Friday, January 30, 2009


So it seems that Joaquin Phoenix was not actually turning into a drink and drug addled train wreck after announcing his retirement from acting.  His dishevelled, beardy appearance, announcement of a new career as a rapper (?) and erratic behaviour in public were all an act - part of an "art project" if you will.

I wonder if Jim Morrison's "decline" into a bloated shadow of his former self started out as a similar art project that went horribly wrong?

There has been a lot of speculation about Jim's death, but, for some years now, I've known exactly what happened.

I found out the truth while watching a wonderful and long forgotten series called The Rock 'n' Roll Years.

It used to feature headlines from news stories in a particular year with news footage and a soundtrack of hits from that year.

The best bits were the incongruous ones (for instance, some film of Sir Anthony Eden walking to a Downing Street meeting about the Suez crisis accompanied by Perez Prado's mournful Cherry Pink And Apple Blossom White ... well, I made that up, but you get the idea).

On the Rock 'n' Roll Years, they played The Doors' Riders On The Storm while the subtitles announced the following, very slowly, at the bottom of the screen:





... so that was it.  Jim Morrison actually died on a motoring holiday in North Wales!  Bloody hell.  Not surprising, is it?  Some of those hidden bends are really dangerous, and I've been on many a hazardous journey through Snowdonia where there appears to be a five hundred foot drop at the edge of the road.  What with Jim's capacity for booze and drugs, no wonder he ended up meeting his maker!

Should've stuck to a stay at a static caravan park in East Angular.  No steep declines there, Jim!

* * * * * * *

By the way, talking of five to one, one in five ... I've just found out that this is my five hundredth post.  I hereby give you my permission to get completely bladdered, because any excuse will do for most of you.                           

Labels: , , , ,

Wednesday, January 28, 2009


Well, I had a look around the final bits of TK Maxx's final, final clearance of the January sales stock today, being a thrifty sort who likes to sift through old rubbish (which reminds me ... I need to tidy up my blog archives).

Mind you, this *sale* was beyond the *pale* - a few racks of shapeless black cardigans.  They looked as if they'd been used as bedding for a litter of irate tiger cubs.  Covered in bobbles, dubious white patches, holes and pulled out stitches ... for which they were still asking £6.  I ask you!  Should've been paying us at least a tenner to take them away.

There were some boots left in the sale, but, as expected, they were flat tan boots with thick crepe soles and cream flowery applique detail on the sides.  The sort of thing that Ian Anderson of Jethro Tull would have worn circa Ring Out Them Solstice Bells (or whatever it's called).  He would've worn them with brown corduroy breeches, a collarless white surplice, a tweed waistcoat (*westkit*??) and deerstalker hat.  These boots were only available in a size nine.  I mean to say, exactly how many six foot two, transgender progressive rock fans live in the Bexleyheath area?

Here is a picture of Ian Anderson in ~happier times~

Anyone who wishes to provide a suitable or amusing caption for the picture is welcome to do so, at the risk of winning a special Betty Hearts Disco t-shirt that's worth £55.99, but has been reduced to £8 in the TK Maxx sale.  There are sweat patches under the arms, the seams are coming undone and there's some sort of burn mark on the front, but it's still a bargain, yeah?

Labels: , , , ,

Friday, January 23, 2009


The scales have fallen from my eyes.

For the last couple of years, I've been under the impression that Barack Obama is in his late thirties.

On the day of his inauguration, I found out that he is in fact forty seven.

How could I have made this mistake?  I know I live in my *own little world* but ... really ...

I should have known.

Barack Obama is a Bruce Springsteen fan.

A man who is forty seven would like Bruce Springsteen.  

A man in his late thirties, however, would think that Morrissey's new album is a real return to form, from what they've heard of it.

A man who is thirty would be looking forward to Blur's reunion, and they were first in line to get the tickets to see them at Hyde Park.

A man who is fifty five would buy the most recent Neil Young album six months after it came out, inspired by the review in Uncut that says "all in all, not a classic, but a real statement of intent from the grizzled old buzzard."

Anyway, I'm relieved to find out that Barack Obama is older than me.  It still lets me cling on to the last vestiges of hope that I'm not actually a grown up.

As I said over at Boz's's's', if the next Pope is younger than me, then I will be very sad indeed.

Labels: , , , , , ,

Wednesday, January 21, 2009


Last night I watched the Brit Awards Launch Party. Well, in truth, I recorded it and fast forwarded through almost all of it.

In fact, it's best to record and fast forward through most of the actual Brit Awards ceremony. Nobody in their right mind wants to see the dull performances and collaborations. The only bits worth bothering with are the acceptance speeches - or, at least, the ones made by anyone who is completely drunk. Of course, last year's highlight was the Arctic Monkeys' pie eyed non-speech as the Best Album award was handed over by a bemused Vic Reeves and Sharon "Psychotic Nutjob" Osbourne started ranting until her HRT patches fell off. Worthy of Beckett, that was.

