30 March 2005

The Tiny Town Literary Festival

Good afternoon Germ Agents around the world. It's a drizzly old day here in tiny town. Everything seems to have ground to a halt - well at least I have. Although no stranger to inertia and sloth, even I would be quite pleased to have some activity to engage in. Obviously I won't wish for another disaster to spice things up a bit. The last time I did that, we got a Tsunami, and although I have not been blamed directly, I can't help feeling that my negative energy might have played a small part in cracking the earth's crust.
I believe I might have a gig coming up on 29th May...so that's something to get hot under the collar about. Like the man shovelling elephant dung at the circus said 'at least I'm still in show business'.
I've been trying to map out the plot of my to-be-written greatest novel of all time. It's not going very well though. Perhaps I should just start and see where it goes. That's the whole thing about chaos and chance - you can't plan it in advance....I think I might be on to something here. It won't be Nick Hornby, that's for sure. We're talking Gogol meets Bukowski meets Green meets Conan Doyle meets Borroughs - well I hope so at least. We could be talking Moore meets his own colon, meets a retarded eleven year old meet Jeffrey Archer. - That sounds quite good actually. Definitely a touch of Naked lunch in there. Well perhaps it's not such a lost cause.
As somebody who's name escapes me once said ' you don't need time to write, you need a deadline'. If I was a publisher, I'd sign me up now. Football teams sign children who's only promise is to be able to kick a ball without shitting. Record companies do much the same with bands - so come on. Writing is work, not pleasure.. Doing bugger all is pleasure. I can understand how a business minded person might baulk at paying me to do nothing, but how about a nice fat publishing advance on spec.
Don't you just hate those bus drivers, factory workers, school teachers who knock out a novel in the wee small hours. - I wrote it between shifts at the bus depot, or in the works canteen.
Look, give me half now, and I'll do ten til one, five days a week. Come on. I'm dying here. I'm going to Devon tomorrow for another well earned rest. When I get back, I'll expect a cheque.

28 March 2005

The Key of Life

Good afternoon, Germ Operatives. it is with great regret and some relief, that I must draw a discreet veil over our once grand scheme to reintroduce the Windsor Jazz and Blues festival, while asserting our right to roam through Enlgand's green and pleasant land. The reason for this is that - I've come to my senses. A fortuitous attack of wisdom has convinced me that although it is a fine idea, it is one of those ideas which remains fresh as an imaginary concept - not to be mired in harsh reality...I have quite a few of these.
Of course, 1976 was a more innoccent time, another country some might say, and nothing could better it. Have I been got at by M15? warned off? Bought off perhaps...nothing so interesting. I haven't even found an invitation for the wedding in the post. I am afraid, this is purely and simply, a manifestation of maturity - and perhaps even a little laziness.
Easter has been a fine solitary time for me...a long dark weekend of the soul. These can be very useful for relieving mental constipation. Having excused myself from a four day easter egg hunt, I have busied myself doing what I do best - very little. Reacquainting myself with the wonders of television...I don't mean selective viewing - I'm talking about blanket bombing, square eyed, dribbling vegetable (cathode) tube feeding. Well my tube has been removed now - it was my decision, and I feel cured.
I have even done a useful thing. Found my long lost keys at the bottom of Ava's toy box. I was actually looking for them, not a toy to play with.
So anyway, I've found the key. Not sure if this can be said to be a metaphor just yet.

24 March 2005


Ah, yes. Last night's little wine fuelled brain storm has come on apace.
Just enjoyed a lovely pint on the Kilburn High Rd, where as luck would have it, I encountered Aaron...doing the same. We have hatched a plan.The wedding day is April 8th. a trip to Windsor looks likely. We'll need a lorry, a PA system and some couples who would like to tie the knot.
Aaron is being ordained - on the web obviously, so will be able to conduct some marriages.
The wedding band will be Art Goblins, Myself, hopefully the Vichy Government and Mr Haines.

The spirit of the Pistols Silver Jubillee boat trip could well be invoked.
Any assistance for this event, would be most welcome.

