I'D LIKE TO THANK MANCHESTER AIR RIFLES

I've not spoken to anyone for two days now. Well, apart from myself and a photo of Charlie. I organised it to be this way. I've grown sick and tired of just about everyone and their menial problems.

I'm in Leytonstone Library. It's as hot as a nursing home in here. I'm going to be visiting an old person in a home in Streatham soon. I might opt for somewhere closer though. It's nice round here.

I sent a Christmas card to The Queen this morning. It's so great that. In the second week of January, just when you think she's forgotten, she sends you a letter back saying how much she liked getting your card. Soon's I see the envelope with the Queen's stamp on it on my "Go Away" mat, a flurry of excitement runs through. I even got an invite to Royal Ascot this year. I think she's trying to branch out to me. Who know's what kind of invite she'll send me this year.

I'm djing tonight. Would any of you lot like to do me a compilation C.D? I don't have the facility to download anything or that kind of knowledge. I don't even have a camera phone. I'm still using a cassette Walkman. When Charlie gets out I'm sure we can learn all these new things together but until then I'm not going to bother with that kind of stuff. My needs are simple. Wetherspoons, porn, PG Tips, Iceland ready meals (not exceeding £1), pens and paper.

Last night I just lay on my bed. 5pm. Then I fell asleep during the news. I have to watch the telly with the sound down though because of the interference. I woke up at midnight and wrote a letter to Charlie about astral travel. Then I listened to the radio till 4:30am. Just flicking channels, trying to find something, I don't know what. I couldn't find anything so stuck with Radio 2. Then I drifted into a disturbed sleep. I can't sleep in the dark anymore. This is a recent thing. It's not as if I'm scared of anything, I just find the darkness so depressing. So I keep my little gypsy light on and try so hard to dream. I always dream though. And because I wake up without a start I drift into the waking hour slowly from the dream. They seem so real sometimes.

I was writing to Charlie the other day. I spent most of the letter complaining about various things; my gig cancellation, getting sacked from Bloomsbury Bowling Lanes, drunk people, having to wait ages at the hospital, people that don't bother getting a job, I just went on. This was a two-thousand word epistle so it wasn't all doom and gloom. I got a letter from him in the middle of writing about various things that he would like to do when he gets to London. He didn't ask me too many questions in this one. Although a simple question stood out. "What are you wearing?"
I was happy to answer that. Afterall, I wasn't wearing much so it wouldn't take too long. It's the least I can do for him.

I got so bored the other week. Sitting round with a group of people and not saying a word. I suppose all these people have been to a university where they learn how to debate. I can never get a word in with those sort but with the banality of their conversation neither would I want to. I feel so nervous with groups nowadays. Not my rock band though, we all get on like a house on fire. My drummer has strained her hands though so is having a course of physiotherapy. We still reherse though. I'm writing the best stuff I've ever written although the stuff I wrote 10 years ago was borderline genius but now I feel I've moved into a new realm. But y'know, you've got to get out of bed in the morning and make yourself do it.

Iraq rehersed yesterday in the room of death at Enterprise Studios in Denmark Place. Room number 11 is in the basement. There have been 4 mysterious deaths in that room in the last 5 years and 1 disappearance. Well, most of them died through heart attacks, 1 of them was 21, the other was 27. Perhaps that room is popular with cocaine use, I dunno. The disappearance happened when one of them turned right down the corridor outside and was never seen again. Well, perhaps he just quit the band but they were all good friends and knew each others families. I didn't find out how the other one died cos people started getting their equipment at that time. There's a plague pit underneath that room aswell. Well, I'm sure it's quite a few feet under the room.

I wasn't affected by any of this and we managed to write 3 new songs. Mind over matter and all that.

People hate me more than they used to nowadays. I think it's my drinking. I'm not drunk today and I'm not hungover. Monday is usually my day for sobriety. I feel completely on edge on days like this. My heart feels all churned up and excited. I feel like I want to do a cross country run. Not that I'd bother with that.

I went for my liver function test this morning. It's one of those NHS walk in clinics where they take your blood. I was number 50. I walked in at number 4. I knew it would be a hassle. I was really in the mood for a drink after but had a fry up instead and a cup of tea in Wetherspoons.
I asked the yellow man who's always in there if he'd had the results for his liver function test yet. He said they didn't get back to him. Perhaps he should get in touch with the patron saint of hopeless causes. I think that's Saint Anthony.

I've just looked up the symptoms of liver disease. I have a few of them. I'll be shocked if they tell me there is no damage. I'm hoping they tell me there's a bit of damage and that I have to stop drinking cos then I will. And then I'll write more and then I'll have more money and then I'll be able to get into designing my home and buying more E.T.'s. Once you've been to Ikea or Harvey's the Furniture store a few times then what do you do? See, you can't drink. Well, I soon won't be able to. I visit museums and read books on my days off from the alcohol but I do get a bit bored with all that. I'll write this journal a bit more perhaps. I'm just thinking about the gap. All that time. What on earth will I do? I'll miss all those wasted hours.

