The holy trinity of woodies at Blackpool Pleasure Beach (as ridden by us last weekend).
The Big Dipper, The Grand National and The Rollercoaster (still without lapbars!)
(click to enlarge)

Anorak corner.
Critical analysis of The Big Dipper.

Critical analysis of The Grand National.

Critical analysis of The Rollercoaster.

Back at work after a week in Le Pool Noir. I spent the first five days painting walls and knotty pine. Lots of knotty pine. I wore down two brushes and got blisters on the palm of my right hand (NOT from that you minxes!). I gave Edward the dog a haircut and he went swimming everyday in the Irish Sea. Darren arrived for the last two days of the week so we rode rollercoasters, ghost trains and ferris wheels. We scoffed chips, pizza’s and crisp sandwiches and got drunk at the Las-Vegas-lite show Mystique. It was Scottish fortnight and you know what? Blackpool, ye cannae whack it!

I'll be here. You bring the frisbee.

London continues to sizzle in its heatwave and cycle shops have reported fantastic sales figures since last Thursday. I’ve not been on the tube since ‘then’ but that’s only because of the weather.
Our trip to NYC and the current hot-spell have made us re-evaluate our plans to attend Gay Days at Disney World next June as the heat makes us cranky. Anyway, how could Disney World get any gayer than it already is?
I’m going to Blackpool this Saturday for a week by the sea (cue drastic weather change) but Darren can’t make it till next weekend so just me and the dog till then.
The two-minute silence was well observed in London. The whole of Victoria Street came to a standstill, traffic stopped, pedestrians stopped, shops closed their doors and thousands of office workers stood on steaming pavements silently smoking their ciggies while wondering what to buy for lunch.
Darren was on a tube train yesterday and the lady sitting opposite him suddenly stood up, turned to face the windows, knelt on her seat and began chanting and praying in Arabic. Her fellow passengers looked at each other uneasily and politely waited for the big bang. There was none and she got off a few stations later. Religious tolerance eh. We’ll show ‘em!

If only I could afford to fly to San Francisco for the weekend.
*sigh*

Chesty Morgan is back on telly tonight in Streets Ahead. Sarah was in our street last summer to make this show. They tarted up the top end of the street (they needed it most) but that's not tonights show. I'll let you know when the episode featuring our street is aired as you may catch a glimpse of me and Edward heading to the park (or even of Darren knocking over one of the builders wheelbarrows in his car).

I know what I need to get me out of these doldrums - a pair of trainers with built-in rasta socks. Ta-daa! - the Carlo Gruber Adidas shoe (as revealed in lovely magazine site Sneaker Freaker, scroll down). Sweet! (Napoleon would love these).

War Of The Worlds was good. Tom was good. The special effects were very good, scary too. My Mum said it would have been an 'X' in the 70's. The first 'X' I saw at the pictures was a double bill of 'Scum' and 'The Brood'. I think I'd be about 16 and I was terrified while queuing up to get in. I don't think the old dear even looked at me as she took my 75p and punched me out a ticket. It worked the next week too as I went to see 'Dawn Of The Dead' (the holy grail of horrors at the time). 'The Exorcist', 'Exit The Dragon' and 'Dirty Harry' were all ticked off in the following months before the novelty wore off. I didn't realise at the time but the cinemas were dying a slow death and they were probably desperate for anyone's 75p (this was two or three years before video would finally choke the last breath out of the town centre flea-pit). Anyway, there was me over the moon to be doing something so 'adult' as getting into an 'X' rated movie 2 years early. Whereas todays kids start getting make-up, 'going out' clothes and drinking money for Christmas at 13, 14 and 15 and by 16 are giving their parents advice on hangover cures. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I got a Scalextric for my 16th birthday and I was thrilled to bits. What's the hurry kids?

