Am I sounding like someone else? I keep trying to do yoga in the hotel room. But then I think about the internet and there's a book I should be reading and there was this massive pavlova, and no one was having any of it and I felt bad so I had some. It was nice, I thought it was nice. But then I was full. And then there was the cheese. And the grapes. And these drug dealers in tracksuits. I had my shirt tucked in. And this chuffing haircut looks shoddy in the pictures I have just found of myself on the internet. So I ate some more of the pavlova. And then the boogie. And the floggy of the gubbins to the people I thought were ugly, gorgeous, or just drunk. And then a little more of the pavlova - shaking in the van on the way back to the room I keep waking up in thinking about a past time.
Earlier in the existence I was dancing awkwardly in the Crescent. I was full of the salmon I paggered home for because the lights were bright in there and I didn't fancy the chilli whatever it was; I wanted the salmon my Dad was doing. So I went home for it. And listened to Frankie Lee Sims again. And had a proper shave. Because this is what I am trying to say: I am on the 19th floor, way above the Bowie, and I am not even bothered about thinking about watching the cruisers below, I am having a proper shave listening to You Only Live Twice, because if I'm going to do this I might as well do what I always want to do when I do this: check behind the pictures for wires, order green figs and yoghurt, and something else about James Bond whatever I'm saying... Because I should be cleaning, but they let me come do this because they said I was a good cleaner. And, yes, I was taking the piss not telling them about the gigs until I'd signed the contract, but I just really needed to clean some toilets and stop thinking about myself.