Breakfast, Pancakes and Blindfold Dating

I missed breakfast again this morning – I miss breakfast every morning in fact. The most important meal of day – apparently! Well, that at least tells you something about me – who apparently loves chopping. Today though for some reason, I am really feeling it.

It’s raining, you’re hungry and a little off step, in this town, that is always followed by rail/underground failure, massive queues down steps (yes I’m one of those ‘people’ using the up escalator for going down – and no I can’t wait even though there’s another overcrowded train in 2min); ‘please walk to the end of the platform’ - I’m sorry we all really like standing right here, much warmer.

The numbskulls still reeling from a mammoth exercise in ‘idea formulation’ from the night before were dead to the world. I’ll be brief otherwise it might come back. Last night I was confronted, seriously, it was a balance shift or something in the order of things, where everything is pointing in the same direction. First an email, a comment, then hoards of advertising literature and then a splurge of television programs all following the same theme - dating.

Now Hitch was a fun, popcorn movie – the last 15min though is for people who still read Mills and Boon novels and live in a castle, sleep a lot dreaming of some guy on a horse who was, and then isn’t a frog who can ride a horse. So there’s this ad for Speed Dating, can’t remember the full jist, but basically it’s the typical come have fun, meet lots of different people etc, in 3 min and this is what got me ‘let your personality shine through…come find love in 3min’

So I tried to break in down; 3min – what can you do in 3min?

Read the 3-Minute Roast a bi-weekly, advertisement-free, opinionated rip on anything that strikes our fancy in the online world.


In one minute you can recite Soorat al-Fatihah 7 times, reciting rapidly and silently. Some scholars said that the reward for reading al-Fatihah is more than 1400 hasanahs, so if you read it 7 times you will, by the permission of Allah, gain more than 9800 hasanahs - all of that in one minute. So in 3? – (u do the math)


Apparently pick up a girl’s phone number.....get digits


Get a six pack in the ‘3-Minute Abs’ by Kurt Brungardt, which he assures us are the centre of our strength and power


Sing any of these Songs which are 3 min. long.
Beastie Boys - I Don't Know
David Bowie - I've Been Waiting For You
Kevin Lyttle - Turn Me On
R Kelly - Bump and Grind
Moby - Rushing: Mody is so five years ago. No.
Norah Jones - Ain't Gonna Ask You

I’m sure there are a hundred other things you can do or even stretch out to last 3 min – but the drift’s there somewhere.

So this is the happy numbskull idea. ‘Blind Dating’
Tagline;
‘Come and really let your personality shine through, meet your true partner, be adventurous….when it’s dark anything can happen’

the small print;
Disclaimer: Please be aware that injury attained during the events, due to temporarily blindfolds, are not the responsibility of the parent organisation. We advise you to take out insurance as you may trip, fall, walk into furniture (which we assure you will all be tacked down). Please also note that no hazardous or flammable materials are allowed on the premises, and lighting your own cigarettes is strictly prohibited. We also recommend a few hours training with a blindfold prior to the event.

If you’re tired of, the subtle placement of BMW key rings, the sight of business suits and chiselled facial hair all in an attempt to make a good impression, and burdened with the desire of physical attraction getting in the way. Then look no further.

Blind Dating – Thrills –Spills and No Add On’s. Just the Real You. After all ‘isn’t your personality that counts?’

Anyway – back to pancakes.

How to Make Pancakes

Ingredients:
1 pint of flour2 eggs1 cup of milk1 stick of butter

Materials:
1 mixing bowl2 table spoons2 cups1 small pan

Procedure:
Open the flour box.
Put the flour in the bowl.
Put milk in a cup.
Make sure it's 12 cm of milk.
Put the milk in the bowl.
Break the 2 eggs into the bowl.
Mix it with a spoon.
Put the mix in the pan.Let the pancake mix cook about 5 minutes. Flip pancake over when the top is brown.

Your pancake should be ready to eat.