I never cycle to work when it's raining but this morning I decided to brave the heavy drizzle as I really couldn't be bothered to walk for fifteen minutes to the underground station. The rain wasn't so bad and the new White Stripes album took my mind off my soggy crotch. As I reached the city borders I noticed an increased amount of folk on the pavements and when I got to Embankment and saw that Blackfriars, Temple and Westminster tube stations were closed I knew something was wrong. I took my headphones off and started to notice the constant whine of sirens. Police cars and ambulances were speeding up and down Embankment on their way to the various disaster scenes (though at the time I had no idea where they were heading). When I got to the office at 9.30 the cause of the explosions was still being given as 'power surges' on the underground. Not many folk had made it into work and those of us that were there just spent the morning watching the horror unfold online at the BBC News website. We were forbidden to leave our building until 2pm when permission was given for everyone to attempt to make their way home on non-existent public transport. I stayed till 5pm and then battled my way home across a road-blocked London.
I'm touched by all the e-mails I've received today asking if Darren and I are OK. Thanks for those and yes we are.

Tuesday was our final day and the weather was back to 'normal' ('normal' being 95 degrees and 90% humidity) after yesterdays rain. We took the subway to Brooklyn and then took a walk through chic new real estate hot-spot DUMBO. I'm sure DUMBO stands for something but haven't a clue what. We bimbled along the river and had an ice cream and then decided to get the water taxi back to lower Manhattan but after an hour it still hadn't arrived so we started the climb to the subway and there it was - Grimaldi's. Uber famous pizza joint and not yet full as it was only noon. We slipped into one of the last tables and ordered a large plain pie with half of it covered with anchovies (for Darren). Utterly scrumptious. The walls were plastered with pictures of politicians and movie stars chowing on down on Grimaldi pizza. We will always be indebted to the water taxi's shoddy timekeeping.

The Grimaldi pie, Darren eating the Grimaldi pie and Dave in DUMBO (click to enlarge)

We walked the pizza off across the Brooklyn Bridge back to Manhattan and took a quick shufty round Century 21 before heading back to the hotel to collect our bags and make our way to JFK on the subway for the evening flight. We had a great holiday and once again New York and New Yorkers showed us such a brilliant time. See ya next year.

Brooklyn Bridge, Looking towards Manhattan and my fella (click to enlarge)

We're up to Monday in the NYC trip report (if you're bored then come back on Thursday when it will all be over)
On Monday the morning news threatened rain so we prayed hard over our morning bagels in the hotel breakfast room (so hard that Darrens rosary snapped sending beads scattering over the slate floor). At noon our prayers were answered and an angry rain descended to wash the scum off the streets. Before this though we headed over to NYU to visit the Bobst library and this timely exhibition. We were the only ones at the exhibition for most of our time there, which was nice, and the collection of gay literature was interesting (especially the original letters from Bosey to Wilde). The Bobst library is a stunning building so poke your head round the door if you're passing.

The Bobst Library at NYU (click to enlarge)

When it rains in New York the weak head back to their hotels and the strong go shopping. We went straight from high-brow to crass by spending money in Tower Village Video on DVD's that we can't get at home (or even afford). I bought all three box sets of Strangers With Candy as I'm having a bit of a Sedaris phase and thought I should get to know Amy as well as David. Darren bought even more but he's too embarrassed to have them listed here (no, they're not mucky). We trekked East through SOHO with our heavy bags and finally found Moby's tea rooms, teany (tea in NY, geddit?). We went for the 'tea for 2' option which was a selection of vegan sandwiches, vegan scones with 'normal' clotted cream and little cakes all washed down with herbal fruity teas. Surprisingly tasty but unsurprisingly expensive (and he wasn't there to listen to me moan about his recent poor output).

The rain stopped as we left teany so we made for Manhattan Portage in SOHO where we oooo'd and ahhhh'd at the utilitarian masterpieces and bought a couple (very hard to find here in the UK so less guilt when handing over the credit card).
It was raining again as we left the posh shops of Soho so we went to the Movies. We saw Bewitched which was OK (spookily, Amy Sedaris has a cameo appearance in this film) and Heights which was OK too (it's near the end of the trip report and I'm reduced to capsule reviews of 'OK'). Heights would be good in a 'nasty-people-lacking-in-morals' double-bill with Closer. It was partly set in Chelsea so it was weird to see streets and shops that we had walked past a few hours earlier. After the movies we went to a diner near Carnegie Hall for supper and Jackie Mason came in for his dinner. He didn't recognise us.

