I’m heading to London tomorrow, cap in hand and eyes wide open and hopeful, to trip down the streets that are paved with gold and find my fortune. Well, nothing quite that poetic. I’m off to try and get a job. I’m useless at getting work – I take every rejection incredibly personally, and assume that my CV is an utter bunch of arse that no-one in their right mind would bother with past putting it through the shredder and using it to line their rabbit cage. Having said that, I have been told that I’m very well qualified for this job, so we’ll see. I’m hoping this or something else comes through soon, because funds and patience are running low.
I saw the graffiti on the right on a wall in Ipswich today – OK, graffiti is not for everyone and this isn’t the most stunningly original work, but it caught my eye, not least because NWA haven’t been doing much for years on end. Ice Cube became a movie star, Dr Dre ended up producing for some guy called Eminem, and the others might well show up on Celebrity Big Brother some time, they don’t seem to have achieved a great deal. I remember a time when some of us played NWA’s Straight Outta Compton at full blast in our rooms in school – probably mainly because there was lots of swearing and it was daring to play it really loud. It seems a bit strange for white boys in a nice school to be playing gangster rap, but then again I also wore a T-shirt that said ‘Make Love Not War’, cherry red Doc Martens, and a haircut that frightened old ladies, so who the hell knows what I was thinking.
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