If Longfellow lived now. Hya Amy Winehouse.

Should you ask me, whence the bullshit? 

Whence these legends and traditions, 

With the stinking of the ghetto 

With the dew and damp of homelessness,

With the curling smoke of guilt,

With the rushing of great kettling,

With their frequent repetitions,

And their wild reverberations

As of thunder in the mountains?

  I should answer, I should tell you,

"From the ghettos and the high streets,

From the great lakes of the Hampstead,

From the land of the Cockneys,

From the land of the hipsters,

From the coffeeshops, shoe shops, and feng shui-lands

Where the heroin addict, the crack head,

Feeds among the reeds and bushes.

I repeat them as I heard them

From the lips of Amy Winehouse,

The musician, the sweet singer.

  Should you ask where Amy winehouse

Found these songs so wild and wayward,

Found these legends and traditions,

I should answer, I should tell you,

"In the coffee shops of the Angel,

In the boozers of Camden Town,

In the hoof-prints of the banker,

In the eyry of the pigeon!

  "All the immigrants sang them to her,

In the moorgate and the feng shui-lands,

In the melancholy Hackney marshes;

Barney, the cabbie, sang them,

Mahng, the loon, the wild-goose, Wawa,

The blue heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,

And the grouse, the Mushkodasa!"

  If still further you should ask me,

Saying, "Who was Amy Winehouse?

Tell us of this Amy Winehouse,"

I should answer your inquiries

Straightway in such words as follow.

  "In the vale of Hampstead,

In the green and silent valley,

By the pleasant water-courses,

Dwelt the singer Amy Winehouse.

Round about the Hampstead village

Spread the meadows and the corn-fields,

And beyond them stood the forest,

Stood the groves of singing Kenwood,

Green in Summer, white in Winter,

Ever sighing, ever singing.

  "And the pleasant water-courses,

You could trace them through the valley,

By the rushing in the Spring-time,

By the alders in the Summer,

By the white fog in the Autumn,

By the black line in the Winter;

And beside them dwelt the singer,

In the vale of Chalk Farm,

In the green and silent valley.

  "There she sang of rehabilitation,

Sang the Song of rehab, no no no.

Sang of her wondrous birth and being,

How she played fast and how she lost,

How she lived, and toiled, and suffered,

That the tribes of men might prosper,

That she might advance her people!"

The Schadenfreudian slip.

We all came out to Montreux
and when the smoke on the water had cleared
I met the woman of my dreams
and met the end that I had most feared

among the poets convening was fraulein
Schaden Freude a German by birth
she was my sun my moon my Venus
I feared I was the scum of her earth

but I'm a poet and poets are dogged
wouldn't take no for an answer
having seen her on the nightclub floor
wrote my ode to a disco dancer
I had some stiff competition
in a doggeralist from France
he couldn't rhyme for the price of a lime
but boy the bugger could dance

now dancing is fine in the hours after nine
but daylight offers other parameters
I wood her with elevenses
(you know food like what heavens is)
and un-pedantic hexameters

the girl was mine
I felt sublime
I gave up rhymes or reasons
then went round to see the cad
at his room in the four Seasons

I reached his door
I took a grip
I vowed to punch him on the lip
but as the door swung slowly in
I saw Fraulein Schaden Freude
in her silken slip

I slunk away I was distraught what of the ring that I had bought

the following day in the concert hall
as the Frenchman decried his crocodile tears
and told the tale of his dead love
I drank innumerable beers
when he got to the crux of his inordinate grief
the burial of his dog
I dialled his mobile number
and it rang to the sound of the laughing frog

it rang to the sound of the laughing frog

it rang to the sound of the laughing frog but the frenchman never laughed.

I did.

fraulein Schaden Freude never forgave me
but her hatred ran hot to cold
she married the bassist from Deep Purple
together they grow stylishly old

Me I gave up poetry
I joined the devil-may-cares
underwent gender re-alignment
and changed my name to Pam ayres

Carnivorous Pandas

Nom Nom the carnivorous panda
was the least kid friendly petting zoo beast
for while he considered bamboo a duty
a three year old child was a feast

Nom Nom, born in far away China
at first was the star of the zoo
but quickly out-stayed his welcome
when he ate a female gnu

The gnu was a present from Kenya
so to Nairobi Nom Nom was sent
but quickly moved on to Paris
when he ate three kids in a tent

In Paris he munched through two orphans
before moving on to New York
where once weaned off his taste for kids
he was fed on a diet of pork

Nom Nom the carnivorous Panda
is living the American dream
eating hot dogs for lunch and for dinner
beside a bamboo shaded stream.

Portobello Images.

