Happy Halloween!
This is my Mum and Dad on their allotment this morning.

If you go out to dinner in Western Australia make sure you only order beer to drink with your meal or this will happen:
(Thanks to well travelled Swiss Tom for this.)

Our lounge/living room/dining-room-stroke-TV-room/comfy room/sitting room/drawing room/salon was painted on Sunday. Pewter it said on the tin. Under the harsh lights of the DIY store it looked like a nice cool modern shade. On the walls of our sitting room it looked dark grey. Not very attractive. We wasted a whole Sunday painting. Sore limbs and paint in the hair by 8pm but we hoped it would grow on us. I came downstairs on Monday morning and walked into the grey room and stopped dead in my tracks. The room looked like the inside of an oven. Or a jail cell in a bad, ‘wobbly-sets’ TV movie. Or Billy Mitchells flat in Eastenders.
We endured Monday evening TV (Six Feet Under and The Sopranos) in the grey room but instead of lingering over the studly James Gandolfini my eyes kept wandering over the grey walls causing me huge waves of despair.
Tuesday night saw me back at the DIY store purchasing brilliant white emulsion (which was the original colour before Sunday). The ovens days are numbered.

The House of Spellcnut
Very strange! And I was not consulted! Courtesy of Mike. Can I now join McQueen and McCartney at Gucci?

New York Stories.
I know where Woody Allen and Diana Ross live.

I also know that:

a Boeing 777 can fly at 710 mph

the view of Manhattan from a yellow cab before entering the Queens/Midtown tunnel can take your breath away

a walk in Central Park on a sunny Sunday morning with my boyfriend and our friend Rob is very agreeable for the soul

you can bump into old friends while cd shopping

those old friends will get you drunk in a Times Square tavern

you will have a NYC sized hangover till the sun goes down the next day

the sun going down over New Jersey viewed from atop the Empire State Building is an extraordinary sight

tickets to a top Broadway show can be bought at 100 bucks a pop

top Broadway show ‘Hairspray’ is indeed fantastic

the movie ‘Rules of Attraction’ is dreadful

the Metropolitan Museum of Art has a much better gift shop than the Guggenheim

afternoon tea at the Plaza is only 30 bucks

three pairs of Old Navy khakis is never enough

a brown stone in Chelsea is a great place to stay for a week

I couldn’t live in a brown stone in Chelsea if I lived in NYC

I’m not buffed or tanned enough to live in a brown stone in Chelsea

you can buy a ‘home enema’ in a drug store

you can’t buy paracetamol in a drug store

the Museum of Sex is very unsexy

the insult ‘bummer’ means very little to a NYC bummer

after at least ten visits in the last twenty years I never tire of being a tourist here.

I shall be out of town on urgent business for the next week. Listen to this while I'm away please. It's my own composition and reminds me of dark autumn days before a storm, of piles of swept leaves and dogs disturbing children and of dented bins rattling down a street in slow motion. Be safe everyone, back in a week.

Well said.
"The vast majority of weblogs are amateur and will stay amateur, because a medium where someone can publish globally for no cost is ideal for those who do it for the love of the thing. Rather than spawning a million micro-publishing empires, weblogs are becoming a vast and diffuse cocktail party, where most address not 'the masses' but a small circle of readers, usually friends and colleagues. This is mass amateurization, and it points to a world where participating in the conversation is its own reward."

There aren't too many women I want to sit opposite on the tube and stare at but she is one of them. Fascinating. And he has met her! Impressed I was.

(Update: He hasn't met her at all! It was all an elaborate plan to impress me! Tut tut Mr J. And me a married man too!)

The three little pigs are off to

this Saturday for a week. We want to see this.

Barneys here we come!

Thats me in red.

Just got back from the movies. Went to see 'My Little Eye' which was ok. I loved the fact that it was shot on cheap DV cameras and that the set designer seemed to take inspiration for the 'grungy' looking house from spellcnut towers. I didn't care a fuck that they all got killed (apologies if anyone was planning on seeing the movie) and none of them were particularly sexy so they probably deserved it. Reviews promised scary but to be honest 'Juwanna Mann' looks a lot more frightening.
Last night at Wembley we saw A-Ha. Who were nice. Not being as big a fan as Darren or Martin left me in the position of only knowing 3 or 4 songs but when they played them I tapped my foot approvingly. We were quite near the front (amid the screaming 30-something ladies/fags) so at least Morten was pleasing to look at for a couple of hours (in fetching beige leather trousers no less). 'Hunting High and Low' was particularly memorable. £10 to park the car, c*nts! (Wembley not A-Ha).

Notorious Norwegian homosexuals

We're off to Wembley tonight to see A-Ha. We'd heard a rumour that Brother Beyond had reformed to support A-Ha on this stadium-nostalgia-fest so we snapped up some tickets pretty sharpish. We've since learned that this was a cruel hoax played on us by Martin who merely wanted a ride in our car to Wembley. A-Ha were the Nordic pretty boys sporting bleached and slashed denims and rippling muscles who very nearly became the biggest thing of the whole decade and were certainly untouchable in terms of squeal factor and hitmaking during one six-month period, finally knocking Duran Duran off the pedestal they had clung on to for years. Anecdotes of how this unassuming trio had to live in a dingy Oslo bedsit eating nothing but mousetrap cheese are legendary, as 'hunky' God-squad crooner Morten Harket, alleyway-faced guitarist and chief scribe Pal (pronounced 'Paul' and with a circle over the 'a', but I can't do that with my keyboard) Waaktaar and curlytop keyboardist Mags Furuholmen had to wait, pennyless and pissed off, for their flagship song "Take On Me" to be released for the FIFTH time before MTV showed the video and it rocketed up to No.2. That video, although almost too 80s for the 80s, was way ahead of its time and remains technically one of the greatest made, with the tearful story of how a girl enjoying a coffee in a caff while reading a comic finds herself being drawn into the story by the Morten as he battles against a bunch of gay motorbike boys. Happy ending ahoy (except for the cafe owner, as the girl disappeared without paying for her frothy coffee) as the dismal girl watches Morten batter himself against the walls of her unfeasibly large bedroom (ripped off from Ken Russells 'Altered States'), sweating and screaming (and yet not waking her parents at all) in order to shake off his inky cartoon existence and join the human race. The song told far less of a story than the flick, but it was more than enough to make A-Ha the biggest band in the UK for the next 18 months. Hit after hit followed, including their solitary No.1 "The Sun Always Shines On TV", the oddball “Train Of Thought” and the genuinely poignant "Hunting High And Low", which also monikered their first album. The domination continued through redoubtable pop catchies, namely the ultra-drummed “I’ve Been Losing You” and the awesome “Cry Wolf” until they went weird and pretentious with “Manhattan Skyline” which was notably their first single not to reach the Top 10 and suffered from Waaktaar’s over-confidence with the English language. There followed the worst-ever Bond theme for the worst-ever Bond film "The Living Daylights" in the death throes of 1987 and the rest of the decade was spent just missing the Top 10 before the 90s kicked in and Waaktaar made them all ludicrously aloof with songs like "Seemingly Nonstop July" which the public duly ignored. Their 1990 cover of "Crying In The Rain" was awesome, but from '89 onwards they had become a single-every-two-years band of what-might-have-been proportions, which continues to this day. Their place in pop folklore is eternal, however, thanks to that first video which is still more than watchable and admirable with age.

And so the 2002 riding season comes to a polite stop in the station, seatbelts are unfastened and lap bars are raised. Here are my top 5 rollercoasters experienced this year:
1. GE Force - Holiday Park, Germany.
Without a doubt the greatest steel coaster in Europe and probably the world. On a sunny Saturday during the World Cup this baby was flying through the trees like shit off a shovel. The most fun you can have with your pants pulled up.
2. Gwazi - Busch Gardens, Florida (see pic above).
A massive mess of twisted timber that reaches awesome speeds on banked corners that look highly illogical and extremely deadly. Not for children.
3. The Hulk - Islands of Adventure, Florida.
If this beauty was entered for the Turner Prize it would win. Stunning to look at and staggering to ride. It's green, it's mean and ever so dramatic. Like me.
4. Rock 'n' Roller Coaster - Disney Studios, Paris. (pic taken before ride was put into a dark building)
Heaps better than it's cousin in Florida. Smooth and fast with a breathtaking launch.
5. Grand National - Pleasure Beach, Blackpool.
For air-time there's no better woody around today. Older than my Mum and Dad but aging so much better.

