‘into…the Hills – Tales from the Hip pg/pt 3’

or just go straight into audio mode

… In real time on a cold -3° Monday morning the crisp blue sky fired up by an explosive orange zest shone so fresh you could taste its zeal. It held a Mediterranean heat too, if you stood directly in line and imagined. The next day it snowed 3 inches. This flurry of the white stuff turns out to be not so unheard-of downtown LA, and we’re not talking trade winds from their South American cousins. It didn’t snow while I was there, but a pugnacious Irishman called Snowy did waft through in his white waist length hair getting on everyone’s nerves, but we’ll get to him in a bit. In case you’re interested, its 23° with lots of sunshine in Madeira at the time of writing… aye thank you; that was random fact number none of your business folks, now, let’s get back to LA because we’ve got Mexico to get to.

…About three hours later the Scooby-Doo van was frothing with college kids, hot girl-next-door girls, boffs in bins and pot heads.  A raggedy bunch so full of piss and promise they’d filter into future’s society bent on tosh and pith of all that is nothing and more. They drove in buoyant mood via the Strip’s sunset. Then conked out about a block from the hostel. Merrily everyone got out and pushed the old rust bucket home through dusk’s crack half mile. Work done, it jimmied up free time, which for Jax and the guests invariably meant party in the kitchen. Smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em. Jax spent a lot of the evening with a 30-something couple planning on transporting Karmann Ghia’s to the UK for restoration. Big money, they schemed, a couple containers worth no less, we’re going to see a bloke in the Hills tomorrow. Jax saw a bloke in the Hills about a gardening job, he thought, half listening to their Brummie drawl. He’d get the blue bus, a-la Jim Morrison style and hunker down on the back seat, propping his King Lizard head above the parapet every now and then to see where he was. It was the same blue bus he used carrying his bucket and sponge and go door to door washing rich folk’s cars at $5.00 a pop.  The novelty factor not lost on most residents who holstered Mexican home help but in the same breath loved this mad English accent behind the ruse, ‘oh man, that’s crazy, ‘you want to wash my car, right there on my drive way, damn, I’ll pay to see this’. Progressing from a valet to gardener, he headed up those Hills further along that ‘Morrison snake’ and wound at the pre-destined terraced front garden, bejewelled as it was by plants and fauna so deep in wooded purples it was like a woodland fairy tale. A twisty path led to the door, where cascading around its frame such pretty tumbling blades and flops of mauves and purples, triggered an instant recognition that this was no grass cutting number. A gentle voice snuggled deep within a robust beard greeted him, ‘Hi.’ Jax looked down at a wee stocky figure, no mean feat, as he was nothing shy of ordinary elevation himself, ‘weird scenes inside the goldmine’ he thinks and notions, ‘alright’. Unburdened by further formalities the gentle voice ushered proceedings through the gardens; the front then seamlessly into the back, which was linked by a bridge over a small stream complete with working miniature watermill down yonder, just past a normal sized wooden wheel barrow, which Jax momentarily dwelled on. The voice floated in the air up ahead soothed bees and calmed the breeze and explained without pause the feeding cycle of an Evergreen Californian Lilac tree. Not once were Jax’ credentials mentioned in this tour de tip toe, never once was the job brought up, and not for a minute did this bearded technician of intrigue believe gardening existed in Jax’ car washing fingers. Thereby satisfied by this gentle surmise, he tenderly manoeuvred Jax about the grounds, in the back door, through the oak beamed house and out the front door thanking him courteously for coming by. Stepping out of the front door Jax clocked a suit of armour standing guard, hard not to really, and acknowledges it while attempting to ease the weirdness, ‘nice, Saville Row?’, he nods, ‘Flanders’ came a swift reply in a demeanour less genteel, ‘iron plate, 1498’.

The morning kitchen lay bare of folk, the naked German girl was cleaning the stairs and Snowy was holding court in the living room. Loud and full of his short-arsed puppy fatness. He made it clear he’d done a bit of carpentry for Micky Rourke, as if anyone cared, sure Angel Heart was a great film, but funding the IRA, was that real? Who cared? It seemed no-one, least of all Jax. Snowy was later going to eat at the, all you can eat buffet for 5bucks in the Marina, where Micky drinks, he mentions, in case anyone forgot. Jax didn’t look for reactions, but glanced at the German girl, wondering why after hours when most had gone to bed she would walk around in the buff. It was almost normal, no-one noticed, or pretended not to, just taken for granted, then equally she invisibly cleans the house all day in cut down jeans and T-shirt. Weird shit indeed. It was time to move on. Slinking away from Snowy’s shite, three South African surfers, who Jax got on with, waxed their boards and lyrics, ‘one two, what shall we do, three four, make a score, five six, where’s the mix, seven eight roll it straight, nine ten goofed again’. The one with a withered foot laughed like a kid. He also told everyone his polio foot was a shark bite. Jax told him he had itchy feet and felt a move coming. The boys had just been surfing in Mexico, Fredrik the foot gave Jax a hastened scribbled note that simply read, Puerta Vallarta, and underneath, good surf – good wheat. ‘Go there bru, you must, it’s lekker eh, even if you don’t surf my man, just hang on the beach, you can camp there bru, no shit, put your tent right there on the beach, and live cheap cheap. Go my friend, chill.’ That was that then.

… till page/pt 4 folks…

He sat at the screen and pondered…

 … Snowy was probably a real nice bloke, but who cares, let’s go to the World News

true dat

Davos hit 54 this week. The World Economic Forum (WEF) theme this year is Rebuilding Trust. Pinning four points to the notice board they aim to; achieve security and co-operation in a fractured world (heavy) – foster creating jobs and growth in a new era (dawning) – the rise of AI as a driving force in the economy and society (write the end of this then please AI), and long-term strategy for climate, nature and energy – Ok, good job AI, you’re welcome, good luck, thank you very much, ha ze Englishman, grab him. AI, even knew I was going down the Great Escape route, we’re doomed Cap’n Manwaring, doomed…

There’ll be lots of plane spotting knobs on heat at Davos, given 1000 odd extra flights from all types of sexy machinery will be coming and going. Zurich airport have therefore been kind and extended hours in the observation Deck B. Jet Aviation are also offering all WEF members great rates on their sustainable fuel, called Sustainable Aviation Fuel or SAF which can reduce CO2 emissions by 80% and is made from vegans.

ice pools – gimme some of that… not

Louis Rees Zammit quitting rugby union at the height of his career for a jaunt in Yankee doodle dandy land’s NFL in Miami, that’s bonkers. He’ll last 5 minutes. But at least he’ll get the all-year-round sunshine for those 5 minutes, which is nice. 22° in Miami at the time of writing.

The fashion world is in a state of flux with considerable numbers down and particularly from US based buyers and editors based on recent Milan and Florence shows. Tightening or rethinking marketing budgets seems to be the assumption. One cautious buyer, not giving his name away, Dave, says, Not losing is winning at the moment.’ – I’ll tell you what, cold beans aint hot, if that bloke doesn’t stop huffing and puffing behind me in the library then he’s gonna get one almighty Sssshhh up the clacker.

The art world is upping the ante. The world’s most visited museum the Louvre is hiking its price 30% to E22. Their first rise in 7 years they blame on rising energy tariffs. Chateaux de Versailles and Arc de Triumphe have also upped their entrance stakes in the shadow of the looming Paris Olympics. While staunch people loyalists Musee d’Orsay will absorb the rot and stay firm on their price. Go there folks.

I’m going as I’m done

Keep it turning keep it wheel, keep it radioPrimco.com

Till next weak folks – spelling correct.

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