Friday 28th November, 2003 – From the Diary of Bryan Ferry

Part 1 of an ongoing series:

Friday 28th November, 2003

I was woken up this morning by the sound of my letterbox flapping and clattering. It was those kids from the Warren Estate ‘delivering’ stones and soil through my door again. Little shits. I bolted down the stairs, and threw open the door.

“I know your bloody parents!” I shouted after them as they ran away in their big white Pumpy Jordan trainers. But I don’t know their parents. And I think they know that. That gives them a vital edge. I’m not sure where to take my threats from here.

The milk was off. But I only realised this once several sour-smelling blobs had tumbled onto my Kellogs’ Just Right cereal (I’m trying to eat better). I pulled on an old Pierre Cardin suit and trotted down to the newsagents to get some more.

I suppose it was nearly lunchtime for the rest of the world, so Threshers was open. I don’t know if Charlotte was in there. I didn’t look. I wanted to, but I don’t want her to see me always looking everytime I walk past. Maybe she likes it when she sees me looking in. Maybe instead of immediately looking away I should catch her eye and wave. Well, not wave. Maybe sort of jut my chin: “Hey”. Casual. Maybe she would like that. Or maybe she would be thinking “Oh no, it’s that creep again!” Or maybe she would like it….

When I got to SuperDesh’s Mr Kapur was putting some adult magazines on the top shelf.

“Mr Ferry!” he shouted, “would you like some adult magazines?”

“No, no, I don’t want any thank you – that one time, that wasn’t for me, it was for my nephew, he’s only 12 you know and he’s just getting to that age…”

“Yes Mr Ferry” he interrupted with an extravagant, show-off chuckle, “my nephew, your nephew, everybody’s nephew! Of course!”

I don’t know why I keep coming here. I am going to find another newsagents. He is an idiot. I hate him.

“And what has the day in store for you Mr Ferry?” he asked.

“Probably going to be down in the studio…”

”The studio in your flat, yes?” He is always interrupting. I hate him.

“Yes, the studio in my flat. Its not a full-size studio, obviously – its just to lay some stuff down.”

“Well that will be lovely! Please let me hear some of these tracks you will be laying down, eh? I would love to hear them! Avalon! Avalon!”

When Mr Kapur starts singing it is my cue to leave. I paid for my milk and trudged back home, seething with anger. He thinks he is so big because he is a ‘newsagent’. Has he ever slept with Jerry Hall or performed in front of the Queen? I think not. Is he an oily-haired little toad? Yes, he is.

I’ll say that to him next time…

I passed Threshers again on the way home. I could see that Charlotte was there – she was bending down to pick up a case of Blue WKD. I looked at her. I slowed down a bit and looked at her. I saw her bum.

Tomorrow I am going to talk to her.