Wednesday, 26 August 2009

For all four of you...Brussells and Bruges

We went to Brussels for the weekend and stayed in thee most pimpin hotel..it was literally a modern art gallery with beds. Every single guy in the city fancied Kirsten. It was hardcore. We also spent a day 'In Bruges'..I feel that little bit much closer to Colin Farrell =] Sco' on ye good ting.

I wrote this poem for Kirsten in memory of our trip...

'Beautiful Belgium'
Addressing God he joins the legions of admirers
While we involuntarily drink in rain through laughter.
These cobbled streets accumulate compliments like accented footsteps.
I trace mine in the darkness of your dewy, freckled shadow.



















Tuesday, 11 August 2009

West of Ireland

So one fine day we crossed the boarder to get a wee look at primitive Ireland in all it's glory. It was pretty beautiful. To be sure, to be sure. It was nice to see what Boucicault was talkin' about.

I also now understand why every Asda north of the border is cram packed with Southerners. One Euro, twenty cents for a packet of skips. Bloody extortion.









..................................................................................

Phillip Morrison
http://www.phillipmorrison.com/

*RJ's Massey Ferguson*
'Goin Surfin'

Tuesday, 21 July 2009

Frank McCourt..

..I truly loved you.

Who cares if Willy Harold didnt really have a sister.



















"Eyes like two pissholes in the snow.." >.<

Wednesday, 15 July 2009

I have letters succeeding my name O.o

Well I did it, I endured three years of Queens University Belfast! It's university Harry Potter style. Gosh I hate Harry Potter.
I graduated with a BA HONS in English Literature (Major) and Sociology (Minor). Completely and utterly useless..but hey, I got to wear the robe and do the walk.












Monday, 29 June 2009

A synopsis of Crow by ‘animal poet’, Ted Hughes... (...and a wee comment on Christianity)



















I’m speaking from a completely non- pretentious place when I recommend that everyone reads Hughes’ epic series and masterpiece, Crow. It is actually genius. Like actually.

Crow unravels and weaves its way through an exploration of social behaviour, values and beliefs in a way that creates a rather frank and controversial commentary on the human race. The candour in which Hughes executes these exposés of the so called ‘superior species’ is what makes the collection both fascinating and compelling. It really doesn’t matter how much we as the reader agree or even disagree with the sentiments behind the work as Hughes manages to present us with a text that is left open to debate with room for many different readings and modes of analysis.

The world is a sea of individuals. Every single thinking entity constructs and upholds diverse interpretations, understandings and explanations when navigating their way through the many different identity defining elements and aspects of life. As a widely developed society we are often hailed as a diverse community which lawfully facilitates and endorses the opportunity for freedom of expression and opinion. Hughes is very forthcoming with his own opinions; the crude expressions and visions he relates in his poetry serve as a strong vehicle for driving home his viewpoints. He explores homosexuality, femininity, war, sex, death and religion in a way that it still contemporary and applicable to modern society 40 years on.

Anything that strikes up a spark of thought can ignite a roaring great passion and that’s the beauty of literature and freedom of expression. Every human being, as long as they are not inflicting harm upon others, should be afforded the right to both express and defend their beliefs and opinions. In a society which has generally become to be applauded for its progression from a 'traditional' and ‘repressed’ society into a 'liberal' and 'free thinking' one, I find it ironic that these ‘advancements’ in equality have inadvertently crashed a reversed wave of oppression and scorn upon those advocating Christianity.

Gay?... no bother.
Feminist?... sure.
War merchant?... why not?!
Rapist?... okay
Murderer?... go on then.
Christian? Nah, not a chance mate.

Okay so I’m taking liberties with the device of exaggeration, yet in many circumstances all these things are almost rated as more socially acceptable than the simple act of possessing a faith in God. Why is being a Christian such a social faux- pas; why is it tarnished as something so mock-worthy and met by utter abomination and disparagement by so many people? What is the big fricking deal?! I’m secure enough in my faith to afford me a pardon from castigating ‘non-believers’ so it really baffles me when said peoples can’t contain themselves from verbally crucifying Christians at every given opportunity.

I don’t meet someone who isn’t a Christian and think, ‘Ouuuughh... you’re a non-Christian...that is so not alternative or scene, you must have really low intelligence.’ So why do people feel the need to think the same about me for being a christian? Get over your ego and have the testicular fortitude to deal with the fact not everyone has to believe or [as the case may be] NOT believe in the same things.
















