A Blog About Nowt

Closing in on a year

2011-08-30T18:27:00.008+01:00

Yeah, man, well it's been almost a year since my mum died. And it's been almost a year since I could quite bring myself back to this page to blog again. I've been dabbling with Tumblr and of course busy with Facebook.

But maybe it's time to come back to blogland.

There was a time when this blog was filled with Gallows stuff. And there's a lot going on in Gallowsland right now, so maybe that can be the impetus I need.

Let's start with the new Gallows video for "True Colours".

And here are the lyrics (as I hear them):

If it looks like a snake
It moves like a snake
If it bites like a snake
Then all the world knows it's a snake.

True colours shining through
Your true colours shining through
True colours shining through
Your true colours shining through.

Like a 4th of July
Like a 4th of July
Like a 4th of July
Like a 4th of July.

Get your free download of this new track by clicking here.

It’s over.

2010-09-25T16:32:00.001+01:00

No words.

Feeling sigh-y

2010-09-20T18:42:00.005+01:00

I was just telling a friend in a Facebook message how my mum is doing, and it kind of depressed me. And at that point I realized that that is why I haven't written here for a few weeks. And it's why I haven't replied to my cousin's email of last week asking how she's doing.

Because I'm a bit in denial.

If I don't go visit my mum, I can be oblivious to her hair loss and her mobility issues.

If I don't phone my mum, my brother, my sister, my dad, then I can't be told stuff I don't wanna hear. Right?

If I don't think about it or talk about it or write about it, it's not there. Right?

I'm like the three wise monkeys: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. But the "evil" is cancer.

That sounded a bit more clichéd and melodramatic than I had intended, but you get my meaning, I'm sure.

This is what I wrote to my friend:

"[My mum is] seeming quite tired, and her memory is letting her down a bit, and she's getting crotchety at times. It's quite disheartening and depressing talking to her on the phone most times now, and it makes me sad."

I can go on at greater length here, so I will.

Often when I speak to her, I have to repeat things about three times. I know this is sometimes because she has the TV on or because there are a couple of house guests, so she is distracted. But sometimes I'm fairly sure that the reason is because the cancer growths are fucking with her brain and affecting her hearing. Maybe that's not the case. But I've kind of decided it is.

And -- selfish fuck that I am, obviously -- it can be frustrating for me to have to keep saying the same thing several times. But also for her, I'm sure, it must be annoying not to hear what is being said and so to have to keep asking for someone to repeat himself.

There's also been some talk, between the younger family members (those of my generation), of prognosis and whether or not it is good for her to know if her remaining time is particularly short. We are anticipating a timescale of less than six months. While this seems very negative, it is the best guess we can make with the information we have gleaned so far, from brochures and online sources. Thus far, the doctor has not given any prognosis.

A family friend in Italy lived through a similar dilemma with her father, so my other half will ask her about that process and whether they feel they made the right choice, keeping him uninformed.

What do my blogpals here think? If the doctor thinks six months, is it better to tell her or not to tell her?

We think the prognosis will come at the end of next week, at her next meeting with her oncologist. So if we decide as a family that she is best not knowing, we need to inform the doctor before the meeting. But of course we as a family probably ought to know.

This is bullshit.

I hate thinking about this stuff. I hate writing about it. I hate talking about it.

And yet somehow, at its best, blogging about it helps me to distance myself from it. But I don't know if that's good or bad.

She's gone away for a few days now, with her husband and my eldest cousin local to her. Just a few days in a friend's caravan at a seaside caravan park. She's been looking forward to it, so even though I don't think it was the most sensible decision, I'm sure she'll enjoy it as much as is possible. And it will probably do her good not to have to deal with phone calls and house visits several times a day.

Fuck’s sake.

2010-08-27T18:06:00.004+01:00

Maybe I'm in a minority -- and certainly I can't speak from a smoker's point of view, because I have never been a smoker -- but what the fuck possible reason can there be for someone diagnosed with brain cancer continuing to smoke?

When my mum was in hospital, she was there for just over three weeks, and for the majority of that time she didn't smoke. Towards the end of her stay, however, she had a craving for a ciggie, and a nurse told her, "Well, one won't do you any harm." (This from a medical professional; don't even get me started...)

That one turned into a few a day for the last few days of her hospital stay.

And she has continued to smoke several cigarettes a day since being discharged on 29 July.

We -- those family members who don't smoke -- suggested she should stop. Stop now before she becomes addicted again, undoing all the good work of not smoking for almost three weeks. Some other family members -- the smokers -- suggested, well, it's not going to make much difference.

And, of course, the smoking will help with the stress.

It's hard to argue that latter point, sure. And nobody wants to argue with someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer, getting them all upset and shit.

But we did manage to get her to agree to stop smoking once the radiotherapy started. She said she would stop then. Her husband said he would stop, too, to make it easier for her to quit.

You know where this is going, don't you?

I've just spoken to her. She is four fifths of the way through her radiotherapy. Just one appointment left.

"How's the non-smoking going?" I asked.

Silence; then: "The what?"

I said, "I suspect by that answer you're still smoking."

"Well, yes. Nobody has told me I should stop or has even asked if I'm smoking. I'll ask about it when I next speak to a doctor."

Aside: I know this will be in three weeks' time. Ergo, she is gonna keep fucking smoking for another three fucking weeks. Despite the promises. Despite the fact (perhaps unknown to her, but nevertheless) that radiotherapy is less effective in those patients who continue to smoke throughout the course.

What fucking part of a cancer victim's brain shuts down when it comes to smoking? Can you tell me?

Like I said in the title: fuck's sake...

Between work and a hard place

2010-08-24T10:44:00.003+01:00

With work being mad at the moment and us being in the process of selling one house and buying another, as well as processing/dealing with my mum's illness, it's a fucking crazy time right now.

No more so, necessarily, than millions of people go through every day, so I'm not getting all "woe is me" on anyone, y'know. If anyone should be woeful right now, it should probably be my mum more than me.

But she's pretty upbeat. Inappropriately upbeat? Maybe. In denial? Maybe. Who can say? And who am I to deny her that?

She's heading off for her first dose of radiotherapy today (not yesterday as we had thought previously). She's probably getting it pretty much as I type this, actually.

She texts family and friends every morning, letting us know how she slept and how she's feeling. This is the text she sent out this morning:

"Well this is it then, the next 5 [days] will decide my future but i know it will be alright and I will come bouncing back feeling better and fitter than I have for months xx"

Word from Birmingham

2010-08-21T16:00:00.003+01:00

Yesterday afternoon we finally received word back from Birmingham. The doctors there agreed with the original diagnosis of metastatic brain cancer.

Before the day was out, a phone call was then placed to my mum, inviting her to a "planning appointment" on Monday, which will be followed by her first session of radiotherapy.

Subsequent sessions will take place over the following days of the week -- that is, she will receive treatment Monday to Friday next week.

This is not really the news I/we were hoping for. But it is at least some sort of forward movement. Something is finally happening beyond simply waiting.

There’s always hope. But beware false security.

2010-08-15T14:38:00.004+01:00

Thanks for all your comments to my previous posts, folks. I know it's hard to know what to say. Equally, there's not much I can say in response other than thank you. Your thoughts and well wishes are appreciated.

I was up visiting my mum Thursday to Saturday, and the latest info is this.

Oddly, she seems much, much better than she was two weeks or so ago. I know this might be down to the huge number of drugs she is on. But equally, she is walking better and the numbness she had in a full half of her face is retreating somewhat.

She is also much more able to retain information. By that I mean: a couple of weeks ago, if she didn't get a thought out of her head immediately, she would have forgotten it within seconds. Now she is able to have a thought and remember it while other people are talking and then say her piece a couple of minutes later, just like any of us would in a normal conversation.

Her face is getting a bit rounder because she is now eating a lot more. She's not eating that well by normal food standards, but the Macmillan nurse told her that it's important she take in high-calorie foods as and when she feels she wants to eat, rather than necessarily sticking to set mealtimes. So she's eating soups and jelly (that's like Jell-O for you American types, rather than jelly as in PB&J) and canned fruit and cream etc etc.

Most of her pain has now gone, although she does suffer with stomach cramps once a day, usually about an hour after falling asleep at night. She is taking Oramorph for this -- a low-dose morphine suspension by mouth -- and that seems to do the job.

She's also very positive, but I think that's because some of the drugs she is on are uppers... Probably no bad thing.

It was good to see her looking and feeling so much better than she was a couple of weeks back.

We are still waiting for the experts in Birmingham to get their opinions back to Mum's hospital. But right now, I don't think I'm alone in feeling cautiously optimistic. And my mum's local hospital has a terrible reputation for fuck-ups and misdiagnoses. That said, I don't want to get lulled into a false sense of security, y'know?

Great way to start retirement

2010-08-11T10:22:00.005+01:00

So, it's a crazy time right now. Not only are Red and I on the verge of moving house. And that, most people acknowledge, is one of the most stressful events in people's lives. But also, my mum has been quite ill. She's 61, she remarried three years ago, and she retired last year.

The story is this.

She was hospitalized suddenly one evening about five weeks ago with a suspected mini-stroke. At admittance she was given a CT scan as a matter of course. And this revealed some shadows on her brain.

Later tests, such as MRIs, showed shadows on her lungs and stomach. And the word came back that she probably has cancer.

In all, she stayed in hospital for 22 days, which is a pretty long stretch, I'd venture to say. And in all that time she had further tests and biopsies and whatever else could be thrown at her. Meanwhile she wasn't really eating particularly well, because hospital food is, frankly, quite shit.

Some bits of good news came through at various stages. They came back to say that the stomach was clear of cancer and, later, that the lung, too, was cancer-free.

The brain, however, is a continuing issue.

What they believe is that it is secondary cancer -- that is, cancer that has spread from elsewhere in the body. But they can't find the source, the primary cancer. That said, they have revised their thoughts on the lung somewhat, saying now that there is something at the back of it.

Now, here's the kicker. Or one of them.

Here in the UK -- or maybe simply at the hospital she's in, I don't know -- they don't or can't do biopsies of secondary (metastasized) cancer in the brain. Indeed, if it was primary cancer, it would be easier to deal with. So, because they can't do a biopsy, they can only reach a decision by consensus as to whether this is actually cancer.

We are awaiting that decision as I type. It's been two weeks now since her tests went to the experts in Birmingham to analyze and discuss, so we should hear back any day now.

And if it is cancer?

Well, here's the second kicker.

They will treat it with radiotherapy to the whole brain. This will be a series of about ten 3-minute sessions over the course of two weeks (on weekdays). This is hoped to shrink the cancer and help improve my mum's "quality of life". That's a term that never sounds good, right?

But it's not a cure.

And if the cancer comes back? Well, then there's nothing more to do but wait.

Word is that we could be looking at her having only six months.

Or perhaps it's all a big mistake, and the experts will tell us that. We can always hope, right? Denial is a wonderful thing.

Here's a picture of denial. Ooops, no, it's da Nile. See. I can still do great comedy.

Meh.

2010-08-07T11:38:00.005+01:00

I've been quite shite at doing my latest travel/birthday blog posts. Indeed, I haven't even finished the birthday day itself. And it's depressing that my next posts are gonna be pretty miserable stuff.

I'm probably gonna make this private for a little while, so if you want to get invited to read some personal, private stuff, drop me a mail. I don't mind that; just wanna keep it away from the wider world while it's all so recent and raw.

Drop me a line. I'd be glad of it. You know misery loves company, right?

7 March: my birthday! (part 1)

2010-04-18T10:56:00.008+01:00

We awoke on my 40th birthday full of the joys of almost spring! The first thing we had to do, after all the usual ablutions, was to check out of our somewhat unsatisfactory room and into the upgrade we'd been promised. We couldn't actually check back in because the room was being prepared, but we left our cases at reception and went out for some breakfast at our regular haunt for this stay, Las Columnas.

After that, we went for a bit of a walk around. It was Sunday morning and quiet on the streets. Until, that is, we came upon a fairly peculiar sight. First, we saw a man getting his head wrapped in something resembling a turban. A glance slightly further down the road revealed more young men similarly adorned. Then there was a huge box-like contraption with several men beneath it (see pic above). I think at about this point we sussed what was going on, and a chat with an Englishman standing nearby (it turns out he used to be a tour guide here) confirmed our thoughts: these chaps were rehearsing for the Semana Santa (Holy Week) celebrations, during which they will be required to carry through the streets of the city a float-type object, upon which will stand a representation of a figure related to their religious brotherhood (hermandad). The tour-guide man told us that this practice box, like the real thing, weighs a ton (literally) and is supported by 35 men in seven rows of five.

We stood watching them for a while, fascinated by the less-than-snail-pace speed at which they moved and the even slower rate at which they manoeuvred around corners, shuffling their feet slightly to one side and ever so slightly forward, all together like one enormous and ungainly 70-legged beetle... Amazing.

Continuing our walk, we headed for the Alameda de Hercules, a long, thin rec area famed for its café culture (isn't all of Europe?!). En route, we stopped to take pictures of buildings and other things that caught our eye, as always, including the exterior of a convent, the Monasterio de Santa Iñes, secreted in a doored courtyard down a quiet street. Sometimes you just have to step inside some of these doorways, even if it looks like they might be closed to the public. What's the worst that can happen? You get told to move on? It's worth the risk. And incidentally, it never happened once that we were told to move on. The courtyard itself was something and nothing, but some of the decoration on the building was lovely if not outstanding. What was a unique touch (for us, anyway) was the little "hole in the wall" from which the nuns sold the sweet delights they made. Since this particular order is silent (cloistered), they deal with these sales through a little hatch, beside which a price list is posted (see pic above, and click it for a close look at the price list). So cool!

We passed through several little plazas and streets, invariably finding new tiles of devotion to saints and Jesus, pausing to photograph as many of them as we could. There must be thousands across the city, and although this was our third visit, I don't recall paying them much heed in the past. That's why I love going back to the same places a few times: you can ignore some of the things you've done previously and look for new diversions.

I also like looking out for tattoo shops, rarely if ever with the intention of getting tattooed, but I do like to pop in and look at the work they do or see how busy it is. While still walking we came upon Sevilla Tattoo, funnily enough on a street called Amor de Dios; sadly it was closed -- not surprising, I guess, since it was still only about 11:30am on a Sunday.

When we finally arrived at Alameda de Hercules, it was pretty quiet. We took pictures of the twin columns (above) at the end where we entered and strolled along the middle of the alameda (which means a "promenade where poplar trees grow", apparently). Not much was going on, but we did stumble upon yet another group of young men practising for Semana Santa, doing their centipede thing. It was great to see such devotion early on a slightly miserable Sunday morning (it had been raining on and off), when most of these guys might well have preferred to be playing some football.

At the far end of the alameda, I was stopped in my tracks. Two years ago (to the day as I write this), I blogged about a certain tattooer called Lucio. And here, now, in front of my very eyes, was his shop in Seville. (Seems I was slightly wrong about his location in that earlier post; he actually has shops both here and in Càdiz.) But goddamn if the shop wasn't closed! Had to take a pic, though; after all, this guy is mythically tied up with my own Seville history.

So we left the Alameda de Hercules behind us and continued, the attention of our walk now to be the Cathedral of the Macarena. Walking our side-street walk, it took us about 20 minutes from Lucio's shop. Unfortunately it was absolutely packed, standing room only, for the service that going on, so while we were able to enter and see some of its beauty, we couldn't really take any pictures or fully bathe in its majesty. We vowed to return and headed out, following the sound of a brass band to see what was going on.

What was going on was a practice session for mostly teenage boys with drums and trumpets. These kids would doubtless be following one of the floats come Semana Santa -- probably the Macarena one, given their proximity to that cathedral right now. As Red doubtless rightly pointed out, it seems Semana Santa has a job for all able-bodied males in this city. Incredible! We stood enjoying the band for about 15 minutes, and by now the sun was starting to beat down. Finally. Knowing we'll get burned in the time it would take to walk back to the town centre, we opted for a cab back to the Cerveceria Giralda.

I confess that I'm not sure what we ate, but I might come back and edit that in if I have a record anywhere. All I know is that it was about 1:30pm by the time we were at lunch and we had a 4pm appointment booked at the baños árabes. There would be no problem making that, but we just had to bear in mind that we needed to make a trip back to the hotel and get into our new room and pick up our swimwear for the baños.

To be continued...

6 March: part 2

2010-03-31T16:25:00.008+01:00

Where was I? Ah, yes, it's the afternoon of our first full day in Seville, and after a light snack we headed off to the Macarena area. Unfortunately, things went a little pear-shaped at this point, with the weather still not great and, having left the hotel without any guidebooks, something of an inability to find much in the way of interesting streets.

