Simon Napier-Bell

FRIDAY MAY 2, 2008

From: Francis Connor, Sataheep, Thailand
Dearest Simone, how could I have possibly missed your natal day? Well I did! For which mea maxima culpa and belated congrats. You are oft in my thoughts and there is much to relate. Aek, the gentleman's gentleman who rules my roost and prepares my food, goes from strength to strength. Current favourites are a selection of mezze (from a book on Arabic cuisine by a Jewish lady) and a mean risotto of shrimp and baby clams. I would love to share these with you if only we could be in touch.

Francesca - I've no idea why you find being in touch so difficult. It simply takes an email. And if it includes an invitation to feast on Aek's cuisine it won't go unanswered. So when do I come?
As for missing my 'natal day'. With a view to pricking your linguistic pomposity I searched around the web to see if anyone else ever used that expression. There was just one - the town of Halifax in Nova Scotia has an annual 'Natal Day' to celebrate the foundation of its local brewery, which seems an even more pompous use of the word than yours. So I'll lay off complaining and wait for my lunch invite.

THURSDAY MAY 1, 2008

From: John Dang, Manchester, UK
Hi Simon - just read your daily email today. Made me laugh out loud. I must go and get myself into these kind of troubles!!!

For what? It's simply not worth it. You see, I didn't tell you the end of the story. Pissed and battered in the back of a taxi, I headed for Putney where I then lived. Crossing Putney Bridge it started to pour with rain and I saw a forlorn young chap sheltering in a doorway. I stopped the cab and gave him a lift - all the way to my bed. The trouble was, I was so pissed I still felt no pain. So on top of having had my lips punched senseless, I subjected them to an hour of snogging before finally lapsing into unconsiousness. The way they looked in the morning was so shocking my visitor fled before I managed to struggle to a mirror and check them out. I looked like an Egyptian camel, my lips big and black and bruised. And in just another hour my boyfriend was arriving back from a weekend with his family and I hadn't even begun to think of an explanation. So John, my sweet - hang on to your pretty face and stay out of trouble.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 30, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
hi simon.... dudley moore... did you know that before his acting thing he was a very young piano player for johnny dankworth?... apparently he was always distracting everyone during sessions with his luvable humour, they really adored him... but then one day, he just quietly upped and left to do the acting thing... no one even knew... anyway... here he is, the talented doll with his trio

I got to know him in the mid-1960s when he played regularly at the Cool Elephant, a jazz club that later became London's most famous music-biz hangout - the Speakeasy. By then I was managing the Yardbirds and was a bit of a lad about town. And Dudley was rich and successful, with his own TV show. But I'd first heard him play jazz five years earlier....
Dudley left the Dankworth band in 1959 when some friends decided to rehash a review they'd done while they were at Oxford University together and put it on in the West End. It became the biggest theatrical hit ever - Beyond the Fringe - with Peter Cook, Alan Bennett, Jonathan Miller and Dudley. It finally finished its run in 1961 and Peter Cook used some of his earnings to buy a nightclub in Soho - The Establishment - which he turned into a comedy club featuring avant garde comedians from America (though I saw Frankie Howerd there too, giving the greatest performance of his life). Downstairs Dudley Moore and his trio played in a jazz bar where I managed to get my face bashed in one night. Some Aussie guy thought I was trying to pull his girlfriend and smashed his fist into my mouth. I was so drunk I didn't feel a thing. "That was pretty silly," I told him. "I wasn't even looking at her. I'm gay for heaven's sake. It's you I fancy" So he fisted me again. There was blood all over the place and he got thrown out, but his girlfriend stayed behind and helped me wash my face. So I thought, "Might as well try and pull her after all," and kissed her on the tits. She went beserk and had me thrown out too. Which is nothing much to do with Dudley Moore. But when I listened to the track you sent, that's where my mind wandered to.

TUESDAY APRIL 29, 2008

From: Marie Andaluz, Buenos Aires, Argentina
Simon - looking through your old emails I notice you often talk about your love of caviar. The sturgeon is now a protected species yet it seems you're still eating it. Have you no shame?

About caviar - none! Whatever people like to eat, other people will find a way to produce and make money from. As fast as sturgeon are dying out in the Caspian Sea, new caviar farms are being opened where the fish are bred in captivity. Not all of it as delicious as the orginal, but improving all the time. Also, in China there's a vast inland sea with a sturgeon that produces excellent caviar somewhat similar to Oscietra. And the Chinese government are extremely careful to stop it being overfished.

No animal which is a popular source of food is ever likely to die out - in fact, the best way to guarantee an animal's survival is to make sure mankind finds it tasty. Which brings me to cod, which I've been eating a lot of lately. I was stocking up on it in the supermarket the other day when a busybody woman from Germany said I should be ashamed of myself. "It's a protected species," she told me.

"Not yet, it isn't," I retorted.

"Well it should be," she said. "And if people go on eating it, it will soon be extinct."

Which might possibly be true. But if it's going to be extinct anyway, I'd rather its extinction was caused by me getting the pleasure of eating it now than by someone else in twenty or thirty years time.

And before you write back to say I'm just a self-interested glutton, let me confirm that you're right. I am. I like cod and I cook it beautifully - poached, with a large chunk of salted butter melted into the water to infuse and sweeten it, and liberally sprinkled with coarse-ground black pepper.
I eat it sitting on the terrace by the swimming-pool in the warm tropical night, fans whirring, garden lights blazing - doing my bit for global warming!

MONDAY APRIL 28, 2008

From: Andy Shaw, Tokyo Japan
Hi Simon - don't be so squeamish. I was at that restaurant last week and most of it was reasonably edible. Some of it actually looked pretty too - like the sheep's penis on a stick with cheese and mayonaise. To better inform you, here is a selection of pictures. From left to right, top to bottom - donkey's penis, the restuarant itself, the menu, sheep's penis on a stick, dog's penis dipped in spicy sauce, and yak's penis. Come on now, promise you'll give it a second try.

Andy - it's nothing to do with being squeamish, I rarely ever am. It's simply a matter of eating things that taste good. If I'd been squeamish I wouldn't have tried cooking the bull's knob to start with. It's just that I can't stand the texture - like tripe, or veal cheek, or pig's snout, or sweetbreads - they all have bad textures. And so do penises. In fact it wasn't the first time. I suffered a penis casserole long ago in Taiwan - one mouthful after another of bouncy flavourless chewy muck. But if you think I'm squeamish...
Many years ago (about forty) I found myself in a local restaurant in a remote and totally empty fishing village in a part of Southern Spain where no tourists ever went. The menu was simple, and in Spanish, and the waiter stood over me arrogantly, presuming I wouldn't be able to read it. Just to bug him I ordered the most local of all the dishes - pulpo en su tinto. I figured it would be a good stew of octupus and other sea food with a rich sauce incorporating the octopus's ink. What arrived was a small whole octopus about the size of a carriage clock sitting plum centre of the plate surrounded by jet black liquid half a centimetre deep - it didn't even look cooked. The waiter (bored, in this deserted restaurant in this deserted town) stood over me in arrogant triumph waiting for me to struggle in awful Spanish to explain that I couldn't possibly eat it. But because he was standing there in triumph, towering over me, I simply had to. So without flinching, I nodded in appreciation of the delicious dish he'd placed in front of me, reached my fingers into its bouncy head, plucked out an eye and ate it as my first mouthful. Then I looked up with a smile and told him, "Delicioso!"
Of course he still thought I was a cunt. He probably came from the north and wouldn't have eaten a lousy dish like that in a million years.

SUNDAY APRIL 27, 2008

From: Joe Selby, London, UK
Hi Simon... checked your website and noticed it was your birthday this week. I gather you had a good dinner, but I wondered... does an old geezer like you living in a foreign land get many presents these days? Or is it just a good nosh and a batch of congratulatory emails?

As a matter of fact, Joe, no presents at all. Well.... except for one. Sort of! A friend arrived this week from China. While he was there he'd been to the famous penis restaurant in Beijing, a place I've strenuously avoided on all my visits. But he was full of it. "They said dog was the best," he told me. "But they served it with the balls and when I saw it at the next table I just couldn't take it. So we had the mixed penis hotpot instead - donkey, dog and snake... snakes, by the way, have two penises - did you know that?"

I didn't. And didn't much care. But the thing I'm leading up to was that he'd thoughtfully bought me a present - beautifully boxed and vacuum packed - bull's penis! It wasn't the whole thing - just a half dozen thick cut slices looking like cross-sections from a substantial boudin blanc.

My friend was only staying a day so I considered throwing it away as soon as he left but that seemed unadventurous, and since Yo was away visiting his family in Roi-et I decided to pass a bit of time last night having a go at cooking it. I figured it wouldn't be much different from ox heart - fibrous, and best casseroled in red wine - so I prepared it like a chicken cacciatore with the best part of a bottle of Australian shiraz poured in. And it wasn't too bad. Well... the first two mouthfuls weren't. But after that it tasted like shit so I slung it away and grilled myself a couple of lamb chops. Still, it's always good to have a new experience. And I can now tell you with great authority that animal's knobs are definitely best not put in your mouth. Which most people, I suppose, figured out ages ago.

