Not Big, Not Clever

Lily Allen rocked Brussels last night. She didn’t recognise me, even though I was close enough to smell her. She smelled alright. The guitarist was a kid I went to school with. He’s been all over the world playing a guitar. Not a bad job, I thought.

The past couple of weeks I haven’t been writing much because I wanted to be a spook, and thus discrete. But the intelligence service I applied to wasn’t intelligent enough to notice that I didn’t meet all the eligibility criteria from the off. Months and money have been wasted going to and from interviews for a job I wasn’t allowed to apply for. So now that’s a definite no, I can post naked pictures of myself on the internet computer and not worry about them falling into the hands of teerrrrists.

So to celebrate I got myself a MySpace account and am hooking up with various people I haven’t even thought about for ten years, including guitarists for famous pop stars. Reckon that’s a job I could do.

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