Wine Tasting Hangovers

I wish I knew about wine. I know enough to drink it of course, but that is not enough. Picking a bottle purely for the pretty label just doesn't cut it. I could spend 3 quid or 20, it doesn't matter, I am a wine heathen.

I certainly have the nose for it, a big hooter, with ample nostril space for fume inhalation. Years of picking have gifted me this fine protrusion, I have a nostril cavity volume of at least 0.4 cubic metres. But its not how big your nose is, it's how you use it of course.

I can't pick out the aromas of oak barrels, fields of lavendar, plums, saddle leather, burnt raisin, gooseberries, blackberries, cinnamon, spice, chocolate, dandelion, marine iguana, elk urine etc etc...

So I'm going to book myself on a course some day, when I'm feeling less lazy.

Last night we had a wine tasting in the village pub, which normally starts civilised but ends in me vomiting when I get home and falling asleep with just my pants on with my hair hanging lankly in the toilet bowl. I usually get "discovered" about 5am by my other half (who refuses to be named on myspace as she thinks some redneck from Idaho will read my blog, be offended, fly over and kill us while we sleep) and I strenouously deny being drunk and claim I was only "having a rest" whilst leaning against the shower curtain and then falling into the bath.

Last night I was very good, as I didn't have 3 pints of guinness to start. I do have a headache today, but I only mixed white, rose and red wines, followed by JD and coke. So not too bad really. No vomiting.

The Dandy Highwayman

I asked my other half today whether I could have a highwayman costume for my birthday in March, I'd heard Adam Ant on the radio, and I really want to be a dandy highwayman.

The fog has inspired me this week, as I imagine myself with my handy musket and mask, big swooshing cape and dainty peaked cap, jumping out from behind a tree and scream "stand and deliver" to a merchant and his wife. She faints, half in fear, half in awe, half in love (three halves, yes, she's complicated) when she realises who she is dealing with, The dashing Phantom Melis, scourge of the Bedfordshire marshes. I would kiss her hand, pocket her wedding ring, then have a change of heart and pop it back on her finger with a wink.

She (my other half, not the mercants wife in my fantasy) said it wouldn't be worth it, she is not going to buy me a highwaymans outfit, not even the big swooshing cape on its own. I'd be so lazy my horse would die, because I would expect it to fend for itself, then be useless at committing crimes, expecting people to queue up at my door to be robbed and not actually making an effort to go outside as it would be too muddy/cold/windy/rainy/hot to wear a big swooshing cape.

She said I would be the only outlaw who wasn't wanted by the authorities as I hadn't committed any crimes. I still want a big cape and mask though, muahahahahahah.

Reality hurts.

Dick and Dom! And the Duke Spirit gig

Yesterday, had radio 6 on through the night, and when I woke I was greeted with This Mortal Coils cover of "Song to the Siren" originally by Tim Buckley. I hadn't heard it in ages, theres a melancholy and intensity to it. So beautiful, Liz Fraser's voice is amazing too. It set me up nicely for the day, left me feeling chilled, sad, but also full of hope. I just found it on someone's page on myspace, had the same effect again, going to not listen to it for a while now, to keep those moments in music special.

But anyway, I digress, we were on a work do and I got my photo taken with Dick and Dom in the ice bar! (the ice bar is gimmicky shit by the way). I'm feeling quite embarrased about it now, as I'd necked a few drinks, and we were plucking up courage to say hello, and even though I'm sure they'd wanted us to f*ck off and leave them alone they were totally professional, patient and we got our photo. Even when I shouted in their faces "I love you guys! I'd wake up early on saturdays to watch you!" spitting remenants of my last meal over them. The response was one of pity mixed with fear.... but ever so polite. "oh.. thankyou". I saw he was looking for the door, to plan an escape in case I was going to kill him. I could sense that in Dicks eyes, but f*ck it, its Dick and Dom man! They're the best!

So, onto the Duke Spirit, me and the bossman were there, right at the front, a gig we'd been looking forward to for some time.

The support band I have to say were excellent, The Congretation play honest blues, what a voice, you can't fake that sound they generated, I was impressed. here they are -

Next up the Duke Spirit! Here's the set list...

A lot of new songs so we didn't know what we'd end up with... but suffice to say it was superb, new songs, old, it didn't matter, they were magnificent. And the new touches with strings and brass hit the spot too.

