Monthly Archives: November 2010

Bamboo MAssage

Not so long ago I always stood up to bullies – it was a lancashire principal instilled in me at a young age – hence me spending most of my chemistry lessons outside mr mansfield’s classroom. Anyhows, two months ago I was a t a festival in East Lothian, stood up to the local steroided up bully of Haddington & got a smack in the puss to show for it. The festy owner decided to press charges on my behalf & I guess I should be in court as a witness at some point in the future – I even got ‘victim of crime’ materuial thro the post. Unfortunatley Im now in India, which throws a bit of a spanner into the British the wheels of justice – I guess they’ll have to wait.

So Im just about to leave Paradise Beach, when I go to check on my bill at Muli’s restaurant. Suddenly my two bottles of rum had tunred into 4, I disputed the fact & suddenly threre was threast of bamboo massages & severed hands being thrown around. At first I stoodfd up to him, saying go on then & do your worst kinda stuff – then remembered mi smack in the puss, the fact he’d probably just killed his wife & it was only 1.50 for god’s sake. So I payed up, which was good really, cos it means I can go back.

So me & charlie left gokarna… he hadnt gone down to well with the hippies & ive been urged to return without him soon – but fate has some strange twits for me & Charlie yet, im sure. We caught a train to south goa for the ridiculous price of 15 rupees, & all of a sudden, one & a half hours later, we were in teh Palolem/patnem area. Charlie immediately lost his phone on arrival, total nightmare for the lad & we’d also lost footage of my argument with Muli. To cheer him up I took him to a certain chemist in Goa where I’d scored some K myself a couple of years back. The same folk still ran it & before you know it charlie was queing for about an hour to buy a metal tin & some candles. The rest of the night’s a bit of a blur, but I did manage to swagger into this wicked beach bar, blag the owner Raj for a saturday night set, play some dodgy disco (which went down very well) & afterwards going racing around in rickshaws with ttwo 23 yeatr old english lasses intersperesed with dips in the sea – they’d jut arrived you see. The rest of the goa-glam set ladies frowned on their straggly hair & lack of make-up, but I just found them cuter.

That was in Palolem, a mile long chain of reastaurants & bars taht at night becomes one multicoulored ribbon of neon light. 4k to teh south is my beloved Patnem, a magic little beach where teh days laze by & seems about 75 percent English. The waters, tho cloudy, are silkily divein, warm & wet 24 hours a day. On the beach theres a herd of about 20 cows. On the back road near the beach theres another hered, haunting teh rubbish dump for snacks. In my head the two heards are the montagues & capulets of Romeo & Juleot, & there are two star crossed lovers in their midst – theres gonna be a bloody goring I tell you that.

This morning I went to sort mi hangover out, met this lass who looked proper rough – liek i felt – invited her for chai & ending up growing ‘close.’ Friendships bloom & blossom in an anstant when ya travellin – especially in a place like Patnem. Anyhows, there’s a good chance she’ll make up the thiurd party on this house Ive discovered her – you can take a three bedroom pad – with kitchen – a wee stroll form teh beach for nine pound a night total – 600 rupeees. When peopel pay about 750 for a simpel beach hut, its a done deal really. So it looks like I’ll be in Goa for a month or so… could be fun


The Last Hut in Gokarna

The sun is just setting on Paradise Beach, an orange sphere lending the Sea of Araby an oriental glow. This is being accentuated by Nedev, one of the annual ‘family’ that spend some of their travelling days in this place. He is playing a 72 string persian instrument called a Santur – each of the eighteen main channels is split into four steel wires as teh wetsren 12-string’s are split into two. He is playing them with two metal sticks & the sound is just divine. I’m sitting in Muli’s restaurant, which dominates the central rocky outcrop that divides the beach. A coupel of years ago I was here & really loved his wife’s prawn curry. Hows your wife, I asked respectfully – O, she died in a house fire in september, he said solemn faced, & proceeded to show me th scars on his hands & belly. I didint know what to say. I just gave him a wee hug. Then my mate Fi tells me that he’d probably kerosened his wife cos he was fed up with here, apparently a common event on Gokarna! Either way, the moody fat controller that I encountered two years ago is like a little lambkin, happy as larry.


