Early weekend

THURSDAY: The weekend started early with myself and him and a couple of mutuals wangling an invite to an advertising/marketing/meeja type bash at Just St James off Piccadilly. Ooh la lah. It was held by TCS Media for their tenth birthday. Our mate Dazzler was DJing at the event and they gave him some invites. The invites were for men specifically. That should have started warning bells ringing but I let myself be lured in by the prospect of free booze and nibbles.

Had a couple of drinks first in Davy's Wine Bar round the corner. Maybe three.
We swanked up to Just St James in our best corporate clobber - to be handed a little key on entering the bar. All the men had little keys. All the women had little padlocks. You get the idea....
There were some prizes to be had via raffle tickets obtained after a successful key-padlock interface scenario. They must have been good prizes because my evening was frequently punctuated by women thrusting their padlocks at me. Which irritated me somewhat, miserable curmudgeon that I am.
Made up for it by losing no time in swilling vast quantities of free champagne (and wine and spirits and beer). Got very drunk, very quick - we were the first on the dancefloor, gyrating about like fools, prancing about like tits and loving it.

Then there were speeches by the the two people who had originally set the company up. They talked of their trials and tribulations in starting the business. I got disturbingly emotional about it - 'oohing' and 'aahing' and cheering my head off at the appropriate places despite having never seen, spoken with or heard of any these people before in my life. It's amazing what alcohol does to me.

Made full use of all the games installed around the joint (casino, skill tests etc. Especially the Scalextric set, although I got quite aggressive about that...)

One of the padlock-profferers got lucky with my key, so I got bodily dragged to the raffle table to get our tickets. First prize was a holiday to somewhere I can't remember and I forget the other ones. I won nothing.

More dancing, a bit of ranting about politics, eating, a lot more drinking and some minor verbal rudeness to strange girls later, I spotted one of the founders and promptly accosted her and told her that I loved her speech, she must be very proud and good for her for perservering. I then located the other one and told him pretty much the same thing. I think I hugged them as well.

We rolled out at about one o'clock. I think. Fell into a cab and got turfed out at Elephant & Castle because I didn't have sufficient funds for the full journey. Staggered home down the Walworth Road and nearly got killed leaping across the road to the 24hr bagel shop. My last thoughts before passing out on my bed fully clothed and with the lights on was that although I am an idiot, I have never denied it. Might send it in to that quotes page in Reader's Digest.

FRIDAY: Hangover. Surprise, surprise. Having booked the day off to go to buy trendy gear in London's fashionable boutiques, I slobbed about the flat feeling sorry for myself and trying not to think about the things I said and did the previous night. Watched a bit of daytime TV - Sunset Beach and Trisha, mainly. I remember Sunset Beach from the first time it was on British TV - mostly cos there was this English guy in it who also played his evil twin brother who went around killing loads of people. Classic. Managed to prise myself out at about fiveish, having remembered that I organised a bash at The Press House Wine Bar in Blackfriars (can't find a website but it's about here) to celebrate the first paycheque of 2005.

Turned up a bit spaced out with the hangover but a few glasses of white wine sorted that out. It's a nice joint but it ain't cheap - one for the special occasions only, I think. There were various people from work, with some of my schoolmates and uni friends - so much of mix for some people that they thought it might be my birthday. Didn't stop 'em from not buying me a drink though. Much natter and drink including this delightfully poncey cider. So poncey, in fact, I nicked the glass. Naughty Scattergun.
There til closing then got dragged up to Ember in Farringdon for a 'nightcap'. Bad manoeuvre. Left there at an undisclosable time many hours later. Nipped into the 24hr shop for (ostensibly) a chicken and bacon focaccia and left with practically a week's shopping on me, having been gripped by an alcholic urge to buy lasagne, jam, bread, milk, bacon, twenty Dunhill's and a Cornish pasty, amongst other things.
Made it home with purchases intact except for half the pasty which I threw at a pigeon. But I don't remember ever having seen pigeons out at night in that part of town. I'm sure it was some kind of flying animal. Do you get bats in Central London?
It's probably not important.