Anyway, perhaps by some miracle they will tell me there is no damage and that I'm fit and all that but I doubt it. I very much doubt it. I'll carry on as I am if that's the case.

My birthday party at The Arts consisted of 2 fights between my friends that don't get on. I knew that would happen and I quite enjoyed sitting down and not speaking, just watching it all blow up. I did a couple of karaoke songs. Then the taxi driver on the way home was arrested for not having a license. It was all ideal.

After my birthday I went home for a few days. The highlight was Blackpool. 10 years ago I jumped the train to Blackpool cos I didn't feel like going to work. I went into the alien museum and the owner told me everything I needed to know about the universe and the human soul. It fascinated me but I was still quite young. In the past few months I started to think about what he had said to me all those years ago and so my main aim in Blackpool was to seek that man out in the alien museum. I did just that. He was now running The Doctor Who Museum but his other museum was round the corner. He opened it up especially for me. If you ever go to Blackpool you need to see this man. His museum is called The Museum of The Universe. I'd been studying a lot in these last 3 years about the New World Order, 2012 and supernatural phenomenom. These subjects are quite vast but on my days off from public houses and public life in general I sit in my bed reading. I was speaking to the man for about an hour when he said; "You rang me up today didn't you"? He seemed to think that I'd booked an appointment with him but he didn't mind and just carried on telling me about everything that's going on and everything that is about to happen. At 2pm I decided to go because I wanted to check out the pubs and y'know there's nothing better than a Blackpool sunset. I thanked him very much for his time and told him I'd put a word in for him on channel 200. I'm eternally grateful to that man.

The first pub I went to was called "Uncle Peter's". I just love that name. My Dad's called Peter y'see. It was nice just looking out at South Pier. Some rap music was on, which I'd kind of expect. Then Bing Crosby came on and the rain drove heavily against the windows and everything seemed perfect. Just for that song though. So after that I drank my half pint and walked to the next pub which was a sports bar. This place was terrible. 3 men stood about. A bit like they do in gay bars in the afternoons but these men weren't homosexuals. You can just tell y'know. I ended up with a pint in there cos in Blackpool the reoccuring phrase when asking the barman for a half was "It's cheaper to buy a pint y'know?". Well, go on then. I wasn't planning to mind, but I may aswell now. I'm only here for the day hopefully.
The rain still drove at the seafront windows and they had some awful TV station called "Viva" on the various screens. There's nothing more I hate than TV's in pubs. Wetherspoons ones are alright cos the sound is always down. I left a quarter of the pint, not wanting to be put through the latest Cheryl Cole single.

I regretted walking into the next joint. It said Karaoke Bar on the front and it looked pretty colourful from the outside. Inside it was all cold neon and loud gangster rap music. There must be quite a scene for rap music in Blackpool nowadays. I couldn't just walk out again. It was a bit unnerving but I walked to the bar and got my plastic half pint. I think there too it was cheaper for a pint but believe me, this was no place for a leisurely drink. The men were dangerous looking. All in their 50's in long black coats and gold jewellery. It was all a bit odd. I noticed a pole. Anyway, I just sat in a corner and drank up.

After that I was in the mood for the grandeur of the ballroom. I thought for a fiver it would save me anymore awkwardness. And Kronenbourg in there is only £2.80 a pint. This time however the BBC were doing some kind of filming and it was £12 to get in. I didn't bother and went to a pub called The Mitre round the corner. All the time I was trying to get into various bars and pubs which were closed for the season end.
I sat down with my £3.26 pint of Kronenbourg. 4 men sat on the table further along the bench. Old women with plastic laundry bags with pictures of Blackpool tower huddled together at the other end. Silence was upon this place. Maybe it was me. I began to tear my nails off before I realised what I was doing. Silence. £3.26. I actually should have got a half in here I thought. It was £4.50 for a 4 pint pitcher in the "karaoke bar". I eventually piped up with "Are the illuminations still on"? A small conversation was eventually achieved but there was a sense of unease and so I left. Start again. And what am I actually attempting to find? The Blackpool of Bet Lynch, that is always what I'm attempting by these trips.

There's a pub opposite North Pier I think. I drank a £1.99 pint of something or other and wrote notes in my moleskin notebook. Y'know the kind of stuff you write when you've had a few. Something about a Turner sky, the ghost of Gene Pitney and a deflated birthday girl balloon blowing behind the red velvet curtains. Which it was. Then I watched the starlings migrate. Y'know, when they turn and dive and more and more gather and they're just flocking about so gracefully and it's like one black mass of a wave and the sun was setting and I drank my pint and watched and that worked for me. I felt something. An emotion of some kind but I couldn't quite think about how I felt but it was something vague. But at least it was something.

When the sun had gone and the lights had come on I made my way to more pubs and attempted communication with people. None of it worked. The drink was making me feel uneasy and nervous and after The Blackpool Catholic Club I decided to call it a day. Drink wise.

