London

"Room 101. One double bed. No, no, no. Receptionist!"

Yes, Comrades

This is the second entry from my London journal. Covers everything up to the gig.

Tuesday 20th March #2

Campden Lock Hotel. Room 101. One double bed. No, no, no. Receptionist!
Campden Lock Hotel. Room 302. Two single beds. Much better.
That Underground is a bastard. I've never seen such a complex system. Circles! That's what London needs more of. Circles. Got that Wellies song by Billy Connolly on, what a treat when so far from home. Spoke too soon, a choir just came on. Funny how you miss the Dear Green Shithole - must be the way of the Scot. The actual tube train is very...fast? Have you seen that film Creep? With the English girl smoking Mayfair? Bless her. Well, that's pretty much exactly what it's like. Fair play, directors of Creep. Wall-mounted TV, scraped walls, cigarette-burned windowsill and sticking the end of the toilet paper inside the roll for that extra touch of sophistication - that's our hotel room. In about three and a half hours, we'll be face to face with...him.

In a bit.

SD

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! What you're about to read contains an all time low for its writer


Thursday 18th December 2008

B-side to Beat Surrender (Shopping). Got Freddy the Twilight book and Mark a box of jelly beans. $30 though. Later on once I realised I am sunburnt (and in fact am not contracting skin cancer) we had a nigh-on pissup. Ahoy Tanqueray and out-of-date tonic, yo ho ho and a bottle of 4X beer. I'm officially on Myspace now, God bless. Plenty of people STILL using me as the agony aunt, even with so many hours between us. Turns out its not park time yet, and with a week til Christmas I don't mind. Not homesick yet.
"I'm not out to rinse ya, you know I'm not that kind"

Train Kept A Rollin

 "Was like wrestling an octopus made of titanium"

Yes, Comrades

I've returned from London. I kept a journal, made five entries - three on Tuesday, two today. Here's the first...

Tuesday 20th March #1

I may start getting a bit vicious in a bit. Just passed Carlisle station - reminded yours truly of Trainspotting (an actor called Robert may have had something to do with it). Woke at eight thirty, zero minutes before having to saunter to the station, carrying that blimmin' bag, was like wrestling an octopus made of titanium. Having not taken a train to further than Glasgow Central for seven years, I'd never quite registered it - but the whole 'train, window, scenery' malarky is daft cause so far, speaking at 12:25pm, it all looks terribly monotonous. Still, mustn't grumble. One can of Bud down, fighting to stay awake and sober for London. Poor old blonde sat next to Bruv, listening to James Bond parody titles such as From Rotherham With Love. Should be in London in three hours - crazy how Time Flies. Some Asian fella listening to Ke$ha adjacent, bopping his head in approval. Onwards!

In a bit.

SD

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Careful now, ahead lies only tales of going to see one of the worst films of all sodding time


Wednesday 17th December 2008

Dare I admit, I saw Twilight tonight. In 'Gold class' which meant reclining seats, style, comfort and nachos. Shitty cheese...I liked the film, if you care. Went to a party tonight. Made sure I didn't get drunk. The father n me were complete spare ones. Like the ground, like Gods, like air...invisible. Didn't buy anything today, the music tastes here are shocking. The beer's good though, as if I care. Mark got his hard drive wiped by dropping it. Theme park bound tomorrow. Whoopee...I'd rather sleep in sunshine listening to Cast all day. Oh well. And Freddy is actually one great guy. Judgmental = bad.
"I'm not one to give up, but I feel I'm at a loss"

Keep On Runnin' (Crawlin' Black Spider)

"When God put teeth in their mouths, he definitely spoiled some good arses"

Yes, Comrades

Well now it has been a long time has it not? Five days to my memory? Fuck knows. In that time Sonik Kicks has been released, today in fact. It's been described as 'patchy', 'not very good' and 'career-defining'. You know as well as I, dear droogs, that these are what we in the West call 'clichés'. Reviewers, particularly those working for the en.em.y (NME. Please do keep up!), have exhausted every simile, metaphor, hyperbole and bukkake. "Weller's released his first album in, oh, twenty minutes. Fuck it, get me portfolio and I'll snip and shape it like a new review! Bugger me, I'm a genius!" and Mr Weller will then proceed to read this review and say "Fuckers, ya know? They obviously just don't get it, ya know? Ya know, ya know?" In short: care not for the opinions of them. When God put teeth in their mouths, he definitely spoiled some good arses.

