Jooiijkaa!

The Idler Academy. The school for me.

we appear to be blogging live from the Idler Academy in Westbourne Park road W11. It must be Ok, I had to pass the Cow to get here. I'm meeting a serious fellow blogger and this seemed the place to do it. I am sitting in the garden, armed with wifi, a cup of coffee and a labrador for company. If I run out of ideas there is a wall of books to peruse. Incidentally, for local readers Books can be ordered at the Idler for following day delivery; use this place, it is a refreshing change from the usual vanity bikini shops that occupy this parade of shops.

Murray Lachlan Young is delivering a lecture here next week and they have a whole bunch of other stuff lined up... Check out the website: http://idler.co.uk/academy/about-the-idler-academy/

Will and Kate's Big Fat Gypsy Wedding

‘WILL AND KATE’S BIG FAT WEDDING © Alex and Rory Scarfe 2011, published by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd and available in all good book stores.’

Leslie Howard: The Man Who Gave a Damn.

At the Michael Horovitz thing last night I got talking to filmmaker Tom Hamilton about a Leslie Howard documentary he has been working on for some years. he pointed me in the direction of his web-site. It is a fascinating story and well worth reading.

He writes:

When film fans today refer to Leslie Howard, the most common memory is of the ineffectual Southerner Ashley Wilkes, which he played in “Gone with the Wind”

It’s ironic that he’s forever associated with a part he fought against in a movie that he never watched. It’s equally unfortunate that his somewhat colourless and disinterested acting in that film is often assumed to be typical of his career. For Leslie Howard captivated a generation of theatre and film-goers through the 20’s and 30’s with his beautiful voice, poetic appearance and low key acting style, and his performances on film are equally compelling and mysterious today.  READ MORE

Michael Horovitz picture poetry, cock and Bottle.

                                Michael Horovitz.

I didn't know it was happening until the last minute. Tracy invited me along (Tracy is about as rock n roll as it gets in this area) so I went.

we met in the pub that was once called the Chepstow but has now been completely ruined and renamed after a sofa.

Paintings by poets are a dangerous thing. After all (one thinks) if they were good artists we would be invited to hear poems by an artist; Daubing has more value than verse. As it was we were invited to 'picture poems, bop art paintings, Collages, jazz paintry, Prints and drawings' All on show in Pembridge Road W11.

It was fun and it was totally unpretentious. Michael was charming and disarming and his work struck a chord acting as a focal point for a birthday party. I went in two minds and came home in one.

Afterwards we grabbed a pint at the Cock and Bottle; the last proper pub in Notting Hill.

Sophie Barker at Ronnie Scott's, puppies and stiletto heels.

Last night was a good one and requires a bit of Back story:

12 weeks ago a friends Jack Russell gave birth to 2 pups. the music for the event was provided by Sophie Barker; the album 'Seagull' to be released in May: http://www.sophiebarker.com/music/seagull/ ).  I'd heard the name before from her Zero7 days but had not heard any of her solo stuff.

Last night I was lucky enough to get to go to Sophie's press/invite only gig at Ronnie Scott's. I went with the Jack Russells Mistress (the puppy stuff makes sense now doesn't it). I intentionally did not listen to any of her stuff beforehand; I much prefer to hear someone live the first time, free from bias or pre-conceptions. In the cab on the way there I learned something new about stiletto heels

The room upstairs is fine for small occasions (but it turned out to be no small occasion) with the band set up under a skylight (it was early evening and still light outside) providing an odd combination of Jazz Club and daylight. Ms Jack Russell knew enough people there to make it a friendly event from the outset. A good number of Sophie's friends appeared to be there too. There was also a slightly spooky coincidental 'small world' moment for me: Long story, won't bore you with it here.

Sophie is a talented lady with a great voice, she has (in 'Seagull') produce that rare thing: An album of consistently good songs most of which she performed beautifully last night, backed by a very tight and very competent set of musicians. All in all it was a delightful surprise to hear grown up music for a change. If you ever want a demonstration of how to showcase versatility in both song-writing and performance you could do no better than to get to one of her live shows. Early on in the proceedings Sophie was momentarily distracted by a pigeon flying overhead which caused her to produce a memorable smile and set the tone for evening. Her set was too short for my liking. I left happily clutching a promo copy of her album; it will be played regularly!

