07.02.2008. the whitest boy alive. electric ballroom, camden, london.

The Whitest Boy Alive

These boys have got it all. The groove, the melodies, the instantaneous desire to just start flicking your hip, you feel the people shout around you and you look at their faces. Her face, the smiles, the hands in the air, the high fiving with a brilliant enthusiastic group of Spaniards off their heads on mdma. the sheer, unbridled joy of the occasion. and suprisingly cool t-shirts (even if I did have to buy a large girls… oh dear… the skininess…)… listen to the video…

‘can you keep a secret?’

the Whitest Boy Alive are the bees knees.

They play at Koko in May on the 21st. [CLICKY THING]


Gumtree is so weird.

August 14, 2007

logo_small_gumtree.gifRead this sentence:

“I’m a guy and get turned on by the thought of flashing to women in public. Do any women get turned on by being flashed at? I have not ever done this as i am a law abiding citizen and champion of the people”

Now, ignoring that this is perculiar. What kind of man says they like flashing, then claims to be “a law abiding citizen” and – even better in my view – “champion of the people“. Is this a joke?

Now click here…   http://www.gumtree.com/london/19/12292019.html

It’s real! It’s an actual post! I mean, WTF?!?!

Do you think anyone’s emailed him? Maybe you should.

See, Gumtree is full of wonderful and magical delights.

Such as the flash man.

Or maybe it’s just full of sexual degenerates.

melody day…

July 29, 2007

caribou_ampitheatre.jpgDan Snaith is an absolute genius. Under his moniker, Caribou (previously Manitoba), he has made four outstanding records, particularly with 2003’s Up In Flames.

Later this Summer he releases his latest effort, the nine-song Andorra. Now Snaith seems like an impulsive kind of guy when naming songs and tracks so perhaps this is not a concept album about the miniscule country bordering France and Spain. Or is it? Who knows, and who cares when the music is this good.

So far I’ve managed to rip a considerable number of tracks off the net in advance and I absolutely can’t stop listening to them. The integral song, or the one that a few people might hear is first single (out now) Melody Day. It sounds like a ’60s dreamy pop record put through the grinder by a band of drummers.

And that’s where Snaith stands out even more. On every record, the percussion is always aboslutely amazing. See, what I love about Caribou is that the records are layered, not chucked in, but carefully layered until there are hundreds of sounds on each track. Each time you listen you hear something gorgeous and new. One time, I remember listening to one track of Up in Flames in bed and hearing a frog croak or something.

So buy it, go and see him in Kingsland Road, EC2 on August 2 (I forget where) or see him in Dalston at Barden’s Boudiour, 38-44 Stoke Newington Road, on September 5 (I have no clue what to expect but can’t wait). He’s hardly ever over here (Canadian) anyway, it’s really cheap. He doesn’t seem to get much press but it’s some of the most phenomenal music I’ve heard. It’s magnificent. Oh, and all of his family, including him all have PhD’s in maths or something. That’s great work really, even if I do hate maths.

Enjoy the most beautiful song of the summer…, J.

Melody Day.

on holiday.

July 6, 2007

my dear Glastonbury,

June 30, 2007

glastonbury mud
Oh, how I love you so. How I wait your call to arms, I delight in the knowledge that you’re around the corner, treating me to your music and madness and your temporary insanity.

You are certainly a challenge, but you make it worth every bit of effort I can summon from my skinbag of bones and blood. You eat people up, you consume them and spit you out. You put us out to the elements,  to withstand anything and everything the weather can chuck at us.

You should be painful, but you’re not.

Except for a little bit where  the dried mud pulled out my leg hair, leaving spotted bald patches on my legs. And the aching, and odd bowell movements from the Mexican place. Despite that, you’re (relatively) painless.

Anything can happen at Glastonbury. You could end up covered head to toe in mud, showering for the third time to get the remnants of the mud out of your nails. But you’ll always be fine.

