5 Days In Berlin

To clear my mind because I'd gone quite mad

I’ve never really been big on holidays, I find them ultimately more stressful than just simply choosing to do nothing at home. Which I do most of the time anyway. I’m more of a ‘go to the seaside for a quick constitutional’ type. Which I can also do at home, because I live by the seaside.

Though in the middle of June I went on a solo holiday to Berlin for 5 days, as my mind had over the course of a few months become scrambled egg and it was suggested it might be good for me to have a little change of scenery. Which I’ve done before and it does help clear the cobwebs, but that was a trip to Edinburgh in December a few years back, and with the amount of hills taken into consideration - I feel like that’s just adding to any emotional upset.

So because over the past few months I feel like I’ve been slowly unravelling like an avant-garde jumper that’s vaguely in the shape of a man - Berlin was picked. Because I’ve always had a good time there and I enjoy the galleries and tourist bits. It’s also safe and easy to navigate on your own, it’s fairly affordable, people mostly speak English, I enjoy the shops (OH MY GOD THE SHOPS) and again - I just really really like it. So that was booked and because I am a foolish man who doesn’t often have to book his own hotels and flights, as that’s a work thing - I booked the wrong days at the hotel, so changed that and paid the difference. Then decided I wanted to fly a few hours later than booked, so changed the time for a small fee. Then paid a slightly larger fee when I realised I’d changed the time but I’d also changed the day, to the original day that the hotel was booked for which I’d also paid to change. Very calm lead up.

I had no plans, other than one day I was going to have lunch with some friends who live there. Though I’d need to find something to occupy my 5 days, as my two favourite European activities are no longer applicable to me - Drinking and smoking. Oh to have a large glass of wine outside of a cafe or restaurant and chain smoke myself into crippling emphysema. Berlin was always the ideal place to smell of stale cigarettes and drink so much I couldn’t remember how to use my thumbs. I’ve also never been interested in techno, which I wouldn’t dare mutter there for fear of getting deported to Leipzig with the other Goths. And since I’m no longer a boozy cow and if I’m staying up past midnight it’s gotta either be for a show or sex- so I’d need to find comfort in its other key factors which as far as I’m concerned and applies to my interests - involves wearing a lot of black and looking at depressing art with even more depressing history. Also having nice little fancy lunches.

My arrival day on the Monday was slow. Arriving early in the morning - I meandered and walked and day dreamed and pottered. I felt useless and lost and aimless for hours and it was a pleasure. Though when you take away my language, I essentially become Mr Bean. Someone clearly pointing at a card machine gesturing for me to tap here to pay and instead I choose to not understand the simple instruction and instead just slam my bankcard into a nearby pastry, deciding to now act like it’s my first day on earth and I’ve decided that my function on this planet is to be a complete fucking moron.

In my delirium, this was also the day I made my first holiday purchase. Which I think can only accurately be described as clown shoes. Though a friend said ‘left your big key and Donald and Goofy at home today?’ (Reference there for the real ones). If you’re going to buy large black shoes anywhere, I’d suggest Berlin would be the place both aesthetically and also most likely to be carrying that kind of stock. I think as well as being a head clearing trip for me was also clearly destined to be a clothing related one, as I fall more and more into looking like I run an arts centre that only programs nightmarish and unenjoyable durational performance pieces. Which I must clearly be giving a vibe off of, because when I arrived at the hotel the woman working the front desk who checked me in made sure to let me know that a Marina Abramovic performance exhibit was in town and the next performance was due soon and if I left now I’d for sure make it in time.

Tuesday I got up early and went to the zoo and it was fairly empty, so I skipped round saying hello to the animals. “GOOD MORNING SWEETIE!” I call out to the vultures tearing apart a rabbit. “MORNING MY DARLING ANGEL!” I bellow to the rhino eating and shitting at the same time.

I walk through a bit where you can go in with some baby scavenger birds who think I’m trying to take their half eaten mice away from them. I see flamingos sleeping stood up, tucked up pink feathery balls with legs. I see penguins swimming so close I could grab them, but didn’t know what I’d do once I had so thought probably best not to. I went into a nighttime section to see bats. I see a tapir and I don’t know what’s going on there but I assume its absolutely none of my business. I see lions and tigers and bears, oh my. I go into a petting zoo bit where a black goat leaves a group of Japanese tourists to come stand next to me and lays his head on my leg and I feel chosen but also like a stereotype, a goth pushing 40 grinning like a satanic competition winner with his new friend. I befriend a second goat who seems to enjoy having his chin rubbed but also enjoys shitting at the same time and I just accept this is what must happen. There is a sheep that doesn’t wish to be bothered, and I also accept this. I buy a giant stuffed bat toy in the gift shop after a day of skipping around and marvelling at the non existent good lords many creatures and maybe internally tackle a little bit of my torn morality around zoos. But ultimately I had a really lovely morning.

