I have the head of a wolf

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.

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

* 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?”

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.

I do like a big crack

A couple of weeks ago, the wife and I went for a bit of a wander along the Southbank in London. It was the weekend that my dad and his brood were visiting. We left them at the Tower of London and went off for a bit of "us time". We soon found ourselves at the Tate Modern art gallery.

Every few months at the Tate they have a new piece in the foyer, and I was keen to see the latest work that had received so much press attention.

Here it is, and that's me touching a piece of modern art.





Looks impressive from above, right? Well, it's actually about twice the length of what you can see here. It's really quite awesome.





Yep, you could lose a small child in there. Now there's an idea... Indeed, there are safety officers up and down the whole length making sure no one falls in!

Of course, everyone wants to know how they did it. How did artist Doris Salcedo manage to put a fucking great crack down the length of the Tate's floor? Well, she ain't telling. And fair enough.

A man walks into a dentist’s surgery...

Sound like the beginning of a joke? Well, it's no laughing matter.

But before that, the wife and I went for some lunch. As you might know, I like a decent burger now and then. And when I'm in central London, I like to indulge my palate with a visit to Hamburger Union. There are several branches, but yesterday we went to the one on Tottenham Court Road. But once we placed our order and took our seats, we remembered that the last time we went there we ended up feeling a little sad.

You see, right above the table that we have taken on both visits there is a print on the wall. A quick glance reveals that it's a picture of Noah's Ark, braving huge crashing waves. However, and grab a Kleenex now, on closer inspection you can see that the ark, which is full to capacity, has had to tow a smaller boat behind it, and upon this secondary vessel stands a pair of dinosaurs. The dinosaurs are also wearing inflatable rubber rings around their long necks.

I mean, how sad is that?

Well, after the yummy burger I could delay the inevitable no longer. First the hygienist. Apart from the fact that I have T-shirts older than the woman who was let loose inside my mouth with sharp and dangerous tools, this part of the visit went okay-ish. Nothing I didn't already know.

The dentist proper was a different story. Man, how I hate those initial anaesthetizing jabs. The needle is about 3ft long and she sticks it in, pulls it halfway back out then pushes it back in at an adjusted angle. And after that one she does the same with another needle. Like, ow.

Then she got me all prepped, with the green rubber sheet with a hole in it to isolate the tooth that is to be worked on. Once the area seemed numb enough, on with the drilling. To be honest, I don't have a major problem with this part of the process. So long as I'm suitably anaesthetized, it's all good. For me, it's the fact that I have to lie there with my mouth fairly wide open for an hour. That's hard work.

So, drill and file and dig and file and drill ad infinitum. All the fun of the fair, it was. And drill and file and dig and file and drill some more. And we're done. Then the not-great news. She wasn't able to finish it, but that had been half-expected anyway. The worse news? Because one of the canals goes off at a funny angle, she can't get all the way down it. Options: live with it and see how it goes; or go to a specialist who SHOULD be able to get to it.

Now, the specialist will charge around £800 ($1,600) for this treatment. And given that I'm already paying the best part of £500 ($1,000) for the work my dentist is doing on it, I'm sure as hell not going to pay yet more for someone else to maybe not be able to finish it. To be honest, I wish I'd had all the facts at the outset, though I appreciate she may not have known how tough the canal would have been to get down. It's a curved one, apparently. But armed with all this info and a list of costings, I might have simply decided to remove the offending article. "If thy [tooth] offends thee, pluck it out" kind of thing.

Oh well.

So I go back for the second phase of the job on Monday the 19th. Looking forward to reliving the whole thing again, obviously.

Well, that's all for today. Over and out, amigos.

Tuesday miscellany

There's a man outside my house holding a stop/go board. It's temporary, to control traffic flow. Why do they need to control traffic flow? Because a plot of land half a dozen doors away from us is today becoming two houses. I looked down the road and there's an enormous crane. And on the road beside it, ready to be hoisted into place, is a house, covered in what looks like polystyrene (Styrofoam) sheeting.

It's come to this. Alongside this lovely little terrace of Victorian houses built in 1847, some cunt is dumping a pair of fucking prefabs. I foresee the day when some oik in local council decides they ought to rip down these eleven 160-year-old houses because they are spoiling the otherwise modern look of the area...

Today my brother is in Cardiff. Why on earth would he go to Cardiff?, you might ask. And it's a fair question. Other than going to check out Captain Jack's Torchwood base, I can see no other reason. But he's there for the first round of auditions for the new season of The X Factor. [That's kind of like American Idol, for those of you on the other side of the Atlantic.] The celebrity judges aren't at these early try-outs, so he won't get to meet Cowell. But he does have a history with the high-waistbanded one. Let's hope it doesn't affect his chances should he get through this first stage.

This evening, we have to pay the plumber. Y'know, for the work done in the kitchen. I say plumber, but he is really more like the foreman, since he arranges everything with all the other contractors. Indeed, he wasn't even present when our ktchen was done, because he was on holiday in the south of France. It seems like a long time to wait to pay him, but believe me, it's almost as difficult to get this guy to give us a bill as it was to get a quote out of him in the place!

At the weekend, I'm going to see my family. It will be the first time I have seen my mum, my sister, my brother, and most other family members in 18 months. Because they all never come to see us, y'see? So unless we go to them, we get bupkis on the visiting front. We've booked into a couple of B&Bs. This morning, we had to scour Google to try to remember the name of one of the ones we booked. I had booked it over the phone a couple of months ago and hadn't made a note of its name anywhere. Eventually we plumped for one in the same area and asked if they knew the name of any other B&Bs on that road, because we didn't know where we'd booked. The nice Welsh lady was very obliging. Now we know where we're going! What a plonker!

Other than that, I got nothing. I have a couple of projects that are due to finish today, and then tomorrow, Red and I are off to the dentist in the West End of old London town. So, we might even take in a bite to eat. Make the most of it. People are more attractive in London than they are where we live, so we may as well soak it up while we're there...

“Friday night’s here / What’s the scene?”

The oven is on, preheating, and soon I will put my pizza in it to cook. Not one that I made; I'm not that smart. It's a bought frozen one, but they're okay once in a while. Meanwhile, Red will have leftover chilli from last night, which I cooked. Chilli sin carne is one of my specialities, but last night's was a little lacking in seasoning, so I'll rectify that for her when I recook it today.

And then we'll be preparing to go to The London again. Specifically, The Camden Town, for tonight is the long-awaited gig night. (We don't get out much, as you can tell!) Omaha, Nebraska's finest, Mr Conor Oberst, aka Bright Eyes, will be performing for our listening pleasure. Very exciting.

So, I'll catch up with y'all over the weekend.

Ooh, first, though, I have to choose my ensemble, as does the missus. Ooh, what to wear? What will make us blend in with the undoubtedly 20-something crowd? What will prevent them asking us, "Are you in the right place, Gramps?"

Jeans, for sure. Converse? Do you even need to ask? Maybe a stripey pullover? Aaahh, but it's in the washing basket! (I'll give it a sniff. Might be okay. Plus, do you think I'll smell any worse than 20-something Londoners? I think not!)