Art and its profound affect on rock & roll

Back in the sixties I put on a show in swinging London that almost became the talk of the town.

however a few minor celebrities turned up, especially from the music world.

Yoko Ono came along a few times and took notes

one of my pieces in the show was a ladder standing in the corner of an empty white space, painted on the ceiling above the ladder and unreadable without climbing that ladder, were two words; 'FUCK OFF'.

Gary, a pop star of sorts climbed that ladder and read those two words then having climbed back down left the gallery in silence.

Years later I met Gary again, in more troubled times for both of us.

He said. 'Jan if only it had said YES on that ceiling I would never have left the Glitter Band and gone off to interfere with children in Thailand.

Picadilly urinals

A well balanced diet

SSSSHHHHH!!! YOU'RE IN A LIBRARY

I saw the sign and had to go in.

Mick Jones' Rock & Roll public library at Portobello green. It is there until the 23rd of August. GO.

It is not only Mick's personal archive on view it is also a walk through ones own life; the ephemera that I failed to keep is all there to be pondered over and celebrated. It is like finding something long lost and long cherished in a forgotten cupboard.

there is none of the pretentiousness of say Sophie Calles birthday presents installations. It is to me a celebration of 'My Generation'. How many librararies would allow mick and others to play Sex Pistols songs in a rehearsal room on view to the public.

how i became a coppers nark.

True story but I cannot name names or venue or city even.

I met tonight a very beautiful woman, a talented woman, an intelligent woman, fortunately i am still suffering from the after affects of the bromide slipped into my night caps by nurse Caz so was able to listen to her story.

At some stage she informed me that she was a police officer and flashed her badge.

I gave in, admitted everything, took the blame for crimes I had never committed, pleaded to be handcuffed and interviewed at legnth. I longed to help her with her enquiries on condition that there was no question of bail and that I would be kept in captivity for ever.

I went home to a warm fish and chips supper.

Caught bang to rights.

Only in London

the Muse and memories

Sitting at the Muse at 269 on Portobello road with a coffee and looking back over all those years and remembering fondly the muses who have slipped into and out of my life; Mona Hebuterne, the ballerina, Babs, Lula mae, nurse Caz.

It dawns on me that 'Muse' is a collective noun now; they are all still with me, goading me, bullying me, kissing my metaphorical neck and laughing with me each time I clean my teeth.

The Muse at 269 is a gallery/restaurant that puts on some interesting stuff. It is also the place that rusty, fluente, tristan and I hang out at and shoot the breeze over a coffee and a beer. Check it out

http://www.themuseat269.com/

Rusty tears and kitten heeled cowboys

Walking on Portobello Road this morning I spotted Rusty weeping on the pavement outside a shoe store.

'Rusty' I said, 'pull yourself together man and tell me the problem.'

'come' he said and taking me by the arm led me inside. at the back of the store on a shelf was a pair of antique cowboy boots with kitten heels.

'Them's the identical boots to the pair that Lula mae always wore when baking pear pie' he wailed.

I left him there weeping under the suspicious gaze of the stores foxy owner. 'There's a man who is going to get stung'. I said to no-one in particular.

it's a lovely store full of vintage shoes boots and clothing. I bought a pair of boots there back in the days when nurse Caz was pushing my wheelchair.

282 Portobello, notting hill, London.

A lost coat

It

is not lost

the father of the bride's breakfast table

Bicycle thieves

I would like to congratulate the idiot who stole my bike lock and ruined the integral lock rendering the whole thing useless.

I'm sure there are many uses for a locked motorcycle lock.

I can think of very few uses for a siezed up bike. Except perhaps throwing it at the clown.

Taking shelter from the rain in a cow.

On the way back from a symbiosium meeting the rain came. the only thing to do was take shelter in the Cow on Westbourne Park Road, Notting Hill.

Luti poured me a ginger beer (Rusty takes his with a dash of Tabasco but I find that a little excessive) to ease the passage of the coronation chicken. The Cow is a local and global institution and early evenings during the week it is the perfect local.

I like nothing more than to sit in a corner and lie through my teeth to any one prepared to listen; the missing tooth leaves a gap big enough to get some whoppers through.

http://www.thecowlondon.co.uk/

It was neccessary to dash through the downpour to the Westbourne accross the road to get online. Another good pub!

Mick Jagger, unreliable memories and the Tabernacle.

At the tabernacle, Notting Hill last night to hear Joseph Macwan and his band 'Out of Karma' (check him out). People have done good things to the old place (I remember hanging out there back in the sixties when it was squatted by a bunch of anti-establishment dreamers and schemers and downright bad guys) you should go down and take a look and a beer and maybe lunch and sit in the courtyard as I did...

and cast your eyes over the house opposite where Performance was filmed when Mick Jagger was something of a God and drugs were not only cool but obligatory and London swung like a pendulum do.

I was Mick's body double for the bedroom scenes.

That is another story.

The Tabernacle, Powis Square, London W11 2AY
http://www.tabernaclelive.co.uk/