All in all a joyful event.

We tried to get a tri-shaw back to Notting Hill but made do with a cab. I'll tell you about the stiletto heels another day.

Michael Jackson Statue unveiled in Fulham.

GOOD GRIEF!

Personally I prefer this one...

Guest blog: An Anarchist writes.

I received the following in the mail this morning from someone calling himself 'Darryl X'. I publish it unedited. 


I am an Anarchist. Er, actually I am an anarchic situationist which sort of means that I like to create unrest where I want without the constraints of political or social conviction. Basically I just like trouble, breaking things, fights (but only with people smaller than me who I can hit with a stick safe in the knowledge that they won't fight back) and setting fire to rubbish bins in posh streets.  I blame my parents, more precisely my mum and my third stepdad who bought me a copy of 'Now that's what I call Anarchy Vol 1' (K-Tel records) back when I was a kid to shut me up when I was bunking off school and they were in the pub. I learnt all my political stuff from that record; the Sex Pistols, the Clash, Sham 69, Jilted John. They were my heros (except Jonny Rotten has gone a bit swervy selling butter on the telly; butter is a symbol of the subjugation of animals my girlfriend Debbie says. She says yoghurt is OK cos it was the food of heroes like Ghengis Kahn).

Now I'm growed up a bit I have found that there is an empty space in my brain for stuff like that again. I did a degree in Social studies and Banner semiotics at Cheam University until I was chucked out for not attending. Ducking college filled my time back then but now I have plenty of time for politics and stuff and I read loads about Bono and Nelson Mandela.

I am not associated with those UKuncut kids; I just latch onto their marches and stuff.

'What do I want?' I hear you ask.

Well as an anarchic situationist, I can't speak for the others they are laws unto themselves, I want the following:

1. An end to government; governments are bossy and worse than my 4th stepdad.
2. Much higher unemployment benefit for political students such as myself in order that we can eat better while planning an alternative to government (hard brain work).
3. Better NHS and designated ambulances for us victims of brutal Police attacks.
4. The Police must not be trained so well or wear body protection. It gives them an unfair advantage in a riot situation.
5. Death to all the government lackies of the press who criticise us just because thay are told to by Rupert Murdock.
6. Meat is murder. Debbie told me to put that in as she is dead against killing animals for food.
7. Free everything and an end to taxes except for all the fatcats earning over £22,000 a year. Free love.
8. Free prescriptions for my psychotic medication and ESA for all 7 of my other personalities.
9. The legalisation of skunk.

And obviously I want Anarchic situations at all times except at the benefit office in Lisson Grove W2.

POWER TO ME. THE PEOPLE CAN GO FUCK THEMSELVES!

Editors note: I just publish this stuff. don't shoot the messenger.

Fortnum & Mason Press release leak.

I have just been 'leaked' a draft copy of the Fortnum & Mason press release regarding Saturdays occupation by self styled anarchists and the Attention Seekers (actually the'New Attention Seekers'; formed when Judith Durham left the original band to go solo) which resulted in massive publicity for the store and world media coverage.

It reads as follows:

On Saturday 26th of March the 1st battallion of the Fortnum and Mason Advertising Regiment mounted a successful campaign to plant the London tea shoppe firmly in the minds of future tourists and revolutionaries around the planet and ensure that a visit to the noble retail outlet will be a 'MUST'.


The team was nobly assisted by the rebel Chaist group of radical tea drinkers led by 72 year old 'Wolfie' Smith (late of the Tooting Popular Front) a television dentist and Marxist 'SitComist'. Who will turn up without fail at the demonstration of envelope opening come rain or shine.


