No I'm not.

Giant mousse-coloured mooseheads. They're everywhere these days...its hard. Particularly at Christmas. I should be thinking about friends and family and food. But all there is...is mooseheads. I think one fractured my skull last night. It was one of those singing ones, you know the type, all 'look at me, listen to me, look at me'. But all I wanted to do was eat her. So I did and I think an antler cleft my palette and stormed my brain. The TV went blank. It was playing an African game with me. The one where you keep pressing the button until you are either trampled by a single water buffalo or jumped on by several serval cats. I prefer the latter almost exclusively and luckily last night, thats how it worked out. When they were bounding around I couldn't stop laughing. I didn't want to. So I didn't and I was sick. My vomit was chock-a-block with fucking mooseheads. The toilet was full of mooseheads. And they were all the singing ones. I had my beard just the right length for them to hide in as well so when I went back to my brother he couldn't see them and he didn't believe that they even existed. I could feel their moosehead laughter vibrating in my beard as I shouted myself hoarse trying to make him understand. And you know the problem with shouting yourself hoarse is that you actually turn into a Shetland Pony. I love having the shaggy mane and stuff, its very endearing, but I can't drink wine unless its put in a bowl and my brother prefers not to keep bowls in his house because he hates rice. So I whispered myself human again and finished off the bottle.

Don't touch me, you look like a capuchin

I only seem to remember this blog when i have brandy in front of me, Oh no...Heather inspired me to write something tonight. Anything. I am quite possibly the least prolific blogger there has ever been or close thereof. A few nights ago I got asked to contribute to We Sink Ships new project. I will write a piece every month for five months starting in december 09 to coincide with photography and music. Apparently it may become a 'physical product'. I would love this to come true.

Hugely loved up with Suzanna this evening. I am most times we share correspondence. I am most times. The sky is pelting the glass from outside. I think its rain rather than hail. But it must be at least purple rain. Watched La Haine today. Again. But haven't seen it for a few years. Still got the tingles I always did get when the helicopter shot of the suburb rooftops is soundtracked by the DJ mixing KRS-One with Edith Piaf.

Some of my friends do this blog shit with ease. Since my last entry my cock has stopped hurting and I have found a girl I am actually allergic to. Well her bed at least. 'Homba' is coming along great I am really pleased with it although I want some more electro stuff going on in there. I know we're a 'down' band but I P-Diddn't want it to be this 'down'. We'll see. We're writing some gorgeous interludes so maybe that'll break it up. What do I know?...A lot actually.
One person is doing my nut. Fuck off. Realistically you should know who you are. Special love mentions this time go to Luke, Stephen and Marianne.

Long time. Left side of penis hurts. For no reason. Its been like it all day. It looks ok. Maybe I slept on it funny. Eleven hours in bed last night. Laying on my cock. Probably. Got so drunk in the pub watching Arsenal beat Wolves that I forgot dinner and subsequently felt like shit so had to go to bed. Missed the Haye/Valuev fight. Was glad to wake up and find out Haye was the new heavyweight champion of the world. Then watched the fight anyway cos we'd recorded it. Had so many sporting events this weekend. England/Aussie - lost. Arsenal/Wolves - won. Haye/Valuev - won. Wales/All Blacks - lost. ManUtd/Chelsea - lost (won't lose sleep though).

Sarah Silverman is fucking hot. And she likes the word cunt. She reminds of Gloria that Tony Soprano was fucking in series 3. Think its the smile. Steve has sent me some great new songs he's been working on. I really want 'Glass Doors' on the Wild Dogs record. Can't wait to slap some slutty vocals on it. Think I'm in some form of love with someone somewhere. But she'll be even more far flung soon. Maybe I'll write about it for 'Glass Doors'.

Hope my cock is ok.

Spartan to say the least

Getting very frustrated with my fingers. Too lazy to tune my hollow and wooden homie. My hand is shaking from uprooting plants for the last two days. A mattock swinging half-breed who can't play guitar. No work tomorrow but getting my left ribcage inked with a Robbie Burns stanza.

Wild as the winter now tearing the forest
Till the last leaf o' the summer is flown
Such is the tempest has shaken my bosom
Till my last hope and last comfort is gone

Lets see if I can manage getting it all on there with neither whimper nor weep. I am planning my first proper holiday in very many years. Going to be abroad on the main land mass of the European continent without having to worry about getting to a venue on time. There is a Renault Espace, some tents, three friends, a fishing rod and reel, reels of 35mm, a spattering of foreign languages between us and lots of canyons and forests to walk and sleep in.

Been feeling romantic of late, but today I feel like a goose. Taking me a while to get off the ground.

Super Me

If a nation’s flag is being flown upside down it is seen as a distress signal. But how would you tell if that flag was the union jack?

We get free health care in britain
Shit, I get free prescriptions too
Due to ‘a slight electrical imbalance’ in my brain I don’t EVER have to pay for any blood thinners, anti-depressants, weight control, erectile dysfunction tablets etc, etc.
Even asthmatics don’t get the service I get

I can go to see a doctor and say ‘my skin is in pretty bad shape, can you help me out? I have quit smoking, my diet is healthy, I’m exercising and I’m hardly even drinking these days...’ leaving out the fact that this new Super-Me is a mere four months old, impatient and expects immediate results after a decade of self-abuse

The doctor will tell me how I deserve to have good skin and promptly write me up a prescription for some soothing cream and/or a course of antibiotics and I will then drive to the pharmacy and pick up my medication. For FREE. Nothing could be easier

I could go in next week and tell her that the recurring cellulitis on my scalp where I was hit in the head with a hammer is playing up again...or that the lumbar region of my back that I injured while drunkenly lifting a grit box is keeping me awake at night. I would then receive a bottle of diazepam for all my hellish woes and make my exit past the queue of heroin addicts a-droop against the pharmacy walls and doorway, my entire being radiating a glow of superiority, free cures for all my inebriated idiocy tucked snugly inside my coat pockets

No health insurance, no pension scheme. I can go to other countries and still be treated in hospitals by highly trained individuals.... I will be taken care of forever

All this and still I complain.

The girl I like is studying to be a nurse. She is currently doing work placement on the wards of an East Kent hospital and has no time for me.

Fuck the NHS