Saturday, 1 September 2018


Demi Moore. Surprised at how natural and beautiful she looks, her face is young and smooth, moodily shot from the side like a b/w press photograph, and she appears (to my confusion) to have had no plastic surgery. She is naked and her nipples curve to the side around her bosom like long jelly beans. They almost seem like my own, and I peer over the top of these (exaggerated and oddly) curved forms. I am startled - quite fascinated - that she has a great triangle of dark, wiry pubic hair, sitting facing me with her legs spread unnaturally wide apart like goalposts-

I am at some sort of Glasgow Art School-esque concert venue. Corridor, akin to The Arches toilets area, with grey painted walls and darker grey doors leading off (to individual gigs?). I am talking to the organiser - has he come over to me to guide me to a specific concert room? - and he advised me that the sound from the main venue (outside?), known as "The Kristofferson Suite", visible through a glass door, won't bleed through and disturb what's happening where I am. We talk about Kris Kristofferson at some length and he describes a gig by him as "definitive". I mention that I missed him the last few times he'd been through town and we both agree it may have been the last chance. Do I then see myself shouting for the song 'Border Lord' at a concert? On my own I am listening, searching the corridors for what I am sure is the growling bassline of The Brian Jonestown Massacre's 'Dropping Bombs On The Whitehouse' track. I stop outside several doors and listen to see if they are playing inside. Is Joel Gion there? I think about him as a young, happy man, high on drugs and compare it with changes into the wine swilling, somewhat grizzled character he has become. He still seems happy, but I wonder if he is a sad drunk at heart. This greatly perplexes me-

I am outside in a sort of winding passage-cum-courtyard - high white walls to the side, gravel path and patches of grass - and pass a fellow in a dapper blue suit with a thin moustache (who looks very like a young Spike Milligan). Having passed him I realise he has acknowledged me. It is (rather bizarrely) the comedian Peter Cook, who seems pleased to see me. He's asking me directions (to the venue entrance). Looking into the distance there is what seems to be an elaborate garden (now in some degree of disrepair). The scene is bathed in a cold sunlight. Peter - who I am directing to the cricket - has to head off into the passages to our left, from where I came, to the buildings to that side of the garden. I will continue over to the passages on the right-

On some narrow stone steps - that could be a ruin as it feels like I'm inside but also outside - I pass a class of schoolchildren being followed by their teacher. Two boys at the back are cheeky and she passes me a metal ruler, a "W" shaped one in profile, though a little flattened out, and encourages me to hit them on their exposed calves (they are wearing shorts). Then it seems I am following the party of kids. At one point they are all reciting and giggling. "Did you do that?!" asks the teacher angrily. I can hear some sort of playful rhyme that features "hobby" and "jobby". There is a sort of rope construct near where we are standing, comprising 3 ropes in a "V" formation, one rope to support each arm and a single rope below for your feet. This spans the short distance across to a slated roof, bathed in sunlight, where the offending rhyme featuring these words has been painted in white letters-

I am chatting to the comedian Julia Davis. We are talking about Kevin Eldon. I am then in a (function?) room with him. The walls are of a burgandy hue, interjected with black uprights. The whole feel is garish. He is talking away (to me?) and I remember him saying something about a TV programme he's come up with/is working on called "Celebrity Sandcastles"-

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