(Picture: Flickr/Terence J sullivan)

Pissers in the sky. With apologies to Norman Greenbaum.

when I’m dry and I can't wash my vest

gonna go to the place that is best

before I lay it down to dry

going up to the pissers in the sky

going up to the pissers in the sky

that’s where I’m going to go before I dry

before I dry and lay out my vest

going to go to the pissers that are best

prepare yourself you know it’s a given

you gotta have a brand of cheeses

so that you know when the water runs out

you got something to sell

we are the pissers in the sky

gotta recommend ourselves

we’re the pissers in the sky

and we’re where you gotta go when you’re dry

before you dry and lay out your vest

you gotta go to the brand that is best

we’ve never been givers, we’ve never gived

We’ve got a brand of cheeses

so you know that when you die

your only hope in hell is

the pisser in the sky

so tie yourself to the pisser in the sky

that’s where you’re gonna go if you don’t buy

if you don’t buy then sonny you die

you gotta come to the prices that are best

yeah, the water prices that are best.

Why Britain's women war heroes are responsible for the election result.... An anarchist writes.

A guest blog from 'Steve'. Leader of the Russel Brand Anarchy on the dole brigade.

Look. Russel was right! If no-one voted there wouldn't be a Tory government in power.

Women died in order to get the vote.

The memorial was to dead women.

If they hadn't died there wouldn't be a memorial and no-one would vote and Russel Brand would be Emperor or something like that and we could all smoke pot on the dole and that monument would have just been a wall and Banksy would have got there first and an American would have bought it and shipped it to Texas and it wouldn't have got in our way on our march for democracy.

Or something like that you know man.

Aspirations of buggery within the Tory party.

We all know Leon Brittan was at it but were told to leave the old bugger alone to die in peace. Maggie knew Leon was at it but protected him. William Hague must have known Leon was at it when he had his 'chat' with him. Did Hague have Brittan behind him when he made his famous juvenile speech at the Tory conference all those years ago?

We all know Jenner was at it but we are told to leave the old bugger in peace, hiding behind the dementia curtain that old buggers hide, twitching.

Westminster is full of paedophiles and amateur buggerists. As long as the buggerists are toffs and the victims are in every sense 'infra dig' the system will protect its own kind.

No doubt Keith Vaz will hide behind claims of dementia when the time comes for him to explain why he protects the paedophile buggerists within government whilst failing to protect the victims. We all know that Keith Vaz would do anything to protect that which he aspires to and from what I can see he aspires to being a tory toff who can bugger boys at will if he so chooses.

As a teenager I was the victim of a paedophile buggerist. I know what I am talking about. These paedophile buggerists offer you the world and then fuck you up the arse and the only world up my arse is the world of poo and you have to wonder what these fucked up ex public school boys find of wonder up a rent boys arse. Are they looking to relive the shit of their childhood?

I am accusing no-one of anything and no children were hurt in the making of this blog.

No such thing as a free gift from Tesco.

It annoys me when a free gift is in reality an advertising hoarding for a retail outlet.

Tesco have cleverly left space on this bag for a spot of customisation.

Taurus Trakker. Motormouth.

Three Thousand Hangovers Later on Portobello Road.

I nicked all this from Ant Easton's  Facebook thingy. I don't know Ant (or maybe I do but don't know that I do) but I know Ray and I know the Castle, which is now a shadow of its 80's self and I think this is a book begging to be made....

Ant Easton writes:

I've edited and designed this book of photos taken by my friend Ray 'Roughler' Jones and we're hoping to raise the money within the next five weeks to publish it on Crowdfunder.co.uk. The photos are of the great and the not-so-great of Portobello / Notting Hill in the 1980's - from Joe Strummer to Underground Steve, Neneh Cherry to Pete the Murderer, whoever he may be. There are several different levels of pledging, from £10 for an e.book to the top level of £199 where, amongst other rewards is a personalised tour of Ray's Portobello Road. Ray promises NOT to sing. Whatever, follow this link, take a look at the video and see if you want to get involved.

http://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/three-thousand-hangovers-later…

THREE THOUSAND HANGOVERS LATER

http://www.crowdfunder.co.uk/three-thousand-hangovers-later-1/

CROWDFUNDER.CO.UK

West Thirty Six. A muse eyes view (The death of Golborne Road).

West Thirty Six, spawn of Beach Blanket Babylon, has arrived on Golborne Road. I went there this afternoon by pure chance. I'll be reviewing it another time but in the meanwhile I will leave it with the muse:

Fucking hell, £150.00 for a bottle of gin and they cannot even put a staple in the right place on a booze menu.


As I said I will be reviewing the place later.

I wouldn't hold your breath.

Tate Modern Gifts.

Tate Modern gift Ideas.


How about a Banksy grafitti kit complete with stencls, spraycans, balaclava and false balls.

Or a Gilbert and George Rococo shit embellisher. Containing resin and gold leaf for the perfect ormolu stool. (Shit not provided but may be bought separately from the Tate gift shop in handy 30g tins. Price: £97,250.00 courtesey of  Piero Manzoni)

Other items on sale include theTracy Emin camping condoms. Signed by the artist for authentic safe artistic fucking intent.

The 'LOOK AT ME' Nicholas Serota mirror... Just repeat after me; If I say it is art it is ART! (This gift works well with Last years 'Emperors new clothing' Curators costume.)

Chapman brother faced false penis noses (set of two). Now you and your brother can look like a pair of dickheads.

The 'Munch Scream' cot and buggy mobile. Ideal for disturbing the very young artist.

