Welcome to SimonTalksRubbish! I Hate Archives BritBlog Contact Tuesday 8.21pm 19/6/2007 Yet more laziness on updating this damned thing. Profuse apologies. Last week three lovely occasions happened. The first was going to my new favourite band Nelson's (left) gig in Highbury with Estelle. Sadly we got so drunk at her flat we misread what time they were on, and missed their set. However it was still a turn up for the books as we got to hang out with this hilarious band called The Sequins during the interim, and of course when the charming Nelson guys returned we were all over them like flies on a very beautiful and talented turd: shameless! They accepted our apologies with tremendous grace. Another highlight of the week was going for a stroll along the Thames with (currently unemployed) Naz. We took in the Tate, ice cream vans and the uber-fab Millenium Wheel featuring the Silver Surfer hanging from its beams. Just as our nattering was coming to an end, she got a call from Ebay, obviously begging her to up sticks and sell herself for a pretty sum on their website. I really hope she gets the job, the brainbox that she is (wink wink, I know she's reading this, but I'm being serious! Honest!). The next day Estelle and I went to another Nelson gig, this time at the Borderline, and it was stonking. Despite being put on at dead-o'-clock (7pm), they got a slim crowd into a tizzy. A band called Astronaut followed, who were hardly out of this world. We wrapped up the night with fond farewells to the band, three more rounds of cider, and a midnight raid on KFC Leicester Square, where we ended up chatting to a pair of teenage kids about music, sex awareness, and the reason why KFC is phasing out the mini-variety meal. On Sunday I met up with the world's most glamorous Farsi actress, Rose, a Poultrygeist chum. We went to explore the trail of Jack the Ripper. Soon after we took a trip up to London Fields to join Piers, Gwen and Ross for a picnic. In the evening we soaked up karaoke and got pissed in a gay bar. We discussed something which is potentially life-changing for me, and it couldn't have come at a better moment, but my lips are sealed! I also did something else over the weekend but can't remember. Alcohol was obviously involved. Well, harumph! That is onomatopoeic of what I am feeling right now: tired and fed up. Yes, this blog is getting boring and I'm afraid I'm going to close it. I started it almost 4 years ago, solely for the purpose of giving me something to read and fall asleep to when I am old, stupid and senile. Think I'll shut it on the anniversary. Might as well honour this thing with another fortnight of sporadic posts. Until then! Saturday 6.39pm 11/6/2007 Last night was brilliant! Went to the Proud in Camden with Kerstin and Anna, we were invited by Kas who does PR for loads of great bands, and this time round it was the excellent Films from NYC. A rather Strokes-ish bunch but younger, wilder and healthier. Even got to hang out with them for a bit which was quite an experience. After their set 90's wunderboys Ash played a surprise gig which totally destroyed everyone. With hits like Girl from Mars, Kung Fu and A Life Less Ordinary the crowd went apeshit and I swear we all thought the floor was going to give way, emptying us all down into a sweaty fissure of euphoric doom. I eventually emerged after being split from the others, only to find them waiting at the bar, drenched in bodily fluids, exhausted. Wednesday 9.47am 6/6/2007 Getting really slack with this blog. Sorry. I've tried to be a recluse and hole up with Big Brother all week, but it just isnt working. Marilyn and Kat lured me out for an end-of-exam piss-up and curry at SOAS, went to the Isle of Wight to chow on lobster with my gran, Ronnie dragged me up to Farringdon for a karaoke binge, went to a Miranda July talk/Q+A/discussion at the Serpentine with Julia, and then yesterday I went to a Graduate Fashion week do in Battersea. Got a press pass through Disorder Magazine which entitles the holder to free booze, cake and, rather oddly, cucumber sandwiches. But then it is fashion, daarhling. I've never been to a catwalk show before, but this one, for Westiminster, was great. I was lucky as they said it was the best one all week. Afterwards there was a monumental grog-fest where I got so hammered with this bunch of journo girls that we spent the rest of the evening discussing masturbation and comparing orgasms. On top of all this, I have started my new job at Peccadillo Pictures which is brilliant. After my first day we all went down the pub and talked for ages about films whilst getting trollied, they're a wonderful bunch and I think there's a promising future