Welcome to SimonTalksRubbish!
Friday 1.51am 23/12/2005
So today Ive been quite sad. I found out that my old English teacher died of cancer a month ago. I actually cried. A true vamp, she cracked the filthiest jokes, the most explicit innuendoes, and flirted like hell, in a class of sex-starved sixteen year-olds. This was how she captured her audience, with her rapacious wit and formidable determination to shock, teach and inspire. I always meant to go back to the London Oratory and say hello to my three favourite teachers, and now that she has gone, I am angry and upset that I never acted upon this promise sooner. I have so much to thank her for. I will never forget you Mrs Walton.
Wednesday 7.07pm 21/12/2005
I could tell you all about the naughty things I have been getting up to this past week, getting trashed in Wembley, Angel, Soho, Fulham and Aldgate, bumping into old friends, the great live bands and the wonderful television I have watched, but instead I am going to indulge in a festive story. After all, 'tis the season. Last week, whilst working at Millets, I heard a ruckus in the alley round the back of the shop. I rushed upstairs and peered out of a window to see what was going on. A bearded drunk, the handcuffs about his wrists failing to inhibit his swigging from a can of Kronenbourg, was in the process of being arrested by four policemen for stealing. One produced a large plastic charity shop bag, stuffed with items, from behind a corner. I watched closely as he emptied the treasure. Are you ready? Sing with me!
Four chocolate calendars!
Three teddy bears!
Two cake tins,
And a Moulinex coffee maker!
What a coincidence! Unfortunately this happened on the sixteenth day of Christmas, so obviously the grizzled old bum never had a chance. Ten minutes later, after the tramp had thrown the empty can of grog over his shoulder, the police van arrived. And off they took him. To Lapland. Don't bother leaving the milk and cookies out this time.Tuesday 6.15pm 13/12/2005
How embarrassing! My father decided to do an unnecessary favour for me the other day: to develop my camera film, without my knowledge. And today, to my horror, he produced the pictures, the first one being of me in the Westbar, with my entire mouth wrapped around the circumference of a half pint glass, staring into the lens with a glazed look in my eyes. Rather than finding it incredibly amusing, he expressed worry and confusion. I won't tell you how I had to explain it away, it was just too embarrassing.
Sunday 7.26pm 11/12/2005
Please please please, if any of you have a few bob to spare, buy Akayzia Parker's limited edition album. She is set to become huge, I am sure. Her voice is a smoky, buttery, sugar coated delight, and the songs are both touching and endearing. I first saw her at the Half Moon a couple of months ago, and I recieved the CD, the packaging a work-of-art in itself, in the post yesterday. You can't get it in the shops, so email me for details, it is �7. As for my news, I have just returned from Canterbury. Saw a whole lot more people than I expected to see, and got very drunk indeed. First off was an excellent gig performed by Tino and Morgan in The Unity, a kind of tankard swilling, bawdy, give-the-crowd-the-shit-they-want singalong fest, culminating in a terrific rendition of Drunken Sailor. The next day I nursed an impressive hangover at Tori's house, watching about fifteen episodes of Family Guy. That night I stayed in the Westbar until 3am (again, thank you Tessa Jowell!), garbling quotes from Charlotte Bronte novels with Becky, before stupidly buying a kebab from Ocakbasi. True to form, it was disgusting.
Wednesday 9.51am 7/12/2005
Went to the Cedar Tree yesterday with Scott, had a lot of news to catch up on, and thus got quite drunk. He copied me a DVD of The Cave! Perhaps it will have some bonus footage of Piper Perabo masturbating on a stalagmite. Perhaps. I went into Greggs Bakery the other day and asked the guy behind the till: "Excuse me, what is a 'Yum Yum'?" His reply: "Nothing"
Tuesday 6.15pm 6/12/2005
Photos from the past weekend's drunken hell in Paris have been flooding into my Hotmail account, and I must say that in my entire history in front of the camera lens, these are by far the worst. Ive picked the most horrifying one, taken by Julia, for your delectation. Be warned, it really is despicable.
