So, just because I was sober, and thus not a complete asshole, the nice lady at the JFK airport check in desk upgraded my ticket to World Traveller Class, which is an ill class, because it has slightly better seats than Cattle, and a laptop charger, and more booze, for some reason. I mean, I had just stood in line for an hour and a half, which is the longest I have ever qued in an airport check in for, as I usually arrive just as its about to finish boarding, in a tizzy, bags falling out all over the shop like the innards of belly-slit cows... but I was quite content, cos I had a comic book, called 1602, which is the best superhero comic I've read since, like, Todd McFarlane era Spiderman, which wasn't all that good anyway thinking about it. 1602 was written by Neil Gaiman, who you may or may not know from his spine liquefying work on Sandman and Death and shit. It's basically a reimagining of the Marvel Universe from the end of Ginger Queen Elizabeth's reign through James That Bastard's, and if I say anything else it'll spoil it, so I shan't, as it is full of amazement and twistage, so just suffice to say it is proper fucking ill and filled me with hope and wonder and sadness and made me cry a little bit. I AM SUCH A GIRL!
With one working eyeball and a hole in his brain. I totally got pinkeye the other night and drank so much booze I now have a seven hour memory hole black out, like TOTAL - I was a dick to Dear James Brown and started a fight with a bouncer and a giant and a mod, kissed all the girls and fell asleep on the floor in the fucking store room of The Darkroom, (which seems to have become my rather twisted New York Cheers), or so they tell me. I saw this old pal the next day and had no memory of talking to him for two and a half hours, which is just weird, actually. And I kept running into girls and thinking I'd never met them and then it transpired I like, totally had. Which is rude. But still. That I run into so many people I know, and have forgotten I know, in New York is indicative of something, and it is not necessarily bad at all.
Still. They say I would have liked me a lot, that night, apart from the starting fights and being mean to James. I amn't racked with guilt at all, so Jeres and I are now in a pub in Lodnon, where he is nursing a bloodied face that mean old Magners, champagne, lager, whisky, gin and - well, he says, everything and that he probably drank from old ladies' bottoms - have him. It is a handsome thing, his face. Full of blood.
But still. I have some regrets. I had this awesome white outfit on, which I ruined with dirt and booze and rolling around on the floor. And Jeff bought me this awesome Russian hat and I lost that last night but I do remember last night anyway, it was a bit like the night I don't remember but I remember some of it.
So, yeah, I had a nice plane home, so that was short visit, but I did pack a lot into it and saw loads of people I well like, and then again but I might move out there in February. So I shall be seeing more of you lovely people. I mean, I will regardless, cos I JUST FINISHED MY ALBUM AND IT'S AMAZING AND IS OBVIOUSLY GOING TO BE FUCKING HUGE BITCH, SERIOUS. SERIOUS. SERIOUS!
And I totally love New York and it totally cheers my cockles and London is DEPRESSING AND FULL OF GRUMPS.
I mean, even with a full on transit strike, New Yorkers are well safe, serious. We were all walking over the Willimsbourg bridge, like a fucking exodus, all singing and shit. I was stuck in gridlock for half an hour on the way to the airport, took 40 minutes to move 3 blocks, and shit was totally chilled.
Still, I did have an excellent conversation with a man on the train today, which never happens. BUT LORD THE MAGAZINE RACK IN THIS COUNTRY INFURIATES ME!
The sun: "Elton Takes David Up The Isle.
The Independent: "YOU ARE BEING WATCHED".
I am at a loss as to what to do New Year's now, I have three excellent offers in differnt bits of the world. One is a bit silly and asking for trouble actually. Silly and asking for trouble might win. Just because.
And I am losing my thread. Hmm. Typing at you whilst conversing with Jeres in this darling Owl And The Pussycat is confusing.
OH MY GOD, that Scientology South Park is amazing.
ANYWAY! Back to the drinks and the conversation and whatnot yes yes yes.