Right, after tonight, I'm definitely not drinking any more. My bowels have reached a sort of terrible equilibrium, and I fear what will happen once I attempt to break the coffee/booze cycle.

I don't want to eat any more haggis. Especially on a pizza. With black pudding. And cheap, neon cheese.

I was making some field recordings in Newcastle over the weekend. I went to the Baltic gallery for a shit, and it occured to me that I could do a podcast of my shits. Try different toilets, reverbs (the audio effect known as 'slap-back' comes to mind) etc.

But then, I thought, I'd probably end up filming myself shitting, like the Vienna Actionists, and they ended up starting a weird commune, with kids and that.

I saw a car today with its windows smashed in and 'PAEDO' spray painted on the bonnet.

As we drove home from Newcastle, my bandmate suddenly vomited all over himself. It looked like carrots. We stopped at a service station so he could clean himself up and get some water. I went to Macdonald's and bought a muffin and some coffee. In a chiller cabinet at the front, they had their healthy kids options, which included a bag of peeled and chopped carrots.

I'm drinking too much cider and eating meals based around blood sausage and haggis. I'll be with you in a few days.

Phlam!

Onomatopoeia sometimes works, sometimes doesn't.

Last night I played a gig in a newly re-furbished, but for ever sad pub. Owned by a Cuban man, and staffed only by a girl with almost comedically sized breasts. I was served cans of cider several times by an Irish man with worried eyes, but, at the end of the night, when I asked where he was, so I could take a picture of him, I was told that he didn't work there, and had left before we played our set.

I then took two of a friend's Oxycodone derived, back pain medication, and drank more alcohol. I projectile vomited several times in the night, and then woke up and vomited until there was nothing coming out but bile and rotten air.

By the time I took a shit, I was simply happy to be able to sit upright and was grateful that the turd contained no blood.

I then watched the television while I read, 'A Wild Sheep Chase' by Haruki Murakami. The book has many interesting sections, but what struck me today was the chauffeur, who though not integral to the story, does spend a few chapters discussing both ideas relevant to the narrative, and seemingly abstract ideas with the main character.

While my Grandad was dying in the summer of 2007, I was trying to write a book about an amputee being chased by her ex-lover and an omniscient taxi driver. There is a common idea, in both fiction and reality, that those who drive people around for money have some sort of hyper-extended knowledge, reaching far beyond that of, say, a lorry driver's, who drives a lot, or a policeman, who walks the streets of a city more than most.

The ambiguity of a taxi-driver's assumed knowledge probably comes from their ability to know where they should be going. One of the few reasons to take a taxi is that the responsibility for where you are going is handed over to someone else. This person necessarily knows where you are going, hopefully more so than you.

Maybe the ambiguous nature of the job adds to this mystique. The hours spent reading or thinking as they wait for their fares. The oddness of being in the same place, but in constant movement. Also, an idea of Zen or existentialist living, i.e. journey being as important as destination.

Also, you rarely see a taxi-driver/chauffeur's face. Though with mini-cabs (rather than Hackney carriages), you often sit in the front seat. Maybe that is why mini-cab drivers are more likely to be characterized as idiots in fiction and in anecdotal reality.

This unknowing of a person immediately places them in a position of power, and power is equated with knowledge in what I would say is a logical fallacy. Knowledge itself is powerful, but a powerful position is not necessarily knowledgeable.

Omniscience is one of the characteristics of God in all mono-theistic religions. In Christianity, God is also held to be benevolent, though rather quiet when it comes to the dispensation of knowledge. Absolute truth (which must be held by an omniscient being) must therefore not be seen as essential to happiness (at least, earthly happiness). God is in the strange position of being omniscient, but unable to share her knowledge.

So, from this we can observe that the taxi driver's ability to share completely irrelevant or absurd opinions, (e.g. on race based prejudice or the British tax system) rather than concrete truths (e.g. how much the journey might cost, or why they seem to be driving away from your stated destination) can be seen as an essential feature of their God like omniscience, rather than a proof that they have little, if any knowledge at all.

It isn't an Orca whale, or Sperm whale, but I swear there is some sort of dolphin/whale/sea creature that looks like the shits I sometimes do.

I saw Mark Kermode say 'cunt' today. It was in jest, buit there was something slightly unseemly about a television personality (sorry Mr. Kermode, but you aren't famous for just your Guardian reviews) saying a swear in the flesh.

Like Pizza Express dough balls.

I ate four sandwiches today.

There is a veneer factory next to my house. When I walk past it in the morning, it sometimes smells like they are cooking popcorn. Sweet and wrong. Today, walking home, I smelt the popcorn right up at the top of my road. As I walked down the road, the smell fell along a perfect gradient in to the stench of burning solvents.

Two or three poos before 10am. The result of quite a wonderful Lamb Tagine. I feel emptied out. Like a plastic bag no longer full of custard.

I knew of a art/ambience band who did a conceptual piece. It was called, '1 Note, 24 Hours'. A group of musicians took shifts in playing only the 'E' note over an entire day. At around the 18th hour, a member of the group, having just arrived for his shift, took a guitar, and played an E chord, which includes the notes, E, B and G#.

After that, the last 6 hours seemed to drag somewhat.

It came out sideways. At least that is what it felt like. And what it looked like in the toilet. I shouldn't have eaten all that fried potato for breakfast.

Quinoa leaves its dark husk undigested, and, when passed, the faeces looks as though it is riddled with holes.

There was a feather in the toilet today. Is this an omen of some sort?

This morning I had to use baby wipes. You would think they clean up better than toilet roll, but you would be wrong. It is almost a smearing effect. Luckily there wasn't too much to smear, but anyone who has spent any time at a music festival will understand what horrors lie down that road.

I think if I were to define my adult life in to distinct periods, then those times in which I had a lot of toilet paper, bought in bulk, cheaply, and without hurry would be set in stark contrast to those times in which I was forced to use badly made, soft, and yet uncomfortable toilet paper, bought in need, from expensive corner shops. Defining moments would involve improper use of wet wipes and running upstairs with my trousers down to look for a roll I had previously been using to blow my nose.

I was going to list what I ate yesterday, but that seems pointless. The important thing is that I ate a lot, and it included two meals based around mashed potatoes, and a late night fried chicken expedition. This morning the fried chicken seemed to have jumped to the front of the queue.

Also, in an unrelated incident, my trousers shrunk in the wash and are now so tight that it feels a bit sexy while I'm wearing them.

Also, in a related incident (related to the consumption of food, rather than to sex-trousers) I was chopping thyme with  large knife and managed to remove the end of my thumb and nail. I had to prepare the rest of the soup with one hand and discard the thyme. It is also rather hard to put a plaster on with only one hand. I'm not sure if that is ironic or not.