nice filofax on my desk. smells of leather and the music industry. how i fucking love the smell of the music industry.
When he sings, it’s OK to be male and sensitive again.
I want a little glamour around my presence: glamour is the last thing I possess right now. I don’t know if I’ll ever recapture that mood again.
I’m trying to avoid working here, so here’s another excerpt. Taken from 2001, I believe. FRIDAY AUGUST 17 2001 Clever, friendly and articulate, I notice I have no memory of the events that transpired more than three days hence. The sun beats down upon a town of ingrates and foreign students, each more desperate than […]
(Excerpted from my 2001 journal, posted at the Tangents archives.) Saturday July 8 … so I’m stuck high up in the rafters at Dublin’s Lansdowne Road international football ground, freezing my fucking fingers off, chatting to Dave Simpson about the stupidity of editors and the rise and rise of PRs in the music business industry […]