This is the story of a 20 year old Irish 'punk' living in London in 1979. It's told in the form of a diary running from March to December of that year, with flashbacks to his formative years in a provincial town in Ireland. He is nasty to his girlfriend and hates eveything. His girlfriend eventually leaves him and he spends the rest of the book wandering around feeling sorry for himself, taking drugs, being generally sarcastic and nasty, and wondering why she left him. He gets beaten up only once in the narrative which is surprising, given his tongue. That's the plot, essentially. I stuck it out to the final, inevitable confrontation with the girlfriend but there is no redemption.
At times, it's incredibly funny, with some very dark humour. Otherwise it's full of increasingly improbable, self-aggrandizing tall-tales, which often end with a pithy one-liner intended to devastate his opponent. Or pass over his head. For his references are often litarary and nihilistic, of course. He shows off throughout the book. While some of it's funny, most of the time it's like listening to a boastful teens embellished stories. Characters tell him how beautiful he is, how thin he is; women flirt with him endlessly as they all take drugs. It's beautiful, wasted, emaciated, sharp-tongued, proto-junkie chic -- I really despise this nonsense. It's not difficult to believe some of the text was written as long ago as 1981 because it's certainly puerile. As for the punk element, this is the Sid Vicious side of punk, the cartoon side, drugs, nihilism & self-destruction, nothing to do with punk at all, it's more the Lou Reed New York death rock junkie bollocks. And I thought The Roxy closed in 1978?