Andy Warhol bald patch. Impress your friends with your impersonation of Andy without a wig!

Warhol without wig: http://jannieupjur.blogspot.co.uk/2010/10/club-21-remaking-scene.html

The 'Jackson Pollock' Muse beater. An authentic paint spattered singlet ideal for the 'Abstract Depressionist*' during alcoholic rages. Works equally well on long suffering wives/boyfriends.

The Damian Hirst animal mutilation starter set has been withdrawn due to legal issues... It was rubbish and overpriced anyway! 



*Abstract Depressionism: Copyright. Jan Nieupjur 2009. http://jannieupjur.blogspot.co.uk/2008/11/barking-on-thin-ice-in-search-of.html

Portobello Road celebrates the resurrection of tourist tat

If you were one of the numerous tourists strolling down Portobello Road on Easter Monday you no doubt came away with the impression that we Londoners are a curious lot.

While Filipino's are busy nailing themselves to crosses and the Pope is busy pontificating to the massed fanatics in St Peters Square, we in London are in worshipful homage to the great God Tat, his crucifiction and subsequent resurrection from a hole called Carnaby Street !

There was nothing open except the nasty little shops selling fridge magnets, model busses, T-shirts sloganing a love of this city and any amount of rubbish bearing the Union Jack.

People pay good money to come here for a vacation, surely we can offer them something better than that!

Half a mile away the peacocks of Holland Park are nonplussed too.

Portobello Mysteries No:1. The blind windows of CASHINO.

 

The blocked out windows above 'Cashino'.

CASHINO is one of those nasty little government endorsed dens of inequality.  A room full of slot machines designed to fleece all who enter there. No one leaves these places a winner except the operator and the government.

Why are the windows on the top floor of this building blocked off?

Is it full of money.

Is it where they chain up the occasional winner until he/she hands the money back.

Is it occupied by illegal immigrant dwarves who work inside the machines.

Is it where they train children to steal from parents purses and wallets in order to feed their gambling habit.


We should be told.

Help finance Hot Wind.

News of this arrived via a friend. Check out the promo film and click on the link to find out more.

Heck, you know you always wanted to be in the movie business!

¡Amigos! 

Our Round II Indiegogo campaign for "Hot Wind" was just launched!

Please stop by for a visit at the following link:  

https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/hot-wind-film-round-ii/x/80020

Trampolines in high winds are the latest status symbol.

We have had some relatively strong winds overnight and the BBC invited people to post pictures of the damage. Here are 2 examples:

These images tell us more about the people inhabiting the Home Counties than about the weather; they scream: "Look at me, I've got a trampoline in my garden". I doubt if there are many of us who could give a stationary fuck, let alone a flying one about a piece of flimsy gym equipment that the owners failed to secure properly.

I look forward to the new phenomenon being taken up around the world after hurricanes, cyclones and tornados.

Perhaps 'the comparative distance travelled by a trampoline' could be added to the international measurement of stuff index (alongside the equivalent distance in double decker bus heights or football pitch lengths or the toss we couldn't give length).

Cyclists should dismount from their high horses!

The guy in the picture is not a youth who has nicked his bike, he is not an arrogant courier or 20 something king of the road. He is a late middle aged man who should know better. He is blithely cycling the wrong way down a one-way street.  He is one among many hundreds of idiots who do this every day, endangering their own lives as well as the lives of pedestrians. And probably, like all the other idiots on two wheels, he doesn't give a flying fuck about others.

I constantly hear the whinging of cyclists about their safety but if they refuse to abide by the rules of the road they have no come back.

A few days ago I watched as a cyclist got knocked down by a car in Portobello road. the woman driver was understandably distressed. The cyclist picked himself off the road, extracted his bike from under the wheel of the car and then, waving, yelled: 'It's ok, I was going the wrong way on a one way street'. then got back on his bike continuing his wrong way journey.

Cyclists pay no road tax, therefore we can safely say that they are using roads that are financed by motorists. They are the privileged  guests of said motorists and should show a little courtesy.

Cyclists do not, like motorists, have to take a test, so we only have their word that they are competent. Many of them are not.

Cyclists should, like all other road users, be registered and display that registration on high vis clothing and on their bike.

Cyclists should also acknowledge that footpaths are for (surprise surprise) those on foot.

Cyclists should dismount from their cod-eco, moral, high horses and accept that the world does not revolve around them!

Oh, and it is not just men:

Monkeys on Lancaster Road. W11.

My dog is not a TV, my dad is not an alcoholic. How sad is that.

A guest blog from an 11 year old boy.

I got a puppy for Christmas, outwardly that looks brilliant, but after a week or two the polish wears off.

I cannot watch TV on a puppy, I cannot play games on a puppy,  I cannot google porn on a puppy. All a puppy does is live and breathe and love me.

You would not believe the things a puppy does: it shits and pisses and expects me to clear it up. When I shit and piss I have my mum to clear up after me because thats what mums are for. Kids like me are for having puppies that play computer games and stuff & puppies that sit on my lap when the TV is on so I can say I am busy puppy minding when I am really just watching TV. Kids like me are not designed to look after a fucking puppy that no-one said was going to piss and shit or require feeding.

