There is nothing worse than not being able to write; despite the fact it happens to nearly everyone, it just leaves me feeling disgusting and sordid. I was on a coach the other day and trying to put words on to paper with a pen and it just wasn't working. I started drifting off (shouldn't have drank beer before going on warm coach journey) and I had the most beautiful dream. I was James Joyce and Ezra Pound (except I thought the Jews were alright really, all considered), and I was Jacques Derrida and Michel Foucault, and I was Bret Easton Ellis and I was Chuck Palahniuk, and I had something to say for myself. And then I woke up and I was lying in the middle of the aisle, wanking and screaming at the top of my lungs. And the bus driver pulled over to the side of the road and made me get out for being a "shameful human being". And he didn't give me my trousers back, and it was 8 p.m. on a Sunday night.
That's the story of how I got arrested at Watford Gap for indecent exposure.