Gosh!

I just finished reading my old friend Gwilym's script, which was quite a terrifying experience. Most of the characters seem to be based on people we went to school with. It's kind of like Martin Amis' Dead Babies, but starring upper-working-class and lower middle class Welsh people, without all the hardcore pornography and the expressionism and the grotesque dwarf.

Actually, I was in it for about a paragraph, as a "hip-hop Jesus" called Mikey (ah-HA!). Crushingly two dimensional, I thought, and depressingly accurate. Still, I could have been one of the girls. Oh dear lord, how glad I am not to be a girl. Aside from all the periods and the objectification and the Magazine Rack, you have to put up with your portrayal in pretty much all movies being written by men. And what do they know? Nothing! They are far to busy suffering the indignity of being men.

Here's a thing though - I have been making my living from publishing my own warped portrayals of my friends, and my "reality", for five years now, and have not once seriously considered how my subjects might feel about their depictions. Just like I didn't give a shit when I wrote unsuitable stories about my school friends in primary school and got publicly humiliated by Miss Roberts for my trouble on a weekly basis.

Gwilym, it should be noted, fucking loved school. I fucking hated it. So much I left it as soon as I could, which was in '96, post GCSE. It was all over before they started though, really. I missed one because I was living in a tent in Beaumaris woods and failed to wake up in time. I was nearly refused entrance to another - by the tragically named Mr Dunt - for bic-ing my head. I remember very little of any of it, probably because the mind blocks out painful and traumatic occurrences, so that one can have some vaguely decent self-image and not die every three seconds. No, I hated school. I would not wish such a horrible thing on anybody.

So, as I tore across the midlands in search of what I'd read about in music magazines, Gwilym and my school chums did A Levels, and found themselves, with the stupider, poorer, and rowdier children gone, to be kings of the playground. When I knew them, they were virgins, they rolled about in the mud at break times, they dragged each other about the place by shirt cuffs and hair, threw shoes in trees, fought, they sniffed each others bottoms. In the last two years of school, they got laid, took drugs, formed sexual relationships, became "cool". I missed all of that. I didn't see them again properly until last Summer, by which point I was a Z list pop star and had grown quite bored of drugs.

Now I see a few of them quite a lot. It is almost as if we weren't apart for seven years.

But we we were.

We never took drugs together. We never talked about girls, in that way, together. We never grew up together. We were small, then we were big. The inbetween is a mystery. It is vague, shadowy, ghostville.

So what? you shrug.

And you are right.

[proof] So, I saw that episode of CSI with my song in it. It was amazing! My song being on a huge American TV show that is, not the show. The show was a bit rubbish. Guess what was going on when they played CLONES? They were in a strip club! HA! LA styled lady dolls wiggling out of time to that gogdamned song! I heard me rap "I can't stand to see this/ heinous/ monument to the penis" as one young lady mashed her pelvis up a steel rod. I was quite awed. It wasn't irony, but it was... Something...

I should probably note that the gig was quite fantastic - I felt entirely in control throughout, which was almost weird. Mary got her stuff nicked again. She spoke to the thief on the phone (he on hers, she on a friends). When he discovered that she'd been part of the entertainment that night he came over all sorry, and said he'd meet her, and give it back, but he didn't, of course. She forgave him because she's a Christian. She lost her money, credit cards, personal effects, make up, telephone, iPod, but she doesn't even mind anymore. It's just her Mother that's in bits. Which is quite understandable. All this time alive, all this acquired knowledge, wisdom, faith, hope. Children. And some junky can steal a bag and one's ultimate, crushing powerlessness in the face of the true nature of the world is as self evident as the rain.

Mary's friend said she'd lost faith in humanity. But what does she expect? Humanity has always been thus. And always it will. Folks like me spend half their lives pissing in the wind, and then we have the foolish cheek to ask why we are wet. Right doesn't even exist, so wouldn't people be wrong?.

I mean, I woke up this morning - well afternoon - and Marvin had left a couple of litres of sick in my toilet!

That wacky Martian!