Getting Ready For The New Year

This new year is approaching and like a lot of things if you haven't managed to do what you wanted by the time it's over then too bad.

I wanted to stop crack this year, I'd only started it this year too, I had stopped for a wee bit but I started again out of boredom and loneliness. Now I've Battle Cat and Fabian for company that shouldn't be an issue anymore. The big problem with that is that with Fabian doing it too it would be hard to give it up. I'm sure I'd be pissed off at something some night and get him to give me a smoke.

The other big problem is I don't want to give it up as a new year's resolution. I never keep my new year's resolutions, and even when I manage to go any distance with them I always give them up when I hear someone else has given up on theirs. Like I'm saying I don't need to stick to them, just as long as I beat someone else.

I might give up swearing, because I'd never stick to that. So I could get past that by 2nd of January and start thinking about giving up crack at some point later in the year. I dunno, but it's almost time so I'd better make my mind up soon.

Spring Cleaning in Winter

I started cleaning out the spare room today. Now Fabien's a proper housemate he needs a proper room. The spare room is full of a lot of junk that I bought and intended to use but never did.

There's a glockenspiel, an unassembled pool table, a surfboard, a dead body in a suitcase (that smells a bit), a load of tobacco that I found at the dump that I started making into fags to sell (but a visit from some local lads put a stop to that if you know what I mean) and a kareoke machine for fun nights in (that had never been used).

One of the things on that list is a lie by the way.

I wasn't the only one in the mood for sorting stuff out round the house. Today saw (or heard) the second rare outburst from Mr Spoon in as many days. I was lying on the sofa hazy from crack when I heard him banging on the wall. I wondered what he was at but the regular thumping sounded like he was putting up shelves.

Suddenly there was a crash and the sound of something heavy falling on and smashing something ornamental (like a china vase).

"AW FOR FLIP SAKE!" he shouted.

Such a nice polite man, even when he's not in the mood.

Christmas Day at our house

We'd a nice mellow affair at Christmas. Fabian it turns out had bought a few things for me and Battle Cat, all he could afford, which was a tin of BO spray for me and a tin of Pedigree Chum for Battle Cat. It was a nice thought but he bought me Lynx, which now means I'll smell like a 15 year old boy who hasn't showered after PE.

We were settling in for a good game of Gin Rummy with Battle Cat lying sleeping when we heard a knock at our door. I answered it to find it was our other neighbour Mr Spoon. I don't know his real name but he looks like Mr Spoon, anyway he said he had a present for us. I hoped it'd be some of his homemade rhubarb wine but it was an old lp.

He said he saw I had a pet dog (the nosy fucker didn't mention Fabian Wildman) and he thought I was doing a really good thing by taking care of an animal because animals are weaker and look to humans for protection, so he wanted to give me this old lp to remind me that there was still a lot to do to help animals at this time of year.

Here's the track. It's an old christmas song by Adam Faith called Lonely Pup in a Christmas Shop.



I thanked him and didn't invite him in because we were getting ready to have a good smoke of crack. I let Fabian and Battle Cat hear it. They were really unimpressed, Battle Cat started barking loudly and angrily at the lp player. We turned it off before the end. I woke up later to find Battle Cat had shat on the cover. I threw both it and the lp in the bin.

How To Cook a Turkey

I'm just going to bed for a few hours. I've been up trying to cook the turkey. I've never done one before but I got some recipe off the net which was for people who are crap in the kitchen. I've fucked up Rice Crispies in the past so I'm not expecting much.

I had to wait for Fabian Wildman to go to sleep because I want it to be a surprise. It was paid for using the cheque book he stole so in a way he has got us presents. Wish me luck. I hope I don't give me and him food poisoning. Happy Christmas readers.

A New Housemate

I came home to find Fabian Wildman in tears. He wouldn't say what it was at first but I eventually coaxed it out of him.

"I've been done for shoplifting," he said.
"Shit sorry to hear that mate," I said.
"I was getting you and Battle Cat presents at the time," he said. "I wanted to say thanks, because you've been really nice letting me stay."
"Don't worry about the presents it's okay really."
"I don't like sponging off you, I'll be gone tonight."
"No don't go," I said. "You're welcome here. We like having you."
"Really?" he said stopping crying.
"Sure, listen, in the new year go down the dole and get them to change your address to here, you can stay for good."
"That's great," he said smiling. It was nice to see him happy. I'm glad I'm not on my own. We've a nice wee gang me, Fabian and Battle Cat, and to be honest I wouldn't mind it getting bigger.
"What address did you give the cops?" I asked him.
"My old flat with The Death Owl," he said.
"Great, now the cops won't know the right address to send your summons to, you might get away with it."

Coming off Crack

Me and Fabian Wildman smoked all our crack with Betty Blue on Friday and as bad luck would have it couldn't get any yesterday. I went round a few dealers today but still couldn't get any. So I bought some cough medicine on the way home.

I came home to find Fabian Wildman smeared across the wall in his Zentai muttering and screaming about how "tongues fly" and "my body slides" and hissing like a snake.

I told him to cut it out or he wasn't getting any cough syrup. I don't like the idea of him all sketchy tonight with Battle Cat. If he scares the pup with his knife I'll kick him out, and I really don't want to do that because I'm actually liking having him around. He doesn't pay any bills but he buys most of the crack, he's tidy and he helps out with Battle Cat. Most of all I like him around because he's good company. He doesn't follow me around, he does his own thing a lot and when we do hang out he always has something interesting to say. Of course when he's coming off crack it's a different matter.

"Let'ssss kill the ssssssatanisssssst," he hissed as he slid slowly down the wall and slithered across the floor to get some cough syrup. "I'll sssssssssstab the Fab Rab mutherfucker."

"No, no killing, I want to get that fucker a different way," I said passing him the bottle.

I'm going to let Battle Cat stay up in my room tonight. He's started catching on that the newspapers are for shitting on, so hopefully I won't have a big mess to clean up tomorrow. If he shits on my carpet I'm dragging it into the alley and setting fire to it.

As for Fabian I only hope I can get my hands on some crack tomorrow.

Christmas Shopping In Belfast

I tried to do some Christmas shopping today but Belfast was bunged. I headed straight for bargain books. This is where I'd get most of my stuff. I saw a book on true crime which I thought Fabian Wildman would like but then I remembered him saying he was going to stab Ron Weasley for me, so I decided I didn't want anything that might push him in the wrong direction. I know he'll steal anything he gets me but just like the Hermione Granger poster it'll be a good gift. I think he's been dropping hints it'll be pajamas, after my two recent bollock naked incidents. I hope he steals them out of a shop because I don't want to wear something someone might have wanked in.

I bought him a book on dreamology because it might help him understand his nightmares a bit better, even though dreaming about a violent satanist with a knife can really only mean one thing.

I bought Battle Cat a squeaky bone out of a pet store because he's chewed the shit out of the other one and he's started on anything that can look shit with a bite out of it. I bought him a few.

I found a little wooden horse in a knick-knack store and thought about getting it for Hooka, but then I thought it was a bit gay and left it.

Then I went and found Wino Jo and invited him to mine for Christmas day, but he said that our Metaller brother in Larne had already invited him. So I gave him his Christmas Present (a bottle of Black Bush) and wished him a happy Christmas.

