I write for a living. If it goes well, it snowballs. If it goes badly, it meatballs.
My stupid head appears at the top of page something or other in The Independent every Wednesday, wittering on about technology. I sometimes go to odd places to witness odd things and have to file 1500 words on it by the following day. I'm writing an internet-related book for Penguin, but no-one so far as seen fit to publish my book about the nightmarish horror of years spent in a van with a band on tour. More writing here, if you can bear it.
I'm also in Scritti Politti. And occasionally in Frank Sidebottom's Oh Blimey Big Band. Now there's a fantastic bill, if ever I saw one.
"London is hell and Rhodri Marsden is its Dante." – imomus
"Rhodri must have an almost scarily flamboyant inner Frenchman, bound and gagged in the basement of his being, quoting muffled scraps of Debord as Rhodri's inner guards kick the shit out of him." - imomus (again)
"The Napoleon of blog." - piercepenniless (I don't know if that's good or not, but I like the sound of it.)