Thanks to Darren for riding all these with me. Next coasters should be LA and Vegas in Spring 2003.

He's got his own business deconstructing classic bikes and cars in California. He's about to marry this porn star. He's got two kids. He's the star of a new show on the Discovery Channel called 'Monster Garage'. He owns two pit bull terriers. His skin ink is marvellous. Thank you Jockohomo for bringing this stud to my attention.

I returned from the frozen North to gifts from him. A lovely t-shirt from hip shop 'Plum' with a decal of a graffiti artist spray painted onto the shirt. He's an eye for gifts has our kid. Actually it wasn't cold at all in Northumberland or Blackpool. Indian summer they call it. Took my coat but didn't need it. Two days with my parents passed uneventfully. Two days in Blackpool passed in a fury of house hunting and rollercoaster riding. Has no one in Blackpool heard of the house doctor? I viewed dump after dump, moving from room to room making the obligatory complimentary remarks; "ooooooooo, I love what you've done with that woodchip wallpaper!". Saw one excellent home in a smart area of the North Shore so may go back for another peek soon. Friday morning saw me running round the Pleasure Beach riding all the coasters (13 beauties) in an hour and a half before my lunchtime train to London. It was a lovely sunny morning and the views of Blackpool from the top of the Big One were stunning.
Twas lovely to be back in London this weekend. Got drunk last night at the local dump of a gay bar which was packed to the gills for Pam Ann. Except Pam had cancelled earlier in the day but the doorman was failing to point this out to people as they payed £4 to get in. Much bemused looks when Paula Pure (ex Kajagoogoo backing vocalist, oh the dizzy heights of showbiz) walked out to find a packed crowd expecting 'chicken or fish?' jokes from Pam. What a dump.
Saw 'One Hour Photo' today. Disappointed. I got a bit excited when they showed a trailer for Danny Boyles new zombie movie '28 Days Later'. Any 30 somethings out there who remember a BBC TV show called 'The Survivors' from the 70's? Looks a bit like that.

And so it came to pass that the Bengal Curry House (St James St, Walthamstow) were unable to seat 5 of us last night due to a large party of badly dressed, mouth breathers. We backtracked to Khans (also St James St, Walthamstow) where we got the last table. We always walk straight past Khans whenever curry beckons as it’s quite new to the block. Plus it doesn’t have lots of red velvet banquettes, chandeliers and murals of tea pickers so therefore always seemed ‘fake’. Khans proved to be a very refreshing change. Lot’s of blond wood, geometric modern art on the walls and new dishes on the menu that tickled our fancies. Sitting round the table with me and Darren (Darren and Dave 2001-) were Tom (Tom and Dave, 1985-1995), Lucio (Lucio and Dave, 1996-1999) and Martin (Darren and Martin, 1993-2000). A warm glow came over me (nothing to do with the chilli-chicken dish) as I looked around at everyone chatting, drinking and eating and I thought to myself "I love these people and I love my life with them". A kind of corny moment but one which made me feel good.
Tom stumped up for the bill which was nice. He’s in town for the weekend from Zurich so lock up your sons (actually, lock up their Dads too, just to be on the safe side).
At the local dump of a gay bar later that evening Crystal Waide attempted to entertain the masses but failed miserably. What a dump.
I’m off to Northumberland tomorrow on a big fast train. Haven’t seen my family for a few months so thought I better stick my head round the door. Then on Wednesday I’m traveling from Newcastle to Blackpool for 2 nights to do some property research. Time for a 2nd home by the sea we think. Blackpool? How common! How very ‘us’!

I'd love to say that I wrote this but I can't. Mr TD has put into words my thoughts on TRUE LOVE and I thank him.
For Darren:

I believe in true love.
Not the idealised hearts-and-flowers romantic kind. I’m talking about true love. The stuff that’s based on trust, honesty and respect. The stuff that doesn’t have to struggle to fit into pre-conceived notions of what true love is. The slow-burning embers of long-term companionship, rather than the quickly consumed fires of delirious passion. Love that is freely given and freely received, in equal measure, so that it becomes entirely instinctive – second nature. Love that isn’t forever analysing itself and self-consciously declaring itself. Oh yes, I believe in all of that, to the bottom of my soul.

Oh, one more thing Mr TD: could you post all 49 MP3's again please just for a week so that I can download them all and put them onto a cd. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese! I really NEED to hear C-Bank - OneMore Shot again soon.

'24 Hour Party People', which we saw recently and loved, is shot on digital video. The footage is at once a miracle and an annoyance. Anything shot indoors looks pretty good. Anything shot under pink disco lights looks amazing. And anything shot outside, with real light, looks like pixellated garbage. But there are a lot of advantages to digital video here. For starters, the camera really moves. You're always on the dance floor with Tony Wilson; you swirl around the druggy immersion of the Hacienda; the real archival stuff, like the Sex Pistols footage, blends right in. I gotta say, I'm all for movies being made on digital video and released in cinemas. Digital video movies are getting better and cheaper all the time. I see no reason why in five years I shouldn't have access to the gear to make movies just as bad as the ones George Lucas makes.

The Vines are fucking useless.
There isn't any critique of what 'fashionable' folk are doing nowadays. People are genuinely worried about looking cool and trendy to the point where they are scared to say anything in case it's perceived as not being cool and trendy. That's why there isn't really any current dissent about anything to do with youth culture at the moment. Christ, even my Dad wants a pair of Gravis trainers. I disagree with all this so much that I'm happy to take the piss out of things I actually like just because nobody else will. It's important to question things at all levels and have a laugh about it at the same time (those 'Shoreditch Sucks Cocks' t-shirts were very unpopular, wonder why?).

Evisu means wanker in Japanese, apparently. There you go.

Chilly Sunday morning in East London, bath running, coffee cooking and bowels grumbling. Me and Darren gorra pick up Rob at 10am. We're off to Brick Lane and Shoreditch for a mosey round. What a bunch of cool fuckers we are.


A Shoreditch Twat.

The two day visit to Brighton with colleaugues was great. We bonded over spreadsheets, press strategies, fish 'n' chips and seagull shit. I managed to talk Daryl and Mick into riding the Crazy Mouse with me (that's not us above, though that is the Crazy Mouse). It looks like a fairly tame family coaster at the end of the pier with round cars painted in child friendly colours. However, this baby has a kick. The tight corners are taken at a fair lick and are about 80ft in the air hanging over the ocean. Then half way through the ride the cars start to spin freely making those sudden drops and tight corners very unpredictable but highly entertaining. (tip: ride before lunch!).

Off to Brighton tomorrow with work for a couple of days. Team building/morale boosting type of stuff. Bag 'o' shite! Still, better than going to work for two days. At least I get along with my colleagues and have a laugh with them and the sea air will do us all good. Back to normal on Thursday. Missing you already.........

Saturday morning, cup of tea, Marlboro menthol, McAlmont and Butler on the stereo, hot bath, bf blogging on his machine next to mine, supermarket shopping looming, warm chicken salad upcoming, Medal of Honour virtually completed, Bourne Identity watched (very good brainless fun), best friends in Amsterdam this weekend, London grey and chilly and calling out "come play with me". We'll see.

Yesterday I was sitting outside the building where I work enjoying a Marlboro Menthol. A pigeon walked past with a slice of cucumber stuck on its back. I laughed out loud and I swear he gave me a dirty look.

