Why would we want to regurgitate that utterly Phillip Nevilled tit of a tournament back into our sick-filled eyeballs? No particular reason, other than the other day I dug out a documentary I made, just for fun, following my flatmate Bill, simply watching the games. Probably yawny, but I’ll be adding the other parts of ‘Walthamstow Bill an Euro 2000′ bit by bit, just for prosperity….and maybe you’ll be able to look back fondly at when Shearer stuck it down the Germans’ throats, I nearly got run over by a bus and Jonathan Pearce actually cried. Denis Norden’s brief introductory and ending voiceover makes it all even weirder…
I am arrived back in England, I have taken up residence in Glory Towers once again, and I have filed my first complaint against Transport For London, using block capitals and slightly mental adjectives…I am, therefore, restored as a Londoner.
I hate the tubes. I hate the DLR, I hate the buses, I hate everyone on them and I probably hate everyone not on them. Or at least I do for those hateful ten minutes either side of the moment I discover signal failure has happened again, or that planned engineering works mean nobody is allowed to go anywhere, or that for no particular reason whatsoever, a couple of hundred people are standing around outside the station trying to decipher the armageddon of a sudden station closure. It happens to me every, single, day. It makes me breath seeth and desire harm to objects that are weaker than me. Like Lembit Opik. Or Morph. The only thing you can rely upon in this pit is your legs, and good job mine work, quite sleekly these days, may I add.
Anyway, ‘I am The Gloryhunter’ will be with you some time next month – I am finishing up on it now (just adding some better words that the dictionary is lending me).
And then? I suppose I’ll be saying words to the ladies and gentleman of the press about what I wroted. And then? You will will buy what I wroted (pleeeease…I haven’t eaten in these seven months – all I’ve had is some Tesco Value crisps mashed up with half a block of marzipan I found in one of my old shoes. I hope it was marzipan, anyway…)
And then? I’ll be throwing myself around like a leaflet for penis enlargement, trying to get someone to like my next project enough to throw money at me (preferably not coins). Watch this space. Or one near it. Don’t just sit there staring here the whole time. Occasionally look to the distance – it’s good for your eyeballs.