A referral

I was getting fat. Seriously fat. Couldn’t see the scales beneath me.

150kg. Time to see good ol’ Doctor Jenkins.

I sat down in front of him. I could tell he was examining the fat in my face.

“Doctor, look at the state of me. Is there any medication you can suggest?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I’ll be referring you to a dentist.”

“But, why? There’s nothing wrong with my teeth.”

“Oh yes there is. The dentist will need to remove your sweet tooth.”


Une Image et Une Phrase: the concept


A picture and a sentence. What does that make you think of?

Today’s social media platform of course.

Instagram especially, where pictures and their captions have a life of 4 hours (apparently), before disappearing into the vacuum of ‘there are 60 posts per second on Instagram’ and 50% of those are teenage selfies. That’s my impression at least.

So let’s take it back a bit. Remove the branding. And hell, let’s even use French.

Let’s remind ourselves that before technology gobbled us all up and sold us the dream ‘we can all be artists now we have a camera, and we can show off to the whole world via Internet,’ there was the world of craftsmanship, where things went a bit slower.

Let’s think of a small provincial town in the south of France, where painters brush away, without being hurried by any ‘your work will be worthless after 4 hours; therefore you should be churning this out; not quality, quantity please.’

And equally as important – and as Maupassant, Faubert and Balzac would – let’s get that one sentence of prose right.


Surgery Time

It was the big day. The one I’d been apprehending. Heart surgery. Damn. I’d had knee surgery before. The only fun thing about that was the crazy dreams on general anesthetic.

I was lying down in the operating theater. The operation was moments away.

Doctor Jenkins came into the room. He had a strange look on his face. The nurse asked him if everything was alright. That’s reassuring I thought. Just knock me out so I don’t have to witness this, please.

“No all’s not alright, I won’t be able to do the heart surgery.”

“But why not!?” The nurse and I simultaneously inquired.

“I’ve had a change of heart.”

Darker Stout’s outlook

When you talk about blogging, you think about a target audience.

When I launched Darker Stout, I just figured sharing funny experiences and stories would attract quite a few readers.

As a friend put it: “Who doesn’t like stories about transsexuals and lad culture!?”

To which I answered: “Is that sarcasm?”

This friend is always ironising on things, so I’m never quite sure.

“No no! It wasn’t meant to be sarcastic although it did seem that way.”

Ha! Exactly.

Darker Stout wants to make you laugh, if only get a chuckle or a giggle out of you.

Human beings differ from other species, in that they are the only species that can laugh.

OK that’s getting a bit too documentary-style and that’s not what’s planned. This isn’t Vice’s depressing documentation of the brutal Philippines drug war. Nor is it the simple memes posted on 9Gag.

Darker Stout is closer to the movie In Bruges, with dark humour paving the way for a look at modern life with a smirk on your face.


Ibiza: when the cracks begin to show

Like with most things in this modern age, there’s quite a gap between marketing and reality.

Ibiza is always advertised as the crazy party island where young people rave on the beach, get laid and enjoy the sun.

Yet, this photo for example…

A smiling beggar with a Defected Records fan and a million-dollar yacht…. We are the world, we are the children – as MJ once sang.

… is quite different from the pictures you see on Instagram.

If you look in the background, you’ll notice a yacht with sleek blue neon lighting on its sides. That yacht belongs to a Russian oligarch and cost him $300 million. Peanuts.

No time to dwell for bleach blonde girl though. An oblivious stroll through the whole scene with eager eyes set on the multiple bars ahead. I’m not blaming her. That is what we all came for.

Moments before that, an athletic bar tender had brought the drinks ordered by my friends and I to the table. She has the most amazing ass but her front two teeth noticeably protrude out of her mouth. Like a sexy rat. She was cool and told me she might visit and stay with me in my bed in London…if I pay her to. Anything for that butt, babe.

Top knotch out-call escort services from the Med right? Ibiza rocks.

But back to our dear old Defected lady:

“You’re asking me if I have a bit of cash for you?” I said, as I held my iphone up to take her picture. “A bigger smile and I say Yes.”