Saturdays action continues a long tradition of association between F&M and fighters for peoples rights; John Lennon wrote 'working Class Hero' in the Tea room, Bowie and Bolan penned their populist anthems 'Rebel Rebel' and 'Children of the Revolution' while working as broom boys in the gents barbershop within the store.
The Black Panthers were formed here and the Communist manifesto was thrashed out over F&M muffins and a pot of Earl Grey.


The Chaist group would like it known that they disassociate themselves completely from from the Ritz Anarchaist Three who at one point in the proceedings attempted to steal the show, upsetting a spirit burner on the F&M samovar in Jermyn Street causing serious photo-ops.


A son et lumiere tableaux of the 'riot'(sponsored by Legal & General insurance) will feature as the central motif of the F&M Christmas display this year.

The power of money or money bullies.

My father was a difficult man.

At times he was a good father if somewhat erratic. At other times he was a monster; a tyrant and a bully. He had few friends that I can recall. His sense of humour was invariably based on humiliation and always at the expense of another. He bullied his children because his children were the witnesses he could not get rid of. ironically his children had no idea at the time of what they were witness to... We were witnesses to his bullying for a start!

I think he was an unhappy man and a troubled man. He developed a system of transferrance to deal with his monsters; he beat me up and he beat others up (but I'm writing this so I'll stick to me. The others can fend for themselves). I could furnish a small house with the list of cudgels he used for walloping but a shoe was preferred. I learned to accept this and until I could get away I allowed it to happen. It was his THERAPY, at cubs I should have won the 'junior psychtherapists' badge with ease if only it existed. I suppose it helped form me; I'm happy enough with myself and what I am so must be grateful to him for that. at least I didn't conform and turn into a replica of the man as my brother did.

When I started writing this I made notes; I noted down 'thoughtless acts', I was going to write that he committed many thoughtless acts but that would be wrong. A great deal of thought went into those supposed thoughtless acts.

In 69 or 70 he bought a ridiculous car. It was a gold Mercedes Benz 280SE 3.5 convertible. In Banbury it stuck out like a sore thumb. I hated it; I hated sitting in it, roof down, open to the gaze of the local population, open to the scorn and jealousy of other kids (I was spat at once by a skinhead. Middle England was full of skinheads at that time). I was no longer the child who could take simple joy from sitting in one of his exotic cars. The car was an embarrasment and I was sitting smack in the middle of it and on top of that the embarrasment could be ostentatiously driven about town.

One afternoon driving through Banbury in that ghastly car, heading north on the Oxford road approaching the Cross (remember that fine lady upon a cock horse) he slowed then pulled over. He took a twenty pound note from his pocket and handing it to me said: 'Run accross the road and get me a box of matches'... There is a cigarette lighter in the car, why does he want a box of matches?

I crossed the road, entered the tabacconist's shop that stood there 40 years ago and asked for a box of matches. a box of matches which would have cost 1p at the time. I handed over the note. The shopkeeper gave me the matches, looked at the note, groaned perhaps, certainly scowled, looked at me, looked out across the road at the old man in his golden charriot. The shopkeeper handed me the twenty pound note back saying take the matches they are a gift.

I returned to the car, handed him the matches and the twenty pound note, recounting what had taken place.

He looked at me as the car accelerated away and said: 'You see Tristan. The power of money. If you only had had pennies in your pocket you would have paid for those matches'.

But power wasn't the right word was it because a bully really has no power... Just weakness and a big stick.

Oh. If I could live that moment over again I would tell the shopkeeper to keep the change.

A self-combusting father.

One has not lived until one has seen ones father self combust.

My own particular rite of passage of this variety occured in a Newmarket toyshop when I was 11 years old. My father and I often frequented toyshops then but then again they were more than simple toyshops; we were model aircraft enthusiasts, we were not after toys but the makings of our machines and these shops were the source of our balsa wood, our glow-plug fuel, our tissue and dope that smelled of pear drops, our balsa adhesive (which my father also used to staunch the blood on his often lacerated hands, I still use glue to this day to seal small cuts on my hands) which had its own addictive smell... strange my memory of childhood hobbies is a series of smells more than anything else.