I met Fi, or fi-asco as her friends call her, in Goa two winters back. She’s a mad wee lesbo & a founder member of the hippies that first came to Paradise, ten years ago. Arriving with her I’d felt like royalty, & this time, arriving without her, was no different. The Indians here who run the restaurants & beach huts are proper sound people, & all of tehm have shown me a strong familial warmth. We are staying in a large round hut that stands at the far southern pioint of teh delicious beach, & is in fact the last hut in Gokarna. Me & Charle ehave matresses on level areas hewn from the rock, seperated by this main mountain range painted whitee. Fi has slung up her hammock from the central pole, & sleeps in its lazy arc liek lavae in a split cocoon. Its been great getting to know fi – she lives in cornholm, a 6 mile hike over the redrose moorland borders from my dad’s pad in burnley. This puts her within a late night drunken walk home from the womens disco in hebden bridge, Britains top destination for lesbians.

The whole island is about 6k-3k square, half of which is luscious jungle & the other rough red scrubland peppered with black volcanic rocks. The coastal strip is dotted with coves, from teh huge boob-shaped expanse of Om beach, to the quietttude of half-moon beach. They are filled with scanty clad ladies, hung like flocks of the golden fleece daring argonauts to pluck the m as they pass. The beaches spread out grom Gokarna town, one of teh holiets spots in India. Yestreday, after following fi through half-lost paths in teh jungle, we came across teh town & its wonderful water-ghat which Id missed last time. Sat on the steps there were four young Brahmin adepts, knelt cross-legged, their right yhand on the guy in fron to fthems shoulder, & all four of them repeating, word-by-word, the song-chant of their bearded teacher. Very amazing scene

I’d swam to half moon today from Paradise, with an Israeli lady called suree, who proudly states her age as 38 & a half . Her Jewishness is apparent in both her bisuness acumen – renting out properties sends her round the world, & her nose. She is a very warm lass to be around, smoking weed & playing chess furiously. So I played her, beat her & agreed to become her teacher, karate kid style. Todays lesson involved a kilometer swim round the green warm waters that fringe the coast – she was third best backstroke swimmer u-15s in israel, & i was amazed at her practically effortless stroke, especially as she had a plastic bag with the chess pieces, board, weed & water tied to her legs. Its great fun swimming with a lady in bikini, stealing furtive glances of her breasts or watching the watre rollof her sinewy back. At half moon the restaurant was being built, a 60 year old landlady smoothing off teh cement that gets ruined with each annual monsoon. In fact, most of Paradise is still being built, & its nuice to have the place at such an easy pace.

After the chess, the swim back was lovely; doplhins flipping flippers, lone butterflies fluttering over the waves, sea eagles skirmishing above us & out at sea the lightning bolts of a distant storm. Great conditions to write in, with the seawaves accompanying every sound. Being here has chilled me out big time, & what was a coupel of weeks ago going to be a furipouys writing expedition, has now turned out into a sonnet every few days – its gonna be good to digest the food, like these wicked coconut lassis I seem to be addicted to. After getting over the initial shocks, even Charlie’s starting to mellow out & is smitten with the sheer gorgeousness of teh place…


Sai Baba’s Butlins

Today was a great way to start a journey. Instead of waking up shakey in a head-f**k of a city, I found myself in an imperial Raj-era villa on the top of a gorgeous mile high hill. Me & Charlie had been staying there a couple of nights as a wee repsite form the hectic travelling. Its called Nandi Hills, the foremost of a wee range that tower over teh Deccan plateux. At the top of our hill is a 90 acre, filled with glorious fauna & vegetation. There is a cool water tank & even the hunting lodge of Tipoo Sultan, teh Tyger of Mysore. During the Karnatakan wars, when a Duke of Wellington slew this thorn in the imperial side at Sriringapatanam, Lord Cornwallis had took the fort & before long a beautiful villa had been built at its top for the residing British officials in the area. Today its a salubrious ‘hotel,’ complete with room service. There was even a meeting held there yesterday by the horticultural minister of Karnataka, a fat looking fellow draped all in white walking through the woods with a clucking gaggle of middle aged moustached men.

