Au revoir, jewelled alligators and white hotels, hallucinatory forests, farewell.

Sooner or later, all games become serious.

After being bombarded endlessly by road-safety propaganda it was almost a relief to find myself in an actual accident.

I accepted that a new kind of hate had emerged, silent and disciplined, a racism tempered by loyalty cards and PIN numbers. Shopping was now the model for all human behaviour, drained of emotion and anger.

I feel that the surrealists have created a series of valid external landscapes which have their direct correspondences within our own minds.

Civilised life, you know, is based on a huge number of illusions in which we all collaborate willingly. The trouble is we forget after a while that they are illusions and we are deeply shocked when reality is torn down around us.

The suburbs dream of violence.