You know those folk who take a picture from a magazine along to their plastic surgeon and say "I wanna look just like that!"? Well, here's the picture I would take along if I was as dumb as them.

Duckie last night was great. Kiki and Herb were in fine form doing stuff by Eminem, Kate Bush and Crass cohorts The Poison Girls! Genius. Kiki was wandering among the throng before the show looking very Mary Tyler Moore. Good job we got there at 10.30 as it was one-out-one-in just after we got through the doors. That singer from Heaven 17 was there wandering around on his own. He had a bit of a dance when Love Action by The Human Leage came on. We thought this was funny. There was a performance by the Al Queda State Ballet before Kiki and Herb which was mildly amusing. Party tune of the evening - Life in Tokyo by Japan. Were you there? You have a looky-likey if you weren't.

18.00 on Friday night and I'm still at work. I've worked like a cnut this week, sweated blood and broken nails. This international situation hasn't helped I can tell you. I'm off home soon though and I'm craving beans on toast for dinner tonight.
I like to heat the beans up in a frying pan (non-stick naturally). I let them simmer for about ten minutes until the tomato sauce has been reduced and the remains are a thick gloopy mess. I toast 2 slices of bread and let them cool by placing them in a wigwam shape on my plate. When the toast is cool I apply butter and then scoop the congealed mass of beans onto it. Hopefully the toast remains crispy and I am able to pick the whole thing up and eat it like an open sandwhich. This is how my mum used to make it when I was a lad. It was my favourite tea (tea is dinner up-north) after I returned from the swimming baths. Beans on toast in front of the telly with my weekly Whizzer And Chips. What a lovely memory.

During these 'dark times' it's good to see that our figurehead is doing her utmost to let us know that life must go on and that we mustn't be ashamed of our actions. Go Liz!

Kiki and Herb are playing at Duckie this saturday. Dunno if we're going. The war is making me lethargic. I have a cousin out there. Hardly know him though. My Uncle is a captain in the Marines. He's not out there (too old to fight at 45!). I'm a relatively young man and this is my umpteenth war. Jeez.

I must force the gaiety that once came so easily. The pain of the craving has long ago driven away the joy of the taste.

This is cheering me up during the war

Oh dear, here we go....



Water was running; children were running
You were running out of time
Under the mountain, a golden fountain
Were you praying at the Lares shrine?
But oh your city lies in dust, my friend

We found you hiding we found you lying
Choking on the dirt and sand
Your former glories and all the stories
Dragged and washed with eager hands

But oh your city lies in dust, my friend

Hot and burning in your nostrils
Pouring down your gaping mouth
Your molten bodies blanket of cinders
Caught in the throes .......

And your city lies in dust

...I've been to Fort Worth and I've been to Spain
and I aint too proud to come in outa the rain...

If you've never heard of Douglas Sirk, or seen any of his films, you may want to stay far away from 'Far From Heaven'. Melodrama can be a confusing and annoying moviegoing experience. Prepare yourself by buying the DVD of 'All that Heaven Allows' (not least because you'll get to see Jane Wyman say to Rock Hudson, "Sometimes I think you wish I were a man") or 'Imitation of Life'.

With 'Far From Heaven' indie poof Todd Haynes aims to recreate Sirk's odd, unique style down to the most minute detail, and he succeeds to an often ridiculous degree (which undermined the drama a bit I thought). The magnificent Julianne Moore plays Cathy Whitaker, a poised, cheery suburban housewife whose world of picture-perfect domesticity is just begging for a jolt of some kind. There are actually two jolts, delivered one after the other: first, Cathy learns that her businessman husband Frank (Dennis Quaid) is a miserable homo (quite against his will, which is very funny to watch), lurking around gay bars full of camp things drinking cocktails and shagging a young man over the desk in his office. Heavens to Betsy! Then, to add oil to the fire, Cathy finds herself seeking refuge in the company of her kind, proto-yuppy black gardener, Raymond (Dennis Haysbert). So many Dennises, so little time...

Performances are just this side of camp, just short of diving headlong into a Connecticut version of Coronation Street. Emotions are constantly bubbling under the surface but rarely poke their heads above the amazing production design, the lavish color-coded costumes, the psychedelically lush photography (by Edward Lachman, who shot 'Kids' for Larry Clark) and the '50s schmaltz of Elmer Bernstein's score (he has been scoring movies since the '50s, after all).

Moore soaks Cathy with buckets of optimism against the most ridiculous odds: the more her world falls apart, the harder she smiles. Watching that gorgeous smile collapse repeatedly in the face of one sticky situation after another, and then magically reappear is the best bit of the film. Don't wanna spoil the ending for anyone so I'll stop there. I loved the bit in Miami (heyday of big hotels and swimming pools) where Dennis Quaid showed us his lovely torso, the cars were great, the furniture and interiors were to die for (darling) and the costumes and hair stunning. But, and it's a small but (unlike mine!), I was left a little unmoved by the drama (unlike two weeks ago when me and Darren were reduced to snivelling on our sleeves at the end of 'Imitaion of Life'). Very enjoyable but not as good as 'The Hours'.

I've just found out that Julianne Moore had the same initials for her character in Todd's 'Safe' - Carol White. Spooky. Is she his muse now?

I don't watch much TV. But when I do it's usually the crass, cheap ITV type of rubbish that I enjoy. I'm currently enjoying 'Reborn In The Usa'. The Sonia -vs- Dollar stuff was priceless and had me and Darren howling. Thereza Bizarre made me wanna spit at the telly but it's a pity that Dollar won't be on next weeks show. Watch out for media fallout this week as David Burger-Van-Day scoops as much as he can from their fiasco.
The best voice on the show for me is Leee John from 80's homo-disco group Imagination. He sounds like Galaxy chocolate (if it could sing). Spookily, I came across a review of an Imagination album this morning from the NME in 1983 (20 years old and just about to be sold on e-bay):

'Imagination have produced another enjoyable LP that lures Youth to its Doom. All this music is very disturbing to an avid fan of mindlessness and cultural collapse like myself.'

I remember a particularly fantastic Top Of The Pops back then which featured Imagination, Patrice Rushen, Bauhaus and Honey Bane. Finger paused on the 'rec' button of the huge toploader VHS player and then watched many times over that weekend as various 'non-video household' friends popped round for coffee and a flick through the NME.

Well that was the week that was but is now nearly over thank Christ. This war thing is making my job very difficult. Ministers plans changing at the last minute, Ministers refusing to commit to stuff for next month (but still requesting all the bloody briefing in case they do), air-space agreements over Central Asia in turmoil causing Embassies to wet themselves.... blah blah blah. Stupid job. Stupid war.

