… c’mere i’ll tell ya a question…

… so much to report since lass blog… big bash at castle askill on Oscar night, guests sincluded usher, george michael, marion co-tee-yard (how do ya spell dat fookin name), andrea corr, robbie pattinson, emmy blunt & colm meaney… i wudda won da pool if i’da gotten dem damn short film categories, FLIPPIN MEANEY studied up on dem like da bible… bastard !

… oscar nom, da lovely n ethereal jen lawrence, sad bout losin out, arrived at me castle two days later for some r&r&r (guess what dat lass R is for), she needed me to help take d’pain away… danced our brains out one night at da galway quays, licked sweat off each udder, den come home for lively game of “find da winter’s bone”… dropped some tabs o’ new drug called “charlie sheen”, felt tiger-like wit fists o’fire, like we couldn’t lose, only win… called drug hotline n dey talked us down…

… on her lass nigh in town we helicoptered out to one o me fave pubs, boggans in kilmuckridge, good craicaoke… J LaW sang “dese boots was made fer walkin”, which she did wen we gots back home, all over me chest n back, mmmm talk about crackin… necks marnin she run off to UK to make some movie called “7th son”… pettyfer bettyfer keep iz effin mitts offyfer… me kiss her goodbye so deep dey feels it in china…

… wept in a corner for tree days, den boarded me private jet to da strife-torn country of labya, protesters seekin d’ouster of mumar qaddoofy requested me do a concert for dem, for freedom… stopped in vienna to pick up da one n only nadia ali… she and i rocked zawiya town square necks marn, labyan rebel stronghold, officials din wan me to go on stage wittout a shirt, but i say FOOK DAT n go out anyway… da rebels had a canary, dey tru debris n molotovs, n me bassist eamonn took a bullet in da thigh, but we kep on goin… no hard feelins… fight on, zawiya!

… me n nadia n da boys headed to bin jawwad, but our luxury tour bus were fired upon, nearly hit sometin called an IED… utter chaos ensued, soldiers firin into crowds, payple runnin fer dare lives, children cryin… nadia were so scared, she held onta me like a crucifix in a bomb shelter… RPGs outside became da soundtrack to our passionate lovemakin…

… arrived safely back at castle askill, escapin da muddle east wit our lives… labya licked us pretty good, bombs n uzis n checkpoints n ferocious stray dogs… ask me tank!  me & nadia (i calls her “nads”) hadda get da fook outta dare… as we shagged da pain away, what stayed wit us both were da faces o da payple, like bulldogs lickin piss offa nettle, so committed to dare cause, our cheeks be moist for da labyans…

… now me and da band rehearsin at troubadour studios for big st. pats free concert atop da clarence hotel, featurin snow patrol, da corrs, n some bloke calls himself “see low”… me manager donal passin out shots o whiskey every hour on d’hour till showtime, diffrent brand each time in alphabuttical order, brogan’s legacy, bushmills 10 & 16… day one’s whiskeys were spot on, loved da clontarf (best consumed out of a leinster senior cup), da michael collins (which came a rising up from me belly), and da connemara (one hill of a time)… but da tullamore dew it to me, me sweet lullaby… den it were on to da pure pots, dunvilles 3 crowns (donal tried to score a 4, but no dice)…

… finished night 2 at vat house temple bar, savorin some willie napier 1945… dey tried to pawn 1956 off on us, but aidan me dwarf recognized it and SPIT DAT CRAP OUT, den attacked da manager behine da bar… we foun da 1945 even more vibrant… cuz it were ON DA FOOKIN HOUSE…

… nervous bout turdsday night, pressure on… tellin m’self to relax da cacks… lickin forward to d’after party in me clarence sweet… all da skinny in me neckst missive…

seamus
Follow @SeamusIsLove