… Bollox. Wonderful wonderful Bollox. Perhaps the best one ever for me. Wore make-up and a completely GAY outfit. I’m 31, I’m allowed …
… Unintentionally boozy Sunday following an intense tete-a-tete about The Novel. Sailor Jerry and ginger beer at home followed by Guinness with the lovely Emma and Guy (clang) at Briton’s Protection shivering under a feeble heat lamp in my Jimmy Dean jacket. Finished up listening to Ella Fitzgerald at Guy’s well past bedtime before I threw up from too much pear cider into his loo. Epic fail. But funny too. Had a quick scout around for the Brit award on the dash to the bathroom, didn‘t see it. I know, I know, I have serious problems …
… Took Helen for her leaving dinner at Wagamama. Sob. Then on for cocktails at Socio Rehab and some Tiki bar next door I can never remember the name of. We had a BALL. Had a ginger Manhattan and something with a burning sugar cube floating in it. You can’t really go back to pints after that can you? On to Nik’s flat party where people raided his wardrobe and got dressed up as him and I stole paperbacks for reasons unknown to even me …
… Kneehigh Theatre Company’s excellent production of Brief Encounter at The Lowry. Proper good funny musical tear-jerking inventive theatre with a fantastic cast and sublime mix of cinema screens, music hall, romance and stiff upper lippage. I cried! I never cry! …
… Cocktail party for Katie’s birthday. Clang Joe clang Stretch clang came clang. Great fun but things got out of hand and I have consequently been reported to the building management. Oops. Feel like a halls of residence crim now. I wish the neighbour had come to me instead of going straight to the Headmaster, as it were, seems a bit much. Perhaps the slight, single, bespectacled homosexual at number 43 is a threatening presence after all (that’s me by the way). Seriously though, I feel a beast about the whole thing so am being an absolute model neighbour from now on, cushions tied to my feet, listening only to Eno’s ambient works on Volume 1 with the headphones on and my head inside a sleeping bag …
… Facebook hiatus for me for the time being, at the very least until after New York. Facebook, designed as we all know for ‘sharing’, has been facilitating some kind of mental episode with me. I think I shared too much and now everyone hates me. Ah well, win some lose some, innit? All the mistakes, drunken, emotional, personal and otherwise are essentially sitting there in hideous summary each morning waiting for me and I just can’t bear it. Plus I’m an emotional cutter, I have to investigate the absolute worst of any given scenario and Facebook is a charm for doing such things. In short, I have gone a bit mad. As I type this I 'm actually listening to Marillion. (I blame Nighty Night). Oddly enough this is sort of the territory Joe’s new novel covers (Facebook, not Marillion) so perhaps the whole thing is timely and will do me some good. (I was beginning to think in status updates, I’m not kidding) …
… Passed Jarvis Cocker (clang) on Oxford Road, looking like a cross between a Vileda Supermop and a geography teacher, in other words amazing …
… Goodbye Manchester, hello Manhattan …
Soundtrack: Self-made punky playlist that sounds like this.
… Unintentionally boozy Sunday following an intense tete-a-tete about The Novel. Sailor Jerry and ginger beer at home followed by Guinness with the lovely Emma and Guy (clang) at Briton’s Protection shivering under a feeble heat lamp in my Jimmy Dean jacket. Finished up listening to Ella Fitzgerald at Guy’s well past bedtime before I threw up from too much pear cider into his loo. Epic fail. But funny too. Had a quick scout around for the Brit award on the dash to the bathroom, didn‘t see it. I know, I know, I have serious problems …
… Took Helen for her leaving dinner at Wagamama. Sob. Then on for cocktails at Socio Rehab and some Tiki bar next door I can never remember the name of. We had a BALL. Had a ginger Manhattan and something with a burning sugar cube floating in it. You can’t really go back to pints after that can you? On to Nik’s flat party where people raided his wardrobe and got dressed up as him and I stole paperbacks for reasons unknown to even me …
… Kneehigh Theatre Company’s excellent production of Brief Encounter at The Lowry. Proper good funny musical tear-jerking inventive theatre with a fantastic cast and sublime mix of cinema screens, music hall, romance and stiff upper lippage. I cried! I never cry! …
… Cocktail party for Katie’s birthday. Clang Joe clang Stretch clang came clang. Great fun but things got out of hand and I have consequently been reported to the building management. Oops. Feel like a halls of residence crim now. I wish the neighbour had come to me instead of going straight to the Headmaster, as it were, seems a bit much. Perhaps the slight, single, bespectacled homosexual at number 43 is a threatening presence after all (that’s me by the way). Seriously though, I feel a beast about the whole thing so am being an absolute model neighbour from now on, cushions tied to my feet, listening only to Eno’s ambient works on Volume 1 with the headphones on and my head inside a sleeping bag …
… Facebook hiatus for me for the time being, at the very least until after New York. Facebook, designed as we all know for ‘sharing’, has been facilitating some kind of mental episode with me. I think I shared too much and now everyone hates me. Ah well, win some lose some, innit? All the mistakes, drunken, emotional, personal and otherwise are essentially sitting there in hideous summary each morning waiting for me and I just can’t bear it. Plus I’m an emotional cutter, I have to investigate the absolute worst of any given scenario and Facebook is a charm for doing such things. In short, I have gone a bit mad. As I type this I 'm actually listening to Marillion. (I blame Nighty Night). Oddly enough this is sort of the territory Joe’s new novel covers (Facebook, not Marillion) so perhaps the whole thing is timely and will do me some good. (I was beginning to think in status updates, I’m not kidding) …
… Passed Jarvis Cocker (clang) on Oxford Road, looking like a cross between a Vileda Supermop and a geography teacher, in other words amazing …
… Goodbye Manchester, hello Manhattan …
Soundtrack: Self-made punky playlist that sounds like this.
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