As I approach 40 like a bullet train and see my contemporaries worrying about middle age, grey hair, spare tires and their greedy longing for those lustful days of youth, I worry that I'm not worrying more. Is this because I still feel like I'm 21? Is it because I never really liked the 'company' of younger men? (yes yes, I know Darren is 4 years younger than me, stop interrupting). Or is it my staunch refusal to buy any nice furniture, curtains etc and behave like an 'adult' in our house? Whatever it is I hope it continues to keep me feeling like a randy 20 something with an obsession for rollercoasters and scooters and city holidays and punk rock and weird squigly electronica and French cinema and heaps of other stuff, forever.
While we're on the subject, this piece is really very good (thank you Swish). YOU WILL IDENTIFY.

The Canadian military is using a gay fitness show to train the troops. The Department of National Defence has purchased 26 episodes of "Urban Fitness." The series, which is made by Canada's PrideVision, the world's first gay TV network, has the motto: "Feeling fit. And doing it in style." The show will be shown by closed circuit broadcast to the troops in Europe and the Middle East. Whatever next? (answers in the comments box please)

(as Swish so eloquently said) In an autumnal mood, I read this(September 10th), and tears pricked my eyes. Thinking of BJ in NYC.

We watched 'Together' and 'Sur Mes Levres' on Saturday. A Swedish film and a French film. 'Together' was such a warm movie despite being set in Malmo in the winter. It made us laugh and cry and want to play football in the snow while listening to Abba. 'Sur Mes Levres' was a repeat viewing for us as it is so brilliant. It's the kind of thriller Hollywood would love to make but never will. Not a drop of dialogue is spilled or wasted. Expect to see the Hollywood remake in a couple of years with Julia Roberts trying desperately to be Emanuel Devos.

On Sunday we rose early, prepared a picnic, picked up our friend Martin at the station and then drove to Skegness in Lincolnshire. We had waited two months since the official opening of Jubilee Odyssey to ride it. All the early glitches have now been ironed out and it was running like clockwork (or 'like shit off a shovel' as my Dad would say).
We took a ride on the Millenium coaster first as we hadn't ridden that either. Nice, smooth and fast but not very exciting. Martin was very brave as he doesn't really like coasters or heights but still took the plunge. He was dizzy and a bit discombobulated after we got off the Millenium coaster so we waited a while before getting on Jubilee.
When we did though it was fantatstic. Very steep first drop of 170ft into the worlds largest vertical loop. Extreme G forces coming out of the loop and then into an enormous cobra roll. I won't bore you with any more technical stuff other than to say that it is a masterpiece of engineering. And bloody good fun.
We took a walk on the beach after leaving the coasters, then strolled round town, had dinner and left the seaside at dusk.


Darren and Martin with one of Millenium Coasters loops in the background


We parked the car, got out and this is what we saw - Jubilee Odyssey.


Me and Martin (I'm the one with his eyes shut). Darren did well and managed to capture both trains in the picture. 'Jubilee' leaving the station and 'Millenium' at the top of the first drop.

Why Six Feet Under?
Well, in 1665 the 'Black Death' (bubonic plague) killed 65,000 Londoners and so the Lord Mayor of olde Londinium created new 'rules' for disposing of the dead. Shallow burials were now 'out' and 'in' came these new fangled graves that were to be at least six feet deep. Since then this depth has been the standard.
Also round about this time fleas and body lice were rampant and so most people shaved their body hair. The upper classes were not happy with their new bald pubic look and so the merkin was invented, a triangle of 'real' fur that they stuck 'down there' to hide their embarrassment. As if a stick on fanny wig isn't embarrassing enough. 100 years later the word was adopted by soldiers to describe the mop that they used to clean out their canons.

Darren has found a great way to keep that 'special place' squeaky clean. Every bathroom should have some.

We went to see Insomnia last night. Very good. Nice scenery. I won't bore you with my thoughts or a mini-review. Two very sexy supporting actors. See above.

It turned into a Friday night retail frenzy. A simple visit to HMV on Oxford street resulted in a serious dent to my bank balance. Shoulda known, never learn, what a sucker. I always fall under the spell in these 'multi-entertainment' shops, I'm obviously drawn to the bright lights and pure oxygen that they pump into the shop to keep everyone alert and excited. Part of the problem was arriving before Darren had finished work. He would have kept my manic shopping in check. But I had an hour to kill so I picked up a shopping basket and started browsing. Before you can say "three cd's for 20 quid" that basket was full.
Upstairs in the DVD department, away from the insanity of the CD sale, I took them all out and hid them behind a box set of 'Only Fools and Horses'. I kept the two cd's that I actually wanted in the basket (neither of them in the sale). Very proud of myself. So, if you find the first six Clash albums while looking for volume 8 of Only Fools and Horses in HMV on Oxford Street then do me a favour and get 'em for me (pay you back, honest).
The next problem was the DVD selection. Too much to choose from. Which is his fault as he's sort of responsible for what's on those racks. Anyway, I fled up and down the aisles shovelling movies into my basket. I was putting stuff in there that I'd seen before, stuff I'd missed at the movies, stuff I'd heard was good, stuff with stickers on proclaiming '5* in Empire magazine' and stuff which I already owned on VHS. I was a dream shopper, a shining example of how the sales techniques have been honed to perfection in order to trap folk like me on payday. I was stunned. Like a rabbit in the headlights.
In the relative calm of the games department I came to my senses and stared in horror at my bulging basket. Again I emptied everything out except what I actually wanted and hid the offending movies behind a display for the PlayStation 2 games console. Which is where I got into really big trouble.
The item I actually went to the shop to buy was a game called 'Medal of Honour' for my PC. I found it, read the box and put it in the basket. And thats when it all went a bit pear shaped. They switched on the 'homing beacon' and it began to draw me near. Nearer and nearer until I was standing in front of the PlayStation 2 games console listening to a voice in my head saying "you know you want one, just put it in the basket, what harm can it do?, it's payday, thats what you go to work for innit?" So I put it in the basket. I took out Medal of Honour and replaced it with the PlayStation 2 version. The damage was done. There was no other department to escape to where I could gather my thoughts and re-group my troops. They had me cornered. So I surrendered and handed over my basket to the smiling man behind the counter. "It's a fair cop guv" I muttered as I shot my wad (of money) into his hand.
So, we walked out of HMV with a big bag full of:

A SonyPlaystation 2 games console,
'Medal of Honour',
An 8mb memory card,
'Harry He's Here to Help' on DVD,
'Together' on DVD,
'Biggie and Tupac' on DVD,
'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' by Coldplay on CD,
'Bring it Back' by McAlmont and Butler on CD.

I've been like a dog with two cocks all weekend. The PS2 machine is excellent and 'Medal of Honour' is stunning. The machine is in the bedroom as it's also a DVD player so we were able to watch this on Friday night before lights out!

You better get ready for that punk rock beat.
Now then now then guys and gals, I'll give you two points for the name of the song and five points for the name of the band.

Booze fuelled evening at the Retro Bar last night. Celebrating 25 years of punk and 40 years of Jamaican independence. Blazing tunes played by Princess Dawn and Mark Satanic. Great to hear Typical Girls by the Slits and Police and Thieves by Junior Murvin again. We sat next to a raucous crowd of '30 something' gay boys who loved every minute and managed to remember a few crazy dance steps from 1976. Remember? The moves that made you look like a 'scoper' but cool at the same time? Lets do it again.

Thats not funny so piss off.
In the office today we were discussing the up and coming anniversary of the tragic events in NYC last year. We guessed that most places of work would go for a minutes silence and moments of contemplation on the day. One wag here (no friend of mine) suggested we all wear a firemans helmet and play Jenga. When the tower topples shout "damn you towel headed bastards!" and play dead. Then get a colleague dressed as Bruce Springsteen to revive you by rubbing your face with an American flag. Then punch the nearest Asian. Then insist everyone have a minutes silence to contemplate how good you are, and how rubbish everyone else is.
Needless to say we tut-tutted at him and sent him back to his department with his tail between his legs. Though his words seem quite amusing now that I've written them down (in a Brass Eye sort of way), I still can't bring myself to actually 'take the piss' after nearly a year. It only took a month or so for me to start laughing at Diana jokes.

