❝Go to the beach and a heartbreakingly beautiful Jewish woman comes up in a swimsuit and asks if I’m Thom Yorke. Given the shorts I’m wearing I consider denying everything. She looks me up and down and I feel reduced to the size of the sand. I weakly reply, Yes, and watch her dissapear, curiosity satisfied. Feel even stranger than when I woke so scurry back to the hotel fearing sunstroke. Despite fears of possible boiled head, however, I feel reluctant to wear my Jewish orthodox hat purchase of yesterday especially at the beach. It IS sunstroke! I now feel like a very sick old man. I meet Mr Stipe who gives me and jonny what he describes as an organic pick-me-up. Its not speed he says. Hes pissed off because some papparazzi guy has been following around and photographing his every move. Backstage at the gig it seems like all the friends and families of everyone who works there have turned up. The security guard demands autographs from everyone who passes. A long legged blonde asks me wether I know the band. She appears to be angry that none of REM have offered to sleep with her. I cant think of an answer and walk off. Suddenly, during the show, Micheals stuff starts kicking in. I feel fabulous. I feel like I’ve been plugged straight into the mains. Then, as I walk off at the end, I realise that I can hardly move and wonder in mild panic what Ive done to myself. The whole world appears to be going in slow motion. The rest of the evening is hell and I can’t bring myself to do anything but moan. The last thing I remember is Jonny saying hes off to the Lebanon in a jeep. OK, I say.❞

— My personal favorite journal entry of Thom Yorke’s.  (via radioheadreckoner)