ahead with them. Oh yes, and all week I've been dreaming about tsunamis. This happened to me before two months ago. Relevance? Tuesday 8.42pm 29/5/2007 So what happened at Cannes? It all got off to a cracking start. This year I was staying with Sionann and her two buddies just a stone's throw from the Croisette. I met up with Henrietta, Dusie, Eliza and Sissel for several nights of drinking until 6am at the Petit Majestic. Hung out with Troma and did some funky parades. Saw this great band called Nelson at a Martini party. We also went to a party inside an igloo, but because of the blistering heat, the ice glasses melted in our hands, and we all slipped and stacked it around the ice bar and ice rink, breaking everything. Attended the parties for A L'Interieur, Persepolis, and Go Go Tales. Saw Gregg Araki's Smiley Face, Uwe Boll's Postal and Dungeon Seige, and the excellent Joy Division tearjerker Control (left). This year's red carpet flick I managed to sneak into was a shit Serbian 'comedy' called Zavet. I shouldnt have bothered, the only celebs who showed up were Jane Fonda and Tcheky Karyo, clue enough! As the festival started to wind down, my hands got the shakes (read: excessive drinking) and on my last night, one of the official Palme D'Or Mercedes' parked on my foot. Of course, I was so drunk that I hadn't noticed. Best random parties? The Slovenian party on the beach, because Slovenians are fucking cool, end of. And the Stockholm party in the Hilton, because that's where I got the Paranoid Park kids into trouble for forcing vodka upon them. I honestly didn't know they were fifteen. On the subject of kids, posters of Madeline McCann were all over the place? Why? How pointless, as if the tot was ever going to make a grand entrance, arm in arm with Tarantino, to the Death Proof premiere on the red carpet. A waste of money. Kids get abducted all the time. Whenever its a little Chinese or Indian boy, however, they never get a mention. Ludicrous. Tuesday 10.34pm 15/5/2007 Amongst the hoo-ha of the past week, the highlight was seeing Scragg in Brighton and getting horribly wasted on a bottle of Budgens vodka. Lowlight was, of course, Eurovision. What a travesty. Scooch, clearly the most inventive, funniest, kitschy and toe-tappingly marvellous of the Euro-bunch, were robbed. Thanks to those greedy, back-scratching, very sad little European countries that nobody has ever heard of, us Westerners who PAY (UK, Spain, France, Germany) for the competition, thus allowing them the honour of competing, were once again trounced thanks to their wretched cheating and block-voting. But then, why didnt France, or Belgium, or bloody Portugal give us any points? Do Europeans really hate us so? Scooch are not to blame, their song was ace. Although I can't understand why they introduced two permatanned Liverbirds into the deal as backing singers (above). Serbia were boring and ugly . And Ukraine was just a Kelvalite commandant with a fanny who didnt even sing any lyrics. Andorra, Belarus and Israel had great songs, yet they didnt even make it past the semi-finals! We should have taken a leaf out of Ireland's book by giving full points to the worst of 'em, Romania, much like Malta who gave full points to, er, us. After this debacle, myself, Hannah, Loz and Pip took a bottle of Lambrini down to the local karaoke bar to drown our sorrows. But hold on a minute, what's this? I implore you, reader, to rally behind your local MP and stamp out this scourge! Tuesday 11.51pm 8/5/2007 The weekend was a rather calm one after the frivolities of the past fortnight. On Friday I nestled on the sofa with a bottle of vino, some eggy bread, and a repeat of one of the new Marple episodes. Unfortunately it was the one with David Walliams (intensely irritating as usual) and the pair of lesbians who immolate the girl guide. I remember my grandmother complaining bitterly about that one, and for good reason. On Saturday I went to Rebel Rebel off Oxford Street with Shauna (left) to take photos for the Street Style pages at Disorder. However, as is the norm with gay clubs (the only difference here was that it was a rock club), it was a total slag magnet. The DJ did however play Cyndi Lauper's 'Goonies R Good Enough', so wholly redeemable that I am now of two minds about the place. Tomorrow I'm going to Brighton to a scriptwriting conference with Ellie, and then there's loads of other things to sort out before Cannes. Oh yes, and Roberta and I are going to show baby Ama 'Hannibal Rising' so that she can grow up watching the Lecter movies backwards, therefore securing a real privelege, that of saving the best till last: Clarice Starling! (I know, I skipped out 