Litter -No.2

The message stuck in your voice box

It’s the voices in you telling you you’ve got choices, whilst you’re sat there listening to the humming of another Sunday afternoon. An image in the desert, an empty void, a disused security truck, and the message stuck in your voice box. Sincerely yours, a devout recipient of true feeling and gut. Uncertain about the distance he searches between two points. The rock star in you, the things you can’t do, multiplication, good days, and sex on a first date, the scathing and visions you foreseeable tolerate. Then in haste, in a heated debate you unleash a version of the world and all of it is of rage - so you turn the page like Rakim; 'i start to think and then i sink, into the paper like i was ink. When I'm writing, i'm trapped in between the lines - i escape, when i finished the rhyme'

Litter -No.1

The remains of honey

I can’t seem to loose the trail, scattered breadcrumbs lead me back again. I should mash them into the earth with my feet, but instead crouch down and give them a lick. The remains of honey churns my stomach, releases bile. Who knows the way to go, please show me the way to go?

A tow truck, towing a tow truck, towing a car.

My brother in law sent me this. He’s just moved back – I guess mostly he’s happy to be with his beautiful and talented wife (my sister)and his gorgeous kids – ‘the cutest kids ever’. I’m not just saying that…ok well I am, but hey, they put a smile on my face so whatkanfor?

The last time I referred to a conversation I had with a friend and posted fragments of it’s content, it kinda ended up sour – they’re still probably pissed at me and I guess since we’re no longer really talking… anyway I think I’ve lost their trust. However, since this was part of a general email with a post scribe ‘Happy Easter’ hopefully things won’t end up that way here.

If you’re reading this and not Nigerian – then all I can say is this;
Go there. Forget sanitised trips to the safari, or Moroccan flee markets, Cape town beaches. No, no – get down, get dirty, get a yellow cab, get hot, struggle through immigration, change some of that shinny western dollar/sterling in one of the largest black market economies in the world, eat on a road side bukka restaurant, I recommend pounded yam and efo stew, get stuck in a traffic jam, get stuck in a petrol shortage, then the lights go out – NO DIESEL, find your way to the Niger, Jos – visit an uncle who work’s for ‘the government’ in Abuja, wait for a contract. Wait for Nepa – see a Ferrari, a row of X5 BMWs in convoy – see all the drivers are younger than 30, see beautiful stretches of white sand, palm trees, lakes, lagoons, lush green field, meat markets, decayed carcasses – circling vultures, an amputee, a philanthropic welfare state, family, unity, the darkness of coaled back skin, the sound of Afro-beat, Juju, Rap, R’N’B – even Avril Lavine. Loose a hub cab, a mass shuffle of white on a Sunday, the chorus of redemption – ‘Jeysu Christi’ . The surge for democracy, MTV Base, fill your wallet with Mr Chief Dr Prof. Eng Msc, London and Lagos business cards and pictures of a leader everywhere….

So, our dear leader (the President of the Federal Republic) says he is under tremendous pressure to run for a 3rd term of office (thought the constitution says max of 2 terms?). The location and context - he was in Berlin giving a lecture to the German-African Association on Nigeria as a strong emerging economy (shouldn't that be classed a misnomer?). What has one to do with the other? Pressure from what or whom I do not know, but I can tell you what it portends. Answers on a postcard please.

The Education Minister has been arrested for offering (more like asked to pay) a N50million (£192k) bribe to the Education Committee’s of the National Assembly. Stupid fellow raised the money by asking the Principals of all Federal Govt. owned secondary schools to collectively come up with the dosh. I've been put right by people who say it's normal practice; silly me. What does the poor chap want? That the committee’s increase the Education budget; not unreasonable you would think. What's the moral of this story? Go figure!
By the way, a member of the House of Assembly has been suspended for 2 weeks by the House. Why? I quote him "we (legislators) are not the solution to Nigeria's problem" because "every facet of the National assembly stinks with corruption, especially the committee's." Makes you want to go to sleep and wake up next year - problem is, it'll be like Ground hog Day.

Picture this: a tow truck, towing a tow truck, towing a car. Observed on the streets of Lagos but also the story of Nigeria.

Get of the Bus

Story 1
An immigrant Indian man – scowls the streets of London telling people their fortunes – the people fall for his kindness and wisdom and as some give him food, money, etc he slowly begins to amass a large fortune.

Story 2
Scene – man on bus, a girl get on that he is transfixed by. He’s heading home, tired after a hard day but he can’t keep his eyes off her - what if she’s the one?
The bus is been driven by James Knox, who’s come to work today distraught. His wife has disappeared. The people on the bus wonder at the enraged driving, the sudden braking, but think nothing of it.