I walked along the seafront and popped in to see Gypsy Petrulingo. They're the famous family. She didn't tell me anything that amazing, just to keep away from married men. I was confused about that cos I haven't got any interest in married men. I do look like a bit of a good time though. I suppose she might have got that from the red lipstick and glamourous outfit.

After that I went for pie, chips, mushy peas and gravy at Coral Island. I enjoyed that but felt a bit forlorn and melancholy aswell as drunk.
I walked past a place where bingo was 10p a game. I went in for that. The place was full of cripples and motorbility scooters. Everyone looked terrible. This was more of the Blackpool that I was looking for. None of my numbers came up so I called it a loss after 20p and walked back through the lights, up Talbot Road and onto the train home.

I went to the doctors today and asked for a liver function test. She asked how much I drank; I answered, 6 pints of lager and a bottle of wine. On a quiet night.

My birthday's coming up. I'm gonna have it in Wetherspoons at 9am on a Sunday. No one ever turns up so this time none of you will. My birthday symbolises a point in my life and now it's come to this.

The oriental doctor said I had another 60-80 years left. Wow! That'll do me. But I haven't been for the test yet. I've got to fast y'see. Like Ramadam. Brings me closer to God and let's them know how close I am to death.

Yesterday I went to Southend. A hotel close to the sea serves all pints at £2 a piece. The fire alarm went off as I arrived but it didn't bother me. At that price who can complain? Everyone else walked out cos it went on for 20 minutes. I just sat there looking out at the sea and sipping my lager. I love it when things go wrong. Like when everythings supposed to be calm and then wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo wooo for 20 wonderful minutes. I think it might have even been 30. I didn't care.

Before that I had been in The Wetherspoons. It's an old Post Office and a postman dangles from the ceiling in a burlesque-esque pose. A man that looked exactly like Truman Capote propped up the bar alone and everything seemed like a glammed up Blackpool. I thought about getting a hotel. I don't quite have the money for that yet, so thought better of it. Why not spend all the money on champagne? And so there I sat. In Wetherspoons with my £35 bottle of Moet. Oh the glamour sidled with depression was wonderful! I should have just taken the train to the end of that pier and jumped.

Instead I returned to London. Went to Stratford Gala Bingo Hall and had a game. A few to be precise. Didn't win. Then I got chucked out for being pissed. I'd finished my games though so all was well and I didn't feel bad about them. They were Jamaicans and I don't mind Jamaicans too much cos they all seem quite cheerful. I went back to Leytonstone and drank some Communion wine that I had bought from the Sacred Heart Shop on The High Road a week previous. It brought me closer to God and I prayed. And everything seemed alright again.

Now I'm in 11 Charing Cross Road with the gays. I'm drinking Fanta Fruit Twist and in the next few minutes I shall return to Leytonstone and join Wetherspoons in 4 hours.

I had to write an e-mail to my drummer today asking him to leave Iraq. I'd threatened to do this for a while cos the whole band were receiving up to 8 texts a day about him being a spy for MI5. It was getting ridiculous. Anyway, the texts and calls didn't stop coming so we decided enough was enough. If anyone is a drummer and would like to join my highly successful band, Iraq then feel free to call or text 07847 160319.

I went to The Proms on Wednesday evening. It was Strauss and Mozart. I was all alone but I didn't mind. Things are more exciting when you're alone. Anything could happen. Nothing did though. I just listened and drank Coca Cola. Afterwards I waited for the bus to take me back into The West End. I'd left one of my E.T.'s at my club the night before y'see and needed to collect him. I saw a white Mercedes 1983 parked near the bus stop. It looked so lovely. Like a car I would drive. I just kept staring. Wow, it was amazing!

I got stopped in Soho by one of those talent scouts looking for extras and stuff. I always get stopped by them, it's all a bit pointless. I'm not into extra work. I have enough on my plate. Anyway, I collected the alien, Alfie is his name and then I whispered to him that we would have a nightcap in The Phoenix. Down there we sat and drank Kronenbourg then some of my aquaintances joined. Then the vicar from Saint Anne's came in. I like him. I told him how the story of E.T. was the story of The Resurrection re-told.

I wasn't supposed to go back to my club but I did. I took The Phoenix with me. It was karaoke night. Anyway, I can't go into too much detail about what happened next but my friend lost her bag so we went back to hers cos we thought her neighbour might let her in. Unfortunately they didn't and then the police were called. I showed Alfie to the policeman. They sent two cars y'see but in one car the policemen looked a bit bored. Anyway, they were about to arrest me and take Alfie to the experimentation labs when we made a run for it, I hailed a black cab round the corner on Bond Street and off I was. My alien and me were safe. Alfie doesn't want to go on anymore nights out though. It was a bit much.

Taken from Aug-Stone

Escort
Mayfair
Razzle
Penthouse
Essex Babes
Northern Birds

Erm,,, It' 25 to 8 and I can't be arsed..... Gonna find somewhere to spend my casino winnings...

My band, Iraq are playing next Saturday at The Purple Turtle in Camden. We're on at 9:30pm. Here is a flyer for this event. It's £6 with a flyer.

