From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	24 May 2001 13:59
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O
'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com
'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.; Vernon
, M.J.
Subject:	Flix

heaven presents... 
journal entry

24 MAY. 2001

mind: focused  

body: normalised   	 soul: good    	 tune: traffic boom (ost)  	
  
Hi prom queens!
 
It's been a bit of a while I must confess, but I'm feeling much better now. I'm 
off all the drugs, unguents, salves and creams and I'm sitting here in the bleak
 twilight of the computer room tapping in this journal entry with a heavy heart 
and nervous twitch.
 
My Viva is in a couple of hours. 
 
As you're no doubt aware, the Viva is a kind of "Krypton Factor" final assessmen
t for the computer scientist. But there's none of this mincing around with fligh
t-simulatours and obstacle courses, oh no. Instead, you have to SIT for up to 30
 minutes and EXPLAIN your project and what it does. Then you have to run across 
to the computer centre and negotiate your way up some stairs into the lab and bo
ot up your system. After that it get's plenty tricky....
 
I suppose I should be grateful. I mean, it is an excellent day and everyone seem
 to be healthy and freshly scrubbed. The girls are wearing as little as possible
 (hooray!) and my friends are repeating nature's cycle of getting sunburned, the
n cooling each other off with water-filled squirting devices (repeat process unt
il nighttime). 
 
Actually, I'd rather be back at C block at the moment. I've kifed Richie's CD po
rtable CD player and set up a little revision nest in the kitchen. Current "hooj
 choons" are the Big Lebowski soundtrack, Some Vocal music and CreamFields. I ca
n observe the dietry habits of my friends (Paul is moving away from spaghetti ho
ops towards pasta again) and actually have some space in which to revise. My roo
m is still blasted from the double nuke of my final report and flu set-back, so 
the atmosphere is simply to hostile to work in there. 
 
Hmmm...
 
I'm currently trying to wade through the binary cesspit that is the internet. My
 brother came up with an interesting theory the other week. He's seen the Intern
et since it's conception back in 1990 when he was at York university, one of the
 pioneering academics for the Internet in the UK. He claims, aside from the visu
als and special effects, the world wide web hasn't really changed that much. Bac
k when he used it and there were only something like a couple of dozen sites, th
ere was mostly porn and academic material. This lead me to ponder - which direct
ion is it all going? The 'net is the perfect encapsulation of human nature, beca
use it offers virtual anonymity for those who use it. If 50% of the net consists
 of hardcore pornography (live muff sisters! XXX Catgirl! ScandiBloke-SailorChyx
!) then what does that say about us?
 
I threw these quadries at Thom and almost immediately, he replied:
 
>> Fact: The period of biggest increase in the number of Internet users co-incid
ed with the plateau for Playstation sales.
>> You'll have to work this one out for yourself.
>> -t
 
Was this true? Did the internet boom co-incide with the Playstation boom of the 
mid 90s? I e-mailed Josh for confirmation
 
>> Good theory. I'll put it in my 'zine.
>> Josh.
>> Oh yeah, I've chosen a Spirit Notepad for my Nova II & Electribe.
 
 
Thus I was able to extrapolate two theories from what I have learnt:
 
1: The average UK internet user is a male 18-36 who owns a Playstation, and down
loads 418mb of material a year of which 18% is considered "hardcore pornography"
 
2: These individuals are exposing themselves to the "Nintendo effect" - a syndro
me whereby regular exposure to indecent/extreme material is blurring their perso
nal boundaries of acceptance, e.g. what is considered "good" and what is conside
red "bad".
 
 
 
I'm going to use all of this in Viva. It may helpy glaze over that fact that I'v
e done next to fuck all.
 
 John xx
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	19 May 2001 22:42
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O
'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com
'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.; Vernon
, M.J.
Subject:	Jam Jam

heaven presents... 
journal entry

      19 MAY . 2001

mind: focused  

body: chaotic   	 soul: okay   	 tune: oxygen (j.m.jarre) 	
  
I got nursed. At the "Hugh Binnie Hostel for Pasty Children". I'm currently in W
ard 4, looking at a rain-soaked statue outside of a granite-carved lame child cr
ying against a folorn-looking nun. 
 
For some reason, every time the nurses come to administer my enema, they keep of
fering me pillows. I'm too polite to say no and am therefore sleeping on two doz
en hospital-standard pillows.
 
I want to go home!
 
Look out for my stunning recount of the incident which will be serialised in the
 Express, entitled "Egg-Salad Sick Day".
 
Time for poultice.
 
John xx
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	17 May 2001 13:52
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O
'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com
'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.; Vernon
, M.J.
Subject:	The Omega Plan

heaven presents... 
journal entry

      17  MAY . 2001

mind: bristly 

body: painful  	 soul: low  	 tune: atomic moog (coldcut) 	
  
I am *so* knackered. Pete has spread his disease around C-Block and I'm right in
 the middle of a vicious malaise. If that wasn't enough, at 8am the porter turne
d up to fix my door. He was there for more than four hours banging, drilling and
 planing. Then (and I still can't believe this), Mr Saxaphone next door started 
rehearsing. 
 
I'm going to try and get an extension on my homework deadlines (yeah, right) and
 totter back home for some Nisa-brand Soup.
 
I need nursing!!!
 
John xx
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	14 May 2001 15:11
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O
'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com
'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.; Holt, 
J.P.; Vernon, M.J.
Subject:	Disco Flowers

heaven presents... 
journal entry

     14 MAY . 2001

mind: tired 

body: moist 	 soul: fuzzy 	 tune: tears in the rain (vangelis) 	
  
Ew.
 
I'm feeling a bit pokey. My arm's all nice and better now thanks to this busty n
urse who tended my every whim at the St. Kelly Victorian hostel. I staggered up 
there after the fall and purchased a bottle of scotch along the way. Originally 
I had intended to the offending arm hacked off at the joint in the prviacy of "T
icker's - the gentlemans choice for Tonsorial Excellence" barber, but Mr Fuzzipe
g was off with gangrene so I headed towards the hospital.
 
The main reception smelt of ethanol and piss, and I had to sit down for around h
alf an hour before Dr. Singh could see me. I maneuvered myself onto a suprisingl
y-low padded seat and picked up a copy of "Baby Today". It was filled with pictu
re after picture of horrible newborns. I glanced at the cover to see if there wa
s a feature on breastfeeding. The date: "September 1993". A magazine on chilcare
 had been lying around for eight years!!! I sniffed and scanned my eyes across m
y fellow invalids. There was this crusty old coffin-dodger sitting opposite me w
ho was radiating an odour of mothballs and cats. Next to her was this girl with 
- and I swear this is true - a coat-hanger wedged up her nose. Attached to the c
oat-hanger was a picture of Mark Owen.
 
As luck would have it, my name was called after only 10 minutes and I trotted al
ong to Dr Singh's office. 
 
"And what seems to be the problem with you?" said Dr Singh without looking up fr
om his pad. 
 
I flapped my dislocated, busted arm in front of him and said casually "Yeah, I t
hink I popped it bench-pressing 350"
 
Dr Singh was unmoved. "I see." he said. "Could you please sit down here and put 
your arm on the desk".
 
I did so. He then produced a small cocktail umbrella from his draw and started s
tabbing my elbow. I yelped like a poodle.
 
"Gaaahhh! What are you doing?!!" I squealed yanking back my throbbing elbow.
 
"Just having a bit of prod" he said and grinned cheekily. "No come on, hold onto
 this metal bar sir".
 
I reluctantly held onto a bar attached to the wall and Doc lept forward and re-c
onnected my arm at an alarming speed. I heard this "pop" which was similar to th
e noise made when I ran my mountain bike over a frog when I was 13. There was a 
little pain, but not too much.
 
 
In the end, I trotted back home munchin a bag of Sugar Twists. I vowed to mylsef
 that I would write the whole truth about the incident in my journal without emb
ellishing it in any way.
 
And here it is.
 
John xx
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	11 May 2001 13:15
To:	Vernon, M.J.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O
'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com
'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.; Holt, 
J.P.
Subject:	RE: vegas

 

heaven presents... 
journal entry  - suplemental 

     11 M AY. 2001

mind: dead 

body: had the dick 	 soul: waiting for Foxy to make it better 	 tune: a
nything by sid barratt 	
  
Yeah, and I dislocated my elbow and busted it all to shit. 
Damn.
 
John xx
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Vernon, M.J.
Sent:	11 May 2001 12:32
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cun
ningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpso
n, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Pool
e, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.;
 Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; 'merrymon
ger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; We
eks, M.
Subject:	RE: vegas

heaven presents... 
journal entry  - suplemental 

     11 M AY. 2001

mind:  no response 

body:  always kinda good  	 soul:  rubbery 	 tune:  insomnia (faithl
ess)  	
 
Mark> l `m sending this for John today since the chances are he will not surface
 again for another few days....
 
On my way from the venue food court with my 2 engineering chums Chris and Rob, I
 saw John walking out of the MCS building (after just handing his project in 1 m
inute before the deadline - hes been up all night).
 
"Hey John!" I drawled as he walked towards me but, alas, his expression was vaca
nt - a sure sign of post project auto pilot syndrome.  But something was wrong! 
 His auto pilot was riddled with errors, oh no!
 
As he walked past I tried to get his attention, GOD DAMMIT I TRIED!!!  But it wa
s like trying to catch a raindrop in a sieve in Africa (in the summer - a very d
ry summer)*.
 
He blundered into the thorney hedge, which surrounds the carpark, and crashed th
rough it onto the gound.  I ran round the hedge sorta laughing (well yeah, I was
) to helpo him up.  This old guy ran up and helped too.
 
John got up in a daze wondered off - to bed I hope.
 
It was like,... so Trigger Happy TV.
 
Bi bi!!!
 
 
* Like, totally impossible.
    
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	09 May 2001 13:07
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.R.; Pascoe, 
H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; A
khtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew
, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; D
arch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; 
Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.c
om'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.;
 Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.
Subject:	vegas

heaven presents... 
journal entry

  9 MAY. 2001

mind: awake

body: good 	 soul: stressed 	 tune: all stars (black sista) 	
 
Still got this damn project that I'm supposed to be starting so I'll have to cut
 this journal entry short. Again. I would love to tell you about the special off
er I received in the canteen this morning (free ketchup sachet with all meals be
fore 10:00am - wooo!) or the lyrics to the song " My Vagina" I heard eminating f
rom Paul's room, but I'm being hung by the balls at the moment and castrated wit
h the Friday deadline.
 
Okay.
 
Here's the deal. I will do a special journal on Friday containing a coded messag
e. The first person to decipher it wins a box of Maltesers. I will even send the
m by post. Don't call me generous because I don't want to hear it.
 
Nose+Grindstone.
  
John xxxx 
 
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	04 May 2001 12:14
Cc:	Holt, J.P.; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Bradstreet, C.
R.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Be
llage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Fle
w, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; 
Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Arm
strong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrusse
ll*hotmail.com'; 'merrymonger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.co
m'; Fox, G.; Reitz, B.; Weeks, M.
Subject:	Weekend Milk

heaven presents... 
journal entry

4 MAY .  2001

mind: awake

body: good 	 soul: a  bit whack 	 tune: i've got the power (snap) 	
 
Time is pretty damn short, but as always I find myself in front of this happy te
rminal keying in my last thoughts before the weekend officially kicks into my sy
stem. I know exactly what i'm going to do. i'm going to go down town and absorb 
some of this precious sunshine. I'm going to buy THAT bracelet that lights up (y
et another neon fetish). I'm going to wander around in a bit of daze and hopeful
ly end up in the covered market buying some oil crystals for my burner (white mu
sk fragrance - suave!) and then I'm going to do some washing and vigorous self-p
reening for a night out with my girl and our mates. 
 
Remember the way you considered your bedroom a bolt-hole from the stresses of ev
eryday life when you were a teenager?
 
No.... maybe that was not the way to consider it, but when I was going through t
he helter-skelter ride of puberty, I always thought ouf my room a timeless, hall
owed thing that was used to regenerate the spirit as well as the body. I don't k
now whether the sun has anything to do with it, but going down town when I finis
h on Friday afternoons has the same effect - a chance to breathe unencumbered by
 the payload of work that is always choking the shit out of me.
 
I looked at my 303 the other day accumulating dust, and I really itched to start
 jamming out some beats on it (especially pumping the TR-909 rythm set through t
he compressor). I think that maybe my mind is beginning to fight back from all t
he months of compressed, layered mess of deadlines, coursework and reports. I ca
n feel creativity beginning to seep back into me. Answers are flowing faster tha
n problems and I'm feeling more aware.
 
I don't think this feeling is going to last for long. It's probably a burn-out t
hing like cocaine or an orgasm, so I thought I'd write down how I feel right now
 so that I can look back and know that things are never as bad as they seem.
 
The weekends back. 
 
Let's really do it this time.
 
 
John xxxx 
 
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	03 May 2001 14:30
To:	Holt, J.P.; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; 
Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar,
 N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.
; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, 
J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsa
y, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; '
merrymonger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz
, B.; Weeks, M.
Subject:	THE NEW WORLD DREAM

heaven presents... 
journal entry

3 M AY .  2001

mind: awake

body: healthy 	 soul: ambivalent 	 tune: select (JDJ) 	
 
Hey peeps! I've had a really great idea. Once I get my website "VanillaBeach" ac
tually up and running, I'm going to program in one of them messageboard thingies
 like what they have on other websites. My mate Josh ages ago and all you had to
 was type a message inside a box and press submit and it would appear on the scr
een along with the other messages. Unfortunately, Josh's messageboard was a bit 
gay because all his whacky mates would type in wierd shit like "H/\X0R Z3R0 D/\Y
 W/\R3Z" and "A noisy noise annoys an oyster" and I'm like thinking "Woah! Too l
eftfield for me!". My messageboard is going to say shit like "John you sexy moth
erfucker, come jump your ass in me NOW!", "LU:MTB" and "GreenHill Poontang Massi
ve!!"
 
Speaking of Leftfield, does anyone actually own one of his CDs? Everyone always 
goes on about how wonderful he is, and he headlined at Homelands, so he must be 
quite good. I tried listening to one of his songs, and though it was a bit cack 
to be quite honest. Then again I classify Leftfield along the same lines of Squa
rePusher, Autechre and Aphex Twin - they're okay in very VERY small amounts. 
 
I got an e-mail from Mike Russell. For those of you who don't know him, he's thi
s scouse mechanic up in Preston who occassionally gets drunk and sends everyone 
either lurid text messages or bizzare e-mails. This one was no exception:
 all nighters are just great, i've mastered the technique... fags, panadol, 

iron brew and mr kipling cakes.

Ok so every now and again you feel like youre gonna faint but hey im goin 

out tonight!!  

Thanks Mike. He even sent the e-mail to me twice which he no doubt believed in h
is drunken mind that it would somehow emphasize the point. It's actually get har
der to write this journal entry as Windows keeps titting up on me. I've just pri
nted out an 88-page project report and for twenty minutes my computer went all w
heezy and slow. I could have printed it out on something called "Linux" but I do
n't like that system as only circus-freaks use it (with the possible exception o
f Rich) 
 
Time for a bit of work....
 
John xxx
 
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	02 May 2001 10:39
To:	Holt, J.P.; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; 
Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar,
 N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.
; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, 
J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsa
y, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; '
merrymonger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz
, B.; Weeks, M.
Subject:	Ice Filtered

heaven presents... 
journal entry

2 MAY .  2001

mind: knackered 

body: tired 	 soul: excellent 	 tune: frozen (madonna) 	
 
Ah mate, I am SO knackered. But I'm also kind of happy cos I got my project fina
lly working. I thought it'd had the dick but fortunately Mark and Richie were ab
le to nudge my tired brain in the right direction. The breakthrough came at 9.45
pm (GMT) when we successfully managed to get my browser to display the words "Da
rren".
 
But we won't go there. It's 10.19 in the morning and I'm not feeling very techni
cal. I just thought you all wanted to know. 
 
Save you all worrying about me, like.
 
John xxx
 
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	30 April 2001 16:04
To:	Holt, J.P.; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; 
Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar,
 N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.
; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, 
J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsa
y, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'; '
merrymonger*hotmail.com'; 'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Fox, G.; Reitz
, B.; Weeks, M.
Subject:	Blended Desires

heaven presents... 
journal entry

30 APRIL.2001

mind: sticky

body: adjusting	 soul: good	 tune: remember me (blue boy)	
 
As I sit here and write my journal entry, I am waiting for Leon to come and bail
 me out of a programming oilslick I have encountered. Really, I should be outsid
e throwing frisbees and napping on the university grass. I want to be licking an
 ice-cream with a stale flake in it. Instead I am swamped with horrific pasty mi
sfits grunting away at their greasy terminals and busy doing furious things with
 program code.
 
I really do not know why programmers have such lax personal hygene. All the comp
uter people I know from back home in Andover and Romsey were always merticulous 
with their toilette and thus their offices smelt more like Boots than a comprehe
nsive PE changing room. 
 
Anyhow, I arrived back a week ago and the residents of my house have all arrived
 back. Perhaps the highlight of the week was Mark's return whereby he produced a
 massive hi-fi cabinet from the back fo his dad's hatchback.
 
"It's homemade!" he beamed proudly.
 
I looked at it. It was a giant wooden cabinet, painted yellow and lime green. Li
ke something out of a Lilt ringpull promotion.
 
"I bet Vicky likes it." I said. Vicky is Mark's girlfriend and she's forever emb
elleshing his room with sparkly things like sequin love-hearts and bottletops. S
he's very 2012. 
 
After Mark had nudged the rest of his gear into his room, Paul came in and start
ed rooting through Mark's stuff. He produced a can of "Black Magik" spray paint 
and immediately started squabbling with Alex over who was going to "tag" what. A
fter spraying the inside of Mark's furniture and a Nike box, they got a bit bore
d, so I took the can and spruced up the casing on my PC. Mark wrote "Boobs" on i
t with a marker pen and we all laughed.
 
Later on I emerged from the shower on route to Gill's via my wardrobe, and I hea
rd Alex and Paul giving their opinion of Linkin Park on TV.
 
"Cocksuckers" said Alex
 
"What a bunch of lame bastards" agreed Paul.
 
Somehow I managed to steer the conversation around to Atari Teenage Riot. As you
 do. Suddenly Alex became furious and started spouting pure bile at this german-
techno-punk combo. You can always tell when Alex is furious because the tips of 
his ears go purple.
 
"They are such a bunch of numb fucks! I fucking hate 'em! They're shit!" he seet
hed.
 
"Calm down Alex" said Paul absently.
 
"But they're...... GAY! They're so damn fucking shit!" 
 
Pause.
 
"Listen to one of their songs" said Alex, crawling across to his CD collection. 
Me and Paul looked at each other.
 
"You mean to tell me you actually have one of their songs?" I asked. 
 
"Alex you are so lame!" cried Paul, bathing in the hypocrasy of Alex's former ou
tburst. "You are so fu-" 
 
Suddenly, Alex's hi-fi started playing really lame ATR music consisting of disto
rted vocals, badly-looped breakbeat and pure distortion.
 
I listened, still in my bath towel, mesmerised. 
 
"Fuckin' 'ell" said Paul. 
 
Alex stood there beaming. He was obviously proud that he'd been proved right.
 
"Let me put on another one...." Alex began frantically scrabbling through his CD
s. "I have another compilation..."
 
I whirled around and went to get dressed.
 
 
 
Still glad to be back, though.
 
 
John xxx
 
 
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	26 April 2001 15:23
To:	'tom*obsess.com'; 'josh*paradroid.com'; Holt, J.P.
Subject:	Damage Report

heaven presents... 
special journal entry

26.APRIL.2001

mind: sticky

body: adjusting	 soul: good	 tune: remember me (blue boy)	
Welcome back peeps!
 
    Well I don't know about you lot, but I had a mildly refreshing vacation. Woa
h. Did I just say "vacation"? It's those damn Americans who live next door to me
 influencing my mother tongue. Don't get me wrong, Mike and Brian are both wonde
rful to live with but they do say wierd things like "Yo-guht" and "Vye-da-mins".
 Paul said there'd be communication problems when they moved in, but fortunately
 we've established a simple pidgen language consisting of grunts, wild hand gest
ures and simple shapes.
 
    I thought I was going to go mad coming back to an empty 7-room house a week 
early, but fortunately Alex had locked himself in his room just after we all lef
t a month ago. Sadly, Alex couldn't muster up the brain power to reason out how 
the door knob works, so he was forced to stay in his room for four weeks, no dou
bt resorting back to animal instincts to search for grubs and lice in the air ve
nt. I'm happy to say that I freed Alex from the confines of his room ("The irony
! The room that once bought me freedom made me a prisoner!") and we spent the re
st of the evening around a campfire in the kitchen, breaking bread and celebrati
ng brotherhood.
 
    The next morning I received a phone call:
 
    John : "Hello?"
 
    Josh : (drunk) "I'm not a clown and I'm not a son of a bitch!"
 
    John : "Joshua? Are you drunk?"
 
    Josh : (drunk) ".....no."
 
    John : "Yes you are. Josh for chrissakes it's 8 am! Why?" (Things have to be
 pretty bad if you're razzled before openning time)
 
    Josh : "I went out with #6 last night and got lost somewhere in Kiddeminster
. I woke up in a ditch after a tramp was trying to steal my shoes!"
 
    (It is worth noting here that #6 is Josh's clique of net-people he hangs out
 with down in Romsey)
 
    John : "Josh... Reason with me here. Kiddeminser is 150 miles from where you
 live. How?"
 
    Josh : "I don't know. I just went out for a curry with Tom, Phile, Steve, Ro
 and that other guy with the hair and then people starting eating things and... 
aw shit I dunno... I guess I saw Tom splitting a popadum in half and than I kind
a freaked out. I kept hitchhiking 'till I fell asleep and then I woke up here."
 
    John : "That's beautiful Josh. Really."
 
    Josh : "Can you come pick me up? I can't tell me dad, he'd freak."
 
    John : "Josh, I can't drive. My driving instructor Mr Lucifer caused me to f
ail five times. Then he had a stroke and was paralysed down his left side. Then 
he had another stroke and died."
 
