A weird dream I had:
I was running around Trafalgar Square and other various parts of West London with a book of Oscar Wilde quotes. I was just running up to people, stopping them, reading them an Oscar Wilde quote, then letting them go on their way. I was also carrying a cone of Mr. Whippy (no Flake), and whenever it ran out, and looked away, when I looked back it had always refilled itself.
There was also a kind of subplot involving a tour bus and some old people but the details escape me.
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You may be aware I haven't blogged in a while. A long while. But luckily I had a very good friend round last night who re-installed Windows and saved my computer, who was otherwise At Death's Door And Knocking Pretty Damn Loud. Now,when I click on something, it does it! Amazing. I've been showing it off to everyone, but it turns out my computer is not supercoolwickedawesomebad, but it just now functions like a normal, average computer. I'm just not used to things working as they should. Says more about me than about my computer, I have a horrible feeling.
In a way, this blog by its very nature is a tribute. In that I stopped, abruptly, when I was otherwise in full swing, then didn't write for ages, then one day decided to reappear out of the culturally devoid abyss and reform for a one-off and charge people £125 a go.
Hold on. I think halfway through that sentence I confused myself with a quintessential rock band.
I've been doing a lot of thinking, putting my life in perspective to things and such and the like.
And I've realised that it really doesn't matter who has Led Zeppelin tickets and who doesn't.
Or who cried when she found out her ex-boyfriend was going.
Because I have my integrity, and no amount of they haven't gigged in over 20 years can change that.
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