I just know you bastards are going to point and laugh and generally accuse me of being a miserable sod, but I feel compelled to note that further to having spent a lot of time listen to Wainwright’s version of “Hallelujah”, I have come to the conclusion that the most heartbreakingly romantic song lyrics in the world are

“It’s not a cry

You can hear at night

It’s not somebody

Who’s seen the light

It’s a cold and

It’s a broken Hallelujah”

It’s all in the delivery, I admit, but fuck me, they’re fantastic.

Bloody hell! How’s this for customer service – I placed an order on-line last week for some stuff to go with my new MP3 player – some spare cables, a carry pack and reomte control thing like you get for Minidiscs and the like. They’ve just phoned me up to tell me the remote isn’t compatible with my player, and would I like to cancel that part of the order. I am impressed.

I have spent a large chunk of my day listening to Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah”, as covered by Rufus Wainwright (from the sountrack to SHREK). Lovely song.

In a bit of gentle mickey taking, my mate Ade compared the “Three As” of Ninth Art to figures from the British music industry. Antony, he likened to Jarvis Cocker, Andrew to Mark E. Smith, and me to Bill Drummond. This amuses me on so many levels.

Warning: Design tweaking in progress. Please wear your hardhat at all times.

I don’t make New Years Resolutions. They’re too small. Quitting smoking, taking more excercise, doing something every day, these are small things. We can decide to do this sort of thing any day of the week. There’s no magic in New Years Day that makes these things easier – quite the reverse, in fact. You blow a New Year’s Resolution – well, everyone does that, don’t they? Yeah, so you blew it. Big deal. But making the decision on another day, well, then you’re only answerable to yourself, and if you can’t keep a promise you make to yourself, what’s wrong with you? No, New Years Resolutions aren’t for me.

Me, I plan the shape of my year. I pick a theme. I tie it all up with a bit of magic, and the year plays through. I’ve been doing this for a few years now. 1999 was all about putting myself back together. 2000 was the year for discipline. If I’d thought a bit more about those two, I’d have done something different with 2000, because I came out of it slightly fucked in the head. I spent 1999 re-assembling myself after a seriously fucking awful end to 1998, and having done that I then proceeeded to ignore my head in favour of The Work, which was just stupid – I had no idea who I was or what I wanted, and therefore had no idea what I was working toward, and working just for working, well, it taught me a few things, but ultimately, it’s just a bad idea. So 2001 was about getting to know myself better, introspection, and letting my headspace unfold a bit. And I think it’s worked. I’m happier and more together these days than I have been in a long time. Several of my friends have recently described me as one of the most well-balanced people they know. I’m not sure I’d go that far, but given the way I felt at the start of the year, things are obviously better.

2002? I’ll tell you next year.

According to this test my spirit animal is The Dragon. Which I find myself irrationally pleased by.

“The world is quiet, it’s New Years Day…”

Just back, after spending half the night crashed on Anna’s couch, having consumed a good amount of both whiskey and champagne down by the Thames at midnight on a beautifully cold and clear night. Walking home on a morning that seems (in my not quite sober state) bright with fantastic promise, 2002 begins, and I feel like I could take on the world. A good way to start the New Year. A toast then:

“Let those that love us, love us, and those that do not, let god turn their hearts. And if he cannot turn their hearts, let him turn their ankles, so we may know them by their limp.”

Wish I could remember where I got that from.

A happy and prosperous New Year to all of us.

Hope you all had a good Christmas…

I’ve invited a load of folk round for Boxing Day, but given that almost no-one bothered to let me know if they were coming or not, it may wind up being me, my flatmate, and two or three other people. In which case, I have probably bought far too much food and booze, but still.

Also have no idea what time to expect anyone – I said from two, but have no idea if they’re likely to arrive then, or later, not really a problem, but it’d be nice to know if it was worth mulling some wine for anyone arriving at two…

Ah, fuck it, I’ll go mull some wine anyway. Worst comes to worst, I’ll just have to deal with it myself. Oh, the hardship.

I have a small, but nonetheless sore, blister on my left thumb. I am not aware of having burned my thumb at any point in the past few days. Where the hell did this blister come from?