No one told me I'd have to walk the fucker.

Modern society has not taught me that I have to consider anything other than myself and my selfishness.

It is not my fault that my puppy does not understand this. I did not ask it to love me or need me.

All I ask of it is that it enjoys Spongebob Squarepants and craps on somebody else's watch.

I wish my dad was an alcoholic so he would use my puppy as an excuse to go to the pub every day.

Then I wouldn't have to walk it.

And I might love my dad a bit more even though he was an alcoholic and probably would beat my mum up when he got home from the pub.

A dysfunctional family is a small price to pay for me not having to look after my puppy.

Butchers, bowels and burgers.

Provenance, the butchers in Kensington Park Road opened a while ago, a welcome arrival after the closure of the Edwardian Butcher on Portobello Road.

Provenance won the New Butcher of the year award and quite rightly so. They sell very, very good meat, they are pleasant, patient and informative people. Good news.

A number of people I have talked to have complained about the price of their meat. they should consider a couple of facts:

Half  a kilo of Wagyu flatiron steak will cost them about £14.00. That is enough to feed four people at (I'll do the maths for you) £3.50 a head.  We eat far too large portions of indifferent meat in this country and would do well to go for smaller quantities of better produce.  The complainers will happily spend £8.00 on an indifferent burger from a stall yet moan about spending less than half the amount on excellent beef.

Flatiron steak is not a well known cut of meat in this country, it is, as its name suggests a flat piece of steak. It needs fast hot cooking before being sliced. It is, when served this way, incredibly tasty and perfectly tender. If you like steak well done then stop reading and go and buy a burger!

Provenance sell very good burgers too, which, if you so desire you can incinerate.

Their black pudding (We like the triangular one) is proper black pudding, not the pastiche sold by supermarkets. Enough for 4 people to have a slice costs £1.00, the same price as a bag of haribo jellies, How is that expensive.

Last Christmas, instead of the usual insipid turkey or overpriced goose we had a large chicken from Provenance. It was agreed by all that it was the best Christmas lunch ever eaten. It cost £17.00, how much was your Tesco, shed reared turkey that you had to overcook then smear in cranberry jam in order to introduce any kind of flavour?

You could always go to the popcorn shop round the corner where their stuff works out at over £85.00 per kilo.

So... Instead of complaining about the cost of quality they should be thinking about changing their dietary habits and minds. After all, minds are like bowels, better when frequently opened!

Provenance. 33 Kensington Park Road, London W11 2EU 020 7229 8814

Orange coffee, Portobello Road.

Forget the likes of Starb***s, N**o and Rep****c. forget the expensive hipster places. If you want a good coffee on market days visit Orange coffee.

This is the sort of thing that will go if RBKC and Westway Development Trust get their way with the proposed development of the area. Ironically it is exactly this king of enterprise that makes the area so popular with Londoners and tourists alike.

They are opposite the tented market by the Westway. Their Facebook page is HERE

More on the Westway Development Trusts proposal for Portobello.

I swiped this from the Portobello Radio Facebook page.

Chris Sullivan writes:

As you might know the campaign against the horrific development under the Westway is underway see petition above) but here's what Rishard Adams has penned to underline what will be lost :

With regard to the proposed Westway Portobello Village development, it might help you to better understand their proposal if you were to google:

http://www.thesourcemag.net/index.php…

A. The development is shown as artist’s impressions:

Site A: Portobello Green Arcade
Site B: Elevated restaurant
Site C: Acklam Road Car Park
Site D: Acklam Village

B. Having now had the development looked at, we can surmise this is a:

1. United development with raised pavement linking the four elements
2. Is a retail lead destination common in new-build mini shopping malls (Site A)
3. It seeks to generate its own brand
4. Is targeted to generate value and increase high-end foot fall
5. There is cultural element, but the focus is on corperate events (Site D)
6. There is a leisure/ cafe/ restaurant/ terrace/ attraction, again targeted at generating high-end footfall (Site B)
7. There is a small vintage market under the elevated restaurant (Site B)
8. There will be a development of high-end luxury flats (Site C)

C. What are the consequences of the above?

1. The were no black people or people of colour in the architects site visualisations. Of the 40 people pictured in Site A+B+C+D, 85% were white, 4-10% could not be identified, a single figure, or 2.5%, might be a person of colour. To date, both the architect Stiff & Trevillion and The Westway Trust have made verbal apology, but black residents who saw the drawings are clear that all parties engaged in their generation have behaved in an ínstitutationally racist manner

2. The Portobello Road as a tarmac road with paving, will go (Site A+B)
3. The International Brigade Memorial under the Westway at Portobello Road, will go (Site A)
4. The Portobello Green stall area by tube bridge, the colonade area, will go (Site A)
5. The vintage market canopy will go, the market area will reduce (Site B)
6. The ‘Saturday' market stalls from the canopy to Ladbroke Grove, will go (Site A+B)
7. The Ácklam Road/ Norfolk Place stall area will go (Site B)
8. The four motorway bays 55, 56, 57, 58, will go (Site D)
9. Bay 55 that is currently for market stall storage - for the vintage and Council markets, will go (Site D)
10. The Acklam Village and the Pop-Up Cinema, will go
11. All the current shops trading in Portobello Road and Portobello Green, will not have their leases renewed. They may apply to come into the new shopping mall or they will go