Then I went back to the knick-knack shop and bought the little wooden horse for Hooka.

Gobbolino is a Witch's Cat

I was out in the back garden playing with Battle Cat, even though it was bollocks freezing, because both me and Fabian were too high to take him for a walk.

Hooka shouted over the fence at me to come over and bring Battle Cat.

When we got there she said she had a new friend for Battle Cat. Then she held out a wee black kitten and said: "this is Gobbolino."

He was a dead cute wee thing and I let her hold him over the fence to let Battle Cat sniff him. She didn't want to set him down because he was very small; I didn't mind. It's maybe best Battle Cat gets familiar with him before they can play together: if he gobbled him up I'd feel awful and Hooka would cry for days.

Battle Cat didn't bark or anything he just stood there panting and wagging his tail.

I asked her where Fat Rab was. She just shrugged and looked sad. I didn't want to press it with her. I haven't heard them rowing since I beat up The Death Owl but then again I haven't heard Angry Anderson being played, which can only be a good thing.

Sticking it to the man Part 1

Our bath is a bit fucked at the minute. It keeps shooting out rust along with the hot water so we can't have a bath. I reported this to the landlord last week and today I had only got out of bed when I heard the door. I rushed down in excitement to answer it, and only realised at the last minute that I was bollock naked.

I threw the door and stood behind it so the plumber could only see my face. Only to find it wasn't the plumber but the TV man.

"Hi our records show you don't have a license at this address," he said.
"We don't have a TV either," I said. Even though we could both hear the Neighbours theme coming from the living room.
The TV man gave me a look of disbelief.
I stood out from behind the door in all my bollock naked glory.
"You can come in and have a look if you want," I offered.
"No you're alright," he said hurrying away up the path.

The leader of the Razorlight Fanclub

We got up late in the house. Fabian Wildman seemed okay after last night and Battle Cat even managed to shit on the newspaper I'd spread out for him in the kitchen.

Fabian took Battle Cat out for a walk and I went to the Dunnes on the Ormeau Road to buy some food. I used to like shopping here because it was cheap but now I only go here because it's one of the few shops left that allows you to pay by cheque. The even better thing is that it isn't even my cheque book that I'm paying with. Fabian managed to lay his hands on one while he was on the rob. He says he got it out of a student house. Most of them only have cheques to pay their rent so hopefully they won't notice it's gone until January.

While I was at the shop I bumped into Rock and Roll Stephen. Rock and Roll Stephen is a mixed bag: He's one of those people who will be friendly with you when it's just you and him, or he's at some place and you're the only person he knows, but if you're out at the Limelight or Katy Daly's and he's with the Razorlight Fan Club (his rock and roll friends) then he'd just blank you.

He comes strutting up to me and launches into a long and boring spiel about how some girl told him he looks like Johnny Borrell but he thinks it's only because they both have curly hair. I don't know who Johnny Borrell is but Rock and Roll Stephen explains that he is the leader of Razorlight. He says the word leader as if we're all marching with him.

I walk away while Rock and Roll Stephen is mid-sentence because he always does that to people and it's why a lot of people don't like him.

He's put me in a shit mood talking about Johnny Borrell: I don't like him because he went out with Hermione. Well not really Hermione, the actress Emma Watson who plays her in the films, but it's still closer than I'll ever get.

Teaching a puppy to fetch

Fabian Wildman and me sat up all night with Battlecat in the livingroom. There was nothing happening next door and when the sun came up after eight we were both well relieved that everything had passed off peacefully. Then we turned on the tv to see a report about there was something special about the full moon that night. We felt like dicks for getting the date wrong (well it was my fault really but Fabian Wildman felt wick too).

We decided that we'd just sit up through tonight as well. We'd both done it loads of times partying but a two day stretch just sitting round the house is pretty hard to do.

We spooned loads of coffee in us (because drinking loads of it gives me the shits) and sat playing Jack Change It.

I took Battle Cat out for a walk at around 2; I got down to the Lagan Meadows with Battle Cat and lost track of time. I let him off the lead and tried to teach him how to fetch. It took him a wee while but by the time we left he'd got the hang of it. It was dark by the time we got back to the house.

When we got in the house Fabian was cowering down the back of the couch with a bottle of petrol and a lighter.

"You won't get me, my time is not nigh," he wailed.

"Fuck sake, Fabian it's Tuesday Kid and Battle Cat," I said. He just looked up at me with big tear stained cheeks and stammered something about virgins and biscuits, then he let a big scream out of him.

I had to wrestle the lighter and petrol off him. I managed to get him into the kitchen and get a cup of tea into him.

It took him a wee bit to remember who we were. I had to remind him about all the times we smoked crack. Poor guy. I sent him up to bed and sat down with Battle Cat to wait.

I sat and told Battle Cat all about how I'd bought him to eat The Death Owl but for now all I wanted was for him to enjoy being a puppy.

I woke up at 6am to him licking my face; he had pissed on my leg.

Fabian Wildman has been having awful dreams. Sometimes I wake up in the night to hear him playing All I Have To Do Is Dream by The Everly Brothers which is what he plays when he can't sleep. I don't mind because Fabian's been really good about sharing his crack and walking/feeding/cleaning up after Battle Cat. Sometimes when he's eating a fry he'll throw Battle Cat a sausage and it was him that told me not to give Battle Cat chocolate because it can kill dogs.

I know it's The Death Owl that's scaring him, and now he knows The Death Owl visits next door he seems slightly panicked. He also knows tonight is the full moon.

"You know you don't have to be here tonight, if you're scared of anything happening with The Death Owl," I said to him at breakfast.

"What? And leave you and wee Battle Cat here on your own? No way," he says emphatically.

Then he shows me some weapons he's got. I hoped he'd have something cool like a morning star (a spikey ball on chains), which are cool as fuck and would destroy The Death Owl and Mr Ponti. But he brings out two baseball bats. I'm really grateful that he'd stick his neck out for us like this, so I don't tell him I've already got one in the cloakroom.

Some suggested getting a protection spell but I don't want to engage him on his own level. Neither of us know anything about magic. I just hope tonight passes off okay.

My Fruitarian brother phoned today (he's not a fruitarian anymore but that's the name he's got and it's sticking) and asked if I wanted to meet for a coffee. We met in the Starbucks on Botanic Avenue. He seemed in really high spirits and over a hot cherry mocachino told me all about his run of good luck.

Firstly since he's started eating meat again he's re-established links with his old mates who feel okay about taking him out to restaraunts. He says they could have lived with him being veggie, even vegan, but fruitarian was a step too far. Sounds a bit harsh but it's up to him if he wants to be friends with them.

Secondly he's got a new girlfriend, he met her at the foreign market at the City Hall and they bonded over crocodile burgers. Then they had spanish donuts and went on the big wheel. He says he's going to have a party at his house later in the month and invite me.

I decided not to depress him by telling him all about The Death Owl and my neighbours. I'm really happy for him but It'd be nice to have someone of my own at this time of year. If only Hooka would dump Fat Rab.

I was shaken awake last night to see Fabian Wildman's big tearful face looming over me in the moonlight.

"It's him," he whimpered. "It's the Death Owl."

At first I thought he was downstairs but then I heard him screaming through the wall.

"Fat Rab wanted to kill that goat," he screeched. "he was doing it to please our lord Satan."