We decided, therefore, to regroup at a restaurant we've been to before: El Rinconcillo, which we were able to find easily enough, thanks to Red's pretty good sense of direction. I'm shit at that stuff! However, as is often the case with great eateries (often, but not always; more on that later), it was rammed. So we left there and headed instead in the general direction of the Casa de Pilatos, figuring that we could eat at somewhere that took our fancy en route.

And that's what we did, having found a cool little tapas bar called Taberna Peregil, which was showing religious processions on a loop on the small TV above the doorway (see pic, above). We ordered a grilled cheese on toast with caramelized onions to share, followed by Iberico sausage for me and salted tuna to share. Red had some water, while I drank beer, which I chased with a Manzanilla sherry. It all came to just shy of €20 -- and payment of the bill resulted in the ringing of a large bell and a "Vaya con Dios!" as we left -- excellent!

The Casa de Pilatos is just a couple of minutes' walk from the tapas bar, but since it was 4pm when we arrived, it seemed a touch late to go in, given that it closes at 6pm, so we wandered slowly back towards Santa Cruz, debating where to eat that evening and the next day. Yes, we like to eat when on holiday!

When you walk a city all day long, instead of jumping in cabs or on buses, you really see it properly. And Seville is one of those cities that is just filled with amazing sights everywhere. Even some of the entrance ways to hotels are picture-worthy! Once back in "the Cruz", as we don't call it, we visited Los Gallos, a flamenco club, to book tickets for the following night, and then we hit up the hotel for a bit of a break. It was now about 6pm, and the T-shirt I'd tried washing and drying that morning was still wet and still stinky.

We decided, after not too long in the room, that we'd take a walk to see if a certain Argentine restaurant that we had visited last time was still open. I'd eaten the most amazing burger there, and we'd got chatting to the waitress, who was Sicilian. Sadly, it seemed to have changed hands. Damn, I was really jonesing for an awesome burger. Instead we went to what might quickly be becoming our fave tapas bar, Casa Placido, with its hams hanging from the ceiling, just around the corner from the hotel. We just wanted to take the edge off the hunger a bit, rather than have dinner proper, so we had a couple of tapas of huevos a la flamenca. So good!

And then we returned once again to the hotel to get changed and ready to go out to dinner at Mesón Casa Luciano, on the other side of the river. Since this is quite a walk, we had the hotel receptionist call to make sure it was still in business and open tonight. Success! We always fear Luciano's might go out of business because it's almost always empty, and yet it serves the most incredible food, as long as you are feeling fully carnivorous. We have seen other people in there, but rarely. And when the locals do turn up, it's usually very late. And tourists rarely seem to venture there, since it's not in many guidebooks, it seems.

We got there at 9:35pm, and it was empty, just as we might have predicted. But the same two waiting staff were on hand -- an older dude and a woman -- neither of whom seem to speak any English. But this has always been part of the huge amount of fun of Luciano's: struggling to understand what each other means. This time, we'd taken some Spanish lessons for a few months in advance of our trip, and we were better prepared all round, but it was still crazy trying to communicate.

We ordered a salad to start, followed by a steak each and a portion of chips to share. I ordered a beer to start; Red, a water; and we had a half-bottle of Ramón Bilbao Tempranillo Crianza to share. I went to the butchery counter at the back of the restaurant to choose our steaks. I love that! While we were waiting, they brought us some complimentary chorizo and bread. Mmmm....

The food, as ever here, was just awesome. The steaks were cooked "a punto", I think the Spanish was, meaning "properly", and not well done or any other bastardization some folks inflict upon their steak to rid it of blood, flavour, and tenderness. This was great, melt-in-the-mouth meat.

Too full to tackle a dessert, I was -- again, as ever -- offered a shot of pacharán to finish, which I happily accepted. Such a lovely liqueur... By this time, it was about 11:15pm, and still the place is empty. Why?! It's Saturday night -- this place should be heaving. During the course of dinner, the door did open and someone stuck a head inside. They didn't look round far enough to see us. Not that it mattered; I suspect they decided it must be shite because it was empty. Bad decision, amigo.

Walking back to the hotel, we went via the Plaza de Santa Cruz and spent 10 minutes or so in the company of one of the neighbourhood cats. We know the streets are in safe hands with this one on patrol!

And just a bit further on, we stopped in Lope de Rueda at midnight to celebrate the start of my birthday with a kiss. Of course, it's still another hour until my birthday in the UK, so on returning to the hotel (the courtyard of which is shown below), we had to stay up a bit longer just to get it right.

6 March: The first full day

2010-03-20T11:05:00.005Z

So, back to Seville... Woke up at 7:40am after a night of heavy rain and massive thunder. I spent a good 10 minutes washing and trying to dry my Gallows Grey Britain T-shirt, which was uncharacteristically stinky after a day's travelling. I'm not really much of a sweater, but humping luggage and running from place to place in the overheated airports wearing a heavy-ish coat clearly took its toll. We both got showered and dressed ready for the day ahead (my last day in my 30s!), and then we would go off and talk to reception about our bed situation (remember?). Checked my watch just before heading down... Shit! It's 10:20am. How did that happen?! Ah, forgot to put my phone's clock to Spanish time.

I mentioned it was my birthday, we were disappointed about the beds not being a double, etc, and reception told us that they would upgrade us from tomorrow to their superior suite. There was no mention of extra cost, just that we should get all packed up in the morning and go down and see him again. Cool.

So then we set off, pausing in the hotel doorway to don our "Jack in a Pack", since it was pissing with rain. Fab. And then we made our way to a bar for some breakfast. This first day we settled on a place we'd never been before, Bodega Santa Cruz Las Columnas, which is opposite and a little way up the road from usual haunt Cerveceria Giralda. We each had tostada (toasted bread) with aceite (olive oil) and tomate (or salsa de tomate, a tomato sauce but not like ketchup!); a coffee (con leche for me, manchado for Red); and a glass of OJ between us. It's always great just watching these guys in Spanish bars working. Any Spanish bar I've ever been in is essentially the same in this one regard: it's like a super-well-oiled machine. So fast and efficient, they totally put the UK service industry to shame.

Breakfast done, we next made our way to the Aire de Seville baños árabes (Arab baths) to book a slot for tomorrow, my birthday proper. The baños árabes played a key part in my choosing Seville as the destination for my 40th birthday: that's how fucking great it is. It seemed a slight blow that we couldn't get anything earlier than 4pm, but only for a moment. Thing is, once you've had a lunch on Spanish time, it's almost 4pm anyway! Plus we have to do all that checking out and back in nonsense tomorrow, too...

The rain continuing unabated made us think we should take some indoors time for a couple of hours, so we opted to do something else we'd never done yet in Seville: visit the Archivo General de Indias (the General Archive of the Indies). This absolutely massive structure is surprisingly anonymous from the outside. Indeed, we've walked past it probably hundreds of times hardly giving it a glance but knowing what it was called, even if we didn't really know what it was or even whether it was open to the public. One of the guides we had mentioned that it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so we figured we should check it out finally.

First things first, as a Brit abroad (and I know it's slightly unfair to say this latterly, given there have been changes as regards our galleries in the past 10 years), it still takes me aback that there are some important places you simply don't have to pay to enter. We had to put our stuff through an x-ray machine first. (Spain is very good on anti-terrorist measures, even here in Andalucía, which is apparently the European hub of al-Qaeda, so they probably needn't worry: who shits on their own doorstep?) And then, once through, they gave us a little guide thing and said to head on up the stairs.

Well, the stairwell itself (above) is a thing of some majesty! You know it's huge. You're on it, and you know it's big, but somehow you don't really get a sense of quite how big until you take a picture of yourself on it, dwarfed by its vastness. Really. (Actually in the image above, at the bottom right, you can see a fire extinguisher by way of scale.)

There are, of course, the eponymous archives of billions (probably) of papers and documentation, which itself is astonishing, with all these identical box files behind lockable grilles (check the locks among the images at the end of this post) and on beautiful bookcases, but also on display are maps and items brought back from historic voyages of centuries past -- the times when we in Europe were off globetrotting and killing natives and taking their land... Bringing civilization to tribespeople on the other side of the world and offing them if they weren't interested. You know, all that good stuff.

And there's also a little room where a film plays on a loop, chronicling the history of the archive, as well as of the building itself, which was totally fascinating. It's incredible to think that such a jaw-dropping architectural beauty could ever have been converted into a tenement building, but that was exactly what had happened at some point in its past. Unbelievable. Thankfully, you would never know, looking at it today.

We took pictures where we could, but in one whole big room it was not permitted, which was a shame. I couldn't really see the problem, though I know a lot of places with historic ephemera have concerns about the use of flash. I wish they could just have a "no flash" policy instead, if that's the case. I fired off one quick shot in the forbidden room (see right), being all nonchalant and avoiding as much as possible the eye-in-the-sky security camera. Ooh, I'm such a rebel! And after that, while in a different area, I got told off for putting my camera on top of a glass case. I mean, really? My camera (I didn't take my dSLR for space reasons) weighs little more than a wallet. Do me a favour, mate!

All done there by about 1pm, we next hit the bakery just opposite: the Horno San Buenaventura. This is a hugely popular tourist trap, yes, simply because it is massive and has lots of tables and chairs. But there are plenty of locals, too, due to the wide range of top-quality baked goods on offer. And of course, if you stay at the bar, like a local, rather than taking a seat, like a tourist, you pay less for your purchases. I had a café solo (an espresso) and a tocino de cielo. I think Red just had some water. The sugary gorgeousness of the tocino and the caffeine kick of the espresso would keep me walking until lunchtime (which was now, really, but since we'd had such a late breakfast...)

Off we trotted, then, to the Macarena area of the city. But I'll save that for the next post... Meantime, here are some pics from the Archivo General.

Spring cleaning

2010-03-15T18:09:00.003Z

Between posts about my Seville hol, I've decided to have a little clear-up of links. I've deleted any blogs in my blogroll that haven't been updated for a loooooong time -- I mean even longer than mine wasn't! I've updated some of the new homes of those who have shifted address, and I've also got rid of some of the "invited readers only" blogs (though I've left a couple of those in, hoping I might blag an invite sometime).

If you wanna get reinstated cos you're kick-starting your blog, no probs: just let me know. In the meantime, I'm streamlining.

'Sta luego.

Friday, 5 March, and we’re off

2010-03-13T11:48:00.005Z

The day of our Seville holiday to celebrate my 40th birthday finally arrived. We'd already taken Cat to the cattery the day before and had decided not to work today, in order to be able to pack and make sure we had everything we needed... including, unfortunately, a Jack In A Pack from Millets. This fold-down-into-a-small-bag raincoat is what we used to call a cagoule back in the day. They are super-sad, but those of you who remember the great wet Seville trip of 2008 will know we had to go prepared.

We left home at about 1:30pm after an early lunch, allowing plenty of time to get to Stansted airport. We were due to be there at about 4pm, and it usually takes about 90 minutes, but I wanted to leave an extra hour because the M25 on a Friday afternoon fills me with dread. As it happens, 90 mins was adequate, so arrived an hour early. Still, better early than late, I like to say. We kept as occupied as possible and finally boarded the plane at 5:45. I was the first passenger to board the plane, which I thought was fitting for my birthday trip.

On arrival, since we travelled hand luggage only, we were able to dash through customs (if one can ever really dash through customs) and grab a cab straightaway. While on the ride to the hotel I was able to practise my first bit of Spanish. "No es posible abrir la ventana?" I asked, noticing on this hot evening that I wasn't able to open the window to get some air. It seems he didn't quite understand ventana as car window, so I guess there must be a different word. Even so, he knew what I meant, flicked a switch up front, and I was able to breathe again.

We arrived at the El Rey Moro hotel, checked in, checked out the room, and headed out for food. Cerveceria Giralda, formerly a hammam, is always our first port of call in Seville. By 11:30pm we were eating our first dishes of the trip: tortilla en salsa de comino (delicious), tosta de queso de cabra (also delicious), and huevas fritas. But the huevas fritas don't look anything like the fried eggs we've had there in the past. Bit odd...

Ah, nota bene, my friends: Don't order huevas fritas if you want fried eggs. I've suddenly had the realization that it's a set of bollocks, fried. But they taste weirdly fishy, both in taste and texture. Red decided she can't eat them, but I plough on, aided by another cerveza. But even that didn't help me to finish them. As the waiter came for our plates -- only one of which was unfinished -- I asked him for clarification of what we had only half eaten. "Fish roe," he said in English, possibly embarrassed that I was pointing at my balls. "Ah, fish roe..." Phew!

As we sat there, chilling, we noticed people were starting to get turned away. It was only 11:50, so we guessed they must close at midnight. This was a surprise, but it forced us to get off our arses and have a wander around and back to the hotel. It had been a long day.

On returning, we noticed for the first time that what should have been a double bed was in fact two singles pushed together. This isn't totally unusual in hotels, but they weren't even made up as a double; they were made up as two singles pushed together. A request to reception didn't yield much success due to a lack of Spanish on my part and English on his. "Ask tomorrow," I was told. "I've not been here long."

"Okay." Hasta mañana, then...

A new age

2010-03-11T14:44:00.003Z

I know I've already sort of reneged on my promise to post at least once a week, but there is a good excuse: I've been away for a few days to celebrate my 40th birthday!

But now I'm back. And the first order of business will be to elaborate on and type up here the notes I made on my few days away. And I'll even add in some pics for some local colour and to illustrate the stuff I describe. Cos that's what pictures do.

The posts will go up in order, one day at a time, though there may be a couple of days or more between posts. I appreciate this might have limited interest for readers, but I just want to scrapbook the trip, so bear with me.

Until the next time, adios.

It’s been a while...

2010-02-27T17:49:00.002Z

I surprised myself when I took a peek at this page and saw that it's, like, four months since my last post. And it's been a fucking strange four months, too. Some of the strangest -- and frankly, least pleasant -- times I can remember.

Actually, though, I'm not gonna go into it here and now. It's the sort of stuff that, even though it will sort of raise its head again from time to time, I'd sooner just put behind me. And the missus for sure will be even gladder to put it behind her.

So, Happy New Year, dear loyal and faithful reader. I'm going to try to get back to blogging a bit, but it may be that I won't be able to keep it up. Lord knows I've fallen woefully behind on my movie reviews. But I'll try to post a little something here at least once a week, just to keep my hand in the writing game (such as this is). I'm feeling creatively desert-like. And that's not good, really.

Well, it's 6pm on a Saturday night, and I'm working. I'm gonna go do a bit more of that and then call it a night. Might even watch a movie.

I was away, and then I was back... and ill

2009-10-07T12:01:00.004+01:00

So, the wife and I went to Italy for a wee summer holiday, 31 August to 12 September. Spent most of the time on the beach but also took a trip within a trip for a return visit to wonderful Venice. The whole experience, as you might expect, was lovely: cycling to and from the beach each day, splashing around in the sea, eating wonderful seafood and pizza and pasta dishes...

Before going, I'd been having a little gyp with a tooth that had recently been filled by my dentist, so in the last couple of days of my hol, I phoned and made an appointment.

We got back on the 12th, and my appointment was for the 16th.

On the 14th, while stretching to see the clock from my position in bed, I put my neck out so booked an appointment with the osteopath for the 15th: I wanted to get it sorted before being asked to open wide the following day.

The train ride to London for the dentist gave me the fear, cos I was right opposite this old dude who just kept coughing, almost for the whole hour of the journey. I just knew I would catch whatever the fuck it was that he was sharing.

And sure enough, two days later I started to get a sore throat. And that developed into a full head cold. I was lucky enough to feel fine within myself but was snotty and sniffy and sneezy nonetheless.

The cold did what colds do and kept me reaching for the Anadin Extra and the Kleenex. And then, on what would be my last day of sneezes, an almighty one wrenched my lower back. I literally could not stand upright without nasty pain. Another booking with the osteopath...

This brings us up to 22 September, and a couple of appointments with him seemed to be doing the job for my lower back.

And that's when I started to get some cystitis-like sensations: initially stinging/burning, accompanied by a feeling that I needed to pee more often than I normally would. I thought little of it and just hoped it would pass...

Until the point that I woke with severe discomfort in my mid-back on Friday 2 October. It felt different from my lower-back pain, but I assumed it must somehow be connected, so I lay down with a hot-water bottle for a few hours and it seemed to clear up.

The next day, I awoke to the same pain, only worse. I was literally in tears, though I'm not sure if it was really the pain or just the being absolutely fed up with being incapacitated in some way for about three weeks solid. I called my osteo, and he said he was surprised that it had shifted if I hadn't been doing anything strenuous. He asked if there was any chance I was having any other problems. I mentioned the cystitis stuff.