    Josh : "Please John. I'm cold and I think I pissed my trousers. I'm wearing 
the red ones."
 
    John : "Can't Mike pick you up? He's just bought an XR2. Remember them?"
 
    Josh : "I tried ringing him but the payphone wouldn't accept my twenty pence
 when I tried to ring him and it would when I ringed you."
 
    John : "....."
 
    Josh : "Oh tits!!"
 
    John : "What? What is it?"
 
    Josh : "I've somehow managed to pick up a copy of 'Bassement Jaxx : Red Aler
t'"
 
    John : "Josh I'm hanging up now"
 
    Josh : "Aw."
 
I put the phone down and went to take a shit. Fortunately Josh got a lift back i
n a meat truck and we were able to carry on a more civilised conversation later 
on that evening.
 
It's good to be back.
 
 
John
e-mail: go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	23 March 2001 14:38
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	RE: Journal - National Faith

journal 

 23mar01  - 14:37  

   mind : good 	
body :  tired  	
soul :  great    	
tune : feels good (utah saints) 	
 
I've got to go now. I love each and every one of you and look forward to writing
 again in 5 weeks. In case you don't hear from me, you can contact me on 01264 3
64944 from home between normal hours. Massive respects out to Evington, Highfiel
ds, Naadir, Vixen, Li'l Jimmy, and #6.
 
John x
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	20 March 2001 13:09
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	Journal - Caustic Suicides



journal 

20mar01 - 12:41 

   mind : tired 	
body :   hungry     	
soul :  okay    	
tune :  sweets for my sweet (cj lewis)	
 
I am SO hungry. Unfortunately, all the food outlets in the uni are jam-packed wi
th horrible students trying to nab cake before attending their sociology lecture
s. Sociology. What a toss subject.
 
Anyway, I shouldn't be famished, seeing as we baked a cake last night. I say "we
", when I actually mean C-Block. It was one of those spur-of-the-moment things t
hat got dangerously out of control at the last minute. Picture the scene: 3am, M
ark throwing flour, Asda SmartPrice margarine-blend spread, sugar, and eggs into
 a pan. Paul diligently monitoring the oven for signs of activity. Richie doing 
the washing up. Pete smoking. 
 
Unfortunately, only 15 minutes after we'd bung the cake in the oven, we got a bi
t bored. I was still busy pan-frying the apple slices in syrup when Mark suggest
ed we try blasting the cake with the microwave. I was a bit dubious, but was ama
zed to find that the cake started to rise. Even without the aid of yeast or self
-raising flour.
 
After 20 minutes, the cake came out all moist and steaming. We added the topping
 and devoured the delicacy (after Paul pursuaded us on taking photos of it). It 
was.....chewy. But it still tasted great.
 
Sadly, not more than an hour after I collapsed in bed, my stomach started to cle
nch. Tummy muscles were spasming. Sweat popped out on my forehead. I rolled over
 onto my side, clutching my gut and moaning. 
 
The cake was turning against me.
 
It's true that the eggs were slightly out of date, and it was also true that I h
ad previously snacked on an under-cooked chicken leg, but I knew that no ordinar
y cake could possibly rise without the leverage-inducing properties of yeast. Ye
t the cake had risen in the microwave and had mystic powers.
 
It had come to live, and was now trying to avenge my stomach.
 
Now fate is a fickle mistress, and by the time I was seriously debating on scarf
ing down some Remegel,  I fell asleep and had a nightmare about being buried ali
ve. Bt when I woke up the next morning, my stomach was back to normal and I felt
 strangely invigorated.
 
So today, we're planning on making Lasagne
 
 
 
John x
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	16 March 2001 14:55
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	Journal - e2396b858234785638924ccc756234


 
journal 

error

   mind :  dev/null  	
body :  dev/null    	
soul : dev/null   	
tune : anything by  	
 
=journal_error()
 
IF THIS MESSAGE APPEARS THEN THE WRITER HAS GONE HOME FOR THE WEEKEND WITOHUT FI
LLING YOU ALL WITH HIS WACKY MUSE. IN CASES LIKE THIS, WE NEED PIKACHU FOR GUIDA
NCE.
 
 
 
 
HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND
 
THE SYSTEM xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	15 March 2001 16:20
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	Journal - "Ketamara"


journal 

14mar01 - 12:14 

   mind : okay 	
body : better    	
soul :  okay     	
tune :  heaven presents (greenjade) 	
 
Oh lummee. I've just had my hair cut. Orginially I had intended on going down to
 Nando's in Queens Road, but I heard he charges something like £700 a cut (less 
10% student discount). So I let my hair-compass guide me down a dark alley towar
ds a more hidden barber shop in Cheap Lane. It had a red and white stripy pole o
utside and was called "Ticker's Gentlemen Barber-Surgeon".
 
I walked inside and was hit by the pungent smell of greasy hair and ungent. The 
barber was a stern-looking fellow, dressed immaculately in white bibs with brylc
ream side-parting and a huge moustach. He looked angrily at me, then beckoned me
 to sit down.
 
"And a good afternoon to you sir, what will it be today" he said, tucking a lemo
n-soaked cloth under my chin.
 
"Erm....short back and sides, try to blend in a grade 3 so I can spike it. Oh an
d shave the sideburns off. Don't want them". I cracked my knuckles and sunk into
 the leather chair.
 
The barber started to chuckle deeply, much to my chargrin. "Oh sir, no, no, no. 
This is a gentlemens barber-shop, not a den of mamon. You shall only receive a p
roper haircut from me, and not some fancy sinful design. No trickery or crafty s
cience shall result from my actions, only a hair-style that decent men would rel
ish."
 
"What do you recommend then?" I said, slightly confused at him and a feeling of 
deja vu.
 
"I recommend we massage your scalp with a nice cold poultice of mercury. Then I 
shall rinse the scalp with freezing water to invigorate it, and then cut your ha
ir to the length of my thumb. Then we will finish with a brief singeing of the s
ide parting, and a treatment of brillianteene."
 
"No. No, please... don't do that. Don't-"
 
"Silence! Now. Lie back, and let me cut your shameful hair". The barber then too
k some secateurs from his overalls, and commenced terrorising my scalp.
 
Over the next hour, I relied on a trick that abused children use which is to sta
y very still and think of something else. I sunk back into my own private world 
full of flowers and musical hardware as the barber chopped, diced and steamed my
 hair. He rubbed albumen and lye into my head and conked it. He used cut-throat 
razors and lead scalpels. Finally, he had finished.
 
I opened my eyes.... and was confronted by a pretty nifty piece of styling.
 
"Wow...not bad". It was a cross between the hairstyle of that guy who did "Fun H
ouse" back in the 80s on Childrens ITV, and early Matthew Kelly. I was pretty im
pressed. 
 
"That'll be seven guineas please sir" said the barber turning his back to me to 
empty a big cracked porcelene bowl. I gave him a fiver.
 
"Would sir like something for the weekend?" 
 
"Yes sir would" I said. Asda had run out of Durex Afro, and I couldn't be bother
ed to nip up there. The barber looked away from me and cleared his throat as he 
handed me a teak box containing a surprisingly stout contraceptive. The instruct
ions were inscribed on yellowing paper. "It is of genuine Indian rubber, combini
ng amazing thickness with striking discomfort. Guaranteed you will feel nothing 
during your sinful, filthy, wicked act."
 
"Blimey" I said. Actually, the condom would make a wicked water balloon. I can't
 burst it though, as it's re-usable, and the barber wants it back next Wednesday
.
 
 
John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	14 March 2001 12:24
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	Journal - "Kidney Man"

journal 

14mar01 - 12:14 

   mind :  good 	
body : better    	
soul : good    	
tune : ISDN (FSOL) 	
 
Just a quick note before I get off for a snack,
 
There's going to be a "hidden" nugget inside my website located at http://www.va
nillabeach.com/toxicbeach
 
which will contain various junkmeats and cess. Any contributions (pictures/text/
etc.) are welcome so tack them to an e-mail and send them to me.
 
Thanks.
 
John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	12 March 2001 11:56
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.
; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunning
ham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P
.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M
.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poo
le, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.; 'michaelthomasrussell*hotmail.com'
Subject:	Journal - "Bra Wars"

journal 

12mar01 - 10:37

   mind : tired	
body : better    	
soul : good   	
tune  : EHFT (Jedi Knights) 	
 
I've been shopping on-line! Well... sort of. Actually, I stumbled across this we
bsite that sells soft drinks and as a consequence have ordered crates of pop fro
m across the globe! Here are some prospective bottles of fizz coming my week in 
3-4 weeks:
 
  


Black Lemonade  
Appearance: The satanic side of the soft drinks industry, this is one mean bottl
e of pop. Contains skull and crossbones on the front (with red eyes!) and all bu
t screams "Intestinal Napalm!". Combine this with the bad spelling and swear-wor
ds on the label and you have a drink that Johnny Rotten at the height of punk wo
uld have steered clear of.

Comments: The drink is pretty formidable from a scientific point of view. It con
tains THREE different food colourings, Ginseng, Kava Kave, Guarana and Skullcap 
(a.k.a. Mad Dog Weed - oh.. my.. god.....) What's even more worrying is that Bla
ck Lemonade contains more citric acid than lemon conentrate. I'm planning on spe
nding my jobseekers allowance on this alone.

 



Journey's Ancient Cola  
Appearance: Bud-sized bottle containing viscous, brown fluid not too dissimilar 
in colour to post-weekend stools.  Logo predicts "Ancient Cola" awaiting breath-
bated drinker with awe. If you look closely at the picture, you'll see it resemb
les a ziggurat of the gods with an inverted question mark at the bottom of the s
tairs. All this for 12 ounces of cola.

Comments: Guaranteed to contain "Genuine Asian Herbs". Hmmm.. As if this wasn't 
enough, cola was invented by a guy called Pemberton back at the beginning of the
 1900s, hardly making it "ancient". It looks nice though.

 



The Drink  
Appearance: Another death-inspired beverage, this time the colour of piss and wi
th a skeleton on the front combining the biblical aspects of Jesus with the rock
 allure of Elvis Presley in his Vegas-years. Clearly the designer of this ingeni
ous tincture is completely insane and probably murdered his family the very nigh
t he came up with the label.

Comments: Once again we have a drink that only hippies would dare imbibe. Combin
ing the french-accent inducing properties of concentrated lemon with the mouth d
rying power of ginger simply wasn't enough. The proprietors also added Dillweed 
to the list of ingredients.

 



Old Mill Sarsaparilla  
Appearance: Badly-affixed label onto industrial-grade glass harkens back to simp
ler times when Roosevelt was in power and police cars ran on corn-syrup. Overall
 aesthetics of the drink give connotations of warm apple-pie steaming on the win
dow ledge will pop is outside chopping firewood. 

Comments: The website tells us that Old Mill contains "Natural and Artificial sa
rsaparilla flavours". This gives rise as to what the artificial flavour contains
. Possibly Potassium Chrolomethylhexaline, but I can't be too sure.

 



The Brainalizer 
Appearance: Essentially, this is what Snapple would have looked like if Stephen 
Hawking had access to their design templates. Brainalizer clearly aims its marke
t at teenagers cramming for their sociology exams. And who am I to argue. Please
 note the diagram of the brain on the label - something I could never have gotte
n away with during my CDT product design module during my GCSEs.

Comments: What can I say? Aside from the usual ginseng and guarana extracts, thi
s ingenious soda also contains "Dandelion" and "Beet Juice". On second thoughts,
 three crates of this just isn't enough....

 



Willie's Hemp Butterscotch Cream 
Appearance: Excellent! Someone, somewhere had the genius notion of combining old
 time West with Ganja! Beatufully florid design on the stout-sized bottle dictat
es perpetually-stoned cowboy on ol' Hoss returning home after a day of killing o
utlaws, Indians and drunken deputies. Wholesome and Worrying in equal doses.

Comments: According to the makers of this drink, this is guarenteed to be the be
st cream soda a mortal has ever tasted. They also e-mailed me a scan of the "Nut
rition Information" information in an attempt to be serious with me for a minute
, but I was having none of it. I will send a bottle of the stuff to Neil for dru
g analysis

  
Obviously when the shipment of these exilirs arrive, I'll be having a house part
y. Maybe. 
 
 John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	09 March 2001 13:28
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.
Subject:	Journal - "Glazed Fingers"

journal 

  9mar01 - 13:15 pm  

mind :  great 	
body :  only mildly tack   	
soul :  excellent   	
tune : age of lonliness (engima)  	
 
And so the weekend is upon us again. like bubble of air in a cold, dark ocean. I
 was supposed to have my coursework marked in the lab today but both tutours wer
e busy being inefficient, then buggered off when time was up so I'm going to hav
e to blag the marks somehow.
 
I don't know about how you all feel, and I know some of you are busy running the
 rat race in an office somewhere, but I get the impression that weekend is shrin
king. We're losing those precious hours dedicated to leisure, relaxation and sho
estring work like laundry and home/body maintenance. Maybe it's to do with the f
act that I wake up at 3pm every weekend morning, whereas before I contracted pub
erty I was plugged into "Number 73" before the milkman had arrived.
 
Anyways, I'm just typing codshit now, so I'd guess I'd better finish the next le
cture and go shopping for weekend treats. 
 
Enjoy your bubble.
 
John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	08 March 2001 16:10
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.
Subject:	Journal - "wonderland"

 
journal 

8mar01 - 15: 40pm  

mind : good 	
body : still a bit tack  	
soul :  excellent  	
tune :  renegade master (wildchild)    	
 
Dammit I'm knackered and i've had 14 hours sleep. Compounded with the fact that 
my workload is increasing geometrically day by day (now the department want me t
o find the cure for AIDS by next week or something similarly impossible). 
 
Coming to think of it, I'm not even sure that I've been going the right departme
nt. For example, when I was a pre-fresher experienceing the joys of the Leiceste
r uni "open-day", the Maths & Computer Science department was a discrete redbric
k building stashed next to the library. It smelt of coffee and vinegar and was f
ull of confused-looking academics wandering around in a bumbled state of confusi
on. I distinctly remember rows of PCs and shelves of IT literature.
 
However, recently I've been looking around the department where I've been handin
g in my work and seeing my tutours and it's not very much like the building I sa
w on open-day. For a start, the main foyer is gigantic (like Waterloo station) a
nd the ground consists of solid marble, not carpet. Second, the MCS logo has cha
nged from a tetrahedron to a bald-eagle clutching an olive-branch in one talon a
nd a machete in another. Third, all my tutours call me "citizen" instead of "Joh
n" and wear blue spandex body-suits with gold weave down one side. 
 
They also carry machine-guns.
 
This makes me wonder - what have they been doing with all my submitted coursewor
k? How come everyone else can access the computers using a swipecard whereas I n
eed to stick my arm into a tube and have a blood-sample confirm my DNA on the "g
overnment database"? Also, everyone else gets their coursework handed back to th
em in class whereas I received my marks in a bar-coded envelope which pops up th
rough a slit in the ground after I press my hand to a screen.
 
All this thinking is making me dizzy. I'm off to buy a Kit-Kat. After that I'm g
oing to see my tutour, Governor Malrah. I hope I got a 2:1 for my project, his l
ast apprentice received a 2:2, was publicly flogged then fed to the dogs in Peop
le's War Memorial Gardens.
 
Damn!
 
John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	07 March 2001 15:40
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.
Subject:	Journal - "wonderland"

journal 

  7mar01 - 15:35pm  

mind : better 	
body :  healing    	
soul :  optimistic   	
tune : good morning starshine (hair)   	
 
I'm still a little (!) woozy. But this is mainly due to a nasty bout of "chicken
 fever" I contracted from my lesser collegues during a cramped session of Comput
er Science.
 
I must confess, I'm looking forward to getting sluiced on a ragga tip at Bubblel
ove this forthcoming weekend. I'm splashing out on quality batteries for my neon
 shirts, lots of glosticks (although Gill bought me purple and yellow ones alrea
dy which I will most definitely take advantage of) and even sparklier hair-stuff
. I'm having a hell of a time trying to fit a degree around my whirlwind social 
life at the moment, but as my good friend Alastair says "Fuck it." 
 
Actually, I'm a bit worried about Al. The last time we left him, he was a snapil
y-dressed clubaholic with a penchant for degree excellence and a taste for Tong.
 However, I bumped into him in an MC308 lecture, where he was wearing Wu-Tang me
rchandise and jerking my hand with a complicated handshake. I asked him if he'd 
seen any decent DJs lately, like DJ Turntable, Hip-Master Crabscratch or The Inc
redible Scratch-All Stars. "That's a negative little trip-hopper" he replied, "I
's been jogging it live-style down at Life". 
 
I groaned and slid onto the floor. Had it not been for my rather vicious case of
 "morning-after", I would have accumulated all my streetwise possie down to Life
 for a bit of the old ironic birthday dancing. Life is not a place where you han
g out; Life is a place where you hold on. However, Al seemed quite content in ri
nsing his nub-candle down with the degenerate at Life.
 
Anyway, as I was saying, I have a landslide of work to fulfil, so I will leave y
ou with a picture of plastic-nightmare, not-kiddy fiddler, simian-loving, knacke
r-grabbing pop megastar Michael Jackson. At 40.
 
 
 
Guess he wouldn't need any make-up if they ever did a sequal to "Thriller".
 
John  xxx 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	06 March 2001 12:47
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.
Subject:	Journal - "sniff"

 
journal 

 6mar01 - 12:39pm  

mind :  shattered, agonising torment   	
body : knackered    	
soul : marginal  	
tune : testcard  	
 
Arghhh. Shit. I am so hung over. It feels like I've been used to line the floor 
at Gatecrasher.
 
No journal today. Sorry Josh.
 
Ngghhh... 
 
John.   
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	05 March 2001 15:59
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.; O'Shaughnessy, K.S.
Subject:	Journal - "Land of the Tigers"

 
journal 

 5mar01 -  15:25pm  

mind : calm   	
body : achy   	
soul :  great 	
tune : can u dance? (dj fast eddie) 	
 
It seems strange, but 21 is such an abstract age to be that I look back and ques
tion my maturity at 18. I remember that day well. My parents and brother took me
 out to London (my all time favourite place) to see the premiere of Titanic. It 
was showing at this h-u-g-e Odeon cinema in the middle of the city. We watched i
t during the afternoon so that we could stagger out bleary-eyed into the dayligh
t to go shopping/exploring. I decided to wander off with my brother to explore S
oho. It was fantastic. Prostitutes beckoned us. Steam rose from air-vents in the
 ground and cop-cars went past. Someone played the saxophone through a window on
 the 8th floor of the Hotel Royale (a sordid-looking building with a big, buzzin
g, pink, neon sign). It was raining.
 
Mike took me down some stairs to the basement floor of a big warehouse. There wa
s a black bouncer at the door wearing a large baggy zoot-suit, chewing on a toot
hpick. He was looking at a gold clock attached to his suit by a gold chain.
 
"This here's my bro'. John, meet Louie". I shook hands with the bouncer who grin
ned, revealing a gold canine.
 
"My man! Yo' birthday, am I right?" said Louie, pumping my hand with practised e
ase.
 
"Yessir." I said. I felt like a fieldmouse in between two tigers.
 
We were allowed to enter after my brother shook hands and exchanged banknotes. T
he first thing that hit me was the thick blanket of smoke, spiced with the scent
 of a thousand expensive aftershaves and perfumes. A blues band was playing a Ni
na Simone cover. 
 
We sat down at a table near the back. There were champagne flutes stuffed with e
legantly-arranged cloth napkins. They were shaped like roses. My brother told me
 to wait for a minute while he attended to some personal matters. I started to r
elax, and observed how the building had been converted into something like a bal
lroom. There was a balcony where meticulously-dressed men and women were revelli
ng in a spirit that suggested paryting was their forte. 
 
A sequined moll slinked her way to my table. My spine began to tense as I wonder
ed what she was going to do. Prositute? Waitress? Assassin? Without my brother, 
I was like an officer without a rifle. I was naked and defenseless.
 
"Well hello honey!" she grinned. Although some of her teeth were obviously false
, she had the smile of someone who could eat a man for breakfast. "Ain't seen yo
u around here before. And all by yourself!"
 
"I guess so" I replied. I felt my cheeks burning as she fed of my naivety. 
 
"And I guess I'm thirsty" she said, running her little finger down the back of m
y hand. She had leaned forward just enough to surround me with her perfume, alon
gside a good view of her shallow cleavage. "Can you buy a lady a drink?" 
 
"He can now" said my brother returning, wiping his hands with a napkin. "He's 18
. John, this is Tina our hostess, Tina this is my younger sibling John."
 
Tina's shoulders slunk. Her finger left my hand and she started laughing. "Guess
 I shoulda known better, huh?" she said. Something about her laugh made me uneas
y, but once again I began to relax as she whirled around, and slunk off to get u
s our drinks.
 
Over the next two hours, Mike showed me how to play Pharo, New York Nines, and M
olotov Poker. He also tried to teach me the box shuffle, but by then I was feeli
ng a little dizzy from all the Slings and Chasers he'd been buying. We left a li
ttle after 9pm to rendezvous with our parents and I feel asleep on the way home.
 I could still hear Marvine Gaye in the back of my mind.
 
 
Looking back, that was a pretty extraordinary birthday. But I have a feeling tha
t as those memories blend into dreams at the back of my mind, it helps to shape 
my expectations for surprises in the future.
 
I look forward to it.
 
 
 
John xxx
 
 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	02 March 2001 12:56
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.
Subject:	Journal - "Snappy"

 
journal 

2mar01 - 12:05pm  

mind : okay  	
body :  tired  	
soul : good  	
tune :  valley of the shadows (peshay) 	
 
It snowed this morning!
 
I crunched my way up to uni in a state of jocular confusion. It's spring and it 
still snows. I am NOT happy as I expect sunshine, bluebirds and grassy hills to 
skip across when my birthday arrives in 3 days time. I don't want to prowl throu
gh the petrochemical sleet which drizzles from the grey skies of the middlands o
n my way to uni. 
 