We were browsing as only men (separated from the womanfolk) can browse. There is nothing frivolous about model shop browsing, it is imbued with earnest endeavour and a purpose not extant in any other kind of shop (unless you a a car nut in which case Halfords might inspire similarly). To aid my fathers browsing he sucked upon his pipe. His pipe that could be relied upon to do one thing; that one thing was to go out often, caused perhaps by the greasy black shag he incinerated within it. He relit his pipe frequently (like all fires, pipes are most enjoyed during the lighting process, the arsonist becomes passive thereafter while the fire goes on ahead without assistance. He relit his pipe often with a Swan Vesta from a yellow box decorated in green and red  with not only the name but also a fine looking swan emblazened on it (although I never did understand what a swan had to do with starting fires, perhaps it was biblical; I didn't listen in R.E). Being a tidy man my father would return the used matches to the box and the box to his pocket.

On that illumminating day (did I also discover the pun at that moment?) My father lit his pipe, then, distracted by the cornucopia of model making paraphenalia about us, he returned the match to the box before it was properly extinguished. He returned the box to his cavalry twill trouser pocket, sucked hard on the briar with a contented gurgle as the contents of the match box in his pocket exploded.

He was sensible enough not to try to put his hand in to retrieve the incendiary device so was reduced to dancing around that toy shop flapping at his smoking groin with glue spattered hands much to the delight of his son and the disapproval of  an assembled audience of hobbyists and shopkeeper. If I were an overly imaginitive boy back then I would have said that the glue on his hands caught fire... But it didn't.

He eventually put out the fire, removed the match box, slid it open to show me the serried ranks of now welded together matches, blackened and acridly smoking (another smell to add to my collection).I cannot remember if the subject was ever raised again, I'm fairly sure I recounted the drama to my mother and siblings on returning home. I cannot remember if my father laughed. I hope he did, I really hope he laughed. From that day on he used only safety matches and always ensured that his used matches were placed sardine-like back in the box, the hot ends safely away from the unlit ones.

Elizabeth Taylor. RIP.

There will be enough written about the passing of Liz Taylor without me adding to it except to say I cannot remember the world without her until today. This photograph sums her up well. It also has the benefit of Burton AND that diamond.

Advice to the broken hearted.

My old friend Rusty McGlint dropped by today for a cup of tea and by the look on his face, to share some misery and no doubt some tale of a picaresque nature.

'What's up rusty'? I asked. Rusty then told me.

                                 Rusty McGlint


'It's like this. It turns out that Lula Mae has been lying all along and then some. she has been selling me snake oil from the day we met and I have been buying it. I got a cupboard full of snake oil but I ain't got it in me to sell it on so I guess I'm stuck with it.  On top of that she is a bigamist; got a husband in every state and three in Alaska (on account of the cold nights she tells me), and our marriage is as illegal as the next man's and a damn sight uglier. On top of that she has turned into her mother and her mother is a woman I never could take a liking to (even after twenty ounces of bourbon on a stormy night). When I pointed out to Lula Mae that she was caught out with her lying and all she took against me in a most vicious way.'

Rusty oh Rusty! Rule one: Never confront a lying woman with the evidence of her lies, it is fatal and the cause of more domestic strife and murder than the rest put together.

Rule two: All women become their mothers, Oscar Wilde pointed out that this was their tragedy. The best plan when you find a woman you get a hankering to afford some permanence in you life is to seek out the mother and marry her... At least you are Getting the reality from the get go. You ain't never going to get disappointment creeping in and spoiling Shangri la.

Rusty seemed pretty happy with that and poured himself another cup of tea.

The inanimate muse.

from now on I shall stick to the inanimate muse.

The other kind, the living kind are far too egocentric and predictably unpredictable. The other kind sees the artists canvas or the poets paper purely as a looking glass and a servant to her self perceived beauty. The poet must describe her with words of glowing colour, the artist must lay on strokes of lyrical brushwork. Both pandering to her vanity.

from now on I shall stick to the inanimate muse.

