Directory of Lost Causes

"I'm so glad Morrissey's suing that fucking magazine."

The pea-souper parts. In the piss-stinking alley there is the swirl of a cape, a flash of red, an almost silent swish of steel. A scream is quickly stifled. Jolly Jack strikes again.

As you may know, I spent last week in the capital. Much of the time, I'm afraid to say, I was very, very drunk. However, it was, on the whole, an interesting week for me, and I'd like to write about it now. Because there's too much to tell, however, I shall limit my remarks to the visit I made to a friend's flat, where I stayed the weekend.



On Saturday the 26th, I attended a certain meeting of writers in a certain pub in Central London, where I met the friend in question. There was conversation about Wales, about who should be the next Doctor Who, and so on. I'm not sure what time it was when we left. I suppose it was about eight or nine. Maybe it was later. I'm not going to give out my friend's name, because he's threatened to put stuff about me on Youtube if I write anything libellous about him here. So, let's call him Thor, God of Thunder, even though, for some reason, that's a very incongruous name.

We got the bus to his part of town, climbing up the stairs to the top deck. I banged my knee on a corner in the process and was in agony. "I've destroyed my knee!" I said. We sat at the front of the bus, right in front of the top-deck windows. He sat on one side of the aisle, if I remember correctly, and I on the other, so we had to talk reasonably loudly to hear each other. Unfortunately, I can't tell you what we talked about, partly because of the threat that something will be posted on Youtube, and partly because I've forgotten most of it, anyway. However, a couple of rows behind us was a guy who looked exactly like Al Murray's Pub Landlord, but with a far more colourful, going-out-on-a-Saturday-night-and-wearing-aftershave sort of shirt on. When it came time for Al Murray's stop, he got up and, on his way out, approached us and said, in his Al Murray voice, "I'm not being being funny but that's the fucking funniest conversation I've heard on a bus in ages." To which he appended some other remarks. Thor, God of Thunder laughed, and then said, "Fuck you!" as Al Murray scooted down the stairs, and then laughed again.

Eventually we arrived at our destination and walked to Thor, God of Thunder's flat. I must have told him at around this point, that at my birthday gathering, when I had mentioned I would be staying with him, I had been told to be careful because it was a very rough area.

"Yeah, it is," said Thor, God of Thunder. "There's people getting stabbed and shot and gang-raped and all sorts round here. But our flat's in the nice part of the area, on the other side of the road from all that."

We must have stopped at the off-license at some point, and Thor, God of Thunder got himself some lagers and some bottles of Bishop's Finger for me, making the obligatory double-entendres about me wanting the Bishop's finger tonight and so on. We got to the flat and re-commenced the drinking, now adding music and the rolling of fags into the mix.



Much of the conversation that evening was related to the contents of this blog, and that is what I would like to focus on here.

"I looked up the video to Puss 'N Boots, like you told me," said Thor, God of Thunder, early on.

"Oh yeah, what did you think of it?"

"To be honest, it made me angry."

"Angry?" I laughed.

"Yeah. Well, you've got to remember I'm not English, I'm Welsh. So, for a start, the King of England in that video made me angry."

"Why?"

"He was just so fucking... excitable." Here he mimed the king wibbling his fingers around his face in excitement. "All fucking winking and nodding. The idea that two hundred thousand Welshmen died because of this excitable old man just made me fucking angry. And also, it's not a good song."

"Hmmm, I don't know. Maybe. I just think it's a mad fucking video. I put it on my blog. And the Puss 'n Boots girl looks a bit like some tarty version of Kate Bush."

From there, if I recall correctly, we actually moved on to the subject of my blog. I attempted to play Thor, God of Thunder the clip of Noel Gallagher talking about The Smiths.

"Why the fuck have you got Noel Gallagher on your blog? Why would I want to listen to what this barely articulate monkey has got to say about anything? This is a guy who fucking shook hands with Tony Blair."

"Well, I put it on because I thought what he said was interesting, and his choice of song was good."

"Oasis are shit."