A new direction has been chosen. Following an unfortunate disagreement or four with seemingly no repairs possible, yours truly is going solo. "But Liam, you are a solo act! A wanker! Shame your dad wasn't!" "Yes, thank you, sit down, don't tell me how to do my job. I don't come round to your work and tell you how to grill the Big Macs, do I?" Yes. When I say solo, I don't mean solo, I mean solo. Right? Right. Purely acoustic, no frills, no backing band and ultimately no production. Ideas will form, masterpieces will birth, and maybe in good time you'll be buying tickets for An Intimate-ish Evening Or Afternoon Depending On The Venue And Gig Time With The Musician Formerly Known As Ar Kid. I've got to work on the new name, if I even decide to go with an alias. Could always take after Nicki Minaj, one of the greats, and conjure up a whole other personality. But seriously, videos will appear here. Not produced videos, just raw footage. Without spoiling the surprise, the first video you'll see soon will be the first song I ever learned on guitar: Traffic - Feelin' Alright. Originals will follow.

I'm still open to the idea of a backing band if I can find more people with that streak of desperation and low self-respect, the salt of the Earth - Jedward need not apply. If anyone knows of anywhere I could play a gig with an audience comprised solely of blind people, that would be fantastic. Bizarre as it sounds, heckling wouldn't be an issue. "Get off, you're shit!! ........ Has he gone?"

You currently find me packing my 3DS, Hob Nobs and The Trap Door DVD for my trip to London to see Mr Weller at the London Roundhouse tomorrow.

In a bit.

SD

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Be warned: the following paragraph contains plagiarism of South Park and much poofery.


Tuesday 16th December 2008

Shopping. Again. Bought an "I love lamp" custom shirt. It's most astounding, squire. Round at Mark's tonight, pasting the poor yin at Guitar Queero. Met his mrs n her mate, smashing lot. He hates my shades. What a slut. Got some serious music and video collection, had to indulge. Ate Thai food which I liked. Gasp! His ex's? Oh, what criminal raging jealousy surged through me. Was light seemingly all night. Had weird Japanese tea also, UK's missing out, fo show. If the country had mod gear, it would be paradise. Think 22 Dreams is the season soundtrack.
"Come out to play, now the light nights are here"

Weather To Fly

 "She was a bit rough actually, was like chafing on sandpaper"

Yes, Comrades

First of all a very happy tenth belated birthday to the great, the fantastic, the inimitable, the real McCoy, accept no substitutes, BBC 6Music! Good, now all I do is sit back and await that now inevitable call from Ms Lauren Laverne. I am of course being modest. She was a bit rough actually, was like chafing on sandpaper. That's a fucking joke by the way.

So, I'll start with a nice, light, frothy subject. Kony. What a bandit. Definitely a bandit, that one. I've signed my name to the cause, me dear amigos. Yes, I certainly have. I've liked - wait til you hear this - I've liked the official page on Facebook. How is it official? I don't know. I assume they have some device that measures authenticity like that. I think it's a Chinese device. Of course now you instantly believe me, because I said it's Chinese. Returning to my act of bravery for a minute - yes, that's what I did. But it doesn't stop there, not by a long shot. You see that "Share" button on your favourite Book of Faces? Guess what I did. Go on, guess. You'll never guess. I clicked it. So now all of my faithful friends can do the same. And in time, Kony will be shaking in his sandals (sorry, racism) at the thought of all of us, united as one, liking the same page, as if sat vegetating together in one dirty room in one of our mothers' houses, one being, ready to Like or Share or for the braver souls, Comment - yes, I said it - on anything related to Kony that we so happen to see.

Mind you, we could always, you know, actually take action of some sort instead? Just a mad idea.

It's been an oversight for me to mention that soon I'll be donning the goggles; the fur collar jacket and the Leslie Phillips accent. No, I'm not making Carry On Captain. I'm going to be having me first flying lesson. Present for my last birthday. Nifty, eh? It's the one outdoor event where you actually have to cross your fingers for a cloudy day. Topsy turvy. You may have noticed I said my first flying lesson - who knows, or dares to dream, what may come next? Bit more expensive hobby than say, fucking newt-breeding I'd have thought. We shall see.

I was sure I had something else to discuss with you. What was it, what was it...oh, come on now, think...(Why do people do that? Tell you that they've forgotten what they were going to say? "Oh right, well I'm sure it would have been fucking enthralling anyway") Isolation tanks. That would be an experience. Although I hear from very reliable sources that the isolation can become so isolating that one can forget their isolation. Follow? Good. A man, or woman, not being sexist, or naming names, I don't know any, can get so worked up that, as we discussed in nauseating detail, they can forget their isolation. She, or he, or it, or sir, or He in my case, thinks out loud. "I'd like to go to Japan" "Who's that?! Is there someone else in here?!! Who are you?!!!" "I'm the man who wants to go to Japan!" "....Help!!" That's a one person conversation by the way. Why did I get on to that? Completely lost what I was going to say, cock up on the memory front.