I shall be the one moving for a change and write truthfully about an object rooted to the spot as apposed to trying to make some sense and some poetry from a flighty creature darting about my room demanding insincere flattery dressed up as honesty.

From now on I shall stick to the inanimate muse.

I shall be the one to pack my bags when the moment suits and take my art elsewhere (to places where suffering only exists in the paintings on the walls or in old dusty books describing Circe or Calypso). Free from suffering for my art I shall luxuriate in the suffering of others at the hands of the animate muse.

Incredibly good video especially for cat lovers.

Spambeg and Spambegging. Or is that Spamburg?

Until told otherwise I  shall consider myself the inventer of these words.

Here is my favourite example:

Good day sir/madam

I am sorry to burg you,my name is Mr.John Galvani, I have a very urgent business
proposal worth(£15,500,000.00 Pounds Sterlings) from my new private offshore
bank (first trust bank). Please email me at(johngalvani@w.cn)for details

Best Regards,
Mr. John Galvani




I feel somewhat burged by this but will not be galvanised into action.

Become a successful writer overnight and lie your way to self delusion.

You are going to kick yourself for not doing this long ago... It is so easy.

Step one:  Log into www.peopleperhour.com, register, then post a fantastic profile of yourself remembering to include all of the characteristics you fantasize about having. Do not be shy; big yourself up.

Step two: Create email accounts in a number of  false names; two or three will do but if you ain't got anything better to do with your time then why not a dozen. Make sure there is some ethnic diversity in the names chosen (a couple of Jewish ones helps) and invent a short profile for each. Make sure that they are all in publishing or journalism. You can also mention these fabrications in your blog and your 'real' world for added authentication. A facebook account helps too. You can then message yourself regularly; birthday and Christmas greetings add a human touch and make you look genuine and popular.

You are writing fiction already. A great start.

Step three: Log onto www.peopleperhour.com then, using each of your invented characters, write yourself glowing testimonials. Try not to write them all on the same day though as that looks a little suspicious.

Here is an example: " brought her years of expertise in writing and natural flair and passion to this project to create a valuable sales and marketing tool for my company. Highly sought after freelancer, would recommend thoroughly and she made a daunting task seem easy and handled a tight remit and deadline with grace. "


Or how about this:  " is a tru pro, loves what she does and delivers excellent content, always on time."


Ok. you are done. Now go out there, cut and paste from anything that takes your fancy and pass it off as your own. When applying for jobs just refer people to your peopleperhour.com page and away you go.


You are now a successful writer.

The Idler Academy launch party and a Cow on good form.

Thursday evening saw the launch of the Idler Academy in Westbourne Park Road, W11.

Such was the size of the crowd attending the party that is was impossible to swing a cat, even in an idle manner. Characters not seen for many moons turned out to wish the venture success; I am not going to name-drop though (that would be far too uncouth). Absinthe flowed freely throughout the evening... Sensibly I avoided the stuff.

The Academy, a combination of bookshop, cafe and venue for edifying lectures is a welcome arrival in this little corner of West London which is a haven of calm midst the madness of  Portobello/Notting Hill.

Drinks were taken afterwards at the Cow next door (which stands exactly half way between my garret and the Academy) where, by happy chance, a good number of the local crowd had gathered to frighten off the tourists. Just like the old days.

Poly Styrene diagnosed with cancer.

X-ray Spex provided part of the soundtrack to my life in London in the late 70's.

Polly; a genuine eccentric has now been diagnosed with cancer... Let's pray that she can beat it.

Meanwhile:



Update. April 26th 2011.  Sadly Poly has lost her battle with cancer. She will be missed.

Cornish Pasties under threat from Alien imports.

A new Armada threatens the British despite EU protection.

I am hearing disturbing reports from my contacts in Cornwall of Spanish pastie bakery ships, masquerading as trawlers, massing off the coast. Apparently they have found a loophole in the EU law protecting the Cornish Pasty and are able to freely and legally call their products'Cornish Pasties' as they are manufactured within British territorial waters. These ' Cadiz Pasties' are being snuck ashore at night (using ages old smugglers tunnels) and transported to bakeries and shops throughout Britain.

