About to go out again:

I'm just blogging before I go home, drop off a bunch of library books and head out to Highbury/Islington again.

I've just been down the post office filling out a money order for the KMFDM CD I'm buying off Ebay UK, followed by a Chicken Sammich at the Bakery and a peruse through the Leytonstone Library looking for books about the technical side of Poster Screen Printing.

Why Poster Screen Printing? Because I was up til three in the morning last night reading the huge book of huge rock posters, and I felt like doing some reading around the subject. When I finally got to trying to sleep every time I closed my eyes I would see huge figures in Bold Colours, kind of like when I've been playing too many computer games and I can't close my eyes without seeing cars exploding or giant orcs.

In any case, at Leytonstone Library I only found one book about screenprinting (for textiles), but I found a bunch of other good books. Plus I borrowed out two cds of trance and Powerslave by Iron Maiden. The combination of which confused the librarian on duty, who was convinced that the same person wouldn't be borrowing those three CDs.

Shows how much she knows.

Not much else to report. At the bus stop on the way down the street (as I was going to the post office) there were two girls, one of whom and a plastic bag with a plastic container full of... Locusts! She said it was food for a chamelion, belonging to a friend who was on holiday.

Interesting.

Anyways, I'm not going to see Youth Group because they suck. I'm going to Starkweather. Because even if they suck, they can't possibly suck as hard a Youth Group.

Jeez my neck hurts.

Over and out.

J

Bank Holiday!

Yep, it's a bank holiday.

I've decided to pass on the Notting Hill Festival thing, since I woke up today to discover that the twinge in my back has moved North to become a pain in my neck which prevents me from tilting it more than 30 degrees to the right. Rotating isn't that easy either.

But enough grousing, on with the belated blog:

After posting on Saturday night I hung up the towels and jumped on the tube trains to Highbury/Islington. I finally got there about quarter past twelve (about an hour after I left the flat) to discover that the club was actually a big room, kind of like a satanic version of a scout hall, with a stage/sound system at one end, a bar at the other, a niche where the DJ booth was set up to one side of the dancefloor and a few tables around the edges. There were a few flyers on the tables, some of which I picked up (since a flyer would save me a pound on the door, if I ever came back), and strangely black and white balloons scattered around the venue. I counted seventeen people there including DJs.

Had I made another of my famous terrible mistakes? (see last Monday night) Did I give up spending time with family for a dead dud club?

Still the, music was good, and the barmaid told me that it would pick up around midnight. I'm guessing that the Devonshire Arms and Elephants head in Camden had to close first. No wonder slimelight doesn't open til 11.

Sure enough, it did pick up soon after 11. In the meantime I got to know Chris (one of the DJs), who shared my interest in PWEI and early 90s indie dance. He got me moving soon after when he played Chinese Burn by Curve.

Not being a person naturally at ease in most situations (although anyone who has seen me asleep on the floor of a rehearsal room or friends living room may disagree), initially I milled around the edges, sometimes grooving in my own way if I liked the song. At Hardcore shows in the last two years, my once famous two step has been surplanted by my standing with both my dukes up, ready to block any flailing limbs, so I am pretty out of practise dancing, ergo I kept to a rather stiff interpretation of the Hip Hop Robot, occaisionally chatting to the other kids.

That was until the DJ dropped Just One Fix by Ministry, off their famous Psalm 69 album. At that me and most of the people there went nuts on the dancefloor and I began to feel like I hadn't made such a stupid choice after all.

And so it was for the rest of the night: I would chill, dance about to the best cuts, talk to some of the friendliest folk that I have found in London and generally have a great time.

Gross out alert!

The only notable problems were a) the usual problems you get when you dance yourself into a higher rate of aerobic activity and b) the fact that my lower intestines had decided to turn all South Park on me. Energetic Dancing and Borderline Dysentery aren't a great mix, but I was having too much fun to care (even if I did have to take time out in the last hour to lose half my body weight in twenty minutes in the mens room).

The DJs, Chris and Lydia, really kicked arse with their selections: Ministry, KMFDM, pletny of PWEI, some Revolting Cocks and 1000 Homo DJs (I told Chris the funny story about Al Jourgensen nearly getting busted shooting smack while recording Supernaut), Atari Teenage Riot were just starters.

At Midnight a gabba DJ spun a rotterdam Hardcore mix of Happy Birthday, the crowd cheered and clapped and Lydia opened a bottle of champagne onstage. It was a this point that I found out that the club was one year old that night. That explains the balloons.

I stayed to the end (three am), talked to a Australian bloke from Sydney outside, who interestingly shared my disdain for the rank and file of Australians in London and got talking to an Irish guy at the Bus Stop to Soho.

At Leicester square I got a slice of pizza (which inexplicably has gone up one 99p to £1.50 in two day) and wandered over to Oxford and Tottenham Court Road, where I gave in to the temptation presented by the late night Subway.

There I discovered that you can get double meatballs on a sub. How about that. Of course, that meant that I couldn't finish the sub until I arrived home last night, but it tasted good cold.

Just outside the Subway I got talking to a Goan Londoner wearing a Rage Against the Machine hoodie he told me that he got in America. He had actually gone to Ozzfest, where he saw Trivium and Iron Maided, who he considered the greatest metal band ever.

Fascinated by finding that rarest of things, a non-caucasian metal fan, I wandered along Oxford street talking to this guy, way past my bus stop, and for that matter, my bedtime.

Still, just before Bond Street I peeled off to catch the N8. By this time I was painfully aware that my intestines were reaching critical mass again, so I sat at the bus shelter and thought containment thoughts.

Not a minute too soon the bus arrived, I jumped aboard and rode home.

I'll spare the details of the rest of that night, only saying that despite the fact that I had to get up early, I only got to be at six.

***

Up again a 0945, I had showered before going to bed so I just got dressed, ate some fruit and took the tube to Victoria.

Where I missed the 1117 by two minutes. D'oh!

It did give me time to relieve the churning of my innards and look through the WH Smith, where I found an interview with John Irving in a Tattoo Magazine, or all places.

Being that Mum loves John Irving, I thought about picking up the magazine, but I din't know if the would approve of the rest of the content.

The train ride itself was easy enough. Look out the window and play Meshuggah on the Ipod. Read something if I got bored, which I didn't.

I arrived at Barnham about ten to two, had a dodgy hotdog and over the phone Dad told me to catch a cab from the station.

I arrived at Elmer to find Mum, Dad, Pearl, Graham and Pamela having a chicken lunch. I cursed the dodgy Hotdog and my turgid innards, as I felt hardly any appetite for food at that point.

Mary arrived soon after. The rest of the afternoon was relaxed. Mum and Dad had already packed and were just killing time until the Cab arrived at five to take them to Heathrow.

I took the cab ride with them up, looking out the window at the amazing english country villages we passed through.

I've said it before, I'll say it again: I love England because there are things you see here that you won't see in Australia unless you are watching a Movie or Playing a Video Game.

At some point I told mum about the ridiculous number of South Afrikans in Leytonstone, at which point Mum told me to always use a condom.

For what? I haven't been laid in over a year!

We arrived at Heathrow, Mum and Dad checked in and walked with me down to the tube station. We said our goodbyes until november.

Tube home to the flat and the rest of the sub.

Watched TV, let Masao into the Flat (he had lost his Keys at a gardening job that day) and went to bed.

Yay.

Today: quiet day. No internal churning or gurgling (hurrah)

I put in a winning bid on another KMFDM CD on Ebay, and tomorrow I need to sort out a postal order for that.

Other than that, just going to buy some food and chill out.

Over and out.

