Back to Alex ArticlesEveryone's going on holiday, innit. Why doesn't everyone piss off in January when it's shite weather? It's only two bob to go anywhere these days: it costs more to see the Arsenal than go to Australia. I'm not sure if I want to go anywhere else - I'll stay here and play Perudo [Peruvian dice game beloved of Peter Cook and Sting].
A popular destination among many now is the rehab thang. Is there a game of "muppet-tag" going on? People are wigging out and booking in, and at any time, one or more of my illustrious colleagues is in one clinic or another, coming to terms with their badness. The awful thing is, no-one's drinking anywhere near as much or being anywhere near as ridiculous as in those heady days of the mid-'90s. As if to spite them, I cavort and carouse with extra vigour.
I probably shouldn't have re-read Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies, which would make your granny thirsty.
My gallivanting has taken me to the theatre a couple of times this month. Always drink gimlets at the theatre. What a joy it is to fancy one of the chorus and settle into happy dreams for the second act. As the play unfolded I mused what a delightful thing it is to be a bass player, where all your best ideas are had in your sleep, rather than having to learn all those lines and be someone else. A few gimlets will always give a man a sense of conviction.
It's "Fezzie-time" and the agents of the bands who performed at this year's Meltdown are all quietly smouldering that the festival with the best line up had the smallest capacity, so they can't all get their new swimming pools. It was a stroke of genius getting Scott Walker to organise it, him being the single biggest influence on the British music of the last decade. We could hardly say no.
I came into the dressing room to find Damon bully-ragging some poor fucker in a corner who was then introduced as Scott. Graham was looking on apprehensively. I pretended to eat some cheese, which had gone hard, and biscuits, which had gone soft. It's never like you think it's going to be when you meet people. The Festival Hall is very grown up and Radio 3. It was nice to make a racket again.
Always very agreeable is the Clerkenwell Literary Festival. It has the best vibe of all the festivals, being a very intimate affair. People were drinking absinthe and writing "poetry" about "bum orchards" at four in the afternoon. Nice work if you can get it.
I'm up and down like Elizabeth Taylor. I've reverted to a nocturnal existence, to being a night creature with swollen eyes, scouring the easy listening section for Randy Crawford and Glen Campbell: musical medicine. I like staring at things and Harry Potter. I fear it's time to sober up and put the CDs back in their cases. Cheerio!
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