I seem to begin most posts with an apology.
I shant this time.
It has been a rather bizarre 3 weeks thus far and it is not about to end swiftly.
As some of you may know already we had to return to Ireland to re-shoot and finish up the final episode of Camelot. This was due to my foolish self deciding to break my ankle at the penultimate week of filming.
Upon our return to the emerald isle we were met with smiles and joy from crew members and cast alike, who had not been seen for 3 months. Fantastically it was like we had never been apart. Like an old schoolfriend reunited after years away the atmosphere on set was sheer bliss.
It was strange to think that only 3 months previously our location had been bitter cold and most inhospitable but now the blessed sun had decided to grace us with its grand presence to wish us on our merry way.
Without spoiling the show for you i shall only indulge minor details of what was done.
A lot of sword fighting and manliness, a bit of singing and a little cry.
We polished up what we needed from that week and made our way hence to Cape Town.
Why Cape Town you ask.
One of our most pretty cast members (the delightful Philip Winchester) is there shooting a new TV show in which he is the star. We needed dear Philip because aside from him being some kick-ass CIA, FBI, MI5 whatdyacallit in his new show he is also one of our most treasured knights and too was involved in our re-shoots.
Naturally our gorgeous week of weather did not follow us to Cape Town.
I blame the Irish cast member Diarmaid Murtagh (who is a fantastic Brastias) and bless his soul / hole, he took sole responsibility.
We landed sometime early in the week (I cannot give specifics as both time and space seem to have alluded me recently). It was grey. Very grey. Table mountain was covered in a misty haze that so often surrounds it during the Winter months there. Thankfully towards the end of our time there the weather cleared and we were given 3 days of Sunshine that only Cape Town can offer.
We fought. Hard. In all our leathers, capes and chaos. We perspired, returning to our plush hotel most days drenched in quite literally blood, sweat and tears. But let me assure you that what we got during the past 2 weeks is something rather magical and a fantastic climax to the first epic season of Camelot.
Officially wrapping up Saturday past we all said our thank yous and our goodbyes to crew and each other. Emotional though it was there was a grand sense of achievement that seemed to flow through us all.
Our flight out was canceled, dull, scuppering my plans to see friends and loved ones before i had to head off to New York to begin a press tour for said show (Camelot)
I therefore had 24 hour journey from Cape Town International to JFK with a layover in London lasting all of 2 hours.
This must be dull for you to read. its dull for me to type. Lets move on.
I landed in JFK and was promptly taken to my hotel where i would be staying for the next 4 days and so began a whirlwind press tour meeting lovely people from magazines, talking to interesting folks from radio shows and doing a live TV interview with a man named Jim, who for someone that had woken up at 3.30am was surprisingly chipper.
I left cold and rainy New York yesterday.
I am now in Cannes.
It is stunning.
Joseph and Eva join me shortly.
We shall have fun.
I make my way to 2 more continents before officially heading home to begin recording our bands 1st E.P.
I look forward to it immensely.
This is what i have been doing.
Hope you didn’t fall asleep.
Much love JCB.
Somewhere in Louisiana.
A sense of calm washes over me.
Glancing right i see what little industry and life this town has to offer. A tug boat gently motors past with its load of coal, a lone pedestrian walks the bank of of the river and cars occasionally hum past the window.
The sky is a soft shade of blue and the sun is out.
This paints an image of happiness. True Americana. White picket fence. All that stuff.
I, unfortunately, am cloaked in an unshakable sadness.
Snow has come and blanketed London.
Normally, at this point, i would delve into its beauty and the way it makes everything seem that much better. But i shant.
The snow has fucked me. Hard. Cold. Unloving. Cum on my face, thrown me a towel and left me to clean up the mess. Fucked me.
BAA have fucked everyone. This is one big jizzy mess.
Families separated from each other. Men, woman and children all over the globe have been put in what can only be described as a most ridiculous situation.
Unlikely it is that i shall be able to return to England, i have come to terms with my Christmas at a loose end.
Yesterday i met a man called Johnny. He gave me a gospel CD and prayed for me. We spent hours talking about god.
I don’t know what i believe but it was nice to be prayed for.
He calmed me down somewhat.
For a while i thought he may have been an Angel.
Maybe he was.
He had interesting things to say.
I am getting fatter by the day.
Too much fried food.
I should fast. I shall.
I hope that wherever you are you are happy and you get to be with someone you love.
Johnny said that “we’re always by the side of someone who loves you” i’d like to believe that.
Likelihood is that i shall spend Christmas here or somewhere down south.
I shall let you know what happens.
But why should you care?
Hallo? Hallo? is this thing on?
Ah here we are. My deepest apologies for the severe delay in update during these past months.
I have been working like a busy bee.
Not that bees have a large scope of activities that they can choose from. Eat, Fuck, Pollenate and occasionally Sting are really the only things they have on their menu. Maybe we’re not to dissimilar too bees.
We probably are.
I have completed my last job, Camelot. In which i play a King. King Arthur to be precise. It will be out soon. I don’t know where but i’m sure if you use the interwebby you can find out.
I have broken my ankle.
Not whilst writing this.
Strenuous physical effort is not something my body deals with very well.
I am in Ireland. It snows. Carpeting Baggot street in an etherial white blanket, unlike the sheets at home which do need changing.
The heroin addicts and crack whores of O’connell street turn from threatening muggers to soft white polar bears looking for a hug and Phoenix park begins to resemble a picture postcard image i saw back in the 1700’s.
Snow covers all the bad shit.
However it cannot cover the hole in my heart that has been made due to having to leave this last job.
