Secret Diary Of David Gilmour (humour)

I have finished my tribute to Stuart Greig's fantastic Roger Waters' secret diaries. Sorry for language mistakes, English is not my mother language.

Enjoy!

Monday

Got up, thought about Roger and how to piss him off tonight. Phoned his senile mother that he was dismissed from the elementary school today. She said she'd give him a trashing.
Felt very satisfied and decided to do a new solo album. Thought about the concept and decided to make it about the lack of communication. Went out to gather some inspiration and try to communicate. Saw Roger writing lyrics in the park. Acted I haven't recognized him. He accosted me and showed me his lyrics. He asked me whether I have written any in the recent years. Bugger! I didn't talk to him a single word. Went home and rejected my concept. I will just write another fifteen pop songs with five minutes long guitar solos. That's my style.

Tuesday

Got up, wrote the music for my new album and felt very disappointed that I couldn'n write any lyrics. Wanted to phone Roger for a help, but then REALISED what I was going to do, took some tablets and went to the airfield to learn to fly. Crashed three times because of the lack of communication. Phoned Nick to pilot my last plane and also phoned Rick to join us after seven years. Nick came in his new Ferrari car, Rick with his new yacht. Enplaned and saw Rog singing and shouting on the landing field. It was something:

Dave Gilmour you keg
Your new plane is wrecked
You are a fat old man
And this question ain't vexed

Nick Mason you liar
Your new car is a shit
Rick Wright you're fired
Take your yacht, you git

You all are hogs and rats
Bob Geldolf is far better
I hope I will never see
You and me together

Unmercifully ran him over with the plane. Later returned home and thought about the lyrics Roger shouted. Refused to include them on my new album and felt really bad.

Wednesday

Got up, saw a huge Rog's stripped photograph above my bed and vomitted my dinner up. Got that poster down with my machine gun and bought me a new unsullied house. That was Roger's style of botheration. Thought how to retaliate and fell asleep. Woke up at 2:00 in the night and drove to Roger's house. Turned on my new octo (double-quadro, double-double-stereo) and played You Know I'm Right. He laughed at me. Felt very irritated and turned on Radio KAOS. That would show him that he should not try to pass through Syd's LSD experience in the late 1986! But he attacked with Blue Light! Tried to kill him with my hands but was stopped by his outraged neighbors. Lowered the volume on my octo and returned home. Made mental note: corrupt Roger's neighbors to listen to his solo albums every night. Felt happy again! Returned to Rog's house to play him an encore consisting of the worst of the Pros And Cons Of Hitch-Hiking. Shouted the top chart position of his solo albums compared to Momentary Lapse Of Reason! He was nearly dead with anger! WONDERFUL!

Thursday

Wrote ten new songs WITHOUT lyrics. Felt depressed, went to Rog's house to do him some bad things with Zee Identity. He was out. Did surrogate plan: phoned his former wife about Roger's (fictive) interview, where he states that the main reason for the divorce was that she was awful in bed. Had a lunch lasting about five hours or so. Phoned Pete Townshend to see if he could help me with the lyrics for my new album. He went on tour with Roger! That was enough! Phoned Kate Bush and had a wonderful night.

Friday

Tried to got up, but was unable to do anything. My bed was awfully damaged (am I too fat?). Tried to be on diet. Bore it for five seconds and consumed another full fridge as a breakfast. Did absolutely nothing (except writing music). Now I've got about ten hours of music! CONCENTRATED on writing lyrics. Finally, around midnight, I WROTE SOME LYRICS!!!

Hello, my name is Dave
I've got ten houses, ten cars and one plane
I can play the guitar and sing a song
My guitar solos will always be long

Damned the lyrics, because they are too personal and they are NOT about the lack of communication. Finally decided to refuse doing conceptual albums anymore. Decided to phone some old friends and force them to help me with my new album.

Saturday

Got up and felt extremely bad. Wrote an advertisement to be printed in all newspapers:

Aging rock star seeking for somebody to write lyrics for an album.

Went out to have a lunch. Returned only to find my house full of hippies and other strange people. Got rid of them with the help of police and my dogs. Found a huge lettering on the front wall of my house, reading:

Home of Syd Barrett, the psychedelic legend of 1967.

That was Roger! Felt irritated and executed the "neighbor-plan". Felt happy again.