Anyhoooooooooooooow, digressions aside...

... this is a synopsis I wrote as part of an English assignment on the collection Crow in relation to the notion of Ted Hughes as an animal poet. Ironically, given the nature of my degree, it has actually been surprising rare that I engage with a text which I actually find myself getting passionate about so I make no excuses for the fact that I’m totally getting my geek on here.

..................................................................................

Hughes arguably personifies the notion of the ‘animal poet’, and through the spectrum of nature, he effectively magnifies and dissects the relationship between the animal world and that of humanity and social conventions, as well as the notion of identity via myth.

Perhaps it is only fair to label Hughes an ‘animal poet’, if we are willing to approach his poetry with our mindset firmly rooted in the notion of the animal world as one which is savage, sometimes sadistic and nearly always in some way capable of or prone to violence for survival. This idea is encompassed in a direct parallel of the human species as one which is equally capable of savagery yet essentially lacking in the kind of innocence animals possess naturally through their inability to execute rational thought or respond to conscience. The idea of creating myth out of personifying animals as a crude representation of human folly is integral to Hughes exploitation of animal imagery. He uses animals in various ways to expose the downfalls of humanity and to emphasise the viewpoint that humanity is transcendent and frail compared to the forces of nature. Hughes seems to have a horrified fascination of Darwin’s view of nature and consequently explores the idea of the survival of the fittest and adaptation.

As critics, we might assume Hughes’ motives behind such violent depictions of nature as part of a sort of social commentary, stem, for the most part, from his own personal life experience and the pain and sufferings thereof. Both Hughes’ wives, one being the poet Sylvia Plath, committed suicide while married to Hughes so it is little wonder his poetry demonstrates a rather tortured and bitter attitude towards life and indeed death.

Hughes attempts to capture in writing, experiences which are beyond the restriction of mundane daytime life, borrowing from dreams and the unconsciousness in the small hours of the morning. He creates a link between the dream world and animals and this is reflected in the idea of myth in the collection Crow. Hughes uses this particular animal as a model for the entire collection and in turn creates a myth based on the crow with an emphasis on the violence and immorality of human energy. This myth making is a lineage which harks back to the romantic poetry. Hughes’ throw back to this tradition in Crow is reminiscent of Heaney’s North. Significantly both editions of poetry appeared within a few years of each other. It is easy to draw a parallel between Heaney’s motives for mythmaking with regard to his dilemma over national identity and the conflict surrounding his native Northern Ireland and to Hughes’ own inclination for highlighting the folly of his own society in England.

Hughes thought of crows or birds as symbols for Britain and the people within it. He was trying to undercut some kind of idealistic view of England and present it as inherently destructive. Consequently the crow conducts itself with chillingly anthropoid characteristics, albeit, the sicker traits of human character. This technique seems to be used for the purpose of crudely revealing how depraved human kind can be. Traditionally crows are deemed as pests and flying vermin so it is interesting that Hughes chooses this dark creature as his myth of humanity. It is especially fitting that the crow ‘flying the black flag of himself’ (Crow, ‘Crow Blacker than Ever’, page 62, line 21) acts as an emblem of the myth of the collection as essentially it is chiefly concerned with the blackness of death, decay and sinfulness.

Hughes creates something which stands in contrast to peoples idealistic views about the human spirit, especially religious ones. He works genesis into many of the poems; Adam, Eve and Satan appear throughout in a Miltonic fashion and most significantly the crow is presented as being more powerful than God. Christianity and the symbols of theology are made seem mythological by being run along side the humanisation or personification of the crow.

‘A childish prank’ is set in the Garden of Eden and paints a picture of Jesus as a worm which crow bites ‘into two writhing halves’, (Page 8, line8) paralleling the image of the ‘Jesus Worm’ with the serpent on the tree. Hughes recalls ‘God went on sleeping’. (Line 20) This depiction of God as ineffectual is a repeated theme. Hughes uses the predatory image of the relationship between the crow and the worm to show the energy that Jesus represents. He enters the world and is overmastered and destroyed by reaction and ends up crucified upon a tree at Calvary. The violence which he is subjected to, in its self, is part of the energy of the poem and more significantly is part of the energy of society and the violence which is everywhere.