If this were not bad enough I am reliably informed that these Spanish monstrosities not only contain shards of carrot but are crimped along the top.

Enough is enough! The theft of our pilchards by those Spanish blighters for the illegal Stargazey pie industry should have been a warning to us all.

time to fight back... Time to flood Andalucia with Paella made with basmati rice and Arbroath smokies.

A new theatre in Notting Hill.

I'm losing my edge. Or just not noticing what's going on any more!

A new small theatre has opened on Hereford Road W2 in an old print works; giving rise to the name the print room. I noticed it on my way back from Westbourne Grove, poked my head in the door and was greeted warmly and invited in to have a look round.

It is neither a conventional theatre nor large (seating 80) but it is just what we need; Notting Hill, for all its bohemian strutting, is criminally short of venues such as this. It has the feel of a place that has passionate people behind it; again something that the area is short of.

Currently 'Snake in the grass' by Alan Ayckbourn is playing.

Good news indeed... Let's go!

www.the-print-room.org

Original Grayson Perry doodle.

There is a Grayson Perry doodle for sale on ebay: http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/Original-artwork-Grayson-Perry-Artist-Turner-Prize-/290533005630?pt=UK_art_drawings_GL&hash=item43a51dd93e#ht_723wt_1139

Royal Wedding sick bags.

I found this on the interweb at: http://www.lydialeith.com/

Available to buy at: http://lydialeith.bigcartel.com/

The Idler Academy coming to Westbourne Park Road.

The Idler is to open its academy http://idler.co.uk/academy/ on Westbourne Park Road on March 1st. Handy for me it is but a 30 second idle stroll from my front door.

Beckham, Mubarak and beer.

OK.  I waited well past 8.00 O Clock for Mubarak to speak... I was aiming for the Cow and a well earned beer but the Egyptian kept me waiting only to hear that he ain't going so I head to the pub...

Only to find David Beckham hogging the seat by the fire.

Surely both Beckham and Mubarak can afford their own fires and leave the Cow fire to the locals.

I like a chat at the bar with the locals normally but when I am confronted with dull stares over Egypt but animated enthusiasm over a past it footballers I worry.

I worry.

Annie McClue Childrens verse by Murray Lachlan Young

This is Fabulous. A demonstration that the kids get all the really good stuff.

Chrysler Eminem Super Bowl Commercial - Imported From Detroit

Gary Moore Dies.

He was only three years older than me for heavens sake.

I never really got into Thin Lizzy at the time. Maybe we should listen to some now!

Killjoy alert on the Portobello Road.

Ryan O'Reilly; prince of buskers and regular Saturday attraction sent me this message today:

Ryan O'Reilly 05 February at 14:03 Report

Hi Tristan, just thought you'd be interested for your blog that we got properly got moved on today. some guy in a suit came up and disturbed our crowd then forced the PCSO's to remove us (against their will as they kept saying) he lived all the way down the road and as you know we don't use amps. couldn't believe it, then he rather laughably said he'd bring a bat to sort us out next time. The PCSO's said that they'd missed a street robbery because of his constant complaining. Anyway, sorry for the rant but like I say if you wish to mention it in your blog then please feel free.
all the best.
Ryan

What the fuck is wrong with some people? 

Portobello has been here for a long long time. It is, on Fridays and Saturdays, a bustling noisy street. The buskers are part of the attraction for the thousands of tourists who visit each weekend. Why the fuck would 'man in suit' want to move here in the first place?

Maybe he enjoys the cachet of a W11 address. He is obviously suffering for his 'chicness' and should relocate to Pinner immediately and leave Portobello and the rest of us to go about our lives.

The White Stripes have split up...

From the White Stripes Website

The Ryan O'Reilly Band - Gypsy Tree

John Barry...

John Barry has died. A Guardian piece about his music is HERE

Whether you know it or not he was a massive presence in the movies... He seems to have scored my entire film going life.