"Yes, I agree. I don't like Oasis at all."

"What none of their stuff?"

"None of it."

"What about the first album?"

"Oh, maybe a couple of songs, like Cigarettes and Alcohol."

"Yeah. I think about half of the first album was wicked. The next album was poo. Then the next album after that was horse poo. Then the next album after that was gnu poo."

"Yeah, well, like I said, I don't like Oasis."

"Then why d'you put it on your fucking blog?"

Sighs. "I thought what he said was quite interesting."



The chronology of the conversation is all mixed up in my mind now, but I think this is what led to us talking about Morrissey. Anyway, at some point in the evening, Thor, God of Thunder said, as if reminded of something that he's been meaning to talk about:

"I'm so glad Morrissey's suing that fucking magazine."

"Yes."

"These people trying to make out he's racist, that makes me so angry. You know, of course, I don't even fucking like Morrissey. If anything I dislike the guy. But you can't call Morrissey racist. Everybody fucking knows Morrissey isn't racist. Even I know he's not racist, and I can't stand the guy." He began to get into his stride. "You know there are a few things in life that are constants. You've got..."

"The Queen?"

"Yeah, like the Queen, err... Paul McCartney, and Morrissey. I mean, his views are... horizontal. You've got this guy, he's been careful not to comment much on his own sexuality. He may be gay, he may not. We don't know. But he's not homophobic and he's definitely not fucking racist. I think it's obscene that they're trying to portray him as racist. I don't even fucking like the guy. But it's just a load of people trying to hang on to his least pube and give it a yank. They wouldn't do that to Paul McCartney, but for some reason Morrissey's got this thing about him where people want to do that. But he's like Paul McCartney. He is Paul McCartney. He should be held in the same..."

"Regard?"

"Yeah. No, not regard. Another word. I can't even formulate my words properly at the moment because we're listening to craaaaazy Jazz, but he should be held up like The Beatles or something. I don't like The Beatles, either, actually. I think they were fucking shit. But, anyway, he should have the same kind of status, of, like a god or something. I mean, you've got this guy with a fucking Elvis haircut, he was in a band called The Smiths, who did whatever the fuck they wanted, and wrote songs like Girlfriend in a Coma. He's not homophobic and he's definitely not racist."

This subject, after a while, having been exhausted, we returned to Adam and the Ants. We watched the Puss 'N Boots video together.

"See," said Thor, God of Thunder, "it's not a good song. My impression is that this was maybe a bit later in his career when he was starting to lose it, but he was selling records so the record company kind of went along with it and let him do what he wanted. And that fucking king is just so fucking excitable, leering over that girl's arse and everything."

"Hmmm," I said doubtfully.

"Come on, think about it. If you'd been buying all the other stuff, like Stand and Deliver and Prince Charming at the time, would you have bought this when it came out?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

"You wouldn't. You wouldn't."

"But I like the fact that it's completely mad. I mean it is."

"Oh yeah."

"That's part of the attraction. I wrote a bit about it on my blog."

I read him the following paragraph from my blog entry about failure, How Did I Pass My Time On Earth?:

I am interested in failure, though. So interested that I seem to have to live it out quite thoroughly. In fact, only the other day, I was thinking of writing a blog post about why I am fascinated by Stuart Goddard, otherwise known as Adam Ant, of Adam and the Ants fame. Stuart Goddard was and probably still is, a fantasist, like myself. He threw himself with wonderful, deranged flamboyance into his silly, flimsy fantasy world, and for a while, the public supported him in his derangement. And then the trampoline was cruelly snatched from under him. Or so it seems.

Thor, God of Thunder made a disapproving face.

"Silly?" he said. "Why is it silly?"

"Yeah, no, you're right. It isn't really. In fact, after I wrote that I looked at it again and thought it was a bit weird, or wrong or something. But I don't censor myself on my blog. I just write things the way they come out."