Star F***er.
Friend of a friend of a friend was somehow at a dinner with Sean Connery and his cronies at Gleneagles last weekend. Everyone was getting nicely pickled and chatting about cinematic anecdotes - then someone asks: "what we really want to know, Sean, is who was the best shag you ever had?" He grins, and says: "too many journalists and gobshites here, boys." Fair enough. Everyone gets far more pissed, and just before the revels end, said friend of a friend of a friend gets tapped on shoulder. It is a very pissed Connery, who simply says: "Petula Clark. 1963. Up the arse." And walks away to his waiting car.

"When you're alone/ And life is making you lonely
You can always go/ Brown Town!"

My friend Rob has just created a list of vinyl singles he bought that had a big influence on him. It's obvious from his list that we started getting into music at roughly the same time. I wanted to do a small list too. Here it is:

Dance with the Devil - Cozy Powell
White Riot - The Clash
Private Life - Grace Jones
Cars - Gary Numan
Public Image - PiL
Nag Nag Nag - Cabaret Voltaire
Life in Tokyo/Quiet Life - Japan
Pistol in my Pocket - Alana Pellay
Upside Down - Jesus and Mary Chain
Wrote for Luck - Happy Mondays (loved that Vince Clarke mix)

I've noticed a lack of female voices on my list compared to Rob's. What could this mean? Also, as a child of the seventies who longed for the 'space age 21st century' to arrive, there is a predominance of 'electronic' artists on my list. Drum machines and synths fascinated me. A boy at my high school got a synthesizer for christmas. When me and some mates went round to see it he showed us how to program a drum track. While the drum track was blaring he took out his cock and bashed the keyboard with it. What a racket! Yet so cool! And this was 20 years before Fischerspooner! He's married with kids now and is a travelling salesman. But for a few months in 1979 he was Ashingtons greatest performance artist.

'Sunday' by Edward Hopper.


Down to Docklands for the noon screening of 'Talk To Her', the new Almodovar movie. We loved it. Very moving. Awesome story about girls in comas, bullfighting and sex with the unconscious. Theres a movie-within-a-movie in the middle which featured a guy who shrank to just a couple of inches in size and climbed inside his girlfriends vagina and never came out. Thoroughly recommended (the movie, not climbing into vaginas).
Following the movie we took a walk along the Thames river path to Wapping. Average cost of an apartment in Docklands is now £300,000. And there's still no fucking shops round there! Plenty of poncy restaurants but no supermarkets, newsagents (ok, we saw two), video rental shops, off licences, chinese take-aways etc. Nice views though, up and down the river.
We were heading for a new museum called the Wapping Project. The building is an old hydraulic power station that has been turned into a gallery and a restaurant. Unlike the Tate Modern, which was also an old industrial site, this one has been largely untouched. The machinery has been removed but the filthy walls and rusty beams and grimy dusty floor all remain to remind us of the original intention of the building. And it looks excellent. The current show is a collection of Magnum photographers pictures of NYC on September 11. The photos are blown up to a size of about 10 ft by 15ft and in the darkened, dirty boiler room they looked stunning. In a room where they used to store tonnes of coal was showing a video loop of one of the Magnum guys digital video films. He was the one who got that video tape of the 2nd plane hitting the tower and was inside tower 2 for 20 minutes filming people evacuating before getting out 5 minutes before tower 1 went down. Needless to say it was the 2nd moving movie of the day. On the roof of the building is a huge photograph of the two towers on fire taken from the street looking up, directly inbetween them both. It's in black and white and is totally symetrical. It's spooky to see the 'real' skyline backdrop from the roof including Canary Wharf and our own glass and steel creations.

Well, a Friday morning chat on the Naked Blog tag board has really put the cat among the pigeons. Me and Alan were lightly scolding Darkinformer for his shyness and just trying to persuade him to 'get out more' as it were. I ended one droll comment by saying "it's great being gay". Oh dear. I upset my favourite blogger. Full story here. And continuing here.

Darren and I have just finished watching 'Before Night Falls' (check out the gorgeous website for the movie). Fucking fantastic. The story of Reinaldo Arenas, a cuban writer persecuted in the 60's and 70's for being gay and a successful author. Directed by the painter Julian Schnabel, it's absolutely magnificent to look at. Javier Bardem (remember him from 'Golden Balls'?) was stunning and deserved his oscar nomination last year. I can't recommend it enough readers.

The star and his director kiss (neither bats for my team, allegedly).

Apologies to anyone who has been trying get through but has lost patience with the very slow loading time. Hopefully rectified now thanks to Alan, Peter and Darren. Fingers crossed.

Old age is a con.

On this day in 1940 Leon Trotsky died in Mexico City from wounds inflicted by an assassin.

"Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that happen to a man." — Leon Trotsky (1879-1940)

And it's 'Happy Birthday' to Joe Strummer from The Clash. He's 50 today and I daresay never expected to get this far when he was 25 and the 'face' of the best rock band the world had ever seen.

"Back in the garage with my bullshit detector
Carbon monoxide making sure it's effective
People ringing up making offers for my life
But I just wanna stay in the garage all night" - The Clash (Garageland. 1976)

When I was a lad we always had a two week holiday with our caravan. It was a small caravan that we pulled behind our car. My Mum, Dad, Gran and me would tour the seaside resorts of England, Scotland and Wales every summer. My favourite resort was always Blackpool, 2nd choice would be Great Yarmouth and my other fave was Skegness. Family lore has it that I went missing during a holiday to Skegness when I was 7 years old. We’d been to the local fun park that morning where there was a great little steel roller coaster (like this one but not this one). I was fascinated by roller coasters even then so after a couple of rides on it with my Dad my rapture just multiplied. An hour or two at the fun park had not been enough for me and I was incensed at having to leave in order to ‘go round the market’ shopping. I sulked all the way there and then secretly slipped away and made my way back to the sea front and the fun park. I found a bench to sit on opposite the roller coaster and stayed there for over 3 hours just watching it go round and round. Really, I was that easily pleased. All hell broke loose when my family found me and my legs stung for days after my Dad had finished with them. How I wasn’t whisked away by a murderous pervert is a miracle (though it probably helped being an ugly urchin from a pit village). Anyway, from then on I was never hurried out of a fun park again (though I did go missing once again that same year and was found by a policeman in the tram depot at Blackpool, another good hiding from my Dad ensued).
I haven’t been to Skegness since I was about 12 years old and next month me and Darren are going back to ride this (and look, there are some caravans too).
The 'Skegness' link above contains a photo of the beach and in the background is the offending roller coaster from this story. can't wait to see it again.
N.B. (for our foreign readers) a 'good hiding' is getting the shit kicked out of you by your Dad. Not really, but you know what I mean.

This should be a lot of fun for the '30 something' punks among us. I'll be there!

Weekend
Quality time with him. Lots of these. None of these. This was great. This wasn't. Lunch in the garden with him and him and him. We ate this. This finished. Jarvis as Rolf on 'Stars in their Eyes' was strange yet quite droll. Spent time here. Made more of these. This kept us cool all weekend long.

Comet Gain
Last night at lucios house we sat in the garden waiting for a comet to whizz past. Lucio has a broken arm and leg from a motorcycle accident last week. He's been wandering around for a week now in a pair of 501's with one leg cut off at the upper thigh. He intends to sue the driver for the jeans as well as missed work at the BBC, his Bandit 600 and a crash helmet with a crack in it.
We sat in his garden in the dark drinking wine and Pepsi Max discussing spiders, telescopes, geese, pigeons, professional gardeners and self suckers.
The comet did not appear in the skies above Walthamstow. Never mind.

But I'm not a full figured, glamorous, black lady-doll. By a long chalk. And apologies to everyone who hates these little quiz/test things that crop up every few weeks. I actually don't mind them but I do understand how some folk have tired of their 'usefulness'. By forwarding these tests on to my colleagues at work (mostly dim and ugly mouth-breathers) I have found myself with a 'fun guy' reputation simply because they adore these tests and even call each other by whatever name they were given in the last quiz. Each to their own I suppose. This is Traceera, sorry, Dave signing out after a long week at work.