It was my Dads birthday this week and thieves stole the paraffin heater from his greenhouse. Poor Dad. Twas also my first boyfriend Tom's birthday. Tom lives in Switzerland, is single, earns too much money and has a suntan all year round. Lucio (my second boyfriend) cooked a spanish feast last night in honour of Tom's birthday. Tom couldn't make it so Darren (my third and current life-partner) ate his portion. Paella with longuistines, mussels and pulpo. Fricken' delish. We ate late, Spanish style, and therefore got to watch spewing and shitting on Jackass (which always compliments a meal I find).

You did a marvellous thing for charity, you worried us (hope things are looking up) and you told a hair-raising tale about being a prison bitch.

Sharing a Billy Crystal moment with Darren by e-mail today.
'Wasnt Soap just brilliant. A homo on the telly who was camp-ish in a real-life way. He was randy, he had other gay friends, he wasn't in the closet at home, his life seemed amazing to me when I was 10. I used to watch Soap and that Elaine Stritch/Donald Sinden show (Two's Company) on my black 'n' white telly in my room on Sunday nights from 11 to midnight. I had a flesh coloured single ear piece I used to plug into the TV so mum and dad wouldn't hear.'

"Everyone's got their own straw to break their own camel with."
This chap is going to be fun to follow. Welcome.

"help! I've fallen........"

Very po-wah!
That's the last quiz I'm gonna do. Shocking response.
*storms off, coat tails a-swishing*

Back now. Thanks to the four entrants who made the effort. You, You, You and Mr Wiz (Sabrinas apprentice).
At 07.50 this morning I weighed 12 stone and 8 pounds. Which makes Blue Witch the winner with her guess of 13 stone and 3 pounds. Peter at Naked Blog guessed the weight 11 stone and 2 pounds which is actually the weight I should and would like to be. I'm going to try and score that goal over the next few months. So far today I've had about 20 biscuits (caramels, ginger snaps and a few shortbread) and 2 litres of water. Is that good?

Last chance to guess my weight (see below). I stood on the scales this morning and noted the needles point of rest. Results this afternoon. Remember, there's an awfully good paperback at steak, sorry, stake (food on the brain).

Duckie last night was mighty agreeable as usual. As the designated driver I only had three Bacardi Breezers, four cans of diet coke and a bottle of still water. Had to tiddle in the street near Brick Lane (I have such a small bladder). Darren and Lucio (he's the one not whistling) got very drunk (incoherently drunk) and Rob remained merely merry (he was over the moon to hear a Fox song from his youth). The punk rock tunes were spot-on as usual and I got to take a pee next to a Readers Wife (no, I didn't look).

The Sunday quiz in honour of Diamond Geezers birthday.
Guess my weight by looking at the photos of me here. I shall weigh myself on Tuesday morning (apres ablutions) and post the result. The nearest guess will receive a copy of the paperback 'The Fuck-up' by Arthur Nersesian. Stones and pounds please, none of that metric nonsense.

Remember, I enjoyed the pleasure of three 'all you can eat' buffets in Vegas, as well as doughnut breakfasts AND several extended meals in fancy restaurants with real paintings on the walls.

me in Calico with strange hair

Darren at Hoover Dam. He's not sure about those Starck specs but I love 'em on him so please tell us what you think.

can anyone explain/pronounce this?

You can have your Marsyas, this is big, breathtaking and beautiful.

I was considering buying some real estate down below but discovered I couldnt even afford one square centimetre.

Twisted and mean and really hard on the ass. Actually, the coaster was too.

Day 5
Drove to the Hoover Dam, took pictures of Lake Mead, HD was vast (but is not named after the famous cross-dresser, which was disappointing to learn), took the full tour which included a peek at the turbines in the bowels of the dam, ate pretzels in the cafe, drove back to Vegas, went to Paris, wet ourselves laughing at the mime in the Paris shops who was 'bothering' passers-by with his feather duster (he was very droll, honest), had a luscious late lunch here, back to the hotel to rest and prepare for our evening at the theatre, Blue Man Group at Luxor was exceptionally good, earsplitting, psychedelic, demented, absurd, ridiculous and grotesque, we might buy their cd, took a drive down the strip taking pictures of the neon at night, bought milk and cookies from Walgreens and ate them in bed before lights out.

Is there anything more faux beautiful than a large clump of newly opened daffodils at the base of a gritty tower block in Seven Sisters? It’s comparable to finding junky hypodermics in the gutter at the Magic Kingdom. What a magnificently dirty world we live in.

By the way, I can't give up any of those things on the list below. Because I don't do any of them.
Oh alright then, but just that one, maybe I do buy too much sour cream.

Day 4
Doughnuts for breakfast, took our hire car (neglected for the past two days) for a drive down the strip, Sahara was old skool, Golden Nugget was even older, downtown Vegas is nothing like it's uptown sister, downtown is bit more 'real', if the new glitzy part of the strip is Beyonce then downtown is Lil' Kim, terrified ourselves on the Big Shot ride on top of the Stratosphere Tower Hotel (me: "I can't look down, I can't look down"), best dinner of my life (honest) at Bellagio (chicken wellington, seven-spices lamb, sirloin, garlic asparagus, creme brulee AND chocolate cheescake; "paging Mr Creosote"), waddled round Aladdins back passage before bed.

What shall I give up for lent?
* pissing sitting down?
* beetroot blinis?
* smoking in bed?
* nipping farts?
* letting the dog lick my sour cream dipped cock?
* worrying the samaritans?
* home enemas?
* cheap whisky with cheap cola?
* stroking my barbers balls with my elbow?
* John Foxx -vs- Midge Ure debates?
* kicking down garden walls in Buckhurst Hill?
* changing the bed sheets twice a year?
* secretly wishing I was Deirdre Barlow slash Rachid?
* all of the above?

Day 3
Breakfast - and so it came to pass that we discovered the power of the Krispy Kreme doughnut factory in the Village Food Court here, coffee and doughnuts is a real fat bastards breakfast, more hotel exploring, New York New York (Darren put $10 into a slot machine, the jackpot on that mutha was $2m, he didn't win), Monte Carlo, Bellagio (this place takes the biscuit for utter American luxury in an imagined Italian way) and Caesars Palace, all mind bogglingly perfect and plastic and luxurious and trashy, lunch at a fantastic NYC deli in Caesars called Stage Deli (those huge cinematic sandwiches with meat falling outa them), back to the hotel, watched Jackass The Movie in our room (lots of man-flesh on show, which was nice), went next door to Luxor to see a movie about the Grand Canyon on the Imax screen (too scabby to fork out for a helicopter excursion to the real thing), ate egyptian pizza, walked back to Olde England and collapsed exhausted with cheese in my hair.