The crow seems to represent the ‘gangrenous’, (‘Crow Blacker than Ever’, Page 62, line 12) marred, evil side of society; he is Hughes emblem of what is wrong with a Britain which is ‘Blacker than ever’. In ‘Crow Blacker than Ever’, Crow cries, ‘This is my creation’. (Page 62, line 20) He is for the most part sadistic and revels in the infliction of pain upon man and their God- In ‘A childish prank’ Hughes writes, ‘Crow went on laughing’. (Line 20) This is perhaps a reflection of the fact that Hughes did not believe in Christianity but rather advocated Darwinism theory and chooses to explore the evolution of animal nature as fact while depicting religion as myth.

While in ‘Crow Blacker than Ever’, crow does attempt to keep things from falling apart by ‘nailing heaven and earth together’ (line 8), ultimately this creates ‘A horror beyond redemption’ (line 13) and elevates Crow above his human and spiritual counterparts. God is ‘disgusted with man’ (line 1) -which may be a reflection of Hughes’ own) feelings towards humanity- and crow is shown as victorious and ruling in his detachment from the ‘agony’ (Line 16experienced by the other characters in the poem.

‘A Horrible Religious Error’ shows Adam and Eve’s weakness in bowing down to the serpent and declaring ‘Your will is our peace’. (Page 37, line13) Hughes demonstrates through the crow the irony in the fact of the animal species being more innocent in its inability to differentiate between good and bad. The crow does not cave into the will of the serpent or pledge to serve him. His survival instinct kicks in and he beats ‘the hell out of it, and ate it’. (Line 17) Hughes seems to illustrate how human weakness and inclination towards sin had lead to the ruin of the human race. While crow's actions are brutal and unpleasant, they are somehow more honourable than of those who are supposed to be the more intelligent species.

In ‘Crow and the Birds’, Hughes employs contemporary, mechanised words among birds who are acting romantically except for the crude image of the crow. He builds up to the concluding line with romantic descriptions of the various birds- ‘And the swift flicked through the breath of a violet’ (Page 29, line 7)- and delivers a very contrasting and effective end with the description of the crow- ‘spraddled head- down in the beach- garbage, guzzling a dropped ice-cream.’ (Lines 19-20) He invokes a very unromantic view of the modern consumer world that has given up on the notions of morality and consequently is left with a squalid hunger and lust like the crow. It is not a very flattering depiction of contemporary society to say the least.

Considering Hughes is often praised for his poetry about war, ‘Crows Account of the Battle’ is an apt piece for discussion with its brutal images of war and violence. There is a sense of criticism on societies growing complacency towards killing and the numb normality of war, as well as an underlying bitterness towards a God who would let such atrocity occur. The crow is like the God figure watching from above, allowing the bloodshed to occur and then relating his version of events as a means of commenting on the mindlessness and atrocity of war. Critic Daniel Hoffman has remarked “Hughes is the most haunted inheritor, [...] of the sensibility shaped by the appalling slaughter in World War I. His father was gassed in the trenches in that war; growing up in its aftermath, Hughes has come to see the cosmos as a battlefield. His is the world-view of a betrayed Fundamentalist, who, discovering that God has no care for man's fate, understands the universe to be governed not by divine love but by power.”

Hughes describes a battle scene through the eyes of the crow in an infusion of everyday images with the brutal and savage images of war. The depiction of war is chilling in its noise which ‘was as much as the limits of possible noise could take’. (Page15, stanza 1, line 3) The tone of complacency when referencing violent images is symptomatic of Hughes’ interpretation of how society has become too familiar with the horror of war to put an end to it- ‘Blasting the whole world to bits was too like slamming a door’. (Page 16, stanza 3, lines 16-17) There is without doubt an element of inevitability about the poem; Hughes relates how society has resigned itself to atrocity by repeating the sentiments ‘happened too easily’ (stanza 3, line 7)and ‘was going to happen too often in the future’ (line 6) a number of times in stanza three. Perhaps the most significant line of the poem is in stanza two- ‘There was no escape except into death.’ (line 23) This seems to be a key ethos of much of Hughes’ poetry and again re-emphasises the importance of using the crow as the collections protagonist. The black crow is almost like the grim-reaper both witnessing and partaking in sequences of death, destruction and violence in almost every poem. This is an idea Hughes’ appears to be preoccupied with in the majority of his poetry and he undoubtedly finds animal life an appropriate medium for both exploring and expressing such themes.