"I think that might be a kidney infection," he said, "without sounding like I want to pass the buck." So I spent the next hour or so trying to speak to a medical professional and eventually got an appointment for the same day. The doctor/nurse (who knows) who dealt with me said there was definitely an infection, based on my sample. By now -- as is always the case -- I was not only feeling better but was also not displaying any of my previous symptoms!

Anyway, today I got the actual test results back. "All clear," I was told. "Huh?" I replied. "How come I was told I had an infection, and yet the exact same sample says all clear?"

"Probably the drugs are clearing it up."
"But I started taking them after I gave the sample."

I don't even know what else to say. But it seems I am finally back to health. Now I need a holiday. And so, of course, does the missus, who has been doing almost everything around the house for this whole time.

I have the head of a wolf

2009-08-08T12:11:00.005+01:00

Of course, there is no better accompaniment to new glasses than a new haircut [√] and a new tattoo [√]. The new tattoo is shown here (though I need to get a better pic now that it's almost healed):

As per most of my tattoos over the past 30 months, this was again made by Xam at Frith Street Tattoo in London. It sits on my lower right leg, between the shin bone and calf muscle.

I had hoped to sit upright and grab some photos of Xam working on the area, but it proved too difficult for me to hold myself in position while he was working. I just couldn't relax enough, and my body -- and more importantly, the area being tattooed -- started doing all sorts of weird flinchy stuff. I was concerned it would make it tough for Xam to make good lines, so I lay down instead. That was much better.

I am totally stoked with the finished result. When I first sat up at the end of the session, I was blown away by how awesome it was. That's not to say I felt it was better than any other recent tattoo; I think it was more because I was able to see the whole thing easily, without contorting my body or using a mirror, all of which makes it harder to get that instant gratification, I think.

My new glasses

2009-07-14T11:33:00.002+01:00

Gallows instore at Rough Trade East

2009-05-08T11:04:00.004+01:00

Bank holiday Monday, 4 May, and today there is a free instore set and signing to further promote the launch of Gallows' second album Grey Britain. After working until about lunchtime, eating, showering, etc, the missus and I headed off in the car, London bound.

After parking just around the corner from the Old Blue Last, venue of the second of last December's two "East End Invasion" Gallows dates, we walked for a few minutes, arriving at Rough Trade's east London store at about 6pm. I located brother Dim, secured our wristbands, then ran off for a pee and a cup of coffee.

Back at the venue, a line had started to form. A pretty big one, too, but I spotted a bunch of buddies, and we hello'd and chitchatted while waiting for the doors to open. The rain was not welcomed by those young punksters who had arrived in T-shirts and/or short skirts, but with my leather jacket and woolly hat, I was all good. Sensible clothing ftw!

Once they let us in, I headed, uncharacteristically, towards the stage at the back of the venue. Ish. As it happened, I didn't stay just there very long, shunting slightly outwards from the pit. These hands are key to keeping a roof over my head!

As the band takes to the tiny stage, vocalist Frank tells us that they don't have a setlist and that they will play what is asked for by the crowd. This is a nice touch, and immediately the boys are inundated with requests. This process doesn't last long; soon written suggestions are the order of the day. And indeed some song choices, unsurprisingly, are overlooked altogether.

I was expecting only half a dozen songs, maybe, but was pleased that the set was a bit longer. Indeed, in terms of number of songs, this was the same length show as the first time I saw Gallows, slightly less than a year ago, at Chatham's Tap 'n' Tin.

The exact list of songs escapes me now, but I'm pretty sure it was all of the following, though not in that order. I love hearing "Gold Dust", even though it is so short, at just under 1 minute.

The new songs are already knitting seamlessly into the gig repertoire. The hard core of fans already know most, if not all, of the words, and the question/answer parts of the songs really lend themselves to the live environment.

YouTube user shambles247 (linked below) has footage of most of the set, wherein you can see that the stage didn't hold the band for long, and all except drummer Lee were in with the crowd for a good while.

Black Eyes
Death Voices
Leeches
Misery
Crucifucks
Abandon Ship
In the Belly of a Shark (+ Happy Birthday)
Gold Dust
The Riverbed
Orchestra of Wolves.

(Unheeded went: Six Years, Rolling with the Punches [a personal fave of mine], Party Hard [a cover of the Andrew WK song, which Gallows have performed live once or twice], The Vulture, Sick of Feeling Sick, and no doubt others that I didn't catch.)

Once the set was over, an orderly queue started to form at the front of the shop, where the band would be signing stuff for those in attendance.

My super deluxe copy of the album had not yet arrived, so I was in two minds whether to buy one here in order to participate in the signing, but I had taken my sleeve of CD single "In the Belly of a Shark", just in case. The aforementioned chaps obliged, along with Lags, Stu, and Steph.

It was then time to say ta-ra to the Gallows posse and head off with Red to have some dinner on London's Brick Lane, which is famed for its hundreds of Indian restaurants. Despite having lived in London for 10 years, neither of us has ever eaten there before, and it is difficult to choose a restaurant, to be honest, given that there is so much choice. It is also unappealing to have people stood at the door trying to beckon punters in, as though you are in some dodgy Spanish-island holiday resort.

We plumped for one that had no doorman -- though it later became clear that this was just serendipity and he was probably on a toilet break. He was there a-beckoning when we left anyway! The venue of choice was Poppadom's (sic).

We ordered veggie dishes (mushroom bhaji, sag aloo, tarka daal), rice, and naan, as well as a drink each, and the missus headed off to the loo. On her return, she said: "I hope the graffiti in the ladies' is wrong. It says the food took forever to come and was cold." Oh, bugger, we thought, we've chosen the worst restaurant on Brick Lane.

In fact, our food arrived pretty quickly and was a good temperature. Certainly it was warmer than when we get takeaways delivered back home. And you know what? It was good, too. Subsequently I have found another bad review online. Maybe we got lucky, but I really enjoyed the food there, and so did the wife.

All in all, a good end to a great evening!

Bye.

Gallows' Grey Britain album launch

2009-05-01T09:51:00.015+01:00

Believe it or not, it's not every day I get invited to a band's album launch party and debut screening of the accompanying short film. But this week I was invited to exactly that, on 29 April 2009. And it only happened to be the band whose music I have listened to more than any other (by a long way) over the past year. The band I have seen live more times in the past year than any almost any other pro band in my life. (Only Manic Street Preachers beats this, over a 10-year period, give or take.) So, well, I had to go, didn't I?

The first part of the evening is the screening of the eponymous short film that accompanies the album Grey Britain. It will be released as a DVD in a special double pack with the CD on 4 May in the UK. I don't know whether it will be available in other territories, but that's what the global Internet marketplace is for, isn't it?

The venue for this screening is the Curzon Soho cinema, where many years ago, before my time, my missus had worked. This was a trip down memory lane for her!

I knew the movie would run about 30 minutes, but that's all I knew. I didn't expect it to be almost end-to-end music; in a way, I suppose I'd hoped there would be dialogue, too, and initially, for a handful of seconds upon this realization, I was disappointed. It's not long ago that I'd said to my other half that I thought frontman Frank Carter would probably make a good actor. If I ever get my arse back into film-making, maybe I'll drop him a line!

What we have here is almost a mini punk-rock opera. And as fucking weird as that idea sounds, it actually all holds together really well. The plot seems to be that a boy is raped and killed by someone who appears to be a priest (though he could be Death incarnate) in a London that has been overrun by heavy-handed riot police while da kidz are running scared underground. Cue much dark brooding photography, fighting in the streets, bricks and bats and blood -- all with a snarling six-song punk-metal soundtrack and bursts of the band in action... It is not only the band who might be surprised that Warner Bros Music actually agreed to foot the bill.

It looks fucking gorgeous, fair play (as the clip below shows), and if one could complain about anything, it might be that it's a shame more people won't get to see it on the big screen. I really feel very privileged to have been a part of that and look forward to getting my DVD next week. It might be broadly derivative of any number of shorter scenes you've seen in bleak-future movies, but it's done with a huge amount of style. Oh, and yeah, it's more than a little bleak. I won't give it a numeric score because I am too biased to be fair, either way.

After the screening, the missus and I chatted to some of the folks we have met before through seeing the band over the past year, and then we headed off to another of our old haunts back when we were Londoners: Melati restaurant on Peter Street. Man, the times we've eaten wonderful Malaysian food there... And it's just as good now as it was when I first went there some 16 years ago. Same staff too. Never been? Go, for the love of God!

The final part of the evening was a Gallows gig proper -- a full-length set at legendary club Madame Jojo's in the heart of Soho. I've never been there before, but again this is somewhere that my wife used to go regularly before my time, dancing the night away while grown men were paid to cavort in thongs for the punters' entertainment!

On arrival, the tiny venue was already pretty packed, but we were still able to secure what might, traditionally, be considered a good spot from which to view the action: against a balcony just to the left of the mixing desk, with the dancefloor sunk 6-8ft below us and the raised stage diagonally opposite. I say "traditionally" because one never really knows where Frank will actually end up singing from. I also had it on fairly good authority that they would be playing within the dancefloor/pit, rather than on the stage. I had also heard that they would be playing straight through the new album...

First up, we get "London Is the Reason" -- not the first track on the album (but I guess you could consider it so if you disregard the CD's prologue song "The Riverbank"). And from there on, we do indeed run through the album in order, omitting "The Vulture (Act I)", the acoustic version, as either Lags or Steph (I didn't catch who) jokingly said "I've left my acoustic guitar at home."

It's not long before Frank is more or less out of sight, on the same bit of balcony as me, but hidden behind taller, bigger spectators. He tells the throng that he's not getting down into the pit because everyone down there is so much bigger than him, though it's not long before he is indeed in there. And the rest of the band, except drummer Lee, is soon down there with him, while the crowd is politely asked to make some effort not to knock over the musicians while going about their circle-pitting, moshing, windmilling, and whatever else they want to throw into the mix!

After anti-knife-crime track "Queensberry Rules", we are treated to a couple of old faves. "In the Belly of a Shark" is first, and bassist Stu asks if he can do the first line. Rather than the usual guttural screamed a cappella four-word intro, then, we get Stu putting on his best plummy voice, announcing, "So, hear I lie," before the song kicks off proper. To repeat the refrain halfway through the song, Frank picks on his mother, who looks mortally embarrassed to have to do it. She does it, though -- inaudibly as far as the band goes. I think I heard it only because (a) I was about 10ft away from her and (b) because I could see her lips moving. "She did it!" Frank exclaims to the band, who seem to be wondering when their cue will come. He then asks her to do it again. She obliges, of course, and the song goes on.

And the set continues too, with the classic "Abandon Ship" before we return to the new album's tracklisting, with "Misery", which ends with the eminently singalongable chant, "Misery fucking loves us / And we love her too", and then "Crucifucks". As a final treat we get the time-honoured set-closer "Orchestra of Wolves".

It's been quite the night -- and quite the set. Although those of us who have seen Gallows a few times over the past year will have heard several of the new songs before, it's the first time, of course, that so many have been played in one gig. It was incredible to see just how many people were singing along, too, given that the album is not even out yet and has only been streamed on MySpace for a few days. One reviewer elsewhere also reckons that this room is made up of 70 per cent music-industry folk. You wouldn't have known it. I also wouldn't have known I'd be joining in a round of applause for Warner Bros Records. Crazy thing, rock 'n' roll.

I could watch this band every night. Each gig is completely unique, just the way it should be. What is the point in watching a band that do the same thing every night? Gallows are now out on tour till about December, I believe, taking in the Warped Tour in the US once the UK tour is over. Go and see them. And buy the album Grey Britain while you're at it. It's anthemic as fuck and a damn good ride.

Click the setlist image below to see my pictures from the night.

50 years since Buddy Holly’s death

2009-02-03T09:50:00.003Z

Born 7 September 1936
Died 3 February 1959.
22 forever.

"That Makes It Tough"

Memories will follow me forever
Though I know my dreams cannot come true.
All those precious things we shared together.
Time goes by, I’ll still remember you.

And that makes it tough, oh so tough,
When you tell me you don’t love me.
That makes it tough, oh so tough,
When you say you don’t care for me no more.

One man and a lot of dogs

2009-01-12T08:35:00.004Z

I was really pleased to see In Bruges pick up something at the Golden Globes. Colin Farrell was named Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture, Musical or Comedy, sadly beating out his own co-star Brendan Gleeson, who was no less brilliant. If you've not seen this film, check it out NOOOOOWWWWW!

But quote of the night must surely go to Mickey Rourke, who, last I saw, was winning only 10 per cent of E!'s voting public as their pick for a win. He did win, though, getting Best Actor in a Motion Picture, Drama, for his role in Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler. "It's been a very long road back for me," Mickey announced. "Several years ago I was almost out of this business. I'd like to thank all my dogs. Sometimes when a man's alone, his dogs are all he's got." (Source: wenn.com)

Am I bored of blogging?

2009-01-07T07:23:00.003Z

It's just, man, it takes me an age to get around to writing anything these days! Time was I used to do five posts a day; these days five a month is a lot. And even my movie reviews (such as they are) have taken a hit.

Anyway, it's a new year. I don't do resolutions, and even if I did, I probably wouldn't resolve to post more often, just because I wouldn't want to feel I'm posting just for the sake of it.

Christmas was lovely and relaxing, though. New Year's Eve was nice up until the neighbours decided they weren't being loud enough. Once they'd rectified that, they went on at the same noise level until 3am, essentially forcing out of our own lounge, unable to use our own bedroom, and therefore up into the office. And even there it wasn't quiet -- just quieter.

I've started the year well: by heading into London Tahn for a new tattoo already (yesterday), so I'll probably post a pic soon. But these days I'm all about Flickr and Facebook. The former because I pay for it, so I'll damn well use it; the latter because it's just quicker and easier to drop a quick note instead of a post sometimes.

All of which is not leading up to saying I'm quitting this motherfucker. Just it might be a while between posts. So same as now, really.

If you're reading: Happy New Year to you. I hope '09 treats you and your loved ones well. Peace.

Bruges

2008-12-24T17:19:00.004Z

Bruges knocked it outta the park, man. See more pictures over at my Flickr page's Bruges set, but...

Here's me drinking some beer.

Here's a jurk store.

And here's some nice scenery.

Have a great Christmas everyone and a fabulous 2009!

See, that’s love...

2008-12-13T13:06:00.003Z

Regular readers will remember my story a couple of weeks ago about my mother-in-law's feelings about my tattoos. (Find the post here.)

And yet, last week the wife and I received a parcel from Italy. In it were a pandoro, a panettone, a Christmas present for each of us (including Cat), a Settimana Enigmistica for Red, a copy of the latest Dylan Dog for me, and ... a tattoo magazine. She may not dig or understand tattoos, but still she went to the newsagent and got me a tattoo mag. I thought that was very sweet of her.

Whoops, there goes another ear / Whoops, there goes another chandelier *

2008-12-03T12:17:00.007Z

* with apologies to Billy Bragg for this twist on his lyric

So, next on Gallows' East End Invasion mini-tour was the Old Blue Last, upstairs, in what is apparently a 100-capacity venue.

Getting there by car, as for the night before, was not too taxing, despite the traffic diversions because of gas works in the area. Parking in London is always fun, trying desperately to decipher the double-Dutch signs to ensure you don't get a ticket. We were all cool, though, thankfully. And then for some pre-gig sustenance we decided on Pizza Express, just opposite the venue.

Something quick, we thought. How wrong we were. Indeed, so slow was the delivery of our food that we ended up getting the starter on the house. Which makes me wonder if this was the reason the gig had been delayed from its 9pm start time to 9:30, since while we were waiting for our food, Mr Frank Carter left the restaurant with some friends (and no, we didn't know he was there when we went in, for all you haters saying I've got a man-crush). Maybe his grub had been delayed too, and now he was late! But the little blonde girl who served us, on only her second day in the job, was very sweet, and it certainly was no fault of hers.

According to ViewLondon, "live music is where [the Old Blue Last] can't be beaten, and if you see a favourite artist perform here you won’t be disappointed". I was geared up for quite a night.

We said hello to some of the usual faces, most of those name-checked in yesterday's post, plus Sophie this time (and James later), and as they all once again grabbed their spots at the front of the stage, I secured myself a former cinema seat at the edge of the room and readied myself for standing on it for a decent view of the proceedings.

Within seconds of the first song, "Come Friendly Bombs", starting up, Frank is swinging from a chandelier at the opposite end of the room. I have no fucking idea how he got there, but by the end of the song a second chandelier has been trashed by one of the audience. Back on the stage by the end of the song, the frontman announces that the remaining one is his.