Actually, I pretty much hate snow. It's cold, kills delicate plants and drink-dr
ivers, and causes all sorts of wacky mishaps across Britain. Plus when I was a k
id, I was forced to participate in a particularly disasterous snowman-building p
roject at my Primary school. We spent two hours gathering enough snow to make a 
head and torso, and then I was sent to find suitable branches for arms. By then 
my hands were the colour of raw beef and frozen solid. I couldn't find any branc
hes so I arrived back with two rather curly twigs. The resulting snowman was a s
tunted, freakish dwarf-shaped mess made up of snow, dog shit, mud and grit and h
ad horribly freaky arms. If that wasn't enough, it's head suddenly fell onto Bar
ry Brewer. Barry was pinned to the ground with this giant ball of snow, suffered
 an asthma attack and, like all small children who experience sudden shock, vomi
ted profusely. The teacher than ushered us all inside where I collapsed against 
the radiator.
 
Looking back on it now, I was always involved in projects that ended in spectula
r disaster when I was an infant. We went to the Watercress line as a group to se
e a steam train. It all went brilliantly until Kerry-Ann Fisher pushed Neta Pate
l (I can remember the names !?!) off the edge of a disused platform and cracker 
her skull. After that Neta used to attack people with her teeth.
 
On another occasion, imprinted into my mind for eternity, was the incident invol
ving alcoholic secretary Mrs Ustas at our school. We were making candle-snakes a
nd she was supposed to judge them, but as she walked across the classroom, the s
tupid bitch caught her foot on a chair, fell over, and blew her nose out on the 
edge of a table. I roared with laughter, then shut up when I saw blood streaming
 from between her fingers as she cupped her busted nose. Then all the kids start
ed wailing in terror and Barry Brewer was yanked outside when teachers noticed h
e was wheezing and dry-heaving. After that little incident, no kid ever feigned 
sickness because that meant being taken to Mrs Ustas' office and her nose still 
scared everybody.
 
Today it's entirely different. With the exception of last week when Mark, a hous
emate of mine, accidentally set fire to his girlfriend, things are pretty much n
ice and dull. Which is why I'll be going to BubbleLove next week. It's the last 
one (they squeezed every last commercial drop out of Leicester and are moving on
 to Nottingham) and I want to get rinsed off my napper one last time before acce
pting that fact that I'm getting to old for all of this.
 
Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off for a nap. Then I'm going to load my rifle and 
go shoot me some dinner.
 
John xxx
 
[  ] This tiny portion of my journal is dedicated to Joshua Roulston, for helpin
g me securing the domain name www.vanillabeach.com. The Lord love you man. Peace
. 
go_public*hotmail.com

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	01 March 2001 16:27
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.
Subject:	Journal - "Mihem Entah"

journal 

1mar 01 - 4:13pm  

mind : tired  	
body : good  	
soul :  happy 	
tune : hardstep (dj rap) 	
 
Busy, so damn busy.
 
Well. Not really, I stayed most of the day in bed. I staggered back home this mo
rning with a feeble bag full of "morning-after" shopping (washing-up liquid, lem
ons, milk, bacon and a Tunnock's caramel wafer 4-pack). As I got to the front do
or, I noticed a sealed bin-liner blokcing the doorway.
 
"Oh shit" I whispered rubbing my stubble-ridden face. "The cleaner's here".
 
Our cleaner strikes terror into everyone's heart at C-Block. She has flame-strea
ked black hair and a heart of pure evil. She deliberately wakes everyone up in t
he morning with her damn vacuum-hoover by banging it against everyone's door. Pe
ople fear her. I've heard stories of people desperately needing the toilet in th
e morning, but forced to sit cross-legged until she goes.
 
But for me it was too late. She grabbed me by the nuts and dragged me upstairs.
 
"Arrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!" I screamed before going limp
 in her arms.
 
I came to in the kitchen where she had broken my ankles and had me suspended to 
the ceiling by some stout rope. 
 
"Why...why are you torturing me?" I blubbed. She pointed to the kitchen sink. My
 heart shrank. We implemented a washing-up rota last week out of sheer desperati
on and it turned out to be a pretty sound idea. Everyone (with the possible expc
etion of Alex who just complained furiously) made a half-arsed attempt at "doing
 their bit".  When I left yesterday the kitchen was gleaming like a virgin's thi
ghs. Now it was filthed-up with dirty dishes piled to the ceiling. My saucepan h
ad the burnt-remains of Paul's "Carbonara Noodle Supreme with extra potato wedge
s". In order to get that shit off once it's dried, you need gulf-war chemicals.
 
Anyway, after our cleaner had playfully kicked me around the kitchen a few times
, I swore on my heart that it would never be this way EVER again. That our kitch
en would become so clean that people from 3M and JVC would turn up in protective
 clothing to use our kitchen for mastering Laserdiscs. Fortunately she feel for 
my ruse and went upstairs to do some dusting.
 
I'm planning on moving out soon. I think my Evington Parks Road chums said I cou
ld sleep in their  outside toilet if I ever needed to. I might just take them up
 on the offer.
 
 
John xxx
 
go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	27 February 2001 13:01
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pa
scoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.V.; Bellage,
 A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew, C.S
.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody,
 P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; England, V.J.; Armstrong
, B.; Lindsay, A.J.; Poole, M.S.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "Universal Cream"

 
journal 

27feb01 - 12:4 

mind :  okay 	
body :  good 	
soul : good  	
tune :  rain (delerium) 	
 
Yo u'll have to excuse my journal tardiness this week. I've bee rushed off my fe
et doing stupid programming and as a result I have been unable to use Windows. I
nstead I'm forced to use sucky Linux.
 
Anyway, enough computer-speak. I'm still in a daze after last night. The America
ns who live across the hallway from me actually went and got pissed at the Rat b
ar which is nothing short of incredible. What was also incredible was that one o
f them (I reckon the guy with big hair) vomitted furiously in the wash-basin and
 sprayed spew all over my toothbrush. 
 
I have bought a new toothbrush.
 
I'm also having to re-evaluate my diet. I haven't been getting enough sweet stuf
f lately and as a result I'm feeling a bit tacky. Fortunately, Paul bought some 
sticky toffee pudding from Asda the other day. Say what you will about economy "
SmartPrice" Sticky Toffee Pudding, but it was a damn fine pudding. Yum.
 
I've also been keeping in touch with old friends via my college " ex-leavers" we
bsite. It's amazing the way some of them turned out. I've had one friend join th
e Christian Militia, another friend who did Electronics is now in Prison for Ind
ecent Exposure in a public toilet, and yet another friend is a "Mormon-Buster" (
whatever that is)
 
Possibly the most interesting (and distubring) news is that my friend Tim (who I
 was convinced was in a reform institute) has gone to the trouble of developing 
a website in which he shows us his collection of circa-1990 hard-drives. Each ha
rd-drive has full specifications, a picture and a detailed story of how he obtai
ned it ("This model is the ST15967A which I salvaged from the Gallagher's dustbi
n when they were practising for Definitely Maybe. They arrived home as I was uns
crewing it from the PC's mounting bracket and Liam tried to slice off my trouser
s with a Stanley knife, but I got away safely. The ST15967A has 17 bad clusters 
which is typical of the XXXX7A series....")
 
Anyway, I have an appointment with Leon so I'd best be out of here. 
 
John xxx
 
go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	23 February 2001 13:30
To:	Holt, J.P.
Cc:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; Wright, H.
V.; Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry
'; Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; Graves, C.D.; Hart, P.
M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.; Poole, M.S.; Hunter, J.M.; Lewis, P.R.; 
England, V.J.; Armstrong, B.
Subject:	Journal - "Universal Cream"

  
journal 

23feb01 - 13:00 

mind : tired	
body : okay	
soul : good	
tune : camels (santos)	
 
The university elections are almost over. All the candidates are in near-hysteri
a mode whereby they flap frantically for your attention and they keep pressing l
eaflets into your hands promising more and more wild things (I swear, one of the
 manifesto points was "Stainless-Steel musical revolving bra warmer for EVERY st
udent"). Bunting and balloons have been erected across the SU and trees are used
 to house flyers made on fabric. 
 
Strangely, I haven't voted yet. I remember one journal a while back whereby I sa
id that anyone who didn't vote should be shot, diced then publicly fed to the pi
gs. The thing is, none of this really applies to me as I'm graduating soon so tr
ying to sway my affections with cheap beer and talking bins is really quite usel
ess. 
 
Actually, the other day I had a rather pleasant daydream involving me at the hel
m. There were no other tiresome VPs to get in my way. I was sitting at my polish
ed-maplewood desk overlooking the Leicester skyline with nothing but a telephone
 and a pad in front of me. 
 
The telephone rang.
 
"President Supreme John" I said in my confident, important-sounding voice
 
The guy at the other end of the line talked to me.
 
"What?" I screamed "The leader of China cannot come over tonight????? He PROMISE
D me a game of Boggle!!!".
 
The guy sounded very apologetic. But I was not placated.
 
"THAT'S IT!!!" I yelled standing up. "I'M PRESSING.... THE BUTTON!!!!!". 
 
Beneath the desk was an angry-looking red button with the word "BUTTON" embossed
 aboved it. I pressed it. An alarm went off for a few seconds announcing that Ch
ina had been blown off the face of the Earth. A satellite image was confirmed - 
the planet looked like an apple with a giant bite taken out of it.
 
Sadly I was woken up by my lecturer poking me in the rib with a sawn-off car aer
ial he uses to gesticulate wildly at sums on the projector. 
 
Actually, come to think of it, I should have run for Presidency. I could have ru
n the university like my own private fiefdom, rewarded my faithful minions and b
rutally punish any proles who dare rise up against my iron rule. I'd force all w
omen to wear those fluffy bras I like, chemo-castrate all males and ensure every
one got a hot breakfast in the morning (which my mum says is very important). I'
d replace the popular student's weekend venue "MEGA" with "PEOPLE'S MEGA" whereb
y everyone would wear sackcloth, drink unrefined vodka and walk in brisk circumn
ibulation to the music of the Russian Red-Army. I'd declare war on DeMonford, br
anding them capitalist pigs. And I'd get to have a statue in my honour.
 
Or maybe Pete Lewis would make a better president. I'm not sure.
 
John xxx
 
go_public*hotmail.com

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	20 February 2001 16:50
Subject:	Journal - "Groove Armada"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND         TuneADaMonth: L.S.I. (The Shamen)

BODY          SOUL     

 	   NOW WITH 1024-BIT ENCRYPTION! 
20 - February - 2001 (4:30:PM)

Raichu      

Rejected Journal Entries (from /usr/jph13/journal/waste/)
 
 
October 11 2000
Hi there beatflies! 
My nuts are really hurting me today. I think I might have inadvertantely done so
mething to them the other day when I went out for my morning power-run. Actually
, if I have ended up twisting my balls then I'm quite proud because most major s
ports personalities from the 1970s have done it to themselves at least once in a
 while....
 
November 3 2000
...if i see another pensioner out on the dual carriageway in one of those stupid
 covered buggies, I swear I'll sharpen the edges on my hammer....
 
November 6 2000 (00:12:AM, sometime after an absynth party and sometime before I
 ended up in a police cell)
if i her venr catch anyone talkingf to me abiout the fuckign ewaflia eagles in p
ublic again thner mni wiq lr til ilrew bastardas
 
November 19 2000
I've been stuck in this computer room full of doughy-faced pond life for well ov
er half an hour. The UCAS prospectors are actually frightenned of staying in her
e to do the course test. They all wear sickly parodies of a smile, but one of th
em burst out screaming that the room smelt of coffee and vinegar and "no-one had
 correct teeth"....
 
December 13 2000
....Our original plan to go out and score pussy came to a temporary standstill a
fter 24-hour man at the Oadby Shell station caught us stealing wholemeal flour. 
We thought he was asleep because he was keeled over the counter cradling his hea
d in his arms. What was even more disturbing was as he was calling the police, o
ne arm was covered in teeth-marks. Fortunately, Mark managed to smash one glass 
door by using the Slush Puppie machine as a ramrod. Tommorow, everything will be
 back to normal. Such is 24 hour man.
 
December 29 2000
....They found Jeremy Beadle's bloated corpse washed up on Whitley Bay this morn
ing, alongside a crate full of Fraggle Rock videos....
 
 
 Designer Perfume 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	20 February 2001 12:51
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "Killa Bees"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND         TuneADaMonth: L.S.I. (The Shamen)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
20 - February - 2001 (12: 48 :PM) 

  It ain't safe no more...      

 

 
We need guns if it's going to work.
 
TonyStarks  	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	16 February 2001 12:44
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Wobbly Weekend"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND         TuneADaMonth: Pipes of Fife (The McLaughlan Pipe Orchestra) 

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
 16   February - 2001 (12:13:PM) 

 WackineZ      

My ears still hurt like a mad bastard.

We finally signed the contract for our new house. It's really nice. It has a fri
dge in the living room. Think of all the possibilities. 

Because I'm going to the be the working man of the house (I expect cherry pie an
d a steaming mug of hot black joe upon my return from work every night) I get tw
o rooms. Well... Two smallish rooms. One will be converted into a music studio w
ith all smoked glass and chrome an' that. The other room will consist of nothing
 more than a futon, some silk Chinese drapes, scented crystals and some whale so
ng tapes which I will pipe soothingly through some dinky little speakers when gi
rls come to visit or when I am stressed.

Unfortunately, I will be forced to live with my rinky-dink housemates who listen
 to Bizkit and do BMX maintenance in the hallway. I can just about deal with Mar
k (when he's not shaving his hair every 4 hours or chucking pizza boxes out into
 the hallway), and Alex is not too bad (although his taste for the kitsch border
s on the impossible), but Paul will have to learn NOT to mix bicycle parts with 
hygene...

Temporarily blinded by the hazy steam produced from the shower in our current do
micile, I blindly reached for my hair-gel. I grabbed a circular container and be
gan massaging copious amounts of goo into my scalp reading for a session of foll
icular hijynx. Sadly, after about a minute of sculpting and teasing I realised w
ith dawning horror that I wasn't treating my hair with "Charles Worthing Man-Gel
" which I purchased in a tax-free Boots at Heathrow. Instead, the gel was coarse
 and smelt very industrial. I took another peek at the container and realised I 
had inadvertantely picked up a jar of "Halfords Swarfega" - that shitty green st
uff mechanics use to get industrial oil of their grubby mitts. I tried rinsing b
ut it was too late. I ended up with hair even Elvis would have been jealous of.

Fortunately, my long term friend Helen Pascoe is moving in with her chums just d
own the road. Helen is an expert in Shaolin Drinking and a tricky sword-fighter 
(well... replace sword with "pool" and fighter with "player") so anyone who wron
gs me in ANY way risks tearing open a hell-fire sized tin of whoop. 

John x 

 MyUZIweighs a TON! 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	15 February 2001 17:32
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Worried"

 


BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND         TuneADaMonth: None  

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
 15  February - 2001 ( 5:30:PM) 

     

 Oh shit I think I have tinnitus.

John x 

 ButIMetAGirlAndSheWasFit.... 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	13 February 2001 14:18
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Facist Undertones"

 


BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND         TuneADaMonth: Soulfood (Big Bud) 

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
 13 February - 2001 (1:30:PM) 

   Siamese Uncle 

I'm in two ways about sabbatical elections. I believe that every student should 
flex their democratic muscle and vote for their controlling entity, but I fuckin
g hate the stupid posters and flyers that go up around uni. They usually fall in
to one of three categories:

* Some stupid catchphrase : "Vote for Liz Sure - She's a SURE fire winner". I me
an, for gods sake.

* Use of sexual euphemisms/suggestiveness "FREE SEX* .... *only kidding, vote fo
r Tim Asshole"

* Pathetic attempts to gain favour by making unrealistic demands: "Cheap Beer! 2
4-hour radio station! Internal airport!"

Now I know what you're all thinking - "John, you're a wholesome man whose honest
 trifles make you a perfect candidate for running as student president". Oh but 
I wish it were that easy! First of all, I have a history of sleaze and corruptio
n. During the student union elections at my college, I headed a smear campagin a
gainst my competitor and enigma Zarita Westmore. Miss Westmore was a delightful 
creature, deft in the field of needlwork tapestry, human anatomea and physic. Je
alous of her ample chest and feiry mind, I and several others of my ruthless gan
g tacked to the wall bills announcing that she had stood down from the election 
due to her coca elixir addicition. Simultaneously, I spread rumour in the gentle
mens quarters that she was currently the lover of the venemous and fearful Leona
rd LeDio, a gangster, a punk and a rockerfeller.

On the other hand, I promised the voting public that I would reduce the price of
 plum milkshakes, enlarge the surrounding games fields to include most of the la
nd from the neighbouring borough of Wilke, and place a Yakult vending machine in
 every corridor. 

I was horrified when I lost the election. I wondered why people would want to vo
te for that temptress!!! That scarlet whore that had been whelped by mamon himse
lf! Wheres I, a modest man with a pleasing disposition had been alienated! 817 v
otes had been conned out of my hands by Miss Westmore, whereas I only attained 6
3 votes. I briefly entertained the notion that she might have slept with the 817
 mis-led people, but even she could not have managed that feat in such a short d
uration. 

Thus, I was a broken man. I swallowed my pride and vowed never to stand for a po
sition of responsibility ever again. Save for the time I threw a turkey & steame
d chestnut bap at Edwina Curry during a book-signing in Bohset, I've stayed out 
of the political limelight.

But if I were going to vote, I'd vote for the honey trap because at least she'd 
be nice to look at everyday.

John  x 

 

What a classic flourish!  	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	12 February 2001 10:42
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "JunkMeats"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth: Smack my bitch up (Prodigy) 

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
08 February - 2001 (3:15:PM) 

  Moby's Myths 

Alright. Today I'll be rambling about how much of a prick Moby is. Now, I respec
t Moby for his keen musical ability and some of the tracks on "Play" are pretty 
neat, but I have to disagree with his views on Veganism which he portrays in the
 inside sleeve of his album cover.

 

"A vegan diet is materially more efficient than an animal product based diet. By
 that I mean that you can feed lots more people with grain directly than by feed
ing that grain to a cow and then killing the cow. In a world where people are st
arving it seems criminal to fatten up cows with grain that could be keeping peop
le alive. " 

Not true. The European Union was pouring tons of grain into the Atlantic around 
the time Live Aid was going on. It's not lack of food which causes problems, it'
s distribution. Europe and America have a huge grain surplus which is constantly
 being skimmed and dumped and food cannot get through to the third world due to 
war. If a faction sees a rival faction getting fed then it will try to prevent t
his, i.e. cut off the food source. Animal product farming has never been cheaper
.

 

"....a vegetarian or vegan diet is a million times healthier than a carnivorous 
diet...."

Wrong! No-one eats "a meat diet". Every meat eater instinctively knows the value
 of balancing meat with a good mix of fruit, vegetables and dairy produce. Meat 
is an essential form of protein and is part of why we are omnivirous. The body c
annot easily assimilate a vegan diet, on the other hand, and many vegans need to
 take vitamin & protein suppliments. Vegans commonly suffer from ailments such a
s poor skin conditions and eyesight.

 

"Vegan food is nice to look at. Compare a plate with grains and fruits and veget
ables to a plate with pigs' intestines, chicken legs, and chopped up cows' muscl
es."

Yeah, fair comparison (!). I could equally say "A freshly-fried steak looks much
 more appealing than a pile of muddly potatoes and unwashed cabbages". The compa
rison is unfair is designed to provoke a biased image. Very few people eat pigs 
intestines. Like any food, if meat is carefully prepared and cooked it looks del
icious.

 

"The raising of farm animals is environmentally disastrous. All of the waste fro
m animal farming gets washed into our water supply, poisoning our drinking water
 and fouling our lakes, streams, and oceans."

This is a fair point, but the same can be said about crop farming. Crops are reg
ularly subjected to heavy pesticides, herbicides and high-concentrate chemical f
ertilisers. When it rains, the fertiliser runs off into the water table and lake
s causing geometric expansion of algae. This happens at the lakes in the country
side where I live at home and come summer the streams and ponds always look like
 green porridge. Animal farming is now stringently monitored and maintained due 
to recent health scares, and is safer than ever.

 

"A great deal of medical evidence points to the fact that a diet centered around
 animal products is terrible for you. Animal product based diets have been repea
tedly proven to cause and exacerbate cancer, heart disease, obesity, impotence, 
diabetes, etc."

Only excessive consumption of meat causes these problems. But everything in exce
ss can be bad for you. Medical evidence says that a glass of red wine a day help
s prevent heart problems, but a bottle a day will destroy your liver. If eaten i
n moderation, which most people do, meat helps keep you energetic and healthy an
d builds muscle. 

 

"I love animals, and I believe that a vegan diet causes less suffering than a di
et centered around animal products."

Define "less suffering". Although it is still unclear as to whether or not plant
s can feel pain, they respond to stimuli. Plants are still lifeforms and so kill
ing them for food is still "Murder". Make of this what you will, but I don't con
sider one form of life "more significant" than another.

 

"Animals are sentient creatures with their own wills, and it seems wrong to forc
e our will onto another creature just because we're able to."

Animals which are farmed for their dairy produce, such as cows, have been domest
icated for so long now it is unlikely that would prosper equally in the wild. Pi
ebald cows suffer sunburn, yet cannot understand the concept of seeking shelter 
during a summer day. Although this is not an argument for keeping cows domestica
ted, many farm animals are respected for their contribution to our diet. The cow
 is sacred to the Hindu, meat such as chicken has to be specially prepared (Hala
l) before being eaten by a Muslim, and some Christian religious figures were fis
hermen. 

 

Please understand it is not for me to disrepect vegansim or vegetarianism. Most 
vegetarians genuinely do not like the taste of meat, and besides, people have a 
right to eat what they want. Most vegetarians do not think any less of meat eate
rs. But I hate it when the small minority of such people think the rest of us ha
ve to eat meat because it's there. Although I eat meat, I'm still aware of anima
l cruelty and such matters, but I'm an omnivor and I like the taste. Apart from 
Gorillas, most animals are omnivorous. I'd like to associate myself with a couga
r or a wolf than some vegetarian animal like a tree-shrew or sheep.

Which is why Moby should stick to what he's good at - making capital from semi-c
atchy dance music.