Day 2
Woke up here again, eggs, pancakes, french toast and coffee, head to Vegas, lunch in Barstow (which is the home of the U.S. Army National Training Center, Marine Corps Logistics Base and NASA's Goldstone Deep Space Network), lack of Dairy Queens forced us to eat here, two fun hours in Calico Ghost Town, the Sheriff was a blond stud in too-tight jeans and leather chaps, I tried not to stare but couldn't help myself (I jaywalked across deserted streets, I stole expensive soaps from the gift shop, I stood up on the miniature train ride while it was moving but he just wouldn't arrest me), drove into Nevada and made a pit-stop at Buffalo Bills in Primm to do this (big, tall, fast and fun), an hour later we were in Las Vegas and checking into our hotel and this was the view from our bedroom window ($10 extra per night to get a view of the roller coaster at New York New York Hotel opposite, worth every cent), explored Luxor and MGM hotels exhaustively and in awe, Darren bought us tickets to the Blue Man Group show for later in the week (ta chuck, twas brill), ate till we bust a gut at ye olde worlde rountable buffet at Excalibur and fell asleep watching the Manhattan Express do it's stuff.

Day 1
Woke up here, eggs over easy, bacon, pancakes, coffee, short drive to San Fernando Valley, Magic Mountain, park was quiet, Colossus was down, but all the others were running liked raped apes, Goliath was best, nice black-out helix at the end, X was worth the 2 hour wait but scared the pants off me, takes a lot to unsettle me but I was a wreck after riding it, $12 souvenir photo of my husband and I here, dinner in Culver City at Dinah's (50's diner as featured in The Big Lebowski), knackered and in bed at 9pm watching the Grammy's, The Clash/Strummer tribute was a nice surprise, ace day.

*Don't start the war without me*

I'm currently packing the Vuitton trunk for our trip to LA and Vegas tomorrow (actually, it's a Tesco carrier bag but I'm a homo with aspirations). Neil is going on and on and on about positive role models and I'm onto the 4th level of The Getaway. I gotta murder a bunch of art terrorists in the Serpentine Gallery. Pie and chips repeating on me. 3 Nytol before the flight should see me dozing over the pole and into LAX. El Segundo on Saturday night. Let's hope we don't leave our wallets. Back in 7 days.

Barry loved a trip to the lake in Olive.

This is a lovely heartwarming site.

"Nowhere else on the web will you find such dedication to these poor, confused animals. Where are they being taken? Will they be coming back? What happens if they need to go to the toilet?"

Click on gallery 34 and reach for the kleenex.

What's he dreaming about?
Remember when advertising just used gratuitous female nudity to sell us stuff? *Dave grabs his coat and heads out to the bookies*

Readers Wifes play Madame JO JO's on 6th April 2003.

Please read.

Went to see The Hours this afternoon. Very good. Not an upbeat movie with a happy ending (just how we like 'em). It’s an introspective, sad and depressing look at three women’s lives linked in a profound way by a novel, Mrs. Dalloway.
How many women are unhappy with who they are and with the lives they are living? Millions. How many women secretly feel they are bad mothers, wives or friends, and hate passionately the role or path they’ve chosen or have been given in life? Millions. How many women don’t get help when they feel ashamed of their problems and give up on living as a result of their feelings or thoughts? Millions. Nowhere in this story is there a positive, helpful, or hopeful solution to the dilemmas these characters face. Just an introspective look at three women who needed answers and tragically, didn’t get them.
I kept staring at Kidmans nose every time she was on screen and I was overly intrigued and aware of the special make-up they used to make it look Woolf-esque. She delivers an incredible performance of a woman deeply disturbed and tormented by her own demons and depression (made worse apparently by living in Richmond, South-West London, hahahahaha!) and unable to cope with her life. In fact, there wasn't a stinky piece of acting in the whole film.
It's a beautifully filmed movie with an emotionally disturbing story, an incredible cast, a great musical score, and Oscars written all over it.

---------------------------------------------------

I'd totally forgotten just how good Killing Joke by Killing Joke was. Playing it now. Wow.

This time next week we will be at Magic Mountain in LA hurtling towards the ground from untold heights on one of these. Hurrah! Then we're gonna play the slots for five days here while dressed as Arthur and Guinevere.
Tacky? Moi? You bet!

Readers Wifes (the pop group) played at Duckie last night. Place was packed with new faces and a lot of them didn't bat for our team if you know what I mean. Still, we don't want to turn our glamorous nightlife into a ghetto (there's quite enough of that over the river in SOHO, or SOSHIT as we call it round here). Apart from 'Bitch at the Brits' I hadn't heard any of their material. Nice punchy electro sound with funny lyrics about boys, smoking, the Old Kent Road and other shitty aspects of a homo's London life. The band looked great in white t-shirts and pin stripe suits, very Oxfam-formal. They went down a storm and the single is out tomorrow (apparently it's number 1 on the Amazon pre-order chart). I found this review for the song on the Boomkat website this morning:

Erm, a strange one, this is one of those releases that reinforces our opinion that a certain aspect of 80’s pop culture should remain 6 feet under and rotting, please buy this release and burn it while chanting voodoo charms on the sad mullet wearing freaks that perpetuate this soulless excuse for music/fashion. Destroy at your leisure. Rank.

The kind of review that the Readers Wifes will cut-out, frame and cherish. Bless 'em.

I watched 'A Ma Soeur' this afternoon. God, it's good. I remember all the fuss at the time of it's release but had forgotten about it. Then he walked onto the screen with a hard-on. A real hard-on! In a 'proper' film. Nearly dropped me plate of beans on toast. Anyway, that shock was nothing compared to the last five minutes of the film. Stunning. The two kids who played the sisters were incredible and I guess that there are few Hollywood child actors (not to mention adult ones too) who could pull off anything close to what those two did. This should be on the syllabus in every school.

I love it when I come across a new blog and the writing is great and the design is cool and efficient. I like to read through some archives, take a peek at the comments from other readers and generally worm my way into the life of the person. Then I get excited when I see that in their sidebar is a link called 'gallery'. Woo hoo! pics! Then I look at 'em. Pebbles, rock pools, friends dogs, deserted beaches, trains, sunsets and feet! Where are the images of the writer? His friends? The folk he's having a pop at? The parties he's been to? His home? Surely when you start a blog and promote it you have some sort of longing to share your life with strangers? Those pebbles and sunsets tell me nothing about you other than your ability to point a camera at something you thought was pwitty. I think the 'gallery' should reveal more about the writer rather than his boring, artistic longings.
Sorry, I'll get me coat.

* How to be a small town slut.
* What's a queef?
* “Does my bum look big in these?” No bigger than it looked before you put them on you grossly overweight cunt.
* Man done ya wrong? Add his name to this. Frickin' hilarious.
* I've been there (but I didn't come up with anything this witty at the time).
* Please vote for Naked Blog here.

You get a good 'filling' at this dentist in Spain....