What I quite like about it though is the girl in the bottom right hand corner, a snooty American called Dierdre who claimed to be Irish (don't they all?), and had stopped by to see Fab after having just been to the theatre. No sooner had she sat down that I delivered an earth shattering, and exceedingly toxic, fart right into her face. She did not stay for long.AMMENDMENT (11th December): Apparently Dierdre is not snooty. And she never went to the theatre. I feel thoroughly ashamed. I suppose this means she wasn't around when I parped, which can only be a good thing.Proceed with Caution Monday 8.57pm 5/12/2005
Had a short weekend jaunt in Paris, and it was great to see my old luminaries all present and correct! Julia, Fab, Beth, Dusie, Rena, Mathieu, Eliza and DJ were all there and we really brought the house down this time, no really, we wrecked one of the last bars in Paris where our custom was still welcome. I got thrown out. Mind you, after that many whiskies it was inevitable. Several more fights broke out with scummy racailles between 1am and 6am. Most of these were the result of sex-starved teenagers looking to heavy pet on a drunken Beth who wouldn't stop screaming 'cunt' at the top of her lungs, waving an empty bottle of wine about her head. We also found a Christmas tree which we ripped apart, duly planting a bauble on the corner of Rue Montebello, just like we did two years previously, in the hope of a money tree appearing soon after. Cut my hand and got mud and glitter in the wound. Ah, good times. It was nice to relive some of the Parisian debauchery I have missed so much!
Friday 12.19am 2/12/2005
Finally I got to see Agatha Christie's 'The Mousetrap'! And what a let down it was. Some of the acting was ropier than what you have to sit through on a UK Living re-run of Fresh Fields. And the whodunnit was hardly a humdinger. Gools wisely suggested that we quaff a bottle of Ros� before going inside, and the Grolsch in the intermission was good value. This cheered up the proceedings immensely. There was also added hilarity from the two Americans sitting beside us, one of whom was haunched over, elbows on his knees, clasping his face in his hands, gazing down onto the stage in utter awe, as if here watching such high-brow fare as Titus Andronicus, or that episode of Buffy, where her mum kicks the bucket. Gools and I weren't impressed.
Monday 7.14pm 28/11/2005 
Thank you Tessa Jowell! Last Thursday I went out with the Moving Image Production class from uni and got very sloshed indeed at Covent Garden (see above), to celebrate the new 24 hour licensing law coming into effect (thanks to aforementioned minister-babe). Unfortunately, events were soured somewhat when a pie-eyed Aussie approached our table and got his willy out, tugging it upwards in front of the girls so they could get a good view of his balls. Nobody knew why he did this, and as he was escorted out he succeeded in dragging a whole set of fairy lights with him. Poor thing. On Saturday I went to Elina's house party and got ridiculously wrecked and passed out on her floor. Prolonged the hangover by drinking stupid amounts of wine with my grandmother in the Isle of Wight the next day, bravely trying to hold down the fish pie. Tonight I am going to the Half Moon with Ronnie to drink again and see some bands, and on Wednesday I shall be attending Candy Box at the Hombre club, a �1 a drink punk-rock vodka fest that will utterly destroy me.
Wednesday 9.01pm 22/11/2005
Yesterday my father showed me an article in The Sun, a two page spread about George Best accompanied by a large garish photograph of said zombie not looking his 'Best' in bed: a yellow cadaver, rather. "All very well", I told him, "He is indeed very ill and may die". He showed me that same article a whopping four times throughout the day, making remarks about who said what in the side column and what opinions Edna from Scunthorpe had on the matter in the Reader's Letters section. Fed up, I asked my dad what it was about Mr.Best that was giving him the willies. Turns out that he thinks I'm going to end up the same way! Adding insult to injury, he pointed out that I, too, had a yellowish pallor, something I have always had and I really hate it when it gives people the impression I have jaundice or something similarly debilitating, such as in poor George's case. And yes, I did have a bottle of wine to myself in front of Family Guy the other night. Okay? Satisfied? Now, on to more pressing matters: Liberty X filmed their new single at the Fez club! Quite ironic that it was a Children in Need cover of Shalamar's 'A Night to Remember'. Not only are the youthful-looking, ChupaChup-wielding toilet attendants very needy indeed, few of us ever remember a night spent in that shit-hole thanks to the awful cocktails and it's notorious reputation for being a rohypnol den. And that is exactly why we all end up going back there: the toxicity of the alcohol, the possibility of an easy lay, and of course, the flashing dancefloor.
