Dear Diary,
The stitches are out now. I’ve kept them, in the little sachet the sterile dressing came in. I explained to the nurse that my daughter particularly likes the colour and wants me to take them to the paint mix counter at B&Q when it’s time to decorate her room. They’re blue by the way, black bedrooms come later – not much later though. Anyway, I shan’t bore you with gore any more, except to show you my latest finger porn picture – it’s called Brazilian wax at twilight. I invented finger porn quite recently. Just put your hand up to your built-in web cam and hey presto – graphic, gynacalogical images that are almost as rude as the real thing. It certainly livens up Skype conversations. Here is a selection. If CBeebies ever brings back Finger Bobs… ask your parents, I’m the man for the job.
I’ve got too much time on my hands haven’t I? Not to mention ink.
Anyway, back to Rock’N’ Roll. In an attempt to make a living from this increasingly austere vocation, I have become a shopkeeper – open all hours, the Ronnie Barker of rock and roll. I am attempting to sell T-Shirts and CDs from my website. Sadly, I am still deluded enough to think I am too famous to give out my address – that if it became common knowledge, I would be deluged by hysterical Moorettes trying to sleep with me – or people demanding refunds for everything I’ve ever done. In my younger days, I lived close to Bros – then at the height of their fame. The air was thick with pubescent female lust – none of it directed at me. I had to run a gauntlet of abuse for looking like a chimney brush in a bin liner, so to avoid inconveniencing my neighbours, I have installed a buy it now button. To see if it worked, I persuaded my mother to buy one of my very excellent t-shirts online, following the simple instructions; adding it to her shopping cart – in her case a trolley, proceeding to the checkout, then paying. She managed this very successfully and is now the proud owner of yet another garment bearing the name of one of her son’s bands. I did consider asking her to try a few more times just to be sure the first one wasn’t a fluke. Once convinced that the wheels of commerce were turning smoothly, I spammed the unfortunates who allow me call them friends on Facebook and MySpace, inviting them to browse around the emporium, then waited for the tills to ring.
Update. My account is currently frozen by paypal as I am now under suspicion for money laundering. My mother’s £12 – which I fully intended to refund last night, somehow became £1,200.00. Not only that, but her internet went down and she thinks I had something to do with that as well. She’s a wonderful and placid woman mostly, but mess with her technology and you get to see the dark side. When she thought I’d tampered with her Freeview box she called me every name under the sun, until the announcer apologized for atmospheric interference in the Southern region – at which, her horns receded and she asked if I had any laundry that needed doing.
By the time you read this, I am sure that any financial irregularities will have been ironed out, sales will be booming and mother’s internet will be steaming away happily. If not, prepare for more Moore gore.
For more Moore, his aforementioned shop, and perhaps to get in touch to offer him something to do to with those hands, please visit his website. John Moore currently plays in the John Moore Rock ‘n’ Roll Trio
