The Interior Life of Noel Gallagher: A Speculative History

Noel noticed one day that the pavement and the sky were almost the same colour, though he wasn't sure what he thought about this.

'Fuckin rats!' exclaimed Noel as a raven defouled his lawn below. Momentarily cognizant that the creature was not rodentine, he returned to masturbating, wondering if age and substance abuse might be sapping his hitherto quick mind.

Noel considered for the first time that Shaun Wright-Philips might not appreciate the hair-tousling gesture he had made to the diminuitive winger on each of the previous three or four times they had met, but could not find sufficient resolve to refrain in future.

You're a curious individual, nakhchivan.

Reminds me of this Quietus piece - what next for Britpop's most conspicuous underachiever?. Only time I can recall seeing the guy since was him talking about his friendship with del Piero during the world cup.

Contemplating Alessandro del Piero's seemingly endless but consistenly declining career after that brief period in the mid-late 90s where he, Ronaldo and Totti were thought to augur in an epoch of splendour (since lost to drugs, corruption, canolis and dysphoria), Noel wondered how they could be friends with so little in common.

hahaha

Paralysed by an inability to decide whether or not to go outside, and haunted by the suspicion that the ravens could see into the deepest abyss of his soul, Noel sat in the dark for some four hours until he could feel naught but the tepid slurry of molten ice cream and the cloying warmth of involuntary micturition.

This is very funny and could potentially be a great book.

can we get edward gorey to illustrate it

oh fuk hes dead

"That were rubbish" thought Noel, pondering a TV show from 1991. "Rubbish", he repeated in his mind, wishing a reporter had been present to catch his display of colloquial sincerity. "Rubbish!"

"That were good that!" thought Noel, pondering an advertisement from 1987. "That were good!".

Noel was drinking undiluted lime cordial with two former members of Northern Uproar in a swanky private members club when he realized that every word uttered in that venue was a thinly disguised reference to the furtive insufflation of cocaine. Then he realized he was also on coke.

reads like the weirdest of 'YOU have the adventure' books tbh

where's the post that started all this? that was classic, sorry that were good

Was/Is Morrissey Racist?

Not really the thread for it, but I periodically see Noel wandering about, in fact to the extent that he's started to recognise me (not in any head-nodding sort of way, but in a sort of glance of suspicious recognition - it must be hell being famous in some ways). Whenever I see him, he's just mooching about, wandering the streets with the comportment of a man who has absolutely nothing to do, never with anyone, never exuding any purpose, looking down side streets with equal uninterest, extensively studying shelves in the supermarket with a sort of desultory indifference, that sort of thing, a portrait of velleity, of volition in its lowest form.

― GamalielRatsey, Saturday, September 4, 2010 11:02 AM (5 days ago) Bookmark Suggest Ban Permalink

right good, that

was told tonight of a tribute band farrago which wound up with the tribute Noel Gallagher having a brawl with the tribute Stone Roses manager

frankly emblematic of his entire mien

Noel shuffled to the door in his towelling robe to receive a promotional copy of The Independent's new condensed edition. 'It's a top idea to have a paper for clever people who can't be arsed to spend hours reading every day', thought Noel to himself before throwing it to the floor and returning to his greenhouse.

<3 this thread

"Chard, what the fuck is chard," thought Noel, discarding the cookery book. "Chard? I'll not have that. Fucking nonsense is what it is," he said to himself, laughing at the very idea. "Fucking chard," he repeated, mentally. "I love the Rolling Stones," he thought. "Love them."

"James May. James fookin May." Noel reached for the remote. "James fookin Gay more like."

'I should write these things down,' he thought. He flicked onto Dave +1, then UK Living. "Fookin channels have all got adverts on at the same time. Fookin joke is what it is Bonehead," he called out to the other room. He looked over his shoulder and rubbed the back of his head. It were quiet round here these days.

This should really be a 33 1/3 book imo

more of these!

Noel gazed admiringly upon the full-length portrait of Lennon hanging on his landing. "Top man," he thought. "Toppest man. You didn't need any of them cunts."

He headed downstairs to check on the progress of his microwave lasagna. On the way, he tried to remember which day of the week it was. Tuesday or Thursday? It was definitely one of the tees, he was sure. "Bollocks to it," he eventually decided. "They're all the basically the same."