Later in the afternoon I went to the photography museum with its Helmet Newton exhibit, which I can’t really show you because it’s mostly naked women but my god was it beautiful. I get a book mark, some postcards and a tiny book because the big exhibition book would land me in easyJet excess luggage jail. I lunch, then go off in search of more wonderful garments and I get myself a black linen shirt that looks like a linen jacket is growing out of the side of it, and 2 pairs of socks - one far more expensive than the other and far more money than you should spend on socks but it’s my holiday and if I want to declare bankruptcy over socks so fucking be it. The lovely people in that shop then send me off to a perfume boutique a few streets down and I get a perfume called Megamare by Orto Parisi that I can only describe as smells of the sea but also musky and my god do I love it, in all its overpowering and possibly to some noses offensive smelling glory. Me and my clown shoes and strange linen shirt and expensive socks will smell of musk and seaweed and sea salt and we shall be happy because it is a holiday. I end this day with possibly the best pizza I’d ever eaten and I wish I could remember what the place was called because I would share to you the good word.

Wednesday I traipse my way to the new national gallery and it turns out they’ve got a fucking Weimar Berlin exhibit on and I didn’t realise?! I see a flyer with one of my favourite paintings of all time on it ‘Portrait of the Dancer Anita Berber’ by Otto Dix and I just assume it’s a promo thing because that’s sometimes used on general German art of the 20’s promo and NO NO NO IT TURNS OUT IT’S THERE ON LOAN AND I THINK I MAY CRY. So I go into the Weimar exhibit and see the actual real life versions of various paintings I have in frames around the flat and there is Anita looking gorgeous and red and glorious at the end of the room and I bask in her debauched glow and I know this trip was worth it for this moment, which I didn’t even know was going to happen. I go around the rest of the gallery looking at depictions of sadness and misery and pain and grief and I feel the cobwebs moving from my mind, because I’m doing exactly what I should be doing in Berlin - wearing fantastic clothes and looking at utterly miserable art done by people who were classified as degenerates by fascists.

I remember a cafe I really enjoyed on a previous trip was only a short walk away, so I go and find it and order a fancy 20 euro lunch and I scribble so many words about my day into my diary that no one will see even after I’ve popped my proverbial clogs and left this mortal coil.

I’m not a proficient and exciting traveller by any stretch of the imagination and I have absolutely no desire to be Anthony Bourdain or any variation of. For the most part I am entirely the opposite of adventurous. When I started travelling internationally for work, if I wasn’t accompanied by whoever had brought me out there or who had been designated to look after me while I was somewhere foreign to me - I would just sit in the hotel. I would make no attempts to discover or sightsee. I would sit in the hotel room, I would drink In the hotel bar and I would smoke cigarettes wherever they allowed me to smoke cigarettes. It took me years (and smartphone evolution) before I even did short meanders away from wherever I was staying.

I also have allergies. I’m not an exciting eater. I’m a lacking formal diagnosis but highly suspected autistic. I know what I can eat and I know what I like, so what I had for lunch every day in Berlin was Thai food, except for the days I went to the cafe I knew near the national gallery. And evening was either pizza, which for some reason in Berlin was easy to find vegan and gluten free!? Or Indian food. Which is generally speaking incredibly reliable. I don’t have desire to try new things when I’m somewhere on my own because that would involve asking questions and doing things, and as we’ve already covered - when we take away my language I am a total fuckwit. Instead of asking clearly “Ist das glutenfrei?” I’d probably just hand them my passport and set it on fire, or punch the cafe owners wife by accident or admit to a crime I never committed.

But in terms of just DOING things, I’ve gotten so much better and this trip was the very first time I’ve ever gone to a foreign country on my own purely for a holiday, with no one meeting me on the other side and with no major commitments. It was a way of testing myself and refreshing my eyes and making me experience new things, even if between those new things I ate a tofu thai curry every day and went to the same mediocre cafe on the walk back to the hotel, because it was the one place nearby I knew did a vegan GF muffin and the coffee was fine.

In those three days up to that point I’d accumulated a ridiculous 50,000+ steps. So I think I can consider that a success. I walked. I saw. I said danke schon to the people in the supermarket when I bought my morning smoothie.