In summary everything you see today on weekday or market day will no longer exist. This development, led by a private consultant Phil Dibsdale, is akin to the Highland Clearances: seemingly 'no blacks, no poor, no bohemians' in the Portobello Village

Westway Trust and Phil Dibsdale want to go to planning in the summer, traditionally the time when people are away on holiday, we must devise every strategy now to defeat this appalling scheme. Letters, press, creative demonstation, everything that chips away or implodes the Portobello Village brand.

Please forward this information to all the people you think will share our concern 

FURTHER INFORMATION
The deadline for ‘comments to consultation’ looms. The deadline is on Friday, 20th March, but in my experience if the body of protest goes beyond the date by a few days, then the sheer weight of public opinion can’t be ignored. The person to write to is:

Angela McConville, Head of Westway Trust
The Westway of Trust
1 Thorpe Close
London W10 5XL
Angela.McConville@westway.org

Portobello Radio are HERE

Middle aged men on kids scooters

Walking up Kensington Park Road the other day, pushing a buggy, enjoying the spring I was suddenly confronted by a fat middle aged guy hurtling downhill towards us on a scooter. As he passed I said: 'Aren't you too old for that'. He ground to a halt, turned around and came back. He said: 'You said something'.

I said: 'Yes. I said aren't you too old for that'.

He said: 'Why'.

I explained that while I understood the need for small children to be allowed to scoot on the pavement because the roads were dangerous I felt it was rather dangerous for adults to belt about the place without any care for other pedestrians.

He said: 'I don't agree. It is fun and it is good exercise'.

Having said his piece he then turned tail and scooted on down the hill.

The guy was FAT, he was exercising one leg on a part time basis. Had he been walking he would have been getting 4 times the exercise, had he been on a bicycle he would have been getting 8 times the exercise. He was fat and lazy and in denial.

What was most interesting was that by the fact that he came back to discuss the matter he let me know that he knew that he was fat and lazy. Aggressive defence being the refuge of the obese.


As the population grows we need to be more aware of the space we occupy and the space other people occupy. Just because we are fat and guilty does not give us the right to bully the people we envy.

Envy is nasty. Envious fat people should just eat less and leave the scooter at home.

Portobello Documentary.

This is from 2011, I have not seen it before. It is ok but it could have included a much wider range of voices.

St Patrick, patron saint of English binge drinkers.

The Welsh don't do it. The Scots don't do it. The Irish do it, but he is their Saint. So why do the English wrap themselves in this faux Oirishness and proceed to get bladdered on St Patricks day?

I suspect it has something to do with national self esteem or the lack of it.

Portobello Live coming soon.

'Portobello Village' development from a child's perspective.

A guest blog from Morgana, aged 22months.

I have looked at the drawing of what Westway want to do and it isn't very good.  There are no cars or vans in the picture but in real life the place is full of them, making me think that the drawer can't draw cars and vans or they want to make it a dull pedestrianised area like Huddersfield town centre (I like the word Huddersfield because it almost says shudder which is what I did when I saw the drawing). Huddersfield town centre only has pound land shops, hair salons, nail bars and a Greggs. Oh and lots of expensive coffee places that cost twice as much as Wetherspoons which is the only pub left. I am not allowed beer or coffee so I don't think that is very good.

Cars on high streets are good because they make people walk on the pavement close to the shops and see what is in the windows rather than walking down the middle close to the drinkers and homeless people and the concrete planters full of dog poo and dead plants.

Vans would have been good in the drawing because it would have told me that there was still a market there because all the market people have vans for their stuff and if there were no vans there would be no stuff to sell so the market people might as well stay at home. Especially when it is cold.

I don't like the big pink thing in the drawing. It is not very good and I could make a better thing with my lego and it would be colourful not pink (even though I am a girl and supposed to like pink). This building will take up space where, on non market days, us children learn to ride bikes or skateboards, play with remote controlled cars and stuff like that. I particularly like practising my walking there and have recently moved on to an unsteady sprint. I like climbing the concrete blocks that stop the tent blowing away when it is windy.  Kids do this stuff under the tent because the park next door is full of smelly people drinking or taking drugs or letting their scary dogs run around pooing everywhere. The other nearby park in Tavistock road is just the same. I thought parks were for everybody but it seems not, these days parks are only for the aggressive disenfranchised (I found that word in my thesaurus and like the shape of it, it is nearly as good as hippopotamus).

They should have a little cafe in the park with tables and chairs for the grown ups to sit on while we play and the people who run the cafe could tell the nasty people to go away or they could get a slide shaped like a fierce dragon which would frighten them away ( and their dogs who are frightened of dragons too).