If I was a fabulous, full figured, black glamour doll I would be called:
Traceera Cleopatra Washington

Whats your name girlfriend?

Happy Birthday Ben Affleck

That's just how we like you. On your front, ass in the air, leather pants, a big smile and two thumbs up.

Also happy birthday to Matt Johnson from 'The The'. Soul Mining was my favourite album of the 80's.

This is not Matt Johnson from 'The The'. He is called Matt Johnson though, and much more attractive than the singer from 'The The'.

He was a funny bugger in his day.

"I have always been of the opinion that a large group of queer men was unattractive. It is more then unattractive, it's macabre, sinister, irritating and somehow tragic".

Today he would be called a miserable old bastard.

Unlike Brighton at the weekend, it didn't rain once in Paris. Not a drop. Twas positively balmy. Most of paris had headed for the hills and their gites leaving us and a million other art lovers to our own devices. The hotel was fantastic. Ridiculously over the top and very very comfortable. We had the Brigitte Bardot suite (which was next door to the Yves Saint laurent and across the corridor from the Gaultier). Lots of red velvet and dark marble and breakfast in bed served by very smart North African chaps. From our balcony we looked down on the seediness of Pigalle and across to the splendour of Sacre Coeur.
We toddled around Montmarte and ate at Chartier on Friday evening. Saturday was the William Klein exhibition at the Musuem of European Photography followed by the new Woody Allen movie 'Hollywood Ending'. We liked the movie. Delicious dinner at a cosy bistro (oh! the lobster ravioli), bottle of wine and bed.
Sunday was Darrens birthday and was spent at the Pompidou Centre. All day. We did emerge for a long lunch at a local bistro before heading back in to see the 'Dear Painter' exhibition. We loved Kurt Kaupers paintings of Cary Grant naked.
Arrived at Waterloo at 10pm and took a black cab home. Thats all folks.

See you all on Monday.

Things to pack for a long weekend in Paris:
Passport. (nearly full so must remember to re-new soon, Kazakh and Uzbek visas are taking up two thirds of the pages so must remember to make work pay for new one)
Tickets. Splashed out for Darrens birthday, travelling first class. Apparently they serve a three course meal on board. Just like in 'Murder on the Orient Express' (must remember to use correct cutlery for each course and avoid being murdered).
Wallet. Money. Euros. For spending. On junk. At flea markets.
Hotel reservation reference. Booked us into a swish place in the Pigalle which has been styled on a 19th century 'upscale' brothel. As one of Darrens favourite films of the past year was 'Moulin Rouge' I thought it quite apt that we stay in the heart of all that seediness.
Time Out Guide to Paris. For those little 'out of the way' places that make you think you saw a bit of Paris that nodody else knew about. When in fact all you saw was something that no one else actually wanted to see (usually a piss soaked alley in which Napoleon once shagged a hooker).
Camera. To take pictures of piss soaked alleys.
Beret, Bike, Onions and Bretton Shirt. To make us look like we aren't tourists.

I thought so......
I wondered why I became a lot 'happier' in 1989.
Could it be because I passed my motorbike driving test?

What a funny guy!
I was so glad that the doco on Leigh tonight was laugh-out-loud funny. Oh how we howled! There was lots of footage of the Michael Clark shows which were always hilarious for me (so hilarious that I flew to Sydney once just to see the show one last time). Mr Atlas did a great job on fat Leigh and didn't dwell on all the tragic and scary stuff (much). It was great to see him again, swinging his fat ass and manky mirkin on stage at the Daisy Chain. And that bit where he wins the Alternative Miss World competition and two 'freaks' (I use the term loosely around Leigh) lead him out onto the stage and he slips and falls and drags everyone down with him. Old friends (Rachael Auburn, Boy George, Bella Freud) all said that the thing they miss the most about Leigh is the way he could make them laugh.
Strange audience tonight. Mostly women, most of them on their own and most of them over 40. Odd.

I'm off to see the new Charles Atlas documentary tonight at the ICA; 'The Legend of Leigh Bowery'.
I went to plenty of 'weirdo' clubs in london in the 80's and remember the very scary Leigh Bowery. I also used to follow 'Minty' round (his band) and will never forget the famous 'enema show' at the Freedom Bar in Soho (a very young Alexander McQueen was there too). 'Whatever' (Aiden Shaws band) often played with Minty. They used to put tipex on their teeth but weren't as scary as 'Minty'.

Did you know that hamburgers have been around since the 13th century? And the next time someone says" I don't know why they call them hamburgers because there's no ham in them" you can explain why. This food 'timeline chart' is fascinating. No, honest, it is.

Before

After


The heavy summer rain two nights ago did this to our lovely gazebo. Good riddance to cheap tat.

Cool, I'm Claire!
Who are you?

That was then and this is now.
In my local CD emporium at lunchtime today I couldn’t help but notice the outrageous amount of Ibiza compilations on sale. The Ibiza bubble was supposed to ‘burst’ a few years ago but apparently still hasn’t, in fact the whole thing seems to be bigger than ever. Is it now a phenomenon?
In 1989 I was a regular at Dave Dorrels ‘Love’ at the Wag Club. Acid house was over and a purer version of the sound we call ‘house’ was beginning to emerge (by purer I mean a more European version of that crispy sound invented in a big black gay disco in Chicago). Anyway, the Wag and Charlie Chester decided to take a planeload of clubbers to the island of Ibiza for two weeks of parties. Though Ibiza already had the huge clubs it didn’t yet have the reputation it was to gain a few years later. For £299 you got a flight, an apartment and a club pass into the various one nighters that they were arranging. Not bad. The clubs were either in San Antonio or Ibiza Town or on top of a mountain in the middle of nowhere so the organisers helpfully put us all into apartments nowhere near any of these places in a family orientated resort called Santa Eulalia. We had to hire scooters to get around, which, on unlit Ibizan roads, proved to be like ‘Death Race 2000’ every night. Needless to say the clubs were fantastic. Huge hangers where all drinks cost £10 (whisky, beer, water, whatever), where dance floors turned into swimming pools, where the sun rose over terraces far too early and where Sean Ryder could be seen most nights collapsed in a corner covered in piss and vomit. 808 State, The Farm and A Man Called Adam all played live that week (The Beloved were there begging to be let near a stage but thankfully were always refused: professional Ibizans, who needs ‘em). Channel Four followed us around and made a documentary that they only (appropriately) showed at 4am on Sunday mornings. I’ve never been back to Ibiza since and I won’t forget the utter exhaustion I felt when I got home. It wasn't a holiday if you need a holiday when you get back from holiday.

I never go out on a school night.
Last night was great. I walked from Victoria to Chinatown via Whitehall to meet Darren at 6pm. We had a delicious meal at Won Kei (non air-conditioned but we got to sit under a wall fan). Then we stood outside Comptons enjoying their ‘all drinks £1.50’ promotion while taking the piss out of all the queens (I’m sure they took the piss out of us too so it all balances out). We met up with some friends and toddled over to the theatre at 9.30pm. Kiki and Herb were ace. Very funny banter in between the songs about how they’ve been together since the 40’s and are responsible for the careers of most of the great recording artists of the 20th century. Their versions of songs by Kate Bush, Radiohead, Wu Tang Clan and Bonnie Tyler were very poignant and gaudy and bloody funny. And yes, the theatre was air-conditioned, twas bliss. We got home at midnight and realised we hadn’t set the video for ‘Six Feet Under’. Doh! Good job it’s repeated on Wednesday.

Arriving for breakfast naked not recommended.
A friend wrote to me today about his weekend trip to Moscow to see an ‘ex’. This ‘ex’ is now a psycho Russian rent boy/man (lets call him Igor). It all makes a picnic in an East London Park sound a bit boring.