Thursday was for seeing friends. Friends who live in Berlin, some internet friends I’ve never met who happen to be in town for work and then later on ones who happened to be visiting from London, who I never even see when I’m in the UK. Delicious food, delicious company. I can’t tell you anything about that day because we probably slagged you off terribly. Though know our karma is coming soon and it will be righteous and just and we shall suffer for all the dreadful things we have said about you, even if you deserved it.

Because I’m neurotic my brain refuses to let me do much of anything on the Friday, as that’s the day I’m leaving. So I exist in a constant state of wait mode and eventually force myself to go on a final wonderful meander where I make a pilgrimage to Comme Des Garcons and buy some shorts that when you’re standing still look like a pleated knee length skirt. And my last port of call before heading to the airport was to visit the grave of Marlene Dietrich and to have a solemn moment, which I’ve done pretty much every time I’ve visited, as that feels like the done thing for me.

I left Berlin tired, poor, well dressed, smelling like seaweed and salt and musk, and perhaps feeling a bit happier and more clear headed. So if you would like to buy any merch or a ticket to a show or sign up to my patreon, that would be fantastic. I’ve got a mortgage on some socks to pay.

I don’t know if the trip made me feel less like I’m coming undone, but it for sure was a pleasure. It was nice to challenge myself to exist with no work purpose in a place that culturally and artistically influences a huge part of the work I do. To let it feed me as a person and a tourist and a human and a spiteful little shit slagging off mutual acquaintances over a cheap lunch to get a few even cheaper laughs. Would highly recommend.

One of the people I met while I was there was Brett Seiler, a wonderful artist from Cape Town who was in Berlin with his exhibit ‘Friends and Other Lovers'. We’d spoken online so I went to the gallery to meet him and he very kindly gave me a private tour of the show, which was wonderful. Wonderful to see but even more so to hear him explain everything himself. As we left the gallery to go get a coffee, he slyly grabbed one of the beautifully carved wooden cigarettes from his exhibition and put it in my jacket pocket. So at least I did get to have at least one cigarette, and even got to bring it back with me.

2 Years Sober

*as always, this can also be found on substack HERE

I’ve given myself an hour to write something up because I am unprepared and frankly I’ve been terribly depressed, so there’s the first point to saying that sobriety doesn’t fix everything.

I’ve given myself an hour because I want to watch Dogtooth before arran comes home, as he will rarely watch anything with subtitles (dyslexic. So much so, that sometimes his texts read like riddles) - and he refers to me watching these sorts of films as ‘are you watching one of your horrible upsetting films again’ and I can tell you with utmost confidence, the answer is usually yes. Yes I am.

It is April 22nd 2026 and as of today, It has been 2 years since I had an alcoholic drink. Which is 1 year more since the last time I spoke about this.

I didn’t really intend to do a yearly check in, but I’m feeling compelled to write something - because in a way this second year was so much harder for me. It lacked the novelty of that first one, where it felt like I was striving to hit that 365 day milestone. Where I felt like I was on some kind of sobriety PR tour, trying to convince people who have known me for years that I was no longer a boozy cow and a wine fuelled chaos merchant.

There’s two major things that stick with me from that first year, both on totally opposite ends of the spectrum. Firstly I learnt that if you’re working a show there and you tell people working in hospitality you don’t drink they will often make some really lovely effort to make sure you’re included in things regardless. I’ve done so many shots of orange juice alongside peoples tequila. I’ve had the fanciest looking ginger ales, decked out like Liberace fruit salads. I’ve drank more kombucha from wine glasses than I previously imagined possible. It was a world of soft drink possibility, if you’ve got someone nice working, which there usually is - your soft drink can hit hard.

The other end of this is when people who’d only known me to knock back 2 bottles of wine or a bottle of whisky at every show - just refused to believe I wasn’t secretly absolutely steaming whenever I was working.

The most frustrating and one of the more upsetting was after performing at an arts festival,  I got an email a few days later from my former management telling me that the festival was furious I’d ran up a hotel bar bill and left without settling it. I phoned the hotel myself to ask about this, and no one had answers and eventually they refunded the festival director who had been ‘forced’ to pay it. Though despite me trying to resolve the situation, I think maybe in the directors head she had previously known me as a bit of a drunken head case - so those were the standards I’d been held up against. And if I’m being realistic, if anyone worked with me pre 2024 and hadn’t since - would probably be a fair assessment.

Those were big things for my first year - though year two?

Nothing.

That’s why it’s been harder.

I’ve not had to think about it. I’ve not had to fight it. I’ve not had to argue it. Or at least haven’t felt compelled to. It is now just a matter of fact for me.

I was so used to making sure I had drinks at shows, that it was a focus - so I shifted that focus to making sure there were soft drink alternatives, with the same intensity I requested alcohol.