J

Quick Blog

A quick blog to kill time while I wait for towels to wash before I go out.

I was supposed to take a train to Bognor last night, but true to form by the time I had it together to go it was too late to catch a train.

So I set my phone to go off at 8 am this morning.

And hit the snooze switch when it went off.

Mum called at 1100 to ask if I was coming down. Since I wanted to be back in time to go to Strength Through Joy, Dad calculated that after travel time I would be in Bognor for about two hours.

So I reluctatantly agreed to go down tomorrow.

I'll set my alarm. Ha Ha fucking Ha.

Still, tonight should be fun.

I'm kitted out in boots, my Motorhead Shirt, my leather jacket and the black combat trousers I bought yesterday. If I had a ministry shirt and a pair of goggles, I would be set.

I decided yesterday that since I couldn't find one of those West German Field Parkas in the Disposal Shop in Walthamstow, if I can't find one on Portobello Rd (five years ago there was a Disposals shop two door up from Cally's old pub) I'll get one in Brisbane and bring it back here. They always had plenty at Sherrys, it was just never cold enough to justify buying one.

At least it wasn't until this year, from what I've heard (snow at sea level? Knee deep hail? What the Fuck?).

Side note: I don't know whether it is all the bag carrying I have been doing lately, or whether it is me using my laptop a lot more, but I have a serious twinge in the upper right hand side of my back again.

Jeez would I murder for some Shiatsu. Some Reiki even.

Couple of weeks ago I walked past a girl in a doorway in Soho who offered me a massage, but I really don't think that she was certified.

Just to gross out Angus, here's a gross story:

Remember me buying those Doc 8 Holes for three and a half pounds?

Anyways, I've been breaking them in, but I made the mistake of wearing them for about two days and walking around a hell of a lot. Hence they gave me severe blisters.

About two days ago I peeled back the bandaid I had put on the blister, to discover... the damn thing was infected.

Naturally, this being England I was afraid that I had MRSA or something.

[How do you get to the bottom of a MRSA infection? In a SubMRSAble! HA HA HA]

So I squirted it with Tea Tree Oil, put a new bandaid on it, and it has been healing okay since.
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Okay Gus, you can read again.

Other news:

Today I managed to smoke out the entire kitchen cooking eggs for breakfast. But I had Black Pepper, so that was alright.

Can't have fried eggs without Black Pepper.

And eventually the smoke cleared.

Time to go.

Over and out.

J

Continued

Did some shopping today.

Bought some black combat trousers for the next time I go dancing.

And I got Gutter Phenomenon, the new album by Every Time I Die.

Plus an new leather change thingo from Walthamstow Markets. My old one had bit the dust.

I had gone down to Walthamstow with a view to using the Change machine at Asda to change all my copper into useable cash. But it was out of order.

Dang.

Nevermind, I'll wait a week and do it then.

I also cooked myself a nice steak for lunch. Somehow I managed to get frying it just right. Which is weird, because I took so long cutting the fat off one of the hunks of steak the steak I had thrown into the pan already was damn near burnt.

Maybe that is the secret: giving the steaks a damn good searing, above and beyond what I usually do.

Anyways, enough of that.

My most significant purchase today was me buying a Blue Denim Jacket that I found yesterday at The Gap, Picadilly. I had the cashier hold it over for me while I checked in Levis to see if there was anything better.

Since the jackets in Levis were £20 more expensive, I decided to go with The Gap.

While I was in the Gap I tried on a pair of Low Rise Slim Cut blue jeans.

The sales assistant (from Italy or something) didn't think they looked good on me, and I kind of agreed.

So I decided to throw jeans into the Too Hard Basket for the time being. Maybe I'll dedicate a whole afternoon to finding a pair of fashionable jeans that I like.

Maybe I won't go back until I have finally shaken off that extra stone of weight that has been following me around since 2001.

Whatever.

I checked the computers at the Former Tower Records (now another Virgin Megastore) and apparently all the KMFDM records preceding WWIII have been deleted from the catalogue.

Which sucks. I should have bought them when I had the chance. I wonder if anyone can find them for me back in Brisbane? I'm sure I saw a couple in JB before I left.

In any case, I have put a bid onto a KMFDM album on UK Ebay.

The auction has 8 days left to run, but I'll be checking how my bid is going.

I want to go to an industrial club called Strength Through Joy tomorrow night, so that means that if I'm going to go to Bognor to see Mum and Dad I really should hustle, and either zoom down tonight (unlikely) or early tomorrow morning (also unlikely).

Jeez I'm a lazy sod.

Anyways, I'm going to go home, finish the steak and meditate on my next move.

I've got a new jacket. Yay.

Over and out.

blog blog blog blog blog

Hey there blogologists.

It occurred to me last night that while I usually start diaries and journals with a view to recording my thoughts and philosophies, they ineveitably become a record of my actions.

So it seems to be with this one.

Don't get me wrong, I do believe that it is as important to record if I do or see something interesting as if I come to some strange insight about stuff.

I just think that maybe I should aim for more of a balance. Especially since I have a bad habit of falling into grooves of repetition that only get broken by completely bizarre circumstance.

Enough of that, onto the main course:

Tonight I'm blogging from the Macshop again.

Today I had another productive day:

I got up, threw jeans in the washer and made another list of stuff to do.

I wanted to do the online authorizing of Freehand and Haiff's net cafe on Leytonstone High Road, but when I got there Haiff discovered that since he didn't have Appletalk installed on the server, it wasn't going to work.

So I just checked my E-mail and went back to the flat to pull my jeans out of the washer and peg them onto the racks.

Since plan A had failed, I had to go to Plan B, (original Plan A) and take the Laptop to the Mac Shop, which I did. Via the Central Line and buying a weekly travel pass.

When I got to the Mac Shop I had a little trouble accessing their wireless network, but a little bit of fiddling solved that.

Authorized and sorted. Yay.

Check mail: still no Popbitch. Not yay.

Anyways, it looks like this shop is about to close, so I'll have to continue this blog tomorrow.

Over and out.

J

Super short on time:

What he said.

So I've got to make this short.

Did nothing much today.

Got up earlier than usual but instead of going out and doing the stuff I meant to do, I played on my laptop with Cubase and other music software.

What I'm going to do tomorrow:

Take the laptop the nearest connectable network and authorise Freehand online.

Go to a music shop and buy myself a KMFDM record. Maybe Nihil, maybe Attak. My copy of WWIII is still in Australia and I didn't think to ask Mum and Dad to bring it with them.

Go to Stargree and pick out the next tix I want to get.

And I'll probably find some other shenanigans to entertain myself.

Most exciting thing tonight: I watched a 'Most Photographed' Doco about James Dean that was absolutely fascinating.

And with that I go.

But before I leave I'm going to watch the V for Vendetta trailer in another window.

It's directed by the Wachowskis, and hopefully it will make us forgive them for part II and III of the Matrix movies.

Over and out.

J

Yesterday I...

Yesterday I called my agency at nine and Mum and Dad called me from Elmer, to meet me at Oxford Circus at 12.

Then I slipped into a coma, waking up with a start at 1215.

FUCK!

So I send Dad a message saying I had to do unavoidable stuff at the flat, there in an hour, and jumped in the shower.

Thankfully the tube gods smiled on this day and I got a clear run to Oxford Circus, arriving at 1315.

Not great but because I had messaged ahead Mum and Dad had used the time to look in Waterstones and therefore weren't pissed off.

Yay.

Then we got something to eat at Garfunkel's again (this time a different one) and me and Mum went to Foyles on Charing Cross Road while Dad checked stuff at the Mac Shop.