Matt a friend of our lead gets on the bus. they’re neighbours. He gets on, says hello. Johnny, our lead can’t take his eyes of the girl. The bus comes to a ragged stop, causing everyone crashing forward in their seat, falling on top of those in front. Johnny falls too - The doors open, the girl goes to leave - Johnny goes to follow, driven by something, his neighbour looks inquisitive, ‘this isn’t our stop is it’, Johnny responds ‘NO!’, but proceeds to leave to follow the girl. She crosses the road in front of the bus, the bus goes to move then halts!.....she screams at the driver and walks on. The bus passes - Johnny follows the girl around the corner, nervous he goes to talk to her - the bus crashes……………

He spends the next 1.30hr trying to convince her that he believes there was a reason he came of that bus…she drew him - she doesn’t agree.

SCENE STEALS

Pulp Fiction
Bedroom scene – Butch Coolidge/Fabienne – oral sex scene. Camera starts wide gradually pulls in to end on close up of Fabienne in orgasm.

Narrative
Marsellus Wallace talking to Butch - Voice of camera - MID-SHOT Butch.

SHOT – Butch Rear Head Shot - Close back of Marcellus head. Focus in and out on far speaker

Requiem for a Dream
Split screen love scene. Close on hand / lip movements. In essence one shot spliced in two.

Oh, how they use music!!!!!! What a movie!

Bark like a Dog! Hop on one Foot!

I remember those famous poetic words by Paula Abdul in the late 80’s

Baby seems we never ever agree
You like the movies
And I like T.V.

Followed by the chorus

I take-2 steps forward
I take-2 steps back
We come together
Cuz opposites attract
And you know-it ain't fiction
Just a natural fact
We come together
Cuz opposites attract

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paula_Abdul
The single, Straight Up - had me - tongue tied, even now as I watch American idol I still have a little soft spot for Paula. Who can forget her accomplished choreography – I mean the girl revolutionised basketball cheerleading – and what about the opening wedding dance sequence in Coming to America. All Paula.
Bark like a Dog! Hop on one Foot!

But seriously, this whole dance phenomenon is going haywire – everyone is taking dance lessons. Going to a club, is like going on Soul Train back in the day. I mean, there are some serious movers and grinders. Whether they’re knocking your teeth out with their jazz/ballet pirouette, or stomping your feet with their own personalised running man, elbows included, or shaking their ass Beyonce style –oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh – the clamour for space is frightening.

All this at a time when clubs aren’t getting bigger but smaller in size, to cater for our new need for intimate social, relaxed, unpretentious (but, ‘oh my God wasn’t that Justin?’) style club/bar/restaurant/cinema/massage parlour – BIG SLASH – dance studio. I used to have moves – no seriously, this brother could dance. I mean we had slow mo on our video early – so, I got all Hammer’s and Bobby’s moves to a tee – at 13 having moves was currency. Now, I’m a side to ‘sider’, and throw in a hip thrust at every other beat. It seems to work. But I have to hold down the beast in me that begging to let a frenzy go.

The weird thing is that, bad dancing, any sort of dancing is seen as commendable – it’s like, the effort is enough. It’s like, ‘oh, we’re just having fun – why are you laughing’ –because you look funny, doesn’t that hurt.
I bet Paula still has some crazy ass moves.

Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade

My apologies for my seemingly constant reference to women in my recent postings, but for some reason or other they seem to be the only incoherent ‘adjective’ in my life for the past year or so. I’m not going to go into the details for fear that my mother might one day read this and realise that her little boy, has been cheating on her – with floozies! Those would be her words, not mine. In fact, that’s my imagined mother; the real thing is actively trying to negotiate my trade from what she considers ‘enemies of the state’ in areas which fall within ‘the axis of evil’; namely any woman coming from anywhere beyond the outskirts of the village from which we are from.

But seriously, I’m in trouble, no – fuck it – I’m darn right confused! Yes! No! No! Yes! You – No – Him Yes! Now! Tomorrow! Yesterday! Last week! Han’s the German! Tea! Space! Two Hour Phone Calls! Big! Small! More! None! Friends - Sex! No Friends – No Sex! No Sex - Peppermint Tea! (yep that got me too)
‘U’re a f***ing moron – let’s hang out!’ U’re wonderful and amazing – but I’m f***ing a moron’

To be honest I’m a winger, i.e. I like to ‘wing’ things, especially when it comes to topics about self, blah, blah blah, analysis, psychotherapy etc – self help books do nothing at all but make someone else very rich. Hence I plan (should I ever have anything of note, or even better, of importance to say) write one.Call me naïve, but I just think it’s another form of cultural idleness and time filling – I don’t see the people from the village I referred to earlier ever worrying about such profound ideas as, how ‘Stillness Speaks’ or how to, ‘Never Hit a Jellyfish with a Spade: How to Survive Life's Smaller Challenges’. ‘Dodo you God darn blasphemous philistine – get in touch bro. Get in touch.