“I arrived late on Thursday night but didn't tell him I was arriving till Friday. We met on Friday for lunch. He started drinking vodka straight away. We were in quite a nice café so I decided not to drink because I had a feeling it was gonna get messy. Igor started an argument with another diner so we basically had to leave. Next we met an American friend of his, which was a huge relief for me. We went to another café where Igor abused the waiters, casting aspersions about their sexual orientation and even asked one of them for a date. Needless to say we were asked to leave. Dinner that night was at a smart Chinese restaurant. The American was still with us and Igor was really getting on my tits by this time, I thought if he ate some food he would settle down a bit. But he didn’t. The restaurant was lovely, very expensive. Igor started abusing the staff once again - I thought ‘here we go again' so halfway through the meal I left, walked out, and left them to it.
At 5.30 the next morning Igor turns up at my hotel with another dodgy Russian and a bottle of whisky. They start drinking so I get dressed and head out to do some early morning sightseeing. I return about 11am hoping he would be sleeping it off. I get to my room and the door is open and the police are there. Igor has gone crazy in the hotel. He’s drunk and out of his mind and doesn't even know where he is. The hotel security guard takes me aside and explains that at 9am Igor had walked into the hotel restaurant stark naked. This was of course, after he had shit himself in the lift on the way down. He had ‘it’ all over his feet, the carpet was covered, absolutely disgusting. I got rid of the police with a bit of money and made him take a shower and put him to bed. I collected my stuff whilst he was asleep and went straight to the airport and bought a one way ticket home. So all in all I had a great weekend, very interesting. What did you do?”

Pictures of men in tight white pants here.
Vote for your favourite! Add your own picture! What fun!

Off to see Kiki and Herb tonight at the Soho Theatre.
Please please please please please let it be air-conditioned.

The summer heat made 'em all quite cranky

After a curry picnic at the Mela

Last night we watched two French films 'The Closet' and 'Savage Nights'. 'The Closet' was a light comedy with lovely performances but not much soul and 'Savage Nights' is a beautiful tale of love and the horrors it can cause.
Speaking of our Gallic cousins, we'll be in Paris for a long weekend in two weeks. Darrens birthday present from me. Staying here and travelling first class on the Eurostar. As most Parisians escape the city in August there will just be me and Darren and a couple of million other tourists in town that weekend. Anyone wanna join us for dinner at Chartier?

Off to Walthamstow Mela this afternoon for some nice Asian grub.

Reflecting upon yesterdays post about life in London, I realised I hadn't included enough 'cool' stuff that I do. The last thing I want is for someone to read this and decide that London is a dump where opportunities for fun abound but no one can be arsed to actually do any of it (which, 90% of the time, I can't).
I should tell you about the number of groovy clubs for poofs that now play punk rock tunes, our favourite being Duckie. About the great markets in Camden, Brick Lane and Greenwich where you can buy stuff from past decades. And the fantastic restaurants like Won Kei in Chinatown, the vegetarian curry place in Chapel Market Islington, the pie and mash shops of the East End and the 24 hour jewish bagel joint on Brick Lane, where, for less than a fiver, you can pig-out big time (quantity, not quality, is our mantra). I should also tell you about the shops that only exist in our fair city like Magma books, Bond, the Algerian Coffee Stores in Soho, Forbidden Planet (I know they have other branches in the UK but ours is the best), Liberty and the really big Woolworths in Walthamstow.
There are the parks where we wander (Londons lungs) like Greenwich, St James and Soho Square and the streets that make us think of olde London towne. I go to these places infrequently but I do go.
Then there's the people. 10 million gorgeous people. All using the same train as me when I travel by underground.
And I can buy the NME on tuesday evening (instead of waiting till Thursday morning as I used to in Northumberland).
When I speak to my parents on the telephone on Monday mornings and they ask me what I got up to at the weekend and I reply "not much" they always say the same thing: "I don't know why you bother living in London". I do.

London Calling
Apart from the obvious reason (work), why do I live in London? My reasons for staying in the city that infuriates me (yet I remain devoted to) are many and varied.

1. It’s Englands Capital and I fell in love with it when my junior school brought us here for a week in 1975.
I saw Jesus Christ Superstar at the theatre that week. We were up in the gods (cheap seats) which I thought must be the most expensive as we got free mini-binoculars to use.

2. Though I never do, I know I can go the movies at midnight, buy a kebab at 5am, shop for cd’s and books till at least 11pm, get a bus to the end of my street at ALL hours, see Hollywood A-list stars on stage in world class theatres, buy yellow peppers and mangoes at most corner shops, swim naked at numerous swimming pools, have condoms delivered to my door…… The fact that I CAN do these things is what makes all the difference to me.

3. Heathrow, Gatwick, Stansted and Luton. Cheap flights from these airports have enabled me to have a lot of fun abroad.

4. When it all goes wrong (the summer heat, tube strikes, muggings, filth and hatred) the one thing I gain is that potent feeling that I’m alive and living in one big, motherfucking hell-hole of a city. Which for a simple country boy like myself is quite an achievement.

Go Billy!

With a face like that, Billy the mongrel just had to be famous one day. He's just been named Britain's Ugliest Dog because of his dumb expression, vampire-like fangs and dog-rough coat. The 10-year-old whippet cross only has two teeth left and six-inch long hairs growing out of his ears. His owner, Marilyn, got him as a stray eight years ago and loves Billy to bits but even she says he "looks like an extra from a Dracula film". So it was no surprise when his appearance drew gasps from the audience at a dog "beauty" contest in London. Billy's got the last laugh though - he's been signed by an animal modelling agency. Hurrah! It's so British to cheer for the under-dog.

I come from a mining town in Northumberland called Ashington. I left school at 16 and went down the pit just like my Dad. I worked there for three years until the start of the 1984 miners strike. I resigned at the start of the strike and moved to London. Never looked back. However, I am extremely proud of my roots and my home town and want to tell you about something special.

The Ashington Art Group began in 1934 and was an entirely new concept for the miners of the town who were asked to join (this was a community with no history of art appreciation). It started as an evening class held once a week by the Workers Education Association. They were sent an art tutor from King’s College, Newcastle upon Tyne, who was faced with the problem of introducing the subject of art to men who had no knowledge of painting at all, who had never even seen an original work of art, and who spent their entire working life underground. The tutor encouraged the men to paint from their own experiences, and once a week he would set them a subject to work on at home and then bring to class for criticism. This proved to be very difficult at first as the men had to learn to lay open feelings and memories normally held strictly in check. The idea of painting gradually became an obsession with the men, and they painted on any materials they could find - canvas, wood, cardboard and paper. The paintings were not intended for exhibition or sale, they were simply regarded as a venture in self-expression. Gradually their work began to arouse interest and was exhibited in public as an art educational model.

The idea that art need not be the exclusive pass-time of the privileged shone through the work of the Ashington Group, and it became the model for similar ventures in other parts of the country. The Ashington Group, however, has remained unique among amateur art groups. The desire to illustrate their hard life (below and above ground) brought an intensity to their art rarely found in other amateur work. The Ashington paintings record an important chapter in social and industrial history. Their views on work, home and community make their art a lasting testament to self-help and a permanent example both to artists and to society at large.
See their work here.

I've seen that face before (libertango)
On sunday morning we sat down to watch Paul Bartels masterpiece 'Eating Raoul' (1982) on dvd. Tis a black comedy about sexual desire, canibalism and the morally stagnant LA of the 80's. Anyway, throughout the movie I was really bugged about the guy who played the sexy Chicano burgler/meat dealer, Robert Beltran. I knew his face but from where I knew not. A quick search on IMDB revealed that he was Chokotay in Voyager! Mystery solved. Then it happened again. A woman dressed in fur at a swingers party near the end of the movie triggered my memory but again I couldn't place her. Turned out to be Edie McClurg. Edie played the school secretary in 'Ferris Buellers Day Off' (a movie I watched at least once a month in the 80's). She also did a great turn as a car rental agent in 'Trains, Planes and Automobiles'.
Also watched Mike Leigh's 'Career Girls'. Cringingly excellent.

