We’re all going to die!

But not tonight.

So if you’re in the area, do come down to The Slaughtered Lamb and share a happy New Year’s Eve with us.

Boulangerie!

So, the East End of London has come together like Galvatron to form Disco Aid, and channel all that New year’s cash into that Quake Aid shit. Which is good. Even those Hoxton Pimps swine are doing it. And Queens Of Noize are “passing round a bucket”. I shall refrain from… well.

I am listening to Regaeton Crunk. It is awesome.

Anyway.

BONUS!

Birddogg’s bit for the Christmas Mixtape came in late, so it’s been isolated as a mini mixtape in the music section. Go get that shit, it’s only 18 minutes long lad.

You swine killed my bandwith AGAIN!

How dare you download stuff of my gaysite and look at pictures.

You swine.

So! Back to London tommorrow. It is New Year’s Eve, they say, and we are having a do at The Slaughtered Lamb, in Farringdon. We are instigating a thing whereby, if you want a certain song paying, you can give us two quid, which we shall give to those Red Cross disaster relief people. Which means, if you want to hear Sweet Child Of Mine, you can, and Wade can’t moan. HAHAHA.

112,000, they say now. I haven’t seen any television news since before Christmas.

“Ok, it’s over, you can take your stupid tacky decorations down now. You shouldn’t have put them up the first place, because you know your lazy American ass isn’t about to take it down until April. People in other countries don’t even have electricity and yet here you’re sucking up the world’s resources with your 3-feet waving Santa, reindeers hanging off the roof, Jesus and the whole gang on the lawn. Enough. If Christmas is really about giving and thinking about others beside yourself, then stop wasting electricity. I should start a company that takes down other people’s Christmas decorations for them. Come on, you know it’s a good idea.”
Dramahoratic, Dec 2004

So, I’m getting an obscene ammount of traffic from Live Journal people, due in part to Rory posting a comic I posted by that genius Gurewitch, and my heroic response to the bandwidth sucking that commenced. Which was swapping the picture for one of me and my blob being festive. HO HO HO!

Anyway, as a result, I have this huge mob of scary teenage girls from America land linking me from their weblogs. They have crazy weblogs. One could become addicted if one had the time.

My Mam goes back to work tommorrow.

I go London Thursday or Friday. And find a house. And have a New Year Eve thing at my favourite pub, The Slaughered Lamb. And a New Year’s Day thing at the Great Eastern. See gigs page.

There were 50,000 dead in Sudan a year ago. What is it, 200,000 now? Why doesn’t that shit get a front page? And is Rumsfeld ready to declare a pre-emptive retaliatory strike against that slag Nature?

So, Yushchenko defied Vote rigging, los of angry and powerful Russians, poisoning and Batman villain scarring to win control of his country. How long before somone kills him to death?

PlayLouder staff and contributors voted my crappy EP 6th best of 2004. This is what I voted for:

LPs

Ghostface - The Pretty Toney LP
Mothboy - The Fears
Leonard Cohen - Dear Heather
MF Doom - Mm Food
Skinnyman - Council Estate Of Mind
80s Matchbox - The Royal Society
Joanna Newsom - Peach Pear thingummy
213 - The Hard Way
Cradle of Filth - Nymphetamine
Pink Grease - This Is For Real

And

45s

Jadakiss - Why
Alter eGO - rOCKER
Adam Green - Friends Of Mine
Young Buck - Let mE iN
Dizze Rascal - stand Up Tall
The rammelzee - Pay Your rent
Dj signify - Winter’S GOing.
Jehst - Monotony
Ikara Colt - Modern Feeling
Courtney Love - Mono

Obviously, I did it in a rush and forgot loads. It was a good year, actually.

My moustache is particularly excellent today.

Just in case you were wondering.

That picture, by the way, is of my littlest brother Zef, who does the Flash stuff, playing one of my presents. And if you were wondering what I got, well wonder no longer. Here is my Christmas Actuality List, 2004. Forsooth:

Chris de Burgh - The Ultimate Collection (Notes From Planet Earth)
It has brand new millennial versions of ‘Missing You’and ‘Patricia The Stripper’, and a new mix of ‘A Spaceman Came Traveling’! I put the latter on my Christmas Mixtape, you may have noticed - he changes the infections at the end of the lines in the verse.
From little brother Zef

A Zoot Suit
My mam made it! It is silver and black striped. It is amazing. YOU haven’t got one. But I do. Figure that out.
From my Mam