Ive been loving the colonial flavour, & the walks among the trees. There are stunning views, armies of dragonflies, cheeky monkeys which the locals scare off with catapults – one stole an apple & crackers form our rooms – plus this cool gang of stray dogs. Its basically a canine lion-pride, with one butch male & three females, plus attendant pups. There’s three restaurants to cater for the occasional loved up couples that wander around the scenery hand-in-hand, plus a quaint hindu temple full of the weirdest knee-high wood carvings ive ever seen, all sorts of grotesque creatures as if plucked from the mind of Baudelaire. Its been good for charlie too. These two das are the first in a very long time he’s had no drugs/alcohol – & he even read one of my books – apparently ketamiine makes the words all blurry. He’s also finally realised that being on k makes him forget stuff, repeat himself & talk a load a shit – ya joking I replied!

Our route to the hills began last sunday, & I thought I’d try & get spiritual on Charlie’s ass. We got up early, at 5.30 AM, to try & squeeze a visit in to teh worlds most visited temple at Tirumala. Unfortunately, during the night both me & charlie got our first bout of delhi belly, & ten minutes into a bumpy ride decided it would be best if we get off & find some bushes, pronto. We did, & walked back into town, picking up some ‘stabalising’ medicine en route. At 9.30 am we caught the bus west. This was a nine hour journey across the otherworldy landscape of the Deccan plateaux. It is basically a vast plain, peppered with bouldery hills, whose rocks seem to defy gravity as they balance at strange angles. The journey was broken up by the occasional crazy town & the growing feeling I was yet again in ‘endless India.’ I mean, we travelled about 350 k today, & hardly made a dent on the subcontinental map.

Then we hit Puttupathy, passing the Sri Sathya Sai Super Speciality Hospital as we went in – a gorgeous pink taj mahal of a thing (see photo attached) There, we soon found ourselves in Sai Baba’s ashram the Prasantha Nilayam, or hill of peace. He’s a bit decrepit now, but his chief ‘leuitenant,’ sri sathya, looks like a seventies disco gangster, with wavy afro & orange robes. On teh way in there was a security check, & they took Charlies fgs off him which really upset him, it was hilarious. On the brighter side, we got a bed in a dormitary full of internationl devotees for only 20 rupees – about 25p. The food was just as cheap, & we finally had a few western birds to check out. There was obviously no chance of getting laid, like, especially with a still brooding charlie in tow. Outside the ashram we found your typical traveler world – loads of shops selling jewellry, clothes & sitars, mingling with internet shops, hotels & restuarants & wee posses of beggars. Its a weird contrast – on one side of the street there’s this big meditation centre, & on the ther a great cathedral to capitalism. If you ask me,Sai baba’s raking it in like a modern day Idi Amin. We even passed his private air strip on the way in. Plus, as we ate our food in one of the several halls, this sign looked over us with just his hypnotic eyes staring down, reading


Trippy shit – the whole ashram reminds me of a holiday camp – there’s loads of accommodation – the westerners get bunk beds while the Indians sleep on mats on the hard floor. The nights sleep reminded me to get some earplugs – Charlie’s bad enough, but nothing to the Russians. I kept moving about the dorm from bed-to-bed avoiding a snorer, but as soon as i settled, the guy nect to me would start – proper did mi head in. In the end I got an hour’s kip, & with Charlies arms bitten to a volcano range by the local mozzys, we left the ashram, passing a mini-darsan on the way. This took place in a great ballroom style area, with chandaliers draping down & a couple of hundred white-clothed devotees sat on a polished silver floor, singing along to this guy at the front chating through a PA. From Puttupathy we headed towards Nandi Hills, where after a chaotic hour at teh bus station being the focus of everyone’s attention, we caught a bus to the foot of the hill. There we boarded a rickshaw with seven oher peopel & pulled into teh fortified walls of our destination – where I slept for a good 14 hours.

After our two-night stay we’ve meandered to the great green garden city of Bangalore. id never entered from teh north before, usually coming from teh east along teh industrial MG road. This way was very pleasant, a six lane throughfare that feels like driving into west london along the A40. Plus we passed a golf course slap bang in the city centre, protecting pedestrains by giant nets that ring its monsoon-lush greenery. Also en route we passed loads of billboards & brand new apartmenst, signs of Bangalores status as the most western city of India, growing fat on the IT & telecom industries. Somewhere within it i am writing this on my own in a fan-swept internet joint – Charlies stropped off in a huff – he wants to use his facebook but is completely computer illiterate. We’ve dropped our bags off at the train station lockers for a few hours, before this evenings bus to Gokarna & Paradise Beach. I think Charlie desrevs it after being plunged head first into the ocean of humanity that is India (poor lad)


Cyclone Jag

The last time I signed out was Diwali – a total riot. Every twenty paces a family group were setting off all manner of fireworks, clutching their metre long lighting stocks like little Lancelots. Occasionally you’d have a mother doing it , her wee babbie giggling in her arms. Then all of a sudden one hell of a monsoon struck Chennai, dampening everyone’s spirits & fireworks, the powder in them turning to an unlightable mush. But ten minutes later the flash-storm was over & the show somehow went on.