Sunday 1.00am 19/11/2005
Just thought I'd make a quick entry tonight to express my joy at seeing Yvette Fielding on 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks'. Ten years after Blue Peter and there she is, in her truest element, effing and blinding on post-watershed telly. What a legend. Unfortunately, afterwards Channel 4 decided it would be a great idea to show the Annual Country Music Awards, and I had to endure a soporific speech by some bilious bint called Lee Ann Womack on how country music 'is real, about our lives, true to our hearts, and I love the country music industry'. Shut it Womack. Oh yes, and yesterday I came to an agreement with my boss. I don't like her, and she doesn't like me. So after two weeks in the music television industry, I got a real flavour for the media biz. In other words, it sucks eggs. Am currently seeking re-employment. Again.
Thursday 6.19pm 17/11/2005 
Oh wow. What's this chef d'oeuvre then? Aww, a little girlie drew it for an online Google competition, set up so that you can get your masterpiece viewed by the online billions for a day chez Google.com - what a marvellous idea. Except that the drawing is rubbish. Look carefully and you can see the clitoral critter Krang from 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' making an appearance. Surely this girl is evil?
Wednesday 8.08pm 16/11/2005
I know, I know. It's been ages since I wrote an entry. Well, in a nutshell: I've been fucking knackered. Work at Emap has been hectic in the extreme, I'm constantly tired, stressed to the max, and worst of all (brace yourself, I can't even believe this either) I haven't had a drink since Sunday. And in the week preceding that, I only had one bottle of Heineken, and that was during a lunch break! Oh, the suffering! On the brighter side of things, I'm also really enjoying what I do, which is getting bands and artists to promote their singles and albums on our channels. There are numerous perks. I was offered tickets to see the Bloodhound Gang (which I turned down for the White Stripes) and today I could have gone to the Music Hall of Fame ceremony (The Who/Pink Floyd) as a VIP! I turned that down too, instead offering it to my boss who is going on a date tonight. Gools, if you're reading this, I would have asked you to come along, it was at Alexandra Palace. So anyay, Im still here at the office, my head throbbing to the neverending playlist of Madonna's 'Hung Up', some stupid new Black Eyed Peas track and Girls Aloud's excellently produced, auto-tuned and manufactured 'Biology' (see left, we all new they began life in a petri dish). Oh yes, and watch out for a 'Winter Wasteland' slot on The Hits channel this Christmas, it was my suggestion, if only to get the mighty S Club Juniors' 'Puppy Love' on the air waves. Right, I'm off home now, I promise to update more regularly!* (guarantee not included)
Click above to view the Poultrygeist trailer! (and yes, that's me) Monday 10.02pm 7/11/2005
Yesterday Sionann (a lovely woman I met in Cannes) invited me to a Green Day gig outside BBC Centre, just 100 people turned up and I was only a few metres away from Billie Joe, what with there being no barrier between the crowd and the stage - brilliant! Then she dragged me along to the White Stripes concert at the Hammersmith Apollo. Although I turned up late for my first day at Emap completely worn out and looking like a bag of shit, Im insanely grateful to Sionnan for making me go out last night, it was terrific fun. Today a colleague made a blas� remark which almost had me on the floor in a seizure: "Oh Rachel Stevens is always in here doing promo, but it's not like we're ever going to see her again now that all her singles have flopped." (!!!!) However my distress was remedied a little while later, when I discovered that the venerable Girls Aloud might be coming in on Wednesday!