Noel walked slowly down the hall, as fast, if not faster, than a cannonball. This combination of sloth and velocity had a vertiginous effect upon him, and he decided it was time for a sit-down. He plonked himself upon his beanbag shaped like Noddy Holder's hat, which he had acquired at no small cost from the finest novelty recliner merchant in the Midlands.

Drowsy now, his eyelids flickered and the hideous image of that cunt Damon resolved itself from the psycadelic stew in his mind. Grinning, always grinning. "Fooking cartoon bands" he murmered. "That southern wankstain don't have the monopoly on fooking cartoon bands." Suddenly alert and upright, he fumbled for a pen and paper. "Wonder what the fella who draws the Tetley tea ads is up to these days?" Another solid gold brainwave for Noely G.

Cant decide which tunet o play in Beatles rock band...maybe I should have spent the extra 15 quid to get the wireless guitar...

Since being sent to Siberia for his crimes against the state, his piano seized by representatives from the Party, which had monitored him for years and then had come one freezing night in the ruins of his manor house, Noel had begun to compose his music in his head. Harsh, unrelenting music that cursed his persecutors. It seemed as though the angrier became, the more the music seemed to come to Noel as though from some eternal, mystical source.

Sure, the workers had failed. They would fail again, Noel thought. They would never succeed. Was his life now to peter out in this barren hell hole? "Fuck no," he thought. But who was left to carry on the fight? Bonehead, Bobby Gillespie, the singer from Proud Mary, and Kasabian, all silenced as they tried to make the people see what they would never see, what they did not want to see. Perhaps it was futile. All that was left now was their art. Nothing could take that away. "That were good, that," Noel told himself, "That were good."

Noel felt at times, as the chief songwriter of Oasis, like he was competing, secretly, with his idol, Walter Benjamin; Noel felt that he was creating his own "Arcades Project," as it were, in musical form. He sometimes imagined an afterlife not unlike that described by Socrates, in which he could converse with Benjamin, and in these moments Noel let out a merry chuckle. This was in the period before Noel drank himself into madness with Tincture of Opium.

Noel found himself watching the contents of an upturned can of Tuborg disappear into the plush carpet of an unused guest bedroom. He was unable to determine why he had done this, but it was the fourteenth such can he had spilt in a similar fashion and the insensate obliquity of the event was affirmed by the gentle sobbing of a Latvian domestic in the corridor, thereafter ebbing away as she resumed tending to Noel's growing collection of obese cane rats.

Noel looked at the ancient structure towering over him, his rheumatic, sunburned eyes becoming moist with tears. Had his colleagues thought it an idle boast that he would find the lost library of Alexandria?

one of you two isn't doing it right

they both cool with me.

(sorry, will retry:)

give a shit. (looks the other way)

proper out loud laugh at Bonehead, Bobby Gillespie, the singer from Proud Mary, and Kasabian, all silenced

One morning Noel came out of the oak tree that he lived in, his small frame fitting neatly through the little one meter high door, above which a makeshift sign read, "Noel's House." "Fookin' hell," said Noel, as he made his way into the forest to collect his day's supply of raspberries, which happened to be only one raspberry because of the Lilliputian dimensions of Noel's stomach. Yes, a raspberry was a veritable feast for Noel and as he made his way back to his oak tree house he was unfortunately squashed by a passing rustic.

^^brilliant

A train passed by somewhere in the distance. You could hear children coming home from school, a lawnmower sounded from somewhere nearby. "It'll be winter before we know it," thought Noel, as examined his guitar, that had served him so well over the years. He looked at the battered wood, and his name written on the back, "NOEL." "NOEL" he said to himself slowly, examining the guitar, "NOEL". "NOEL." "NOEL". He heard a noise behind him and turned around with a fright. "Mr Gallagher, who are you talking to?" "NOEL", he repeated. "Mr Gallagher!?". "NOEL!" he slowly said again. "Okay Mr Gallagher that's enough excitement for you today, let's get you back to bed, but not before we clean up all that Tuborg you spilled, now would you like a pork pie or an bacon roll for your dinner Mr Gallagher? Mr Gallagher????"

