2001-03-23 - 05:38 p.m.

�The cars on fire, and there�s no driver at the wheel, and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides, and a dark wind blows��

I fear greatly for my life. Tonight�s a Stag Night. Of course, I�ve attended such occasions before, and been party to the usual rakish tomfoolery as the young men in question pass from this life to the next. But tonight is with proper, big, grown up boys who sweat pure testosterone and put even my admittedly impressive capacity for drinking to shame. The plan, as far as I can make out (I�m on the very fringe of this group, and rendered mostly uninformed) is drinks, curry, drinks, strip bar, drinks, club, minor altercation with random punter, drinks, major bloodbath encompassing the entire security staff, summary violent ejection, drinks, recklessly impulsive change of plan, three days in the wilderness without food or water and subsequent search and rescue operation by the relevant emergency services. I think damage limitation could be the key concept. Best I can hope for? I�d say: mild carnage.

�The government is corrupt, and we�re all so many drunks with the radio on and the curtains drawn�we�re trapped in the belly of this horrible machine, and the machine is bleeding to death��

It may surprise older readers to know that I�ve never been to a strip bar before. Not out of any particular aversion, but I just assume all the ones in London are run by violent psychopaths who�ll take you for every last penny you�ve got before having their goons beat seven types of shit out of you in a squalid back room. OK, I guess that is quite a particular aversion. Anyway, I�m sure tonight�s will be fine. Um�.

�I said �Kiss me, you�re beautiful�these are truly the last days�. You grabbed my hand and we fell into it, like a daydream, or a fever.�

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