I looked up in the sky on my way to the shop on the other side of the road to procure a generic chocolate bar realizing something should be more up than down (my blood sugar). It was a glaswegian summer day & people seemed happy for a change. I tried to smile.

All of a sudden there was a black cloud. It quickly became cold & grey & windy & started to spit rain. A workman chased some neds down Cambridge street with a piece of scaffolding, when seemingly seconds before everything had been beautiful. Summer had turned to shit. Fast.

I looked at the spire & saw the matrix folding in on itself, no longer arsed to keep up it's crap illusion for the establishment. A piece of me died as I saw the whole shitshow spiral in around the spire like so much filthy scummy bathwater going down the drain. And, having just stopped a sectarian attempted murder & felt the full weight of legal aid & criminal injuries compensation authority & crown justices ineptitude, I saw this as a projection of my opinion on the real evil that hides behind the cloak of organised religions.

This got me murmuring the lyrics to 'straighthate' by Sepultura as I went in the peado shop for lion bar salvation. Billy was playing his Little Richard CD again, still no sign of short fat fanny, though. He never knew what I was on about, not really. Fuck sakes. I was jibbering on about 'open up your mind & find your own way' pretending it was all going to be alright, not bothered with small talk in my condition. The Lion bar had taken my last money, pulled me from the coma's teeth & I had to wrap my paintings to get to Cologne first thing in the morning & there was an exhibition that night at the flat I shared with Fi & Laura.

I barricaded myself in my room to get on with the task in hand & tried to be polite to the folk I saw. Smile & nod to win at art club, I kept telling myself. Not now, though. I put Wesley Willis on to drown out the chatter outside as I ran out of tape.

Somehow it all happened. I got to Berlin, met the randoms from the other gallery & got in the van to Cologne. I was falling apart, leaving torn pages of ditched lyrics everywhere. We got in late. I called Rebecca. She'd sussed it all, got my flights, the hotel, everything. But, there was a problem. It was a double bedded room we had to share as "the whole german art scene is in town these next days, don't tell your girlfriend. Ha ha ha". Ha. Eesh. I dumped my gear & greeted her & the other artists & escaped to get a kebab & beer. Fucking love Germany for that. I got back & passed out into a deep, deep sleep with Mondo Generators 'she only owns you' stuck in my head.

I had a day & a half & assistants to help set up, so in the morning we went to Liste where the safer more established & frankly boring work was. It stank of filthy money, but in that shit way that only crap art & polo necked blazer wearing wankers possibly can. I was getting really angry. My insulin was playing up & my blood testing kit was fucked & I needed a coke, but it was 4 euros here & there was nowhere else close by. There MUST be. I walked away to find out. Big mistake.

I woke up in the weirdest hospital. It was beautiful, but a bit like I'd imagine an illuminati nursing home to be like. In bad german, I tried to explain that I had to go right now, but it came out all wrong & I had to call Helga. She explained my case & we got out & I floated back to Liste with her through a strange network of trams & tubes & clean & tidy & polite. It was so unreal.