SATURDAY: Yup, you guessed it.... Today's daytime TV included a bit of Midsomer Murders which I didn't know was repeated on a Saturday day. Hurrah. Think I missed Monk, though. Damn.

[ Just met this cute girl again at the office coffee machine. Red hair, North London accent, saucy smile. Quite lifted my day. 8o) ]

Anyway, Saturday was a write-off - planned on attending a birthday party at the Calf in Clapham but just too knackered. On the bright side, stayed in and watched Series 3 of The Sweeney. Jack "Bastard" Regan and George "Flash Dresser" Carter of the Flying Squad busting around the mean streets of London in Dagenham's finest motorcars, cracking the skulls of assorted villains and pulling the birds. Cool. That and The Professionals were nicely pastiched in a couple of Nissan Almera adverts (scroll down for RealPlayer goodness).

Cursor went off to Public Life for some techno-joy in the eve. Apparently it's in a converted toilet, as is a sandwich bar I used to go to on Putney Bridge, a nice restaurant on the Whitechapel Rd and a lovely club called Ginglik on Shepherd's Bush Green. Perhaps I shouldn't advertise the fact I frequent old toilets...

SUNDAY: Spending the wee small hours watching The Sweeney creates for interesting dreams. But having to undergo temporary plastic surgery to replace Carter on an undercover operation with Regan and stop a computer-planned bullion robbery in Baron's Court was a bit much for my tiny mind...
Laundry day. Mooch, mooch. Re-read a few Campion novels by Margery Allingham (about all my frazzled brain could stand.)

GAMEPLAN: Superego, Lungs and Stomach made noisy protestations at the weekly Sunday meeting and proposed the motion I should stay in next weekend. Liver joined in, achieving a quorum. Ego abstained, Id voted against. I'll have to see how this one shapes up.....

From Russia, Without Love

The case of Viktor Makarov, the spy left out in the cold.

He still out there, opposite the gates of Downing Street on his hunger strike. He's done more dangerous things to help this country than most of its inhabitants and he's having to sit out in freezing weather in Whitehall to, hopefully, get a pension.

Happy Anniversary!

On this day in 1950, India finally became a republic, three years after it achieved independence from the British Imperialist jackboot. Hurrah!

See the Guardian article from that day.

See also the BBC timeline (with contemporary audio clips, maps etc.) for India-Pakistan relations since the '47 partition.

Ah, well...

More war

Britain's Small Wars - an in-depth and informative site. Not totally unbiased but it's not designed to be. Provides some incredible details of British involvement in post-WWII conflicts.

Ideal for the many idiots who think nothing happened between World War Two and the Falklands.

27.01.2005 Update - This article from the Guardian ties in, briefly mentioning the campaigns in Malaya and Kenya.

Son of a....

Young Mark Thatcher has been getting himself into some jolly scrapes.

Or, to put it another way, he was involved in a mercenary plot to violently overthrow the government of a resource-rich state.

Sponsoring terrorism, anyone?

Mark's mummy is Baroness Margeret Thatcher, former Prime Minister of Great Britain.

Or, to put another way, rich, powerful and well-connected.

Everything going quiet, anyone?

George Monbiot tells it like is, here. For less sober judgment, see here.

Monbiot mentions Tim Spicer - here's more on this interesting and notorious character who operates in the world of private military companies. Or you can read the views of him and his former company.

Brring, brring

Download ResonanceFM ringtones from the ear candy section of candyspace.
Euphonious.

Weekender

More shenanigans...

Friday - started off quiet enough with a visit to my old man who's in hospital for his bladder cancer check-up. He's unashamedly enjoying himself - he gets a nice bed, a Patientline TV and telephone, peace and quiet to read his paper and no nagging. And he likes the food...

