Bank holiday photo diary



The weather fella on the news last night said it would rain today but I woke up to blue skies and sunshine. So I piled Darren and Rob into the car and we headed down to Margate for some whelks and jellied eels. A right proper cockney day aht. Crikey, what a dump!
Dreamland amusement park was shut. This classic park opened in 1920 and houses the UK's oldest wooden rollercoaster. The Scenic Railway is a grade II listed structure now but as the park is between owners it stands idle. Major disappointment. We had lunch in the unfortunately named Papp chippy. Delicious (fellow chav diners not bad either). We toddled along the prom then had a stroll on the blue flag sands. We had a drink in the Flag And Whistle but left sharpish when a cover band started to belt out 'Why Does It Always Rain On Me'. Nice to see this tower block today. It was featured in the great but grim movie The Last Resort as an asylum seekers block of flats (which it actually still is).

We finished off the crate of pale ale in the car on the way home.

Look at the little spaceman! Safely returned from Uranus!

The bairn is a bit crook
Edward is in the hospital. He's not been well for the past few days (not eating and drinking, refusing to go into the garden, sleeping fitfully) so Darren took him to the vet this morning. An x-ray has revealed an obstruction in his gut and he will be operated on this afternoon. If all goes well he can come home tomorrow.
I hope he doesn't have to wear one of those bucket things on his head as the cats next door will think that is hilarious.

UPDATE
Large piece of yellow rubber removed from lower bowel (Edwards, not mine). Bill for £700. Thank fuck we took out that expensive pet insurance last year. Bucket-head will be home tomorrow.

Oooo! I zink I'm getting a tumour!
That lovely French lady who covered Peggy Lee's 'Fever' (but sang 'tumour' instead of 'fever'), Lizzy Mercier Descloux, has died from cancer. Her debut album on Ze records was a favourite in teenage-spellcnut towers in 1979. My mum preferred Lizzy to Devo (but she preferred Devo to Crass). RIP Miss Descloux.
(thank you for the sad news)

Roughly a year ago we were in Southern Spain looking at houses to buy. We saw some wrecks and some beauties too but after two weeks we'd decided that it really wasn't for us. Those white villages clinging to the hillsides are beautiful but not very practical for two urban 'young' metrosexuals (tongue firmly in cheeks mind-you). When I'm a bit stressed at work it's very easy to dream of sitting on a Spanish roof terrace with a 10 litre jug of sangria and a good book. But the holiday last year has made me realise that I wouldn't last 10 minutes. I have a very low boredom threshhold and find that the thin line between relaxation and boredom is not one I want to tiptoe along again.
So, we bought a big house in Blackpool and have never had a dull moment (and we drank sangria sitting on a blanket in the sun in the back yard last weekend).

Lovely weathery weekendy type time in Blackpool. Pizza, chips, beer, wine, Morrissey, bike rides and sun burn (honest). Pics to your right.

Morrissey in Manchester was stunning. 15,000 folk singing along to 'There Is A Light That Never Goes Out' can't fail to move you. No longer such a shy boy, he chatted in-between songs, took the piss out of London, Pop Idol and Bush, goaded the front row to get on stage and seduce him (they couldn't but tried their damndest), whipped his mic cable like a pro dominatrix and sang his tired old cynical heart out. Brilliant.
Franz Ferdinand were good too.

Got to work at 8am. Working through my lunch hour and leaving at 3pm. Go home, collect Edward and head back into town for the train to Blackpool. Darren is in Leeds buying me posh knickers from Harvey Nicks and he will meet us at the seaside tomorrow. Saturday is Morrissey in Manchester, hurrah! New album is great, back on form and helps to erase terrible memory of Southpaw and Maladjusted. Other albums cooking my cookies this week are Keane and Zutons.
Did you hear that the Blackpool Tourist Board are trying to replace the prom deckchairs with sun-loungers and continental style tables and chairs? Bloody cheek!
*paints "KEEP BLACKPOOL BRITISH" on old "NO WAR IN IRAQ" placard*

Here's a joke that cheered me up this morning:

A train hits a busload of Essex Schoolgirls and they all perish. They are all in heaven trying to enter the pearly gates. St Peter asks the first girl (from Southend), "Karen, have you ever had any contact with a mans thing?" She giggles and shyly replies, "Well I once touched the head of one with the tip of my finger" St. Peter says, "OK, dip the tip of your finger in The Holy Water andpass through the gate."
St. Peter asks the next girl (from Chelmsford) the same question, "Joanne have you ever had any contact with a mans thing?" The girl is a little reluctant but replies "Well once I fondled and stroked one." St. Peter says "OK, dip your whole hand in The Holy Water and pass through the gate."
All of a sudden there is a lot of commotion in the line of girls, and the girl from Romford is pushing her way to the front of the line. When she reaches the front of the line St. Peter says "Tracy! What seems to be the rush?" The girl replies, "If I'm going to have to gargle that Holy water. I want to do it before Lorraine sticks her arse in it!!"

Summer is here now and Edward is spending more time in the garden. He patrols the fences all evening on the look out for the neighbourhood cats who like to leave their smelly parcels on his patch when he's not looking. More than once I've caught him in a stand off position with next doors evil black tabby (its back arched and eyes huge) and broken up their potential brawl. But now things have taken a turn for the worse and the cats have called in the SAS. Tonight I'm going to teach Edward how to ignite a box of matches and lob it over the fence.