I'm back in Oldham. I'm enjoying it very much and have just been to the chippy. I got special fried rice. Tomorrow I shall go to the chippy again and I'm going to have pudding, chips and gravy.

On Tuesday I am going to Blackpool. I shall write properly in the next few days.

I had to wait 10 minutes for this computer in Leytonstone Library so enjoy it while you can.
I started in Wetherspoons at 9:30am. Met some of my regular drinkers. We talked about Ireland and voting BNP. Mind you, I voted Conservative in this election.

Got my cards read by my friend Zed last night. It was foreseen that drinking will not be the death of me so that's all alright then. I shall drink more tonight.

An Irish in Wetherspoons said that women are all after the same thing. Money. I wouldn't mind some. I didn't do cloakroom yesterday so am well skint.

DICOVER THE WORLD OF REAL ALE
DISCOVER THE LAND OF WHISKY

With slogans banned around the place like that it's no wonder I'm an alcoholic.

"You're 27 you should have worked out what you're gonna do my now" Said the Irish named Mick. I still can't work out what I'm gonna do.

I go to Wetherspoons and I always reckon I'm gonna bump into my father. I miss my Dad. For his mistakes I have paid the price. I think I rang him up yesterday. I don't know though. I was so pissed.

This is beginning to sound like an epitaph. "Scarlet, She Liked A Drink".

I've ran out of money though and that's why I'm here in the library writing this to the likes of you... I spent it all on gambling and drink. It's weird though. Whenever I'm out on one of my sessions I never meet a woman. I feel alone in that capasity. There's no woman I've met in 27 years that is addicted to drink like me. Maybe they do it privately. What's the point in that? My addiction has never been private. Since it began I loved those 3 words "I'M AN ALCOHOLIC". How can I write this well when I'm 3 sheets to the fucking wing? I have no fucking idea.

This is one of my favourite pubs in Kennington. I only ever go to this one when it's 11am. I know I won't be on my own but I also know there will only be 2 or 3 other alcoholics in the pub. It's called The Black Prince and has the aroma of bleach. A smell I now associate with my early morning drinking sessions.

I went back to AA cos I didn't want to lose Michael. It was still as depressing as all the other meetings I've been to so needless to say I didn't go back and after 6 days sober I jumped off the wagon and woke up on the tube with a joint of raw meat. I think it was lamb or beef. The tube was pretty empty so I just threw it up and down like a ball. When I'd sobered up the smell of the meat kept coming back to me and I couldn't eat anything for 2 days because of it.

Blackpool was nice 2 months ago. I have been meaning to write about Blackpool since then. I'd been out in Manchester all night with Nat and James and I woke up still pissed. It's bad that, cos that always means I wake up wanting a drink. So I got off the settee but another layer of make-up on and got a £13 day return to Blackpool from Piccadilly. I drank coffee on the train and sat opposite a deaf and dumb girl. I tried to make conversation otherwise I would never have known. It was lucky for her that morning that she was deaf and dumb. Y'know what I'd be going on about. Djing, clubs, Wurlitzer organs, Bet Lynch y'know.

The tower grew closer and closer and my stomach turned with excitement as it does whenever I see that great structure.

I went to the ballroom first. It was packed in there and all I could smell was tea and toasted teacakes. It was 1pm and a ballroom dancing party from Pontins were having an afternoon tea dance. I ordered a pint of Kronenbourg for £2.80 which I thought was very reasonable for such decadent surroundings. I sat at a table at the back near the bar and just watched the dancers. It was all synchronised. You couldn't just get up and have a go. You had to know the dance. Anyway I was sitting mesmerised for 10 minutes just thinking about how lucky I was to be hanging around there on a Wednesday afternoon then an old couple from Birkenhead join me. They were at Pontins aswell y'see. We have a chat about the old days and how he used to leave his wife in a pub so men could buy her drinks while he went on a crawl. That way he didn't have to spend too much. Cool I thought. I wondered if he thought that was what my man was up too. This couple weren't too good on their legs so I went and got them their tea and sandwiches.

"That's a man y'know?" I pointed to a transvestite on the floor. "Never" the woman replied. The trannies were funny though. One was dressed as a school girl although she couldn't have been a day younger than 50. But they knew all the sequences.

The big organ came up as it does in The Tower Ballroom. I forgot all about that so when it came up I had tears in my eyes. Of happiness mind. The drink gets me all emotional sometimes. But most of the time the drink is the only thing that makes me feel any emotion so when I feel emotion like the rest of you it's always a good sign. I'm still human.

After 3 hours sitting in the ballroom I thought it was time to go and get some more drink in less decadent surroundings. I chose Whittles, a favourite of my Dad's. My Dad is never wrong about where he choses to drink. Me and my Mum left him in there last time we were in Blackpool so we could say prayers in the church opposite.
Anyway, in this pub I met another old couple from Preston. She was drinking sherry in this tiny ornate glass so I decided to follow. With another pint of Kronenbourg mind. We talked about stuff. Blackpool tower and Bet Lynch. The woman gave me a polaroid of herself. No, not that dirty kind you're thinking. Just of her sitting nicely in the pub with a sherry. She put her phone number on the back and said I should call for a chat. I've tried calling that number numerous time in the 2 months since but it just rings. Old people like getting out during the day though and that's the only time I have owt to say.

