shiite and Kurd revolts, which the U.S.-led coalition did not support, in part because of concerns over the possible breakup of Iraq if the revolts were successful. Coalition peace terms were agreed to by Iraq, but every effort was made by the Iraqis to frustrate implementation of the terms, particularly UN weapons inspections.

So, as you can see the Yanks tooled up Saddam, give him enough slack, till he pisses off the flow of oil, then cut off the whole country and let them rot. Then he uses the same weapons, to wipe out the Kurds, and then good old USA steps in, under George W Bush to mop up after his old man, all on the pretense of looking for WMD. Which the USA supplied in the 80's. It's all a bit scary really, the planning that goes into arming a country, undermining that same country, then bombing that country back to the stone age, then overtly occupying that country and making it yet another puppet state for the USA. All for control of resourses and building contracts that goes straight back to the people that took it away in the first place. That's democracy for ya!

So when Donnie boy comes out with a quote like that, well it makes me want to puke bile.

Next stop Israel. Oh what a post that is gonna be, it's been festering for a while let me tell you!

P. S. I'm not trying to turn my lighthearted blog into a political soapbox, but I feel quite strongly about those c**ts over the water, and my anger is spilling out here. Rather here, than actually venting my rage on any yank I see, which would probably land me in jail.

The weekend I wanted.

2005-04-10T22:11:00.000+01:00

My weekend consisted of wanting. It was great. I slept when I wanted, read when I wanted, surfed when I wanted, watched tv when I wanted. Even took a nice stroll around Brockwell Park when I wanted. I downloaded what I wanted. I even ate when I wanted. It was all what ever I wanted. Waiting to be wanted was the obvious wants. Booze, drugs and no sleep. Which I didn't want. I thought, how long waiting for the wanting for which I was prepared to want. Seems waiting a whole weekend for the wanting passed by, and I'm not waiting anymore for the wanting. Don't think I wanted anyway, but I'm glad I realised I waited, to see if I wanted. I didn't. It was worth the wait.

Want to leave a comment? I'm waiting.

Engaging new freakish pastimes.

2005-04-08T19:54:00.000+01:00

I found an interesting test. Courtesy of my mate Charlene Ramsey. It's a test that kind of susses out your personality. It's pretty spot on, if I do say myself. I turned out to be a ENFP, which I think is spookily accurate. Go on and have a go, then post your type in the comments box. Oh, and tell me if it's on the money..... or not.

This had me in stiches.

2005-04-08T17:56:00.001+01:00

That's the last pun for the day, I promise.
Have a good weekend, and don't do anything I wouldn't.

Todays Terrorism Tip

2005-04-08T16:47:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I read this article the other day. It blew me away (no pun intended) that journalists are the new crack commandos performing mock acts of terrorism, to expose how easy it would be to blow some place up. I'm wondering when will be the day where a terrorist goes undercover, joins a newspaper posing as a journalist and actually goes and blows something off the face of the earth. Hopefully the bloody newspaper building.

Six month review (Part 2)

2005-04-06T10:09:00.000+01:00

THINGS I LOVE ABOUT LONDON.

Always something to do.

I've been here for six months now, and I still haven't done bugger all. There are so many things to do, if you were loaded (with cash). You could just go non-stop in this town for well, as long as you could handle it. There are so many restaurants, I'd love to try out, so many museums and galleries to go to, so many sights to check out, and so much stuff I'd love to buy. There is a ton off stuff out there, that'll I'll probably never see either, but I hope I'll get there one day.

Music.

For example I went to seetickets and flicked through A and B of upcoming gigs. AL GREEN, ALICE COOPER, ANTONY AND THE JOHNSONS, APARTMENT, ASIAN DUB FOUNDATION, ARTHUR BROWN, BECK, BABYSHAMBLES, BLACK EYED PEAS, BLOC PARTY, BRIAN WILSON, BUZZCOCKS all popped up. I must admit, some of this music isn't my bag at all, but you get the picture in the amount of live music goes on. And all this is just on one website. Imagine the other ticket sites out there? What about bands that don't even advertise. There could be some great unsigned band just bashing away in some pub somewhere in London tonight. I also have re-discovered all my old musical leanings, mainly because I’m not surrounded by house music, which is usually the case in Auckland. Infact I’m pretty much over house music. Should be interesting when I go home to NZ in three weeks and check out the current musical climate.

Randomness.

The sheer size of this city. It makes me laugh when people say they get bored. Get off the couch and go explore the city. Everyone moans about public transport, but in reality it's not that bad. Maybe I might groan about it in a few years, but at the moment, it's cool not to have to drive everywhere. I still get a buzz hopping on public transport knowing I'll probably never see any of these people again. It makes me want to be cheeky and a little eccentric just to guage peoples reactions.

Friends.

I'd go insane without them. Thank god I've fallen in with a really good bunch of people. You know who you are. It's a god send to be able to have instant f(r)iends who all are as they say round my way, safe.

Brixton.

Can't beat it. Good little vege market, a pile of odd shops, good boozers, all my mates bar one live near me. And even he's moving closer, which is brilliant. A great cinema down the road. Brockwell Park is beautiful and I can't wait till the Lido Pool opens. My flat is brilliant, and I'm getting the feeling I want to stay there for a while. A mellow flatmate with good taste in music, food and wine, and a really nice modern pad. And 250 steps to my favourite pub. What more could I ask for? Maybe a nice girlfriend, but that's an entire post on it's own, and I'm not prepared to open that can of worms just yet...

Fowl Play

2005-04-05T23:07:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Trust me, you will never eat chicken again. This article is a little old, but reading it was well worth it. What's really sick is kids love these disguised pieces of mangled bits of well....... read on.

This is the bomb.

2005-04-05T17:28:00.000+01:00

Missing that Kiwi summer? I know I am. Check this out.

P.S. Cheers for the link Smackie.
P.P.S I'm still struggling to find good things to say about London.
P.P.P.S I'll get there eventually. Posting the results, that is.

In God we trust?

2005-04-01T12:11:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I've been very wary about commenting on the Terri Schiavo case. Mikey's post on the subject makes some good points. However I saw a news piece on her passing away the other night, and it pissed me off. It's the fact that Bush stuck his nose into Christian America yet again. His voters. The stupid people who's faith in God had basically set up the Jerk-off for another four years. There were images of people praying in groups and comments from religious nuts, (priests included) who are so blinded by faith that the statements to camera were just pathetic. Here's what I mean.

Father Frank Pavone

"This is not only a death, this is a killing," he said. "We grieve that our nation has allowed such an atrocity as this."

Hey father Frank. Shut the fuck up. Your nation is committing atrocities on a daily basis, can't you see that? Surely you can? The whole of Christian America has been brainwashed into accepting that their leader is doing God's work and saving Americans from evil Muslims or anyone infact that upsets the status quo, or more likely the flow of money and oil. It makes my blood boil that half a fucking country is asleep, and voted for that animal.

Even the Vatican has jumped on the bandwagon.

Cardinal Jose Saraiva Martins.

"An attack against life is an attack against God, who is the author of life"

The Vatican... What a crock of shit. A very rich nation, yes a nation, with a lot of wealth, property and dripping with gold and relics. The same Vatican who is against birth control. Like we need more people on this planet? The same Vatican who covers up the fact that a lot of it's priests like to fuck kids? The same Vatican who has committed many atrocities in history. One that come's to mind is Pope Pius XII who sat on the fence throughout the Holocaust, and offered no help while Hitler was trying to wipe out the Jews.

It seems really ironic, now that the current Pope is on his death-bed, that they are now sticking feeding tubes into him, trying to keep the poor bastard alive. Let him die. I'm sure George Bush will stick his oar in, and nominate Father Frank Pavone to fill the spot, and cover all the bases. God knows he's nearly there with Wolfowitz being appointed head of the the world bank.

God, if you do exist, can you please send one of your "acts" and just erase that motherfucker Bush off the face of this planet. Please?

P.S. Terri Schiavo, I hope you are in a better place now, and not trapped in a dead body anymore.

P.P.S. Still working on the good half of the six month review.

Six month review (Part 1)

2005-03-31T09:58:00.000+01:00

It's been Six months since I arrived in London, and it's time to take stock and see what I love and hate about London.

THINGS I HATE ABOUT LONDON.

Banks.

I can't stand the bastards. The banking system in this country is backwards, full of paper pushing patronising wankers and a general Nightmare. I have written a few times about my disgust for the banking system, and have not had a good time going to the bank once. It's been six months and I'm still without my debit card. God knows I've tried. I will, however find out within the next week if I'll get my prize possession, only through applying for a bank account as a foreign national. Amazing eh! I'm a british citizen and have to flash the NZ passport to hopefully get a normal bank account. Mind boggling I know, but hey, that's the arcane banking world.

Queues.

Fucking everywhere. Like 20 people waiting to use a cash machine. 10 people waiting for food in a café. Inside the bank, the Post Office, Argos, Tube Stations. I understand this city has millions of people, but it still makes me insane waiting for anything. It's wasting my time. Can the stupid clerk at the bank, after waiting 10 minutes to talk to her give me the time back? I don't think so. Thiefs.

Weather.

I'm waiting for summer. I hope it's good. Only because I've never experienced the swings in the weather, that grace this city. One minute it's snowing, then the next week I'm having a picnic, then a couple of days later it's baltic again. Then it's raining, then it's not. It's worse than Auckland, and that's saying something.

Getting paid monthly.

