Fifty Shades of Grey Oddity

Popular in the land of James Joyce…

It is 9.15am.

I think I feel slightly feverish.

Light-headed.

My eternally-un-named friend feels the same.

So it cannot just be the after-effects of the Edinburgh Fringe. She did not go.

I have just woken up after eight hours sleep.

I want to go back to sleep again. Perhaps I am dreaming this. Perhaps I am still asleep.

An e-mail just received from Ireland says:

I cycled over to the town for a boat regatta and heard this conversation amongst four ladies…

Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey yet? says one, I hear every woman in Ireland is reading it.

A second lady replies: I heard it was very badly written….

What’s that got to do with it? says another lady. He likes to tie her up!

Bejaysus!!!

I also read in the papers here last week that Blighty has had a bad summer resulting in plagues of slugs of biblical proportions and that you have to be very careful how you kill them or you could find yourself in trouble with the E.U.

Bejaysus!

Don’t tell them about the egg shells.

A right load of old Bosch?

After reading that e-mail, I was cleaning up my iPhone’s audio recorder – getting rid of remnants recorded during the Edinburgh Fringe – and found this piece recorded in the Old Town when I was having a chat with someone who knew I was recording but who, I guess, had better remain nameless. He says:

We played Human Buckaroo and, when you do it with a bit of weed, there’s no dramas because they wake up after remote control. When they’re heroin addicts, you can put a fucking television on their head and they don’t move. So we got bored with that, so we sewed him – cos he only had cheap joggers and shit – to the carpet. And then we got busted. 

We were getting busted every couple of days at that house, because they knew we were – haha – crack dealers. 

So we got busted. We all run away. He couldn’t move cos he was sewn to the carpet, so he got four years for possession of a quarter of an ounce of crack cocaine. My atheist God was shining on me that day.

Human Buckaroo? Remote control? Sewn to the carpet? I have no idea what any of this is about. Any help gratefully received.

I think I am going back to bed. I don’t have to get up until lunchtime today.

This would probably be a wise thing to do.

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Filed under Books, Comedy, Drugs

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