Demented tales from the Dublin walk-in wardrobe/proto-batcave

P.S. No prizes for psychoanalyzing them, as the Badbrute says, 'no subtext

One of the guilty pleasures/morbid nostalgia interest in my own twarted ambitions and failures of any trip home is reading old notebooks and finding bizarre scribbings. It's kind of like when an FBI agent is hunting down a serial killer in a movie or something. Sometimes even I don't know what the heck I was on about (writing this in the library so excuse the archiac swears, I'll beef them up later). The below examples are from a wee notebook (circa 1999) from a particularly dark and perverse time but also quite creative. I was juggling a an arts admin job that although superficially suited to I was awful at and would escape mentally and physically from it at any given opportunity. Half this period was spent in a tiny bedsit in Dublin where painted cardboard versiosn of some this sort of demented crap appeared.

On the positive side it did lead to doing the masters and I ended up living with one of my best friends, the fact that we shared a room together for about a year and a half and didn't kill each other is a testiment to our friendship (although I'm sure he came close as I would often do all-nighters inside a walk-in wardrobe while he tried to sleep).

'Bewildered Bob: I could try and pass this off as some wacky character that's a total exaggeration of yours truly, but what's the point!

Another of my sad antics was coming up with the ideas for 'comedy' tv ideas, actually looking as some of these they are actually quite funny, although I don't know if is a relative thing, these ideas for dadatv are not funny compared top Big Train or Jam but are comedy gold in comparison to Swallywagga, as is accidentally ripping off your srotum with the underside of a car driven by everyone you've ever slept with.