Here is the opening sequence from one of his early films.  Look out for a very gay Oliver Reed in the checked shirt.

The Tabernacle has a new website.

About time too. The Tabernacle has thrown away the old website and moved into the 21st century.

find them here: http://www.tabernaclew11.com/

Urgent message from Egypt from Miriam Hussain... Please read this!

On Saturday 29th January 2011, @marcinhosavant said:

URGENT MESSAGE FROM ACTIVIST IN EGYPT. PLEASE REPOST IF YOU CAN! "To all the people of world"

Alicia Ali Marsden

To all the people of world

The people in Egypt are under governmental siege. Mubarak regime is banning Facebook, Twitter, and all other popular internet sites Now, the internet are completely blocked in Egypt. Tomorrow the government will block the 3 mobile phone network will be completely blocked.

And there is news that even the phone landlines will be cut tomorrow, to prevent any news agency from following what will happen.

Suez city is already under siege now. The government cut the water supply and electricity, people, including, children and elderly are suffering there now. The patients in hospitals cannot get urgent medical care. The injured protesters are lying in the streets and the riot police are preventing people from helping them. The families of the killed protesters cannot get the bodies of their sons to bury them. This picture is the same in north Saini (El-Sheikh zoyad city) and in western Egypt (Al-salom). The riot police is cracking down on protesters in Ismailia, Alexandria, Fayoum, Shbin Elkoum, and Cairo, the capital, in many neighborhoods across the city.

The government is preparing to crackdown on the protesters in all Egyptian cities. They are using tear gas bombs, rubber and plastic pullets, chemicals like dilutes mustard gas against protesters. Several protesters today have been killed when the armored vehicles of the riot police hit them. Officials in plain clothes carrying blades and knives used to intimidate protesters. Thugs deployed by the Egyptian Ministry of Interior are roaming the streets of Cairo, setting fire on car-wheels as means of black propaganda to demonize protesters and justify police beatings and state torture

All this has been taken place over the past three days during the peaceful demonstrations in Cairo and other cities. Now, with the suspicious silence of the local media and the lack of coverage from the international media, Mubarak and his gang are blocking all the channels that can tell the world about what is happening.

People who call for their freedom need your support and help. Will you give them a hand?

The activists are flooding the net (youtube and other sites) with thousands of pictures and videos showing the riot police firing on armless people. The police started to use ammunition against protesters. 15-year old girl has been injured and another 25 year old man has been shot in the mouth. While nothing of these has appeared in the media, there is more to happen tomorrow. Will you keep silent? Will you keep your mouth shut while seeing all these cruelty and inhumane actions?

We don’t ask for much, just broadcast what is happening

Written by: Mariam Hussien

Being human... Being teenage.

Teenagers are obsessed with two things; growing up and sex.

Parents of teenagers are obsessed with avoiding both.

Teenagers have always been obsessed with sex and the cinema/TV have constantly looked for metaphors to describe this obsession. Over the years the teenage obsession has remained the same, the metaphors used however have become more and more sophisticated to the point where drugs and booze and even sex itself is not sexy enough... So let's throw in vampirism.

Adam's story in this programme is as old as the hills... A kid who doesn't want to grow up as quickly as the society he lives in wants him to; he is the victim of peer pressure, advertising and fear.

He is saved, at the end of the day, by his own 'common sense' and his desire to take things at the right speed. Of course he is helped in this by 'friends' who may have motives of their own, but that is life. That is how it is.

I wish I had had television like this when I was a kid, I had to make do with early Doctor Who, the Clangers and the Evengers to escape. but there again I had Man walking on the moon, England winning the World Cup and snogging Judy Waters in the churchyard.

And much more was possible because of the lack of sophistication back then... I have a feeling that sophistication is finite and that original thought more and more difficult to achieve. Everything is on the telly now and better than we could possibly have imagined.

But still I wish I were a teenager watching Being Human, and better still would be watching it with my mum and dad.

Adele - Set Fire to the Rain (Life from The Tabernacle, Notting Hill)

Ray - Roughler - Jones. Notting Hill personality of the year.