Germ Agents - All Leave Cancelled

I am in wine, so be warned.
Just thought I should put on record, my delight at being a citizen of this fabulous nation.
It's really beginning to dawn on me now, how fantastic it is that a royal wedding is about to take place in a registry office. Say's it all. The perfect polaroid of our nation. I think that a Germ event must be organized to run in tandem with it. I propose that operatives of the Germ Organization, gather in Windsor on the day for some kind of celebration. Not sure what, not sure how, but I feel this may be a defining event in our nation's endgame...quite apart from the general election - in which I intend to stand ( donations for a deposit greatly appreciated)
As a young man, I attended the wedding of Charles and Diana - well, I came to london with my pal Tim, and we slept on the pavement outsode Clarence house. Having witnessed the then lady Di leaving in her glass carriage for that date with destiny, we headed into a very empty Soho, and a porno cinema, only too happy to admit some very young fellows...King kong und Die liebe Frau (as immortalised by the Shoreditch Ogre) was the film we watched, while the rest of the nation watched the wedding. Which was the most pornographic? Answers on a kleenex please.
Anyway, I've recently become friendly with Aaron Barschak - the Osama Bin Laden of Windsor Castle - a wonderful man...lives right round the corner. Perhaps he's already busy on the day, covering it for CNN. Anyway, I feel mischief in the air. A picnic perhaps...Any suggestions. we must not miss this.
I will lie down now and smoke a pipe. This thought must be given time to form. If somebody could let me know the date of the wedding, that would be helpful.
By the way, MI5 are hiring. If you want someone to write you a reference...

23 March 2005

The Rites of Spring

Good Morning Germ Operatives around the world,

Our unseasonably good weather is putting me into an incharacteristically good mood. Just taken my my dear child Ave the rave up to nursery on my crumbling old shoulders, and witnessed an accident.
Not a serious event, but amusing nonetheless. My dear Old friend and temporarily ex-neighbour, the poet Jock Scott, is having his house renovated. For several days, a skip has been outside his once residence, filling up with the detritus of his long and eventful life. I have just witnessed said skip, being loaded on to a lorry, then tipping over, landing upside down in the road and depositing it's filthy contents everywhere. A mushroom cloud of dust enveloped the neighbourhood, causing anger and consternation for those just showered souls on their way to work who were unfortunate enough to be walking past at the time.
The great British workman knows no decorum and discretion. No thoughts of waiting until the street was empty to begin thier onerous task. Now cars are covered, the road is blocked with rubble and I dare say compensation will be sought.
Ava and I stopped short and waited for the dust to settle, marvelling at the filthy specimens emerging from the mist. I suppose Bagdad witnesses similar scenes on a daily basis, though of a less innoccent nature.
Oh the joys of spring. Must dash now, I have work to do.

21 March 2005

The Surgeon of Kilburn

From the gleaming streamlined Moore of last weeks triumphs, this week finds me stricken with toothache and foot decay. What a reversal of fortunes.
The tooth ache, is actually sinus pain - and some pain it is...throbbing to buggery. I might have to anaethnatise the pain with alcohol - like all true sufferin'artists do...dontcha know.
The foot rot is on the mend, but I thought I'd mention it - to let you share in it's weeping purilence and pustulence. I'm sure you're dying to know. I wish I'd taken a picture to post on the site. It's the middle toe on my right foot. Swelled up emormously, and after some prodding, I thought I'd have a go at it. Amateur surgical procedures are always worth trying...however painful the outcome. The professionals are only a 999 call away. Having watched the Gunter Von Haagens discections on channel four recently, I was just waiting for an oportunity to try some diy slicing. This operation involved removing dead skin, to try to locate the entombed offender. 'Scalpel...forceps...scissors...saw, pliers...teeth..' Just call me Doctor Benway.
Having set about it with a fair gory enthusiasm, I realised that I'd made things much worse, and that I had to go out that evening. I can only liken it to walking with your foot in a plate of custard.
Still, it's all better now. No amputations or lepor colonies. I think the operation was a success. Much better than the NHS. No waiting, no infections and no hospital food. I might take this up professionally.
Should any of you require an operation, do get in touch. my rates are quite reasonable.