Another theme repeated throughout crow is the idea that humanity is suffering from the images we see in crow because of the under value of the feminine. Crow is a deeply painful book and is an expression of Hughes’ own agony. It appears to be an attempt on Hughes’ part to identify himself with a culture or society which is unable to identify with the feminine. Hughes is possibly influenced by Robert Graves’ White goddess in which he talks of how Western society undervalue the feminine and disregard the myth and power of the mother. In ‘Revenge Fable’ Hughes implicates science and technology in the hostility of the feminine. He highlights this hostility by juxtaposing it with nature. The poem is about the tree of life and mans impulse to discover the truth behind it by means of ‘numbers and equations and laws’. (Page 63, line 5) Scientific research tears nature apart and we are left with ‘rifles and whisky and bored sleep’. (Line 14) Hughes critiques modernised mechanic warfare and how society has become wrapped up in violence and lack of appreciation for the mother figure through their obsession with technological advancement.

'Fragment of an ancient tablet’ is suggestive of a disgust at women. It is vulgar and quite explicit- ‘Above- the well known lips, delicately downed. Below- beard between thighs.’ (Page 79, lines 1-2) Hughes does not tone things down but instead implies that you have to confront this disgust and see the good in the point in order to get over it. Hughes obviously has a complex view of love due to his personal experience and this is translated in poems such as ‘Crow’s First Lesson’ and ‘Crow and Mama’. In ‘Crows First Lesson’ Hughes presents a bitter depiction of love as the attempt to ‘express’ love brings about destruction and pain. This is a prime example of Hughes using the animal to vocalise his own tortured feelings. In the concluding line ‘Crow flew guiltily off’, (Page 9, line 19) Hughes may be referring to the Crow abandoning the situation like his wives did in their suicides or maybe it is Hughes himself flying off guiltily after his attempts at expressing love have brought about the pain and destruction of those in his life.

In many cases animals and their characteristics are assumed as both metaphors and statements for a wider and more complicated message. His animal poetry is a medium to indirectly vent his opinions on sociological and personal issues in an aptly animalistic manner with regard to violence and the natural order of life, love and death.

Although I do not share Hughes’ atheist views or advocate his somewhat blasphemous and demeaning representations of God and religion, I do however respect and admire the creative techniques, devices and subject matter he employs as a means of expressing his personal interpretation of life and society. Crow is a deeply tortured and aggrieved piece of work. It is the shocking disturbance of the human heartache in Hughes’ fragmented vision that lends realism to myth and prompts the reader to perform a self-examination of their moral convictions. As a reader I was able to empathise with Hughes' pain and found myself lost in the myth of crow and everything that it encompasses.

Awesome.

Tuesday, 14 April 2009

Listen to Iron Maiden baby with me...

‘Chronicles of the Big Bean House: Since u been gone.'
(Nonsense from a dreary winters night in Belfast 2006)

Well hello Susie!!!!!!!

WHAT’S SHE GONNA LOOK LIKE WITH A CHIMNEY ON HER??!!

Once upon a time in a far and distant land there lived a girl named Fertiliser. Fertiliser was studying English at a univerCITaaaaaaaaaaaY called God save the Queen(s). This university was located at the top of a BEANstalk in the hot city of Stu-Bell-Fast-Emperors.
One hot yet rainy day, Fertiliser visited Susie, beautiful, Susie, with her girly girl fairy friends, the oh so flippant Haystack and New-town-Marie- ya no, as in the biscuits. This meeting of minds was unlike any other previous meeting they had had; the reason being, they usually met on a Monday at 3pm as opposed to Wednesday between 2pm and 5pm which was the case this particular time. With Haystack and New-town-Marie biscuitbean waiting outside in the corridor listening to their spy pods, this also happened to be the first time Fertiliser and Susie, beautiful Susie had found themselves alone (Waaaayyyheeeeyyyy.. Homoeroticism!)
Fertiliser knew if there was anyone she could talk to about her recent flashbacks of the ‘other place’ with its grass, cows and tractors, twas Susie and that this was her only chance to tell her beautifully blunt cultivator friend (yes Jo Jones, no Jo Jones, everywhere you go Jo Jones, you like to be called Jo Jones!) without others eavesdropping. She didn’t know what her visions meant or how she could ever begin to pursue some kind of meaning but if there was one thing she was sure of, it was that if word got out about her ‘story’ she would be deemed mad and demented as she had been so many times before. (Why didn’t people believe she had stabbed her ex husband 46 times and then buried his mutilated body in a shallow grave in the botanical beanstalk gardens purely by accident?)
Yes, it was OBVIOUS; Susie, beautiful Susie was the only one who could help her now…


I met DAVID HEALY!!!