Don't tell your man what he don't do right
nor tell him all the things that make you cry.
But check yourself for your own shit
and don't be making out that it's all his.
Take a look around the world
you see such mad things happening.
There are a few good men
ask yourself if he is one of them.
Special Cases by Massive Attack from 100th Window

I hope it won't come to this. But if my PC continues to annoy the fuck out of me I'm gonna blow his pretty little brains out.

My weak end
My PC crashed and burned on Saturday night. Internal power supply problems. Won't get fixed till mid-week. What a pisser. Shocking how much I rely on it for home entertainment. Rob popped round for coffee and a spot of crochet on Saturday afternoon. We're making a 'quilt for peace'.

'Catch Me If You Can' yesterday. Liked it. Quite a misogynist movie. The women in the film are rotten:
* Leonardo's French mum is a coniving cow who left France not for Christopher Walken (the dad) but for an American life.
* a girl he meets in a hotel and wants to fuck turns out to be a high class hooker (this is ok though as she gets ripped off by him in turn)
* his girlfriend rats him out to the cops
* Tom Hanks ex-wife is never seen but portrayed as an evil bitch who makes him spend Christmas alone and restricts access to his daughter.
See? just plain evil.
One of Tom Hanks' deputies was a horny stunna called Frank John Hughes. Jet black hair, black single breasted 3 button skinny leg suit and specs. Woof woof! Here's a pic of him (from Band of Brothers, which I didn't watch).

Happy birtday to you!

The answer to the music question below is this:



Some big 70's flares and a shirt by Brutus would be good too. Oh, and a wrap of whizz for those all-nighters at Wigan Casino or the Mecca in Blackpool.
Confused? Read more here.

Anyone remember the bike theft public information film? Lots of clips of people reporting stolen bikes at a police station.

boy 1: - It's red with white handlebars...
boy 2 :- No it's white with red handlebars...
man in a suit: - What do you mean? a bike's a bike..How do you describe a bike ?
man with camp voice:- I'd rather not say what's in the saddlebag... it's personal....!

Then the punchline - peeved looking PC says:-
You won't believe this Sarge - someone's just nicked me bike!

I used to go to the local YMCA when I was a toddler (is it any wonder I grew up like this). I was in the Tufty Club and our local chapter was held there. Tufty was a squirrel who taught small children to cross roads safely. We had a big paper zebra crossing (actually a roll of wallpaper painted black and white) and pedal cars to use as traffic. We took turns crossing the road and driving the cars (you have no idea how many 4 year olds had bruised shins from collisions with pedal cars). I obviously paid no attention as I was knocked down by a car when I was 5, an accident which broke my ribs and punctured my lungs. Stupid Tufty.
Click here to play a game based on the original 60's game by Spears and The Royal Society For The Prevention Of Accidents (Tuftys shadowy organisation devoted to squirrel world domination). Click on Tufty's head to hear him talk! Scary.

Did you know that Kenny Everett voiced Charley in those famously bad public info films?

Joe and Petunia

Popbitch had a link to the Readers Wifes video for their single 'Bitch at the Brits' but have now taken it down as it was too popular. Drat! I was gonna have a shufty tonight. Bitch at the Brits will be the first release on Popbitch records. I love the Readers Wifes. So does Jonathan Ross (apparently).

Which bathroom product do I need to fully enjoy songs by Patrice Holloway, Jerry Williams, Bobby Paris, JD Martin, The Fuzz, Dean Parrish, Doris Troy, Bobby Bland, Kim Weston, Wendy Rene, Nella Dodds, The Ideals, Cody Black, Jackie Beavers, Sam Ward, Rosco Robinson, The Invitations, Maxine Brown, Eddie Holman, Betty Everett and The Devonnes?
You will know the answer to this so give someone else a chance you swot!

There we were, tucking into a pie or three at a service station on the M6, when who should approach us and demand a photo opportunity? Westlife! Fuckin' stalkers.

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Stunning news to report! The worlds tallest rollercoaster will open later this year. At over 400ft (43 storeys high), Top Thrill Dragster will hit a top speed of 120mph and feature a 90 degree, 400ft drop. This is the view from atop the tallest point (look if you dare!). That's our summer holiday worked out this year.

We have a Technics multi cd player thingy which holds 110 discs. Last year before Christmas we emptied the machine and put all the old cd's back into their boxes. It's only the beginning of February and the darn thing is nearly half full again with Christmas presents and sale bargains.
The best thing about the machine is that when it is activated in random mode it selects a cd and then a track at random and plays it. It's just like having your own private radio station without the annoying banter in between the songs (I'm perfectly capable of producing my own annoying banter). Here's the current playlist on Spellcnut FM:
1. DIRTY VEGAS
2. UNDERWORLD-HUNDRED DAYS OFF
3. BJORK-GREATEST HITS
4. VARIOUS-IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS RHYTHM
5. CLASH-DISC 1
6. CLASH-DISC 2
7. CLASH-DISC 3
8. SUEDE-A NEW MORNING
9. THE JAM-SNAP
10. LEMON JELLY-LOST HORIZONS
11. SOFT CELL-CRUELTY WITHOUT BEAUTY
12. MISSY ELLIOTT-UNDER CONSTRUCTION
13. McALMONT AND BUTLER-BRING IT BACK
14. ROYKSOPP-MELODY AM
15. MOBY-18
16. MANIC STREET PREACHERS-FOREVER DELAYED
17. CBGB'S BIRTH OF PUNK
18. ORANGE JUICE-BEST OF
19. PENETRATION - DON'T DICTATE
20. LADYTRON - LIGHT AND MAGIC
21. JOSEF K - YOUNG AND STUPID
22. RAMONES - DISC 1
23. RAMONES - DISC 2
24. DEXYS MIDNIGHT RUNNERS - 1ST AND 3RD ALBUMS
25. PEACHES - THE TEACHES OF PEACHES
26. CHI LITES - BEST OF
27. KING TUBBY - 1973-1976 DISC ONE
28. KING TUBBY - 1973-1976 DISC TWO
29. PINK - MISSUNDAZTOOD
30. ELVIS COSTELLO - BEST OF DISC ONE
31. ELVIS COSTELLO - BEST OF DISC TWO
32. ESG BJORK GIRLS ON TOP 12"
33. LIZZY MERCIER DESCLOUX - PRESS COLOR. GRACE JONES
- NIGHTCLUBBING
34. FEEDER - COMFORT IN SOUND
35. FOO FIGHTERS - ONE BY ONE
36. THE MUSIC - THE MUSIC
37. ELTON JOHN - BEST OF... DISC 1
38. ELTON JOHN - BEST OF... DISC 2
39. DAVID BOWIE - BEST OF... DISC 1
40. DAVID BOWIE - BEST OF... DISC 2
41. NEW ORDER - RETRO - POP
42. NEW ORDER - RETRO - FAN
43. NEW ORDER - RETRO - CLUB
44. NEW ORDER - RETRO - LIVE
45. FLEETWOOD MAC - VERY BEST OF - DISC 1
46. FLEETWOOD MAC - VERY BEST OF - DISC 2

Back from the frozen North. Showed Darren the sights of Ashington. That took ten minutes. Brilliant picnic in sub-zero conditions near Haltwhistle, overlooking the Pennines. Stunning sight-seeing-scenery-stuff as we cut through the Lake District and down into Lancashire. Mams and Dads were very hospitable (though both sets of parents thought it 'best' if we slept in single beds!). Had fun and didn't expect to. Which is nice.

