New Gold Dawn

Complaints have been raised!  Readers struggle with my obliquity.  I suppose I have to temper the venom.  It is less than ten days till I stand in the ring with the muppets of Old Bedford Town, so I am quickening to bile.

I appreciate that I might lose the fight, and so am preparing for a few days at Her Majesty's Hotel, which is all a bit awkward, as it means I won't be able to drive around town with two fingers in the air!  I have my celebratory gesture planned but I suppose I should pack a small bag with toothpaste, just in case.

In other worlds I should be able to zap the lot of them and disappear into the sunset; I don't live in other worlds, nor do I admit their existence, so I guess it is me against Plod. If any reader knows a Brief, please let him know I am a friend of Arthur Daley.  I am currently renewing the worst student habit - reading up on my subject!  No booze, just criminal law as a diet.  Boring, or what?

Anyway, I am tempering my cold turkey with a walk in the Fields of the Nephilim.  Reminds me of nights in Leeds at the Phonographique, although this lot were a bit too late to be on the playlist.  Memories of some great cramped evnings, however.  And McCoy is still able to be real.  You have to read all this stuff backwards and sideways to keep up, but keep up you shall....

...I am off to prepare for another interview, this being the latest jump into the known.  Fearing nothing, least of all the Nephilim, I am looking to move from the warehouse of my soul. It transpires that I have interested the employers of a small firm near the Level, and I am intent upon cementing their interest prior to Christmas.  I sense a new gold dawn...but I have been wrong so often, maybe it is just another riot in cell block number nine.

One more week till your correspondent faces the middle-aged middle-class white niggers: place your bets now ladies and gentlemen. 

See you in Tasmania!!