Now I’m more into the groove, unless I’m sending a rider I usually don’t have to say anything because in hindsight its absolutely mental how much booze you can get given when working in nightlife and entertainment. ‘I only drink heavily at work’ is a batshit phrase and I used to use it so much.

This second year lacking the novelty has made the urge stronger to just ‘maybe have one’. That I could surely have a drink now, because I’ve done it and it’s fine and it might be a nice little treat.

I keep having to remember something a friend who is on a long term sober journey told me, about how when they had a few years of sobriety under their belt they assumed they could have a few drinks and they’d be absolutely fine with it. Then a few months later they were back to crying on their living room floor and unable to get changed for bed again. So that was that.

This second year has made the AA thing of one day at a time thing make so much more sense to me. Because I’m no longer measuring against that holy grail goal of 365 days. That beautiful clean year. The milestone days just don’t hit the same way now for me. Though maybe at 5 years? 10 years? Though when I think about those that does spin me out a bit, because so much can change in a day let alone 8 years. So yes, it is just one day at a time.

As I said at the start, I’d given myself a little timer for this to just get something out there. Despite disorganisation or crippling mental illness. So this will be rough but it will be ready. No editing just saves so much time.

So as the clock will strike soon I wanted to say some things that I’m grateful for in all of this, however mundane they are.

That I’ve not woken up feeling fucking awful (unless I’ve been ill)

I’ve remembered evenings out

I’ve not started smoking again, which I’d 100% have done if I wasn’t sober

Any embarrassment I’ve caused myself, was with full intention

My new found deep love of decaf earl grey tea

I get to see peoples bizarre and uncomfortable reactions when I refer to myself as a recovering alcoholic

It has made me more confident as myself

My skin is much happier

I look better naked

When people let me sniff their glasses of wine like I’m doing poppers

When I pretend I’m going to drink someones wine and they let out a little ‘NO!’

That’s all for now. I need to watch a horrible Greek film.

Goodbye

Day Trip 28/2/2026 + Things I've Enjoyed Recently 1/3/2026

As always, this can be found HERE on substack, should that be your preferred place of reading things.

DAY TRIP 28/2/2026

This weekend we took a little day trip to Chichester, as part of an effort to try to get out of the Brighton bubble more often.

I’d read something recently about how you should do things like change your walking route if you go the same way every day, as it’s good for your brain to see different things and makes sure to keep you engaged. As you almost don’t recognise the monotony until it’s too late and you end up buying a motorcycle or a karaoke machine or have an affair, to try and add something else - anything - to your life.

Chichester for those unaware, and as far as I am concerned - is the place between Portsmouth and Brighton (where I grew up and where I now live) where posh people live. They also have the renowned Chichester festival theatre, which is where the posh people go to watch theatre. The only not white face I saw was an older black guy singing jazz standards by the clock tower in the centre of the town. So I hope this gives you a vibe.

They also have a really quite alive high street with all the shops that make any other town high street look bleak. How they manage to make a card factory look joyful and bustling, I simply don’t know - I suppose thats what money can buy you.

We had a lovely day walking around and being stared at by men who look like they’d strangle a waiter for giving them the wrong fork, and I found some absolute bangers in a charity shop dedicated just to books. Huge sheet music section, though mostly opera (obviously) but they also had these pub songs and music hall book as well. And the sea shanty book came from a really lovely and well stocked book shop near the train station that had a particularly slutty and gorgeous dog in it, who apparently LOVES people who wear all black - so if you wish to go tickle a spaniel, be sure to wear your darkest outfit.

Other charity shops much less success, as I don’t really think the local demographic is in line with my interests. The most telling thing for me was that in a case on the counter they had a Joanna Lumley and Lulu biography next to each other front and centre - I feel not displayed for the joy factor, but with pure sincerity and no regard for how deeply camp those women are.

We also saw a child smiling and laughing while chucking coins at a woman sat on the floor asking for change, like she was a busker. The woman was smiling too, so not entirely bleak - but did have a sinister air about it - the mother looking on proudly as her child throws coins at a person in need. Though I suppose thats an improvement over what I thought they’d do in Chichester, which is kill them or send them to Bognor Regis.

This may sound like a criticism, but I had a really really wonderful day. It was nice to see something else for a few hours and to do something purely for the joy of doing it. We’re going to be doing more of these within an hour of Brighton day trips hopefully and who knows what we may see. Next stop - Hastings?

SOME THINGS I’VE ENJOYED RECENTLY - 1/3/2026

I did a few of these sort of lists over reels a while back, which was nice but I think I’d like to try adding them onto the end of some casual writing posts, rather than throwing to the algorithm of social media.