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Was anyone else scared shitless by
Raggety when they were a kid?
Or even now?

Ainslie from Fame Academy.
Suggestion for CD cover.
(as seen on Popbitch)

The doors on our car were frozen shut tonight. Luckily, we weren't in the car at the time. Good job too or I'd have been forced to wear that spare pair of tights I carry round with me everywhere (I'm keeping them for when I go to my ice-dance class).
Tomorrow after work we drive up to Newcastle to spend 2 days with my Mum and Dad. Should be, errr, fun. Then from Newcastle to Skelmersdale to see Darrens parents. In the loft at my parents house are hundreds of NME's from the late 70's and 80's, Blue Peter annuals, Rupert The Bear annuals and vinyl. I'm gonna auction my youth on e-bay.

I nearly wet myself reading this. You are very very good. Keep it up please.

Jack was great. About Schmidt was brilliant. Just gorgeous writing. Not a word wasted. Alexander Payne could be the nearest thing the USA has to Mike Leigh (forget the fact that Alex had a writing credit on Jurassic Park 3).

The Bowie quiz at the Retro Bar was fun. Him, him and me got 16 and a half out of 20. We didn't win though. Some swots had 18!
Got drunk, said hello to him (quizmaster general and player of the vinyl), ate pie and chips then went to bed.

Here's a dogs arse to cheer you up:

Off to see 'About Schmidt' now. Then to the Retro Bar for the Bowie quiz. C ya all there.

Darren has asked me to point out that the two fellas in the photo below are not really us (though that is the dog track near our house).

"Are you local?"
New boy on the block. Welcome.

Thats me and 'im indoors. 'Gorn to the dorgs' at the world famous Walthamstow Greyhound Stadium (just round the corner from our pied a terre).

Inflamed foodpipe = pain. Stupid intestines.
Saw Gangs of New York. Mostly impressed.
Watched Y Tu Mama Tambien. Nice scenery.
Watched Training Day. Macy Gray looked great in those long, pink, cock-sucking finger nails.
He fed us coconut creams and lemon puffs on Saturday afternoon. The lemon puffs seemed to calm my agitated foodpipe.

'It's not the numbers of people you've loved, had sex with, kissed, or given broken hearts that matters. The test is the person in front of you, naked or clothed, in the moonlight, under a blanket, on the bus, passing in the mall, or holding your hand. If you've fucked a thousand is no concern, as long as you love one.'
Another boy who writes like an angel.

'8 Mile - a hip-hop version of The Karate Kid. Just not as enjoyable.'
Hahahahahahaha, you crack me up.

The dogs bollocks.
It's a rant par excellence. Awesome and spot on. Puts this bloggies business to bed hopefully (don't forget to check out the comments). Jhames, you are the wind beneath my wings.

I sold my plastic car last year. I called her Olive cos she had the hue of one. 800cc of pure plastic power. I could drive this beautiful 3 wheeler on my motorcycle licence and I did for 3 years. Friends refused to ride in it and even my dog Barry would lie as flat as he could on the back seat hiding. Then I passed my driving test last year and Olive was a goner. I miss her. But now I get to drive Darrens car which is a Mazda with 4 wheels. And let me tell you, it's virtually impossible to tip the Mazda over while doing 30mph round a roundabout.
Robbie Williams has just bought a gold limited edition Robin Reliant 3 wheeler. Apparently theres a waiting list these days of 6 months for a new one. Who'da thunk eh!

I love New Order. I would see them play whenever they toured. They weren't that good live but that was part of their charm. Ramshackle performances and a crowd obsessed by their heroes always made for a good night out. Bass player Peter Hook had fabulous hair in the 80's. Then in the mid 90's he grew it long with a ponytail. Drat!
Here's his hair at it's sexiest.

At last! A new sound for 92!
In 1992 I made a record. It was called Fuzz Bass and I went under the name of 'Broadmind' (as I have one). I used a nasty old 4 track recorder, a very cheap casio sampler and an old bass guitar with one string. Vinyl used in the making of this modern masterpiece included some Sly Stone, Donald Banks and Four Tops.

I sent my cassette to a factory and two weeks later they sent me 1000 7" flexi-discs. I gave the discs away at various London clubs and sent it to most of the music publications of the time. Response was good and Jay Strongman in Sky magazine had this to say (very kind) and id magazine did a piece on the DIY disco boom in which I was featured (a copy of which I don't have, so if any fashion queens out there have any old id's from 1992 I would love a scan of that article).

I found some old copies of the flexi-disc last weekend and set about tidying it up a bit through cool edit pro. I mp3'd it and put it here (it's called Fuzz Bass in case you'd forgotten). Go listen.

My Mum and Dad in 1960. Good grooming runs in the family.

A major publisher (Macmillan) has taken the potentially controversial step of releasing a childrens book about a same-sex relationship. 'Hello Sailor' is about Matt, a lighthouse keeper, who constantly watches the sea waiting for his 'friend' Sailor to return. Sailor does return and the pair spend the night together in the lighthouse before setting off together to sail around the world.

"You've come back!" he couldn't believe his eyes. "Hello, Sailor!"
"Did you think I'd forgotten you? I thought we were going to sail around the world together."
They turned round in a circle, to get a better look at one another. It was almost as if they were dancing. Sailor was back!

This is what Amazon say about the book: 'A moving story of hope and friendship. Matt lives in a lighthouse. He watches the sea every day... for ships and for his friend, Sailor. Matt is so forlorn that Sailor has gone away that he almost forgets his own birthday. His friends say Sailor will never come back, but Matt doesn't give up hope. And, after his birthday party is over, his patience is rewarded, when Sailor finally returns.'

Macmillan hope that, to many young readers, it will simply be a book about the power of friendship. A spokesman said "one of the things children must get used to is the intense nature of friendship".

I see Matt and Ben in the big screen version.

Saturday night at Duckie. A queue when we got there! What's that all about? Ah! So that's why. A Smiths night. On stage at midnight, for one night only, 'The Smiths, The Musical'. Oh how we laughed at the puppet 'Morrissey' as he climbed the baked-bean stalk to meet 'Mrs Spatcher' and oh how we cheered when he clambered back down the stalk, chopped it down with an axe and caused Mrs Spatcher to fall to her death. All set to Smiths songs played on a little Casio keyboard. Marvellous. Give this man his own West End show. Other top tunes of the evening? Peaches 'Set It Off' and N.E.R.D.'s 'Almost Over Now'. I danced.