SATURDAY APRIL 26, 2008

From: Bobbi Marchini, Villa Christina, Zakythos, Greece
Hi Bello. Dont worry about the pope... according to St Malachy and a few other nutters he is second to last. Apparently the whole shebang is coming to a terrible end in 2012...they even gave us a date: 21/12/2012. This will effectively take care of the mortgage crisis... we will no longer wonder about Sir Cliff and who really shot Kennedy. Sorry I missed birthday greeting but have been trying to get this place open and totally distracted... but.. .the clanking creaking gates swung wide last week and with the help of that wonderful firm of Bluffit and Faker our first guests arrived. Happy 69. Big love.

Hi Bobbi. Glad to know you've managed to get the place open as usual. This year Yo and I really, really, really will try and make it for a weekend.
Re your pope and end-of-the-world predictions - they're a bit muddled. You're right about St Malachy, the barmy Irish saint, predicting 112 popes of which the next will be the last. But it's the Mayan calandar that says the world will end in 2012. In general people don't seem to be worrying much, except of course Tom Cruise, who's planning a $10 million bunker beneath his home in preparation for the event. He believes it will result from an intergalactic attack led by a fellow called Xenu (the dictator of the Galactic Confederacy, according to Ron Hubbard). I've heard from some of his fellow Scientologists that Cruise believes he can save the world by making Xenu fall in love with him. They will then live together for eternity as man and wife (I mean, intergalactic dictator and catamite), in the bunker, safely hidden from the prying eyes of tabloid journalists.

FRIDAY APRIL 25, 2008

From: Harley Sears, Kansas City, USA
Hi Simon, Nice photo... a pope and a dope. Here's hoping George W joins John Paul very soon!.

Two dopes actually! And very sickening. The trouble is, George W will shortly be replaced by someone better. In due course, the Pope will NOT be.

THURSDAY APRIL 24, 2008

From: Paul Rymer, Middlesborough, UK
Hi Simon, Well, I'm back from my break in New York, so thought I would catch up with your site and what do I see a the top of the page.... only the same bloody thing I saw all last week in New York...

Sorry about that, Paul. You see, I promised someone a picture without me smiling, but everyone seems to be missing my enigmatic grin so it will be back there at the end of the week. Actually the 'Pope' picture was a mistake for another reason. Religious right organisations in America have started using digitial recognition techniques to research websites and email addresses. The picture of the Pope guides them to me. You'll remember about a year ago I was getting endless emails from religious nuts trying to persuade me of this and that. Well this week a good many came back again. The nuttiest was from someone trying to persuade me to buy Christian shoes - yes, seriously! Their blurb promises that, 'feeling your body supported by Christ does wonders for your spiritual well-being'. They have a selection of trainers in different colours with different names - for instance - 'Psalm 23' trainers in charcoal, 'Walk on the Water' trainers in purple, and 'Christian Saviour' trainers in lilac and green with a 'Jesus Christ' motif (a bit like Louis Vuitton).
Aren't you pleased you're back home again?

WEDNESDAY APRIL 23, 2008

From: Paul Granville, Shanghai, China
Hi Simon! Happy happy 69th birthday to you mate, hope I look as good as you when I get to that ripe old age. Will keep it short as I know you didn't catch up on emails yesterday and I'm sure you'll be quite hungover this morning from last night's party.

Thanks Paul! (And thanks to everyone else who sent me birthday greetings.) As you rightly observe, I am indeed a touch hungover this morning. Yo and I had a great dinner at Louis Noll's restaurant, Mata Hari, far and away the best in the area.

mmmmmmm
LOUISmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm YO

Louis is from Holland. For the first fifteen years of his adult life Louis was bass-player with a Dutch rock group whose name I've clean forgotten, though I remember him telling me they had a hit (or it might even have been two). Later he moved to another group who didn't. But they had a good time playing all over the place and ended up one year with a summer season in a pub in the hills in the South of France. One night a famous local resident walked in - Mick Jagger. He had a few drinks, enjoyed the band and asked them if they'd like to play at a party he was throwing the following weekend at his house in St Tropez. What Louis and the band didn't realise till they got there was - it was the party for Mick's wedding to Bianca. The entire world of rock was there, and if Louis and his band had ever felt any disappointment about not becoming world famous, that evening helped overcome it. One after another all the guests sat in with them and by the end of the night there was hardly a famous face in rock that Louis can't claim he once played with. (Though I must add - if his band had been as good as the restaurant he now owns, he'd have ended up being more famous than the lot of them.)

TUESDAY APRIL 22, 2008

From: Jamie Anders, Toronto, Canada
hi simon... a little bird told me it was your birthday today.. well not a little bird actually... my computer... which usefully brings up everyone's birthdays on the screen each day... so what are you doing with yourself... lazing by the pool..? whatever it is have a good one..

Because it was my birthday I was planning to do very little. Unfortunately, yesterday I did an interview for a UK radio station. I did it the usual way - over the phone, recording my end digitally, then uploading it to a private web page from where it can be downloaded by the radio station. It should take just a few minutes and gives perfect quality sound, but when I came to upload the recording I found it was totally disorted. The only solution was to re-record it, which meant transcribing half-an-hour of garrulous crap (me talking about George Michael's legal battle with Sony in the 90s) and re-saying it all. Because I didn't get it done last night it became this morning's principal chore, and it wasn't quick. Typing it all out then re-recording it with attempted spontaneity took two boring hours. I kept on reading it wrong - going too fast and falling over my words, or going too slow and sounding like the Nine o'Clock News - and by the time I'd finished it I was in a thoroughly bad mood, which bought me to half-an-hour ago. Then I realised I hadn't yet updated the website. Since I was too lazy to read through all today's emails I grabbed the top one, yours. Which gave the excuse to write this rubbish.
Now it's lunch time. I'm going to open a bottle of champagne and drink it by the pool with some foie gras (not too much, though, because tonight I'm having a special dinner). So there you are... happy birthday Simon.

MONDAY APRIL 21, 2008

From: John Dang, Manchester, UK
Simon, I've just read your daily email... hahaha... just for the record I love your lovely smile. It's 2am and I'm currently stuck on a song I'm writing/producing for Sony Thailand... hence the detour to your website in an attempt to find some inspiration. And whilst we are on such creative matters... how's your new book coming along? No writer's block there I hope!

No writer's block - just no writing! I've no idea when it will emerge but certainly not at the moment. But who cares. Would Shakespeare be any less famous if he'd written one less play?

SUNDAY APRIL 20, 2008

From: Jane Sharpton, Dallas, Texas, USA
Hi Simon! I've been waiting intrigued to see the top of page picture without your usual enigmatic grin (especially for Mr John Dang, it seems). I can't think why he doesn't like your cute smile. Week after week it lights up my every morning.

In that case it's mornings in the the dark for the next seven days. But I'll bring it back next Sunday. Meanwhile, the combination of the above picture plus your address reminds me of a story. In the Seventies I often spent weekends in Dallas with my friend Howard Goldman who had the best decor store in Fort Worth. One evening he held a dinner party that included a local bishop - a gay one, though not particularly out about it with his congregation - and the previous Sunday he'd had an awkward experience. Out clubbing on Saturday night he'd picked up a young bedfellow then woken late on Sunday morning. With ten minutes to the start of service, he'd thrown on his clothes, grabbed his jewelry from the beside table and rushed to the cathedral. Only as the first member of the congregation bent to kiss his hand did he notice that on his fourth finger he was wearing a Betty Boop ring. (He obviously didn't go for the butch type.)
When he got back home his own ring was gone. In its place was a note from his new friend saying that exchanging rings was the most romantic thing that had ever happened to him.

SATURDAY APRIL 19, 2008

From: Ed Jennings, London, UK
Simon, I remember you once mentioned to me that you thought you had some blood tie with Byron. Just last week I was re-reading Childe Harold's Pilgrimage - an extraordinary story - and I remembered what you said. Or to be quite honest I couldn't remember at all. So tell me again, please, what's the link?

My great grandmother (Louise Bell) gave her son (my father's father) a written note of his family background which he lodged in the family bible. Amongst other things it said, "By your father's mother's side you are descended from the Gordons". (Which would have included Gordon of Khartoum, the real one, not the dodgy character portrayed by Charlton Heston in the movie.)
The note went on, "Byron's father and your great great grandmother were brother and sister."
Since this note was addressed to my grandfather it means the person who was Byron's sister was my great great great great grandmother. A long way back, yes! But if true, it means I must have some of the same blood in me as Byron.