"NOEL"

...the insensate obliquity of spilled Tuborg....

"On occasion, this seems like the dream, but I have not yet awakened," mused Noel to himself. "Where the fook did that come from?" he thought. "Goin' soft in the ed mate." Suddenly it occurred to him he'd been standing on his back patio unmoving for a whole twenty minutes. And he'd forgotten to put his trousers on.

Cristiano Ronaldo lost the ball again and promptly dived to the ground. 'Never a penalty that,' thought Noel. He went into the kitchen and came back with a cup of tea.

"Tell you what," he announced to the room, "that Ronaldo's a puff. Football's a game for puffs. Rugby, that's a game for big hard bastards, played by big hard bastards and all. Oscar Wilde said that, or someone like that."

Jim Rosenthal was talking on the telly. Noel blew on his tea. 'Not Georgi Kinkladze though,' he thought. 'He were good.'

Noel's watching the X Factor, "what a bunch of talentless fuckers", he thinks. Next week they're singing Elton John songs, "I hate that fat poof." Noel, idly picks up his battered accoustic and strums, "Still it'd be top if someone did one of my songs, maybe that Matt lad could do Wonderwall."

Noel was pretending channel surf; going up and down, he'd stop at Strictly. It was odd to look at Patsy again; something between a worry and a longing was scratching at him. He wished someone were here. He'd like to make a joke about her.

Who liked him?

(wrong bruv)

(nah, I wanted him deliberately thinking about his brother's wife. shoulda made it clearer)

(fairenuf)

love this thread

Noel's brother Paul was in town for the evening and they were planning to meet for a couple of pints. Noel put on his leather jacket, then took it off and put on his brown suede leather jacket. He looked in the mirror and put the collar up. Then he put it down again.

He sat down at the computer and logged onto national rail enquiries. He checked the times to Manchester - 2100, 2140, 2200. Paul probably wouldn't want to pop round to the flat. Probably wouldn't have time to either. Still...

Noel opened the wardrobe, took out a pile of LPs, and carried them into the living room. He stacked them on the sideboard. Revolver was at the front. 'Too obvious,' he thought, and swapped it for Beatles For Sale. Then he had an idea. He went back to the wardrobe, reached to the back, and took out Standing On The Verge Of Getting It On. He took off the cellophane and placed it at the front of the pile.

He stepped back. 'Yeah!' he thought. Then he went out.

Five minutes later, the front door opened and Noel came in. He went into the lounge and flicked through the LPs until he found what he was looking for. He lifted out Definitely Maybe and put it at the front. "Alright", he said, and nodded.

this is the 2010 equivalent of GARU G in ilx lolstakes, would make a brilliant comic strip. the concept itself is endlessly fascinating. trying to think of other cultural/music post-peak-of-fame skits but all i'm coming up with is that vic & bob slade house sketch. the sheer tedium & pathos of the noel g episodes are what make them so poignant

When the great grandfather clock in Noel's chambers struck three, the fire in the grate was blown out by what seemed to be a great gust of wind down the chimney, and the chambers were left in darkness except for a few candles and a thin moonlight that cast itself through one of the tall windows plastered with rain and fallen leaves nearly obscured by thick crimson drapes. Now Noel heard the sound of footsteps on the grand staircase and his blood turned to ice. Were the footsteps real? Each day Noel had tried to convince himself that the previous night's phantasies were just that. By now he could not remember which had come first: the insomnia, the opium use, or the ghost that manifested itself at the top of the great hall and then disappearing once seen.

With great apprehension Noel tucked his hammer pants into his boots and tentatively made his way into the hallway...

Garu G as a comic strip? Picture a grandmother's flange....

Noel stared at the candles on the cake, their flames dancing like ruddy nonces in the early summer breeze. "I'll blow them out in a minute," he thought to himself, "and then eat a slice of cake."

"How many years were 50?" he wondered, watching his kids dancing around the garden. "A lot of years anyway, too bloody many," he said, laughing to himself. As he finished he heard the words echoing, over and over. He found himself stood in a large banquet hall, facing the Queen herself.

"Arise Sir Noel Gallagher," some posh nonce said, and Noel heard the shite sound of trumpets. "Never liked trumpets. Leave it to the American lads. Sir Noel though. I could get used to that. Maybe one of them collars like Shakespeare had. What was it? A riff? A raff?"