FILMS -

JURASSIC PARK MARATHON!

We watched every Jurassic Park mainline film from beginning to end and It was glorious and here is my ranking

1. Jurassic Park

2. The Lost World: Jurassic Park

3. Jurassic World

4. Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom

5. Jurassic World Dominion

6. Jurassic Park 3

7. Jurassic World Rebirth

I was convinced I’d seen Dominion, but turns out I hadn’t and I’d actually confused it with Fallen Kingdom.

Really enjoyed all of them, except rebirth really - which felt like blockbuster slop. Still watched it though.

The Digimon Movie

With the Pokemon anniversary meaning those pocket monsters are absolutely everywhere, it has got me thinking about its slightly less popular digital monster counterpart.

I thought I had clear memories of this film, but turns out I must have undergone some sort of psychosis because I remembered NOTHING except a few jokes in it, which were somehow burnt into my subconscious. It feels like 3 episodes smashed together, but the animation of colouring and vibe just really really got me in the feels and mada me all nostalgic and warm inside.

Edward Scissorhands

Obviously I’ve seen this film more times than I could count - but I haven’t rewatched it in so so long. Did I remember it beat for beat? I sure did. Did I well up at the end? Of course I did. Was gorgeous to revisit this. I found it recently on blu ray in a CEX for a couple of pounds, so picked it up with this revisit intention and I’m so pleased I did.

MUSIC -

Katzenjammer - Kiss Before You Go + Le Pop

I mentioned in my last post on here how I was getting some cd’s for those no phone (so no music streaming) days. And I’ve had the two albums above by Katzenjammer on repeat via music service, so have ordered the cd’s of both for a few pounds online. Both of those albums I can’t seem to just pop on one song without then listening to the album its on from beginning to end. I get about half way through a listen and have a moment of ‘oh my god I’m in love with this’ every. Single. Time. So I’ve been loving that and its arriving on CD so that I can enjoy when I decide that my phone can go into the bin.

BOOKS -

Naked Civil Servant - Quentin Crisp

A classic, obviously. Though I have had it started but unfinished in an ever mounting pile of books which I’m now getting through - and I FINALLY FINISHED IT. A real joy. I love personal essays and I love biographies and this is the best part of both. I also really recommend the film and the follow up An Englishmen in New York, where he is expertly played by the incredible John Hurt

Wow, No Thank You - Samantha Irby

Deeply In love with Samanthas writing. I’d devoured ‘We Are Never Meeting In Real Life’ and ‘Quietly Hostile’ and somehow hadn’t done this one yet, but it’s been sitting there for a while and now I’m chipping away at it. Again, perfect for my love of personal essays - she makes me howl with laughter. No books have made me descend into hysterics quite like hers and David Sedaris. Highly recommend. It’s also a great one for before bed if you just want to get a chapter or two in, as they’re self contained so you can just take it bit by bit and have it be a little treat before bed.

That’s all for this one I think. But my friends say that all I do is consume things, so I will never run out of things to tell you I’ve loved or loving.

22/2/2026: I Who Have Free Will, But No Self Restraint

Some thoughts for the day I am getting down to make sure I am consistently writing and getting it out there. It may not all be good, but it is true.

Sunday 22nd February 2026

I who have free will, but no self restraint.

I’ve recently attempted to start my mornings by listening to the radio and scrolling through Substack. Usually radio 3, as it tends to play nice classical music without the snobbier parts of a station like Classic fm (sorry. But I can’t hear the ‘travel is knowledge’ ad again without wanting to punch through something in my nearest Waitrose, to make those implicit in that section of the class system suffer some consequence). Late at night radio 3 plays some utterly bizarre stuff too, which I love. 10 minutes of throat singing with the occasional piano note was last night. Diamanda Galas without all the death seemed to be where that was uncomfortably sitting.

Though mornings reserved for something a little less unsettling, while I drink coffee and flick through Substack articles and notes. It’s much nicer than the news, for sure. Also better than my social media which tends to be a whiplash of death, Japan travel advice videos, corruption, cute animal videos and why if you don’t do this thing someone will tell you if you pay them (link in bio) - you will meet a painful agonising end. So as I’m waking up it’s a much gentler start to the day if I want to be fairly mindless.

I don’t really know what I’m on Substack for as a reader yet. I know I like funny personal essays, think pieces, diaries. But I’m still finding my feet with it all.

The algorithm however has decided that I’m mostly interested in low/no tech life. Living without a smart phone. Casting aside the shackles of social media.

