Well, shit! If the Groover doesn’t outdo man, beast and animal in blog writing standards yet again! I’m shafted if I can keep up with the twisted ramblings of a man going that far out of his mind. There is a point (normally after about 10 years) when the body is so used to the abuse that to cease it suddenly is tantamount to a beating of epic and sustained proportions. I ask you, do you really think that’s ethical? Perhaps we should set up a campaign to inform the public of the hidden evils rampaging through our society in the form of disillusioned young men starving their bodies of the most uptodate, and some would say ‘bukka’ chemicals available in the name of EMPLOYMENT?????

Strange… I feel I should now do some pressups and cook myself a healthy vegetarian meal of steamed vegetables.

bueno, I am returning to the homeland temporarily, with mixed feelings. On the one hand it offers the rare excuse to celebrate seeing normality again; getting as pissed as possible and dancing like tina turner, as if it is made acceptable, with friends. On the other hand, I am still wondering why I went to Spain in the first place. I know there was a reason, and I know I have enjoyed myself (with senoritas, sangria, 37 degrees, and more cash than you can stuff down your trousers, it’s not hard). But I thought there was some kind of deeper, cheesier fulfilment I was after, and it still eludes me. And so, in the words of a famous trio, I shall:

Regroup and lounge,
Put on a couple of pounds,
And make plans to create the raw, homegrown sounds
Without love and support,
I might come up short…

…and so I shall seek some, a respite, a kit kat, call it what you will. Refreshment is on it’s way. I hope you all gain the refreshment you seek this weekend.

A dark stabbing pain slides down my tiring back;
Will it ever save me from what I know is the truth?
If this compass guiding The Lost wavers and stops firm,
The dark cursing waters perhaps will rest.

And so I return to Bolo. I feel that I have progressed sufficiently in my life-saga to take some of your precious time and describe my happenings to you. I was living in a student flat approaching derelict status; I have now leap-frogged the usual socio-economic ladder to a dwelling approaching the highest echelons of living accommodation in old Madrid. My spanish still sucks and I am constantly reminded of how feeble my language skills are (as the waiter still tells me the bill for my coke in english). But fuck it. I have time. There is nowhere else I need be and I need not rush it; impatience is not a virtue, however… the señoritas are crushing my soul with every stolen glance, and are a constant reminder of the inferiority of the male gender. If you think I should be more of a team player, I offer you this simple anecdotal evidence: Last night, in a club near Gran Via, whilst surrounded with simmering sirens I lit the wrong end of my cigarette, and later, more embarassingly, I had a wet sueño.

Madrid is not the hottest place on earth, but when in a hostal room the width of a decent sized ashtray, with the walls seemingly padded with asbestos, it certainly seems it. But I have now escaped the accursed window-less box and have moved up a couple of notches on the socioeconomic scale, to a student flat. The only thing imprisoning me now is my own lingusitic talents, or current lack of them. Work hard and you will prosper. I will.