You could end up lost in a fiery field in the dark, drenched with rain, no phone battery and no mates in sight. But you’ll always be fine. You could slip and crunch your ankle, falling to lay spread eagled in the  rain, mud and litter and piss. You could eat fatty, greasy food irregularly to fill your stomach with stodge and carbohydrates. By Sunday, you could almost pass for a wino with your beard and cheap wine bar booze*. But you’ll always be fine.

You could end up hitting on strangers, drinking wine (I quote, Morrison’s ‘GOOD SICILLIAN WINE’ in a box) from a plastic bottle, dancing to ‘Come Up and See Me’ next to a burger van in 12 inches of mud. You could end up using the same line each night: “Could you teach me how to dance in wellies?”**

You could get trashed on the last night and then be a little taken back when a scary 50ft clown comes up on the big screen at the Chemical Brothers mouthing “Do it again.”

But dear Glastonbury; as you consume us for the weekend, pulling your pilgrims collectively into your belly-town of fabric houses, marquees and mud, you give us something back. Spirit rises in your people; the rain may be cold and muddy, it may stick to me and become an effort to walk but it will not stop me having a good time. You are a challenge, and each person may approach you differently.

See, you could watch the Magic Numbers in the rain, in more rain, then briefly in a little bit of sun, and feel the smile come across your face when the lead singer looks out across thousands of people in front of the Pyramid stage and says humbly into the microphone, “Thanks for making my dream come true”.

You could see Fatboy Slim, in a dress, stripping to ‘Hot in Herre’ facing 500 welly-wearers, dancing monged in a medium marquee glamourously called a ‘Ballroom’.

You could end up sitting in a tipi, watching the cock dance of a half-naked mate and an old kaftan-clad hippy as they shuffle in their seat, smoke and unconciously (or subconsciously?) flash their willies at you.

You could laugh yourself into stitches when a mate tells you he was pissing hungover into a bottle in his sleeping bag and had too much for the vessel, hence overfloweth.***

You could aim to fulfil an ambition, to see a band that you’ve always wanted to see. But you also know that your stage of debauchery, not you, will define whether you’d get to see them (did: Manic Street Preachers, didn’t: Arcade Fire).

You could wake up in the morning, feeling horrible and form the logic that you can get wasted in order to feel better. And you always, most definitely do.

It’s the opposite to reality there. You communicate and (gasp) people are nice and friendly, they share their resources. They don’t look down at the ground, they look up and smile happy. Glastonbury is the opposite of the Tube.

Two guys even invited us to an ex-wife’s marital blessing at 6pm in the Lost Vagueness chapel. It could have been a lovely story – but unfortunately, you get drunk and forgot. It’s always, always, always the 7% pear cider.

You teach us one thing Glastonbury, reality just isn’t the same. People can’t wander around, getting wasted, watching music, doing what they like legitimately in the real world. The beautiful temporary meetings. Shame on them. But you adjust, you realise that real life isn’t so bad, it does have its good points – family, friends, toilets that don’t make you want to vomit, etc.

But I’ve been there before and I’ll be there again. I love Glastonbury. And I think it loves me too.


*, **, *** (sorry)

glastonbury buzz.

June 19, 2007


To everyone in the world who is going Glastonbury

…see you there!

BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ! Ludicrously over excited!

I am now on holiday for a bit…


(picture impolitely nicked from my lovely friend, SoftLad).

83_joshhomme_l081105.jpgJosh Homme (from Queens of the Stone Age, Kyuss, Desert Sessions, Eagles of Death Metal and other brilliant things) always makes me chuckle when he does interviews…

Pitchfork: When’d you start to play drums?
JH: I’ve been tapping on tables and chairs since I was little. [laughs] I got into guitar because no parent will buy their eight-year-old kid drums, unless they’re divorced and trying to get back at their wife. You know what I mean?

JH: Banks are kinda cool, you put some money in there. It should be kinda vaguely sexy, but it’s not.

