Hasn't felt like a Sunday today at all. I was in the studio getting stuff ready for this east show.

Went down to the Barras to get some materials. Pairs of flippers to be exact. But the wee man with the box of flippers is wising up because I'm sure he charged me more for them today.

Other exciting things at the world famous Barras market this Sunday: A young girl who went hysterical. Like totally fucking exploded. I thought that some random piece of machinery had chopped her hand off or a telly had fallen on her head or something. But no, her brother had jumped out at her with a scary mask on. I was looking at these old picture frames thinking, -Thank fuck I'm not hungover or I couldn't have handled this. She sounded like she was trying to summon demons while her dad who obviously owned the stall was going, -Fucksake man she's cleared the whole fuckin place.

Then I saw this old guy who used to be the sort of factor for the bedsits where I used to live. He was a beadie-eyed, skeletal old bastard with white hair and dry skin like paper. He spoke in a barely audible rasp and used to try to get me to paint squirrels onto bits of wood for his nephew. I couldn't stand the fucker. But I had to humour him on account of him being the landlord's right hand man. And the landlord was an ex-boxer turned entrepreneur of the gangster variety (with a slight twitch). The electricity was controlled by one of those old meters and I quickly sussed how to take the front off and crank up loads of credit with a single coin and a knife. But I'd always be listening out for old Eddie snooping around or wondering if my meter was ever suspiciously low on cash. Because obviously, the landlord was not to be fucked with. And neither, apparently, was the electricity meter. During one of these routine operations I decided to investigate its inner working further. I poked a couple of interesting looking wires with the knife and received a fairly significant electric shock.

That was a few years ago now and I've stayed in a number of flats since then. Occasionally, in absent minded moments, old Eddie would drift back into my mind and I would think, 'I wonder if he's dead yet'. Apparently not it would seem.

Navigating the Barras can be a hazardous and frustrating affair. It is normal to move around at a maddeningly slow pace because the people in front of you (and there's always a sea of people) either: a. Have a limp/walking stick/crutch/wooden leg. b. Are carrying some massively proportioned object of indefinite nature at a dangerous angle. c. Are stupefied on hard drugs. d. Any combination of the above.

Today was no different. So I bought my flippers and got outta there like I stole something.


Yesterday was a bit of a write-off due to the hangover caused by the degree show festivities the night before. Which made for a most enjoyable evening. Although it went in fast forward because I got drunk quite early.

Posi
V Twin playing School's Out For Summer.

Nega
Self-important artist trying to patronise me. Trying. (Guys like that must have wee willies or something).

The highlight though was seeing my good friend Skylar again. He's over in Los Angeles doing the MFA course at UCLA. We shared a studio at art school and we used to have a really good laugh. We hung out yesterday which was great and he told me how he had recently skinned a rattlesnake.

All in all a good weekend. Now I am going to have a bath and read a book.

Bought some materials from Miller's today. For the last six months I've lied about being a student in this particular branch in order to get a discount. And this one girl always asks about how my work's going and stuff. I actually thought that she realised I was lying and just gave me a discount anyway. So today she caught me off guard by pitching a series of student questions at me... Had I got my degree show together in time? Was my space any good? Had I got my mark yet?...blah blah blah. I played along, being really vague...Yes thanks, I got everything sorted out. My space is amazing. I'm not sure when the marks are out. Then I had to feign interest in her anecdotes regarding her own degree show. Because, you see, she already graduated from Dundee last year blah blah yawn.

Since this transaction was in fact the last one eligible for my 'student discount' I briefly considered looking her straight in the eye and saying in a calm and sane fashion:

'Okay, the game's up. I am in fact no longer an art student; my degree show went fine thanks and now I have a studio where I continue to make work. I am happy to forfeit my fraudulent ten per-cent discount henceforth in the understanding that you will discontinue your dull and self-satisfied references to your status as an art graduate immediately'.

What actually happened was that she said she might look out for my work and I saved two pounds on three tubes of gouache. So kids, the moral of the story is this: Get out of art school and keep your mouth shut, whether you're trying to impress people or rip people off.

I am home again. Back in the land of bills and bank statements. And the flats in tip-top nick. Yay! Churminator even remembered to feed the fish. Either that or they've gone solar powered. The mail waiting for me wasn't even that scary. A safe return all round.

