Memories of Moll the bag lady.

What a weird few days.

Spontaneous pole dancing to the London Gypsy Orchestra in a church on Ladbroke Grove followed by a spontaneous party at my favourite Dutch girl's house.

My favourite dutch girl has a dog that fits into a bicycle basket and a record collection to die for... She makes good coffee and talks sense.

I also learnt this weekend that a smiling woman is not necessarily an honest woman. Frequently a smiling woman is just a woman trying too hard to disguise the fact that nothing has gone to plan... the brighter the smile the greater the sadness.

Dysfunctional women have no time for happy, content men... There is nothing to manipulate and from the man's point of view, after a few shags, there is nothing there apart from a future consisting of fault, blame, psycho-sexual counselling, transferrence of doubt and the realisation that we are to blame for the ageing process, loss of looks, lack of orgasm, stretch marks, dead children, lack of children, unhappiness, family feuds, the price of cosmetics and the depth of wrinkles. Oh, and getting FAT.

For fuck's sake let's all take responsibility for ourselves.

Fortunately for dysfunctional women there are plenty of men out here who will buy the bullshit or ignore the bullshit just for a casual shag.

Imagine going through ones entire life presenting oneself as a sex object (and lying compulsively) in order to feel wanted.

I saw Moll the bag lady trawling through the rubbish bin of humanity the other day... Looking for an admirer.

Sadly she would not recognise an admirer even if he saved her life... she is too busy looking for trash.

She'll find it.

Last will and testament.

I really do not care what happens to any of my stuff. It is just the kind of stuff you find in a dead persons house when you go to clear it out prior to selling it.

Depending on when I die there might be some booze in the refrigerator, the first person to find that can have it.

Any poems, stories, songs belong to themselves, fight over them if you like but it ain't worth it.

My blue French jacket with zipped pockets I leave to Hattie Gallagher on condition that she names one pig after me

But not an ugly pig.

Advice to young men considering falling in love.

Lose yourself in her

but do not

lose yourself to her

Enjoy the moment

but do not

assume it will last

Spend all you have on her

but do not

borrow to impress

Invest in the truth

but do not

expect dividends

Live for the moment

but do not

live only for the moment

Care for her

but do not

think that you own her

Tell her you love her

but do not

tell her too often

Tolerate stuff

but do not

let her take the piss.

But most off all

do not take sharp things

into the bubble of bliss

Then she might fall in love with you as well.

Early childhood.

I was taken back to my early childhood today.

An accidental journey brought about by getting shampoo in my eye; I was immediately transported back to my 2 year old self having his hair washed by his mother; shampoo always got in my eyes back then (there was no baby shampoo either) and as far as I was concerned it was attempted murder. Boy did I wail.

'Don't be a baby'. She'd scold.

'But I am a fucking baby!'

And if I knew then what I know now I would have stayed a baby.

Oh, and love.

Imagine falling in love while your child dies

How far will the elastic band stretch?

I have watched a junkie mother

Leave a dying child

In order to find a fix

Beautiful world

We didn't make it

We just have to find a way to live in it.

Sometimes that takes death and drugs. Oh, and love.

Heads do know best!

Angel: Jimmy Hendrix

I cannot remember where I nicked the Image from... I'd love to give a credit.

Swings and roundabouts.

A long day. what should have been a splendid day spent doing mundane things well and reaping the benefits of that. Followed by exciting news from Tristan which must be put on hold because it was followed by news of a friend suddenly in intensive care in Cannes.

The joy of ageing and all it's benefits is tempered by the regular signs of ageing, not so much in myself (I am so old I have given up looking or worrying) but in my friends and peers.

I wish I had a group portrait of everyone I know in my attic.

Royal wedding, Filmstars, Art and Landrovers.

A long day...

Lunch with a very reliable source of Royal stuff who assures me that there will not be a wedding this year.

drinks this evening with an exciting young film actress; Jaala Pickering. who has just finished shooting in India and will eventually be gracing our screens in 'Dam 999'. I'll review it when it is released.

Then on to the Apart Gallery 10th anniversary show... All the usual Notting Hill faces... Like being in the pub but with paintings on the wall. If I see another 'artwork' painted on an old car bonnet (hood for my American readers) I will go mad. What the fuck is wrong with canvas?

Finally a nightcap at the Cow and the delightful surprise of bumping in to a Land Rover driver from heaven.

Not all angels have wings and not all winged things are angels.

Thoughts for a friend on a very cruel event.

.I feel firmly put in place tonight.

Joking aside I take the piss out of mankind, Notting Hill, tourists and myself but sometimes I have to stop and wonder.

I do not believe in god and am now left to puzzle over who could possibly do such a cruel thing.

I will write about it.

You bet.

Holiday romance

Sorry about the lousy sound quality.

Welding and confessions.

The paparazzi are becoming more cunning. I was unable to spot one of them last night although I know they are there. No doubt the photographs are doing the rounds as we speak.

I was mistaken for a priest at one point, before the error was corrected a number of young ladies had lined up to give me their confessions. I confess that I was tempted to hear them.

I also met a charming young welder (I have not met a female welder before) Which allowed me to enjoy a conversation that would have been unimaginable before.

Often

Often it is the closest people who fall out.