His psyeudonym for some recordings has been Carlo Von Sexron (I laugh everytime I read this)

NME (on Eva Vulgaris): “Mentally, it’s the gnarliest Rubix Cube I’ve ever worked on”

KTVU.com: “And with the music industry the way it is with downloading, to ask artists to play for free … I might as well skip through the English countryside with a flute. One of the things about my generation is that there’s this punk rock guilt where people don’t know what they’re worth and they’re embarrassed to ask for anything for what they do. And that’s something that we need to get over. I don’t need to be the Sultan of Brunei, but at the same time, would you get your hand out of my crotchpouch please? Or at least be sexy about it.”

KTVU.com (on playing a Rock Honours show): I wrote ‘G-U-N-T’ on my arm during our performance at ‘Rock Honors’, because it’s an uncensorable word. Censorship isn’t about intent, it’s just about words that we universally agree are bad. Since ‘gunt’ is uncensorable slang, they actually focused in on my arm. A friend of mine was standing right behind Sharon and she said “Gunt? What the hell is that supposed to be?” I heard that and thought “My work for the day is done.”

Recoil Mag (on the band’s biography that goes out to journalists in advance): “That bio was written by Black Jesus of The Dwarves, and I think he’s bitter because they never asked him to be on the Warped Tour. We just told him, ‘Would you please write a bunch of lies and inflammatory bullshit about us in our bio just to make it more entertaining?’ And he obliged. And to be honest, he read it to me over the phone once, but I’ve never read it myself.”

I really wanted to collate more of these, because I love the guy’s wit, but time (and lunchbreak) is up…

Have a free song, a bonus track from the sessions for Era Vulgaris. A cover of the classic Billy Idol song…

Queens of the Stone Age; White Wedding

(have I nicked that link? You bet I have… Sorry! Oh, and click through to it, don’t right click as I’m not hosting it!)


the sun is shit.

May 31, 2007

Having a go at the sun is a bit like shooting dead fish in an dry barrell, but today they set themselves a new standard of respect with the front page of their website.

First, there’s a story about a butterfly that landed on the head of mother of missing child, Madeline McCann. I’m not going to go there, but it’s a nice gentle touch for a newspaper that spends its hours making a load of stuff up, trying to indoctrinate everyone in the country into hating certain segments of society and trying to slate everything and everyone 24/7.

But the bit that shows truly what the sun is about is the left hand side of the screen.

As everyone in this country is no doubt aware, Big Brother has returned to Channel Four in England. The makers, deciding to start with an all-female house, have set a new agenda for reality television. What will these females say about feminity and modern Britain? What impact will it have on the way women are perceived?

Well, the sun has chosen to focus on the important issues of the show, rather than focus on the day’s news. As well you can gague from the headline…

the sun is shit

That says it all. But it’s most definitely not all. What headline news stories do the sun highlight as imperative to today’s news?

– EMILY – “I’d do naked film” (sic)
– CHANELLE – shows undies
– SHABS – “I speak Spanish”

For fuck’s sake. As I said, why have a go at them?

I just wanted to.


Seeing Interpol tonight. Should be three new songs from Our Love to Admire. CanNOT wait! More tomorrow (hopefully!)…

our love to admire

josh.jpgA WEEK or so ago, I fulfilled a six year dream. It’s taken me this long to let it leave my head and judge it properly. Maybe this comes off as too personal rather than informative, but tonight was most definitely personal.

Queens of the Stone Age, the magnificent ensemble fronted by Josh Homme, played a tiny gig in central London last week, at the infamous 100 Club. Apparently chosen by the band themselves, the venue was absolutely perfect; intimate, only a slightly risen stage and thin. My friend and I – Mikael – arrived early and decided to queue around 7ish. We met a lovely lass, Michelle, and her husband in the queue, chatted and eventually got in. We got a beer and then actually noticed where we were… and just how fucking small it was. Five or six people were already there, but there was only one place to go:

Right at the fucking front.

But first, some background. I love Queens. Never has such a band had a permanent groove. For years I’ve wanted to see this band and a while back, I got a ticket to a show. Unfortunately, (and not just personally here) the show fell on an awful day – July 7. Needless to say, Queens never played.