Saturday 9.02pm 5/11/2005
I'm not going to go out and enjoy Guy Fawke's night. No, I'm going to stay indoors, on my own with a four-pack of Stella and a DVD of White Chicks. To be honest, I don't see the appeal in subjecting oneself to the sub-zero elements, shaking pissy sparklers about, gulping warm beer and ooh-ing and aah-ing at a fucking Catherine Wheel or a wet Roman Candle that fizzles out after just two seconds. One big pathetic parade of shoddy razzle-dazzle and screaming brats. What is the appeal? Then you have the insultingly jovial GOOD NIGHT! slogan lit up in multi-coloured bulbs to signal the show's end, the odd letter dangling precariously above a fried badger. You would think the nightmare was finally over, but no, a gridlock of fat families and wheelchair users have created an impenetrable bottleneck at the park's exit. You are conned into forking out three pounds for a sausage in a bap, it's wretched similarity to a mangled shrew not even the most generous of mustard servings can disguise. Then there are the revolting bags of sweets, chavs in hoodies planting fountain cones under passing buses, and the occasional trampled mole, lying prostrate in a muddy puddle. The aforementioned being a relief of sorts as it at least amuses in as much as it disgusts. If Guy Fawkes had succeeded in blowing up Parliament all those years ago we wouldn't be wasting our time and money on this stupid festival today. To conclude, I suppose there is simply no other way of saying it other than admitting it outright. November the 5th is rubbish.
Thursday 5.43pm 3/11/2005
As has happened countless times before, the wave of revelry and fun from the past week's activities has this week crashed and burned into what can only be described as a seething mire of embittered pride and general hatred. I suppose the epicentre of this 'quake of hate' was outside Archway tube station, which occurred on Sunday morning at 3am. A drunk chav with a large bleeding gash on his face sauntered up to me at the taxi rank and asked me where I was from. I answered "London, why?" Again, he slurred the same question, this time with increased aggression. He obviously mistook me for somebody of Asian or African descent - a serious case of the 'beer goggles'. I answered "Here, London, England. Is that a problem?" At this moment he screamed something unintelligible and launched himself at me, arms outspread. His drunk chav friend pulled him back just in time, as I was so drunk there was no way my reflexes could have foreseen a punch to the face. What a stupid, racist, chav. Ana later told me that she wasn't surprised I was almost mauled by this gibbering dick head, as my eye-liner (hey, it was Halloween!) made me look like Big Brother's Kemal. Yesterday, Shauna enticed me to go out to a �1 a drink rock club off Oxford Street. I had a brilliant time, but my merriment was soured on the bus journey home, where I was sat across from three bone-headed bohemians. One enlightened the whole bus (with that intensely irritating, fog horn/Kathleen Turner-esque screech that seems so common in rich young girls) as to how her friend Lydia last week slept with Jack Osborne, and who might be a transsexual. Another chum piped up that he was 'good friends' with Lisa Scott-Lee (wow!) whilst the other just glared into the window pane, preening himself. You wonder why these idiots weren't fawning over their own phony self-importance in the back seat of an extended pink Hum-Vee rather than the top deck of the number 14 night bus. There was, thank God, one subject they all managed to partake in and discuss in great depth - what haircuts they would be getting at Headmasters next week. And so today, when I knew that something would irritate me even further, I went to the bank only to have the clerk laugh upon seeing my balance. Honestly, Londoners really piss me off sometimes. It has gotten so bad that on some occasions I even piss myself off. Tonight I am going to meet my cousin Richard down the pub, he's a quiet one who doesn't drink much (Mel and I spiked his drink in the Isle of Wight this summer, with disappointing results) but I'm sure I'll have plenty to rant at him about.
