Ah, May Day! How I love this international day of socialistical celebration.

I have asked Marlon to warm up the set so that we can watch the tanks rolling through Red Square.

Tony Blair, the English monarch, has been talking with the Russian leader, Monsieur Petanque.

It is something to do with poor Saddam's country, though I cannot follow the details.

I send a postcard to George in Amerika, asking if there is anything I can do. Perhaps a concert for peace? Or a concert for war. Paul Macartney tells me he does both at the same time.

Marlon has been reading to me from the works of Christian mystic W.H. Lewis.

His Banarnia books were written for children, as a kind of handbook for young capitalists. Although the kingdom behind the wardrobe is ruled by Aswad, the Friendly Lion, it is clear that the citizens are in thrall to turkish delight ie profits.

I had such a wardrobe in Berlin. But I was too busy fomenting to write any books about it.

I see Saddam's statues are coming down.

When I bumped into him at the Chelsea Hotel last year, I told him that - when the time came - he could join me on my tour. But he didn't seem all that interested.

Dolt.

Wow! The people of Cardiff gave me a rupturous welcome. They really seemed to dig my message - and I didn't hear any criticism of the New Economic Policy (the backing music drowned it out).

Who says the English are reactionary swines?

After the gig, a group of comedy actors called the Manic Street Teachers paid a call to my dressing room. They seemed like nice lads - except I couldn't understand much of what they were saying.

Dined on chips and gravy. Cloud formations in good order. This is somewhere I might retire to, when the whirligig of history lets me go!!!

Marlon has brought me this glass typewriter contraption. He says it is the new printing press of the masses! We shall see.

I cannot help but worry that it will simply become the magic lantern of the bourgeoisie.

Already he has told me about something known as Powerpoint, which freely uses so-called "bullets" to drive home the messages of capitalism in walnut-veneered boardrooms across the western world.

I will have nothing to do with it; nor its notorious "clip-joint art".

To Cardiff, England, for my next gig.