Been working at the 'Ukranian Cathedral of the Holy Family in Exile' for the past couple of weeks which is worth putting in for it's splendid moniker alone. My mission is to paint the domed ceiling in Farrow & Ball blue'n'white & dodge the plasterers who have brought their accents up from Bristol for the duration, bless them. My partner in crime is 'Young' Paul who turns 60 in a month & is going ever so slightly deaf from being the main dude drummer for the London School of Samba & is suffering rather more than usual this week as he's just back from Carnival. Getting the basics sorted is becoming a challenge :
We got enough paint to last the week, Paul?
We got enough paint to last the week, Paul?
Eh...?
HAVE WE GOT ENOUGH PAINT TO LAST THE WEEK?
Eh..?
Don't worry, I'm just going down the ladder to check on the paint...
Er...OK....*looks pensive*....Could you have a look & see if we've got enough paint down there if you're going? Not sure if we've got enough to last out the week...
Sure thing...
To add to the fun we have been joined this week by Dave (sic) the Lesbian Fibrous Plasterer whose accent is so thick you could stand a spoon up in it who sings along to Radio 2 as if her life depended on it & hurls around roof lagging as the boys watch on in wonder. You wouldn't want to mess with Dave, mind. She'd spin you on her little finger as she knocked up a brew, letting off a silent but violent at the same time. So we don't. I am astonished by the gut feeling she finds in Will Young, however. The little incubus (thanks Bill, that one was a gift) is hardly noted for his lyrical dexterity, but as I watch Dave's enticingly exposed midriff contracting & expanding with raw emotion I become painfully aware that I have missed more than one meeting...
The second thing that won't bugger off is this : My lil brother is apparently in love (according to my mother). You'd be right in thinking 'How come you got that second-hand?' Well, for the last couple of years we have been lock-horned in a pitch battle over a flat that I live in & he has invested in & for reasons too complex to go into here it's all gone tits up. Large style. So we haven't been doing a lot of the ole chitty chatty of late which, to a point, I regret & to another I feel is probably the right thing: Money & family are awkward bedfellows at the best of times but when things go wrong, boy do they go wrong. Anyway, the idea of my brother being in love is somewhat bizarre as, how can I say this, previous laydees haven't exactly lasted much longer than a choc ice in a microwave. And to up the ante, the latest is a celeb. Or at least the sister of one. Which counts if you are editing Heat magazine. And the celeb we are talking about here is 'A' list, not your Big Brother dross. For reasons I shall one day go into at length I have a slight issue with such people, pleasant though they may be, particularly when looks are involved. I still believe in the somewhat naive notion of a meritocracy, the idea that celebrity comes to those who have earned it through what they have achieved & not what they look like, who they are going out with or how much money they have. Now I could be getting all previous here as I have never met said laydee & she could be blinding (probably is, actually) but I am painfully aware that should a meeting ever take place I will have to bury these gut instincts deep if I am ever to have a Buckleys of patching it up with me bro again, something I have been led to understand he is keen to achieve. And whether to post this at all as it is late & I have necked several Sailor Jerrys (helps me type, you understand) & the idea that this won't get back at some point is, at best, optimistic. Hmmm, the bosom of the web or the bosom of the family, I'm on the verge...
Ahh, fuck it...