Wednesday 5.27pm 2/11/2005
Right, a lot has happened since last week so here goes. Emap gave me the job, great news except the pay isn't what I was expecting. Still, I'm really happy that I got it. Nesquik popped over from Belgium, shortly followed by Ana from Norwich. Went to a monumental house party Hamish invited us to in Angel. They had a DJ, jazz band, bath tub full of beer, smoke machine and even a croupier who sadly wasn't able to get anybody to grasp the rules of a single card game. Not even Pontoon. This was probably because some guy was walking around with a cigar box stuffed with fat joints, rather much like you'd expect to see a pyramid of chocolates at the Ambassador's reception. Everyone was stumbling about the place puffing away and talking shit, myself included. It was terrific. Saturday was Anna's party in Highgate. Unfortunately we got so blotto before we even left my house that I don't remember anything about it. Except that a CD of Rachel Stevens' 'Negotiate with Love' was played about twenty times. Very appropriate for Halloween. Sunday was officially hangover day and on Monday Nesquik and I went with Ronnie to see some bands play at the Half Moon. Again, serious drinking ensued and the result was Nesquik leaning over the counter of the Chinese take-away to hug the chef after a long conversation which she later admitted she didn't understand a single word of. Ana and Nesquik are now both gone, and even though I got paid on Friday, I am now broke again.
Wednesday 9.03pm 26/10/2005 
The other night Julia and I watched our first Uwe Boll movie: "Alone in the Dark" which starred three recovering/still practising snowconers; Christian Slater, Stephen Dorff and the legendary Tara Reid. Kewpie-voiced Reid has played the dumb slut role so many times now she clearly relishes being typecast. After all, that's what she is like in real life (Natalia stepped over her to get to the loo at a party once). And despite being badly miscast here as an archaeologist, you can always count on Tara to slur dialogue like 'I deciphered the pictogram for you!' with all the linguistic gravitas of Professor Weeto. Suffice to say, this film is trashy in the extreme and only occasionally enjoyable. But then you already knew that.
Sunday 9.04pm 23/10/2005
A TYPICAL ENCOUNTER I EXPERIENCED TODAY AT MILLETS:
Customer: "Excuse me, can you show me where your 'jack in a packs' are?"
Me: "Over here"
(Please just leave me alone)
Customer: "Ah here they are. Now, I was wondering if you could help me..."
Me: "Okay"
(Why was I dreaming about blowing up the Centre Point tower last night? I kind of enjoyed it.)
Customer: "... and I was soaked through, even though it said it was water proof. I bought it from here."
Me: "Oh. Er, well this one's water proof."
(Look lady, do me a favour and take the damn jacket and leave)
Customer: "I see. So does that mean the one I have is only weather proof?"
Me: "Yes"
(What the fuck does 'weather proof' mean?)
Customer: "Right, and how much is this one?"
Me: "I'll just check the label... twenty pounds"
(Why doesn't she do it herself? Lazy cow)
Customer: "Well I hope this one is really water proof because I don't want to get wet again."
Me: "It really is"
(Fuck if I know. For christ's sakes woman its just fucking water it won't kill you. I wish it would.)
Work Colleague: "Actually, madam, that one isn't waterproof" (looks at me like I'm an idiot) "Follow me this way madam."
