Patrick Hussey

Two beautiful things happened this Saturday night at the 'Beyond the Valley of the Dolls' party at the Whitechapel. The second involved a redhead, the first involved a lift. Yes, for the moment, let us discuss lifts.

Previously in my journalistic careen I have only had cause to mention lifts once. I was going to write a music piece for some mag and pitched the idea with this tag line

‘Jamie Cullum and lifts are living proof of re-incarnation because without doubt, at some point in history, he was one.’
 

Photo by Gemma Whelan: 'Rod Lightning and the Bear Cupids'

Patrick Hussey attends a romantic flash mob (or rather a 'Stolen Moment') at the steps of Eros.

Patrick Hussey meets Fabien Riggall from Future Shorts / Secret Cinema to talk rave culture, revolution and the ideal film

When you climb to the Future Shorts office, lodged at the very top of a ragged Soho stairwell, you are greeted by their red door and a curious sign.

‘This is the Future Shorts office. No prostitutes work here.’ It makes me wonder just what vetting process the staff go through and as a young woman opens the door I ask ‘Is that a joke?’ and point at the sign

In which Hussey plays a Gallic ponce then rows with national treasure Vivienne Westwood...

I get up and hit the shower, after all it's Saturday morning and I have a Manifesto to read! Yes a manifesto and about time too! Never a good one since the Commies!

The whiskeys lined the bar. There are moans at the back but our rotgut hors d'oeuvre is mandatory. All five of us slam.

It's the last round before ditching the pub, some relic adrift on the stub end of Mare Street. You know the kind. It has odd posters of Irish castles and a clapped out clientèle. The yellow-fingered husks look at us. How curious to have their peace disturbed by our chatter, by the buzzed choices we put on the Jukebox.

'Take my Breath Away! do do do-doo-do-do'

So here it is punters. The first adventure! Hussey's Riot begins.

I awoke the next day in my room, caked in that London, hangover sweat, mind troubled by images.

Twirling bodies, a beautiful girl. Barndating?

What did it all mean? Well sit back reader and let me dream it all up for you...you are feeling very sleepy...drink this, no don't worry...they are vitamins...

Something appalling happened to me recently. I was swanning around an exotic continent, when boom! My money ran out. It was time to go home.

Farewell Guatemala, I will miss your smiling people and your rule free traffic. Goodbye mountain ringed Xela, you were an ugly town but you knew how to have a good time.

Let's start today's breathless review of the Oxford University Press new edition of Ecce Homo (Friedrich Nietzsche's curious autobiography) with something completely different. A shouty imperative and then a nice video just like teacher used to show.

IF YOU ARE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO FEELS THE ABSENCE OF TRUTH HAS, AT TIMES, BOUGHT YOU CLOSE TO MADNESS THEN READ NIETZSCHE. WORTH A GO IF YOU ARE AN IDIOT TOO.

Joshua Spassky
by Gwendoline Riley
Review written by Patrick Hussey.

When I first saw a Gwendoline Riley book in May 2002 I had been graduated for a year and was working in a bookshop. It was an rotten job with an Aspergic manager, the type who kept dropping tenners and then smiling when I handed them back. The staff were all older and had a sort of lost stink. Nice but lost. I tried to ignore them as much as possible and hid in the staff room reading.