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.

Le Peuple de L'herbe - Soya Green.

We like this.

The gargling Harpist.

            Harp and spittoon: Horngacher Empire Meisterharfe. Ikea Socker bucket.


She was an harpist of little promise until one day in rehearsals the composer heard her gargling in the wings.

He was mesmerised by the fact that she was gargling Mahler 5.

He sat down there and then to write his masterwork: 'Composition for harp and gargle'.

She became an overnight sensation along with the composer and the piece.

She suffered from stage-fright and in order to cope with the fame, started gargling with gin during her warm up.

Soon she was gargling with vodka during performances.

Sadly the Orchesra did not provide a spittoon… She swallowed.

Her playing suffered as a result and very soon she was replaced by a more reliable musician (there were suddenly many aspiring harp garblers up for it) and soon forgotten.

She now spends her days gargling for the residents of a run down hotel  and her nights drinking herself senseless whilst blaming everybody.

And her harp?     She sold that long ago to pay for her booze.

Mooning.

The Earth is a disco ball

The Earth is a glitter ball suspended within a spherical table 500 thousand miles in diameter

The Earth is a disco ball upon which the continents and oceans are projected
all life is part of that projection

Upon that table sits a glass of beer 240,000 miles away.

Or thereabouts

We all sit on our disco ball looking down upon a beer

Our disco ball rotates at a speed according to the nature of the engine
the table (along with it the beer) rotates at its own speed
the beer moves in and out of our line of sight

Wains and waxes

Reminding us that a glass is filled with optimism and hopelessly empty.

We all sit on our disco ball looking down on a beer.

Mooning.

We are too busy.

We are too busy
fighting other peoples wars
solving others problems
carrying their weight
curing their ills
salving their bruises
taking their pain
filling their voids

We are too busy to notice

each other

anymore.