"Gold Dust" comes next, and I think this is when the first scuffle of the night breaks out. All of a sudden one guy is pummelling another in the face. He gets about three hits in before someone separates them, and by the time Franks asks what's going on, the two are making up.

Not so sweet is the resolution of the second bit of fisticuffs, midway through "London Is the Reason". Suddenly someone at the front of the stage is getting smacked in the head by Frank before the fight spills on to the floor. Several people spring into action to break things up, and Carter is holding on to the dude, saying "Come down here, I wanna talk to you and you're too fuckin' tall." He has a private word, and the bloke is evicted. It seems he'd been having a grope of the singer, something more intimate, shall we say, than one should reasonably expect. The song picks up pretty much where it left off.

I think about now comes the new song about the trials and tribulations of being in a band, "when all you want to do is be at home, drinking tea and playing XBox". I can't fully relate, not being a rock 'n' roll star, nor particularly liking tea or having an XBox. Bill Gates ain't getting my fucking money. PS3 ftw! You'd get the impression that Frank hates being in a band, but I don't really think that's true. We all moan about our jobs, I guess. I do. And yet this is the best, most cushy job I've ever had. Certainly beats being verbally abused on an almost-daily basis and having people threatening to shoot me, as in my last job, back in 1993/4. Surely being in a band can't be too bad? Indeed, last night at the Macbeth, he had said, "You gotta take the good with the bad."

For me, the band is playing better tonight than the previous night, though discussions later with some of the crowd reveal a mix of opinion in that regard. Either way, the set is different, which is great and a special treat for those who attended both nights. We get no "Black Heart Queen", despite the attendance of brother Richard Blackhole Carter, who occasionally guests on this track live. (A bit of banter between the brothers -- about facial tattoos [Frank's] and almost-fainting tattooees [Richard] -- provided a bit of light relief.) Instead, though, we get the ever-wonderful "Rolling With the Punches". To be honest, that's a trade-off I can live with.

More new songs and old intertwine seamlessly, Frank taking the opportunity to go to the bar during the instrumental track, and the show ends, as is traditional, with "Orchestra of Wolves" and general mayhem. I'm sweating enough without being in the pit. How Lags can sport a full beard and Stu can wear a hooded top without being uncomfortable is beyond me!

Oh, did I mention that the third and final chandelier got trashed? Well, it did. I guess the Old Blue Last got an extreme makeover.

Setlist included, roughly in this order:
Come Friendly Bombs
Gold Dust
London Is the Reason
I Dread the Night
Kill the Rhythm
Abandon Ship
Rolling With the Punches
In the Belly of a Shark
Orchestra of Wolves
plus some other new songs, including the instrumental.

“Is that all you’ve got?”

2008-12-02T09:52:00.015Z

Could those words be Gallows' equivalent of the famous Sex Pistols question: "Ever get the feelin' you've been cheated?" But hopefully this doesn't signal the end of the group that has so re-energized my interest in gig-going.

Frank Carter sounds pissed off and he spits out the words. He forcefully throws down his mic, the thud of it hitting the stage booming through the sound system, and he leaps on to the floor and into the circle pit that he is so disappointed by. He had asked for the biggest circle pit possible, but clearly this was too small or too tame. He was gonna mix it up a bit.

We are just over halfway through Gallows' set at the Macbeth pub in London's East End, and this is the first of two special "East End Invasion" pre-Christmas gigs sponsored by Atticus clothing. Apparently the gigs are also something of a warm-up before the recording of the vocals begins next Monday for the new album. This task has been put on hold after Frank fucked up his throat and was told to rest it a few weeks back.

After buying a limited-edition print and a T-shirt at the venue, Red and I chat with some familiar faces, such as Paul, Dim, Steve, Donna, Weene, Linda, Mark, Geoff, Robbie, and Jak (and meet a couple of new ones, Pat and, later, Dan). We all have our excited faces on. This pair of gigs are the first Gallows shows since August, and both sold out within 10 minutes. As the kick-off time of 9pm draws closer, those brave enough (or should that be young enough?) head towards the front of the crowded venue (capacity about 150-170).

The band take their positions, and it quickly becomes clear that our vantage point is a bit shite. [That said, it's no worse than the "gig of the year 1995" of PJ Harvey and Tricky. Both are total dwarfs, and I could barely see a thing that night.] Nevertheless, I'm here for the music, and while it's great to see the band too, sometimes that just ain't possible.

They kick off with the recent, download-only 60-second-long "Gold Dust", to which most in the crowd seem to know all the words. This is a great high-octane start to the evening. (Grab your copy of this track for free over at Gallows' MySpace.) And with very little ado, they then head straight into the classic "Abandon Ship".

This early on, it's clear that at the very least we are gonna get reasonable views of Frank, even if we can't see much of the rest of the band -- hence my pictures being pretty much of Frank only. During the course of "Abandon Ship", he makes his way, via the bar and some vertical ceiling supports, to the mixing-desk area right beside my head.

The awesome "Kill the Rhythm" follows, then we get two more new songs -- "London Is the Reason" and "I Dread the Night" -- in a 15-song set that actually boasts more new songs than old.

Frank advises us that he wants to see carnage. He wants us to "be able to tell your bastard offspring that you stage-dived from the bar of the Macbeth. I'll be checking Facebook tomorrow to see how many say they did," he says, before adding, "Well, Lags will. I don't have a Facebook account." Apparently they shut his down, though one is left to guess quite why.

During the course of the evening, while halfway up one of the ceiling props, a few voices start chanting "Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a spider can." Frank tells us that he's "fitter than him. He's old and fat." Personally I always thought Tobey Maguire was in good shape. Clearly, there's no hope for me in the cruel, fattist world of rock 'n' roll!

New and old songs continue well mixed throughout, though it's hard to remember quite how some of the new ones go. I do remember an instrumental, but maybe it had no words cos Frank was busy dry heaving and "puking up acid". I thank the maker for my limited POV. During one of these new tracks, though, the refrain "I know where you live!" makes a frequent appearance.

At some point, bassist Stu Gili-Ross is crowd-surfing, bass in hand. I could swear I hear a thud as the head of the instrument thwacks against one of the room's uprights. I'm sure that did it some good! Lags seems to have learned his lesson at the Underworld in August, where, after a crowd-surf-with-guitar, he admitted it hadn't been a good idea.

I'm glad to hear "Sick of Feeling Sick" and "Black Heart Queen", which are fast becoming two of my favourite Gallows tracks, while "Come Friendly Bombs" and "In the Belly of a Shark" are also always a pleasure.

For the last song, we are told Frank doesn't want to sing. We are to do the honours instead. We know what song it's gonna be: album closer and gig closer "Orchestra of Wolves". We do as we are told, and Frank "treats" us to a microphone masturbation on the top of the bar for the lines leading up to and including "while you're washing my cum off your fuckin' face". The young girl and her boyfriend beside me are singing along with just as much enthusiasm as I am.

There's one question the audience certainly can't put to Gallows tonight: "Is that all you've got?"

Setlist:
Gold Dust
Abandon Ship
Kill the Rhythm
London Is the Reason
I Dread the Night
Come Friendly Bombs
Mama's Kettle
In the Belly of a Shark
Swallower
Sick of Feeling Sick
Car Chase
Forgiver
Black Heart Queen
Suicide Goals
Orchestra of Wolves.

Hernia update

2008-11-13T16:27:00.009Z

Last night, in advance of my hernia consultation today, I was thinking, "I hope it's only one and not a double." The woman on the phone last week had told me that some patients come in thinking they have a hernia and go away realizing they have two. "He's very good at detecting them," she says.

I share this fear with Red. "Pah, you'll probably go thinking you have one and be told you have none."

Wishful thinking...

So, at 6:30 this morning, the alarm goes off. It's an early start. I have to be at the British Hernia Centre for 11am.

By 8 the missus and I have breakfasted, and we are out the door by 8:30am for the 8:49 train to London. It's due in at Victoria at 10:05, giving us just shy of an hour to get to Hendon. It's gonna be tight-ish but doable.

Doable if all runs smoothly, that is. Which it never does when you're dealing with London trains and transport. The train pulled in at Victoria at 10:17. Bad start. By the time we took the Tube, had to get off because of delays, took another, and ended up at our destination, we were about 15 minutes late. I had the courtesy to call ahead and warn them, but I hate being late nonetheless.

For my consultation I had prepared a list of questions.

Can I really leave the same day as the surgery?
What about taking the train the same day? And therefore getting to the station etc? Or is it best not to move much?
How long does the operation take? And if they use local anaesthetic, can my wife be present to help take my mind off things?
How soon can it be done?

Theses questions seem so lame, but I tried to write down any thought that occurred to me. And besides, I'm such a big girl!

First things first, though: drop trou. The surgeon has a feel. He asks me to cough. Ditto. Ditto. Ditto.

"So, where is this lump you see?" he asks. I show him. We discuss the visit to my family doctor and the fact that Red doesn't even see the offending lump, even though my doctor had agreed it was a hernia.

"I side with your wife," he eventually says. "I don't believe that's a hernia."

Now this dude is (or was) in The Guinness Book of Records for the most hernia surgeries in a five-day week, so I figure if anyone knows a hernia, it's him.

He was reluctant to put a name to it, and that's fair enough given that he specializes in hernias, which this apparently ain't. But he said to leave it alone, to "forget the word hernia". And if it gives me any trouble later on (it doesn't really right now), then we can talk again.

I'm confused.

And Red insists I call her Master, cos she was right all along.

I do so, though I'm no less confused. But I am happy.

Then we headed into Soho for burgers, and who should walk past our window seat three times talking on his phone, but Andy Serkis of Gollum fame. Bless him.

A problem of perception

2008-11-09T10:26:00.002Z

My mother-in-law is German. She also eats at restaurants sometimes. I know that's something of a non-sequitur, but bear with me.

So, I've noticed in the past few years that she's never been mad keen on my having tattoos visible at restaurants we go to when in Italy. More specifically, on me wearing a vest-type top at a restaurant. But I sometimes have, cos it's been summer and warm and, well, I like to keep things a bit rock 'n' roll.

The funny thing is, often in these same restaurants, of whatever standard, the waiters and waitresses also have tattoos and sometimes engage me in conversation about them. I may occasionally catch her looking disgusted or, sadly, uttering schifo ("disgusting") under her breath, utterly bemused at why anyone would find tattoos appealing, interesting, or attractive even.

So it was that, on a not-particularly warm evening while in Italy last week, the family and a couple of family friends headed out to a nearby pizzeria. While eating, it warmed up a bit and I rolled up the sleeves of my sensible pullover.

Soon after, one of our number, a young woman who I'd not met properly before, asked me about the visible tattoos. She seemed interested, probably never knowing anyone with much tattooage, and so I indulged her and answered as best I could. She asked how many more I had, and among others I mentioned that my entire back was tattooed. She asked what it was.

Given that my Italian is about okay but not great for in-depth explanation of a tattoo, I turned to Red and asked, "Do you think it's okay to show my backpiece?" I should add that I don't usually strip on demand, and I would not normally do so in a public place, but we made up about half of the pizzeria's entire client base at that point in the evening, and nobody beyond our table would be seeing much in the way of skin.

Red approved, so I turned around in my seat and lifted my top (trying to keep my belly as out of view of other punters as possible!). Much gaspage ensued, since it was the first time my back had been seen by five people at the table, but Red's mum was not happy. This didn't surprise me, because apart from her not liking tattoos, she probably thought it was rude to flash. Which is kind of fair enough.

Then the conversation took a most unexpected turn, much of which I could either not hear or not follow. But it seems that she was concerned. She, as a German, seemed to think that most people believe those with tattoos are Neo-Nazis. This was an interesting twist! It had never occurred to me -- and nor, frankly, should it have, since it's really quite an absurd notion.

Other people interjected that there was a clear difference between fascist tattoos and (for want of a better term) art tattoos or enthusiast tattoos -- i.e., the sort of bright, colourful, well-executed, luxury-item tattoos that cost a lot of money.

Of course, even in Germany, which does have its share of Neo-Nazi problems, there are some of the world's best tattooists these days. They are certainly not filling their days making swastikas on people's skin.

I know it's just an age thing on the mother-in-law's part, but I was kind of shocked. And while I assume she doesn't actually believe I'm an undercover skinhead, it's a bit sad that she worries others might think so.

So, I'm interested: Do you know anyone, in this day and age, who might jump to the same conclusion if they saw a fairly heavily tattooed man in their vicinity? Would you? And/or would that opinion change according to the length of their hair?

Mister Rascal

2008-11-06T16:35:00.005Z

I love this. It makes me smile.

And here's a version that my American cousins should be able to see, albeit in a longer version:

U.S.A., New S.A.

2008-11-05T09:05:00.004Z

Well, I can hardly let this momentous occasion pass without thought and comment.

Back in the early part of the year, I must say I was supporting Hillary Clinton over Barack Obama for the Democratic choice. I felt Obama lacked drive in all the speeches I saw. But since he defeated her and became the blue candidate, he seems to have come alive.

And of course, for me the idea of another four years of US Republicanism was unthinkable.

It's odd to think that, had the world been voting, rather than US citizens, there would never have been even a seed of doubt about who would win. For us, George Bush has ruined America, making it a land of ridicule. We wonder who would not only vote for someone like Bush in the first place, but furthermore why they would then vote him in again. He is, we mostly believe, a complete idiot with no redeeming qualities.

But his second term was surely his undoing. Not content with having taken the nation -- and the world -- into unjustified war, he has now seen his country fall into financial ruin. His reward: bye-bye Republican leadership.

And for whom does the USA vote? As George Costanza would put it: the opposite. Not an old, unintelligible, white fool, but a young, articulate and intelligent black man. I couldn't be happier about the prospects for America's future right now.

For the past six and a half years, the wife and I have been waiting to return to the United States but have been loath to give money to a Bush regime. (I apologize to my American friends for not helping their economy, of course.) Now, finally, we can return. Not right now, and not until after the inauguration in January -- but it's there, on the horizon, as a place we can now visit again.

FTW: "fuck the world" or "for the win"? Well, Bush fucked the world, and now Obama's for the win.

Feck.

2008-10-23T10:31:00.002+01:00

Doctor says I have a hernia. That'll be the third of my life. What the fuck is up with that?

And as much as I hate that my body clearly loves doing this shit to me, I hate even more that the end result is surgery. I don't wanna be chopped up and go through all the recuperation stuff again. It's just not fun. I like fun stuff.

So I'm feeling a bit down, but I know I have to just get on with my shit. Still, the news isn't even 24 hours old yet (even if I was fairly convinced of it a few days ago), so I guess I can allow myself a little moping time, right?

Titanic story update

2008-10-19T11:05:00.002+01:00

In a somewhat uplifting end to the story of the oldest Titanic survivor having to sell her memorabilia from the ill-fated ship, 96-year-old Millvina Dean actually raised some £30,000 at auction, rather than the £3,000 that had been estimated. You can read the BBC News story here.

Up ship creek

2008-10-16T14:22:00.002+01:00

Get your thoughtsicles around this news story. It's a pretty sad state of affairs, the way we treat our old folks.

Madonna and Mr Madonna to split up

2008-10-15T18:04:00.005+01:00

I know, I know, he's got a name. He's an esteemed director. Did I say "esteemed"? Sorry, I meant "steaming pile of shite", my bad.

Anyway, here the BBC News website promises us "the marriage's memorable moments". I wonder if it includes my favourite memorable moment: the one where Guy (see, his name is just like guy, dude, bloke) sneakily glances at his watch while Madge is trying to adopt some little African kid.

What's up, guy, things moving a little too slow for you? Got something better to do, another flop to make maybe.

Losers!

My only regret is that they should announce this just as Madge's biggest fan has had a glamorous wedding in Vegas. Big love to Candy and the Stagg Man, and congrats!

Things I’d like to see... #1

2008-10-03T11:48:00.001+01:00

This little cunt fed to crocodiles.

I'm sure more "things I'd like to see" will follow.

I went to Berlin

2008-09-17T17:56:00.003+01:00

It was awesome. But I've been thrown into a whirlwind of work since coming back, so I have hardly had time to digest and cogitate and all that, much less go through my pics. But I will, I promise, as soon as I can.

I even have pictures of accordions.

Hope all my buddies out there in blogland are well.

’Tis done

2008-08-26T18:57:00.001+01:00

And there was music...

2008-08-21T23:55:00.007+01:00

Stop me if you've heard this before. A couple of nights ago, I went to see Gallows...

No, really, this is a different story to the last three I've posted in the past 10 or 12 weeks.