'Manhunter', but who don't we all?) Thursday 11.20pm 3/5/2007 I've done too much travelling this year. I need to settle down. Have been offered a job at a film distributor which is great, one I really want to work for who have put out some great movies (notably Ma Vie En Rose). This afternoon I met up with Ellie Cook again. Every time we meet its like fireworks, a synaptic mushroom cloud of blistering ideas and entrepeneurial gusto. Of course, I cannot indulge in what was discussed. That would hex the whole damned thing. Sunday 10.41am 29/4/2007 Greetings from Vienna! Rather than go into the creepy as hell 2am run-in I had at the Romanian border with the retarded children's magician who was pulling metre-long strips of vomit from his throat, I will tell of how wonderful Austria is. Yes, it is a bit like a big German suburb, and there is zero music scene, but the art museums are excellent. I am here staying with Troma pal Carlos, who has almost completed his comedy movie about Nazis, its a hoot. Last night we went to a poncy club called Kaiko (above) and then an okayish faux-industrial club called B-72. I was wearing Carlos' 'Tokio Hotel' t-shirt. They are a sort of Goth German S Club Juniors, and of course, like my S Club garb back in in England, nobody got the joke. Still, fuck 'em. We rolled back at 4am and watched 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Next Generation"', the movie Renee Zellweger tried to ban. Hmm what else? Oh yes, everyone, GO AND SEE 'SUNSHINE'! Thursday 12.32pm 26/4/2007 Romania is really fucking weird. They don't know how to drive, how to smile, and worst of all, they haven't yet fathomed the simple art of queueing, much to my annoyance. Still, the cigarettes are cheap, and the beer delicious. Upon arriving yesterday (Monday's plane was cancelled, thank you WizzAir) at an airport bustling with burly cab drivers snatching for your arm, wittering old hunchback ladies and random lepers, I went straight to the nearest hostel, the Funky Chicken, and met this guy called Ted who works in the Peace Corps. Once he had introduced me to all of his Texan friends, we all went to a glitzy casino (and promptly got thrown out) and then the Coyote Club for a very macho beer-fest. The Coyote Girls sang Dolly Parton and Lady Marmalade, whilst the mostly Anglophone punters threw booze everywhere. Lovely. Today I am going to meet the producer of a horror movie called 'Mirrors', and then I shall be off on the night train to Timisoara. Until then! Monday 00.46am 23/4/2007 Reader, for the past week I have been in Rome! Hence the delay of updates. Julia (aka Inga/Sofya, model extraordinaire) invited me, and she was invited by Cristallo, who is some sort of prince apparently. Boogied terribly at a rave on a tram that rattled around the little streets until the early hours, ate pizza upon pizza, attended the premiere of Shooting Silvio at a club filled with smoke, drum n' bass and cheap vodka, poked our noses about Odescalchi castle and visited the hallowed room where Cruise and Holmes tied the knot, swam in lake Bracciano, ate eels and gorgeous ice cream, climbed St. Peter's, etcetera. Upon my return I went to another Tom Robinson house party with Ruby and Maria in Merton. Got bolloxed of course. And then tonight Pippa snagged me some free tickets to see Dirty Pretty Things. I have only just returned. Now there are bags to pack, documents to print and socks to fill. Tomorrow, or rather, today, Romania awaits! (does any of this make sense?) Wednesday 1.44pm 13/3/2007 Easter Weekend was rather pleasant. I went with my pop to the Isle of Wight, which, despite my previous rants about the place, is lovely when the sun's out. Approaching the crag by ferry, I was reminded of 80's classic 'Hell Island' aka 'Slaughterhouse Rock', but only because I recently unearthed an old Devo album. Gran was in high spirits, she's selling the house, and we all got mighty bladdered at the local Thai restaurant. Most embarrassing moment was when grandma asked each member of staff how they were related to the owner, assuming that A) they were all Thai, and B) that they were the only Asians on the island. On the way back she let slip that she had kept a stash of painkillers from her last two hip replacements, "for when the time is right". Ominous, but understandable. Saturday was the Oxford/Cambridge boat race. Got totally wrecked with Ronnie, Maria, Alex, Stefano and Ruby. My brother turned up for a bit, but was duly frightened off by our dreadful behaviour ('someone' threw a Tesco chicken pie out onto the pavement, smacking a poor passer-by in the face). We then all ended up in what is now universally known as "the dreaded Fez club". Maria