Oranges and Lemons and Sheep and Songs
Friday night, BBC Babe made quality sausages and mash for Quality Company. She knows some of the most relaxed, well travelled and erudite people imaginable. I gave tips to an author who farms sheep in Spain on how to deliver lambs: if you really can’t tease at least one leg out, eye sockets make perfect finger grips to pull on with which you can’t do the harm you might imagine, as their eyes are set to the side. Later, he looked at me curiously as I spoke assuredly on some other nonsense and told me I was enigmatic; to which I replied, ‘No; I’m just so averagely, ordinary; set squarely in the middle, that it’s easier for me to reach more edges than most and thus appear that way.’ I’m not sure if that’s quite true.
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Saturday was Posh Bird’s sister’s birthday. It only takes the tiniest drip of Armenian blood for hospitality to become innate.
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Also, porphyre wanted Kruder and Dorfmeister, so I’m throwing what I could find on my shelf at you all: Deep Shit, parts I & 2; and DJ Kicks. I’m sure I once had more of this stuff, but sometimes gaps appear amongst the things we once owned. You can also have some Bomb the Bass. I must get that album they did which contained bits based on a Will Self story about drugs and traffic congestion.
I’m getting a random trickle of old LJ comments that I’m replying to equally randomly. Everything is out of date with me at the moment: even this entry is really from ages ago.