back when Hoxton was rendered Hogstown, the area was disreputable

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Reliable authorities say that prostitutes were forbidden the rites of the church so long as they continued in their liberated lifestyles, and were excluded from Christian burial if they were not reconciled to sexual repression before death. I wanted to bring back the image of the dell, the doxie, the bawdy basket, to an area that gentrification was trying to sweep clean. The working girls were being hemmed in. It was risky to work the traditional corners. Hanbury and Commercial Streets. The new middle class residents were getting the cops to clamp down on vice, and this a victimless crime.

Carter longed for an hour spent among the dirty streets of Soho

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The assembled troops then fell into a spontaneous chant of 'White, White, White, White!' Adam stroked the blond hair of his favourite and gazed benignly on his men. Each, in turn, was sucked into the black pits of their leader's eyes. There they found themselves reborn with all the dross of a materialist society wiped from their minds. Or put another way, these bozos had allowed themselves to be conned by the same bullshit that had made wo/mankind's existence a misery for aeons, they'd fallen for the religious trip. The spirit lived, not until the end of time, but on the blood and misery of those individuals deluded into believing in any reality beyond the pleasurable functionings of the body. Completely lacking in talent, taste or sense, White's coterie preferred the paltry pickings of Nazi Myth to the global ebb and flow of polysexual transnationalism.

spilling his "genetic wealth" on a basket filled with skinhead gear

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I recently got an excellent write up in the London Review of Books, which is enormously prestigious among the literati, and as a direct result, a great many 'influential' people have suddenly decided that I must be a talented writer who needs to be treated with respect. These people are incapable of forming opinions of their own, they simply venerate those writers who've been handed accolades by others. The vast majority of those who attain positions of 'responsibility' in the publishing industry feel deeply insecure about their ability to do the job for which they're paid, and quite rightly do not trust their own powers of judgement. This fact partially accounts for the abysmal state of British publishing, which is run by twats who are more interested in social climbing than creating a vibrant culture. Snobbery is second nature to these cretins, grasping the movement of post-modern culture is completely beyond them.

If you lived in Milton Keynes, you'd be on drugs too.

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Rubin's one-dimensional attitudes are even more glaringly evident as regards the murder of Holly Maddux, who appears to have been killed by her boyfriend Ira Einhorn. Einhorn was a hippie activist who involved himself in ecological and new age politics during the seventies - he was a very prominent figure in the Earth Day and Sun Day events. Rubin was a friend of Einhorn and used to let his Philadelphia based comrade crash at his New York pad when 'The Unicorn' was visiting the Big Apple. In The Unicorn's Secret: Murder in the age of Aquarius by Steven Levy (Prentice Hall Press, New York 1988, p. 335), Rubin is quoted as saying: 'Ira betrayed everything I stood for and possibly everything that he stood for ... The ultimate crime ... is that Ira betrayed the sixties.' Rubin's fatuous self-regard is evident from the fact that he considers it worse to tarnish an abstraction with which he identifies himself - "the sixties" ­ than to batter another human being to death. The back cover of The Unicorn's Secret features a prototypically callous puff from the media conscious Rubin: 'The Unicorn's Secret blew me away. Besides being an unforgettable murder mystery, it's a fabulous study of our time. I really loved it.'

Psychedelic Shack by the Temptations was blasting out on a hi-fi

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MR SELF-LOVE AND DRUNKENNESS
'Patience!' Macinnes spat. 'Patience! Don't berate me with the values of the adult world. I'm not some ageing stockbroker and I don't like being told to wait for my kicks. Deferred gratification is the credo of the suburban middle classes, not of the juvenile delinquent seeking thrills. Because I am cool my acts and attitudes do not require any form of justification or explanation. I purely and simply embody rebellion against authority without the necessity of recourse to verbal articulations. If you want to join the new world of teenage rebellion then you need to follow my example and like me learn to embody its truths.'
'You're not a teenager, you're a middle-aged drunk,' Norma observed.
'Drunk, yes!' Macinnes roared. 'I'm drunk on life drunk on kicks, drunk on this new teenage world of action and ultra-violence. I'm drunk on cool. I'm the Jesus of cool. I gave teenagers life and speech in my novels so that they could forever bask in the icy silence of cool ...' 
Macinnes would carry on in this way for hours, blissfully unaware that he came across as a refugee from the 50s who was utterly clueless about the new hippie fashions that were emerging from the womb of swinging London.