Anyway, the one thing I have found out is that the nominees are as follows:

The Cure
The Alarm
Def Leppard
Duran Duran

Annie Lennox
Linda Lewis
Toyah Wilcox

David A. Stewart
Eric Clapton
Belouis Some
Nik Kershaw

Men Without Hats
Men At Work

Tommy Steele

Sigh ... same as it ever was, eh? Still, at least there were some surprises in the EXCITING BREAKTHROUGH ACT category, which featured Belouis Some, Matthew Wilder, Beverly Craven and, last but not least, Seasick Dave.

Seasick Dave: "over the moon", apparently.

Seventy three year old Dave - a former car park attendant from Lowestoft - has suddenly become the man at the forefront of the Delta blues revival thanks to the continuing support of Joolls Holland. Well done Dave, and fingers crossed from everyone in the Utility Room!

Mind you, the Launch Party managed to provide the Very Worst Scenario In The History Of The World.

Previously, the two worst scenarios in the world were as follows:

1.  You're stood in an endless queue in Morrison's supermarket, which is full of parents with screeching two year olds and old women who take about half an hour to pay for a tin of cat food, and you've got awful menstrual cramp, and you feel as though you have got to have a massive dump in approx. two minutes' time.

2.  You awake to sunlight streaming through the curtains.  Spooned up to you is an apparently lovely man who is kissing your neck.  You are in a state of bliss.   You turn around, only to find out that he is Rufus Hound.

Rufus fucking Hound - *shudder*

Fearne Cotton (a woman who it is never possible to underestimate) introduced THIS awful, awful, scenario, however.  Worse still - IT BECAME REALITY.

"Make sure you join us after the break for a very special acoustic performance from chart topping trio Scouting For Girls".

Not so luverleeee

Labels: , , , , , ,

Saturday, January 17, 2009


I'm not saying my mother in law is daft ...

Geoff attended the funeral of a former work colleague this week. When we visited his mum he told her that it had been a humanist service.

"Oh, that's nice, I've heard of those," the MIL said.

A few minutes later, Geoff's step dad came into the room.

"Geoff went to that funeral today," the MIL informed him. "It was one of those humourist services."

Yeah, I can imagine what those humourist services are like ...

Vicar: "A few of you may know that the deceased died while on holiday in the Caribbean."

(feeder line from someone in front row of congregation) - "Jamaica?"

Vicar: "No, she went of her own accord."

Vicar: "I'm not saying that the deceased was on the large side, but the coffin was made by Harland And Wolff."

(feeder line from someone in front row of congregation) - "I'm sorry to hear about the death, what was the complaint?"

Vicar - "We haven't had any yet."

Etc., etc.

Labels: , , , ,

Thursday, January 15, 2009


Last night, we had the BBC's News channel on.

The newsreader promised us that there was a bulldog puppy in the studio, because there is a news story about the Kennel Club's change in the standards it applies to pedigree dogs.  All to do with health problems caused by inbreeding ... well, click on the link if you're interested.

We were informed that "the bulldog puppy is going to be here, but you'll have to wait about forty minutes to see it".

Well, bollocks to that!  I want HARD news, and I want it now!  I don't want to see a bulldog puppy!  How old do you think I am?  I want to know about THE REAL WORLD.  I want to know, from every angle, exactly WHY that Government Spokeslady* suggested that there were were signs of "green shoots of recovery" in British business.  I want to see a story about that which lasts for at least an hour.  I want to furrow my brow so much that my forehead caves in and I end up looking like the bulldog puppy in this picture:
He's obviously bothered about the British economy and the credit crunch much more than the bloody BBC. Is this what we pay our licence fee for?

I waited forty minutes to see the puppy. Aaawwwww.

*as she would be described by Polly Witterings

Labels: , , , , ,

Wednesday, January 14, 2009


... maybe I'll just do badly cobbled together obituaries this year.  No one will notice the difference anyway.

Patrick McGoohan has died at the age of eighty.

Here is the intro of The Prisoner. Best TV opening credits ever? Probably embodies what I would like to remember about the 1960's, but was too young to actually live through, ha ha. Plus, Patrick's general fitness and piercing eyes (*faints*) ...

I must admit that I didn't think that The Prisoner quite lived up to its reputation (er, maybe a repeated viewing is required. Saying that you're not mad about The Prisoner is inviting trouble, really). I did, however, like Patrick in Dangerman, although I haven't seen that for about 25 years.

Carrying on in a slapdash vein, here is I Helped Patrick McGoohan Escape by The Times.

Will this do?

*slopes off to prepare supper, or high tea, or whatever the fuck you want to call it*

Labels: , , , , , , ,

Monday, January 12, 2009


I seem to remember that David Vine's potted biography on the BBC site a few years ago told us that his interests included "relaxing and watching television". What a man!  Go over to watch the video clip at the top of the Guardian story.  Zen like wisdom or what?

Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick and Titch (of "which one was Dee?" fame) were pioneers of world music. Come on, they were tons better than the Fleet Foxes or Bon Iver, weren't they?

Labels: , , ,

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?