The Duke Spirit are an amazing band, punk/blues and excellent songwriting and vocals. I hope 2007 will be their year, although selfishly it is great seeing them in small venues!

I cant wait till the new albums out.... we didn't ask for photos with the band who were in the bar after the gig.... dick and dom was too much celeb excitement for me in one day.

Curse You Fatso!

I've put on half a stone in little over two weeks. Just goes to show that that extra slice of pizza, that lazy skip of my gym fix, I'm hooked again, back on the junk..... my skinny fit t-shirts just look shit now. I wont wear them at the moment, in case I stretch tit marks into them. I need endorphines, I need them raging through me, I need to go for a run tomorrow, get the fitness vibe back into my lazy arse head. I *will* go for a run tomorrow, after my chocolate croissant...mmmmm! Nooooo!!!! Throw it in the bin, go for a run... yummy chocolate oozing out of puff pastry... aaggghhh

And why are work sending me to Munich next week? That means biscuits, stollen, massive sausages, pretzels and weissbier...mmmm delicious! Noooo! I feel like eating, Nooooooo!!!! Wear lederhosen! Do a happy slap dance in the town square with a large Bavarian gent and get fit!

Exercise! pull yourself together! Snap out of it. But what about the three christmas do's this week, and Duke Spirit playing on Wednesday night, your favourite band... surely you'll have a drink and maybe get hungry..... Ahhhh! Stop it! Stop it! This is torture. Why doesn't eating give you a six pack huh?

Escape from Paris

For those of you that know me, I am socially inept outside of my comfort zone, for those of you that don't, well, you know now. If I'm with friends, I'm fine, if I'm not then I become utterly self conscious and turn into Dustin Hoffman's character in Rain Man. Even though I might be wearing an awesome ensemble of well chosen clothing, I imagine myself to be wearing a stained raincoat like Columbo, have slumped shoulders, a face tick and drool. My personal self image in times of crisis needs working on.

So when my flight from La Coruna to heathrow was turned away due to adverse weather conditions, and had to land in Paris, then realised my mate Bry was going to get a cab to try and catch a connecting flight to his meeting in Copenhagen, the idiot savant inside me swelled till I was overcome with uselessness.

They ushered us into an airport restaurant where they served us our prison nosh of a piece of meat and a dollop of mash. I plucked up my courage and asked three spanish people whether I could join their table for four, and they of course welcomed me, I wasn't the shambling monstrosity I imagined myself to be and they treated me like a human. Luckily, one of them was an English teacher, so I spoke to him and avoided the spanish dude opposite who had sideburns much more lush than mine, the bastard. He also had a stunning adidas retro zip up track top, black with orange stripes, the bastard. But I was happy with the fact he had a side parting and looked like a twat. But then I thought, what if his side parting was an ironic fashion statement? Maybe this was deliberate and not something his mum had brushed over for him? I tried to tackle this quandry in my mind. Oh, the shallowness of vanity, the teetering balance between success and failure in hair combing. I rarely comb mine, I tell people its because I want to look like a french film director, but my other half told me I looked like a tramp the other day....

I digress, so then on to the hotel they had booked for us overnight, I knew it would be an awful scrum to check in. I offered to carry an old spanish ladies heavy bag down the stairs, I think she thought I was mugging her as she yelled at her husband to chase me, oh the shame.

Then the mad rush into the bus, then the mad rush to check into our hotel. Human dignity, morality and philanthropy is spirited away at times like this, there are no niceities, survival of the fittest rules. I don't try and trample over my fellow man, so I waited politely as others rushed for their rooms. Although I could have let rage take me over (I'd have only thrown the oranges at reception at my fellow passengers like a demented bitch) i detached myself from it all, waited till I got my room, and then breathed a sigh of relief until 4am when we had to queue for the bus, at the airport, for the flight.... arrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!! Got back to heathrow late morning on Friday. Still exhausted, still haunted and feeling decidedley uncrissmassy.

The staff who were supposed to look after us in Paris were inconsitent, sometimes apathetic and avoided us with their long faces and shrugging demeanor. In preparation for this blog, one of my eminent relatives was encouraging me to be more disparaging about the whole experience, I think to satisfy her xenophobic blood lust. But I can't lower myself to do this, even if they were a bunch of smug frogs.

