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.
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
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,
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 itís a crime Iíll 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.
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. Itís 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. Weíre 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,
From behind the door
"The ozone is like a clit. Dripping sunshine
on my lips. Call me social disaster. Thereís still me
cominí after. I piss on your grave."
That's alright, PJ. We pissed on your marjuana. How's
that for a social disaster?