I'm so overjoyed and full of happiness after hearing that Peter Kay's embarrassing song didn't make it to number one in the young person's pop hit parade. I know number two is still very successful but I'm sure it must be killing the fat cunt (he could be as skinny as a rake, he'd still be a big fat cunt) that he didn't make it to the top. He's probably spent the past few days crying his fat cunty eyes out, shouting at his house staff, throwing comfort-pies down his throat and threatening to make another Paddy McGuinness. The only thing that must be keeping that smug prick from blowing up his own brains is the fact that he got higher in the charts than a real, non-drag X-Factor contestant. He even tried to have a rub-your-nose-in-it dig at him. He said "Leon Jackson is a Scottish Michael Buble". That's because he is, you fuck-wit. He IS a Scottish Michael Buble. Just like the sea is a wet land or mountains are snowy hills or Peter Kay is a fat cunt. All of those statements are obvious and pointless, but at least one of them is fun to say.
Tuesday is quickly becoming my favourite day of the week because tuesday is the day Foxy comes round. I like knowing someone called Foxy because it immediately makes me a little bit cooler by association. So far, I haven't introduced Foxy to anyone I know but it's going to be a great moment for me when it happens. "Dave, this is Foxy". Brilliant. Because I'm incapable of looking after myself, I've hired Foxy to come round once a week and tidy up my house. I realise automatically that makes me a wanker but I'd rather be a wanker than a wanker that lives in his own shit. Foxy is very nice and does an excellent job and the only thing better than Foxy turning up is her leaving. As soon as she's out the door I go around staring in awe at the real colour of things in my house. My fridge is white! I had no idea. For about two days after being Foxyed, I don't touch a fucking thing in my house or if I do I clean it immediately and, get this, put it back where it was. Amazing. Because my living room is now clean I feel like I've been given an extra room in the house to laze around in. Because my kitchen has nearly half the amount of rats living in it now, I can cook food in it instead of shouting at it and ordering a pizza. And shitting out of a window? No, Sir. Lord Hoity-Toity's like myself use the "toilet" that I found once the stack of Melody Makers, Select and Razzle had been bulldozed out of my bathroom. It's lovely. Thank you, Foxy.
Last night was fun because I thought I had a gig but then I didn't. That freed up time to have a cup of tea with film-maker Jamie Mathieson. Well, I met up with my mate Jamie but saying all that other shit just makes me sound way more exciting. We discussed Fellini, the idiocy of creating for todays media and the Indiana Jones rape scene in South Park. In fact, it was mainly the Indiana Jones rape scene in South Park. We don't know much about the other two things. Then we went to the pub to see my friend Marissa who is visiting from Edinburgh. Not that we spoke much because she had other friends there and The Trap gentlemen were there so we discussed future Los Quattros Cunts stuff. Well, for a while. Actually, I remember not talking about Los Quattros stuff at all but I do also recall Jeremy and I being quite drunk and defending a lot of Bonnie Langford's Doctor Who work. Hopefully neither of us will remember that and no-one will ever find out. Maybe I should have a break from booze for a while. Not because of health reasons or anything like that. It's just...well, I didn't know that booze could make you see the good in Bonnie Langford. Maybe it's time to clean up and put the bottle down.