17 March 2005

University Challenge Part 2

So where were we? Alex arrived, ate some sandwiches and began to perk up.
So far so good. A trip to make up - even suave gentlemen with fine complexions like ours, require a bit of slap...just for those close up shots. People might mistake it for the moonlandings otherwise.
I won't go on about the studio, the sets, the huge audience - my mother up in the top row, and the imposing figure of Jeremy Paxman. All this seemed somehow less terrifying than the fact that our opponents were - The Financial Times. Oh shit. Well we didn't really expect Wayne Rooney and his mates, but this was a little bit perplexing. How very ironic. So here we are, a lifestyle on trial - about to be shown up by the pink paper.
A few warm up questions to acquaint our fingers with the buzzers - I kept my fingers well away from it, in case I was accidentally called upon to answer a question.
Then it began. "Hello, my name is John Moore and I am the Sports Editor" - Well at least I got that right. Eyes down fora full house, and away we went.
Started for ten. Wow, we buzzed first. Rowley Leigh knew the answer. Then we got the bonuses...On it went. Idler Leigh...Idler Leigh - really quite astounding. Was there anything he didn't know?
Then i got a question right...about recycled plastic - where did that come from? Got the cricket questions, Brunel, standard guage railways. Bugger, the FT started getting a few...a lot actually. I think we shocked them, but they were waking up now.
I couldn't see the score but i felt we were still just ahead. I was still too terrified to risk a starter - even though I knew a few. Alex fearlessly went in a bit early a couple of times and we got docked, but each time it was Rowley to the rescue.
Tom as team captain had to answer the bonuses, but hopefully the mics will pick up our telling him the answers. Especially when he answered Jimmy Saville...'Wrong. That was the Pope' an easy mistake to make.
We got the questions on idling wrong, which drew Paxman smirking ire. Mind you, the FT forgot what monetarism was, so all square.
We demanded the contest be stopped half way through, because a German novelist question was said to be Kafka. Obviously he was a Czech. The questioner came down and said 'Well he wrote in german'. In Unison, Tom and I called out ' Well Beckett wrote in French'. We still lost the point however, when it was decided, that the Czech republic didn't exist then, and was part of the Austrian Hungarian empire. Put the wind up the FT though.
Sadly there were no questions on Britney Spears, so our pop knowledge was not tested.
....bonnnngggggg. That was the gong.
I am honour bound not to give the score or result, but I can intimate. Lazyness triumphed.

Following our triu... we drank steadily and heavily for the rest of the day. Got chased from Coronation Street by security, had dinner with Marc Riley, met Jeremy Paxman and got hammered - what a wonderful man he is.
Alex and I are going to record a single ' The Ballad of University Challenge'.
You have been warned.
Hooray for Cognis by the way.

This is Tom and I discussing the difference between Jimmy Saville and The Pope

15 March 2005

University Challenge - Part 1

Thank you for your patience. I will now attempt to give some form to the events of my weekend. Writing it down might well be of some use to me as well. I will probably add things later, because I am bound to forget many details. like the witness to a crime, recollections will filter back over the fulness of time.
I won't bore you with the journey to Manchester - except that I used one of those prepaid ticket machines - couldn't work it..massive queue of irate passengers behind me...boring boring. Gave up seat to an elderly couple who looked as though they'd die if separated.
It was in my mind to have a few drinks on the train - just to pass the time you understand. My companion and team member Rowley said he wouldn't be drinking until after the show. Summoned all self control and managed to avoid it. Of course, Virgin trains made this quite easy.
The first announcement, warned that any assaults on the staff and abuse would have a dim view taken of it...a curious way to build a customer client relationship. Still, I felt sure I'd be able to control myself. Next announcement informed us that the shop was closed for stock taking until Rugby. The next announcement was that only exact money could be taken. "We can not exchange any high 'demolition' notes". The first announcement began to make more sense. At Stoke, the shop closed altogether for further stocktaking.
Finally arrived at ten - hit the bar - moderately. A few other possible contestants milling about, but nobody spiking our drinks or offering us money to fail. Mostly old duffers covered in chalk.
Perhaps I am going into too much detail here. I'll refrain from discussing the hotel decor, carpets or lack of complimentary toothpaste. Four adult films for £7.99, Bridget Jones does Dallas, or CNN. In bed at a sensible hour.
A light breakfast, as I've heard that overfeeding puts the brain to sleep. Definitely more teams now. Discus intimidation tactics with Tom. Practice drawing finger across throat in 'cut throat' gesture. Only Tom seems scared by this.
Alex James nowhere to be seen. Checked in two days ago, then gone missing.
Phonecalls, messages and staff searches fail to raise him. The receptionist looks genuinely alarmed when I tell her that he is a rock star, so has almost certainly died of a drug overdose up in his room. Probably murdered his wife as well. More staff are sent to his room. Still not there.
We are slightly alarmed by his absence ,as are the University Challenge people. The rule book is consulted, and although this is not covered, they think it is unlikely we can go on as a three.
As my mother is coming to watch, I suggest that she could be on the team - for a while, it looks like a possibility.
Alex finally calls - he's at Manchester airport - returning from an impromptu djing trip to Barcelona - until 6 in the morning. He arrives at the studio looking ridiculously healthy, then starts getting dizzy spells through lack of sleep. Still, The Idler Team has made it...or has it?