Saturday - headed to The Queen's Head & Artichoke for lunch - a nice pub, slightly tucked away with good bar food and a fully fledged restaurant upstairs.
Then scooted off to a mate's local in Whitechapel, The London Hospital Tavern (nowhere near as trendy as that review makes out). Me and him used to DJ there in the dark and distant. We thought the raised area where strippers formerly did their thing, added a touch of class to the dance floor. And we were right.
Went back to mate's flat and drank more and watched Derek & Clive Get The Horn, the film of their recording sessions for their LPs. First time I've seen it and it's shocking, distasteful and bloody brilliant. Made at the time the partnership of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore was breaking up, with Moore about to take Hollywood by squall with '10' and 'Arthur', the asides and improv make for a Freudian field day as they attack their subjects and each other. A lot seems to stem from Cook's annoyance and perhaps even hurt at Moore's abandonment of him. Although snogging him and pouring crisps on his head probably wasn't the best way to make him stay.
Moore's piano playing is very skilful - buy it here

Then had to ride the nightbuses back home. When did the N35 become crowded with thugs and ponces? Pah. I remember when if you sat on the top deck of a nightbus it would just be you and a bloke making a home-made crack pipe out of a Special Brew can. But you tell that to the kids of today and they won't believe you.

Sunday - hangover as usual. Braved the Westmoreland Rd market to get to Costcutter for the weekly milk. Watched Black Books series 3 with Cursor - extremely funny. Although the number of links between that, Spaced and Shaun of the Dead in terms of actors and production staff is getting as funny as one of the episodes 8o).
Managed to get the laundry done before Midsomer Murders which is currently averaging three murders per episode. Always an achievement given that it's set in a cluster of small villages in the South of England.

Science for today

Yesterday, scientists at Kaele University revealed that beer contains small traces of female hormones.
To prove their theory, the scientists fed 100 men 8 pints of beer each, and observed that 100% of them gained weight, talked excessively without making any sense, became pointlessly emotional and couldn't drive.
No further testing is planned.

Listen...

Let's have some words;

Try BBC7 for all your comedy needs. Absolute classic radio comedy such as Round The Horne*, The Men From The Ministry, The Navy Lark plus more recent stuff like Chambers, Absolute Power, Goodness Gracious Me (all three have since moved to TV), also a six day archive for any gems you might have missed. Bloody marvellous.
There's a bit of drama on it too but I don't really listen to that. Yawn.

Try XFM for some early examples of the comedic talents of Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant ably asisted by producer Karl Pilkington on their Saturday afternoon radio show. Later shows: Season 1 and Season 2.
Ricky and Stephen were with XFM from its inception but left for a few years. Given that my strongest memory of their very first shows is of Ricky shouting "Oh sh*t, I've spilt beer into the mixing desk", I ain't surprised.
They became rich and famous, writing and producing the award-winning programme The Office, but graciously came back to XFM.
The shows streamed on the site are extremely funny and have an added edge in that the presenters start off cheery and genuinely chummy but their closeness gradually degenerates into mutual suspicion and argument, with producer Karl frequently attacking co-presenter Stephen for being physically freakish; Stephen maintaining Karl is mentally freakish in addition to consistently criticising and denigrating Karl's attempts at thinking up quizzes and features for the show; and Ricky egging both of them on and manipulating them into on-air confrontation. Physical violence occurs about twice. There is frequent use of coarse language. Almost all possible religious, ethnic and sexual minority groups are disparaged (and majority groups as well). Discussion of monkeys features prominently in most of the shows.
I can't wait for them to come back...

Try Philosophy Radio. OK, a bit of a sea-change from the last two but if chat on philosophical themes tickles your pickle, this is where it's at. Good, if you like that sort of thing. I know I do.



*Round The Horne starred Kenneth Williams, best known for the Carry-On films but he had a much more varied career than that. Perhaps his most famous character on the show was that of Sandy in the "Bona" sketches (all nattered in polari). OK, heartface?

Listen ...