Gotta stop sobbing on.
First it was Augusten Burroughs and one of his short pieces in Magical Thinking. Then on Saturday Bob brought out that beautiful African woman who nearly died as a baby and then Madonna kissed her. And today Tim Ashley made me sob pathetically while reading The Island Of Mending Hearts (the whole book in one sitting!). Cry baby. Must be my age.
I know I'm always recommending books 'n' stuff but the Tim Ashley book is utterly brilliant. Please beg, borrow, buy or burgle a copy.

There's nowt like twelve hours kip to revive the mind and body. Up and at 'em on Gay Pride day in NYC. We breakfasted at Moonstruck diner then ambled down 9th Ave at a snails pace because of the heat. This doggy spa and day care centre distracted us for half an hour as we watched the guests playfight on their leather sofas. Then we bumped into Lenny Kravitz as he sat on the kerb chatting with some pals waiting for equipment to be unloaded from a van. Into Greenwhich Village to rendevous with Joe and Terrence and watch the parade. The crowds were growing and good viewing places were drying up fast. We got to the agreed meeting point on time and then began saying "look, there's Joe" to each other. Darren accused me of pointing out every gay republican lawyer whenever I thought I saw Joe (I bet that flatters him. Not!). Joe and Terrence turned up fashionably late with a bunch of 'glamour boys' (you'll have to read the 'Terrence' stories to understand the significance of this). We were all introduced and then Hillary Clinton marched past. Joe and Terrence were great company. Joe was down to earth, funny and scarily on the same wavelength as me on so many issues. Terrence was suitably fabulous, witty and dripping with tales of fashion extravagance. The glamour boys melted into the crowds leaving only us four watching the parade in the baking sunshine but then Terrence insisted we slum it in a pizza parlour round the corner that he'd passed-out in the night before (and spilled melted cheese on his Balenciaga outfit). We kept quiet that we treated pizza as haute cuisine and readily agreed. Famous Rays was riddled with cops when we got there but we squeezed in beside them and ate gorgeous slices of spinach pizza.
The parade was still parading when we left Rays but we battled our way over to the river where we strolled with 30,000 black lesbians from New Jersey up to the Chelsea Piers. Joe and Terrence were going dancing (in that heat!) so we escorted them through the meatpacking district where the smell of poppers from the nearby disco on the pier became too much for Terrence and he ran off to find a different kind of 'slice' for the evening.
It's always nerve racking meeting someone you've only corresponded with on a PC but Joe and Terrence were fantastic company and hopefully we will see them again soon.

Joe. Terrence, Darren and Joe. Terrence is amused at flag wavers (click to enlarge)

Went to mow a meadow. Terrence points out a foxy spelling mistake. One legged Pucci tights are so in this year. (click to enlarge)

We went to the flix in the evening to see Batman Begins and it was most excellent. Apple pie a la mode at a diner near our hotel was our supper then we saw the Pride fireworks explode over the Hudson river. A cracking day out!

Guess what? Saturday was a baking hot day too! Luckily the subway in NYC is air-conditioned (is it that difficult Ken?) so the ride to Coney Island was nice. We took a stroll down the packed boardwalk but the piercing sunshine forced us into the shelter of Astroland fun park where we paid our $5 and rode the most famous rollercoaster in the world. The Cyclone has been running in Coney Island since 1927 only now it has lap-bars to prevent the 100 or so deaths it has caused to people who have not held on tightly enough. The first drop is just stunning. A near vertical plummet with a slight twist to the track to cause a bit of disorientation. Look at the terror on this kid's face as she falls through that first drop. The ride wasn't as bumpy or rickety as I'd expected (did I mention it's nearly 80 years old?) and surprisingly provided an extremely high thrill level compared with todays gigantic monsters. The cars are beautiful but a bit on the tight side for two larger gentlemen such as Darren and I. The introduction of the padded lap-bar has reduced space even more and it was a bit embarrassing to be told by the operator, as we attempted to squeeze into the tiny seat, that we couldn't ride together!
As I climbed out of the car following my ride I sat on a bench in the station and watched Darren hurtling around the track laughing like a lunatic.

