Wednesday, October 27, 2004

John Peel's death hit hard. Everyone I speak to has been playing Teenage Kicks. We're all agreeing he's the uncle we wish we'd had. It's an odd sense of loss. A loss I shouldn't be feeling but am. Michael Eavis is naming a stage after Peely. We should rechristen the cat, I think. It's what he would have wanted. Today we discussed the possibility of bringing The Worst Seat In The House back to a venue near you. I want to do it, it's just setting the wheels in motion to get it together. I am hoping it has a longer run than Mike Read's hastily scrapped musical about Oscar Wilde. Still, if it fails I can always write a musical about the Village People. Had the most enormous sandwich for lunch, watched by a theatre director. I think, having dribbled much of it down my chin, I passed the audition. Lunch couldn't come fast enough today. Things got off to a wobbly start when a man phoned about the lack of coverage he received in the paper, despite the fact he's never contacted us nor made any kind of effort to send us a press release or do anything newsworthy. I pointed out he was going about things in entirely the wrong way by accusing us of some hidden agenda and attempted to give him a quick lesson in how newspapers work and how to secure coverage, all to no avail. Sometimes, just telling people to fuck off is a lot simpler.

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