Paul O'Riordan, For The Love of God

While skittering through the internet stratosphere, happy as a wasp in jam, I happened upon an email from one Paul "Palookaville Massacre" O'Riordan, a good friend of mine and a veteran of No 7, Lower Canal Road. Paul expressed his extreme displeasure at my failure to update this literary piece of shit for the past month.

I am sorry Paul.

The truth is, I was beginning to lose hope. The blog entries are long and tortuous pieces of prose to compose, write and eventually type and I had convinced myself from the lack of commentary that not a soul was reading. Paul, dearest Paul, you have restored my faith in the internet as a medium for the conductance of unexpurgated ramblesome nonsense and I shall recommence as such.

I'm in New Zealand by the way. I went to Argentina on the way. It was nice.

Next time (a proper entry, I promise)

Why getting smacked in the mouth by a flying surfboard and almost losing your teeth is so much fun

Pies, pies, pies

THAT accent

General catching up