6th january 2000

So what do I remeber about this night out on the eve of city playing burnley. I�m feeling kind of guilty about it all. My drunkeness and theft of random objects from the union bar. It�s funny but also slightly tragic when you end up with a chair and a fucking 50 litre keg. Cider! Why and how? Such innocent beginings.

Bored around the house after my keyboard practice. Working out a little tune that is ok by my standards. Then I left the house, dressed in my jeans and a blue coat. I think Em and Lyns are infront of me as I head down the street, in time for a deep hour.

Stop off to buy a couple of cans of stella from peg�s off licence - something like that - it could have been dot or someone. Then walk down to the roundabout by Asda supping my can. Thethought of seeing Kate Boyland slips into my mind as I wander past two groups of Northern youths. (13/ 14 year olds). Very interesting. But this is the main bit I can remeber.

I lie on a grass verge by halfords. Drinking and thinking. The gentle rain sprinkles my face as I watch the traffic go past. I am happy and content with my existance. I can find a hyponotic beauty to the lights as they drive past. The rumble of the vechles is a fitting soundtrack to the passage of time and 6 yellow streetlights cast sullen shades on the event. I think that this is wonderful as so much detailed light hits my retners and is processed by my brain. The result is magnificant.

I lie on my side. The alchahol having an effect and making my brain happier. Not a great deal of thought passes through my mind, I�m frozen in wonder. Time doesn�t matter. I know I can�t stay here forever but these kinds of moments draw yourself nearer to yourself. Rubbing away the bullshit to the creature buried beneith. Vacant memories of this time of my lefe pass by. I try to appreciate the moments I�m having. The housemates and us all leaving at the same time to reinstall cable TV. They�d cut us off gradually. �First we�re gonna remove the sports channels� no response. �now the movies� no bill payment iminant �right we�re gonna cut off everything apart from sky news and the shopping channel�. Then my mind is cleared of such thoughts as I am transfixed by the changing traffic lights.

the grass blows infront of my vision and I am sheltered from the cold from here. Everything seems right. I�ve no idea how long i stayed like this, but it seemed spiritually fulfilling.

It seems right to move on just as the rain increaces in it�s tempo and furocity. I am fighting against the winds and the elements as I head for my destination. I shelter in a hollow from the thrashing wind. A beakon shines to me, it is calling to me. A bright speck on the horizon. I stumble towards it but it is far away. Somewhat symbolic - I�m far away from where I want to be and don�t know where I�m going. I cannot make out the building so i have no idea where i�m headed. In the end I didn�t get there.

Pass Gala bingo. I would have felt more secure walking along the carpark . I feel on the edge, the outside of the action. Yet when I look down there is nothing but puddles in the empty tarmac but still I want to be there. 

In the union I buy more drink. Blurred conversations with Al and Adam retain some kind of imprint on my mind. One of Adams frineds introduces me to someone called Kate and we sit on the stairs for sometime. I do most of the talking. I�m pissed so I can mutter on uncontrollable and she laughs away. She has a boyfriend so nevermind. Perhaps she might want two.

After hours of cha(the phone�s ringing. let it ring) tter and flitting from upstairs to downstairs and buying more and more drink, fuelling the folding flab around my waist. Above - it kind of flops over. Orbitlal plays as i stutter for a moment from writing. Can i do this professionally? Time will unfold a path. I make the path as I forge forward, driven by deturmination or I am wavering and stranded.

A bell goes and a lone red starts to flash. It�s either a fire scare or last orders gone to town. I�m too pissed to care but we�re ushered awy down through the beer garden and past some kegs. One of which is currently in our celler.

Then I remember throwing up beside a caravan. An unusual way to end the evening, but as good as any, although I long for female company as the night passes into day. The next morning I wake up in bed (how?) listen to Paul McCartney and buy a newspaper from WHSmiths. David Beckham is a great talent but not a great player.