FRIDAY APRIL 18, 2008

From: John Dang, Manchester, UK
I saw Gregory Gray's email to you... and that is certainly not a blissfully happy Simon Napier-Bell in the photo!! In fact, I clicked on it and saw all your 'top of page' photos and I'd say that in 80% of them you use the same smile. I assume this is your 'TV' smile - your polite smile - your "Simon Napier-Bell, man of the people, wise and affable, knows more than he lets on, keynote speaker type smile"! Take a look at your photos and tell me it's not true!

Well yes... of course it's true! If you're getting photographed a lot you work out how to give a good picture. If one particular smile is the best, why use the second best one? And laughing is too hit and miss. If I'm in charge of the camera (and subsequent photo) I can edit out the misses, but when anyone else is in charge of it they're going to be given the same enigmatic smile. But just for you, John, here are four pictures to prove I sometimes laugh too (although it looks like I need Yo with me to do that). And I promise... Next week's top-of-page picture will contain neither a laugh nor a smile (let's see if you like it better).

THURSDAY APRIL 17, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
"totally out of obligation"?? oh, i had a fair idea that you were corralled into the frame, which is cute enough in itself... but you must agree, it's a great picture.... and you look so well in it... sometimes you post pictures where you look a bit peeky from all the traveling... the best ones are always when you're at home rested.

as for the photographer from butt magazine, i fear you were on the receiving end of what i lovingly call 'london cunt behaviour'... it hardly matters what they write or print... just to be in that little publication is kudos in itself... i bet it'll be great fun.

i was out last night with my friend james richards, a chelsea art school graduate who was on the cover of butt last year... we went to the vauxhall tavern to see a performance artist/comedian called david hoyle... this man is a genius... he had some german performance artist on who urinated on the stage... he then interviewed some woman from the british arts council... silly cow was sat on a chair in a pool of this mans piss while they talked... she couldn't size up what was happening at all... he then pulled the german performance artist back on stage only this time he did a wolloping big shit in a beer glass... how we laughed and screamed!!! a big sheet of paper was stretched out across the back of the stage, so both artists started doing their own very shit painting with loud avant guard music playing along... flashing lights... the stench was FOWL, but completely hilarious and very 'fluxus movement'. the anodyne lady from the arts council was a good sport though, and everyone applauded her tenacity in such edgy conditions.

No performance art, please!! I suffered so much of it in the Sixties and Seventies, though its most outrageous days (I'm told) were the Thirties. In the Nineties I was dragged along to see Lennie Lee (still around, I think). He syringes a pint of blood from his arm into a ketchup bottle, then sprinkles it on boiled rice and eats it - brings a partner on stage to vomit with him, then they jointly eat it up - that sort of stuff. In the end though, you know they're doing it because it's an easier way of finding an audience than hawking demo tapes round all those fetid A&R men. Of course there was that famous American punk guitarist (so famous I've forgotten his name) who would crap on stage then throw the turds into the audience before settling down to a guitar solo (some of them really good too). But who the hell would want to hang around and risk getting hit by a turd when you could hear it on record? People who like getting hit by turds, I suppose. So I guess that's their audience.
No offence to you, Gregory, of course. I love hearing about your nights out. In fact, I'm sure that's the best way to experience them.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 16, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
simon... that new picture of you in the pool with those beautiful people is happiness itself...

Happiness??? And here I am trying to build an image of myself as a disgruntled old grump. I can assure you you're wrong. My dip in the pool with the other side of the family was totally out of obligation.
Incidentally, talking about dipping in the pool, the picture of me swimming naked on Christmas day that caused such a stir is about to be published in Butt Magazine. They did an inteview with me recently and it's out next month. It's just as well they're including the naked picture (which I like) because I'm sure I'm not going to like the main picture. The photographer turned up halfway through the interview at the Kensington Hilton in a hurry. He said he'd just photographed Madonna and urgently needed to get to his next appointment (Elton, I think he said, or it may have been Kate Moss, I can't remember now, but whoever it was he made quite sure I realised they were more important than me and he didn't want to waste too much time on my shot). He said he'd like to take me lying on my bed and asked to come up to my room. I didn't feel comfortable with that and told him no. While I continued the interview he wandered off to find somewhere else in the hotel he liked. He couldn't find anywhere and came back grumbling about my lack of co-operation. Then I went for a pee so he followed me and snapped me in the urinal. It seemed funny at the time but in retrospect I didn't much like the idea. For sure, it's going to have people making George Michael jokes. Still it's done now, and out next month. So I guess I'd better get used to it.

TUESDAY APRIL 15, 2008

From: Simon Henderson, Bangkok, Thailand
Hello Simon, I just wanted to thank you and Yo for a lovely couple of days in your Pattaya retreat. The lunches and dinners were wonderful (even to my untrained palate), not to mention the ‘private sex show’. How nice of them to let me take a picture.

Yes! Those daredevil geckos - sex at ninety degrees, the lady gecko hanging onto the wall for both of them.
As soon as you left, the inlaws arrived. But what a change from last year when ten of them spread themselves across the living-room floor to sleep and I fled to Bangkok. Now we have our new guest wing, which you experienced over the weekend. The newly imposed house rules are... inlaws are limited to as many as can sleep there (four reasonably comfortably). That means we can spend the day entertaining them but order them back to barracks at sundown. And with these new conditions imposed their visit has been almost pleasureable.

MONDAY APRIL 14, 2008

From: Tony Stone, London, UK
Simon - you once told me when you were writing you quite often referred to things you'd written at the time. Now you're saying you don't. Which is it?

Bloody hell! What's this? An inquisition?
I didn't say I never referred to things I'd written earlier, just that I've never kept a diary. I'm too undisciplined - too drunk in the evening, too forgetful in the morning. But there were often moments when I jotted down four or five hundred words about something that happened. Trouble is, I used to throw these bits of paper into a file and forget where they were. And since I hate cluttering up my life up with things, each time I moved house I tended to throw the files away. However, this morning I found the following, which seems to have been written during the summer of '68 or '69. It was something I had no recollection of until I read it. But when I did, it became as clear in my mind as if it had hapened yesterday......
A wonderful summer Sunday, the weather warm and sunny. I didn't wake up till midday and around two Vicki called from New York and chattered about what she was doing with herself. I was at home in the flat, the windows wide open, a warm breeze blowing through. While we were talking a trail of fire engines went wailing around the one way system twenty floors below and made it hard to hear. They seemed to go on and on so I walked across and slammed the window.
“God, it sounds just like New York,” Vicki said.
“Dreadful,” I agreed. “What ever happened to those nice little fire trucks with bells?”
The sirens abated and Vicki told me about Labelle. “I’m going to be their manager. Kit’s coming over next week to produce them.”
“Wow! That’s sensational”
It really was. Vicki had been hanging around on the fringes for so long. Not the outer fringes either, I mean she’d been a producer at Ready Steady Go for five years, then done PR in New York, then worked making independent TV for Alan Klein. It’s time she had a big break.
“How did Kit get involved?”
“It was him who made it happen. I said I could get them the Who’s producer and that’s what swung it.”
“Fantastic.”
Twenty minutes later I hung up feeling good. It’s nice when friends get something good in life. It was nearly 3pm. I thought I might pop across to the Italian over the road with the Sunday Times - have a good read with some lasagna and a bottle of Chianti, but there was a loud knocking at the front door.
“Anyone in there?”
I walked across and opened it. Outside were two firemen in full gear – boots and yellow oilskin hats with axes in their hand.
“You shouldn’t be here,” they told me. “We evacuated the building fifteen minutes ago.”
“Jesus. I’ll go now.”
“It’s too late. There’s no way out at the moment. Wait inside. You should be OK. The fire’s three floor’s down from here. We’re expecting the others to come up from below it in a few minutes. My blokes are tackling it from the top. But at the moment there’s no way through. Keep the front door shut and put towels under it. And open your window so the people below can see where you are.”
He slammed the door shut. I was left alone. The flat sounded eerily quiet. I went back to the window and opened it. Twenty floors below was a mess of parked fire trucks and ladders and pumps and people running round them. On the other side of the street a crowd of people stood staring up to more or less where I was, at the window. It was a cloudless summer afternoon. Across the street were the gardens to Buckingham Palace, a view that had sold me on the flat the minute I came to look at it. I leant out and looked down and around to the left and right. Nothing dramatic was happening. No flames were shooting out of windows or anything like that. So after a moment I went back to the armchair and started on the Sunday Times.

SUNDAY APRIL 13, 2008

From: Mel Yu, Shenzhen, China
hi simon... just finsh 'm coming to take you lunch and luv it... want to ask somethhing.... am jus finish soon my own book about i'm was a child in fujian province... smtimes i writing from memary smtimes from diarys i keep at the time.. often nothing more than criptc phrase... almos unreadible... sntimes very long piece like poem cos i was child of the sun and want to poet... but soooo bad!!! do you keep a diary..? or do you write memary..? i start determine to write by memary... then begin look into old diarys... then realize half of thing is remember wrong... now i'm confuse... torn between 2 thing... memarys and diarys....

