[*ye olde but better expletivedeleted*]

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Name:
Standort: Czechia

Freitag, November 22, 2002


BOND-WANG

Saw it day b4 yesterday. Action aplenty. Cool fight scenes, car chases, sexy Bond Beyotches. Yeah.
Ah yes, also went to see Westminster Abbey too. Very lovely. Not every day you get to see the final resting place of Queen Elizabeth Mk1. (Mary Q of S was there as well - but over the way a bit..)
One thing I did notice though...several of the earlier monachs interred at the Abbey seem to have comparatively crap possies in relation to subsequent kings. A couple of them seem consigned to what resembles a corridoor area, while their fresher kin have fancy gilt-encrusted tombs 'centre-stage' as it were. Some even get whole rooms to themselves away from the hoi-polloi. NIce if you can afford it, I guess. Plus, just having any old poet, common statesman or lord lying around you would certainly lower the tone of the neighbourhood.....Amen.


EVERYBODY'S GOT SOMETHING TO HIDE EXCEPT ME AND MY MONKEY

Today I got up, eventually, and....no wait, let's back up a day or two.
This is a journal godammit...must apply myself..

As you may have read on the Penultimate Frontier I have been staying at The Front Room in Clapham with James T for the last few days. It is a fine place of lodging for several reasons. (a) It is situated above The Front Room Bar - replete with New Zealand staff and generous 2 for 1 deals. (b) The price for the room is good at only £10 p/n. (c) Elsewhere, you could expect to pay £11-14 for a room that you share with five to eight people. I have a comparatively private 'suite', shared with only Mr. Tremewan and another Kiwi dude called Andy. (d) The Front Room is handy to all major amenities in the greater Clapham/Battersea area - including my cousin Anna who lives somewhere nearby - not sure exactly where - even though I've been there once.. (e) The hostel has separate T.V. viewing room and kitchen as well as two nice bathrooms. (f) The hostel is populated by some of the craziest people I have come across so far.
Let me give you an example of the madness.


A few nights ago, three of us - me, Darren the Irishman and Nameless European Guy were sitting down watching some late night telly. On at the time was a documentary on Iraq which saw an English journalist going in undercover to examine alleged incidences of public beheadings of prostitutes in Baghdad. (Apparently carried out by Uday Hussein's fanatical followers). All good. Anyways, in walks Mr. African-Born-Again-In-A-Big-Way-Preacher-Man after a hard night's converting. He proceeds to sit down and slag off Moslems left, right and centre - spouting such clap as: "Christianity is the only one TRUE religion! There is no other. Christ was the only one who really died and came back to us! The other were merely filthy prophets. Ah, look at them - horrible, violent people." (Cut to TV footage of Hussein terror troops ripping apart a poor dog as part of their training initiation) "I cannot watch this anymore!" he moans. Mr. Abaiabwpm then shuffles out the door. "Whew," we collectively sigh. "He's gone to bed."
Not even close.

He comes back in and during the ad break begins, for lack of a specific term, preaching to Darren about not being a Christian. Y'know the drill - he produces religious leaflets seemeingly from thin air - admonishes drinking, sex, TV... the works. The man did not shut up.
"Look man, stop preaching to me, would ya?!" asks Darren, his temper rising.
"I am not preachingat all. This is the truth."
"Well if you keep it up, I'll make sure you meet yer maker tonight buddy," growls Darren.
"Calm down, calm down,"says Abaiabwpm. Then he turns to Nameless European Guy. "Do you speak English?" he asks him.
"Yeah, I do."
"Do you read English?" he fawns.
"Yeah."
No sooner than he says this, one of his ubiquitous leaflets is shoved under his nose. Politely, Nameless European Guy accepts it and, after a brief perusal, uses it as a mat for his cup of coffee.
Suffice it to say, I am the next target..."Are you a Christian?" he asks, cheesy grin and all.
"Ah, I'm watching T.V." I say in my best serious voice.
(By now, Very Bad Things - a very violent movie - has begun to play and I quite want to watch it.)"Look at this!" he whinnies, pointing to the 'One-Eyed-God'. "This is DEMONIC! Satan is influencing you all and you don't even know it! All this violence and cursing! Heavens! You have no idea the ways in which the Devil influences you do you ?!"
"Come on mate, it's only a bloody movie. Just shut up - leave if you don't like it. Nothing stoppin' you is there? The three of us want to just sit here and enjoy the fuckin' film," Darren exhorts.
Preacher gets up again and leaves only to come back and then leave again, all the time mumbling words such as "demonic" and "vile" and "ignorant" under his breath. Then, when he comes back in for about the fifth time, he sits down and proceeds to 'watch' the movie. Only he isn't watching, he proceeds to fidget, shuffle papers, sing to himself , pick his toenails, cough, and mumble all the way through. I can but only laugh! Ah, what a character. (It turns out that his plan was to sleep on the couch in the lounge, as he shares his room with LOUIE - the rotund, cantankerous, bottle of scotch-a-day Israeli colonel - who is, not suprisingly, a prize snorer.)


After the movie, apart from him, I end up being last in the room with Godboy. He says to me: "It's getting late you know. I think you should go to bed - you must be tired."
"Um, no. I'm not really that tired actually," I tell him - for it was true, I wasn't.
"No, no," he insists. "It's very late." We sit in silence in the room lit only by the faint glow of the television. I wait.
He starts picking at his toenails again..
"I'll bid you a goodnight then," I say, as I reteat from the door to the safety of my room.



>>> The next night, Darren - in good Irish fashion - is pissed out of his gourd. A huge argument erupts between him and Preacher-feature about the previous night. Unfortunately, Louis decides to join in the fray, as is his wont. More unfortunately, Darren refuses to back down and makes things worse by abusing both men and telling them he'll "smah their fuckin' faces in the pair o'ya!!" etc,etc.. Fisticuffs!!? Yikes - almost.
Things get so heated the manageress has to come up from downstairs and threatens absolutely everyone with instant eviction if another word is uttered in anger. During all of this it must be said, I was well tucked up in beddie-byes reading my book. I just had the door open a little to keep up on events. I did go down to the TV room once during the fray just to see if things were ok - didn't want to hang around though. To think, grown men, huh?! Fun and games with loonies.


And that's not all. This morning, roomie Andy got up and went to the kitchen across the way for some cereal. You can well imagine my suprise dear readers, when the first thing I hear outside the door is Louis grumbling some old bullshit as he is prone to do - followed by mild-mannered Andy shouting: "Ah shut your fucking face you Jew!" and storming out down the hallway. Maybe there's something in the water here... Talk about 'rage' 28 Days Later style. (Coming to a cinema near you soon by the way!)


So, apart from that - all is fine here. One big happy family. But I guess that we're all a little mad in one way or another now, aren't we?!
I know I am. "WEEEEEEE!! F'tang, f'tang, skibbledewibbledy!!!!"