Josh and co came back later that year. They just happened to re-arrange the gig at a good venue, Koko in Camden, and even filmed it, along with another show. They made a DVD of it – you may have seen it. Unfortunately I was in Morocco travelling with my friend, Fatboy.

Since then, nothing. Until tonight.

I visit the Rekords Rekords forum now and again, check sites for Queens news and yesterday, while surfing NME for shitty news, I saw the most amazing thing – Intimate Queens Show. I went on, tried to grab tickets, and got fuck all. But I’m persistent.

About 600 F5 refreshes on my Firefox browser at work later… I had two from a resale. Mikael and myself were there. Nothing could stop us now. I had to skip a softball game at work – our debut no less, I know, not the ‘hippest sport’ – but it’s Queens. There’s no choice.

I nearly cried with joy and ended up banging on about it at work for hours. People probably told me to shut up about it. I would’ve realised.

Cut to 9pm, my legs are aching, I have a man’s hand in my back pushing and am wedged between the pushing mosh and the ass of the girl in front. I wish I’d bought another beer. Too late now. Lose the place.

So when they came out it was a huge peak, I thought maybe I’d overlike it. If I’d put out my arm, I would’ve been playing Josh’s guitar. Amazing. The guy is massive. And so it began.

Misfit Love nearly blew my head off and that was the first song, it was forceful, it was powerful, it had groove and it took me about three minutes to realise that the riff hadn’t even changed yet. It was whizzing me by already. I was sweating too. It was just so fucking hot.

Now a lot of ‘critics’ have put their two cents in since and said how disappointing this gig was. Fuck them. This wasn’t for you, this wasn’t for Mr Drowned in Sound I want a greatest hits set – this was to air the new album to close fans. Not journalists. Fans. Sure, you all got in (there’s a LOT of reviews out there for such a secret gig), but that’s down to the management and probably your persistence and mild threats of bad album reviews. That’s why the link for tickets was mailed to only certain people. Sure, I’d love to have heard some of my favourite songs in the world but that’s because I’ve never seen them before. I was more than happy.

Sick Sick Sick, 3s and 7s, Turning on the Screw – these stand out incredibly. 3s and 7s is an amazing riff-driven song that moves on, before inwardly wanking itself off into a joyous tangent. A bass breakdown later and it throws you back into it’s main riff with Homme’s guitar squealing above everything. Outstanding. Sick Sick Sick is probably one of the phattest (with a ‘ph’) songs that I’ve heard live in ages; c-c-c-c-come on.

See everyone there was so joyous, just dancing, ecstatic that they’d even got tickets (I found out afterwards that most of these were the Queens messageboard regulars, who’d helped each other out with guest tickets to guarentee everyone got in).

But some old songs were there, to whip the crowd into a frenzy. I have never heard any drumming like Joey’s in ages. He’s just immense. It was just so relentless, powering and movement-inducing. Mexicola came and went too quickly, as did Little Sister and In My Head. By the time Song for the Dead finished, I felt like I was going to collapse, purely from listening to drumming that quick. If the phrase ‘speed metal’ was ever invented for anything, it was most definitely that.

A girl climbed on stage and kissed Josh whilst he played. Homme raised his Corona to the crowd and drank in tandem. New bassist, Mikey, threw some amazing shapes, stances and twirled his hair like a maniac to the beat. The crowd moved with the beats. Nearly everyone there was awesome, friendly and most importantly… absolutely loving it.

I met one guy, blue t-shirt who’s name escapes me, but singing along to Mexicola with him was so much fun. I’ve really forgotten the simple pleasure of just dancing, singing and thrusting your hand to the ceiling shouting the words of ‘my favourite song’.

And as I sit here writing this now, wearing my skinny white T (£15 from the stand), all I can do is type and listen to them. As Mr Homme and 300 people shouted last week, ‘It’s in my head, and I need it.’



Every year, without fail, it becomes a fucking mission to get Glastonbury tickets. Registration this year. 178,000 tickets, 400,000 registered. Not great chances, but a good percentage to work off.

