Star Blog

Ill all weekend. Don't know if it's directly hole-in-the-head related or not but mainly I have been very, very tired. Or as they say in the medical profession, fucked. Hence the permanent headache; my old ulcer playing up; my piles rebelling; what's left of my nerves all shot. Spent most of the last two days at the cottage going through proofs of my next book collection, feeling like shit and not knowing what to do about it. A turn around as I definietly felt like I was on the mend after seeing Vanessa the acupuncturist on Tuesday. Seeing her again tomorrow, thank god, gonna ask her for the Heavy Duty Double Bubble Needle Special. Assuming she does one, which she probably doesn't. Or maybe I'll just send the kids there instead, god knows they sound like they're in enough pain whenever I go near them.

One highlight this weekend: spoke to Ross, who told me some deliciously unrepeatable stories about A Certain Old Rock Star he successfully "put straight" while he was in LA last week - and I mean good and proper. Laughed so much I felt almost normal for five minutes. Or was it four...

Head definitely on the mend. Mind still lagging somewhat behind but then they don't have any surgical cement for that yet. Body still limping along, too, but apparently that's only to be expected. Jon Hotten told me about some cricketer (name escapes me right now) who took a blow to the head from a cricket ball that put him off his feet for two weeks. And this guy was a black belt in karate wearing a protective helmet. Gotta look after the old noggin. The doctor ordered me to have two-weeks bed-rest. But the doctor has obviously never been married with three small children and a very misunderstood relationship with our moral guardians at the tax and VAT.

To that end, braved myself and took a stroll with the family yesterday evening through our local town's annual Christmas lights-turning-on fair or whatever it's called. All main roads cordoned off, so we walked through the bitter cold darkness and... well, the kids enjoyed it as only kids can. That is, called me a mean daddy and cried and yelled when I said no to anything they asked for, and laughed like tinkling bells at their own cleverness whenever I said yes. When I wasn't chasing after one of them, making sure they didn't get lost in the manic crowd, I was pulling my wooly hat down tighter over my head, afeared some 'merry' lunatic would bang into me and knock my lovely blue-green-brown-red scab off.

Ah, Xmas. Thanks christ it's only once a year...

Went for some acupuncture this morning, to help with the old and rapidly getting older head. Just in the nick of time too, was feeling like shit this time yesterday. Well, been feeling like shit since it happened but by last night I had descended the steps to what we no longer wishing to be in the trade call Rock Bottom. Fortunately, Vanessa worked her TCM magic on me and while it will still be far too long until I am feeling anywhere near 100 percent again, I am at least on the way back up, slowly but more surely than before the needles went in, that's for sure.

Meanwhile, over in Hollywood... been speaking over the phone today with my old chinas Ross Halfin and Peter Makowski. They are there covering everything that moves, including the Slash and Friends show at the weekend, and doing a damn fine job of it too, by all accounts. Made me a bit wistful for the days when I too would have been waking up in a poolside room at the Sunset Marquis. On the other hand, if I'm going to fall over in the street, better it be here than there, no matter how sunny and rockingful there happens to (always) be. Probably.

Never mind the hole in your head, where's the bollocks...

Yes, back to work today and actually it's probably been the best thing for me - besides two weeks in a private ward being attended to by fig-leaf clad nubiles bearing thermometers and grapes in whatever order they fancy. The old noggin still hurts and yes there is still - and will probably always be now - a rather unfetching hole in the back of it but at least I'm moving around again, if somewhat more slowly. Rather a lot more slowly actually. But, hey, it could be worse. I could be bald and fat and... oh.

No blog this week. Took a mighty bang to the back of the head late Wednesday that put me in the hospital and since then I've somehow lost my appetite for noting down my day in public. That is, my legs gave way from under me in most unexpected low-blood-sugar fashion on a Soho street. Luckily, Robert my agent was there to call an ambulance and make sure someone saw to me. But still... not entirely how you expect to end a good meeting. I now have what apparently looks like a scene from spaghetti junction going on in the back of my head - some sort of plastic surgical cement they use these days to fill the wound instead of stitches. I say apparently because I haven't dared trying looking in any mirrors yet. I'm going to have a scar, they say. Have a scar? Feel like I've already got one of those thanks.

A decent day yesterday, with various members of wife's family over from America and therefore a hastily convened traditional English Sunday lunch scheduled at the Fleurs for various extended family members. Good old Eddie the landlord was ready with the various ales and roasts, the children behaved almost quite well (only one or two screams to jangle the nerves of those nearby) and a long table near the fire was provided for. Who could ask for anything more? Except for a fast horse back to ye olde ranch at the end of it, where the boy treated us to a rather too long recorder solo spot - part Ornette Coleman, part Peppa Pig - and we all posed for some say-cheese pictures with which to terrify future generations of Walls and sundries...