'God, this is so boring!' Rose announced. 'This guy is useless. His technique is completely lacking, he's just a clumsy oaf. He couldn't satisfy a nymphomaniac who'd been stranded on a desert island and hadn't encountered another human being for the best part of a decade. This slob doesn't know how to eat out a woman. He'd have difficulties licking up the remains of a plate of custard.'

the entire royal family is swirling in a cesspool of filth

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At the beginning of 1993 I decided it was time to revive a polemical style of journalism that was popular in pre-revolutionary France and which is now recognised as having played a major role in the downfall of the French monarchy. In his book The Literary Underground Of The Old Regime (Harvard University Press, 1982), Robert Darnton uses the following words to describe the phenomena that interested me: ‘The Grub Street mentality made itself heard with exceptional vehemence during the last years of the Old Regime. It spoke through the libelle, the hack writers’ staff of life, their meat, their favorite genre and a genre that deserves to be rescued from the neglect of historians, because it communicates the Grub Street view of the world: a spectacle of knaves and fools buying and selling one another and forever falling victim to les grands. The grand monde was the real target of the libelles. They slandered the court, the church, the aristocracy, the academies, the salons, everything elevated and respectable, including the monarchy itself, with a scurrility that is difficult to imagine today, although it has had a long career in underground literature. For pamphleteers had lived by libel since the time of Aretino.’

'How can anyone live happily in Enfield?' I demanded.

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'They want to be reassured that their culture is the best that has ever existed in the entire history of the world. And what that means is coming up with one-hundred and one reasons as to why Coldplay are musically superior to James Brown. It doesn't matter what I do or don't like, it's a matter of telling the kids what they want to hear and thereby ensuring that they come back for more. The opinions we profess are market led, but these might not in fact be our real opinions …' 
'What else are you proposing to teach?'
'The usual, European modernist film, the novels of Colin Macinnes, folk rock from Bert Jansch to the present, the life and times of Benny Hill, the work ...'

If the Stones based their early sound on Chuck Berry, then the Pretty Things copped their musical style from Bo Diddley, while simultaneously succeeding in making the man who inspired them sound unbelievably sophisticated.

'Well, what did you think of it?'

'It sounds like a weak version of a lot of the music I like. It was okay, but it didn't rock like Nirvana.'

'Without the Pretty Things there wouldn't have been a Nirvana or Oasis.'

'What about Coldplay?'

'I don't think you can blame that particular aberration on Dick Taylor and Phil May.'

turning over the slimeballs who made up the House of Windsor

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So much for the Buddhist principles this rich toe-rag professed to the world at large. It goes without saying that, like all the major world religions, Buddhism is a racket designed to keep the ruling class in power with their collective boot up the arses of the ordinary working man and woman. That said, Buddhism is particularly scummy in this respect since it was used to prop up completely repressive feudal regimes in places like Tibet. Humphreys had, of course, chummed up to that notorious snot-rag the Dalai Lama.

GLOSSARY OF SLANG [excerpt]
ARSEWIPE worthless person. Literally toilet roll.
CROSS-BITING shaking down a john for their money and valuables once they are in a compromising position with a woman they believe to be a prostitute. A man who claims to be the woman's husband appears and threatens the man lured into this trap with the promise of commercial sex.
FAKE AS A NINE BOB NOTE prior to the decimalisation of UK currency in 1971 the smallest note in circulation was worth ten shillings or ten bob (fifty pence after 1971). There was no such thing as a nine bob (nine shilling) note. Hence this phrase and the similar one 'as bent as a nine bob note'.
PONCE a pimp. Also a blag, asking to be given something - as in 'can I ponce a fag off you' or in polite speech 'would you let me have a cigarette please'. Also means someone with upperclass or effeminate speech and mannerisms.
TAKING THE PISS showing contempt. Sometimes deliberate ridicule or mockery, sometimes exhibiting contempt in terms of behaviour that it is hoped will pass unnoticed or unchallenged.