Sunday

Woke up and recorded two hours of new music. Planned to release it as a packed van, carrying all 539 CD's with the instrumental songs as my new multiple album. Realised what a nonsense it was and got together my new band: first caught some nice women on the street to do the backing vocals. Realised that my new band MUST be really fantastic and full of stars, if Roger is not going to write the lyrics. Engaged my son to play the rhytm guitar and Eric Clapton to play tambourine. He also brought some "B.B. King"? (he said he was a guitarist?) to help him with the tambourine. Phoned Jon Carin, Dick Parry, Guy Pratt and Tim Renwick and got them all involved. Wow! I've got three guitarists to play with (including me). But I know they will never play a solo on my album! Also realised how good bass player Guy Pratt is. What he plays would never be possible if I continued with Roger! Phoned Ringo Starr to play drums. Tried to ring John Lennon to appear in one song, but suddenly realised he's dead. Thought about that problem for about one minute. Kicked off Ringo Starr, brought in that two ex-acquaintances Nick Mason and Rick Wright. With them, I can call it Pink Floyd without having stupid questions whether I think I am the Pink Floyd. Of course I am! I'm going to release my ten weeks (until now) of music as a new Pink Floyd album. Perhaps Nick and Rick will both be in good mood and will write some LYRICS! Felt satisfied.

Monday

Got up and went to Greece. Returned for a lunch. In my mail was one response on my advertisement! I seemed to know the name of sender - R. Waters - but I was not sure, until I read:

You fat old shit, you're in it now
I hope you'll lose your hands in a car crash
To prevent you from playing guitar anymore
And then you'll be not able to release any album
And these few lines are the only lyrics you will get from me

Crazy, you wicked old man, you're going crazy
Don't try to gain my mercy!

Signed: Roger "Mr. Largely Intellectual Conceptual Lyrics Writer" Waters

Oh shit! It's HIM again. Gotta write an instrumental about that bugger and send him Nick Mason's albums! That will surely give him an exampleous laceration! REMEMBER: don't try to listen to Nick's albums before I send them to Roger - too dangerous!

Tuesday

Still pissed from yesterday, I've sent him Nick Mason's album and have written a response for his letter. Regrettably, it can't be used as lyrics:

Take up thy stethoscope and walk to Abbey Road studio number four this friday at 12 o'clock pm if you are still a man, you disgusting piece of rat back!

Signed:
Dave "the best guitarist of the world, who you'll NEVER get to any album" Gilmour.

Sent some policemen to the joyful meeting with Roger; told them he's trying to commit a suicide, because his father died in the war. Felt VERY WELL tonight!

Wednesday

Felt very well about the forthcoming Friday accident! Rick Wright sent me his lyrics for one of my song. They are really strange, but I will use them. It will seem that we are STILL a mysterious band. Nick Mason sent me a casette with his drum solo. Gotta put it into another of my instrumentals. Wow! I've got a single for MY new album. It will be called "Pink Floyd - The Lack Of Communication". Mixed the recordings at home and phoned the man from EMI to release my single. Felt very satisfied. Did a good work (certainly).

Thursday

Recieved a copy of my new single. OH!~!#@$%^&*()_++|{}:"<>?!!!!!!!!!!!! What a mistake happened! My name in the booklet is garbled! That haven't happened to me ever since "A Saucerful Of Secrets"!

What Have I Done On Holiday (Last Twenty Years)
Gimlore / Wright
My Instrumental Number 1593
Gimor / Mason

Bonus:

A Look At My Bank Account Is Better Than Cocaine
Gilmours / Wright

Recieved a letter from Roger. It reads:

Oh, well, wow. Let me congratulate you for your new single! I've never seen such precious work dear mr. GIMLUOR or what!? And what a wonderful lyrics. Mine are nothing compared to mr. Wright's mental defects!! You two are really the second Lennon-McCartney! Even the IQ of you and the other two idiots can be compared to the IQ of Lennon and McCartney's dogs! And how about the B-side. Wonderful drums by mr. Mason. He plays nearly better than my grandmother! But why is the second song instrumental? That really disappointed me! You - such a good musician and cannot write any lyrics!

With the most loathsome "Montreal 77" spits, your Roger "The fantastic musician, vomitting before your new Pink Floyd, having an axe to cut you into little pieces if you come around" Waters

B U G G E R ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !

Fell asleep with depression (no Kate Bush). Woke up suddenly. Thought about writing lyrics. I have written the lyrics fro "Sorrow", haven't I? Oh no! Realised that they were stolen from Syd's house when I tried to visit him. Regretted that Polly Samson left me. I don't think my fatness was so awful that she had worried to sleep with me in bed. I have never overlayed her before!

Friday

Got a great idea. The lack of communication will be expressed with the lack of lyrics! Thought about it for one hour or such and had a depression. People will not understand the meaning of it. Thought about it for two hours or such and had a weird idea. Well, if they can't understand it that it's about the lack of communication, it must be the lack of communication! Felt unbelievably happy for about ten seconds, had an unbelievable depression and took some pills. OK, I won't get myself to the nuthouse! Thought about how to piss Roger off. Had no idea and phoned Kate Bush. Her mum said that she went away with some nice looking guy called Roger. No, I can't believe it could have been him.

Saturday

Had a new idea to release my new album under the pseudonym. Well. I have chosen a great name. Ihateyou Roger Waters. Great! Selected the tracks for the album and added some new.

