28 July 2005

Knickers Off Ready When I Come Home

As older readers will know, this is an acronym for the place we played last night.
I'm leaving for the ICA in about six minutes....if i don't get obliterated by bombs, I'm on at 8.45.
Just wanted to say how disappointed I am with the IRA statement. I was hoping they'd embraced Allah. Oh well, londoners will feel safer now won't they? just a little bit...
I am considering laying my weapons down as well. Putting them out of the reach etc.
It's time to shoot backpackers....Auslims. Oh bollocks. see you in the bar. Goodnight.

26 July 2005

Norwich Is My Lady

So that was nice. My arm is aching even more that usual - through signing autographs obviously. Well actually, I'd like to thank the general public for their politeness in pretending not to recognize me, and leaving me to go about my daily business unmolested.
I imagined that the nation would come to a halt - that we would be hailed as national heroes and hoisted aloft the shoulders of cheering masses. Kissed by ladies and babies and patted on the back by chaps. What's wrong with everybody?
I am in the middle of touring with my dear pal Haines - well tomorrow is the middle, cos there's only three.
Norwich is our lady, her East Anglian beauty to be ravished by our rawk 'n' roll mid life crisis.
I'm driving so I'll be off the sauce. I don't imagine Haines will have a dry evening...so to speak, so the journey back promises to be a lot of fun. I know how awful it is for other people to drive us after gigs - we have been known to become 'difficult' when oiled, so the prospect of him ranting obscenities in my lughole, as I attempt to find signposts for London at 3am promises to be particularly poignant.
The ICA in London on Thursday, affords me the opportunity to have a glass or two of something. Get there early. You have been warned.

22 July 2005


Finally, the one the nation has been waiting for. Summer arrives. The Idler versus The Financial Times. Place your bets now. Watch your correspondent delve deep into his alcohol ruined memory to recover facts once learned. Hold your breath as he struggles to regurgitate the knowledge of lessons, ignored years ago. Sympathise with him as he realises that when that particular nugget of knowlege was offered, he was staring out of the classroom window, deep in reverie.
Admire his sartorial elegance as his blue silk tie exactly match his azure eyes. Glory in the fact that you have paid your licence fee - this is television at it's very best.
Roll up, roll up for an unforgetable night.
You have been warned.

AND...if all that wasn't enough, The Moore-onic and Hainous Crimes Unit will be cottaging at the following Public Lavatories:

Sunday 24th - gig in Brighton - Hanbury Ballroom - with Luke Haines the younger
Wed 27th - Norwich Arts Centre - With Luke Haines the elder
Thu 28th - ICA London - with the Vichy Government and the corpse of Luke Haines

Get there early - It's your opportunity to witness my Seersucker Suit.

20 July 2005

Ashes to Ashes

I am on the lookout for test match tickets. Should anybody reading this be in posession of some, chuck em this way. T'is better to give than to receive. If anybody's grand father has just snuffed it, have a look in his wallet, there's sure to be some, amongst the string and Werther's original toffees.
Had a bit of a night last night. Got Soho'd SohOD'd. It must happen occasionally to act as a reminder that alcohol is expensive and makes you feel a bit iffy the next day. Still, I've ridden the storm, and am now restored to full unhealth. Didn't disgrace myself, exited without assistance and was rewarded this mornig with perfectly Poached Eggs at the Hodkinson London residence, where I elected to spend the night.
Bananas are very good aren't they. Lovely shape, lovely colour, great taste, filled with potassium, and when you've funished, you can chuck the skin on the pavement and watch people slip over.
Apparently, 'Booze' is the oldest word still in existence. It's from Ancient Egyptian. This might be a lie, but it's what I've heard.
I am taking the rest of the week off, in preparation for next weeks public performances. I might even rehearse a bit. Might.

