Wales

Off to Wales for Christmas. Beautiful thatched cottage. Looking forward to walking on the beach. Can't wait to hear the crashing waves and feel the wind in my hair while the pup shoots about.

Tracy's Pussy

I'm slightly freaked by the number of people on Twitter pretending to be their cats. I'm not sneering because I'm actually following a cat tweeter and I'm enjoying it. But anyone who says 'my mom' or 'the humans' is struck immediately off the list. It might be for you but it's not for me. Tracy Emin once wrote a cutesy bit about losing her cat. And actually that to me was more shocking than her neon light strip entitled 'my **** is wet with fear'. I like Tracy Emin's work a lot and that and 'My Bed' are two of my favourites. You see 'My Bed' works on a number of different levels. Firstly people said get a grip, pull yourself together. That's not art. How dare she. Oh how ridiculous. What rubbish. Which is exactly what people say when someone say's 'I'm depressed' which is what the piece captured perfectly. But it only works because of the information that she gave out about it at the time. The self confessional. The self promotion. Which is why Saatchi bought it for 100 grand or whatever. My god he could see what she had just pulled off. Brian Sewell was once asked if you screwed up a piece of paper and threw it across the table would that be art. And he replied, dripping acid, no you would need to say I'm an artist first. Purrrrfect ma. Perfect.

On the buses

Ok here's what I've done right. Took the bus timetable and crossed out every single entry. With a biro and ruler. Nice and neat like. Then I've added 15 minutes to every single entry. Now, Bob's your uncle and Fanny's your Aunt, we have an accurate timetable. I should be the bus company CEO. Earning 100's of thousand of pounds a year. S'not fair. All I need to do now is wheel me own bloody armchair onto the bus.

Coopers

I do like Coopers. The 'pub' in the station. It's just so dirty. And the toilets are locked. Classy. I just like watching the ebb and flow of punters. In and out. In and out. In, drink, stare into distance and out. Or in a group, in, laugh, banter, all glazed behind smacky eyes and then off to party. Kilts swinging or tottering on spiky heels. Bought peanuts tonight from the barman. He always asks. But tonight I thought yeah, i'm gonna buy some nuts or snacks. He looked pleased. And that made me feel good.

So this is it, another blog. Another channel to start to write again. We'll see what happens and take it from there.