Category Archives: charing cross

soho boho

I had a rather odd dream last night in which someone caught me writing this at work. Obviously there are occasions when people do creep to this corner of the office without me noticing and stand behind me as I blatantly spurn my working day, but being a dream the colleague in question was a brooding bald 9-foot-tall woman with what appeared to be an erection. I turned in my chair to glare furiously at this monstrosity, itself not the paradigm of sanguinity, which then mouthed silent abuse at me. I was just on the brink of throwing a wobbly when the creature leant forward and deftly switched off my machine with the tumescent bulge in its dress.

Then I woke up with a thumping headache.

I have a hangover, it’s not too bad but I wish it wasn’t here. I’ve not had one in the office for a while and it’s a stark reminder of my continuing need to abstain –still it was worth it. After a frankly revolting day in the office I arrived back home where upon I dropped my trusty beard trimmer, breaking the fucker in twain, before getting on the tube and allowing myself to be absorbed in my book, which is so absorbing I was paying scant attention to where I was going and missed my fucking stop, which took and additional 20 minutes to undo. By the time I arrived at the boozer in Soho Bill, Harry, Jack and Red where already there, joining them were Bill’s agent, Thalia, his assistant, Verity and her friend Penny. All in all a jolly good bunch.

Drinks began to appear out of nowhere and conversations spontaneously erupted with my neighbours, somehow I wound up enthusiastically ranting about Princess Diana, that dreadful harridan who was about to get married to an arms dealer, but mercifully my new friends remained in situation. The evening passed most congenially, every time I prepared to leave another beer appeared under my nose, I finally left with everyone else and we wandered as a merry throng through a picture perfect London to Charring Cross where we said our farewells.

The tube journey back passed very quickly, I was piss pregnant for the entire journey (oh, ‘Piss Pregnant’ got published in Viz’s Profanisaurus yesterday, as first used here. I’ve been credited of course) and wound up having to tinkle on the street by the tube like some sort of football hooligan before arriving back home and indulging in a large glass of red excellence with my unputdownable book until 1.30am, foolishly.

I think another night off the pop is in order.

This is bloody acers…

you’re barred

When I was in New York last year I wandered into a bar on Murray Street, purely because that’s when Sonic Youth have their studio, ordered a beer and lit a cigarette… “Hey! What you doing Buddy!?” yelled the barkeep, looking at me as if I was offering the tip of my quivering member up to the arsehole of The Littlest Hobo, I’d momentarily forgotten, smoking in NYC wasn’t allowed. ‘How fucking stupid’ I mentally scoffed before apologising, flicking the cigarette out the door and returning to my stool and beer. I drank fast, I wanted a cigarette.

Now, as I type this, I’ve 2 more fucking evenings in pubs/bars where I can legally smoke. It’s utterly fucking pathetic. No one goes to a bar for the purposes of health, plenty of bars offer no smoking sections, what the FUCK is the problem here? Really, it’s the direct equivalent of not letting fit people into gyms, think about it.

The first nationwide tobacco ban was imposed on its populace by the Nazi’s, then the USA (can anyone smell anything here?) worryingly Ireland and Scotland got recently involved and the final blow is struck to the English in about 48 hours. So, in order, the fucking Nazi’s then the USA, then the UK. It’s rather disturbing wouldn’t you agree. No one else of any note has a smoking ban, I mean can you imagine what would happen if they tried to impose this rubbish on the French?

So, what’s the agenda here? It’s got nothing to do with the health of those that work in environments where people smoke (the main reason given by the cunts who want smoking banned in all enclosed places). The late Sir William Richard Shaboe Doll, one of the first to link smoking with ill health made it clear that the link between passive smoking and ill health was essentially bollocks. So what’s going on?

Either way, I’m fucking sick to death of all this ‘it’s bad for your health’ wank. Everyone knows what is good/bad for health, as humans with freewill we can choose to indulge in one facet or the other, but the bottom line is that being alive is bad for your health, in fact, the single most risk to ones health is age. Quick, assemble a mob, let burn St.Agnes Care Home down to the ground, the fucking crinkly old cunts ARE FUCKING OUR PLANET AND NATIONAL HEALTH.

Last night I bumped into my Bro’s missus on the Charing Cross road, the subject of Glastonbury was broached. It would seem hindsight is casting a fonder light over last week’s proceedings, but I will not succumb, I wriggled my toes in my Converse relishing the feeling of hard clean concrete under my feet in order to avoid sliding into post-festival romanticism. With the ban looming like a giant all seeing CCTV camera, I went to the Groucho Club. Even private member clubs are up for the smoking-chop so we five, Den, Liam, Stephen and Benjy chain smoking like condemned men awaiting nannies gallows.

We had a lovely evening, laughing, chatting, smoking (of course) and drinking some French white stuff that was so moorish it was easy to not appreciate every fading puff and gasp on our fags. All of us aware that an era was coming to an end, smoking is so much more than lung cancer and emphysema, to me, it’s still the epitome of bohemianism, I still think it makes me look hard and fucking cool and, of course, a bar is the most appropriate environment in which to indulge. But shortly, this pleasure will be no more.

Tonight I’m meeting some friends in a pub in Hackney and tomorrow, some more friends in my local for one last night of indulgence. By the time you read this on Monday the ban will have already been implemented. It’s going to be a bloody nightmare.

If you don’t smoke, take it up, just to show the bastards.