— Wednesday, October 4th, 2006

I dunno if anyone noticed, amidst all the dumb shit.

But America is dead.

We saw it coming. We knew it was already happening.

But now it is out in the open.

America is dead.

I’m gonna go have some nightmares now.

Goodnight.

— Wednesday, October 4th, 2006

Wow! My little brother Ali (who isn’t the one who does the animating and the graphic design, or the one who does the clever computery things and the World Of Warcraft) has taken up comedy acting. Check him and his studenty ass out! I was never a student, but had I been, we’d never have had poncey video editing equipment and studios! We’d have had COAL!

Yes indeed.

In other news Tom Robinson is a G, and not just because he wrote 2468 Motorway. He’s got the KLF’s The Manual on his website! You can read it online! FUTURE! AWESOME!

I wanted to read that all my life. Jeres lent it me recently, and I realised that I had, unwittingly, followed all their rules for making a number one single.

I didn’t follow all the rules for actually Getting it to number one though.

OOPS!

Yo, this is proper music journalism.

In other news, I am ill and scared. Whoo!

— Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006

I seem to have been pissed off my face since Thursday, but at least I am the best DJ ever, eh?

Last night was indeed tremendous fun. I played lots of ace songs. You can see what, and in what order, in that there picture. Clever, non?

As for The Hoff – well, he is the tallest man I have ever seen. I came up to his balls, pretty much. He is very handsome and charming, has an ego the size of a small planet, and the lovelies eye crinkles this side of Jeres. Seems to be a whiskey and coke type of a dude. We spoke of rap music, German children, and the incredible beauty of the young Italian male (having never been, I will have to take The Hoff’s word on that one.

Aside from that, I did two photoshoots, one interview, and went on an accidental bender with Jeres, my online press lady Giovanna, and her young gentleman, who gave Jeres a worthy pool adversary. I was made to look relatively competent by Giovanna, who is really good at potting white balls. I woke up today in a heap on my tigers. Good times!

So, I have a day and a half left in this country before I get on a big metal bird and fly west for the autumn. As far as I recall, before then I gotta remix a song for the Bizzle, arrange another two for the self same, design a T shirt, record a single, render a mixtape, write and record a 16 for Madison, write and record a number one for BMG, clean my house, wash my clothes, pack my bags, and try and eat some food. I’ve been crap at food again lately. Wish me luck!

Oh, by the way – the people of this nation have no taste whatsoever, it seems. Apparently some morbid ditty by that cacophanous toff James “Rymes With” Blunt is the most played song at British funerals, according to The Bereavement Register. But it’s not all crap – I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead by Bon Jovi is at No.18, and Reach for the Stars by S Club 7 is at No.20. If I die tomorrow, please play The Ballad Of Jimi Hendrix by Stormtroopers Of Death at mine. WORD!

— Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006

Yo, I’m gonna go hang out with Hassle The Hoff later today. I’m gonna ask him some questions about, like Ice T and stuff. If any of you have anything you want me, your friendly neighbourhood Donovan to ask Mr The Hasselhoff, leave it at the bottom of this message.

I will also be DJing at the Old Blue Last in Shoreditch tonight. It’s an SIC party featuring Christiansilva, Loney Dear and Emmy the Great live, and it is free. 8 ’till midnight.

In other news BET’s cultural genocide continues, Fat Joe has stopped biting Big Pun’s flow, and got into Jay-Z’s (off of the Hustlin’ remix, no less), and it is indeed really weird that we’re not going mas about the big dungeon of freaks in suits spying on us in fucking Trocadero.

— Monday, October 2nd, 2006

I have not written for a small while, it is true. I finished that “mixtape” and celebrated by joining my mad eyed, house-seized Atlantan friend Trey at Lupe Fiasco’s Cargo gig. It was rather fun. I got drunk, Trey did some good natured wooing, and Lupe, displaying a rare foreknowledge of his foreign audience, spat something along the lines of,

Lupe
The new Jay
But when I’m in the UK
Call me the new Sway

Ho ho, we thought, and all was pritty good, until after four songs dude ran out of Kanye instrumentals to rap over, and took to rhyming half heartedy over his album tracks, raps and all, not even bothering to do anything with the choruses save wave his glasses about. But, despite the seeming unarsedness, dude was pretty charming. And he does spit with confidence, and clarity. Clarity is important. I mumble too much – but I have boundless energy. So I get away with it.

The next day, I was beavering away in my lab, when I got a message from Jimbob’s manager, giving me a heads up regarding the surprise Carter USM reunion at that night’s Barfly gig. I accepted the man’s generous invitation, and with much excitement, descended upon the foul carcass of Camden town. Jimbob was brilliant, Jimbob + Fruitbat etc. was beautiful, old Carter songs were a joy to hear… But it was the Jimbob solo songs that were the best, oddly: Feral Kids was oldpunk mastery, and Angelstrike was just fucking stunning – get your ass on iTunes or whatever and find that song, it is fucking immense.

I got disgustingly drunk that night too, ending up in a gay bar, oddly enough, upsetting my friend Luke by getting more unwanted attention than him, and the next day the hangover to insult all hangovers, laugh at their shoes and run off with their mum’s accompanied me on an arduous, confused, and expensive journey to Haye On Wye, where I missed The Goblin Wedding itself… but at least saw the speeches, and video footage of the young Goblin Baz doing intense and freakish Liam Gallagher impressions as a teenager. (Huw Stephens was indeed, an excellent, gracious, and considerate best man.) We were later treated to mid-twenties Liam Gallagher impressions, as the newlywed Goblin performed a cover version of Live Forever that moved Martin Carr to such an intense state of drunken emotion, he fled the building and fell on his arse in the mud, missing most of my acclaimed DJ set and ruining his lovely suit. And The lovely Goblin Bride herself, a vision of grace and lunacy, chainsmoking with zeal and weeping like a drunken newborn.

It should be noted that I forgot to dress posh for the wedding, and was thus the only boy there without a tie. And with a hoodie. But my acclaimed DJ set saved the day, quite frankly, so I would hope for my insulting attire and extreme tardiness to have been forgiven. I should also take the opportunity to thank Sweary Mary and Mashup Carr for saving my non-hotel-booking ass from a wet night sleeping in a barn. And to congratulate The Goblins on their beautiful day. A wedding is always a beautiful thing – even on a wet Saturday like yesterday, in this foul year of our lord, 2006, but a Goblin Wedding is like a school disco with more in the way of boobs and facial hair, and it will never be forgotten by any if us. Apart from, perhaps, Martin, who was so drunk I sincerely doubt if he remembers any of it. I for one, will be haunted by the memory of his remorselessly abrasive DJ set for the rest of my todd. And yo, there was a fucking double rainbow in Hay On Wye yesterday. DOUBLE RAINBOW for the Goblin Wedding! Amen.

— Sunday, October 1st, 2006