I actually haven't even had time to process fully the whole evening, co I've just been too damn busy with work, but it was a fucking great night (if you discount the frankly very unappealing eggs and chips I had before the show and the bland omelette the wife ordered; shoulda known better!).

So we got to the venue at about 8:30. We were in the queue just behind guitarists Lags's parents, whom we'd met at the last show. This time we were better able to converse since at this point the volume was quieter. Well, we were outside, fighting off only the sounds of rain falling and drummer Lee chatting to chicks in the phone booth!

On entry we caught the last few bars of the first act, Throats. It was a shame to miss them, but this became something of a theme for the evening. We headed in to check out who was up next, but it was Lakes and we'd seen them before. I'm just not crazy enough about them to see them again.

We headed back to the bar to keep an eye open for some of the guys and gals we'd met last time and some other forum members of whom we had yet to make the acquaintance. And they began to turn up from all angles. I shan't go to town with names because I appreciate some people may not want their business posted up. But a great little brotherhood stood around chatting and excited with the anticipation of what ("probably") would be Gallows' last London show of 2008. Fuck.

We chatted so much, in fact, that several of us missed the third band, Hexes. I actually had intended to see these guys but I'm not too sad since it's nice to shoot the breeze and hang out.

Gallows' set was the longest I've seen, lasting pretty much for an hour, I think, and including the recent free download "Gold Dust" and new songs "London Is the Reason" and "Misery", which I don't think I'd heard before, as well as three oldies that I've personally not seen live previously: "Black Heart Queen" (which was a likely candidate for the setlist since the show was being played under the pseudonym Black Heart Kings rather than as Gallows), "Sick of Feeling Sick", and "Just Because You Sleep Next to Me Doesn't Mean You're Safe". Additional tracks included "Come Friendly Bombs", "Abandon Ship", "In the Belly of a Shark", "Rolling With the Punches", and set closer "Orchestra of Wolves".

Another awesome fucking night of rock 'n' roll fun.

Didn't have time to stay behind and chat for long afterwards, since we had a longish drive back home from London, only to have to turn around and do it all again on Wednesday night to see Alkaline Trio...

Words please, part two

2008-08-17T16:22:00.005+01:00

I almost actually included this at the end of my previous post, and then I decided against it. Indeed, in some ways, that post had been inspired by my seeing a certain man on TV the night before. That man was John Shuttleworth.

And since I wrote that post, the song with which Shuttleworth (not his real name) reached #4 in the charts 30 years ago this month has been making many appearances around my personage.

In the form of this Facebook group, for example, and even a T-shirt with a picture of UK prime minister Gordon Brown on it.

So, without further ado, I present "Jilted John" by Jilted John. And although it's only a silly little novelty punk record, I have to ask: Is there any way in which all the subtle nuances of this track could possibly be conveyed without lyrics? I rather think not.

The words, since I said please and all (though I have not proofread them or anything [no time], so don't go blaming me if they're wrong):

I've being going out with a girl
Her name is Julie
But last night she said to me
While we were watching telly

This is what she said………

She said "Listen John I love you
But there's this bloke I fancy
I don't want to two time you
So it's the end for you and me."

"Who's this bloke?" I asked her
"Gordon," she replied
"Not that puff!" I said dismayed
"yes, but he's no puff," she cried.
"He's more of a man than you'll ever be."

Here we go -- 2, 3, 4

I was so upset that I cried
All the way to the chip shop
When I came out there was Gordon
Standing at the bus stop

And guess who was with him?
Yeah Julie
And they were both laughing at me

Oh she's cruel and heartless
To pack me for Gordon
Just because he's better looking than me
Just because he's cool and trendy

But I know he's a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron
Gordon is a moron

Here we go -- 2, 3, 4

Oh! She's a slag
And he's a creep
She's a tart
He's very cheap
She is a slut
He thinks he's tough
She's a bitch
He is a puff

Yeah yeah - it's not fair
Yeah yeah - it's not fair

I'm so upset
I'm so upset
I'm so upset

I ought to smash his face in
Yeah - but he's bigger than me - ain't he
I know I'll get my mate paddy to hit him
He'd flatten him
Yeah but Paddy's a mate of Gordon ain't he
Ah well - I don't care
Oh I don't care.

Words please

2008-08-14T10:45:00.010+01:00

I had a friend request on my MySpace yesterday from an Italian band called Mondrian Oak. As I always do with music requests, I listened to a bit of one of their tracks before deciding whether or not to accept.

On it went and it was okay. But it went on a little longer and no words were forthcoming. So I skipped ahead, and still no words. I checked out their band members: nobody credited as vocalist or singer.

I had to decline their request, cos I don't really understand music without words. I just don't get it. This is an opinion I have held since childhood. For me, it's virtually all about the lyrics.

I watch a film, and someone might say, "What a great score." And I'll go, "Really? Can't say I noticed." Occasionally, though, a score will strike me and I'll like it, like the one in There Will Be Blood. But that was like non-music -- like atmpospherics, industrial noise, and music all rolled into one. And that's different.

Equally, if someone said to me to listen to a particular piece of scoring, then I could listen to it and give an honest opinion of how it worked in conjunction with the film's images. But all too often I feel that movie music tends to manipulate me, the viewer, towards an emotion that the director was unable to take me via the acting. That's lazy scoring, and I just block it out, subconsciously.

A few months ago, I was at a nice lunch with some colleagues, and a piece of classical music was playing (don't ask me what or whom). One of my fellow diners got very impassioned about an upcoming part and urged us to pay attention. I did. But meh. I just ... I just don't know...

Maybe I'm a product of my time, like Marc Bolan, "a 20th-century boy".

And when I watch University Challenge and the music round comes up, I'm always gutted that they focus on classical so much. But the funny thing is, nine times out of ten, these kids, when faced with something "pop" or "rock" from the past 50 years, have no clue what it is they're listening to. That's just plain weird for me.

Blurg

2008-08-11T11:07:00.005+01:00

It's been a week since my last post. I don't know what to write really. I'm feeling a bit blurg. Not ill; just blurg.

Went to the tattooist last Tuesday for my penultimate sitting on my backpiece. Loving how it's looking and can't wait for it to be done. Not cos I'm bored of it, but because I just want it to be complete and awesome. And then I can start thinking of my next pieces. Well, of course I already am thinking of my next pieces, and I have at least three ideas loosely sketched out in my head, maybe four.

Yesterday, the missus and I went for our regular constitutional at Whitstable beach. As ever, it was lovely, and a nice day for it. Rather too nice in fact, since I burned the fuck out of my neck. Then we went to see the movie Mamma Mia! I really don't know what we were thinking. Truly, truly awful. But I knew it would be, despite the rather glowing review it received in Sight & Sound. I almost feel like writing that revered journal of cinema a letter of complaint for misrepresentation.

What else? Meh, nothing really. Still v busy with work, hence my continued absence from both here and from your blogs. Sorry guys. I will get back on track soon, I promise. And I'm not even crossing my fingers.

Solomon Grundy, for real

2008-08-04T19:44:00.005+01:00

I write this with no malice or insensitivity intended, but it just struck me how tragically Solomon Grundy-like the subhead was for this news report:

"The British couple shot on their honeymoon in Antigua will be buried together after a funeral service at the church where they were married three weeks earlier."

I hate the way they are reporting this as a botched robbery. Like any newlywed couple on the last day of their honeymoon would put up any resistance to armed intruders. They'd be, like, "Just take everything you want and go, please." People are cunts.

Anniversary dining, part two

2008-08-03T14:35:00.004+01:00

So, unfortunately, the second of our intentionally posh meals turned out not to be as posh as we'd hoped, bourgeois cunts that we are.

As we arrived at the hotel, first impressions were not promising. It looked just a little ... yesteryear, shall we say?

Second impressions neither -- being told by the "hostess" that she hadn't been pre-warned of our arrival. Not that it mattered really because seemingly nobody ever comes here.

The venue was a hotel just a couple of minutes' drive from Canterbury town centre, and were it not for the presence of a large table full of people in town for the 14th Lambeth Conference, there would have been just six diners. The quite loud American and Canadian priests and pals on the big table made me feel far more comfortable and less in need of hushed tones.

I ordered the French onion soup to start, followed by the poached chicken breast in a mushroom, cream, and tarragon sauce and served with boiled vegetables. Red had the same main but prefaced it with a salad of Portobello mushrooms and Brie.

The starters were good, the main not bad, though Red couldn't finish hers. I also opted for the chef's "legendary" double-baked cheesecake. Unfortunately the menu did not mention that after being baked twice the cheesecake would then be smothered with sour cream or crème fraîche or yogurt or something equally sour and vile. I scraped all that crap off and ate as much of the pud as I could. And it was not bad, though I would hesitate to call it legendary.

So, all in all a slightly disappointing but serviceable dinner, but it was always going to be impossible to follow our lunch.

No pix from either meal, I'm afraid, cos we just wanted to chill and enjoy our food. So often, anyway, when we take a camera, we are always so eager to eat that we end up forgetting one course or the other, or indeed try reassembling after the first couple of forkfuls in order to take a snap!

Thanks for the well wishes, y'all. Laters!

Happy anniversary to me and Red!

2008-08-02T16:12:00.003+01:00

Self-congratulatory, perhaps, but what the heck, eh?

It's 11 years today since we tied the proverbial knot, and we're dining in style, eating at not one but two posh restaurants, greedy pigs that we are.

Why?

Well, because we'd initially tried to book in at our favourite local restaurant for dinner: Read's at Faversham. They were fully booked for both lunch and dinner, so we opted for dinner elsewhere. Then we had a short-notice call to say a cancellation for lunch meant a table was now available if we wanted it. By then we'd already booked dinner and didn't really want to cancel.

Lunch was gorgeous, by the way. I had the terrine of confit chicken followed by beef on a potato rosti and spinach in a red-wine sauce. De-fucking-licious. Red had a salad to start and a main course of chicken wrapped in Parma ham, served on a bed of spinach and with a creamy mushroom sauce and a Mr Whippy-style swirl of mashed potato.

Oh, so heavenly. But given that we are dining out tonight, too, neither of us opted for dessert.

Seconds out, round two... [to be continued]

Free Gallows gig!

2008-07-27T15:22:00.007+01:00

I mentioned there was some Gallows news, and there was. On Wednesday night the missus and I went to a magazine launch where Gallows were playing. In terms of Gallows' invited guests it was forum users only plus one guest each. A free gig!

It was a strange affair (apart from the gig element), since almost nobody seemed to see a copy of the magazine being launched. The magazine is called Relentless, launched by the producer of the energy drink of the same name, which in turn is owned by Satan. Sorry, I mean Coca-Cola.

We arrived at about 9pm and after grabbing a couple of waters from the free bar (yep, free bar!), we set about looking for the cloakroom. There wasn't one. Um, okay... So we each kept hold of our drinks and coats. Great. We looked around, admired the venue, and then I saw one of the guys from the forum. Bazza is the father of drummer Lee.

Now, you, dear reader, know me: nobody sees my face online. So when I gave a one-finger salute to Bazza (no, not that kind of one-finger salute), I was aware that he would have bugger-all idea who I was. But he made his way over and I introduced myself and Red. It was the first of several forum MIRLs of the evening. We chatted for a wee while before the show, and he introduced us to another forum user and her hubby: the parents of lead guitarist Lags. It's so cool that the bands' folks go the gigs, I think. When I was in a band, way back when, my parents came to two or three gigs we did.

Not only were there no cloakrooms, there was no air conditioning or any fans of any sort either. And it was hot as fuck in there. So as the appointed kick-off time of 10pm approached, we thought we'd grab a little fresh air outside. Haha, we'd not counted on the fresh air being cigarette flavoured, cos of course smokers couldn't light up inside. One of the bouncers told us we could go outside the main gate as long as our stamps were still visible on our hands. It was much less smoky there.

We chit-chatted like you do, and I looked to see if I could spot any other faces from the forum, but most people's avatars are so tiny that it was difficult to be certain of anyone. Meanwhile, people came and went through the gate. One of the bouncers seemed a tad militant about who was coming and going. "He takes his job very seriously," I mockingly said to the wife.

We headed back in, flashing our stamps twice on the 10-metre journey. We headed toward the stage and the guys were just getting ready to start playing. I noticed at least one bouncer in front of the stage. "Oh, that's not going to go down well," I thought. I may have even said it out loud, but I can't remember now.

--------------

Backstory
Gallows don't like crowd control. They like small venues where the audience and band can merge more or less at will. Stage diving is part of the show. Band members getting in among the crowd is part of the show. It's a big fucking party atmosphere.

--------------

They launch into "Come Friendly Bombs". I'm not fully aware what's going on yet, but within 30 seconds or so the band is stopping and telling the bouncer to fuck off and that he's been a prick all evening. They announce to the crowd that he has been trying to score coke off them all afternoon, and they "don't even do coke". Singer Frank says he'll be back in two minutes and off he goes, presumably with the bouncer, though I don't see.

When he returns he tells us that we can now be in charge of ourselves and have a good time. At this point I see he's bleeding from his forehead and a bruise is coming up on his cheek. I don't know at this point where these wounds have come from, but I read later online that he did it himself with the microphone.

Back into "Come Friendly Bombs" we go. From the top, as one might say. The lines about "black knuckles and broken teeth" and how people "wanna kick my fuckin' head in just to feel alive" seem horribly appropriate.

As does the title of the next song, the new "Black Eyes", if that indeed should wind up being its actual title. The next new song follows before we crash into the ever-awesome "Rolling With The Punches", which is one of my personal favourites.

The new song "Love Leeches" (formerly known, perhaps jokingly, as "Swedophile") follows.

By now, Frank's back is scratched and bloody. He spent some time writhing on the floor of the stage. Clearly it was not a great surface for such antics. He's probably gonna be sore in the morning.

Despite having seen Gallows three times in the past three months, I'm getting some of the new songs mixed up. I find myself too much in the moment to pay the right amount of attention to which songs are which. Too much in the moment? Is that possible? Either way, I know that I enjoyed them all. I'm not sure which one, but one of them seemed to have a chorus that said "You're a bunch of cunts" over and over. How could I not like that one? Was it the one about the Catholic Church, or am I getting confused?

Next up was the classic "Abandon Ship", which seems to be the favourite of many, many fans. And not for nothing. It's so fucking sing-along-able!

Then new song "Botched" according to the setlist, though it may have been introduced as "London Is the Reason"; then "In the Belly of a Shark", which has been their opening gambit the previous two shows I've seen; then the grand finale: "Orchestra of Wolves".

Man, what a blast. The missus and I grab another couple of drinks and decide to try to catch up with some other forummers before heading home. There are only a couple who I definitely recognize, so I head over. From there, we are introduced to another couple. Everyone is really nice and friendly! We hang some more, then someone mentions we should say hey to drummer Lee.

We do, and a photo is taken. Then Frank comes out and we have a chat about the bouncer and some other stuff. Hey, I'm not the type to chat and tell!

We say our goodbyes and exchange details of which is the next Gallows gig we're going to. More MIRLing coming up, then.

We head off and...

... what's this? Oh yeah, a £60 parking fine. I guess there's no such thing as a free gig, no matter how great the evening had been.

Frank in the pit

Emos and goths to be criminalized in Russia

2008-07-24T06:53:00.002+01:00

What the fuck is this shit?

Click here.

I missed a Wednesday, but luckily another one came along

2008-07-16T18:15:00.003+01:00

What with travelling to London for work for the whole of last week and then buying a new (used) car and getting on top of my workload here, I haven't got around to posting in aaaaaages.

Anyways, hope you all are well, those of you who are still taking the time to come here and see if I've written anything new.

So, what's up?

Well, we have a new (used) car. Smaller engine and smaller body equals more miles to the gallon and greater likelihood of Red driving. Result! She's called Georgina.

There's some Gallows news, too, but I won't bore you all with it. Suffice to say: another gig, free, soon.

And a question: how is it possible to make a T-shirt that has no seams running down the sides? None at all. No seams on a T-shirt? Is this some kind of fucking wizardry? I'm very baffled.

Oops, it’s Wednesday again already...

2008-07-02T12:13:00.006+01:00

So that's a whole week passing by without a whole lot to say. I dunno. Blog lethargy has set in for a whole bunch of people, I guess, including me.

It's not that I've totally done nothing, but it's fair to say I've done nothing much (though we did meet up with some new peeps on the weekend; see here for deets). I didn't even get started on that short video project I mentioned last time. I intend to, though. Maybe today. But first I have to go shopping for a new car. Yeah... bummer.

Yesterday, Red and I looked out the window and saw it was a glorious day, so we decided not to work. That's the raddest thing about working from home. If it's a quiet week and the weather is nice, you can just skip work. We headed out to the seaside -- Broadstairs, to be precise.

