I shall not be watching the thing and, beyond this statement, will not be commenting. To me Royal weddings are merely the precursor to the serious business of Royal infidelity followed by Royal divorce. All of which is fuelled by the press.
Leave the kids alone. Marriage is hard enough without the added pressure of being hounded 24 hours a day.
I shall not be writing a 'Wedding poem' either.
Thursday 28 April 2011
Tuesday 26 April 2011
Sunday 24 April 2011
Help save the Inn on the Green.
The Inn on the Green, Portobello. W11 is threatened with imminent closure:
Neleswa Mclean-Thorne writes: "Well folks, our beloved Inn On The Green has come upon hard times. Their landlords are attempting to shut them down due to rent arrears; which The Inn have made every attempt to clear. However with the recession, followed by the local council/landlords cutting lobs and raising rents in the area, it has been a struggle. After many years of dedicated service to the community on Wednesday 13th April Inn On The Green were given 17days (until the 30th April) to "…clear the venue of all their belongings" A large group of patrons, promoters, artists and event organisers who have had the privilege of benefiting from the unique welcoming ethos of The Inn have come together. We plan to do everything in our power to delay closure by 6months so that we can have a chance to raise the money needed to save this invaluable community resource. What Can You Do? We have are having regular meetings in the venue at the moment all are welcome to attend and we will be posting them as they occur. We are also planning a protest outside of the Westway Development Trust Office (landlords), 1 Thorpe Close, London, W10 5XL - Wednesday 27th April - So far we are beginning to: - Involving Media, Print, Web, Radio - Contacting local MP's - Protest - Private Investors - Registering as a Charitable Organisation - Charitable Funding All in-put is welcome and appreciated so if you are able to make it down this evening please feel encouraged to do so, if not please do post any idea's you have... A Save IOTG Music Marathon event of music, poetry, comedy, performance art, exhibits (all of what the venue has encouraged throughout the years) is taking place from Saturday April 30th. In order to raise awareness, raise money in the short-term and boost moral. If you would like to be involved in the 24hr event please let us know. Details are posted on Save the Inn On The Green. <3 to you all, thanks.
Ray Roughler Jones interviewing Mick Jones (no relation) at the Inn on the Green.
Neleswa Mclean-Thorne writes: "Well folks, our beloved Inn On The Green has come upon hard times. Their landlords are attempting to shut them down due to rent arrears; which The Inn have made every attempt to clear. However with the recession, followed by the local council/landlords cutting lobs and raising rents in the area, it has been a struggle. After many years of dedicated service to the community on Wednesday 13th April Inn On The Green were given 17days (until the 30th April) to "…clear the venue of all their belongings" A large group of patrons, promoters, artists and event organisers who have had the privilege of benefiting from the unique welcoming ethos of The Inn have come together. We plan to do everything in our power to delay closure by 6months so that we can have a chance to raise the money needed to save this invaluable community resource. What Can You Do? We have are having regular meetings in the venue at the moment all are welcome to attend and we will be posting them as they occur. We are also planning a protest outside of the Westway Development Trust Office (landlords), 1 Thorpe Close, London, W10 5XL - Wednesday 27th April - So far we are beginning to: - Involving Media, Print, Web, Radio - Contacting local MP's - Protest - Private Investors - Registering as a Charitable Organisation - Charitable Funding All in-put is welcome and appreciated so if you are able to make it down this evening please feel encouraged to do so, if not please do post any idea's you have... A Save IOTG Music Marathon event of music, poetry, comedy, performance art, exhibits (all of what the venue has encouraged throughout the years) is taking place from Saturday April 30th. In order to raise awareness, raise money in the short-term and boost moral. If you would like to be involved in the 24hr event please let us know. Details are posted on Save the Inn On The Green. <3 to you all, thanks.
Ray Roughler Jones interviewing Mick Jones (no relation) at the Inn on the Green.
Loco Cabaret at the Grand Union.
Laid back.
That's the expression I was looking for.
Loco Cabaret happens fortnightly at the Grand Union bar which is situated on the corner of Woodfield road in W9 (a two minute walk from Westbourne Park underground station) and overlooking the canal. Last night seemed like a good time to check it out. I know co-host James Simmins from past events at the Island and the Tabernacle and was curious as to what they were getting up to at this recently started residency.
