Today; Carnival Sunday!

 

9.00 am. The view from the roof.

                                                                  Gaz's Rockin Blues

Apart from the rain showers (fortunately I was safely tucked away in the Tabernacle) Carnival day one went well!


9.00 pm: I have just attended the worst party  imaginable; full of youngsters (fair enough, but why invite sentient beings too in that case) and fairly sad middle aged folk who should have known better... I sat down next to an overweight, over made up, over indulged middle aged woman who informed me she was 'too tired' to talk. she was, however, not too tired to ask where the quavers were.


I was handed a beer of the variety that through it's sheer cheapness, leeches out any sense of enjoyment and, through it's weakness, and through some strange osmosis or capillary action, sucks out any alcohol already in the body... the fat plain woman, I was told, had a rich husband and for that reason must be respected; bollocks, the husband deserves a great deal of respect for putting up with her in the sober light of day 24-7, what the fuck he was thinking about when he married and impregnated her boggles the mind. She was truly appalling..


I left.


Now, outside my window, thousands of drunks are exploring that place that exists the wrong side of 'time to go home'.



Carnival!!!


rumours have been circulating since this afternoon of impending acid attacks and shootings tomorrow. Let us hope they are groundless.

Notting Hill Carnival 'After parties'. The Source Magazine.

Are you coming to Carnival? Do you need to know where the best parties are after the carnival has melted into the barrio's and bars of W11, W2 and W10 each evening?


Check out 'the Source' at:http://www.thesourcemag.net/

It is also THE Source of all local action throughout the year.

All Saints Road, last years whistle and the economy.

All Saints Road last night was great fun! The photograph is rubbish but I'm not a photographer. 

I called in at the Cow at the end of the evening and an interesting point was raised; Carnival spirit is most certainly linked to the economy; the tougher the times, the more determined to party! This year should be a good one.


My first party invitation is for 11.30 am tomorrow. If one had the inclination (and stamina) one could party solidly for 48 hours.


I have dug out last years whistle.

Peep peep!

Notting Hill Carnival: D day minus 2. Panorama.

After days of miserable weather it looks as if it might cheer up for the occasion.


This evening sees the Mangrove steel band playing in All Saints Road. W11. Tomorrow the band will compete in the 32nd Notting Hill Panorama in Kensal Road (off Ladbroke Grove) W10. Where the 'champion' band will be decided from the best bands in Britain.  It starts at 5.00 in the afternoon. check it out It's free.

'Ebony' another local band are the guys to beat having won the thing 18 times...

More than one way to skin a cat.

A Scandinavian start to the day; coffee and Danish with Kiki the Swedish vet.

Kiki the Swedish vet

She showed me a circular she had just received from the RSPCA. It read as follows:


The RSPCA is deeply concerned by the alarming number of cats that are self harming by jumping into bins. After extensive investigation it is found that peer pressure along with facebook taunts seems to be the main cause in the sudden rise.


This phenomenon is not dissimilar to the spate, some years ago, of cats attempting to self harm by jumping from trees. On that occasion the attempts stopped when the cats realised that they always landed on their feet and the exercise was therefore pointless.


All cats should be kept under close observation until further notice.
                                               *********************************


In a paper today I read that a Birmingham builder has been arrested and charged as a result of having been overheard claiming that there was 'more than one way to skin a cat'. "This is serious". A spokesperson said.


In America the Catskills mountains are to be named the Catspetteds Mountains.


etc etc etc

The Cameron's new baby... No Labour!

I am reliably informed that the baby was delivered by Caesarian section  in order to avoid any mention of Samantha going into Labour... You heard it here first!

The cat in the wheelie bin. Time for concern, not just death threats.

Am I the only person concerned as to why the owner of the cat and wheelie bin should have his own cctv camera operating.
What is he hiding or protecting?


The authorities should be in that house like a shot looking for one or more of the following:


A niece hidden in a bed.
A crack/cannabis factory in the cellar or buried in the back yard.
Sex slaves in the attic.
An illegal chicken pot noodle factory and furriers workshop.
A wardrobe full of strange uniforms.
The lack of a TV licence.
Incorrect recycling procedures.
A cache of illegal videos of the public going about their business.
Unsent letters to Jeremy Beadle.


I think we should be told.


For overseas readers who may be nonplussed by this. Here is the back story:


http://www.thefirstpost.co.uk/67612,life,video,video-woman-dumps-cat-in-wheelie-bin-cctv-identified-police-protection-death-threats

In the light of the anonymous comment posted on this blog I will add:


This is Satire, pretty weak satire at that. A joke. A poke at a nation more concerned with the well being of a cat than the plight of thousands of human victims a day of man's monstrosity towards fellow man.


The story is being pumped up by the media - it is silly season - It is as big a non story as is possible. A waste of space and time.