In a way, yeah I absolutely am. I’ve been making a very conscious effort to not be sucked into my phone and get caught in a mindless loop of scrolling. Though the articles I get shown are more extreme measures. Someone who cannot be trusted at all, so they have chained a smartphone to a wall and can only access it for 15 minutes a day before someone comes in with a hammer and beats them to death. Someone has decided they will only now communicate through extinct bird calls or by morse code. Someone has taken all the technology from their house and burnt it in a ritual sacrifice along with their least favourite relative in order to bring happiness and prosperity back to their life.

Hyperbole, perhaps. These aren’t real - but that’s how some of them read to me.

Though as a man with free will and very little restraint, I did need to take some of it on board.

So now I have a physical radio/cd player combo that I put the radio on, rather than from a phone app. And for days like today when I want to go run some errands without my phone, a cd walkman.

I also got to adventure out and get some favourite albums on CD, to join the discs I already had that were hidden in the depths of the tech graveyard that is the cupboard under the TV.

Charity shops of course can be a treasure trove for older media. Today when doing a crawl between them I saw so many Eva Cassidy and Il Divo albums that I felt compelled to write it down in my notebook, as it began bordering on the absurd. My personal finds today were the best of Ute Lemper and the English recordings of Charles Aznavour, so thankfully someone with more taste had died or at least gave up their collection.

I find when I’m without my phone I get more curious and perceptive, which as someone who often works from anecdotes, observations and things happening to them- can absolutely be a benefit.

As I’ve said on here before, I’m making a conscious effort to be more inquisitive. Though having no phone to distract me at all when I’m out and about just makes me fire on all cylinders. Or at least different cylinders. The sort of cylinders that could perhaps edge me further into local character territory, but ultimately I think it’s far too late for me to avoid that anyway. I’m too far gone.

In a cafe today I bumped into a friend who had moved to Brighton a while back but I hadn’t seen around yet, and proudly showed them my new cd walkman and the cd’s I had hidden in the internal pocket of my bag. Then once their friend they were meeting arrived and they were saved from my relentless jabbering, I turned my attention to every dog that came in and walked past me. I saw some very fine bulldogs, Italian greyhounds and sausage dogs. With the appearance of each one I would mutter “a little baby” under my breath and stare lovingly in the dogs direction.

A couple came in, who roused a sudden loud coo from the girls working behind the counter - I couldn’t see what it was they were coo-ing at. ‘This is Buttons’ - more coo-ing ensued in the direction of something in the mans arms - I began to panic that I wouldn’t see what was known as Buttons. They were turning to go to the other side of the cafe and whatever it was they were holding was so small it was not visible from the side. Its Brighton, so Buttons could have been anything. I once saw a woman get on the bus with a cockatiel that had a sign that said ‘I AM NOT HERE FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT’ and I have a friend that used to walk her Tegu (a very large lizard) called Mister Susan, on a leash. As it could have been anything I was simply not willing to go on not knowing, so I began in an almost spell like chant to myself “Show me the baby. Show me the baby. Show me the baby” and they did.

Lost in a giant pink jacket, tiny headed, tongue out, eyes light blue from cataracts or blindness or from seeing the future - was Buttons. And my god was he magnificent.

As someone without a phone today, I have done an artistic interpretation of Buttons the Chihuahua for you all. Watercolour, Acrylic & Pen.

Thank you.

Things I Have Learnt This Week By Asking Questions #1: Ten Tickets, Technically

As someone that does occasionally enjoy a bandwagon, I’ve found that I’ve grown a particular fondness for people’s end of year ‘In’s & Out’s’. The ones I agree with can make me feel that I was ahead of the curve and correct all along. The ones I don’t agree with I can come to the clear conclusion that the person who said it should be killed, or at least maimed.

On my own list for something that was firmly in for 2026 I had ‘Ask questions’.

So I have been asking. Quite a lot.

Usually fairly mundane, like asking who did an illustration behind a cafe counter. Or asking someone to describe the sort of person that buys a particular perfume and why they think that is.

Though sometimes a more casual line of questioning gets people talking and then I can ask more probing questions, like if they’ve had a favourite shoplifter and who would play them in a film.

At a small local vegan supermarket, I learnt that a man earlier than day had come in completely covered in blood and paced round the aisles before approaching the counter and gently asking “Where can I find the olive oil?”. The staff suggested that instead, maybe they could call an ambulance - a question to which he let out a guttural scream and left the shop.

Would I have learnt about a man covered in blood who really wanted olive oil if I’d just bought overpriced miso soup and left? I don’t think I would. So it can be a really wonderful things to engage with people in your day to day, not just for the joy of giving some human interaction - but so you can selfishly exploit what they tell you, for your own benefit.