The next voice I heard was Hooka's. It was loud and tearful but not afraid.

"You won't be killing any more animals in this house. You're not fucking welcome here."

I didn't hear Fat Rab jumping in on any of their sides, joyless coward.

"The next full moon, we'll be having a blood sacrifice here, Fat Rab has already agreed." The Death Owl shouted back.

"I don't care," Hooka shouted. "I'll call the police on you again and if they won't do anything the blood sacrifice will be you."

Then I heard Fat Rab.

"Hooka please put down that knife. The Death Owl is a very powerful warlock."

"I won't harm your woman," laughed The Death Owl, "but let us sacrifice that wanker next door's new puppy."

I jumped out of bed and put my clothes on. I didn't give a fuck what Fabian Wildman saw.

"Stay here and bring Battle Cat inside," I told him.

I walked out onto the street and banged on their door.

"The Death Owl, come out here to I kick your fuck in," I shouted up at the window.

Hooka came down and pleaded with me.

"Please don't make him angry, he knows some very powerful spells," she sobbed.

I barged past her and caught the Death Owl coming down the stairs. I trailed him down them and dragged him out onto the street, where I gave him a severe beating.

"Right You fucking cunt," I shouted. "I don't give a fuck what magic you can do, or what daemons you send to my house. You ever touch my dog, anything ever happens to him I don't care where you are, I'll fucking end you. Is that clear?"

"You're making a mistake to mess with me," he growled.

I booted him twice in the face.

"You've already made a fucking mistake to mess with me." I shouted back at him.

He waved his wand pathetically but I kicked his wand arm and he screamed in pain. I went in the house and made sure everyone was alright then I went back to bed.

I was woken up at 4am by this song blasting through the walls. I guess Hooka and Fat Rab made up.



It isn't fair.

Hot Baby Roy called round again today. I was surprised to see him standing at the door wearing a pair of jeans and a bomber jacket. He also didn't have the afro. His real hair is ginger though so it was nice that something was still the same about him.

Fabian Wildman wasn't in but I invited Hot Baby Roy in for a smoke anyway.

We talked about stuff for a bit and I was a bit thrown that he wasn't going over any of his 'hot baby' stuff from yesterday.

"What happened your hair?" I asked him.
"What? Oh the afro? that was just a wig," he giggled. "I was going to a fancy dress party."
Of course he was. How stupid I was to think those were his real clothes? This is a sure sign that I should get off crack.

Hot Baby Roy left after a while and a few hours later Fabian Wildman came back. I told him that Hot Baby Roy called. He didn't seem too upset, but maybe that's because he'd nabbed an old record called Japanese Boy. It sounded weird and a wee bit more recent than he usually plays but he said it's a great song for when he's feeling intense. He played it and played it and I kept getting mental images of him when he's got no crack listening to it and dancing around the room in his zentai with his knife. It was weirding me out so I went to bed. I kept trying to work out if the song was a wee bit racist or not but that was weirding me out even more so I tried to sleep through the sound of it coming from the living room below.



Aneka - Japanese Boy

We all have friends who have other friends we've never met. When you're living with a friend you get to meet a lot more of their friends than usual. Today was the first time this happened with Fabian Wildman.

After Battle Cat had been fed and walked and cleaned up after we had a knock at the door. I snuck upstairs to look out the bedroom window in case it was the TV man but it was some guy with a huge ginger afro. I went downstairs and asked Fabian Wildman if he knew who it was.

Fabian said that it would be Hot Baby Roy.

I opened the door, and indeed he said he was here to smoke crack with Fabian Wildman. I told him to get the fuck in because I didn't want the neighbours hearing.

Once inside he pulls out this piece of pipping and after unscrewing it and putting it back together it's now magically a funky crack pipe.

"I'm Tuesday Kid, by the way," I say to him. "This is my house."
"That's cool hot baby," he says. "Hot Baby Roy gonna get you high."
He's got a bare chest and a big fur coat and flares that make him look like a white Sly Stone.
We go into the livingroom and sit smoking crack while listening to Sly and The Family Stone on Fabian Wildman's vinyl player (at Hot Baby Roy's request).
Hot Baby Roy starts talking about how he wants to get a pet baboon.
Even when I'm high this sounds fucking stupid and I tell him so.
"No hot baby sure Buck Alec used to walk around Sailor Town back in the thirties with his pet lion. If he can have something cool why not Hot Baby Roy?"
I thought this sounded like balls but I googled him later and found out he really did.

Here's a photo of him (but no lion).
I tell him about Battle Cat and how he's going to be a big violent dog someday but for now he's just a puppy.
"Hot Baby Roy don't dig on violence," he says, and he doesn't say anything more until he has to go.
Fabian's kind of funny with me the rest of the day.
"You know I'm happy for you to have people over," I say to him when we're having a smoke later on in the living room. "But I don't want this house turning into a crack den."
"You sound just like The Death Owl," he says resentfully, as he sulks off into the corner and sticks his headphones on.
He's lucky I don't fuck him out on his ear for saying that but I'll let it slide; he's just high.

Me and Fabian ran out of money today. He had a great idea, he went and got some nutmeg and made us these big mugs of

When I got up this morning (afternoon really), Fabian and Battle Cat were nowhere to be seen. At first I worried Fabian might have stolen him but after seeing Fabian had cleaned all Battle Cat's turd off the kitchen floor I just assumed he'd taken him for a walk.

I made myself a cup of tea and sat out in the garden, even though it was bollocks freezing. The garden is really pretty this time of year. When I moved in it was just grass, so I planted a few wee trees. It's now really pretty wild and the trees have all lost their leaves.

Hooka came out after a while and said hello. I asked her how come I haven't heard her and Fat Rab slam dancing to heavy metal for a while. She said that they'd been rowing and Fat Rab spent most of his time over at The Death Owl's. She said The Death Owl's flatmate had done a bunk and left him with loads of bills to pay.

I told her I thought The Death Owl was a prick.

She started to cry. She said that she didn't like him either, that before they knew him, her and Fat Rab just did the I Ching and now they were slicing up goats in their own home.

She was becoming a bit hysterical and I really wanted to leave but I felt sorry for her.

She said she had seen The Craft when she was at grammar school and she thought it would be cool to do some witchcraft for fun, and that she hadn't wanted to cut the goat up, because she grew up on a farm and she liked animals, except for pigs because when she was a kid her big brothers put her in with the pigs and she was scared of them because they had big long snotters running out of their snouts and that's why the only meat she eats is bacon.

She then said she wanted to buy a cat and look after it as a way of saying sorry to animals for killing the goat and that she saw I'd a dog and she was worried the dog would eat her cat.

I told her that Battle Cat was only a puppy, and if she bought her cat now the two of them could be friends.

She said she'd like that.

I tried to talk to Fabian Wildman about bills today. I got him in the morning just after we'd all breakfasted so that he didn't feel hassled.

"I thought you might ask," he said with a grin. "I was going to hold it back but now's a good time to give you this,"

Then he pulls out a big fuck off size poster of Hermione Granger. It's from The Order of The Phoenix, and she's standing with her wand about to cast a spell and that oul bitch Umbridge is in a wee bubble. It says "The only way is Rebellion!" and that's cool because I always knew Hermione was no goody two shoes. She looks pure lethal.

