I went away for my birthday, just there. i needed out of this place, i needed away from everything. there's this oppressive heaviness in Dublin. it's new, it's all part of the new Ireland, it's all faceless architecture and recreational drugs, and recreational sex, and recreational music. nothing is real, or interesting. i went to Vienna for it's marble halls and indulgent prostitutes and because i share a birthday with mister Hitler. To be great is to be misunderstood, ruminated Elvis once, possible while having a shit, and to stand in the shade of one of the leviathan marble arches in Vienna you would think it were built by supermen. so unlike Dublin, built by poles, the very men Adolf sought to oppress. his failure is our gain. the circle of life continues. I walked around the streets, lashed in sunshine, central Yurp stylee, and sat and drank beer in the twinkling afternoon. The old ipod is a god send isn't it, as one takes in a park or a Danube side stroll to the sounds of The Rites Of Spring followed by something gauche and middle aged like sting. ha ha. rofl.

Nights were spent noshing on eastern pharmaceuticals in the many dingy clubs til i could take no more and took myself to the coast, down aways on the Adriatic, in a sleepy Croatian town of no little beauty and no drugs. the food was good. i got burnt in the sun. i drank beer. there wasn't even any whores. It wasn't so bad, i suppose. anyway, it worked i cam home slightly refreshed. i was ready to put in some work on the things that mattered.Or, to be precise, put in some work on finding out what really mattered.

So the symetary, in coming into work to find my desk cleared. WTF?

The boss dudes called me in, into their sombre boardroom. we've had it up to here, etc, you're being let go. Oh, i says, oh really? i wonder what my father would think of that. Well, we've indulged his wishes and memory as much as we can, they say, and on clicks the plasma at the end of the table wherein i am, a little grainy (ha ha) and in monochrome, but it's me no doubt. Working my ass off, Christmas just gone. you can see me typing away, throwing stuff around looking for something. taking a drink from a can of fanta, and the snorting a couple of lines right off the desk. like duh. i'd clearly stopped going to the jacks at this stage.

"i see," i say. The dudes look at me. "well then sirs, i'm surprised at you all, but the truth be told, i was ready to take my career to a new level, outside of these walls. " they just look at me. "i mean, the label is about to take off, and i have more than one studio into teh script, so, you know, fuck it" again, silence. "Roger Phelps had sex with his secretary on his desk. do you have a video of that?" silence. then...

"actually, we do...."
"but he still works here??"
"yes. so does she."
"you pricks"
"well, the security will see you out. your stuff is packed."
"cool"


i stroll out, there's Jerry from downstairs. "ah, fuckit" he says, "they never said it was you"
Jerry used to be able to source some real nice grass, but his wife won't allow him anymore since she got knocked up with triplets.
"it's cool, fucker" i say. "i'll buy you a drink and tell you about it."
"i heard you were shooting up in the jacks"
"i'm impressed.... actaully, it was cos i was riding Roger Phelps' secretarty and he found out."
"that sounds about right, yeah"

Jerry offers to carry my box, i buzz briefly over to Cathy's desk. "i'm off," i say. "had it. meet me later for a drink" she looks at me, big eyes
"where've you been?"
"around, come on, it's my birthday. have a drink with me?"
she nods.

Jerry and me stand out side, just by the park, the sun is out, it's warm, people mill by and buses cough egregiously, billowing wispy bile. "tough break" he says. I light a smoke. "look around you pal. don't feel sorry for me" a bicycle courier crashes into a pregnant woman "you fucking DUMB BITCH" he shouts. i fucking hate couriers.

The day took a deliquescent air as it disappeared into the fug of one after another of the capitals caliginous beer gardens. i made some calls, cited birthday blues. for a wednesday, i got some takers. we settled in O'Briens, with the big screen for the match. Gert, Brendon, Clive, a couple of the guysh from work. Cathy. Edel. Rhonda, with the big eyes and the abecedarian air. Rhonda's been there for me in the past, when i've needed to spooge. she believes me. "friends," i say "today i cast off the surly bollocks of the office." the match is shit, i quaff some more. Rhonda is umming and awing, she has to go and meet some friends round at the village. sounds fucking cool to me. Lets go i say. Cathy is standing next to me, all : wtf happened? you know. I've had it. Gert has gone, clive. rohan never turns up, so i'm drugless. it's a pretty poor show really. i say to Cathy, that wasn't my video. i mean, you could tell it wasn't me in it. Why did you have it so, she asks. "well, it was a mistake. he obviously didn't mean to give it to me. did he"

then that starts off a whole thread in my head. what if he did. he hasn't batted an eyelid at me all day. look at him over there, resting his slim figure on the bar, elbow cocked, talking to the girls. i make films. look at me. god i hate him. no, stop. i hate everyone right now. more drink.

the night finishes. we're outside. Rhonda and her mate, Abigale, are holding onto my arms, cos i promised them drugs. Oh, rhonda, as if her body wasn't awash enough. but who am i to refuse, i'm benificent and horny and it is my fucking birthday. i have much booze back home, i say, and we'll swing by rohan and get the snow, i go. Rhonda is chattering at me, prolix with problems, men and work, and family. i don't think she should drink so much while on the meds, but what am i a fucking doctor.

there's no taxi's so we walk all the way to Ratmines to Rohans. Rohan used to play keys, way back when. we toured europe with An Ample Change back when we were the Viddys. We were still young, teens, and this was new, squalid, banal, exciting, boring and drunk. we discovered drugs in a club in Nottingham, acid, we'd never had it before, it was a happening. i was lying on the bed of this gimcrack guest house, watching the whorls of the light fitting become dragons and relay this epic battle infront of mine very eyes, while Rohan had his cock in his hands, pulling vigorously, till it turned into a dragon too, and spat molten fire in my face. we don't talk about that anymore, he just supplies me with the drugs now.

with Rhonda, having difficulty keeping her feet, and abby, obversley inable to shut up, i bound up the old stairs to Rohans, and ataptap loudly on his knocker. after a goodly minute or two he opens up. "i brought friends. feed us snort, i say."
"for fucks sake," he says, "you stupid cunt." he grabs my lapels. "you woke up the fucking kids. don't you ever, ever call around here again with you... bitches." the fucker has my lapels, and by jimminy in normal circumstances i'd clock the fucking head off him... but jesus.
"when did you get kids? "i ask, incredulous.
"fuck you" he says.