"Doesn't matter," he thought, swilling a large tankard of meade and lighting a cigarette. "Doesn't fucking matter."

*bless u*

went on liam gallagher's twitter hoping to find some ugly picture of noel and "potato is an old cunt LG x" but instead got this earnest garbage

Happy 50th rkid stay young LG x

— Liam Gallagher (@liamgallagher) May 29, 2017

much preferred this savage kidney-punch from feb 24

NUFF SAID LG x pic.twitter.com/63lzP4yy45

— Liam Gallagher (@liamgallagher) February 24, 2017

ppl who sign their tweets

william shatner used to always sign his tweets "MBB" for "my best, bill" but stopped doing so in recent years in his mid/late 80s.

maybe liam will catch on some day

real heads know it's the little kiss at the end that's the major headfuck here

There's been some great threads revived of late but the first section of this one with the actual interior life musings is an absolute trove and should be celebrated forever.

There's been some great threads revived of late

https://media1.giphy.com/media/A9ItXqic22f72/giphy.gif

Not all LG tweets are written by LG. Probably including many tweets signed LG.

Tbf, LG does write some of DT's.

Noel lay in the backyard hammock, reluctantly stirring his mango daiquiri. “Fookin MALEN! Are you taking the piss pet?” His wife shuffled over to him in her flip flops, petulantly removing his glass from the table. Several minutes later she plonked down a lukewarm can of Phuket Lager in front of him. He allowed himself a chuckle. She wasn’t bad our Malen. Nothing in common of course and she’d inadvertently thrown out the birthday stash Bonehead had brought over when he visited on holiday a few months back, but at least she wasn’t like them birds back home. He missed home. The lads. Pints. Singalongs to John Lennon on the jukebox. Not this fruity fookin gap year lookin CUNTville. Did they miss him? Fooksake cut that out Noel, ya right poof, he thought. Probably all listening to fookin YOKO now anyway, pack of wankers.

He switched on the TV, a jingle reminding him of a cracking night at the Hacienda in the summer of ‘88. Had he invented acid house? Possibly. Hard to tell really. Malen padded past in front of the telly and he picked up a handful of leftover canned mushy peas, tossing them in her direction. A dog-eared copy of Uncut magazine careered past his head, landing flayed and dishevelled on the floor like a felled Lancashire pheasant. It had opened to familiar pages, one of him and the lads, the other those poncy tosswanks from Blur. He grabbed the nearest pen to draw a cock on Damon’s face, but it was all facecocked out, so he settled for that Graham one. Aye he was alright, Graham. Shite at guitar but alright. He sat back and admired his handiwork. Nice one, he murmured. Still got it. “Oasis 1, Blah 0” he exclaimed proudly to Malen, who looked up from filing her nails to frown at him bemusedly. Fookin right yeah.

The woman down expat bakery had mistaken him for that poncy cunt Damon when Song 2 had played on the radio a few weeks back. Fuck em, he thought. “FUCK EM!” he bellowed. A hunchbacked old Thai man eyed him curiously from the shopfront across the road. Noel squinted at him, lips parted slightly, head cocked. The old man stared back blankly. “Fuck em, chuck”, Noel sneered softly.

Who was this bellend on the telly? “Ere our kid, have a look at this shitey cu…”

The words trailed off as he realised Liam wasn’t there. How many years had it been now? He briefly contemplated ringing the daft cunt. Then he remembered Liam didn’t answer the phone. Only used that rubbish Twitter. More like Twatter innit. Yeah right, nice one Noel ya mingin knobshite. He were past it, best left on the slag heap. He sat there feeling sorry for himself for a few minutes and then remembered Bonehead had left something else behind. Something not even Malen would find. Just the ticket. Go on my son. Fookin SORTED. A tuk tuk puttered past. In the distance, an elderly woman tended her crop. Noel helped himself to another line, bounced up, donned his favourite black leather jacket and swaggered out into the searing tropical streets. “LET’S AVE YA!”, he jeered, tucking his thumbs into the loops of his board shorts and thrusting out his hips. They can take the lad out of Madchester, he thought, shaking his head and beaming with a cheeky grin. A few locals glanced at him sideways. Bunch of Thai TWATS.

