Eurozone crisis and the solution. Self burying undertakers.

Friday the 13th and Europe is bust. The Euro is now worth 10 pence. Great news for us as our holiday in Torremolinos will now cost peanuts and Fiats will be given away with the purchase of a jar of Dolmio sauce.

However. What about the 50 euro note I changed for a bloke in the pub last week, now worth nothing rather than being my retirement nest egg.

Looks like I'm going to have to continue working long after my death. As will the rest of the population of Europe.

 Undertakers will be burying themselves soon!

The Portobello Bitch.

The following link arrived by email this morning: http://portobellobitch.wordpress.com/  I shall be looking forward to its development.

Portobello panto 2011. Mick Jones sings 'Should I stay or should I go'

The last night of Robin Hood, this year's Portobello Panto at The Tabernacle, saw local hero Mick Jones, of the Clash, play Good King Richard and do an impromptu version of "Should I Stay Or Should I Go". The evening also saw Keith Allen and Tom Hollander do turns alongside the regular stellar cast.

Rusty, the Diva and weeping into whisky!

Rusty called round last night close to tears and within five minutes I understood why he wanted no water in his whisky; he was copiously diluting it with tears.

"What's up? Rusty". I asked. He told me the following tale.

"I've met a woman, her name is Estella, she is an opera singer, she is my love, my sun and moon, my compass, my mettle detector, I was born for her and she for me and now I have lost her.

My friends warned me about her. Told me that she was hard as nails, a bitch, a diva like no other but I ignored them for she was none of those things to me. The only problem I had was that she would not let me hear her sing, when I asked her she flatly refused and asked me not to press her on the matter. I have to admit that I became jealous of all the other people who were able to hear her sing; such was the beauty of her voice that all men would forgive her divaish behaviour in order to hear her golden voice.  She would not sing for me!

Until last night, fired with jealousy I demanded she sing for me. I threatened to leave her if she would not sing.

She, tears streaming down her cheeks, sang for me. There are no words to describe the beauty of her voice, I must leave it at that!

When she had finished I dried my eyes and said: "That was beautiful. Why could you not sing to me before? What was the problem?"

She replied: "Right you arsehole, you have heard me sing, you are no different from the others now. Fuck off!"

She will not speak to me or see me.

Rusty and I spent the rest of the night weeping into whisky listening to the Diva on the CD player.  Bitch!

London Soundscape on Radio 2

London Soundscape

LISTEN :

Next on:

Today, 22:00 on BBC Radio 2

SYNOPSIS

Charles Hazlewood and Mick Jones lead an impressionistic portrait of London between the 1948 Olympics and today, mixing voice, archive, and music to create a beguiling introduction to Radio 2's Olympic year.

Other voices heard include those of Barbara Windsor, composer Lionel Bart, architectural historian Dan Cruickshank, and many ordinary Londoners, from cab drivers to costermongers.

The songs featured in the two shows are a veritable greatest hits of England's capital. They include London Calling by Mick Jones' own band The Clash; London's Brilliant Parade by Elvis Costello; Carnaby Street by The Jam; Streets Of London by Ralph McTell; Soho Square by Kirsty MacColl; and London Is The Place For Me by Lord Kitchener.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b019444k

Thandie Newton and Noel Fielding read Go the fuck to sleep.

A charming video made by Piers Thompson. The poem is by Adam Mansbach. I love it!

Cannongate Books are also working with that naughty Russell Brand and his 'Tricksters Tales'. Check it out:





There is also a series of videos from David Byrne worth checking out:

Destructive criticism on Portobello Road.

What's this all about then?

At the north end of Portobello (between Cambridge Gardens and Golborne Road) there is a wall; formerly part of the convent, which is used as an exhibition space on a regular basis and jolly good it is too. Last year we had a massive record collection running the length of the wall.

 This was recently replaced by a similarly sized hoarding produced by a local gallery:  http://www.kensingtonandchelseatoday.co.uk/arts-and-culture/exhibitions/cqfz8ufwqy.html Three days later the thing was partially torn down, seemingly an act of mindless vandalism.

"Fucking yobs" I hear you cry!

But wait, there is there more to this than meets the eye (or doesn't meet the eye any more)? It seems that the Gallery in question has a very dark past (and present), earning itself a lot of detractors. This thoughtless act of vandalism is in fact a considered and premeditated comment on the Gallery and its principal.

Who writes:  “This neighbourhood is a catalyst to a wide range of creative expressions. The diversity of cultures, ideas and languages creates a climate that stimulates contemporary creative tensions and why we chose to locate our gallery here. 

It is interesting to see that the installation has indeed stimulated contemporary tensions! There will be more about this emerging over the next few days I'm sure.

A curates Annus.

2011 certainly was something of a Curates Egg; part Annus Horribilis (the best place for that is behind me), part joyous (hopefully continuing).

Ken Russell dead, Oliver Reed, Alan Bates and a body double.

Ken Russell has died. I for one loved his films, his sense of fun and rebelliousness.

Both Oliver Reed and Alan Bates refused to use me as a body double in 'women in love' for a reason I will not go into... It was a size thing!

Ken was a bloody good photographer too.

Photo: Ken Russell.

John Thaw, Drakes Venture, Leonard Cohen and sacred monsters.

In my early twenties I worked as an assistant director/gofer at Westward TV in Plymouth. We made this film which was famously screened the day that Westward lost it's franchise. It has never been screened since that day to my knowledge.

During the filming I worked with one of the best men I have ever met: John Thaw, surely a sacred monster, gave me a great deal of his time and taught me a lot. I did however spend a lot of my time sneaking vodka into his trailer. I experienced being mobbed by middle aged women when driving John; he was still very much the star as a result of the Sweeny....

I married for the first time at the end of filming. John was in Africa and unable to (and probably wouldn't) come to the wedding but sent us a wonderful telegram promising to drink a bottle of vodka in our honour.

John is one of the three men I miss and think of frequently.

It was a very happy summer that year.

the video below is a collection of clips from the movie with a soundtrack from another sacred monster... Leonard Cohen. I have not seen this before.

Zappa. Stairway to heaven... For M

Lola the scariest dog in the world...

A new poem from Murray Lachlan Young.

October: To all those who went before.

A month of thought and word and deed
To cultural Olympiad
From booker prize to art at Frieze
Of what is good and what is bad?

Who would spray paint out a ‘Banksy’?
Who could be so crude and rash?
Good graffiti bad graffiti?
Post, post-modern cultures clash

While Ralph gives us his Prospero
And punters flee the Marat Sade
Michael Sheen his Dane to show
So what is: Just too avant-garde?

The Shakespeare, Dickens fests announced
Or, King’s Speech coming to the stage
Strictly makes the extra factor?
And what would Tintin have to say?

Of Madge, Madonna hair and shades
In arch red carpet attitude
A master class in marketing
No matter what the latitude

Ah names and names so many names
So many rise, so many fall
So many stars, so great the sky
How did we ever name them all?

A question perhaps for Grayson Perry
British Museum, Shamans robes
His tomb of the unknown craftsman
Installation, ancient road

To all of those who went before
To all of those and all the more
Who carved and cut and chipped honed
The dawn of time through Ancient Rome

To all of those whose time is now
Their names so great upon the tongue
Will in the blinking of the eye
Discover that their time is done

And what is left is craft its self
When all the names are stripped away
Upon the tomb that craftsmen made
The craft of time will endless play?