Galicia

I´m over in Spain at the moment, the north west corner to be exact. The hotel I´m in obviously heard I was visiting so set up a laptop with internet access for me. Landed on Sunday, in wind and rainswept La Coruna. Had seafood meal there, love the octopus, have migrated to Santiago now. Its a wonderful little city, full of culture, narrow pedestrianised streets and a famous cathedral where many a good pilgrim had walked to from Rome.

Had more octopus, in fact, we spent a good few hours on a pub crawl eating tapas and drinking beer and white wine, it was Monday though, so clearly we were seen as English winos, had a sleep from 7pm till 10pm, then felt ill having eaten three loaves, two galician cod pies, several octopods, some squid, chorizo and a leg of ham, including the hoof. Oh and a pigs ear an alsation would have died for. All delicious. Stayed awake till 4am feeling full.

Today, me and Bry drive to Portugal, and tomorrow Arsenal play Porto, should be a giggle.

Arctic Exploration

I've always had a fascination with Arctic/Antarctic exploration. And when I visited Iceland recently I had a whole 3 hours of it and felt the chill in my soul as well as my bones, when I realised I was down to the last three hobnobs in my supplies, and the firm thighs of my fellow explorers looked appealing as I imagined them sizzling in seal blubber.

I felt like Shackleton, Scott, Peary, Ross, Nansen, and when my sunglasses (snow goggles for the day) flew off in the breeze, I bravely reached down and retrieved them from a crevasse that was at least 12 inches deep.

Juliette and the Licks Photos - ULU

So here it was, one of my fave bands playing in my fave London venue - the University of London Union. Didn't realise they were licensed to play late (JL got on at 11.10) so the Bossman, Trigger and CD had to scarper for their last trains, leaving me on my tod, and they only got to see the quirky barrage of odd hippy punk that is Larrikin Love. Note, the guitarist/main plough operator had about 4 hairstyles on the go, but he didn't care. They came on after 10pm, and everyone was pretty steaming by then, so the mosh pit was jostling but not too crazy....

By the time JL came on, everyone (apart from me, as I was driving) was a drunk flailing mentalist down the front. I just wanted some pap shots, so I took my bruises and retreated, standing next to this huge heavy metal lank haired monster. Truly he was an immovable object and if any eight stone student so much as brushed his black string vest a stiff arm would flex out and twat down the buzzing mosquito. He did it with an impassive grace, and fixed expression, like a character from a Sergio Leone movie. Such detached professionalism impressed me, taking no pleasure in his business of mashing kids in the face, eyes fixed on stage throughout his endeavors.

I wish I got a photo of him, he was cool.

Anyway, I did get some photos of Juliette and the Licks.....

After she did her customary crowd surf I just took a random photo into the frenzied darkness. Not very flattering but made me crack up, her armpit and someones hand in her gusset. Lovely. I don't think I got her good side, and she doesn't look like a side of beef in real life.

thankyou and goodnight... last night in the UK for some months now!

The Intrepid Fox

Sounds like the recently closed and historic landmark pub the Intrepid Fox is re-opening nearby after the original was sold off to property developers. Woo hoo! I'm not in the know so I haven't a clue where it will be other than "near Tottenham Court Road", I'll just wait till it opens, they'll probably have some celebs in on opening night, like Clive Dunn, Frankie Dettori, Princess Michael of Kent and George Galloway and Nick Griffin having a semi-naked oiled wrestling contest to the sounds of whooping goths.

If you're there, take photos please. I wanna see Galloways nibs (again). Hope he also does that robotic dancing in a leotard like in big brother, oh and that Nick Griffin gets bummed by a Masai warrior.

Donegal

Just back from Donegal, had a great time. It is a beautiful place, and I could picture myself living there. Stone cottage, log fire, irish wolfhounds, a long coat to keep out the chill. I would suck on a clay pipe carved in the image of a mermaid and look to the horizon, squinting my eyes as the biting wind hits me, the expanse of the atlantic all encompassing. I would be a novelist, an eccentric outsider, but always willing to play chess with the local fishermen who would pat me on the back and insist on buying me a pint of Guinness. A rugged weather lined Heathcliffe type anti-hero, a bohemian artwank in every sense of the word. Then the friends we were staying with told me the nearest tesco was a 90 minute drive away.
Bollocks to that! Thinking ahead about my shopping? I can't do that! I would starve, as would my irish wolfhounds who would rip me to pieces in a fit of hunger. I got frightened about my premonition of impending death, plans to migrate cancelled, the north west coast of ireland is not for urban lazy fuckers like me.