"Hello? is that Mr Scorsese? Can you hear me? It's me, Leo! Top 'o' the mornin' to you! Oi've bin werkin on ma Oirish accent and oi think eyes got it nailed!"

Do you like my new boots?


These slippers came free with the boots. Handy, huh?

him in the white shirt. moody cow.

I surprised the big fella tonight with news of a trip next month. We're going to LA and Vegas for a week. Swingers.

I went to the Batcave a couple of times in 1982. I was working down a coal mine (I loved the Lee Dorsey song so much I used it as a career pointer) in Northumberland so could easily afford the train fare to London a couple of times every month. I liked the Batcave. It had a reputation as a goth hangout but really wasn't. Lot's of moody looking lads in tartan shirts and flat top's would bounce round the dancefloor to Bauhaus, Southern Death Cult and T Rex. The club was a refreshing reaction to the 'funk' that was swallowing up London nightlife at that time courtesy of the Wag and Blue Rondo A La Turk. I remember a US army jeep parked beside the bar, I remember Nick Cave getting his hair caught in the low hanging netting that passed as 'decor', I remember the house band 'Specimen' being really atrocious and I remember the singer from 'Alien Sex Fiend' scaring the shit out of me. Would you know what I meant if I said it was very gay in a straight sorta way? Thought not.

It was at a Batcave night at the Scala Cinema in Kings Cross in 1984 that I first let a fella suck my cock while watching Warhols 'Trash'. Things were never the same again.

OOOOOOOO! I zink I'm getting a tumour.....
'Gangs' was sold out so we stayed in. Not sulking but dancing. Lizzy Mercier Descloux, black vinyl, ZE Records, outa NYC, 1981. Now on cd via cool edit pro. I left the crackles in there though. Sounds better with them. More 'historical'. Makes me smile when she sings Peggy Lee's 'Fever' but instead of using the word 'fever' she sings 'tumour'.

I knew there was 'more' to Frodo and Sams friendship.
(Thanks to The Plastic Cat.)

I've been pimping my 'babies' to Bentkid for his radio project. All seventeen of 'em. I tinker with various pieces of music making software but mainly use e-jay (cos it's idiot proof) and Cool Edit Pro (which is far from idiot proof). Bass-lines and a driving rhythm are important to me because of my ongoing obsession with 1970's Jamaican dub. Not that any of my stuff is that good or that laid back (I need to take a shit load more drugs to create anything as funky as King Tubby). Most of the tracks are trippy electronica speeded up to make your feet tap. I like to play the piano, glockenspiel and sometimes the harpsichord and find that these acoustic 'hands on' instruments sound real nice when slithered into an electronic soundscape.
I used my Rolf Harris Stylophone on track 1 and it sounds quite spooky (in a Scooby Doo sorta way).
Track 2 is a guaranteed floor filler round our gaff.
Track 3 has some magnificent piano work (though I do say so myself) and will probably get nominated for a Grammy next year.
Track 4 has very intricate glockenspiel and xylophone melodies and a Dr Dre bass line.
Track 5 has bagpipes and a Moroder-esque beat.
Track 6 will play over the opening credits to a porno movie one day.
Track 7 is just beautiful and was written to be played in the waiting rooms of psychiatric hospitals.
Track 8 has an uber-deep bass line and was much fun to channel through an echo chamber. Gorra gorgeous melody too.
Track 9 is to be featured in the next series of Twin Peaks (I shall probably be asked to do a cameo in the diner).
Track 10 features the sound of my Mum knitting. She's a big fan of melodic drum 'n' bass so this one's for her.
Track 11 was a collaboration with DJ Shadow (yeah right). Nice harpsichord on it (which was a nightmare to sync up with the piano).
Track 12 sees me fondling something Spanish. Silly you! it's a guitar.
Track 13 is very crispy and has a nice Northern Soul rhythm and some lovely Hammond organs.
Track 14 is sooooo upbeat yet melancholy at the same time. Boy, can I tickle those ivories!
Track 15 is the soundtrack to that post-coital cigarette. I got that bass-line last time I was in the ghetto.
If Sly Stone were alive today and was invited to join Pearl Jam then they might sound like tracks 16 and 17. Also a bit like members of Parliament or Funkadelic joining Korn.
Listen or download them here. Remember kids, Electroclash is for 3 months not for life.

A question: Why can't there be a movie that tells a strong story, is full of humor and pathos, is packed with powerful performances, and features a lot of explicit sex — hard-ons, cum and all? Sex is a conversation. Why can't a scene with two people having real sex be as dramatically interesting as a scene with them talking in a restaurant? Why can't there be a film that makes you say, "I laughed, I cried, I came!"
The genius behind Hedwig is preparing his next project. Bravo.
Thankyou Jonno for the news.

It wasn't snowing when I left home on my motorbike. Ten minutes later and, approaching Islington, the clouds burst and the blizzard began. My journey proceeded at five miles an hour because using any brakes in this weather is lethal. An hour and twenty minutes after setting off for a forty minute drive I arrived. The sloped ramp into the underground garage at work was like a ski-jump, I (s)kid you not!

mmmmmmmmmmmm.........!
Daniel Day Lewis' tache in Gangs of New York.

One of the funniest comments I heard last year....
"I can't believe Gary Glitter has been deported to Bangkok from Cambodia for kiddie fiddling. That's like sending Elton to Interflora."
Remember when Mrs Merton asked Noddy Holder from Slade if he was Jealous because Gary Glitter has a nightclub named after him? Apparently she was walking past her sons bedroom when she heard one of his friends say "I'm gonna take you up the Gary Glitter later".
Non UK readers please note, 'Gary Glitter' is rhyming slang for the anus. Gary Glitter = shitter.

* Saw 'The Two Towers' on Friday night. Classy.
* Had dinner here beforehand. Also classy.
* Went to Duckie on Saturday night. Watched a beautiful lady pull offal from her vagina. Classy yet still punk rock.
* Watched 'Human Traffic' on Sunday morning. Why are films about drugs really boring? Non-class-A.

You can stick your new years resolutions up your arse, these are different.
Things I want to do this year that I didn't do last year:

* try crack
* sleep more
* grow my hair
* lose a stone
* stop watching telly
* carry a camera everywhere
* see my mum and dad more
* wear dirty jeans and old t-shirts more often
* sell my 'stuff'

Shouldn't be too hard. The smoking thing isn't in there, nor is the one about the gym. Fuck excercise.

Me and 'him indoors' first had sex two years ago today. Nothings been the same since. If I believed in God I would thank him for making me go to that dump of a local gay bar on new years eve 2000. Love you.