I hope Westway change their minds about this drawing. I have a new set of crayons and will do them a better one if they want or I could make them a lego model (I only have big lego at the moment because I could swallow the little stuff and I'm having enough trouble swallowing the nonsense that Westway are giving us).

People say that not enough people go to the shops under the Westway on days when the market isn't there but if they put shops there that had stuff people wanted to buy every day the shops would be full.  We need a proper toy shop, a sweet shop, a big pet shop with lots of real animals in it (not dog porn like the shop in Westbourne Park Road which is for ladies with rich husbands, not children who want to look at pets or buy a toy for their new puppy. I have a new puppy called Pandora, she is 10 weeks old and I would buy her lots of toys if there was a shop under the Westway to sell them to me) and a place full of coloured balls like at Ikea. Oh. And a Poundland!

Mothers day for the now generation.

The boys came home at three
they are not my boys by the way
but my partners boys but my boys all the same
I love them as best I can
it is harder to love someone else's boys
loving your own boys comes easy by comparison
but i love them as best i can

i love the way they hate me for not being their dad

the boys make me think hard every day

the boys came home at three
after three hours with their dad killing time
killing time like they do each week or whenever their dad deems to turn up
killing time, killing respect, killing love


the boys came home at three
and said they had asked their dad
if they could buy something for mummy for mothers day
he said no.

Yes he said no
no shit he said no

the boys came home at three
after their dad had said that they could not buy their mummy
a mothers day present
because tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow, when mummy is having a lie in
you can go out and buy something with Jan

the boys came home at three
having completely lost respect for their father and hating me for that

I love the way they hate me for not being their dad

of course i will take them out shopping


On mothers day.

Petition to stop Westway Development Trust from ruining Portobello Road.

Westway Development Trust are planning to develop the tented market on Portobello Road. If they succeed in their plans they will rip the soul out of the area. Westway do not own the land, they manage it on behalf of the people of the area. They have no right to do this but as RBKC/Tory poodles they naturally have no consideration for the wishes of the local community.

Please click HERE and sign the petition

My letter to Westway Development Trust:

The proposed development of the Portobello Green area is wrong for a number of reasons:

While the area is somewhat shabby and requiring some money spent on it It does not suit a development of the nature proposed. The anti-social behaviour problems cited as one reason for this 'improvement' is caused mainly by weak policing by WDT and by a lack of interest on RBKC's part in the needs of the local community. Sadly, street drinking and sleeping, angry dog ownership in order to demonstrate resentment and vandalism is endemic in our cities and will ever be so until more thought is put into how to address the problems. Building this development will not put an end to anti social behaviour; at best it will force it elsewhere in the area.

The tented market is, along with Portobello Road as a whole, quite rightly world famous. It is world famous because it is unique. It is world famous (and loved) because it allows individual traders to market their wares with affordable overheads. And believe it or not it is world famous because of its shabby originality and integrity. The proposal will destroy this uniqueness and a once vibrant thoroughfare will become just another soulless city street.

We do not need a 'fine dining restaurant' in place of the tent. The term fine dining says it all; it will not be for the benefit of the local community but of benefit to the well heeled incomers, who on the whole, from my experience, resent the local community and consider us to be rather 'infra dig'. There is enough fine dining to be had elsewhere in the area.

We do not need Westfield type shops. There are more than enough in Westfield itself.

It is horrific that the residential part of the proposal will be 'high end'. If any residential development takes place it should surely be affordable housing for the locals. Westway after all manages the land on behalf of the community and therefore I find the idea of them carrying out private developments on this land unacceptable. It wouldn't surprise me if it was illegal too.

On a personal level, as a resident of Cambridge Gardens (directly opposite the 'tent') I would like you to explain how building your shoe box on stilts and blocking our sunlight for a large part of the day, benefits us. I would also like to know how having a public balcony directly overlooking us benefits us in any way.

By all means spend some money on the area but do it in such a way that retains the dignity and the soul of one of Londons great assets.


More HERE

Cost effective childcare.

Rusty writes from Lizard Bend, Idaho:

'Lula Mae spends most of her time baking these days leaving me with the child care problems.

I've got it sorted:

Dominos 3D pizza printer.

Breaking news:

Dominos Pizza are about to announce the introduction of a 3D printed on line delivery service.

You order the pizza, click a 3D select button and the pizza is printed out in your home within seconds.

A spokesperson told me that the end result tasted like plastic, but then, don't all Dominos pizzas!

                                 A 3D printed pizza.

If I were a poet.

If I were Pam Ayres
I'd rhyme bloater with a
new coat her
brother bought her
to go to the palace
to pick up her gong
for rhyming bloater with a coat her
brother gave her
but Laurie Lee ate.

If I were Mcgonagall
I'd jump in front of the train
before it got to the bridge.

If I were Ted Hughes
I'd have left Sylvia too
I'd have left her to the crows.

If I were Bukowski
I'd have drunk more
and written less.

Portobello Radio: Two old gits who can remember bugger all.

Before you complain about the title 'Two old gits who can remember bugger all' it is a direct quote from Chris Sullivan on the radio this afternoon.