First I took Mum to the Borders, if only to show her that Borders are the same around the world.

Then we went to Foyles. Mum had told me that she wanted to buy me a couple of books, since I can never afford to get books myself. So I found a great book about Sound Design, but I couldn't find the really good book about Software Synthesizers that I had found the other day in Waterstones.

Frustration!

Mum did tell me that if I wanted I could get the big, fat book of Rock Posters.

Dad rendez-vous'd with us at two thirty and we wandered through the pouring rain to get to the tube, which took us to Knightsbridge.

Dad had promised Mum that we would go to Harrods. Mum hasn't been to Harrods since she lived in London.

So we went to Harrods. I was happy to be hanging out with Mum and Dad, but being led around a Department store isn't my idea of fun, especially when I had to be the middle point between Dad striding and Mum dawdling.

Fortunately we only spent about two hours there. I looked for some jeans but I couldn't find any that were specifically worth paying for. They all seemed to hip and chic for the likes of me, anyway.

After that we took the tube to Victoria, where I let Mum and Dad catch the train back to Elmer.

Feeling a little despondant, I took the Victoria Line back to Oxford Circus, but instead of changing to the Central Line I jumped up to street level and went to Waterstones, where I bought the two books I really wanted:

The Software Synth Book and the Rock Poster Book.

Both really good books.

I took the next tube to Leytonstone, nearly dying of heat exhaustion on the journey. For some reason I have been feeling really tense and wired the last few days. I mentioned the panic attacks? I've also been getting headaches, sore muscles etc. Probably due to disturbances in my sleeping patterns and underlying anxiety about a couple of things. And carrying heavy bags places.

Anyways, I stopped in for half an hour to check my email, got back to the flat, dropped the books and had a quick bite to eat.

Then I grabbed my A3 sketchpad, the graphite sticks and rushed to the Life Drawing class in Angel, aware that the best I could hope for (running late as I was) was to get in just after the 8pm break.

Climbing the stairs I reached into my pocket for my dilapidated leather change pouch and the damn thing gave way, dropping coins all over the wooden stairs in a clatter. Smooth.

I managed to slip into the classroom, throw my six pounds on the table at the door and find a place on the floor.

The model this week was a stunning girl of about 21, lean but curved with a tattoo of a swallow on her right hip at the back. Since I had missed all the short poses, the whole time she was lying on her side with her back to me, stretched out.

Damn she was beautiful.

Not having had any time to warm up, my drawings for that class were pretty sketchy (har har). But I'm still glad I went.

Next door at Electrowerks there was some kind of Punk gig going on with some bands from Sweden, Belgium etc.

I paid five pounds to get in, but it took me one look around the near empty room and half of the first song but some fat old punks from Belgium to realise I had made a terrible mistake.

Besides, I was tired and the guitar was unnecessarily trebly.

I wandered out and up the street to the pub where I went that time last week and had the bowl of Fish and Chips again. For some reason I found it heavy going. I ate the fish okay, but the chips presented an insurmountable challenge.

When the Polish Barmaid asked me if I was finished, I told her I was 'Still Chipping Away, no pun intended'.

She gave me a blank look.

I guess the phrase doesn't exist in Polish.

Nevermind. I wanted to see if the next punk band would be any better, but Electrowerks suddenly remembered their No Re-admission rule.

Jesus. Imagine if that rule held fast in Brisbane. People would be dying of heatstroke.

Not in the mood to argue the toss, I took the next tube home, where I read the books, played with Freehand and watched a Joaquim Phoenix movie called Clay Pidgeons until the early hours.

Did I mention about two weeks ago I couldn't remember the name of the protagonist in Less than Zero? It was Clay!

By the way, did I mention that the Poster Book is fucking great.

This is the one I bought:

http://www.artofmodernrock.com/

Elea, if you're reading this, try to find it in the QCA library. It is a great read, but I reckon that American Bookstore/McGills/Borders prices would probably kill you.

Anyways, today I just did a shitload of Laundry, ironing and washing up.

I still have more laundry to do, and I should probably go food shopping sometime tonight.

And with that, it's over and out.

J

Crazy Night:

I just had a crazy night.

Basically, after finishing where I left off, I took the tube home, dumped my stuff and had a bite to eat as planned.

Then I jumped one the next tube to Camden, hoping against hope that I hadn't missed the Grates (it was about 11 or something when I got to Koko).

I paid to get in and tried to find someone friendly to tell me what bands had been on. The bands on stage I didn't much rate, the music was very early 90s Madchester Style (I vital clue I should have picked up on) and all in all it was one of those weird vibes where it reminded me of Churchie Dances in High School: people having fun, music playing, me on the periphery trying to find a friendly face.

Some point after midnight, as a shithouse Happy Mondays tribute band with way too much treble shook their fat and grey asses on stage, I finally asked the cloakroom girl for a rundown of the lineup, and it turned out to be some kind of Madchester Theme Night.

I resigned myself to the fact that I had paid to get into the completely wrong gig.

Skip forward to today and I have just checked the Grates site and discovered that the London Shows I read about were : Friday 19th at the Barfly and 20th at The Scala.

Not the Koko.

Boy do I feel stupid. (I really should write these things down) Nevermind, I'll get them next time.

(If I really want to review an Australian Band Youth Group are playing in London on the 30th of this month. But Starkweather (aka Liam the bassist from Dillinger Escape Plan's other band) is playing on the same night, and besides, I think of a Youth Group gig, I think 'Nuke 'Em From Space, only way to be sure'. And this was before I found out they are now carrying the sorry carcass of one of the ex-members of the Vines.

Anyways, Mission A being a bust I took to kicking around Camden looking for fun. Not easy, all the pubs were about to close, most of the clubs had one or two hours left and were still charging full price at the door (having paid to get into a club that sucked, I wasn't going to make that same mistake twice) and the homeless were out in force.

Interesting things: at a bus stop the poster space was equipped with an LCD screen playing trailers for Herbie - Fully Loaded. This city actually gets more cyberpunk every time I look. There are already LCD screans in place of the posters at Tottenham Court Road. If that is here, they must have mad shit in Japan.

From Camden I took the bus to Trafalgar Square, where I re-found the Walkers In Westminster Bar (closed, of course) and bought some grapes from a convenience store. I ate the grapes in Trafalgar Square, but I had no clean water to wash them with, so I probably ingested a pile of Pesticide, Herbicide, Depleted Uranium and whatever else the Grapes brought with them to England.

Walked to Leicester Square, Down to Tottenham Court Road and debated whether to get a Sub or just jump on the Bus.

I jumped on the bus.

Here's where the night gets interesting:

On the bus the only place to sit was top level, right up the back. There I got talking to a couple of French kids who were going to a Party in Ilford, and they aked me if I wanted to come along.

Since I'm always trying to meet new people in London, I decided to swallow my reservations about hitting a party with people I didn't know in the middle of Essex when I should be in bed sleeping and go to it.

We changed at Stratford and got to Ilford Town Centre, walking up their mall till we found this abandonned club where an Italian bloke introduced himself as Salvatore told us to pay £5 to get in. £3.50 if we didn't have £5.

I had a wad of cash, but I counted out £3.50 in change and handed it over.

Up some rusty stairs and into an abandonned night club booming with Hard Trance and dancing Europeans.

Dadmn it was good. I stayed there til about 9 in the morning.

I wish I could write in detail about it, but I have roughly two minutes until this shop closes, so I have to make this quick.

Basicly it was a Squat Party, using the Bar, Dancefloor and Stage that was already there. They had brought in their own sound system and a few UV Lights and people were going off, going crazy.