John x 

Visit Moby's site to get the other view at http://www.moby-online.com/ 

   STOP! 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	08 February 2001 15:48
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Jingles"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth: Muzik (LTJ Bukem)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
08 February - 2001 (3:15:PM)

 Scyentiphyk  

My head is is full of termites and shards of plastic this morning. This always h
appens when I take a powernap which turns into a fully-blown sleep of 7 hours. T
he upshot is that I'm more awake and alert, but my eyes feel fried and my head r
eally hurts.

I don't fell in the mood for writing a journal entry today, so let me entertain 
you with a chivarly of amusing conundra - an excerpt of netchat between me and j
osh.

 Doyou really have an Atari 2600 games console?

 No i made that all up about the boot sale

 Oh.

 Some sick fuck wanted to buy those fictious issues of "Fur Pie". Can yo
u believe that?

 Yes.

 I thought you had issues of fur pie anyway.

 No but if I did I'd slip them under yoursisters bed and tell your mum

 Eat shit

 Eminems scared of gays

 Whzat made you say that?

 I'm reading reuters atthe moment and it says that he changed hotels beca
use he was staying at manchesters gay village

 Gay Village? That sounds scary. Like a real rural village but full of e
vil people

 Gays aren't evil

 I wasn't talking about gays I was talking about people from machester

 oh. 

 Is tom therE?

 he's doing something wityh php

 Is that a date-rape drug?

 It's a dynamic scripting thing. Like CGI only *BETTER*

 Is CGI a date-rape drug?

 John let the date-rape drug thing GO.

 I'm coming down to Romsey to melt in your mouth you crazy fuck.

 Huge dicks slapping your tender mouth.

 I'm learning javaserver

 JSP. Any good?

 No, the book has a toaster on the front. and its difficult toread.

 Any pictures?

 No. 

 I like Anna Kornikova

 No chance m8. Shes sexy and fresh and your stupid and lame

 EAT FUCK

 And don't use shit text like "m8". 

 In the kingdom of the blinkd the one eyed man is king

 But we don't do anyone who's blind. Babybird might be.

 Raidio 1 was good.

John x

  And they don't stop railing 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	07 February 2001 13:23
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Cornucopia"

 


BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth:  Welcome to Paradise (Green Day)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
07 -  February - 2001 (12:42:PM)

 JunkMeats  

Sometimes I curse the day I first started to tinker with computers. I think it w
as sometime when I was 4. My parents had bought a computer to keep me occupied b
ecause there'd been some kiddy-fiddler arrested down the lakes nearby and all th
e parents were up in arms. So while most other mothers were writing stern letter
s to the council with the hopes of appearing on the local news slot, my mum was 
busy tidying the house and letting me explore the machine.

The first computer I owned was an Amstrad CPC. One of the more valiant contendor
s the Sinclair ZX Spectrum. It's kind of strange when you think about it: Clive 
Sinclair was this balding, funny little Cambridge geek, while Alan Sugar was a s
weaty, hairy pragmatist with pure business interests. The Amstrad CPC was a grea
t computer for its time. For a start, it came with a built-in cassette drive. Th
en you had the option of either buying a colour or a green-screen monitor - but 
you had to get a monitor with the computer. That way, the TV in the living room 
was free and the computer picture quality was always perfect.

Like everyone else, I started off playing games. I know everyone says "Oh, games
 are shit nowadays. No gameplay. Not like back in the day...", and that's bolloc
ks. Give me Daytona USA to Ms Pac Man anyday. However, at the time the Amstrad w
ere very good and much better than most of the games on lesser computers. All th
e games had quaint 80s names like "Mr Wong's Loopy Laundry", "NutPeg" and "Therm
oBlaster". 

Sadly, when I was around 5 my brother caught me chewing the joystick cable (prob
ably my first real vice) and prompty confiscated it from me. The only game I cou
ld play using keys was "Jet Set Willy" (a favourite, but completed many a time) 
and "Enduro Racer" (bor-ring!!). Then my brother confiscated the entire game col
lection after I put the "Jet Set Willy" cassette on top of a desklamp to see wha
t would happen. Fortunately, my dad was able to salvage the tape reel from the b
urnt plastic and put it into another tape, but I was out of games. 

This forced me to start using the computer in different ways. I'd noticed big br
other would occasionally copy bits of computer programs from the Amstrad Magazin
e he used to buy. Amstrad Action was written by this guy in a disused barn. The 
guy borrowed some money from a bank to start up the magazine and called his litt
le company "Future Publishing", now Britain's biggest computer literature publis
hing firm. 

I was able to type in the little programs from the magazine and run them. Althou
gh I didn't understand how or why they worked, the thrill I got from seeing litt
le stickmen move on the screen and programs that made colours and noises and spi
rographs drove me to work on larger, bigger projects. Soon I was able to deciphe
r bits of the program code and adapt programs to my own liking. After that I was
 able to come up with my own computer programs. 

Sadly, puberty struck when I was a teenager and I needed a more serious computer
 to play impressive games on. I got given an Atari ST, then a Commodore Amiga an
d now a PC. Sadly, while most of my friends get to spend all day listening to ra
p music and having sex, I'm stuck in rooms that smell of coffee and vinegar look
ing at a screen full of numbers. This doesn't cause problems for me because I'm 
a bit of a tiger when I go out at night and that sort of makes up for it, but I'
ve just been reading an article on computer radiation. Computer Monitors nowaday
s have to conform to stringent low-radiation guidelines, but this wasn't always 
the case. The monitor that came with the Amstrad had a screen as flat as a goldf
ish bowl, and could cook a chicken in under 30 minutes. Now I'm getting worried 
about the effect 15 years of computers have had on my balls. I any potential fut
ure wife to give birth to a mutant like something out of a Manga film.

I'll have to think about this very carefully.

 

 

 

 Weebots  	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	05 February 2001 15:36
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'm.t.russell*e247.com'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadm
an, J.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand
.co.uk'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.;
 Bellage, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; 
Flew, C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.
D.; Hart, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Morning Run"





BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth: Cast No Shadow (Oasis)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
05 -  February - 2001 (2:57:PM) 

 Sneaker  

I've just cleaned my room. I know. I was shocked too. But I had a few hours to s
pare yesterday so I attacked it with a hoover, some terricloths and a spot of Ji
f. 

The downside is that I've accumulated too much stuff to transport with me to any
 PND (potential new domicile), so I've boxed up all my non-essential gear and am
 having a bit of a boot sale.

Here's some of the stuff which is on offer:

* Atari 2600 games console with 2 CX40 joysticks. Games include QUACK! adventure
, Funnypeg, SlamBall and PowerCopter 2

* 400 Pogs, 2 Kinis and 15 "Special Edition" Golden Wonder Pogs complete with wr
apper

* The completist's collection of "DJ Ham Sandwhich", "NuTown" and "Marrow"

* Kids Games including: Mr Frostie, Game of Life, My Cat Has Fleas and Mousetrap

* Six issues of the popular Japanese animal comic "Fur Pie"

* 3 years subscription to "Bloke" magazine. (A bit like FHM, but with less titta
ge and more stern "Men's Health" type questions)

* Videos: "Manaquin", "Free Willy 2", "Indiana Jones and the last Crusade", "Cla
vinova" and "Buns Vol. 6"

* A bread-making kit. Needs a plug.

* Two bath-towels, one with a Watership Down motif, and one lime green

* A tupperware box filled with ponytails

* A Toshiba PortaPuter laptop PC. 386DX w/ 4meg Ram and 30meg HD. Monochrome scr
een. Damaged.

* A nearly-full bottle of poppers (a folly from my youth)

* Some packets of ketchup stolen from Cafe Fabio.

If you are interested in any of the above, then call me and I'll negotiate a pri
ce. To tell you the truth, I don't really have use for any of the above any more
, so I can practically give them away.

 

  Pitchshift 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	02 February 2001 12:54
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Squeezed Into Three"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth:  Never Ever (All Saints)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
02 -  February - 2001 ( 11:52:AM)

 Down Right Rude 

I am much vexed as my 10.30 computer lab was cancelled today so I could've slept
 in. Instead, I'm at this drizzly terminal keying my thoughts onto this cheerles
s computer with only a couple of token friends to amuse my microwaved brain.

I'm looking for a job right about now. Something just to tie me over for a year 
in Leicester before I attack the blue-chip companies. I'd like a job as a graphi
cs dude for some hip label, but I know it's not going to happen. So I've decided
 to get a job through meek deception and pretend to know shit about stuff I have
 zero expertese in.

"Yes, I'd very much like to work as a senior consultant for Britain's fourth-big
gest carpet retailer!"

"Will you suck my cock and swallow every last drop?"

"If that's what it takes, put me on the next bus for dick!"

Depending on how well I can deceive people (and presumably how much sperm I can 
swallow), I reckon I can spoon in around £21,000 as a starting point. But then I
 get shafted by the council with PAYE, tax, and council tax. 

Homosexual euphamisms aside, while all my still-student friends will be workshy 
and NUS, I'll be some freelancing nobody scratching out a job in the city and st
arting on the long marathon which is the rat-race. Can you imagine that? Brief c
ase, whit shirt, tie and a sportscoat. Sandwhiches grabbedfrom the vending machi
ne. Free spring water. A suitcase (Fuck!) and combed hair. Wearing the mask 9 to
 5 that eventually sticks to your face when your 30 and going grey. Then comes m
arriage, the pleasures of impregnation sex and kids who are a carbon copy of eve
rything you love and hate about yourself and your spouse. 

All this thinking has made me decide not get a job. I'll stay in the nice safe c
onfines of univeristy and do everything I'm familiar and comfortable with. Cheap
 booze, cheap clubbing, zero tax, shoestring responsibility, an academic environ
ment with cushions on every wall. A caged bird in a house with central-heating. 
Access to pretty, dazed, females.

If ever there was a time I needed reassurance, It would be now.

John x

 

 Naz!!! 	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	29 January 2001 14:11
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "DreamScape"



BIORYTHMIC ANALYSIS 

MIND          TuneADaMonth: Love Island (Norman Cook)

BODY          SOUL     

 	  	
29 - January - 2001 (02:03:PM)

Peanut Brittle

I'm feeling a damn sight more chilled out than I did before my exams......

[journal entry from 24-01-2001]

Sigh. Paul has just staggered back from "Life" (a dubious night-time establishme
nt not worthy of my patronage) and vomited prostigiously all over the shower-roo
m floor. As soon as I saw him keeled over, squirting bile and chunks of pasta fr
om his nose and making barking noises, I started to laugh. However, I soon stopp
ed as Mark tended him and started to mop of the puke with MY bath-towel.

"THAT'S MY FUCKING BATH-TOWEL!" I screamed in a surprisingly masculine voice. No
rmally I tend to sound a bit shrill when I'm genuinely angry.

"Oh come on" soothed Mark, "You leave all your stuff down here. How was I to kno
w". His girlfriend Vickie looked at me to emphasize the point.

"I DO NOT! AND IT DOESN'T GIVE YOU THE RIGHT TO DO THIS TO ME MARK!!!" By now, m
y throat had started to slough its lining.

Suddenly, as if on cue, Mark and Alex came out of their rooms clutching armfuls 
of trinkets I'd accidentally left in their respective quarters over the past few
 months. It included a blue shirt, two ESP promo CDs, my school bag, a silver Wa
lkman, a tattered copy of "Real Blondes" (100% genuine blondes!) we'd used to de
corate the ghetto, a dressing gown and a small plastic Pikachu enclosed inside a
 plastic capsule. 

I left Paul spewing his stomach lining into a Tupperware bowl and opted to rinse
 the spikes out of my hair in the washbasin upstairs. 

As I made my way into my room, I decided that sleep was in order. No sooner had 
I opened my book onto page 18 of "Leon's Musings" then those cunt-fuckers in D b
lock started to play The Beach Boys. Haphazardly, I slipped back into my chinos 
and Tokyo Black shirt, and made my way over their to alert them of their nuisanc
e.

"No, YOU don't understand my friend" I said. I was getting mildly aroused as I d
o when I'm assertive. "You're music is keeping me awake and I have an exam tomor
row." A lie, but I'd had enough of "Surfin' USA". This is Leicester for fucks sa
ke.

"Sorry, mate. But it's a private party. We've finished us exams". The prick who 
informed me of this was wearing a table-cloth patterned shirt which instantly ea
rned him "Dick of the Month" in my mental catalogue.  

"It's 3am. You're contravening every law in the accommodation handbook. Make no 
mistake, our warden's Irish and that means he's not to be messed with". My brain
 started to pulse sickeningly. I felt like Michael Douglas in that movie "Fallin
g Down".

"Sorry, mate". The guy said and slammed the door in my face. The music went on u
nabated.

At 4.23am (I know because I noted the time down) they switched from Beach Boys t
o Aqua. This was akin to being taken from the drip torture and then having pins 
stuck under your kneecaps.

"That's it" I growled. "That is FUCKIN' it". I switched in my studio (14 plugs!!
!) while murmuring the NASA pre-rocket launch check.

"Guidance - Go. Main Link - Go. Navigation - We are Go. Control - Go. Comms - Go
....", I booted up WinAmp and loaded "Wake Up" by RATM. I locked my door and pos
itioned the speakers next to the offending wall. "Barbie Girl" was in full swing
....

But not for long.

The volume was cranked up to 12, The bass was super-injected through my soundcar
d and again though my amp. I removed all vibratables from the shelves and covere
d my ears.

Then I pressed play.

I don't remember much of what happened after that, except for three of my shot-g
lasses exploding and an entire crate of "Aldi Cola" (addictive stuff) going in t
o meltdown. My last coherent thought as 285 watts of pure metal blasted through 
my body was Wow, that Cola sure looks like Chernobyl.

I fainted. 

 

[For some reason, I also experienced a flash-back of when I was 8, eating soup i
n front of the TV. And a unicorn in slow motion.]

 

.........

Apparently they cut the power off to all the blocks in an attempt to track down 
the source. Security found me unconscious with low-level tinitus, face down in p
ool of blood from my nose. Damage included 15 broken windows, structural trauma,
 Pete's watch had stopped working, and Mark's fish were all dead. The entire par
ty of assholes next door were in shock and the noise disturbance was a radius of
 8km. (The next day, one of my friends in Evington told me that they had heard "
Strange Thunder sounding a bit like Rage"). As the police were talking to the wa
rdens outside, I quickly forged a sick note from my doctor saying I was "unwell 
and prone to kickin' it late at night". As a result, the block next door have mo
ved out.

This only goes to show - In the kingdom of the Mary Gee, the large-speakered dud
e is king. 

John x

 

WatchItNow	  e-mail problems? : go_public*hotmail.com	
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	15 December 2000 14:51
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Downtown"

John's Journal 	                15 DECEMBER 2000

 
I want to let you all into a secret before I go.
 
The truth is, I have had such a strange month that nothing really seems to matte
r any more except trying to make it. I'm almost scared in a way.
 
Here's the secret: Time is short. Really short. So much has happened over the la
st two and half years that I'm having a hell of a time trying to keep up. I'd li
ke to think that I haven't changed (I always considered my peak being those few 
precious months of being 18), but I know that's not true. 
 
I think what I'm trying to say is that you are all doing so well, that maybe you
 don't realise that being young is a one-way street. Don't try to turn back beca
use you can't. But also remember that you're in the driving seat and that you ca
n manuever anyway you want to when going forward.
 
I'd like to finish the journal entry for this year with a quote from Macolm X. A
fter he had come out of a university debate (during his extremist NOI years) wit
h some students, he turned to his colleague Alex Hadley and said "The white kids
, and the back ones too. They are our hope. The rest of us have been living in a
 lie". 
 
Live the truth.
 
Over and out.
 
John x - " HaveYourPeopleCallMyPeople "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	11 December 2000 12:11
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Crush"

John's Journal 	                11 DECEMBER 2000

 
I'm, like, so totally knackered. We crammed into the highfield vixens' house yes
terday to exchange presents over a warmed-bowl of mulled wine. Sadly, Mark got d
runk on punch and ended up getting into a heated discussion about wanting to rep
rogram Hanna's Poo-Chi "I want it to feel the misery I endure every day". Paul a
lso ended up trying to feed Bea's rats the cinnamon sticks from the wine.
 
But it was not all bad, we made paper chains and enjoyed the trinkets from the c
rackers we pulled (I got a mini screwdriver set and a couple of shrink-wrapped d
ice). Charlie also put on her "Jive Bunny's Cool Yule Hits" and Pete, Alex and M
arc gave a surprisingly stirring rendition of that song by Slade. After watching
 "The Adam & Joe Show" and a couple of mince-pies, we wobbled home. 
 
I collapsed on my bed and brushed my deadline project sheets out of the way with
 a tired hand. I also set my biological clock to wake me just before the Swedes 
did so I could find some way of annoying them. As I was on the way to a deep and
 restful nap, I was awoken by Mark downstairs wailing and throwing himself into 
random walls. Upon phoning him, It had turned out that he'd walked the 2 miles b
ack from highfields only to have forgotten his keys. He was busy writing a song 
about it.
 
Unable to resume my journey into the unconciousness, I pulled my pad of cartridg
e paper over and began inking sketches of Team Rocket, and various Pokemon. I ca
n't quite get Marowak right, but my Jigglypuff and Pigeotto are near perfect now
. I'm hoping to send some of my doodles off to Project Pikachu in order to recei
ve the fame and I recognition I deserve. This fantasy started to blend seamlessl
y into dreams and I nodded off.
 
Sadly, it was all too short. I awoke four hours later and remembered I had to at
tend a compulsory surgery lecture. My tutour is a professor, see, so it gives hi
m privleages like legal torture for tardy students. Before I left, I shoved Erik
's toothbrush up the crack of my arse and did some weight-lifting. 
 
I'm not sure about Christmas anymore. When I was younger, I used to believe in A
LL aspects of it - pagan and christian. Even until well into college I would be 
in grips of ecstatic frenzy when I awoke to see the carrots and mince-pies parti
ally scoffed. It never even occured to me that Santa didn't exist, even when one
 year I left out some tainted milk and my dad got the trembles the next day.
 
Sadly, today I just get depressed at having to wade through homeless people and 
near-bankrupt charities full of desperate honeytraps who'll do all things nonsex
ual to prize you fro mwhat little money we have. I've also ran out of ideas for 
potential Chrimbo presents. Going back to being a nipper, I used to desperately 
crave for a Mr Frostie. I never got one 'cos my parent's couldn't afford it (and
 covered the fact up by sitting me down and explaining the intrinsic lack of any
 educational value)
 
"But mum, it makes slush puppies" I used to wail.
 
"We'll buy you one!" said my mother looking tired.
 
"Yeah, but I can make my own flavours!" I insisted. In my mind, I pictured a Mr 
Frostie drink the size of Lebanon, covered in fruit syrup.
 
ONe year I got a "Lights-Alive" toy. It was great - imagine an etch-a-sketch but
 using colourful dots instead. After that I started to understand the correlatio
n between my dad working long shifts and the elaboracy of our Christmas celebrat
ions so I shut up and he didn't have to work so much.
 
Today I just want everyone to get on. I'm not going to dick you all with the old
 "The best Christmas present for me is your love" (if you want my opinion, the b
est christmas present would be Christine Aguilera and DJ Rap taking turns in blo
wing me), but I think it would be nice if everyone made an effort to look at eac
h other once in a while.
 
Merry Christmas.
 
John x - "KissThatBliss"
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	08 December 2000 14:58
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "Rythm of Your MIND"

John's Journal	               08 DECEMBER 2000

 
I'm going to have a bit of a time this weekend I can tell you. What with the vol
uminous amounts of workage I have to complete and all the washing I have to do, 
it's a wonder I'll have any time to complete my promo. But I must admit I'll fee
l motivated since meeting with the Ents comittee who have expressed interest in 
my song "Urban Connection". 
 
Mark and Paul want to drag me to a 'ip-'op night at the Charlotte with DJ Footwo
rk and "The Nu-Kru Dragon Alliance"  (featuring the frantic MC and two criminal 
roodbwoys) but I'm not sure. I want to go to the universitie's tacky night "Mega
" so's that I can hook up with Phillip and find out how MiniBubbleLove went. 
 
In fact, I might hook up with Pascoe's lot and see what they're doing. No doubt 
it'll be something fun-fuelled and close to the edge. Maybe we can go out clubbi
ng somewhere or do an allnighter and get a curry.
 
Oh shit, someone's coming.....
 
John x - "PubertyBeat"
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	07 December 2000 13:35
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Rythm of Your MIND"

John's Journal	               07 DECEMBER 2000

 
I've really got to get round to making my bed sometime. Properly. I was horrifie
d to find out that I've been napping on top of badly-wrinkled sheeting, a conker
 and some free jellybabies which fell out of my "J21" flyer pack. I can't help i
t. Please understand hip-hoppers that I'm a working dude and NOT a home-maker. W
hile, it must be said, Ilike to occasionally dabble in the art of home improveme
nt, I'm usually loatheto the mundanaties of hoovering and other tiresome domesti
c neccessities. 
 
This said, things are starting to get a little flaky at chez John. Pictures that
 were once lovingly 'tacked  to the wall are starting to fall off. CDs that were
 meticulously ordered by artiste and chronolog now lay scattered all over my IKE
A worktop. Even my underpants have ceased to be folded and stashed away.
 
At the moment, once I get home from a hard days learning and reprazenting at uni
, I just collapse on my bed and moan gently. I don't even sleep properly anymore
, I just fantasize about getting up and taking my groovebox to a club and actual
ly doing it.
 
But things are looking up at the moment. The workload is getting slightly lighte
r in lieu of the yuletide period (anyone who tells me to have a "cool yule" will
 receive broken teeth. I'm not joking) and I've got lots of nice things to look 
forward to. Charlie's posse are inviting me and my kith over to theirs for a chr
istmas session of mince pies and heavy wine. I've also got "Ol' Joseph" my sound
card working again. Sort of. This means I can finish off my album on time.
 