"I got it when I was on the rob," he says, and I feel a bit guilty about taking it, because I imagine some guy all sad because he can't look at Hermione any more when he's going to sleep. But then I think, so what, no one loves Hermione Granger like I do.

I tell him not to worry about bills and that for now. I know I'm being suckered but I don't want him to ask for the poster back.

"That's not all," he says, then he pulls out a crack pipe and we sit and have a good old smoke of crack. I didn't do anything else for the rest of the day but sit there and stare at Hermione. Fabian Wildman is a really cool housemate.

Belfast's turned really busy and a bollox to go into now since the shopping craze has started. I was taking a short cut down through the wee alley at the back of Queen Street to avoid the crowds when I ran into my brother Wino Jo and his mate Foosted Wotsit Head. They were scabbing for change because they needed to buy some drink. I was all short or I'd have given them some. Wino Jo was always good to me when I was a kid. He'd always bring me home some stickers for my WWF (as it was called then) Sticker Album, I nearly filled it but all I was missing was The Brooklyn Brawler (but sure he was pish anyway) and a quarter of the Big Bossman.

I felt bad about not being able to give them any money because the two of them don't really get on when they're sober, they just end up fighting and then they get arrested.

I was surprised that they didn't have more money with all the extra shoppers in town. I said this to them, half-trying to lead the conversation on.

"Aye," says Foosted Wotsit Head, "but you forget this is Belfast."

I didn't really know what he meant but Wino Jo looked at him like he'd just said something really profound so I just left it at that.

I woke up this morning to find Battle Cat had indeed shat all over the kitchen floor. Fabian Wildman was tip-toeing round it making his breakfast. He was smoking and I wasn't sure if it was a spliffy or a straight.

"It's just tobacco," he said holding it up after catching me eyeing it.
"Maybe we shouldn't smoke anything round him, you know, he's only a puppy, don't want to hurt his lungs."
"Yeah, no bother," he said taking his food and going off into the livingroom with it. My food really. I need to have a talk with Fabian about what he pays and what he needs to start paying. I'm letting him live here rent free after all, even though I'm having my rent paid for me he's still pocketing whatever money he gets.

I clean up Battle Cat's turds and have some breakfast of my own. After that I took him for a walk. He's a lively wee thing and we got down as far as the Lagan Meadows. It's a nice place to take him even if it was a bit cold.

While we're there I talk to him about all manner of stuff. Mostly about Hermione and how I'd like to be her boyfriend but she doesn't exist so I can't, and how I'd thought Hooka was a bit like Hermione because she did magic too, and how she was going out with Fat Rab and how I'd hoped him and The Death Owl would go to jail so I'd be in with a chance but that didn't happen and how I'm going to get him to maul The Death Owl when he's older.

He just woofed along pleasantly, even though he hasn't met any of these people and probably can't understand English it was just nice to have someone to tell this stuff too and get it off my chest.

I woke up last night and looked out the window. There was a big wind blowing I knew that Battle Cat must have been freezing out in the back garden. When I got down to the back door the poor wee thing was scratching at it, so I let him in. He was wagging his tail all happy once he got into the heat. I got an old wicker chair in the corner and took his blanket out of his kennel and let him curl up all snug in it. He seemed so happy. I went back to bed feeling all good about myself and woke up to find that the wee bastard had shat all over the floor. I couldn't really blame the dirty wee bugger so I cleaned it up and got him some scran.

I tried house training him, which meant spreading a newspaper in the corner and pushing Battle Cat onto it whenever he needed to take a dump. It didn't go too bad but the book I've been reading says it can take up to six months to properly house train him, so unless I sit up with him all night I can expect to find the kitchen floor covered in shit again tomorrow morning. This isn't so bad. It's a tiled floor so at least, unlike carpet, I can clean it thoroughly.

When Fabian Wildman woke up me and him had a good smoke of crack while the puppy played out in the garden. Fabian is taking his time to settle and he seems a bit more at peace now he doesn't live with The Death Owl. I'll leave it a while yet but when Battle Cat starts getting bigger I want to ask Fabian for a photo of The Death Owl because I want to stick it on a mannequin and teach Battle Cat to attack it. That way whenever he meets The Death Owl he'll know what to do.

I had gone and got my Big Violent Dog long before Fabian Wildman had even woken up. The thing is he's not a Big Violent Dog yet. I thought it'd be better to get him as a pup and make friends with him before he becomes Big and Violent. He's a mongral breed, looks a bit like a labrador pup but bigger, the guy who sold him didn't know what the breeds were but he thinks there's a bit of rotwiller in there.

I walked him back to the house on a lead I bought in the pet shop the other day. Buying lots of doggy stuff cost a fair bit and my hot shot banker brother helped pay for most of it. He says the responsibility of owning a dog will be good for me.

My biggest problem was the pup's name. I couldn't think of a name for him.
Fabian Wildman came out to see him in his oul scruffy dressing gown and slippers and not much else and the poor pup ran in behind me. So Fabian said we should call him Cringer, like in He-Man. Cringer doesn't sound like the sort of dog that would eat anyone, so I thought Battle Cat would be better. Fabian said you can't have a dog called Battle Cat but I said if you can have a man called Bear Grylis you can have a dog called Battle Cat.

I gave Fabian a lecture about not freaking him out with his knife and the golden rule: we never smoke crack round him.

I got Battle Cat some scran and put him in his kennel. I threw in one of those squeaky toy bones for him to play with and an oul rug that I never do anything with. I hope he's happy here.

As it turns out living with Fabian Wildman is a mix of bad and good. For one thing his vinyl collection is great, full of all these really old records from the forties onwards. He doesn't have anything post-1980. There's some real gems in there including a song called Who Put The Benzedrine In Mrs. Murphy's Ovaltine by some guy called Harry The Hipster. Me and Fabian Wildman sat and played it again and again laughing away to ourselves as we smoked crack. I can't wait to see what else he has in there.



After that I went to sleep and woke up to find him wandering round the living room speaking in tongues. I shouted at him a few times but he just kept doing it. I started to wonder if he was sleepwalking so I stuck my foot out and he fell on his head.

"What did you do that for?" he asked.
"Quit that freaky shit, you're not living with a Satanist anymore."
"Oh sorry," he said, sitting down and going to sleep.
He'd better not turn out to be a weirdo or I'll set my big violent dog on him (I'm getting him tomorrow).

I woke up today to hear Fabian Wildman banging on my front door. He was in a wile state when I let him in, in his dressing gown and slippers. I looked at the clock, it was only half eight. I gave him a good smoke of my crack pipe and that calmed him down enough so he could tell me what was wrong.

He says he woke up in the middle of the night to see The Death Owl pacing at the foot of his bed with a sacrificial dagger in his hand talking to someone who wasn't there, not just muttering, he was having a full blown conversation and my name came up as well as Fabian's. Poor Fabian waited until The Death Owl went to the bog, then he legged it out of the house.

I asked him who The Death Owl was talking to, if he mentioned Mr. Ponti or Balkazaler. Fabian said he hadn't heard of them. I told him about the wee guy in the bowler hat. Fabian said The Death Owl always called him Boris but he was a weird wee fucker who smelt of candle wax.

