Right now I'm at Camden Town in a Nero Cafe, pissed that WiFi in London is (a) hard to fucking find, (b) a bitch to log on to and (c) charged. That's right. I had to use my credit card to upload this fucking blog so y'all better be frickin' grateful.
But it hasn't all been walking and drinking and walking and drinking and staggering. Two days ago I followed my parents to Stratford-Upon-Avon (birthplace of Big Willie Shakespeare) and Bourton-On-The-Water (birthplace of someone not as important). My bro was having a whale of a time. Me? I just soaked it up. Another place to walk, with far less cars and Arab tourists. If you notice the first picture from the left on the second row, that's a sign from the cinema at Big Willie's birthplace. 'Star Warts III'. I guess Big Willie Shakes don't dig the force.
The weather was also on the couldy side, as you can tell, but yesterday and today have been anything but blue skies. Of course, that doesn't mean it's hot. It's kinda like the Egypt syndrome. Step out under the sun and you'll feel warm, get under shade and you'll freeze your bollocks off (unless you're from England, in which case you won't feel a damn thing).
Reading the play now made me wonder whether I was a lot funnier back in those days or just having more fun. A complete bastardization of Big Willie's 'Much Ado About Nothing', it featured dick and fart jokes galore. Example (as hinted earlier):
WATCHMAN#2: Why does that guy keep talking in that Shakesperean prose?
WATCHMAN#1: Hey, Shakespeare can do some crazy shit to you. I knew this one guy, he knew every single line of every single play of Shakespeare, every verse, ever sonnet.
WATCHMAN#2: What happened to him?
WATHCMAN#1: He died of internal haemorhage.
WATCHMAN#2: He died of an internal haemorhage from reading too much Shakespeare?
WATCHMAN#1: No, he died of an internal haemorhage after being fucked up the ass with a 15 inch strap on dildo.
Gimme a break, it was a university crowd.
Then I went to Man Method's to chill out and watch endless episodes of the Simpsons and Johnathan Creek (which I'm beginning to dig) as his 21 year old Eastern European cleaner tidied his room. In Malaysia, we get old biddy's from Indonesia. In England, they get cute 21 year old Eastern European's. The sheer inequality.
There's also this weird unwritten rule between me and Man Method: whenever one of us is visiting the other's country, the visitor inadvertedly (and willingly) becomes the other's house-bitch. When I was at Man Method's place, I made the tea. When he was in KL, he opened the gate and door for me when I came home from work.
Not sure what to do next. Might visit my old schools in the Goldersgreen/Hendon/Mill Hill area, then maybe meet up with Izzy tonight and Zana tomorrow for dinner. Then it's party time with Man Method on Friday, followed by the Download festival on Saturday. Then Sunday I'll be back home.
Did I just call KL 'home'? Weird.
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