Iceland pics 4 (more Go! Team)

More Go! Team pics...

Iceland pics - set 3 (go! team)

I normally listen to introspective fuzzy self indulgement morose bollocks, so when a band like the go! team hit the stage, all you can do is grin and dance like a loon, even if you can't dance, like me! They are hard to pigeon hole, so I wont try, but if you put a cheerlead troupe fronting my bloody valentine it gives you some indication of how different they are.

They are the most fun you can have at a gig. Seen them at the 100 club, electric ballroom, the astoria and now Rejkyavik Art Museum! Ninja the lead singer is just infectious, and talks in that chirpy norf london accent I sometimes regress into myself when I'm back in my old 'hood. Don't know why I think she is from North London when the go! team are from Brighton but whatever....

Friday night in Rejkyavik is something to behold, its when the locals go on the rampage, like their ancestors did in their longboats some centuries ago. Starting off the evening drinking at home, around 11pm the place explodes. I didn't try the beer/vodka combo that the guidebooks suggested, because I'm a lightweight.... anyway, Friday night, midnight, the Go! team come on. The mosh pit (yes, a mosh pit to the go! team) goes nuts and I get battered, wasn't expecting it, so sharpen elbows and get back in!
Only for a few minutes mind, had some photos to take....

Iceland photos - number 2, We are Scientists

Hail to the greatest moustache in rock. (Actually I don't know of any other moustaches in rock, not contemporary ones... suggestions please?)
Looking forward to seeing them next week in Brixton. Hated this venue they played in Rejkyavik. Low ceilings, hot, smelly and bad acoustics, nowhere to move, claustraphobic, terrible views and this is where icelanders really show how they get from one side of a room to the other, by trampling all over you! Once you get used to the fact they push and shove, and you embrace it yourself, its actually quite good fun and no one really gives a shit if you shunt them out of the way and not say excuse me! If that happened in Stevenage on a friday night though, they'll have to borrow a new police force for the evening to handle the fights. Heh Heh.

Iceland Photo Set number 1

I can't remember which way round these gigs occured when I was in iceland, but here are some photos. First up - Daniel Agust, who was actually really awesome. His live act is completely and utterly different to his studio album though. Bizarre. The album is all soft vocals, instrumental arrangements and strings. The live act was heartfelt dirty dark loud blues. He was great. Here is a photo of him lowering a pilchard into his second gullett. And no, I have no idea why the guitarist has glued a horses tail to the front of his head.

Now onto the cribs and the kaiser chiefs. Both bands were staying in our hotel. The night before they played they came into the hotel at 3am and politely requested drinks. Mr Wilson got his fine (I'm pretty sure members of metric and fields were also sitting round but I was oh so cool, flicking my fringe and ignoring them whilst stroking my £8 pint of lager). When the cribs arrived the finely bone structured and flouncy blondie metro-sexual viking boys behind the bar informed them it was shut. Now they don't look like rock stars, that much is true. They look like the stunted offspring of the three stooges, but embarrassingly I intervened and got them served, "Don't you know who these guys are?" I glowered at the lead flouncy barman (he was twice the size of me so I wouldn't call him that to his face). He said he didn't know, I said I didn't know either, so I had to ask their assistant who they were, not politely but "Who exactly are you?!". It was one of those time stopping moments Ricky Gervais captures so well in extras. The assistant sort of shuffled, looked down and quietly muttered "the cribs.. yeah the cribs". I was too merry to see the significance at the time though. And to cap it all when one of the WAGs asked for a cider, I spun my head round and said in my best Sonia Jackson bitch voice "they don't grow apples here" raised my eyebrows and looked back at my pint. Why did I do that? And did I subliminally pick up that there are no orchards in iceland? I wonder if that is true? Finally, when the cribs played the next night me and Trigger had the hump anyway and decided to slate them. They aren't crap, it was just not hitting the spot for us. Then we realised all of the WAGs were standing round us as we slated them. After this point whereever we ended up, members of the Kaisers or the Cribs were everywhere. At the blue lagoon, in the local cafe, hotel reception. If they wanted a photo taken with me, all they had to do was ask. I'm very approachable.

Above - the cribs. Below - Kaisers (they were ok I guess)

My dirty little secret

We were clearing out my brothers loft the other day of all our junk. He's selling his house, so had to visit to sort out and claim our stuff. And it was then I saw it. Unfortunately so did my long suffering other half.