Chris is doing himself, and co-presenter Piers Thompson an injustice, they remember quite a lot and as the area is being rapidly eviscerated, its once vibrant guts being replaced with a wealthy prosthetic community, it is good to hear two old gits trawl over what once was and what remains of local culture including where to get a scotch egg for two pounds on a Wednesday (the Red Lemon on All Saints if you must know).

The show is laid back and informal to say the least but all the better for that, reminiscent of sitting in the Cow a few years back (back in the time when the Cow was a dog having its day) listening to Piers, Chris and others shoot the breeze.

They play some music too.

If you live, or once lived,  in the area and fancy a lunchtime session without the hassle of walking to the boozer (which probably doesn't exist any more) you can do no better that tune in.

Chris Sullivan and Piers Thompson present Portobello Radio, the authentic voice of Notting Hill, every Friday from 1-3pm onKtoKradio.comor viahttp://tunein.com/radio/Kilburn-to-Kensal-Radio-s197467/.

Something is wrong in the world of children's literature.

OK. Here we go… You want to write a contemporary children's best seller, make it as dysfunctional and as negative as you can, avoid adventure (unless it is escaping from abusive parents/carers), make sure it is set in an orphanage, ensure there are plenty of zombies and threats of death, ensure that there is no hope (but indicate that hope might be forthcoming in the sequel) and ensure that there are enough adult themes that children want to pretend that they understand but don't to keep them mystified.

What is wrong with good old fashioned adventure and fantasy?

I'll tell you what.

Modern children's writers do not write for children, they write for publishers who demand formulaic best seller books which only satisfy the accountants.

Modern kids don't want to know about Rob Roy or Ivanhoe or Treasure Island or Swallows and Amazons even because they see them as dated and boring yet the irony is that all of the above mentioned books involved action beyond sitting in front of a computer screen bitching about having nothing to do except bitch about the world they can't really be bothered to take part in.

Schools are equally to blame… They judge children on their ability to read words rather than their ability to understand what they are reading. Schools these days are about awarding points for being seen to do things rather than the actual ability to do them.

I'm re-reading Stig of the Dump, its great.

Cross dressing.

I have no say in the matter
it's all chosen by them
the colour, the fabric
the length of the hem
the style of the collar
the cut of the tights
the straight jacket baby-grows
with ghastly highlights
accessory garments
for the accessory child
are hardly condusive
to the babe meek and mild.

I hear all the time
that I am a blessing
so why do your best
to make me so
FUCKING CROSS DRESSING.

Why hipster incursions into the KPH might not be a bad thing.

I visited the KPH on Ladbroke Grove last evening in order to drop in on a friends birthday party, the party was still in the sit-down at dinner stage when I arrived so I sat downstairs and had a beer.

I've criticised the KPH in the past for its prices and was pleased to note that my beer was 50 pence cheaper this visit. A good start.

The pub was relatively busy and I was surprised to note that a fair number of the punters were exotic types from East London on an 'ironic' visit to the West. This curious phenomenon might be just what this part of London needs.

For years now the combined efforts of RBKC and the hoards of wealthy incomers has succeeded in wiping out the quirky, lively, left-field, multi-cultural life of the area replacing it with expensive, elitist shops and cafes that none of the locals can (or want to) afford. Most of the pubs have gone and those providing live music are few and far between and are being silenced as a result of the demands for quiet being made by the wealthy incomers.

The KPH itself is being threatened with change of use to retail/residential, wiping out yet another local landmark.

There is virtually nothing of a cultural nature in the area for young people; very little live music, no boozer that doesn't have pretentious of gastropubbery, no cool hangouts apart from MauMau on Portobello Road. Perhaps if the hipsters of Shoreditch continue to make visits then places for them to visit might spring up and in doing so create places for the indigenous youth to frequent.

A good start would be for the KPH to be saved from the developers.

http://thekph.com

David Cameron hoax calls.

I am told that David Cameron has been making hoax calls to various world leaders claiming to be in charge of the UK.
















The USA and Russia have both flagged the Downing Street number used and state that they will not fall prey to such hoaxes in future.

A spokesperson for Cameron stated that she was too busy playing Candycrush to know what was going on but did say that Cameron was unable to wipe his own arse let alone use a telephone. So the hoax may be a hoax.

At the same time Miss Pretty kukucachoo of Burkino Faso wishes to announce her engagement to David Cameron of London town assuring us it is not a hoax, she will love him long time and guarantee a happy ending.

Not waving but drowning. The Countess Alex Zapak. Genius!

Fired up at Mode. The Lipstick Melodies and others.

UPDATE.  26th April 2015.  Saddened to hear today of the untimely death of Alan Wass of the Lipstick Melodies.  Another one gone.                                            

There is nowhere for kids to go in Notting Hill, by kids I mean the youth and by Notting Hill I mean West London.

I went to Fired Up at Mode tonight. Mode is the recent reincarnation of what was Supper Club and before that Subterrania.

Fired Up is the inspiration of Mickey P!

At first sight it looks interesting, there is a half size spitfire hanging from the ceiling above a stage backed by a steam-punk organ. Sadly the balcony above appears to have been designed by someone thinking it is a 3 star hotel in Swindon complete with William Morris wallpaper and badly framed art.