A man joined who claimed he was gay and then said he wanted to be dominated. There was something quite dark about him. Grey skin, black eyes, y'know the sort. Smelt a bit weird too.

Time to go, no more drink. Always be aware of your surroundings and the people you're with when you're drinking to excess. I took a taxi to Harry Ramsdens on the seafront and had a lovely fish n chip dinner. Bread and butter. Cup of tea. Lovely it was but then while I was eating a sense of loneliness kicked in. The sky grew dark and I knew it was time to return home to my family. I left the restaurant and walked back to the train station. Through a deserted, cold, out of season Blackpool. Back up Talbot Road where the day had begun with such hope. I was hoping I'd find the peace I seek each day in Blackpool. I dream of Blackpool and think about retiring there often. I was disappointed I didn't find much.

I dj'd at that new place on Holloway Road called The Gaff on Saturday night. It was a mans 40th birthday party. You couldn't move in there though and I found it hard to believe how one man could be so popular. Maybe he's nice. I played rock and roll and punk but I did slip in Elton John's Crocodile Rock for his older relatives. People looked at me in dismay so I crouched behind the dj booth and waited for it to end. I think I went back to some Lonny Donegan after that.

Yesterday I rehersed. I was wearing my red snakeskin trousers and Michael's Clash t-shirt. I feel the part if I look the part. Today I'm wearing a cardigan my Nan knitted. I still feel the part but in a teetotal way.

I popped into The Coach after. One of my aquaintances said something that insinuated I was thick so after going for a piss I disappeared out the back door and made my way to 23 Romily street. They had some entertainment on and I bought a Newkie Brown. "Do you want a glass"? No. I can get more in my mouth if I swig from the bottle and that's my aim.

I had only had a bowl of Special K all day so I went round and ate all the sausages and sausage rolls. Then I went upstairs and ate all the Pringles. I tried to get in The French after I had my fill but the man with the beard had decided I had well and truelly had my fill so wouldn't serve me. Why didn't I realise I thought. Molly Mogs. Perfect. That's the drag queen bar on Charing Cross Road. So off I goes. Another blonde Bet Lynch type queen was singing the usual. A pint of Kronenbourg for me and the tragedy of life for everyone else. I stood at the bar swaying and joining in. A 78 year old cross dresser and his wife stood nearby. They looked like they had been through a lot. He told me they had.

I stayed until closing time then went to McDonalds for a quarter pounder. I then flagged down a taxi and returned to Kennington. I walked past that pub The Doghouse and heard someone calling my name. It was my old Soho friend, Celine. She was with Dave Ball from Softcell. We sat outside and I told her about the sausages and The French and then we tore Soho apart. "They're all bitter" "And what does anyone actually do?" etc. etc.

I was on top form with my endless anecdotes and fantastic wit and Dave was cracking up saying I should do stand up. Some people don't get it though.

I went back to my lovely Michael and to bed and was thankful I will never belong in Soho.

I've been keeping my thoughts to myself lately. But then today I thought, what good is that?

So back in Oldham where all life begins I feel a bit more peaceful about things. E.T. is by my side again and telling me what I should do. He is always right.

Last night my sister took me and my Mum to see a Beatles tribute band called Salmolena Pilchards. Y'know, like the lyric. I'd seen them before on one of my many trips to the homeland. This time the venue was a bit like a WMC. But it wasn't. My sister said it had recently been renevated. The clientele were mostly National Front. They were all wearing those nylon bomber jackets with light blue denim jeans and red DM's. On the right hand back pocket was the flag of Saint George. They had on various propaganda T-shirts. One had the slogan "Vote BNP". They didn't seem a bad bunch though but I was a bit worried about them mistaking me for a Pole.

They weren't there for the band. They just hang out in that place anyway all the time. I don't think they like The Beatles but all that peace and love can get a bit tiresome so I can understand that. The music inbetween was the best Northern Soul music played by one of the N.F. dj's. I go to a lot of Northern Soul nights in the Camden area with Michael. We do that on Sunday nights. But this mans selection was the best I had heard.

I fell asleep during the band cos I had been up since 1pm on Saturday and by this time it was 9:30pm Sunday. I heard it in my sleep though and it was nice.

I was too tired to follow my Mum's idea of getting 2 buses home. The cold was biting and I could barely stand through exhaustion. We ending up ordering a taxi. A luxury unheard of if buses are still running round here. The taxi driver was a lovely Pakistani man who told us of the different parts of Werneth he had been living in for the past 25 years. He was comical too. Then he gave us lots of money off vouchers for his taxi firm.

I'll be here until Thursday so expect more from me. I'm going to put my cheque in the bank now. It's nice to come back to the homeland loaded and successful.

I'm in that cum soaked internet cafe again on Charing Cross Road.