You hear the alarm, fall out of bed, make a quick brew and sit at a computer wasting the day of rest. You call, you redial, you IE, you Firefox, you f5 refresh repeatedly,  multiple tabs open, 10, 11, 12 tabs; you despair, you sweat, you swear, you write offensive swear words in size 24 font and email them to your friends who are doing the same, you visit obscure forums and chatrooms to try and get a secret link to the page, you refresh, you brew, you think about giving up

and then…

you see the screen…

you can’t believe it.  Is it real? You frantically fill out the details, you do screen, after screen, after screen, you cut and paste from notepad, you type in your friend’s debit card details and think about whether he’d notice if you did some shopping, you get to the last page and you ‘CLICK TO ORDER’. You see the screen.

Thank you for your order

You have ordered:
4 ADULT 16+ ticket(s)
for Glastonbury 2007

Your reference number will be emailed to you along with confirmation of your order within the next 24 hours.
Please note some email accounts may have difficulty receiving the confirmation email due to spam filters. For advice on how to solve this problem please click here

UK customers

You will receive an email informing you when your Glastonbury ticket(s) have been posted out to you.

Your tickets will be posted to the address you have supplied. Tickets will be sent by Special Delivery and a signature will be required on receipt.

Please note – this transaction will appear on your statement as “GLASTONBURY“.

Tickets may not be transferred to another name.

Glastonbury. Again. Fucking get in.

At 10.40, with my tickets secured, I refresh the page; just for curiosity. All tickets without coach travel now sold. Only coach left. That means probably by 11.00 all are gone. 2 hour sell out? 2 and a half? New record surely

But I can sigh, I’m there again. My ticket purchase record is still intact.

2004 – 30 minutes
2005 – approx. 17 mins
2007 – 1 hr 30 mins-ish

Not bad. But it’s getting harder and harder. Fucking powerful and just in time!


BTW: My Internet is still down at the mo, but as I’m at a computer, thought I’d write something quickly.

Brilliant. I may not have Internet access but nothing would’ve stopped me posting this bit of amazing singing from Mr. T., legend of the A-Team!

x, J.

Whether I have to beg or steal, I need to go.

I was thinking to myself today of the last time. In 2005, as I sat in the stone circle with my friends on the last evening of the festival, I asked myself the question ‘Did you you have a good time?’. And the answer was a resounding yes. I’m been made tentless, I was soaked, I’d been in the same clothes for 4 days and I didn’t give a fuck. I thought to myself today, I don’t want to be watching it on the tele, kicking myself in the head for not struggling to get there. I’ll be sick.

I used to think it’d be a lovely idea to go every year, (touch wood) hopefully with a family in later days, taking them along and just going Glastonbury every year. That’s a pipe dream but I do think I’d like to go as much as I can. I’m sure I’ll miss years, but I love the concept so much.

Another thing is (and this is quite horrible for some people, not me) that I have the wristbands from 2004 and 2005 still on my wrist. They’ve been with me ages now, some guy when I was in Morocco even asked to take one from me (he was never gonna get it and they’re metal clapsed anyway). Still, they shower with me, they wash with me, I don’t think it’s filthy. I have a lot of other sub-teenage crap on my wrist anyway so it fits. Anywho, it’s like having a reminder, a tattoo, without the expense, pain or regret. I can just cut them off if I want. But they have to return, another must be added, this is a contract almost. It’s essential to my mental health (for the next year) that I go.

But with Glastonbury, I don’t know what it is exactly. Sure it’s commercialised now or whatever and it’s not hippies anymore but there are so many amazing things going for it. I’ve never seen one bit of violence, everyone is nice and friendly and there’s so much to do other than watching music. It inspires me every time I’m there. It’s like a village erects itself from nowhere and vanishes just as quickly as it arrived. A ghost village. It’s just an experience. It’s an institution. It may not be what it used to be (so I’m repeatedly told), but what it is now is pretty fucking amazing and exhilarating nonetheless.devastation

Last time, my friends and I were subjected to the awful flooding, like this picture on the right. I woke up in the morning to shouting outside, feeling a bit wet and opened my eyes just in time to see my phone floating in water. Then I opened my tent door – big mistake – water came flooding in and as I frantically grabbed my things, I laughed as I saw my mate Softlad, floating on his airbed inside his tent.