fell over and hit her head. Then threw up everywhere. Then ended up in hospital. Really, you needn't be Mystic Meg to have foreseen that. Thursday 10.01am 5/4/2007 The past two nights have been spent sponging off various PR shindigs. There was a journalist's dinner provided by our favourite PR people from Ladbroke Grove where we all got totally shizzled. Obviously the twit from The Mirror got lost and never turned up. The launch party for a band called Fortune Drive at the 100 Club was actually very good, although I think they've picked the wrong single to kickstart their chart-busting. The Shakes, at Madame JoJo's, were crap. Even worse, I was so drunk I accidentally told not only their PR rep that they were shit, but also an innocent little girl from Braintree who had just interviewed them for Chigwell FM or something, thinking they were the next big thing. On the way home, three occurrences confirmed London's frightening familiarity and why I must either get out of here or stay in more. 1: A woman outside Embankment station asking me for a light, and then saying "Want any sweets, coke, heroin?". I was game for a sherbert saucer but I don't think that's what the junkie had in mind. 2: So frequent are my visits, I am on first name terms with the Slovak girl at KFC Leicester Square. 3: Two policewomen walking completely nonchalantely across a puddle of blood, one saying to the other "Yeah, 'Premonition' was rubbish. Really rubbish." The multitude of ironies that came springing from this particular scene almost sent my brain into meltdown. Sunday 11.39pm 31/3/2007 Getting rather slack on the updates as you can see, but never mind. Since my last post, I have been scrimping and saving for a trip to Romania. More on that later. Bizarrely, I have been twice to the most boring club on the planet, Langley's in Covent Garden. Still, it was in the company of Ronnie and her pals so amusement was aplenty. We even met the black guy in the wheelchair who does all those basketball gymnastics, or something, in the BBC adverts (above). Obviously, being so blitheringly sloshed, I only found out about this the next day. You wonder why Ron even bothered hauling me into the photograph in the first place. Tonight I went to Guildford to see Naz and Rob, who have a lovely pad overlooking Surrey's answer to Wormwood Scrubs' in-house Alpha group: Guildford Cathedral. What a monster. Although surprisingly quaint when lit up at night. We ate curry, drank Bailey's, discussed why the turtle at the bottom of the totem pole in 80's cartoon 'The Paw Paw Bears' always did sweet bugger all, and smoked Marlboro Reds, ugh. If I had the money I'd move down there, London is just too much sometimes. Friday 3.13pm 23/3/2007 Last night I went to the launch party for the new Wrangler shop on Carnaby street with Taylor and Leigh. Got utterly pie-eyed on vodka and elderflower presse cocktails (!) and red wine, not just because it was free and I'm a terrible boozer, but because the whole event sucked. The Vinyl Factory is one of those awful whitewashed underground 'spaces' with strobe lights all over the place, where you'd expect to see Patrick Bateman schmoozing over a bellini. There were also masses of PR and fashion floozies swanning about the place, occasionally stacking arse-over tit on a puddle of wine. The company was so dull I even resorted to eating a bap off the floor to horrify the model sitting next to me. Suffice to say it worked a treat. Calvin Harris DJ'd for a bit, but you couldnt even hear him the sound system was so crap. Well, we mosied off down to Trash Palace after that. All I remember is making two trips to KFC and an Australian guy who tried, unsuccessfully, to woo me with a mini-fillet. Sunday 1.51pm 18/3/2007 What with all the hoo-ha surrounding the Eurovision Making Your Mind Up debacle, I felt I should give my two cents. Obviously I voted for Big Brovaz, as they had the best song. However I can see why they didn't get far. Its all very well having a black Bucks Fizz, but they would never sing rap, or whatever it was they were yelping. As for Cyndi, she had the best voice, and a song that would have almost certainly won us the contest, but then she is French, and that is simply not allowed. Then you have Scooch, who had the worst song, the worst stylist and some dreadful double-entendres. But how British can you get? And by having the event on Paddy's Evening, the majority of the nation will be drunk and vote for the stupidest act (see: Daz Sampson).They deserved to win. Come May, Britain will be raising their pints to Flying the Flag's surefire nul points. Tuesday 10.53am 13/3/2007 Last week was deadlines and diets chez Disorder so was mega busy on that... and the homoerotic Edgar Allan Poe script... Also went to a few screenings. 