I'm 33 and I still can't budget. No matter how I try. I'm usually struggling for the last week or so before payday. Like clockwork. It's a combination of serious partying, impulse buying, and shouting people. Oh well, I'll learn sooner or later... Not.

Getting sick.

I have never gotten so sick in all my life as I have living in London. I think it has something to do with the serious partying mentioned above. I'm not a young buck anymore. I'm more like a tough old stag, that should be shot and turned into a trophy. I'm way past my sell by date, infact I think I'm slowly disintegrating from the inside out. To date I have had 3 or 4 serious colds, a crippling bout of shingles, a seriously nasty bacteria living in my stomach, a liver that has decided to go on strike, phantom pains on my side that really hurt, and I feel like somebody has gave me a good kicking everytime I wake up in the morning. Apart from these ailments, I'm a box of birds most of the time. Oh, I nearly forgot, I've had the most amount of sickdays ever in the history of my company.

Grey Concrete.

A wee bit of colour wouldn't go amiss. Nuff said.

Whingers.

I'm trying not to become one. Honest.

My head feels like an Easter Egg*****

2005-03-29T14:30:00.000+01:00

Serious mental block today. Or more to the point, my mental capacity for words is a block. A block of melted cheese to be exact. So today there will be no in depth story of my Easter break. I'll just break it down for you into little bite size globs.

Pick up cousin / Go to Garlic & Shots* / See all good friends / Get great presents / Pissed off with restaurant / Pissed off with thieving little goth c**ts / Food is shit / Start to actually get pissed / Hung out with the Stepney Green Massive / Morning has broken / We are all broken / Tube ride from Hell / Mad garden action**, keywords include "Marsupial" "Scrub" and "Colostomy Bag" / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Curry / Sleep / Borough Market / Saatchi Gallery*** / Camden Market / Cousin can't believe you can buy shrooms / She buys some / Home / Happy Mondays gig**** / Whitehorse till very, very, very late / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Sleep the entire day / Indonesian food / Cousin wants to try Shrooms / Giggle for for four hours / Watch good films / Eat more Indonesian food / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Sleep / Get really confused by daylight savings / Go back to sleep / Wake up / Go to Oxford Circus to eat / Sadly drop cousin off at St. Pancras / Go home / Restore sane life for another week at the office...

* For a more indepth review of Garlic & Shots go here. Thanks Smackie.
** I'm waiting for this guy to write about this. Hurry up Mikey.
*** The new exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is slim pickings in my opinion, but Jörg Immendorff rocks. Marlene Dumas has serious issues going on, and Hermann Nitsch is slightly a few cards short of a full deck in my opinion..
**** For a more indepth review of The Happy Mondays go here. Thanks again Smackie.
***** Not so much the actual egg, but the contents, which are hollow.

12053 days so far.

2005-03-24T12:09:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Today I hooked up with a few people, dead and alive. Old mate Harry Houdini, my drinking buddy Steve McQueen, my two dates, Kelly Le Brock and Lara Flynn Boyle. My crazy twin, Sandy, and evil twin Kym. Mase from De La Soul was spinning some tunes, and we were all talking about old times. Like on the day I was born, Great Britian imposed direct rule over Northern Ireland. That crazy incident when I was one, when Lou Reed was bitten on his bum by a fan. The sad day in music history, when I was six when British Courts granted record companies to sieze bootleg and pirate recordings. Or when I was 8, banging out to the new Iron Maiden album "The number of the Beast." Or the suspect times when I was 16 when Oliver North pleaded innocent to Iran-Contra charges. A year later we witnessed the Exxon Valdez spilling it's guts. We toasted Queen Mary popping her clogs, and drank to all those departed, including Sandy, who was born today. Where ever you are now bro, Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Banksy Hits New York Museums.

2005-03-23T19:08:00.000+01:00

Just got this in my inbox...

Over the last couple of days, a British pensioner has visited four of New York's Most Famous Museums...

The Museum of Modern Art
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
The Brooklyn Museum of Art
The Museum of Natural History

In each museum the pensioner surreptitiously installed a piece of artwork.

The British Pensioner....

BANKSY

The exclusive photos are online here www.woostercollective.com

Wonder when this will hit the papers and TV?

Punk rock Preschool.

2005-03-23T16:14:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I stumbled across this place today. It's a kids show in Washington D.C called Pancake Mountain. It's made by old punk rockers. They seem to be sick of all the commericials and violence on TV, so they made thier own show. The music on the show is outstanding. Performances by The Arcade Fire, Steel Pulse, Anti Flag, Fiery Furnaces and The Thievery Corporation just to name a few. There's even cameos by ex Minor Threat/Fugazi frontman Ian McKaye singing a song called "Vowel Movement" with his new band the Evans. They even have a savvy sheep puppet called Rufus Leaking who interviews the likes of George Clinton, The Undertones, Henry Rollins, Presidents of the USA, and the Scissor Sisters to name a few. They even have little kid dance parties. How cool is that? I'm totally glued to my screen and I'm supposed to be all grown up and stuff.

Banksy strikes again.

2005-03-23T12:09:00.000+01:00

The Guns of Brixton.

2005-03-22T11:04:00.000+01:00

Just heard on the radio that last night at the NAS concert at Brixton Academy, that "gunshots" were fired at the ceiling and people were evacuated and the concert was stopped. You can read the story here. What a bummer, I'd hate to pay money for a gig and have to leave because of some wannabe gansta decided it would be a macho act to unload a few rounds into the ceiling.

But what really got me pissed is that at the end of the radio news piece, it had snippets of people giving thier view of what had happened. It was all "Well it's Brixton innit" and "It's Brixton, there's lots of crazy people here innit." How stupid are those comments. A: "Innit" is not a word. B: How do we know the person firing the shots came from Brixton? What if the gig was at Earls Court? Would the public say "We'll he probably came up the Victoria line from Brixton to fire the shots tonight" and "Look at all the crazy people here! They must all be from Brixton!"

I've been in Brixton a little while now, and I walk the streets day & night, sometimes alone, and apart from your usual skunk dealers and the odd homeless person, I have felt totally safe. I've never seen a gun, never seen any street violence and never seen anyone being shot. I don't think any of my friends have either. Now I'm not saying that these things don't happen, but from my view I ain't seen jack.

I'd rather live in charming Swiss Cottage in North West London where you can get your head lopped off with an Axe. Or being kicked to death by a traffic Warden in Highbury. Or being stabbed to death while in the back of an ambulance in Bounds Green. How about the cosy Somers Town where you can get stabbed and your child asphyxiated. Or where you can get knifed in the chest over a dispute about a £1 pizza in Holloway Road.

Maybe this post is a little bit biased, but stop slagging off Brixton. It's been ten years since this happened. And 24 years since these dark days. Get over it people. It ain't as bad daan saaf as everyone makes out.

Aliens, Fat Slags, Ikea and the sun.

2005-03-21T17:02:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by the tiniest man with the tiniset camera.*

Friday night started with the best intentions. Don't they all. I went out with Smackie for dinner at Yelo in Hoxton Square. First thing i noticed was the temperature. It was positively tropical. When we hit Hoxton Square, there were people friggin' everywhere. Supping beer from plastic cups on the grass, punters spilling out of pubs, and everyone had on t-shirts and had smiles on their dials. Amazing. This instantly put me in a good mood.

We then proceeded down to Bethnal Green Road to see Smackies mate Nick's Band. We were early so went to possibly the worst pub in history. The Marquis of Cornwallis. Karaoke. What is it with Karaoke? A machine that poorly masks some idiots idea that they might be albe to sing. Play a jukebox, or get a band in. Don't let punters sing, because usually, as a rule of thumb, they can''t. If they could, they'd be in a band right? Right!

Next stop is a tiny little pub up the road to see Nick's band the Zapitistas. The were first on, and sounded good, a cross between The Gang of Four and The Cramps. Alas it was over in 4 songs. Five more bands to come. The next on offer were 3 old men who had been listening to The Pixies for the last 15 years in their bedrooms. The lead singer even looked like Black Francis. Uncanny. This got too much and we went to the set of Eastenders.

Well you would have thought so. We set up camp in the corner and watched the freakshow. At first we thought the "entertainment" was another round of ear bleeding Karaoke. It was worse. It was one guy doing Karaoke. Correction. It was one shit guy doing Karaoke. It made you want to get boozed. Which we did. The place was full of big bellied old West Ham supporters, complete with navy tattoos with the fat slags from Viz in tow. As for the younger generation, there was a lot of scary dough faced women, with bad taste in clothes, bad tattoos, who were on the pull for equally chavish pasty wide boys from the outer suburbs, who had gone for a big night out in Bethnal Green. Woohoo! Scary. There was even a guy with a hugely deformed face, which I just couldn't stop looking at. It was surreal. But the drinks we're cheap and the giggles were a plenty. On a side note, everytime I went to the loo, everyone I talked to was from Newcastle, and I could not understand a word. We left at closing time. Surprise surprise.

We walked to a nightbus which number was a new one to me. But apparently it went through Brixton. On the way, I found a mop on the road, which with my excellent puppetry and ventriloquist skillls became a skinny rasta headed northerner which was my date for the night. You had to be there. I mopped the floor with the lot of them. A clean sweep, you could say. The bus got us home eventually, and I hid till morning.

What a morning it was. I woke up with the sun streaming in my window. In the afternoon I went to Brockwell Park and sat around with friends and attempted to play frisbee. Such a difference a few hours of sunlight makes to peoples attitudes. People were everywhere, kids, dogs, smiles around. It's a taste of things to come I'm hoping.

