Wiggas & Wonderings

Word up, Fulham thugs of mine!

As Mr GZA once said: “Why is the sky blue, why is water wet” and, presumably, “Why do lovers break each other’s hearts”.

There I was yesterday, slouching on the bonnet of Miss Wetherby’s (next door but one) plum-coloured Karmann Ghia, slurping on a can of flip. I’d had a bit of a backwards headache following a staring competition with the Johhny Haynes stand that morning. Fortunately for little me, the flip did the business - what a bracing cordial that was! Perhaps it was the turpentine chaser, but my little brain was off doing arabesques with Rudey Nureyev!

Anyways, there I loitered, gazing longingly at the flower-seller’s daughter, and wondering why if it’s a big enough umbrella, it’s always me that ends up getting wet, when suddenly the news entered my little noggin, courtesy of Mr Tjinder bellowing in my lug-holes (and interrupting my lecherous little reverie), that Mr Cookie had just ensnared a bright shiny new footballing player by the name of Mr Clint Dempsey.

Well. Clint. I don’t believe that there’s anyone currently residing in SW6 by the name of Clint. Not in this neighbourhood.

Apparently, he indulges in tip-top or bling-rap or some such confusion, whatever carry-on that might allude to?

I hope he doesn’t go in for all this glorification of guns following a goal-scoring incident: imitating AK47s, Kalashnikovs and spud-guns. There really is no need for violence in this day and eon.

Anyway, on that little moral morsel, I’m off for a quick scoot up and down North End Road to throw some sprouting tubers and broken cockleshells at the Jesus freaks out leafleting the locals.

What a hoop’la and how-de-do that promises to be.

Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka!

Flamin’ scallions and Up The Fulham!