Simon A. Morrison describes his journalism thus: I climb into the story and start drinking until things go wrong. And you know what? They tend to. Discombobulated tentatively started as a hands-on study of global youth cultures, but fell into disarray somewhere on page three; it stands now as the chronicle of a trip into the Wrong Side, following the authors modus operandi, which is to combobulate, go to a disco and shortly thereafter discocombobulate. During the course of the many adventures that make up this discordant operetta, Simon Morrison has a gun held to his head by a celebrity gangster, goes raving in Ibiza with a holiday grandmother, is trapped in a gay bar in Leipzig, sings happy birthday to Kylie Minogue, disco dances in a San Franciscan titty bar, is deported from Russia, travels the white heights of the Alps through to the gutters of Brazil, and still picks himself up in time for tea with boy band Take That.