Pete said an interesting thing to me the other day. I was in his room getting su
nburn from his UV blacklight while looking at the sketch on the wall of how he'd
 like to be the first person to play a gig on the international spacestation. I'
d just spent 6 hours hammering out my formal specs homework and my eyes were lik
e boiled eggs. Suddenly, while packing excess baccy into his rollie, Pete mumble
d "People always look for an excuse to let their hair down. Nobody every wants t
o enjoy life for the hell of it." I pressed him to elaborate. "Well.. think abou
t it... The last good party was millenium eve. Christmas is like a diet version 
of that. Why wait for religious significance to enjoy yourself? We weren't born 
to serve. We were born to exist". Pete's cheek had a faint spots of red - demons
trating the absolute boundaries of feeble rage he could acheive. 
 
Now Pete has smoked enough weed to understand the true significance of the Beatl
e's album "Revolver", but he thinks straight most of the time. I began to get th
e gist of what he was saying before he collapsed next to me in a daze.
 
Thus, I staggered upstairs and made plans to bring back "Wacky Week". 
 
"Wacky Week" was a failed experiment into relieving tedium back in my salad days
 at the Lodge. It was my hopes that I could gel my housemates together in a temp
orary homogenous mass of fun. The birth of "Wacky Week" (hereforward known as "T
he Project") began with my knocking on Al's door at 8am, forcing my way in, and 
spraying him with a combination of shaving foam and butane. The Project only las
ted three days before one of the wardens came 'round and asked us who was respon
sible for the vegetable oil on the stairs in Green block. By then I had discover
ed a pack of foxes in Gilbert-Murray so I closed the file on that little gig.
 
But I think The Project needs to be re-born. So tonight, I'm going to get drunk 
and perforate all contraceptives in the house. It's not particulary funny or wac
ky, but I think the outcome in 9 months time will be interesting.
 
John x - " FeelTheEnergyRushOnToYourFace "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	07 December 2000 12:33
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "20 lifetimes in a second"

John's Journal	               03 DECEMBER 2000

 
Fuckin' hell.
 
Do you remember Science back at secondary school? Remember how those strips of m
agnesium would burn so intensly and so briefly? This used to fascinate me. It go
t to the point where I used to kife whole rolls of the stuff, just so I could ta
ke it down to the bottom of my garden and burn it. I'd chop the magnesium up int
o little strips, making time stand still just enough to let me watch the pure wh
ite light eat up the soft, dull metal.
 
One day, I burnt so much and stared so hard that I was temporarily blinded. For 
around 3 or 4 days the flares from my sessions with the magnesium had stamped a 
greeny-black tattoo on the back of my retina. Although I was 15 and learning to 
be a man, I cracked in to my own fear and cried to my mum for help. 
 
As is always the case, she was able to help and the doctor said I was very lucky
. As I trotted out of the Health Centre, I swore never to do something stupid li
ke blinding myself ever again.
 
Five years later, I did just that.
 
I met this girl at The Fan Club. I got in on with her only to find out that she 
was sweet
sixteen and with strings attached. One string was that she had a boyfriend. I me
t the guy and was pretty non-plussed. The other string was that she really, real
ly liked me. I gave
her my phone number without knowing any of this, and me and Naadir hooked up wit
h her and
her mates. It all went pretty well and we ended up having three-hour phone calls
, talking about things and agreeing how wierd it was that we knew each other so 
well.
 
Three days later, I checked my answering machine. Three calls from her. It sudde
nly occured to me that she was getting keen pretty damn quickly, and that this w
as skating the edge. I spoke to a few people to help gauge a response. 
 
The females said "She's 16. They're clingy at that age because they're mature en
ough to advance beyond a simple relationship, but still too young to understand 
what it is that they really want. Be gentle with her."
 
The males said "She's young, she's legal, go for it!"
 
I phoned her today and broke it off. She was hystertical. Hysterical about losin
g her 20-year old bit on the side that she'd knew for 3 days? She pleaded to mee
t up with me,
just to spend 20 minutes with me. 10 minutes? 5? No deal, I told her. I'm sorry.
 I didn't mean to hurt her. I had exams. I was going away. Hey boyfriend was her
 priority. She deserved better. Whatever.
 
I sat on my bed, feeling like King Asshole once again. Remembering her stroking 
my arm. Remembering the way our fingers interlocked tightly when we were togethe
r. I couldn't help but feel like I'd stripped away her surface (something I'm ke
y at) and tapped into her vunerability. 
 
I was blind. But now I can see.
 
 
John x - " ThatsJustTheWayItIs "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	05 December 2000 14:56
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Space Doubt"

John's Journal	               05 DECEMBER 2000

 
Ah mate, I'm like SO totally under pressure right now. What with Claire causing 
rollercoasters with my hormones (she traced me down, but I laid out the situatio
n for her), and the geometric amount of work I have to endure. It's getting kind
a hectic.
 
But on the plus side, I hooked up with my friend Jason Darch at Snappers and he 
was telling me all about MTV Bubblelove. Apparently it was still a bit toff, but
 he got to see Mrs Julse lip-sync to "It's my turn" which is a bitching little n
umber.
 
Right now, I want to run away and lay low for a bit. Keep my head from falling a
part. I know you all think that i'm being a typical "male", but my family needs 
me and I need them. I got people to see at home who I've been neglecting. 
 
Shit, I don't know. I'm fucked up.
 
I've got to focus on my project right now and get all this fucking work out of t
he way. Don't the tutours realise just how much work we have? It's like, their i
ndividual modules should take precedence over everyone elses. I really don't nee
d this right now. I have enough trouble trying to program the washing machines w
ithout having to type up 3000 words a night.
 
*sigh*. I gotta get back to work. 
 
Everyone take care and know that I love you.
 

 
John x - " FearOfTheDark "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	04 December 2000 15:24
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "Kiss my Napster"

John's Journal	               04 DECEMBER 2000

 
Sorry!!!
 
My e-mail address ( jph13*le.ac.uk) was stuck on PCFS without forwarding so I fo
und out that I had 84 e-mail messages dating back from October tha I never read.
 Please send any musings to jph13*mail.cfs.le.ac.uk
 
Bah.
 
So, here are some quick replies to the persons out there who sent me mail messag
es throughout the October/November period:
 
Thom Stuart. Re "The Feast" 
Thankyou very much for the grouse. It was very tender and we ate it with chestnu
t stuffing and a claret dressing. My wife and I extend our deepest gratitutes to
 you and your kinship in Romsey. We would like to thank Joshua for the bottles o
f Carnba from his surjorun around the Franken Islands of the pacific, and we muc
h enjoyed the photoscopes of the native toucans. I hope your friend Phillip feel
s better after his brief bout of palsy. I recommend the tonic bought at Ridley's
 in Stopmarket.
 
 
Keira Murphy. Re "Walkabout"
Right. This is what you do. You get one of those tire crowbars, the one with the
 split notch at one tip. Hold it about one-third of the way up so that you get m
aximum swingage. Now, offer your mate a pint and as they open their mouth to dri
nk it, swing the crowbar full force into the fucker's face. You see, their teeth
 will be exposed and open will they're drinking and as the crowbar shatters the 
pint glass, it will drive the shards into their teeth and the impact will crack 
their jaw. Mad Franky Fraiser taught me this one.
 
 
Phillip Simpson. Re "Turkish Favour" 
The Wu-Dragons and mah man Willie's crew'z'like fightin' again. Like, we's is up
 at the corner market the otherday jus' layin' down some fat vibes an' pumpin' s
kittles when Willboy comez over like all heavy an' shit. My man Mookie at that s
pic from up tha street Li'l D were squabblin over the last fat bag of Revels so 
they's'z blind to what Big Willy had to say to me, but mah man Steve Rashiq hear
d it. Shit, the dogs in the neighbours YARD heard it. Willie says to me "Yo JayB
oy! WhassTha Time!" and i'm like "Check it! 12.04! Twelve-Oh-Four!". Shit man, i
t waz cule. We reprazent.
 
 
Mark Poole. Re "Little Leauge Tourny"
Hey there Sparky! I'm really looking forward to watching you play the Little Lea
gue game against Wigston Magnets this Thursday. Your mom's making some of her fa
mous "home-made corn dogs" for after the match, and you can invite all your budd
ies over! Why don't you invite Luanne. I heard on the grapevine that she thinks 
you're cute. I remember my first baseball game against Luton. We won 46-12. I sc
ored a home run and felt like I was on top of the world. See you soon.
 
 
John x - " TurnAroundY'AllShowMeWhereItsAt "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	28 November 2000 14:34
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Kiss my Napster"

 
John's Journal	              28 November 2000

 
I'm going to a bit of a rockfest this weekend. I'm not so sure about waxing a te
nner on an event in Nottingham that will clearly consist of unwashed youths scre
aming at each other, but you have to dabble a bit I suppose. The last such event
 I went to was Billy & The Saddlebacks at the Wiltshire Hippodrome.
 
Oh, I was dead natty back then. I remember line-hoofing to the tune "My Forehead
's gonna be a-rockin' this weekend" dressed in my finest C&A waistcoat. Sadly, m
usic has all changed today. There's no panache or sophistication. This is why I'
ve moved away from the whole music scene and concentrated full-throttle on writi
ng a novel. The book I am writing is called "Building your own Eden" and in it I
 outline strategies for creating a perfect society. Although my agent, Donald, h
as told me to keep the book under wraps until he can find someone who will grate
fully publish it, I have decided to leak but a few key sections to you good, goo
d people:
 
Chapter 3 - "Nightime amusements"
 
A really fun thing to do at night is to hide under ALL of your blankets and duve
ts and pretend that there's a nuclear war on and that you're in a bomb shelter w
aiting for the all clear to be given. If you think about what type of gun you ar
e going to use when you get outside and start fighting, it helps you sleep quick
er. I find I start dozing off whilst comparing the Kalashnikov .98 with the Ferr
o MI-34 semi-automatic. 
 
Chapter 7 - "Interesting places to visit"
 
East Cheam has an assorted wonderment of penny-amusements and assorted Bazaars. 
Make sure you affix your coin receptacle to a stout hank of twine, attaching it 
to your inside pocket or the local rogues will attempt to pilfer your petty cash
. For a brisk constitutional of weatherly goodness, I will not hestitate to reco
mmend Morcambe. The sea-water is good with little tarriness, and the sand is fin
e enough to walk upon whilst breathing in the ozone.
 
Chapter 8 - "Pokemon"
 
If you are experiencing problems trying to turn your Pikachu into a Raichu, then
 do not despair. Simply keep using Thunderbolt attacks on a semi-evolved pokemon
 such as Charmander or Pigeotto and the hapless electric mouse will evolve in du
e course. 
 
 
I've still got to write chapters covering Food, TV Soaps, Basketball and Girls, 
but all said it's looking good!
 
  
John x - "PumpThatAss"
 
P.S. Ally, donde esta?
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	27 November 2000 15:27
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "So Nearly There"

John's Journal	              27  November 2000

 
Bah.
        It's Monday and already the day has been ruined. Anyone who remembers me
 from Digby or White Block will remember me in the mornings and the comical foib
les I got up to in my state of tiredness. This morning was no exception. After p
utting my empty cornflakes bowl in the bin and my old underwear in the sink, I t
hen proceeded to walk up nearly two flights of stairs before I had realised what
 I'd done. As if this wasn't enough, my phone started ringing.
 
I bounded drunkenly upstairs and in the short distance managed to groin myself o
n the edge of my coffee table and slip on a Pokemon "Pikachu special" magazine o
n the floor. Just as I was about to nab the phone the voice mail kicked in. I wa
s experiencing throbs of the unpleasant sort in my groin and had to speak to my 
body.
 
"Hi John! Managed to comb your hair yet?" said my body.
 
"Damage report" I snapped back
 
"Ooohh.... don't look good John. Think you've popped a muscle in your inner leg.
 Whaddya thing, Leg?"
 
My leg responded with a flair of pain. I yelped like a dog in a minefield.
 
"Stop that!" I growled, ready to punish my body with some dried-out brambles I h
ad been saving for moment such as this one. "I've been good, I've laid off the C
hilli-Cheese Meatloaf with extra batter"
 
"Oh, okay." The pain died down and I was left looking at my Team Rocket pin-up I
 was going to cut from the magazine.
 
Wearily, I picked up the phone and dialed voice-mail. Two calls were from Naadir
 reminding me that uni may involve some sort of work. The last call was from Rao
ul. I shivered.
 
Raoul, bless him, is one of Andover's finest. I live in a geological nightmare. 
A bit like a rural, Wessex-y type setting of that place in the film "Tremors". R
aoul is a symbol of life's perpetual meek. I bumped into him during an open day 
at my local college (now being converted into a turpentine factory last I heard)
 and our friendship blossomed. His IQ is somewhere in the low 30s, but he can wr
ite drum & bass like Goldie on crack.
 
Anyway, Raoul had obviously discovered how to use a phone. Pre-empting what he w
as about to say, I booted up my FBI program on my computer and patched the telep
hone through to my hi-fi so that I could absorb Raoul's discourse whilst getting
 changed. 
The conversation went something like "Hello John. Raoul. I've found out where th
e tonsil is. Isn't flying a bit like Tokyo. Butter works on almost ALL surfaces.
..etc." and continued for a good five minutes before the answering service timed
 out.
 
I never got round to phoning Raoul back. I couldn't cope with another one if his
 conversations, and besides, I don't think he's ready to try using a telephone j
ust yet.
 
 
I gotta go now, I just remembered that my pants are still floating in the sink a
nd I don't want Mark or Paul to get hold of them and do something obscene.
 
Peace.
 
John x - "YouForgotAboutDre"
 
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	24 November 2000 10:50
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.; Moody, P.; Darch, J.
Subject:	Journal - "Weekend Wackiness"

John's Journal	              23 November 2000

 
 The weekend is upon us and I grow t*i*r*e*d.
 
The past week has been a series of badly-planned mishaps, relieved only by the a
rriving of my T-shirt. I am now known in the Fanclub as "Equalizer Dude".  I'm n
ot even sure that this journal is reaching anyone anymore, but I press on with m
y muse regardless.
 
I am going on a strict purge this weekend. I've decided to stay in a go up to th
e attic. I've built a little nest up there out of straw and shredded 24-hour gar
age Porn magazines, and I'm not leaving it - even for the toilet - until Monday.
 I intend to use this meditative environment to catch up on my MC301 : Formal Sp
ecifications. Actually, I got the idea from playing with Bea's rats. They're pre
tty rad. Paul likes to taunt them by dragging them along by their tails until th
ey squeak, but I prefer watching them. 
 
Brian Molko may have been a whiny little shit who buggered every vunerable teena
ge for their pocket-money, but he had a point. It's a race for rats to die. I su
ppose that's why I sit here day after day in this computer room that smells of v
inegar and coffee. If I "do" computers then the whole rat race thing won't apply
 to me since I know that a degree is Computer Science offers guarenteed high-pay
 job opportunities. However, it also offers me a whole full of fucked-up doughy 
chewing-gum-coloured recluses who live off preservatives and caffeine and who sh
y away from the "real" world (if there is such a place). Occassionally you get t
he occassional "cule" individual who does computers who, in a vain attempt to be
 alternative, will die his/her hair a peculiar colour and mohican it and will we
ar pervertpunk clothes - just like the rest of their ilk.
 
No thanks, you can take your architypal IT/Computer person and shove them up you
r dirt-tunnel. My friend Thom works at a web-provider down south and I think it'
s killing him slowly. He's actually a genuine, rare exception in the world of IT
. Thom has a sense of humour and "doesn't do it for the money". Thom, if you're 
reading this - GO TO UNIVERSITY. You know you *have* to. 
 
So what do I do? I can hardly ignore all that I've learnt over the past decade. 
Paul suggested I start up a recording studio, funded by working in a trendy bar 
at nights. A bit like them Bacardi adverts. Tempting though it is, I have a feel
ing it might not pan out the way I want. The other night I had grandiose images 
of actually *selling* Public Access, but when I woke up I realised I had acciden
tally grabbed for a glass of water during the night, and in reality had ended up
 drinking the pint of White Spirit I was using for painting with earlier. 
 
The other day, Mark bounced into his room only to find me curled up on his bed a
sleep. After waking me up by putting things in my ear, Mark told me that one of 
his industry-placement schemes. It was a job working with DSP - Digital Sound Pr
ocessing. The ink of musicians. Suddenly, I grabbed Mark and extracted furhter i
nformation from him. It turns out that this company based in Loughborough did al
l kinds of neat stuff with sound. 
 
My aims are now clear - to kill Mark, delete all government records regarding hi
m and to steal his job. I will then become the best sound engineer since Spike S
tent and will retire to a castle on an island somewhere warm. I will capture you
 all and use you as my slaves and get all the girls to dress up in bikinis and s
tuff. It'd be really great. 
 
Who said computer scientists were mad?
 
 
John x - "ScreamIfYouCanHereMe"
 
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	23 November 2000 14:22
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Wish you were here"

John's Journal	              23 November 2000

 
How rude.
 
I haven't introduced everyone to each other. As you will no doubt be aware, this
 scribbling journal reaches various degenerates at all four corners of the natio
n. However, I have failed in my duty to bond everyone together in a more cementi
ng manner. 
 
So this journal entry will consist of a lowdown of everyone who reads it along w
ith key words or phrases which best sums them up.
 
*Ahem*
 
Mike Russell. This guy knows how to pull women with issues. He is an accomplishe
d mechanic.
 
Alex Manning. Alex is from Essex where he learnt how to smoke weed and play with
 lights.
 
Jo Giffiths. The missing "best friend" from a thousand american teen college-soa
ps.
 
Jo Cadman. Cruel and malevolent, yet vunerable and beautiful, Joe is like a snow
flake trapped on a cobweb.
 
Helen Pascoe. Typical blonde-with-intelligence, Helen has turned her passion for
 drinking into a valuable learning experience in being social.
 
Jim Hunter. Jim is a sweet, gentle man who only wants to teach the world to love
 rock guitar. Gnarly.
 
Mark Vernon. Europe's most random fingerboarder-cum-musician. Watch out for a bi
ography coming soon.
 
Paul Richardson. Imagine an uglier version of Che Guevera, with lovebites. Paul 
is a bit like this, but less ugly.
 
Josh Roulston. Wicky-wicky-wild Wicky-Wild Wicky-Wicky-Wild-Wild-Roulston. The G
inger Prince.
 
Thom Stuart. The man who started the whole journal thing, Thom once taught me ho
w to laugh.
 
Helen Wright. Illustrious urban vixen with a penchant for making things better.
 
Pete Lewis. Pinko-liberal-socioanarchist. When Tuition Fees happened, Pete prote
sted by setting fire to  the local post office. 
 
Mark Poole. Dear, dear Sparky. Some call him the "Peter Andre" of the Parallel &
 Distrubted processing lectures.
 
Ally Bellage. Another fox. This time available in two flavours, "extra zest" and
 "cinnamon fresh".
 
Naadir Akhtar. Naadir came up from London to look after all of you. *Always* kno
w that.
 
Richie Cunningham. Rich the tech-baron has come a long way since the days his sp
ent in Borstal making Easter-Island statues from soap.
 
Leon Bullock. His middle name is Bevan.
 
Neil Merry. An urban connection from home. If you ever meet this guy, worship th
e ground just to the left of him. We all need a Neil.
 
Ceris Flew. A retired secret agent,. What can I say about Ceris that hasn't alre
ady been said?
 
Rebecca Tew. Rebecci and me have been through some hard times. Especially the ak
ward moment in the some showers in the Loughborough YMCA.
 
Phillip Simpson. Three minutes with Phil is like eight years married to Richard 
Ashcroft. 
 
Pete Sharman. Little Jimmy has quit baseball and is working on a cure for cancer
 involving febreeze.
 
Victoria England. Trixie is an expert pole-dancer and an invaluable member of ou
r frat-house. 
 
Charlotte Graves. Another sorority sister, Charlie is drafted by the royal marin
es to always keep  sadness onse step away.
 
Peter Hart. He stands in the corner, looking for some Rizla. He has some marijun
a, he needs to get higher. The consequence - Viagra Falls. Drugs, kids - don't p
lay that game.
 
R.K. Palmer. Do I know you?
 
 
John x - "Peace On Earth"
 
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	22 November 2000 13:34
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Twig"

John's Journal	              22 November 2000

 
I'm so bored I think I'm going to scream. I'm spending the whole day writing a C
RCWFindMax algorithm using priority processor with linear complexity. I know. I'
m horny too.  
 
Massive respects out to Naadir Akhtar with his wacky bulletin board. It has kept
 me smiling for a minute or so during extreme periods of roughness.
 
Also, massive respects to the following people : Mike Russell, Mark for being mi
lksick, Peter for the chill, Josh for the chopemUp beats, Rebecci for the wonder
ful times we've endured in MC301, Pasky, little Phil and his exploding shoes, Tr
ixie for loving *EVERYONE*, Ali for her efforts in the world of production, Spar
ky, Kiera for coming of age, and little Jimmy, who'm we all love dearly.
 
Before I go, I've written a poem I'd like to share with you all:
 
I sit here, limp, like a dead cat
Tears burn my eyes as I flounder on the stomach of life
Yet I pull through knowing that I can fight
A cause which makes me feel
 
Like beetroot.
Like..... beetroot.
 
(c) John-Paul Holt 2000. All rights reserved.
 
John x - " FearNadzjion "
 
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	21 November 2000 14:16
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Strip Hop"


John's Journal	              21 November 2000

 
My T-shirt arrived! Just when I was losing hope. Let me tell you what happened t
his morning.
 
 
 
I was curled up in my bed with one shaking hand reaching for some home-made meth
odone, when the doorbell rang. 
 
"Go away", I sobbed convinced that the day was about to get worse. 
 
"Package for Mr Holt" said a voice from behind the door.
 
Suddenly I was gripped in the deepest mania. I tore the door open and pawed sava
gely for the parcel. 
 
"Sign here" said the scrappy little postman. I wrote my florid signature on the 
paper and shoved him out of my room. I was trembling now. My room, the room whic
h had become a prison for me due to my lack of seasonally-fashionable items was 
now the birthplace in the dawn of a new clothing era.
 
Cyberdog Product 1331-3XL (Equaliser Light Tee) had arrived.
 