'The Breed', a marvellously shit killer pooch movie with Michelle Rodriguez running around a desert island teeming with pine trees. Taryn Manning was also in it, looking suitably coked up for about fifty minutes, by which point her death-by-carousel was a welcome repreive. 'Straightheads', a rape-revenge tale which was terrific until the halfway point where it completely fell to pieces, thank god Gillian Anderson rescued it with her superb performance. Then there was 'The All Together', a really awful British comedy, rather like the ten-a-penny ones that would be churned out when the film council was flush with lottery funds in the late nineties. The weekend was spent in Gothenburg, Sweden, with Ana. The place was rather dull and wet, but we got to enjoy an elk sighting (sans antlers, unfortunately), a posh Netto, and a fantastic nightclub called 'Sticky Fingers'. Hum, I think that pretty much sums up the week. Oh yes, and tonight's shindig at the House of Lords with Tessa Jowell has been cancelled because Ronnie, my parliamentary blagging connection, has the flu. Bugger! Sunday 10.47am 4/3/2007 I don't think that I mentioned I finally got my Space Invader tattoo done, so yes, I'm mentioning it now. Had it done in New York a fortnight ago for only twenty squid, a pretty price. So, since getting back obviously another pillar of the Putney community had to do a runner in my absence, and this time it was the local Burger King. The locale is falling to pieces I tell you. What will replace it? Probably a Pretorian gastro pub. The horror. On Thursday I went out with Darcy who is here on a press tour, all expenses paid, for an article she is to write on the lesbian scene (ha! there is none) for her NYC mag. We checked out the Lounge on Shaftesbury Avenue (awful), Trash Palace (safe bet) and then the terrific Ghetto. Don't remember much as we were pretty smashed by that point. Friday I got to see my god daughter Ama who I'm telling you is going to be beautiful. Square face, long legs and enormous eye lashes. A shame her dad has done a runner, but Roberta seems to be coping fine, I don't know how she does it, what a legend. Last night I foolishly went to the dreaded Inferno's in Clapham with Ronnie and Simon, a dangerous combination. Simon has a tendency to drop shot glasses in our drinks, and whenever he does this Ronnie insists on chasing them with a bottle of V Ice. You know you're in a shit hole when there's V Ice at the bar. Well, thank goodness KFC was still open when we crawled out. Perhaps they'll open a branch in Putney? I can think of a perfect location that has just become available. Monday 11.10pm 26/2/2007 Since returning from NYC I've been keeping busy working on a script and finishing up things with the magazine. Besides the stress of work there has been time to play. Friday night I met up with Shauna after what seemed like an offensively long period apart. We regressed to bad habits by enjoying our age-old party technique: with a litre of 7UP and a litre of Grant's vodka under each arm we invaded a house party in Oval. I remember little else. Today was Emma's (who I did the Troma parades with in Cannes 3 years ago) marriage to Arsenio (who worked the cameras on 'Poultrygeist') way out in Aylesbury. Having it in a registrar's office is a terrific idea, much more personal (you get to put on your favourite CD for the march) and less distracting than a crusty old church. Admittedly my eyes were a little moist, but really it was quite lovely to behold. A stupendously busy week is ahead, what with finally getting to meet and play with my goddaughter Ama, a scheduled bitch-fest with my Mum about the NHS who are screwing her around with the tumour operation and then maybe a visit to Brighton to see Scragg. Then there are the 'Dexter' DVD's Zara gave me. Yummy! Oh yes! And Shareeka got the Spirit award for best actress. She deserved it. Wednesday 11.56am 21/2/2007 Last night was rather similar to the SNL party of last week in that it was populated by 'people' who I didnt recognize but are actually rather famous in their own little coterie of scenesters, drag queens and DJ's. It was a dolly launch party at Room Service in the Flatiron district. Sharyn, my friend who edits GO!, a lesbian magazine here, told me it was the party to be at on Tuesdays. Anna and I got liquored up and went for a boogie at around 11pm. Pneumatic socialite Amanda Lepore, 2-bit tranny dullard Jodie Harsh (it was her birthday), and DJ's Cazwell and Princess Superstar were there. There was also a really crap transgender burlesque show. Paled in comparison