Well, I've just found out that he's the chief executive of Credit Suisse, but that doesn't tell us much, does it? I mean, anyone could be the chief executive of Credit Suisse, given half a chance. You, dear reader, could be it, or him, or her, for all I know. Are you the bank's CEO? Are you Brady Dougan? Lick the screen once for yes, twice for no. Lick my face, go on!
Yes, I'm in one of those moods. Perverse. Make the most of it. I intend to be very serious and boring soon. It's an ambition of mine. / I suppose you think I'm listening to Brian Eno’s Apollo. Wrong! I'm listening to Jean Michel Jarre's Oxygene. Ha! You weren't expecting that, were you, Brady? I'm full of surprises, me.
Oh, Brady. / They reckon he might have to resign soon, the wankers who write about this sort of thing. Something to do with a capital cushion. (That's a cushion stuffed with banknotes, just in case you're wondering.) A lot of people put their money under the mattress, but thieves/burglars are wise to that now so the clever ones put their money into a cushion, which is fine for private individuals but not for a bank. You see, Brady is being criticized for not having a big enough cushion. Ridiculous! How big is this cushion supposed to be - as big as a house, or a (the) bank's HQ? / I reckon Brady should get a load of cushions in, and spread them around the place. Forty or fifty, maybe even a hundred. Because one big capital cushion will be a magnet for thieving scum.
I'm doing this in the night again. I want to concentrate on songwriting in the morning, the whole day, in fact. / I seem to have an irrational fear of writing song lyrics. My music comes out in seconds. It writes itself, thank God. But the words! / I know what the problem is: I've convinced myself that my entire future rests on these songs. That may or may not be true, but I've got to try to enjoy myself a bit more. Fear is a killer. When it comes to blogging, I have absolutely no fear whatsoever and total confidence. My new conceptual literature, the numbered stuff? I just do it, man. I don't give a shit.
I'm listening to the Oliver! soundtrack now. I'm very impressed that Lionel Bart wrote his songs without an instrument. He had a castle in Morocco, you know, but ended up in a shithole a few minutes' walk from me. Let me tell you, if I get a castle in Morocco I'm fucking holding on to it. My castle will probably be in Spain though. / 'It's a good story, innit?' Adam Faith. / Consider Yourself - a great song! The Living Doll song (not from the musical, obviously) is pretty good as well. Cool melody.
All right, good night, children.
Yes, I'm in one of those moods. Perverse. Make the most of it. I intend to be very serious and boring soon. It's an ambition of mine. / I suppose you think I'm listening to Brian Eno’s Apollo. Wrong! I'm listening to Jean Michel Jarre's Oxygene. Ha! You weren't expecting that, were you, Brady? I'm full of surprises, me.
Oh, Brady. / They reckon he might have to resign soon, the wankers who write about this sort of thing. Something to do with a capital cushion. (That's a cushion stuffed with banknotes, just in case you're wondering.) A lot of people put their money under the mattress, but thieves/burglars are wise to that now so the clever ones put their money into a cushion, which is fine for private individuals but not for a bank. You see, Brady is being criticized for not having a big enough cushion. Ridiculous! How big is this cushion supposed to be - as big as a house, or a (the) bank's HQ? / I reckon Brady should get a load of cushions in, and spread them around the place. Forty or fifty, maybe even a hundred. Because one big capital cushion will be a magnet for thieving scum.
I'm doing this in the night again. I want to concentrate on songwriting in the morning, the whole day, in fact. / I seem to have an irrational fear of writing song lyrics. My music comes out in seconds. It writes itself, thank God. But the words! / I know what the problem is: I've convinced myself that my entire future rests on these songs. That may or may not be true, but I've got to try to enjoy myself a bit more. Fear is a killer. When it comes to blogging, I have absolutely no fear whatsoever and total confidence. My new conceptual literature, the numbered stuff? I just do it, man. I don't give a shit.
I'm listening to the Oliver! soundtrack now. I'm very impressed that Lionel Bart wrote his songs without an instrument. He had a castle in Morocco, you know, but ended up in a shithole a few minutes' walk from me. Let me tell you, if I get a castle in Morocco I'm fucking holding on to it. My castle will probably be in Spain though. / 'It's a good story, innit?' Adam Faith. / Consider Yourself - a great song! The Living Doll song (not from the musical, obviously) is pretty good as well. Cool melody.
All right, good night, children.