Tune in for part 2

14 March 2005

Normal Service Will Resume Shortly

Owing to my hangover having a hangover, I shall be taking things easy today. Just to let you know though - Censored due to not giving the game away.
Subsequent celebrations have now destroyed all grey matter, planting me firmly back in the vegetable section.
I will tell all very soon. Must rest now.
By the way. In the picture, our score is zero. You might be interested to know that things improved.

11 March 2005

Let the Games begin

It's the day before the lapidation. Feeling slightly less cocky about things now. Bitten off a bit more than I can chew?...I'll have to spit if I can't swallow...yuk.
Anyway, we've just had a nice email from the organisers, asking us not to bring 'Soft' drugs to the studio...perhaps they supply them.
Anyway, no need to worry on that account - Customs and Excise are all ready reporting a huge surge in hard drug activity in the northwest, as rusty container ships direct from Bogata, unload our post match supplies.
A truce has been called between the rival gangs of Moss Side, realising that they won't be competing for business...we'll take all they have and more.
Perhaps University Challenge are referring to the Cognis. My secret cerebral weapon. Forgot to take it last night...and this morning...hardly a recommendation for it's intellect stimulating properties is it.

Apparently the other teams will be at out hotel, so there might be an opportunity for sabotage. Slightly worried that we'll sabotage ourselves - I've been to this hotel before - it's got a very late bar.
Anyway, it's almost time to go, so wish me luck, shed a tear, and hold on to yer drawers.

10 March 2005

Save the Village Shop

I've been looking into ways of getting this quaint old site up the google ratings. Yes of course, it's in order to sell more records - I don't deny it. In fact, I am not even ashamed. We are a nation of shop keepers after all. Anyway, in order for my little village shop to compete with the big boys, the trick is to get it linked to as many other sites as possible.
Now, I am sure some of you might be able to find a few moments to help...Look at me, I'm begging. If you could post a link to this site up in a few places, that would be lovely.
Please use your discretion of course. No filthy ones, or places that might direct the wrong sort of person to us. We don't want an Asda opening up in the middle of the village now do we.

Thing is, the record is in the NME next week, and you know what students are like. They'll buy it from the first place they see...Spending far more of their grant than is neccessary. If all goes according to plan, this site will be the first place they see.


So there you are.
The Germ Organization would like to thank you all in advance.

Warts 'n' all

Oh the joys of daytime television. Just watched a highly entertaining documentary about the great tenor Russell Watson - the man's a god in human form. I thought nothing could top it, but now I'm watching a show about teenagers with genital warts and the clap. Thank you John Logie Baird.
The cognis must be working - I'm as bright as a button today. I hope I haven't peaked too soon.
Must experiment with the dressing up box - We've been asked not to wear stripes or hoops or checks - because television cameras can't handle it...oh god, there's a teenager having her genital warts painted...they're being burnt off now...sizzle sizzle yuk.
Must iron a shirt...and a tie.
Off to a party this afternoon. A third birthday party. It's a never ending social whirl. Must buy a present.
'Nichola thought her genital warts had finally gone, but she's now found another lump inside her...' Oh fantastic. Apparently you can buy this show on video for nineteen pounds. I'm off to join the Taliban.

09 March 2005

Three Wheels on my Wagon

Well, my oh so careful dietary plans came to nowt. As I floated a Big mac and Fries atop the sea of Guinness swirling around in my guilty old guts, it occurred to me that perhaps changing one's accepted routine in the search for brain cells might be a recipe for disaster. Although I shall still be taking Cognis and trying to eat well, I reserve the right to supplement my diet with all manner of nasties.
In my capacity as London's least enthusiastic press officer, I was out on the town last night watching some clients perform their excellent music, and chivvying along the esteemed ink slingers of the music press - not that they required much chivvying - student bar prices being what they are.