We wandered the lovely streets, set foot on the sand briefly, wandered some more, went and ate a pizza at a nice little Italian restaurant, wandered some more, went and had tea and cake at a delightful little café, wandered some more, and then headed back home, stopping off for a sit down on the beach at Whitstable en route.

Once there, we plonked ourselves down, kicked off our shoes, and just sat in a shady spot watching the sea retreating from the shore. Just chillaxing, y'know?

By the time we got back home it was just after 6pm, and we found a card saying that the postman had been unable to deliver a package cos it was too big for our slot. Red said she had an idea that it might be from Captain Karen...

The rest of the early evening passed uneventfully, until the music and singing next door alerted us to a birthday in the house. Fuck. And on it went until after 1am. Tossers.

Anyways... At 8:15 this morning I headed down to the sorting office to collect the parcel, and it was from Karen!

I rushed back home, the missus grabbed the scissors, and we cut our way into our box o' goodies. And what goodies they were! Maple Leaf cream-filled cookies, saskatoon jam (look out breakfast time!), and a book called How to Be a Canadian, which may be pretty timely since we heard Canada is looking for emigrants and we might just look into that...

Thank you, lovely Captain for your lovely gifts. As ever, they are much appreciated and will be put to good use, of that you can be sure!

Well, that's all the news that's fit to print for another day, so catch you on the flipside, guys 'n' gals.

Is it Wednesday already?

2008-06-25T13:59:00.002+01:00

It's my dad's birthday today. He's 61.

On Monday I had another two and a half hours' work done on my tattoo backpiece. It's looking so motherfucking rad now, man. I really love it. Which is a good thing, cos it would kind of be a problem now if I didn't, wouldn't it?! According to my little black book, that puts the total time spent in the chair so far at 12 hours. And unlike some tattooers, Xam tends to be working the whole of that time, rather than taking phone calls and shooting the shit with passers-by. As a client I really appreciate the difference. He reckons we'll be pretty much done in about another two sessions, or around five hours.

This week's session was the most painful yet. There were times when I was thinking I'd have to stop. I've never experienced that before. But I kept saying to myself, "If I tap out now, it's another six weeks or so until I get back here." That was enough to spur me on and endure the discomfort.

What else...?

Oh yeah, I sent Shea a copy of the short film I made (whisper it) 11 years ago, coupled with a music video from the following year, I think. It'll be interesting to hear what he thinks of them. If I ever get around to it, I might even post them up on here someday.

I've set myself a small film-making challenge for this week, too, so I hope to get that started and finished in the next couple of days.

Italy went out of the European Cup, losing to Spain on penalties. That sucked, but they didn't play so great.

If you've not been over to my movie reviews (such as they are) in recent weeks, there has been some activity there, though I confess to having been a little lax. I'm trying to get on top of that shit, cos I'm watching some good films at the moment.

I'm sure I had some other stuff to write about, but it's gone clean out of my head. Oh well, probably wasn't very important. Not as important as me getting downstairs to deal with the washing up, anyway. So, off I go.

More cookery for y’all

2008-06-21T15:32:00.003+01:00

Here is me and Red trying to make pancakes:

And here, in case you missed it, is Shea and Andy's original video of the same recipe:

Haha, she must of dun dis 4 tha lulz, rite?!!11

2008-06-19T15:20:00.003+01:00

I pissed myself reading this Faith Book post this morning. Come on, puh-leeze? It makes me puke a little in my mouth.

Cat. Arm. Shagging.

2008-06-18T09:46:00.003+01:00

I get quite a few hits to this blog from people typing "cat humping arm" and similar search terms into Google. This is because of this post written more than two years ago.

In the time that has passed since, Cat has completely given up on shagging my arm. I think it's because -- SLIGHTLY DISTURBING MENTAL IMAGE ALERT! -- one night, as he, ahem, finished, he caught his, ahem, cathood(?) in my bracelet. Since that night he has shunned my forearms in favour of Red's. She's getting it every which way most evenings. In fact, if she doesn't get a visit in the dark as we're readying ourselves for the Land of Nod, we suspect the wee lad is feeling under the weather.

But today a new low (or high) has been hit.

Checking our respective mail, Facebook, MySpace, forums, etc before breakfast (my God, we've become Intraweb slaves!) we were joined by Cat in the office space.

"Mau," he said.
"Hey, kitty," I replied.
"Mau."
"'Sup dude?"
"Mau."
"Yeah, just a minute and we'll come and have breakfast with you."
"Mau."
"Shhh."
"Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ..."

Red decided to go see what he wanted. Five minutes later she returned.

"He just wanted sex," she said. "He's quiet now." And so he was. I'm wondering now whether it was "Ma" that he was saying. And also whether I can learn a thing or two from him when it comes to getting my wicked way.

Blogging. And Candy.

2008-06-16T10:52:00.004+01:00

It's almost a cliche that when a blogger doesn't know what to write about, he or she will write about blogging. Well, that's not really what this post is, but it kind of is.

When I woke up this morning, I had this feeling that the bottom has fallen out of blogging, but then I thought, "No, perhaps it's just me."

When I started this, about 27 months ago, I was writing a lot. Writing often, that is, albeit often short entries, and these tended to be based on news stories.

Lots of other folks seemed to have started at about the same time. I won't link cos I'm lazy, but you all know who they are: Cappy, Four Dinners, Candy, Steve Dullard, The English Ranter. These few peeps seemed to be my first contacts in blogland, and it was great.

Over the two years that have passed, Cappy and 4D have reinvented themselves a couple of times; Steve disappeared, reappeared and disappeared again; and the English Ranter slowly wound down. I've slowed my pace and have sometimes wondered whether I can be arsed to continue.

But Candy stayed strong, educating us with both high-brow and low-brow posts, mixing pop and politics and everything in between.

Until now.

Although I've never met her, she's one of the best friends I've made on the blog circuit, and I've had some great mails and blog exchanges with her, not to mention that we send each other video care parcels on a regular basis, sharing some of the best of our respective countries' TV.

But The Gnostic World Of Candy Minx is now on hiatus. For how long, who knows? One thing is for certain: the world's a duller place without it.

Let's hope it's not dead and just sleeping. Thanks Candy.

Three things to write about

2008-06-12T11:23:00.006+01:00

1. Monday I went and had another 2 hrs 15 mins tattooing done on my backpiece. It's really coming along now. We're probably just over halfway through. It's looking awesome, guys -- or "sick", as Gallows frontman Frank said when he saw it as Xam was working on me, because Frank was tattooing at the shop that day, too.

Some of you have seen how it's looking so far. If you haven't, I'll mail pics to any regulars who are interested, so just leave me a comment to say you wanna.

2. The British government has won the first round in its attempt to increase the detention time for terrorism suspects, taking the time allowed to keep prisoners without charge up to a mammoth 42 days, or six weeks, while they gather the requisite evidence to take them to court. Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?!

This is such bullshit. How many people have we seen arrested and held for the current 28 days only to be released without charge? Quite a few is how many. Holding someone for six weeks, potentially someone who doesn't even know why they are held, since there is no obligation for the police to tell them, is completely fucking bogus. And Gordon Brown (who spookily has the same initials as that other fuckwit) could not even have won this without pulling in reinforcements. The man's a complete arsehole and should be got rid of asap.

3. It's 12 June, and it's thundering. Thundering?! Holy shit. Welcome to summer.

I think Mexico should become the 51st state of the USA

2008-06-10T16:02:00.004+01:00

I can't take full credit for that headline; it was inspired by something Red said. Why? It was just a response to George "W for Wanker" Bush and his assertion that Turkey must join the EU. What the fuck does it have to do with that cock?

Turkey is fast heading towards being an Islamic nation. The current separation of church (or should that be mosque) and state is looking wobbly. And Meathead Bush thinks this is a prime candidate for EU consideration.

Why don't you go back to what you know best, Georgie Boy? Which is... oh yeah: fuck all. Do we come into your house telling who the fuck should be the next US state? No. Why? Because it's none of our business, just like Turkey being in the EU is none of yours. Dickhead.

In other news, the wife and I are celebrating 12 years since our lips first met across a crowded sofa after a day of sitting in the park chit-chatting and eating in cafes in north London. Twelve years! Awww.

And what better way to celebrate than to mourn the appalling performance of the Italian squad in the Euro Cup football tournament last night? 3-0 they lost to the Netherlands (or Holland, or the Dutch). Buffon is a buffoon. Maybe George Bush could have a word with coach Donadoni about who should be in the Italian goal...

Stuff, with a bias towards clothing

2008-06-09T06:57:00.004+01:00

So, the weekend was nice. No need to work, which is always a bonus. Instead the wife and I shopped, watched films and football, chilled, and did a little bit of house-cleaning type of stuff.

I'd been to a work meeting in London on Friday, and whenever I get ready to leave for one of those I tend to lose my mind, realizing I have no clothes to wear. There are very few downsides to working from home 99 per cent of the time; the downsides come, though, when you remember that you don't know what real people look like in a business environment.

Fortunately, being in a "creative" industry means that most people (except managing directors and the like) tend to dress down. Smart casual, y'know. What a great catch-all, almost offensive term that is, right? Jeans are fine, a pair of Converse no problem. T-shirts even.

Except... because I've made the decision to tattoo my forearms, I tend to cover them for meetings at which I'm looking for work. This, in turn, means that, come the hot months, I have to choose lightweight long-sleeved attire. And that's usually my first hurdle when it comes to choosing my "meeting clothes". But like they say in Italy, "Volevi una bicicletta... Pedala." ["You wanted a bike... Pedal." Akin to our "You made your bed, you better lie in it."]

That problem tends to be overcome quickly (if not necessarily always comfortably). The great British summer poses the next hurdle. You never know if what you see through the window at 9:30am is anything like in the same ballpark of what might be happening 50 miles away and one hour later. It's likely, at this time of year, that it will stay warm (if it's already warm), but that doesn't mean you won't get rain, sleet, snow, or who-knows-what else.

So it came to pass that I went looking for a lightweight, mid-season jacket. And I got one, too. Which is a miracle, since when I shop with intent for clothing I'm usually left empty-handed. The best jacket I tried on was a Hugo Boss blazer. Very nice and an absolutely beautiful fit. You can't go wrong with a man who clothed the Nazis, but I wasn't thinking of spending £300 (US$600), so back it went on the hanger. Afterwards I wished I'd haggled. "I'll give you 200," I should have said. What's the worst that could happen?, as Dr Pepper might ask. I'll wait for the sales, perhaps.

In the end I bought something far less dashing but arguably more multipurpose for a third of the price. It'll do the job.

Anyway, I've gone on long enough about my sartorial woes. I'm gonna go have some breakfast and head off into London again. Today, though, it's pleasure not business, for it's time for my next tattooing session on my backpiece. Another three hours of fun.

Have a good week, amigos.

To adapt from MCR: “Evangelists scare the living shit out of me”

2008-06-04T17:37:00.000+01:00

A week or so ago, I watched the Oscar-nominated documentary film Jesus Camp, and while this blog isn't the place where I put my movie reviews (such as they are), I felt I had to at least comment on it here.

You see, it's stayed with me, the evil, vile, manipulative, deceptive, child-abusing nature of these people who run such camps.

How else can you describe people who instil such a fear into children about the devil solely to boost the numbers of Christian followers ready for the holy war against Islam that they are certain will come?

It may well be that one day a holy war will come. I won't deny that. This is not least because Muslims will never be content until the whole world is rid of infidels. That's a problem. But is the solution to this problem really the brainwashing of our kids? (I say "our" in a figurative sense, since I don't breed.)

They tell these kids that they must not read or watch Harry Potter. This is because Harry Potter is a warlock and, as such, to partake of him is sinful. If he were alive in Jesus' time, he would have been put to death, they say. (Well, listen up, freak: he's not alive in our time either. Duh! Yes, this is the one and only time you'll see me defending Harry Potter!)

They tell these kids that they should not tell each other ghost stories in theie dorm room in the dark of night. It's not the Christian thing to do, you see, to dwell on bad stuff.

They fill these kids heads with the belief that babbling incoherently is actually speaking in tongues and a sure sign of the Holy Spirit within. Puh-leeze.

How Middle America cannot see this as the child abuse that it is is beyond me. Jesus Camp "pastor" (read: evil prick) Becky Fischer should burn in Hell, if such a thing exists. Better still, since it's likely Hell doesn't exist, she should burn here on Earth.

I was heartened, however, to read that since the film was made, negative response to the Jesus Camps was so intense that they had to be closed down. Thank Christ for that.

Trailer:

Bill Maher on the movie:

Diamond Skulls launch

2008-05-28T13:37:00.004+01:00

In recent weeks, this blog has become something of A Blog About Gallows, but this is purely coincidental, so those of you who don't share my enthusiasm (firstly, why the hell not?!) need not be too concerned. To be honest, with work taking up as much time as it has, it seems the only things we've actually done in recent weeks has been go to a couple of Gallows gigs, though I also got some more work done on my backpiece tattoo.

Monday night, though, with free tickets in hand, we made our way to Camden Town for the punk-rock gig of the year: the launch night of the Diamond Skulls Social Club.

Gallows were the headline act, and the four supports were, in order of appearance: The Dead Formats, Dead Swans, (Toronto's own) Cancer Bats, and The Ghost of a Thousand. The first band had supported Gallows at the Tap 'n' Tin show a couple of weeks prior, but we'd missed them due to arriving late to the venue, so this was a good chance to play catch-up.

To be fair, all of the support bands put on great performances, even if I wouldn't necessarily buy any of their material at this point in time. Cancer Bats were probably the best of the supports, but tGOAT were also very strong on performance.

Gallows came on at about 10:15 to play about 40 minutes or so. They started with "In the Belly of a Shark" and ended with "Orchestra of Wolves" amid a mass stage invasion (see pic below). In between those songs they also played four new songs, including the three played at Chatham, along with "Rolling with the Punches", "Come Friendly Bombs", and "Abandon Ship".

Throughout the set, singer Frank (see my pretty awesome pic at top) was throwing T-shirts into the audience, and those purchasing shirts got 33% discounts as well as some freebies thrown in. I got a limited-edition signed print with my purchase.

On our way out, Frank was manning the merch stand, chatting with fans and getting photos taken. Overall it was a top-notch night of entertainment, like a mini hardcore/punk-rock festival. Here's to the next Gallows gig...

In the meantime, tonight the wife and I are off out to see one of her current favourite bands, Maxïmo Park, at the Forum. It's exactly 12 years today since she first set eyes on me at the very same venue while watching Manic Street Preachers. Weird, huh?

Bizarro World

2008-05-22T17:53:00.006+01:00

It's contagious, this Bizarro World phenomenon...

A week or so ago, I ordered a lovely Snake Oil (aka Snakred Heart) T-shirt from Frank "Gallows" Carter's newly launched Diamond Skulls Social Club range. They are limited editions, this one of 111, signed and numbered and rather fetching.

Then a few days later, a MySpace bulletin from Gallows said, "Buy a Skulls T-shirt on Monday [19 May], and get a free ticket to the launch party."

I'd been toying with the idea of buying another shirt anyway, cos I really liked the cranberry-red Skull one, so a free ticket for the launch night, at which four bands including Gallows are due to play, seemed a ridiculously good deal. I ordered my shirt and wondered whether it was just a gag...

Today the new shirt arrived -- limited edition of 50, this one -- with NOT ONE BUT TWO free tickets in the package -- that's added value of £20 (US$40) on ordering a £30 shirt. How fucking cool is that?! Not to mention bizarro.

Here's a link for those of you who want to purchase a shirt or two yourselves.

Confession

2008-05-21T06:51:00.002+01:00

Readers, forgive me. It's been ten whole days since my last post.

Truth is, in that time I've done almost nothing but work. I don't even think I've watched any films.

I've not really got much to say.

We're holding on to a little hope that we may get some tickets for the Maxïmo Park gig next Wednesday. I'm still in two minds about us going to another Gallows show on Monday. I have shitloads of work to do, so I'll get back to it.

Sorry I haven't been getting round to any of your blogs either. When I'm busy, I'm busy. Even the weekend I worked till 7pm both nights, so it's not huge fun.

Anyways, it's 7am and I'm gonna go and start my 12-hour day. Wish me luck...

Gallows at Tap 'n' Tin

2008-05-11T14:54:00.010+01:00

I have no idea what goes on in mainstream music these days, no idea at all. But in the sort of magazines I read, Gallows is a big-name English band. Those of you who play Guitar Hero III will find their song "In the Belly of a Shark" tucked away in the Bonus tracks.

