An apology – plus who is Dave Gorman

Oh dear, before posting anything else here I must apolgise in the most grovelling of ways for trail of drunken bollocks that I left around the web on Thursday night / Friday morning… Went out with Rob, Em and Si to celebrate Si’s birthday and, with it being record-breakingly hot in London, we decided to attempt to consume record-breaking amounts of alcohol. I doubt we quite broke the record, but Mr T and I certainly did our best (Em’n'Rob had to slope off early for a drive to a west Wales wedding the next morning).

I remember the last pint in the East Duwich Tavern. I remember coming back here, cracking open another bottle of wine, and discussing Si’s theory about Dr. Kelly being bumped of in the garden. (Er, Si and I were in the garden – Dr. Kelly was sadly long dead by then). I vaguely remember coming inside to have another tipple and laugh at web nonsense. I have the merest recollection of seeing dawn come up… My most vivid memory is of throwing up at lunchtime the next day, and crashing out to watch Quincy with Si.

Haven’t looked at World of Badger since, but now I have, seems I was feeling quite lucid at the time. And, knowing me, it wasn’t restricted to here. Probably shared my Meles meles wisdom liberally around the web. So I apologise to anyone caught up in my drunken blither – if I miss you out, it’s ‘cos I don’t remember, not ‘cos I don’t care. Believe me, I’m slapping my forehead and groaning as I type.

Anyway, ventured down the pub for the first time since tonight (unless you count a Saturday night by the river in Putney, which I momentarily forgot), and ended up buying a packet of fags from the machine. OK, hardly blog-worthy in itself, except that the packet that popped out of the machine wasn’t the usual Silk Cut white with purple trim thing. It was black, with an “arty/cool” photo in the top right corner (above the “This shit gonna cap yo’ mutherfuckin’ ass” warning). Back of the net, marketing scumbags, I may be killing myself slowly with your filthy product, but at least I can imagine I’m some sort of cool, underground, James Dean-type figure. Er, except that it actually looks really silly. Imagine you and your mates were walking down the subway at the Elephant & Castle, off your skulls, and you decide to take a photo of them having a leak down there, despite not being able to focus your camera. Not particularly cool really – just the sort of thing Boots put a sticker on to say “This photo is crap and out of focus because you do not have a brain”. Well, that’s what Silk Cut’s marketing people think is cool enough to make me carry on killing myself, and to encourage 14 year old girls to take it up. It’s certainly not enough to make me carry on – if I’m still smoking in one month’s time, you have my full permission to shoot me. Sadly, given the state of the music charts nowadays, I fear that the 14 year old girls will be easier to persuade; if the tobacco companies’ efforts around the world are to be believed, they’ll try anything (in Cambodia, even ice cream vans are covered in adverts for cigarettes. Nice). (as an aside, how on earth do I get pMachine to convert my nasty hyphens in em-dashes?)

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