I arrived early, bought a beer then sat in the garden watching the sunlight fade on the (let's be honest) turgid waters of the Grand Union canal. Flotilla's of ducks picking their way serenely through the water-borne detritus of city life added to the scene.
There was not a big crowd in the place (at one point early in the proceedings James was able to thank his audience personally and by name) but not surprising considering it was Easter Saturday during a heatwave and then suddenly beset by rain, fat meaty globs of rain which cleared the air but cleared the streets.
Laid back is what you get at Loco Cabaret, nothing pretentious or earnest, the sense that everyone involved was enjoying themselves was present and there was an interesting mix of acts:
Very good Jazz/blues guitar from "Panama" Dave Parrett and Kalvin Zemzaris opened proceedings followed by Orson Deimel, Kosmic Troubador; who is quite frankly mad as a hatter and hilarious, Neil Anderson, the delightful Emma Lyndon-Stanford, Cuthbert 80 - rapper/singer extraordinaire and James himself with co-host Dan Antrubus. Dan along with Marty from Asian Dub foundation on bass gave us a refreshing take on 'Foxy Lady' (excellent). There was also Dave on djembe and Simon, & Christine on bass.
All in all rather akin to being at a party full of musicians and singers and the door onto the garden made smoking breaks a doddle.
The next one is on May 7th. I heartily recommend it.
Downstairs @ The Grand Union Bar
Tuesday 19 April 2011
Murray Lachlan Young's 'Burlesque' at the Drill Hall. Now called 'The Incomers'!
Update. April 2013: Burlesque has now become 'The Incomers' and is currently touring. Click on the photo (right) for details.
I witnessed something very wonderful tonight.
In a small black lined room beneath the Drill Hall in London a cast of four, directed by Paul Jepson, performed a read through of Murray Lachlan Young's verse play 'Burlesque'.
'For fuck's sake a read through of a verse play.' I hear you groan. Well my biddies twas a polished piece of Cornish granite slapped onto the London clay.
The plot of course was truly bonkers and all the more real for that; Murray, in order to be a great humourist, is firstly a great and attentive observer of our times... Or perhaps his times. It involved the visit by a London cokehead, Porsche driving wideboy and his hot young squeeze to old friends in rural Cornwall. It was all about power and of course the power of sex and of course that power belonged to the hot young squeeze. It however (like shakespeare) never once looked to farce to save it's bacon. I'm saying no more than that.
A verse play of this ambition could have been an awful thing, could have been bum numbingly Art house, could have been perverse. Murray's play is a delight; Playfully funny stabbed by daggers of reality, relationship truths, lies and insecurities. This was Joe Orton, Dylan Thomas and the Angry young Men on coke. I wish Ken Tynan had been here to witness it.
The players: Rory Wilton, Mary Woodvine, Jerome Wright and Kirsty Osmon were impeccably cast and did their job with skill, enthusiasm and joy.
All in all seriously good.
The development of Burlesque has only been possible through financial support from the National Lottery through Arts Council England. It needs extra funding and support now and if you love good British theatre give it a boost. Check out www.murraylachlanyoung.co.uk to find out how.
Matthew Linley, the producer deserves a namecheck too: www.matthewlinley.wordpress.com
Sunday 17 April 2011
Friday 15 April 2011
The Liar of Kowloon, Green tea, love and poetry.
My old friend So Su Mi, the fragrant oriental 'liar of Kowloon', dropped in today for a cup of green tea and a fish paste sandwich.
So Su Mi was the inspiration years ago for my poem 'Lying to me was the only honest thing she done' and her habit of wearing plastic gardenias (sprayed with feminine deodorant 'to keep them fragrant') in her hair never ceased to amuse me. Whenever she visits she rifles through my notebooks for words to steal and I always count the silver when she's gone.
So Su Mi once stole my collection of dolls eyes.
So Su Mi is in love! This was the reason for her visit: 'I am in love'. She trilled as she entered the room. 'I am really in love. Really really in love'.
I gave her a chair before she had time to steal anything and poured the tea. 'Tell me about him'. I said.
She went on at length: 'He is amazing. He is not like any other man; he is handsome, he is intelligent, he does not smell, he is rich, he adores me, he is the only man I have ever felt was my equal, did I tell you he is rich....'
