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Tomorow or bust


such a state. Of course it's self inflicted but this is Ireland, you must understand. Now, Guinness is my friend. Hasn't done me wrong yet but in all fairness, when the brain and the liver team up in a muntiny against their oppressor...

Half dyin. Earlyish start again, as usual. Alarm goes off at nine and I regain consciousness as smoothly as a car-wreck. If it weren't for the porrige, toast & espresso combo in the mornnings I doubt I'd be alive today.

Every greatful to Mick Jermyn, eledest bro, for bringing me to the joy that is the Specials. "Little Bitch" & "Too Much, Too Young" blare out of the speakers filling the flat with a beautiful smiling, 'g'mornin' and on this day I'm ever greatful.

Last night? Same as the night, week, month before. A quick breather after lessons and then straight behind bars. well... bar,singular. A quiet night with feck-all customers and then in walks Natty Wailer. Of course no biggie in that he's semi regular at the Countess. So much for wanting to get out early and get some rest in for a busy weekend ahead. Urrrgh.. more pints and a little whiskey and oh, what's that you have there Natty? Ahh-haaah...

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