Demanding to be read daily.
This site is a presentation of the diaries of Samuel Pepys, the renowned 17th century diarist who lived in London, England. A new entry written by Pepys will be published each day, with the first appearing on 1st January 2003.
A stunning concept and a fascinating read.

Quick Trixie! Draw a bath for me and lay out something chic. I'm going dancing here! Glamour! How can I stand it?

I've just stained my tighty whities laughing at this (s'ok though, they'll do for a few days more).

A happy McDonalds new year to you all.
The opponents of McDonalds (who were out in force and cheering earlier this year after the 'evil giant' made horrendous losses) are much more dangerous than their enemy. McDonalds sell burgers, fries and milkshakes. What do these opponents sell?
To start with they sell the idea that we are all witless victims. If you eat too many meals at McDonalds you become fat. In fact, if you eat too many meals, you become fat. McDonalds is now being dragged through the courts by some obese children whose lawyers claim it is responsible for their condition. As if McDonalds force feed people burgers. They complain that the meals are fattening! Er, yes. Since the failure of the McBroccoli happy meal, you shouldn't consume McDonalds at every meal if you want a fully balanced diet. We, the consumers, are in charge.
McDonalds have no power over us. If it doesn't please us, they will go.
McDonalds opponents sell a pernicious form of anti-Americanism. But McDonalds didn't drive out ye olde British food. They simply challenged horrible second rate restaurants and dirty caffs which were closed half the time. If McDonalds were British everyone would love them.
Indeed, if they originated almost anywhere else they would be lauded. I don't spot these people racing around the UK in balaclava hats chanting "down with Swedish welfare state imperialism" and smashing the windows of Ikea with a brown corduroy armchair.
They hate McDonalds because it is American. I, on the other hand, think this is the reason why so many like it, along with American people, their fantastic contribution to pop culture and the fact that they spent their money and sent their children to die to prevent this country being ruled by foreign dictators.
Of course McDonalds could improve it's environmental and animal welfare record. But who couldn't? Do you know how many homes would be without televisions, telephones, computers etc if we cared enough about China's environmental and human rights violations? Tens of millions.
The worst thing is though is how these opponents have sold the idea that a banal act such as eating a burger is political. They talk of consumerism, but there is no such thing. There is just consumption. I am not eating my burger for anybody, or against anybody or at anybody. Most of the time I don't even eat it with anybody. I just eat it, thats all. It's not a symbol of anything.

Daniel Finkelstein (the Tory who said he would kick seven colours of shit out of Jeffrey Archer if he ever saw him again). Lets hope they meet soon.

Brilliant site featuring crazy and disturbing album covers. Hilarious.





And, in the spirit of new years resolutions, look at these.....

Carry On Camping is on TV in five minutes. I might wet myself laughing. Tom went to NYC with the son of Bernard Bresslaw to see Mike Tyson fight. Fact.

Where....
is everyone? Cruising round blogland tonight and all I found was tumbleweed. Hello? Anyone there? Is everyone pretending to have a life? Pretending to be somewhere else doing something interesting? I know you don't have lives so you can stop this charade. I mean, why have a blog if you have a life? Duh!
I'll be glad when everyone gets back to work so they can start writing again on the companies time. Not that I'm lonely or anything.
*Dave turns to his teddy and feeds him a spoonful of breakfast cereal while balancing the telephone between shoulder and ear and listening to the speaking clock*

Bjork. Family Tree cd.
Penetration. Don't Dictate cd.
Josef K. Young and Stupid cd.
Ramones. Anthology cd.
Ladytron. Light and Magic.
DVD movies for winter nights: Rushmore, A Ma Soeur, Time Out, Harold and Maude.
Books about these.
Zoo Tycoon with expansion packs.
Good friends, good food and bad television at his house.
He couldn't make it as he had a hot date skiing in St Moritz on Christmas day. We did have a cable-car conversation though.

"The face of Strummer has fell from the wall and nothing is left where it hung". Aztec Camera, 1981.

Give Barry a scratch behind the ears from me Joe.

Like thousands of teenagers growing up in the 70s, punk and The Clash changed my life in a fundamental way. Their mixture of politics and music shaped my beliefs and tastes and made me the person I am today. Christmas is ruined.
Moby

What a shock - old punks never die they just stand at the back.
Nicky Wire, Manic Street Preachers

Numb, gutted & shocked - 3 words that sum up how I feel. Passionate, principled, genius - 3 words that sum up Joe Strummer.
Martin Scorcese

The Clash were a major influence on my own music, they were the best rock n roll band. Thanks Joe!!
Bruce Springsteen

Joe Strummer was a man who wasn't afraid to voice his beliefs. A passionate, vocal, sincere olde punk. The Clash produced a contrast to the nihilism of the Sex Pistols, and educated an audience about the realities of the state. Music has lost one of its true rebels.
Ken Livingston, London Mayor

The most profound voice of any musician I have ever heard, Joe took his message to the world and the world listened. He managed to influence more than one generation with his innovative and determined manner and I am not alone in repeatedly turning to his thoughts and lyrics when searching for inspiration.
Bono

Shocking news - The Clash had a massive influence on me in my teenage years and even now, 25 years later, hardly a week goes by without one of their albums featuring on my CD player. In the week that yet another dreadful, manufactured 'band' hits the charts Joe is a reminder of what music really should be like. One of the greatest songwriters and musicians of our time, he will be greatly missed.
Neil Tennant

God Bless him. He brought me many good times, happy moments and adrenalin rushes. London Calling will be the lasting testament to his muse and through that he and the rest of the band shall achieve immortality. One of the finest albums of the Twentieth Century and one of the most influential musicians of his generation.
John Peel

A tragedy, I saw Joe Strummer and the Mescalores play a gig for the fire fighters a few weeks ago. They were great and a real return to form, a sad loss for music and the left.
James Dean Bradfield

The Clash were innovative, radical and helped drive a change in music that was ground-breaking. In comparison to some of the music today they sounded like they meant it. I still listen to their music today to remind my self what music made with commitment sounds like.
Chrissie Hynde

The Clash turned punk into a proper political movement, and Joe Strummer showed recently that he still had much of value to say. It is a terrible tragedy to lose him at this early age.
David Bowie

A true genius, a man of class and convictions. A personal hero. I can't believe he is gone. My heart goes out to his wife and children
Mike D, Beastie Boys

I can't believe it. Joe was as huge an inspiration to me now as he was in 1977. He combined cool with an uncompromising stance, infused reggae into punk and taught a whole generation of us more about politics than any number of teachers or politicians. I desperately wish news of his death was untrue. Joe - you were the best.
Iggy Pop

Still here and keeping an eye on you all.
Merry Christmas bloggers!
*Dave pours another plastic cup of sherry and helps himself to his 173rd Cadburys hero while ignoring colleagues pleas of "those were bought for the whole office you know!"*

The golden wedding anniversary party turned out to be a gathering of racist rednecks with a taste for bad karaoke (like there's any other kind). Horrific.
Sunday was nice. Mum, Dad and me went to the Baltic Art Gallery. The art was lousy but the building was beautiful. The new footbridge connecting Newcastle and Gateshead is now flanked by two huge Julian Opie installations. The bridge was raised to let some sailors leave Newcastle. I waved my hanky.

