April 28th, 2004



Wednesday evening. I've been lying in bed most of the day, reading Henning Mankell. I could be ill or I might just be seeking an excuse to duck out of other responsibilities and playing up the symptoms. Mankell writes a pretty good detective story. He makes me want to go to Sweden. Maybe not for the right reasons. Whatever those might be.

Hubert Selby wrote some great books as well. Unfortunately, he's gone. I opened the obituaries this morning to read that he'd passed on. Thanks for the hard work...

Also recently vanished is Adam Shand Kydd, who has died in Cambodia of a suspected drugs overdose. Kydd was Diana's stepbrother. This snippet of news courtesy of the Netscape home page that this browser always seems to revert to. He sounds like a pirate. He was also paying $1,300 a month for his flat there. Seems rather a lot.

Tomorrow I'm setting of for my 63 bus marathon. Some time ago I contacted Smoke, a London literary magazine, who include reviews of various London bus journeys, about doing a piece on it. I opted for the 63. I don't know why. Anyway, tomorrow I will be travelling from 6am until midnight on the 63 bus. I'm saving myself for that. Should anyone want to join me on the 63 at some point tomorrow, please call me. I could do with some occasional distractions. Just don't throw any water over me. It's a pretty sedentary marathon.

Now back to Mankell. Apologies for the paucity and quality of entries recently, I feel very deflated by the album experience. I would like to get it out as soon as possible, I am already tiring of it before anyone else has even heard it, but it looks like a fortnight before its release. Release? Okay, more like a slow shuffle. Kim Fowley wrote back and wants a copy. That's exciting enough for me. It doesn't matter whether he likes it or not. Well, it does, but it shouldn't. Now, if I get the hair transplant and the reassignment surgery, he could just make me a star.