| Monday May 22 What is wrong with this country? Everyone on the street is scary, grizzled and manic. People stare at us as we walk into shops, like we have the nerve to enter without knocking first. Call Sally. She's now working with a comedy troupe who've been touring with Artic Boosh. So there's one item we have in common. She tells me how much she hates the media and reassures me that folk are fearfully loyal to my good name. We'll see. There's something so warming about hearing her voice, though - the best writer the music press ever fucked over. Steve Sutherland has responded to my tentative queries about nme.com with a proffered phone number... I can't get through. E-mail Alan Lewis with regards to the Loaded situation - he responds a day later by agreeing that, yes, the editor's job is still vacant. This leads into a whole afternoon of post-hangover daydreaming... I think I may give it a shot. Sit around and discuss all things baby and Melbourne once more. (Emma's ill with gallstones. That's not nice.) See James Brown's face on the front of G2 and it reminds me of how far I haven't come while all round me the ones with ideas and go, do. Go. There must be place for a men's magazine I want to read, surely? When Saturday Comes mixed with Mad magazine and a touch of early Loaded attitude - much more fanzine and subtle. Heh. Probably not a place for that at Loaded, though. In the evening, meet Paul Connolly at Fortress Wapping - who also is very supportive - and we drink four Guinesses and a couple of whisky shorts in 60 minutes. Jesus. Down the place formerly known as Shuttleworth's, I have to fend off all kind offers of drinks from people like Angus Batey, Andrew, Mat Smith, David Stubbs, Rob amazon, Simon Price... at least until after I've had a couple of coffees. Much laughter is exchanged, and surprisingly little bitchiness. The evening costs me close on Aus $100. Ouch. © Everett True 2000 |
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