Later that night I had my first ever Ikea experience. I strayed from the arrows on the floor and got hopelessly lost in 5 minutes. It took me 45 minutes then, to figure out what what kind of desk i wanted, what kind of legs I wanted, with what type of wood. All I wanted is a friggin desk! Too many options makes Reilly's head pop rather quickly. I eventually got what I wanted and a few other things like lamps and duvet sets. I think the quality of products is good, and the range on offer is outstanding and the prices are very cheap. It's just the actual act of shopping at Ikea that makes my brain start to hurt.

The rest of the night was me swearing at a screwdriver in my bedroom and looking at a set of instructions like my life depended on them. Eventually the desk got made, my room looks 100% better and I went to bed a happy chappy.

Woke rather late and surfed the net on my laptop on my new desk happily for a few hours, until I went to meet a mate at The Effra pub in Brixton. The place hasn't been decorated for 30 years, and is full of old Jamaican dudes playing dominos. Quite a quaint charm, and I got stuck into what is possibly the strongest white rum I've ever tasted. There should be a law against this rocket fuel. Honestly. It sends you loopy. Not that I need any encouragement in the loopy stakes. My mate played the "got an early start" card which I was secretly going to play if he didn't. We then shuffled off to Satay Bar and some Indo grub, which wasn't all that bad considering I haven't really ventured out food-wise in Brixton yet. Unless beer is a food group.

The weekend was rounded off nicely with some good news from the doctor on Monday. What I thought was an ulcer in my belly, which has been plaguing me for what seems like months, is actually this. Thank Christ. Fucking gross really, but with the marvels of antibiotics I will be free from the stomach aliens that have been having a party in me for way to long.

(By the way the pic is an actual screenshot of the inside of my belly. Apparently doctors have little photograhers that can fit on the head of a pin with tiny cameras that live in tiny capsules that they make you swallow. How they get the photos developed, I haven't got the foggiest, but it looks pretty alien eh? The little wormy things with the whispy tendrils are the offending little bastards.)

Nice wig.

2005-03-18T18:29:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

In great New Zealand taste, this young lady gets arrested showing off her tits to Prince Charles. You can't read it here, but her slogan reads "Get your Colonial Shame off my breasts". Hey lady, get over it ok. Every fucking culture has been colonised by some other wankers since year dot. It sucks, but hey, deal with it, we all have to. If it wasn't the English, it would have been the Dutch, or the Spanish, or anyone with a boat. And come to think of it, looking at the colour of your skin, there's been some "colonisation" being going on in your family tree.

Bogan Brilliance.

2005-03-18T17:31:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I can't help it. I'm a closet metalhead. I got hold of one of my favourite albums of all time today. It's the first Danzig album. I can't believe how good it still sounds. Everything about it is brilliant. Apart from the obvious silly notion of being satanic, which I dimissed at the time as being a gimmick, which I've been proved wrong considering Glenn Danzig's output since this classic first album. Not to mention his company Verotik, which has some truly satanic.... er comic books.

But lets get back to that album. The original lineup of Glenn Danzig, John Christ (love the name!) on guitar, Eerie Von (again, love the name!) on bass, and the best name ever on drums Chuck Biscuits. (who used to be in the Circle jerks and Black Flag). All under the wing of super producer Rick Rubin. These faustian four made 40 minutes of hard rock heaven (or hell).

Tracks such "Twist of Cain" (with Randy Rhodes trademark guitar noodling), "Am I demon" (which is faster version of War Pigs in my opinion), the bluesy "She Rides", (which has one of the sauciest videos of the day). The highlight, and possibly their biggest hit was of course "Mother". He almost sounds like a weird mix of Elvis and Jim Morrison if you take away all the music, and are left with Glenn's evil crooning. If you ever get a hold of this video, it will maybe get a giggle. Picture this if you will. Glenn Danzig crucified on a cross, surrounded by scantily clad women. Oh and he's got a fake goats head on. Priceless. Infact this video sums up the whole theme of the album, religion and women. Which seems, by the rest of his catalogue still seems occupy Glenn's dark and twisted mind. Good on you Glenn, you dark prince, thanks for turning me onto this slice of the devil's music. I hope you go to hell. You deserve it.

Wankered on a Wednesday.

2005-03-17T14:00:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

A sure fire way to kerb yourself on St. Patrick's Day is to get hammered the night before. That's what I did. Unintentionally of course. Can there ever be a quick jar? I'm highly doubting it.

Anyway a couple of interesting things happened while playing silly buggers at the pub. The first was a random stranger coming up to my friend and asking if we were both Kiwis. We were impressed. The amount of times I get mistaken for an Aussie is prolific. I'm so sick of it, the stupid Aussie jokes people make, after telling them I'm not from Aussie. (It confuses people even more when I say I'm actually Scottish.) Only to get the reply "Well it's all the same down there, Isn't it?" Yeah right. Like Scots, and the English are all the same. Next time it happens I might bite someone's face.

Back to the story in hand. We asked this guy how he knew. He'd been listening to us, and had noticed we say "Eh" a lot. I'd never noticed this, and you know what, he was right. Eh. Us Kiwis say "Eh" all the time. Eh. Well I know I do. Eh.

Then he told us that he had just seen Whale Rider. I must recommend this film to everyone. It nearly had me crying. And that's saying a lot. It's one of the best depictions of the East Coast of the North Island that I have ever seen. Go and see it.

The other interesting thing that happened, is one of the most pathetic scams that I have ever heard. My mate and I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. We were leaving the pub last night and this lady came out after us. She then proceeded to tell us that she needed some spare change for the bus. Same old story. But then she told us she needed to go to the hospital because she has just miscarried in the toilet in the whitehorse. We were speechless. Literally. I emptied my pockets, so did my mate. She then walked off. We were both gobsmacked. It started to sink in. We both started to think that we might have been scammed.

For a kick off, what the hell was she doing boozing and smoking in a pub, pregnant. Then going to the toilet and having a fucking miscarriage. Then going back to your drink like nothing has happened. It's so wrong on so many levels. This scam ranks No.1 in my books. It's probably the most saddest thing I've heard coming out a womans mouth. Where is her head at? What kind of women even says that kind of shit? The depths people will go to to scrounge a few coins. On the other hand, I hope she wasn't telling the truth. Gross.

Moving right along. Also discovered these last night. Yum. What a taste sensation. Smooth and fruity and knocks you for six, considering the size of them.

Woke up this morning and realised it's St. Patrick's Day. The day everyone seems to think that they are Irish. Of course it's just an excuse to get plastered. I don't really get into the whole thing. I mean it's to celebrate St. Patrick getting rid of all the snakes in Ireland. Isn't it? When did it get highjacked and turn into yobs swilling Guiness and wearing stupid hats. I reckon they should canonise Shane McGowan and turn the whole affair into St. McGowan day. He's clearly the right man for the job, and a fine representation of what March the 17th has turned into.

Twenty Tracks.

2005-03-14T17:03:00.000+01:00

Step 1: Get Bored.
Step 2: Compile a list of twenty tracks.
Step 3: Take a line from each song in order from your track listing.
Step 4: Try* to make a story from the line in order.
Step 5: Post the story.
Step 6: Throw down the Gauntlet to anyone. (that means you)
Step 7: Wait for a reply.
Step 8: See Step 1.

He calls her aloud from above,
She doesn't know your name
Me think of girl constantly
In love with nobody else
I'm gonna lose myself in you

There's reason to be uncertain
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Uh-oh, little girl, psychotic reaction
Then he cries, then he screams, saying
I'm standing out your window

Spent my cash on every high I could find
Don't look so scared I'm no mad-brained bear
Maybe she's sleeping, maybe she's ill
Can’t you hear me knockin’ on your window
It is you, oh yeah
Sneakin round round round in a blue jumpsuit

I been very tempted
When there's no one around
We can talk, if we like
Take my hand you ugly girl

Joy Division - Isolation
Blondie - Maria
The Sonics - Louie Louie
The Stooges - No Fun
Magazine - Give me Everything
Radio 4 - State of Alert
Paul Revere & The Raiders - I'm Not Your Steppin' Stone
Count Five - Psychotic Reaction
Patti Smith - Land
QOTSA - Little sister
Richard Hell And The Voidoids - White punks on Dope
Rolling Stones - Stray cat blues
Rolling Stones - off the hook
Rolling Stones - Can't You Hear Me Knocking
Pressure Drop - The Specials
Ghostrider - Suicide
The Clash - Somebody got murdered
The English beat - Tears of a clown
The Futureheads - Meantime
Ween - Mutilated lips

(*Yes, I might need my head read, but I think I've done ok on my first attempt.)

Brilliant.

2005-03-11T17:38:00.000+01:00

This made my day. Check it.

Spotted on the box.

2005-03-10T17:47:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I saw this "Blob" ad for marmite last night. You see the little fella on the right. If you are a Kiwi, you would have grown up with this him. He's the 4 square man. He's been ripped off on t-shirts, and in some fine art paintings to good effect. It seems he's been ripped off again. Now DDB London have put thier hand up for this ad, and I'm wondering if it's just been overdubbed from a Southern Hemisphere ad? If you look at the ad, the prices are in dollars, and the whole street looks very Kiwi. Have a look here and tell me what you think. (If you are from New Zealand, or it won't make any sense what so ever.)

The end of an era?

