Word. I got my black book back! I knew it would show up one day. Turns out it was round some girl’s house who had no idea how it got there. My guess is someone took it there when they were drunk. Anyhow, I’d like to thank D*Face for putting 2 and 2 together when a friend mentioned something about stupid drawings in a book to him. Nice one Columbo!
Like most drunken nights however, the book was perhaps better as a distant memory. In the cold light of day; marker pens + alcohol (often) = cacky bobar.
Even so, I sure am glad to have it back. Here’s a selection of double-spreads by a gaggle of boozed-up idiots… Smash!
Perras de la calle. Wallop!
AKA: Four Weeks in Raval…
A couple of new phrases that pays-es…
And one for the locals… (No he wasn’t from Panama / Asked him how he got so dark and he said “suntan-ama”!!!)
The guys at MTN suggested I tested out some paint on the back wall of their factory where their staff go for a fag break. Where I used to work, the graffiti at this place consisted of speed-cocks and things like “Rugby Skag Is The Best” or “Hot Dump – Thumpin’ A Dump Atcha”. Not wanting to offend my hosts, I went for the safer option of (surprise surprise) a big woman’s face.
The exact location of the Montana Factory is top secret and Like Airwolf‘s lair, tucked away inside a hollow mountain best reached by helicopter. An Italian man named Angelo arranged to meet me on the helipad of his yacht before we flew out for the guided tour (about half an hour from Barcelona). I was slightly disappointed not to meet any Umpa-Lumpas, though enjoyed a fascinating insight into the process and special formulas of the Spanish spray-bottles. The day conjured up strange feelings of nostalgia – combining memories of a trip to Cadbury’s World as a child and my teenage years spent order-picking in an Argos warehouse. Thank you Montana people. You never got that treatment with Hycote (mind you, we never used to pay for that)!