23 January - Bobby Gillespie is an old man

Am officially old, but at least am on a par with Bobby Gillespie. He complains about the pub next door where they play loud music after midnight – this from the man whose roadies refused to travel on the same tour bus with and demanded a separate one as they couldn’t take the pace of drug mayhem – a former collaborator of his swears it's true, he signed the money for the extra tour bus so he knows. And I’m waging war with the unemployed wannabe DJ’s in the next door house who start playing music at 2am and giggle and talk, play till 4am - quite like most of the tunes, but it's like it's happening in my bedroom. And of course they don't do shit and somehow the rent must get paid. If they have parents or taxpayers funding them, them am outraged.
I write letters that say 'I have to go to work in the morning, if you want to be a DJ go get a job at Turnmills'. What has happened to me? But it’s torture this sleep deprivation. Whilst I was away on holiday the other leaseholders in my building called the environmental noise agency and the police and stepped up the campaign against the twits. Wow! This lot are in late twenties and early thirties respectively. I’m not old! I’m just… employed. Though even that is debatable. On first couple of days back here in toil-land, I could not remember any of my computer and various other packages passwords. Had conveniently erased them to make room for other important stuff, the exchange rate of rupies to the pound perhaps.