Naked skull.

I cannot find anyone to credit for this... Wish I could!

Sunday High Noon with the kids... Bloody Mary anyone?

Sunday afternoons from midday at Supperclub might be the answer!

High Noon Free Entry.....a place to come chill, read the papers, kids
menu, facepainting, entertainment, games, movie, kids encouraged to
come in a western theme, pram park, skate park next door.......DJ
Konal, great music, Bloody Mary Bar, great brunch menu.

ENO 'Death of Klinghoffer' at the Coliseum.

10.00 am I was at the coliseum in London for the dress rehearsal of the controversial opera ' Death of Klinghoffer'. An odd time for opera, but perhaps the ENO thought it wise to stage it then to avoid the possibility of demonstrations against it; 10.00 am is far too early for demonstrators to do anything other than rail against the alarm clock. On its debut the opera attracted an amount of complaints due to it's subject matter. The opera centres on the 1985 hijacking of the Italian cruise ship Achille Lauro by the Palestinian Liberation Organisation. The hijackers killed one of the passengers, a retired, wheelchair-bound 69-year-old American Jew named Leon Klinghoffer. Goodman's script imagines what happened on the ship.

The English National Opera (ENO) is putting on seven performances of the opera at the London Coliseum over two weeks. It is being directed by Tom Morris, best known as the co-director of The National Theatre's smash-hit adaptation of War Horse and helming the controversial musical satire Jerry Springer: The Opera.

Originally opening in Brussels in 1991, the opera courted controversy even before a single note of John Adam's music was heard. Critics condemned the artistic merit of the play, questioning whether art should be made out of a tragic incident. 

From what I saw and heard this morning I can only assume that the piece relies on controversy rather than content. Sure it was good enough, save a weird disco-beat moment, but there was nothing there to captivate, no character to empathize with, no romance and no great songs. the best of it was to my mind the hard working chorus who had the biggest role... It was disappointing to note that, in the blurb handed out pre-show, the production team got name checks down to assistant hair and make-up and the women altering and dyeing the frocks whereas the chorus were left un-credited. Very odd indeed.

Alan Opie, playing Leon Klinghoffer holds a grenade during the dress rehearsal Photo By DYLAN MARTINEZ/REUTERS

The set relied heavily on projections with bits of deck and superstructure wheeled on and off during the production, Is that normal in opera?

The band was great, I sometimes felt that the singing detracted from my enjoyment of the music. The libretto was clunky and decidedly un-lyrical (something one can tolerate in work translated from German or Italian but disappointing in a work written in English), I am by no means an expert but as a poet I hankered after a bit of poetry. I was expecting gun shots so was not surprised by them apart from the moment when the harpists string broke with an unscripted bang.

All in all interesting to witness rather than a great joy or great art. More like a wacky modern history lesson with music. 


Have I said that I enjoyed the chorus?


This is what Rabbi Shmuley Boteach has to say about it in the Huffington Post: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rabbi-shmuley-boteach/does-the-english-national_b_1273025.html
In case you were wondering, Shmuley is the bloke who brought us 'Kosher Sex: A recipe for passion and intimacy'. People often ask me if I make stuff up, with material like this I don't have to.

Tutu. Harp. Wishful thinking.

What is it about tutu's?  I spotted this one in St Martins Lane this morning.

And Harps? I found this one in Notting Hill.

All that is needed now is someone to wear the tutu while playing the harp. That's not asking too much is it!

The bathroom of Elvis's death.

Walking past this window in Kensington Park Road a five year old boy said to me, without preamble, 'That is where Elvis Presley died'. I asked him why he thought that. He replied: 'People always put flowers where someone has died!'

There was also black loo paper (I'll go back and photograph that another day) present.

There we go then... Pretty conclusive evidence.

Westway Development Trust. HSBC and discrimination.

I received this by email from Westways Development Trust... It looks innocuous enough; a gallery show on the theme of disabilty, until you have a good look! One definition of disability in the blurb is 'Inability to pay' yet there is a submission fee for participating artists. OK! so it is not open to the disabled.  Then look again at who is sponsoring it: HSBC the multi squillion profit making bank who pay their directors obscene bonuses while shutting down vital community banking facilities because they say it is too expensive, ensuring that the handicapped need to travel further in order to find a bank. HSBC probably don't care because the handicapped don't have much money anyway.