Fabian asks if he can stay at mine, and much as I like him I really don't want him here. He starts crying when I say no, so I tell him he can stay here until he finds somewhere new, but I know already I'm going to have to kick him out the first time he takes my stuff to cash converters.

We go round his in the middle of the day to get his stuff. I was hoping The Death Owl would be there just so I could give him a kicking but the place was empty. There was an awful reek of sage about the place.

We got all Fabian's stuff back to mine and by the time we got it sorted and him settled in the living room (his new bedroom) we settled down for the night with a good smoke of crack.

Fabian has a vinyl record player and lots of old records. He wanted to let me hear some french guy called Jaques Brel. He said I'd like him but I think his real reason for playing him was just to help him feel a bit more at home. I said okay, then Fabian told me he wrote that Westlife song Seasons in the Sun. I really wasn't looking forward to this. But once he stuck him on it was pretty good. Some french guy who sounded really emotional about everything. He had one called Amsterdam which was all in French so I don't know what it was about exactly but by the sounds of him he'd been busted trying to smuggle some dope back with him. Living with Fabian might be okay after all. I might leave it a bit before I tell him The Death Owl sometimes visits next door.

I was in a petshop the other day. I wanted to buy a dog because I'm getting a bit weirded out by all the daemons I keep seeing on the television. Balkazaler visited me the other day and told me to watch out for the Death Owl and Mr Ponti because they were planning something nasty for me. I made him some chicken sandwiches but he only ate half of one, something about how he doesn't like cajun mustard with his meats. It's sitting blue moulding on the kitchen table.

I've decided to get a big violent dog. The pet shop didn't have any but told me there were some Kennels out the Lisnabreeny Road. I was just about to leave when The Death Owl wandered into the shop. He said to the owner that he was there to buy all their rats. I told the owner that he gases rats in his oven. He started yelling at me in tongues. The owner told him to leave, when The Death Owl wouldn't, the owner beat him into a bloody mess. I helped.

The owner told me he was a white wizard and hated The Death Owl and his lot. I told him that The Death Owl and that were planning some nasty spells for me. The owner cast a protection spell for me and I went on my way.

The Kennels out the Lisnabreeny Road didn't have what I was looking for, but I think I managed to buy myself some time.

I went home and lit up the crack pipe. I felt like watching some TV but I don't want to see any more daemons; I know what's coming.

Today I went down to the post office to cash my housing benefit. I paid my internet bill and went and got me some crack. Before that I went to Bishops on Bradbury place and got me a curry chip. Their chips are a bit rotten and greasy but it's nice to feel something slushing about your stomach after it's been empty so long (even if it's going to empty itself five minutes later).

I met Good King Thumpo while I was in there. I hate Good King Thumpo. You can tell that when the troubles was going on he was in the thick of it, breaking people's knees and all that, now it's calmed down (or supposed to have calmed down) Good King Thumpo is a bit redundant and just wanders about trying to heavy people.

He's blathering away to me about some guy he beat up outside Auntie Annie's the other night. It's mostly wee indie kids that drink in there so it's hardly impressive.

"What do you think you're looking at?" Good King Thumpo shouts at this wee spindly indie fucker.
"Nothing," the guy says. To be fair he probably was looking at Good King Thumpo because he looks like Papa Shango from WWF (clothes and all - replace the face paint with tattoos, that's why he can't get a bouncers job).
"ARE YOU SAYING I'M NOTHING? I'M GOOD KING THUMPO!" he shouts storming over.
"I'm just eating my chips," the wee indie guy says.
"No you're not; you're coming outside for a fight with me," Good King Thumpo says grabbing him by the scruff of his stripey jumper.
"Good King Thumpo leave him alone," I shout. It's not right, he's probably just some indie kid down from the Alternative Ulster offices up the street.
Good King Thumpo lets him go and walks back over to where he's getting his chips.
"Just got a bit carried away," he says, sweating heavily.
Good King Thumpo is really not right in the head, and you may think what I did was brave but Good King Thumpo is scared of me for the stupidest reason.

One night I was out in Lavery's and he was there. He started hassling me and being a dick. I kept my temper (I know I couldn't beat Good King Thumpo) and left at the first opportunity, he followed me round Bradbury Place and The Lisburn Road trying to start a fight. He took a few swings but he was so plastered they all missed. Anyway he got bored and wandered off home, only to fall over halfway and split his face open on a curbstone. He wakes up the next day and can't remember, all he remembers is hassling me and so he thinks I've done this to him.

When he came up to me a few weeks later and apologised I just said "well, if you watch your mouth me and you could get on fine." He's been dead on ever since.

The girl behind the counter is so pleased that I stopped a bloodbath in her take away I get my bag of rotten grease for free. Yummie.



Good King Thumpo yesterday. (Owner of skull unknown).

Today's my signing day. It's not that special because tomorrow I get my housing benefit and I always live off it until the dole arrives.

I hate going down to sign on.

There're two types of people who work here.

1)People who don't like their jobs and just get on with it.
2)People who don't like their jobs and act like wankers out of boredom/frustration/bitterness/insert your own reason here.

There are of course sub-categories and just because you fall into 1) doesn't mean you won't sometimes be in 2) or vice-versa.

Anyways I've two people here I hate to sign me.

1) Ms Puddinghead - Called so for her purdy-esq hairdo, except it doesn't work on her because she has a head shaped like a cannon ball. She's so category two and is always ringing up companies to check if you've really applied to them. I once gave her the number of the flirt divert on radio one, and she phoned it loads of times. They played it on the radio, it was great. Bitch cut my dole off for it though.

2) The Albino - I'd like to say he's category one because he's always pleasant up until you get him to sign you. Then he turns into Ms Puddinghead, except he's like Ms Puddinghead player 2 or something because he's so white, when he's angry he goes mildly pink like a strawberry milkshake.

Anyway I get Ms Puddinghead and she's all nasty as fuck. Asking why I don't have a job. I think she knows I do crack. Thanks to that Pete Doherty wanker now everyone knows what we look like (I've better taste in clothes, especially hats). What she probably doesn't know is that I know where she lives, and that only last summer when she was away on holiday I went round her house and put a raw steak through her letter box. When she arrived home two weeks later the house was infested with rats.

After my crack ran out I bought a pan loaf and some coleraine cheddar (sustenance is important). With the change I was able to buy some cough syrup. I sat at home swigging from the bottle. Sammy Wilson of the DUP was on TV talking about Nuclear Power and his plans for Northern Ireland. It struck me that Sammy looks a lot like a Daemon. He looks a bit like Balkazaler, except he doesn't have any horns and his face isn't red enough. It could be a disguise. I'm sure Daemons can shape shift if they want to.

I turned off the TV because it was starting to wierd me out. I went into the garden with a cup of tea. It was very rainy. I like a good rain, makes you feel fresh after it goes. I stood under the wee shelter at the bottom of the garden. Hooka came out after a while and we chatted cordially even though it was clear we're still not supposed to be on speaking terms. She said Fat Rab was out, but she still never apologised for Hallowe'en.

I asked her if Sammy Wilson was Balkazaler. She asked who Balkazaler was.
"The daemon your fellah and his wanker mate worship."
"We worship the devil," she said.

I didn't push it. Maybe Balkazaler goes under a different name to them. Maybe he wrong-named me. It reminds me of this oul guy I met in The Crown bar one night. He told me that the fourth commandment

- You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.-

is because God was known to other peoples under a different name and he didn't want them catching on.

