Curse The Metre.

I got back to London yesterday with two really pissed people in tow - the separated at birth Jeres and my old mate Greg from Brummageham. Jeres insisted on getting off the bus in Camden, then sat in the Good Mixer with a screwface on shouting at the room about some Welsh television presenter nobody had ever heard of. Last seen upsetting Pedro from The Parkinsn's girlfriend, he was, stealing a taxi and refusing to move. Greg collapsed into a snotty pile on my sofa, and after going on a mission to secure gas, in order not to freeze to death, I joined Wade in watching Kingdom Of Heaven, which is up there with Troy in the Worst Movie Of All Time stakes, and is yet another brilliant example of the complete loss of editing prowess that has affilicted current western cinema.

Anyway. We had an excellent weekend, braving broken sound systems in Liverpool to deliver a set of joy for the assembled Scouse, seeing the Baggies trounce a miserable and paddy-throwing Man City 2 - 0 at the Hawthorns ("Where's your brother gone, where's your brother gone," would have been the best chant. Or maybe "you'll never see him again, you'll never see him again..."). We also went to see Editors with some of my old Brummy mates and my old man and his lady, and no one would believe he was my old man, and Nerys tried to snog him. So it goes.

Today I awoke in pitch black with no electricity in the house, so I read by candlelight for a bit then came down here. I have a busy week this week, in that I have to finalise the sequencing of my album and do the inbetweeny bits and a mixtape and a cartoon. But your emails keep me ever amused. I am getting used to receiving electronic proposals of marriage by now, but on occasion they are directed towards members of my live band. I shall print the following, as it by far the most in depth I have seen, and if I know Mary, she will be only too happy to respond. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, oh my people. Manyana!

"You rocked Islington

To the female singer

It is a night I will never forget, you came on stage at the Jim Bob gig like a little Marilyn in a tutu and stole my heart. The body of a goddess, with the voice of angel , when you sang ‘goodbye ruby Tuesday, come home you silly cow’ it was like a scene from Carmen or something. I could only watch on mesmerised , transfixed.

Your beauty blew me away. You looked like a little princess on that stage in your white frock (then again, so did the lead singer) a vision, a little fairy. Don’t take this the wrong way, but if ever I wanted a fairy to sit on my tree…you’d be her!

Some people don’t believe in love at first sight, it a myth they say, but what do they know. I know when ive found Miss Right. This is why ive decided to offer you a proposal of marriage. I know its quite sudden and a lot to take in at first, but hear me out. I have my own little love nest near the High St, its absolutely perfect for us. It’s bang on top of an off license plus on a clear night you can see right into the kebab shop. Ive often sat watching lovers throwing up, then sharing a snog and a large donar while waiting for the night bus. Its so romantic, I wish it could be us. It has all the mod cons. I have a playstation 2, a gerbil, a Mr Kappachinno maker (with alarm/snooze buttons), the complete 1st series of Doctor Who and Mash on DVD, his and her mountain bikes and put it this way, I’ve not been a stranger to Ikea. And to top it all…its less than a two minute walk to Lidl’s! But here’s the clincher, Thursday Friday and Saturday night when the bingo’s on, it would be like my mother didn’t even live with us! Tempted my little butterfly?

You’d like my mother when you got used to her, as long as you don’t have any Millwall tattoos, a pit bull or wear dungarees. It would only bring on flashbacks of my old girlfriend big Julie.

Oh, here’s me waffling on and I don’t even know your name. True love needs no name. But could you please send me an autograph by e-mail? If however you felt the need to chuck in a semi-nude photo to accompany then that could be seen as a bonus.

My mother doesn’t have to read all my emails. On second thoughts though, she is a stickler for it, so it might be an idea to use some sort of code. If you were to send it titled ‘QVC Special Offer’ then that would throw her, she refuses to acknowledge that company anymore. Not after the last fiasco when three Diamonique stones fell off her belly ring and they refused to accept responsibility. I don’t want to go into too much detail (its one of the conditions) but it all got a bit messy…I’m talking local papers, small claims court etc. But we came out on top at the end. To avoid any more embarrassment for the company we accepted a substantial out of court settlement. We left there with out heads held high and of course our statutory rights still intact! We know have a George Forman Lean Machine in every room, a pressure washer and as many Cliff Cd’s than you’d care to shake a stick at.

I wasn’t going to say this because I didn’t want to pressure you into saying yes, but…I might even buy you a Dyson. I’ve seen one in the window of Cash Converters, it’s a little scuffed (like my heart) but with my vast collection of Airfix match pots im sure we could have it looking as good as new. Some girls on the estate would give their right arm for that

Please think about my proposal and let me know soon

XXX

Elvis Bush "

Oh, if anyone took any photos at that gig (or any recently, actually), please send, I need to make that live page better.

So.

Moby says, in the wake of the murder of a girl by a boy who was mental and also very into Eminem, "You have blood on your hands, and you should be deeply, deeply troubled at the culture that you've helped to create."

PlayLouder agrees. And I think he is as full of shit as ever. It may seem incredible to believe, to those of you whose historical context is limited to that which you glean from the so-called-newspapers and Discovery Channel documentaries, but men have been caving women's heads in since they have had the physical ability. In the eighties we were told that horror movies were responsible for such things. The Romans often blamed it on plays. Etc ad infinitum. I'm not sure who Jesus blamed (please tell me, but as far as I can recall, he wasn't really about such myopic finger wagging was he?), but I do know that one of those Ying Yang Twins recently said the following (I quote from memory here - I'll post the exact quote tomorrow -

"God didn't create woman, God created man to serve him, and from Adam he created Eve. But she didn't do what she was told - she spoke to that snake and ate the apple, and fucked it all up for everyone. So that's why I hate hoes."

There has been a president in our society for some thousands of years, enforced quite clearly and brutally by our main religions, that says women are lesser than men, and, in fact, are there for men, to do with as they wish. Moby, a Christian, might do well to consider this, before blaming the fantastical musings of a poet on society's ills.