Today somewhat different, partly due to another restless night, partly due to having to go back to work, plate-spinning, fire-fighting and/or any other metaphors you might find handy to describe running around like a chickenless head. All aided by the fact that wife's car needed to go into the garage for a service, which meant daddy having to give his motor up leaving him at the mercy of kids and wife (and Ben the mechanic).

Still, did manage to get a few bits written and sent, never a bad way to spend a day, and a much-needed counter to all the moolah which is permanently going in the other direction. I suppose.

Short day, largely frittered away trying to work but only managing to do it in fits and starts, other stuff intruding the way other stuff has a habit of doing. Also started late, not waking up properly until gone 10.a.m. First time that's happened to me in... a year? Longer? Wife reminded me when I told her that I've been getting up at 5 and 6a.m. regularly for weeks and months now, either because I'm too mental to sleep or because I have work to do, both of which mean about the same lately.

I blame the medieval weather. The little cottage has been rocking like a lifeboat in a storm these past 24 hours, me nowhere near a lifebelt, just hanging on psychically for grim life or death or whatever comes next. You'd think I'd be used to that by now...

Semi-day off yesterday. 'Semi' because for reasons too tedious to go into here I found myself unexpectedly having to work all morning. Wife (and boy) and I did finally get out the door in time for lunch though, which we had at the Fleur De Lys in East Hagbourne - a pub, but the kind of fireplace worshipping establishment you only find in lush English villages of a certain type. That is to say, near-perfect, especially since the Old Landlord - a wanker of the first stripe - had the good sense to sell the place to the New Landlord, who is a proper gent and someone I fear I could get to know only too well if I ever rediscover my ale-drinking wellies.

The great thing about the Fleur has always been its food - way better than most so-called proper restaurants, and featuring lots of home-made items - not least, its steak and ale pie. This was always a big favourite of wife's in the days before we had children and therefore were able to go there whenever we liked. I didn't eat meat back then so had no idea what I was missing. Since children, though, I have resumed my meat-eating habits, but not often at the Fleur as we can never get out in the evenings anymore. This then was a treat, and one the boy actually behaved well enough for us to enjoy. Apart from when he forced me to take him for a poo - TWICE - during the meal.

Finished off the day by collecting the girls from school and treating them to a clothes-buying spree at Big Tescos in Abingden, where they sell almost as much of everything as Awesome Asda's in Swindon. Then closed the deal by letting them eat MacDonalds in the back of the car while wife and I behaved virtuously and ate nothing. What model parents we are. Now and again. For a minute or two. Before the screaming starts again.

Today was hopefully going to comprise of more of the same but a terrible attack of FAS - freelancer-anxiety-syndrome - brought on by the thought of having two (semi) consecutive days not intentionally working led me to flee back to the cottage in the afternoon, where I am right now, writing this before getting properly busy transcribing some more interview tapes for the Tallica book. I am diseased by the work thing, terrified of running out of the millions we need just to keep those pointy-eared dog-like demons from the door, which we always seem to be teetering on the point of. But you knew that...

Went to see Vanessa the acupuncurist late yesterday, so slept OK last night for once and subsequently felt better today. Just as well, plenty for old devils to do, especially this one right now. Got another Hammer horror piece done in the morning, hopefully a good one (it seemed so at the time but those are often the ones that turn to rot once they leave you for cyberspace). Then flitted around acting semi-cool in the afternoon doing phone interviews with various newspaper and radio stations for the new Brazilian and US publications of the Zep book. A little strange at first, the book now being a year old here in Britain, but fresh out over there. But it all came back pretty quick. Noticed how much more charitable I am about the whole thing now I've got some perspective on it. Can't escape the basic tragic nature of the story and it's - for me - still sad outcome (so far). But the way I talk about the story when being interviewed now is somewhat more celebratory, even defensive, to a degree. Ended the day nice, making the kids laugh while telling them made-up bedtime stories. The trouble is they woke them up instead of putting them to sleep. A good sign for a storyteller in any other context, bit of an own goal in this one. I can still here them now, talking to each other from room to room, sleep not even on the radar yet. Know the feeling...

Some replies to some of those lost emails...


Dear Mick, I'm a metal writer and huge Metallica fan dating back to yourearly days writing about them. When's the new book out? With very best regards, Mark Eglinton


It's due to come out this time next year,Mark.

Hi Mick, been a fan since the Kerrang / Sounds days.. Recall an interview you did with one of my favourites, Graham Bonnett just after he joined MSG. Am also a huge Thin Lizzy fan. Anyway, enough of that shit,just wanted you to know how much I enjoy the blog. It's brutally honest but also very funny at times. Keep up the good work, Andy Bolton, from Cambridge.

