: 10 November 2004 :

Yeah! I’m fucking back. I’ve been pissing about too long and it’s time for a dose of stone-cold, no-bullshit, real-as-penitentiary-steel this-is-it motherfucking TRUTH, Molehills style. I realised today, while trying to write the contents page of the new issue of theatregoer, that not only am I paralysed by insecurity and second-guessing at work but this has extended into everything else I go to write. I redraft casual emails to friends several times. I put as much effort into sending text messages as some people put into composing sonnets. And submitting editorial copy at work – don’t get me started. Fear, fear, fear is the key.

Now, I’m not saying I want to be slapdash. I can’t just decide overnight to ditch my attention to detail. But I have to get into the habit of just getting something down, and refining it later. Don’t spend three days worrying over a 250-word contents page, boy. And if I can just fire off a scattergun entry like this, I reckon I should be able to break the seal. Give it a couple of weeks and my editor will be drowning in a sea of second-rate verbiage.

This entry’s dedicated to Lazyhour, who nagged me to update and pushed me over the edge, and (if she’s reading) Stevie K, whose praise of me in her profile I noticed the other day. Praise so faint I had to check the contrast on my PC monitor. Nah, just kidding. And of course it’s dedicated to everyone else reading this. You’re all beautiful people. Jesus, I’m making myself sick. So, here is the news: Contextless, I overheard on Newsnight just now an American soldier in Fallujah saying “We killed all the dumb ones, so only the smart ones are left.” Teachers on Channel 4 is nowhere near as good as it used to be. I’ve not seen it for a while – this new episode’s about a big gay and lesbian drive. Bits of it are funny… bits of it are sub-Viz immature giggling and stereotypical dyke-dungaree jokes. In fact, it’s got to the stage where it’s annoying me so much I’ve had to turn it off. The lesbian teacher in it is v hott, though. Short hair on a girl tends to grab my attention pretty sharpish.

Did I mention I’m in a band? I haven’t been on here in so long. I play the bass. We’re called Lost Sunday, and much as I like winding people up by telling them we’re a cross between Iron Maiden and acid house, we’re an indie-rock four-piece, if I’m honest. Good, though. Did a gig last week (without the drummer) upstairs in a pub in Chalk Farm, which went down really well. Had loads of people come along, and a bloke from work took some arty red-light shots of me rocking the scarf-eyeliner combo (the singer described my look the other day as “scruffy camp”, which I like to think isn’t too wide of the mark), and afterwards at midnight I went to the kebab shop down the road, which had a speakeasy in the back room and a grizzled skinny French geezer playing rock’n’roll covers on the batteredest guitar you ever seed. I’m going to have to start going there more often. As I was there alone I got chatting to the architecture student sitting next to me. He was from New Orleans via New York and he specialises in gig venues. Good bloke. Have to email him soon.

Time for bed. I’ve had a couple of Black Velvets and they’re making me drowsy. Props to the deserving. You know who you are.