I allowed her to waffle on in this manner for a good half hour before interjecting with the question: 'And where did you meet him?'
'Oh we have only talked on facebook. He loves my poetry and is teaching me about the beauty of everything around me. I feel that I am on some special journey into an unknown land and he is handsome, rich, intelligent blah blah blah etc'.
'And what do you want from me So Su Mi'. I asked.
'I need some more poems to blind him with. I cannot fool him with my usual 'cut and pastes' from the Oxford book of Modern Verse. Give me some poetry'.
I handed her my Morocco bound, signed, first edition of the collected works of McGonagal having first 'bookmarked' 'The Tay Bridge Disaster'. Saying: 'Here. This should be perfect'.
She thrust the book into her faux Gucci handbag, smeared me with a sneering kiss and oozed oleogenously from my house.
She telephoned me twenty minutes ago. Telling me that it is all over: 'I hate him. He is a psycho after all. His profile picture wasn't him and he isn't rich. He is a security guard at Tesco. I have called the police; his credit card was snatched back by the ATM when I tried to use it. He questioned my lies. He tried to make me pay for coffee and he is a liar'.
'What did he think of McGonegal'. I asked.
'Oh. I sold that shitty old book and bought some glitter'.
'Goodbye So Su Mi'. I lisped as I hung up.
So Su Mi was the inspiration years ago for my poem 'Lying to me was the only honest thing she done' and her habit of wearing plastic gardenias (sprayed with feminine deodorant 'to keep them fragrant') in her hair never ceased to amuse me. Whenever she visits she rifles through my notebooks for words to steal and I always count the silver when she's gone.
So Su Mi once stole my collection of dolls eyes.
So Su Mi is in love! This was the reason for her visit: 'I am in love'. She trilled as she entered the room. 'I am really in love. Really really in love'.
I gave her a chair before she had time to steal anything and poured the tea. 'Tell me about him'. I said.
She went on at length: 'He is amazing. He is not like any other man; he is handsome, he is intelligent, he does not smell, he is rich, he adores me, he is the only man I have ever felt was my equal, did I tell you he is rich....'
I allowed her to waffle on in this manner for a good half hour before interjecting with the question: 'And where did you meet him?'
'Oh we have only talked on facebook. He loves my poetry and is teaching me about the beauty of everything around me. I feel that I am on some special journey into an unknown land and he is handsome, rich, intelligent blah blah blah etc'.
'And what do you want from me So Su Mi'. I asked.
'I need some more poems to blind him with. I cannot fool him with my usual 'cut and pastes' from the Oxford book of Modern Verse. Give me some poetry'.
I handed her my Morocco bound, signed, first edition of the collected works of McGonagal having first 'bookmarked' 'The Tay Bridge Disaster'. Saying: 'Here. This should be perfect'.
She thrust the book into her faux Gucci handbag, smeared me with a sneering kiss and oozed oleogenously from my house.
She telephoned me twenty minutes ago. Telling me that it is all over: 'I hate him. He is a psycho after all. His profile picture wasn't him and he isn't rich. He is a security guard at Tesco. I have called the police; his credit card was snatched back by the ATM when I tried to use it. He questioned my lies. He tried to make me pay for coffee and he is a liar'.
'What did he think of McGonegal'. I asked.
'Oh. I sold that shitty old book and bought some glitter'.
'Goodbye So Su Mi'. I lisped as I hung up.
Thursday 14 April 2011
The Handsome Family - Weightless Again.mov
The Handsome Family are coming to the Tabernacle in May... Yeeha!
Wednesday 13 April 2011
The Wellcome Collection and welcome recollection.
Why do they allow people to walk around galleries touting back-packs? The Wellcome Collection is not the foothills of the Himalayas or the Brecon Beacons even; It is a fucking gallery.
DIRT The Filthy Reality of Everyday Life (Unnecessarily clumsily laid out within their self described 'Versatile Space'. Nothing more than a laboratory maze of an exhibition, quite fitting I suppose in light of Wellcomes origins) is a celebration of dirt.
Educational I suppose for the young but to me a depressing deviation from the interesting; promulgating the myth that education must always centre on shit. To me just a deviation from the good stuff. I have no interest in poking about in stools.
The cafe was busy.
It was a chilly, rainy afternoon and a curious venue for a meeting with a woman I had not seen for 40 years. An on-line question of identity had lead to this event.