Dj'd. All went well. Played the records I'd been meaning to play. Got people cuhucked out who I didn't like the look of. Got people to stick around for hours who I liked as people. They did their usual human activities; snogging, dancing, talking and the like.

I didn't talk to them though, always keep a distance from the people I'm working for.

Went to Terminal 5 the other morning. Saw it on the telly when it opened and thought it might have a 24 hour bar or pub. It did. Sat there for a few hours drinking pints of Amstel and going to a special smokers paradise at half hour intervals. Ended up talking to some prematured wrinkled drag type queen about her "Alburn" hair. Even met Trevor McDonald cos an Addison Lee cab had a placard for him. It even said "Sir" on. Just stood and watched when he got the cab. Couldn't be arsed with conversation. Was all a bit dull. The whole day of it.

Got fish and chips after.

Rehersed on Sunday. As usual. Afterwards went to 23 Romily Street. That's what they call the new Colony. Went there when I first moved to London though. 2003. When it was called "The Green Room". Huh huh... Not original. No wonder they've just kept it as 23 Romily Street. Someone there was saying they'd read Frank_Day. Well done. I always knew that was a work of sheer genius.

"I read it from beginning to end. You're a genius" Well it doesn't take a genius to work out what I am, but it might take a bastard to work out how much money they could make from me.

I sat in yesterday and the day before. Just sleeping and talking to myself. Watching telly. Reading a bit. The kind of stuff I do when I'm not drinking.

Just come out of the casino. Those bright lights and endless taps seem to drag me into constant desire. Michael had enough. Chucked all my stuff on the landing after another 24 hour drinking "binge". I'd call it more of a yearning.

And that was Thursday. I just left my stuff on the landing and slept with my boots and leather jacket on. Only to get undressed, washed and made-up when the Arts Club djing called me to do so.

I've been rehersing tonight. Got a bit side tracked and kept looking into the liquid amber remembering my dream last night; my brother was worried and telling my sister that I was about to die on the streets through drinking too much. It doesn't inspire too much surprise within my soul. I've been worried about my death for about a fortnight, much more worried than I usually am. This drinking seems to happen on a Tuesday and goes straight through to Thursday at 4am. 4am is the time it ends. Anyway, I'd say I'm not bothered but the dreams of my brother caring for me worry me slightly. He's dead y'know?

Michael told me to come home, that he had a venison pie cooked for me but I just couldn't. I feel so alone. It's terrible that I hang around casinos but I feel alright at the same time in these places; flashing lights, constant refreshment, no day and no night. It's like a nice kind of purgatory. Catholic. Y'know? Everythings awful but something keeps me hanging on, asking for more coffee, more sandwich's, more tea, a Ginster's steak slice, a tub of Ben 'n' Jerry's Phish Food. A place where everythings available but where you don't have to have any friends.

And Michael is left worrying about me at all hours. Sick of my stupid ways. I can't blame him. I can't write about my personal life on here. I haven't got a gambling addiction. I just like the lights, the coffee and the food and have done for about a year. I've tried gambling but always lost. My alcohol addiction is enough.

For all of you out there that went on about how sad it was about The Astoria getting knocked down, I lay down in front of one of the phenematic drills on Wednesday 4th February. I stopped the whole road. I was pissed out of my mind, think it was 9:30am. I could be dead. But here I am.....
I'm barred from Carphone Warehouse opposite the casino. Apparently I went in there just before The Astoria incident and wrecked a display of phones. Then I shouted "Try and sell me something! Go on sell me something now!"
I know I'm definately barred cos I had a go at going in there the other morning but was stopped by security and so I ran.

I don't think my life is going downhill or that the alcohol is dragging me into oblivion. I'm just doing the things that unconciously you all want to do. If I did it without the alcohol it would be deemed as madness immediately but the alcohol covers my real intentions and so I'm saved but lead to sudden death.

I enjoyed it. I very much loved it.

That gig went well, it was amazing. There was definately something about The Metro. Being on that stage was so relaxing. I felt like I was singing on a cruise ship. Like being a Gene Pitney impersonator. Well it's a shame it's all gone now.

The 12 Bar and Enterprise aren't closing so that's alright then. I asked the man.

Back in Leytonstone my favourite shop is closing. The Catholic shop in the High Road, the one that's just packed with everything Catholic. Glow in the dark Mary and Jesus statues, holographic pictures of Bible scenes, medals, Holy water, anointing oil, prayer books, 1970's birthday cards, bangles and even Communion wine and wafers.
The black woman that works in there just sits in a chair saying The Rosary. I said "It's a shame you're closing"
She goes "It's a shame, it's a shame, it's a shame, it's a shame, it's a shame................"
It went on, she just kept saying it. So I said "It's a shame"
This must have gone on for about 5 minutes. It was a bit like saying one of those Catholic prayers, just repeating like that. It was nice not having to think about what to say.
Eventually she said The Holy Mother had told them to close because of the recession. I thought she ment THE Holy Mother as in The Blessed Virgin but then I got jist she was talking about the Nun who ran the shop.