Let's have some music;

Try Accuradio. Allows one to select by types of music and also by timeframe e.g. 1965-72. Creates for a interestingly random playlist; one minute it's "Winchester Cathedral"* by The New Vaudeville Band, next it's "Bernadette" by The Four Tops. Nice.
But be prepared. First time I heard "Love Is Blue"by Paul Mauriat, it totally threw me.
As a tune, it's beyond cheese. It's yoghurt.

(Tangent: The NVB were linked to the glorious Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band - probably in a vague sixties, hey cat let's jam, sort of way.)

Try Oscillate Wildly. Broadcast by Brit Boy out of San Francisco, this station plays, well, tunes I love. Pulp, Spiritualized, Cure, James, Gus Gus, The Smiths are just the ones he's playing as I type. He even plays Rialto. God love 'im.

Try Resonance FM broadcasting on 104.4 FM in the London Area as well as on t'internet. A lovely radio art station comprising groovy and obscure tunes with shows on art, politics, current affairs etc. Stroke that goatee.

Try Samurai FM, a Japanese station showcasing both local and international music. Note my manful restraint in not referencing The Vapors...

Try Radio Helsinki for a spot of Finnish broadcasting. Strangely addictive.

Try Traffic Island Disks for a spot of random chit-chat about music on the streets of London. They haven't updated for bit but check the archive section.


* I knew you'd want this.

Probably the best website in the world

http://www.thingsmagazine.net/

Read it and love it. I do.

Worth checking everyday for updates.
I'll try not to duplicate any of it's content (mainly cos I'm not clever enough....).
As for aping it's style - well, I can't promise anything... 8o)

Paint yourself white to deflect the blast

"What did you do during the war?"

"Erm... I read this leaflet."

Now read the new one. Plus ca change...

Don't worry. Everything will be alright. Everything is OK.

Bit o' background: the government site and a voluntary one.

Y'know, if they printed "DON'T PANIC" in large, friendly letters on the cover I'm sure I'd feel better.

Another curdled weekend

A few drinks after work at the Old Cheshire Cheese on Fleet Street on Friday (details here from beerintheevening.com, an excellent site)

The pub dates from 1667 and it's steeped in history. Apparently.
Y'know the sort of thing - Samuel Johnson shat himself in the Snug Bar after a bender with Boswell, there's a ghost of a headless woman with no body and Dickens's cat used to widdle in the beer. It has an appropriately cheesy website.

Spent much of the evening ranting about Tony Banks MP who is chucking in the towel at the next election because he feels like a "high-powered social worker". Diddums.
I would be proud to hold down a job that could be described as high-powered social work. I'm old-fashioned enough to be believe that contributing to the social fabric of the nation state is something to be lauded, not derided.
Course, I'd also be proud to be the keyboard player for Genesis. Which Tony Banks would you rather be?

Failed miserably to attend the Russian Festival in Trafalgar Sq on Saturday (owing to brutal hangover and having to attend to this silly sod who passed out on my kitchen floor.)
I hear there were renditions of traditional Soviet songs such as "My Old Man's a KGB Informant", "It's A Long Way to Chechnya" and "I'm Going To The Gulag In The Morning"*

Managed to make it as far as Gordon's Wine Bar to meet some pals (including this one). This tiny bar manages to be even more steeped in history - it's practically pickled in the stuff. It was also four-deep at the bar with not much more space elsewhere.

So we decided we should repair to a nice, big, cosy pub within easy distance that served bread and cheese and competitively-priced strong drink. Guess which one we went to? I'll give you a clue: Dickens's cat used to widdle in the beer...


*If you think they were bad, "Ukraine-Drops Keep Falling On My Head" nearly made it on the list.

That much is true

When Zyklon B poured into the gas chambers of the Nazi concentration camps, the murder victims suffered a series of muscular contractions that caused their bodies to jerk spasmodically prior to death.
The stormtroopers dubbed this jerking motion, "the Spandau Ballet".

Which is where the eponymous band got their name from.

I own several of their recordings. But I'm not third in line to the throne of Britain, so I can get away with it...

Bit o' general info on the semiotic appropriation of the symbol.

What a tosser....

In the beginning

Hang on, give us a sec...