But I guess buying your food in neatly packed packets from a ‘local supermarket’ and having 200 channels to watch might make you understand existence and purpose a little better than that crouched old man smiling as he makes his daily 45 min to pay a visit to his old friend's widow, the sun bleaching his horizon, amidst the clamour of wrestling okadas skimming through the traffic, passenger heavy, two or three at a time in Arsenal and Man Utd football jerseys. Sweating, even in his best shirt, his toes browned and camouflaged in the dusty earth. Perhaps it’s the thought, that on his arrival, he’ll be presented with a cold glass of water, some hot freshly made eba and efo, with goat meat from the family of his good friend’s recent son in law. Or maybe he’s just smiling, who knows. In the end a man’s thoughts are his own.

But far from the old man, who may, like mother, be a composite of literally fantasy, a collection of ideas formed through photographs and a reality skewed by the desire to document, record and perceive every moment like movie sequences and stills – the question is, who’s better of? Which leads me back again, women and men become fantasies, ideas of each other that become blurred and then defined by the words and visions of others. Others who like to talk, write, analysis, provide options, resolutions, case studies, therefore because we have to talk, actions it would seem are not enough and subsequently the idea of ‘the now’ is a myth.

The truth it would seem is always the future – always the point of arrival. Even the old man has to imagine what he’ll have on his plate when he arrives.

I'm at a loss - I need an interpreter

5am - Sunday morning. A bowl of rice and stew, awkward relationships, frail friendships, mistrust, birthdays, an hour wait at 3am at a bus stop – a hang over, a good friend going away, a good friend holding themselves away, a new born baby, caparihnas, a guide (from hollywood) to winning the right girl and a deleted blog post.

I made a mistake. I made a mistake. We dream of so much, the light of our imagination guides our truths and deceits. What is it we seek and hear in the answers that jump out to throttle us in photographs, conversations and reflections of places and people we know, yet in someway have never truly seen. I'm at a loss - I need an interpreter
The Interpreter of Maladies.

Cheat, Lie and Steal

Cheat, Lie and Steal – Women and ‘The Golden Window’

I got a slap on the wrist from a friend following some off hand comment I made. I unfortuanetly suggested that '...maybe she’d get to see the real...'– I was stopped there! The following is my lesson in virtue, grace and…women.

Realise my friend that all women are NOT potential wifey material; they are however potential missed opportunities which will cause one discomfort during severe periods of drought. So forget about the future and slap that ass right now. Look in the end, the fatal mistake is continuing to believe that by some stroke of luck that she's the girl, yup, ‘that girl’, as you continue in the undignified self delusion. Thinking, that, who you are and your so called enigmatic, last dated in 1994, moves are enough - the reality is that it's like a shop window, presentation, price and exclusivity is everything - create a myth, a stigma whether good/bad true/false that she can be lured into – never, never, ever, reveal anything except what it takes to get what u want. Yes, I can repeat that in case you’re struggling to keep up? Don't worry, allow me for now, I don’t expect you to remember this tomorrow -
But if you’re going to remember anything, remember the 28 day buy back guarantee, or another way of looking at it, the Cinderella slipper syndrome, u only have a limited time period, 28 days before they may change they're mind and want it back or head off, running –
‘So tap that ass, before it’s to late?’ (My contribution)
CORRECTAMUNDO!!! My friend - a golden window of opportunity -before catch up. - Yes it’s a given, lies and illusion can only get you laid. But your problem is that you like to eat your shit past its sell by date. Like that girl that’s been driving u nuts that u saw again the other day, ‘if you're honest that shit is long GONE and every time u see her u're gonna remember that some experiences u had to learn the hard way - and that's gonna be one babe u're gonna be pained never to have tapped – so stay public – stay, how shall I say, ‘stay distracted, stay horny, get greedy and if you can, buy an expensive car and start accumulating.’

