Lucy suggested writing a story on a beer mat. I went to a pub. There were no beer mats. I read most of Bill Drummond's book $20 000. It was good. I drank three beers. The man next to me at the bar asked if the book was good. I said it was fucking brilliant. We talked about the KLF and burning a million quid, then nailing ten thousand quid to a board and framing it and selling it for more or less than ten thousand quid, whatever it is they did. We both were a bit blurry on the specifics. But admirers. I didn't tell or ask him about stories or beer mats. He was very friendly or deranged. I was very friendly or deranged also. The bloke from Elbow was next to us at the bar. I bet he's written a few things on beer mats. Maybe that's why there were none. I didn't ask. He's none of my business.
If a beer mat was there I would've written something tight and delicious in one take with no crossings-out, then left it to get soggy and crumpled, and within a week I'd've forgotten exactly what the words were and I'd spend the following year trying to recapture them, and if anyone asked so what do you write? I'd say beer mats, mainly, you know, it's a bit niche and best viewed through the bottom of a glass.