Darren returning to the station, Dave in the station and why do they put their arms in the air? (click to enlarge)

In the afternoon we found a shady spot and watched The Mermaid Parade which is a freak-fest on a gigantic scale. Classic cars, naked folk, drunks, punk rock bands, dogs, and nutters all parading through the streets in a vaguely under-sea theme. The King of the parade this year was David Johansen from The New York Dolls (last year it was Moby).

Noisy cars which made the crowd whoop and holler and a lorry carrying drunks. (click to enlarge)

Naked chicks. (click to enlarge)

David Johansen, George Bush and a very cute Jack Russell. (click to enlarge)

The plan after the parade was to eat at a very famous pizza place in Coney Island called Totonnos ("only God makes better pizza") but when we finally found it there was a queue round the block so we headed for the comfort of the air-conditioned subway and made our way back to Manhattan. We had an early dinner at Dallas BBQ in Chelsea then went for a nap as we had plans for later that evening. We'd printed flyers before we left home for an evening of homo-punk-rock entertainment at CBGB's where we had tentative plans to meet up with BJ. The nap started at 7pm and mysteriously ended at 2am!!! Damn that daytime excitement and BBQ ribs! Ultrasparky did go to CBGB's and here's his report with great pics.

Friday was stinking hot again. Ambling was the order of the day so we ambled through Chelsea looking for Matthew Broderick (apartment on 9th Ave apparently) but got bored so stepped into Chelsea Market to cool off. This industrial zone looked great, bare brick, steel girders, exposed pipes and spooky lighting housing an upscale farmers market. Beautiful shops selling lovely things to eat so we were in heaven. We bought some picnic items for later that day then rode the subway uptown to go to Zabars the legendary shop/deli. This gourmet paradise had us peeing ourselves with pleasure while inspecting the huge cheese, meat, and coffee counters. We bought more picnic items then headed to the park to scoff them (the potato and spinach knishes were sublime). As it now felt like 120° we found a nice bench in some shade in the gardens of the American Natural History Museum where we watched the locals walk their dogs and uptown nannies congregate to gossip.
After a few hours we were refreshed enough to go book shopping at Borders and then we fought off the perfume militia in Saks. Our evening entertainment was a trip to the movies to see the new Romero horror ‘Land Of The Dead’. George Romero rules! I loved it. It was gory yet intelligent, thought provoking and funny and had Dennis Hopper in it. We ate designer hot dogs at F&B before heading to bed.

Manhattan Bridge, The Earth and Space Centre at The Natural History Musuem and a fantastic trumpeter who accompanied a drummer and sounded like A Certain Ratio. (click to enlarge)

On my 40th birthday last December I awoke in a hotel room in Florida to be told that my present from Darren was to be a trip to New York. Gifts don’t get much better than that and last Thursday we tootled off to belatedly celebrate the start of the second half of my life.
New York was hot. Very hot and humid. We coped though. Soldiered on with barely a moan about sweaty undercarriages and non-air-conditioned boutiques. We arrived early afternoon and, after dumping our bags in our lovely AC controlled room in Chelsea, we bimbled on down to Greenwich for the evening. First stop and first pizza of the trip was at Johns. This place is recommended by pizza aficionados all over the web and has been making full pies (no slices) since 1929. We had the classic plain cheese version washed down with beer and pepsi. It was served straight from the coal fired brick oven and was super crispy and delicious. I’m not going to write tons of stuff about the merits of each pizza that we ate so I’ll just tell you whether it was good or not. This pizza was great.
Two hours later we’d strolled into the East Village and came across a Two Boots pizza place. Compared to some of the places we would sample pizza at over the next few days, Two Boots were considered the new boys on the block. They’ve been collecting fans since 1987 and now have several locations in NYC and even have their own art cinema attached to one of their restaurants. They serve slices too which was good as we’d had a whole pie just hours before. I went for the Cleopatra Jones which was loaded with spicy meats and peppers and Darren chose the Siciliana which was thick, doughy and meatily spicy. We ate them sitting in the window watching New Yorkers dashing home from work. Two Boots pizza was very good but not great like Johns. Maybe it’s got something to do with the ‘pie -vs- slice’ thing. Slices come from a pie that was cooked maybe an hour ago and are reheated back in the pizza oven whereas a pie is lovingly made to order from scratch and served immediately. As if this cheese overload wasn’t enough we ended the evening with an early night and a pint of Hagen Dazs each while watching telly. Fat bastards!