Thanks Andy, I will try.

Hey Mick, hope the Tallica masterpiece is coming along fine. But what about the Slash and Duff at Xmas story? Would love to read that! from Byron.

Actually Byron, the full unedited, warts and hole version of that is in my next book out in the new year, a collection of odds and sods of mine called Appetite For Destruction. The Tallica, meanwhile, continues to keep me awake nights...

Mr Wall, I just finsihed your Axl biog W.A.R. in a single day! One of the be books I have ever read. From Ryan Bishop.

I quite agree Ryan. Now try the Zep. Just a click away in the Bibiliography section of this site (or whatever it's called)

Dear Mick, I have just finised your amazing and enthralling Led Zeppelin biography and have been left with so many conflicting emotions I am literally dazed and confused... Regards, Tim Bennett, Australia

This is an edited version of Tim's letter which was longand actually very interesting. Thanks Tim. Kidding aside, it means a great deal to realise people out there like you and the others mentioned briefly here really take this stuff in. God knows I mean it heart and soul when I write it.

May your various gods bless you all.

Live today from 2pm UK time, the awards special edition of the weekly Classic Rock Magazine show, catch it at...

www.rockradio.co.uk

Back to the cottage. First time for nearly two weeks, one thing or another and another. Spent the first hour just warming the ice-box up and disposing of the out-of-date food. Fianlly got down to work, transcribing interviews but after two hours felt hungry so ate the only thing left in-date, some minestrone soup. Then fell asleep on the couch, which was pretty good going as Nigel the owner was just the other side of the window using a chainsaw to chop trees or whatever he was doing out there with his big earplugs on and the radio blaring.

Woke up and got another good hour in before leaving again. Had promsied to take wife and kids to the local fireworks display, which was good, actually. If only we hadn't had to stand around in the cold dark for an hour-and-a-half first while the kids demanded candy-floss, fudge, goes on all (two) of the rides and the local halfwit DJ played thumping techno music. Finally though they lit the big bonfire, we all cheered as Guy Fawkes met his smoky end and the fireworks started. Almost worth the wait. Lots of groovy sky-patterns and sonic booms, everybody including me going oooh and ahhh and wooowwwwww...

Finished the evening off having a Chinese takeaway indoor picnic on the floor in front of the TV back home while watching the earlier edition of Merlin we'd recorded. "Are they real magic words Merlin uses," eldest daughter asked me. "I don't know," I said, "I'll have to ask Jimmy Page."

Then back to the cottage, not to work but to make sure that when I woke up the next morning I'd alreday be in the saddle, as it were, ready to rock, or as near as I get to it these days anyway.

At 9.30 this morning I was on the phone interviewing someone in Australia. Straight after that I was spealing with someone in Abu Dhabi. Then it was New York, London, LA, and, finally, just now, Egypt. Yet I haven't been able to leave the house since Wednesday. The world is suddenly a much smaller, way bigger place. And so am I.

It ain't over yet. I'm off to grab a quick dinner now as eldest daughter practises her clarinet and youngest two fight over the computer games. This because at 8pm I have to interview someone over the phone n LA. Then tomorrow I start off again with a 7a.m. call to Egypt. And on Monday, another 7a.m. interview. With a bus company. Between times I have a medium-size feature to write up in time for Monday and a smaller one. Followed by the Big One - the sum of all thse interviews - also on Monday. My head is dizzy at the prospect, my arse tight, my back aching from sitting in this chair squirming around from grey dawn to black night.

And yet the people I really need to speak to aren't - getting - back - to - me. There's something meaningful to said about this but I am not the one to know what that is. Ever, apparently.

Have spent the whole day trying to chase down promoters, agents, managers, sound guys, lighting guys, truck guys, you name it, for this biz-type thingy I'm cobbling together. Emails and phone calls flying all round the world, from Australia to Abu Dhabi via LA, Houston, London, Berlin, Athens and few other hot spots. And that's when I wasn't discovering Virgin had secretly snaffled 155 of my emails and put them in a folder I didn't know existed until today - including quite a few from readers of this blog. So if you're one of the email writers, please don't judge me, I'm not ignoring you, and I promise to do something about it over the next couple of days as soon as I take my pointy green dollar-signed biz hat off again. Fucking Virgin...

Had a nice chat with Ross on the phone tonight too. Setting the world to rights, meaning sorting through the rock stars we know and giving them marks out of ten, not that you need as many marks as ten for most of 'em. Now going to sit and stare at some boring telly with wife. It's times like this I wish I had something to drink. I mean, I do. But I can't be bothered to open the bottle just for one glass and one glass is my limit at the moment. Just too damn tired and struck down by fresh waves of insomnia to manage the time it would take to drink properly. Naw, I'm on the apple juice and have been for some time now. Can't even get my withered arse on the running machine, not that I'm letting that fact totally ruin my day. I've got plenty of other ways of doing that...