"Yeah, no, you should. But if you were writing about failure you should have put the Puss 'N Boots clip there, not Prince Charming. Prince Charming is a good song. It's got a good message, he's at the height of his career, and you can imagine DJs like that Hairy Cornflake guy thinking, 'What the fuck is this?' but having to play it anyway, because Adam Ant was selling records. With Puss 'N Boots they probably wouldn't have batted an eyelid. Slipped it on the turntable and didn't care."

"Well, I used the Prince Charming clip because of the whole Cinderella theme."

"Yeah. I see what you mean. I still think you should have used the Puss 'N Boots instead."

Warming to our Adam and the Ants theme, we proceeded to watch a number of videos on Youtube.

First we watched Kings of the Wild Frontier (I think).

"This is interesting," said Thor, God of Thunder. "It's not really pop. I mean, there are no easy hooks. It's good fucking music."

Next we watched Friend or Foe.

"He's already getting a bit paranoid here."

"Friend or foe?"

"Yeah."

(Actually, though, I note now that this video is hilarious and incredibly visually witty.)

Next we listened to ... oh hang on... maybe we watched a different clip of Friend or Foe. Oh no, I remember now. We then proceeded to watch two different clips of Goody Two Shoes.

"I didn't know this was him," said Thor, God of Thunder.

"Yeah," I said.

"'Don't smoke, don't drink - what do you do?' That's got to be one of the best lines in pop."

I couldn't see it myself.

Then there was much commentary on this clip.



"What's he wearing? Fuck, he's got the moves."

"He's got one of those kind of things you tie over your navel."

"Brilliant. And those boots! He looks fucking gay. When was this? Early eighties or something? That's fantastic. All the girls are going to love him, because he's a beautiful, beautiful man, and he's selling tonnes of records, and he decides to come on TV dressed as the gayest thing ever, and the record company executives can't do a fucking thing about it, because he's too popular. Wicked! I'd put my cock up his arse."

Eventually we exhausted even this subject.

"Are you hungry?" asked Thor, God of Thunder.

It was about three in the morning.

"Yeah."

"Let's get some pizzas."

Unfortunately, when he tried phoning, nowhere was open.

"There's only one option left," he said. "The question is, how much do you want this pizza? Are you willing to risk your life?"

"Hmmm. Yeah, I suppose so."

"Okay, we're going to have to go to the rough part of the area."

We walked down the hill to a 24 hour shop. The door was locked.

"We can't get inside," I said.

"Course we fucking can't, or we'd just bomb the place or something."

We gave our order through a transparent, though rather grimy, grill.

"Two vegetarian pizzas. No, these have got pepperoni on. Have you got any vegetarian?"

They did have.

All the while, across the street, a group of figures were crowded around the entrance to a closed shop, and were beginning to kick at the door.

"Something's going to kick off in a minute," said Thor, God of Thunder. "Grab the pizzas and run."

"No, walk, don't run."

"Run. Quick. Quick."

When we got a little distance away and slowed our pace again, Thor, God of Thunder began to go on a rant about the state of the country.



"When we were kids, right, you'd get bullied. I got bullied at school. I had long hair and fifteen inch flares. You know, and you'd be shitting yourself. But you wouldn't be in fucking fear of your life like you are now. No one should have to walk down the street and be in fear of their life. And no one cares, no one's got any pride. I mean, look at the state of the place. Fucking look at it."

We got back and ate one of the pizzas. I don't remember much about what happened between then and bedtime, which was at about five AM, and what I do remember, I'm not going to write about here.

I woke up earlier than my host the next morning and had to bide my time till he awoke. I did various things, including re-reading the very first story in Nagai Kafu's Amerika Monogatari, which was excellent beyond description. Eventually Thor, God of Thunder emerged and invited me to have a shower. On my own. When I got out and came downstairs he looked at me and said, "You look really old with your hair wet."

"Oh. Thanks a lot."

This is UNCANNY!

No sooner do I mention Adam and the Ants, than I look over some of the old songs to discover that Adam Ant foresaw in detail the exact events of my current sojourn in the capital, recording them in this video: