Sunday, March 14, 2004

Disco 2000 

While I'd been on the interweb on Friday night, my publisher, Dave, had left a message.
"Are you on that facking internet again, you bad boy, you'll go blind, ack ack ack! Listen, I'm at a really wild party so I can't chat long." (Sound of glasses clinking, people chatting, women laughing - probably a sound effects record, I couldn't swear to it.) "I've been talking to some geezer says 'e's the manager of some new indie band. Says they couldn't write a song for love nor pocket money, ack ack ack. They need something that'll get in the pop charts, but its got to be gritty, a bit dirty, you know what I mean? Bit like that greasy wotsisface. Jarvis Cocker. Call me when..." and then his time was up and the machine cut him off.
I said I'll see what I can do.

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