They play energetic hardcore/punk, though you'll often see them lumped in with certain emo types and even with metal. I've given up on trying to decipher musical genres anyway: anyone who plays a real fucking instrument is okay with me; I can't stand fucking synthesized pop bollocks full of samples and inanities.

I bought their album pretty much on the back of seeing a gig that was televised on Rockworld TV over here, and it's a great record.

So, when Gallows announced that they were playing a warm-up gig on 10 May in a 260-capacity venue just 20 minutes' drive from my house, I didn't have to hesitate to get tickets.

We got to the venue -- Tap 'n' Tin, in Chatham -- just after 9pm, too late for the first of the support acts. This was due to not knowing where the venue was and not wanting to park too far away from it. Several aborted attempts at both parking and locating the venue led to delays, but it was ultimately the best decision. I don't think anyone relishes the thought of walking Chatham after dark on a Saturday night...

I'm old school, so ideally I like to buy a shirt when I go to a gig. Better still if it's dated, but since the current growing series of gigs Gallows are doing is not really a tour per se, there doesn't appear to be any tour-specific merchandise. No worries. At least I got a shirt (our lateness and the small size of the venue meant there was no queue at the stand). Three of the band members were even hanging out at the merch stand, and guitarist Laurent (or "Lags") sold me mine.

Support band Lakes were okay in places, but to be honest I don't think I'd buy anything by them. It just didn't quite gel for me overall. Maybe their sound wasn't well set up (certainly almost no lyrics were audible), but it was just a bit uninteresting to me.

I don't know what time Gallows finally hit the stage. About 10:15pm maybe. They opened with "In the Belly of a Shark" (the Guitar Hero III track) and did an awesome job of it. After that I sort of lost track, but all the fan favourites were there -- "Abandon Ship", "Rolling with the Punches", "Will Someone Shoot That Fucking Snake", et al -- just as you'd expect, along with at least three new tracks getting their debut airing, the best of which for me was "Graves".

The gig ended with "Orchestra of Wolves", vocalist Frank Carter making his exit in crowd-surfing style (see pic below) as the audience chanted the final refrain: "The hardest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return".

The gig was proper awesome, and even Red, who had not exactly looked forward to it since she's not mad on Gallows' music, gladly admitted that they put on an excellent show. Big love to her for trying to take some pix, but the lighting was so small-venue bad that it was all but impossible to get anything decent from our vantage point, stood on chairs at the side, hoping we were far enough from the crowd-surfers and circle pit (which we were)!

Here's the lads in action in their video for "Abandon Ship".

And here's some pix from us:

Singing from the same hymn sheet

2008-05-09T09:30:00.005+01:00

A few weeks ago, some e-mail discussion between my missus and Shea ended up with the idea that she would send him a recipe and he would try to cook it, documenting his efforts via the gift of video.

In the meantime, she and I decided to do the same -- partly as a visual guide for Shea in his efforts, and partly because I like shooting and editing video. Our finished vid is posted here, as regular readers will know.

But now, Shea and Avid Andy have shot their own version of the same dish. Go and check it out by clicking here, please. It's very funny and well worth a few minutes of your time.

Thanks for being such good sports, Andy and Shea, and we look forward to hearing what challenge you set for us next...

Should the missus and I start a YouTube cookery channel?

2008-05-05T14:35:00.003+01:00

Feeling peckish?

Here's our first attempt at shooting a recipe on the fly. Enjoy!

I short chew might like chew shee zhish

2008-05-04T11:07:00.005+01:00

What is with the way Liza Minnelli talks?! "Shtart shpreading the newzh", and all that? Anyway, ridiculous as that is, it pales in comparison to what a complete fucking talentless, pitchy, piece-of-shit performer she has become.

Witness the clip below, courtesy of YouTube, of a show I saw on Italian TV in our hotel when in Seville. Fast-forward to 5:22 when she gets into her shtride with "New York, New York", and schtick with it if you can.

Sherioushly, if she were an unknown in thish day and age, she would be laughed off any shtage she grayshed. Embarrashing. Give up, Lizha, and make room for shum new talent.

Lesbians ahoy!

2008-05-01T16:20:00.002+01:00

You couldn't make this shit up!

Post #800, wherein I share some video from Seville

2008-04-30T15:11:00.006+01:00

This footage was shot in the grounds of the Casa de Pilatos. Some sources will tell you that this building has this name because it was built based on the designs of Pontius Pilate's house. That is bollocks, at least according to our guide around the house. It's because -- quick history lesson -- back in the day when they used to have a Stations of the Cross thingumajig through the city of Seville, this location was the one that correlated to Pilate washing his hands of Christ's crucifixion. Don't say you never learn anything here...

Anyway, what is amazing, and what you can't really tell from the way I've had to edit the video, is that so many different beautiful sights are visible from almost any spot you choose to stand in. So much so that it's difficult to know where to point your camera. So I just keep pointing and shooting and cross fingers that something decent will come out in the edit. Hope you see something you like, even it's just the bearded woman breastfeeding a baby.

Post #799, wherein it’s black-news day

2008-04-26T07:41:00.004+01:00

Wesley Snipes goes to prison for three years for tax evasion...

... on the same day that three NYC cops are acquitted of any wrongdoing over the 50-shot shooting of an unarmed black man outside a nightclub.

Meanwhile, we're told that controversial headline act Jay-Z will "be brilliant for Glastonbury. He's the best rapper of all-time and I think he'll knock it out of the park," by that bastion of music criticism Gwyneth Paltrow.

Post #798, wherein I wish...

2008-04-23T11:47:00.001+01:00

... that somebody sometime would make St George's Day a national holiday in this godforsaken country.

Happy St George's Day to one and all!

Post #797, wherein I take a moment to remind people

2008-04-19T12:45:00.001+01:00

GORDON BROWN IS A CUNT. Just in case anyone had forgotten.

Post #796, wherein I get to some details about my holiday

2008-04-18T09:43:00.004+01:00

So, we were all hopped up and ready for our brief stay in warm and sunny Seville. And then, just a couple of days before we left, it suddenly became apparent that it was going to be rainy and grey. Bugger. What can you do? We'd booked our tickets with hand luggage only, so we were committed to not taking big coats and cool-weather clothing...

"Well," I said, "It's not like weather forecasts are always accurate. Let's take a chance."

It's hard to travel hand luggage only, especially when you are allowed literally only one bag each, and that bag must weigh less than 10kg (22lb), and you want to cram in a video camera and stills camera and a couple of shirts and T-shirts and some spare trousers or two and clean underwear and socks and maybe some spare shoes... Hard, yes, but not impossible.

First things first, though: on arrival at the airport we had to queue at Ryanair's customer-service point to make sure our online-printed boarding passes were okay, since they said we were Irish (which we aren't) and that our passports expired on 1 January (which they hadn't). All fine; problem with the computer system. Phew!

------

We arrived late to Seville, and yet it still wasn't dark. That's always nice and summery-feeling. It got me off on the right foot. And with our hand luggage only we went straight to the cab rank and got a car straightaway. He drove like a complete maniac, doing about 130km/h (80mph) on streets that didn't seem built for such speeds, undertaking cars as we went. But at least that meant we got to our hotel quicker than we might otherwise have expected.

We checked in, freshened up, and headed straight out to one of our favourite haunts in the city, the Cervezeria Giralda, where we incredibly managed to bag a table really quickly, after ordering our first round of drinks and tapas, but before we'd managed even a mouthful, I think.

We ordered the tortilla al comino, so beloved of our last visit, along with a couple of other old favourites and some new dishes too. We drank beer and took pictures, and we wandered back to our hotel room sated and happy to be back in this great town. Tomorrow we would start our walking in earnest.

We had decided in advance that we would eat breakfast at the hotel. At least on the Sunday morning, anyway, rather than struggling to find somewhere open early enough. So we did, and it was good. Hotel breakfasts in the buffet style are usually good, but when you're paying €14 (£11, US$22) a head, you simply need to make sure you get your money's worth. So we did. Various cuts of ham were consumed, along with bacon, tortilla, doughnuts, coffee, and orange juice. A breakfast in preparation for a day's walking.

And off we set to the Plaza de España, hoping this time that it would be even more wonderful than the last time we saw it. Sadly, this time around a lot of it was boarded up for renovations. We didn't mind too much since we'd seen it before anyway, but it would have been nicer to see in all its glory. It was more unfortunate that the waterway that runs in the grounds was, once again, void of water. I was really hoping to see it in this context this time around. Guess we'll just have to come back again sometime.

But we did see some festive chariots carrying señoritas in their best Feria clothing. That was cool. (Video footage to follow soon-ish.)

And we did get accosted by some gypsies wanting to force rosemary upon us and read our palms. I managed to get away with paying mine only about 80c for her trouble. She didn't seem too pleased with that and seemed to be implying I should pay her €5 for each palm read. I just shrugged like I didn't know what she was saying.

And I'm glad I did. Discussions with my better half just a few minutes later revealed that she indeed had paid €10 for the great privilege of being told our children would be beautiful. Oh, joy!

Of course, just before having our futures read, a vending man had come running up to me screaming before grabbing me by the arm. "Lucio! Lucio!" he was yelling (in that Spanish way, so it sounds like "Loo-thee-oh"). I thought he was on about light or something (luce [loo-che] in Italian, luz [looth] in Spanish), so I just kinda kept walking, shaking my head in bemusement, trying to convey that I had no idea what he was on about. Maybe he was trying to get me to buy one of his fans or something...

Then it became clear. We stopped and started trying to communicate with him.

[One thing about the Spanish we've encountered in both Seville, both times, and Valencia is that regardless of how much you clearly have no idea what they are saying, they will just keep talking. To you or at you, I'm not quite sure. And while this can initially be somewhat frustrating, it's also somehow really very endearing. No amount of incomprehension seems to be an obstacle to their desire to talk to you.]

Over the course of five minutes we established that he liked my tattoos and that the best tattooist in the whole of Spain is Lucio (yes, the word he was shouting at me), who operates at the US base in Rota, near Cadiz. This chap, who told us his name was Fernando, showed me the tattoo of his mother's name and told us that years ago, when he had his done, nobody had tattoos and they were frowned upon by "society". These days, "everybody has them, even babies". He now intends to get his father's name on his other arm and portraits of both parents on his chest. I think we did pretty well understanding all that, being as we're really shit at Spanish!

See, tattoos can bring people together, my friends.

After our walk around the Plaza, we were hungry, so we headed to a little nearby cafe that we'd been to last time around.

The weird thing was, the overhanging trees were insane. Almost everybody sat outside was sneezing as the trees shed their fluffy leafy stuff.

A street musician wandered over to our table just as Red went to the bathroom. He was playing something akin to a guitar but made with twine for strings. He was a black guy, and given the proximity of Africa and its African heritage, I suspect the instrument was African of some time. "You speak English?" he asked, twiddling a little riff on his thing. "Yes," I replied. "Where are you from?" "England."

And that gave him all the ammo he needed to "write" a song for me on the spot. I still remember the lyric fondly. It went something like this:

Englan', Englan', Englan', Englan', Englan'.
Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Englan'.
London, London, London.
Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Englan'.

Ahhh, those words will stay with me a long time.

Post #795, wherein I make promises that I probably can’t keep regarding how soon I’ll hit my 800th post

2008-04-15T18:42:00.004+01:00

Dudes -- I've been a slacker. Sorry and all that, but this week has turned into total fucking mayhem on the work front.

I really wanted to do some posts about Seville. And I will. But I had intended to chop together some video footage first, and that shit takes time. Time I don't have right now.

You wanna know how short of time I am? My tattooist called to say that I could have three hours on Friday cos someone had cancelled an appointment, but I had to turn it down cos I'm too damn busy. Believe, when I'm too busy to go and get tattooed, it means I'm FUCKING busy.

And it's some bad work that's keeping me busy. Proofreading is my least favourite of the strings to my bow. It's the being rooted to the spot for so long, so deep in concentration, keeping track of all the editorial style choices. And it pays the least well of the jobs we do, too. That said, this one is a good rate because it's a short-notice, 11th-hour kinda gig.

So, as alluded in the title, I promise to be back soon with some Seville stories before they all seem too late to write about. And some video clips. In the meantime, the missus is writing about it. But if you're really jonesing for a piece of my own words, don't forget you can always go check out my movie reviews (such as they are).

And anyway, my 800th post seems so damn insignificant now in light of Candy Minx's 1,000th. Not to mention furiousBall's 2,000th of a couple of weeks back. Pah! I'll try to get it done by Monday, though...

Post #794, wherein I do a little poem about being back

2008-04-10T17:57:00.002+01:00

Yes, I'm back.
Seville, Spain, again.
Very nice it was too --
except for the rain.

Post #793, wherein I go fishin’

2008-04-05T07:52:00.001+01:00

Well, not fishin', but I go away. For a few days. Catch you all later. But don't forget to keep clickin' for Liam! Peace out, brothers 'n' sisters.

Post #792, wherein I pimp myself

2008-04-04T10:31:00.004+01:00

I'm sure you're all gagging to read my answers to some questions put to me by fellow blogger Captain Karen, so click here or on the picture of the HMS Swiftsure on the right to check out the interview.

But don't forget to vote for nephew Liam again, too. Click the pic in the post below to take you to the place to go. (Ha, that rhymes! Yes, I'm an idiot.)

Post #791, wherein I pimp my nephew

2008-04-02T15:31:00.004+01:00

Come on, boys and girls! Click the pic below. And then click on the little tab that says Liam and click "vote". That's my nephew wearing some of the NWA duds we bought for him. Come on now, one and all.

I thank you!

Post #790, wherein I tell of a story and of my own involvement in it coming to an end, for now

2008-04-01T17:32:00.005+01:00

Once upon a time, in a land far away from mine, a lady wrote a story. This was no ordinary story, though, and the way in which it would be shared was also to be unique.

The story was called "Skin"; the author was called Shelley Jackson.

And the story was destined to be read by only a small number of people, seemingly just 2,095 in fact. Those 2,095 people would receive their copy of the story in the mail, in a yellow-brown envelope marked "Do Not Bend".

What must one do to receive such a rare and unusual literary work?, you might ask.

Aye, there's the rub...

I received my envelope about ten days ago. In it was my copy of the story, hand-bound, and with one word highlighted with a ring around it.

One word highlighted. One word in a story that contains 2,095 words.

Yes, in order to have received this very special prize, I, along with 2,094 other willing participants, had to "become" a word and have that word tattooed upon myself.

We, the 2,095 words, are the only people who will ever see the story in its entirety.

We, the 2,095 words, are the story.

This has been a long journey.

First, probably in late 2004, I applied to be part of the project, citing my interest in tattooing and my job being in publishing. I told Shelley that I thought this was an exciting project that combined those two worlds.

I was accepted, and I was sent my word, over which I had no choice, in March 2005. I had it tattooed in May 2005 and mailed my photographic evidence and model release back in July.

And now, finally... suddenly... it's all over.

Until I die. Ms Jackson has pledged to try to attend the funerals of all her words. Of course, I hope to outlive her. Is that wrong?

If you are interested in seeing some of the words' tattoos, go here. Mine is on there. Scroll down to "molt."

A.T.

2008-03-30T12:37:00.000+01:00

Grazie.

The death penalty

2008-03-27T16:09:00.007Z

We don't have the death penalty in the UK anymore. The last man sent to the gallows over here was in 1964; the last woman, Ruth Ellis, in 1955.

Truthfully, the death penalty is an abhorrent idea.

But isn't it sometimes just necessary? Isn't it?

I don't often find myself between a rock and a hard place. But this does it to me every time. What to do?

I've spent some time here in recent weeks writing about the attacks on goth couple Sophie Lancaster and Robert Maltby. Both were kicked into a coma. She died. It seems only right that I keep documenting the story.

Two teenage boys have been found guilty in court of her murder. Here they are, on the right. I can't say I wish them anything other than death. I would like it to be a long, drawn-out, painful death.

I wish the same thing upon this chap, too, who so enjoyed killing his 24-year-old victim that he got his girlfriend to take pictures of him next to the corpse afterwards.

Can you really tell me, in the face of indisputable evidence, that there is any real alternative but to rid ourselves of such worthless specimens? They literally do not deserve to live.

Easter came and went

2008-03-26T15:18:00.004Z

Spent most of the weekend working, if only to justify my not working on Tuesday, when, instead, I headed out to the tattooist for two and a half more hours of inkage. Looking rad it is, too. Above is a snippet.

On the subject of tattooing, I heard of the death of one of London's premier tattoo artists a few days ago. Jason Saga had been on my shortlist of artists for consideration when I was looking for a new tattooist about 18 months ago. I found Xam instead, since my wants shifted away from Japanese style and more towards old school. But Jason's site remained in my bookmarks. Upon hearing of his death, I also learned that his wife had occasionally worked as a receptionist at my old tattoo studio. I'd admired her sleeves, and she told me, "My boyfriend Jason did them." I never put two and two together, though, since there are a few Jasons tattooing in London.