Our messy room, Johns Pizzeria and our pie. (click to enlarge)

Two Boots slices, Dave and Darren defy the evil humidity. (click to enlarge)

Coming soon: rollercoasters, movies, more wicked weather and a day with Joe and Terrence.

The view from Brooklyn Bridge at 2pm on Tuesday.

Back but must unpack.
*throws pizza stained clothes into laundry basket*

Let the expedition begin! The search for the perfect pizza slice begins tomorrow. The ratio of sauce to cheese is highly scientific and dough-wars always divide a nation. Crispy and stiff -vs- droopy and chewy. Ding-dong, seconds out!
Me and my fat belly will be back in a week.

There's an awful lot of pro-anerexia and pro-bulimia sites out there. A lot of them spout stuff about deciding to not be a 'victim' any more and how it's their body and their choices. Which is quite true. 'Starving for perfection' they call it and it's *the* new lifestyle choice (and not a disease). Apparently for every dying teenage bulimic girl there are 100,000 others living with it, coping with it and (gulp!) enjoying it.
The other 'movement' out there that I find interesting is the one that teaches folk to be happy being fat. Their ideology involves saying fuck off to society and its obsession with fitness, youth and (common) beauty. Both groups believe confidence is the 'key' to accepting and loving your shape and that self love (no, not that kind of self love) is more highly prized than than the other kind (the kind where someone else loves you). After all, how can you expect someone else to love you if you don't...(I cannot bear to finish that quote).

I've learned all about negative calories and calorie-free soup today (hot water with a grain of salt in it). I was talking to a girl in the office and was having a rant about those awful coloured rubber 'charity' bracelets and the proliference of hideous white gypsy skirts (they never even looked good on fucking gypsies so why, WHY?) when a fat bird walked past wearing three of those bracelets and a long flowing gypsy skirt. I watched her walk to her desk and I could tell by the way she sat down that she was cool, that she loved herself (so therefore probably had someone to love her back) and that she was really going to enjoy that tub of Pringles she had been to the kitchen to collect.

Dog packed off on his holidays – check
NYC itinerary finalised – no
8lbs of waist fat removed for holiday – no
Laundry laundered – no
Beard dyed – no
Mermaid outfit sorted – no
NYC bloggers contacted – no
Fear of meeting one’s hero’s – check
Saturday night NYC disco experience sorted – check
Spells ordered to cool NYC down before Thursday – check
Talcum powder bought to soothe sweaty 80° ass-crack – no
Sandals/flip-flops/mules bought – fuck off!

I’m off to Blackpool tonight with Edward. Darren can’t make it. My parents will be there too. No wonder Darren can’t make it. It’s Fathers Day on Sunday so I’ll take Dad for a game of crazy golf and then a polystyrene tray of chips and gravy. My Grans bladder has stopped working so she’s having a hose and bucket fitted which means Mum and Dad can’t start their journey to Blackpool today until visiting time at the hospital is over. I hope they don’t arrive smelling of wee. Gran is 85 and has smoked 30 cigarettes a day since she was 14. Shouldn't it be her lungs that require an overhaul? Edward will travel to Northumberland with my parents on Sunday as Darren and I are off to NYC next week for a gay refresher course. I had dinky little melba toasts with peanut butter for lunch.

Another ride to add to the 'Killer Rides At Walt Disney World' tour. We were wary of riding this last year but I loved it and had two goes. Darren only rode once as he found the whole experience extremely nauseating. The closest thing to blasting off into space (allegedly).

