Posted on March 13, 2018
No Cure For Classic Rock
It’s not often that you get diagnosed with cancer and it is quite absolutely alarming. It is also by equal degrees frightening, frustrating, disorientating, debilitating, alienating and completely all-consuming. Suddenly and without warning nothing else seems to matter. Nothing, that is, except for the unconditional love and support shown by a few close friends who will forever remain in our hearts. So happy New Year to me and boo-fucking-hoo…
Luckily cancer offers you the opportunity to lie in a hospital bed and ponder the evil intricacies of this fragile universe. Life indeed is unfair because I have a tumour the size of a small planet and the other guy hasn’t. Bastard. How does that other guy sleep at night? Why do the gods favour him and not me? What’s so special about that guy anyway? Can we swap places? I’ve learnt a lot about myself during this uncomfortable and undignified ordeal. I’ve learnt that I fucking love intravenous pain killers. I’ve learnt that you can smoke on the balcony in Greek hospitals. I’ve learnt that cancer need not be an awkward conversational car crash. But the most important thing I’ve learnt is that Led Zeppelin are never going to reform. Read More
Posted on October 29, 2017
Fuck The Youth!
Everybody under the age of 32 is basically useless. In fact you could remove the Youth from the planet entirely and not many people would either notice or care. Admittedly some parents might wake up to discover they have more food in the fridge and a spare bedroom they can now rent out on Airbnb. Some might inhale deeply and marvel at the sudden surplus of oxygen. And the Youth? The Youth can stay frozen and dispossessed in deep space until the rest of us can think of something better to do with them.
Undoubtedly we’re getting older. We’re getting crankier and shorter of fuse – less tolerant and less interested in the self-centred bullshit spouted by Generation Dolt. Sometimes it feels as if sharkinfestedwaters has become less of a photographic collective and more of an underfunded drop-in centre for the needy and the vacuous. I think I’ve become allergic to Youth. Read More
Posted on August 5, 2017
I first met Elvis Presley back in 1934. He’d sit on his mother’s porch with a cheap guitar and pick out all those hillbilly Bluegrass tunes that he would later pass off as original compositions and in the process make Tom Parker a very rich man. Naturally when he later died on the toilet in a Vegas hotel suite, I felt compelled to articulate my grief in the time honoured fashion. I ran to my typewriter and wrote something truly eloquent: “R.I.P Elvis – Gone But Never Forgotten.” I didn’t actually mean it. I just couldn’t think of anything better to write. After the Alabama Gazette forgot to publish my heartfelt eulogy, however, I had the idea to gather together all the letters of condolences throughout the world and condense them into my first, soon-to-be-published book entitled Mourn A Celebrity…Pretend You Care. Of course social media makes this public display of tuppenny anguish so much easier to disseminate but you can’t roll a cigarette on the back of a smart phone. Read More