I cannot get on with him AT ALL. To the extent that I found it heartening to read about what a plonker he apparently is in that 'Meet Me in the Bathroom' book.

Now thinking a lot about those Beach Boys Cruises. They were in many ways tacky, but also the first one in particular was quite profoundly moving in a way something like that shouldn't normally be.

Aronowsky's 'Mother!', a film so bad that after watching it I blacked out and woke up under a tree in Cockfosters.

All the rock bros losing it about Sade being in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is fun. Though admittedly she did drop off a bit after The 120 Days Of Sodom.

Pint of proper fucking Cheshire mild.

God, I LOATHE that film.

Every Music Documentary based outside London

Narrator: Here there is a 100% unemployment rate, the people are exceptionally ugly and the only factories are used to incinerate old disused smokestacks. How did such beautiful music come from here?

Musician: Ahderrwuznuddingtodoinnit?

I read your 'Caker's Man' in the Ellen Datlow 'Best Horror of the Year' anthology (I forget the year) the other day. Magnificently horrible.

*massive lopsided grin*

He's not only obsessed with markets, he's obsessed with justifying his obsession with markets. It's demented.

He can start a sentence in neutral, become suddenly and animatedly angry for about three seconds and then finish it with tears of joy in his eyes. It's astonishing to see. Like watching a man tripping for the first time.

Great boozer that.

Like what Ditko's version might have been like after a long, bitter run.

Man, Doc Oc as Spiderman was really good. I'd forgotten about that.

Competently made, well acted, ended with a sky portal, can't remember anything else about it. 4 out of 10.

Thaaat's the stuff.

Rough Trade are cunts, frankly, so I'm not surprised.

*yum yum* *glug glug* "Bloody good stuff this..."

That must have been a big ass can of tuna if it lasted him through all of those.

He'd be looking straight into your soul. Unblinking. The merest hint of a mirthless smile on his lips. Eyes of cold blue steel.

He hears you laughter from the kitchen: "I'm glad it's funny working here. I'm glad that we're all having a nice time in my kitchen. But I wonder when are we going to stop having that 'nice time' and you start showing me the excellence that I'm paying you for. What do you think?"

He... frightens me. Imagine if he was angry with you. Except he'd never be angry would he? Just 'disappointed'. "I'm disappointed, Matthew" is what he'd say.

If there's a better moment in music this year than when that saxophone enters the boisterous fray then I will eat Henry VIII's big floppy hat.

Came here to say this. But make sure it is unimpeachably cold.

Chafing dish with a card labeling it "Meet Lasagna."

Buongiorno.

Look at the young Timothy Dalton.

I still have mine. It often requires explaining.

A lot of things used to get compared to "Warhol's Factory" in the early 2000s. What it seemed to mean was insecure people becoming horrible people under the influence of cocaine and no one making any art.

Not only do I suspect that Garland isn't that smart, I also suspect he's a teeeensy bit more right wing than he might want his audience to realise.