Janni.
"May green be the grass you tread on, may blue be the skies above you." A birthday gift for my dear aunt Inger, inspired by an Irish poem and by the unique life of my aunt. 
"Money isn't real" For all those who regard the accumulation of monetary "wealth" as being a valid constant in this life. It was, is and forever will be but a mere game, a fictitious entity designed to divide and dismember the institution of love. 
"Be you / Died Out " All four of these words appear in the labarynthine sketch above, a tribute to and mockery of the concept of modern day individuality in the matrices of comformity and compliance within which we dwell. 
"Press Play" I was sat by the Peblinge lake in central Copenhagen wathcing the sun sink sedately over the horizon when I sketched this.
"Tagmania" A piece Nicolai Palmblad and myself did together . A tribute to street art.
"Raving Lunacy" is a book of a different sort. It’s the sort of book that charms, disgusts, repels and attracts all in one. The sort of book that raises heckles and tickles funny bones, the sort of publication that none other than the loved, hated, famous and infamous Dave Courtney could write. Amongst the many intriguing anecdotes of his escapades on the rave scene back in the day is the entertaining tale of the two police officers that Dave and a mate of his called Wolfie spiked with speed whilst they were on a routine patrol. Whether this is a true story or not, or whether the facts have been exaggerated or distorted in one way or another is irrelevant. It’s downright hilarity all the same.
Over summer we’d have all night barbeques at Queen’s on the veranda and these dopey police would call on their rounds at midnight and then later at two. So this time these two plods came around. I offered one a drink and he refused cos he was on duty but said he’d have a burger. Fair enough. I went to get a burger. Now the geezer doing the burgers and hot dogs was also the geezer that sold the speed…and I bet you’re doing now exactly what I did then aint’cha? Putting two and two together to get a big fucking four! – Yes! How could I resist? I felt it was almost my duty, my duty as silly cunt who likes seeing other people be silly cunts to do it.
So there’s the burgers, a dollop of mayonnaise, a good sprinkling of amphetamine sulphate, a piece of lettuce and a dab of mustard all put expertly together in a sesame seed bun. I believe it was what you would call in your local burger joint (if the cook was a whizzhead) a Quarter Ouncer. Me and the hot dog man were fucking wetting ourselves.
So the coppers walked off munching on these burgers and saying thanks. I said, No, thank YOU. You are very welcome officer.
An hour later the diesel astra comes up the hill, going a fair bit faster than usual I can tell you. The windscreen wipers were on as well, and it was dry. Not a good sign. They both jumped out of the car like a couple of keystone cops. Their hats are off, their ties are loosened, top buttons undone and red sweaty faces. If I hadn’t known better I would’ve thought they’d been shagging each other in the back of the squad car. One of them said “ I think I’ll have one of those beers now, mate” We were going “OK Sarge, whatever you want” I was cracking up so much I had to go inside.
Eventually they realised at some point that they had been spiked – I think it was when they found themselves doing 50mph in first gear with the windows down and the radio on full blast chasing an aeroplane’s wing light over a field. Or was it when they broke the Astra Diesel In Reverse Taking a Roundabout land speed record? But when they got back to the club it was too late. We’d all fucked off. So they had to wait until the next Saturday to catch us.
* Dodgy" Dave Courtney (born 17 February 1959) is a self-proclaimed former British gangster who has become both an author and celebrity-gangster figure. He often refers to himself as Dave Courtney OBE–"One Big Ego"–but is not an Officer of the order of the British Empire. His house in south