Now that the hangover has shrunk to tolerable proportions, I will spend a pleasant evening, engaged in the cerebral pursuit of watching the television.
I am rather concerned that I am being reduced to a bit part player in my own film. Googling myself earlier in the day - that's what it's called these days, I made an important discovery. Pretending to be somebody interested in acquiring my record, I typed in the details to see what came up. Oh it's there alright. Plenty of opportunities to buy it. The trouble is, it's from places like amazon and emusic. £11.99. If you're reading this now, you will have had to have been quite patient to find me.
As you know, Half Awake is available here for a snip at £10 including postage in the UK. Don't want to sound like a capitalist pig here, but that ten quid goes to me...and just me. It pays for guinness, cognis, socks, lollipops for Ave the Rave, crack for the missus and guns.If you buy it elsewhere, you'll be funding a smug twenty something emillionaire who lives in a warehouse in Bethnal Green, rides a miniature mountain bike and goes snow boarding. So there you are. The choice is yours.
Have a lovely evening. Oink.

08 March 2005

Cognis - Achieving Clarity and Focus

I don't know whether I should be admitting this. I could be opening myself up to a doping scandal. I have purchased a product which I believe will give me the edge over my opponents. It's called Cognis. I have to put eight drops a day under my tongue. That's it. The key to knowledge. I feel cleverer all ready. This could of course be a placebo effect.
Anyway, I shall be bathing in the stuff before Saturday. I wonder how it reacts with alcohol. It is 11% alcohol, so quite well probably.
It might turn me into Dylan Thomas. I'm typing so fast I can't see my fingers. This must be down to the Isopogon and Essence of Bush Fuschia.

So that's me sorted out then. No more preparation needed. The diet is off.

Rock Around The Bunker

Feeling slightly out of sorts today. Lack of sleep, lack of energy, and a head full of rancid snot - which I am keen to get rid of.
I'm supposed to be feeling progressively more intelligent as the week progresses, but I have to say, yesterday felt more cerebral. I've eaten baked potatoes, carrots, fish and salad, and I haven't touched the sauce since sunday.
Missed University Challenge yesterday, due to attending Will Hodgkinson's inaugural guitar performance. A delicate blend of determination, style and bravado saw Will triumph.
The best moment of course was not musical. The proprietor of the establishment halted the show to demand that the bass player remove his Nazi helmet. This drunken bear of a man bellowed that he did not find it funny artistic or ironic that a Nazi helmet was being worn.
If he lost relatives in the camps, then fair play to him. Then again, if I was related to him, I might just tell him I'd been gassed to prevent further contact.

As any purveyor of Rock'n'Roll or London Mayor for that matter knows only too well, flirting with Nazi imagery is ace...albeit ill advised. Guitars go with Black leather, skulls, cruelty, knives, motorcycles, syringes, medical experiments and tanks...' like a horse and carriage'. Morally indefensible I'll grant, but that's the beauty of it. What's the alternative? Bellbottoms and lovebeads? Rock'n'Roll is supposed to be insane. If Coldplay performed at Nuremburg, goosestepping across the stage, preceded by a torchlit parade through the streets, I'd buy their record at once. I'd criticize them for their terrible judgement of course, but I'd be secretly pleased.

So getting back to this ludicrous interruption - Will handled it very well. He writes for the Guardian, so is probably not often accused of being a Nazi. The not-actually-a-Nazi helmet was removed and the show continued. The band should have gone straight into 'Rock Around The Bunker',then annexed the Sudetenland. Instead, Will dedicated the next song to his wife, and continued with some delicate folk picking. Lightweight.

Anyway, I'm off to the health food shop in a minute for some brain supplements.
By the way, should anybody be offended by anything they have just read, my apologies. My love is universal, it knows no boundaries, racial, geographic or sexual. The only people I dislike are tossers...and quite a few people I was at school with...and Australian bartenders who are a little bit too fond of watching the clock....actually, there are far too many categories to list. It's safest to assume, I've got something against you all.
Unless you've bought my record of course.

07 March 2005

Whore Moore Super Store

I've got it. The solution to all my financial troubles. I will sell advertising space on my body for University Challenge. Come on advertisers, what are you waiting for. An AAB audience, thirty minutes prime time exposure. That's better than a spread in The Mail on Sunday. I'll make a rate card. Obviously chest will be the most expensive...or head perhaps.
If you rent both, I'll even throw in my legs, and promise to stand up every now and then.
For any other body parts you might want to hire, send me a private message.