The first thing I did was to scrunch up the rich elastane fabric in my hands and
 inhale deeply. That new-smell revitalised my nasal cavaties, making me feel aro
und 18 years younger. The textures of the shirt, so alien to the heavy cotton cl
othes I normally wear, felt rich and lustrous. Suddenly a kitten landed on my wi
ndow ledge and the sun burst through the clouds with god-like rays of light. As 
I lay back on my bed in the throes of laughter and pure joy I discovered my Bjor
k Debut CD. It had fallen down the side of my bed along with my signed photo of 
Wyclef Jean.
 
But there was university to attend to. I swiftly donned my lemon yellow cordroys
 and my Kenny-from-South Park T-shirt replete with AfterShock stains and made my
 way out the door with a spring in my step.
 
"Hi John!" said a familiar voice coming up from behind me. It was Mark on his BM
X. He stopped with an elegant little bunnyhop.
 
"Hi Mark! I got my T-shirt!" 
 
"Really? Let me see the receipt!". I proudly showed off the receipt to Mark. He 
read the reference number out.
 
"CTATACCCTTAC..... of course! John, this receipt code is the formulae for the mi
ssing celluluar nucleotides I've been looking for!"
 
"Say what?"
 
"YOU'VE HELPED ME FIND A CURE FOR CANCER!!" Mark was ecstatic.
 
We were crossing past the local primary school.
 
"Are you sure?" I asked, bemused at the good fortune that was now radiating from
 me.
 
"Yes, the code represents the missing pairs CT, AT, AC, CC, TT and AC. They matc
h the complex ribonuclide pattern! The chances of this happening are 1 in bill-"
 
"Look out!" I yelled, a child had wondered into the road to retrieve a football 
and I manage to whisk her away from a car speeding through the toucan crossing. 
Just in time. The driver swerved and smacked into a rail.
 
"Wow" said Mark and went back to his formula. Suddenly, a pretty young mother ca
me running towards me.
 
"My baby! You saved my precious daughter!" she was sobbing with relief. She grab
bed me and hugged me towards her nubile young body. I was instantly bathed in wa
rm female. 
 
"Aw shucks ma'am! T'weren't nuth'in'!" I grinned.
 
"No really, you saved my daughter. She's...She's all I got after my husband left
 me. He couldn't compete with my mad sexual appetite. I'd like to thank you.". I
 looked at the women in her late twenties. She had child-bearing hips. And small
 white teeth.
 
"Anytime." I responded, positively glowing.
 
"Why don't you come over tonight?" she purred. "I'd like you to meet my twin sis
ter, who incidentally suffers from the same rampant lustful disorder. She'd be v
ery pleased upon hearing how you saved my child. Very pleased."
 
"I think I might have an openning" I said. Suddenly, the guy staggered out from 
inside the car.
 
"Aw man! I was drunk at the wheel! Please forgive me. I'm turning over a new lea
f and joining the military!". The guy looked suspiciously like Jim Davidson. He 
staggered off towards the general direction of the recruitment centre.
 
 
And that was pretty much what happened this morning.
 
 
 
 
At least, I think it was.
 
John x - " StaticAttack " 
 
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	20 November 2000 12:04
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Heaven Presents..."

John's Journal	              20 November 2000

 
I don't have much time (as usual) as I have to go see my project tutour Nobuko i
n a minute and I need to brush up on my Japanese. But I *had* to tell you about 
Electrotribe.
 
It was brilliant.
 
I got a hard-on within a second of walking inside Oxygen. There were only about 
60 people (around a third capacity), but it was enough for a good little ekletik
 party. Everyone was dressed up dead natty, what with dark clothes and neon bits
. And there were fluffy bra girls AND fluffy boot girls! Me, Mark and Pete had p
urchased a bottle of vodka on the way down and I proceeded to get drunk with a p
assion. 
 
In between shaking mah ass in the pit, I met up with these two dudes that have j
ust come back from Thailand. They were professional Shaolin Boxers who ran a clu
b up near the hospital. The moves they demonstrated were astonishing. Chinese Bo
xing is a purely brutal form of martial art. It has no defensive moves, only att
ack moves design to maim or kill. I'm going to sign up ASAP because some of thos
e moves could be adapted into serious dancing technique.
 
Sadly, I knacked my back in somewhat the morning after (pulled two muscles) and 
was unable to attend the student march. But my friend Paul went and railed again
st the system for me ("Police brutality, man!" he told everyone while proudly sh
owing off his bruised knuckle). 
 
This weekend, Joshua  came up from down south. Joshy is one of my long-term chum
s from college. I pulled out all the stops and tidied my room, washed AND shaved
, hid my dirty washing (mental note - wash pants more frequently) and spring-cle
aned my groovebox with WD40 and swarf. I can't remember much of what happened (e
xcept maybe when I heard rustling during the night and strange moaning noises, b
ut that was me) but I do remember waking up outside Richer Sounds with Josh surr
ounded by a turntable and mixer. And scratch needle.
 
Sadly it was all to brief. Josh had to go back on Sunday to finish working on th
e railroad, but we swapped leaving presents. He gave me a ham and some Pokemon t
rading cards (I got Charizard and Pigeotto already, but it was a nice gesture) a
nd I gave him some mini glowsticks in a Tic-Tac box and a tape I recorded off th
e radio of Steve Lamacq at the Daft Punk sessions.
 
I'll try and write more frequently, but right now I'm off to get shouted at for 
not turning up to lectures.
 
En-Tah Selec-Tah!
 
John x - " StaticAttack " 
 
  _____  

 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	14 November 2000 14:23
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "DeflonHeadRush"

John's Journal	             13 November 2000

 
I went up to the Ripple offices today. I was concerned, and it was right that I 
should be. You see, even though I'm busy at work doing Public Access (I've just 
finished the article on How to pick up Chicks, Bea is hard at work with Nancy's 
Journal and we're writing an update on Cat Deeley), I'm worried about the conten
ts of our student weekly, "Ripple".
 
It's...so....... bland.
 
The only articles that managed to capture my miniscule attention were that of th
e Silver Arcade facing closure (this won't happen - i'll kill myself before this
 happens) and the photo of Helen W, Jo G, Jamie, etc being congratulated for the
ir efforts on CSV. Other than that it was clearly a load of tripe. Even Phil agr
eed. In my Formal Specs lecure (a pioneering form of euthanasia) Phil nudged me 
out of my malais. I was drawing down potential ideas for position of the fortnig
ht (Number #516 - "Tyson's Delight").
 
"John". Phil whispered.
 
"Not now Phil, I'm busy" I murmured, delicately drawing the 2nd girl's naval.
 
"No, check this out.". He flapped open the student periodical and pointed dazedl
y to a news article. "Last issue they were ranting on about our local student ba
r having the lowest takings ever. They said the Redfearn was threatened with clo
sure"
 
Red fearn? Good idea. I started colouring in the pubic hair a dark orange.
 
"Go on Phil" I said, curious as to what had excited him so.
 
"This issue, they're now complaining that students drink to much and have an alc
ohol problem an' shit." 
 
Suddenly I forgot about my artwork and turned to Phil. He had a point. Ripple is
 always whining. I mean, I know I always whine, but at least I have the decency 
to complain to a personal group of 30 select people. Not 4000 students.
 
By now, Phil was getting excited, bless him.
 
"And look - this page has got a recipe for a cocktail. They're playing mindgames
 with us. Telling us two things at once. There's definitely somethin very commun
istic going on". 
 
Once again, Philip was right. I walked straight out of my lecture on a mission. 
As I reached the offices, I approached Liz Corbin the editor. I have spies out o
n Liz. I even know this vixen who used to go to the same school as her. So I was
 well prepared for any female mind games she might play with me.
 
"Hi John, do you have any artwork for the next issue ?" she asked, gently runnin
g her small hands down her long, dark, lustrous hair.
 
I paused. I wasn't prepared for this. If I let rip with a can of verbal whup-ass
 on her, I'd never get another picture through to the masses again. This is esse
ntial - I hide subliminal messages about my music band ESP in each cartoon. Okay
 Liz, you wanna play it this way, fine.
 
"Actually, I have. I draw it during my last lecture. Let me show you it." I grin
ned, reaching for my Formal Specs folder.
 
 
  
John x - "Shaolin Shadowboxing" 
 
  _____  

 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	13 November 2000 10:04
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "You don't stop"

John's Journal	       13 November 2000

 
Boo! My T-shirt has not arrived! I am most displeased. I will have to wear the f
lower house one tommorow. 
 
I went to Mega on Friday, and actually found myself enjoying it. Not content wit
h my group of social misfits, I ended up buggering off to wiggle my ass with Phi
l and his mates. Phil, an associate from my course and close personal friend, is
 *always* surrounded by the most delightful women. I met up with two girls calle
d "Cindy" and "Suzy" and they wanted me to dance with them but I didn't want to 
because their names were "Cindy" and "Suzy". 
 
Actually, I think I'm getting to old for all of this. All I ever want to do in m
y free time is to wrap myself up in bed with a  nice warm malt and to listen to 
brass band music. But no, I get dragged out onto the town with my scraggy mates 
and end up being forced to meet people and mingle amongst warm bodies. This all 
sounds great, but things have been getting quite tough for me lately and my hous
emates are setting a bad example. For instance, we've now turned our block into 
an American Frat-house. We are now "Alpha Sigma Sigma" or "Tau Kappa Xi" or some
thing like that and we've got pennants on the wall that say "Dudley" and "Luton"
. Also, Paul is forcing us to go around in table-cloth shirts and orange jumpers
, and makes us drink tins of Budweiser.
 
Speaking of Americans, have you been keeping abreast of the US elections recentl
y? Fuckin' hell. They've titsed up the vote in Florida which is significiant eno
ugh to swing the result for either side. The problem with democracy is that ever
yone gets a vote. Now, I'm socialist and that but I've got a much better system.
 Every three years when the moon is full and partially covered by atmospheric cl
oud, the elders of our nation will proceed to Harewood forest. Inside the forest
 is a small hut made from moss-covered, gnarled wood. The elders must knock on t
he door thrice with a knockberry stick covered with the fur of a ten mink. The o
ccupant of the house will let them in. She is a wise old lady with a gentle stoo
ping figure and a mottled, ugly face. The elders will ask her to look into the t
eflon saucepan of the future to find out who should be elected. She will do so w
hile mumbling pagan prayers and dropping mystic runes into the saucepan. 
 
Only then will we know the correct dude for the gig. 
 
One more thing before I go, anyone who wishes to contribute towards "Public Acce
ss", my heroic tabloid, should contact me ASAP. We've been getting contributes f
rom all four corners of the republic so make haste and mail me your efforts.
 
 
John x - "  97 percent pure perfection with 3 percent pure wikidness " 
 
  _____  

 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	08 November 2000 16:42
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Walking through prayers"

John's Journal	 
      8 November 2000

 
I'm really thirsty and I want a Snapple, so I'll be brief.
I've got a confession to make. But don't tell anyone. I've gone and ordered a cy
berdog light T-shirt. A bit like my flower house one, but this one RESPONDS TO S
OUND! For those of you who aren't fashionable and cool as me, cyberdog Light T-S
hirts are revolutionary. They consist of an Elastane-Cotton T-shirt with a small
 pocket inside. The pocket houses a dinkly little box of tricks that allows you 
to wear a razor-thin neon light on the front of the shirt. We are talking totall
y cool here. The zenith, no, the epitome of cool. This particular shirt shows lo
ts of little equalizer lights. I sat down with my friends and outlinned the situ
ation with them and we confidently predicate that my shirt alone (excluding UV b
ody tattoo and hairpaint) will cause over 90% of females within a 50 meter radiu
s to hit gash-mark 3 in under a minute. 
 
The T-shirt is to be worn as part of my neon-ritual wear on the 14th November at
 "ElectroTribe", a gathering in Oxygen. Not that i'm a cybergoth you must unders
tand. Cybergoths tend towards the dark and the lurid. They listen to Atari Teena
ge Riot and Daft Punk. I'm more of a Neon Jackal - an ekletic elite of people wh
o integrate their own persona into visual body-radiation. In other words, I tend
 towards the light and pure by using electric light to reflect my personality. 
 
It's about this time everyday that I regret not being born a girl. Apart from lo
sing all forms of reasoning once a month and leaking occasionally, being a girl 
must be well good. Women have got boobs which is kinda cool. The whole hips and 
eyelash thing is great. Girls get to wear fluffly bras at clubs and paint their 
faces with interesting products. Plus, women can multitask astonishingly well. 
 
Mind you, being a bloke is pretty cool. Here's a secret about men that women do 
NOT know - men sometimes patronise women. This is not intentional. We patronise 
females, not because we think women are inferior either physically or psychologi
cally (that would be arrogant). No, we tease girls sometimes because it's funny.
 
Anyway, I'm staying inert until the 14th. However, once I get my T-shirt girls w
ill be allowed to touch/stroke it. A bit. And I will also accept any oral gratif
ication either above or below the waist as a sign of recognising my contemporary
 fashion style.
 
Damn!
 
 
John x - " RefuseTO LOSE " 
 
  _____  

 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	06 November 2000 13:50
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Wackiness"

John's Journal	 
     6 November 2000

 
What a weekend!
 
Friday night I went out with Bea and Charlie. My house posse had judased off to 
DeMonfort Hall to watch Mansun, leaving me with £40 in my pocket and two disillu
sioned females. So after hooking up with them in the Loaded Dog, we jammed down 
to Time for elaborate cocktails of chartreuse and whippy stuff. 
 
Well, I must admit that I had quite a bit to drink. My usual tipple is half a gl
ass of milk stout before retiring to my dormitory, but on this occasion I let my
 hair down and enjoyed Harlem Muggers with the Highfield minxes. Normally, I'm l
oath to the sins of alcohol (remembering the time my dear uncle Edwaerd drank to
 much gin ricky at a family constitutional and ended up braying foul language at
 mater in the gazebo) but Friday reminded me of how much silly fun one can get u
p to on the weekend.
 
Bea decided to go home and nap, so Charlie and I wobbled up to "Oxygen", a night
club similar to the "Fan Club", but a bit more skater-punk. This was to be our r
endezvous point for meeting Monsieurs Vernon, Richardson and Richardson's friend
s he had dragged from Newcastle. I wanted to grind my can in the mosh pit, so Ch
arlie went off to interact with her fellow droogs. After railing my body in sing
le minded pursuit of the groove, I noticed with much pleasure that my UV was sho
wing. This resulted me trapping a fox, so I was much pleased. 
 
Finally Paul, Mark and his crew came bouncing in and Limp Bizkit started booming
 out of the speakers. Well that was just it. It was all we could do to prevent M
ark from entering the central fight and making an example of himself. Thankfully
, Mark wasn't under the influence so Oxygen was safe that night. Actually, Mark 
reminds me of this Siamese cat I once knew called Luca.
 
At the end of the evening I joined my fellow glostick buddies and exchanged UV d
etails (Bitch Inc selling UV hair mascara for £2.20). Mark and I walked home, le
aving Paul and his gang trailing behind, and we talked about life and women and 
stuff. In a way I'm jealous of Mark because he does so much shit - Mountain Biki
ng, Uni Work, Band Practice and visting his female, while I just flap a little b
it.
 
I'm going to try and make it to a fireworks night tonight, but I have 3 pieces o
f work in for this week! I'm crushed!
 
Prehaps I should slow down and organise my life a little more.....
 
 
....Nah, fuck it.
 
 
John x - "Sharky&Hixxy" 
 
  _____  

 
...1 year ago...
  
:::::  JOHN-PAUL HOLT'S JOURNAL ENTRY ::::: 
      Friday 5th November 1999 * 1.32 pm  
 
Hey! I fucking love fireworks night, me! It's well much better than Hallowe'en. 
Halowe'en isn't dangerous (unless you trick or treat Vinny Jones), but Guy Fawke
s night? That's when the casualties start piling up!!! I clearly remember a scen
e from my heartwarming childhood when my mates Nathan and Ashley bought a big bo
x of Chinese "Gunpowder Locust" fireworks and let them off in a pigeon coup. We 
didn't exactly see what happened after (there was a LOT of colourful light and b
anging) but the avery was completely silent afterwards and the air smelt like ro
ast chicken.
 
However, even badly-made oriental explosives pale in comparison to the most sign
ificant contribution towards bonfire night since Guy Fawkes did the keg-thing. I
 am, of course, talking about "bangers". Bangers are fan-tastic. These candle-si
zed things can be inserted almost anywhere (and I mean -anywhere!-) and cause al
l kinds of whackiness. So here's my favourite places to have "fun with bangers"
 
1 - The post box. Especially after the local coffin-dodgers are waiting for thei
r giros. Insert the banger carefully through the letter-feed after lighting then
 run. The banger will explode inside a confined area and this will made a more s
ubdued "thunk"ing noise.
 
2 - Bird Boxes. Beware of flying shrapnel. 
 
3 - Car Exhausts. Bangers were commonly used on 1920s films sets to create that 
hilarious "backfire" effect in various charlie chaplin films. It can still be us
ed today in all the contemporay cars (we tried it with complete success on a For
d Puma) but be warned - the car may not be drivable afterwards.
 
4 - Septic Tanks. A well-timed banger is crucial for this. Insert a lighted bang
er into a shoe box and let it sink into the sewage. Do NOT try to run, instead h
ide under the tank. Guarenteed to create a "shit shower" in the radius of a mile
.
 
5 - Bonfires. Oh this one is great. Do it 'round Christians and tell thim it's J
udgement day. 
 
Anyway, enough about fireworks. I'd better go. I was going to talk about Charlie
 Morgan and her distanct lack of quim the other day but I can't be arsed.
 
Take care y'all. 
 
John
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	03 November 2000 14:12
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Eight Degree Massacre"

 
John's Journal	 
    3 November 2000

 
The scene :  An idyllic student room situated in a scenic part of Leicester. The
 walls are covered with Athena posters and UV pen, blue ropelight and homemade s
cribblings. One side of the room is tattooed with writings and musings of the so
ul, while the other sides consist of more student related activities. A small re
cording studio is situated on the shelves and nearby desks. 
 
Lying comatose on the bed is a young player whose sleep patterns indicate dreams
 of more innocent, less ruined times. He is wearing his infmaous Pikachu t-shirt
 mildly stained with alcopop from the night before. His right arms rests beneath
 his neck, gently reminding his subconcious of the sensation that pins and needl
es bring. The tips of his fingers touch the bonsai tree sitting on the window le
dge as if it were part of his dreams.
 
The telephone rings.
 
No, cries the dreeamer's subconsious. I don't want to wake up. Bad things happen
 to me when I'm awake. Always.
 
The telephone will stop in another four rings, and the silent answering machine 
will kick in. But it is too late. The mind starts to merge with the body to kick
 in the waking process.
 
The damage has been done.
 
He starts to wake quickly, sensations come flooding in before recognition. The h
arsh sensation of radiator-dried air in his parched throat. The coolness of the 
project papers, lying on the seat at the end of his bed, on which one foot rests
.
 
Riingggg.......
 
Blindly, the waking student grabs for the phone and picks up the handset.
 
 
"Who the fuck'z this? It's 10.30 in the god damn morning!", I moanned.
 
"Good morning Mr Holt, I'm Brian Allgold from Leicester Mercury, I've just retur
ned from a holdiay in Crete and I understand you left a message on my answering 
machine about creating a student newspaper"
 
"Naaidr? That you? This isn't a wind up is it?" my brain was still opening all t
he little windows and gadgets on its desktop. 
 
Suddenly reality came rushing in. I sat bolt upright in bed. 
 
"Yes. YES!! I did! We've got some articles done and shit, and I'm doing a feasbi
lity test before we move on to phase II."
 
"I see" said the more dubious sounding Brian. Fortunately, all my techie knowled
ge was flowing through my brain now and I diverted power from 'Breakfast Boner' 
to 'Impress Mr Big' mode.
 
"Here's my plan" I said resting the phone on my shoulder while cracking my knuck
les. "I want a 26 page tabloid layout newspaper printed on 60gsm pulp stock with
 a CYMK cover and 150lpi inlays. I've got the master layout on Xpress, and I'm w
orking on trapping information and gamma correction as I speak. I'm hoping you h
ave the facilities to run off approximately 4000 copies using the bromides I wil
l master at Jessops." 
 
Damn! I'm smooth!
 
"Very impressive" said Mr Allgold, sound much perkier. "You demonstrate an excel
lent understanding in the principles and ethos of media publishing. We would be 
happy to run off 4K worth of newspapers alongside your student newspaper. All we
 need from you is a Zip disk and £1000. normally we'd charge more but seeing as 
you're a student, we'll waiver tax and typesetting."
 
One thousand pounds? This was news to me. I was thinking along the £200 region. 
I looked over at the "Public Access" funds tin. It contained around four pounds 
in small change, my phone card, and a £3 I.O.U. from Mark for the Fan Club the n
ight before. 
 
"The price sounds better than we estimated Mr Allgold" I said through gritted te
eth
 
"Call me Brian". You cunt, Brian, how about my dick raping your mouth you cheaps
kate bitch-ass motherfuck.
 
"Okay Brian, the newspaper is a one-off which means time constraint is not an is
sue. We need to do interviews and arrange meetings with the publishing team. But
 we'll get back to you to arrange Phase II. Thankyou for calling"
 
"My pleasure." You fuck, Brian.
 
I hung up with raging pins and needles in one arm. 
 
My day had been ruined already. Let's face it - no one's going to fund a periodi
cal which runs features such as "Interesting Shaving Techniques for women" and "
Belgian Hip-Hop". I would have to go to plan B and run a small-circulation magaz
ine printed on A3 paper from a laser printer at uni.
 
So much for free enterprise.
 
 
John x - " BigBud "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	01 November 2000 08:21
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Out"

 
John's Journal	
   1 November 2000

 
I'm at London today for an IT exhibition. I'll tell you all about it tommorow. M
AYBE.
 

 
John x - "  Get some soul (in my soul)  "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	31 October 2000 14:29
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.; Parmar, R.K.
Subject:	Journal - "Feel This"

John's Journal	
   31 October 2000

 

Ah mate! I am well on the way to creating my own newspaper! Let me tell you abou
t it:
 
Me, Paul, Alex, Pete and Mark were chilling out on the back of a rusty '66 Studb
aker drinking pink lemonade Snapples, and debating whether or not Statten Island
 should be made into a cultural heritage site. Suddenly, Pete pulled out a wrink
led copy of Viagra Falls and pointed to a photo.
 