Me: "Yeah, follow him"
(Like I give two shits about your stupid rain coat anyway)
Saturday 8.28pm 22/10/2005
On Friday I went to see the brilliant Banksy exhibition in Notting Hill with Beth Charlesworth, a terrific girl I met on the set of 'Poultrygeist'. I became familiar with Banksy about three years ago, when I saw a stencil of a girl hugging a bomb in a London side street with his name scrawled beneath it. Inside the gallery we saw: The beach in Vettriano's 'Singing Butler' ridden with barrels of toxic waste, Van Gogh's dead 'Sunflowers' (from the petrol station), and a pair of trolleys chucked into Monet's river in 'Waterlilies'. There were also live rats trying to crawl up my jeans and faeces everywhere. He has come a long way. Much like the notorious 'Space Invader' in Paris, who held an exhibition I went to see at the Magda Danysz gallery (Fofie invited me, there was lots of cheap wine on the go). However, whereas Banksy is 'reclaiming the City' rather than invading it, why did he have to hold it in an area of London where his stencils would only ever remain for about five minutes before being scrubbed off by the minions of the rich and clouty. Sure, by having a perfectly legal installation reeking of rat poo in one of London's swankiest environs, you could say that he is making some kind of point here, but in a place such as this where boho Henrys and urban Chicas reign supreme, its not causing much of a fuss. Controversy, so long as its behind a glass window and next door to a trendy boutique, is de rigeur round these parts. Its a tad irritating as it drags people like me to the clean pavements and expensive shops of Portobello, when it should be taking the media gurus and fashionistas who populate leafy north London to Streatham or Finsbury. The Space Invader exhibition was held in one of the glummest and most depressing areas currently undergoing urban renewal in Paris. Why didn't Banksy do the same? Never mind. And if it means, just for once, that Banksy is selling out to the Arts scene to scrape together some more cash and notoriety to fund his next stencilling and daubing expedition abroad, then this can only be a good thing. Mind you I think his work would be better placed in Texas than Palestine. �5 for a pack of Banksy postcards? Oh, all right then.
"Banksy"
Wednesday 12.29pm 5/10/2005 
Did any of you watch 'Neighbours' yesterday? Oh my fucking god I almost fell out of my chair. Old staples Phil Martin, Annalise Hartman, Joe Mangle (who was definitely making eyes at Lynn Scully, the letch) and a whole slew of other lesser-known characters were brought back to Ramsay Street to
celebrate twenty years of the show first being airedscrape together the tattered remains of their careersbe in a shitty documentary about suburban life that Annalise was filming. The highlight was a series of talking heads from past Ramsay Street luminaries. Holly Valance (Flick Scully), strangely, was gloating about making a career in Hollywood and not her bikini-clad Reverse Call Charge advertisements. Hannah Martin now has breasts and is in London. For some odd reason, tittering hippy Melanie is, too. But the best of the bunch was Marlene Kratz (The Bagpuss of Anson's Corner)! She's alive! Ever since she went on that 3 month cruise and everybody forgot about her, I was worried she may have suffered a fatal heart attack during an aggressive game of quoits or was detained at the port for smuggling crack (everyone knew the the charity shop was a front), but no, she is safe and sound, somewhere in Oz, with a terrific pair of spectacles, her best yet. Because I don't have a screen capture to hand, I have demonstrated how old Kratzy has finally unleashed her full potential by wearing a pair that fully encircle her owlish features, above. I'll admit, I was a little dewy eyed when the credits rolled.Tuesday 11.19am 18/10/2005
Yesterday I had to get out of bed at 9am and trek all the way to Whitechapel to rescue Mel from hospital. She had a busted leg and apparently was suffering the aftermath of a codeine induced vodka-binge from the weekend. Saw some forum theatre by the Cardboard Citizens in the afternoon called 'Fractured' which was very good, about unresolved situations resulting from the slow decline of youngsters, single mothers and squaddies into homelessness. That evening I joined Ronnie for some pints at the Half Moon and saw some great acts, the best of the bunch being a girl called Akayzia Parker whose voice is like nothing Ive ever heard before. Ended up getting a little inebriated and stole two travel guides of Dubai from god knows where. Emap rang today (last week's 3rd interview and presentation was a roaring success) and told me I'm now up against one other person for the position. They will now contact my references to help them decide. Who is this competitor of mine? Why is he/she trying to take my job? The cunt!
Saturday 1.52am 15/10/2005
So here I am, again, pissed. Just got back from Gavin's house party in Finsbury Park. Had a wonderful time. Met a girl from Wigan who was a probation officer and had just got engaged, and a teacher called Jo who taught English and knew all the lyrics from the S Club Juniors songs, sang and danced with her until everyone looked at us with disdain and contempt. Then chatted with a Canadian called Erin who told me how wonderful Newfoundland is, for about an hour. The evening finished with Gools announcing to everyone present that my "approach to food and drink is both disgusting and reprehensible". I then ran off and caught the last train home. And on that note, I bid you reader, goodnight!
