Boys, Back, In, Town


No, really. I did. Oh You Tee. In Old Street. Many reunions. And a mission to NOT GET DRUNK AND WRITE OFF THE WEEKEND. Could it be done?

Well, it started with the gym. Actually, it started with me rushing out the house late for the gym, then getting upset cos I hadn't had time to put Jackie Chain's Haze on my Z Phone, and that was what I wanted in my ears. Then I was like, HANG ON, I AM IN THE FUTURE, so I pulled it up on Youtube on my phone while I waited for the train to come. Then I downloaded it on the bus. It took less time to download than it took to write a tweet about how I was downloading it.


Yes. So I was in a good mood when I met Jeres outside the gym, and we did 300 reps on The Machines and 100 sit ups on the big bouncy balls, then we went back to Jeres' gaff, where he made me fried haloumi baguette and I schooled John Doran from The Quietus on Lil B, swag, cooking, and Alabama hip-hop. I know my shit. He was appreciative, and I felt like a fountain of knowledge, which is a good feeling. Henrik Palmgen must feel great all day, that dude is like a little Swedish encyclopedia.

Oh, and Jeres has, typically for Jeres, become a filthy gym addict. He's a member of two gyms now, and goes at lunchtime and in the evening. He is on some three month quest to become a HENCH MAN. Not a henchman, that wouldn't suit him. He's more supervillain material really.

Anyway. Serendipitous synchronicity occurred in the Old Blue Last, when I bumped into one of my new PR dudes after just finalising the deal with his boss a few hours earlier. We were in the Old Blue Last to see my old buddy Nik Moore, himself a press officer, one of the first people who kinda took me under his wing a bit and gave me advice and stuff when I came to London. He used to look after Motorhead, and always PRed mental rawk bands called things like Powerhawk. On this particular occasion the band he had playing was called Turbowolf. You couldn't make it up. Or maybe you could. I sometimes think Nik Moore creates these outfits by sheer will. This lot were a swirling frenzy of tie-dyed eyeball vests and 70s moustaches. Their amp kept blowing up, but they crowdsurfed regardless. And this was the top room of a pub, one must doff one's cap in such instances.

Never mind that though, guess who's back?

Lacey's back.

Mister Lacey. Back. From his 4 year adventure in Los Angeles after a spectacular clusterfuck of a breakdown of the life he'd built for himself. He met us outside the pub with his trusty steed JCB in tow, and it was like he'd never left, bless his heart. He was wide eyed, head spinning like a top. "Where are all the hot Mexican chicks?" he kept stammering. "This is weird!"

Down the road, at Camp, the Southern Hospitality boys where hosting the second Player's Ball, and they'd promised me they'd play that Jackie Chain record if I came.  So off we went. Pixel was in Camden celebrating his birthday, so we hollered at that lot and lo they came too. So there was a big ass mob of us hanging out by the cloakroom, going apeshit every time a banger came on, which was roughly every 3 minutes.

The Players' Ball is the club night I've been wanting in London as long as I can remember. They play those great big down South ANTHEMS I love so dearly. They play relatively obscure mixtape tracks. They play Waka Flocka Flame and Rick Ross and Cam'ron and UGK. Hell, they even dropped a lil' Lil B in the early part of the night. I was in swag heaven. I spent a great deal of the night stood on a chair so I could talk to ten foot mountain beast Tego Seigel about rap music while I did my Don Dance (I shall have make one of those instructional videos for Don Dancing one of these days, but it basically involves working your elbows and your shoulders and rocking what Pixel calls "and edgy pout"). I did a lil' bit of cooking too.

Yeah, we had a grand ole time. And guess what?

Two whiskey and cokes and one shot of something aniseedey.


I did miss my stop reading about a Ja Rule video on my Z Phone (yeah, I know), necessitating a half hour walk home in the drizzle. But I enjoyed that.

Saturday I spent working my ass off till 5 am and listening to the new Yelawolf/Trae Tha Truth record on repeat.

And Sunday?

Sunday saw the musical reunion of me, Lace, and Pix.




Looks like ATD25 is go. I wasn't planning on that just yet, to tell you the truth. But according to this text file I've got on my desktop, I'm 5 songs deep already. DAMN!

PS: OK, you eagle eyed winners can buy that incredible and legendary ATD1 T shirt. YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!


[sleeve id="8455"] WOOOO HOOO!

It is all but done!

I am giving it a once over now, then I'm gonna play it on the Doncast at 5pm GMT!

Then I am gonna do a final master tweak, render it and chop it and tag it and zip it and up it to preorderers. And finish the art. Then up the stream.



So, I got some (ha!) sleep, and I listened to the noises Birddogg was making up here while I was down in New York, doing whatever it was I was doing in New York. Like, there's some ill stuff. But one in particular is just tremendous. it is mighty. It fills my heart. And prefectly fits so many of the raps I was writing in New York, tempom flow, everything. So, what I've done, is draw various raps, and bits of raps, together, to create this New York song that's been brewing all the time I've been here. It is best I get it out now, before I FORGET. Annoyingly, the necassary component is missing. So piss.

Bad: All the stuff I bought last week - food, drink, socks, weed - is gone. Mostly. I got a lot of Ritz crackers, peanut butter and macaroni. Good: There's a Death's Head Moth on my window. (See right) Bad: There is animal shit by my window. Good: The air outside is fresh and envigorating. Bad: The air in the top level of the house, in which I am supposed to be dwelling, is thick with the stink of animal and of animal excrement.

I went to turn on the sauna earlier, and nearly trod in cat shit. Or dog shit. It could be both. Whatever. It's like, wow, sauna! Oh, catshit. Wow! Oh. Wow! Oh. Etc. So, I wanted to go into town and get a job today, to pay for my ticket back to New York, but waited about for people to come with me rather than just doing it, and the end result is it's super late now, too late to get a job anywhere, and everyone's going into town to go out, save me, who must stay at home cos he has no ID (this is a worry), and it's too far to chance not being allowed in anywhere.

A ha!

So I should write more now. I wrote a bunch earlier. Phil is worrying that Amy has forotten his ass, as she went in her tiny car to take Cecelia and James over an hour ago. But she hasn't forgotten him. It's just miles from ShanGayKen to Woodstoock! A HA!

I just asked Spiky if he has a message for the world. He said, "spitroast!" So there you go.