We were slap bang in the middle of this flooding and later, our tents became completely submerged in water. Even funnier, the septic tank in the nearby toilets burst too, thus contaminating every thing that we left behind.

After listening to the first hour of the festival on Radio 1, while drying off in our car, we rocked out and had the best fucking time. We slept in the Acoustic stage (essentially a massive marquee) with the wind whipping in, wrapped sleeping in those metal blankets they give to shock victims. It was hilarious. My next day was my birthday and I quickly realised that upon waking up, you had to get plastered. It was the only way to ensure you didn’t become miserable at your plight.

But that’s Glastonbury. You don’t care. You muck in, you get wasted, and as you watch the sun come up over the stone circle on the last night, you’re smiling your head off having a brilliant time.

I remember a moment, in 2004 (see pix below), as Supergrass played on the main stage. The rain came pouring down, really hard, and in the middle of the storm, with a wet j and 9% pear cider in my hand the sun came out magnificently, creating a beautiful rainbow. Then, if memory serves me right, I believe the band noticed and played ‘Sun Hits The Sky‘. It’s moments like these that make it. When everything comes together, connected, perfectly.

I’m there. I don’t care how I have to get there, I will try my hardest. I’ve just gotta hope and pray I get a ticket. I was debating before, but I am a yes man and I will be there (touch wood!)


N.B. Must post more but my Internet connection’s fucked at the moment.

pix below: the sun breaks through at Glastonbury…

as it chucks it down, the sun breaks through

chuckin’ it down

wonderful, wonderful Glastonbury mud

This is quite possibly my favourite song ever…


Scroll down and press play on the video. It’s just the song with one still image, listen & read.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. Nick Drake’s Place to Be is one of the most compelling and longing songs I’ve ever heard. One of my favs.

place to be. Nick Drake.

when I was younger, younger than before
I never saw the truth hanging from the door
and now I’m older see it face to face
and now I’m older gotta get up clean the place.
and I was green, greener than the hill
where the flowers grew and the sun shone still
now I’m darker than the deepest sea
just hand me down, give me a place to be.
and I was strong, strong in the sun
I thought I’d see when day is done
now I’m weaker than the palest blue
oh, so weak in this need for you.

Immense. Three chords and the mood of longing, melancholy suits the expressions of the words and Drake’s fragile voice perfectly. Admittedly, the romanticism associated with the now-deceased musician helps, but you just believe it’s true. It sounds like it’s his words, like he means it and this is him. It has soul.

It’s a popular thought that he speaks of his head at the start of the song. Drake goes from childhood innocence to adult knowing very quickly. In each verse; the first lines conveying innocence and exuberance (‘younger than before’/‘greener’/‘strong’) to darkness and knowledge (‘older’/‘darker’/‘weaker’). The juxtaposition of idealistic nature, then the ‘deepest’ and ‘weakest’ blues illustrate how far he has come from his youth. Each verse, Drake doubts his youth and sees the dark, he realizes ‘the truth hanging from the door’ and realizes the pain before him.

It’s the ‘place’, unknown and unclarified, that stays with. The longing for a place to be. The desire. To rest, be grounded and content.

The beauty of this song arcs higher with the proclamation that he’s ‘so weak in this need for you’. It is undefined, layering it with connotations. Is it a person? Death? Sanity?

You will never know; the song’s ubiquitous in its longing and desire for the ‘place’. Just hope he has it now.

ADDITIONAL: For gee-tar aficionados… go to here … where Robin Frederick talks about Drake’s unique take on finger work and song construction.

Listen and enjoy – x, J.

place to be

Jees, people just keep on getting them at work in the office. Mental stuff. Having said that, work is 80-odd per cent women. I suppose you’ve got to though really, aint you, otherwise you’ll be in serious trouble.

It is the only day of the year where people have to pay to get laid, though.

Am I really that cynical?

