Well gang, I listened to your comments, I slept, I dreamed, I did some world-class rapping (hold tight Mothboy!), I opened a business account, I researched some new conduits, then I sat down 45 minutes ago with the new Cam’ron mixtape and Manga Studio 4, and mashed this out.

We’re definitely getting somewhere now. This lil dude’s got personality. I haven’t even given him a recognisable outfit yet, but this is definitely going in the right direction. Might need simplifying a little. Glasses is a no-no cos they restrict the eyeballs – and anyway, I got my contact-lens prescription, and as soon as I’ve got a spare £40 I’m getting me a six month supply. Mainly so I can rock the 3D glasses I robbed from the cinema after I saw Up. I swear those things have luck in them.

Anyway. What do you reckon?

We shall see.

Anyway! Due to popular demand (we see you Zeph), here’s the MP3 of Zef (He’s Still Great) by me and The Svenhunter.

Enjoy that thing!

Then enjoy Dizzee spitting LARVA on Wayne’s Fireman beat. I got excited!

SO!

I’m toying with the idea of having a messageboard on here. I suspect, you see, there is a mine of knowledge, thought wisdom and hilarity in youse lots, that, if left to your own devices, could turn into something wonderful. Any thoughts on that? Yae? Nae? Any type in particular you like?

Oh, and here’s another Superdick.

Actually, that’s kind of fair enough. OK, THIS is a real Superdick.

Look at his FACE! Oh GOD! I will never sleep again!

News Bird: “Why don’t you take your glasses off?”
Kid: “Mmm… nah. Nah. I’ll leave these on. I like them.”
News Bird: “Take of those glasses and apologise to us.”
Kid: “I’ll say sorry, but I’m not taking off my glasses.”
News Bird (indignant): “Why not?”
Kid: “Cos… they’re famous.”
News Bird: “I suggest you go away and take a long hard look at yourself.”
Kid: “I have. Everyone has. They love it.”

ROFLMAO DOT COM!

S = Sample
NS = No Sample
H – Has A Hook Idea

73 (NS)

Thursday (NS)

Lissen (S, H)

Xenu (NS)

Harriet (NS)

Sunglasses (S)

Clickit (NS)

I Got U (NS, H)

Christ (S – out of copyright though, H)

A Dream (NS, H)

Darkout (NS)

Sunday July 15th.

I sleep through Sunday morning. It is great. it is the most sleep I’ve had in a week. I realise all my dreams in hospital have involved my being ostracized from various communities and bullied. Hospital is rubbish.

I am surprised at lunchtime to hear one of the short chubby Jamaican nurses tell another short chubby Jamaican nurse that I have pneumonia. I had no idea. I thought I had a kidney infection.

The day is dull. My neighbours snore. I am wet. Always, I am wet. Hot and wet. Cold and wet.

On Sunday evening my enjoyment of the Porridge movie is ruined by my drip machine going into some spastic frenzy of beeping fifteen minutes before the end. Short chubby Jamaican nurses fail to come to my aid. I am pissed ff.

At ten o clock my boredom is temporarily alleviated by the arrival of a new recruit – an affable, blonde Jewish gentleman of middling age, who looks about to pass out. The nurses are pissed off as “we have no drip stands.” I have a drip stand. My bag of saline wetness and my bag of yellow liquid drugs hang from it, flexing gently, filling me with juice via tubes into my arm. I am lucky. No such luck for the jew. he moans, mournfully – “Ooooh! Mooooh!” It is an odd sound. Like sleepy, weak old people playing tennis. Like an old dying cow.

I watch half of Hero, but it bores me. Hero is like a bad car advert or something. Load of nonsense. TV sucks balls.

Monday July 16th

I am woken early by doctornurses. i am freezing cold and drenched with sweat again. The jewish blonde kept me up all night doing his old people playing tennis routine – “Uh! Muh! Ooooh! Mooooh!” He also spent a lot of time kicking the metal chest of drawers next to his bed. But he is silent now. He only makes these silly noises when he is awake. I hope he never wakes up, then I feel bad.

Nobody will change my wet sheets. By 8:30 my neighbour is awake, and making noises like a wounded boar. I wish speedy death on him. He goes to the bathroom, where he makes terrifying noises. He roars with indignity. I feel sorry for him again. “Oooooargh!” he cries “Moooooh!”

I have been reading Cat’s Cradle all morning. I am considering becoming a Bokononist. I like this bit:

Tiger got to hunt
Bird got to fly
Man got to sit and wonder – why, why, why?

Tiger got to sleep
Bird got to land
Man got to tell himself he understand.

At 9 am, the jewish blonde makes an announcement.

“I am sorry to bother you in the night gentlemen.”

I feel guilty for wishing death on him.

The very tall pink man with black features, who’d just been complaining about his ruin-ed sleep, accepts the appology on our behalf.

“Shalom,” he says and sticks an oar sized thumb up.

The blonde jewish gentleman goes back to his protestations.

“Ooooh! oooooh!”

The huge pink man with black features has the biggest family you have ever seen, they are like the contents of an East end pub on a Friday. They talk to me sometimes.They like my glasses.

I have become known as “Buddy”

Second time, I had no belly whatsoever. It must be the wheat.

I haven’t eaten any wheat for going on a fortnight. Everything is made of wheat. Certainly everything lunchy. I guess I lived on lunchy most of my life.