Early start, getting prepped for this big biz story I'm doing for Audience magazine. Talking to managers, agents, promoters, video guys, stage building guys, bus company guys, sound wizards, lighting gurus. The full nine yards and a few more. Had to scoot off in the middle of it to record this week's CR show and podcast in London. But was back by 3.30, getting what's left of my teeth properly stuck into... this... thing. Can't say more cos I don't know if it's cool but I will in a few days. Besides, it's only biz people, boring, right? Wrong. I'm loving it.

Then tonight some guy from the New York Post phoned to interview me about the Zep book, which has just come out there. You gotta love the Post, it's what newspapers should be, nosey, pushy, greedy, intent on getting the goods. Reminds me of the time I spent a few hours in the office of The Sun with Garry Bushell, way back in the day. Just like in a movie, the room full of go-getters that could literally sniff a story at a hundred paces - more. It was scary and exciting at the same time. But mainly scary, me only being a T-shirt-wearing rock knob at the time. I no longer wear the T-shirt but I still don't think I could compete with these guys. You have to be a proper grown-up journalist for that and I still flatter myself I'm more of a... er... writer.

You know?

Woke up in my hotel room starving. Spent so much time talking and rubber-necking at the CR awards the night before I forgot to eat. When room service finally arrived with my breakfast I was on the point of devouring my own arse. Ate while throwing my stuff into a bag, then tottered out the door and into a taxi. Fuck the tube, this was an emergency. I needed to go home now, mummy.

Luck - the train at Paddington was minutes from leaving as I boarded and the bastard was almost completely empty. The way I like it. I must have had that certain look on me too because the mumsy-looking woman with the trolley took special care with me, giving me tea and opening the door when I got to my station and helping me off with my luggage.

Wife was waiting in the car with boy. We drove back and she treated me to one of her kind and thoughtful smiles and said: "You look like shit." It was true. Not that I was for deterring. Got home and straight onto the laptop, work work working, building this week's CR show, grazing email, putting out fires. Then having a gander at some new mags I'm going to do a story for. Biz-to-biz type mags. No pandering to rock stars here, just straight talking to the men that really count - managers, promoters, agents and whatnot. Proper gear for once. I puffed out my manly biz-like chest and ordered strong coffee, lots of it. Then had a little nap while still sitting in my desk chair.

It was that sort of day.

I seem to start a lot of these with the words' Long day', and here it is again.

Long day. Mainly spent with Slash. Which was a little weird, though in a good way. Although we've spoken a few times over the phone we haven't actually sat down in the same room together for years and years, all the way back to GN'R days, which was another lifetime ago. I didn't think he'd recognise me, actually. But he did. "I've seen you on TV," he said sweetly. "Oh, right, I always forget that people sometimes watch the things I appear on.

Anyway, we started the afternoon listening to tracks from his soon-come solo album, which I'd love to tell you all about but can't - yet. Except to say it's very good. Which you'd expect, but this is better than you think, trust me. Then we did an interview. Then we were at the Classic Rock Awards together.

It was at the Park Lane hotel this year. As well as Slash, Tony Iommi and Brian May were also on our table - the dry table as it was known, as none of us were drinking, all of us having already drunk our lifetime's worth somewhat ahead of schedule - though I think Brian may have treated himself to the odd glass of wine. I was saving myself for the after show party at the Embassy.

The awards themselves were good. A lot of the usual suspects were there. Jimmy Page, Jeff Beck, Nicko and Janick from Iron Maiden. This year though there was also Billy Gibbons from ZZ Top who told the best story of the night (about getting the No.27 bus to Wembley when they played there last week), Pete Townshend, Iggy Pop, Paul Rodgers and his wife Cynthia (who I finally got to meet after years talking on the phone), Chrissie Hynde, Ginger Baker, a Thunder or two, a Quireboy, and others. It's always slightly odd being in the same room as all those other people but big fun. You get the feeling they feel the same way, there probably not being any other occasion where they would all arrive at the same time on the same night for the same reason. Joe Bonamassa got up and played a high-speed blues. Like I say, big fun.

Spent so much time yacking to people my voice was gone the next day. I even spoke briefly to Jimmy, who it turns out has read my Zeppelin biography. I'm not saying he exactly complimented me on it, nor gave any indictaion that he liked it - why would he, he doesn't exactly come out smelling of roses? - but at least we spoke. I doubt he'll ever get over it. But I don't regret the book, being one of the best things I've done. And yet, and yet, and yet... fuck it. Life is very short and today was very long. And fun.