666 tattooed on her gums.

Phew what a scorcher! Hay fever has arrived at spellcnut towers. I used to get a steroid injection every year called Kenalog and it worked wonders. But last year my doctor told me it has been withdrawn as there were fatalities attributed to it in the USA. He sent me away with instructions to just buy over the counter products as there was nothing stronger he could prescribe. So yesterday I bought a spray for squirting up my beak. Seems to work. *crosses fingers*

Still running the scooter in so can't go above 40mph till I've done 600 miles (no jokes please, top speed of the Vespa PX is 65mph!). This lovely weather made it a joy to pootle around the neighbourhood and the country lanes of inner Essex. I was tooted at in Chingford high street by a fellow PX fella, such camaraderie among Vespa riders. 300 miles on the clock now and 300 to go. Then I'm gonna burn rubber down at the old folks home racing the grumpy OAP's on their electric, pavement hogging, shopping carts.

We went to Bluewater today. Spur of the moment thing. Out and about in Darrens new car this afternoon (very big, with lots of gizmo's and very fast, here's a picture of us in the car before Darren got the hang of the controls) and we found ourselves on the A12 in Dagenham (such a lovely and picturesque town). Seeing a sign for the Dartford Bridge we both automatically thought "mmmmm, lunch and a bit of window shopping/sexy Dad spotting" so we headed for the mall. The Dartford Bridge is still stunning to look at and looked magnificent today with blue sky and sunlight as its backdrop. We only spent an hour there and failed miserably to *not* spend any money. Typical eh, warmest day of the year so far and we spend most of it in an air conditioned car and windowless shopping centre.

A moment of clarity and beauty.
Location: Somewhere on Conduit Street, London
Time: 9.30 am
Sitting on my scooter in a traffic jam wearing a black, single breasted, skinny fitted suit en-route to the Azerbaijan Embassy. The sun is glowing triumphantly after hiding behind a veil for the last two weeks. To my right is a vest wearing blonde stud washing the windows at Ungaro and on my left is the crazy Macy Gray looky-likey who works at Voyage opening up the shop. The coffee shop beside Westwood is producing a gorgeous aroma of ground beans and warm pastries that mixes with the traffic fumes making a fine perfume and forcing me to open the lid on my helmet and take long deep breaths. There I was, stuck in traffic on a street where I couldn't afford to buy anything, watching people who could, and yet I became strangely ecstatic for a few minutes. Everything was OK in that moment, could be worse but could be better too, yet I remained unconcerned about ANYTHING. I was smiling in the centre of my own 'scene' and it felt lovely.
As I broke free of the traffic and sped forwards I remembered that there was a 5 pack of Curly Wurlys in my drawer at work and I wondered if the day could get any better.

The new best seller from George Forman.

When choosing which scooter club to join one should always comprehensively research the 'quality' of the other members before signing up. Here's my shortlist:

Ewan McGregor has arrived in Kazakhstan. Poor fucker. Having travelled extensively around that shit-hole I don't envy his next 12 days. He's travelling with his boyfriend, Charley Boorman, (and an army of assistants no doubt) on motorbikes from London to Alaska via Europe, Russia, Kazakhstan and Mongolia. McGregor and Boorman have already signed a million pound TV deal about their unique journey. However, the actor clarified that they were not making this journey for the sake of money. Yeah right.

Oh-my-God! I bought some new clothes from Tesco yesterday!
*flicks through Mail On Sunday magazine looking for comfy shoe advert*

Remember when Sign ‘O’ The Times came out and it seemed so futuristic and modern and quirky and funny and clever? Wow, that was a great moment in time. Cemented the genius tag he’d been offered with Around The World In A Day. At the risk of being a boring ‘place-dropper’, I will never forget sitting in a titty bar in Bangkok in 1987 watching US sailors feed hookers dollar bills while they did the splits to U Got The Look (the hookers not the sailors). Anyway, the reason my memories were triggered was because I can’t stop playing the Outkast double album Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. It’s the best Prince album since Sign ‘O’ The Times. Stank you very much.

Briefing coming out of my ears. Five Kazakh ministers in town. Mutton and horse blood lunches till Friday. Vodka toasts (drink-one-spit-one-out is my top tip). Oil and gas lectures, immigration and work-visa policy discussions, post 9/11 defence strategies and me wearing a suit way too big for me but still looking smarter than any of our big-wigs.

Timpsons just robbed me of £45 just to sole my lovely boots (with leather though, none of that rubber rubbish).

Look at the lovely little lamb.

Not recommended for pregnant women.

My scooters and my birds.

(yes, that is Raquel Welch in the bikini. I still get a Christmas card from her.)

Interesting things to do in Blackpool. Number 8.
Go and see The Ordinary Boys at Preston Mill. We did this last Saturday. They sounded like The Kinks, The Smiths, The Clash and The Jam (this is a good thing). The singer is a looker and the drummer is a stud (though I think the drummer may have received his No 1 crop very recently as I can't find a single pic of him on the web with short hair). Nice to see the band working on their own t-shirt stall after they played. Support was from The KBC. They sounded like The Rapture and PiL (this is a good thing).

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I bought one of these today (also one of these).