I never kept diaries. And it didn't worry me when I came to writing books. I reckoned anything interesting would still be in my memory and anything I'd forgotten was probably not worth remembering anyway. That way I could get on with it without worrying about the correctness of unnecessary detail. So if I was you, I'd throw your diaries down the toilet.
By the way, I'm presuming you're writing your book in Chinese. If not, perhaps that should go down the toilet too.

SATURDAY APRIL 12, 2008

From: Martin Lloyd-Elliott, London, UK
Dear Simon, I hope this finds you both well. When are we next going to see you in London? The legendary Thai Princess restaurant has moved from Philbeach Gardens to Earls Court Square so I have both fantastic Thai food, literally on my doorstep, and an eyeful of amazing tall exotic 'ladies' both as staff and customers, which always makes me think of you!

Now really, why should a bunch of Thai transvestites coming and going outside your townhouse make you think of me? You know I fancy only boys - well, sometimes girls - but not transvestites - my theory being, if you realise you're an imperfect man, why turn yourself into an imperfect woman? But by getting to know Yo's tranvestite friends I've come to rather love them (in a platonic sort of way). I can certainly understand them involving themselves with a restaurant, they have enormous appetites - must be something to do with an imbalance of hormones. One time, in our old flat, Yo and I had a dinner party and asked a local chef to prepare Thai food. We had eight guests so we ordered eight different dishes but asked for three portions of each so there would be ample of each one for each person to taste. We knew it would be too much food, but what the hell!
But the cook got it wrong. At 8pm he arrived at the flat with 3 portions each of 8 dishes for each person - 24 dishes per person - 192 dishes in all (he was used to catering for buffet parties so it didn't seem odd to him). We stacked most of it away and got on with the dinner - very successfully. But at midnight when all the guests had gone we still had 174 untouched dishes of food.
Yo called a friend who works at the Alcazar, Pattaya's famous transvestite theatre. Twenty minutes later more than sixty elegant 'ladies' invaded our flat. I opened more wine and we had an all-night food orgy - well, not exactly all night, they devoured the lot in twenty minutes. Not only did it make use of our over-ordered food, there was more good news to follow - they were excellent washer-uppers. By 2am our flat its usual pristine self.
Hope you're well. Lots of love to wife and kids. And how are all those crazy rock stars you have on your couch all day?

Yo's birthday 2005

FRIDAY APRIL 11, 2008

From: Guy Smith, Yogyakarta, Indonesia
Hi Simon. You have talked eloquently many times on different genres of music... mainly jazz and pop of course, but also classical & others too... but I can't recall any comments or opinions about country music? You ever have the chance to manage any country artists at all? Or even like the music? I'd be interested to hear your views please Simon.

Do you mean the simpering sentimental stuff? Or Country hoe-downs that swing like trad jazz? 'Country' is such a broad definition. And populated with such unhip people. Like Dolly Parton, a cartoon advertisement for breast enlargement and peroxide. Even the people with a credibile image are still dreary beyond belief - Johnny Cash, for instance, or Waylon Jennings. Apart from a few great hits which have transcended it, like Stand By Your Man by TammyWynette (one of the all-time classics of pop record production), it's the influence it's had on other styles that's given Country its greatest kudos - like when it was mixed with Ray Charles's voice to produce Georgia, or with benzedrine tablets to speed up and morf into rock'n'roll in the 50s. For me, in its pure form it's too sweet, too sentimental, often too morbid and nearly always too cute. (Or is the right word 'cutesy'?)

THURSDAY APRIL 10, 2008

From: John Duffus, Bangkok, Thailand
Hi Simon - Talking of Charlton 'Hest-on with his vest on', it's even more of a pity he was occasionally let loose in the theatre. I wonder if you ever saw Sheridan Morley's review a decade or so back of some ghastly readings he did with his wife at London's Haymarket Theatre. Having torn him to shreds as an actor, Morley summed it up: "The most moving part of Heston's performance was his hairpiece."

Good for Sheridan! He was a strange man - the biographies he wrote of famous stars were in the most deadly dull prose but as a critic he could be delightfully bitchy. It must have been difficult for him being the son of a famous film star. Robert Morley, his dad, caused a stir when he turned up at our school, checking it's suitability for Sheridan. In the end he turned it down, as he had a dozen others. (It was reported that at one he'd asked the headmaster why he'd started the school and been told, "Because I've always wanted to smack the bottoms of small boys in short trousers.")
I met Sheridan quite a few times - at TV chat shows and show-business parties. He was very big, both upwards and outwards, and veered from borish to amusing. It was famoulsy reported that Robert Gore-Langton said, "he was a hard man to ignore but well worth the effort", which was probably true. But on the strength of his put-down of Charlton Heston I prefer to think well of him.
Sheridan had the loudest voice I've ever heard and was definitely not someone to sit next to at dinner. I suffered it once, at the Caprice. He was so big it was like sitting next to a brick wall with a loudspeaker on the top.

WEDNESDAY APRIL 9, 2008

From: Arnold Sands, Tampa, Florida, USA
Hey Simon... I was wondering about something... you said in one of your books that you thought gay culture to the British music business was much like black culture to the US music business... and you credit the music business in the last forty years as loosening up attitudes to gays and changing the public's perceptions... do you think the same is true of black music in the US business... for instance... do you think the music business in the US can claim some substantial credit for Barack Obama being able to run as a credible presidential credit?

Absolutely not! As far as those Americans who are racially chauvinist are concerned, singing and entertaining is what black people are meant to do. All the music business has ever done is to re-inforce that image amongst people who already had it. I'd say the person most influential in making Barack Obama appeal broadly to the American electorate is Tiger Woods. Blacks were meant to be good at sports which required running about and being tough - football, basketball and boxing - but not at golf. Twenty years ago, the two areas of American life most off-limits to blacks were the presidency and pro-golf. America's most passionate golfers include many of its most racially bigoted. They not only thought it impossible for a black man to become president; previous to Tiger Woods they thought it impossible for a black man to become a world golf champion. I reckon Tiger Woods smashing that myth probably did more than anything else to open the way for Obama.

TUESDAY APRIL 8, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
about charlton heston, "he loved guns more than he hated gays"- typical closet fagg, into his gun sex...

talking of stars and sex... last week... hilary, the lady who runs the french pub in dean street took me to an exhibition at the sadie coles gallery on south audley street... it was water colours of men and woman fucking with a total focus on the good reliable cock servicing the vagina... no less pleasing to the eye than a truckdriver stretching out a nice piece of man-twat... mick jagger was there... it was torture for me to not stare...TORTURE... but what was so cool about the man is after decades of being under public glare, he's past giving a fuck... he just relaxes, leans against a wall... clicking on his mobile... no need for a shield like so many lesser stars.. and his hair is in fine nik... he has the skinniest legs in tightest jeans i've ever seen.

that sadie coles gallery is a trip... everyone was there... hugh grant, slobbering over the wimmin... neil tennent bumping cocks with janet street porter... and last week that guy, angus fairhurst was exhibiting there... he was doing well... then off he hops to scotland and hangs himself from a tree... heaven help people... it seems success is no match for human complexityy...

i KNEW charlton hest-on with his vest-on was closet fagg and into gun sex... i told you so i told you so.

You might be right. There was something odiously false odious about him. If he was a closet queen, thank goodness he stayed firmly inside it. Pity, really, that they let him out to do movies.

MONDAY APRIL 7, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
simon... i woke up this morning... reached over without thinking to flick the telly on and hear the stilted sunday hymns... but then i bolted right up when i heard a newsreader report that charlton hest-on [with his vest on] is now dead. FINALLY!!!!

Now then , Gregory - you're being too harsh on him. I recall you once called him 'a rancid old slab of lard', but that really doesn't put him in the Jerry Falwell, Pat Robertson, Ian Paisley class. He was just a ham actor who wanted every American to have a gun and spoke out against gays. I remember, the morning we had our little contretemps on Breakfast TV all those years ago, he was quite civil to me afterwards over bacon and eggs in the canteen. However, I have to admit he was a contrary old fart, as the photo below goes to show. After campaigning vociferously against the possibilities of gays entering the military, he attended a rally of the Pink Pistols - an American gay gun group - and then spoke out for them. When it came to the crunch, he loved guns more than he hated gays.

SUNDAY APRIL 6, 2008

From: Bibi Espedes, New York, NY, USA
Dear Simon: hope this email finds you in great health.What are your thoughts on this new Myspace venture? Big kiss.