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1979, Newcastle City Hall. Devo, Are We Not Men? tour. Scary movie before the band came on which showed a mutant having his head squished by a record pressing machine. The new-wave had finally arrived oop north (and it dressed so much better than those noisy punkers). Later that year Blondie, Tubeway Army, PiL and The Rocky Horror Show (stage version) made going out at night menacing, sexy and exhilarating.

In other news, I was mighty pleased to discover that we shall be in New York when the Mermaid Parade takes place. I’ve been reading about this beach-front-day-out in Coney Island ever since I started looking at NYC blogs years and years and years ago. The parade marks the unofficial start of the NYC summer and is followed the next day by the even more 'colorful' (NYC spelling) Pride festivities in Manhattan (gays + summer + misplaced pride = a parade! Actually, that was harsh of me. Where better to celebrate a bit of pride than in the home city of the Gay Liberation Front? We should never forget that night in 1969 at the Stonewall Bar when 'enough is enough' became the battle-cry that started a war that we are still fighting.
*heads off to sewing room to construct suitable outfits*

Saturday was nice. We played at tourists. We walked along the river, hung out at The National Theatre (we pointed and gawped at actors from The Bill and The Vicar Of Dibley), had a lovely lunch here, bumped into Paddy McAloons brother (an old friend of Darrens) and saw a play. Theatre Of Blood was gory, camp and funny. Jim Broadbent hammed it up marvellously as the failed Shakespearian actor and Bette Bourne did a fantastic turn as a Quinton Crisp type critic (complete with two live poodles which were cooked into a pie in the second half and force fed to him). We don’t go to the theatre very often as the expense rarely guarantees enjoyment. After the disappointment of Acorn Antiques a few months ago this visit was surprisingly satisfying (and the best seats at the National were half the price of A. Antiques).

Mini reviews of movies rented in the past 7 days:

The Woodsman - peedo gets out of jail and tries not to fiddle with little girls. Is it in Kevin Bacons contract that he must appear in the shower in every film he's in? (see also Hollow Man and Wild Things). Mos Def and Eve were good. For fellow perverts everywhere, here's Kevin in the shower in Wild Things.

Lemony Snicket - A Tim Burton film that he never worked on. Like Big Fish this film looks great in that nightmare/fairytale way. Director Brad Silberling made the brilliant Casper but this isn't as good.

Just Married - He looks cute in this film but Brittany Murphy is the poor mans Lindsey Lohan. Nice use of European locations. Not enough nudity for my liking. Ashton should get a Kevin Bacon type contract.

View From The Top - Who doesn't love a movie about airline cabin crew? In this day and age it was refreshing to see a story about someone whose dreams were simply to say "chicken or fish?" while five miles above the earth. You can't go wrong with Mark Ruffalo, Christina Applegate and Mike Myers.

Creep - Scary horror set on the London Underground. Recommended by DG a few months and enjoyed by us last night. The 'creep' was played by Ian Curtis (Sean Harris) from the brilliant 24 Hour Party People. Lots of blood and claustrophobia and a cute dog.

Uptown Girls - We had a Brittany Murphy double bill last weekend. This one made me cry at the end. Also starred 11 going on 40, Dakota Fanning.

Closer - This one is still sitting beside the TV awaiting viewing (though I'm sure we'll like it as Padme plays a stripper in it).
UPDATE!
Closer has now been watched. What a self-centred heartless bunch of breeders! Not a single redeeming feature among the four main characters. They were all such utter shits that they made uber-promiscuous shallow homo's look like Mother Theresa. As a meditation on the power of love it will cure anyone of their 'need' to spend the rest of their lives with someone. Clive Owen was sexy though.

4pm. One hour left till the weekend. We see Theatre Of Blood tomorrow at the National. Gonna take the big fella to a swish lunch before the show. It's a matinee so we should be back home for Dr Who. Chinese or pizza tonight? The itinerary for our NYC trip in a few weeks is coming together nicely and is based around the best pizza places in the city. This pizzablog has been indispensable. We should get a ride on the classic Cyclone out at Coney Island this time. Followed by a slice at Tontonno. Have a nice weekend all.