For once I was at a dance event where it wasn't about somebody's fresh tracksuit. I danced like a lunatic and had a great time.

Of course, this being London there were people in corners snorting lines of whatever surface they could make, but that is to be expected.

I talked to some interesting people, I lost the Frenchies for like 6 hours, I heard some Crazy Trance and I had a great time.

At about 8:30 or 9:00 I decided it was time to go home. On my way out I passed two Metropolitan Police Officers walking in, trying to ignore the hippy s squatter running static next to them. I guess they were there to break it up.

Outside proper and down the street was a police car and a huge police van. This didn't look good. I guess I was helped by the fact that wearing a leather jacket and black jeans, I looked nothing like a Trancey Squatter, or maybe they just weren't arresting people yet.

In any case, they blocked the road back to the Redbridge Tube Station, so I walked (not ran, walked) the other direction.

Straight past the Ilford Police Station.

D'oh!

Nevermind, they ignored me as well.

Eventually I found the Gants Hill Station and made it home by 11 AM.

I took a nap until 6 and came down here.

My First Squatter Party! Yay!

Anyways, I'm about to get turfed.

Over and Out.

J

Better late...

Friday 18th of August ( I think…)

I’m blogging from the spare room at Bognor Regis. If all goes well I will be able to upload this at the next WiFi enabled Café I find on my travels (I may or may not be going back to London tomorrow night, I’ll see how much fun I’m having here in Bognor).

I think I didn’t actually post anything yesterday (Thursday), mainly because nothing worth talking about actually happened. Also because I thought I would go hang out in Camden in the hope of luring my friend Alice out for a Pint (I had sent an SMS saying ‘Hey Alice– I’m free tomorrow afternoon. May I interest you in a pint?’ the night before, lamentably receiving no reply). Arriving in Camden somewhere between half seven and eight in the evening, I tried calling the mobile number she had given me and got a message that her phone was switched off.

Interesting. I am pretty sure that she did actually want me to call her, since her parting words to me the last time I saw her were ‘Speak to you soon, Sweetie.’

Are those the words a girl uses when she really means ‘No really, don’t ever try to call me. I just exchanged numbers with you to throw you off the trail.’

Nevermind, I’m digressing. Even though I did do a nice wander through Camden on my Jacks (Jack Jones = Own, Jeez I’m so East End) and chilled out at some nice joints, including the Elephant Head, a corner pub with a Psychobilly flavoured clientiele.

But yes, Today (that being Friday, time travellers). Today I dragged my ass out of bed at the brutally early hour of ten in the morning so as to meet Mum and Dad on the Corner of Oxford Circus at 12. Of course, I did do the obligatory time-wasting stuff like iron some jeans, pack clothes into a bag that I should have packed the night before and the like.

But I was pretty much dead on schedule when I got to the tube station at 1130… and discovered that the Central Line Westbound trains would be out of commission for the next half hour. FUCK!

Since one of the things which seems to mark me as a thoroughly dysfunctional person, both professionally and as a boyfriend (when I am a boyfriend) is my incurable tardiness, and also that being late would probably put Dad in a lousy mood, this was not good.

Extra bad was the fact that every time I have to meet Mum and Dad at Oxford Circus I am always running late and the Central Line all three times the Central line has fucked up. It is worse than totally unlucky, it is totally uncanny.

Fortunately the line started running again sooner than expected and I arrived only 10 minutes late, to discover that Mum and Dad had only just arrived. Nice.

Quick run down of the hours that followed: Mum and Dad happy to see me and to see that I still haven’t turned into a totally crack-addict in the few days since they saw me last.

We hit the Mac Shop, since I mentioned that since I don’t have a vector drawing programme here, I was thinking of buying Freehand. So we go in and pick it up, present to me. Thanks Mum and Dad (I could also use one of the Lycra Socks for the laptop, but I thought that would be entirely too much).

We walk outside to find that it is raining (I’m feeling a little nervous about this because I have the laptop in my backpack (soon to be adorned with a patch saying ‘Relax, it’s not a bomb’) and I don’t want it to get wet, but at the same time I don’t want Mum to worry that I’m getting my Laptop wet. (strange thing is, over the past few days I keep having these funny little anxiety attacks… The real giveaway today was when I was having anxiety attack symptoms (feeling anxious, natch, faster pulse, nervy feeling in intestines) at a point when I had nothing to feel anxious about)

Back to the chase… the three of us want to find somewhere to eat, so Dad leads us down Regent Street, stopping in a some shops along the way (including a golf club shop) until we find a Garfunkels Café in a side street just off Piccadilly Circus (the theatre where Ewan MacGregor is doing Guys and Dolls was right next to us).

[Pearl’s Cat Minnie (or Monty, I forget which) just came in. I’m keeping a close eye on him/her this time. Last weekend when I was here as soon as my eyes were closed the filthy furball decided to take a drink of water… from the glass I keep my false teeth in!]

Two Spag Bols and a vegetarian something or other later and we are back on the move.

I can’t remember exactly what we did next, but I think that we decided to go check out the Tate Modern Art Gallery. With Dad Navigating we took the tube to Waterloo Station. From Waterloo Station we walked out, down, through a tunnel and then followed the Thames until we got to where the Art Galleries are.

[EDIT: I can remember now: we took a bus back to Oxford Street and went to the Waterstones Bookshop there, browsing around and picking out books of interest. I picked up a book of Rock Posters from the 1990s. Mum bought a book on Akido. I nearly bought a book on Soft Synths as well, but I thought I’d save that for another time. EDIT OVER]

And may I say that the Tate Modern is two things: Bloody Huge and damn good. The story goes that for reasons known best to themselves parties unknown decided, rather than redevelop the site into something as mundane as apartments or office blocks, the old power plant in the middle of London (a rather strange place for a power plant, but hey, what do I know about town planning?) should be instead gutted and turned into an Art Gallery.

And the result is a triumph of Neo-Brutalism meets Art Cool. Or Something. Fuck it, it is great. Huge space, something like five floors of stuff, a café, a shop selling all kinds of stuff and a Frida Kahlo Exhibition that I didn’t get round to seeing (maybe next time).

What we did see was an exhibition featuring significant works of art from nearly every important movement/style in Modern Art. Some of it was shit. Seriously: Living Sculpture, Electronic Video Installations, Abstract Art and Conceptual Art, Wankery All. But when it was good, I was great. They had a whole room dedicated to Posters from the old Soviet Repoublic, 1917 to the 1930s and 40s. That alone was worth going just for me. Constructivism, Socialist Realism, War Posters, Propaganda, all the good stuff that you want to see.

There was other stuff that was cool, but I can’t remember what it was, and I don’t want to burn battery time trying to remember (I was sure that I packed the power cable, but it seems that I didn’t).

Mum and Dad had a good laugh at the silly stuff while enjoying the good stuff, and the view through the windows across the Thames was fucking great as well. Next time I go there I’m just going to sit on one of the upper floors and sketch the buildings across the river.

After that we crossed the Millenium Bridge, where Dad told me the story about how people protested that the bridge swayed but the Sun (the Newpaper, not the massive ball of fire at the centre of the Solar System) proved that it didn’t using the ‘talents’ of a page three model.

Walked up to Saint Pauls, and down to St Pauls tube Station, from whence we took a very crowded ride to Victoria.

At Victoria I reminded Dad that I didn’t have a ticket yet, which necessitated a fifteen minute wait in a queue to get one. That was okay, Mum got drinks while we waited. Then onto the train.

The train ride was okay. I read another chapter or two of Elric, trying hard to shield my face from Sun, hanging low in the sky over the West of London (and the adjoining countryside). By this time, note, I was feeling pretty damn tired (roughly seven in the evening, what a lightweight!).