to Darlinda's Polyester Players who we saw at Galapagos the other night. Anyway, we got royally smashed and actually met some nice folk amongst the fake. Got back at an ungodly hour and ate soggy dumplings, breaking half the crockery in the kitchen. Sunday 12.59pm 18/2/2007 Highlights of the week: Being ill for pretty much most of it and staying cooped indoors for a whopping five days. Swanning though the Moma taking in the delights of Seurat and Signac: No fucking Felix Feneon which was a shame. Inadvertently drinking Anna's vomit from my pint glass. Crashing The White Room with Drunky Brewster, the place is a pretentious hell hole gallery cum club full of poseurs. Drag Queen of Hip, Chloe Sevigny, was there. Getting totally mashed in various bars around Brooklyn, meeting the Playgirl team once more and gossiping about the College Hunks model who is now in prison for murder. Discovered that Poultrygeist is going to get a theatrical release in the UK! Peckham multiplex watch out. Lloyd has also been selected to judge on a panel at the Egyptian Kids TV network, rather worrying. Meeting Shareeka Epps(above) for an interview way out in the sticks that is Binghamton. And a lovely, smart cookie she is, too. Her friend Xavier was a hoot. She also made some wonderfully disparaging remarks about Alien vs Predator 2. Am now off to watch a movie at the Angelika with Brady. Hopefully 'Factory Girl' - ha ha! Monday 3.21pm 12/2/2007 Since arriving in Brooklyn to stay with Anna and Zoe, old Troma connections of mine, the candle has well and truly been nuked at both ends. Thursday night there was a performance piece at the Delancey Lounge where an old acquaintance, Trina (above right), climbed into an enormous spandex balloon inside a fountain. With an audience of mostly drag queens and a bubble machine going haywire, the whole atmosphere was rather more feverish Limbo than soporific Eden. Friday was a trip down memory lane as Anna and I got truly wrecked at Zablowskis, a great little pool hall bar where the gin is cheap. The Galaga arcade is the cherry on top. Saturday night was just too much. Went to a house party and bumped into Trina again (this happens quite a lot here) then went to the Rubulad with Anna and Chelsea but it got raided by the police. We hooped over to Soho where Adam and Zara got us into the Saturday Night Live After After party (!?). Lots of famous comedians who I didn't recognise were there although I did notice Kenan of 'Good Burger' fame! Stayed until 7am and stole a litre of Grey Goose. Tuesday 3.16pm 6/2/2007 Lo! Today I finally got started on the box of duty free Marlboro Lights from Dubai. Avast, wretched JFK Airport ciggies! I have done with you, now to tuck into these fresh beauties. And my, they are a gazillion times tastier. And today it was really important that I savoured these. They put such a spring in my step that I completely forgot to notice Dakota Fanning's skeletal mug that adorns the 'Charlotte's Web' poster at the local bus stop, a horror that has been catching passers-by off-guard for the past two weeks. Tomorrow I'm off to NYC, only for two weeks, and I fear I won't be going back for a very long time afterwards. So best make the most of it, then. Sunday 3.45pm 4/2/2007 Another weekend's jetsetting. This time it was Madrid in the company of the gorgeous Jessie, who is studying to become a professor, clever gal. Saw the Guernica, the Recycled Cathedral (left), the Prado and Chinchon, a hilltop town famous for garlic, lemoncello and bull fighting. All this sightseeing provided plenty of amusement, however the trip will probably be best remembered for our calimocho-fueled bitch-fest over a DVD of 'Marie Antoinette'. The first of Coppolla junior's films to feature behind the scenes footage, watching it will make your eyes bleed. The hipster slag is utterly clueless. Tuesday 3.16pm 6/2/2007 Rachel Stevens' fan site is now closed. Does this mean her once glittering career has ground to a halt? Myspace.com have also deleted my faux Abu Hamza profile, the unfunny bastards, either because they fear the hook-handed one might be grooming a fresh league of deluded fanatics, or because he'll want to sue them for hosting a website that revels in his defamation (ie: takes the piss out of a hook-handed cleric). It is a sad day for webdom. My Myspace for Ginevra Fanshawe, however, is alive and well. Monday 8.03pm 29/1/2007 After a five day sojourn in Paris, I have returned to the chaos of London. Getting my phone nicked at the Dupleix by some skanky racaille bastard has not helped things. So much weird stuff is going on in all aspects of my life right now, it's quite surreal. This is all seeming rather a lot