A very pleasant surprise.
Saturday was nice. Got up early, read some blogs, cut the grass, watched 'Amelie' (very twee and sweet), went to the Sea Breeze Fish Bar in Walthamstow market for a greasy lunch with Darren and Lucio, had a nap, cut my hair, had a bath and then drove to Duckie in South London with Darren, Lucio and Lucios latest boy toy.
As I've mentioned before Duckie is our favourite club. The only place to hear the theme from 'Batman' and 'My Perfect Cousin' by the Undertones and 'Stop In The Name Of Love' by the Supremes and countless other kitsch oddities. The dj's, The Readers Wifes, now have their own website, here it is. Anyway, Amy Lame, came on stage at midnight to announce tonights performers, Kiki and Herb! After a sharp intake of breath from me and Darren (we have tickets to see Kiki and Herbs full length theatre show next week) we thanked our lucky stars that we had forced ourselves to go out tonight instead of just festering in front of the telly or computer. The performers at Duckie can be hit and miss (mostly miss) so we never check out who's on before we leave the house. What a very pleasant surprise.
Kiki and Herb did four numbers in their own drunken, bad lounge act style. Space Oddity by Bowie, Fox in the Snow by Belle and Sebastian, Hardcore by Pulp and Running up that Hill by Kate Bush. Most folk at the club seemed to know who they were and gave them a fantastic reception but there were a few 'new faces' around looking a bit bemused thinking 'what is this shit?'. Can't wait for the full theatrical event now. They're on here.
I drove the drunks home at 3am but not before we stocked up on salmon and cream cheese bagels at the 24 hour jewish bakery on Brick Lane. The sun was coming up when we went to bed.

What is the key to success?
Drive that nagging voice out of your head that says you suck. It is wrong.
Also, don't constantly measure yourself against other people's accomplishments. Do what's best for you and bingo! you're a success!

My current top ten coasters for the 2002 riding season:
(all photo's taken by me)

1. GE Force - Holiday World, Germany.
Went straight to number 1 a few months ago. Incredible airtime and comfort for a steel coaster.
2. Gwazi - Busch Gardens. Tampa, Florida.
A wooden twister that brings tears to the eyes.
3. Grand National - Blackpool.
50 years old and still packing a punch. One of the best racers I've ever been on.
4. Oblivion - Alton Towers.
Terrifying.
5. Hulk - Islands of Adventure, Florida.
HUGE green monster of a ride with immense speed AND an incredible launched lift hill.
6. Manum XL200 - Cedar Point, Ohio.
My old number 1. Still awesome fun.
7. Millenium Force - Cedar Point, Ohio.
Over 300 ft tall and nearly 100mph. Blackouts not un-heard of.
8. Raging Bull - Six Flags Great America, Illinois.
Smooth operator. Like sitting in an armchair doing 80 mph.
9. Shivering Timbers - Michigans Adventure, Michigan.
The best out and back in the world. You will spend more time out of your seat than in it.
10.The Beast - Paramount Kings Island, Ohio.
A long and fast trip through the woods. We couldn't get enough and kept going round and round and.............

Today the new Kazakh Ambassador to London presented his credentials to the Queen. I, being quite important in these sort of circles, got to attend. Queeny didn't show up so Prince Charles presided instead. Prince Edward poked his nose in for a few minutes too. The kazakhs arrived in horse drawn carriages with a full police escort. The Queen doesn't usually say much at these events but Prince Charles wouldn't shut up. And he laughed like a drain at his own jokes. Afterwards we retired to a local hotel (luckily the Royals remained at the Palace) for a buffet lunch where I was forced to make small talk with boring businessmen. Chit chat has never been my forte. Top tucker though.

Tomorrow I'm meeting with Madonna to discuss schools for her kids. Not really.

When I was 15 and in my final year year at school (yeah, I left at 16!) I bunked off with a mate and we took the bus into Newcastle. We lived in Ashington which is a mining town about 20 miles north of Newcastle. It's a dump. Anyway, the reason we played hooky that day was because Bow Wow Wow were playing the University that night and we were going to try and buy a ticket and get someone to sign us into the students union to see the gig. In those days you had to be 18 years old and a student to gain entry to concerts and we did not look 18 so it was all a huge gamble. We hung around the doors of the venue looking for kind faced students (oxymoron) to sign us in so we could buy the tickets. Needless to say none of the duffel coat wearing bastards would do it so we hung around sulking and debating whether to go home or not.
Then our luck changed. The roadies and equipment for Bow Wow Wow arrived in a big lorry and we got to watch as they started to unload (it's amazing the things you find fascinating at 15). They saw us watching and started to give us stuff to carry in, BINGO! we were inside. We stayed and watched the band sound check and then just sat with the roadies till the gig started. We got to see Bow Wow Wow without paying or begging/bribing any students to sign us in. And the band tore the place apart in their Viv Westwood pirate outfits. Oh it was magical.
The next day at school was soooooooooo annoying. No one believed our story. This great day out, hob-nobbing with the punk glitterati, couldn't be shared with anyone because they DIDN'T WANT to believe that it had happened to us. We were two spotty, unpopular weirdo's and cool stuff just doesn't happen to losers like that. The moral of this story is: the camera never lies so don't leave home without one. Oh, and students are twats.

We got to the theatre early last night so we were standing around outside people watching. A big black limo with blacked out windows pulls up to the curb and a leggy beauty teeters out onto the pavement in very high heels. She walks towards us smiling. I say “ hi doll!” and Darren says “good luck tonight”, she says “thanks” and pulls her huge mouth into a gorgeous grin and disappears through the stage door. We swooned (as anyone would in the presence of an icon).
Sandra walked on stage to enormous cheers. Her monologues were very political and the events last September in NYC seemed to be the springboard for a lot of her rants. No one escaped her vitriol; Bush, the firemen and cops, Al Queda and the ‘new’ New Yorkers and their post 9/11 consciousness. But it was all done in that wonderful Bernhard fashion where she almost persuades you that her view of the world is the only view worth having. She did the whole show in jeans and a t-shirt (except for a couple of numbers she sang in her bra with her jeans loosened revealing her skimpy panties). No costume changes this time. Her talent for conjuring up a certain time and place is still outstanding as shown in a great song about driving across America to San Francisco in 1968. Highlight of the night? Without a doubt, her version of ‘Little Red Corvette’ which sent the crowd wild. Come back soon Sandra, we miss you.

To celebrate the 'new' hot weather we sat outside and bbq'd some sausages and ate them under our new gazebo.
So sophistimacated we are!

Bet your bottom dollar, come what may!
Fucking hell, 2 sunny days in a row! Sorry to be so coarse but this summer so far has been such a non-event (weather wise) that the sight of the sun 2 days in a row has shocked me.
Yesterday me and Darren drove to Greenwich for the day. We parked the car on Blackheath and walked through Greenwich Park down to the High Street. We never knew how beautiful that park is. The good weather was responsible for lots of top looking totty playing footy with their tops off and for this we were grateful. If you are into retro stuff (especially 50's, 60's and 70's ephemera) then Greenwich is the place to go. The markets there are excellent, and so much cheaper than Camden or Brick Lane. We didn't buy anything but so easily could have. I'm mad for 70's furniture so it was pretty heartbreaking to walk around ooooooohing and aaaaaaaahing at various pieces knowing that there was no room at the inn for them. This shop was fantastic.
We had a traditional cockney lunch at Goddards Pie and Mash shop before we strolled over to see the Cutty Sark. Which is a big old ship.
We topped the day off by going to see 'Minority Report' at Greenwich Cinema. Darren loved it but I thought it was just OK. I was bored in the middle but liked the way the movie looked. All blue hues and very bright white light. I was pleased to see that GAP and Ben and Jerrys will still be around in 60 years time.

Sandra Bernhard tonight at Shepherds Bush Empire. Hurrah!

the Beatles were number one when I was born
And so Friday arrives. I've been very tired this week, not sleeping at all well. I got out of the bath last night after a quick soak and Darren kindly pointed out that "you look like death". Nice.
'Scrubs' started last night on channel 4 and was good. We saw a few episodes while we were in Florida earlier this year and they were better than last nights edition so it must improve as it rolls on. 'Six Feet Under' remains the TV highlight of the week but 'Big Brother' is proving to be very addictive. Tim must die.
I've been busy making some new crispy electronica sounds this week and they should be broadcastable quite soon. In the meantime don't forget about my earlier masterpieces which are still pulling in the punters here.