2005-03-10T13:47:00.000+01:00

I heard today they might be closing down CBGB's in New York. Fuck. I haven't been there yet. It has been a dream of mine for a long time, to go see any bands there, get drunk and act like a rock star for a few hours, and maybe throw up where some of my heroes have. I first heard of CBGB's through The Ramones, when I was a little punker 18 years ago.

I remember getting The Ramones live at CBGB's, New York, 10/27/77 at Rock & Roll Records when I would have been maybe 15. Many friday nights going into Queen St went like this. Going to Blue Beat behind the civic, which was about the only place I knew where you could get tartan trousers, stovepipes and goth/punk clothes from. I had a prized pair of black stovepipes and some 10 up doc boots. (which I had to take off and hide from my mum when I sneaked home). Oh they were the days. Then I'd stroll down Queen St, with my soaped up spikes and have a look at Marbecks in the import section, then across to Fort St and to Rock and Roll Records and maybe buy a badge or a cloth patch to sew onto my army bag or the back of my shirt. If I had enough money I'd buy a record. I can remember buying The Exploited : Punks not Dead, Crass: Best Before 1984, Black Flag: Everything went black, Dead Kennedys: In God we Trust (which I had to take back after my mum found it. The cover art alone was enough, God knows what would have happened if she had actually listened to it.) Then I'd walk up the otherside of Queen Street, a long long way to Real Groovy Records, which used to be smaller than it is now, but heaven for a 15 year punk rocker. Then I'd go across to Myers Park and smoke pot, and walk back down to Britomart place, try and not get beat up by Samoan gangs and catch the last bus home.

These memories are pretty hazy, but I do remember being very stoned when I was young and feeling quite sick and somehow ending up in Symonds St outside a really rough pub that was on the corner opposite cheapskates. God knows I can't remember the name of the pub. I'll never forget the wasters piling out of that hole.

Whoops I'm rambling on here. Back to Cbgb's. From what I can gather they owed 300,000 US dollars in rent in 2001 and have been paying it off ever since. (How do you get into that much debt for rent???) They have just been lumped for another bill for 76,000 US. The owners of the building want to double the rent and and negotiate a new lease. The club is fighting the unpaid bills and rent rise in court later this month. Here's hoping.

CBGB has had an incredible run for over 30 years. It opened in 1973 and was originally supposed to be a country bar. CBGB stands for Country, Bluegrass And Blues. Over time however these acts ended up playing here. Agnostic Front, Blondie, Babes in Toyland, Cop Shoot Cop, The Damned, The Dead Boys, Fishbone, Guns n Roses, The Jam, Jon Spencer, Pavement, Pere Ubu, P J Harvey, The Police, Patti Smith, The Ramones, The Rollins Band, Talking Heads, Television, Richard Hell & the Voidoids. What a list! I'd give my right arm to see any of those bands. I hope they sort something out, it would be a great loss to good music.

(No doubt I've missed some essential bands out, and my memory of Auckland 18 years ago could be be a little fuzzy. The rock and roll lifestyle of my youth maybe have impacted on my brain to remember anything.)

Stencil me in for an appointment.

2005-03-08T13:19:00.000+01:00

I love stencils. I used to do a bit in N.Z. just before I left. With so many walls in London begging to be adorned with some art, I might have to get off my arse and actually get some work out there. Banksy of course is my hero, when it comes to stencils. Just the sheer amount, detail and original ideas he comes up is mind boggling. I'm almost tempted to go to Bristol and have a day with a camera. I've spotted a few good pieces in London, but I think Bristol will be better. Another thing I have noticed, how clean my neck of the woods is. Brixton, I would have expected to be covered with decent graf and some nice tags. Maybe I haven't found any yet. I must investigate more. However around my work is a street art paradise. Which is around Old Street. Lots of stickers. Infact too many stickers. Most of it I think is due to the stupid amount of graphic designers in the area. Mind you I see work everyday by D*Face and The London Police which lends a bit of cred to the area. So many people I know don't even notice street art, and see it as petty vandalism. I see the streets around me as one big potential canvas, just waiting to be filled. (God that sounds so pretentious, but I'm so not an art wanker. Go here for my take on art wank.) Get out there people, and start to beautify your part of the city! Here's some sites for inspiration, that I salivate over daily. This site is possibly the daddy of street art sites, and this is a great worldwide sticker site. And this lil puppy blows my mind. And last but not least, where I got today's pic from. Like the Kiwi angle? Funny eh.

Burp.

2005-03-07T14:08:00.000+01:00

In the spirit of my new improved commitment to weedends that doesn't revolve around boozing, going bonkers and staying awake, I did some "normal" activities, and y'know what kids? I had a great time.

On Saturday I decided to go to Borough Market. What a good idea. Here's what £50 will buy you. Coincedently the exact amout of money I would spend on a neatly folded bindle on a Friday night.

A whole fresh red snapper, A jar of Mediterranean tomato pickle, a jar of Roman mustard, a packet of Spanish deep fried broad beans, some amazing rye breads, some spanish goat cheese (a good sized wedge), a punnet of delicious queen olives, a packet of Quinoa (my new favourite grain-not-grain), some organic pasta, soy milk, some decadent pieces of fudge, and to munch on, a smoothie, a spinich and feta tartlet. Oh and a few scallops that I devoured in a split second.

Needless to say, my bags we're bulging, and my belly was following suit. I'm glad I had only £50, because whatever money I had on me, I would have spent it. Easily. The rest of the day was spent nibbling, reading music magazines. Very civilised, well for me anyway. Usually on a Saturday afternoon, I'm a total mess, either trying to take my excess to dizzing heights, or at the boozer trying to get down from those dizzing heights.

Saturday night, Mikey and Smackie came round and we had the fish for dinner, which was sublime. Then we trekked down to the Ritzy and saw A Life Aquatic. Wes Anderson, you are one stylish mofo. Every shot was planned to perfection, every piece of dialogue honed. It was a curious, slow burning film, that kept me amused for the entire length. Not to forget the great David Bowie soundtrack, sung entirely in Portuguese and on an acoustic guitar. I had goosebumps. A good film, not his best though, but very good none the less.

Sunday was a nice lazy day, full of odd surprises and a few belly laughs. Went to Spitalfields market with Mikey. Not what I was hoping for to be honest. I expected a lot more cool clothes for guys. We ended up just gorging on food. A nice vege curry, some really, really good dried figs, (which wasn’t a figment of my dried fig) and a banana and maple syrup crepe, and a fruit filled smoothie that was to die for. Killed a bit of time and headed back to Brixton just in time for the Comedy Club. Suffice to say it was fantastic! Didn't laugh as hard and as maniacally as Smacked Face and Ms.G though. They we're positively cackling and snorting thier was through the entire set. They were almost as fun to watch as the talent up on the stage.

Oddness spotted on the weekend.

A frail, gay old man on crutches, dressed in Union Jack Boxer shorts with a chain across the front, studded belt, a string vest and what seemed to be a cape, complete with a big brooch trying to hop on the tube at Stockwell. An old lady walking her ferrets, complete with little ferret harnesses. A weird loner at the movies who had the most fucked up laugh, who laughed when no one else did, and then left before the end of the film? Last but not least, a lady in the row in front of us at the comedy club set her own hair on fire.

God I love London.

Dr. Feelgood gets a check up.

2005-03-04T21:06:00.000+01:00

Had quite a mad day with the backward world that is the N.H.S. This morning I realised that my idea of seeing how long I can go without an inhaler is not not such a good idea after all. It was snowing, I was gasping, so I thought I should go see the doctor.

Found the doctors and filled in a whole lot of forms, and sat down to wait my turn. I look around to check the waiting room, every person a deadly infected person that can make me even more sick than I already am. Must get this over with.... pronto.

There is a lady a few chairs away that looks ok, but I soon figure she's totally bonkers. She gets up and asks the receptionist for a light, then 2 glasses of water. Then sits down. Then gets up, then laughs, the asks if everyone is ok. Then asks the receptionist if she can get an appointment, then complains about the time. You get the picture. She then asks for the number for the local psych ward. I'm quite amused at all this and try not to chuckle. Meanwhile the only other patient is looking at me and shaking her head. She's a waspish old chav hag with big fake gold hoop earrings. Real classy. She was dying to blab to me, but to be honest I couldn't be fucked to talk to this old boot. I just wanted to get out. My name came up, and I was off to see the doctor.

The doctor has advised me to go to the hospital and get xrays of my chest, and poke me with needles. Great! Just what I want. To go to the bloody hospital, in the bloody snow, on the bloody bus, in bloody Dulwich. What a way to spend a morning. I trudge to Dulwich Hosptial and find where I have to go. Get the nasty blood tests out the way, then join the queue of freaks for x rays.

There's a few of us. There's big west African gangtster dude, with big Avirex jacket, cap, totally blinged out, a real 50p. There's old fat grandad, who looks pissed off with everything. And to top it off there was an extremely posh, rich looking old dame.

Some guy came in and told us that we would be seen to shortly, but first we all had to get into our gowns. We all got handed these standard cotton gowns. The ones that you do up the back. I looked around and immediately thought, this is going to be fun. We all went and got changed and the games begun.

Gangster guy came out with the gown tucked in to his jeans, bling over the top and jacket still on. Old fat grandad came out with the gown on backwards with his huge fish white belly hanging out the front. Gorgeous eh. And to top it off the posh dame comes out with the gown on, dressed immaculately, except for her legs which were covered in thigh high black stockings, with suspenders and boots. Believe me, it's not a good look. Not by a long shot.

All I can say is that I felt that I had been admitted to the looney bin, that or an extra from "One flew over the cuckoo's nest". It was very surreal morning, and I wondered what possibly could happen now.