Dunno, nah, probably not actually. It’s weird being single at Valentine’s though, your role is to make those in love feel better about themselves. By being bitter and unhappy you can ensure that others feel better to be together. That way they can all feel happy and joyous in their own love.

I was thinking though, I haven’t sent out a ‘Love ?’ card in ages. Maybe I need that kind of weird excitement? I dunno. I think the people I love know I love them. At least sub-consciously at least if they can’t read me…

Wish I had shares in Interflora though – make a fucking bomb today!


mental t-shirt

This t-shirt is mental. It has its own graphic equaliser that changes with whatever sound is around you! There’s a demo of the actual image changing, accessible via the link.

p1458ex1.gifThis has got to be the ultimate ‘LOOK AT ME’ t-shirt. I’d be all hoity-toity and bitchy about it – but then no-one will treat me to one… be good for gigs!

BTW, I saw this on Prefix – unfortunately I can’t claim credit for finding this.

Buy it here: http://www.firebox.com/product/1458



January 24, 2007

Happy happy joy joy! My domain name finally works and redirects to this blog.


Go on, test it, you know you wanna!

Must post about Pop Levi before I forget… and maybe a bit about Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and the Shins as I’ve been listening to their new albums lately.


i never came.

December 17, 2006

i love this song so much. see here.

When you say it’s dead & gone/I know you’re wrong/Cut & slash, sharpest knife/It won’t die/Poison cup, drank it up/It won’t die/No fire, no gun, no rope, no stone/It won’t die/Why you gotta shove it in my face/As if you put me in my place/Cause I DON’T CARE/If you or me is wrong or right/Ain’t gonna spend another night/In your bed/Laws of man, are just pretend/They ain’t mine/Love so good, love so bad/It won’t die/Some talk too long/they know it all/I just smile & move on/Words ain’t free, like you & me/I don’t mind/Why’d you have to be so mean & cruel/The dogs are loose i’m on to you/You ball &/Chained together from the dawn to dusk/Can’t call it leavin, cause it’s just…    I never came….

mother mary.

December 15, 2006

mother mary

I took this in Lago di Garda earlier this year and used it as a small thumbnail for a poem I wrote years ago, Mother Mary. I like it so much I wanted to put it up. Also on my flikr. The white is essential I think.


I’ve created my own Christmas card for this year, with the help of my sister. I’m not allowed to show you hers. But mine, which does have a element of sarcastic comedy in it (I hope that’s clear) is here…

My Crimbo card

I really enjoyed this man’s post off of his blog too…

Night, night.



This is my current favourite picture. I just love the sheer, unbridled joy and innocence of this picture. I took it a few weeks ago (on my mobile phone!) at the iCount rally about global warming that took place in Trafalgar Square, London. Over 30,000 people attended that day and afterwards, people who had been dressed in fancy dress costume even stood around in the cold, entertaining little ones – like this young girl. When she saw the panda, it had its back to her and she tapped it on the back. When it turned around to give her a big hug, her smile was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

There’s a new poem on the pinboard here (it was written when very, very drunk).

oh, and i have a flikr account with some pictures here.


When I started writing this blog, I said to myself that I wouldn’t have a limit on the types of thing I wanted to post. Primarily, I wanted it to be for my writings and pictures, but I suppose I wanted it to be whatever was there at the time. So what’s on my mind today?

Josie Grove.josie grove

All over the media today, Josie is a 16-year-old girl from Northumberland who was diagnosed two years ago with a rare form of leukaemia. After two years of needles and therapy, which has unfortunately failed to impact on her cancer, she has decided to reject any further treatment and has chosen to live her life as full as she can for the next few months she has left.
In a weird way, I feel like I almost want to meet the young lady. No, not in a weird creepy way, but I almost want to meet her, see how she is really is and congratulate her on her attitude. In the sick way the mind works, I’ve thought about this and always hoped that I’d have the balls to do what’s right for me in that situation – especially if it was to continue receiving treatment and be weak and ill for the slightest chance, or to live life as fully as I could for the time I had left. She has more balls than me, especially right now.
Today she will receive a bravery award after being nominated by her nurses at the hospital she stayed at before. She obviously makes an impression on everyone she meets and spends time with. If you can’t be impacted by a brave woman in this situation, then you’ve completely lost touch with reality. More than anything, it just makes you think how much of your time you’re wasting.
I found it very interesting the way the story was covered. Arguably the most emotive way was the BBC news last night, when you could see her father welling up as he told how proud he was of her and her decisions. However, I did not like the Times headline of ‘Take me home to die, says cancer girl’. I’d rather they’d tried to identify her as something else other than ‘cancer girl’. It’s too cold, factual and has no grasp of the emotion or situation- which really, let’s face it is the point of covering the story. I find it a bit condescending, in the way it sounds.