KIMBO WAZ ERE..

Ten days of perfect tunes, the colours red and blue. We had a promise made, we were in love.








..............................................................................

ALSO...
ALL HAIL STAVROS FLATLY..!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7gHvATmUsSg

Saturday, 21 March 2009

Steven James Holdsworth

His ma's his da..

A series of water related metaphors..

"These are the best days of your life."

Sometimes I actually feel like I should crumble to ethos of the all-knowing masses and have that line tattooed on my forehead as I have it directed at me about a million times a day by some well meaning elder or patronising peer.
Okay so I'm the first to admit I have a tendency to drink from life’s half empty cup and quite successfully manage to frustrate both myself and everyone around me on a daily basis with my unfalteringly negative outlook on life. I mean it’s actually become a running joke among friends..BUT surely being realistic is a good thing, right? I'm just keeping it real. Yep. I'm just keeping my feet on the ground and my head out of the clouds. Or at least that's what I try convincing myself. Yet deep down, underneath the jokes and barrage of ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ I secretly can't help longing to quench the stifling thirst of pessimism and allow myself to dive head first into the turbulent but exciting waters of optimism. It's a world I used to belong to, way back in the day when I was a bundle of ambition and gusto; back when I fully bought into the sentiment that the world was my oyster. Nowadays,I'm more likely to equate oysters with sea sickness and food poisoning. Whatever happened me??

If indeed these are the best days of my life why do I find it so difficult to see past the stress induced hives, endless essays, Walkers sponsored dinners and serious lack of funds? Why am I so unable to commit myself to embracing happiness and appreciating the bubble protecting me from a 9-5 job?? I often retrace my steps; wading my way through the minds memory depositry in a bid to place exactly where along the way I managed to lose the easy going, unpredictable, motivated, go-getting, happy-go-lucky teenager who seemingly failed to navigate her way past 19. There are so many answers to this question and each one keeps me weighed down in a heavy anchor of insecurity and helps fuel my innate fear of drowning. However, what I think I’ve realised in the past week or so is that things are never really that bad as long as you avoid diving into shallow water and always wear arm bands. It’s okay to dream big and take risks when you have learned to both accept and believe that there are people who care about you and who are there to help you stay afloat. I think the key to feeling satisfied with where you are in life is having the ability to trust your own instincts and decisions and by surrounding yourself with people who are worth taking that leap of faith for and investing trust in. For me, that’s the hardest thing to do. The phrase ‘Once bitten, twice shy’ kind of sums up my whole trust complex. I’m so afraid of being hurt and let down that I find myself reluctant to let people in on my thoughts and would rather hurt myself first so I can control the pain. It’s really messed up, but thankfully I've rediscovered how fortunate I am..because I have someone in my life that I can have full confidence in to never abandon me or let me down. Someone I can trust in infallibly and without room for doubt. That person is God.

A friend gave me a book just over a week ago after I confided in her that I was struggling with ‘the whole God thing’ and was feeling suffocated by feelings of loneliness, insecurity and the inability to trust those I care about most. In ‘He loves me!’ Wayne Jacobsen explores and explains how God’s love for us knows no bounds and exists in all circumstances, spanning all time and distance. Through understanding how much God loves me and realising that I have the greatest support system in existence available in my life, I can know true freedom. Having confidence in his personal love for me can allow me to feel confident in my everyday living. I can rest my insecurities, fears and worries with him and trust him to guide me through them.

Its scary how Satan can play on your insecurities and use things and people in your life to aid him in chiseling away at your faith and instill a murky puddle of doubt and confusion in your mind. I had got to a point of feeling so low I had almost started to doubt God’s existence. I had got so far away from him that my life had begun to feel void of his presence and I was consumed by an emptiness. My friend told me a beautiful story about how God showed her he was listening by giving her a rainbow and I found myself aching for him to show me that he was still listening and watching over my life too. I had been praying for over a year that he would speak to my boyfriend but had became so frustrated when nothing had ever seemed to happen that I gave up all hope. After the story of the rainbow I decided to try again and three days later my boyfriend called me up after a night out and told me about how he had been approached by Christians who were witnessing late at night in the streets of Belfast and had talked to them for a while. How mental is that? Apparently the guy told my boyfriend that I’m his ‘rib’ (hehe) and that it’s God’s plan for us to be together... so hopefully if I keep praying, God will keep talking and my boyfriend will keep listening.