"See this guy" said Pete grinning, "He's got the biggest moustache in the world.
 And he's not even a pimp."
 
Then it clicked. I asked Pete how many people read his home-made magazine.
 
"Around 250. Actually, more people would read it if I could get the circulation 
increased, but distribution's such a bitch"
 
"And you people will pay to read about men with huge moustaches and John Peel?"
 
"Yep".
 
I was in transports. Imagine - I could create a tabloid newspaper like Ripple (o
ur student paper), and use it to purge the inner lining of my charm onto it's cr
isp, pulp-stock pages. I explained my idea - creating a one-off "Ripple" under t
he name of "Public Access" and distributing it through the university. Now don't
 get me wrong homies, Ripple is great and Liz Corbin works tirelessly to achieve
 a bi-monthly stroke of genuis.... but it's a bit dull. I mean, one article read
 "A recent survery taken in the Redfearn (union bar), suggests that students wan
t cheaper drinks and more choice". Well fuck me! I mean, never in a trillion yea
rs did it occur to me that students want variety and to pay less! Also, Ripple i
s trying to be a "real" paper. Why? Why not be a student paper.
 
So I quickly fleeced everyone's brains for article suggesions. Here's what we go
t so far:
 
    * Sunday - League Skateboarding
    * Sorted for MP3s (a cunning new type of music hardware)
    * How to pick up chicks
    * Leicester gangs, cults and tribes
    * Mr T Vs the Fonz
    * Burger Review
    * The Art of House Music
    * Clubbing Vacation
    * Old Skool Video Games
    * Where are they now? - Spandau Ballet, MC Hammer, Chesney Hawkes and Right 
Said Fred
    
It became apparent that we'd need more female-friendly articles. So, racking our
 brains for appropriate articles we came up with
 
    * Fashion
    * How to perfect your emotional blackmailing technique using your eyes
    * Men - "What are they like"
    * Interview with Operah Fucking Windfrey
    * The Polo Trick
    * Interesting Shaving Techniques
    * Pole Dancing
 
 
And then we knew. We'd captured our audience and society as a whole in 17 articl
es (We would have had 18 articles, but we couldn't find any Page 3 students will
ing to pose naturally).
 
I have already seen this guy who works at the Leicester Mercury, and am negotiat
ing a price as I write. It's going to piss Ripple off something chronic because 
I am expressing the Human Rights Act of Freedom of Expression, while they have t
o conform to some dumbass code. But this *needs* to be done. 
 
All I need to do now is get an editorial team behind me, and who better than my 
housemates? Pete's got a typewriter and unlimited access to an NHS photocopier, 
I've got a scanner, and Mark's got one of those dinky little "SupaSnap" cameras 
popular with sports-day schoolkids back in the 80s. Paul's Geordie access makes 
hims sound warm and trustworthy, so he's got his journalism cut out for him, and
 Alex has got all the stationery we'll ever need. 
 
The only problem - Point 8 of my "Living Technique" code : "No creative work sho
wn to a wider audience may be completed without significiant female input unless
 no females are willing to participate". In English, we need girls to help write
 our soon-to-be-hilarious-yet-controversial tabloid. So If anyone (male or femal
e) wants to help me write this thing, contact me at:
 
Public Access
John
C7 Mary Gee
Ratcliffe Road
Leicester
 
Tel: 0116 21 53327
 
 
You can write about pretty much anything you want, so long as it's interesting.
 
Chill.
 
John x - " Chixploitation "
 
Think I'm talking BULLSHIT or sharp HOME TRUTHS? Why not e-mail me?

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	30 October 2000 15:27
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.
Subject:	Journal - "Dazed"

John's Journal	
   30 October 2000

 
I remember one summer when I was kid and I was cycling around on my Raliegh Grif
ter, a bike made of solid steel that changed gears by turning the handle. I was 
about 30 meters away from my house in a cul-de-sac doing asshole kid stuff like 
pretending I could fly or being in a police car, when suddenly I lost control of
 the bike and struck a curb. Fortunately I was flown clean of the bike onto some
 soft grass. Instead of getting up and continuing to enjoy the warm summer day, 
I lay on the ground - quite unhurt - looking up at the sky. For the first time i
n my life, I began to wonder about death. I wondered what would have happened if
 I had hit a car, or broken a vital part inside me. After a while I fell asleep 
to the sound of birds and long-distance mowing. I awoke to mum running towards m
e, convinced something had happened to me, and I told her I was just taking a na
p. She was pretty glad I was still intact and did the "mum" thing of taking me h
ome, patching up the small graze on my arm and feeding me ice-cream.
 
Looking back on the incident, I'm glad I've survived the many stupid risks I've 
taken in my life. So many people with potential and magic in them get their live
s taken away for the most inane of reasons. I suppose in a world where so many h
ave died for stupid, empty causes, there are more pointless ways of dying than i
n a cycling crash.
 
Vietnam proved that.
 
John x - "TheAllSeeingEye"
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	30 October 2000 12:17
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.
Subject:	Journal +

John's Journal	 
   Additional 

 
www.naadir.net
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	26 October 2000 13:14
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.
Subject:	Journal - "Ashram House"



John's Journal	
  2 6  October 2000

 
How strange.
 
    I was busy falling asleep in my "MC301 : Formal Specifications" lecture. Now
, my tutour is a great bloke who teaches Formal Specs like a martial arts B-movi
e ("when you're guard is down and they think they've got you, that's when you be
come *tricky* and alter your tactics!"), but the subject is not very interesting
. 
 
    Fortunately, I had preempted this so I unpacked my "wakeup kit" from its sma
ll tupperware container. The "wakeup kit" contains Pro-Plus, Lucozade NRG tablet
s, AlcoholBull, a Russian can of Coca-Cola ("with extra caffeine for worker stre
ngth"), and some "mystic" herbs in a small tinfoil packet given to me by a rasta
 who had the same name as me.
 
    So there I was busy chugging down caffeine, taurine and energy isotopes when
 suddenly my body spoke to me for the first time ever.
 
    "Stop giving me all this shit" it said.
    
    "What shit? This keeps me awake." I replied, slightly miffed. MC301 has been
 known to sedate LA rioters.
    
    "You do this all the time. You keep feeding me junk food. No wonder you look
 the way you do" said my body on the verge of tears.
 
    I didn't know what to say. It may have a point. Last night, me, Rich and And
y had pan-fried steak and deep-fried bread for a late night snack. The night bef
ore I was smoking rollies with Pete (who, after five years of non-stop cannabis 
takes around 5 hours to roll them).
 
    "Okay, so what do want me to do?" I said. People were staring at me having t
his one-sided argument with myself.
 
    "Eat more fruit and veg. Vitamin pills are NOT the answer. That's like cows 
trying to graze on bonemeal-covered Astroturf."
 
    "I do eat fresh veg, I -" 
 
    "That green shit they put in the TJ special burgers is outweighed by the fat
 and gristle content and YOU know that" wailed my body.
 
    "Okay, okay" I said, worried that my body would relax my sphincter muscles a
nd cause a scene in front of everyone.
 
    "And you'll stop eating 'Morning Pizza' for breakfast and have muesli" deman
ded my body.
 
    "Yes." I replied. Thinking about it, Pizza for breakfast is perhaps not a gr
eat idea.
 
    "And you'll stop going out with Mark 'pretending' to buy yoghurt, and ending
 up buying Blue Cheeseburgers." 
 
    "Yes." I said. Did I really do that? Was Mark....corrupting me?
 
    "Okay then" said my body. "I was going to simulate a small cardiac arrest on
 Friday to punish you, but for now you're on body probation"
 
    
    So my body has given me an ultimatum. I have to join the gym. Properly. No m
ore carrying around last-year's card. I have to drink Fruit Juice (real Fruit Ju
ice, not squash) instead of AlcoholBird or Vodka. I am forbidden from dabbling w
ith deep-fried meat, and I am barred from trying to smoke "Dabs" when I'm drunk.
 I'm not allowed to drink ruptured glosticks to impress lenient females and I ha
ve wavered my deposit for that bottle of 85% ABV Absinthe from the former Czech 
republic. I have to exercise more, walk upstairs and get rid of my tummy.
 
Nightmare.
 
 
John x - "I still cry when I watch Pikachu's Vacation"
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	24 October 2000 14:30
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.; Sharman, P.D.C.; England, V.J.; Graves, C.D.; H
art, P.M.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "Brazillian Vacation"

 


John's Journal	
  24 October 2000

 
Hey Hey Hey!!!!
I've not got long (cos I'm supposed to be working on some stuff with Naadir), bu
t I fear I cannot leave you, gentle reader, without a brief respite of my muse.
 
Erm...
 
I've only got ten minutes, and I haven't got enough time to tell you about my ne
w coat ("It's really white!!!" squealed Mark in throes of emotion) or the curren
t situation with 24-hour man (he keeps Lunchables under the counter for me now, 
bless him), So I'll entertain your puny minds with yet another tepid photo of yo
ur favourite 80s action team:
 
 

 
J x
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	19 October 2000 14:04
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Flew,
 C.S.; Tew, R.F.; Simpson, P.W.
Subject:	Journal - "Pasta Basics"

John's Journal	
 19 October 2000

I've got a bit of a problem with the old time management. I've been socialising 
far too much of late.
If you've read " Mark's Reflections" then you'll know what I mean. If not, then 
here's a filleted (though less interesting) version:
 
Due to an After Shock too many last friday in the RedFearn (named after the mana
ger's girlfriend who had ginger pubic hair), my alcohol laden eyes fixed upon tw
o familiar females slinking next to the bar. Trixie (a.k.a. Trash, a.k.a. Vickie
) and Bea (a.k.a. Bianca, bu do NOT tell her I said that!). I started skanking t
owards them in my usual charming manner, and after briefly losing a fight with a
 table, I managed to gather myself up and approach them.
 
"I got a REALLY interesting fact for you" I slurred, gesticulating wildly with m
y right hand.
 
"No you haven't" said Bea. It was clear my Pheremone glands were on vacation.
 
"No really, d'you not want to hear it?" I said trying very hard to remain uprigh
t with minimal success.
 
"Go on then" said Trix.
 
"There's enough human intestine to stretch over 40 miles if laid end to end" I g
rinned. Suddenly, I realised I'd told them the wrong interesting fact. My drunke
n brain had mis-accessed the "useless shit" department . Again. I should have to
ld them the one about the lions.
 
"You've been looking at your Trivial Pursuit card collection again" said Mark, w
ho suddenly appeared next to me.
 
"Mark!" I wailed emotionally, "It's like so..... fucking good to see you man" I 
cried joyously. My sub-concious was already plotting a reasonaly safe "staggerin
g" route home away from traffic and sharp things.
 
"We never go out on dates" moaned Bea. She's queen of changing tack. 
 
"I know." I grinned. "That's cuz you're -" Mark silenced me with a gentle punch 
in the nadgers.
 
"John and me will take you out" Mark said. Trixie and Bea both lit up like a Diw
ali firework.
 
"We will?" I said genuinely astonished. This would mean wearing nice clothes and
 drinking wine. Something I usually reserve for my Godfather turns I occassional
ly still endure. The last time I got dapper for a social was when I went for the
 infamous "#Sicks" curry with Josh, Tom, Phil, SteveCole and that other guy. Tom
 entertained us with his curious anecdotes. But I digress...
 
So we arranged to meet on Wednesday, and so it came to be that earlier that midw
eek evening I ended up getting dressed properly, armed with a small bouqet of sp
ecially selected flora.
 
Paul and Charlie had decided to gatecrash, which was fine by me. Paul wore a big
 coat, nice shirt, top notch trousers and green spikey hair. Mark wore his blue 
shirt with the mediterranean motif, and I was resplendent in silver silk tie, bl
ack shirt, cleanly-pressed farting crackers and Airwalk trainers (sorry guys).
 
We arrived at Antibos and eventually settled in. Not being a great fan of all th
ings pasta (something I have to live off out of neccessity and not by choice) I 
decided to go for the King Prawn Kebab. Helen Wright will no doubt know that I l
ike all things Prawny at restaurants (King Prawn Korma, Deep Fried Prawn with Ga
rlic Butter, Prawn Crackers, etc.) and this was not exception.
 
What was exceptional was the preperation of my food. Whilst everyone else chose 
nice sensible things like Lasagne, Pizza and that Carbonara shit, the waiter cam
e over with some cruel-looking steel rods. As soon as the young Italian waiter a
rrived all the females slipped their hands beneath the table. He attached the ro
ds to the table to make a kind of holding clamp. I put my hands beneath the tabl
e, though for an entirely different and more protective reason. 
 
"Ta-da!" beamed the waiter as he slipped my skewered kebab onto the clamp with a
 dinky little sparkler attached to the top.
 
Anyhows, we scoffed our food and cracked funnies over the next hour and everythi
ng in the current passage of my life seemed a little easier. You know how someti
mes you wake up, and the morning sunlight shines on your bed and you feel.... we
ll not reborn exactly, but kind of re-vitalised. That's how I felt last night.
 
Normally, it takes only one friend to make me feel alive. But I found that a gro
up of friends can equally accomplish the task.
 
John x
 
 
Additional Data : 
Jo G : are you still up for Saturday? I may need to help me go clothes shopping.
 
Special Hi to Joshua. We'll breathe life back into that Electribe! 
Tom : Thankyou for the gift of laughter we can never repay. (obsessive junk) 
Mark : I'll explain later....
Neil : Back to Madrid 'till you get it right!!! 
Mike Russell : Tune!
Ally : Gracias para su e-mail (I'll be your submissive male, Beetch!) 
Naadir : Upload!
Keira : I'll try to save him.
Helen P : When do I get to meet whatsisname?
Helen W : Contact? Isn't that an aftershave? (Joke! Well done for all that hard 
work)
Mink : Behave!
Rebecky, Ceris and Phil : Welcome aboard...
[End of Transmission]
 
 

   
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	18 October 2000 16:28
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'; Armst
rong, B.; Flew, C.S.
Subject:	Journal - "Firefly"


 
John's Journal	
 1 6  October 2000

 
Last night was great.
 
Me, Mark, Paul, Alex, Pete, Ally, Trixie, Charly, Bea, Hannah and Kate went to t
hat dubious establishment known as "The Fan Club" for a bit of the old indie/roc
k/dance. After tarting myself up with various curious UV paints, I shaked my lit
tle booty on the dance floor while various people gaped at the intricate circuit
-board of UV ink that tattooed my right arm. Alex, Mark and Paul got involved in
 a bit of a mosh (I decided after the donkey punch in Pitchshifter to bow down f
or a bit), until the DJ started shitting himself and Security came in.
 
I chatted to Ally for a bit with regards to my life - I have a sneaky suspicion 
that Ally will end up working for the UN so I had to be careful as to what I'd s
ay to her or a group of Arabs might try to kidnap me. Then we it was time to lea
ve (Security were doing their sheep-dog routine), I found to my horror that Bea 
was trying to get this 28-year old guy to talk dirty to her. According to unname
d sources, the guy put cocaine under his eyelids.
 
Eventually, we staggered outside surrounded by people of doubtful reputation and
 hailed a taxi. Hannah, Kate, Trix, Alex, Mark and I piled into it leaving the o
thers out in the rain. (Sorry about that guys), and we bombed back to Highfield.
 
Highfield is a "hot spot" in Leicester. It contains people that like to beat you
 up or have painful sex with you (sometimes both at the same time, though not ne
ccesarily in that order). However, us blokes weren't tired yet and the females h
ad promised us coffee.
 
At this point, my high was beginning to ebb. Sure, I was surrounded by beautiful
 women, cule guys and Alex, but I wanted to spend the night in with my Groovebox
 and a cup of Chicory. That was until one of the girls put on a video. We watche
d as it started.

"No way" Mark said.
 
"Like, totally way, dude" I responded in my best Californian accent 
 
It was Danger Mouse. 
 
I chuckled my way through the first few episodes before Alex and Trixie conspire
d to put of Buffy the stupid vampire slayer. About half an hour into the video, 
Mark started looking a bit dopey (this is Mark's body forwarning us that in five
 minutes he'll collapse on the floor grunting balefully for about thirty seconds
 before falling into a surprisingly comatose sleep) so me and Alex went home. 
 
It was 4am when I tucked myself into my duvet, and I had 90 minutes of naptime b
efore Paul woke me up with his "WAASSSSSUPPPPP" routine. 
 
So Forrest Gump was right after all, Life is like a bag of Revels - you never kn
ow what you're going to get.
 
 
 
 
 
Oh yeah, and Hannah told us about a blowjob she gave in a synagogue.
 

  
From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	16 October 2000 12:13
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'
Subject:	Journal - "Brazillian Vacation"

John's Journal	
 1 6  October 2000

 
I've had absolutely NO sleep. 
 
Let me explain. 
 
Last night Mark arrived back home at around midnight (he went back to his roots 
in East Anglia), so we all decided to celebrate. I had been working hard all day
 mastering a preliminary copy of my new album and I needed a break. We all piled
 into Mark's room, and got talking about music and suchlike.
 
The Paul piped up "I know, right. Let's have a 'Big and Clever' jamming session.
"
 
"Big and Clever" is a highly conceptual punk band, of which Paul is a member. He
 plays the bongos (well, one bongo) with a wooden spoon. So far, "Big and Clever
" has performed in front of 15 people. Paul has broken two wooden spoons, which 
he has proudly 'tacked to his notice board. I had spent a few hours during the w
eekend making "Big and Clever" T-shirts which featured a picture of Jesse out of
 Team Rocket with an Eekans Eel jammed firmly up her, Erik Ellington ollying ove
r 10 skateboards, and Rod Hull & Emu. 
 
"Go get your file then" Mark said encouragingly. Paul scampered off to get his f
oolscap folder of home-made lyrics.
 
Essential Sound Project uses a Folio F1 mixing desk, Cubase VST, A Roland MC-303
, A Korg Electribe EA-1, MiniDisc, A Yamaha SU200 and a Roland PC-180A Keyboard.
 
 
"Big and Clever" used a Radio Shack microphone, A dictaphone with sellotape over
 two of the buttons ("to stop it from wobbling too much" confessed Pete), an acc
oustic guitar and a makeshift bongo.
 
The band consisted of:
 
    Paul Richardson : Bongos (Or, in this case, a "hot 'n' spicy" Pringles tube)
    Mark Vernon & Peter Hart (Guitars)
    Alex Manning, Paul Richardson & John-Paul Holt (Vocals)
 
 
We had never played together before, but that didn't stop us from actually makin
g a recording. 
 
Attached to this e-mail is an mp3 sound file of the "Mary Gee Big And Clever Jam
 2000".
 
Afterwards, we got a bit bored and went down the Shell. 24 hour man caught me ta
king a photo of him, so I'm not going back in a hurry. If that wasn't enough, th
is Police car was parked outside our halls which put me on a paranoia trip. Wors
e was to come, when I constructed the toy inside my Kinder egg. It was some kind
 of fucked-up cat type thing. Even Alex was terrified.
 
"How many kids are going to have nightmares from that thing?" he said looking at
 the mangled plastic apparation my hand
 
"I bet the designer grinned all the way through making that thing, and then went
 home and murdered his entire family" breathed Mark. None of us could take our e
yes of the monstrosity that had laid dormant like some evil parasite inside my K
inder Surprise.
 
In the end, Pete thought it would be a great end to a bizzare night by putting o
n "A Clockwork Orange".  I had last seen this film when I was 12. I had snuck it
 out of my brother's top draw because I knew it had tits in it somewhere. I thin
k I lost more than body fluid that day.
 
The film finished at 3.45 am. Mark was sprawled in a dazed heap on the ground, A
lex looked completely vacant and Paul was fingering his neck nervously. I decide
d sleep was no longer a viable option, and decided to finish off my album until 
it was time to go to uni.
 
It beats studying anyway...
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	13 October 2000 12:26
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'
Subject:	RE: Journal - "The house that John built"


 
John's Journal	
 Supplemental 

 
 Electribe Sampler
 
 
This e-mal is in memory of Josh's Electribe, which died at the premature age of 
8 weeks.
 
"In my heart O wise one,
lies the groove of the many,
but how many grooveboxes must die
in order for me to accomplish my task?"
 
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	12 October 2000 14:18
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.; Bullock, L.B.; 'Neil Edward Merry'
Subject:	Journal - "The house that John built"





John's Journal	
 12 October 2000

 
Oh lordy!
                I was taking a powernap. As I was idly flicking through my brain
 of sex fantasies (the latest involving watching Geri Haliwell washing the dishe
s - just think of those warm soapy hands), I heard a knock on the door. "I'm com
ing!" I yelled in a surprisingly pubescent wail and staggered towards the door. 
Suddenly cramp seized the left side of my head and my brain said "Woah! Slow dow
n!"
 
As I opened the door, I moaned "Jesus freakin' A! My god-damned head is all fuck
ed up and shit!"
 
There were two figures standing in the doorway. One was a burly youth with short
 hair. The other was clearly a female. 
 
The guy spoke first, "Good evening! We're from -"
 
"Hold on. If you're the bailiffs then you've got the wrong number, Pete lives do
wnstairs -"
 
"Oh no, we're not bailiffs. We're from the Alpha Course! You signed up with us a
t the Freshers' Fayre." the girl said, smiling.
 
The Alpha Course? Then it dawned on me. I had signed up with the Alpha Course be
lieving it to be a philsophical society where I could loudly berate everyone's b
eliefs and spout codshit for hours on end. I took the leaflet and realised with 
a sinking type of dread that it was a "New Christian" thing. Then it occured to 
me - the guy had the body of an Ibiza Security crew, but the tamed eyes of a per
son who has found God in a big way. The girl was clearly "The Honey Trap". 
 
"You'd better come in" I said meekly.
 
They told me about the meetings. The meals together. The chance to explore the B
ible. I nodded, trying not to think about a warm naked Emma Bunton curled happil
y around me in a four poster whispering in my ear "Oh my sexy beast, you did it.
 You hit No 1 in the first week."
 