Office christmas lunch today at this ancient establishment. Fine dining rooms overlooking the Thames I'm told.

Darren took me to Joe Allen for dinner last night. Gorgeous grub at this classic 'luvvie' hangout. Resting actors as waiters, c-list celebs buttering up their agents, rich dykes in suits drinking brandy at the bar and the best NY cheesecake in London. An ace treat, ta luv.

Off to Newcastle tomorow on a big fast train. To see Mum and Dad and trade christmas gifts. It's also my great aunts golden wedding anniversary party so should be a good opportunity to go round the room telling a pack of lies to various relatives I haven't seen in years. "Oh! Your Mum never told me you got married and have two little girls".

My Mum and me 22 years ago.


It's my birthday today.
In the 60's they didn't tell you to stop smoking and drinking if you were pregnant. Not that my Mum smoked anyway but I think she liked the odd glass of sherry. Legend has it that I was induced by a greasy funfair lad. My Dad had taken my nine months pregnant Mum to a christmas fair in Newcastle. They went for a spin on the waltzer (that's a tilt-a-whirl for our American readers) and the greasy funfair worker spun their car a bit too fast. Bingo! Waters broke and Mums second ride of the day was in an ambulance.
I was a large baby. 9 months of chips, lard, bacon and cheap chocolate had ensured that both me and my Mum had grown quickly and substantially. So substantially that the doctors decided I was way too big for my Mum to pop out as she is five foot two and is classed as 'petite'. I entered this world through caesarian section which was not as common as it is today. In fact I left hospital two weeks before my Mum and was cared for by my Grandparents.
My Mum likes to tell the story of how, in those days, they didn't sew the caesarian wound closed, they stapled it shut. She even kept the little metal clips they used on her and when I was naughty she'd get them out to scare me and say "look what I went through for you!". Bless.
Anyway, thanks Mum (and Dad). Thanks for going through with it and thanks for making me.

This morning at 7.30 I was sitting up in bed playing 'The Getaway' on my PS2 thanks to my BF. The streets of London were littered with bodies due to my atrocious driving. Tonight is a special surprise from him but I was told to iron a nice shirt so I better dash and do it and then make my way to work.

What do you want to be when you grow up?

.......Happy.

I'm 38 tomorrow.
When my Dad was 38 I was 14. For my 14th birthday I received the Ramones album 'Leave Home' and a border collie puppy which I named Sheena ('Sheena Is A Punk Rocker' being my favourite track on that album).
If I had a 14 year old son with a birthday tomorrow I would buy him that Ramones album and get him a rescue dog from here.

Blimey! Can't believe I've been working so hard lately. My assistant left to have a baby two weeks ago. The father is my boss. His wife was not pleased. Water cooler romance. I gave them my blessing. Anyway, the cow has left me in the lurch and now I have to do her work (which was originally mine which I foisted on her) as well as my own. Feckin' fertile females.

Manic Street Preachers were great. We squeezed down the front with a couple of stellas (beer not McCartney) and rocked out with the straight boys. Actually, we just nodded along with the other 30-something's around us. Didn't want to spill beer on the Armani duffel coat in front of me. Holy Bible received short shrift, the proles responding, naturally, to the big anthems like 'Design For Life'. We were drunk when we got home so cooked up a batch of Aberdeen Angus beef sausages and watched the Sopranos. Twas a grand end to a grand weekend.

Weird dawn dream this morning. Chick Corea was inserting LSD spiked suppositories up me whilst Hattie McDaniel wandered around the bedroom tut-tutting at the way I fold my t-shirts. Bruce Weber was on a paint splattered step-ladder shooting the whole scene. Needless to say we all looked fabulous.

Turned onto them late but so glad to be listening now. Dirty Vegas debut and the latest from Underworld. Cock rock electric.

They Shoot Horses Don't They?

Big beautiful Bluewater. Yuletide presents obtained safely.

My bf can now see my rugged handsome features so much clearer thanks to Phillip Starck. Ready for collection in one hour sir! How modern is that?

December 21st 1994. London Astoria theatre. Last time I saw the Manic Street Preachers. Richeys guitar was plugged in. Brixton Academy tomorrow. Big boys now. Anyone want a Playbill?

Turned down free tickets to Primal Scream and Black Rebel Motorcycle Club tonight. Whats wrong with me? Actually I have knitting to finish. Half completed shawl for incontinent Grandmother. Watch those needles fly!

In court yesterday.......
........when prosecuting attorney Louis Miller asked if Michael Jackson suffered from memory problems, he replied: "Not that I can recall.''
The more he fucks up the more I like him.

The black pill-box hat with veil are back in the wardrobe now but the black arm-bands stay on for another week.

Lakeside tomorrow with Darren. Getting stuff for Santa's sack. Manic Street Preachers on Sunday at Brixton Academy.

Barry loved the Manics. He made me see the genius in that difficult third album 'The Holy Bible'.

And in these plagued streets of pity you can buy anything
For $200, anyone can conceive a God on video
He's a boy, you want a girl so tear off his cock,
Tie his hair in bunches, fuck him, call him Rita if you want

"Goodbye to you my trusted friend........"
Barry.
April 1990 - 2nd December 2002.


You told me to lie on my bed on the floor
then left me for eight days
though to me it seemed longer.

In circles I turned and turned
searching for a way
to lie on my bed on the floor

and keep an eye on the door.
When John came we walked and played
for hours, though it seemed longer.

I knew you hadn't gone to the store,
but for an endless hospital stay
while I waited for you on the floor.

Each time the elevator door
opened, I'd bark and bay
hoping that it wouldn't be any longer,

that you'd be home before
the end of the day,
and we'd be in your bed off the floor.

We'd lie together with my paw
on your chest and stay
until morning, though it would seem longer.

When you came home just a little stronger
and I nosed and rubbed my favourite odour
you lay down on my bed on the floor
for an hour though to me it seemed longer.

ZURICH







We had nice Swiss food, saw the Swarovski christmas tree, the Santa tram, the best toy train shop in the world, stroked dogs in restaurants (that's right, how civilised), watched 'Flawless' and 'The Broken Hearts Club', set up Toms computer (been in boxes for 3 months), walked beside Lake Zurich and rode on a tram. Easyjet on time both ways. Miracle! Thanks for your hospitality Tom.

My hope today is for those who are sick beyond help. I hope that they sleep through the worst when it's 'that time'.

The number of people living with HIV in the world today has risen to 42 million. Five million people were newly-infected and 3.1 million people were killed by the disease this year.