Im at work, its Monday morning and Jason has just put Abba on the stereo. There’s nothing wrong with that as the songs are good, it’s just that I’ve always felt that Abba is the music of tragedy. It’s the sort of thing that overpaid bankers sing at drunken Christmas parties, singing and pointing at… Continue reading Abba, the music of tragedy
Month: November 2004
The Go Team, Thunder, lightning, strike
Forget Keane and Snow Patrol and all that other do gooding Band Aidesque crap that your mum listens to. This little baby is where it’s at, okay. It has the sing a-long visual sex appeal of David Beckham celebrating an England goal, the sort that makes you leap around the front room on a Friday… Continue reading The Go Team, Thunder, lightning, strike
Leave those kids alone, Combover
I’m trying to put my finger what I find most offensive about Prince Charles most recent comments regarding young people and ambition. Initially it was anger towards the use his position as a platform from which to pass comment on our society, one to which he has never made a valid contribution and quite obviously… Continue reading Leave those kids alone, Combover
The Go Team – Thunder, lightning, strike
Forget Keane and Snow Patrol and all that other do gooding Band Aidesque crap that your mum listens to. This little baby is where it’s at, okay. It has the sing a-long visual sex appeal of David Beckham celebrating an England goal, the sort that makes you leap around the front room on a Friday… Continue reading The Go Team – Thunder, lightning, strike
We love kebabs
The worlds best kebabs are to be found at Ali Babas kebab shop on Green Lanes, Turnpike Lane. I know because I had one last night, although somehow Mandy managed to polish most of it off. The chicken donner we munched, wrapped in a round chapatti style bread instead of pitta, was probably the tastiest… Continue reading We love kebabs
Litter on the Underground
Sometimes the wooden floors on the District line are sanded down giving a stripped pine effect more at home in the kitchen at River Cottage. Last night on they way home the bleached unvarnished wood beneath my feet contrasted innocently against the surrounding urban filth. So much so that I took a photo with my… Continue reading Litter on the Underground
Ice cream vans
There’s a scrap yard on the other side of the tracks at New Cross Gate station. Even during the summer months it always seems a wet and oily place with an overhanging sense of ‘End’ about it. It’s guarded by a big German Sheppard, or it could be an Alsatian, who wonders around trying to… Continue reading Ice cream vans
Keep it coming Charles
The thing is, I should be angry about Prince Charles’s outrageously old fashioned comments. The more I think about it however, the more I realise he’s actually doing the republican cause a massive favour. This is the same single reason that I believe the BNP shouldn’t be silenced; as long as their lumpen ignorance is… Continue reading Keep it coming Charles
I was wrong about fireworks
Sometimes you experience things when little that put you off for life. For me firework displays have always conjured up memories of cold damp evenings on the recreation ground. Bickering families, pushchairs, wet grass and never being allowed to realise the delicious smells wafting from the burger van. The display, never more than a poxy… Continue reading I was wrong about fireworks
Picking the Bones, by Geoffrey Regan
Today, George Bush Jr has been re elected as US president in what must be one of the most doubtful and shameful episodes of modern American history. The halfway point in his campaign of terror and lies is a good point to talk about Picking the Bones by Geoffrey Regan. I’m working my way through… Continue reading Picking the Bones, by Geoffrey Regan