The Collective at the West Bank Gallery.

bloody hell! Something worth going to see in a Notting hill gallery.

A group show running for a very short time (until the 7th) featuring some surprisingly good stuff. go and catch it.

I loved the organic forms of Kate Linforth:

Serene, understated ceramics by Maria Dehaan are both Beautiful and functional.

kim Francis makes almost indescribable fragile objects of great beauty. Faberge made accessible.

WEST BANK GALLERY is at133 Westbourne Grove W11.  look it is pissing with rain, there could be no better way of escaping it! Prices are realistic too and for once it is not 'faddish' ephemeral tosh.

Arty Self portrait.

Cardiff harp

Pop corn shop on Blenheim Crescent W11. The dumbing down of Portobello continues!

Yes! it is a popcorn shop, they sell popcorn, nothing else but popcorn. How on earth can a popcorn shop survive in an area of escalating rents?

Review: http://jannieupjur.blogspot.co.uk/2012/10/corn-in-portobello-pop-goes-your-money.html

The Pelican, Tavistock Road W11 is reopening on saturday 6th of October.

After some considerable time closed following a rather checkered history the Pelican is finally reopening its doors! It will be interesting to see how it goes; the new owners appear to have spent a considerable amount of money on the buildings interior which indicates that they may want to keep the usual suspects out.

In the light of what is happening generally to our local pubs lets hope the Pelican maintains some standards!

The new owner showed me around the other day and was keen to assure me that it was not attempting to be some kind of gastro pub but something that might resemble a PUB!

Opening on the 6th at 6,00 pm... worth a look anyway.

Tate Modern Christmas gift ideas 2012.

I have had a sneaky peep at the following... Nothing new then!


Tate Modern Christmas gifts 2012


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

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)

Tracy Emin camping condoms. Signed by the artist for authentic 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

Midge Ure gets a custard pie.

Or was it a Viennese whirl?

Jeremy Forrest and Megan. Why the French are not treating it seriously.

French correspondent Gaspard Disdain writes:

The raison zat ze French is not taking zis serious is zat it is a matter of love and we French know all about love. Not like you English Island stealers.

They are a young couple in love and deserve to be together, how does it matter zat he is a married teacher with moral responsibilities and she is a child (I know that makes him a paedophile but so what) it is obvious zat she is in love with ze ansome brute. You only ave to look at the way e dresses to see he is a babe magnet. And on top of zat, being a maths teacher, he can help her count ze ways she loves him.

Come on England, do the mathematique, put deux at deux togezeur and come up wiz two happy lovers.

We French may run from a fight but we run to ze hanky panky faster than your Widow Twanky.

Give zem a break.... Call it half term!   Zut alors!


Editors note: Gaspards views are his own and being a Frenchie are invariably wrong.

On a slightly disgusted note I gather the tabloids are offering loads of cash for topless photos of Megan! I'd like to see some saggy dugged photos of  themselves for a change. Tell you what, send me your photo's and I'll publish them!

UPDATE. 27th September.

As a direct result of this blog French police have pulled out their collective finger and found the couple in Bordeaux. He is is in police custody while she is probably in 'le Price Unique'.

Sussex police issued a statement saying the pair were "safe and well".

"The information which led to them being located came as a direct result of media coverage in France," the statement said. "At this stage we are not confirming the specific location where they were found. Their families have been informed and arrangements will now be made for Megan and Jeremy's safe return."

Ryan O'Reilly has the last word on Portobello Road and RBKC.

Portobello drinkers 'harassed' by children

From our sports correspondent Dave 'the Mexican' Wave. As usual his view are his own and of a 'tabloid' nature.

Things are coming to a head in Portobello Green, Notting Hill. Members of the Portobello serious drinking team are claiming that they are being harassed by a pingpongist terrorist group who's members include children as young as five years old. According to a spokesperson from the drinking team; " We are fucking being fucking chased off our fucking drinking table in the fucking park by a bunch of fucking antisocial table fucking tennis fanatics".

Portobello 'drinking' team on the disputed table.






From the other side of the fence a local pingponger stated: "It is ridiculous! this is a table tennis table not a drinks table. There are drinking places all over the place but only this one table tennis table".

'Terrorists' at play! 











The drinkers went on to complain that sport is an elitist activity which should be discouraged now the olympics are over. One stated: "Sporting activities in this neighbourhood give a false picture of what is essentially a shithole  left to accommodate us drinkers, crack heads, junkies and such by RBKC while they gentrify the rest of the borough for coke snorting tax avoiders and the like.

Rumours however of royal personages getting their kit off in the park are unfounded.

The artificial hip. For all you Hoxton Hipsters out there!

I was really pleased that I managed to get 8 Z's into one line. Cool or what!

He's the prosthetic aesthetic
the artificial hip
the coolest thing to hit the town
since granny took a trip.
He is the London Fields creative
the Hoxton neo-native
the ultimate self-oblative
hip hip hip hip hip.

He is ironically moustachio'd
wearing comical pistachio
drainpipe trousers  and a pork pie hat
He knows full well
 that he's not where it is 
if he's not where it's at
He is the pastiche fantastiche
is cooldom uber alles
likes erzatz Piazzolla pizza jazz
and avant garde French ballets.

He is he is he is he is
he is he is
he is

Hip hip hip hip hip hooray.

He is he is he is.

Portobello postcards # 176. Tony the key man.

Drug dealer starter kit and the jeweller to the stars

I found this on the interweb, the perfect Christmas gift for the children of our times.

The jeweller to the stars.

They are waiting in the cafes
the restaurants and bars
or parked on unlit corners
in expensive cars
they are waiting for the snowman, the blow man, the let's go man
they are waiting, waiting, waiting
for the jeweller to the stars.

He is the closest thing to royalty
their business is all his
with his bags of herbert sherbert
(the silly rich mans whizz)
he makes them feel quite special
and just a
little
bit
show biz
they are guaranteed to talk the talk
walk the walk as well
he is the pied piper
the piper at the gates of hell.

White christmas is his ringtone
on his prepay mobile phone
his sole visible means of support
the long suffering wife at home
he is the king of the powder rooms
his shit it smells of roses
to the vacuous trustafarians
born
with
silver spoons up their noses.

He is known to each and every one
the jeweller to the stars
he hasn't got a friend on earth
and there ain't no life on mars.