Two x ray nurses came down the hall. The first one was this old sausage-fingered, portly old mole with a face like a bag of smashed crabs. The other was a svelte, leggy, eastern european, fully bonified A grade porno nurse.

You can guess who I got. Old cumberland claws. I was postioned with my hands behind my back, my chest on some freezing metal and told to hold my breath. The nurse waddled behind a thick screen and i was photographed by some giant sized metal dental drill.

Finally I can go. I walked out and got changed. A silly notion crossed my mind. I'm going to steal this gown. I looked down and saw a discarded gown on the floor. Perfect. I do a quick switch, bung the gown in my bag, come out of the changing room, slam dunk the decoy gown and casually stroll out of Dulwich Hospital. I hopped on the bus, and before you know it I was, far way from the madness that was my morning.

Nuff Said.

2005-03-04T18:43:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Food for thought.

2005-03-03T10:44:00.000+01:00

I haven't posted for a while simply because my life has been reasonably uneventful. My weekend was as per usual spiraling out of control and I have been licking my wounds for the first part of the week.

My health, however seems to be improving, particulary my asthma, which is notably better since I have knocked the ciggies and dairy products on the head. It's only been a week or so for the dairy and since the weekend for the tabs but I feel a hell of a lot better. It's quite a relief. I've actually run out of my asthma medication, and am going to see how long I can go without sucking on the blue inhaler.

This morning I had a revelation. I popped into a vegan café this morning to pick up a soy latte and was taken by the food on offer. It looked divine. I ordered my coffee and looked around. The colour, texture and smell of everything was good. I then looked at all the people in the shop. They all looked radiant and really healthy and relaxed. As much as am loathe to admit it, there was a vibe in the shop. It felt good. I didn't buy anything as I had just bought a bunch of grapes for my brekky and I left the shop.

I felt something had shifted slightly in my perception. I actually started considering what life might be like not eating meat. Now this is a big concept for me. I love meat. It's such a base animal instinct for me, and I've embraced this ethos for such a long time. But surely this can't be good for me in the long run. I know it can't. But it's like a bastion of manhood. Eating lots of meat. Denis Leary comes to mind as I write this. A few friends I know don't eat meat and they seem to be quite healthy and have good disposition. It's getting me thinking. Don't worry people, I'm not going to turn into some crystal wearing, patchouli dipped, hemp wearing, tree hugging vegan overnight. However, I'm going back to that café and getting some lunch, and I don't think I'm going to buy any meat for my dinner tonight. I've also just realised that at home I have a book that I bought in Portobello market, which has been sitting on my dresser unopened for months. It's called The enchanted broccoli forest, and it's by this lady. I might just open that book tonight and turn over a new leaf.

Slightly Sick.

2005-02-25T12:56:00.000+01:00

Today I've got the shivers all over my body and a tight band round my forehead. A rather ticklish throat is also in the mix. I can't count the amount of times I've fallen ill since I've landed in London. It's starting to piss me off a bit. I've had bad colds, stomach complaints, shingles, maybe a suspected ulcer, chronic back pain, fevers and the occasional lapse into tourettes. The worst thing is I try to look after myself. Honest I do. I eat my porridge in the morning, I drink as much water as I can handle, I eat vegetables most days, I try and get some fruit down my gullet. I try to drink in moderation. What's moderation you ask? I had 4 becks tops, 1 Sol and about 3 shots on Wednesday night, and a maybe a glass of wine. To me, that seems normal. If that's not normal, please tell me. I don't drink every night, and I try to have an early night at least once a week. I don't get twatted every weekend, but when I do, it's usually at least a 24hr debarcle, which takes a lot longer to recover from. I smoke socially, which I'm trying to curb, but it's about the best thing I can think of doing while having a drink. These aspects of my life combined with the weather, which I'm not used to in the slightest. I don't think I wrap up well enough, I still haven't got a scarf or a hat yet. I think I entertain some eternal life fantasy, that I'll come through it all unscathed. Oh is that proving to be wrong....

I've just read what I've written. I'm not having a whinge. Honest I'm not, I'm just laying my cards on the table and trying best to figure out what the best plan of action is from now, to keep the good ship Reilly ship shape and on course for the years to come. If anyone can give some tips, I'll give it a go. (Within reason chaps, I'm not about to become a tee-totaller just yet, nor am I going to give up eating steaks and having the an occasional time getting bent to herculean proportions.)

P.S. I still haven't dragged my ass to the gym.
P.P.S. I might just be getting old.
P.P.P.S. This whole post was written on a concoction of head and flu tablets plus a few codiene thrown in for good measure, so you may as well disregard the whole lot.

If you are bored.

2005-02-23T17:47:00.000+01:00

I was just flicking through Paris Hilton's phonebook.

First thing I'd do is ring Eminem up and give him an impromptu rap over the phone, and hopefully do a duet sometime in the future. I'd ring Christina Aguilara and tell he that she was a bit whiffy, and that I'm way too good for her. Maybe I'd call Fred Durst just to tell him all about New Zealand's version of Limp Bizkit. Soggy Biscuit. Don't ask what this readers. Please. I wonder who "Party Guy" is and I wonder if he delivers. Is Victoria Gotti related to John Gotti? I'd ring Vin Diesal and tell him that he's not that good, and is going to end up like Sly Stallone in 10 years. I'd ring Fergie up in a heartbeat, unless it was the other, plump red headed one. And as for Nellie Hooper, you have a great voice, what ya hanging round with the wee Hilton Hoor?

Have fun, dial away.

Twat Camp.

2005-02-23T16:00:00.000+01:00

I saw a snippet of Channel Four's Brat Camp last night. What a bunch of sorry arsed kids, and even more sorry arsed parents.

When I was growing up, I drove my parents bonkers. The closest thing my folks got to controlling me was called tough love. Basically they were hard as nails on me. I can't count the amount of screaming matches and fights over punk music, particularly The Dead Kennedys, my Doc Martin boots and my general punk rock attitude. I was pretty much on the rampage. As a last resort my father lost it one night and gave me a clip round the ear. That got through to me in a split second.

The point I'm trying to make is that the kids on Brat Camp need a good hiding. Look at all of their parents. Pussies, the lot of them. All middle class and with loads of money by the looks of it. Seems that these parents are on the verge of a nervous breakdown. So what do the parents end up doing? They allow their kids to be shipped off to the desert in the states only to be put under the camera and hassled 24/7 by some washed up yankee cops. Odds on, the minute they step back into Old Blighty, they will be back to usual and telling their parents to fuck off. It's all good for the ratings I bet. Last night I saw the kid "Josh".

He claims to smoke weed everyday, and by the looks of it fancies himself as a bit of a gangster.

Lets take Josh and instead of shipping him off to The States, dump him in some inner city estate at night and set him a few chores to perform.

1. Go break into a car and steal a cd player
2. Go try and swap the cd player for some crack
3. Try not to get robbed by crackheads
4. Mug someone
5. Drink a 6 pack of Tennants Super
6. Sleep rough
7. Beg money

I can guarantee that these 7 easy steps will send Josh on the straight and narrow and become a normal 15 year old boy again. It must be cheaper than sending him off to The States? His dad could drop him off at 11.00pm and pick him up at 7.00am. I bet he'd love to see his Daddy pick him up. Dad might be a bit of a shambles, but hey that's the breaks, if you weren't such a wimp parent, you'd give him the occasional wallop. Then you wouldn't be in this problem, meathead.

Two good reasons.....

2005-02-22T19:00:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Kids, don't do mushrooms, this is what happens.

By the way, the guy on the right is my good mate Mikey. Visit his blog here.

Good times. Bad times.

2005-02-21T16:52:00.000+01:00

What a weekend. Big ups and big downs.

On the good side, I went to possibly one of the funniest double birthday celebrations I've been to in a long, long time. Many highlights including: Scaring small children pretending I'm blind, friends in Hannibal Lecter masks, one of my best friends in a comprising position with novelty specs and his kilt. A tweed cape that wouldn't stay on, a stuffed hedgehog called hedgie, a friend who may have pissed himself while passed out, curtain confessions, a litter collecting stick and last but not least a blue sponge. All sound a bit weird? Take into account a decision to get some mexican mycelium at 11.00am on a Saturday, and you can see how all these seemingly random objects fall into place. Well you had to be there, honest. Suffice to say, it was a hilarious, seemingly endless day. Happy birthday Ms. Smacked Face, and happy birthday Tom.

On the bad side, the rest of the weekend was recovering and noticing the wear and tear on the old body is got to a point where I seriously have to give myself a decent break. I have to. Just to top it all off, I came to work today and find that yet another good mate from New Zealand, Karlos has died. We had a good few moments over the years bro. Infact you we're one of the last people I hung out with before I left New Zealand. You won't be forgotten. Then I hear Hunter S Thompson has also died. It's put me in a very strange mood, and I feel it's a sign to start looking after myself a lot better. Two of my friends have died since I left New Zealand. The sense of my own mortality is freaking me out at the moment. Bigtime. It's all a bit surreal to be honest.

Wanted! Shoot on sight.

2005-02-17T12:04:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I had the misfortune of snapping one of my headphone bits that curls round my ears this morning. Then to make matters worse I snapped the other curly bit. Thus leaving the treasure trove of music, my ipod abandoned until I score some headphones. Great. Because of this I have had the joy of listening to Chris Moyles on BBC 1.