So I thought as a writing exercise for myself, as well as possible entertainment for your eyes - If I learn something that sticks with me, I’d get it down for here. Possibly very short, but it’s a nice something to read eh? So why not have something to distract us from the ever growing death, war, disease and corruption.

Things I Have Learnt This Week By Asking Questions #1

When purchasing some packets of microwave rice, because who has the time to actually cook it properly and cost effectively - I decided I’d had enough of dealing with technology, had some cash on me and wanted to interact with an actual person.

In this particular shop, the only people who don’t use the self service are either paying by cash or need something behind the counter - booze, cigs or scratch cards. Considering the area of Brighton I live in, the queue is usually fairly lengthy and packed with a glorious variety of the grizzled, dishevelled and weathered.

When I get to the front of the queue there’s a tiny red haired woman in a thin strapped loose fabric top, wobbling from side to side, wailing….

‘BUT WHYYYYYY’

“10 at a time, that’s the law”

“BUT WHYYYYYYYYYYYY”

“I’ve told you, I can’t sell you any more”

“BUUUUUT WHYYYYYYYYYY”

“It’s the law, I’m sorry”

“BUUUUUUUT WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY”

“You can only get 10 at a time, we’ve been over this”

“So if I leave… I can have more?”
“Technically, yes”

And the woman turns, using the counters for balance - leads herself cackling quietly to the door of the shop, her unsettling laughter growing ever quieter as she leaves - then volume returns as she makes her way back to the queue. A fistful of lottery tickets grasped in her withered hand. Her horrid little cackle growing ever closer.

My turn was up, and as the young man behind the counter scanned my terribly convenient rice pots I asked what can you only get 10 of. Turns out, lottery tickets.

It also turns out that this woman had been doing this on loop and does so often. Having to have the rule of 10 tickets explained each time. Leaving the shop and coming back in, with the misplaced confidence of someone who thinks they’ve managed to trick someone by putting on a plastic nose and glasses.

“Does this happen a lot?” I ask.

“Far more often than you’d ever think possible” he replies, sighing.

Sighing and looking behind me to see she’s right there again and ready for another round of tickets. The cycle continues. Fuelled by what I assume is just the pure love of the game.

Portrait Of A Lottery Woman by Joe Black. Watercolour

One Year. No Ciggies - A short poem by Joe Black

A year ago, I stopped to smoke

Because I would begin to choke

I couldn’t run, or go upstairs

Instead I’d pant and sit in chairs

I’ve not saved money, that’s still gone

Because It’s spent on Comme Des Garçons

And instead of tobacco, I used my cash

On building up a Blu-ray stash

So I watch my films, and tv shows

Without smoke breaks in my fancy clothes

Though I won’t quit coffee, I’ll never try

For without caffeine I’d rather die

April 2025 Update - Putting The Fun In Funding

Here I am after years of not putting any long form writing online, returning with news. I also return with the intention of using my own website blog because why am I paying for a website if I don’t actually USE IT?! I have also started a Substack for people that way inclined, and will likely be the same things as on www.misterjoeblack.com - for now.

So if Substack is your proverbial bag you can - CLICK HERE (SUBSCRIBE! - ITS FREE!)

Not a clue how to use it, but I’ll give it a damn good go.

I originally started writing this from one of my favourite cafe’s in Brighton, noise cancelling headphones on listening to Bjork, while a very large and very handsome dog watches over the room from his spot on the floor like some kind of furry emperor. So you know I’m serious about this.

I’m absolutely thrilled to say I’ve been awarded an Arts Council England ‘Develop Your Creative Practice’ grant (DYCP to its friends). This is a grant for personal growth and not to do with any particular or specific project outside of the artist themselves. Funds are awarded to assist the artist to grow and learn and expand and sometimes basically just figure shit out.

How exactly I’ll be doing that, give the below a read for some insight. If you’ve started reading this and thought ‘I’d love a video version’ then assuming I’ve actually made it, that can be found - HERE

Also - nice excuse for a photoshoot. Flex the creative muscles with a camera, self timer and a dream

Back towards the end of last year, with the help of the fantastic Adam Carver assisting on application support - I applied for arts council funding for the first time ever. 18 years of wading the soiled waters of entertainment and never have I applied for funding or a grant, because I thought it wasn’t really for people like me. Turns out, it very much is.

I’d always managed to just make things work with whatever resources I had, not trying to exist outside of my current means and gambling with no finances. When I’d toured and paid for it myself I didn’t set up massive overheads expecting to get it back. Anything I may have lost would have been able to be covered with whatever I had - or that the bar for ticket sales was set so low it was a  level of risk that would have been so unlikely to not be a hit financially.