This is a sad loss for tattooing, and for British tattooing in particular. Despite the growing popularity of the artform, those of us genuinely interested in getting good work from respected artists are still a fairly small, minority community.

--------------------

Watched a few movies over the weekend. My list of movies still to review is ridiculous now. I think I'll have to cull some, write them off as too far in the past. Or maybe give them a sentence or two and a score.

Here's the list. Feel free to request a review or two!

Requiem
The World's Fastest Indian
Who Killed the Electric Car?
the fountain
Babel
London to Brighton
An Inconvenient Truth
Clapham Junction
Notes on a Scandal
Intacto
TV Junkie
Following
Stage Beauty
Timecode
Apocalypto
Creep
The Warrior and the Princess (aka Princess and the Warrior)
Best Laid Plans
The King
A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints
Since Otar Left
The Bridge
Where the Heart Is
Eight Below
The Notorious Bettie Page
Hostel
Britz
Deep Water
Internal Affairs
A Scanner Darkly
Elf
Following Sean
The Closet
Aprile
Il Caimano
9th Company
Torremolinos 73
Charlie Wilson's War
Planet Terror
The Battle for Haditha
The Passion of The Christ
The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency
Chicken Run.

There Will Be Blood

2008-03-21T15:07:00.002Z

I can't remember a title of a film that so literally but unspectacularly promised what was forthcoming.

Click here, where There Will Be A Review.

I get my Easter stories all mixed up

2008-03-20T18:36:00.005Z

But I know there's something about a Playboy bunny who laid too many chocolate eggs, so Hugh Hefner decreed that she be crucified until she comes back to life, generally two days later. Also, Mel Gibson videoed it all and added loads of blood and gore in postproduction. Heff and Mel are crazy!

Happy Easter to you all. And if you're a Playboy bunny, be careful who sees you laying chocolate. Peace out.

Sheeeeeeet!

2008-03-19T09:16:00.002Z

Captain Birdseye
Anthony Minghella
Arthur C Clarke.

It reminds me of that week when Benny Hill and Frankie Howerd died. Weird when shit happens all in a bunch.

Been real busy with work lately. It's all good. But it wasn't supposed to be a busy time, so I had made other plans: work meetings, periodontist, and a tattoo appointment. Still keeping them all, which of course makes for being even more busy.

At least we've got the long weekend to get on top of work while everyone else is busy stuffing their faces with chocolate eggs.

Oops, where did the time go?

2008-03-16T10:22:00.003Z

We missed it... It was my second blogiversary on Tuesday 11 March. Oh well. Happy blogiversary to me, then, belated.

Thanks for being here, reading, commenting, sending rad gifts once in a while. It's been cool so far. Here's to the next one!

And if you've never left a comment before, why not break your silence now, just so I know you're out there. Cheers to you all.

Pop quiz winner

2008-03-14T10:28:00.003Z

The person who was closest in my quiz, and pretty damn close at that, was Karen. She was correct that it was Edward Elgar, and she was also correct to say Hereford.

If I wanted to be nitpicky, I'd say it wasn't in the countryside; rather, it is almost the centre of the city, since the statue is in the grounds of the wonderful cathedral there. Well done, Karen. What do you win? Just the pride of knowing you're a winner. Isn't that enough?!

(But she knew he had a bicycle... I've got a feeling she had some inside information from somewhere!)

Dare to be different?

2008-03-12T16:11:00.007Z

It's never been a huge amount of fun to dare to be different from the norm. While some people might be fascinated by skinny boys with earrings and makeup, others would rather kill what they don't understand, much as they would a spider or a snake.

So when kids get killed in Arkansas, in the Deep South of the United States, who better to blame it on than the loner kids who dress in black, listen to Metallica, and "worship" Satan? We all know the story of the West Memphis 3.

Or, putting the boot on the other foot, maybe we should think about the ongoing case against the five "children" in Bacup, Lancashire, who kicked and stamped Sophie Lancaster to death and left her boyfriend Robert Maltby in a coma (though he has since come out of it) because they dressed like goths. No other reason. Her face was stamped so forcefully that it bore footprints, and her gender was indiscernible from her face to the first paramedics to arrive.

What is the message here? Dress differently, buck the norm, and you will either be kicked to death or spend your life in prison probably wrongly accused.

As a young man in the late '80s and early '90s, I occasionally had to leave places pretty swiftly for fear of a kicking when wearing kilts and heavy makeup. I've been punched, kicked, or verbally abused at random for the look I was sporting at the time. Fortunately nothing more than that. I wanted to think that things might get better for people who dared to be different. Seems I was lucky to be born when I was. Who'd want to be an emo kid or goth these days? Dare to be different? Good luck to you.

Q: How much do dolphins rock?

2008-03-12T12:30:00.003Z

A: A fucking lot, that's how much.

Just to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that they are the smartest animals on the planet, dolphins now seem to have taken on the task of rescuing less smart marine mammals from an inevitable death. Click here to see what the hell I'm on about.

The boys are back in town

2008-03-11T17:36:00.006Z

Thanks to everyone for my birthday wishes. I had a good deal of fun, even though it was a tiring weekend and we had to make certain compromises regarding "the pox".

Here are the boys, in the heart of cow and cider country. So, who knows where they are, and who knows whom this statue depicts (just for fun, y'know)?

I’m gonna party like it’s my birthday

2008-03-07T07:26:00.002Z

Cos it's my motherfucking birthday, yo!

Off to cow and cider country this morning, so I'll catch y'all after the weekend.

The decision...

2008-03-06T15:17:00.005Z

Those who have been visitors for more than few minutes know that I'm not a total cunt. Sometimes I can be a bit of a cunt, but I'm pretty much not a total cunt.

So, the decision of whether or not to come clean to the B&Bs was a foregone conclusion before I even posted that post.

Not long after I posted, at just after 10am in fact, I called both B&Bs and put the conundrum to them. To my surprise and pleasure, they were both perfectly accommodating, so all is groovy. I still sort of feel there's an issue of "the world at large", so to speak, but the missus should be in a state of contagiousness rather than infectiousness by about now.

Like Glamourpuss, we too would rather not risk the karma. We're pretty good at trying to avoid doing anything that might have bad karmic repercussions, and yet somehow we don't always feel that karma has smiled as favourably upon as she might have, all things considered.

It makes you think, "I might as well just be a total cunt." At least that way it's no surprise when bad shit happens.

A pox on you!

2008-03-06T09:21:00.004Z

Those of you who go to my missus's blog will know that she has been diagnosed with chickenpox this week. We are proper gutted. She especially, obviously, because she's always tried to be über-careful, not socializing with any friends whose kids have not had it and that sort of thing.

We are doubly gutted because this coincides with my birthday weekend, and we are supposed to be going away to see my family, including our new three-month-old nephew. But now she won't be able to see the nephew cos he's too young to be exposed to the chickenpox virus.

And we are also wondering whether we ought to come clean with the B&Bs and/or restaurants that we have booked for the weekend. If I ran a B&B, I probably would not want someone staying if they had chickenpox...

That said, if we had gone last weekend, she would have been at least as contagious but nobody would have even known about it.

So, moral dilemma: should we come clean and risk being asked not to come? Or should we just go anyway and risk infecting anyone who comes near, just so we don't have to change our plans?

Scrappy cats

2008-03-05T09:39:00.005Z

The night before last, we noticed that Cat was limping (click his name to see what he says about the experience). He wasn't limping a lot, but I'm pretty observant when it comes to animal behaviour. One time, we had been at Red's mum's house about two minutes, straight off the plane, and I saw the cat and said, "She's got something wrong with her paw, I think her claws are too long," and sure enough one had grown so long that it had punctured her pad. Straight to the vet.

Anyways, back to our very own Cat. We took hold of him and tried gently squeezing his foot to see if it elicited any kind of reaction. Nothing, just an overbearing sense of "Fucking humans" on his part.

So we left it overnight, but there was no obvious improvement. Yesterday morning we ummed and aahed about whether or not to go to the vet, just to be on the safe side, eventually deciding to go.

The vet had a good look around and manipulated the leg in all possible ways, getting hissed at in the process. (Not by me.) And -- voilà! -- there he found a small cat bite resulting from one of the many fights Cat seems to get himself into. So now we're into antibiotics-land. Oh, the joy...

Did I mention...?

2008-03-04T18:25:00.001Z

It's my bloody birthday week this week, innit? Gonna be celebrating on Friday. 'Citing!

The NME Awards: my view

2008-03-01T09:59:00.007Z

Well, where to start...?

The NME, for those who don't know, is a music paper. It's been around for decades and is a rite of passage for any teenager into music that is a little non-mainstream. It is, traditionally, the champion of the "indie" spirit; or at least it was, back when there were other weekly music papers. Now it's something of a loner out there in printed-medium land.

I am long since past the age of the target audience of the NME, and the lineups of nominees served to emphasize that. They also served to emphasize my feeling that British music is in a horrendous state. I still listen to music every day. (By "listen to music", I mean music that I choose, not simply what bombards me from the radio or some other passive means.) Much of the music I choose is new, too. In recent months, the wife and I have bought albums by Coheed & Cambria, Gallows, and The Used and have downloaded tracks by acts such as Atreyu. Admittedly, these are not very NME-friendly artists, being a bit more on the rock/metal end of the spectrum.

These artists are also very American (except for Gallows, of course, who are just back from their US tour, where they were even supported by Rise Against in Chicago; told you you should go, Candy!). And the NME prefers British music. But British music has become a limp, dull, grey piece of shit, populated by ~~George Formby~~ Arctic Monkeys, Klaxons, and other faceless blurg...

That said, this year's NME Awards gave me not one but two reasons to tune in. This is extremely rare.

Back in 1985 or thereabouts a schoolgirl friend of mine (for I was 15 at the time) lent me two records by an artist who still appears to this day on my list of "favourite music". His poetic lyrics set to a caustic solo electric guitar was truly music to my ears.

A few years later, the NME (for I too spent many years in that rite of passage) alerted me and my countryfolk to a band from a small town in Wales. Wales? That was a joke, right? I mean, nothing good comes out of Wales, save for the road to England. But the NME alerted us to this band only to pour scorn upon them. They were the music press's latest whipping boys, a laughing stock, a band that wanted to make one album, get to #1, and split up in a blaze of glory. They cited Public Enemy and Guns N' Roses as influences and sang words such as "I laughed when Lennon got shot" on their debut single, also provocatively titled "Motown Junk". They too would quickly become hugely important to me and are still, to this day, the band I have seen live more than any other.

The former was Billy Bragg; the latter, Manic Street Preachers. Both (at one time, at least) purveyors of lyrics with a message. Both heroes of mine. Both, all these years later, on the same televised music-awards show aimed at a new generation.

Billy Bragg was performing with a relative newcomer to the scene: Kate Nash. For me, seeing Bragg and Nash sing together was a deeply embarrassing affair. Nash writes some of the most horrendous lyrics known to man. She has tried and failed to capture some of the wit and style of The Streets and Lily Allen, but she has ended up sounding like French & Saunders doing a piss-take of that genre. And for Bragg to have fallen for her well-hidden charms is a huge shame in my book. The unholy pair performed a pseudo medley of her hit "Foundation" and his classic "A New England". Oh, why, Lord, why? Kate Nash is a fraudulent cunt, and Bragg must be a fool for not realizing.

And the Manics were given the Godlike Genius award. Yeah, they were godlike geniuses. Once. The year was 1994. The album was The Holy Bible. That's when they were godlike geniuses. After that, it all slowly started to turn to shit, both for them and for those of us who followed them. After getting their award they played some songs. On TV they showed two of these: the epic "Motorcycle Emptiness" from the 1991 debut album; and the fucking godawful "Your Love Alone Is Not Enough" from 2007. These days, even the former sounded shit, slowed down and, seemingly, played in a slightly lower key, reducing its power considerably. Both the NME and the Manics seem happy to sweep their previous incompatibilities under the rug of history. I am not so forgetful.

What do people say: "You can never go back"? Yeah, I think that sounds about right.

Beach bums

2008-02-27T14:05:00.004Z

When you're a kung-fu master, there's almost nothing better than hanging out with your pirate friend on the beach. Sure, being made of twine makes swimming a bit of a problem, but you can stand around on the pebbles and look pretty fucking groovy. It's also cool to shout "Cunts!" at passers-by, or to laugh at the way the local youths are so illiterate that they can't even spell the most essential of curse words:

But I like to do my bit for those less fortunate, too.

I'm glad Karen sent me to Kent. It's fun here! (As long as you're not a real person...)

And now the Oscars

2008-02-25T09:24:00.004Z

Best Film: No Country for Old Men
Best Directing: Coen Brothers, No Country for Old Men
Best Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis, There Will Be Blood
Best Actress: Marion Cotillard, La Vie en Rose
Best Supporting Actor: Javier Bardem, No Country for Old Men
Best Supporting Actress: Tilda Swinton, Michael Clayton

So, acting-wise, it seems the rest of the world is giving America a masterclass. No surprises there, given that most American movies these days don't require much work of their actors: hence they don't build their talents in quite the same way.

Controversial opinion maybe, and certainly I'm not denying that there are some great American actors out there. But most of those who are truly great have tried spreading their wings a little beyond their own comfort zones.

Truth be told, of course, No Country for Old Men was not the best film of the year. I mean, it wasn't even the best film of the year that I saw, and I saw very few new releases. It was okay, nothing more. Honestly, I thought Sweeney Todd was better, and you'll be able to read my review of that soon, over at that other blog of mine.

First, the Razzies

2008-02-24T15:49:00.000Z

Worst film: I Know Who Killed Me
Worst actor: Eddie Murphy in Norbit
Worst actress (tie): Lindsay Lohan as twin sisters Aubrey and Dakota in I Know Who Killed Me
Worst supporting actress: Murphy in Norbit
Worst supporting actor: Murphy in Norbit
Worst screen couple: Lohan & Lohan in I Know Who Killed Me
Worst remake or rip-off: I Know Who Killed Me, based on several films
Worst prequel or sequel: Daddy Day Camp
Worst director: Chris Siverston for I Know Who Killed Me
Worst screenplay: Jeffrey Hammond for I Know Who Killed Me
Worst excuse for a horror movie (New Category): I Know Who Killed Me

Tomorrow, the Oscars.

And now for something completely different...

2008-02-21T09:55:00.005Z

I never thought I'd see the day when I post a picture of Paris Hilton on my blog. It's not that I'm a Paris hater as such; just that I don't think she is particularly interesting or of much value to the world at large. But then, who among us is, in the grand scheme of things?

Anyway, here she is, in a great Photoshopped photo, courtesy of Freaking News. Click to big it up for a closer look. (All rights reserved, and all that.)

Birthday girls and payment fascists

2008-02-19T09:48:00.004Z

It's one of those times... those times when I'm too busy to post much or to get around and visit many blogpals. Those of you who check in at Such As They Are will notice my daily posts there have dried up for a wee while too. Time, time, time...

My workload... our workload, really, since the wife and I help each other with projects as the need arises... is like that. You can be doing very little for a few weeks, even months, and then suddenly you're snapped into 12-hour days and considering doing after-dinner shifts too.

"Can't complain" is our mantra at such times. "It's all money towards the mortgage." And it's true, we can't complain; it's all money towards the mortgage.

But some people don't pay on time. Some people take the piss when it comes to paying. I'm currently chasing an invoice for work we did in mid-November. It's annoying. Especially so because we are expected to continue delivering work on time for the same client. Gets my goat.

Pah!

But I'm trying to find time to play my Scrabulous moves, and mostly I'm keeping on top of that!

And I'm even getting birthday packages sent out on time. Today it's my niece's 10th birthday. Double figures at last! You remember hitting double figures, what a momentous birthday occasion that is? I bet she's super-psyched today.

I had the Devil's own time trying to find her the one gift she really wanted. Not to mention having to embarrass myself at three different shops: HMV, Zavvi, and WH Smith. What was it she wanted? The Pop Party 5 CD. I still couldn't get it. Prices ranged from £8 to £16 within just a few metres of each other, but the £8 shops were out of stock, and I sure as hell wasn't going to pay £16. Anyway, long story short, Zavvi ordered it for me at the £8 price, but who knows when she'll get it in the mail...?

Still, in the meantime she's got a T-shirt, a Dirty Dancing CD, and some badges to keep her happy.

Anyway, I dunno what else to write so I'm off to do some work. Ta-ra for now, amigos.