Rest in peace Uncle Jan.

The last episode in a series of Buffy The Vampire Slayer is always a let down.
Big up everybody who came to the Slaughtered Lamb on Friday. I had a wonderful time, thank you, even after the amp blew up and the noises stopped. And last night was fun too. Cibelle was fucking incredible. I got that stuttering belly thing. My little brother DJed an awesome neo folk/dark wave/euoro metal set to a room full of confused/retarded/terrified children and their parents, waiting tragically for tragic Pete Doherty to haul his tragic translucent junky ass down from his 5 star hotel room to entertain their tragic souls. With tragedy. And do you think he did?

Did!

He!

Fuck!

No. He is a loser. He can but lose. Actually, the lumpy faced father (FATHER!) just about managed to go up and down in the lifts for twenty five minutes, clutching his guitar with one set of nasty clammy finger pipes, groping in confusion at his fluorescent orange wristband with the other, fat yellow tongue, sticky with goo, bitty and forlorn like a turd rolled in a hoover bag, occasionally venturing from the stinky prison of his mouth to collect some dead skinflakes from its pursed, grim corners. FORSOOTH!

I didn’t see him, Nonny did. I was busy doing things, like running up and down stairs with bits of paper and not playing. And getting set upon by Pete Doherty fans. “Pete is an incredible person,” beamed one girl beamishly from somewhere inside a set of gunged up braces. “He’s so real. My Mum loves him too. He’s not some fake rock star. He cares.”

“There is no way in hell that wet sack of shit is doing anything tonight, least of all caring,” I said. “Perhaps he will do some self mythologising, and crack, in the luxury of his suite. Leave me alone. It has nothing to do with me. I quit.”

And if I wasn’t being asked by Pete Doherty fans about Pete Doherty and when he was playing, I was being asked by clever people when I was, and the answer to which (”Oneish”) turned out to be false, and I never got to play at all, for which I am sorry, especially you who came from Betws Y Coed and you who came from Tipton.

I liked Erol’s Beyond The Wizard’s Sleeve room the best, that was lovely. It was full of Psych.

Anyway. That is done now. This week I’m finding somewhere to record my album. Then I’ll do it. In January I shall play those shows with Pop Will Eat Itself, a Firetrap party, and possibly something at 93 Feet East in London. But mainly it will be album.

OH BY THE WAY. I’m doing a New Year New Shit mixtape, if I get time, so please send me stuff I might like. There’s so much dope stuff about! I got the new Undercover today - the CD has some hot shit on it, go pick it up.

Anyway, must dash, sorry, thank you, I love you, goodbye.

Happy New Year peoples.

We are halfway to 2010, and still no flying cars.

Still, we can carry 10,000 songs in our pockets, we’ve got biospheres, and Biblical natrual disasters.

And assholes. Laugh your ass off, I did.

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.