Pancreas.

I had one of those amazing days where I rose early and much was achieved, and most of that went right, yesterday. Finished a song. Drew pictures. Listened to music (Hiz's mixtape is fucking ace) Sorted emails (I still have 300 odd to deal with, but it is a happier figure than that I was facing). Communicated with members of my family (my old Man didn't like my version of Lucretia... by the way. I don't think Luke or my little brother did, but I DO!). And spent a delightful evening down Rotter's Golfclub in Keith Tenniswood's underground bunker, checking out his three (!) remixes of my song, Liverpool and some of his new stuff. And inventing a new mixtape genre. It is like screwed and chopped in that involves fucking with records, but we are calling it Ketamine (despite Keith's hatred of the stuff), as what it does is it makes records sound like Ketamine. Via ramming things throguh chorus filters and shit. It is amazing.

I didn't rise so early today, unhappily, but I do have Keith's remixes, and Matt's ideas for the live action Clones video are taking excellent shape.

Oh piss! My cofee has gone cold. Never mind. One of my American readers peoples mailed to tell me he was driving in a car with his Mammy and our version of Dreams came on and they nearly crashed. No crashing is good, and so is yankee airplay of British emcees. BIG UP!