You currently find me listening to Debussy, struggling in vain to get the peanut powder out of my bag of honey-roasted into my mouth.

In a bit.

SD

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: high levels of bollocktalk in following paragraph


Monday 15th December 2008

Out it again at 9pm. Forgot to mention Skye. Lovely big girl. Good company and lots of fun. I'd buy her a drink, but I doubt you're allowed dogs in bars. Went to shops today, bought stickers and cheetos like a rock star does. Had an hour long dream last night, which was oddly continuous. Plenty of other unrelated ones too. That's pretty much the amount I did today, I'm writing about my dreams. Oh and correction, there is in fact a TV in my room. The pool is great, leaves out yer nut. 4 minute showers are an experience I recommend. Reminder - buy Picture Book.
"I had 22 dreams last night"

I Got By In Time

"Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah)"

Yes, Comrades

What up? Well, red alert's over. Our hero was informed by a person with glasses that knew better than him that he had an infection in the upper tract. For those who don't know where that is, neither did I. When the good doctor sheila said we should investigate the tract, I said "Certainly". It was expected that I'd be taken to a room next door to have a look at some funky machine called a T.R.A.C.T. or something along those lines. But of course not. Ship shape again now.

Caught Wossy at the weekend. Mad. I turn over and plates with Ray Davies and Roger Daltrey's faces are getting smashed by cricket balls. Oh, Rod 'The Mod? My Arse', his face was on one too (hurrah). A bit disconcerting to say the least. It's also revealed Oscar Wilde's doppelganger (Woss) has become a Lord by buying a square foot of land next to 'Lord Dappy of Daggenham's little patch, apparently. This gets a fellow thinking, "If a man who drives a bubble car can do it, surely I can?" Imagine it droogs, Lord Dread. I wouldn't be like Elton John "Oh just call me Bunny, everyone does," no, LORD Dread! The lads in the office would HAVE to refer to me as Lord Sergeant Dread, I'd insist upon it. "Good morning, Lord Dread" "Hello there, how are you?" "Would you like tea or coffee?" "Yes please, thank you very much" I'd fucking suit it. We all know it's coming.

It only remains for me to address some brilliant nonsense I've stumbled across on my travels across the world wide web. There have been many events to report on outside 'the devil's window' as some refer to the internet, however, such as the following exchange: Me: "I'm going to guess that's that Bulldog cunt" Bemused colleague: "Who's Bulldog?" Me: "You know, he does that International Love thing?" Amused colleague: "...Pitbull?" And there I was, thought I recognised a voice of pop and was very excited. Fucking shameful. Pitbull by the way - for the record, people of the internet, is dog shit. Anyway, two simple things said by two very simple people who shall remain nameless but never shameless.  
"Am going to a place full with hot naked girls and women" - This chap has said many, many bronze droplets of socket wisdom in his short but fruitful life. Bound to be more to come. 
"How Mutch it too camp from Friday too Sunday sounds good Jessie j and tiny tempah" - There's your fanbase, Jessie and 'Tiny'

Lastly, what is with that Nicki Minaj bloke? American but speaks in a British accent, and has been known to switch accents mid-sentence. I think you maybe have to be proper monged to get it, I don't know. An arse that could squeeze snot out Her Majesty's face on a pound coin too. Role models for dole fiends. Dole models. "Starships were meant to fly" So this is what it's fucking come to? I mean, I'm no expert on lyrics, but when she sings Stupid Hoe, am I to feel like I've learned something? I do hope so.
 
In a bit.


SD


The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: terrible namedropping and talking rubbish ahead. All ye faint of heart, turn back.


Sunday 14th December 2008

From Dubai to Singapore to Oz. Writing and fighting sleep, hard. 2pm and struggling. Sandra is class, more like me than her double. So far Freddy has been out the game and hasn't spoke too much. Mark plays Warcraft. But he's a real geezer. Just unpacked, sort of? Very classy here, hot, pool out back, room has its own PC, top draw. A swim will be in order later on I reckon, if I can be arsed. Watched the new Mummy on the plane, it's onto something I think. Loses points for the absence of Ms Weisz mind you. Jetlag is all the bad things of being pissed and that's it. Not my cuppa. No TV in my room, oh well.
"I'm so tired, my mind is on the blink"

The Importance Of Being Idle

 "Dr Google has diagnosed me with some post-viral big word or other"

Yes, Droogs

It seems like just yesterday we were conversing last. I've been ill. Dr Google has diagnosed me with some post-viral big word or other. Woke this morning, and normally the trip from the bed to the front door isn't one that sends me round the bend (although I do insist on having socks that say L and R on them just in case it gets too confusing of a morning, you know how it is) but this morning was different. "I've had the cold before, but this is different, I mean I really don't fucking feel well" said I to myself, to guarantee an intelligent answer. An old mate of mine once said to me "As far as I'm concerned, illness is all in the mind" with his eyes wide and a knife in his hand, which is a philosophy I usually follow to the letter. But today I found myself walking like an incontinent person after doing what incontinent people do best home from work early, praying my terrible illness would soon pass.

