15th August. Post gig. A hotel suite. For PJ Olsson, it's a quiet night in, not exactly getting jiggy, but enjoying the space and time in Seattle, in what appears to be inordinately posh surroundings. The day after the night before and not long before another weekend.

And in a strange kind of way.... it's very true.

Oxygen or no oxygen this guy breathes the fire of a thousand sparkies, rolled and roached with the flair and intensity of a spaced out Camberwell firebrand. And sure enough, he's got his visene. Well who wouldn't be in his position?

We decide to ask him, what else is he carrying with him?

PJ slides further into his high-backed Chesterfield, sqeeking the leather as he sinks bank.

Got my Visine. Got my box. Got my wishes. Got my underwater cymbal filled with energy.

Would that be an indication of how you see yourself materially, or of just how generous your pockets are? Personally, I don't think I could handle much more than the box. Maybe the box and the wishes if I could put the wishes into the box. Certainly not the underwater thingy. Are possessions like this important to you? Would you say they got you through the day? What would get you through today?

Today ? To get me through this minute? A TV star from my childhood to come and screw me now.

Blimey. You mean literally? I'm imagining you're talking about someone along the lines of Angie Dickinson? Sandra Dickinson? Cheryl Baker? Carol Keating?

The girl out of Blue Peter?

That's the one. Bit of an outdoor fetish, apparently.

I am man enough for wooden benches.

Don't doubt it, P J.Don't doubt it. What sort of thing would you say to her? How would you charm her round? Coax her, perhaps? What might you say if Carol Keating was here now, in this room?

"Seal this note with my juicer. Use the liquid from your womb ".

So you wouldn't necessarily initiate anything romantic as such. Havn't you been linked recently with Crystal Gayle? Didn't you brush up on your Shakespeare to win, Crystal over?

Season to taste Romeo came with Crystal. She said my house is clean except for this. And I held up my marijuana.

And she seasoned to tasted and took it I bet. What did she say to that? Or did she just leg it? Did you or she mention anything about the fact that it's illegal?

If you think it’s a crime I’ll take a piss.

Well it wasn't necessarily Crud's own point of view. We were simply commenting upon the issue at large. How the statement might be seen in its larger context.

We decided to change tack.Olsson takes a note pad out from beneath his jacket and starts doodling.

Is that an idea for a song?

Olsson shakes his head.

Had a dream about Joseph Stalin. Was his son, hauling out of Moscow on a jelly bean with wheels.

Well you ought to see my car, PJ. I usually dream about standing naked in a queue at Tescos. But sometimes I have this one about my teeth and they're all...Olsson laughs. Sighs. And gesticulates with his finger. Crud scratches it's head and shuffles it's feet.

I guess we really don't have very much in common, do we PJ ?

There is one thing we have in common. It’s the torture of growing old.

Crud stands and back-steps towards the door.

Well nobody likes that do they, PJ? Hairy nostrils. The paunch. The receding sense of humour. Nature programs....

Olsson rushes to his feet, squeeling the Chesterfield as he does so.

You must stand there now. You must agree. The time is near now. We’re children no more. No more. No more. No more. No more.

More than a little unstettled , Crud tries the handle of the door.

We're not children, PJ, no...but I was feeling quite good about myself before I came here. I'd even got myself a new shirt. Thought I looked quite trendy. But you've put a right downer on it.. I think I'll be off now, ta. Just as well I didn't mention the ozone, eh?

Crud exits.

From behind the door

"The ozone is like a clit. Dripping sunshine on my lips. Call me social disaster. There’s still me comin’ after. I piss on your grave."

That's alright, PJ. We pissed on your marjuana. How's that for a social disaster?