intercourse with biscuits

Giant Lego man washes up on Brighton beach

Florence & The Machine @ Bush Hall: a demonic voice that...

Yes Jonathan, why do you say those things?

I suppose I was drunk again. I didn’t realise. It had crept up on me like a beast in the fog of the...

“We’ve always been violent, but now it’s...”
— Tricky on violence in Britain.

Script fragment: tremendous toaster

A: There are some issues with the kitchen.
B: Specifically?
A: Toaster related. It’s a crumb situation.
B: Ok.
A: When you make toast…
B: Right.
A: …there are crumbs.
B: It’s the nature of the beast.
A: But don’t leave them in the toaster. Clean it out.
B: Every. Single. Time?
A: Yep. It’s choking with crumbs.
B: You do know it’s an inanimate object.
A: Not to me.
B: What does that mean?
A: I really like that toaster. It’s a great toaster. It deserves more respect.
B: The toaster?
A: Yes.
B: Is this because your stereo says ‘hello’ to you? Are you confused about white goods now?
A: I just want you to make an effort.
B: I’m making an effort not to push you over, does that count?

“I like stupid questions. A guy sent me an email about squid....”
— Haruki Murakami

Film bit: autobiographical details

A: All the girls I write about in stories are her.
B: That's not really healthy.
A: Most fiction is autobiographical though.
B: It is. But she hasn't asked to be in it.
A: I don't need her permission.
B: You can't just steal her words and thoughts.
A: But they're not. They're just similar to things she's said.
B: So you steal her intentions. Your stories are like Chinese knockoffs of American cars. They don't look the same but the impression's the same.
A: It's a Woody Allen thing.
B: It's not. It's really not.
A: Why not?
B: He's a multi-millionaire genius. You're poor and suffering from a paucity of ideas.
A: But otherwise...
B: You're like peas in a pod.

British Intelligence opened a laundrette to...

Another bit

B: I think I'm in love.
A: You don't know what love is.
B: Ok. Alright, maybe I'm stuck in the Foreigner paradox. I think I want to know what love is..
A: That's shit. You need to stop listening to Heart.
B: The radio in my room's broken..
A: It's not. You just like that stuff.
B: No way. I'm an indie kid. I like bands you couldn't even spell the names of.
A: Oh you like that stuff but you secretly yearn for a good power ballad. A man with a bubble perm bashing out a ballad full of heartbreak on a white grand piano. That's what you're secretly after.
B: Stop listening at my door. I mean it. It's creepy.

“Thousands of over 55s, all of whom were brought up with...”
— Article in the Telegraph on...

Vice interviews the former biggest smack...

Another scene from the film I'm planning

A: You'll have a romance regardless of what the girl thinks. You're always writing Richard Curtis films in your head.
B: Is that so wrong?
A: It is when she doesn't feel the same. You're Notting Hill - the Hugh Grant version with the hot American girl. She's Notting Hill with the muggers and the knife crime. She's going to hurt you.
B: I don't see it like that.
A: You wouldn't.

Night so far...

…pushed over and bruised by a tramp, smashing the glass on my iPhone in the process ...

“B: You inspire me. C: Why? I’m just me. B: I...”
— A Little Bit (a scene from a...

Lookie here. I’m a tastemaker apparently.

Domestic scene from an unfinished film...

A: Here's the thing - it's the bathroom.
B: Right.
A: You don't, you know, look after it right.
B: How?
A: The towels. It's mainly the towels.
B: Ok.
A: The wet ones. Specifically the wet towels.
B: Right.
A: Could you keep them in your room?
B: In my room?
A: Yep.
B: Wet towels live in the bathroom. That's their habitat.
A: I know but I'd be more comfortable if you kept them in your room.
B: The room with carpet and all my things and not the one with the radiator on and the laminate floor.
A: Yep.
B: Is this, like, a rule now?
A: It's a guideline.
B: You're issuing guidelines.
A: Yep. It's a guideline.
B: What happens if I breach the guidelines?
A: Well. I don't know. I assume you'll stick to them.
B: The guidelines.
A: Yes, the guidelines.
B: Ok, so in order to have peace in the house I've got to stick to the guidelines.
A: Yep, within the guidelines.
B: The guidelines. Ok.
A: Why do you keep repeating that? Guidelines.
B: It's a funny word, you know, a funny concept.
A: Ok then, it's a rule.
B: A house rule?
A: Yes.
B: So who gets to set house rules?
A: Me.
B: Not me?
A: You're not cut out for it. Your rules would be totally stupid.
B: So this is a dictatorship. This is a totalitarian flatshare.
A: It's more a representative democracy - I represent the democracy.
B: Nah. Come on, it's a dictatorship - you're setting the rules and dictating how I should stick to them.
A: Fine. But it's a benign dictatorship.
B: Ok, kind of like a tumour. Painful but not life threatening.
A: I'm not comfortable with that metaphor.
B: Well, I'm not really comfortable with towel-based guidelines.
A: The guidelines...the rules are just to keep things cordial.
B: Fine. Can I expect a three page consultation paper on toaster crumbs imminently.
A: You don't take these things seriously.
B: No, no, I take the guidelines very seriously. As we speak I'm drafting a constitution for use of the living room in my head. I was thinking we might include the right to bear remote controls.
A: You're just being silly.
B: Of course, you're completly right. Let's get back to the serious issues. Like towel guidelines.

A scene I wrote on the back of a...

Annie (voice heard over a door speaker): The lift's broken. Again.
Sal: Take the stairs. Come up the stairs.
Annie: Fuck the stairs.
Sal: We'll you've got to come.
Annie: I don't.
Sal: Come on.
Annie: No, I'm going home.
Sal: I don't run the lifts.
Annie: You shouldn't live in such a shitty building. If you want me to visit you, you'll move somewhere nicer.
Sal: I'll move somewhere nicer? That's what I'll do? Fucking hell.
Annie: Living in that flat means you don't really care about me.
Sal: Living in this flat means it's all I can afford.
Annie: You'd work harder if you really loved me.
Sal: Yep, that's it exactly. Because I don't love you enough, I got passed over for promotion and came to live in a block of flats where the lift's always broken. I picked the eighth floor because I particularly want you to suffer.
Annie: Why do you have to be sarcastic?
Sal: Look you know I love you.
Annie: I do. But I'm not walking up those fucking stairs again.
Sal: Shall I come down.
Annie: I'm not going to tell you what to do.
Sal: But you will tell me where I should live? Are you feeling irrational today? Is it, you know, a hormonal thing?
Annie: Fuck you Sal. Fuck you and your fucking shitty lifts.
Sal: So I should take that as a yes?
Annie: Fuck you.
Sal: Oh no, wait, I know...you're drunk.
Annie: It's a little bit from column a, a little bit from column b and now a whole lot from column c - fucking angry. See you later Sal. You're a twat.
Sal: I'm coming down.
Annie: Don't bother.

Who Needs Blood, When You’ve Got Lipstick? (2006):...

Me sitting in with Keith and the Girl at their London live...

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