Tales of a hopeless journalist.
“Pangloss meets John Coltrane meets Kilgore Trout, Marcel Proust, and Mr Magoo”.
Friends not followers, life not lifestyle publishers not platforms.
Pretty much all is true. Much is journalistically preposterous enough to have actually happened. Names are changed. Mistakes are all mine.
It goes so
A typical day by the seaside inflicted by her brother on the future DJ.
(The pegs are to numb the hooks. Ouch).
This website is dedicated to getting out my autobiography one way or another before other things get in the way. Broadly speaking it’s the mess of stories that reconstruct, deconstruct and constitute my life – dismal though it is.
Should you see something you want to change or misguidedly want to contribute to. Or something that fires up memories sufficient to take things off (probably at a tangent), please don’t hestitate to send your thing in. It will most likely be ignored, and I reserve the right to do whatever I like with it … but you never know.
You can see a pretty much completed chapter (from the wildly ambitious and implausible) Book II Chapter VII) HERE.
Random people I accidentally bumped into are HERE
New bits that haven’t yet been sorted are HERE
A link to my comparative thesis on the differences between 344 kinds of tobacco is not HERE.
The internet allows a shuffle of chapters reminiscent of BS Johnson or the digressions of Lawrence Sterne (neither of whom I can really be said to have read in depth). So, in a new way, I will be offering (ahem) Charles Dicken’s-like (ditto) completed chapters on the internet that rather than ending the conversation open up the potential of a new one. And allow additions to the core text such as video, Skype interviews, photographs and drawings and ultimately imaginative spin-offs.
Like (from memory) that bit in the book of Berlin Alexanderplatz when the author, in a dream-like sequence, passes through his tenament block and hears abstract conversation directed at others – even feels the heartbeat of an unborn child in the stomach of a pregnant resident. So, in a deliberately mischievous way, please find a slice of what exists in my fetid imagination.
