Back to the Flex

Dear Diary,

La vie takes an unexpected tac. Life is good, on the up and up. I bumped into Suzie-Q on my way into town. We exchanged numbers, life is good. It'd be nice to reconnect with her, she is scrumpteous, forty something, straight, no excessive drinking, she quit smoking.

Shit! I just realised I left the cooking off then took off in the alpha romeo with the Blissful Pilgrim, bugger. Good job I remembered! Could've burned the house down! We're racing back to turn it off.

So, earlier on I was awoken by said Pilgrim. We went into town. After crossing paths with the beautiful Sue, we went to meet Slabbi and Guppy from 'Slabbi and the Storks'. An old punk band I was in way back in '94. Man, it was good seeing those guys. Slab' invited me to visit him in Spain, Barcelona again, the city that never sleeps. I love it there. He is so cool. Straightened out, he's got his shit together: just drinks socially and certainly n'owt save a 'natural high'. Life itself. Vitæ.

Anyway, we split, sought spice and special stuff, we're cruising along in the sunshine en route to the gig. The Flex. I can't wait to see Dadio again. Tonight I am autonomous.

Pilgrim hooked a dozen mackerel from the very beach nearest where I grew up, my home town, a little village beyond Stockland: the Shire.

So I brought the smelly dead bleeding hearts in a couple of carrier bags to port them, a small cooker, a mess tin. It's almost like I'm on the road again. Paradise.

Maxy Waxy. xx