Had he invented acid house? Possibly.

A+

https://consequenceofsound.net/2017/05/famed-potato-noel-gallagher-threw-a-cocaine-themed-birthday-party/

This thread is Ronan's crowning achievement, surpassing even society is in the gutter.

omg those birthday party pictures

Who the fuck in there rite mind broadcasts there having a cocaine themed party that's asking for a tug anyways as you were LG x

— Liam Gallagher (@liamgallagher) May 19, 2017

'that's asking for a tug'? is he suggesting his brother is looking for handjobs from guests?

This thread is Ronan's crowning achievement, surpassing even society is in the gutter.

otm

every time he tweets "as you were lg x" i imagine him doing that monkey swagger madchester thing and strolling off.

This thread is Ronan's crowning achievement, surpassing even society is in the gutter.

― gass mccoombes (qiqing), Tuesday, May 30, 2017 11:08 PM (two months ago) Bookmark Flag Post Permalink

cosign, it is one of my favorite ever things

Liam Gallagher calls it quits and walks off stage after 3 songs at Lollapalooza pic.twitter.com/aI7DeOVTJo

— Oasis Mania (@OasisMania) August 3, 2017

festivals are so much fun

Liam was always doing that back in the oasis days. Was the catalyst for Noel starting singing lead on songs. The way Liam sings it seems fairly reasonable that he fucks his voice so often mind you (Noel would suggest he was being lazy).

Earnest discussion of oasis over

Lol @ "rock 'n' roll" sign

omg that "fuck you Liam" chant might be one of the saddest, most pathetic things i've ever heard

putting the lol back in lollapalooza

Mans not hot... the ting goes pa pa pa as you were LG x

— Liam Gallagher (@liamgallagher) September 6, 2017

I've watched this video of Liam Gallagher making his own cup of tea every day for a week now pic.twitter.com/xlVh7Q1SEg

— Chris Somerville (@chrisomerville) September 19, 2017

a+

it's almost eerie

Still got it.

Had this been around earlier, a screencap of this would definitely have been the pre-cover album cover.

this is a real thing, apparently?

https://exclaim.ca/images/oasis_6.jpg

in

In?

huh?

this concludes the three-post summary of the thread

noel, liam, paul

I didn't know that Lena Dunham in 2018 had done that.

I've been listening to The Jam's LP ALL MOD CONS and remembering how in about 1999 (?), Oasis covered two of the songs on a TV programme. Especially grating was the memory of Noel G playing 'to be someone': here perhaps in a different performance:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZEpx_A-H7s

I know that NG has some pop talent, some virtues. But I have been reminded of his horrible gurning face and his smug sense of this song - there is something about his relation to other people's music that is bad for it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jF9YrCJVakQ

Official version!

Maybe the problem is just - his voice is bad.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZubxdFFF3M&ab_channel=PodcastDevotee

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tZubxdFFF3M

Just seen Noel Gallagher say he was listening to a Man City game on the radio when it was interrupted to say Lennon had been shot in December 1980.
City played on the 6th and 13th December.
Lennon was shot on the 8th.#laterjools @BBCLater

— Ted 🔴⚪⚫ (@Nojwanderer) May 14, 2021

The incredible divorced dad energy emitting from this image made me long to revisit this thread again. Imagine the free time Noel will have now to explore the complexities of his inner life, all the amazing thoughts he's going to have.

https://i.imgur.com/1pJDvit.png

Probably should've saved it for the Cursed Images thread

https://preview.redd.it/0r7l3haq4a751.jpg?auto=webp&s=6c402ea8602904aada3576a36bf814bea57d2ba5

p**k

irl lol

Would've expected the margarita thing in the other direction. The pizzas more of a thing than the drink in the UK?

also had a good lol at both brother updates. top shelf.

This is such bullshit and it’s the same bullshit he’s been talking for ages. The music industry doesn’t give a shit if you’re on drugs and make it money. The music industry will *give* you those drugs. Harry Styles is a good pop star. Noel is increasingly boring. pic.twitter.com/95015t56ER

— Mic Wright (@brokenbottleboy) May 24, 2023