She’s definitely a very mature woman, who realises that certain thing’s are there to be accepted and the only thing you can do is make the best of a bad situation. She could be on a street corner, smashing up things and acquiring ASBOs. She’s an absolute credit to herself and her family.

Just hope she has the best time she can and that life is an adventure from now on for her. Stay beautiful.

BBC video news report.

Dig!I watched Dig! last night, a documentary about the Dandy Warhols and the Brian Jonestown Massacre. It won the Documentary Grand Jury Prize at Sundance in 2004 and I do rate it, although that’s maybe because I’ve always liked the Dandys and I s’pose as a fan, I just like seeing them close up and real. But was it? Anton Newcombe from BJTM has heavily criticised the film for its portrayal of him. All I can say is, if you’re gonna let a cameraperson follow you around for seven years, taking shitloads of drugs and acting like pricks; what do you expect them to show in the film?

Idiot. If you’re gonna be on camera, on smack, shouting about your demons, what part of the footage do you think they’ll show. Even though Newcombe is deranged (especially in believing every word he says), he’s got to have some grasp of the real world like that. He’s inspiring in a weird kind of way though. It’s him and his talent. And that’s it.

The Dandys take a lot of flak off people. Yes, they’ve tried re-invention etc, most notably when they went all Duran Duran with Welcome to the Monkey House, but I don’t see that as a criticism. The Dandys have always been a band in which style mattered, especially to Taylor-Taylor, pouting and preening and this is what the band are. They make some beautiful downtime music and some cracking tunes and it’s about an ethos I feel, not necessarily trying to follow a trend, but maybe trying to start one.

taylor/newcombeThey’ve written some brilliant songs though. The mood and builds or crescendos of their songs are always spectacular. One thing I remember from the film though, and I think this is a great philosophy in life was said by Taylor-Taylor when summing up his band’s career and all the hits/misses/flops/sellout success they’ve had over the years:

“The lesson is if it’s good it’s fun, and if it’s bad, it’s funny.”

Long live the Odditorium.


mmmmmm…………… wish I’d made this.I guess this is kind of a farewell message to my life… Bacon will soon send me six feet under.
Imagine my surprise, reading the news today when I learned that Harvard boffins (love that word, oh, and also ‘boff-job’ – I mean, what does that mean?!) had concluded that eating bacon gives you bladder cancer! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Apparently some little things called nitrosamines and heterocyclic amines are to blame. The bar stewards. How dare they?! I’m incandescent with rage!
But, upon closer inspection, it seems that it’s only a problem if you eat bacon five or more times a week? Who does that (apart from truck drivers, roadies and cabbies)? So the headline of the news articles – “Bacon link to Bladder Cancer” for the BBC, “Cancer warning over the bacon sandwich” for the Express – well, they’re factually correct at least.
Oh, and when you read the story a bit further on, you learn something very interesting…

“The researchers also found people who ate bacon and other processed meats frequently were also more likely to smoke and to take in more fat and fewer vitamins. They were also less likely to exercise.”

This is it! Even I can see that! It’s lifestyle you eegits, stop blaming perfectly good bacon when it’s done nothing wrong to you. All it’s been to you is a friend on a hangover morning when you’re head is pounding and your mouth feels like a small rodent crawled into it during the night and died.
So it’s ok.

Fry me a rasher, I’ll be back for breakfast.

BBC News story here…