And so, with crushing inevitability, it's Monday.
Cheer up with some Lovely organic food, anyone?
On Saturday night, the Ceilidh (behold I have learned how to spell it) was fantastic. We could have done with a few more people in attendance, because I found myself involved with practically every dance, barely having time to wipe off the sweat before being twirled into a new frenzy of stamping and accordion. Three and a half hours of what is, essentially, skipping in a circle, is more than enough for anyone! It strikes me that a Ceilidh is quite a swinging affair. Partner swapping is rife, and is positively encouraged during many of the dances. One of them even has the name 'Johnny Fetch Your Wife Back'. Lovely. I can't wait for the next one.
"Brush up on your Hyphy (San Francisco) slang", says the Guardian today. Okay then... a quick Hyphy lesson, and then you too can pop ya collar, fo' sheezy! (Love it!)
So, if you were to indulge in some flamboasting, you would in fact be showing off, or partying ostentatiously. Following on from that, if you were to flamboast on the hood while ghost riding the whip, you would have jumped onto your car bonnet and started to dance, while the car is still moving. So far, so fun! It's not all good news though. Sometimes, you may have to merk your wastemen. Dispose of your enemies, in otherwords. And finally, if anyone asks you a question in Hyphy that you don't understand, it's perfectly acceptable to respond with "shaboobalaboopy". "I don't know."
Hope that's been helpful.
