Spinal Tap's legendary 'one louder' guitar amplifier, and comedian Daniel Kitson.
I am back in London - living the life of a swinging bachelor. Actually tonight I'm in Burghfield because I had to come back to collect more things, then got caught in a two hour traffic jam on the M4, most of it spent adjacent to Slough sewage works, which was in a particularly volatile mood. I then felt unable to do a stroke of work when I finally arrived at mother's.
It had been my intention to collect certain items of mine that should only be carried in hours of darkness, for fear of provoking my new neighbours into forming a lynch mob and hanging me from the nearest lamp post ... Actually, I'm talking about amplifiers. Bloody great big ones - Fender Twins; electric guitars - loads of them, and other sound generating devices capable of taking out most of central London while only turned up to three.
Can you imagine the horror of those living nearby, seeing me bringing these WMDs into their midst. They'll be ordering air strikes. I'll just have to chance it. I need to get back before it gets dark, so I can prepare for my Halloween Black Mass - and because I'm picking my daughter up from school. Perhaps I could disguise them as shopping?
Anyway, the move was trouble free. No bones were broken and the place is taking shape very nicely, thank you. Needless to say, Haines made a miraculous recovery and was able to join me for a "welcome to London, let's try to get barred from your new local", pint or three. Do you know what he brought me to make amends?
What do rock musicians take round to the flats of other rock musicians? Rocks? Chinese Rocks? Scotch on the Rocks? Guess again suckers. The answer is of course - rabbit stew. Rabbit stew in a Tupperware container, which he wants back when I've finished with it. I tell you, we are beyond Satan.
Spent the evening at aforementioned boozer (there'll be a dividend for shareholders this winter), and discovered a comedy club in the basement. Normally, the knowledge that standup comedians were operating in the area below us would be justification for concreting the place over. Tonight though, we were lit up just enough to be interested, which was a stroke of luck. Daniel Kitson, the funniest thing - person to be precise - I've ever seen. The fact that I can only remember the line "eggs and shit" cannot diminish the fact that I know he was brilliant.
A little incident to relate regarding the unpacking. The manner in which I left my previous home, before mother's, was not the pleasantest of affairs. I don't want to dwell on the issue, suffice to say, my former wife did most of my packing. And very well considering the circumstances. Really she did an exceptional job, wrapping things in newspaper - rather than smashing them with a hammer.
As I was unwrapping these newspaper packages, I was surprised and quite excited to see that white powder seemed to be spilling from one of them. To come over all Rolf Harris (careful), "Can you guess what it is yet?"
You couldn't be more wrong. 'Twas my father's ashes. Not all of them. Approximately 95 per cent of him has been scattered in the places he mentioned that he might like to be scattered, should it become necessary. I kept a little back, which I put in a bakelite sleepy Bournvita mug, adding a lock of my daughter's hair to the mixture - so they could meet one another in some kind of way, on the astral plane perhaps. Anyway, it's good to have him back.
Now I have to struggle with my conscience about what to do on Wednesday evening. Opening party for Erotic Photography exhibition, vs the Joiners Arms in Southampton. Champagne, canapés, and amoral people, vs the Joiners Arms in Southampton.
Hopefully sleep will bring an answer. Happy Halloween. Don't forget, it is legal to shoot trick-or-treaters.