Strangely enough, just one week ago I suddenly had a vision of where the music business was going - one hundred per cent to Myspace. But my vision was different to what has happened ...
Myspace would start a chart - an audio chart. Everyone who had a site on Myspace and posted their music there (basically, every amateur, professional, known and unknown musician in the world) would have their songs entered automatically into a world wide chart - permanently shifting, totally computer controlled, chosen by the number of listens (or downloads) that each song got. It would become the accepted worldwide popularity chart and would be created, referred to and listened to by the entire world. Recorded music would become totally free and record companies would become instantly redundant.
The more I thought about it, the more obvious it became, and I figured it would only be months or weeks before Myspace hit upon it. Then suddenly this announcement by the majors that they're creating a Myspace download site. To me, it's obvious. The majors saw the same thing I saw. And were terrified of it. So they rushed to make a commercial pact with Myspace and create a download site, part of the deal being that Myspace would agree not to create a worldwide chart for unsigned artists that could result in the end of record companies as we know them.
Surely, though, it will still happen. It's just that it won't be Myspace who do it.

SATURDAY APRIL 5, 2008

From: Dennis Horton, Mexico City, Mexico
Hi Simon. D'you remember Roland Grantham? I bumped into him last week, the first time in twenty years, in Buenos Aires, on a cruise round the word. He's 80 now (still wearing that same safari jacket) and he mentioned you. He stills remembers whizzing you round Bangkok thirty-five years ago. I believe it was me who introduced you. I think you rather took his fancy.

You're right. It was at your instigation that I met Roland when I first came to Thailand, thirty-six years ago, in 1972. I had no idea he'd taken the slightest interest in me. I was passing through on the way to Australia and had a seven hour stopover - arrived at 7am, came in from the airport and met him in the lobby of the Sheraton.
He was the biggest man I'd ever met, six-foot-four and at least as wide as three ordinary people, with that vast shirt-cum-safari-jacket hanging over his baggy black trousers. He gave me a quick tour of the city on a tuk-tuk. But sitting on a tuk-tuk with him was well nigh impossible because he was so huge he had to sit dead centre behind the driver to stablise it, which left me only the tiniest bit of room to squeeze in beside him (though I was quite small in those days).
He whisked me round Bangkok in the blazing sun, apalling heat, about 95 degrees, until I was streaming with sweat. To start with just huge wet patches under the arms. But eventually my shirt just changed colour - soaked all over - and my trousers felt like I'd pissed in them.
He took me to the royal palace, the royal boatyard, three temples, Jim Thompson's house and a boat trip, then at midday sent me back to the airport in a taxi looking so wet you'd have thought I'd fallen in the river (the driver even insisted on spreading newspapers over the seats). Yet huge-bodied Roland still looked pristine, dry and perfect. I asked him how he did it.
"Thai’s despise a man who sweats," he told me. "So I worked out a technique."
It turned out his safari jacket was lined with oilskin.
"Underneath it," he told me, "I'm so wet, I haven't been bitten by a mosquito for years; they just drown."
But outside, the cloth remained as dry as a shirt in a wardrobe. Apparently all the sweat flowed down inside his trousers and out through holes in the bottom of his shoes.
When I got to Australia I wrote to thank him for showing me around but I never ever heard from him. I'm surprised to hear he fancied me. The thought never occured to me. Bloody hell - it would like being run over by a truck.
Anyway, as far as I was concerned, I was just a bedraggled water-rat.

FRIDAY APRIL 4, 2008

From: Eric Lindsey, Oakland, California, USA
Hey Simon. Best to you and soulmate. I assume you know by now that an entire USA television program is based on George Michael songs speaking as a spiritual guide (via a brain aneurysm) to a San Francisco attorney - Eli Stone. Last week saw George's guest acting debut. Sadly he looks a tad hideous, but I must say that all this renewed profile on his songs, compared to today's radio crap, has left me a bit nostalgic for an artist that at least appeared to give a crap about crafting a good heartfelt pop song vocal performance. Thoughts?

Anything I've said that was less than flattering about George has certainly not been about his music. That was always his great strength. And I have to say his acting looks pretty good too. I've only seen the small clip on Youtube, but I suddenly saw the possibility for him in a lead part in one of those classic American sitcom movies. Well... maybe not the lead, 'cos as you said he's not quite Grant-Everett in the face department. But he seems genuinely at ease with his part. And really funny.

THURSDAY APRIL 3, 2008

From: Andy Teller, Los Angeles, California, USA
simon... I remember you once telling me that the original Italian composer of You Don't Have To Say You Love Me didn't really write the song... but I've forgotten the full gist of what you said... the other night I got into an argument with some people at a dinner party then found out I couldn't remember what I was talking about... not so unusual at a boozy meal... but still... could you remind me what it was you said...

I was grumbling to you about - for every dollar Vicki Wickham and I make jointly from the English lyric, the writer of the original Italian lyric (which hasn't helped sell a single copy of the record for the last forty-three years), makes double. We rather begrudge him that, though to be honest, that's just the way of the music business. I then went on to point out that there was probably someone else who begrudged the Italian writers some of the money they've made - Dmitri Tiomkin, the American film composer.
Pino Donaggio, the writer of the original music for You Don't Have To Say You Love Me, was originally a composer of scores for 'spaghetti westerns'. His musical hero was Dmitri Tiomkin, who wrote the score for one of Hollywood's greatest westerns, High Noon.
The melody line of the principal song in High Noon is note for note the same as the first chorus line of "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me". It was written 13 years earlier and Donaggio has said publicly it was a score he admired. So there seems to be little doubt where he nicked it from.
Ayway try it yourself... "Do not forsake me oh my darling on this our wedding day." "You don't have to say you love me just be close at hand."

WEDNESDAY APRIL 2, 2008

From: Ed Sanders, Brighton, Sussex, UK
Simon - where did you hear that story about Dirk Bogarde and the silk lining for his miltary uniform? I'm a great Dirk Bogarde fan and have read all his books, and all the books about him too, but I never heard that before!

In the early 60s, when I was in my twenties, I had two great friends (who were a couple), both in their late forties - John Merrick and Harvey Woods. They were both casting directors for the film industry, in fact they were two of the very top casting directors. They'd been in their mid-twenties when the war started and they knew Dirk Bogarde well, having cast him several times in different movies. It was John that told me about the linings to his various military uniforms, and he also told me dozens of other brillant stories about a (gay) Britain so different it was unrecognisable. “The war spoilt it all," he once told me. "Before it, you could always find a guardsman for half-a-crown by the all-night tea stall at Hyde Park Corner. But best of all was Wales. We used to go there at the weekends. You could get a lovely miner for a shilling.”

TUESDAY APRIL 1, 2008

From: Jonn Lindsay, Sydney, Australia
I'll be in Pattaya from 28th April for 3 weeks if you are in town we'll have dinner... you can choose. Kerri-Anne sends her love - she is still shocked. I saw her at a party for Catherine Deneuve and she said she was almost tongue tied when you told her the David Bowie sex story!!

Tongue-tied? Kerri-Anne? I can't believe it. Though I must say I thought the Bowie story most unsuitable for prime time morning TV. But just before the show she spoke to me in the dressing-room and ran through seven or eight stories I might tell. The Bowie story was one of them and I remember thinking she'd reject it. But haf-an-hour later there I was there live on the show when she bought it up. Live TV talk shows don't give much time for hesitation so I plunged in. Even so, I tried to make it a bit less than clear exactly what it was I was trying to say.
It'll be good to see you at the end of the month, I should be here - this is a writing month, except for this week, because Donavon has just turned up, minus the wife and kids. He's now into kick-boxing and has arrived with his English trainer en route to a training camp in Phuket. Half the point of these Thai kick-boxing camps is the toughness of the regime. But Donavon is going to stay at a 5-star hotel nearby. And if that's not bad enough, he's made a deal with the camp that he'll be driven back to his hotel each day for lunch. What a softee! Reminds me of when Dirk Bogarde joined the army in 1943 and had his uniform lined head-to-toe with silk.

MONDAY MARCH 31, 2008

From: Bibi Espedes, New York, NY, USA
Simon: This picture makes me think you rubbed the lantern and got twin genies with 6 wishes!

Wouldn't interest me! I'm not too good at wishing. I may have told this story before, but when I was eight or nine I told an auntie that when I grew up I would have everything I ever wanted. Superciliously she asked, "And how will you do that, dear?" "By not wanting anything," I told her.
By and large it's worked pretty well. I never wish for anything and I only like experiences. I've no interest in possesions, they're a bore and an encumberance, and to pass muster as 'real', experiences have to happen by chance. You see, I don't like choosing, I like being surprised. When I watch a movie, I never wonder how it's going to turn out because in due course it will let me know anyway. I dont much like menus in restuarants either - I'd much rather just have a meal brought to me. And on the same basis, I prefer radio to records. It's because of this that I've never thought of writing fiction. What a bore - having to choose what will take place - much better to make interesting reading out of what really happened.
I only ever seriously wished for something once. It was when I first went to public school. There was a ghastly housemaster, Mr Hoare, who picked on me and bullied the hell out of me. He took me out of the dormitory and made me sleep alone in a tiny room (a cupboard). He gave me every punishment available for doing nothing wrong, forbade me to mix with the other boys at weekends and wouldn't allow me to eat my meals with them. I truly wished he'd die. And he did. He suddenly dropped dead one day.
This outcome of my having wished for something so strongly rather unsettled me and I decided not to try it again. So there you are.... no wishes for me thanks. And no genies either. To have one hovering over me asking me for my every command would be like one of those ghastly lingering waiters in restaurants who top up your wine every time you sip it and whisk away your bread plate if you pause for a second between rolls.