The best part of the train ride was seeing all the bunnies in the fields next to the tracks (surprisingly many, really) and the worst thing was a young family near us consisting of a Totally Non-Control Exercising Mother and her two hyperactive brats, both of whom seemed to have been sucking down Nitrous Oxide and amphetamines before getting on the train.

Little fuckers. I hope your X-Box explodes and electrocutes you in the process.

At Arundel Station Dad retrieved the Hatchback Hire-Car that he had parked there this morning and we drove to a Fish and Chips place on Elmer Road. The most interesting thing about that was that while we were waiting a girl who worked in the kitchen turned up and waited outside the gate until the kitched staff let her in. While she was waiting she did this weird thing of shifting her feet and shifting her weight as if she was a model and there was a camera pointed at her. She wasn’t bad looking, it just seemed like a curious thing to do.

Then it occurred to me… is that what I’ve been doing all my life? Bizarre.

After we picked up the fish and chips we headed back to the house at Elmer, where we discovered Pamela and Katie already there. They had just arrived back from France and were getting here early for Pearl’s Birthday Party tomorrow.

Katie’s friends kept messaging her to come to Fabric in London to see Death in Vegas play, saying her name was on the Door. Funnily enough, that’s a gig I would have loved to go to, if I wasn’t down here (not that I am grousing… tomorrow I get to see some folk I haven’t seen in months, and before that, years).

Anyways, Mum, Dad and Pamela planned their end of the Logistics for the party (apparently Mary is the Queen of organising a family shindig, but she wasn’t coming til tomorrow (Saturday)) and I chilled out.

After watching Foyle’s war I retired up here to chill out, read some of the Poster Book and compose my Blog.

And with that, I Sign Off.

Over and Out.

Hey Everyone.

I'm blogging from the Mac Shop on the Laptop.

I tried to blog from the Starbucks at the Oxford Street Borders, but instead of providing a free network the T-Mobile Wireless thing they have there is actually some kind of Pay As You Go thing that you need to set up, and that kind of thing gives me a headache. Plus I had already paid two pounds for some kind of yogurt drink, and I didn't feel like paying more.

Pearl's party was actually really good.

Alan, Sue, Becky and Tory (and their babies) were there, as well as Tory's fiance. Jacqi, Mary Thomas and Wassername (Marr's red-haired kid) had come along from Brighton (Steve was still in France) and from the North was Pamela, Nigel and Katie. Even Caroline made it down.

Here's some news: Caroline now live in Kensington (she says that most of her pay goes on rent, something which doesn't surprise me), her job title is 'Productivity Analyst), which means that she spends 18 hours a day in front of her Laptop looking at figures in Excel and she is desperate for some time off. And she drives a Black Mercedes Kompressor.

That's right, miss Kicked out of School Twice now drives a Merc. She probably hires it, but goddamn. I always said that I would drive a Merc by the time I was thirty. So much for that.

Anyways, despite my apparent bitchiness I am impressed that she has moved up in the world. I'd just like to move up as well. Time to pull my finger out, I guess.

Anyways, it turned out to be a really good day. I ate so much food that I had to sit down and let it settle (I should have made myself some sammiches out of the leftover chicken, but I didn't think to) and everyone just chilled out, no arguments or static, just everyone being cool. Try that at an old school MacCarthy family get-together. (although given that there aren't any of a certain generation of MacCarthys left, that is a purely academic point).

At about five-ish Dad drove me to Arundel Station for me to catch the next train to London. Right now I should be hie-ing it back to Leytonstone so I can dump my stuff and get the next train to Mornington Crescent, but I'm not going to hurry too much. (I want to go to the Koko to see The Grates play, possibly review them for Fasterlouder).

The I nodded off a bunch of times on the Train ride up (ie no reading done), but there were no brats pissing me off. Swings and roundabouts.

I got talking to a cheerful bloke with a pile of books in the Borders, then packed up my shit and came over here.

Once I'm done blogging I think I'll check my mail and go.

Hmm, over on the WiFi page it sez that there are places where WiFi-ing is totally free. Cool. Next time I'll try a Proper WiFi stickered place.

Anyways, it is time that I signed off properly.

Over and Out.

J

Productive day

I've had a productive day.

Basically I decided to give my To Do list an enema: get all the shit I've been putting off out of the way.

And I don't think that I've done too badly.

Today I have:

Paid my rent
Got a new travelcard
Put some film in to be developed (picking it up on Saturday)
Went to the back to 1) put in a cheque Dad gave me 2) check my account for irregularities 3) update my address 4) get the account out of the red
Returned a Library book to the Letonstone Library
Gotten more Phone Credit
Bought more Razors
Bought 2000AD and Kerrang (to be fair, I do that every Wednesday)
And even gone to the MacShop to check out the prices for Freehand and for a padded sock for my Laptop, so that I can go to Starbucks and Blog from there.

Bonus: yesterday I bought an A3 pad from WH Smith, and today I bought couple of Graphite Sticks to go with it. And I bought a KMFDM ticket, since they are playing here in London on my Birthday this year.

There is still stuff I really should do, and I might have spent a little too much money in the process of doing it all but I am feeling good that I left the flat with a list and I have crossed off all the items in one day, as opposed to five days later, as is my norm.

Tonight I celebrate, possibly with a Steak Dinner, or with Pasta, but I will be watching Lost. Yay.

As was promised: Blogging Yesterday's Blog Today, as Yesterday Today was Tomorrow and Tomorrow was Today:

I can't actually remember what I did yesterday... I think I faffed around too long, and when I finally got to Stratford to pay my rent the back was closed... So I went to WH Smith, looked at Tattoo mags and bought some A3 Sketch Paper instead, determined not to go to Life Drawing Class with just a pissy little A4 pad Again.

Then I took the tube to... somewhere. Tottenham Court Road, I think. I know that I wanted to ride around a little, since it was the last day left on my then current travelcard on my Oystercard.

I got to Tottenham Court Road, rode up the Northern line to Leicester Square, Decided to buy a ticket to the Island, saw that I had missed the 1835 session for the Island and bought one for the 2135 for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory instead. That can't have been all... I must have done something else...

Anways, I took the tube back to Tottenham Court Road to blog at the Easy Everything for half an hour before tubing back to Leicester Square and zipping up to the movie theatre. Unfortunately relieving a brutally full bladder meant that I missed the first three or four minutes of the opening credits. But the movie was cool.

Tim Burton definitely did a great job directing (apart from the oompa loompa, who left me a tad cold... the best thing about him was the songs, and they were all written, arranged and performed by the Great Danny Elfman (lyrics by Roald Dahl)).

I did spend the first half of the movie thinking to myself how it was all a grand statement about the Fascism of the Modern Industry, the emptiness of Consumerism and the like. But I spent the second half of the movie thinking: Johnny Depp is Cool!

After the movie I jumped on the tube home, dropped my bags at the flat and took a bus to Tescos. At tescos I picked up some more peaches and current buns, as well as garbage bags (we were all out somehow).

Back home and I watched Midnight Cowboy before trying to sleep for a couple of hours. Still, the nights are getting longer, so now I might find it easier to sleep with the curtains open because the sun won't come streaming in at four in the morning (I still hate sunlight, and there is still to much of it even in an English Summer).

Since Gus called me up the other day and told me that my Blog is Really Funny, from time to time I have been feeling a pressure to be funny in my posting. To be truthful, I don't really set out to make this a funny blog, it's just that funny stuff happens, or I see something in a funny way, or I relate it in a way that becomes funny.

Of course, when I start to worry about it too much a little voice inside me screams 'It's just a BLOG! Stop being such an Emo Drama Queen!'

And then I find something else to do.

Now I'm going home.

Over and out.

J

Hey!

Hey there bloggists.

I'm sorry for the lack of blog action on here for the past few days, but I have been pretty busy.

Saturday I finally made it down to Bognor Regis. Mum and Dad are in good spirits. It felt weird being in Pearl's house without Pearl being there.

Sunday: breakfast with Grampa Bill and Isabel, later saw Pearl in Hospital and then train back to london.

On the train: read the 100 Rules of Graphic design isuue of Computer Arts Projects some more. Looked out the window lots. Sketched down some interesting signs we passed and listened to Cult of Luna on my iPod until I started to feel ear fatique kick in.

Then it was onto the tube and back to the flat.

Monday: iron clothes that had been hanging all weekend, mess around on my laptop way too long missing my window of opportunity to go pay my rent and finally pull my shit together to go to the life drawing class, again with only an A4 pad and my crappy WH Smith HB pencils.

The life drawing class was good. The model was a 20 something male, much better physical nick than last weeks scary east european bovine horror. (During the break a couple of the other artists and I listed the reasons that she sucked, including the fact that she kept moving).

Since all the chairs were taken I had to sit on the floor, so all my sketches for that class have a very from below look about them. After I sat down (in the exact same place as last week, but then I had a chair) I realised that the freckly girl from last week that was sitting across the way was sitting right next to me.

She turned out to be from Brisbane. How about that?

Anyways, my drawings were a bit better than last week, even though the teacher still thinks that my lines are 'Stiff'. When I got home later on I sat down at my doodle pad and did an not bad character sketch. Still room for improvement but I am on my way.

After the class I chilled in an Angel Pub, the 0ne where all the kids sit in the courtyard out the front, and had some fish and chips while reading a Big Issue that somebody left behind.

Then I took the tube to Soho, looking for Trash. I eventually found it, but I decided I wasn't trashy enough, so I figured I'd come back next week.

I'm out of time. I'll have to tell about today tomorrow.

Over and out.

J

The Hot Snakes Rock.

The Hot Snakes Rock.

I can't believe that a band that rocks that hard are going to Break Up.

They rocked so hard I had to restrain myself from wanting to beat up people in the pit that pissed me off. Like the overtall fucker that insisted on standing in the front row just in front of me with the bald man short mullet.

Fucker.

After the show I was so wired I actually to a homeless person to FUCK OFF! when he asked me for change. Very out of character.

Possibly also related to the lack of sleep I've been getting lately. When I don't get enough sleep, I tend to get a bit more loopy. The general lack of sleep I had in February when I was working at the courthouse might have been related to my big time EMO attack when Hilary turned me down in favour of a South African Lawyer. (not that it matters, but she has since come to agree with me that most if not all South African men are misogynists).

But I digress.

I missed Mum and Dad at the Airport because I stopped to Blog.

I'm a fucking Blogaholic. This is terrible.

Late last night I gashed my finger washing glasses in the sink. Any bigger and it would have needed stitches. If I move my finger the wrong way it starts bleeding like a stuck pig under the bandaid. Geez.

I would have been on a train to Bognor Regis by now. Except this week has been so busy that I had absolutely no clothes, towels or anything, so I had to do some laundry before I left. Which takes to long, so I'm going tomorrow morning.

Do'h!

I think that the Hot Snakes somehow shifted my thinking patterns, becuase instead of wanting to start a Doom band now, I want to start a Jittery, sharp guitar kind of band. With beats. (Must be Skinny Puppy coming out of me).

Seriously, I just started writing lyrics around a beat in my head with guitar sounds over the top, and I couldn't stop. After feeling serious writers block most of this year it is a weird feeling.

In other news: my leather jacket is starting to smell seriously funky. I wonder how much it cost to get a motorcyle jacket drycleaned here in Leytostone?

Anyways, I've gotta go find something to do tonight until I go tomorrow.

Over and out.

Quick Note:

Just getting home.

Went to Skinny Puppy and had a blast.

Got talking to a couple of Glaswegians, including a pretty Scots girl who picked me as an Antipodean but didn't know whether I was Australian or New Zealander.

She told me that she dated a Saffir for ten months. 'One of the Good Ones'.

She was cool.

The dancefloor was full of people actually dancing, even the rough players were more polite than usual.

Afterwards I met a girl from Liverpool and her friend from Canada. We hung out at the Crobar (the rock journalist hangout in Soho) til three then walked to her flat in Camden where we listended to some tracks she had made on her PC.

Then we ate toast and watched a Bill Bailey DVD, followed by a Laibach DVD. It was pretty cool.

Now I have to rush home, have a shower and see if I can get to Heathrow before half three to meet Mum and Dad at the Airport.

Over and Out.

J

Got to make this quick:

I'm going to Skinny Puppy at the Astoria, so I've got to make this quick. I'm running really late as it is.

Damn lousy early London Show Curfews. Like I always say, London is a 24 Hour City, My Hairy Arse!

Didn't work today. Played guitar, did some ironing.

Read a Computer Arts Projects mag that I bought at Borders about the 100 Rules of Graphic Design. I read the 30 Rules of Type, which was actually misnamed, as it should have been the 30 Rules of Fontography.

But since I really dig fontography, that is okay.

Not much else. Feeling tired and down.

I'm going to try to meet Mum and Dad at the Airport tomorrow.

Gotta Go.

Over and out.

J

I'm fucking exhausted.

Yep. I'm so worn out and weary.

Worked yesterday. Went to a class. Kicked around Islington. Came Home. Went shopping at Tescos because I had no food. Went to bed pretty damn late.

Got up early. Went to work. Discovered that my partner for the day was an Israeli graphic designer with a Masters in Advertising.

The guy yesterday had a Degree in English Lit. A Masters holder and a Degree Holder and we were all doing Lifter-Shifter work to get by.

Jesus.

Actually, the hardest thing about today was the big gaps between the jobs. Standing around with nothing to do is not my idea of looking good. Here's some back-story:

On Friday HF had acquired a magazine called Real Homes out from under a sinking ship, Lock Stock and Barrell. On Friday all their stuff had been moved out of the North London Offices to keep it out of the mitts of the Liquidators and into a top room in HF, North Row, Monday the stuff had been moved into a previously vacant office space and Today the Magazine put itself back together in the new location and got on with the job.

I got to meet pretty much all of them when I was assigned the job of putting labels on each of their telephones with their extension number printed. They use Quark and the art department are nice.

Speaking of which, did I mention the Quark Books that I fished out of a recycling bin? They were fucking heavy after carrying them over half of central London.

Still, they might actually come in useful. Or not. I don't really like Quark, and the smart money says that InDesign is taking over the rackets.

Anyways, after work instead of walking along Oxford Street like I usually do (when I'm in the vicinity) I decided to wander through the side streets instead, and saw some really nice apartment buildings, part of the Peabody Trust, whatever that is.

I pulled out this little disposable camera Dad gave me ages back and started snapping.

The Israeli told me that he used to take pictures of all the best signs in London. It's so simple its brilliant.

I think I'll start doing that.

Jesus Christ I'm tired.

Still, I'm pretty sure that I'm not working tomorrow. They didn't tell me that I was, and they generally do tell you just to make sure that you can make it.

Still, I think I'll do some aggressive job hunting tomorrow.

I'm running out of time, and I'm flat out of energy.

I'm going to go home and make a sandwich. And collapse into a coma.

Over and Out.

J

And the beat goes on:

I'm posting from the Fruit and Stuff Cafe in Islington again.

I went to a Life Drawing class that was in the same street as the dodgy Gothic Club I went to on Saturday night, and I missed my window of opportunity to blog in Leytonstone, so here I am.

The other main reason I couldn't blog in Leytonstone was that I spent the whole day working. At Hachette and Filipacchi again.

Lugging stuff up and down in the lift. Moving around Macintoshes (seriously, this is the most Mac Heavy office block I have every seen).

Plugging stuff in and laying network cable. (Headlines "Jason Has Been Laying Cable at Office Full of Hot Chicks!")

The like.

After work I tried to find an open art supply store, instead finding a nice square somewhere deep in Soho. Among other stuff.

I finally found a Art shop but I had missed it by 8 minutes.

So I did the Life drawing class with my A4 sketchbook and the sketchy pencils I bought at WH Smith. Scratchy pieces of crap that they were.

The life drawing model was some kind of hellish looking East European scrag. Believe me, I've met some really hot east European girls since I have been here in London, and she wasn't one of them. The exception that proves the rule is false. Or something.

Anyways, I still sketched away and I am glad that I went, even if everyone else in the room left me for dead.

Next door was this arty cafe attached to the Life Drawing Class, two stories up in the building. Some kind of Apparment converted to an Art Studio converted to a Cafe. It was cool. In a city full of sterile chain cafes and hideous grimy holes of depravity, it was a nice oasis of flavour that didn't taste like piss.

It actually reminded me of the Three Monkeys in Brisbane. They were playing hot Jazz and serving cold lemonade. It was cool.

Back to the Life Drawing class and the model was yawning and twitching her way through the rest of the class. Still, as Dodgy as the model was the Teacher was good.

And I caught a girl on the other side of the room checking me out. (Vanity!)

Last night I went to the Today is the Day show at the Garage. Ran into my friend Dan and his Girlfriend.

TITD were good, at least I think they were. Because I was up the front and all I could hear was Steve Austin's guitar drowning out everything else. No Drums or Bass in the fold back.

I went to the back of the hall for the last song, and it actually made sense.

But I do actually feel like the highlight of the night for me were a Portugese band called Ximel and the Northern Sludgers Charger. Charger were heavy as fuck. There is no other way to put it.

Took a bus back to Oxford Street and then the N8 back to Leytonstone. It was all good.

Best news I have Today: I am working tomorrow!

Yay. More money to go into the rent fund.

And with that I will go home and wash some clothes so that I have something to wear to work tomorrow.

Over and Out.

And Two points for Gus for coming up with Ellen DeGeneres as a Jewish Lesbian.

A Night Out:

I had a fun night out.

I got to Tottenham Court Road a little late, queued up at a cashpoint for 15 to get cash (all of the cashpoints in Leytonstone are either depeleted, not working, kicked in or a variation of the above).

I paid to much for a ticket to Social Distortion but it was actually a really good show and I am glad that I went. Mike Ness has a mournful quality to his voice that can convey a lifetime of confusion and pain with a single note. Besides that, he looks drop dead cool. It turns out that this is the first time that Social D have played in London for ten years.

Outside I ran into Rich or Paul or whatever his name is. He used to be in the Blood Idols, now he's in Vanlustbader, who I just found out moved to England in April. They were brought over here by a label putting out there single or something.

He was quite surprised to see me here. He also introduced me to his friend Amy, a punk from the Gold Coast who is a teacher over her, living in a Squat in Stoke Newington.

Apparently half her street is all Jewish, and the other half is Lesbians. I'm trying to think of a famous Jewish Lesbian, but I can't think of any right now. Answers on a postcard please.

After that it ws the tube to Angel to go to Slimelight. While I was finding it I met a couple from Nottingham who had come down to go to the club. They told me that Nottinghams Famous Rock City club is actually in a slow decline, its best days behind it. Interesting. I'll tell Adam.

In the queue to get in I ran into Janet, the South Afrikan writer from the company I did a shift at just over a week ago. She was also at the party where I stupidly drunk too much cheap run and got sick.

It turns out that what felt like ten minutes at the most of puking was in fact over three hours. Geez. That explains a lot. Like why there were still people around when I started throwing up and the entire party was deserted when I finished. And why the last time I checked a clock it was just after four and the next time I checked it was nine.

I'm freaking out that it was three hours, though. It really didn't feel that long. It was horrible, painful and really undignified, but it felt like a really short period of time. I must have blacked out or something, at least the higher functions. A disturbing concept, really. Alcoholic Amnesia is really not my style.

Anyways, I also got talking to an American name Steve, wearing a KMFDM shirt. Turns out that he's a Graduating Law Student, previously a Journalism Graduate, from Tennessee and Birmingham Alabama. But besides that, he's pretty itinerant. He told me that he had just taken the channel tunnel back to London that Day from Paris.

He also told me that he had been studying Law in Durham, and that his favourite city on the face of the Earth was Glasgow. He gave me a list of websites to look up.

The club itself was fun, even if I did feel the usual kind of loneliness that I tend to feel at these shindigs. I felt the same at most of them in Brisbane. Am I just wired to feel alone?

Upstairs they were playing hard, noisy electronic that had me moving involuntarily. Since I'm feeling the opposite of manic right now I wasn't quite energetic enough to actually dance as I should have to the music, but it was fun hearing it.

Downstairs a set of trad Goth gave way to crappy eurodisco... sorry, EBM. I hate EBM. If I wanted to hear lousy techno I'd build a time machine back to 1993.

Funnily enough, the Trad Goth DJ played Spiritual Cramp off the first Christian Death album, the first time I'd heard that song in years. Playing guitar on that song was a bloke name Rikk Agnew, who was also in the original lineup of... Social Distortion.

Is it Kismet, or is it just me drawing lines between random points. I'd say a bit of both. The DJ told me that he plays Christian Death every week, it's just me who hasn't been there since November.

At this point I could go into an exploration of the idea that at 28 I feel too old to enjoy clubs etc, but I don't have time and I don't like where this idea could take me. I'm not in the mood to unravel at this point.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Funny things about the club: a bloke was dressed like a brownshirt while his girlfriend was dressed like a WAC. They danced nonstop in the electro-noise room. Standing besides them was a bloke with a shaved head, black buttondown shirt whose method of dancing was to wave both hands in time to the music as if he was conducting a Wagnerian Opera.

Anyways, at about fourish I took the bus back to Piccadilly Circus, bypassed my usual slice of Pizza at Leicester Square, kicked alond Charing Cross Road until I got to Oxford Street and stumbled on Club 100, which was still going, and still charging £10 at the door.

I've been here this long and it has taken me til now to find this particular basement Jazz Club.

Not having £10 I decided to jump on the next bus and go home. Perfect timing for a change, as soon as I ascended the stairs back to street level the N8 bus was there and I jumped on.

A scenic ride through Holborn, The Bank District and some of North East London (progressively less scenic as it went) and I was home.

Yay!

And now I'm off.

Over and Out.

J

Feeling a bit better.

I'm feeling a bit better.

Last night I left the house just before midnight to go to an old school Goth night at a joint called the Lord Nelson on Holloway road.

It actually turned out to be pretty good.

Outside I got talking to a couple who had foreign accents but refused to tell me where they were from, on account of it being the most uncool place in the world.

I said Poland, Moscow or Vladisvostok or Siberia, but they said 'We WISH it was Siberia'

Turns out that they came from Israel. Current events notwithstanding, I don't see that that is so much to be ashamed of, but then again I don't understand the English prejudice against people with red hair either, so there you go.

