Notes from the aesthetic coalface

Winter once again, and the last few stragglers wend their way back to E1 from Tuscany, Antibes and Mustique. Azhar, my garrulous newsagent, interrupted my morning routine yesterday by regaling me with endless tales of his carousing with Emin, Hume et al, and then capped them off by lifting his shalawar kameez to reveal a fresh tattoo, which read "Biennale 99 - Stepney Crew". I advised him to stick with Aiya Napa for a bit and hurried along to my first meeting, late.

Jack Straw "a pigfucker"

Still, it's impossible to dislike the place, now that the quaint freight lorries are back in full effect, roaring up the Commercial Road at ninety miles an hour, day and night, belching out toxins and tenderising cyclists in short order. Cheery West Ham fans, in their strange shell-suits and pirate earrings, queue eagerly for the electroacoustic improv evenings at Strike, chanting gently the names of John Oswald and Iannis Xenakis.

Apple Mac snobs "ye shall inherit the afterbirth"

Somewhere in there, I have found the energy to commission the making of a record. Some young folk have been busy at a studio in Battersea for a few months now. Occasionally I take a cab ride down there to see how they're getting on. As I open the door, I hear a swish of nylon as they eagerly make their way towards me in their baggy combat trews. I was wondering why their exposed midriffs seemed to get smaller with each visit, until Tarquin, my PA, suggested that we should send down a few groceries. Vivienne Westwood's staff, who work upstairs, had begun to complain about our friends' scavenging for food in the wheel-bins on rubbish collection day, so we had to do something, or risk nudity.

The Internet for pleasure - a malicious fiction?

Still, it sounds quite good, with shades of old-skool skiffle, mid-period Heaven 17 and Mahler (I mean, who actually listens to this contemporary junk nowadays, apart from small children and Tesco buying staff?). Soon I will have to declare it almost finished and ship it over to Florida for mixing by the Gloria Estefan Massive. It will be with you in the New Year, amid a flood of media overkill. My face and opinions will be ubiquitous, from TFI to Hello, so I will not spoil the surprise which it's all going to give you by prattling on further. Besides, there's a Dada Nostalgia Pie 'N' Mash evening on inna Hoxton, and my entire social life will be extinct unless I show my face. Cheerio.


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