Happiness arrives in many forms but is fleeting and must be squeezed dry when it's in your hands. We all slip in and out of periods of gloom/ joy/ depression/ anxiety/ jealousy/ bliss/ ecstasy/ sorrow........all feelings associated with the living. Grateful to be breathing in 2002, thank you Mum!

NewsAlert!
Panic gripped the streets of London this morning when patches of sky took on an unusual blue colour and a ball of fire appeared above the city. The phenomenon, known as 'The Sun' and commonly found in Mediterranean countries, unleashed a terrifying heat and brightness upon the capital, causing many pedestrians to take off their hats and scarves, while motorists were able to turn both their headlights and wipers off. Tony Blair urged people to be calm and return to work as normal stating: "We've seen this sort of thing before but it never lasts." There are forecasts that 'The Sun' could be seen throughout the weekend but a spokesman for No.10 said, "I wouldn't hold my breath".
(Reuters, London)

my daddy, my daddy!
despite a taste for sick foreign horror films and vintage 70's porn 'the railway children' remains one of my favourite movies. when i was a wee lad in newcastle i would watch it whenever it was on tv (which seemed to be every few months back then). remember the scary landslide? or the russian writer 'mummy' takes care of? what about the bit where they collect birthday gifts for perks (bernard cribbens) and he then refuses them? and what about that bit where they save the life of a cross country runner (who surely must have been a poof). or the bit where they are watching the train go past their house one morning and everyone on board is waving newspapers at them? oh, i'm filling up just thinking about it. watch the trailer here and tell me i'm not the only 30 something who wanted to be jenny agutter when he was 12 years old.

this afternoon i rode my bike along the river lea. it was a gorgeous afternoon, the river was high, swans were swanning about looking very graceful, grown men were flying kites and remote control airplanes, david bowie was singing tracks from 'heathen' to me. all was right with the little piece of my world for an hour or two. i was suffering from cabin fever following yesterdays festivities and needed to get out and breathe in that lovely london air. this morning i downloaded the kruder and dorfmeister sessions which i think will probably be my cd of the week. gonna watch 'amelie' tonight.

150,000 motherfucking fags in a field.
yesterday was mardi gras. me and darren spent the day with rob. we all got pissed, had a laugh, spent a fortune, walked for miles, watched some great bands (and some shit ones), ogled some 'lookers' and tut tutted at some mingers. top day out.
the day didn't start well as the local council refused to let the proceedings start at 1pm as the site was too muddy. they were worried about access for emergency vehicles (understandably). finally, at 3pm (2 hours late) we were granted entrance. our friend lucio had given up by this time and gone home as he was only going to spend a few hours at mardi gras because his 'special friend' was arriving from leeds at 5pm. at least he got a tenner back for his ticket from a tout as he left.
the site was enormous this year, much bigger than the previous years in finsbury park. it was still filled with all the usual stuff though, just more spaced out (but not as spaced out as most of the crazy fags in the dance tents). the bars were only serving three types of alcohol; a lager, a sweet vodka alcopop concoction or a glass of wine. all drinks were three quid, same price as last year (no inflation!). the fun fair was huge and had some very up-to-date spin 'n' spews and this year there was even a rollercoaster! it was a smaller version of the spinning wild mouse on brighton pier. needless to say we didn't ride any of them. i'm nearly 40 you know.
the market place had all the usual stalls selling rubber and leather stuff and, needless to say, we didn't buy anything. it was nice to see all the 'do-gooder' community groups represented (the gay and lesbian crack cocaine group caught my attention) but, needless to say, we didn't join any of them.
the best looking fellas of the day were around the XXL tent and the teddy bears picnic bar. though there were some stunnas playing volleyball and 5 a side soccer. the yeah yeah yeahs and the cooper temple clause played the popstars stage in the afternoon and were great. westlife and A1 and a host of other kiddy-pop stars played the main stage and were shite (though a huge crowd of G.A.Y. poofs thought otherwise). there was ballroom and line dancing (always good for a laugh), a blessing tent (nice to walk past and shout "they won't last six weeks!"), numerous vendors selling identikit food and lots of other 'gay' stuff that i can't remember now.
i always enjoy mardi gras and yesterday was no different. the time went so quick and before we knew it we were in the mosh pit for the finale of the day, SUEDE! they did a fantastic greatest hits show that had thousands singing along to 'trash' and 'she's in fashion'. most excellent. twas all over at 10pm (very civilised). we walked most of the way home, bought some hagen dazs ice cream and collapsed onto our sofa happy and all gayed up.

boom boom!
i went to buy some camouflage trousers today but I couldn't find any.

a friend of dorothy is a friend indeed
i just had a meeting at work with a dwarf. he's quite important in the business circles of west yorkshire and was a jolly nice fellow. for years dwarves have scared me and certain scenes in the wizard of oz were always unwatchable for me. we chatted about the GDP of kazakhstan and other boring stuff and then went our separate ways. i wasn't at all scared of him and enjoyed his company. i feel very grown up now and have decided to buy some cheddar on the way home as i have been terrified of cheese since i was a nipper at school when mrs evans, the evil dinner lady, forced me to eat cheese pie which made me throw up. i should be jumping out of planes by next week.

i wish i'd written this. a classic, and my sentiments exactly. like they say in blogland USA "neohomo, you rock!"

"The morning was spent between violent laughter and violent shuddering as John and I scanned the personals at gaymuscle.org. Trite, banal, deluded, stereotypical... Words fail me as I try to describe this site. Here are the majority of gay men's ideal gay men, young and old, pecs pumping, and idiots one and all.

My favorites aren't the 'cute' gay men who look like bright-eyed elves fresh from making magic cookies in a hollow oak tree. Rather, my favorites are the 'masculine' gay men whose pictures show them looking tough, humorless, emotionless, just as they know a real man should. Some don't even have on the passé cowboy hats and Levis, those uniforms of a previous generation's masculine gays. Instead they're shown looking oily and sober, hair wet presumably from gym sweat, which is this generation's cowboy hat. All of this is supposed to make them appear masculine, but instead they look frightened, terrified that one might realize that, for all the macho pseudo-heterosexual bullshit, they are in actuality gay, fags who like having sex with men. Just like women and magic elves."

happy birthday mum!

there’s a lot of bitching going on out there in blog land (worldwide) about the various gay pride festivities taking place this summer. it seems that a lot of young men are a bit disillusioned about what the event should signify and even whether they should be ‘proud’ at all. i, for one, have never recovered from that immense feeling of deliverance (or freedom or liberation, call it what you like) upon wandering into my first gay pride festival and witnessing hundreds of thousands of people ‘like me’. for the first 20 years of my life I thought I was the only one with this ‘affliction’ so to see so many other ‘sick’ people in one place did my heart good. a lot of peoples complaints recently have been about how they are embarrassed about being perceived as a bit freaky because of all the freaky people doing freaky things on floats while marching. some people would rather the floats were filled with gay jocks in abercrombie and fitch clothes doing ‘straight’ things such as………… (insert your own example here, I can’t actually think of any). can someone tell me why we would want straight onlookers to see this and think “ why, look at that, they’re just like us”. and why would we want to be like them anyway? weird. it seems to me that our strength is in our difference. surely on this one day of the year we can celebrate this. last year at london mardi gras i peered into the ‘trade’ club marquee and was amazed to see 2000 men off their tits on animal tranquillisers dancing to ear bleeding techno music. most of them were topless, the heat was oppressive, the air smelled of poppers, the strobes were blinding and it looked fantastic (i must add that though I have been to trade twice in it’s ten year history, it really is not my cup of tea). this was a vision that would fulfil middle englands idea of what a sick bunch of individuals we all are. hurrah! so, if you are off to any pride celebrations soon have fun and if you are feeling a bit ‘gay ashamed’ at the moment then at least get out there and celebrate your shame.