I have made some unbelievable friends, ones that shall never be forgotten and that shall remain always. I’m terrible at goodbyes.
This, i suppose, is for them.
So… Peter, Phillip, Dairymaid, T-mac, Dee-licious, Pippa, Dennis, Nick and everyone who made this last job amazing I thank you.
I love you guys.
America calls me.
Be kind America, you are big and i am only little.
Winter has come.
I would like to begin with an apology. It has been far too long since my last update, you see, its this terrible pain I have in my brain that has caused this lack of motivation. Suffice to say I think I may have cracked it. Wine seems to help.
I am in Ireland. It’s a most divine country. People are nice, lovely to be precise.
I receive my news and information via carrier pigeon. I have named him Princess. He has Grey wings and a beak. He is most delightful. Although he doesn’t seem to like being stroked. He arrives at my door most days, wearing a uniform of vivid colour and, here’s the kicker, driving a postal van. He insists his name is not Princess, rather, Paul. I don’t believe him. I thought it strange that a pigeon could converse in human tongue to begin with, but i soon came round to the idea.
I do hope he shows tomorrow. Perhaps I shall go to the shops and buy him some feed. I’m fairly sure he’d like that. Positive in fact.
Well this seems to have gone on longer than expected.
I shall return to bed where my emptiness awaits me with open arms.
The weekend past brought us the all the joys of Summer.
Pasty, flabby British torso’s were on display. The youths of Queensway brought their girlfriends and their Joints to the park and 20 something year old couples made the rest of us feel slightly voyeuristic by “dry humping” in the center of a grassy patch. Yes my dears we had all but forgotten the joys that the summer sun doth bring.
But bad news was just around the corner.
Having not returned to my flat from Sunday to Wednesday I had missed out on a shattering tragedy.
I often write by my window, Laptop perched on sill like some sparrow preparing to take flight for the first time. This is due to it giving me the highest possible interwebby connection thingy and consequently gives me the most fantastic view into the flats opposite. I am no Peeping Tom by any means, but aye me there are some characters on my street that do, occasionally, deserve my full attention. Take for instance, Unemployed Slob. He sits in his chair all day eating tub after tub of ice cream and watching ITV 1 (this is good for me when Britain’s Got Talent is on but alas no sound) he seems to have no Job that i can tell of but has lots of ice cream. Maybe he’s an ice cream taster? He must be. Others include, Shouty Mum and Weepy Man Child. But by far my favorite of them all was Crazy Drug Dog Lady and it just so happened that her flat was directly opposite mine.
Close your eyes.
Imagine your craziest oldest female relative.
Give her long dreadlock hair.
Pull some dreadlocks out leaving a few bald patches.
Cover her eyes in Purple eye shadow.
Long trench coat.
And a faded tie die shirt.
Have you an image?
You are most likely not even close to how utterly amazing this woman’s image was.
She had this lanky long haired grey Lurcher whose coat also seemed to be dreadlocked. Everyday at 4 o’clock she would walk her beast with such pride. I stumbled into her once on one of her many walks. I said hello as she walked past not expecting much of a response. She spun around, fire in her eyes, opened her blackened mouth to bear a gummy grimace and uttered the words “touch my fucking dog again and i’ll rip you apart”. Nice lady, i thought to myself as i sheepishly made my way back inside.
She would stay up until the wee hours, smoking something that definitely was in a pipe of some sorts and would make things out of card and hang them on her walls, paper chains, stars, that kind of thing.
Arriving home early Wednesday i noticed a skip outside her block of flats and men removing items of furniture through the ground floor door. Curious as to whether there were any gems for me to grab I asked the gentleman if I could take anything from the pile that was slowly building up on the street. “Urmmm yeah sure mate if you want to, i wouldn’t though” said the council man “why is that?” i inquired “well i dont know if i would want some dead persons shit in my house ya know?”. My heart sank as i looked up and saw a couch being lowered from Crazy Drug Dog Lady’s flat. “Did she die?” “Yes Mate” was the short response given to me.
I felt sad.
Yes she had been rude to me, but i felt a sort of connection with her. Maybe i could have helped her.
The street has been quiet now since Wednesday. A sense of mourning has washed over it.
Thank you Crazy Drug Dog Lady.
I wish you luck.
Spring has truly sprung.
Its tightly coiled spiral released with the promise of more beauty as each day passes.
Strolling through the not so leafy streets of London one can sense an air of change.
The blossom has bloomed and fallen, carpeting the roads and pavements with natures pinky vomit. One bends one’s ear to listen to the sound of copulating birds and takes comfort in the knowledge that, yes, everyone ‘does it’. The sun lingers longer as each day passes. Bathing the solemn faced commuters in a golden shower of orange. Wait…. golden shower. Oh my. I apologise.
But there is a sadness.
Springs chapter is over but Summers has not yet begun. This intermittent stage brings angst and a confusion. A feeling that my 15yearold self would easily identify with.
Have i seen a topless construction worker yet? Have i hell. And still no sign of an American or Australian, on their equivalent of a gap year with a backwards baseball hat, idly tossing a neon disc across Hyde Park, carefully making sure that if a catch is missed it lands in the largest group of girls in the area. My dears, this is not Spring nor is it Summer. It is infact SPRUMMER.
Bags not yet packed, with so many procrastinations preventing me from completing this most menial of tasks but mind firmly on the notion of it happening most soon. It seems a shame to leave our fair city at this time of need. I feel she needs a hug and an understanding smile. I see myself as a godparent of sorts.
The city of Dublin howls at me. By and by I come.
Goodbye London. I leave you. Weeping. Thrashing. Dying.
……….For 24 hours.