Venice was really good. It was very hot, like fucking cooking. It meant that you were constantly soaking in sweat from first thing in the morning until about ten o'clock at night when it cooled off a bit. Apparently it was much hotter than normal and even all the locals were freaking out. But after a few days it seemed almost normal to have really hot wet skin all day. Trish demanded that I buy some shorts which I was going to do anyway, but I drew the line at a pair of sandals. She wasn't impressed with the new level of nasal assault my trainers had achieved and kept going on about how she'd get me into a pair of sandals, claiming that 'my feet would thank me for it'. Well, I decided that since my feet haven't seen any sun at all since the late seventies that it might be asking a bit much of them to cope with suddenly being consummately scorched; and since they've never thanked me for anything up until now, I can only assume they'd be ungrateful anyway. So the adidas stayed put.

Apart from the heat it was a crazy place to navigate. Lots of canals obviously, and narrow streets and alleyways punctuated by lots of sort of small squares. My mental compass is fucked at the best of times so Lorna and Trish did most of the navigating and we got everywhere we needed to go eventually. We did quite a lot of walking which was pretty nuts because of the heat so sometimes we took the river taxis which we never paid for. And we pretty much lived on a diet of pizza/pasta, ice cream and beer. The ice cream and pasta was cheap and the best I've ever tasted. Ever. The beer was okay and the fags were dirt cheap.

The art was absolutely amazing. The old stuff that is. There are churches everywhere that you can pretty much just wander into and find yourself standing in front of something totally epic like a Titian altarpiece. The best one was called the Frari. And then there's the Accademia which blew my mind. It was fucking incredible. Those guys really knew how to make art. After a few hours you just start to get overwhelmed and leave with your head spinning. One of the best things I saw was an early Tiepolo that had an angel standing on a cloud taking a piss.

The Biennale was okay. There was some good stuff and some absolute shite. The Italian pavilion was pretty good. I saw some paintings by a Polish guy which I was really into. The Arsenale had some good things in it too. And there was a painting show which had a lot of big names ( Guston, Richter, Kippenberger, Rushka etc) and it was alright. I saw a Schnabel for the first time which was good but it was a plate painting and I don't really like them as much as the rest of his work. And then there was a lot of crap. It's safe to say the Scottish pavilion kicked the pants off most of it.

The Scottish party was a great laugh. It was outside in this big playground with free booze, loads of 'wegies and the Optimo DJs. Some nutty girl called Mu played and she was excellent but she was on early when the vibe was still a bit flat which was a bit of a shame. I managed to get drunk and danced on the stage. It's the first art opening I've ever been to where the booze didn't run out all night. It never even showed signs of running thin. So I took it upon myself to consume copious quantities of beer, whisky and red wine. Which worked. Then, I woke up the next morning without a hangover. Not even the slightest trace! It was actually uncanny; I woke up fresh as a daisy. Testimony to the therapeutic powers of sweating no doubt. Apparently Robert Johnson had me as odds on favourite to be the first person to drunkenly fall in a canal. As far as I know I didn't.

Highlights

Buying a pair of psychedelic cat pants
Punching a pigeon in Piazza San Marco
Stealing a 'Yoga Magic' ashtray
Buying a can of Hell Bier
Not getting a single mosquito bite while Lorna and Trish got eaten alive

Lowlights
Leaving Trish

I'm in Stansted airport just now. I tried to update from an internet cafe in Venice but it fucked up and my time ran out and I didn't bother trying again. So here I am, back on home turf in one of my favourite places, an airport. I'm going to go and play some arcade games now and I'll update properly when I get back home.

I really hope that Rob hasn't let the flat turn into a state in my absence and that the gas or phone hasn't been cut off.

Went to Mono for a wee while to have a gang meeting about a show and then stayed on for Fred's birthday. Which he failed to mention when I saw him in the street earlier on. Fred's got a great street chat technique though. Like 'Hey Hi! How's it going? Okay bye I'm just off to...'. No bullshit, the way it should be. But I got home in time to burn him a copy of the Macrocosmica cd which is sort of bad because they rock and he'll love them so I'll have to make him buy an original. Some birthday present then. Ha.

I am mostly sober and that is good because I am going to Venice tomorrow for the Biennale and there are going to be loads of people out there, like half of Glasgow. So I need to pack and do all that sort of crap. I don't know where I'm flying from or at what time, I don't know what hotel I'm staying in or anything. All I know is that I'm meeting my girl Trish out there and I'm meeting Laurie and Lorna in Central Station tomorrow at half eleven at the nuts stall.