I can’t see today – my contacts fell out last night, and my glasses are broken, and the blutac that held them together just don’t seem to cut it anymore. I guess its pretty interesting, this whole guessing one’s way about thing. I am relying on instinct. Usually, my instinct is ace, but I guess it must stink sometime.

London, it has to be said, is prettly bleak, through the blur. But some things, even in the grubby dark of the pre-dawn, look beautiful. People spend their whole lives looking for clarity. I don’t know if its worth it.

Guess which celebrated emcee made his LONG AWAITED mike comeback in Don Studios tonight?

Click up there and FIND OUT!

Get excited!

Serious.

WORD TO DIDDY.

OK. We are playing in Ye Olde London Town tonight with Ye Olde Holloways at Ye Olde Barflizzle. We shall play for eight hours. It will be broadcast on XFM. 9pm. Tune in, I will tell you jokes cos I am THE FUNNYMAN.

Prior to that I shall be recording the intro to Lethal B’s new LP. That will be fun. He wants it to sound like “a football stadium chanting my name”. He would. He is a man of vision. Speaking of which, dude keeps trying to steal my sunglasses you know. I shall have to hide them.

Oh, here’s a funny:

Russian authorities pulled hundreds of opposition activists off buses and trains and detained them along with scores of others on Saturday ahead of a rare anti-government rally in Moscow, organizers said.

And my American friends? Prepare To Get (more) Tazered!

Oh brave new world!

A nice man called David writes:

“Hello Akira the Don,

David”

I agree. Do that thing!

So, that pic there, that’s me and my old mates Leslie and Ben, in ‘94.

“I hope things are good with you,” writes Leslie. “I found this pic the other day and thought you’d like to see it, was the day Ben nearly took your face off with a flame – happy days eh?!”

Indeed. That day I went to my first club. Problem was my fake ID wasn’t convincing the doormen that my 15 year old ass was old enough, so everyone else got in and I hung around outside till they took pity on me. When I finally got in and walked up the stairs, my glasses steamed up, and I couldn’t find my friends, so I wandered about for what remained of the night in the dark getting confused by the whistle posse and getting weird looks from people, prolly cos I looked like a 14 year old with no eyebrows. Afterwards I said I got off with a girl and nobody believed me at all. Which was fair because I was LYING!

So, we had an awful lot of fun on the MAN Tom Robinson’s show last night. We did some beatboxey loop machine versions of Oh! and AIDS (which sounded particularly awesome) with the one Joey Driscol and his mate James on sax. And we debuted my Christmas single: ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU (AND WORLD PEACE). !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. Shit is big like Turk. And Tom played this really awesome Alarm song I’ve never heard before called We Are The Light. Tom Robinson is such a down to earth G of a dude he went to Steve Wright In The Afternoon for advice when he started radio DJing. Steve told him not to mention things the listener could not see. Listening back to the thing, that was one of the first things I did, bit I am not a radio DJ, I am a CONDUIT, bitch! Word to KKKramer’s mate Al Sharpie.

But BirdGuhl, you are so right, I totally “sound like a little kid on the radio”.

Which is a good thing, I think.

So, my favourite male-lip-kissing rapper Lil’ Wayne has been chatting greasy about El Presidente Jay-Z. Check it:

“I don’t like what he’s saying about how he had to come back because hip-hop’s dead and we need him,” Wayne said. “What the fuck do you mean? If anything it’s reborn, so he’s probably having a problem with that. You left on a good note, and all of the artists were saying, ‘Yo, this is Jay’s house. He’s the best.’ Now he comes back and still thinks it’s his house. … It’s not your house anymore, and I’m better than you.”

So, who here agrees with that? I DO! I DO! I don’t like that he dissed The Clipse elsewhere in the interview though, cos The Clipse are awesome, and so’s he, and I want them to do a tune together (I am so unexcited by that Jules Santana/Wayne LP idea). Here’s a thing though – all Wayne’s chat about selling crack – I mean, how likely is that? Wasn’t he Cash Money’s Michael Jackson or something? Hasn’t he been a millionaire since he was, like, 9? When did he find time to sell crack? And what was he doing it for anyway? Come on! I never met anyone that enjoyed selling crack. You have to deal with crackheads, and crackheads scratch themselves all the time, and are usually no fun at all, plus, if you have one, they prick your conscience like AIDS orphans on the bus. No no no, I am not buying it, and it spoils my enjoyment of his records. I mean, I like Chris de Burgh, I am used to suspending belief (how many times has dude been in love anyway?), but Lil Wayne slinging rocks like Palestinians? Nagoes! (That’s Welsh for “no”, by the wizzay)

Hey though, that Jay-Z and Chris Martin joint is fire.

Evils supported last night, and played ear shredding post-house from inside a wendy house. He was ace. I played some Chamillionaire and some Billy Joel. Then we did a searlingly visceral gig, in front of friends old and new, and afterwards we were reunited in inebriacy with Martin and Mary and The Goblins and my people B and Wee James who I aint seen in YEARS… Etc am byth. A wonderful night, there will be recorded proof online soon, I am told.

We are on our way to London now, to tear Madamme Jo Jos anew batty hole. Will you join us?

Hurrah!

In case you are unsure, read ye a bit of Dr Adam Walton’s review of the Wrexham show. Forsooth: