horn hooted, flags waved.
they stopped the traffic and danced.
we’d just thump people.
I was up Edgware Road today and spent a pleasant hour in the park, writing and dealing with odd green insects who, for their own strange reasons, seemed to find me irresistible.
A woman came to sit on the next bench.
‘Sundays are boring, aren’t they?’
‘Well, they don’t have to be.’
‘I’ve been dealing with my husband..’
I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this, as I was debating whether she was talking sexual services or murder, but before I could formulate a response she continued…
‘He’s broke his hip and he’s been in bed for four weeks.’
‘That must be difficult.’ I said. It’s not that I didn’t feel sorry for the woman, but I suspected she was after a little more than a chat about bedbaths.
I was saved from any further embroilment as just then all hell broke loose and cars started whizzing by, tooting their horns and waving flags out of their windows. It was the Iraqi flag, which I only realised because three teenage boys ran past me with the flag on the front of the T-shirts and IRAQ written in big letters on the back.
‘Have we withdrawn the troops?’ I thought, ‘Is George Bush dead?’
It turned out that Iraq had won the Asian Cup at Football.
By the time I reached Edgware Road itself, traffic was at a standstill and people were out of their cars and dancing in the street, music provided by their state-of-the-art in-car stereo systems.
It was a good half-hour before the police cottoned on and arrived to divert the noisier of the celebrants into the side streets where they could hoot and dance to their hearts’ contents.
I escaped into Marks and Spencers where I bought a bottle of wine.
‘Do you have ID?’ said the twenty-something cashier.
‘What for?’ I asked, bemused.
‘I’m only joking,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I snapped, still smarting from the Bill Oddie comparison, ‘Very funny!’
I will have to do something about my image.
At the tube, I was confronted by another celebrity omen, as who should be walking into the Tube but Ian Reddington, better known as Vernon from ‘Coronation Street’.
What sort of omen is he?
Only Time will tell.
Monday, 30 July 2007
Saturday 28 July 2007
‘call for gay bum sex’
it said on the wall outside
the old fire station.
Coming out of Hammersmith Station today I saw the homeless man who usually sits there shouting (very loudly, I might add) ‘Have you got any change, please?’
If I’m in a good mood I may oblige.
On this occasion he chose to point at me and chant ‘Bill Oddie! Bill Oddie! Bill Oddie!’ like a strange bird’s mating call. I ignored him with as much dignity as I could muster.
I wandered down to Tescos and noted that on the wall outside the old fire station, someone had written a mobile number in large marker pen and underneath ‘Call For Gay Bum Sex’.
I suspect this was written by a heterosexual since no gay man would ever use the phrase ‘Gay Bum Sex’ and especially not on the wall outside the old fire station.
Later, while discussing the Bill Oddie incident at Robert’s house (We’d taken a taxi round to Robert’s as we were donating to him our old television, which has served us faithfully for many years but which has now been replaced by a newer slimmer version.) the question arose, how homeless is he? He seems to know what Bill Oddie looks like (unfortunately, somewhat similar to myself, though far less svelte and adorable), unless of course, Bill Oddie is in the habit of giving money to strangers outside Hammersmith Tube Station, along with his name. Added to which, the other day I heard him singing ‘I’d rather have a bowl of Cocopops’ (that’s the homeless man, not Bill Oddie).
Robert cooked us a lovely Moussaka, and we waded our way through his record collection.
it said on the wall outside
the old fire station.
Coming out of Hammersmith Station today I saw the homeless man who usually sits there shouting (very loudly, I might add) ‘Have you got any change, please?’
If I’m in a good mood I may oblige.
On this occasion he chose to point at me and chant ‘Bill Oddie! Bill Oddie! Bill Oddie!’ like a strange bird’s mating call. I ignored him with as much dignity as I could muster.
I wandered down to Tescos and noted that on the wall outside the old fire station, someone had written a mobile number in large marker pen and underneath ‘Call For Gay Bum Sex’.
I suspect this was written by a heterosexual since no gay man would ever use the phrase ‘Gay Bum Sex’ and especially not on the wall outside the old fire station.
Later, while discussing the Bill Oddie incident at Robert’s house (We’d taken a taxi round to Robert’s as we were donating to him our old television, which has served us faithfully for many years but which has now been replaced by a newer slimmer version.) the question arose, how homeless is he? He seems to know what Bill Oddie looks like (unfortunately, somewhat similar to myself, though far less svelte and adorable), unless of course, Bill Oddie is in the habit of giving money to strangers outside Hammersmith Tube Station, along with his name. Added to which, the other day I heard him singing ‘I’d rather have a bowl of Cocopops’ (that’s the homeless man, not Bill Oddie).
Robert cooked us a lovely Moussaka, and we waded our way through his record collection.
Friday 27 July 2007
the black dog is back,
sitting on my thoughts and just
snarling at my work.
Please mark any sightings of Paul Ross in your Celebrity Almanacs as an omen of good for all humanity (see last posting) as tonight, Charley, the cabbage-patch troll, has been evicted from the Big Brother House with 87% of the vote. I am hoping I will never have to hear her brain-stabbing voice again or see her odious face. I suspect, however, that this is a forlorn hope.
sitting on my thoughts and just
snarling at my work.
Please mark any sightings of Paul Ross in your Celebrity Almanacs as an omen of good for all humanity (see last posting) as tonight, Charley, the cabbage-patch troll, has been evicted from the Big Brother House with 87% of the vote. I am hoping I will never have to hear her brain-stabbing voice again or see her odious face. I suspect, however, that this is a forlorn hope.
Friday, 27 July 2007
Thursday 26 July 2007
the well-spoken man
announced the minor delays
as though they were gifts
The bizarre bit of religious news this week is the plight of Shambo, the sacred bull of some Welsh Hindus. Shambo has been diagnosed with TB and the authorities have, quite rightly, I suppose, decreed that Shambo should be put down. The Hindus disagree, and once again, we are faced with a situation where people feel that their religion puts them beyond the law.
Shambo is a Friesian, by the way. I am not sure why that makes him sacred. Would an Aberdeen Angus be less holy?
On my regular journey between the Eastbound Piccadilly Line platform at Victoria and the Southbound Victoria Line platform I have to walk along a sizeable tunnel which is currently having its poster frames refurbished. Today, all the poster frames were empty and I was struck by how refreshing it was to see a kind of frosted refection in the steel at the back of the frames rather than a gallery of mostly tedious adverts for things people don’t much want.
When I got home, I was just heading along the street to my home when who should I spot walking toward me but Paul Ross, the spiv-suited brother of Jonathan Ross, usually to be seen as a talking head on those ‘100 worst (insert category here)’ programmes that seem to show interminably on Channel 4.
This was no doubt a Celebrity Omen, though what it may portend I cannot yet fathom.
announced the minor delays
as though they were gifts
The bizarre bit of religious news this week is the plight of Shambo, the sacred bull of some Welsh Hindus. Shambo has been diagnosed with TB and the authorities have, quite rightly, I suppose, decreed that Shambo should be put down. The Hindus disagree, and once again, we are faced with a situation where people feel that their religion puts them beyond the law.
Shambo is a Friesian, by the way. I am not sure why that makes him sacred. Would an Aberdeen Angus be less holy?
On my regular journey between the Eastbound Piccadilly Line platform at Victoria and the Southbound Victoria Line platform I have to walk along a sizeable tunnel which is currently having its poster frames refurbished. Today, all the poster frames were empty and I was struck by how refreshing it was to see a kind of frosted refection in the steel at the back of the frames rather than a gallery of mostly tedious adverts for things people don’t much want.
When I got home, I was just heading along the street to my home when who should I spot walking toward me but Paul Ross, the spiv-suited brother of Jonathan Ross, usually to be seen as a talking head on those ‘100 worst (insert category here)’ programmes that seem to show interminably on Channel 4.
This was no doubt a Celebrity Omen, though what it may portend I cannot yet fathom.
Thursday, 26 July 2007
Wednesday 25 July 2007
i roar when I belch.
it sounds like windy lions
locked up in a flat.
It would appear that I owe Jordan and Peter Andre an apology as yesterday I posted that they had named their offspring Tiramisu. This was an unforgivable error on my part. The child has in fact been monickered ‘Tiamaria’, named after the classy alcoholic beverage, popular with all A list celebrities.
it sounds like windy lions
locked up in a flat.
It would appear that I owe Jordan and Peter Andre an apology as yesterday I posted that they had named their offspring Tiramisu. This was an unforgivable error on my part. The child has in fact been monickered ‘Tiamaria’, named after the classy alcoholic beverage, popular with all A list celebrities.
Tuesday 24 July 2007
everyone’s gay now.
i’m tired of them all, mincing
on the bandwagon.
It seems that Jordan and Peter Andre, or Gormless and Shameless as they’re more regularly known by friends and family, have decided on a name for their baby. I did suggest to them Bitumen for a girl or Asphalt for a boy, but they decided against my choices and have called the new arrival Tiramisu, after the famous Italian dessert.
There was a very interesting programme on Channel 4 tonight called ‘How Gay Sex Changed The World’, which was not, as I feared, a tortuous history of gay sexual technique, but rather an overview of changing attitudes from the 1950s to date. ‘Out’ gay celebrities such as Simon Callow, Matthew Parrish and Andy Bell recalled memories of the first Gay Pride marches, their introduction to Gay News or their first experience of gay bars and clubs.
The most surreal moment, and one which will stay in my head for, I suspect, quite a while, was the snooty tones of Brian Sewell, talking about the Earls Court leather bar ‘The Coleherne’, (wherein, I have to say, I have spent many a happy afternoon and/or evening).
‘They arrive at the bar with all the accoutrements of the biker, forgetting only that essential element, the motorbike. Some of them used to clatter down Earls Court Road with spurs on the back of their boots. Spurs! I ask you!’
Sadly, the Coleherne has since gone very vanilla, and its grim black interior has been downgraded to a nauseous pink. I dare say neither Brian nor I will be going back there any time soon.
i’m tired of them all, mincing
on the bandwagon.
It seems that Jordan and Peter Andre, or Gormless and Shameless as they’re more regularly known by friends and family, have decided on a name for their baby. I did suggest to them Bitumen for a girl or Asphalt for a boy, but they decided against my choices and have called the new arrival Tiramisu, after the famous Italian dessert.
There was a very interesting programme on Channel 4 tonight called ‘How Gay Sex Changed The World’, which was not, as I feared, a tortuous history of gay sexual technique, but rather an overview of changing attitudes from the 1950s to date. ‘Out’ gay celebrities such as Simon Callow, Matthew Parrish and Andy Bell recalled memories of the first Gay Pride marches, their introduction to Gay News or their first experience of gay bars and clubs.
The most surreal moment, and one which will stay in my head for, I suspect, quite a while, was the snooty tones of Brian Sewell, talking about the Earls Court leather bar ‘The Coleherne’, (wherein, I have to say, I have spent many a happy afternoon and/or evening).
‘They arrive at the bar with all the accoutrements of the biker, forgetting only that essential element, the motorbike. Some of them used to clatter down Earls Court Road with spurs on the back of their boots. Spurs! I ask you!’
Sadly, the Coleherne has since gone very vanilla, and its grim black interior has been downgraded to a nauseous pink. I dare say neither Brian nor I will be going back there any time soon.
Tuesday, 24 July 2007
Monday 23 July 2007
victoria line.
hot and slow, a tango danced
seated on tartan.
Our mate Robert came to visit us this evening. I was late home due to several delays on the London Underground due to various factors such as Humour Failure at Seven Sisters and Passenger Apathy at Mile End.
The Ugly One made pasta and we watched Big Brother, although Robert, having drunk several glasses of red wine, talked all the way through.
I am growing more cynical by the day of BB’s manipulation of voting and selection. This week, presumably in response to a growing dissatisfaction among viewers that the vile and potato-faced Charley is still in house (‘Body from Baywatch, Face from Crimewatch’ as someone recently described her) BB have been portraying her in a less than flattering light. The sequence in which she described the viewing audience as ‘those idiots out there’ has been shown at least twice with the inclusion of Davina McCall’s comment ‘Did she just call the audience ‘idiots’?’, added to which, during Friday’s eviction, the crowd were allowed to shout ‘Get Charley Out’, something which has not been allowed to happen in previous weeks.
Thankfully for us, we are not idiots (well, not all of us) and are beginning to see the BB game plan for what it really is.Charley, I was told today, has already been signed up by the agency that represents Davina McCall and Dermot O’Leary.
If that did happen, when and where did it happen?
hot and slow, a tango danced
seated on tartan.
Our mate Robert came to visit us this evening. I was late home due to several delays on the London Underground due to various factors such as Humour Failure at Seven Sisters and Passenger Apathy at Mile End.
The Ugly One made pasta and we watched Big Brother, although Robert, having drunk several glasses of red wine, talked all the way through.
I am growing more cynical by the day of BB’s manipulation of voting and selection. This week, presumably in response to a growing dissatisfaction among viewers that the vile and potato-faced Charley is still in house (‘Body from Baywatch, Face from Crimewatch’ as someone recently described her) BB have been portraying her in a less than flattering light. The sequence in which she described the viewing audience as ‘those idiots out there’ has been shown at least twice with the inclusion of Davina McCall’s comment ‘Did she just call the audience ‘idiots’?’, added to which, during Friday’s eviction, the crowd were allowed to shout ‘Get Charley Out’, something which has not been allowed to happen in previous weeks.
Thankfully for us, we are not idiots (well, not all of us) and are beginning to see the BB game plan for what it really is.Charley, I was told today, has already been signed up by the agency that represents Davina McCall and Dermot O’Leary.
If that did happen, when and where did it happen?
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