Letting The Snakes Crinkle Their Heads to Death [by Joe Wilson]
	North America, Winter 2002 [by David Westlake]
	Huddled Masses [by David Westlake]
	Joe's German Diary [by Joe Wilson]
	The Germ of Panic [by David Westlake]
	Clothes That Make You Cry [by Joe Wilson]
	Placebo Tour Diary [by Liam Howe]
	Shame [by David Westlake]
	Diary Abajo del Pueblos [by Joe Wilson] 4/12/2001 We are in the process of gearing up for another London show, this time at the L.A 2 in London. We played here a long time ago, supporting the Super Furry Animals. The gig was only interesting due to the fact that David had blue hair. Having blue hair seems to induce people to state the obvious, i.e. the only product of his hard days dyeing was that he receives shouts of "You’ve got blue hair!" as if he might be oblivious to this fact. Blue hair quickly becomes mousy brown hair, with additional blue streaks upon face when it starts to rain. I myself have had similar disasters on many different occasions, but this would usually occur around the same time as would also follow the twisted logic of a fourteen year old, e.g. if you have drunk one litre of cheap booze from one bottle, you should therefore be able to vomit one litre of sick back in to the same one litre bottle. On a train. Packed full of commuters. Weather is extremely filthy, lots of wind and rain. 18/12/2001 Well, we did a big London show. Greeeate 4/1/2002 New Year. New years eve revolved around a lot of the Fear. Absolutely driven into the ground and paralysed by the stuff. I have made a major decision and decided to get hold of a bed. I have not had a bed since I was a child. With the band I was never in one place long enough to make a home for myself, so by default, I never had a bed either. But now its 2001, it seems luddite to continue to snooze openly on the floor. I buy a futon, in an attempt to make the transition from floor height to crotch level as short as possible. They tell me it will arrive between 7am and 2pm, which is fair enough, but by three o’clock I phone them up to demand an explanation of the tardy mattress arrival. A man phones back to tell me that a "fatal tragedy" has occurred, and this has prevented the delivery of my bed. I have no choice but to watch TV as he says the bed will arrive anytime "before 11 PM". I watch "the Godfather" parts one and two. He would have known what to do in this situation; there would no excuse allowed to prevent Brando lying down in moderate comfort. "Lovejoy" is on next, staring Ian Mcshane. He would certainly have come up with some mildly diverting confidence trick to repay the Futon Company for their shoddy delivery service. Tv in the afternoon gets no better, "as time goes by" a piss-poor attempt at comedy, staring Dame Judi Dench and Jeffery Palmer. The plot revolves around the construction of a wine rack. They both should be ashamed. 9/1/2002 "Tales of the Unexpected" on TV. The only expected thing must be the delivery of the fucking bed. There were apparently only two episodes of this show, as I saw only two as a child, and now I see the same episodes twenty years later. Its also is one with a brain in a jar, and some guy breaking his spectacles on a desert island. I have actually managed to make it sound better than it was. Why can I never see "Sapphire and Steel" anymore? 10/1/2002 Missed an eclipse of the moon tonight. I was on a train and people were practically chucking themselves under the rails to see the event. I think it is not the first time I have wilfully ignored an occasion/landmark/millennial event (delete where appropriate), but usually it is to try and annoy David. He shouts," Quick, look at that!" and then gets in a state when you refuse, "Well don’t look at it then!"
	The Hum of Plastic [by Joe Wilson]
	What We Do [by David Westlake]