How can this dickhead get on the radio? He screams, rants and acts like some yob down at the boozer. I even went to the website to have a gander at his mug. Bingo. He is that yob down at the boozer. If this guy has the prime time radio slot on what I gather is the most popular mainstream radio station then what's this country coming to? May as well step in front of moving buses now people.

He had a stream of thought today (more like a streak of piss) but I am compelled to tell you anyway. He asked a well thought out question. Which Spice Girl would you do? That I'd do? Apart from doing them all in with a broken chair leg, I thought well what Spice Girl would I like to get up the duff.

Ginger: Well she has had so many make overs and diets, I fear that she is now actually made of paper mache and straw, and is coated with spray varnish. A bit like that brilliant film "Death becomes her" with Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn. So she would be a no go. Imagine sharing a post-bonk ciggie in bed. She'd be up in flames in no time.

Baby: Now here's a toughie. She has a certain quality that looks corruptible. But I fear she likes blonde vacuum brained boys, that are possibly inbred or crossed with golden labradors. It also reminds me of a joke. Why did the blonde have a sore belly button after sex. Because her boyfriend was a blonde.

Scary: She's gone right into the gutter since she started appearing on Bo' Selecta. Wouldn't touch her with a barge pole. But I would stab her with it.

Posh: Two words. David Beckham. Who would want to go there? After that moron? He's from good stock eh? A man who possibly can't even spell "DVD" and come to think of it probably tries to rewind them.

Sporty: She's a dyke, right? Good on her. Nothing in the whole planet would possess me to chase a girl who A: Likes sport. B: Plays sport. C: Wears sports bras D: and prefers to drink from the furry cup.

Thanks Chris Moyles. You've wasted my time this morning, raped my ears with your septic voice, and now I'm going up to the radio to turn you off. Fuck you.

P.S. Anyone got a spare set of headphones I can have. Email me please. I'm desperate. Someone just put on the Athlete album "Tourist" on. Save me before I go into the kitchen and drink the bottle of bleach under the sink.

My ride home.

2005-02-16T12:00:00.000+01:00

I had a terrible but quite comical ride home on the tube last night.

I was a bit pissed off after having talked to BT for over 45 minutes over the debacle that is my broadband account. I hate the fact that you explain yourself for 10 minutes, and then they just friggin' transfer you to some other monkey and you have to go through the same tedious process again. After the third time I was getting quite curt. Phrases like "Look, (insert moron's name here) I need to have a definite answer from you to my seemingly simple request, do not transfer me, because I know your name and will lay a complaint to your supervisor. (they hate when you take record of their name, it means they may be accountable). Anyway the upshot is that I have managed to fix my problem. (I hope).

By the time the call was over, I just wanted to get home, and had no time for the general public. I hopped on the tube at Farringdon, which was packed. I was politely shoving people out the way to get on the carriage, and was trying to get round 4 big businessmen that were clumped round the pole. I stood to the right of them. Someone then tried to shove me to the left of the businessmen. There was no place to go. I was pushed against the businessmen. I turned in anger and blurted out "Just go right round the bloody pole, can't you see I can't move!" At this point the four big businessmen stopped talking and fixed their eyes on me. One of them piped up in a heavy broken english accent. "Are you mocking us?" I'm like "Eh? No." He replied "We are offended by you". They started gabbling in some foreign eastern European tongue and shot me intermittent daggers from their steely blue eyes. The penny dropped. They were from Poland. I nearly pissed myself with laughter. I had to cover my mouth with my jacket and pretend to cough into my jacket. The tube stopped at Kings Cross and I got off as quick as I could. Next hurdle was the ticket booth. I was jostling to get through and felt a tap on the inside of my leg near my shoes. I looked down to see what looked like a white skateboard wheel on the end of a stick. I quickly pivoted round and in the process knocked a blind man's cane out of his hand and sent it whacking into some poor lady. She yelped, the blindman howled and I had a white stick in between my ankles. Some tube dude saw the commotion and started towards me. I quickly bent down, picked up the white stick, tapped the blind guy with the handle and quickly scurried through the turnstile and didn't look back. I am so going to Hell.

This mortal coil.

2005-02-15T17:17:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Today I was thinking about my own mortality. For a laugh I decided to check my death clock. Apparently I was supposed have died last year, on August 10, 2004. Eh? What the fuck? I wonder how much abuse the human body can take.

I've taken a fair battering over my life I reckon, and it's all starting to catch up with me. On the weekend at some points, my kidneys we're in agony. Like I'd been stabbed by tiny little knives. I coughed on a few occasions and thought a a piece of lung fell out, and every day for the last few months, when I wake up I feel like I've been hit with a sledgehammer in one spot on my back. It's intense. I thought it was maybe from the shingles, but now the shingles are gone, I'm fearing it might be permanent nerve damage. Great eh?

Part of the reason is that I somehow have been living the lie that I'm still 18. That's like 14 years ago. The temple that is my body, is starting to crumble. I need a total blood transfusion, some new kidneys, a liver, hell, throw in a new spine. Bring on future science. I want the works.

Another reason for my semi-morbidness that I've just finished reading Wonderland Avenue by Danny Sugerman who died recently of cancer. It's brilliant, and I won't give too much away, but it hit an all familiar vein with me. I recommend this book for everyone, because it has a valuable lesson that everyone can learn something from.

The lesson I'm attempting learn is to slow down and start to look after myself a bit better. I've taken some steps. I've joined a gym. Still haven't actually gone yet. Last time I tried to get to the gym, I had a phone call from a mate and ended up on a blinder till 3am on a Thursday night. Last Thursday to be exact. Y'know how stupid it looks when a bouncer checks your bag entering a club and and it's full of clean gym gear? I bet he's thinking "Hmmm, he's too clean to be 'omeless, but go to a gym? Farrrk off geeeza"

As for the slowing down bit, well this weekend's out of the question. It's this dame's birthday. I think a handbrake, in the form of a girlfriend would slow the death process down a bit. But here's the catch 22. How am I going meet a responsible, nurturing woman, who isn't a caner? I mean I can't see myself hanging in a library or signing up for arts and crafts, yoga, or some bullshit spiritual classes. Maybe I should go full throttle and find the girl of my dreams in rehab. I can see it know. "Yup. I'm a wreck baby, and so are you. We can get through this thing together." God how corny does that sound? It's enough to drive you to drink.

I think Woody Allen said it best: "It's not that I'm afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." That will suit me fine.

Dr. Jeckyll and Mr Hyde

2005-02-14T14:58:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Mr Hyde

Had a quiet night on Friday, due to the silly, Colombian inspired night I had on Thursday, which turned me into what seemed very rock and roll excessive monster. But in truth gave me a serious brain splitting hangover and a few gross additions to my hankie.

Dr. Jeckyll

It was nice to have a Saturday morning, and it was domestic paradise. It was all very civilised, and got all my shit sorted. Went for a drive with my flatmate, which is freaky, considering I haven't really been in a car in London, except for late night taxis. Man don't the buses rule! Big "get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way" red road warriors. Scary when you are in a puny car. Went to Clapham Junction and had a browse through Northcote Market. I need to come back here with a serious wad of cash. Way too much good bread, wine, deli food, fish and cheese. Definitely worth the visit. Then went to a few garden/diy shops. Outside of of these shops, I saw a plastic bag destroy a mans bicycle. It got caught in the gears at the back of the bike. I saw him try and pull it out, and just make matters worse. He kept tugging and gradually becoming unhinged. I could see him mouthing the work "Fuck". He eventually lost the battle with the bag and the little cog at the back of the gears snapped. Bag 1 Bike 0. The rest of the day was spent grazing and mooching around the house.

Mr Hyde

However I got a call to go out for a quiet drink with Ms.Smacked Face. A cider and a diet coke. Who are we trying to kid. Of course we ended up getting boozed, listened to some fantastic tunes, saw a bit of girl on girl action (oooh err). Eventually got back to a mates studio, then to a friends place and got properly twatted. Listened to an amazing remix of "Owner of a lonely heart." Then back to the pub for more punishment. Too many highlights to mention, but there are a few gems. Managing to go through 7 packets of duty free ciggies with mates. That the words "Shattered Lamb" would be a great name for a death metal band. A small re-enactment of the shining. A close friend was passed a hollow cigarette type device and was figuring how to smoke it. The same person spilled a full Kahula and milk on the pub floor and tried to mop it up with a magazine. Priceless. I managed to turn a plate of nachos into the journey of a lonely white elephant (sour cream) who was trying to find his way round an island (a plate) to his home (doritos) but a volcano had erupted and spewed lava (salsa), and thus blocking his way. The rescue helicopter (wooden spoon) came to the rescue and transported the lonely white elephant to his home on the other side of the island. (I'm not clinically insane, just incase you are thinking). Endless fun out the words "pork & leek sausage" and "white beans" Watching my friends drop like flies after a special after dinner mint. (very funny) and then cleaned up at pool with my curly headed mate. Got out of there at 11.00pm and took the 250 steps back to my house (yes I've counted them.)
NB: Just remembered I also got an honorary Knighthood with a broom, from my good welsh mate.

Dr. Jeckyll

The best realisation is that the crew who I now run about with are the most beautiful, bullshit-free, safe-as-fuck bunch of people I have met in a long time. I love my mates and I love Brixton.

