"What are you doing New Year's Eve?"

I'm going to <a href="http://www.staybeautifulclub.co.uk">Stay Beautiful</a>.

Just to clear something up, a few people have asked me if I'm DJ-ing there tonight. No, not tonight I'm not. That was their Christmas bash a few weeks ago.

But I did rather enjoy myself that time, and would do it again like a shot.

I now appear to be the Biggest Dickon On The Web.

So now, when people ask me in public for my email address, rather than scrabble for a pen and paper, I tell them to go to <a href="http://www.google.com">Google</a> and type in "Dickon", then press the "I'm Feeling Lucky" button. You get this very page.

Spend New Year's Eve-But-One at Trash, where the guest DJs, whose identity I'm not sure of but one of them was a man dressed as a geisha girl, played lots of nice 80s tunes. Made a change from all that garage rock. Erol played one of the original 70s disco numbers that Spiller & Sophie Ellis-Bextor sampled on "Groovejet (If This Ain't Love)". It wasn't Carol Williams' "Love Is You", but something else. I never realised that "Groovejet" sampled MORE than one old record in that one track.

This made Trash suddenly turn into Studio 54. So I really did feel like Andy Warhol, for once.

I'm rather getting to like those lop-sided asymmetrical Hoxton / Shoreditch / Electroclash haircuts now, which all the young things at Trash seem to be wearing, including even Erol. Very Dianne Wiest in Edward Scissorhands.

I'm not so keen on all the other current hair trends in London, to wit the Hoxton fins, the ironic mullets and mini-mullets, the "bed-head" messed and spiky look (mostly favoured by boys) and the new take on feather-cuts. And combinations of any or all of the above. And don't get me started on Bad Beards and badly unshaven boys. (sings) "It's Christmas time, there's no need to not have a shave…. "

But the "half today, half… indefinitely" look is very 21st century, I think. It looks like A HAIRCUT FROM THE FUTURE. Although unkind onlookers might remark, "well, it'll be nice when it's finished."

I suggested to Simon Price that he cut off one of his antlers.

Still on a "Xanadu" tip, the film where Olivia Newton-John wears legwarmers even when she becomes a cartoon bird, I asked <lj user=suicideally> if she thought legwarmers were going to come back, as one girl was wearing them at Trash, albeit rolled down around her ankles. Perhaps she didn't quite have the nerve.

Ally replied that said articles of clothing DID come back briefly last year. I must have blinked and missed that. Curses.

Retired to Emma Jackson's flat (ex-Kenickie, ex-Rosita), where she showed me a wonderful piece of merchandise from Rough Trade Japan. <a href="http://www.roughtrade.com/docs/docsaug00/licca.htm">an Indiekid Barbie Doll</a>. Accessories in the doll's box included miniature Rough Trade plastic carrier bags (!) and miniature vinyl records, including one by Rosita, and one by Spearmint. About the size of postage stamps.

"Dear George, Remember: no man is a failure who has friends."

And so, to all those LJ users who've added me as their Friend, I've finally returned the compliment. Mainly because I'm curious as to how you're all spending the festive season. All 64 of you. Whew! Let's see how long I last. Though I know that's peanuts for some LJ users who have HUNDREDS of Friends. How do you get the time to read all those diaries?

Anyway, thanks for reading me. I'll do my best to read you.

From the BBC News site's <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/showbiz/2567097.stm">list of celeb quotes of the year</a>:

"I think that if you're 30 and not thinking about marriage and kids, you're immature." Ben Affleck.

Happy New Year to all the blissfully immature out there…!

Was going to go out last night, but felt a bit fragile and instead plumped for staying in and watching a TV movie called "No Night Is Too Long" on BBC2.

How was it? Ruth Rendall (as Barbara Vine) adaptation. Bisexual murder thriller. Very Patricia Highsmith (Talented Mr Ripley, Strangers On A Train etc). Featuring Lee Williams, the supernaturally pretty young man on the sleeve of Suede's "Coming Up" album. Plus Marc Warren, who resembles a young Malcolm McDowell with hints of Niles Crane with better hair. Lots of gratuitous boy-on-boy action.

