Oh hello, you winsing princes, you tartured poppers. Are you ready to play a Portuguese tennis

in the jocular rockery that is the blind by podcast? How the fuck you getting on was

to crack. I've had a very very busy week, very very very busy. I was over in London.

Working too hard last week. Shootin' some stuff for television, but workin' 16, 17 hour days

and not giving myself correct amounts of rest. And there was some type of flu

flying around the gaff and I managed to catch it and I don't know if you can hear

right in my voice now. It's very interesting flu actually. It has a lot of

character. Started off yesterday in my chest, then it left my chest and it went to my

throat this morning and now it has occupied my ears and nose and I can't really hear

anything and my balance is off. But I often enjoy moments of illness because it allows

me little brief pockets of pausing in my otherwise turbulent life.

And... thing with London. And me, I always end up, every time I got to London, if I'm

always being brought over or by somebody, whether it's a TV company or a theater or something.

So I get collected from the airport by taxi drivers. And every time I always end up in

a ridiculous conversation with taxi drivers. It just happens. I don't know how it just

does. I think they look at me and they know this is a manual like a chat. So anyway, the

two best conversations I've had in Taxi in London happened to have been with Muslim taxi

drivers. The first conversation I had, it was last week and the taxi driver was cardish.

He was sound as fuck. And I think it was the Irish thing. I think it's because he

knew that I was Irish. He was like, oh, the Irish, the Irish, you support the cards.

We're like, yeah, there's a history of that. Now, what I didn't want to tell him, like he

was talking about, you know, all school republicanism, where, you know, the RA would have solidarity

...