I’m in my total element here. Back in Britain I kind of dawdle about on the outside of society as a poet – I dont even do performance poetry so Im pretty much on mi own. However, out here I feel a part of the eternal, international poetic consciousness – with the added bonus of wacthing premiership footy live in mi hotel room! A weird tangent-thing is that the last time I’d just arrived in India, Obama became president of the US & there was the mumbai terrorist attack all in the space of a coupel of weeks. Now, two days after arriving in India, so has Obama, who’s first port of call was signing the martyr’s book at the Taj Mahal Hotel in Mumbai – weird synchronicities.

Yesterday me & charlie hit Chennai on the book distribution run, cruising about by foot, train, rickshaw & bus. The city itself is just one massive heap of concrete lumped on the Tamil plain like a colourful pizza. No hills to break up the urban monotony, & very few parks. Albeit theres the sea, but even this is manky, fed by the black stinking sewers & even ranker rivers that flow through the city. The day began unconvincingly, with a wild goose chase to a non existant address. Well it might have existed, but nobody knew where the hell the street was. The second publisher was closed for Diwali & nobody would take my book to give to the guy. Getting on a bus, with charlie having a wee moan about everything from lack of non-sugary condensed milk to the bricklaying skills of the Indians (hes a brickie himself), to allay the growing sense of frustration I opened up my kural & found an appropriate pick-me up.

Working unswervingly against impossibility
Persistence’s first instance – Kural 153/4

Things then picked up a little, with the next two publishers having security guards, who kept my book in safe keeping til the staff came in to work on monday. The fifth, however, was more promising, & open. I gave my book to a receptionist, who five minutes later summoned me to the boss’s office, through a maze of other offices. He was a lovely guy, smiling widely at the ridiculousnous of a burnley boy translating his national epic, & after ten minutes of chit-chat I think I’ve won him over. He’s going to check through my interpretation of the kural & I’ll hear from him next week if he’s up for it. This was quite a satisfying moment, so I called it a day there. I’m gonna post the rest on whenever I find a post office (no easy task).

While we were walking the streets, me & Charlie kicked off our own version of the east lancashire cricket league. Apparently he played for Read CC, & I used to watch Lowerhouse CC as a bairn. Anyhow, on coming across a couple of kids playing in teh streets, we found ourselves using a tree for a wicket, & the kids for fielders. Charlie batted first & got 7 runs b4 I bowled him plumb LBW, much to his cocky annoyance. However, I only made 5 runs b4 one of the kids gave me a wicked googly & Charlie gave a rather a too triumphant cheer. His smile didint last long though -later that night he got himself lost. I think he went off hunting for ketamine while I was in the internet shop. An hour after our appointed rendezvous I went back to the hotel – three hours later a flusterd looking Charlie turns up, without any k (thank god) several hundred rupees of taxi fares down. Apparently he’d driven past the hotel several times – funny as.

This morning we woke to proper Pendle weather, with Chennai like a late auntmnal Manchester. Apparently a cyclone called JAL is coming on from the Bay of Bengal to devastate fisherman’s lives & all that – which finally gave us the kick up the ass we needed to get out of dodge. Three hours train ride later, sitting with a baby with massive brown eyes & an even bigger brown splodge of paint between them, & a guy listening to bangra on his mobile, we’ve come to Tirupathi, a not particualrly pleasing town at the foot of a sheer range of hills. If Chennai was wolverhampton, said Charlie, this is definitely West Bromwich. Our reason for being here is the temple of Tirumala, up on the hill range. It receives more pilgrims each year than Mecca & Rome put together, with most of the young guys shaving their heads – giving the appearance of a mass rally of the asian wing of the BNP. We’re gonna join em about dawn tomorrow, when hopefully the weather would have cleared, before travelling a few hundred k to stay a night at this very holy ashram – i cant wait to see charlie’s face when we get there & he cant have a fag