Instrumental 1594
Instrumental 451
Instrumental 2263
Instrumental 1089
Instrumental 669
Instrumental 77
Instrumental 432

Added a speech at the very end of the album:

"Thank you for listening. That was an album of David Gilmour's songs, performed by David Gilmour and Eric Clapton (tambourine in Instrumental 77) under the pseudonym Ihateyou Roger Waters, which is a word pun pointing at the worst bass player to ever exist, the all-despised Roger Waters. Don't forget to force everyone in the range of 150 kilometers to buy this album, 'cos I know wher' ya live!"

Decided to use my photo as a cover for the album.

Sunday

The sales of my new secret project album are … zero - but it had just started selling (well, will be available to be sold …) We shall wait for the Grammy awards.
Had nothing to do. Perhaps this is the lack of inspiration. Tried to phone Roger Waters about a reunion tour. OH WHAT A F**K!!! Took lots of pills and phoned a psychiatrist. He was talking very slowly and I felt like if I was melting into a red cup of pink, grapefruit-flavoured rat ketchup with a couple of pencils dancing on it. Then I was transferred into a paper house full of green men, plastic bananas and white rabbits with some strange machines to take my brain out of my body etc. Phoned Storm Thorgerson about making a clip based on my dream for my album. He hung up with the words: "You should stop taking LSD Syd!" Felt very unearthed and unengulfed by the all-shining powers of cosmos.

Monday

Well, I must admit my new album has a very decent sales. So, let's piss off Roger Waters again! What about Pink Floyd video archives! Spent ten hours searching for something … and found something VERY INTERESTING - a 1967 video with Syd taking LSD and smoking dope (simultanneously) and teaching Roger guitar. Well, Roger was pretty fried too (a large box full of empty Guiness bottles on the floor)! And his guitar virtuosity has transfixed me! Then Rick and Nick appear, both having two stripped babes with them and asking Roger whether he is ever going to live up the fame of the band. He replies: "I think I have our new number one single." Syd starts maniacally laughing and falls under the table. Rick says: "Hey, put down the numbers, we've got enough money." and lights a cigarette with diamond zippo lighter. Nick and Rick are leaving and Roger says: "You two little f**kers! You will thank me I'll involve you in my super project - The Adventures Of Corporal Clegg During The World War Two (triple album). Yeah, I will be very famous and all of the world will have to pay for the death of my father!! You understand me Syd, don't you?" Syd just continues in laughing and Roger strikes him with guitar. Then he plays his number one single called "The Death Of My Father". It's got lyrics like:

Well, we all know about the world war two
But I don't think there was just one dead or two
My father died and I'll kill you all, you stupid army assholes!
(Whistling)

And then Roger says: "Well, I must work out the lyrics. It's quite difficult. Not quite like Bob Dylan yet" And switches off the camera. WOW. I will release it on a video, on a single, on a postcards and … fell asleep during the brainstorm.

Tuesday

Did the "Great Monday Plan". My (Pink Floyd's) new product is called "Roger Waters' Unreleased Project, Or The Unhappy Beginnings Of Pink Floyd Before David Gilmour". Phoned to all major newspapers using Roger's voice to mention that "without Dave Gilmour, the Pink Floyd wouldn't deliver to 1968 at all, he was also the one who invented the guitar."
Roger phoned in the evening crying to the phone and saying he is really sad about the end of Pink Floyd and our friendship and that he had never thougth I would come with such an old pathetic "attempt" to become famous. He then hung up with the words: "Goodbye, cruel world, I'm leaving you today. Goodbye."
Felt like a major swine and started crying. Felt very sorry about Rog and drove to his house. All the way to him, I was bombed by telephones from my friends saying I'm a moron, and that I behave like a child and how can I be so evil to the poor rock star Roger. Finally arrived to his house just to see him screening pictures of me shagging Kate Bush and throwing darts on a big Roger Waters poster to the journalists and saying he's very sad for what had become of me.
Invented another plan.

Wednesday

Published a book called: "David Gilmour: Roger Waters Keeps Narking Me" based on my diaries. This is a total war! Recieved a book "Roger Waters: The Crimes Of David Gilmour Compared To Adolf Hitler" three hours after!
Later on that day, I was just cooking my dinner, while somebody knocked on the door. I opened it and there were Syd, Roger, Rick and Nick. Syd said: "You two must continue as Pink Floyd! Well, you know I'm kinda paranoid and mad, but I'm sure you must put the band together again!". Then Roger said: "Syd had explained to me why my father had to die. I promise I will not write any lyrics about my family and war anymore."
I said alright. Let this be the first day of the newborn Pink Floyd.

Thursday

Woke up in the hospital and realised I was sleeping for the last few days after my little trip. Felt like if a major task was assigned to me by the overwhelming powers of the great dimension beyond the seventh galaxy. The detoxication therapy is a very strange thing. I've got to send my excuse to Syd for calling him a "hypochondriacal crackpot" last twenty years.