‘No Shaking’

Photographs from a city – a city I love – the rest, well… just go see for yourselves.

http://www.southlondongallery.org/docs/exh/exhibition.jsp?id=113&view=future

Thirty kilometres to go

Thirty kilometres to go. You can force what you want to say. But what is inspiration. You refer back to a past ‘A grade, a standard - Optimism! The hope wedged to your aspiring dream. Then to recreate! Fleming found penicillin by chance, whilst napping in abject squalor. But you are unable to sail the undetermined winds. A quadriplegic bird trapped by the visions of machine operated limbs. Keep running! Keep running………..running………running. Till they ferry you the trapped source of the earth, to quench your thirst. The orchestral thronging of the battered rocks at a waterfall, eroded till they too are no more, and the desert comes to conquer all. Everything will be flat in the end, and there will always be an end. But you are here. Now! Running; amidst the mass cheering, in the confused chaos of the good deed. Your intentions were never honourable; your desire never true, the calling of lustful acknowledgement drove you through.

Every argument lost, every feeling given a second thought. But you chose to preserve. You chose. You deserve. But nightmares permeate the organic preserves of the breakfast table. Candle lit bubble baths, the silk Indian curtain cloth. Sunday morning intimacy; those first looks that deceived. But this new, real world is made up of a mutating environmental responsive skin. You come, you adapt and you leave. Equal voices have drowned out the conqueror’s final speech. Sweat pores from the skin; the girl that had fallen into the sea. Alone. Her final note read,’ I’m sorry, I simply want to jump in’. A moment. The madness. The sudden explosion, of a star within.

In the corner, on a putrid dish left untouched by the rage that shattered the final scene. It grew like a rose from concrete. The culmination of a life spent without the warming second glance of the passer by. The practice runs had been easy; it had proved a workable theory. All that was needed were the right conditions; water, air and a sunny breeze. Life, the ‘flashing’ swoosh of a designer tick. The sponsors of these burning lungs. These longing dreams.

The stop clock. STOP! WATCH! 2 hours 32 min and 34 sec. The first runner has finished. A girl comes to your side then disappears into the distant. Till you get home you won’t be able to recreate, re-perceive the chance stroking of another’s salient soaked skin. Dream! Sun, Saturday, the blurry haze of the lustful night before. The clink of glasses, violet ridges of gently tongued lips, slipped into something a little more comfortable. The moronic stumbling of a body founded on wobbling knees. Two voices command the directions, attain the desire of a single unrelenting need. You chose –right! You deserve. Focus! See! See! Now begin;
‘It’s so good to see you again after all these years’.
God, I want you.
‘I means, it’s been so long – you look the same. I mean, geez, you look the same’

How can it be that times passes two people so differently?

‘So –um - another drink?’ Grab the cup. Sink it. Keep running. The distance will get closer. This place further away.

TAP DANCER – MALE – OLD AGE.

The dance tells a story through photographic flash backs. The dance tells the story of Doomed Youth – Dulce et Decorum Est– popular war poem. http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html
This is essentially a war dance. Telling the story of a lonely man’s loss, anger and grief for a child lost at war.
Images: The happy family – Boy’s youth - The boy playing – guns – riding bikes - Trouble at School - Truancy – Boy being chased through street – Father/Son Conflict – A police arrest – An army requirement signature - An interview - A hair cut – Smoking weed in uniform – Gun fire; Inter-cut the war - the stark images of 9/11. A boy shot in Palestine – The Congo – Rwanda - A picture of Bush, Blair, Saddam and that Korean Guy. A Gas mask – a rifle a burning oil field. Hungry, starving children; A smile from a child. The church – The mosque – Food covered in black oil. We use photography - super 8 films – newspaper clippings etc

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So i do.

White blobs falling from the sky? - 'Oh, you mean snow.'

Traffic – STOP! Trains – STOP! Underground –STOP! Pedestrians – STOP! Oh you guessed it; it’s snowing in the city and everything comes to a stand still. The wonders of the modern city.

The guy yesterday must have been a premonition, unlucky guy, if only he waited an extra day, he could have slapped on his skies, said ‘forget public transport’ and skied to where ever he was going.