This is surely a joke. Ray Jones has been voted Notting Hill personality of the year. I reviewed his autobiography last year; a picaresque tale of thieving, dealing, drinking and skiving. Nothing wrong with that if you are going to own up to it but surely NOT the makings of 'Personality of the Year'.

What about the school dinner ladies, the lollipop folk, the selfless carers, the blemish free charity workers, the whores that sell £5 tricks on Westbourne Park Road to frustrated ministers, the steel pan players on Portobello, the Yummy Mummies who like to be seen doing their bit, The crackhead panhandlers who live on my doorstep?

Nah. This is Notting Hill. Personality of the Year has got to... Well you know. Sniff!

Well done Ray.

Nelson Mandela dying?

Things do not look good as a string of old friends visit Mandela's bedside. However we are told that he is suffering from a collapsed lung and will be out of hospital soon.

UPDATE. Mandela is now out of hospital and feeling better.

Murray Lachlan Young West country tour.

Details HERE or murraylachlanyoung.co.uk

Depressed by the press.

A Guest Blog by Jan Nieupjur. As ever his views ain't necessarily mine.

What a depressing start to the year.

I had always (naively) believed that the role of the press was to report on events in such a way as to inform it's readers. Four events in the past couple of weeks have demonstrated beyond doubt that the press now believes that IT is the story and that events occur purely as catalyst to the main event; namely the press writing/talking about themselves. No longer satisfied with reporting the facts it must now pontificate, pass judgement, assassinate, harass, defame and then blame everyone else but itself when it gets it wrong.

In fact the press now succeeds in misinforming it's readers most of the time.

I see nothing more than cliquey groups of self important 'would be' somebodies suddenly realising that they are about as relevant as Spam recipes when it comes to providing up to date news.

Newspapers are now nothing more than flimsy 'lifestyle' comics; they are always at least 12 hours behind the rest of us so I guess they feel that, by hypothesising, accusing and judging, they are providing a service.

My advice.  Stick to fashion, cooking, interior design and obscure health matters. Leave the reporting of the news to those who can actually focus on the news.

Blog exhaustion.

I'm suffering from exhaustion. The blog has somewhat ground to a halt. They never last forever in the same format; everyone gets bored and wanders off somewhere else.

what to do though!

There are enough political blogs around and more than enough 'wise-arses' to go around.

Hopefully something will crop up.

Palin's Breath

larry griswold

Harassment, twitter and stupidity.

The nonsense continues. The harassment thing is now Sub Judice and I am obliged to keep my mouth shut for the time being. However, The ongoing investigation is not into my activities but into those of another, who, due to mental health problems, does not know when enough is enough.

I find it extraordinary that someone will continue to post libellous and defamatory statements on the twitter thing without a care in the world and without thought to the fact that those statements are recorded for posterity and will be used as evidence. I feel sorry for the sad, lonely individuals who have been conned into colluding. They will learn.

I am writing about this at length and will publish as soon as the law allows.

Solar eclipse, penury and Jason King.

I missed the solar eclipse this morning... The whole thing was eclipsed by cloud.  Oh well.

Being January not a great deal is happening in Notting Hill and that is probably wise as most people will be too broke to spend money on happenings; they'll be saving their pennies for VAT hikes and transport fare increases. With the civil unrest and the tube strikes it is beginning to take me back to the 70's... will we be getting a three day week soon?

Perhaps we are also in for a resurgence of prog rock, silly flared trousers and Department S remakes.

Happy days.

Freia X Fisher.

Freia died a year ago today. A sad day.

Star Size Comparison HD

The scale of the Universe.

Check this out: http://www.newgrounds.com/port
al/view/525347

Abuse on the Internet,stalking, psychotics and sociopaths.

As a result of my recent experience involving an extremely disturbed and nasty abuser (now being investigated by the Police) I am digging deeper into this sort of behaviour.

Please let me know if you have had problems with internet abuse/stalking.  Email me or leave a comment. Absolute discretion is assured.

London Eye Firework from Parliament Hill