SUNDAY MARCH 30, 2008

From: Morgan Williams, The farm, North of Sydney, Australia
Hello Simon .... having a lovely relaxing day on the farm before we leave for Sydney tomorrow then Argentina on Tuesday next. Will be coming back thru Thailand later in July so would love to see you then. I liked the look of this article in the Spectator by David Selbourne and would welcome your take on it. Britain looks to be pretty well fucked... xx

Hi Morgan - to be honest, I don't understand a word of that crappy piece in the Spectator. Prejudiced intellectual historianism at its worst. The future of Britain as a unified territory may be fucked but it's still a pretty happening place. Everyone I know is having a great time. But then I don't mix with the moaning classes. Who wants to - I mean, in any country? I'm a great believer in self-help. These days Britain is full of self-helpers. Many of them new immigrants, and as immigrants always have done they work hard, look after themselves and add to the country's prosperity. David Selbourne is a tired old ultra-conservative hack. He writes historical books, the accuracy of which has often been challenged. I would class him little short of a bigot. Anyway, his knowledge of the current scene in the UK doesn't come from living there - he lives in Italy. He moans about the stupid Archbishop of Cantebury and his desire for Sharia law but it doesn't take a historian to know the archbishop's an attention-seeking fool - just look at his dumb hairstyle. I mean... By becoming Archbishop he earned the right to wear any one of a dozen glittery long frocks and all manner of weird headgear. You'd have thought would be enough but he still has to have that ridiculous hair. It just proves what a dedicated show-off he is, which leads you to think that everything he says is simply to draw attention to himself too. David Selbourne also moans about Gordon Brown being a Scottish Prime Minister who helped with devolution but now wants to introduce compulsory exams on being British. Again, everyone knows what Gordon Brown is (a tooth-sucking Presbyterian with a scrubby wife), and they don't much care. Because everyone is busy having fun - going on holiday, watching football, looking at X-Factor, eating out and binge-boozing. You see... David Selbourne is just a bigoted old joy-spoiler, and a bit of a liar into the bargain. Here's a good piece about him; it's to do with a previous Spectator piece he wrote. He's virulently anti-Islam, to which I have no objection, though pesonally I prefer to be against religion of all sorts. Acceptance of one is acceptance of them all. You really can't rail againt Islam from a Christian stance. It's like being a paedophile and objecting to bestiality. It would be great to see you when you're passing through Thailand next. All the best.

SATURDAY MARCH 29, 2008

From: Paul Rymer, Nightporter, Middlesborough, UK
Simon, your site today reminded me of a quote from a story on the BBC's website about new legislation to do with copying CDs. "Owners would not be allowed to sell or give away their original discs once they had made a copy." What the fuck? I buy newly released albums, new. I also buy back catalogue, new (if I can, because some things you just have to buy second-hand if the record company decides it's no longer profitable to make new copies). I also sell my used CD's if I no longer listen to them - just like I would sell a car, an antique or a CD player. If they stop people from selling used CD's how on earth will music journalists be able to put food on the table? That's about as angry as I get!

If we're not going to be allowed to sell or give away our old CDs then presumably throwing them away will be illegal too - in case the dustman picks them out of the bin. That means we'll all have to sign an agreement when we buy a new CD saying we agree to destroy it when we've finished with it. All this to keep record companies alive? I've never cried when someone I disliked died. When the Reverend Falwell died earlier this year, I broke open a bottle of champagne. I was thrilled too at school when the housemaster who made my life a misery suddenly dropped dead. And don't we all feel the same about Hitler and Sadam Hussein and Ian Paisely (coming soon, I hope). So why not with these greedy life-clinging major record-companies? Come on BMG, EMI, UNI and Warners - give us all a Christmas present at the end of the year and jump in your coffins.

FRIDAY MARCH 28, 2008

From: Harley Sears, Kansas City, USA
Your tales of farts and bowel movements are far more entertaining than anything currently offered by the music industry, which is also shit - but I'd much rather read about yours.

Hi Harley, good of you to let me know that. Actually, I felt I'd been ignoring the music business for a while and was trying to find something to write about it, but it seemed so damned boring. The latest thing, of course, is Warner's idea of putting a universal tax on the entire population of the United States to raise 20 billion dollars a year to pay record companies not to go out of business. I really wouldn't object to the tax if its purpose was the opposite - to bury them once and for all. Michael Arlington writing in in Techcrunch calls it "little more than a classic protection racket". Not surprising since the scheme is being proposed by Warners whose history was an amalgamation of Reprise (Mafia), Atlantic (now they're both dead I suppose I can say it - Turkish Mafia), and Steve Ross at Warner Music, who came to Warners from a dodgy car park business ('pay up or have your tires slashed'). Anyway, when I considered all the current things I could say about the music biz I thought a description of my bowel movements would be far more entertaining. And I'm glad you found it so.

THURSDAY MARCH 27, 2008

From: Peter Sugden, Perth, Australia
simon... whatever happened to all those succint comment you used to make on social matters and the delightful stories you used to tell about the music business..? with the help of this friend of yours, hugh, it seems your website has finally sunk to the depths of lavatory jokes and farts...

Personally, I felt my exchange of correspondence with Hugh Spring was of great social relevance. After all, everyone knows that to dispense a crisp, sharp, hard fart with proper resonance and reverberation is one of life’s great private pleasures. But at lunch on Tuesday, with an uncomfortable gathering of wind in my stomach towards the end of the meal, I predicted (quite rightly) that there might be something more ominous brewing. Which is why I deserted Hugh and went quickly home. As a matter of fact he'd just been on much the same subject as we downed a few end-of-lunch grappas. We were discussing the looming recession in America for which Hugh, an ex banker, placed the blame entirely on Alan Greenspan - both for his ineptness and for the degree of worship he elicited from US financial circles. "They used to parse his farts to see if they held a clue as to what stock they should buy," Hugh explained. "A whiff of Bolognese sauce from his lunchtime spaghetti and they’d be rushing to buy into Società Edison; a touch of curry and they’d be throwing their money into Bangalore computer chips."
Which rather reminded me of the way Thais are about the lottery. Last year, in Bumrungrad hospital in Bangkok, I passed out while having a routine blood test. In the few moments I was unconscious a panicky nurse shouted out, "I think his heart’s stopped."
I came round to find myself on a trolley being raced along the corridors to the intensive care department, three nurses running beside me, and two doctors. One of the doctors shouted at me, “Did you dream while you were unconscious? Did you see any numbers?” (This, apparently, is their favourite way of predicting the lottery.)
I shook my head. “Pity,” he muttered. And immediately left the rushing procession to go back to his surgery. Not at all interested in my well-being, only in divining a winning ticket.
(Now then... isn't that more interesting than knowing the size of Bruce Springsteen's willie? Or what I think about the American election?)

WEDNESDAY MARCH 26, 2008

From: Hugh Spring, Sataheep, Thailand
Thank you for your racy description of your bowel movements. May I take it, that after this new "crackatoa", we will enjoy lovely sunsets for the next few years?

I was only explaining the reason for my sudden departure from our delicious lunch together. Anyway, 24 hours later I'm still suffering from 'aftershocks'. I'm not sure if it was from what we ate for lunch or from something that went in earlier which was re-activated by the lunchtime champagne. Either way, I will survive. And don't forget we have a date to go and see Leo Nine conduct some sort of local orchestra (he says it's very good) at the Regent School on the 5th. I'll try and get him to join us for our Sunday lunch at Gians the following day.

TUESDAY MARCH 25, 2008

From: Susie Kahlich, LA, California, USA
Hi Simon. Glad to hear from you. I told Rolan Bolan that I've been in touch with you - he's delighted (although I think his exact words were "right on!"). You're right about the height issue for any actor who plays Marc, but your suggestion to look to the Billy Elliot kids is a great one. I shall research forthwith. As for who plays you, well, it's a pity Michelangelo's David isn't a real man. Also that it's 17 feet tall. And made of marble.

At least my dick would be rock hard. On the other hand, at the age you're portaying me in the movie, it always was anyway. So let's go for a real live actor instead.

MONDAY MARCH 24, 2008

From: Steve Shand, Belfast, N. Ireland, UK
simon... you promised me a resume of your asia travels looking for artists... particularly in india where i'd bet you you'd find zilch... was i right or wong..?