After that I wandered down Holloway Road until I found a bus stop just outside the Highbury Garage. There I met a Punk/Grind band who had just played a show called Trencher. I talked to the on the bus back into the center of London.

Then I took the 55 back east. Unfortunately I didn't take the right stop and I wound up in Wanstead or Chingford or something. Beautiful scenery (all green and nice old houses) but it wasn't where I wanted to be at half five on a Saturday morning.

Fortunately it didn't take to long for a bus in the other direction to arrive, so I rode that back to Leytonstone Station then walked back to the flat from there.

Reading a copy of the Evening Standard Weekend Magazine they ran a one page piece about The Engineer at Primrose Hill, basically because it has become a hangout for all the local celebs (Jude Law etc). I'm wondering if that is the same Engineer off Chalk Farm that Dad sent me to. The mind boggles.

I'm going out again tonight.

In fact... I should be going now.

Over and out.

Once more from the top...

I got a call from home today.

Talked to Mum and Dad and Elea. (It feels weird talking about them in the Third Person knowing that Elea reads this blog sometimes, and so does Dad.)

Dad filled me in on some details of when they get over here to the UK. Cheers.

Talked to Elea, which was cool. She told me about the stuff she is learning with Flash.

Mum told me about the cat being cute.

I think after the euphoric feeling I had last week has given way to a kind of melancholy, but I have felt worse before. I won't let this feeling grind me down.

I'm still reading the Elric book, and I read a big interview with Michael Moorcock yesterday. Interesting. In a magazine I read another interview by Grant Morrison. Talented writer, but I'm not entirely sure about his sanity.

Warren Ellis is still my favourite right now.

The net cafe is closing around me, and I have a juicy steak waiting to be fried and eaten at home.

After that I'm going to go out and have some low key, non-alcohol-poisoning fun.

I'm sorry I'm letting everyone down.

Over and out.

J

Razzin' Frazzin'...

I'm feeling moody today.

There is something about London which sometimes makes me feel tired, lonely and disconnected. Then again, there was always something in Brisbane which made me feel tired, lonely and disconnected.

So evidence suggests that it's just me.

My review of the Cat Empire is up, and I should be feeling really great.

But somehow I don't. Maybe it is the looming rent day.

Maybe it is just the general frustration I feel. Mostly frustration with myself. My head has that blurry 'I Can't Think' feeling, like I just want to twist it of and shake it until all the stuff weighing me down falls out.

Hmm.

Maybe if I get myself depressed enough I can get to sleep early tonight.

...

I went out to Leicester Square last night and saw Fantastic Four. It was amazing in places and boring in places, and during the scene on the Bridge I found myself getting pretty emotional.

This can't be good.

...

There's some low key commotion outside with some asian kids and a police car in attendance or something. Oh hello, pretty blonde just walked past.

Yep, internet solipsism.

...

Sunday I was watching an old episode of Friends and Chandler had tracked down an old edition of The Velvetine Rabbit to give to Joey's girlfriend. Having searched two cities to find a book to impress a girl some years ago, I felt tears in my eyes as it struck a familiar, pathetic chord.

OF course, I am blaming the Velvetine Rabbit. Fuckin' Velvetine Rabbit. Gets me every time.

...

The Office of Film and Literature Classification has banned GTA San Andreas in Australia.

Nice work. Shit like that makes me ashamed to be Australian. That and Jet.

...

On the tube home I overheard a couple of blokes talking exuberantly about a huge Brass section at a gig they had just been to.

I couldn't help myself. I enquired, and it turned out that the Brass section actually belonged to their band, and they had just played a show and Ronnie Scotts, the legendary Jazz venue in Soho (they had gotten on at Tottenham Court Road).

I got talking to them. Their band was called Dancing With Henry ( http://www.dancingwithhenry.co.uk/ ) and according to them they are picking up momentum.

Good for them.

...

I just discovered I can type a URL while checking out girls outside at the bus stop. Internet Solipsism Continues.

...

I'm still reading the Elric Stories by Michael Moorcock. I met a woman over the weekend who writes science fiction and fantasy stories, and is working on finishing a Novel.

I actually like the Elric stories, even if they do show their age sometimes.

Hmm.

...

I'm sewing the wound closed for today.

Over and out.

J

Type, Type and AWAY!

I finally got the Cat Empire review typed and sent.

While I was trying to finish it the sun had sunk down low enough in the sky that the PC that I had chosen was dead in the line of fire.

Hating sunlight, as I do, and being morbidly afraid that exposure to UV will trigger cold sore, wrinkling and sunburn I was typing with one hand and holding a book on my shoulder with the other.

Luckily I am expert at typing with one hand, but the less said about that the better.

I'm now at a different, adequately shadowed PC. Hooray for that.

I would have finished the article sooner but for working yesterday, working Friday and spending all of Sunday recovering from minor alcohol poisoning.

Yep, I went to the hat party and drank some shocking white rum and other crap, unfortunately somehow skipping the warm sense of wellbeing stage of being drunk and going straight to the dizzy and vomiting stage, somewhere around five in the morning.

And I burnt my throat with acid again. Geeze. Next time I intend to get truly smashed on cheap liquor (next october, by my timetable) I think I will take a couple of Acideeze Tablets before hand, either that or drink a bottle of pepto-bismal or eat a whole hand of lady-finger banannas. It isn't the throwing up I hate, it is the acid burns that last the next two days.

Yesterday I got a call at about half twelve saying that they needed a lifter-shifter at Hachette Fillipacchi again. Which was good, more money for the Rent Fund (which is still looking distressingly thin).

Working there yesterday wasn't as much fun as last time, I wasn't paired with such a cheerful crew but the money is always welcome.

Today was throwing clothes in the wash, cleaning my room and typing the article, which I halfway wrote yesterday before running out of time in the net caff.

Tonight I might go see a movie. If I can make it to a theatre in time. I still want to go buy some food, since I am running pretty low on supplies right now.

My parents come to England in a week or two, and I have to decide what to ask them to bring of mine. My whole CD collection comes to mind, but it isn't a practical idea. I'll try to make a list of ten titles that I really miss.

Other random interesting things:

Last night I saw a Biopic about a New York Puerto Rican poet/playwright named Miguel Pinero, starring Benjamin Bratt. Fascinating.

Also: walking along Oxford Street Yesterday I passed a department store that had allocated it's corner window to the Princes Drawing School, a programme for young artists in London, organising classes and all kinds of stuff.

Anyways, in this paint strewn corner window display a 20 something male wearing inside-out pinstripe trousers and a black shirt was adding to a mural of faces while a girl was sketching a child's face in the face in the foreground.

I watched the girl kneeling over the paper she was sketching on for a while. It was strange. She was not really the kind of girl that I tend to find attractive; she had hazel eyes and brownish hair in a grown out short haircut, over a mousy little face. But I was entranced watching her work. I read somewhere that someone on a stage or behind a bar always looks fifty percent more attractive. Maybe it is a talent thing; a talent makes someone special, being special makes them attractive. I feel like a piece of me has been working on that idea my whole life.

Just have to pull off the talent part.

So many different kinds of shallow.

Somebody called me shallow at the party because I wouldn't give a straight answer on who I supported on Cricket or Rugby. I was drunk so I couldn't say any like 'I don't believe that any individual should define themselves on something as pointless as a geographic tribalism invented and encouraged by a media that wants to sell advertising time during half time, I think that identity is something much more complex than that.'

So instead I just said 'my blood runs red', a reference to the red earth of north queensland where I was born. It went clean over his head.

That is enough for today, I have to email the editor of fasterlouder.com.au

Over and out.