Suddenly her door was open. She snatched a brassiere in mid-flight and had it down in her sack before I’d even focused on it. The sheer size of the thing dragged my eyes back into her machine to see if there was anything else as big going round. We spotted one at the same time, and out came a harness that may well have had Dunlop written on it.

After all, I don’t invent any of these scandalous tales myself, I stick to the job of carrier. They say that a few days ago, at five o’clock in the morning, a furious din was heard: all the bells were jangling and there were broken and muffled cries of a man being strangled. ‘Help, help! I’m suffocating, I’m dying.’ These cries came from the master’s room. Help arrives. That huge creature of ours, who was quite out of her mind and had lost all idea of time and place, as happens at such a moment, was still going at full speed, lifting herself up on her hands and dropping on old Casual Parts a weight of two to three hundred pounds with all the violent animation that frantic enjoyment can give. It was very difficult to extricate him. What a fantistic idea for a little hammer to put itself under a heavy anvil!

“At this time, I shared a dark suspician that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles – a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other – that kept me going”

Night bazaar in Luang Prabang, great friendly people selling silk

He’s the kind of guy i wish could have been my dad, because had he been I probably wouldn’t be fucked up, probably wouldn’t be an alcoholic. But I’m not blaming anybody for my boozing. I blame my mouth and the French for that.

Progress always feeds on pain…

Track ‘Too much information’ from Stone Throwing Youths available as a free download from Sublot Records

Mighty tack of a track. Check it out!

There’s nobody who likes to speak more than a man with a stammer and

nobody likes walking more than a man with a limp

Only after some fine rum did it become evident that the cricketing hobo John bears a hell of a resemblance to Peter Dennis Blandford (‘Pete’) Townshend of The Who

Correcting the proofs of a play is an exremely fatiguing business. The upper story in my head was full of noise and movement that prevented me from enjoying the lower storey, where a secure and stable peace reigned.