It reminds me of this guy who I used to smoke crack with who didn't want his photo being taken. We all thought it was because he was ugly but it turned out he was a police tout. So I suppose it makes sense.

Head melting shit though. I went in and finished the bottle of cough medicine and watched Doctors.

I was wandering through town today when I bumped into my hostshot banker brother. He nearly walked past me without speaking.
"Why weren't you at The Fruitarian's intervention?" I asked him.
"Making Money," he said patronisingly rubbing his finger and thumb together in a kerching kinda way.
"Very good, see if this credit crunch fucks you up, you'll get fuck all help from anyone you miser,"
"The Northern aren't likely to go down," he smirked.
"Lucky for you," I nodded.
"Well, it was nice seeing you," he says.
"Here listen, lend us a twenty would you? I need it for crack."
He handed me a twenty and a tenner as well.
"Get yourself some toothpaste too," he said showing me his clean teeth.
I wandered off thinking I could get some cough syrup as well, it would take the edge off until my dole comes in. It was nice of him to lend (give) me the money (he knows he'll never see it again), but the last time he didn't I went into the bank and asked for a loan. They said no so I told them who my brother was and they told me he wasn't in until the day after but that he couldn't give me a load either. I threw a bottle of piss in the cashier's face and puked on the police when they showed up to arrest me. So my brother was warned he'd lose his job if I ever did that again, even though it wasn't his fault. All the same, when I need money for crack he gives me it.

Today I woke up to find a hole in my shoe. I went down to Oxfam but I didn't have enough money for crack and shoes, so I stole some trainers. When I got them home I realised they were girls. My crack dealer laughed at me. If I had another dealer to go to I'd totally shop him to the peelers.

Fat Rab and the Death Owl were up in court today for sacrificing a goat. I went down to the courthouse to check it out. The judge sat and smirked as the peelers described the dead hacked up goat in Fat Rab's house. I sat and made wanker signs at The Death Owl throughout. He drew his finger across his throat to tell me I was "so dead". I'm so going to set fire to him sometime I'm high on crack because that way I'll get off with it in court.

I think the judge is a member of the Death Owl and Fat Rab's Occult Society because he threw the case out and set them free. I was so sure the wankers were going down for this. I was pissed off. I walked home and smoked some crack and sat staring at my girls' shoes near in tears then Hooka and Fat Rab started getting down to this song all fucking night.

It isn't fair.

I stood outside the cinema for three hours waiting for Sweet Lips. Even though we agreed to meet at six, at first I thought maybe she'd gotten the viewing times mixed up but after it reached nine I couldn't kid myself any longer.

Three hours standing in the misery that is Bankmore Square in the windy, pissy cold night. I wandered up Botanic and called in on Fabian Wildman, I hoped he'd have some crack. He didn't. He's hateful too when he's coming off crack, all twitchy and scatty as fuck.

I was telling him that I'd been lonely now for a while and I'd been looking forward to my date with Sweet Lips because it'd be nice to have someone, especially at this time of year when it's so miserable. It'd be nice to have someone to feel involved with, so I wouldn't be running around all the time inside my own head all tangled up in all the crap that happens everyday and that yeah, I would like to have someone I could think about or give a shit what's happening to them. That's why I just seem to sit there all day daydreaming about Hermione Granger, and I just feel like such a sad fucker because it's not even like something's going to happen between us.

I felt I was going on a wee bit so I shut up. Fabian just sat there for a while, then he took out his flick knife and started dancing around the room all jerky and twitchy.

"You know what you need to do?" he says, "you need to stab the Ron Weasley muthafucker,"

The stupid bastard thinks I've just been talking about Hermione the whole time. He says he's read the books and that Hermione is digging on Ron and that that's why I don't stand a chance.

"Ron Weasley isn't real," I say to him. "Niether's Hermione, that's why I feel sad, I feel like a sad bastard."

"It's okay," he says, "I'd stab the Ron Weasley for you, I got your fucking back."

I'm not going to keep this up. Stabbing anyone, let alone a fictional character, isn't going to help.

I like Ron Weasley, and if him and Hermione end up together that would be cool. I get up and leave because Fabian looks like a wanker dancing round his room with his knife. I know that anytime soon he's going to put on his Zentai and ask me to play blindman's buff. I once waited until he put it on then beat the shit out of him, but I'm not in the mood.

The thing is, if Fabian did try to stab Ron. Harry and Hermione would have Ron's back, not to mention Dumbledore and Hagrid and Sirius and Neville and Luna and all the Weasley clan, and that's only scratching the surface. Who do I have? A retard in a Zentai, and some satanist neighbours. My only real friend is my crack pipe.

I just wander off home and stop along the way to get some crack.

I don't smoke it, I just sit in my room and cry while listening to some Neyo. He really hits the nail on the head when I'm feeling like this.

The Death Owl showed up at my door today with some wee guy in a bowler hat. They asked if they could come inside. I told them to stay where they were. The wee dude explained that he was from a local occult organisation and that it would be easier on everyone if I were to let them inside.

I invited them in and offered them a cup of tea. Both refused.

The wee guy explained that himself and other members of his order were unhappy with my "relations" (as he put it) with another member of the order's lady friend.

I told him that this was nothing to do with him or anyone in his order. He stood up and started acting all weird.

"Master! Master! Please let me reason with him master! MASTER!" he screamed.

The Death Owl looked all excited and kept giving me this wanky look like he was saying - "You're going to get it now."

I ran out into the hall and they followed me.

"Smite him!" the Death Owl kept shouting.

I went into my broom cupboard and came out with a baseball bat.

The wee guy dropped the act the minute he saw the baseball bat, but the bat dropped him a second later. The Death Owl started twatting about like he was doing an incantation but I dropped him too.

I battered them into a bloody mess and threw them out onto the street in a bloody heap. Then I had to go and pick up their teeth with my hands and scrub their blood off my walls and carpet.

A few hours later a big horned daemon showed up at my door. I instantly recognised him as Balkazaler. I invited him in for a cup of tea and he asked me nicely not to hit the Death Owl and Mister Ponti (the wee dude). I said okay but tell them not to be coming back round my house threatening me. Balkazaler said okay and left. It was nice to see him again. I haven't seen him since back when I started doing crack (which I'm back on by the way).

My fruitarian brother called round today. He looked weary but there was something excited about him too.

- You've got to come with me, he said eagerly, pulling me by the arm. - I want a McDonalds!

I followed him through the streets of Belfast. It was funny watching his large shambling frame all clean and clothed for a change.

He talked excitedly about how he missed meat and was looking forward to "masticating a cow". He kept repeating that phrase.

I wondered what had brought about the change in him but didn't want to ask.

I felt really happy for him sitting at McDonald's as he wolfed down three Big Macs and licked his fingers clean at the end.

It was a really good day up until he boked all over the show. Something to do with his body not being used to meat proteins. He couldn't hold it down. Poor guy. It would have been okay but he boked in some wee kid's hair and his da wanted a fight. I told him if he started anything his kid would be going home with a da with no teeth. The kid burst into tears and started screaming "DON'T HIT MY DAD!"

Poor kid, anyway we fucked off at high speed after that.

