Remembering Bill Hicks

Oh my word, ten years since Bill Hicks died.

One day I'm going to write about what Bill Hicks means to me, but today ain't the day to do it.

What a world this is that Bill Hicks died so young and so many evil bastards live so long.

Charity canvassers

Central London is awash with charity canvassers.

They have them in other British cities, but I don't know if they have these overseas. I've never seen one abroad. So for the benefit of my ranks of overseas readers, these are people who stand on the street wearing something emblazoned with the logo of a particular charity. It's a different charity each day. These charity canvassers will represent anybody. It's not as though it's something they believe in.

Their job is not really to talk to you about the charity, and certainly not to collect your loose change. They're there to get you to fill out a monthly standing order form.

I can go out at lunchtime and in twenty minutes between the office and the record shops pass three different groups of charity canvassers. I hate them. They're intrusive, they get in the way and they're no more ethical than a door to door salesman. I do not give to any charity that uses them.

This lunchtime, it was Friends of the Earth, an organisation I have a lot of sympathy with. How disappointing.

I'm on the train

The day they make it so that mobile phones can work on the tube is the day I leave London.

A rather shaky grasp of irony

Cracking front page in today's Daily Express. (I don't read the poisonous rag myself, you understand, but I saw it on the train.) Apparently British people are so hacked off about this alleged coming wave of East European immigration that they are themselves migrating to other countries!

Let's hope British economic or lifestyle migrants get a better welcome wherever they go than we offer to others. But could they take their rubbish tabloids with them?

Tourists on the underground

One day I will write a guidebook for foreign visitors to London.

The first sentence will be, "Stand on the right."

I know what they're saying

I see them. Loud people on the tube, in pubs, worst of all on streets on a weekend night. (Why does hedonism look such little fun these days?) Noisy, brash, a bit too obviously frantic. I know what it's about. London's a big city. Every day underlines your unimportance. There's millions of people, and within that number, you're anonymous. I understand their desperation, these too loud people. I know what they're saying:

I'm an individual. I'm interesting. Look at me. LOOK AT ME!