It has. My ordeal is over. How couldn't it be - I read this month's Mojo to discover they'd rated Sonik Kicks (Paul Weller's upcoming album) three stars. THREE FUCKING STARS?! Cher gets at least .5 of a star more than that! What is the music industry coming to? You guessed it - a pisspot. Speaking of which, Bruce Springsteen is turning heads and stomachs by covering an LMFAO 'song' with Neil Young. Is that a major pain in the arse I can feel forming? I think it bloody well is! The Boss and The Sugar Spinner covering LMFAO, anyone? No, me neither.

You currently find me at home surrounded by the squalor Manflu, or post-Manflu, or post-Death's Door, or fucking whatever, brings. Ever wonder if swine sit around, being their swiney selves and chatting about catching Manflu? They should, they absolutely should. Give me a spoonful of pig influenza any day of the week. Or just get Terry Pratchett over to film a documentary on me visiting Switzerland and putting meself out me own misery. You also currently find me wondering loudly to myself why this whole paragraph sounds like it came straight from a Lee Evans routine. "You think pigs say to each other 'Clean this place up, it's like a home in here!'?"

In a bit.

SD

The following is an excerpt from my Australia Journal 2008-09. Warning: May cause you to seek better things to do. Happy cringing!

Friday 12th December 2008

Woke up fine. Long, non-emotional car journey. Can't beat duty free shops, 1L Gordons - £12, Ben Sherman aviators - £20, toaster that brands toast "Celtic" - priceless. Plane had Dig Out Your Soul, took off to the sound of Falling Down, Gallagher would've approved I'm sure. Had the Big Yin's bio, the latest Mojo and my super-tubular Sudoku. Can't say fairer. Just arsed about with music on the plane TV (Wet Wet Wet, Duffy and the Modfather were my choices). iPod wasn't on once. G&T was bloody strong, stayed sober as a judge though. Think I'm acquiring a taste for whisky. Dubai seems to just be a tribute to luxury built by a society of monobrows, who like mazes.
"We've got a headstart for happiness"

Blink And You'll Miss It

"I didn't meet one single person named Bruce, NOT ONE!"

Yes, Comrades

So, when did we last speak? I'm fucked if I can remember anything from my Australian stint. A month of bug steaks, drunken apologies for existence to John Travolta-looking relatives and an unwritten law that insists all women under the age of 25 must be visions of Venus and women over that age must be dead ringers for Jason Voorhees without the mask. And in all my time there I didn't meet one single person named Bruce, NOT ONE! Another wasted month.

Onwards. One does feel caught in a moment of hypocrisy for fronting what will soon prove to be a shambles of a blog. Let me explain. Or don't and I will anyway. I can have my own blog and there is a very good reason for that. And that reason is as follows: I'm a hypocrite. A fellow I worked with who looked like Ann Widdecombe's ballbag once explained hypocrisy in a very ridiculous way to me via a film quote. "Would you take a blowjob?" "Yes" "Would you give a man a blowjob?" "No!" "That makes you a hypocrite" Style. May not have been one of his properties, but there it is. Hypocrisy. You're fucking welcome.

Currently awaiting the 20th of March, when myself and m'coll Don Bongo ride the bullet (or the nearest we'll ever come to a Japanese train) to London to see the prick(ly) God of Mod himself, Sir Paul Weller. Following that will be the greatest insult to road safety of 2012: yours truly, Bongo and Captain Haddock will be going on a road trip to the land of they-who-sleep-with-sheep, John O'Groats, with myself at the wheel. God help us all. I suppose this is what the well-informed Jeeves figures of the world call 'fore-fucking-shadowing'. A promise of sorts that this whole caper is leading to something (No promise valid.)

In a bit.

SD

(It's been recently brought up that my Australia journal from 08-09 isn't around anymore, so I'm going to repost it bit by bit. You lucky bastards)

Thursday 11th December 2008

OK I lied it's 1 in the morning on Friday. Deal with it.
As per, on MSN to all hours. My name still has "Australia tomorrow" in it cause I'm a freak like that. Eleven people are online, ten generic. My late nighter Angie is on, and is having every word I write put back to her. Nicotine gum should be sold to queers. Good thing I only paid for it. Won't need Nytol tonight thanks to Catboy. Diaries are not my thing, at all. These pages are already too small, how do those people do it nightly? Before I become more ashamed of myself, I'm ending it here. Might get used to it.
"Guess I'm Outta Time"