We were the Bolos of Swansea.

Some of you Bolo-ites will no doubt find this pic hugely evocative.
Others of you will be baffled.
But I just thought I’d put it “out there”, as they say…

I’m a regular at local government meetings where they spend five to six hours at a time bickering about party politics and their petty personal squabbles. And I read today that after a lot of wrangling and worry and hand-wringing the Government has decided to up the budget for the 2012 Olympics (an event that will promote harmony between the nations) to just short of £10 billion.

And yet, yesterday it only took a five hour debate to approve spending £20 billion on new submarines and bombs capable of making global warming look like a birthday present.

Makes you think, doesn’t it?

I’m far too lazy. The Groover remarked in a recent bulletin that his flickr site was replacing his blogging work, and it’s been just the same for me. I could make all sorts of excuses about my lack of writing, but it all comes down to idleness.

So, may I direct you all to my photo website where you’ll be able to keep tabs on my continuing adventures…

Meantime, I’ve cunningly set up an RSS feed to my computer in the hope I’ll be guilt-tripped into action every time one of you buggers writes another devastatingly insightful piece.

I’m going to write more, I promise.

Starting tomorrow…

I thought it was very decent of the PM to come all the way back from Barbados just to rap with the Bolo delegation.

Unfortunately some other important matters had cropped up when the delegation arrived and the best we could manage was a photo opportunity…

Better luck next time.

Spotted similar kind of thing in the Yorkshire Dales one day. As you can see, my associates felt very passionate about the whole thing.

Sorry Dave…

Mourn with me brothers and sisters of Bolo – my bike died.

I don’t really own a lot of stuff, and there’s still fewer things that I own that I’m really attached to. But I really loved that bike.

After eight years and 15,000 miles the aluminium tubes of my Klein Pulse Comp have finally parted company and it’s gone to the big velodrome in the sky.

It makes me feel a bit grim…

Here’s a vaguely sinister photo that I took at Castlerigg stone circle.

To be honest, I was just seeing if I was capable of the complex activity of uploading files…

Beer-weary soul
Slumped
On the G-Town train

Sad songs playing in my head
While I’m walking home alone

Two posts in two days … what’s going on?

I’ll tell you what. Opened the paper today to discover they’ve made a film of Ask the Dust. Starring Colin Farrell as Bandini. For fuck’s sake.

The irony of Hollywood making a film based on the one truly great novel of a man who famously prostituted his talent to make big money as a Hollywood screenwriter is not lost on this Boloist.

I’ll be having a rather large shit the day that film comes out…

I’ve been moved to write for the first time in a while by a shocking experience today.

I was returning from the particularly dispicable doorstepping of a vulnerable member of society when I heard a familiar voice on the radio.

Kate Rusby. Oh she’s so lovely. A voice that could break your heart and all that. Oh yes, this will sooth my tortured soul.

But who’s that singing with her? No … it can’t be. It is, isn’t it.

Ronan Keating. Better known, even to his mother, as Ronan Fucking Keating.

But there it is. Fate rarely smiles on those who doorstep.

Today I finally got off my arse and, after five years of talk and grim pretentiousness, began writing something that resembled fiction. True, it was a thousand words of tat and needs heavy editing before I can show to anybody (even a priest) – but for an hour I actually sat and did something. I feel very proud of myself – but would like to give some credit to the existence of the Bolo, which I think spurred me into action after all this time…

Fucking ace. It’s about time I got out of the middle of the road and back in to the ditch where I belong.

Thank you Bolo. You succeeded where Trisha failed.

I’d also like to apologise for machinery. It made me publish the last one twice. I feel like Yossarian.

Well … I’ve finally managed to work out (with help from the groover) the password conundrum.
I’m a little drunk at this stage and not got too much to say for myself.

But I’d like to go on record as saying that I feel totally fucked off with everything. Long may it last.

More later …