I rather enjoyed it.

As I look back over these past 12 months, I know that 2002 has been a curious year for me.

I converted my long-running diary to one of those "blogs", or rather a LiveJournal, and as a result have written more and been less lazy in my diary entries than before. The Comments feature has proven to be a lot of fun, and reminds me that as I type these entries, not only are people reading them, but they feel the need to respond publicly as well. Only connect, EM Forster said, and that old closeted queen would, I like to think, have approved of LiveJournal and the Internet. So, by converting my diary to this more interactive format, it's true I feel a lot less alone than I did a year ago.

With my band Fosca, we recruited the talented multi-instrumentalist Kate Dornan and made our sound a little more live, a little less programmed than before. We played one concert in London once every calendar month, plus a festival in Leeds and a club in Chelmsford, and released a new single and a 2nd album. I'm not sure that the 2nd album was received less well than the 1st or not. It depends on your criteria. John Peel didn't play it. No one reviewed it in the press apart from Simon Price in the Independent, bless him . We didn't get invited on a Swedish tour this time. Our proposed December tour of the US fell through. But then again, we've broken even on the costs and people have continued to pay to see us or buy our CDs. So the "dumper" doesn't quite beckon yet.

For my part, I remain extremely proud of the album, and nominate "Rude Esperanto" as the best song I've written to date in any of my bands. It's always a cliche when writers say their favourite own work is their latest, but it's a true cliche in my case.

2002 found me losing interest in the current pop music scene more and more, and taking more interest in the comedy and spoken word "scenes", for want of a better word. My grumblings about the NME were made entirely redundant when I realised that the publication's target market is 18-24 year-olds. And yet I still feel too young for the likes of Mojo, and I'm still not sure if I'll EVER be old enough for them.

But I'm made more aware that if you have something to say, wrapping it in music is all very well, but there's the problem that many people simply won't like the attendant musical style, or your performance. And despite my love of the song as a concise method of communication, I can't help thinking that it's about time I tried other formats. I'm not saying I'm about to write The Novel, but I do want to try something else.

As ever, I have taken more comfort in cosmetics and hair bleaching products than in music. But I'd never dare to say I'm shunning Real Life. I'm constantly excited in meeting people, old and young, old acquaintances and new, and hold true to that Quentin Crisp adage that if we find a person who is telling the truth about themselves boring, it is ourselves we are criticising.

More than ever before, I have found that the year has brought home to me the truth that the vast majority of immediate concerns and worries are worthless, and that it's important to worry less and live more, whether in real life or on the Net. It's all living.

In 2003, I have some ideas for new projects that I hope to see fruition, and will report on them as they unfold. All I want to do is contribute to the world what I can give more than anyone else, and contribute it to the best of my abilities. Whether that's writing, recording, or just standing in London nightclubs looking the way I do and imparting my broken wisdom to those who seek it, it's all good.

Dickon Edwards
Highgate, London N6

I like to spend Christmas alone. My parents are very understanding and allow me to do this. What happens is that they come down from Suffolk to London a few days before Christmas Eve, this year it was in the cafe by the side of Somerset House Ice Rink, and we exchange cards, presents, and so on. Then I spend the festive period here in Highgate by myself. On the 25th I phone my parents, then I go off to feed the ducks in Waterlow Park.

I think that if you're no longer a child, or don't have children, Christmas can be incredibly depressing. I remember the Christmas when I realised my childhood was over. I cried for hours. So now I take advantage of the quietness of the season, and so deliberately choose to take the Garbo option. I want to be alone. To take stock of where I've been, and where I'm going. If anywhere. To think about life. To think about my life.