A pink silk handkerchief
To stuff in my Zoot Suit pocket. Yes.
From my Nan

Red Braces
To hold up my Zoot Trews! SWANK!
From little brother Zef

Burnout 3
A computer game. You race cars fast. Me and Wade were well into the original, back in the day, when the PS2 had just come out and we were living in East Finchley, doing DIY and shit.
From little brother Marek

Gone With The Wind
A book! I am all backed up with books. But this is next, as it is, I am told, a classic. I’ve never seen the film neither.
From Litte brother Alex

A Lynx gift set and some drawing pens
Now I can draw comics like a teenager AND smell like one!
From Auntie Sheila and Uncle Maurice

Manga
A vast compendium of Japanese comics art. It is crazy fresh.
From my Old Man

Body Shop honey moisturising conditioner for dry/damaged/chemically treated hair
USEFUL!
From my Mammy

See? I am a LUCKY BOY. Indeed. Later I will post pictures of the Boxing Day gambling tournament, heralded by the recent arrival of my Uncle Maurice and Auntie Sheila. Word.

PHEW!

It is done.

And up.

“It”, being the mixtape you were promised as midday.

I hope you like it. It’s got my Nan on it.

Right. I am off to have Christmas, then.

Whee!

OK, we’re getting there. I gotta chop in some of my Nan, level check the thing, render, upload, word, there you go, ho ho. Ho.

Yes yes yes.

MERRY CHRISTMAS PEOPLES!

So, I promised you a mixtape right about now. Due to complications (Birddogg’s section not turning up, no mike, faulty mailing list, going out on the piss with wee brother instead of staying in to do it last night) it is running a bit late. Check back in an hour and it should be ready in time to soundtrack your Christmas lunch, or your Qunaza, or whatever. ANYWAY! Youknowsyou’resafe. Backinnabit…

Merry happy, combustibles. Here are some festive UK facts, courtesy of The Independent! Whoo!

How Much We Britains Will Spend This Christmas:

£4.2bn: The amount Britons spent on cosmetics this Christmas
£4.14bn: Britain’s aid budget for the developing world in 2004
£813: Average spending per adult on celebrating Christmas (£55 less than last year)
£50: The per capita annual income in Ethiopia
£20m: Amount made by Mark Tilden, British robot expert who invented Robosapien, this year’s hit toy
£20m: Amount nations of sub-Saharan Africa are paying in debt to developed world every 16 hours

How Much We Britons shall be EATING!

7,000: Average calories consumed by Britons on Christmas Day
780: Minutes running needed to burn off 7,000 calories
7: Number of days a child refugee in Darfur could survive on 7,000 calories
£12: Average cost per head in UK of Christmas lunch
£12: Cost of a month’s supply of grain for a family in drought-hit Malawi
30,525: Number of miles your Christmas dinner will have travelled to reach your table - vegetables alone are likely to have come 15,800 miles
4: Miles walked daily by families in developing world in search of water

But What Of The HEALTH?

5m: Britons will suffer a stomach upset over festive season
2.1m: People in developing world killed this year by diarrhoeal disease

And that pesky ENVIRONMENT…

83 sq km: Amount of wrapping paper used (enough to cover 33 Hyde Parks)
3,000,000: Tons of extra rubbish generated - enough to fill 120m wheelie bins

Well.

HO HO HO!!!

My Nan and two of my little brothers are in the living room playing Grand Theft Auto San Andreas. My Nan’s all like, “Steal the car! Steal the car! Spray the car! Spray the car!”

She was telling tales of time gone by earlier. What it was, was, like, 40 years ago or maybe less, if they couldn’t afford tights, what they’d do, is they’d spit on their hands, get a bit of dirt from the garden, rub it in their hands, then they’d rub the dirt all into their legs, rub rub rub, then they’d have a friend draw a line down the back of their legs with a biro. Voila. Tights.

This conversation arose from my Nan marveling at my little brother - who went to Prague looking like Badly Drawn Grebo and came back as Sid Vicious - and the big holes in his trousers. “I am glad I don’t have to follow fashion,” she piped, cheerily.

As are we all. I saw a lady haggling over a fake FCUK puffa on Bethnal Green Road earlier. There were fat tears welling like jellyfish in the corners of the holes where eyes might have been. Her gelatinous frame trembled and creased like a wet paper bag stuffed with woodlice.

“Ho ho,” I said. “Merry Christmas.”