Zapped

Sometimes the best cure for exhaustion is to throw yourself into the heartbeat of Newtown. I snuck into a back alley to spy on The Spatula in Kulettos, she was there on a date. I sat on a high stool at Guzman Y Gomez and stared relentlessly at passers by whilst eating a burrito and shouting things such as "Good lord look at that man's trousers" to Grizelda who is suddenly and inexplicably deaf.

Spencer and Madam Squeeze were digging around in a bookshop looking disgustingly happy holding bags of muesli and air tight containers. Spencer showed me photos of himself playing with Spencer P Jones in Melbourne. Two Spencers at once, imagine that. Figs are still not being made into sorbet in Newtown, something must be done about this. I really can't be expected to like raspberry for much longer.

I stopped outside the Enmore to listen to Dweezle Zappa in the rain. Marvellous and made even better by Dr Karl arriving wearing lime green trousers and a fluro vomit patterned shirt, I hope he isn't alarming Dweezle with his outfit.

I am going to dream of being Moon Unit Zappa playing funk on Steve Vai's guitar in Africa. This is my short term plan.