Clinging on to the little things in life that make you happy and having a big Darth Vader mug. Yes, that's the only way to get through this life. And even if you don't have a Darth Vader mug, and you're fucking pathetic if you don't, there are still plenty of little things that are almost worth giving a shit about. Today I walked through Ladywell Fields in Lewisham, with Jerk, contemplating the two shows I'm intending on taking to this year's Edinburgh Fringe Festival and hanging myself. Lewisham, at it's very best, can be described as grey. Various shades of grey are pretty much all you see, even in the park. Then out of nowhere comes two incredible flashes of bright green. Believe it or not, Parakeets live in Lewisham. They were set free by an idiot sometime in the 70's and, unlike anything else other than grey in Lewisham, they thrived. It's an incredible sight seeing these exotic, bright coloured, beautiful looking birds taking to Lewisham when it so obviously doesn't deserve them. Anyway, I love them. They're beautiful and I think owners of other exotic animals that they're now bored of should let their pets loose in Lewisham. There's few things I'd like to see more than a Tiger and a Shark walking down Lewisham High Street. They'd show the locals who's who. Except the dead shark.
I had a haircut today just in time for the year's most talked about event of the year this year; The Comeidans Annual Christmas Piss Up. (That's not my typo for once. That's what it says on the invitation) I went to a hairdressers which is very unlike me. I'm a barber man. I decided not to go to my local barber due to lack of faith. The last time I was there he kept talking about "bloody foreigners" and a time before that he told me, with scissors in his hand, that his favourite comedian was Jeff Mirza. No doubt his favourite TV programme is Hitler and his favourite porn star is a big red bell. Suffice to say, I didn't feel safe going there so went to a nearby hairdressers like some sort of nearby girl. The thing is, I didn't sleep last night. My shoulder is hurting due to me sleeping like I'm trying to clean my taint with my eyebrows. When the hairdresser washed my hair it was just so relaxing that I fell asleep. When I was woken up everyone was laughing at me (well both hairdressers) so I must have been snoring. Or worse. I gave the air a sniff and it seemed safe so snoring it must have been. Then I remembered why I don't really like hairdressers. The mirror in front of you is a horrible, spiteful little bastard that underlines all physical faults. My double chin comes with 80% more free, my eyes have physical, emotional and lost baggage and my skin is the colour and texture of Lewisham. I don't look great in hairdresser's mirrors. Still, I'd rather be told I'm a freak of nightmares than reminded of one of Mirza's self-loathing routines. By the way, if you're going to the Comeidans Annual Christmas Piss Up then you're a fucking idiot and I'll see you there. Please say something nice about my hair.
I saw Slumdog Millionaire last night. With the risk of just repeating what Andrew Collin's has already said in his excellent blog, that was just not what I expected. It looked like a big cheery rom-com and it looked insufferably awful. In reality, it's pretty good and utterly depressing, violent and sickening. You'll like it. It's directed by Danny Boyle but, even with that, it's a very good film indeed. He took all the best elements of The Beach and A Life Less Ordinary, put them in a very small bag and ignored them. Good for him. All I'm saying is don't go expecting joy, there isn't any. Well, there sort of is because Freida Pinto is in it and she's beautiful. In amongst all the suffering, poverty, murder and torture in the film I still couldn't get it out of my head that NOTHING of mine will ever be in Freida Pinto, not even my "fun-sized" penis. Andrew Collins doesn't really mention that bit in his blog so I'm glad I managed to bring something new to my mention of the film. Go and see it.