If it was a stash of granny porno mags I'm sure it would have been much more palettable than what we uncovered. Yes... it was my (Advanced) Dungeons and Dragons game books. Oh, the shame.

Most spotty, self conscious, socially inept teenage losers take escapism in some form or other. Back in 1987, a collection of the finest losers ever to enroll on a BTEC course for Computer Studies assembled at Southgate technical college. It was here we created one of the most impressive AD&D adventure groups in history, no words were required. Just by glancing at my fellow nerds, geeks and losers, their baggy t-shirts with stupid slogans (a desperate attempt at being "cool"), toothpaste covered zits, mournful eyes, eyes that had been pounded by bullies on many occasions and frizzy fucked up hair, I knew I'd met my brethren. We were the morlocks. The underbelly of the student social underclass. And we were also studying computers. How low could you get? We did look like the cast of one flew over the cuckoo's nest, except none of us were witty or cool enough to be Jack Nicholson.

At lunchtimes, sometimes on glorious summer days, we would gather in one of the dark computer rooms, thin rays of light squeezing through the slats of the window blinds, dust drifting and sticking into our hair gel, and roll 20 sided dice desperately wanting to get double damage on that elusive vampire lord who toyed with us.

I felt a pang of nostalgia and sorrow for the person I used to be. Not that I've changed that much of course, I'm no 15th level Ranger by any means. But I do have a +3 Sarcasm attack.

I've kept the books, no way am I chucking them!

Iceland and keeping fit

I'm feeling well rough after my trip to iceland. Stuffed up with cold. Will update fully when I'm feeling less sorry for myself and I've got all my photo's online. There are some awesome one's of bands. Got a couple of celeb stories as well, pretty rubbish really and not particularly rock and roll, but vaguely amusing.

One thing I have noticed is despite using the hotel gym every day for a week, and having gone on two freezing 5 mile runs in Rejkyavik I've actually put on weight.

The thing about me is there is a fine balance between vanity and self indulgence and I haven't quite mastered how to look good and trough like a warthog.

I like to keep fit, I like to keep trim, and this is extremely important to my self esteem. But I also like to gorge myself like the emperor Heliogabalus and drink vats of wine and beer whilst watching my guests perish from my balcony. (When I release the savage beasts into the orgy whilst I'm gnawing on a live swan with 26 deep fried doormice stuffed in its rectum.)

Why oh why can't I look good and drink/eat what I want! There are three options.

1. Give up on keeping fit, but I'm worried I'll turn into a fat buffoon like Christopher Biggins or Russell Grant as opposed to a cool fat guy like George Melly. Too much of a risk....

2. Shun the hedonism, and become a full blown superhero. When I'm ready I'll buy one of those pervy all in one lycra costumes available on ebay made by a chinaman and then defeat the local chav crime syndicate crushing all 14 year olds who want some. (I wouldn't be able to slap down any older kids)

3. Carry on as is, and ruminate on what might have been.

Iceland Airwaves Festival

Flying to rejkyavik tonight. Should be a great festival. Packed my thermals and ready to roll. Wonder if I'll sit next to someone smelly at some stage?

Howling Bells and smelly man on train

Went to see Howling Bells at ULU on Tuesday, all in all a top night. They were really tight. Much improved from the last time me and the Bossman saw them. But we all had an excuse that night at the ICA in high summer in the sweatiest gig night of my life. Even more sweaty than when I saw bad manners at some pub in Welwyn Garden City and this bare chested 50 year old fat man slipped and rubbed his ample sweaty moobs all over my t-shirt whilst simultaneously crushing my ankle with his 18 hole size twelve DM's. Thanks.

Anyway, HB were superb. Juanita's voice was fantastic and much as she was gorgeous, the best looking thing on show was the cream and black Rickenbacker she played in one song. Heh heh. I want it.

I love ULU though, one of my fave london gig venues. Always a good studenty crowd and good bar. But guess what... on the train, just sat down, train about to leave, I look down the carriage and see him.

A rough Richard Fairbrass look alike, pirate earring, shaved head, neck to toe in stonewashed denim. He was like a 1980's german football fan wihtout the mullett. Clutching a huge bag... of burger king. I knew immediately he would sit next to me, I resigned myself to the stink of fried food. Why me?!