I eventually bought some postcards that depict Jesus with blonde hair and a six pack. He looks quite erotic. The shops last day will be on 15th February so I'll be in before then to catch some glow in the dark bargains.

I went to Matalan after and bought Michael some Piere Cardin underpants.

I'll probably be doing another gig on Monday 9th February in a pub off Leicester Square.

Djing tonight 10-3am if you're bored. Soho Arts Club, 50 Frith Street. FREE.

Here I am, writing from a place that will be dust in 2 weeks time. All these places that I wrote about and all the places that I go on about in such a way I hate will be gone, taken up for some cross rail link in the middle of Soho.

It's too late now. I didn't even bother to sign any petitions; think I signed one about The Astoria but I knew the jury had won. Knew those pathetic women with their scoop neck jumpers and their dirty fuckin trainers worn on the tube had won this war. I Knew there was nothing I could do to save owt. Even if me and Michael had strangled the planners on the street, The Starbucks, Champagne Bar, Disneyland, Ann Summers, We Are Not Paedophiles, We Love Americans, Kill Soho for Protection and Gap people would come and kill everything.

The place where I am, it stinks of dead rats but fuckinhell I love it that way. It's well much better than that cum stained keyboard 5 minutes down Charing Cross Road.

They say they're gonna pull down my rehersal rooms aswell. I heard The 12 Bar's going too but no ones got any proper confirmation.

Let's move on. Yeah; So easy to say. Too easy to say. Can you name a place that will welcome me in this part of town? You can put your finger up your arse and start moving it if you think I'd be seen dead in places like New Cross, Stoke Newington, Camden and all those other places that house people like you in the vicinity. I want centre of the city action. I want to move alongside prostitutes and the insane, I'll stick here until I die. Just like those old men that stick to a Walkabout pub just cos it was their favourite in their day. Everythings gone. And soon it will be me.

Come to that last gig at The Metro on Thursday. Text 07847 160319 to be on the £3 list. I'm only on the internet twice a week and I won't be on now till Monday. Otherwise it's £6. Say you're on Iraq's list. Perhaps I should have called the band Gaza. Trouble loves me. Huh huh huh huh huhh huhhhhhhhhh huuhhhhhhhhhhhh.

IRAQ
THE METRO
19-23 OXFORD STREET
TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD TUBE (NEXT DOOR BUT TWO)
07847 160319
9PM
£3 IF YOU TEXT ME
£6 ON THE DOOR

I heard about a ghost down my club and there's a lot of them cos I've seen them. I know most of you that read this don't believe in life after death. I can't wait to haunt you. Tonight I got my pendulum out. It's not one of those dodgy star ones cos that would mean I'm into Satanism and I hate all that stuff. No. So I asked the ghost a few questions and it went mad down there. Kept swinging madly and my fingers kept going stone cold. I know it's cold out but it was warm in there.

Anyway so it said it was a man but I didn't really know what else to ask it but it kept saying that it wanted to tell me something. Left right, circle circle and all that kind of stuff. I gave up, too confused to carry on.

Everytime I dj when it's empty I see a shadow by the dj booth, holding a drink and it's like the shadow is asking for another. The bar used to be where the dj booth is y'see. Anyway, I've got nowt more to say about it.

On new years day I had my palm read. The woman said I didn't have much longer to live but I could change all that if only I could change my life. Well, some things are easier said than done.

My brother can't be arsed to appear to me to tell me I'm doing everything wrong and if he can't be arsed to do that then I can't be arsed to do owt right. Does that make sense?

Maybe the childhood trauma will never leave me. Huh huh. Bollocks. I was never that close to him anyway. Afterall he never wanted to hang around me, even though he was 10 years older. Maybe we all suffer from each others traumas. Michael for mine, me for his and so on and so on and Soho. We all suffer from Soho if it gets you first.

I'm in that internet cafe again. The gay fuck place, however, the place is empty and silent, all I can hear, are my own fingers on this cum injected stiff keyboard.

I went to Ilford the day before yesterday. What a wonderful place Ilford is. I ended up in a cafe called Noah's Ark. Cheese and ham omellette, chips and beans and a cup of tea as always. "A warm and happy place" That's what the menu said. And well, it was. Once again, I was surrounded by cripples and the smell of TCP. This time the cripples on crutches looked like they actually had cancer or were dying of something terminal. Fantastic, I'm in the exact right place me thinks. I feel better within myself already. Wonderful. Absolutely bloody wonderful. I feel warm and happy me thinks; these are people that make me feel better me thinks.

So apart from speaking to the dead and watching Sky TV and getting absolutely pissed every other night, I've not been up too much.

I've got no time for all this me.

I bet you're all dying to know about my Christmas and how my Dad pissed through the letter box and how my sister beat someone up and how I lay down in the middle of the road shouting for the next car to kill me. None of that happened. My Dad has sat in the pub at the end of the road for most of the time and does so even when it's not Christmas. Everytime I go out of the house and down the road I wave at him through the window, sometimes he sees me, sometimes he stares at nothing, deep in depressed thought about God knows what. I joined him there on Christmas day for an hour while Mum was cooking the dinner. I bought 3 sherries to which the landlord excaimed "I haven't sold a sherry in 2 years"!
"It's the in thing now, it's well in fashion in London" Was my hip reply. Is it though? I like it. Reminds me of school days when I'd drink half a bottle before registration then escape to Werneth Park at 9:15 to drink 2 litres of White Lightening all carried in my pink and purple Head sports bag.