Kali & Charlie

Karma’s a wonderful thing, I think. Two years ago I was having a few ‘problems’ with mi bird. I mean, we had the same argument for 6 weeks. Then it hit me – the Indian goddess of destruction, Kali, was using mi bird as an avatar & summoning me to India. So I went & ended up translating the Tamil Bible. Back in Britain I tweaked & polished it a bit, then put it to one side, my prospective market being 6,00o miles away. Then lo & behold, Im suddenly swept off to the capital of Tamil Nadu, Chennai, by mi mate Charlie – Kali & Charlie, its got a certain ring to it!

My journey here began by walking op Leith walk in Edinburgh in mi flip-flops, to a couple of funny looks. . Nine & a half hours later Charlie had met me at Victoria & we set of on foot towards Heathrow. I like to go pedestrian to airports, following the planes as they make their descent, as something of a pre-quest ritual. I found myself following the same roads that I had walked back in August as I wrote mi Londiniad, reminding me that his was gonna be a literary mission & not just fannying about all over the place in search of ephemeral pleasures.

We got to Heathrow at midnight, where Charlie, going cold turkey off practically every kind of drug, started knocking back vallium like saspiralla tablets, washed down with neat vodka. Apart from being on the run from the poilce, his landlord, the CSA & a couple of crack heads, he’s also nursing a broken heart. She was called ketamine karen, & had bled him dry, emotionally & financially, & turned him onto smack etc. However, I know the guys got a diamond soul, its just been buried in a whole heap of shit, so whats a pal gotta do eh?

Charlie was well excited as we set off from the runway, he’s like a 53 year old toddler, & demanded the window seat. Unfortunately Europe was quiet overcast, but instead we enjoyed the flight. They’re great actually, its like being served a 4 course meal by hot birds while you watch movies or listen to tunes. Like going to a restaurant, but without the inane chit-chat. Talking of which, I finally had a respite from Charlie’s tales of Great Harwood Football Club. He also turned off the beer tap for us, for on staggering to the toilet the hostesses got scared of a typical ‘drunken-brit- incident. I tried to explain that it was just the vallium making him fall into the laps of the other passengers, not the booze, but they didn’t bite.

We did get a break in the clouds, however, as we flew over Turkey & the southern shores of the Black Sea. We saw a coastal strip of towns, but teh rest of the land was beautiful khaki coloured hills, some of which were skipped with snow. In the distance I could make out the Caucasus, where Hitler’s sixth army was supposed to meet Rommel’s eight in 1942. Looking at the terrain below me I opined that even if Cairo would have fallen, Rommel would never have been able to penetrate this land of jagged peaks. Then came the Tigris, & I mused on teh start of mankind, whose Mesoptamia irrigated the plains between teh Tigris & the Euphrates, from which culture rose the first city – urduk i think – 8000 years ago. Today it is a world of very scatterd villages – for teh air they looked like a few tiny sugar cubes clsuterd togeher, whose roads out of the settlement soon dissapeared into the dusty hills.

Then listening to Kasbian’s West Ryder Pauper Lunatic Asylum we came into Abu Dhabi. This is a part of teh oil-rich United Arab Emirates, seven princely Trucial states who joined together about 40 years ago to exploit the petrol-guzzling nations of the world. Incidentally, the sheik of Ras al Khaimah, Saqt bin Mohammad al-Qasimi, had died the previous day, whose emirship had been one of the world’ longest ruling, since 1948. From the night sky, both desert & sea merge in an deep blackness, broken by golden beaming spiderweb lines of motorways, & illuminous grids of houses. The airport itself was a bit mad, full of guys in white shirts, sporting red& white chequered tea towels on their heads, fastened in place by two black rubber rings. There were models of formula one cars everywhere, & an amazing departure lounge that looked like the inside of a curling ball. The central pillar fanned out like a vase to merge curvingly with the roof, & all was patterned in hexagons. then we were off again, for the three & a half hour hop over the Sea of Araby & teh subcontinent, to the far eastern shores of India, to Chennai TN.