Fear and Trembling

Just finished reading "Fear and Trembling" by Amelie Nothomb. Quite amusing but also annoying. Basically, Belgian girl (but Japanese born) goes to Japan to work for big corporation, thinks she has a massive career ahead of her, but bollockses it all up by a series of seemingly insignificant cultural mistakes which end up with being demoted to toilet cleaner for a year and looking out of her cleaning cupboard 395th floor window day dreaming.

She refused to resign before her years contract was up as this would be dishonourable. Shunting semi-digested rice and shashimi poo down the lav was clearly the more honourable option for her.

The moral of the story is, keep your mouth shut in a situation you are unfamiliar with and not give it large. People will think you are a prick no matter what culture you adopt.

She didn't keep quiet to find her feet and got slammed down big style and quick time. She turns up and thinks cos she speaks Japanese everyone will kiss her arse. They just thought she was an arrogant westerner, at best simple, at worst someone who was a serious threat to their jobs.

I thought she was a bit wet, if you're gonna be subservient in Japan, then do it full Kurosawa mediavel rural peasant style and prostrate yourself at the local feudal lords (or the head of the accounts department) feet begging for mercy whilst whimpering and screaming for forgiveness.

Either that, or go the other way and scheme to have your work colleagues killed when they dare to dishonour your family when they tell you the coffee you've made for them takes like shit.

The book sort of just fizzled out, no ritual suicides, no demands for fingers, no 50 foot high robot-lizard crushing the city, no aliens or exploding cars. I was hoping for a twist, but it just sort of ended with her handing in her resignation and going home to write books.

Morning After Girls and Smelly Man on Train

Went to see the morning after girls last night with the Bossman, all good. Really liked them, and prefer their fuzzy live sound to the crisper album versions.

Dark and too cool to smile, they rampaged through their set supporting the Boxer Rebellion. Love them! (The morning after girls that is). Lots of layered noise, and they look great too. Sort of elegant skinny goth characters from the Beano, all of them with waists < 28 inches. Lots of black clothing and po-faced hair flicking. And they pulled it off without looking like a bunch of cocks.

The first band on were called Inbetween Days, have to say they look good, have balls and I wish them well. Enjoyed them too.

Boxer Rebellion I'm not so sure about, doesn't hit any buttons for me. Anyway we left early and got the train home, as it was before 11pm, I was looking forward to having room to breathe on my train without some pissed up freak invading my personal space. Unfortunately a different beast crashed into my aura, disturbing my karma.

Some pin striped suit wearing, dandruff ridden middle aged business man plonked himself next to me. I wouldn't mind, but he stank. Not just of that awful wet dog/stale suit smell, but it was combined with cheap aftershave (I reckon it was called Masculo-Bull or something butch like that), B.O and a horrible overbaked microwaved cornish pasty he was tucking into. He might as well have completed the set and pissed on the seat to add to his stink recipe, then guffed in my face. He also ate loudly, munching with his mouth open. I'm sure the guy opposite had a good view of the cement mixer that was his heaving jowls. Shut up! Stop being smelly!

The problem is, I'm not one of those selfish shits who puts their bag / coat / sack of turds on the seat next to them, thus telling anyone who has got on the train to "f*ck off and don't sit next to me" leading to one of those stupid scenario's of "would you mind moving your bag?", "oh yes, of course" then two people sit next to each seething with rage at each others percieved rudeness and playing a game of thigh vs thigh and see who gives up that one centimetre of space which gives the other a sense of moral victory. Maybe I should compromise my good manners next time and take this approach one step further, perhaps gibbering incoherently in my seat, rocking two and fro and pleading with people to sit next to me whilst barking between words.

I've decided, Humans are not meant to live in cities where they have to rub up against each other on public transport.

Latest Gigs and Missing Hat and Sweatband

I've lost my beanie and I'm furious. I think I'm slightly obsessive compulsive. It only cost me £3.95 from H&M, and it is easily replaced. But its the principle. Its gone missing and now I'm on a mission to find it. I do not believe I've lost it, it's in the house, I'm sure the bastard is in the house. As is my Vans sweatband. They are hiding out together in some dark corner, and I will find them. Then I will forgive them, and show them I still care by wearing them once more. I think the last time I wore them was when I visited London a couple of weeks ago to see the Howard Hodgkin exhibition at the Tate. But I'm no sherlock holmes or even Magnum P.I for that matter, or Cagney or Lacey, I can't solve this disappearance. I must try to meditate and retrace my steps, like Professor X using cerebro. I bet I left them on the train like a tw*t. I hope not, they are hiding, I'm sure they are hiding.
Errrm... anyway, latest gigs.