Why do Westway need to charge an entry fee if the thing is sponsored by fatcats? Why is there not a concession for those financially handicapped? Is the entry fee refundable  should ones work not be accepted? How much money exactly is HSBC providing in return for this blatent advertising?

Who the hell advises these people and do they really think this is doing them any favours. And westway development trust need to decide exactly what role they play in the community... They seem concerned only with making a profit at the expense of local needs.  Discussion please.

Guaranteed next day delivery. A valentines day poem.

I killed my love on valentines day

I didn't chose the date

especially...    To kill my lover, my only and forever, my darling, my soul mate

It just happened that on valentines day

love simply turned to hate

If you could ask him he'd blame my husband

and the fact that I still drank from the marriage cup

even though I'd long left him

was well nisi'd up

But his mother was the problem

I knew he would never leave her

So I gave him a poisoned chocolate orange

then segmented him with a cleaver

Chopped him up then boxed him up

sent him to his mother

along with his valentine card

that assured me he loved me like no other.

I chopped him up and boxed him up

and sent him DHL

to his needy spiteful mother

in her surburban hell
but they took a week to deliver him
and were alerted by the smell

that was my undoing

the disposal of my dear dead ex

I should have chopped him up and boxed him up

then sent him by FedEx.

Guaranteed next day delivery.

ENO Tales of Hoffmann at the Coliseum.

To the Coliseum last night along with the muse, Mister Pounce the barrister and his delightful squeeze; Wilhelmina for the dress rehearsal of the ENO production of  Jaques Offenbach's 'Tales of Hoffmann'.

What a delightful thing it was, beautifully designed and lit, plenty of humour, wonderful singing, plenty of dying women, student drinking songs and a gorilla....What more could you want.

Romance in Notting Hill.

Much better to be obese than a smoker as far as the government goes.

A guest blog from Jan Nieupjur. As usual his views are not necessarily my own.

        This is what the government and the supermarkets want to see.

I'm horrified. Supermarkets are now obliged to hide cigarettes from the public. Smokers finance the NHS, the armed forces bombing the fuck out of oil rich countries in order to pander to Uncle Sam and smokers finance the government. Why must fags be hidden when I can see fuck mags, gun mags, racist shit etc on clear sight for children.

What is the age you can buy cigarettes at? Address that.
Why are we poodling up, at great cost, to the Americans?
Why are supermarkets freely offering, in open view, buns, cakes, lard, donuts, crisps, more lard, sweets, sad bloke meals, all that shit at discounted prices to hordes of obese fuckers clogging up the aisles, the pavements, the hospitals and their arteries.

FACT: Smokers pay for the treatment of fatties and their revolting obesity. Smokers are the most generous people in the country. If ever an arse needed kissing it is a smokers arse and a smokers arse is a damn sight more kissable than a fucking great obese arse. I know I've kissed enough arses in my life.

It is a shame that Cameron won't step up and tax all his coke snorting buddies... There is the answer. That and disbanding the armed forces and using the spare guns to kill fat people.

Western civilisation is in decay; we are, metaphorically, obese, lying on chaises longue, eating grapes and buggering small boys while the rest of the planet suffers. Shame on us!





Editors note: Whoa there Jan. 

Jackie Kennedy nee Bouvier. What did she see in Aristotle Onassis?

Andy Warhol 1983. Albert Watson?

I found this print. It appears to be signed on the back by someone and is described as 'Unique Vintage printed by Albert Watson. 1983.

Who is Albert Watson?

Blue door. Portobello Road. Notting Hill. Bollocks!

In reality the 'blue door' in the film 'Notting Hill' no longer exists; it wasn't on Portobello road but on Westbourne Park Road and was sold long ago for an obscene amount of money. Yet the tourists continue to swarm down from Notting Hill Gate in search of the holy grail. I have picked up, from the street, written instructions from tour guides on how to find the door. Amazing! I shall be, from time to time, adding images of other blue doors in the area.

I've walked past this door on All Saints Road many, many times but only now have noticed the Number.

The owners of this one have rebuilt the wall, cut back the plant but thankfully left the door as it was.