The town was full today, don't know why but it was hard to get round Belfast without people banging into you. My favourite game is to walk into people who aren't looking where they are going.

There are a few exclusions to this:

Old People, people with prams (must have child in pram), pregnant women and people with walking aids/wheelchairs.

Anyone else is fair game.

There are two types of people who walk without looking where they're going:

busy people - they know where they're going, they're in a hurry and are usually deep in thought about other things. They are the lesser of the two evils.

people who are up themselves - usually female (though not always), people who spend a lot on cosmetics and don't watch where they are going because they think people are watching them (and will thus avoid a collision).

The second kind is the funniest to walk into. Today I did it at least five times. The trick is not to knock someone flying but to give them a jolt.

This one lady started yelling at me that I should watch where I'm going and that she was a poor defensless woman and I was nothing but a brute.

This dude decided to ignore the advice of fellow junky William S. Burroughs - never get involved in a boy girl fight.

He came along all, "what you doing? I'll bust your face!" I laid him out with a kick in the balls.

Then I turned to the girl and smiled sarcastically. She hit me with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen, and asked if I'd buy her a drink. I obliged and we got along famously.

Her name is Sweet Lips (that's the only name you're getting) and we're meeting for cheapo Tuesdays at the Dublin Road. I dunno what's on, hope it's a horror!

I was totally set to go to my brother's intervention when I ran into Fabian Wildman in Botanic. I was supposed to catch the train but I was feeling hassled, so when he invited me back to his for a smoke of crack I graciously accepted.

He told me all about The Death Owl getting arrested and how he's been gassing rats in their oven as part of a spell to stop himself getting sent down. It's a bit fucked up and the worry was showing in Fabian's face as he talked and talked. I told him he should get the landlord to chuck The Death Owl out but he just shrugged. I think he's scared of him.

I caught the train late and ended up getting to my metaller brother's house wasted off my face two hours late. It was mostly over by the time I got there. My fruitarian brother was talking about how plants feel pain and saying if a dog ate our babies we'd have it put down. It was horrific.

I went up to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom but all he had was some calpol. Paracetamol is easy to overdose on so I left it alone. I bet the mean bastard cleared it out especially for me.

I fucked off after that. My hotshot banker brother (Northern since you asked) never bothered his arse showing up so it was only the metaller and Wino Jo (my oldest brother, who could also do with his own intervention) left to take care of things. I went round to the Fruitarian's house and left him a basket of fruit. I hope he's okay. Winter's coming in and I keep thinking about the guy at the end of Into The Wild. I hope he weathers it okay.

I got a call from my metaller brother today. He wants me to come to an intervention for my fruitarian brother. It really sucks because on the one hand I have to help out family but on the other I'm a little annoyed that they never held one for me when I was smoking crack all the time.

My fruitarian brother is a worry: he weighs under ten stone, and he's six foot two. None of us visit him hardly because he barely ever wears clothes. He doesn't shave or cut his hair and he looks like Jungle Barry. He just wanders about his garden hoping that pears will fall off his pear tree. It's so sad. I sometimes bring him a bag of bananas because I know he needs his potassium K. He eyes them suspiciously but I know he eats them when I go home.

The thing is I'd just like to see him get on with his life. If he even had a fruitarian girlfriend or even another type of fruit tree he might have a bit more variety in his life.

This thing is tomorrow and I know it's going to be long and awkward, having to listen to all his arguments about nature and the like, and then counter them with facts about his emaciated form.

Wish me luck.

The Hallowe'en party was balls.

It started well, with lots of slam dancing and drinking beer and everyone having good crack (not the sort I smoke in my pipe, he he). I was getting on well with Hooka and it looked like things were really going my way as we were slow dancing to Evanescence. All of a sudden Fat Rab and The Death Owl came flying in with a big "SURPRISE!" just as I was sticking the lips on Hooka.

They fucking went mental, with her screaming about how I was a sexist "just cause a woman's being nice to you blah blah blah" and Fat Rab screaming about curses and Satan. The Death Owl was wabbing it about in the background like he was doing an incantation.

Turns out the wankers got out on remand and wanted to surprise everyone.

Firstly I'd told The Death Owl to cut that shit out or I'd set more than his toenails on fire. Then I told Fat Rab that I'd met Daemons while smoking crack and wasn't scared of them, so he could do his worst. Then I looked at Hooka. She looked angry but her expression softened and she looked like she might cry. I just shrugged and walked out of the party.

They started it all up again with Rod Stewart's Baby Jane. How apt? I turned to see Hooka and Fat Rab kissing. I went home and burst into tears.

I got a call from my brother today (not the fruitarian one, I have four in total). He is a metal-head and was telling me all about Heavy Metal. He says Rod Stewart and Phil Collins aren't heavy metal but I think that's balls. He's a nice guy though so I don't see why he'd take the piss.

Then almost as soon as I'd hung up the phone Hooka arrived at my front door to invite me to her Hallowe'en party. I didn't really feel like it because all that Satanism weirds me out but she said it was just going to be fun and games, no occult stuff so I said yes.

I didn't have anything to wear so she came up town with me to help me buy stuff. I decided to go as a Warlock in the end. I got a big silver beard and a blue cape. I also bought a wand out of the jokeshop on Botanic. We were walking up the street with it pretending to hex or charm people depending on what we thought they deserved. We'd only gotten as far as Molly's Yard when it stopped making the cool spell sound.

We took it back to the shop but the guy refused to let us change it for a good one.

"You bought it as you saw it," the guy said with a shrug.

"You better change this for us, or I'll come back here with a real one," Hooka threatened him.

She looked a bit scary, standing there shaking it at him with her big wild eyes and frizzy blonde hair.

He quietly and quickly got us a new one. Hooka's pretty cool, even if she's a wee bit scary.

Hope the party is cool fun.

I spent all yesterday boking and convulsing, so it was nice to sit out in my back garden with a cup of tea today. Hooka was out in her garden with big swollen face. She came over to talk to me and I was happy for her to see that the cop hadn't put any of her teeth out.

She told me all about how they were just getting ready to celebrate the pagan new year, which she says happens at Hallowe'en, and how poor Fat Rab and The Death Owl were now locked up and she was all on her own. I didn't know what to say to this but out of the blue she said.

"you know, you've nice eyes when they're not bloodshot."

Poor Hooka, she seemed really lonely but then her house is full of dead goat blood, so I'm not going to go in and keep her company.

I was thinking that because it's the pagan new year I might as well make some new year's resolutions. My system is pretty clear of drugs I'd guess, crack and coke anyway; I'm not twitching as much so it must be. I decided I'd give up the drugs. Illegal ones anyway, that and robbing people's houses.

I went into town to buy myself a present to say well done. I went into an art shop on Queen St where I used to buy felt-tips to sniff but the big fat woman behind the counter who looked like family guy was hassling some kids about trying to knick stuff so I pocketed some felt tips and some spray mount and went outside and gave it to the kids. Then I went and bought myself a big bag of buns and an Usher CD. I looked for a poster of Hermione Granger but there weren't any.

I been walking around all twee thanks to the valium. It's not cool because usually I like to feel all gangsta or rock and roll. Instead I've been listening to Nick Drake and wandering about the Lagan Meadows. It all came to a head when I found myself talking to a duck about Hermione. The duck quacked with indifference and flew off. I was soon overcome by the smell of sewage and fucked off home again. I stopped midway and poured the pills into the river.