Tuesday 5.42pm 11/10/2005
Millets is turning out to be quite the informative job! Not only have I learnt how to use a mess tin and what the difference is between water-proof and water-repellent, I have also been meeting a number of interesting persons. For example, I assumed that co-worker Zulficar was from India yet he recently told me that he was born and raised in Uganda, before being kicked out by tyrannical, murderous buffoon, and keen swimmer, Idi Amin (left). A woman yesterday sat down by the till on her own fold-out stool and began telling me about how the Russian cotton trade is poisoning, killing and deforming Kazahkstan villagers. Suzana, who is from Slovakia, has been teaching me her language. Favourite word at the moment is 'pitcha'. However the pros are intermittently weighed down by the cons of the job, ie: rude South African customers. One Saffa had the gall to ask for a cash discount, as if Wimbledon was a suburb of Darfur and me a banana republic black marketeer. I laughed and said I had no idea what he was talking about, to which his girlfriend rebuffed "If you nivah isk, you nivah git". I loathe South Africans, they really are sub-human. Jemma (a bit of a chav) agreed with me on this point, and told me about how last week she punched a Saffa woman at a Walkabout pub for stepping on her shoe. Bravo!
Saturday 2.31pm 8/10/2005
Met up with Lee after his being away for two years in Japan, only for him to tell me he's going back there for good, and has no plans to live in the UK! Also met Dustin, who I haven't seen in a whopping five years, and it turns out he dropped out of uni and is living in Barcelona! Also randomly bumped into Charles, John and Alex who are working for HSBC and Bloomberg. Apparently Alfonso, my best friend until he moved to Spain when we were 16, is back in London working for Goldman Sachs. All my old school friends are either rich as fuck or living glamorous lives abroad. Its just SO unfair!
Wednesday 10.45pm 5/10/2005 
Apart from the fact that I still don't have a job yet, a lot of things have been irritating me today. Hundreds of thousands of Zimbabweans are still homeless after Mugabe ploughed their houses into the ground, Rachel Stevens' new single is only midweeking at number ten, and A3 envelopes still get screwed up when you try to put them in one of those old red letterboxes. And what is the world doing at this time of crisis? Standing back and doing absolutely nothing, that's what. Hopefully this bottle of Banrock Station and my new DVD of 'Blue Crush' will cheer me up a bit. Good night, scumbags.
Monday 6.39pm 3/10/2005
Okay I'll make this one quick. On Friday Shauna and I went to a squat party in Camberwell. It was inside an enormous warehouse full of astroturf, tents, wet paint everywhere (which royally fucked up my Armani coat), girls in bunny outfits and guys desperately trying to pull off the Johnny Borrell look. The Ludes are a band that Shauna knows who were hosting the event, playing really good music although to be honest after a bottle of vodka they could have been The Fast Food Rockers for all I knew. After headbanging with an inflatable guitar for a good hour I had to peel Shauna away from a drunk who was trying to perform a sex act on her, and we escaped. Saturday was Gools' birthday on a boat, which ended up in a monumental piss-up in Old Street and an hour of drunken clueless rambling around Highgate with Clare's brother, followed by a disgusting chicken burger which I kid you not was actually grey. Sunday I tottered around Soho with Jon and a girl called Marianne to shoot a showreel because he wants to be a TV presenter. However we just ended up filming an investigation into the going rate of hookers, Jon shouting into the camera "Welcome to Price Busters! Let's find ourselves a whore!" Somehow I don't think Nickelodeon are going to be too impressed. Today was my interview at EMAP, and it went really well, and despite the weekend's alcoholism, my ulcer has gone. As the once almighty D:Ream once said, "Things, can only get better!"
