23 January 2012


~ sober or die ~

  • "Lord have merceh!" as Big Jim Potts would have it

  • "Time for some redemption songs," quoth Dickie Wells (whom I rather wish i had here as wing man as i wrestle with the devil, plucking at my sleeve and whispering his evil in my ear)

    "You can't stay drunk forever, you're either going to sober up, or die."

    Amen, Ricardo, amen.

    I'm alone in the house. Really finally destructibly alone surrounded by booze

  • Booze we had before

  • Booze Pete brought

  • Booze others brought as condolenzio

    It's cold, it's very silent and it's lonely. It's also utterly familiar.

    1425hrs ~ yep, on the dot.

    Here's how it would go: mum in garden, i sneak the first campari or G&T or whatever. Fat pack of cigs at hand and window open to the chill to let the breeze dilute the baccy pong. First hint of mum coming in to make lunch, i'm up and suggest a suitable drink, which she accepts.

  • As her health deteriorated, same routine but checking on her for requests for soup or tea. Not so easy with the smoke drifting down the corridor towards her room, but you know what? I dont think she sweated the small stuff: I tried so hard to look after her that I dont think she gave a damn about my little treats of boozerie. Enough on her plate heading for the Promised Land to worry about my own choice of sled down that slippery slope.

    Lord have mercy.

    Alone. Gates closed. No danger of footfall down the corridor, quick hide of the bottle by my left foot, out of sight below the desk.

    The body clock is chiming and grinding. The clock on the wall isnt signaling anything.

    "Sam, help me. Isnt your mistress sending signal? Bite, attaque, leap up and send the bottles skidding crashing to the hard kitchen tiles.

    I take up the guitar and plunk for distraction but it's not there.

    Isnt one meant to be able to pick up the phone and call yer buddy? "Hey it's me-" 'Yeh, me too. Talk to me.'

    Whooh, it's hard. I walk Sam and me around the property and note the raking that's needed and the where the shredding must go. Distraction. I'm going to need some cigarettes and no mum to look disapproving: 'Must you go out now? Lunch is nearly ready; just for your cigarettes?'

    I suppose this is when it's useful to have Someone to kneel to; stand before the King.

    Aiyah - difficult except the sniveling organism is going 'whats difficult? over there, easy, just the one, dont have to go beserk. Police yourself now. Easy.'

    Not easy. Get down on my knees and pray-yay. Needles and pins-uh. Needles and pina colada, more like.

    Don't want to die. Not so soon. Not so predictably.

    Become that pathetic bloated figure stumbling around, life n soul of the bar. Stagger off into the night, weaving n waving, three goes to fit the key to the car lock, everyone watching as the car lurches and not-quite misses the bin and an approaching car honks and the barflies go back to their mojitos and shake their heads sadly.

    Sozzled into that good night.


    After the ball is over ...

    Today, Monday Jan 23's Facebook photo album that seems appropriate to post after all the rages and rants I've scattered around about my filched heirloooms.

    I feel somewhat appeased now. Perhaps revenged is a better word. At peace.

    So, my stuff is lost somewhere in the bowels of Villa Thefti, but I've got a replacement batch and very fitting, too.

    When I was foaming at the mouth about losing my only possessions of any sentimental or emotional importance and would be shouted down with the excuse that they were only cheap jewelry - not strictly true; there was some good stuff.

    But certainly, I dont think the perpetrators will deny a certain monetary value to the replacement haul.

    14 January 2012


    Reaction when i got back to Greece and recounted having seen my stolen jewels on my brother's dressing table:

    "OMFG, can you imagine how far down the moral sewer you would have to swill to find a double theft like that?

    What a piece of work."


    Sounds a perky enough romp: Elginia for the masses.

    Must get hold of a copy and opinionate.

    Boogaloo! ~ gonna need some music as as we get elginised.

    Cue them Jackson Fahve

    13 January 2012


    I shoulda titled it 'blues pour l'apostrophe' - seen the waterston's brouhaha? - but i'm after screen cred so i'm doing a double whammy ~

  • Focus groups nominate the use of 'buddy' as the sure-fire quickest ruse for a white boy to pose as the sorta real thing.
    [Memo to Anna: sweetie, can i say that i'm like 'down' on the blues? Thanks, mwah. Dont forget to write b&b letter to Ya-ya for christmas prezzies. Dont let me down, babe; i catch hell this end. Mwah! ~ Dad]

  • Use of Big Jim Potts' moniker, almost ostentation.

    Anyway, woke up this morning and decided to tootle into town and suck up to the money. Found a blues compilation i cut wayy back. Good disc to play after a war with
    the suits.

  • Bertha 'Chippie' Hill

  • Barbecue Bob (whose 'Motherless Chile Blues I tweaked back in '74 to sing at Cava Mitsos:
    "Goin' down Nissaki, get my hambone boiled,
    Them Acharavi wimmin, let my hambone spoil".

    Agathi laffed her pretty hips off when it was translated. Lord have mercy.

  • Sippie Wallace

  • Charlie Patton ... and of course, Bessie.

    Gosh Corfu is the perfect place to cruise 2 the blues, so i fell to thinking how cool it'd be to have the Prof riding shotgun, the two of us sipping on maman's moonshine and just listening silent, now n then going 'Yeah' or 'Shoot! That's phrase n a half'. Leave Big Jim to do all the Lawd Have Mercies, that being his territo'.

  • Broonzy ~ talk about a deceptively easy delivery.

    He just whispers that throw-away delivery of 'damper down'.

    When i was in hong kong, '64, i learnt tom rush's version, lyrics along these lines. Hadnt the faintest idea what they meant til an R&R Viet in a Wanchai bar laughed n told me whut for, played it the real way. Nineteen years old, lost a leg, offered me money to write a Dear John letter to his honey back in North Carolina.

    "You got the words, Chris. I want to send her something good."

    He was articulate in his own vocab, I asked him why, couldnt he do it no more? [which he could; charlie's shit-stick hadnt taken out his wedding tackle]

    I told him i'd take dictation n type it out and get his john hancock n mail it off, coz if i wrote it his babe would know he was shacking up with a fauntleregal faggot n then he'd really be for the high jump ... so to speak.

  • Corine ~ callin' callin' that exquisite lady. the church had a 'jass' concert and this wondrous beauteous tuneous songstress sang along to jim and raoul. Be still, my foolish heart.

    Big Jim begging C on my behalf not to go.

  • Groceries on the shelf - a good pal of mine in seattle talked of his family vacations n pulling into a Piggly Wiggly. Wonderful handling by Lucille Bogan

  • Dope Head - lor' lumme that's sexeh stock foto of some white chick. Lonnie on ace form as usual.

    Plenty more but i dont want to depress jimbo too much, over there reduced to wailing n plunking along to the local cloggies

  • 10 January 2012


    Now that the christmas fairy dust is settling, dad's folks are remembering their softie southern cousin and sharing some of what kept *them* entertained. no downton dementia for *them*.

    wonderful profile of Victoria Wood (prestwich, lancs) whose chooby lass next door looks enabled her to get away wi' jokes like:

    'Ive got a dyslexic boyfriend, aye?

    He's right enthusiastic about my vinegar'

    09 January 2012


    Usually these 'amazing' 'best ever' whatevers are no big deal but this double whammy did catch my admiration.

    The presence of mind of #1 and the anticipation of #2.

    I'd've turned away or made eyes at some tottie over the boundary.


    Always a sucker for these silly polls.