19 July 2005

Latin Playboy / Stratford Roofer

I'm back in the land of the blogging. I have been slightly preoccupied in the land of the living, but now I'm safely back to share my pleasures and pains with you...whoever 'you' are.
To use a few songwriter cliches, life has had it's ups and downs, twists and turns, but I've ridden the punches, held my head up high and my sunburn is developping into a very nice shade of brown. I'd like to think that I resemble a latin playboy, but fear I could be a Stratford roofer. In the sedate privacy of an English Country garden, I threw caution to the wind, and became a 'proper' sun worshipper. Now I am blushing at both ends, and can't sit in one position for too long. Still, I feel very grown up, and unfettered by society's victorian morality. I won't be trying it at home of course, as the garden is overlooked, and I have no wish to be dragged up before the beak for indecent exposure...or emulating Germanic behaviour in a time of war.
I spent the weekend back at the Crass House, which before pun-dits beat me to the punch, is the least crass place you could ever imagine. Anyway, I've waxed lyrical about it before, so I won't go over old ground. Suffice to say, on a baking day, there are few places I'd rather be...Should anybody be curious as to where those few places might be, send a private message and a postal order for ten pounds.
On Thursday of last week, I took Ava to her nursery school summer party. Held in the grounds of a mansion in Stanmore - belonging to the grandparents of one particularly fortunate pupil. A swimming pool party with cakes and pop. Now as you know, I am a very progressively minded gentleman, but a gentleman none the less. What's more, the only gentleman attending... Think Lesley Phillips/Benny Hill sketches. Ladies...very many ladies. Of course, it's only me who thinks of Benny Hill in these situations. I was not chased around the lawn by bevvies of speeded up beauties to comedy music. The question I have to ask of course is why not? I'm forty, that's why not I suppose.
I prefer to think it was to do with having a pool filled with infants who might have drowned had their mothers spent all morning chasing me around the rhodedendrans. Anyway, beautiful morning, beautiful weather. What a bloody difference seven days makes.
As I drove home, the traffic came to a halt...not unusual in London, but as people poured from shops and offices into the streets, it became curiouser and curiouser. Then it clicked - three minutes silence in respect of the bomb victims. It was quite impressive. Everybody observed it. At the traffic junction the lights went from red to green many times. Nobody went. It was quite affecting. I was almost praaad te be a lardnunna.
Minor gig in the evening at The Vortex. Can't quite say I was a roaring success - even though i was...utter sobriety is not always a good thing when operating musical machinery. Still, a good rehearsal for next weeks 'Hainous' crimes.
One more thing. University Challenge is on next Monday. The 25th.
Pip Pip.

13 July 2005

Slurp Slurp

So Summer is back - normal service resumed. As I walked through the park on this beautiful morning, my curious eye caught site of a nudie lady. Sunbathing for all to see / or to avert their gazes as of course I did - eventually. Still, well done that lady. The older I get, the less embarrassed I am about these things...or even titilated...well a little frisson perhaps..a Benny Hill style fantasy - oh bugger, I'm gagging for it. No, what I was trying to say before being transported into carnal fantasy, was that we are a bit restricted by convention in the old bathing trunks dept. Far better to give the old bits and pieces an airing occasionally. Any way, quite enough mid life crisis drooling. I'll morph into Les Dawson in a minute 'Knickers, Knackers, Knockers' etc Of course I am far too sophisticated...?

So, the bombers are dead...for the best I suppose, but sad for their families as well. How much more integrated into British Society can you get, than having a dad who runs a Fish and Chip shop? Anyway, they'll be discovering about now that paradise ain't all it's cracked up to be. Yep, Not Seventy two virgins - one seventy two year old virgin...and she's ravenous, and she's taken her teeth out...and she won't take no for an answer - and she's got eternity to jump your baby bones - and you'll have to sleep sometime...slurp slurp.

Oh by the by, gig - of sorts tomorrow evening at The Vortex in Stoke Newington. I am 'special guest', which should tell you all you need to know. Haven't rehearsed, haven't polished me winklepickers, but rest assured - it will be over quickly.

09 July 2005

Kilburn returns To Normal

A sign of the indominatable spirit of Londoners to get on with their lives as normal was visible on Kilburn High Rd this morning. Pools of blood from last night's gang fight were being mopped up by bored shopkeepers eager for customers to cross their threshholds and buy something for a pound. This is a perfectly average scene for Kilburn. It sounds like quite a serious fight, a stabbing victim in critical condition, but as the policeman on pool of blood protection duty told me ' It was drug gangs - at least they keep it among themselves'.
If these bloody drug gangs don't start behaving, I've a good mind to give up drugs in protest.
As I never tire of telling friends from other parts of town who come up here to score, 'Kilburn has so much more to offer you know. The place will get a bad reputation if you only use it as a leisure facility at three in the morning - with the cab still running.'
I purchased an excellent pair of sandals for £14.99. Kilburn should be known for it's footwear bargains...and drugs.

No news of friend's missing friend - it's all over the papers now, so I don't think I'll mention it again. Except to say - apart from the bleedin' obvious, I am very sad to think what my friend is going through, and will carry with her forever.