Wrong, Steve (as usual!!). Delving into contemporary Indian music was a treat. Everywhere we went there were groups playing stuff that was a blend of every possible style of Western rock plus something local and culturally Indian. In India, 'everywhere' means a 'north, south, east and west' that is as culturally diverse as the north south east & west of Europe was thirty years ago, before its current homogenisation via the EEC. The end result is that young rock bands all over the place are making contemporary music which is uniquely their own. What we had to decide on was - which of those bands might be able find a market in the West. As a manager and long time promoter of artists, I had to consider those distasteful negatives that people who listen only to the music prefer to ignore - the barriers that Western consumer prejudice often presents in terms of race, accent and attitude. It's all very well presuming that music alone will carry the day, but it's not realistic. The artists themselves have to have a personal charisma that at least equals the quality of their music. The exciting thing in India is that we found so many who did.

SUNDAY MARCH 23, 2008

From: Andrew Denton, London, UK
Simon, you sound like you're doing India the way the Brits did it in the days of the Raj - touring around in your chauffeur driven SUV like a white Maharajah. I hope you're also getting out and meeting the ordinary man.

Bloody hell, you can't accuse me of that. Apart from anything else I suffered eight hours at the 'Rock in India' festival in a field of ten thousand. And I've spent three weeks talking to rock groups and musicians - no lauding it over anyone. But there's one other thing I did too. Although I've been to India many times, and Delhi quite a few, for some reason I'd never been to look at the presidential palace and governemnt buildings (usually a bore in any country). They really are impressive. Built between 1912 and 1920 by the British, they're vastly grandiose and daunting. The British never built anything like this in their own country, probably because it's the type of building that is only needed in a totalitarian country - in Russia or Roumania, to endorse the power of Communism - in Hitler's Germany, to intimidate with Facism - in India, to show the magnificence of the British Empire - utterly 'fuck you' buildings intended to daunt the ordinary man and let him know how insignificant he is.
But India will soon get its own back. The changes in the last fifteen years are incredible - prosperity is bursting out all over. In another ten years India might even start to outdo China. Either way, between the two of them I'm sure it won't be long before the West begins to look at Asia with the same sense of awe (and intimidation) that poor Indians once looked at the British administration buildings in New Delhi.

SATURDAY MARCH 22, 2008

From: Anne Patterson, London, UK
Simon - I gather from your emails this week that you're in India. It seems strange you don't write about it. Your last book - the one about Wham! in China - was in places so much like a travel book it seems odd that when you're travelling you don't tell us more about the places you're in.

Whether I remember or not is down to the emails I receive. Yours has arrived on a good day. I'm in Delhi. And today is Holi, India's biggest and most raucous annual festival. It's not just a religious festival, it's an excuse for a booze-up and a free-for-all in the streets, painting and spraying each other with bright colours. The most striking thing about it is that the boozing is not alcohol but cannabis. Bhaang, a derivative of hashish, is stirred into Thandai, a drink made from fruit, milk, aniseed, cardoman and (more intoxicants) poppy seeds. India's drug laws officially ban cannabis (U.S. pressure as usual), but it's such a traditional part of religion and culture that the government has a hard time enforcing it. In fact they even licence special shops to sell the stuff. Bhaang is basically hashish - a derivative of the dried leaves and flowering shoots of the female cannabis plant - mixed with ghee, milk and sugar, which makes it into a sticky paste. This is mixed with drinks or made into sweet cookies or savoury pakoras. If you want to know how much of a blind eye is turned towards its consumption; today across India some hundreds of millions of people will drink bhaang-laced 'thandai'. The Times of India (every bit as erudite in India as the Times in Britain, or the New York Times in the USA) publishes a family recipe for it, warning people not to drink it too quickly... "the intoxicating effects of the herb usually takes half an hour or so to set in, so wait before going to the next glass..." It then wishes its readers a happy holiday "with lots of thandai and bhaang pakoras".
In the streets people spray each other with a paint that is hard to wash off your skin and impossible to get out of your hair. I wanted to go out and photograph it but Colleen (whom I'm travelling with) is blond. She refused, other than we went safely inside a locked car. So we were chauffeured through town in a large SUV, windows up, people peering in.

FRIDAY MARCH 21, 2008

From: Francis Connor, Sataheep, Thailand
Dearest Simone, you are in India, as I learn from your website. I was in New Delhi recently on biz; it could have been worse. The high-light of the trip was meeting William Dalrymple, whose latest book, The Last Mughal, is a treasure. William gave a talk to our group of worthies on the history of Delhi which was vastly entertaining; he arrived pissed and demanded more champagne half way through the presentation. By the by, who is your correspondent The Honourable Ronald Franklin? Is it worth my while to seduce him into attending one of my state luncheons? Also, of what is the honour in honour?

Francesca, you silly thing, you've spelt it wrong. Ron is the Honorable (not the Honourable). It's the title given to an honorary judge in the United States and it was bestowed not on Ron but on his father who unfortunately died before he could accept it. The local State dignatories were so upset by his death that they offered the title to his teenage son. And in the spirit of 'waste not want not', Ron accepted.
I've known Ron for thirty years, having first met him in Disco Disco in Hong Kong in the mid-70s. He's an extraordinary mix of cultures and languages. His parents were one French, one German. They married and emigrated to Brazil, where they conceived Ron. Just before he was due, his mother flew to the USA where she arrived in the nick of time, giving birth to Ron just minutes after passing through immigration and thus bestowing on him the thrill of American citizenship. But he's also Brazilian. And French and German. And has passports for Britain and Israel too. And speaks all the languages. As for inviting him to one of your luncheons; Ron occasionally ventures southward from Bangkok, but not often. If you were to entrap him, you'd find yourself with an exceptional guest. Try it!

THURSDAY MARCH 20, 2008

From: Bibi Espedes, New York, NY, USA
Simoncito: The last time I commented about your appearance was to call you a Beluga Whale. This new picture got me to snap my thong!!! You look great and have a hot hot Armand Assante vibe going!!!! I hope Yo is with you, cause you might get pinched, looking the way you are these days!!! Big Kiss, lil bitch.

Hey Bibi -that's great to hear. This week's been a stinker for keeping the website going. Trolling round India looking at rock groups - lots of them - auditioning, talking, checking out venues, sitting in meetings, getting back to the hotel room late ready to get boozed rather than ready to update on emails - Bangalore, Calcutta, Mumbai - hectic!! Then in midweek a manic American lady took hysterics 'cos of an email I'd posted. She sent shrieking emails through the night begging me to unpost it, which I did, rather than suffer the pain of argument. And that picture itself... no light in the room so the camera compensated with an ultra-slow shutter speed, which meant, without a tripod every picture was slightly out of focus. The miracles of photoshop sharpened it up just enough to use. But pretty second-rate, I thought. Though now a compliment from Bibi tells me it's OK afterall. Thank-you darling. Today I'm off to Delhi for the last leg of this talent search. Then it's back home by the pool. By the way... No! Yo is not with me. He's having a short holiday in Vietnam with his friend Pooki, the transvestite owner of a Pattaya beauty salon, and a couple of friends who work there. As for getting pinched from him - across the length and breadth of India I've had not a single offer, neither boy nor girl... though there was an ageing hooker when I was walking by the waterfront in Bombay yesterday evening who offered herself for 100 rupees (3 dollars). I ran back across the road to the safety of the Hilton bar and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

WEDNESDAY MARCH 19, 2008

From: Baron Michael, Norfolk, UK
Dear Old Thing, warm wishes from chilly Norfolk. And to think only 3 nights ago I was still in Pattaya decorously watching the show at Wild West Boys. The management initiated a competition to Hoopla, on stage, a rather well-endowed young man's cock. The prize a bottle of champagne. Second up to try his luck was our Aussie friend. He didn't win despite three attempts - but he did it with great aplomb, and more than a hint at showmanship. Hope you're surviving the Indian trip without the shits (or the collywobbles as we call it in Norfolk).

What lovely imagery! So different from thrashing rock festivals. But then that's the beauty of our subversive gay lives - moving back and forth between totally different social sets yet fitting easily into both, or more than both... several. Sorry! I'm rambling - 3am and full of wine, with more going in all the time - not the ideal time to post something on the website. Sometimes in the morning I see what I've put and rush to ammend it. Oh shut up Simon... stop mumbling... go to bed!!!

TUESDAY MARCH 18, 2008

From: Gregory Gray, Hertfordshire, UK
hi buggerluggs... it's quite unsettling to read these jim jims who figure the western world is the 'real world' yet somehow the east 'unreal'... it's that very attitude that sends the west bombing eastwards so freely. i learned to play the guitar in singapore at the age of eleven... i had a malaysian guy teach me... simon, it was the grooviest thing to sit outside changi bowling alley with this long black haired cat and learn the hits of the day... 'venus' by shocking blue... 'lola' by the kinks... 'have you ever seen the rain'... those musicians in the far east were beyond groovy... they have naturally fantastic hair (very important) and i remember how well they locked in together as they played in the sundown lounges in boat clubs on balmy evenings... looking back it seems like a dream... but it was very very REAL. why do people have to be such cunts?!

