there’s nothing more to be

"The dressing room's a joke. [...] a little Buddha surrounded by little fake flowers in a little fake fountain that makes you just want to go for a little fake piss."

The thing inside my fortune cookie has these numbers on the back 9, 24, 31, 35, 38 and 49 (you can have them)

P.S – The gig got 3.5 stars in the Winnipeg Free Press. THAT’S NEARLY 4!! (and that’s almost perfect)

It’s become fairly amusing for me and confusing for everyone else. Keep it up, I like it.

I'm not one for blowing smoke up people's arses (does anyone know what that means? Has anyone ever tried it?)

Now then. Hello there. I'm on a choo−choo train.

I like doing interviews. I find myself having opinions on things I truly couldn't care less about.

How is everybody? Not that I give a shit, just being polite.

Now, a frightening thing happened to me last week. I went into the HMV in Selfridges − I could spend 2 hours in there just looking at records − only to be told by one of the staff that they don't sell CDs anymore!! A fuckin' outrage. "It's the future", said the kid. "Fuck the future", said I. IT. IS. THE. END. OF. THE. WORLD.

Baba−do−baah!..POW! That gig was pretty good.

Spent the rest of the night in some hotel bar being told stuff about myself by drunken locals.

Y'know, life can be a wonderful thing... Full of ups and downs. Twists and turns. Ins and outs and roundabouts. For long periods life can be mundane (not mine... mine's fuckin' mental!!!).

if my memory serves me correctly − which generally it doesn't −

My party wings have been well and truly clipped by this singing malarky... singing's rubbish!!!!

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry so I did neither... I passed out.

started off early with a press conference. Fairly uneventful stuff . . . the usual gear . . . Oasis . . . blah−blah . . . Liam . . . blah, blah. (kill me now!)

because we was on at 6:30 we got to legitimately wear shades onstage!!! Always a bonus.

I do like a pyramid me . . . mysterious pointy things . . .

I was on first though . . . FIRST!!!! The actual first person onstage was me!!! Last time I played there I HEADLINED it!! Fame is a cruel mistress comrades. It was like playing at breakfast. Bizarre.

Packing a suitcase for a 3 week tour with a fucking DISGRACEFUL hangover is not to be recommended...I know this now... The night before the morning I came away me and Iree Nancy went out, and didn't make it in 'til gone 6:00...(fucking excellent night btw!). I open my suitcase to find I'd packed it like a novice...like 13 pairs of cords (which I have no intention of wearing) 4 pairs of trainers (I don't even wear trainers...especially on stage!), the most ridiculous array of t−shirts that quite frankly a man should never be seen in and...(and this is the fucking killer...) NO LEATHER JACKETS...NOT ONE!!! The first time in 25 years I've been on the road without a leather jacket! Unforgivable shit that...I was in a fury...I sent myself a rather snippy email AND a shouty text...SEE ME IN MY HOT TUB YOU CUNT!!!! I sat myself down and we talked it through...like adults admittedly...no raised voices...at first we understandably blamed each other but in the end we both knew that it was I that was in the wrong and could blame no−one else but myself (although Nancy's name did come into it at one point!). You find me now on my final warning. One more gaff like that and I've been told in no uncertain terms that I'm off the tour...Bang...Gone. The atmosphere in my dressing room is a bit frosty but we're working our way through it. They say time is a great healer and for the sake of everyone (you included!) let's hope that's true.

"He knows the drill, I'm not gonna go around there begging."