This is The week That Is

I am typing this nonsense at an angle of 220 degrees. Awkward but do-able. I do not wish to exit the bed just yet, and there are too many wires to rearrange to give me a level playing field. In an attempt at remaining comfortable, I run the risk of giving myself a sporting injury. How ironic eh...me the Sports Editor of the Idler, finally acquiring a sporting qualification - albeit, a torn ligament.
Well, the countdown begins. Five days from now, I will be on University Challenge, pitting my depleted wits against ...they won't tell us who we're against. I hope it's a team of page three girls from the Sun, or The Caravan Club of Great Britain. It will more likely be The Stephen Hawking All Stars, featuring Alan de Botton and The Oracle. So, humiliation awaits - for them baby, I'm not worried...
My brain routine starts this morning. I shall be off the sauce, eating vegetables - rather than being one, lots of fish and fruit...and lashings of ginger beer. I'll reawaken dormant cells, summon up me intellectual powers and get my finger on that buzzer. Of course nobody likes a smart arse, so I might give a few wrong answers to endear myself to the thick - that'll be my excuse.
Of course the most important question of the whole event, is what shall I wear? I wonder if we can get sponsorship? It would be great to all wear Armani - It'd look like a mafia trial.
Obviously, I'll need to consider product placement. I have a record to flog after all...which incidentally, is in the shops as of today - don't you dare buy it in the shops mind you. Buy it here. I only sent it to the shops because I needed the space at home.

I don't suppose they'll be too amused if i turn up with a sandwich board. Perhaps a top hat covererd with cds.
I could just answer all the questions i don't know as " Is it Half Awake by John Moore?"
Ooh, so many possibilities.
By the way - any newspaper editors reading this - (I have a rather high opinion of my blog readership don't I? )- I would be delighted to write the whole experience into a feature for your weekend glossy section...for a small consideration obviously. I bet my fellow team members have already done this...well one at least - yes you Tommy.
Right, I've got to get up now. In fifteen minutes time, I shall be waiting outside the local nursery to fetch a small child. Don't worry everybody - it's my little Ave the Rave.
Te ra.

04 March 2005

Paternity Tests and Rabbit Deprivation

I'm taking a paternity test. Even though she looks just like me, something is wrong. Ava wasn't impressed by the snow. Not as impressed as me anyway. She turned down the offer of being pulled to nursery school in the sledge, and actually seemed quite put out by my enthusiasm. Things did pick up a bit when she began eating large handfuls of the stuff and realised the potential fun of flinging snowballs - but really...kids these days - what's wrong with em?
I sprung out of bed this morning - an extremely rare phenomena. It was beautiful. A real covering, and best of all, it was still chucking it down...and seemingly getting heavier.
Ava's extraordinary attitude did nothing to dampen my spirits ,although I did decide not to keep her at home to play with me.
Well at least she's left handed and knows some rude words - perhaps nobody could be quite as snow fixated as me. She is a summer child after all.

The rabbits finally left the Moore Hotel yesterday. Don't worry lapohiles. They are still being kept indoors. Their reintroduction to alfresco dining and raping will be gradual. It was with heavy heart and with dustpan and brush in hand,that I swept up what I hope will be the last of their tiny turds, and restored the living room to it's former human beings only rules.

I've got a sore throat and a streaming cold, so a medicinal whisky might be in order. Happy ankle breaking.

02 March 2005

The World Coughing Contest from Zurich

Unusual for me to spill my soul at this time of the day, but a quiet moment has presented itself. I'm in the office today - doing that thing I attempt occasionally-work. Ziggy Stardust is playing on the stereo 'Making Love with his ego' etc.
Friends Reunited will be played on 6Music in precisely eight minutes, and the evening promises fun fun fun.
'Don't lean on me man cause you can't afford the ticket'
Don't mean to sound shallow, but I thhink I might have had my hair cut too short. It's geezer at B and Q short. All I need is an England shirt and a chunky gold chain. The veins in my neck are throbbing ' Wam Bam Thankyou Mam'
I'm off out tonight, lending my tonsils to Haines' latest venture. One take Moore they call me in the recording community...one more, one more....It's not going to get any better. Then the nighteries will call with their enticing barrels of ale, buxom ladies and even a crafty cigarette.
Sadly, pathetically, I feel myself slipping back down that nicotine greasd pole, back down into the snug. My lungs have had a winter respite. I would be a shame not to fill them up again. Coughing is a part of being a man.
Rattling hacking expectorating, spitting in drains - why should people want to be banning a practice that facilitates this ability.
The World Coughing Contest in Zurich will be cancelled if there are not some wheezing phlegmatic codgers to hawk a wodge. I think I'm blathering here. Also, if smoking is banned, the word Phlegm, with it's crazy spelling will disappear from the English language - this must not be allowed to happen.

Anyway, the lull is drawing to a close, Ziggy has finished - 'The Kids have killed the man', and I'm off.

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