First off, HOW THE DEVIL ARE YOU DEAR READER IT HAS BEEN TOO LONG!
Second off, we hit number two on the Beatport Charts yesterday with our Princess Superstar remix! That’s our first official release so we are super excited and running round and round the table whooping a lot. I went for a run up to Laurel Canyon on Monday and a lemon jumped out of a tree and threw itself at my head and I KNEW it was a good sign. This evening I returned from a run to find Ron Jeremy outside the apartment, mournfully clutching a phone to his ear, stained black from hair dye. I felt lucky. I’d nearly been taken out by a falling palm leaf, and managed to leap over it like a racehorse at the crucial moment. A lady walking her dog applauded. I would like to thank the academy and my sponsors.
We’ve just come out the other side of Oscars week in LA, which is like another Christmas of sorts. The Boulevard was shut down all week while they erected some giant tents to contain the red carpets, as it only ever rains on the days of Major Hollywood Events, because God Hates Actors. The police were more numerous and armed than usual, and burly men in shades brandished AKs outside the Scientology centre. We DJed the Icons of The Awards pre-Oscars party, where England’s very own Patsy Palmer ran the dancefloor like a savage, whooping joyfully at every song I played, right up until Mmm Bop at the end, which sent her scurrying for the doors, although, like Harry Styles before her, she came over afterwards and thanked me for my excellent work. I told her how big a fan of hers Narstie is, and got a photo to send to him, to which he replied “OH SHIT MY BRUDDA OH SHIT”, then I worried she might go look him up and witness all the terrible slander he hurls at her character, Bianca, on his nightly Eastenders commentary. But he loves her. Everybody loves her. She is a British institution, more famous than the Prime Minsister, and she has excellent taste in music.
I finally got my tattoo last week, in a legendary parlour on the Sunset Strip where Axl Rose got all his stuff done. I’ve been wanting to get it for two years, ever since Charlotte’s plastic pregnancy test came back with “3+” written on it. I nearly got it done in San Francisco a few months after that, but I got sidetracked by a bar and a comic book, and then adventure happened, as adventure does. Finally though, it exists, outside of my mind and on my hand, a beautiful little scripted reminder of one of the most beautiful moments of a life packed with beautiful moments. Every time I look at it I smile inside, and think of the joy my family brings me.
After four months apart – a full quarter of a goddamn year – My family will finally be joining me in a week and a half, about which I am more excited than I can express with words or emoticons. Hercules talks now, and has grown some 10 centimetres or so since I last picked him up and lobbed him in the air. He’s even moved on from “Dadda” to “Daddy”. I missed the Dadda stage! Amongst so many other things! I see him almost every day on Skype, but mere moments, moments through a looking lass. I can barely conceive of his actual physical density. Still, it will all be worth it. Things are going amazingly here, as amazingly as planned, and Hercules will have a happy and successful
Daddy Daddy to look up to and be positively influenced by.
Anyway, I am afraid I cannot stop and chat, as I have a UK Garage set to prepare for tomorrow night, at the request of Nylon Magazine and Rita Ora. Have some instagrams, and a very special SHORT FILM PERFORMANCE from my MIDNITEbrother in arms, Mister WAAAAADE CREESCEEEENT!