Mogwai - Royal Albert Hall.
They were quality, especially the harder numbers. Coffee table death metal. Absolutely awesome stuff. Overdriven guitars, and melody punctuated with thrashing white noise.

Juliette and the Licks - the Astoria.
Arrived late and didn't realise Humanzi were supporting, a band I've been keeping an eye on. They were ok, only saw the last 3 numbers.
J&TL were great though, you could tell they were enjoying it and they will become massive, glad I've seen them now. Sell out at the Astoria is always a special night. Bossman75 got some top photo's too (check his blog). It's good old hard rock with catchy hooks and riffs and dirty deep south vocals (and I don't mean from Croydon). Marvellous!

Tomorrow - Boxer Rebellion and Morning After Girls. Carling Academy Islington.

Running

Went for a 5 mile run this morning and this fat old guy was in my way, I politely waited whilst he waddled past the parked car to give me enough room to overtake. I noticed a big pair of jam jars over his eyes as I accelerated past him. He obviously realised he'd held me up and with no hint of irony called out "Sorry miss!".

Now I enjoy keeping fit, and as well as the obvious health benefits I wanted to lose the excess flab I've been carrying around, because I am vain and I do look at my gut in profile in the mirror often (much to the disdain of my other half). It has worked though (exercise not looking in the mirror) and I'm now much trimmer and svelte, a bit like Legolas, but with an urban edge.
Anyway, this old dude with bad eyesight thought I was girl, slim, with dark shoulder length hair. I mused on this and decided better an athletic girl than a fat 30 something bloke. Maybe I'll increase the weights though and drop a bit of the cardio-vascular now... something to think about!

Short People

My mate Sal recently reminded me of a time when we were spotty teenagers in ill fitting clothes and we'd just visited Forbidden Planet in New oxford street having stocked up on the latest comics. It must have been a memory I'd supressed as I'd forgotten about it.
Anyway, we were walking and talking, having spent too much college grant money on superfluous items probably discussing the latest Avengers line up and debating how Captain America could hold down a place in the roster for so long when his powers were so limited*
We walked through covent garden, and totally obliviously stumbled into some street performers comedy act. The performer put his hands on hips theatrically and drummed his fingers, the cresent shape of the crowd we had walked in front of chuckled. We stopped talking and looked up, realising their mirth was aimed at us. We had wandered into a trap, into his stage! Our Spidey sense had not tingled.
The street performer, in clown outfit and big shoes uttered three crushing words, a cheap shot, but utterly devastating to our socially inept 18 year old minds.
"Short aren't they?"
Much hilarity from the crowd, we slunked away, in deep shame. Is it our fault we are the evolutionary output of squat mountain goat herders from the balkans? What a smug w*nker.
"Sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will make us sociopaths"
To my knowledge neither myself or Sal have murdered anyone tall, but deep down, I have a deep seated hatred of clowns, tall people (although some of my best friends are tall), big ugly feet and crowds. A crowd of big footed tall clowns laughing in my face will probably set me off so don't ever test me out on this, or I will become a whirlwind of destruction and seek vengeance.
On a lighter note, seeing Mogwai tonight at the Royal Albert Hall. Should be good. Never seen them live before.
* - Compare Captain America to Thor for instance. One is a middle aged man who has good hand to hand combat skills and an inpenetrable shield (wow). The other is an immortal god, totally invulnerable, who can smash buildings with a swat of his hand, summon thunder, create gale force winds, fly etc etc. I know who I'm trusting to sort things out when Galactus is smashing up my village in Bedfordshire.

The Killers

Went to see the Killers on Monday night at the Electric Ballroom in Camden. it was a competition winners only gig and I was fortunate enough that my mate Tommo's fiance couldn't make it. (Gawd bless her evil boss for not giving her the afternoon off). Their tour sold out in about 3 seconds, so very lucky to see them in a tiny venue. Not that I would have spent 25 quid on them in the main tour, but I was well up for this.
It was cool. In fact I have to say they were awesome. Got right near the front and my fat unshaven face will appear on T4 on a TV near you soon. Tommo took pictures on his camera phone, my camera phone packed up so I drew this picture. It is surprisingly lifelike. From a certain angle, and if you squint, you'd think it was a photograph. I'm very proud of it. By Mel. Aged 35.