like last January, except this time round I'm not taking the easy route out. A timetable has been set and some long planned ideas of mine are going to be set in motion. Not in September as I had originally meant to do, but pronto. Rather like the meek and resistful Lucy Snowe, "I must be goaded, driven, stung, forced to energy". But will I ever reach Villette? Thursday 9.03pm 20/1/2007 A tenuous coincidence, but one that is worth mentioning: on the very day Jade Goody is evicted from the Celebrity Big Brother House, I receive my DVD of Agatha Christie's 'Appointment With Death' from HMV. Incredible! The button-nosed monster is surely doomed? Still, I suppose Lauren Bacall and Piper Laurie are worse off. After all, they starred in a Michael Winner movie. Wednesday 2.22am 17/1/2007 A week later, and another booze fest with Ronnie to report. Tonight we went to a screening of the new and buffed-up print of 'Dirty Dancing' courtesy of Lionsgate, who also provided a whole load of Maltesers, lovely. Unfortunately, a bottle of Bells that we smuggled into the cinema was rather damaging to the psyche, and thus we completely lost the plot, what precious little of it there was. A bit of bar hopping ensued. Whatever. I am now a bit worse for wear, which is actually rather helpful as there is this script I've been paid to doctor which is absolutely dreadful; about a bunch of boys in an old mansion summoning some demons etcetera. Any liquid that can dull the pain as I type/amend/abridge is wholly beneficial/appeciated. Other news: Mum's been diagnosed with a cancerous tumour: this is really shit. Apparently all will be good and dandy according to the old Vera and her doctor, but can she be trusted? She may be acting 'modest' ie: lying to me. But I'm hoping it'll be otherwise. Thursday 5.42pm 11/1/2007 Welcome, Ama Chahey, to 2007, the year of your birth! Here is Roberta's baby girl, and my god daughter, who was born five days ago. Isn't she a picture! One alarming matter: Ama is without a doubt a half-cast baby, maybe even a white one. Someone's telling porkies. Wednesday 2.03am 10/2/2007 Tonight Ronnie and I went to the Royal Mail Beatles launch party (something to do with stamps) and got royally fucked. The canapes were incredible, in fact we actually got full-on meals; sea-bass and sticky rice paired with figs n' cream. And booze was plentiful. It was a real shame, because Giles Martin (son of George) and McCartney's own Hamish Stuart were there putting on a great set, and none of the networking-obsessed parliamentary cow-towers (the invitees, including boring loner, Geoff Hoon) could give a fuck, they were in the room next door, hob-nobbing. In fact it was just me, Ron, and two pairs of old time rockers who were actually giving it some welly. Suffice to say, we got really really wasted. And then ended up in a bar next to the London Eye chatting to an American girl called Wren and a PR ninny from the WI who at least bought our drinks. I gave the Yank my limited edition Beatles stamps which were in our goody bags. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Tuesday 2.38am 9/1/2007 For all you smarmy Mystic Meg's out there, yes, you were right. Tonight's prediction rang true. I am sozzled off my rocker. There is an enormous lump on my forehead, and from what precious little I can remember, it was a cheeky cholo at Tottenham Court station who is to blame. Kerstin and I spent one hour waiting in the queue to get in to the last night ever of 'Trash' at The End. We gave up, and went boogeying at the Ghetto instead. There we met John and Anna's ex-boyfriend. From that moment on, all I remember is the lump on my head and the 20 chicken nuggets from Maccy D's for �4.99. Tomorrow I am going to get pie-eyed again with Ronnie. More news to follow. Groan. Saturday 12.58pm 6/1/2007 To ring in 2007 it is usually a good idea to set a timetable for the coming months. I'm not so sure about South Africa, although there are two very good reasons for going, or whether I should stay at Eurostar much longer. Egypt and Madrid are on the cards, maybe Baltimore and Chicago and obviously Ive been thinking about NYC quite a bit. Canada could be done. But then there is glorious London, where it seems I am doomed to remain, albeit betwixt the occasional gallavant. Last night I met up with Maria and Ruby in Kennington, before ending up in the awful So.Uk bar in Clapham, a revolting yuppie magnet, to meet my brother. He actually turned down Alesha from Misteeq, who was really chomping at the bit shall we say, for a kebab. Bravo! Can you believe it, you can actually get houmous with your chips now. What is happening to this city? Hosted by www.Geocities.ws