Rage against the machine

2005-02-10T15:52:00.000+01:00

fuck le system
Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Hi, my name is Reilly, and I'm an angry moron. Why you ask? Because I didn't read the fine print. In my last flat I signed up for BT broadband. Nowhere on the website was I told that it was a 12 month contract. Only a tiny little box that I checked, that said that I agreed to the terms and conditions. Â£30 a month for 12 bloody months. No problem really, except that the phone line was not in my name. I've moved out now and my poor ex flatmate is now liable. I rang BT and asked if I could transfer the broadband. They told me it would be no problem to do this. I rang today to get my phone reconnected, and BT actually told me that the only way to get around it was me to say I was my old flatmate. Incredible. I told the guy that amounts to fraud, and he said, yes, that's the only way. BT, the vile money hungry wankers, want a new connection out of me. No way. I'm now resigned to the fact that I'm going to have to ring my old flatmate and set up yet another standing order and pay for broadband that I can't even use. What a dick I am.

My ongoing nightmare with the establishment continues. First HSBC, now BT. You'd think I would have learned to be a responsible adult by the age of 32. I seriously think I was born in the wrong decade, because I have had bullshit with every single company product or service that I have ever signed up for in my entire life. Maybe not so much bullshit to be honest, but more like my total inability to budget money and total disregard for fine print, standing orders, bills, parking tickets, and anything to do with the man. I think it stems from my burning desire since a kid to fuck the system any chance I get. All that seems to happen is the system fucks me.

NB: I'm only writing this to vent my anger at the system, to stop me taking to BT vans with cricket bats, setting junction boxes on fire, putting bricks through HSBC windows and spitting at parking wardens. Believe me, it's therapy.

True Story.

2005-02-09T18:24:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I have been living in Brixton for a few weeks now, and am now able to spot the local skunk dealers, and give them a swerve if need be, or not if I'm feeling naughty. There seems to be one guy who I pass every night by the Iceland Supermarket. Like clockwork every night he says to me the usual "Skunk" "Skunk" "Skunk". Now on this particular night, I was battling an eternal cold that I seemed to be plagued with and was in a hurry to escape the bitter cold. I must of looked rough, because he virtually yells "Rocks, Rocks, Rocks". I stopped and looked at him and said, "It's ok, I've only got a cold." He looked at me like I was the one on rocks. I thought to myself: Do I look that shit? I then turned into Iceland muttering to myself "Lemsip" "Lemsip" "Lemsip"

NB: It's not as bad as my mate Scott from Glesga. Every time he walks off the tube, he thinks the dealers are calling his name, in a Glesga accent.

Aye, bollox to this.

2005-02-08T18:07:00.000+01:00

Lets read between the lines shall we?

Rugby Fan Cuts off Own Testicles

Welsh idiot will never breed (phew!)

A Welsh rugby fan cut off his own testicles after his team beat England, police confirmed today.

A mental welsh fool, hacks his bollocks off, sez the coppers.

The man was rushed to hospital after the incident at Leigh Social Club in Caerphilly, South Wales.

Why? Are they gonna sew them back on? Please, he's now eunuch, give him to the Prince of Wales as a present.

A Gwent Police spokeswoman said: We received a call from the ambulance service at approximately 9pm on the 5th to inform us of a situation at the Leigh Social Club in which a man had indeed severed his own testicles.

Ambulance: "haha, you're not going to believe this Gwyn, some idiot has cut his own balls off!"
Police: "I bet he's got big balls!" Guffaw, guffaw.
Ambulance: "No Dave, he's just a bit mental, or maybe off that show Dirty Sanchez.

She said the man was taken to Heath Hospital but could not confirm his condition.

Because all the doctors are laughing their heads off.

It was reported that the man told his friends: If Wales win I'll cut my own balls off.

Wouldn't it be a more logical thing to say that if maybe Wales lost he'd cut the plums?
But if they won? This guy does not deserve his balls, or his brain.

After the 11-9 victory in the Six Nations clash, the man is reported to have gone outside and severed his testicles before bringing them back into the club to show fellow drinkers.

With what? A pen knife, a tin lid? I'm dying to know. In the dark? Under a street light? Imagine the guy, chortling away to himself....."Let's see who's got the balls now eh?" In your hand, you fuckwit.

A local was reported as saying that the man was on medication and should not have been drinking.

Do they prescribe soapbar in Wales?

I propose that the doctor gets him a nice set of neuticles, maybe in the shape of rugby balls, y'know as a little momento.

Pic of the day

2005-02-07T18:39:00.000+01:00

800x600_1
Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Need I say more?

AWOL

2005-02-07T16:50:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Is there ever such a thing as a few quiet beers? I'm starting to doubt it very much. My weekend started innocently in this manner. A few pints of cider and all logical reasoning manages to evaporate from my brain. For a person who is trying to STAY IN FOR ONE GOD DAMN WEEKEND, I'm failing pretty miserably. Somehow I managed to get quite drunk, wind up at Waterloo Pier, hop on a boat full of people doing the charleston, fake a titanic pose, took part in an avant garde (IE: pissed) photo shoot. Wound up in Streatham at a good friends place, passed out, didn't know where I was when I woke, went home dazed and confused. Slept, eat, slept. Went to friends place. Went to a Waitangi Day party. Proceeded to get really drunk really quickly. Got asked by a friend if I was still on pain killers. Bingo. Painkillers + Beer = Trainwreck. Did this curb me? Did it fuck. Ended up getting booted out at midnight (I think?) and somehow ending up in Hackney. Got home at 7.30am MONDAY MORNING. Thought I would just catch 1/2 hour kip before going to work. Woke at 11.00am to the sound of my boss calling me...... for the fifth time. Got to work at midday. I'm amazed I still even have a job. The worst thing is there are huge gaps in my weekend. If anyone saw me out, or seen what I might of done, which I remember very little (you guys know who you are) please help me. It's a bit of a worry really. Please leave a message and help a poor confused man fill in the gaps. The moral of this story is NOT to mix painkillers and booze. But If you feel like a night out, and a bit of an adventure, take 3 codeine and drink a few units of beer. Give it a few hours and you WILL be a unit, and a very special one at that.

NB: I just re-read my post. I'm single by the way, hard to believe I know, what are the chances! I mean I'd be a perfect date for a quiet couple of drinks.

Infectious Grooves.

2005-02-03T11:18:00.000+01:00

I'm just over the shingles and now I'm coming down with the cold. I've been trying to combat it with vitamins, lemsip and sudafed. But I realised this morning that it's all futile. Basically as soon as I step out of my house, I'm fighting with millions of people's germs. Here's my point. I hopped on the Victoria line this morning and hunkered down to go to work. This guy in front of me got my attention. He was rubbing his nose. No big deal, except the way he was rubbing his nose. He was rubbing it up and down, giving himself a little piggie nose. Gross. He kept it up for about 20 seconds. Then he starts to itch the inside of his nostrils. Double gross. He then puts his skanky hand on the rail. He repeats this several times and then gets off. I'm transfixed on this spot of railing, just to see what happens next. A lady hops on and stands where snot-man was. She then puts her hand in the very same spot. A minute later she takes her hand and starts to itch the side of her lips. For fucks sake. She does this a couple of times. Shes probably got a coldsore coming up. If she hasn't, she's most probably got some snot based lurgy now. At this point every surface in on the tube is infectious, and I'm imagining that I can see viruses. Weird sea anemones sliding over peoples bodies and slugs with little bat wings hovering like pregnant bumble bees, coughing their insides all over everyone in their path. We get to Victoria and I'm seriously feeling like I'm going to throw up. The tube is now packed. The vitamins, sudafed and lemsip I took before I left the house stupidly on an empty stomach is going on strike and is now pushing the eject button. My mouth is salivating, and I feel like hurling is imminent. I'm wondering what if I did throw up. Over everyone. Now that will be a sight. I open my knapsack thinking at least i'm not going to do a exorcist, and save my self major embarressment. I'm trying so hard not to throw up. So hard. We reach Oxford Circus and the tube is now empty. Thank the god of porcelain. My queasiness subsides and I make it to Kings Cross and get off back into virus world. God help us, if the asian bird flu gets here. 12 Monkeys here we come. I'm going out to buy a human sized surgical rubber jump suit, and a high powered water pistol filled with disinfectant. C'mon viruses, let's party motherfuckers.

Heroin vs Kate

2005-02-01T16:30:00.000+01:00

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

What will poor Pete do? I can't help but feel sorry for him. He has to choose between his two girlfriends. Heroin or Kate Moss. Let's compare them, shall we?

Heroin costs a lot of money
Kate costs a lot of money

Heroin can turn Pete into a mumbling, introspective bore
Kate can turn Pete into a mumbling, introspective bore

Heroin is powerful and addictive
Kate is powerful and addictive

Heroin feels pretty damn good
Kate feels pretty damn good

Pete loves to chase Heroin
Pete loves to chase Kate

Heroin will probably kill Pete
Kate will probably kill Pete

Geez, it looks neck and neck. My money's on the smack.

The week (or two) that was.

2005-01-31T14:46:00.000+01:00

I've just recovered from the shingles. Thanks to my friends, dvd's, my ipod, codiene and seedless green grapes. They all played thier small part in the rebuilding me. It's been a fortnight of reflection and the realisation that I don't want to get that sick again ever. So I've decided to put a few plans that have been incubating in my brain, into action.

