In far away places men were being killed. I watched it on the TV as I cooked up smack, fell asleep to journalists embedded in a war zone tha...

The appalling things I uploaded last week and had the good humour to call 'songs' are now here: Out of Time, tune and hope - The S...

“It's gonna be a good year.” I say that every year while laying in bed with a dead laptop making love to myself and dealers of cer...

On the first day of spring 2003 the rain came down. I was running, across the road, past the Halal butchers, up Percy Road, over the curb at...

God, we were cruel kids. But battered and beaten at such a young age in life, what else could we have been? What chance did we ever really h...

And then you are down. And you realise you’ve been hit. There is warm blood trickling from your nose. And then someone is pushing your face ...

Tindersticks... I killed myself to this band.  They made up the soundtrack to my London, the broken hearts, the deaths and the late night ...

After numerous failed attempts at competently writing my love of Lynch's cinema, and getting across what he means to me and how his wo...

I first discovered Dostoevsky just as I was getting into junk. His book Crime and Punishment, with its anti-hero Raskolnikov wandering the s...

I'm sick of this Hopping the Wagon shit, really. I can't even bear typing that out anymore and I really hate this nonsense of diarie...