Don’t eat purple spring onions if your job involves being within a 10kilometre radius of other human beings. They’re like the H-bomb of vegetables.
NOT ideal for close proximity one-to-one classes, I just took out half of the Eixample just walking down the street.
I may be accountable for a couple of deaths by asphyxiation by the end of today and a melted face or two.
If you go to the doctor to discuss The Funk, without really knowing what exactly it is that you’ve got, but you just feel bad and weird and you say, “Doctor, I feel bad and weird and don’t want to paint my toe-nails a pretty colour”, he/she will tell you to take a seat and ask the following questions:
Do you want to eat your own body weight in pesto pasta, probably spaghetti because it’s what you’ve got in the house and you don’t want to go outside and get something different. Like, let’s say penne, for example?
Do you want to forfeit the gym in favour of getting into your pyjamas at the earliest possible hour after work each day?
Do you feel bad about forfeiting the gym and letting lovely, ‘running all over the place’ Victor down?
For the last week, have you watched the John Lewis Christmas 2013 ad on repeat, even though it isn’t Christmas any more? Or 2013?
Do you wish you had a friend who’s a cute hare?
Do you want to conduct work from the safety and comfort of your bed?
Do you want to miss dancing?
Then, if you have answered yes to at least 50% of the above, the doctor will say this, “You my friend, have got The Funk (although you probably actually don’t want to go dancing because you haven’t got the energy to face the weirdo there) and need to pull yourself together pronto.
And you will answer, “You’re absolutely right doctor. I’m working on it, what do you recommend?”
And he/she will say, “wine”.
And you will say, “anything else?”
And he/she will say, “wine.”
And you will say, “OK, I understand, thank you for your time.” and leave with a prescription for Rioja.
I don’t even want to paint my toe-nails a pretty colour.
send help.
To say I’m seriously miffed would be an understatement. I am seriously miffed about the fact that it would appear I have to be perpetually f*cking happy in order for the brain magic and Jesús-ness to work. B*llocks to that, it ain’t gonna happen. I’ve discovered this devastating fact during the course of this week, as it has slowly, painfully dragged along under the choking smog of my heavy, heavy funk.
I have had to wait at pedestrian crossings, instead of the lights immediately changing in anticipation of my arrival -bloody important Jesús sh*t, when Jesús has got classes to get to. I’ve been wishing for sh*t and lots of it and the sh*t hasn’t happened, (well a little bit did on Monday, but the funk has overshadowed that), walking on water-impossible, taxis haven’t even stopped, let alone anything else, turning water to wine-not happening, trying to bless a handsome man-almost got me arrested. I have absolutely got to shake it, or it could spell the end of the World as we know it………. cue for a song. You have my word, I’ll be firing on all holy cylinders by the weekend.
**As an aside and completely unrelated; intro to Strange Days by The Doors, opening titles to Casualty?
I’m smacked off my t*ts on Haribo.
That is all.
#livinglifeontheedge
and not in the cool, George Clinton Parliament Funkadelic way, though I wish that were the case because that would be awesome. Imagine if every day was like this. There’d be no war, no misery and everyone would be mellow and achieve World peace and hug each other all the time. I like them apples.
I’ve got the funk
No, I’m in the other, mind-numbing, ‘meh’ kind of funk. Like the worst fog over Shanghai way.
Not good, not bad, just ‘meh’. What I want to do during times like this is hibernate like the John Lewis bear in my cave until the sun is shining again, the weather is warm and the fog has cleared. And my cute hare friend has come to get me.
The thing is when you live away from home, you often don’t have your family to hand, unless you moved en masse, like for example, if you are on the run or in a witness protection programme, which is most definitely not my case. Honest Guv.
So failing the fog clearing, the option to hide in your cave for four months nibbling on berries and seeds, the sun coming out, the temperature rising ten degrees and shipping your entire family to where you live, it’s really important to surround yourself with good friends, who become your ‘surrogate’ family. These people give you the anchor you need, so you don’t ever feel adrift in a sea of Rioja and chorizo. Not the absolute worst sea to be adrift on, but you get me. Right? If you were in that kind of sea at the very least you would be drunk and full of sausage. Err-hem.
My Barcelona family is small but perfectly formed and coming to town on Saturday for some Annie P loving…… Hall-e-bl**dy-lujah!!! Praise be to me.
My military precision PANK plan for last weekend went awry due to illness and so I didn’t get to see my nieces as planned, and although I was nervous for my inaugural solo PANK flight, I was really looking forward to spoiling them rotten for the afternoon.
So, this week on Saturday I get the whole package, not just the gorgeous girls, but the gorgeous mum and dad too!! Even though we’re only half an hour away, it’s not so easy to find the time to all get together, so when we do, it’s precious time to catch up get your fix to see you through to the next time. And boy do I need my ‘L’bonne and the L’bonn-ettes’ fix to lift me out of this funk.
Roll on the weekend.
(or wear sequins) and last night I learnt from a master.
So, my brain magic was totally thrown into question by a chance meeting with ‘Stealthy Magic Boy’, a very cool customer indeed.
Some friends of mine were visiting Barcelona for a couple of days so I met them for dinner after work last night, otherwise it would have been another ten months until I saw them at the annual Christmas get-together. Among the group, some of whom I’d never met before, were eight year old Stealthy Magic Boy and his parents and I was granted the good fortune to sit next to him for the duration of the evening.
During this time, I kid ye not, he multiplied my humble Euro many times over, made money pass through solid wood and then disappear altogether. Then before he burst into flames he made coins rain from the sky, (OK, that last bit isn’t entirely true), but it was pretty impressive stuff nonetheless. There was a point where my head almost nearly exploded trying to comprehend the magnitude of said magic, but thankfully there was pink wine to hand to steady my nerves and provide a distraction.
He gave me some pretty sound business advice too. Smart kid.
So, remember this, life is a short journey and along the way we meet people who make an impact and give us something to enrich our lives.
Stealthy Magic Boy taught me to be aware, take notice, and do magic tricks with money. Because that’s how you end up with five euros in your pocket you didn’t have before………. The boy’ll go far.
listening to the turban-wearing eccentric old lady with giant feathery earrings, who’s a regular here and obviously alone in the world, sitting at the bar finding conversation with the staff, and realising, ‘that’s ME in 15 years’!
Sometimes PANKs are tired and a bit sad and can’t think of anything amusing to say.
That is all.
**No sleep is probably a contributing factor to temporary loss of humour and happiness OR maybe the heavy burden of super Godliness, not sure.
(normal service will resume shortly.)
Maybe, just maybe, I need to stop with the Jesus thing, problems are already starting, just as I predicted. I knew they would. There might have been a very, very small incident with a laying on of hands in the Metro this afternoon that could have got me arrested…….
*By the way, I forgot to mention that the current pope is my favourite one EVER! Loving your work Pope Francis, ‘Rock -n-roll’ Pope (and that’s not even a joke).
Delighted to see he is on Twitter, now following.
The Secret Diary of Anne Pank 