The main disadvantage being that, according to my unusually stringent rules and self-discipline I HAVE to write a blog, even though it's gone 2am and I have once again had a little drinky poo. Apparently, my art (ahem!) suffers when I drink. You would think that a little inebriation would loosen the tongue, make the words flow and quell the inhibitions that can make your writing sounds stiff. Instead I just revert to a stream-of-conciousness five year-old. Although that technique worked remarkably for Virginia Woolf. Did that kid ever get to the lighthouse?
So stream. of. conciousness.
Today I spent all day typing. Researching stuff for Jakarta makes me way happier than info on riots and torture should. I think I want to be a UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women when I grow up. Or a cowgirl. The evening was spent at an outdoor bar with more fantastic views of skyscrapers and high rises. High Rises and Low Morals. That would be a good chapter for the Hong Kong story. Along with Even the Dead Wear Designer. I drank too much and fell asleep at the bar. Invented a new massage technique where I motorboated people from behind to mixed results. There were strange blue shots. We had a lady taxi driver. She gave us melon candy. In the gardens of my building was the biggest moth in existance. It was the size of a bat. It flew up at me and I squealed like a piggy and flapped my arms around like a particularly fey morris dancer. The security guards from block 6 were staring through the glass at me as though I was some kind of enormous twat. I am not some kind of enormous twat.
Today I liked: Spending 7 hours researching riots in Jakarta in 1998, being told by one of my kids parents that he talks about me to her at home, (nearly had a squish because of this) eating pizza this eve though I'm allergic to tomatos, the tunage at the bar, so many long forgotton classics- don't stop moving to the funky funky beat!
So stream. of. conciousness.
Today I spent all day typing. Researching stuff for Jakarta makes me way happier than info on riots and torture should. I think I want to be a UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women when I grow up. Or a cowgirl. The evening was spent at an outdoor bar with more fantastic views of skyscrapers and high rises. High Rises and Low Morals. That would be a good chapter for the Hong Kong story. Along with Even the Dead Wear Designer. I drank too much and fell asleep at the bar. Invented a new massage technique where I motorboated people from behind to mixed results. There were strange blue shots. We had a lady taxi driver. She gave us melon candy. In the gardens of my building was the biggest moth in existance. It was the size of a bat. It flew up at me and I squealed like a piggy and flapped my arms around like a particularly fey morris dancer. The security guards from block 6 were staring through the glass at me as though I was some kind of enormous twat. I am not some kind of enormous twat.
Today I liked: Spending 7 hours researching riots in Jakarta in 1998, being told by one of my kids parents that he talks about me to her at home, (nearly had a squish because of this) eating pizza this eve though I'm allergic to tomatos, the tunage at the bar, so many long forgotton classics- don't stop moving to the funky funky beat!
S-Club, there ain't no party like a S-Club party...
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