You're so right about the hair. I attended the 'Rock in India' festival in Bangalore last Friday. Two out of the six Indian bands were tremendous, the other four were mindbogglingly dreadful, but such beautiful hair. When long and washed and shaken, Asian hair beats all.

MONDAY MARCH 17, 2008

From: Peter E, London, UK
Hello Simon.... still mucking about in Asia are we??? When am I going to start hearing some of these 'fabulous' acts you've been finding??? Ever??? Anyway... if you get bored and decide to come back to the real world I want to interest you in my nephew... he's still at school but he's passionate about music and I've decided to be the benevolent uncle and finance some recordings. First though I want to find the right manager... I'm attaching an mp3 to get you interested.

Peter - he's awful. He's only a schoolkid so I'm not going to put it on my website for everyone to listen to and laugh at. But I can promise you, you're doing him a disservice by encouraging him. Why not pay for him to have a year out and a trip round the world? Or at the very most, just give him a year when he can go off and confront the music industry for himself. Your getting involved is just going to guarantee his failure (which, having listened to the tape, seems pretty guaranteed anyway). As for 'coming back to the real world' - Asia IS the real world.

SUNDAY MARCH 16, 2008

From: Paul Rymer, Nightporter, UK
Hi Simon, I hope you are well. I have updated the "Nightporter" site this weekend and in doing so came across the attached picture. Can you help me out? Do you know who the guy is with Japan? I don't believe it's you - never had a beard did you?

Nope! Never had one, never wanted one.

The person you're asking about is Finn Costello, the group's favourite photographer. He did most of Japan's album sleeves including the famous one for Quiet Life, which had David alone on the front cover in a red leather jacket. (David had blown the group's entire clothing budget for the album on that one jacket so there was no money left for the others. Solution - leave them off the cover.)

But that was later. The shot above was taken at the photo shoot for the cover of their 2nd album, Obscure Alternatives. But as you can see below, David was already pretty much into hogging the whole picture.

THURSDAY MARCH 13, 2008

From: The Hon. Ronald Franklin, Bangkok, Thailand
I couldn't help but think of the somewhat parallel, but then again, of course, vastly different situations when reading in Time Magazine about the New York Philharmonic's visit to North Korea and Wham!'s first visit to China. Time magazine wrote in conclusion to Wham!'s visit in 1985, "Just five years ago, rock 'n' roll was denounced as "decadent" and said to be a cause of rape, prostitution and drug addiction. But the judgment on Wham!'s music by Zhou Renkai, an official of the Al-China Youth Federation, which invited the group, was that it was "very healthy for the youth."

Now Time writes 23 years later: "At a dinner after the concert, an emotionally spent New York Philharmonic president Zarin Mehta said, "I'm over the moon right now." He said he had "misted up" at the playing of the U.S. national anthem in Pyongyang..."

Hi Uncle Ron! Interesting, the difference in the two pieces from Time. They seem to show that Wham!'s visit to China was far more subversive. Wham!'s music was presented as harmless happy youth culture but was almost certainly one of the many Western influences that leaked into China in the 80s and helped forment what happened in Tianamen Square. The problem with the NY Philharmonic's visit to North Korea was that it typified the 'America as a Religion' approach of US thinking. The big deal was to play the Star Spangled Banner in the land of the disbelievers. American dreamers, imagining North Koreans rallying around the US flag and planting it, Iwo Jima style, in the middle of the main square in Pyongyang. Far too 'in yer face'!

WEDNESDAY MARCH 12, 2008

From: Susie Kahlich, Los Angeles, California, USA
Dear Simon, I had, in fact, considered installing you at Melisse for a week or two, just to get people talking. Kind of a stealth marketing approach but I have to re- review my budget first.

Here's a little background on where the script stands now: Demon Records (pre-1972 catalogue), very enthusiastic about the project and eager to cooperate; Spiril Records (post-1972 catalogue), also very enthusiastic. Working Title Films has shown interest in the script, but several UK producers recommended I attach talent before finding a producer. I've attached the script and I'd love to discuss your possible involvement further.

My involvement in anything these days requires money food and fun (best in combination). Melisse on the house for two weeks sounds OK, and as a fee I could charge you an amount equal to ten times my daily bill there. Now to the fun...
Well I suppose the script has already given me that. It's very good! The only criticism might be that to understand the story you have to know it already. But then I do. I particularly enjoyed your description of mid-twenties 'me' ("dapper, aristocratic and fabulously gay") drinking whiskey from a crystal decanter as I worked in the office. Wonderfully wrong but I wouldn't change a word. My Ford Thunderbird, though, should be blue not red.
Now then - in what way do you want me to get involved?

TUESDAY MARCH 11, 2008

From: Susie Kahlich, Los Angeles, California, USA
Hi Simon, I'm a screenwriter in LA and I've worked with Rolan Bolan and Gloria Jones on a biopic of Marc Bolan. It's not your typical biopic - it's more like Rocky Horror meets Finding Neverland in a back alley and they get it on, if you can picture that. You're portrayed in the script as well, one of only five people in it who are still living. I'd love to have you involved in the project but I have no idea how to convince you that I'm not a complete nut.

Well thank-you for making me feel incredibly ancient. The description of your script gives me not a clue as to what it might be about but the saving grace could be that, contrary to your protestation, you are indeed a complete nut. You see, I like nuts.
Tell me how you think I should be involved (preferably by being flown first-class to LA to eat endless meals at Melisse), and I shall try to help.

MONDAY MARCH 10, 2008

From: Andy Jay, London, UK
hi Simon... i was going through some old pictures the other day and came across this one... it's you getting an award at the GALAs (the Gay and Lesbian Awards) at the Savoy hotel a couple of years ago... i thought you might like to have it... what was it for anyway..? i can't remember..

I could never really figure out what that award was about. They said I was 'Media Person of the Year', which appeared to mean I was openly gay and often got my name in the papers. But because there were so many other gay people who got mentioned a lot more than me (Elton John, George Michael, Sir Ian McKellen, and at that time three British cabinet ministers too), I suspect the real reason I got it was because I'd agreed to turn up, whereas perhaps the others hadn't.
Since being gay is the thing that's given me the most (and most consistent) pleasure throughout my life, what it boils down to is - I was being given an award simply for enjoying myself. On which basis I think I should be given lots more.

SUNDAY MARCH 9, 2008

From: Brad Anderson, Los Angeles, Calif, USA
Hi Si! Yesterday, rather belatedly, I read your Observer piece about the fall and fall of record companies. A fine read, but tell me, when you do an article of that length for a paper like the Observer do they edit it much? Last time I wrote a piece that long my editor shredded it then put it together quite differently. I was furious for weeks.

Hi Brad. Caspar at the Observer is a really good editor and sensitive too - a few surplus lines went but not much of importance. My real horror story about editing was in the 80s when I used to write a regular monthly piece for The Times. One month, the day before it was due to be published I got a call from Ron Greenslade, the editor of The Sun, which was owned by the same group. He asked if he could run the piece too
It seemed strange. Why should The Sun, at the very bottom of the heap of world newspapers, want to run verbatim an article that The Times considered suitable for its arts page.
"Will you want to change anything?" I asked him.
"Not a word," he assured me.
To be told my writing could straddle such a huge divide in reading tastes was too flattering to resist so I said yes at once. But the next day with both newspapers propped up in front of me at the breakfast table I suddenly noticed that The Sun's version finished two paragrahs short. The whole thrust of my well-argued thesis was in the conclusion of the last paragrpah. Without it, there was no point to the piece. I wrenched the phone off the hook and bellowed my way to Ron Greenslade's office.
He was surprised I was upset. "I think the piece looks rather cool," he said.
"But you've completely left out the last two paragraphs!"
"Oh yes! We ran out of space. But it doesn't matter much. I mean, there's plenty before that. And your name's nice and big."
I wanted to kill him. It was total humiliation. Ten million people were going to read a piece that stopped dead in the middle of nowhere. But as the day passed nobody seemed to notice. Times readers had got the piece in full; Sun readers were unaware anything was missing.
Like I tell artists who want to sue their record company for editing a track without permission, "Don't be so fucking precious!"

SATURDAY MARCH 8, 2008

From: Bobbi Marchini, Villa Christina, Zakynthos, Greece
Simon, I'm an early riser, so having checked in the mirror to see that it's still me and clutching a bucket of coffee I log on top see what my old friend is up to, so I saw the little mention. Thank you darling for appreciating my cooking... it's amazing what a few bottles of wine can do to an old cock!

It seems that every year we promise to meet up but never manage to be on the same continent at the same time, and I do miss you so. My friends all went and had a wonderful time in Cam/Nam, but you were travelling through Feb so I would have missed you anyway... and there was so much to do here, refurbishing the apartments and "remastering" the grounds.