As I waited for her (would I recognise her?) My head screamed: Run, never go back, never revisit the past: That forgotten dusty cupboard on some long lost landing.
But the cafe was busy.
That she is small and blonde is all I had to go on; there will be no school uniform now, no green bowler hat to tip me off. she will have to make herself known to me.
As it was I saw her first.
What fun.
DIRT The Filthy Reality of Everyday Life (Unnecessarily clumsily laid out within their self described 'Versatile Space'. Nothing more than a laboratory maze of an exhibition, quite fitting I suppose in light of Wellcomes origins) is a celebration of dirt.
Educational I suppose for the young but to me a depressing deviation from the interesting; promulgating the myth that education must always centre on shit. To me just a deviation from the good stuff. I have no interest in poking about in stools.
The cafe was busy.
It was a chilly, rainy afternoon and a curious venue for a meeting with a woman I had not seen for 40 years. An on-line question of identity had lead to this event.
As I waited for her (would I recognise her?) My head screamed: Run, never go back, never revisit the past: That forgotten dusty cupboard on some long lost landing.
But the cafe was busy.
That she is small and blonde is all I had to go on; there will be no school uniform now, no green bowler hat to tip me off. she will have to make herself known to me.
As it was I saw her first.
What fun.
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Pear cider, Yuri Gagarin and flouting the law.
To celebrate Yuri Gagarin bursting my birthday balloon all those years ago I am drinking a bottle of Magners pear cider. It is very fizzy.
In my youth this stuff was called Babycham and came in tiny nip sized bottles. I can remember bringing home as 'carry-outs' from my under-age sorties to the village pub a bottle of Babycham for my mother and a bottle of barley-wine for the old man.
It was considered infra dig (for a teenager in those days) not to flout the drinking laws in rural England. It was OK though because the pub landlord was also the village bobby and would monitor proceedings.
It was a good system, as systems go, and as good systems go... It went*. Now kids have to make do with buying bottles of Diamond White to skulkily consume on the street.
* Apologies to 'Saki' H. H. Munro.
In my youth this stuff was called Babycham and came in tiny nip sized bottles. I can remember bringing home as 'carry-outs' from my under-age sorties to the village pub a bottle of Babycham for my mother and a bottle of barley-wine for the old man.
It was considered infra dig (for a teenager in those days) not to flout the drinking laws in rural England. It was OK though because the pub landlord was also the village bobby and would monitor proceedings.
It was a good system, as systems go, and as good systems go... It went*. Now kids have to make do with buying bottles of Diamond White to skulkily consume on the street.
* Apologies to 'Saki' H. H. Munro.
Yuri Gagarin stole the limelight.
April 12th 1961 was my 6th birthday. Yuri Gagarin orbited the World for the first time ever that day. I remember it well; he stole the show.
I also remember seeing this photograph later in the year and thinking he didn't look much like a spaceman.
Yuri Gagarin posing with his wife Valentina and daughter Jelena on the beach in Glasma, June 1960.Photo: AFP/Getty Image
At just after 0700BST, 12 April 1961, Russian, Major Yuri Alexeyevich Gagarin was fired from the Baikonur launch pad in Kazakhstan, in the space craft Vostok (East), to become the first man in space.
Major Gagarin orbited the Earth for 108 minutes travelling at more than 17,000 miles per hour (27,000 kilometres per hour) before landing at an undisclosed location.
Gagarin Died in 1968 when his MIG 15 crashed in bad weather... If only he had flown closer to the sun that day.
Gagarin Died in 1968 when his MIG 15 crashed in bad weather... If only he had flown closer to the sun that day.
Sunday 10 April 2011
Magnolias.
She came to visit
after twenty years of not a word
but was passing
was just passing
and as passing stopped
bringing with her the rusty key
to that locked and dusty room
called memory.
filling our heads
with the contents of that room
we then took a walk
in the spring sun
I led her to the April street
lined with magnolias
where for just one week
romance blossoms
alas too late
the blowsy meaty petals blown
smearing the pavement
with disappointment
'we are too late' I said
turning back
'we should have come here earlier'
and she asked when?
'Oh twenty years ago'.
(She came to visit
after all thse years of not a word
but was passing
was just passing
and as passing stopped
for long enough
to bear witness
to a seasonal disappointment).
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