First on the list was move to Brixton. Which I have. And you know what readers, it's very cool. I love the fact that I can buy all my veges, fruit, meat, tipples, and skunk all in the space of 5 metres. The Victoria Line is no doubt the quickest tube line in London, which makes going to work easier. The pubs are great, including my favourite The Whitehorse which is exactly 250 steps from my house. How good is that! The Ritzy cinema is a stones throw and 95% of all my mates live within walking distance. My new flatmates are easy going and not at all like the my nemesis ice queen harpy from hell from Finsbury Park that I had the misfortune of spending the last three months plotting to kill. Funnily enough on my last night in the north my flatmates had a really big fight. I resisted (just) from walking into the lounge and throwing them both steak knives and yelling "Go for the throat!" Ha ha ha. So glad to be out of there. On a side note, the very next day one of my new Brixton friends told me that Finsbury Park backwards spelt Krapy Rub Snif. Talk about hitting the nail on the head. Thanks Catherine, you're a gem.

The next step on the rebuilding of Reilly is watching my girlish figure. Which hasn't been that girlish of late. The mix of booze, bad food and no exercise from the minute I arrived in England isn't doing me any favours what so ever. So my diet is changing slowly and surely. I'm actually discovering fruit and veges is actually quite tasty, and healthy. Amazing eh? And here was me thinking that pork rinds, fatty meat, diet coke and cheese was the way forward. Mr.Atkin, thank god you are dead, you have a lot to answer for buddy. Balance is the key. I know this seems pretty simple to most folks out there, but I think missed the whole class on nutrition when I was 12. I think I was probably discovering the joys of cigarettes, glue and truancy at the time.

The final component is the dreaded "E" word. Exercise. The bane of anyones life. Especially mine. Being off your chops and having a sweaty boogie isn't exercise. Not eating for a day or two due to being off your chops isn't exercise either. Neither is walking to the shop to buy crisps. Or that 250 steps to the pub. Taking all this into account I took the plunge and joined a Gym. When I actually go, and don't have a heart attack with in five minutes I'll tell you how great it is. Fingers crossed.

All seems relatively simple eh? Well on paper anyway. Only time will tell.

The outside world.

2005-01-21T17:45:00.000+01:00

I haven't been out for a while, due to be stricken down with the plague for the last week. However a week later, I'm starting to feel a little better. I've had little care packages from friends which always nice. Thanks Smackie and Kym (my evil twin). I had go out and find a Halifax bank and to deposit a wad of moolah for my new pad in Brixton. I decided to cheer myself up and go to The Virgin Megastore for one cd or dvd or book. I have a strange affliction for not being able to make my mind up given a lot of choices. I spent two and a half fucking hours in that damn shop. I listened to at least 40 cds and couldn't buy one! Top of the list were:- Television : Marquee Moon, Talking Heads : Fear of Music. And last but not least The Clash : London Calling 25th Anniversay Edition. Which in hindsight I should have just bought and got the hell out of there. I then moved onto the music dvds. Oh my god. Why did I even start to look at these. Lots of goodies here. Including 3 Johnny Thunders dvds, which I will research more. A great New Order Live dvd, a Blondie greatest hits, and a Ramones dvd that clocks in at a hefty 5 hours. Too many choices, so I passed them all up. I then decided to go downstairs. Bad move. I just turned around and got the hell out of dodge. I seriously cant wait until I get a debit card and I can just shop online. It pisses me off that I have such a hard time when I go out to huge places to buy anything. God you should see me go out shopping for clothes or shoes. I just give up. I went into the the same shop 4 days in a row and picked up the same pair of shoes everytime, before I bought them. Anyway back to my little adventure in the big city. I then walked up and down the same road 3 or four times looking at things to eat. I gave up and walked into Burger King twice, joined the queue twice and then walked out..... twice. I ended up finding a Pret and spent five minutes choosing a sandwich. I decided to head homeward. Good move considering my brain was beginning to ache, and the codiene was wearing off and the plague was starting to hurt. I went to Angel, (which I know the layout of, and feel a lot more at ease pottering around in) and to my surprise found a Halifax. I completed my banking mission, walked into HMV, bought a Richard Pryor DVD with only spending 20 minutes in the shop, which is record time for me. Being on a roll, I then decided to tackle Sainsburys. Usually this is a nightmare for me. I was pretty knackered by this stage and bought some good apple juice and grapes and just got out of there as quick as possible. I hopped on the bus and retreated back to the safety of my cave. Total misson time : Five hours. What the hell is wrong with me? I seriously think I have a mental disorder. Any clues? Anyone?

Meet the Fockers.

2005-01-19T15:00:00.000+01:00

I don't usually get sucked into the bullshit world of politics but I'm a little ticked off.

"Celebrating Freedom, Honoring Service," is the theme for old fucko's second inauguration tomorrow. It will heavily emphasize a nation at war, but festivities will rival those held during peacetime. Great Eh? Doesn't that make you feel good. Planned are nine official balls, a youth concert, a parade, a fireworks display and, of course, fucko's second swearing-in ceremony at noon on Jan. 20. The cost will be between $30 million and $40 million, an amount that does not include expenses for security. Does this figure piss anyone off?

Celebrating Freedom. Can America be any further away from the truth? For a nation (well half a nation) that is obsessed with itself like no other nation on the planet. They are addicted to presevering their own piggish way of life. (Well unless you are on welfare, not white or think outside the square.) They give up more of their freedom everyday under the guise of safety from those terrible terrorists who goal is to take the American way of life. Phuleeez. Give me a break. What you need to save a bit of face guys is these few little things. Number one on the list, and the main reason you are the target of horrible attacks like 9/11. is this. America, stop backing Israel, look at this map for a second. You can see that Israel is smack in the middle of the muslim world. And lets not forget that little hot property of Jersualem, especially The Dome of the Rock which has a lot of importance to the Islamic faith. God help us if that should fall into muslim hands, which Israel will never let happen. Get your ass out of Iraq, they don't want your version of Democracy. Stop sucking up to those Saudi's, and start to look at alternative energy sources. God know's you've shelved enough of them over the years. The most ironic observation I think is that America's saviour "Jesus" if real at all, is not exactly a white, blue eyed, sandy haired guy with a beard. More like an olive skinned, brown eyed, black haired guy with a beard. Kind of like the people in Iraq.

Honoring Service. If that means disobeying The United Nations, swapping guns for prisoners, building up nations to fight other nations, holding prisoners without trial, invading countries without cause, demolishing other countries to "protecting thier democatic freedom" against hostile invaders, commiting war crimes in Vietnam, Indochina, Korea, Angola, Central America, Afganistan and Iraq just to name a few. I feel terrible for the people who go to war, and for families that suffer loss, but sorry America, your leaders are warmongers out of control. And we can only look on everyday in horror and disbelief. How did it come to this?

And that's my 2 cents worth on the theme. Now the cost. Between 30-40 million dollars. Surely this money could be put to better use? I'm not going to into charity mode, and I'm not touching the issues of charity surrounding the Tsunami. It's horrible, and a tragedy, but a lot of the world lives in poverty everyday. Just look at Africa for instance. I'm just disgusted at the price tag for this fraudster's little party. Look here for "donors" for the big bash. Wonder what tax breaks or kickbacks those companies might be getting in the time to come. Infact I wonder if they are owned or have any connection to the "Natural Born Killers" above. Aren't donations, tax right offs?

Ill get off my soapbox now.

Poxometer: On a scale of 1-10, one being a breeze, and 10 being extreme pain like I have never experienced before in my life, I'm currently at 9.0. Make it go away please :(

Bad England, daytime tv and the pox.

2005-01-18T16:22:00.000+01:00

I wish I had cable tv. I've exhausted my stash of dvds. Dvds from Asia are always a bit of a gamble, but for $1 us a dvd, it's a gamble worth taking. Even, in my state of complete boredom, watched "Goodbye Lenin" in German. After a while, it didn't take long to get the plot, and I actually enjoyed the the film. So what if the plot is a figment of my warped imagination, it suited my needs. A more harder to follow is the french film "Taxi." Being an Asian copy, this little gem had subtitles. The only thing was the subtitles were from some Asian translation service, which I suspect was some dude who spent a year in the states, who is typing dialogue into Babelfish. This makes for very interesting reading. Quotes such as "The red buddhist motor oil, grand starts to frame" and "he becomes house to see friend woman nicely" I'll write down some other ones later today. It got me thinking of the clangers I saw in my travels through Asia. I had a hotel that had a "Perception" Desk. I had a dish called "fried meets with egg noddles and rich." And if I left all my dirty clothes in the basket, my "wishing" would be done.

Pox Update: I'm blistering, which is really sore. The codiene is working a treat, but the side effects is that I can't concentrate for very long. I'm getting bored out of my skull. Daytime T.V. seems the answer at the moment. It's a stupid programme where they pick letters and make words. This old biddy just tried to make the word "Haemorrhoids" and the dickhead presenter said I bet that has "piles" of letters in it. She couldn't spell it anyway. Retard. Wow, aren't my days exciting at the moment.

House Update: I'm happy to say, that I've found an amazing place in Brixton Hill. This has been my little ray of sunshine today. I move next week.

Put through babelfish from English to Chinese and back.

Smallpox renewal: I'm gets up the blister, is truly the ache. Codiene operates one kind to receive cordially, but the side effect is I can't centralism for extremely long-term. I'm obtains tastelessly in mine skull, I'm watched at that time outside daytime T.V.. It's stupid program they pick the letter and make the word the place. This only old biddy tries to make word "Haemorrhoids" And dickhead bestowing said I made a bet had "Piles" Letter in it. Her couldn't incantation it in any event. Decelerates. Ha, aren' t my day stimulated at that time.

Legislative body renewal: I'm happily said, that I've has discovered a surprising place in the Brixton hill. This is my small light today. Under I move a week.