Friday, March 23, 2012

Separating the feat from the faff

Well if it isn't the first posting of 2012! Can I get a great big whoop de doo from all the money makers in the house and the peoples up back? Whoop de doo is one of the lesser known call and response shout outs in the hip hop world so I guess you should feel very privileged that I shared that with you. It would be nice to be able to say that the reason I haven't posted in a while is because I've been so fantastically busy, but now I'm going to sit down for a whileen and fill you in on all my adventures from the last few months. Sadly the truth is a lot more dismal and all that has gone down is a fuck load of faffing about.

Arsin' alone around Barcelona
Some of that faffing is noteworthy, as I turned thirty the first week in February and faffed around Barcelona for a week. The trickiest bit was swallowing the condoms filled with teabags before boarding the plane (strawberry flavoured were used for the occasion, and taste every bit as strawberryish as Mr. Freeze) and the second trickiest bit was trying to order Big Catalan Sausage without creasing myself laughing. As I don't keep a journal I can't give a blow by blow account of what went down over there, but it was along the lines of walked around, gawped at nice buildings, ate lots of nice pastry and meaty things, repeat to fade.

Bowl of Coiffusion (that's what the world is today)
Other faffery involves getting my hair cut, which happens less often than blog updates. I'm nearly up to two a year, and who knows some day I'll be one of those chaps who frequents a barber to get it tidied up every few weeks. Currently I let it grow and grow and grow until I can't see beyond a wall of hair. Then after a few weeks of that I decide that it might be time to get it chopped. Most of my teenage years were spent under the cover of unfortunate bowlcuts that even Shaun Ryder would have derided, either that or I'd try to get a normal haircut which the hairdresser would inevitably hear as "I would like a fringe akin to that of a mental patient, could you sort that out for me?" As a result I have an understandable fear of the barber. When they ask what would I like done, my ideal response would be "Does it really matter? Just do what you're gonna do and get it over with. I can always hide under a hoody for the foreseeable future." It was fairly painless this time, snip snip snip how's that? Could you take a bit more off please? Snip snip snip how's that? Could you stick a bit more on please?