As this blog is supposedly written by a slumming musician, I ought to mention that I took my Gretsch out of it's case today - retrieved my amp from beneath bags of stuff - which for over a year have been destined for the charity shop, plugged in and made some noises for a few minutes. Convinced myself that 'I still got it babeee' -or haven't quite grown out of trying. Toying with the idea of using some kind of electronic instruments for forthcoming gigs - I really ought to get a rhythm section....shit, too much bother. human contact is very bad. A band is a bowl of broth with too many cooks...unless you can afford cordon bleu chefs, it's better to just boil an egg. Acoustic is best. Less to carry, less to break down, less last minute dashes for batteries, and even for the deafest soundman - hard to ruin.
I feel a drive to the countryside coming on.

08 July 2005

Fearing the Telegram

It appears that yesterday's clean sheet of unscathed friends and acquaintences might not be so clean after all. It now seems that a friend from work has possibly lost one of her friends. Sometime after l left to sit out the blitz in a snug bar, things took a turn for the worst. It became apparent that this girl, who in all likelyhood, had travelled through Edgware Rd on her way to Paddington, was nowhere to be found.
Once the mobile phone networks were up and running again, those whom I'd needed to contact or who felt the need to enquire after my whereabouts, quickly surfaced. For some, it had been a close -ish run thing, but all were fine. In my friend's case, things deteriorated, and sadly, it looks like the outcome could be the worst possible one. It's an odd thing to hope for somebody to be injured in hospital or to be staggering round in a daze, but this appears to be the best scenario at present.

I doubt very much whether the mobile networks really overheated as is claimed. I seem to remember making calls at one minute past twelve on 1st january 2000 without too much bother. More likely that they were closed down to prevent terrorists communicating, forcing bearded hook handed men into red phone boxes where they'd be easy to spot )

Goldborne Rd was crawling with police today ...the exact same ones that it wasn't crawling with yesterday - Not I think to intimidate the muslims or keep a look out for mullahs carrying sticks of dynamite, but to reassure them that any coach loads of BNP heading their way would not be tolerated...or possibly to shout 'Here they are' when the coaches arrive.

Anyway, enough of all this gloom. The weather is supposed to be good this weekend, and I've got a Seersucker suit to strut about in, friends to see, babies to meet, cigars to be smoked and perhaps when the ladies are busy talking about colostrum, milk, labour, dilation and placentas, pints to be drunk with the proud new pa. Bottoms up - but not pointed in my direction unless the nappy is firmly on.x