There were very few young people there apart from the bands and their followers, there were too many middle aged folk, me included, who should have been elsewhere, but in W10 where else is there.

Where were the youth?

I know a lot of the local kids prefer to stab and shoot each other rather than hang out and listen to music but there must be a few who want to hear and see some old fashioned rock n roll.

Because old fashioned rock n roll is what it was.

The first band, the Lipstick Melodies were great, as if the Stones and Led Zep had met as kids and decided to go a different way. I like the Lipstick Melodies, I'm 60 years old, the Lipstick Melodies should be worried about the age of their fan base.

Pink Cigar followed.


I left.

Good luck Mickey with future events but I suggest you get some kids into the audience.

Orphans under the Westway.

Over 50 years ago, in the dark but more enlightened times the powers that be decided that a Motorway link should be pushed into West London in order to better serve the twin gods of Mammon and Motorcar. A whole community was disrupted and displaced by the event without any real care or consideration for that community.

The residents (mostly impoverished and a great number of them immigrants living in slum streets that were unceremoniously bulldozed to make way for the road that didn't even have the courtesy to run at ground level but arrogantly flying overhead) were rehoused without any real thought for community bonds or spirit. Post War planners and Architects were still fooling around with Brutalism, balcony high rise building and the social experiments of Bauhaus and Le Corbusier which have all proved to occupy a rather shabby cul-de-sac in the history of social housing.

The unlucky ones got to be rehoused in poorly considered estates, the even unluckier got to be herded into the abominable Trellick Tower and therefore able to look down on the Westway worm that had eviscerated their community.

But under the belly of that worm something stirred.

'Orphans' documents some of that stirring.

Under the Westway back then kids started occupying the spaces, building their utopian fantasies within the dystopian environment: discarded building materials became the wherewithal for adventure. Times were freer then, sure some kids got hurt but not as many as now where kids carry knives and will stab one another at the mention of a wrong post-code within nanny England's sterile but 'safe' environment.

Once the powers that be saw that there was potential use for the spaces they were taken away from the community under the premise that they would be developed for the benefit of said community. This is of course nonsense.

Apart from a few bays the entire area has been developed for commercial reasons with little thought for what the community really wants or needs.

'Orphans' occupies one of those few remaining bays, alongside the pop-up cinema and a splendidly tatty bar and music venue.

'Orphans' is an Art Installation by Steve Mepsted that plasters the innards of the Westway with enlarged images of how it used to be before the powers that be saw it as a means to profit.

Irony abounds at  'Orphans'.  Next to a enormous photograph of 60's children playing in a self built construct under the west way a bunch of 21st century kids have to make do with a vacant stage in front of images of 60's kids because nanny Britain deems nothing safe for our children and therefore our children have nothing safe to play with except the guns and knives of deprivation that we now give them.

Westway Trust is somehow sponsoring this. Westway Trust should be thinking long and hard about how it can ensure that the spaces under the flyover can remain of use to the community and benefit the people who need it most.

Westway Trust is one of those quasi-charitable organisations who like to be seen to be doing the right thing while they sell the birthright of the people they claim to represent to the highest bidder.

I spoke to Steve today. I said: I'm not going to review your show, I'll leave that to the professionals but I surely will moan about Westway Trust and RBKC and their desire to eradicate the indigenous population in favour of wealthy incomers.

'Orphans' is under the Westway for the foreseeable future, go and have a look.

And while you are there, grab someone from Westway Trust and ask:

Ask why the pop up cinema doesn't have proper funding, ask why all three bays will probably go to a supermarket, ask why Those 3 bays should not remain in perpetuity the domain of the community that the Westway Trust is supposed to serve.

Oops. I forgot. The Westway Trust only serves itself.

Let mummy sing in the garden.

Mummy is crying in the garden

because

I am growing up too quickly she says
and as she weeps
she lets me watch the stuff she thinks I want to watch

you know
the gratuitous sex
the violence
that she thinks I think I want to watch.

I am seven for fucks sake
and I shouldn't know the meaning of innuendo
let alone learn that
women are tools
to be fucked and then killed horribly
by James Bond (my hero).

What I really want
is a parent who allows me to watch
what I really enjoy watching
not the things that peer pressure (my 11 year old brother)
makes me think I want to watch.

Let me cry over the death of Bambi's mum
before I lose the ability to cry over anything.


I want mummy to say NO!

And sing in the garden.

Mayor of Sorrento sues Vesuvius for vandalism of early Banksy.

The mayor of Sorrento has started legal proceedings against the volcano for what he considers to be wilful criminal damage to valuable graffiti.

The graffiti, considered to be the earliest known example of Banksy's work, had been obliterated by ash and pumice for nearly 2 centuries, depriving the community of a priceless work of art valued at lots of money.

The mayor is quoted to have said: 'We are talking lots of money we have lost over two centuries, fuck whether it is art, it is money that could have been lining our pockets".

Neither Banksy, his ancestors nor the thousands of 'Banksy' pretenders would step from behind their mask to comment.