Today, I had a small adventure. On Robert Elms' BBC London radio show, he announced that he'd forgotten to bring in his copy of the experimental composer Gavin Bryars' "Jesus' Blood Never Failed Me Yet", the version with Tom Waits, with which Mr Elms signs off every Christmas Eve. It's an incredibly moving piece based around a sound loop of a (now dead) homeless but unusually teetotal tramp circa 1971 who would walk around the Elephant & Castle area singing the same song to himself over and over again:

<i>"Jesus' blood never failed me yet
Never failed me yet
Jesus' blood never failed me yet
There's one thing I know
For he loves me so
Jesus' blood never failed me yet
Never failed me yet
Jesus' blood never failed me yet
There's one thing I know
For he loves me so…"</i>

From Mr Bryars' own sleeve notes: " I copied the loop onto a continuous reel of tape, thinking about perhaps adding an orchestrated accompaniment to this. The door of the recording room opened on to one of the large painting studios and I left the tape copying, with the door open, while I went to have a cup of coffee. When I came back I found the normally lively room unnaturally subdued. People were moving about much more slowly than usual and a few were sitting alone, quietly weeping."

On the recording, the loop fills up the entire CD (75 minutes or so), gradually adding instruments one by one until a full orchestra is playing along. Then Tom Waits appears and sings along with the tramp in his own fashion.

Mr Elms appealed on air for someone to bring in their own copy to the studio. So I got on a tube and went to BBC London in Marylebone High Street. I mentioned to the producers that I'd been to the radio station before, when Orlando performed in session for Mr Elms when it used to be called GLR. I don't think they were that interested or impressed with this information, but they were grateful for the CD and my mercy dash, and gave me a bottle of beer. And I got to go on air for a few seconds.

Afterwards, I walked around Central London for about an hour, feeling less human than ever, and more like one of those angels from "Wings Of Desire" in my big black coat. Feeling apart from it all. Alone at Christmas, yet surrounded by people. Staring at them all as I go by, wondering about their lives. Walking through Bond Street, Oxford Street, taking a bus to Camden Town to buy a copy of "Monsiur de Phocas" by Jean Lorrain, as recommended by Alice ( <lj user=fadedglamour>) to me at Trash last night. Saying hello to Andy R ( <lj user=andypop>) there, shortly before he goes off to see his own daughter in Dorset. I buy some bleach at Boots with which to do my roots, then I go to Camden Odeon for my customary Christmas Eve film. This year, "Dirty Pretty Things", a movie about desperate illegal immigrants surviving in London. I enjoyed it, but there were a few aspects of the film where I found myself thinking I could have done a better job of the screenplay myself. I never used to think this before. Perhaps this means I'm becoming more of a writer. More likely, it probably just means I <i>think</i> I'm becoming more of a writer.

As I write this, BBC2 are showing a documentary about how people spent Christmas during World War II. So, a day where I'm reminded of the homeless, the refugees, and those living in more precarious times of old. Doubtless to add, with all my neuroses, lack of money, and lack of direction in my life, I do realise just how lucky I am tonight. I am safe, and warm, and sheltered, and watered, and fed. And in blissful solitude in lovely leafy Highgate. And I can do whatever I want. Or nothing at all. And I am extremely grateful.

Some might say it's a bit sad, even Scrooge-like, to prefer to spend Christmas alone, and to have no one to snuggle under the mistletoe with. Well, in that case, let this diary entry be my virtual kiss to you all. Or a virtual polite handshake, if that's what you'd prefer. MWAH!

A Very Merry Christmas to you all.

At the Madness concert last night, the support act was a selection of classic pop videos projected onto a screen (possibly because it's difficult to bottle-off a projection). The Jam, Ian Dury, Blondie, Specials, The Clash ("London Calling").

For the first time, I finally "get" The Clash and enjoy the video immensely. Mick Jones wearing a nifty suit with buttonhole.

Get home to discover Joe Strummer is dead:

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/music/2600669.stm

The Fosca website appears to be down at the moment due to a server problem at their end. Apologies.

While you are waiting for them to fix the wire, here's a picture of the Holy Trinity in Lego. God The Son, God The Father, and God The Holy Ghost.

Merry Christmas!

<img src="http://www.brickshelf.com/gallery/revbps/bricktestament/merchandise/holy_trinity_small.jpg"></img>