Back to my Dad then. By him in the pub was an Aldi bag containing a can of processed garden peas, 1/10th of a jar of crushed Ritz biscuits, some cheese and a can of evaporated milk. He said it was his hamper from his ex "housekeeper". Anyway, he was happy with his lot and told me how he had a chicken boiling in the slow cooker. It would be done by the time the drink was done with. I wish I had that plan instead of the fried chicken plan whenever I get half cut.

I got back in time for The Queen's speech. She didn't have my Christmas card up again this year. Perhaps it could have been in the back room. I'm sending one to that Princess Diana lookalike next year if I'm still here, I might be in with a chance of getting one back from her.

The dinner was lovely, made by my wonderful Mum. Anne lit the Christmas pudding and we turned the lights off and everyone went "Ooooooh". But the blue flame wouldn't go out, but it was alright cos it did eventually.

I went to sleep on the settee after and just spent the rest of the time gazing sadly at the TV thinking about all the downfalls of late.

Y'know things come to an end, my job as a dj maybe wrecked, the addiction is killing me and I don't have that much money anymore.

But I'm not in Sudan, a walking skeleton trying to find water, I'm not on heroin or crack shitting myself in Falconberg Court, I'm not pregnant and I don't have AIDS so maybe things are alright afterall.

The Soho Arts Club
50 Frith Street (next door to Ronnie Scott's)
7pm-11pm
FREE
Half price cocktails till 9pm

Bowie, Blondie, My favourite Christmas songs, swing, Elvis, Gene Pitney, Eurythmics, Madonna, Associates, Duran Duran, Marilyn Monroe, Japan, Pretenders, Pet Shop Boys and other stuff that I like.

I'm also djing there tonight if you happen to be around Soho doing dodgy stuff. I'll be there 10-3am. Say you're Scarlet's friend if you arrive late.

I've been sitting in McDonald's in Leytonstone for an hour. Just watching things go past the window while eating a quarter pounder with cheese meal. I really like that McDonald's, it's so plush.

There's all these great things about Leytonstone, like The Sacred Heart shop that sells everything Catholic. There's two black women in there that are constantly saying Hail Mary's together. Even when I buy something they don't stop. Today I bought a Virgin Mary ring and 18 Virgin Mary stickers.

Last night I dj'd to a packed club. Tuesday night and you couldn't move in there. I think more people are going out now they know they're about to lose everything.

The fair in Leicester Square reminds me of happier days. Yesterday I had a dream I was in New York and everything was exciting and new again and I was happy.

I think I might disconnect myself from the world again. Try my best not to speak to anyone or see "Friends".

Last night I went to The Immaculate Conception Catholic church for a carol service with The Catholic Young Adults in London group. I went for a drink after with a Masters in Physics student. She was nice. Nicer than anyone I've met for about a decade.

I'm here again and I feel obliged to talk to you. There's no wanking going on in here tonight or sniffing of any kind. It's a Thursday morning and a man is sweeping up around me. The people in here look like homesick foreigners. Well I dearly hope they get home for Christmas if not for good.

I saw my Mother off today. She's the best person ever. I know I went wrong in a lot of ways but it was never her fault. I messed up cos of my alcoholic father. The devout Christian that is my Mother has nothing to do with my downfall.

It was packed tonight in the club. Read back if you want to come along. I'm djing tonight 7pm-11pm tonight if you're absolutely desperate to see me. Otherwise fuck off.

I had a good night. I was wearing this really wonderful outfit. I won't bother describing it cos if you can't be bothered to be there then what's the point?

I went to see Hairspray on Wednesday night with my Mum. It was alright. I like my Mum amnd am looking forward to a roast dinner. I am especially looking forward to The Christmas pudding being set alight. My sister, Anne, will turn the dining room lights off and the room will go dark and then my Mum will hold the Christmas pudding while me and my sister will go "OOOOhhhhhhhhhh". Then we'll watch telly for a bit, then I'll wanna find my Dad in a pub and get pissed with him then I won't be able to find him and then I'll give up on everything and then I'll start to cry like I've got no future anywhere or something.

12 minutes left on this computer. My Mother asked me if I've got a long term plan. She means to say that The Soho Arts Club is very strange to employ me. Perhaps they want someone younger? That will play the modern records that re in the charts.... I tried to by a chart single yesterday, Zavvi. Then HMV. They don't do singles anymore. I'm not bothered though. I did want that record though, that one from the Clarkes advert. Not feeling adverse about anything though. Just happy, depressed, high, euphoric, depressed, sad, lobely, popular, strange, thoughtful, confused, manic, high, lonely, depressed, confused...............................................................................................................................................................