On a serious note, the private use of cctv by members of the public to monitor other members of the public is a dangerous thing; what's next? Vigilante groups?  Photographers are frequently told by the police that they may not take photographs in the street. Cameras have been confiscated. It is criminal to photograph children. It is probably illegal to photograph and publish images of others without permission.  


Please let me know. Is it legal to film the general public without their knowledge or permission.


One last thing. Cats fucking hate that repetitive tinned or foil wrapped shite that their owners force on them day after day... they are scavengers and hunters, they like nothing better than hunting down (especially in bins) and slaughtering innocent birds and mammals. What about those victims.


For petes sake lets draw a line in the litter tray.

Something as simple as a roof.

An extraordinary sunrise this morning, and of course the batteries are dead in my camera.
The Morning Glory blooms open with the dawn; they will be dying by noon... But what aptly named things.
The tomatoes are heavy on the vine (green still through lack of sun) and the pink shamrocks are opening.
All of the above have self seeded in the pots on my roof ( along with a bonsai elder tree, nasturtium, solitary potato plant and a fire-weed (Rosebay Willowherb)); welcome immigrants all!
The Algerian mint (it's scent screams) came from Melanie as did the few remaining strawberry plants that survived.
The last remaining Bamboo is beginning to show signs of recovery...


Up on the roof.

Self Galvanising and urban foxes.

From time to time I find that, by working through into the early hours of the morning for a number of nights, my body clock gets somewhat messed up and drastic action is called for.


The instant remedy is of course a bottle of scotch which will induce instant sleep prior to a stinking hangover the following day. The safer bet is the 'up all night' followed by a day of semi stupor.


Tonight is an all nighter; I've just taken a 4.00 am walk to the nearest 24 hour shop for tobacco supplies - I'm trying to give up smoking but tonight ain't the night for abstinence - as usual I buy chocolate.  One of the great joys of London life is the 24 hour shop. Thank heaven for the Asian community who are willing to provide this service. One is obliged to run the gauntlet of addicts and the homeless who frequent the environs of these nocturnal establishments but this is ameliorated by the urban foxes out on the scavenge, always a welcome sight.

I am also always surprised at the number of people out and about at this time of the morning (today I met a woman sporting a splendid beehive hairdo, lugging a bright blue wheelie bag), we eye each other up cautiously; each thinking the other might be the psychopath!   I've been mugged twice in 25 years in London. Not bad statistics really.


Now I am at my desk with a cup of tea and a slab of chocolate cake; 4.00 am is the most depressing time of the night according to the experts and chocolate cake is an anti-depressant according to me (has anyone tried putting nettles in chocolate cake - just a thought); therefore essential.  Outside there is a dribble of traffic on the Westway - the vehicle lights cross my line of sight at eye level... The trains below have yet to start their day  and the buses (which I hear but do not see) are limited to the night service. All of these elements contribute to my natural environment now... I would miss them should I leave.


A short while ago the bulb in my lamp blew, it is an old 1950's anglepoise that I rescued from a skip at St Martins school of Art. In trying to replace the bulb and get the thing lit I managed to send 240 volts of current through my body (now I know why they threw it out).


Boy! That gets you perked up; the electricity avoided my brain (I think) and headed due south, my heart definitely got a jolt and my extremities tingle. I also now have a metallic taste in my mouth.


Self galvanising into action, Auto Voltaism even! Good old Luigi Galvani, where would we be without him. Is it Zinc I can taste?

Luigi Galvani

It didn't seem to work on poor old Earnest Hemingway ; maybe they overdid it.

May 2012 Update: I gather Brian May the guitarist is about to do a television programme on urban foxes. About time too Brian!

To the Whore Who Took My Poems ~ Charles Bukowski

Katerine - La banane (clip officiel)

Poetry is the new Rock n Roll: Part 3.

True story this:

I was in the Nashville (a music pub in West London. Now deceased) in the late 70's to see a couple of punk bands. I got talking to the female guitarist from one of the bands at the bar. She talked about music, I talked about poetry. I asked for her phone number.

She told me to fuck off!

Thirty something years later I was in the Inn on the Green (a music venue in West London) to see a couple of bands. I got talking to the female guitarist from one of the bands at the bar. We talked about her music and my poetry and stuff like that. She asked me for my phone number.

I took hers.

I didn't tell her to fuck off, even though it would have rounded off the story. I'm a poet not a punk!

I wish I had told her about our previous meeting.

never return to lighted fireworks.

The 'Angry man' picture (blog passim) seems to have stirred up some hot ashes.... Maybe the creature (scaling the gunwales) in the picture is, rather than the octopus of truth (it's tentacles able to explore even the tiniest chink in the woodwork), a squib. And not such a damp one as that!