Now don't get me wrong. I consider myself a Christian. I'm liberal, but the ten 
commandments make a lot of sense and does you good to follow. I've even read the
 Bible (my favourite bit is when Ezekial begat Zad). But I don't like it when an
y religious group come knocking at your door in a group and try to cover up thei
r real intentions. You never see Jews, Muslims or Catholics knocking on your doo
r or trying to shove tins of beans into your hands or sticking leaflets when you
 feel vunerable.
 
"Look. I'm busy Wednesdays. I do Lanma, and I also give plasma down at the local
 clinic". I said wearily, rubbing my temples.
 
They were prepared for this.
 
"Oh it's okay." beamed the girl happily. "Wednesday is only the first week. We n
ormally congregate on Thursdays".
 
I brought my bloodshot, murdered eyes up to hers and made a telepathic link. She
 said I'll sleep with you, but only after we're married, and I've converted you,
 and you submit yourself willingly to an organisation based on power and control
. I said I'll think about it.
 
"So what do you say?" the guy asked. 
 
"I'll think about it". I was toying with my pink fluffy alien toy. It giggled wh
en you pressed its navel. A damn sight better than that Pikachu I gave to Ally. 
 
"Okay" said the girl. As they were turning to leave, the bloke said "We also run
 a fornightly meeting for the more hardcore Christians"
 
I said goodbye, and closed the door.
 
"The Ku Klux Klan were hardcore Christians." I murmured thoughtfully. Then I loo
ked down at my T-shirt. 
 
It had a picture of heavily-armed mouse with a machine-gun above the slogan "I'm
 on a Pussy Hunt".
 
"Oh shit!" I said, and closed my eyes.
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	11 October 2000 12:10
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.
Subject:	RE: Journal - Supplemental

John's Journal	
 11 October 2000

 
Hey peeps!
 
I've not got much time, but I'm happy to say I'm getting on top of things. Altho
ugh I've still got a pile of work to do, I had a spiritual vision last night. Le
t me tell you a little bit about it:
 
There's this place near where I live called Charlton Lakes. Apart from the lakes
ide, I used to hang out with a couple of my friends around the running track whi
ch was surrounded by some steep hills. Just behind the running track is Portway 
Industrial estate. In my vision, I was sitting on the hills overlooking the race
-track. The day was warm and sunny, but windy enough to hear the trees whisperin
g to each other. 
 
The whole lake was deserted as far as I could see, but this did not concern me. 
In fact, I felt happy - I had the whole lakes to myself and Charlton Lakes is a 
very beautiful place in the summer. I was sitting in the shade of a small conife
r, a ring of which had been planted around the hills. I was with a friend.
 
She turned to me and said "I've got news for you. But you got to promise me you 
can't tell anyone unless you think their ready."
 
I smiled. "I can think of a few people who are ready."
 
She said "Good. Now listen, I haven't got much time. Everything in the next few 
weeks is going to change. Maybe not on the surface, bur deep below it. First of 
all, your work. You've spent so much time worrying about the pressure and all th
e things that make you feel cornered."
 
I said "You don't understand. Sometimes it's like being trapped in a swimming po
ol balcony. The air's hot and wet and you feel dizzy."
 
She said "Don't interrupt me. Pay attention. You're under pressure, but you don'
t realise that you can harness this to make you stronger."
 
I was cynical. I told her "How the fuck am I supposed to 'harness' stress? Stres
s is a negative emotion that's non-constructive."
 
She replied "Actually, stress is productive otherwise the human body would not d
amage itself with such an erratic emotion. You can deconstruct stress into emoti
ons that form a better part of you. Oil can be burnt to move things, remember"
 
I pulled a daisy out the ground and flicked an ant off it. I asked her what else
 she wanted to tell me.
 
She said "You're in a bit of cocoon at the moment. But when you emerge, you'll w
ant different things from life. You'll feel more aware of the environment around
 you. This sort of thing is not new. Aboriginies and Indians have had experience
d changes in their early adulthood for centuries. I know you're not an aborogini
e, but in each of us there is an underlying current which is liable to change di
rection."
 
She stood up and brused the crumbs of dirt and leaves off her behind and knees. 
"Shit, I've got to go."
 
I looked up. I didn't want her to go, but who was I to stop her?
 
As she was walking away, she said "One more thing.."
 
"What's that?"
 
She smiled and told me three things that are going to happen this month. She loo
ked a little sad when she said the last thing, but I have a feeling it'll be oka
y.
 
Three things. I wish I could tell you what they were, but it was only a dream an
d you'd think I was crazy.
 
I became aware of my surroundings (not wake up exactly, but rather become more "
there") and read for a little until I could sleep. 
 
Don't be scared by any of this. As I said, this was just a dream, a vision from 
somewhere. We dream crazy shit all the time. 
 
Gotta Run
 
John
 
 
 
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	11 October 2000 09:14
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.
Subject:	Journal - Supplemental

John's Journal	
 Supplemental 

 
 
 Sexism Studies GCSE Exam
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	10 October 2000 12:29
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.
Subject:	Journal - "All Star Electric"

John's Journal	
  10 - October - 2000

I've written off the Home Office to apply for a license to grow cannabis. I had 
the stuff (it causes impotence and besides, every veteran dope smoker is an assh
ole), but I thought it would be interesting to grow it legally. I have a feeling
 that the HO will turn down my request, but you never get anywhere without tryin
g.
 
Our "phantom" roommmate downstairs, Pete, has moved in properly now.  He is this
 lanky ginger dude with glasses and a 1970s aura radiating from him. Pete has to
 be without doubt the most bonkers person I've ever met.  He's not studying anyt
hing and is not a recognised student (this is a long story), but he writes a sma
ll indie magazine called "Viagra Falls" which has a circulation of about 200. He
 also painted scary shit on the attic door outside my room. Pete, Mark, Rich and
 Paul all want to grow cannabis without the fun of the HO approval (why wouldn't
 they give us a permit - we're academics for fucks sake).
 
Speaking of which, I'm getting a little concerned about Mark. Since he's been ba
ck, he's eaten nothing but TJ's special burgers (which contain a voluminous amou
nt of saturated fat) and ends up staggering back from various establishments of 
doubtful reputation in the early hours of the morning. Now I'm all for mortgagin
g my career in pursuit of wicked pleasure, but each time Mark comes back smellin
g of drink and girl and collapses non-communicatively on his inflatable sofa, I 
feel a little concerned for my friend becuase I see him slipping from his missio
n. 
 
However, if he pulls two girls and they take turns in blowing him, that's a diff
erent story.
 
I'm getting worried about my "big project". The deadline in 3000 words by Friday
. So far I've done 600. I've had a lot of things on my mind, such as why my MC-3
03 won't interface with the MIDI on my computer. I think it could be a hardware 
conflict, but everything else works okay. I know I sound fatuous, but I want to 
send some hi-quality tunes to this singer. She's really keen and told me she'd t
ry anything (a point which all girls would do well to follow). Seriously though,
 I reckon I could do some interesting shit with a singer. A lyricist wouldn't go
 amiss either. I was talking to Keity and she said asked me a key question "John
 Peel or Steve Lamacq?". I said "Steve Lamacq" without missing a beat. Sure, Joh
n Peel is interesing, unbiased, and plays all kind of funky shit from Mintie to 
an ominous-sounding Swedish combo called "The Fuckers". However, John Peel is ol
d and will probably die soon, and I prefer Steve Lamacq because he actually like
s most of what he plays and he is the only DJ in existence to interview the KLF 
after they burnt a million quid. That takes balls.
 
Anyhowz, I was going to lapse into a laborious spiel on how much I dislike Jools
 Holland, but I've run out of time and Helen would probably slit my throat with 
a stanley knife, so I'm going to cut it here. Excuse the pun.
 
WeRegulateAllStealingOfOurProperty
 
John
 
 
 
Woof!
 
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	09 October 2000 12:28
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.; Cunningham, R.J.
Subject:	Journal - "Killing Angels"

 
John's Journal	
06  - October - 2000

The story so far:
    
    A young dreamer named John has left home to pursue a career in the technolog
y industry. Although things were pretty straightforward in the first year of his
 academic life, things soon became very complicated. John decided to hook up wit
h a few of his closest friends to discover the bigger picture on being a student
, and focused on a big dance event called "Bubblelove", hoping it would provide 
a few answers. Although the event was bangin', the women were willing, and the c
yberdogs were kicking it, John felt strangely empty the morning after. (Note: Pe
ople in clubbing photos are told to look like their on the brink of climax - it'
s good photo-op and hides the fact that most of them feel like sardines) During 
a routine raid of the Shell station, John and Mark became increasingly concerned
 regarding the activities of "24-hour man". "He's simply not on form" Mark respo
nded sadly, after we bought junk-food in the early hours. 24-hour man didn't res
pond to our "fake hold-up" Mark had initiated whilst purchasing his flavoured-go
ods. 
 
John and Mark met up with the "new guy" downstairs called Pete, who was a journa
list for a music magazine. After a surreal jamming session, Mark and Pete discon
nect from John to sleep in their respective living units. John lies back and gaz
es up at the flourescent pictograms that litter the walls of his room. He wonder
s if he should take a direct intervention in the way is life is heading, but als
o decides that the future is more interesting when you maneuver in the dark. 
 
How does a mouse feel when it escapes the claws of a determined predator? Does i
t consider itself a lucky escape? I suppose you cannot apply the same situation 
to a human, but I've been in similar circumstances. 
 
I've been given one more chance to make something of myself and to find out who 
I am. I don't think that dance music is the answer. Neither are computers, or fa
shion or trying to be perfect and pretty and fuckin' amazing. I think the answer
 lies in people. 
 
It's time to tap into your collective psyches.....
 
 
Bubblelove data : // "Ecstacy Girl", "VIP Man", "Rough-blonde girl", "The girl w
ho's been going out with her boyfriend for three weeks", Twat Bouncer, White glo
-sticks, Lonsdale, Crucifix, Red Alert, Wet hands, Red UV dye, Varsity, 10-foot 
blur, M8 photographer, stripper, no entry.
 
Urban Connection ://M.Vernon ::  It was after a couple of breif thumb-wars with 
Bea that I turned to see Paul (a normally reserved and slightly shy guy, despite
 his glowing personallity and neverending wit) munching on the neck of some girl
 he had only been talking to for five minutes or so!  Holy shit!  Paul had just 
turned into a pornstar before my very eyes.  To contrast this sudden shift to "s
tud mode", he came running up to me about 10 minutes later proclaiming: "She`s g
one man!  Can you see her anywhere?".  Paul looked limped and began to panic fro
m the inside out.  I sighed "She`s over there Dirk" (Dirk Diggler was guy from B
oogie Nights).
 
Visual Data: 
 
   
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	06 October 2000 12:58
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.; Akhtar, N.
Subject:	RE: Journal - "My heart is yours (via being coughed up thru my l
ungs)"

 
John's Journal	
06  - October - 2000

Got a meeting with Noboku my project tutour in a minute, so I'll keep it brief.
I had a WHOLE steak for breakfast this morning (12oz!!!). I know. I'm proud of m
yself as well. Eating a steak for breakfast is not an easy task, but I thought "
John, if you're gonig to be man, you'll simply have to eat steak EVERY morning."
 
This is not the first time I've re-assured my masculinity. Once, I chickened out
 of a milk-race over at my mates house and got really annoyed at being called a 
"big pink skipping rope with fluffy handles", so I bought a really hard-looking 
leather studded choker and NOBODY messed with me. Coming to think about it, at s
chool, people were even afraid to be in the same washroom as me. Except Josh.
 
Now me and my mates have been getting up to all sorts of laddish hi-jinx include
d buying jazz-mags from shell stations with psycologically-brittle employees, sl
eeping in my socks, and playing unruly American teen-angst rock music. I'm toyin
g with the idea of buying an FHM, but I don't want to rock the boat too hard.
 
But enough about me! I've been receiving requests for more "visual content" in m
y illustrious scribbling-diary. Therefore, I have scourged my photo collection f
or the most tantalising chunks of face-candy I can find. Here's a picture of me 
and my mates kickin' it down in our ghetto:
 
 
 
 
 
Erm... It seems like my photos got mixed up with Jurgen's. He's the new guy repl
acing my next-door neighbour. I told Jurgen I liked drum & bass, vaginas and flo
urescent chemicals. Jurgen told me he likes "Flavor-Milk", "Chimneys" and "Schku
ud.". I asked him what "Schkuud" was, and he showed me. What strange sexual pref
erences the Norwegians have! You never see that in any British magazines, especi
ally ones for children... 
 
Which reminds me, I've *got* to introduce you all to my housemates next journal 
entry, but I've got to go see Noboku. Her English isn't brilliant, so I'm going 
to impress her by brushing up on my Japanese.
 
Ja-na minna san!
 
JUNGLEJohn
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	05 October 2000 13:18
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.; Poole, M.S.; Bell
age, A.
Subject:	Journal - "My heart is yours (via being coughed up thru my lungs
)"

  
John's Journal	
04 - October - 2000

Got up to all sorts of foibles last night with all the glowy stuff I was telling
 you all about last entry.
I've bought a big UV black-light for my room which also strobes. It was my inten
tion that it would make my room look pretty rad during the night and that EVERYO
NE would be impressed. Unfortunately, it's only succeeded in making my skin go f
laky and giving me cataracts, so I was going to throw it away, until I discovere
d something too cule:
 
UV Graffiti.
 
I've got this pen that only shows up under UV light, so I enlisted in Monsieurs 
Richardson and Manning to come up and give my room a bit of dab. So we spent aro
und an hour decorating pretty patterns and poignant quotes upon the walls of my 
habitat. Paul draw a particularly winsome crab, but Alex just wrote scary shit l
ike "I want to rape you BITCH" (which kind of excludes me showing it off to any 
potentially interesing females.)
 
I also got a visit from my friend Alexandra. She was on her way to somewhere wit
h her wacky international mates, but she found time to squeeze my pikachu (!) ar
ound a zillion times.
 
"It's SO cule!!! Where did you get it?" she squealed in the throes of ultimate j
oy
 
"Hong-Kong. Actually, this girl called Mai Lin gave it me" I replied, wishing sh
e'd stop squuezing it and making it say "PIKA-CHU!!!" 
 
"I love it"
 
"Ali, if you want it, you can keep it. Please. Take my Pikachu. It drives me bon
kers." I said through gritted teeth.
 
Ali then did some more of her joyous grinning and then eloped with my Electric M
ouse. I was left alone. I briefly toyed with the idea of doing some work and the
n decided to expand our "People's Revolutionary Front of Mary Gee" campaign. Pau
l, Mark, Alex and I are going to take over (and possibly execute) the next elect
ed JCR and bring the people to order under our water-tight rule. I suggested we 
hang a huge cloth banner up outside our hall with our Logo on it (A star encircl
ed atop a pyramid). Paul is going to buy a thousand mini-tins of spaghetti hoops
, rip the labels off, and pile them in the Ratcliffe Bar next to a poster announ
cing "Rejoice Citizens! Production of Spaghetti hoops up 10%". Mark is going lea
fleting next Sunday. Alex is attempting to influence the more vunerable female f
reshers.
 
So, all in all it's been a pretty hectic day. I'm reluctantly going to start on 
my project after I've finished eludicating this entry. I was going to go down to
wn and buy some fashionable footwear but it's raining and I forgot my cugoul.
 
Take it easy,
 
                            John xXx
 
 
 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	04 October 2000 13:33
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'; Wright, H.V.; Lewis, P.R.; Murphy, K.L.
Subject:	Journal - "A bird in the hand..."

  
John's Journal	
04 - October - 2000

Not long to go until Bubblelove. For those of you who are ignorant, Bubblelove i
s this big clubby bouncy event that occurs once in a blue moon at our Uni. Aside
 from Damned Nation and Logical Progression, it's the only thing the Ents commit
tee ever got right. 

Therefore, I've taken it upon myself to purge my mind and body until then. Durin
g my Parallel Computation lecture, I scribbled down the following "Purification 
Rules" on the back of a bus-ticket and 'tacked it to the inside of my satchel.

 

John's Purification Rules

1: No alcopops. In fact, no pops of any kind including Panda Shandy and Blue Lem
on flavoured FizzTazztik

2: The following foods are banned until afterwards: Headmeats, Singapore Hash, B
attenburg Oysters and Poontang Gravy

3: I must recite the lyrics to every song by Faithless at least seven times befo
re taking a power nap

4: Eating should be done in silence, lest the windpipe be open and I should suff
er a choking fit.

  

Obviously, I'm still the same old lovable joker that I ever was, but if I'm goin
g to fork out £17 for a ticket (Mark told me I was being shat on from a height b
efore buying one himself), I expect to be working in peak conditions. And there'
ll be females there. Again. Last time I hooked up with a "Fluffly Bra Girl" whic
h is the epitome of club contact. I've also kitted out on glosticks (there's thi
s new brand called "Tokyo Flash" which last 30 minutes and pratically turn night
 into day). But the best bit is the facepaints! Imagine all the foibles I can ge
t up to!!! 

  

Anyhows, gotta jam over to SocStu and save the right. 

LoveAndKissesYouKnowWhatsUp 

John x

 

From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	03 October 2000 13:59
To:	Holt, J.P.; 'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J
.M.; Pascoe, H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.u
k'; 'tom*obsess.com'
Subject:	RE: 



John's Journal	  Supplemental 

 
 
 
AAAAAAARRRGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
 
 


From:	Holt, J.P.
Sent:	03 October 2000 13:55
To:	'Michael Russell'; Manning, A.J.; Griffiths, J.C.; Cadman, J.M.; Pascoe,
 H.L.; Hunter, J.M.; Vernon, M.J.; Richardson, P.D.; 'josh*sand.co.uk'; 'tom*obs
ess.com'; Holt, J.P.

John's Journal	 03 - October - 2000

Ah mate! 

I'm feeling a little brittle this morning for reasons that MUST be told. Last ni
ght me, Mark and Paul went out for a brief tincture at the Redfearn. Now, I'm no
rmally against mingling with the proletariat, but I decided to let my guns downs
 and grace the masses with my presence.

Well, it was wonderful. I got cheerfully tanked up on "SchizophrenaBull" (Red Bu
ll & Slop-tray) and a curious drink called "K-Spice" which lapsed me into nice d
reams about Emma Bunton. Rich, the guy who lives downstairs from me, was celebra
ting his birthday and hadn't told us so we won a T-shirt in a Jack Daniels compe
tition, gave it to him, and bothered him for a bit. I also met the Swedes who li
ve across the hallway from me (doubtless I tell you more about them later).

In the end, we decided to stagger down town and see if we could find a suitable 
club to get knackered in. Unfortunately, we were suffering from a clothing-crisi
s. Paul was resplendent in his Che Guevera t-shirt and combats, I was test-drivi
ng my River Island shirt I had procured earlier, and Mark was wearing a natty bl
ue Hawaiian shirt that brought the word "pineapples and malibu" to mind. Getting
 into a suitable club was going to be difficult.

Anyway, we decided to take a piss and think about it. It boiled down to either t
he Fan Club or.... Kudos. We hurried along to the Fan Club, but the bouncer said
 it was Goth night.

"Oh, great. I won't get lynched then." I wailed, tugging futilely at my milk-blu
e shirt and school trousers. Meanwhile, hundreds of interestingly pierced indivi
duals were pushing past and chuckling the words "Nice try garage-fool" and "get 
a life you techno".

Ultimately, Paul and Mark dragged me away, but not before I told them that I own
ed a Sisters of Mercy song tape I bought from a boot sale. So we ended up in Kud
os.

Kudos, as if you wouldn't know, had the ATB project playing for one night. Whils
t Mark and Paul were battling their way towards the bar, I was practically getti
ng an erection wondering what kind of hardware they were using. So I shoved my w
ay through the thronging crowd of drunk people, occasionally stopping to chastis
e anyone wearing a Ben Sherman shirt, and I reached their platform. 

They were using a CD player. 

As I dashed to the toilets to be violently sick, I chanced upon a familiar figur
e sitting semi-conscious on a disused seat.

"Big Al!" I yelled, full of genuine joy. The last time I'd seen him was in a car
toon I did about him.

Al did his usual "grin-and-lick-teeth" routine, but he was too far gone to be co
herent, so I hooked up with Mark and Paul.

Some cunt had bottled a girl at the front, which caused a big disruption, alongs
ide a stern lecture from management. After getting my arse pinched by a chick wh
o may have been a man, we decided to cut our losses and get a taxi down to the S
hell station on Oadby to buy some porno mags. Upon arriving we were delighted to
 find that "24 hour man" still worked there. "24 hour man" is this basin-haircut
 guy in his late thirties with a stunning crop of facial herpes and zero social 
dexterity. Since we used to live near him, we'd go to Shell at three in the morn
ing most nights to buy Doritos and Rizlas. Each time "24 hour man" would engage 
in increasingly surreal discourse with us. However, tonight he outdid himself:

[Mark places a copy of Razzle on the counter]

24hm : "That'll be £2.10"

[John places a copy of Shaven Ravers on the counter. Said magazine proudly boast
s pictures of "Tina and her mum"]

 24hm : "That'll be £2.10. Those things are bad for you, y'know"

John (smiling) : "Yeah, well, tell that to my groin in about half an hour."

24hm (not smiling) : "Did you know that everyone carries cancer in them which ju
st requires a trigger to surface itself ?"

John, Mark, Paul : "......?"

24mh (still not smiling) : "I had a friend from back home who fell over and bang
ed his knee. A year later he died from cancer" 

Paul : "Okay, let's get out of here."

24mh(looking slightly glazed) : "I also had a friend who used to play bow and ar
rows. He shot another guy and thought he'd missed him. In fact, he had shot the 
guy straight through the eye" [24hm makes appropriate gestures]

John (running towards nearest open space with Mark and Paul) : "Please don't hur
t us."

 

I swear, the above conversation is true! E-Mail Mark or Paul and they'll verify 
it.

In the end, we went back to the Ghetto (we've done some decorating to the ground
 floor of our block using magazines, leaflets, flyers and Nestle condiments). Ma
rk proudly tacked his centrefold "Anna" up. 

The rest of the night was spend talking about women (more accurately, specific p
arts of women) and chilling out. Richard got back safely after his birthday, cou
rtesy of his next-door neighbour Andy.

But in the meantime, I vow never to return to Shell station, Oadby.