I had a coffee at home then dashed out (in a light grey single breasted suit with sky blue YSL shirt but no tie) and headed to a 5 star hotel near the Tower Of London to usher this Tory cnut to his speaking slot at a dull seminar but I got there early so had four coffees and 12 posh biscuits and the caffeine and sugar made me manic so I shook too many hands and told folk I’d forgotten my business cards and then I listened to speakers from middle-Europe with comedy English accents tell us about ‘milky cows’ and ‘Chinese girls addicted to wedding cake’ until I could take no more and told my boss that we should skip the fancy lunch and do a runner which we did but now I’m at my desk and I’ve just finished a bag of liquorice allsorts and now I really wish we’d stayed for the luxury bait and chit-chattery with Frankfurt dwelling S&M-enthusiast bankers.

I’ve saved half the cost of my new bicycle by riding to work instead of taking the tube. In just two months! My ride is equivalent to an aerobic workout so if I factor in the cost of two aerobic classes per day at my local sports centre (£3 per one hour session) then I’ve actually saved the full cost of the bike. I’ve got the travel time down to between 50 and 60 minutes, which is exactly how long it takes to get to work if I use public transport. The worst bit of the journey is fighting the urge to have another breakfast when I arrive at my desk hungry after all that exercise (I’m usually strong enough but liquorice allsorts got the better of me last week).

PICTURES BELOW NOW FIXED!

For the past week I have been enjoying albums by The Cribs, The Rakes, The Blood Arm and The Tears. I have also rediscovered a 21 year old album; Microphonies by Cabaret Voltaire. I bought the tape of this album in 1984 at Heathrow airport as I was flying to Cairo with Romanian Airlines (nearly 24 hours via Sofia but very cheap). One day after leaving England I was sitting on the balcony of my chic flea-bag hotel (£3 a night), sipping on a fake arab coke, listening to Sheffield electronica and watching the day-long-rush-hour chaos on the streets below. That tape hardly left my walkman during the next month as I made my way South devouring every temple and monument. I broke my arm and leg while horse riding at the end of the trip and my walkman was stolen from my bedside at the American hospital in Cairo so I didn't have the pleasure of those crispy sounds while I licked my wounds and recouperated on Crete for a month (and before anyone cries out "Ooo, get Mr Moneybags!", I found it very easy to survive on £5 a day back then). So, today I was walking the dog down by the nature reserve listening to Microphonies for the first time in many years and all these memories from that trip came rushing back making me happy. I love it when that happens.

Here is a picture of me on the roof of Edfu temple. Please pardon my cowboy hat. That big hunk 'o' love with the tache? Don't ask.

I took a camel to see the Aga Khans Mausoleum. How cool is that guy's jacket?

This is how fucked you will look after sleeping (i.e. not sleeping) on a small felucca sailing down to Aswan. How can it be so freakin' hot during the day and so damn cold at night? That's me on the right.

The documentary was brilliant. Next up is a 'proper' movie and it looks great. Fingers crossed for a NYC screening in a couple of weeks. Just last weekend we spent a pleasant hour on Southport pier overlooking the skatepark watching the tricksters pretend they were on Jackass. Empty swimming pools often feature in my dreams.



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Today is the second day in a row I’ve had Liquorice Allsorts (created by accident in 1899) and Fanta Z for breakfast. There aren’t enough of the round coconut ones in the bag for my liking. I don’t eat the beady aniseed ones so I’ve strung them all together and made a necklace which I’m going to put on ebay and try to sell as a Zandra Rhodes piece. I tried Fruit Allsorts a few weeks ago during a car journey to Blackpool and they were lovely (the beady ones in that bag were eaten as they tasted like fruit pastilles). I don’t like the bloke on the Allsorts TV ad. He’s a bit like the annoying know-it-all that every office has. Bertie Basset should ditch that tosser and get together with June Whitfield (above). She’d be great selling Liquorice Allsorts. Actually, she’d be great selling anything (bombs, cigarettes, Burberry, super-strong lager, Cillit Bang). She has such a trustworthy face and could easily fill the void left by the sad death of stair-lift queen Thora Hird (below).
Did you know that Jelly babies were created to celebrate the end of WW1 in 1918 and that until 1953 they were called 'Peace Babies'?