ZOoOt aLoRZ

Thiz weak eye half bin mhost-lee indulging inn bee-lidge-err-enss, itt haz bin gr8.

Like seriously though, I have. Once upon a time, a night out was just that, a night out. Then there was the advent of the two-day party. Then the 3 day party. All sans sommeil, et sans souci.

So on day 1, which we'll call WEDNEZDAIIYY, I attended a concert by renowned singer, aktor and stunt-man Adam Green. This was one of the best concerts I have ever been to. And like, I've been to 6,234 concerts. He glided onstage energetically, elegantly and intent on blowing our minds. He performed many classics from his cannon of super-hits, including your humble reporter's fave ditty, 'Morning After Midnight'. Padina Sunshine and I danced merrily to this. As did other pals there Ciaran, Gemma, Charlotte, Claire, Dave, Matt etc so many to mention!

This was the most intimate gig I've ever been to. I mean intimate in the sense that I probably physically manhandled Adam more than most girlfriends I've ever had, often acting as his 'pivot man' lifting him skyward for his crowd-surfing. Some songs I was hugging him and even got to sing a line into the mic with him. It was delightful. He is a tactile, charming and charismatic gent.

After, went hanging in Lavs for a bit then on to some student residence where we hung out in the toilets. There, I wounded myself by trying to climb into a locked cubicle 'over the top', cut hand, blood pishing everywhere, yet other less-easily reparable organs were spared the insult of being damaged in this pathetic charade. "A man of action!", no-one said.

Then, stunningly, Adam's guitarist Jon and keyboardist Omer turned up to party! With us! So we made our way to another house and hung out with them, two truly lovely guys, it was great!! Many photos document this on fphazzze-bouk, though for the life of me I don't know why I have such a crazed look in most of them, I was very happy, not maniacal !! Maybe special keep awake produkktzz explain the wild-eyed, wide-eyed zany stare. Or not !!

So after they left, we continued. But like all of Thursday. Consumption of special keeps 'er lit. Went to another gig that night. It featured new Belfast rock-rap thingy Team Fresh, many danced in crazed fashion as I sat alone on a stool at a table in the midst of said japes. I felt happy to be sitting, nodding like a 45 year old that was told to check out the latest hip trend by The Guardian or some other such publication.

Day 3 was the MET gang event, featuring Padina, Issy, Esteban Fuertes de la Fuenta and other notable luminaries, Maria, Rui and Trisha. I was DJ-man. And rampant Gin-abuser. It was like London in the 1700s, during the Gin Street era and the Gin Riots - mothers standing on babies heads!! Got wile pished and all my charm and kudos built up trickled away with the salty tears rolling down my cheeks... naw it wasn't like that really, had a lovely time and super partied to the maximum!

I reminisced with Stevo about my dearest friend Neal Anthony Cunningham and explained to him the concept of the NCWC - the Neal Cunningham Work Community. I told him the offices were on the wastelands in Carryduff in a disused freight container (that had been bizarrely abandoned there - it's like, nowhere near a port... wtf?!!!) and that we would endeavour to serve the community but turn out to be so inept we would be chased outta town, much like witches in the middle-ages. Stevo wept at the beauty of this tale. Then I told him about Santa Claus not being real too, cos I'm 'such a hoot'. A terrible man.

So aye, some snipets of a 3 day period of living. Is how I live living though? Feel I should do more, be more productive, more creative, tell all the details, not hold back ... maybe I'll write a novella or a pamphlet, like just to get started on this exorcising and recanting of this life. It could be illustrated and done like properly. I could buy paints. I could get that easel out of the roofspace. I could ask my ma to try to enrol me in art college again, like she did when I was 8 years old. My artistic career ended in one fell swoop by the sniggering receptionist that said "you need to be 18 and have A-Levels and a portfolio..." - WHY WOMAN, WHY?!! GOD-DAMMIT!



I could have been a star. Instead, I'm me.



---FIN---