Anyway, the moral is..I am going to actively make an effort to be more optimistic, be happy and live life for God.

On a lighter note, here are some words of wisdom to remember and possibly borrow if you’re a dick and cant break up with someone properly. I've been threatening to publish this shizzle in a blog post for ages now so here's a taster. The following is an awesome and very relevant line from a break up email (yes EMAIL!) that an ex boyfriend (MANGINA) sent me. I totally want this inscribed as an epitaph on my gravestone ... quality!

"I think you’re a great girl and will achieve everything you wish and will make the most out of life cause you’ve good morals and are fun to be around"

Ha! In the words of Chandler Bing, “I am a strong, confident woman!”

Sarcasm anyone?? >.<

Monday, 16 February 2009

Happy Poem

I love Steven.
He is gorgeous.
You should see the triceps on him.
I would eat him.

The End.

Arms on him..
v
v
v

Friday, 6 February 2009

Tyrone, Tyrone, you’re not on your own














I fricking love Castlederg accents. I love the dialect and colloquialisms. I love not being able to pronounce one syllable words in less that two syllables and the over use of elongated vooooooooweeeeeels. I think it's awesome that we say 'Sir', 'hi' and 'like' at the beginning, middle and end of every sentence. I think it's great when we refer to fellas as 'cubs' and girls as 'cuddys'. I especially love it when people exclaim 'Boys a dear, its a while handlin hi!' at everything and anything. I love eating 'purdies' instead of 'potatoes.' I love knowing that when someone talks about going to the 'bog', they're talking about going to cut turf, not the toilet. I love being able to call people 'stokes' and complain about things being 'stokey'. I love the countryside. I love the idioms that come with being a part of that world. I love not changing the way I speak for anyone. I love embracing where I come from and never being ashamed of it.

Conversley, I hate it when certain 'city' types think they're an advanced form of species and constantly rip the piss out of 'cultchies' and the way we 'lower beings' speak.
I hate it when people from the countryside lose who they are and conform to everything the city asks of them. BE YOURSELF!!

In all fairness though, I have to concede that the Belfast accent is pretty darn hotttt! I'm quite partial to the old Dunmurry accent myself but at the end of the day "its good but its not right". Lets face it, there's only one man to beat..

..Roy Walker..give me a call ;]














http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESOGyiZbUrc

Saturday, 17 January 2009

9941 Log U J- maiden *space*

Justin Logue..
..taught me how to French kiss =]

The three months late, but very beautiful and poetic letter he sent me for my 21st
v
v



Big Fat Friends

(For Kim)
"Nobody look! Kim's kissin' Kate Moss!
I touched Pete Doherty and saw two hearts break.
You put my heart in a blender and threw it in my face,
but I just want you back. Booby. I just want you back for good.
Justin doesn't even like camping and he hates Postman Pat.
John Pauls a gay y'know and DJ likes quiet girls.
Peter Dennis is a Spanish tapas dancer..
..it keeps the rich, rich and the poor, poor.
You gotta make him your lover so I can make him my friend.
Yaah Sweden, yaah. What's the capital of Luxembourg?
Let's steal some holly from Vienna and some milk from the Ming yin Gardens.
We could go to Vegas and make our fortune as hand twins.
You said that someday we would look back on this and laugh..
..Je suis anglais! Je suis anglais! Je ne comprends pas!
Bonsoir, bonsoir, Vous êtes sexaaay! (Noir Chat.)


You're like a little bit of skiing on my lips. My sister from another mister.
My nephew from another orange. My 900 Dollar Man and my Miss Sensation.
Well Papa, its a half past one and the fun has just begun.
Irish Eagles ready? Yesaaa! Granny from another..Yoc Baby.
(Dude this cake is mingin', wanna come back for more later, yeah?)
These chicken nuggets are sick. Holly and chu..ugghh.
You're on every Tuesday at eight- Get back on the bus blossom.
Nah man, it's okay, I know South Belfast like the back of my hand.
Alternatively Ulster till i die. I know I am. I'm sure I am.
She's the singer and I'm the runner. Road flavoured curry and 24hr shopping.
'Stu and Holly: Tiger Fanatics.' An orphan who lives in a bath.
My dads rich and I drive a Subaru.
Yer fadher woza dirtaay thievin' scoundrel from the lanes of Limerick,
and you're mawder woza two punt hooker from O'Connell Street.
Toilet? Yes?"

Spour spemories spin.