Friday, August 04, 2006

Bad morning

It is 6.25

I've been awake for an hour

Am tempted to have a hangover but not quite there yet.

Mum told me on the phone last night that a boy / man I grew up with was killed a few days ago.

When I say killed I mean in the "he had pocession of a load of drugs, the gardi (Irish police) were chasing him in their squad car, he swallowed the drugs, he died" type of being killed.

Don't worry, this is not a self-pitying 'poor me, my mate has died' post.

Some may think the druggie scumbag got his come-uppance. Except I think of a red-headed freckled country box who was mad about animals. I've seen him stop a stampeding racehorse with a few words (long before Robert Redford made it into a huge budget film) I've seen him cry over a pidgeon with a broken wing, I've seen him cuddle kittens. I can't see him as a druggie.
What the hell happened?

There is nothing in the papers about his death. I guess they are still doing the post-mortem or somesuch.

This may be his first online refrence so I should make it a good one.
Mark Phipps, you fucking TOOL!!

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