Shock and horror among fans as Bob Dylan goes eclectic.

There were cries of 'Judas' at the Royal Albert Hall when Dylan opened his residency there a couple of days ago etc etc etc...

                              

                               Photo nicked from: www.theartsdesk.com

facebook is the Social Network crack dealer. Real friends come free.

He tells you his product is cool
he tell you it's hip:
'hey come take a trip'
it's on me, I'm buying, it's cool.

Once you are hooked he owns you.

He tells you if I leave you you'll die
you'll have no friends
you'll get the social bends
but I'll give them back if you buy

The friends that used to come free: In the days when we didn't measure our popularity by the number of strangers we now consider friends. All at the expense of friends we now consider strangers because they ain't on facebook.

If you want to remain friends with your facebook strangers it will cost you $10.00 per month.

I think you will find that your real friends come free.

Reigning Days, Friendly Fire. & at The Garage. Highbury.

I've been following this band for a few years now. It' great to see them doing as well as I thought they might.

They are playing The Garage in Highbury on the 28th of this month. Best catch them before you cannot buy a ticket.

RBKC about to unveil new plans for Portobello and Golborne Roads.

My mole in Kensington Town Hall 'phoned this morning with alarming news of the latest 'alleged proposals' for North Kensington.  Here is a brief outline:

Portobello and Golborne Roads are to be gated at either end and at all intersections. The area is to be 'rebranded' as The Portobello Experience, tourists will be obliged to buy a Day Ticket which will allow them free entry to the tourist tat shops and the coffee shops. There will be a surcharge applied at all other establishments. Residents will be obliged to carry ID cards at all times, Homeowners with properties valued at over three million will be given gold 'priority' cards.

Security will be provided by thugs'

All market traders will be obliged to wear Pearly King/Queen style uniforms and to greet all customers with: 'Ello darlin'. 

Selfie sticks will be obligatory for all tourists and 'Selfie Opportunities' will be staged throughout the area including 'homeless drunks' and 'waiting for an ambulance' tableaux. The remaining bohemian artists in the area will be obliged to gather at various cafes each weekend entertaining the tourists with intense arguments over the importance of Surrealism in 21st Century London while being photographed.

The Portobello Green area will be renamed Bond Street West.

Seriously though...


There is a petition to stop RBKC messing about with Golborne Road HERE

Stepfather.

I am the intruder
parasite on the broken home
I step in when he steps out
and the family is left alone
I can do no right
in the eyes of the kids
I have no right in law
I can do no right when breathing
and when I die...

 (I'll be respected for my tolerance in a very difficult situation but I'll never be as good as dad even though the two faced shit was shagging anything with tits and stealing money from the kids piggy banks to buy gay porn and donuts.)

I can do no more.

Wild West 10 - Golborne Stories of Struggle and Resistance

This is a great documentary made last year by Year 5 pupils from Bevington Primary School. W10. A must see for any resident of Golborne Ward and North Kensington in general. It explores the development of our community over the past 60 years from bomb ravaged slums through to gentrification.

Tories promise full employment by 2016.

Whatshisname hunt, you know the Tory toy boy has just announced that 'By 2016  nearly all British adults will be in full time employment in the Government sponsored sweat shops producing dreamcatchers and velvet dildo's for the elite few.  Those people too pathetic to do a days work will be expected to attend daily meetings in the house of Westminster.

How to cook immigrants. No 1

I caught these immigrants living in the garden, stealing our sunlight. I cut them in half, scooped out the core, filled them with a mixture of garlic, anchovies, black pepper, sugar and olive oil then baked them for as long as it took. They eventually confessed to being delicious.

My dad haunts my selfies.

Every time I take a selfie my dad photo bombs it.

Kenny Zulu Whitmore and a London Taxi.

Walking to the pub last night I found this London taxi on Portobello Road. This kind of thing is what makes this place so special and of course I stopped and asked the people about their amazing vehicle, It is not a paint job it is covered with individual mosaaic tiles, is truly beautiful and is designed to raise awareness for the plight of Kenny Zulu Whitmore, someone I was not aware of until I saw this cab and asked.

I do not yet know enough about the man to be able to comment further on his predicament but it sounds shitty by any-ones standards. There is some connection to the Black Panthers which I guess is enough for American white folks to lock him up and throw away the key.

This taxi and the people working long and hard to make something beautiful in order to raise awareness of a single human's plight is the best example of its kind (on every level) I have ever encountered.


There is a website HERE

Tertius Peat. The last true Englishman.

Tertius Peat is on his deathbed in a secure hospital in Wiltshire. Tertius Peat is the last true Englishman, by that I mean that he is the sole remaining Englishman without an ounce of foreign blood. Tertius Peat (in his lucid moments) puts this down to  the fact that incest protected the family bloodline from immigrant corruption.

It is true that incest deprived the bloodline of mental ability and physical stability as well as reproductive reliability but incest kept the bloodline English.

The Peat family motto states: 'We may be inbred but we are pure'.

Tertius Peats great great grandfather and second cousin twice inbred Primo.



Tertius told me recently: Well my brother was my dad and my ma was my sister and my grandpa's were my mothers older brother and there is a family book that goes back to domesday that says no foreign blood runs in our veins nor no foreign sperm in our women.

He went on to say: We was shagging our siblings as we built stonehenge and we was still shagging them in 1066 (much to the horror of the French). At Agincourt there was non of us lot there, we was all at home shagging.

Ensuring true English blood untainted by immigrants.

Our early forebears were ugly, so ugly that none would touch us, save each other and save each other we did from the evils of masturbation and cross breeding.

We had no surname until the first census and then took our name from the fact that our ancestors dug peat. Since then all us Peats have, well, you know, just dug Peats.

Prime Minister surgically removed from Man's arse.

The prime minister was surgically removed from David Cameron's arse earlier today in an operation later described as 'a piece of shit' by surgeons.

A NHS specialist stated that there had been a number of reports of someone talking out of Cameron's arse and tests had shown, without a doubt, that it was Cameron himself (a keen ventriloquist) lodged firmly up his own jacksie.

Mrs Cameron has issued a statement claiming that it was just wind.

Advice to Vegans on arriving in Hell. Meat your maker.

Believe it or not quite a lot of vegans go to hell. Percentage wise there is no difference between vegans, vegetarians and omnivores (all carnivores naturally go to hell).

On arrival in the inferno the average vegan might think that he/she had arrived in heaven because the only food available is quinoa and brown rice with occasional tofu which is always out of stock.  Let me tell you, quinoa and brown rice day after day, year after year is hell.

There are barbekew pits in hell but, as no animals go to hell the only meat available is human flesh and rule 17 of the terms and conditions of entry states that only volunteers may be roasted for human consumption.

Lucifer, at his waggish best, informs all vegan arrivals that, should they give themselves willingly to the barbekew pit, they will be reborn in Vegas. Vegans queue to be barbed only to discover, on incineration and human consumption, that they find themselves reborn in Las Vegas with a chronic gambling habit, no money and a craving for pork. Therefore condemned to an eternity of scouring the sidewalks for dropped coins to feed slot machines and hot dog leftovers while they stew in guilt.

At this point Vegans often turn to meat. To meat their maker so to speak. To speak of the injustice of judging man by his diet.