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This is where you stick random tidbits of information about yourself.
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föstudagur, maí 27, 2005
Ekki faviti
...heldur menningarviti.
I hverju felst munurinn svo sem?
Er ordid menningarviti ekki bara stytting a ordinu menningarfaviti?
Eda er menningarviti kannski lenging a ordinu faviti?
Helv ordalengingar alltaf hreint.
Samt sem adur.
A einni viku hef eg og mun eg na ad skvisa inn menningarlegri dagskra sem jafnvel Jon Sen gaeti ekki toppad.
Eg held hreinlega ad menningarhyskid, gagn- sem samkynhneight, til landa og stranda megi storlega fara ad vara sig.
Storlega.
Here I come, menningarvitinn - favitinn ? sjalfur.
Sidastlidinn laugardag skruppum vid Maja til London og kiktum a nokkur 'listaverk' i Tate Modern, skodudum sogufraegan pub a Chancery Lane - med vidkomu a barnum! - og saum svo songleik i Theatre Royal i Covent Garden.
Nuna um helgina aetlum vid svo ad skella okkur til Bristol og fara i leikhus baejarins, Bristol Old Vic, og sja thar serdeilis 'camp' uppfaerslu a Importance of Being Earnest eftir O. Wilde. Karlmenn i ollum hlutverkum - lika kvenhlutverkum - og hommaskapur allsradandi segja frodir menn.
Vid menningarfavitar erum svo opnir fyrir ollu svona.
Camp helgi i Bristol.
Mein camp.
Og madur aldeilis i menningargallanum.
Jafnvel ad madur pini sig inn a eitthvert listasafn i Bristol.
Liklegt ad vid faum okkur eina eda tvaer pintur a okkar uppahalds Bristol-pubbum og rifjum upp godar stundir a svaedinu.
Gott ad enda thetta ljota spjall a ljotum texta eftir serdeilis ljotan mann, Shane MacGowan ur The Pogues.
Their munu einmitt spila i bakgardinum hja okkur her i Guildford thann 15. juli.
Thad verdur fallegt.
Boys from the country hell
On the first day of March it was raining
It was raining worse than anything that I have ever seen
I drank ten pints of beer and I cursed all the people there
And I wish that all this raining would stop falling down on me
And it's lend me ten pounds and I'll buy you a drink
And mother wake me early in the morning
At the time I was working for a landlord
And he was the meanest bastard that you have ever seen
And to lose a single penny would grieve him awful sore
And he was a miserable bollocks and a bitch's bastard's whore
I recall we took care of him one Sunday
We got him out the back and we broke his fucking balls
And maybe that was dreaming and maybe that was real
But all I know is I left that place without a penny or fuck all
And now I've the most charming of verandas
I sit and watch the junkies, the drunks and pimps and whores
Five green bottles sitting on the floor
And I wish to Christ, I wish to Christ
That I had fifteen more
The boys and me are drunk and looking for you
We'll eat your frigging entrails and we won't give a damn
Me daddy was a blue shirt and my mother a madam
And my brother earned his medals raping gooks in Vietnam
On the first day of March it was raining
It was raining worse than anything that I have ever seen
Stay on the other side of the road
'Cause you can never tell
We've a thirst like a gang of devils
We're the boys of the country hell
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16:13
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