The ski train of misconceptions and a ad for Christian Aid

I had a thought on my way in - probably the fact that the sun was shining - 'that evil manipulator of mood’ -The thought, was following an ad I glanced (over shoulder reader) for Christian Aid - something like, '....isn't it about time we stopped living off Africans’
- And for a while, I’m deep in thought - you know trying to figure out a solution to
1. Debt relief
2. Fair Trade
3. Poverty
4. Why Ethiopian women are so fine!
5. HIV statistics

When, a black guy walks on in full ski gear, carrying a pair of skies. This is rush hour - he’s wearing every colour under the sun - the sun's out, so you can image the glare.
Ok, rewind - a black guy wearing; full ski gear plus mask, get's on my train in rush hour - i see him - he see’s me - we acknowledge each other - even though I’m dressed a little 'casual' - to be honest. What chance did Christian Aid have? Seriously!

www.christianaid.org

The following themes were formed entirely in my head; the numbskulls begin – but, as far as I am aware none slipped through the cracks of my lips

the cold; cool running (predictable), john candy was kinda large - heart attack; the smell of a McDonald's burger, school dinner ladies; the cold, snow, snow, snow ice, ‘sheesh’, a lone black guy bombing down a snowy mountain top like the passing of a black Diablo Lamborghini - the parting of the red sea, Moses, Charlton Heston – gun slinging ‘sob’ (ok, that’s what Mr. Moore wants us to think), and why the hell does he want to go skiing? Christopher Columbus! My girl, L – the nice pictures of her trip, till the story of her falling and the subsequent gash on her nose. He like me probably has friends who ‘looove’ to go skiing or snowboarding or white water rafting, trekking through jungles, surfing – real out-doors trips. Which all have great romantic notions and look a lot of fun on TV – I mean, watching Baywatch even I was nearly convinced of a career in red speedo’s, amongst sharks ‘with’ muscles living part time in a gym. But then, there are the things black people don’t do; SKI; wait for the ghost to show up; SWIM – ok swim well – Eric the Eel, who the hell gave him that name; read the daily mail; go two days without eating chicken; become vegetarians – whatever Steve!; think that it’s ok ‘not’ knowing how to dance; get Bridget Jones neuroses….BLANK!

The train stopped. He nods at me again – I realise how big skies actually are as his scrape the top of the carriage door – and I would have gone back to Christian Aid – but the guy next to me had moved on to his horoscope – those things really don’t work. The numbskulls are processing data – mmm…‘ some muffins from M&S?’. I’m smiling. ‘Yes please!’

'It dosen't matter if you have the records at home' - It's what's in the bag.

40 Reasons - DJ Clash – Love Songs
Victory will be yours!

Tracks:
1. If I Ever – Shai 2. Lady – D’Angelo 3. One Love – Nas
4. I’m not a Playa – Joe ft Fat Joe 5. Sexual healing – Marvin Gaye
6. Stay – Jodeci 7. Raspberry Beret – Prince 8. I Can Change – John Legend
9. One Love – Bob Marley 10. Sweetest Taboo – Sade 11. Girl, Girls – Jay-Z
12. Money – Dwele 13. All I Need – Mary J Blige ft Method Man
14. X-Factor – Lauryn Hill 15. I Used to Love Her – Common
16. Fallin’ – Alica Keys 17. You Love is King – Sade 18. Candy Girl – New Edition
19. Rapture – Anita Baker 20. Keep ur Head Up – Tupac
21. Isn’t She lovely – Stevie Wonder 22. Ain’t No Sunshine – Bill Whithers
23. Ms Fat Booty – Mos Def 24. Stand By My Woman – Lenny Kravitz
25. The Seed – Cody Chestnutt 26. The Light – Common
27. Untitled – D’Angelo 28. Soul Sista - Bilal 29. Turn of The Light – Teddy Pendgrass
30. Isn’t She Lovely – Stevie Wonder 31. Oops – Tweet 32. Heaven – Jagged Egde
33. Bump ‘n’ Grind – R Kelly 34. Sex Me- R Kelly 35. There’s Nothing Like This – Omar
36. Girlfriend – MusiqSoulChild 37. Candy Rain – Soul For Real
38. When I think of U – Janet Jackson 39. If u Don’t Know Me – Simply Red/Original Ray Charles
40. Big Poppa – Biggie

Obviously this is subject to ‘taste and demographic’.

and just in case 41. Pony - Ginuwine

A new month

A new month.

Weekends just seem to fly by - all i can say is 'eat before you being'.