On an artistic level I always thought of myself and what I do as too frivolous and unimportant in the grand scheme of things to ‘deserve’ funding. I thought that was for people who had something really hard hitting to say and a really important message to deliver, or simply something so completely out there it just wouldn’t happen without backing. I now know thats absolutely not the case and that yes, it is possible to put the fun into funding - even if your aspirations include becoming the village idiot.

Over the past few years things have changed quite a lot, both professionally and personally.

The impact of that has been that it threw me sideways on exactly what it was I did and who I was as an artist and a performer. A multitude of confusing and conflicting expectations being set (or at least highly) suggested from different areas, the culmination of this just resulting in me shutting down completely and I stopped creating and playing with things how I used to, because I didn’t know what my output was anymore. Combined with my long overdue emotional breakdown at the beginning of 2024, things were not feeling perky!

I had got put in a position where I was just expected to DO. There wasn’t room or space for experimentation or playing around or testing things to audiences, as I wasn’t really on stages where I could just TRY - I had to do the actual thing. What I needed was time to relearn who I am and what I do and put things into perspective again. So when I heard about the existence of the arts council DYCP (Develop Your Creative Practice) that lit a fire under my belly again.

What if I could get some money to go towards learning theatre practices and writing for stage techniques for myself? Which I’ve never had. Everything I do on stage is self taught. I studied film in college and didn’t even finish that because - depression.

So over the next few months I’ll be embarking on one to one mentoring sessions, lessons and research trips to make my art really come alive again and to rediscover myself, because I know I can do it - I just needed that little bit of extra help to get the dust off and the cogs oiled. Which is how applying to this was explained to me when I said I wasn’t sure I’d be a good fit - because I’ve made do as it is. I was told that’s why you could and should feel like you can ask for the help, because you’ve shown what you can do without it and this gives the chance to see what you can do with it.

So where is the money going you’re thinking? Nosey fuckers.

It goes to pay the artists I’m working with, it goes on tickets and travel to see shows by artists, it pays someone to give me detailed feedback on work, it pays someone to direct test material, it pays someone to help me improve how to tell a story, it pays someone to talk to me about expanding production values, it pays for venue hire, it pays for studio hire, it pays the hourly rate to have someone do physical theatre with me, it also really wonderfully - pays me to do these things.

Every person involved is properly compensated and that feels GREAT. Never before have I had an allocated amount of money to pay people to impart their wisdom and have them work with me in that capacity.

I’m going to attempt to keep some kind of public update system going on this, as I think it’ll be nice to see whats been happening. Though also it’s a great way for me to be able to reflect on what it is I have done and learnt so far, by having to frame it for public consumption. My whole reason for writing this is to make myself accountable by announcing it to the world. So that when I see people out and about they can go ‘how is the project going?’ And I can say ‘well, it’s not technically a project its a DYCP but yes its going well thank you’ and then they can ask more questions and I can say ‘please stop talking to me I’m trying to make notes about my week on my DYCP while listening to Bjork in this cafe.’

To give a more in depth example and why - One of the parts I’m most excited about is to study some physical theatre techniques, to help me really get back in touch with my physicality on stage.

Over the past few years I’ve felt myself not pay as much attention to what my body is doing while I’m on stage. I’m just kind of… there? I feel like I’ve lost that oomph in how I hold myself. Or at least I’ve just stopped considering it because I’ve gotten so used to whatever it is I’m doing. Either way, it needs a shake up. Physical theatre lessons would never be something I’d consider otherwise, but given this opportunity - it is one of the most important parts for me, to delve just that bit deeper into something I wouldn’t usually consider.

The past few days we’ve been sorting out the flat, both for physical space reasons but also symbolic reasons - clear the space and rid yourself of things that you no longer need or want to make room for a refresh. Clear the cobwebs, wipe away the dust.

While clearing out the day of finishing writing this I found some folders and books containing the lyrics to some songs I wrote that never came to fruition, or ones that I did so long ago I forgot they even existed. And ya know what, they’re great fun.

Coming back to them with a fresh set of eyes and perspective is really inspiring because I’m reminded I am very capable of making new original work. I’m capable of writing something great and throwing it in a drawer to not read it again for 8 years. Though I am also capable of bringing these ideas to life again, I just need a little bit of a hand.

Very excited to see where this leads.

Expect the unexpected I suppose? Maybe I’ll become a physical theatre person. Though thats unlikely, I enjoy saying words too much. Who knows what nonsense I’ll create for the online sphere!? Either way, when you’re thinking ‘What is wrong with that man?!’ you can blame the arts council for encouraging me.

Thanks Arts Council England (ACE to it’s friends), you’ve made me feel ready again.

Love,

Joe

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