Come halfway up the hill to the Malone Road I was twitching like a muthafucker. I bust into a car but there were no drugs. I managed to get the lid off the petrol tank and get a good oul huff of it. I felt terrible and boked all the way home where I curled up in bed and turned the heating on.

My neighbours started blasting their sweaty heavy metal through the walls but I managed to sleep anyway. I woke to screams at about two in the morning and heard cop sirens. I looked out the window to see Fat Rab (the man neighbour) getting dragged off by cops along with The Death Owl (I had no idea that creepy bastard hung out round there). They were both covered in blood. I wondered what the fuck was going on but then Hooka (the girl neighbour) came running out screaming that they had bought the goat with their own money and could sacrifice it to their lord Satan if they felt like it. A cop hit her in the mouth with their truncheon and knocked her flying. I don't like the cops but since she had started screaming about "the druggy bastard next door" (me) I'm glad he did it. A shame because she's alright to talk to sometimes if you're having a cup of tea out the back and she's out too. Now she won't be able to say anything with an F in it.

I was walking about all day wondering where I could buy some good crack. I could have went round to Fabian Wildman's but I doubt he'll let me sponge more off him. That plus I get creeped out by The Death Owl.

I sat up in Cranmore park hoping some kids would come along so I could steal their hash. I had been there four lonely hours and it was getting dark when a wee fat kid done up with a big pumpkin head came along, all dressed up for Hallowe'en.

"Trick or Treat?" he says.

"Smell my feet," I answered.

"Suck my dick," he says waddling off.

Cheeky wee bastard. He's too small to hit a clash so I just gave him the fingers. I nearly burst into tears. I started thinking about what it was like being a kid and going door to door getting money for Hallowe'en. I don't know how I got from there to here, and I wondered if I could pinpoint the exact dates and times that were most important in bringing me here. Strange to think that some days are just a normal day and not much will happen, but other days will change your life. And if you could have known they would before you got out of bed would you have just stayed there?

I started thinking of the lines of that Tegan and Sara song - Dark, you can't come soon enough for me.

How right they were, because when it got fully dark I went and broke into a house (not saying where but it was one of those snobby ones up the Lisburn Road) and stole some valium.

This will help me sleep. Sweet dreams - of walking through fields of poppies with Hermione Granger and her breath is warm, and smells like sleep. And she'll take me deeper and deeper, making me feel more magic than any crack pipe ever could.

Sorry, the valium is kicking in.

The weather was cooler today so I went to my dealer to find out he'd been busted by cops (ha ha). I suppose this is karma for him not coming to my house yesterday but it left me drugless. That is until, as I was walking home, I bumped into Fabian Wildman in the Crescent Park. He could tell by the way I was twitching that I needed something to take the edge off it, so he invited me up to his flat to smoke crack with him and his flatmate The Death Owl.

The Death Owl is a weird muthafucka who likes to set fire to his big long toenails and then stub them out before they burn his feet. He also wears a big grim reapers cloak and to be honest I don't think he's doing it for a joke (which makes it funny). 

Anyways I had a nice big smoke of the crack pipe and went out for a walk. Fabian Wildman came with me and we went about Botanic where there were lots of pictures of a guys face that had been flypostered everywhere. It was a bit weird. We wished we had markers to draw over them but he already had a silly moustache. We wanted to give him speech bubbles saying funny stuff like "I'm a wanker" but we hadn't got any. So I went home and Fabian Wildman went back to his flat with The Death Owl.

He gets a bit scared of The Death Owl sometimes. He was telling me that sometimes he wakes up to find The Death Owl standing at the foot of his bed or staring in the window at him.

Poor Fabian. I went home thankful that I don't live with scary wankers and went the fuck to my bed (still no access to coke!)

The wind is howling like a mutherfucker here in Belfast and I can't go out to buy more drugs. Worse still my dealer won't come round to sell to me because he might catch the cold and then he'll have to stay in bed to get better, and he won't be able to make money from selling drugs.

Anyways fuck him. I hoaked out all the cupboards and found a bottle of cough medicine and half a packet of Strepsils. I took them all about an hour ago and I just feel kinda woozy. Not cool. I've just been laying on my sofa thinking about how cool it would be to be Hermione Granger's boyfriend but I guess that'll never happen. It makes me so sad when I have to end daydreams with that thought.

I got a call from my asshole brother too just while I was starting to think about something else and he just reaffirmed that my Hermione thoughts were bullshit and that I should punch my own weight. What does he know? Mutherfucker does yoga and is a fruitarian so he doesn't really have any weight. I think he cheats sometimes and buys a bunch of bananas to get his dose of potassium K but he insists that's balls.

Anyways. I'm pissed off because I don't know how I'm going to sleep tonight without my two lines of coke; maybe I should have saved some of that cough medicine.

I slept well and woke up wishing peace man to all those around me. Pity my neighbours didn't reciprocate as they blasted The Scorpions Rock You Like a Hurricane loud as a muthafucka and were slam dancing and I could hear "BOOM BOOM BOOM" through the walls. I'd go round and tighten them up about it but they's cool in keeping their mouth shut about my drugs.

So I went into the city. I'd a headache from all the music. I don't mind the heavy metal: a bit of Phil Collins or Rod Stewart from time to time but the Rap music is my thing. Anyways I was in Victoria Centre and cops was hanging round bein' muthafuckas. I thought they might try and hassle me about being street but they was all occupied giving some kids a hard time about stealing CDs, lipstick and fake vampire teeth.

So I bought me a So Solid Crew CD and went home. Kept my neighbours up the fuck all night long. I left the CD playing on the stereo, did two lines of coke and went the fuck to bed.

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

The night was long and I'd been doing crack like a muthafucka. I needed to get some chill winston on so off I popped to the 24 hour hatch in Botanic to get me a jar of coffee and some bananas to smoke the skins.

I bought a stick of french bread and some grapes and cheese. It was nice to walk home twitchin like a muthafucka and pretending I was in France or some muthafucking shit. I kept hopin' some hot faff lookin' like Audrey Tautoo (woo who) or that beautiful baby who played la Mome in the film of the same title would hang out of a window and invite me up for "coffee" (he he he). I was in the middle of getting all drooled up thinking about it when some baddies stepped out of the shadows on the edge of Camden St and the leader pulled out a flick knife.

"You gonna give us yo groceries or is we gonna tussle?" he asked licking the blade. I dunno why he was talking like that cause he was some we ginger fruit from the Malone Road by the looks of him.

"BOO MUTHAFUCKA!!" I shouted at him, and him and the other baddies ran off screaming.

I went home and felt so happy about myself that I did two lines of coke and went the fuck to bed.

Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself

Welcome to Party Down and Go Fuck Yourself. It's a story of love, life and licking the bowl. If you're interested in crack addiction, satanism, shoplifting, heavy metal, tight spandex, Hermione Granger, smoking hot guitar solos, call centres, millies and spides, pink champagne, cross dressing, the lessons of the street, big violent dogs, cute puppies, boiled eggs, oral sex, indie music, the Lagan Meadows, Belfast, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland's tallest building (The Obel Tower) or the possibility that Sammy Wilson MP is actually a shapeshifting demon then there's something in here for you.

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