Once off the plane, instead of paying the exorbitant taxi fares into town like a an american mug full of dollars, we just caught a train instead, the station being a stones throw from teh airport. Our tickets were 6 rupees each, about 8p. We quickly got a room, which after a few hours Charlie said its the worst he’d ever been in. I replied, trust me there’s worse – at least we have a western toilet, shower & TV (for a fiver). Admittedly, the area we are in is right next to a very busy, smoggy main road, & Charlie says its like holidaying in Wolverhampton. From there we wandered about a bit, but the jetlag & heat had wiped us out really. However, I did manage to print out 9 copies of my Kural, which Im gonna distribute round Chennai publishers tomorrow. It coast me about 7 quid to do this, including getting the pages bound in a hard-back. I was going to do it today, but most places are closed for the festival of Diwali. This is the great celebration of teh god Rama’s victory over the Demon King Ravana. That ten armed baddie had stolen his wife, Seeta, & whisked her off to Sri Lanka. Rama followed, with an army of monkeys led by Hannuman, & won back his bird after a great battle. This is wahy all day & everywhere firecrackers & bangers are going off vietcong style, to be followed by tonight’s fireworks displays, simulating war. We’re at the vast, indian heavy beach at the moment, getting away from the ‘explosions’ but tonight we’re gonna hit our hotel rooftop & watch the city explode in light & magic, just before the same thing happens to Guy Fawkes over your way…


False Starts

I’m still in Edinburgh, but just for an hour & a half now. Its a gorgeous day, so the length-long journey through Britain should be pleasing on the eye. My last weekend’s been cool enough, a nice jam with the band round a piano to the roar of a blazing country fire last Friday, then Charlie buggared off down Brixton on ‘business’ to raise more funds for the trip. That gave me a little psychological breather to gather in some notes for my writing abroad.I mean, Charlie deals ketamine to half of south london normally, & on running out the other day he took a train to Leeds to get 30 more grammes. Seeing as I knew a handfull of folk who’d have some, meant he had 25 g to himself. As we were living in each others pockest this meant I found myself in his bubble all teh time – theres only so many stories a guy can take about elvis presley & jerry lee lewis b4 I guy goes in sane.

I also had the delight of a little farewell fling with an art-history graduate. I told here she was something of a champagne bottle that smashes agasint a ship’s hull as it sets off on its maiden sailing – with better curves.  She’s gorgeous, actually, with really curly blond hair & delectable lips. Id met her at a hairdresser friend of mine’s house. She was trying to get a 60’s style bouffant, but I said it looked more like a volcano –  this brutal honesty endeared her to me & we took it from there.

With the launch champagne flowing a little too heavily, however, I slept through yesterdays alarm, waking up at 4.55 AM. My bus was leaving at 5.10. Quickly gathering my things I thought I could flag it down on London Road on its way to the A1. I guess it took a different route, cos it didn’t come. In a way this was lucky, because I’d left a load of stuff behind in my rush to leave the house.

I had to buy another ticket, so yesterday I sent m’lady a text saying I’d had such a good time I thought I’d stay on an extra night if she’d have me. ‘You missed your bus didnt you’ she replied, but admiring my attempts at romance she saw me anyway. After a night of wine & her fine efforts at cooking a steak, I woke up at hers this morning, after a on Ferry Road in Edinburgh, with a golden glow over the city panorama like something out of fortress Rajasthan. It became the catalyst for my first sonnet of the trip…

I saw the sun rise up on Arthur’s Seat
& sillouhette the city’s spinal street
This is, I think, a hint of things to come,
Like Sufis singing Sindhi to a drum

As Autumn’s vegetation makes decay
Down Goledenacre/Warriston’s pathway
I went, & swept a picnic round Tesco
To help me on my mission to Heathrow.

Now calling on a friend to say farewell
Emotions curious I tried to quell
With morning tea & biscuits flick’d the dial
For one last hit of Jeremy Saint Kyle

Then poet-prospects loading up with ore
I left my native lands for Siva’s shore

I get to Victoria at 8.30, & with our flight in the morning, & the expected heavy time-wasting security after last week’s terrorist threat, we’re gonna go straight to the airport. From there we wont be going to Mumbai, as I thought, but Chennai. I guess in the desperation to get the cheapest flight, not really minding where we ended up, I got myself muddled up. Luckily, though, Chennai’s the capital of Tamil Nadu, the state I spent a few months in last time round translating its Thirukkural. So thats gonna be friday’s mission, distributing manuscripts round the publishers of that mega-city. Catch ya’s later.