07 July 2005

Let The Games Begin

So here we are, as the famous social commentator Liam Gallagher might say - 'avin it'. There's been a bit of disruption on the tubes and buses this morning. Thirty seven dead and rising. It would be facile and evil not to feel sympathy and shock at these events, but surprise? - do me a favour. We bought and paid for this a long time ago. Although despising the actions of Al Quaeda - or the French, as many hope we can prove beyong reasonable doubt, the tactics and timing can't be faulted. Obviously, something like this requires a fair amount of planning, and must have been in the pipeline for quite awhile. The question is, how the hell didn't we see it coming on today of all days? Did M15 forget? Too wrapped up in Edinburgh, The Wombles, Ya Basta, and some militsnt geograpty teachers from the midlands, to remember that Al Quaeda play it like chess grandmasters. Edgware Road -where I lived for years, also houses Paddington Green Nick. First stop of all rightly and wrongly lifted turban wearers. Obviously, not evertything can be covered, but perhaps security might have been stepped up south of the border as well. Forget the Highland Fling.
As a ten year Edgware Rd dweller ( lapsed), it's a pity that they hit the wrong station. It should have been the Bakerloo line one, with the lifts that never work. That hole needs a refit. The Circle line station was nice - winning London Transport 'Garden on a station' of the year award - year in year out, and there was a station cat - hopefully there still is.
I apologize for the seeming glibness of this blog - I am not so cynical that humanity has been cast aside for witty ( in my humble...) observations. It's anger, resignation, helplessness...with just a dollop of vinegar. I don't know who's dead or hurt, it's not immediate family and friends - we checked in, but it could be friends, acquaintences - and whoever it is has my pity, sadness and respect. I 'hardly' knew a man who died in the King's Cross Fire, and I still feel terrible sadness whenever I ascend the escalator at that particular pit of despair. However, it's difficult for non-Diana worshipping touchy feely morons to see all this as anything but an inpersonal, Orwellian vindication...war with Europa, Zooropa or George and Mildred Roper. The body count is a score, and London loses. New York did better, Madrid did better...Baghdad does better about three times a day. We could almost sneer at Bin Laden, and flick a V. "The IRA did better than you you twat...that's a sugar and weedkiller score" - again, I apologize for the perceived brutality of that remark.
I was at work this morning, and knew of the 'Power Surge' immediately. Knowing that London Transport is actually run by two ancient Ever Ready Nine Volt batteriees, I knew it was something more serious. Those at Rough Trade, kept calling those yet to arrive - several colleagues or families thereof, scheduled to pass or have passed through the targets. It was genuinely uncomfortable, becoming def con three worrying when they could't be reached and more explosions were reported. Eventually everyone was accounted for, and our needle in a haystack worries stood down.
I kept a nicotine vigil outside, the woman nextdoor at the halal grocerie had far more to worry about. Being an Hijab wearing muslim, she, apart from sharing every sympathy, knew what will come next. We discussed her taking off the headscarf...a light conversation, but with definite dark undertones. I hope she's OK.
Listening to the radio this afternoon, I have been entertained by peoples' poems being read out on air. 'London Pride' - not the noel Coward song, but by a man called Chris from Edgware. While making some well meant observations about the blitz spirit of Larnernners, it was about the most Xenophobic incitement to ethnic cleansing since the Cure's 'Killing of an Arab'. A man phoned in to ask for it to be read again. " I can't remeber a word of it, but it made me feel prard 2B a Lundunna' - and they did.
Today's terrorism effected me thus: I took the afternoon off work to rescue a friend who had been stranded without food or entertainment. I picked Tom ( How To Be Idle ) Hodgkinson up from Shepherds Bush, and drove him to a pub.
So Osama Bloody Bin Man Laden, you and your poxy plans to inflict terror into the heart of every Londoner have badly misfired. You inflicted two pints of gorgeous cool Guinness onto my liver, gave me an afternoon off work and have shown yourself to be as old, befuddled and incompetent as Bob Geldof. You should have done it yesterday to save us the bloody Olympics. In fact, perhaps today IS a greater triumph for destruction. Now that we've got the Olympics, the entire East End will be torn down, ethnically cleansed, and turned into a giant Starbucks. The IOC have managed in one fell swoop, to do what Hitler and you couldn't. Bollocks to the lot of yer.
As the man on the radio said "Today will go down in history as the seventh of the seventh, Oh five" Who could say more?

05 July 2005

The Gerri Halliwell University of Thickness

I've not passed a good night. Utterly cream crackered from my old pal insomnia.
I don't think I should be operating machinery at the moment. I forgot how to use email just now. Total brain melt down. If I was a hyperchondriac, I'd assume impending brain haemmorage...if I've spelt this correctly, it's a miracle - and take the rest of the day off.
I listened to this programme on Radio 4 about sleep deprivation. Some University has put together a regime to curb insomnia without resorting to drugs. Don't remember where, becausde I fell asleep before the end. Something about listing your worries,woes and concerns. I hope my taxes didn't help fund this inciteful research. Educational standards are definitely slipping. Perhaps it was the Gerri Halliwell University of Thickness. I'm in a bad mood, and people keep giving me work to do. Don't they realise who I am?
A pox on the world and a nightcap. Good Afternoon.

01 July 2005

The Champ Comes Out Of Retirement

When I said giving up, I meant cutting down of course. Sorry for the confusion. x

Ladies Tennis and Terrorism

I've finally thrown in the towel. Given up smoking - well, this is my second day of health and vitality, and the withdrawl symptoms aren't too bad. Up until wednesday, I relished the challenge laid down by a good smoke. Hey lungs - want to fight? However tight my chest was, I refused to let these little things beat me. Recently it has been a struggle to win the fight, so still on top of the world, I have retired from the ring. I will be a lover not a fighter. Let younger lungs continue the struggle, I shall no longer rise to the challenge.
This is in no way a method of restoring fertility - one is quite enough thank you very much. It strikes me, that the post coital cigarette, should be changed to pre - coital, it'd be far more useful. They should teach this in schools. I'll call Ruth Kelly and get her to prepare a document.
So the weekend is almost upon us once again. Having only a lingering lingerie interest in ladies tennis, and no interest whatsoever in Live 8 - except for the possibility of terrorist attrocities and the death of Bono, I shall be looking for more nourishing pastimes. A picnic perhaps...a visit to the seaside. An intelligent conversation...A packet of Golden Virginia...no.no.no.

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