Underneath The Bottom Of The Food Chain

I don't consider myself a snob - but Abi Titmuss - what a sack of shit.
No particular reason for posting this - it just feels right.

Hang In There, Yasser

Now, this may come across as a tad selfish, but I really need Arafat to stay alive until at least 10.45pm tonight. I'm getting near the end of my World Service shift and I really don't need the place going batshit until I'm out of the door.
Kek-W is turning up later for a Cinzano Bianco and I don't want to come across as a bad host by not being at home when he shows up.

John Peel

There are a lot of records in my collection by bands and artists whom I would never of known existed if it hadn't been for John Peel.

Go, Boris

I was originally going to write this as a comment on Psychbloke's blog (http://psychbloke.blogspot.com ) - but I thought if I'm going to be offensive I'd better stay here.
That article in The Spectator - what's the problem?
I think the media reaction to it (the same media camped outside Ken Bigley's sick grandmother's bedroom window), was as hysterically over-reactionary as their coverage was of Bigley's situation in the first place.
Sure, we all know his name, his plight was much more tragic because he was British. What were the names of the two Americans captured with him? I don't know. What was the name of that Turkish truck driver that got decapitated? I don't know that either.
As for the accusations that the Liverpool community are wallowing in it -yeah - they are, they always do. How dare anyone say it.

D Of The D

Saw the Dawn Of The Dead remake last night - superb. Best movie I've seen in quite a while. The original's a classic, no doubt, but this really lives up to Romero's standards. By far and away the best of the recent batch of horror remakes. It's fast & harsh. Go see.
That twat who made 28 Days Later could learn a lot from watching this film.
On Sky One, straight after, watched the new Battlestar Galactica pilot. That was really pretty good too. The series starts Monday night & I may well be investing my time in watching a few episodes - run it up the flagpole & see who salutes it. It's quite hard. Starbuck's a woman, though. I'm not sure how I feel about that. Maybe it's time for me to accept that time's moved on & women can fly Vipers.

Nobody Deserves This

So, I finish the Six O'Clock News, get a big coffee and go outside , and U2 are playing live in the fucking car park. What's that all about?
I get bombarded with 'Desi-er-re-er-re'. People screaming and shouting. I only went out for a cigarette. I feel my human rights have been infringed.
If I'd known earlier I would've brought my sniper rifle. There are a couple of good balconies high up and I could have been away, no problem.

Number Of The Beastie.

My feedback on Ebay reached a sinister level today. Dominiczero (666).
Oooooo.

Genius Stolen

Nice to see that The Daily Mirror is reading my blog - and ripping it off.
My deeply researched Phobia blog from August was reproduced rather sloppily in yesterdays rag.
As Kek-W says - 'genius`steals', although in this case it's the other way round.

King Of Kings

Watching the Grand Prix Snooker this week (endlessly interrupted by The Conservative Nazi Conference), I was reminded what a fucking genius Jimmy White is. Although he got bumped in the 2nd round (a final frame thriller), it brought back sterling memories of the late 80's & early 90s when he repeatedly reached the World finals only to be beaten by Stephen Hendry (The Alien).
Watching now, although he's not as good as he was, he still has the crowd & he still has the game (provisionally no 5 in the World Rankings), and he's a bright light amongst all the charisma-less accountants that play the game these days.
If you never read another sport book, read this biog, it's a drinking frenzy with some snooker in it. Fear and Loathing in Sheffield.
I once worked with a guy who knew him & was out on the famous Tooting drinking session where they took the corpse of Jimmy's brother with them - now that's a wake.
He was beaten this week by outsider Ian MacCulloch - who has presumably cut off his floppy fringe so he can see the balls better.

The Savage Breast

Well, now, found this little gem for 20p the other day. It wasn't so much the bondage as the weird voodoo heads top left that attracted me.
'She was devoted to spending money, pampering her beautiful body, and looking for kicks on the wrong side of town.'
I've put it on Ebay & the bids're up to £2.75. I may retire on this one.

Keeping The Dream Alive

I am now forming a band with Tina (aka The Plank) from S Club.
We originally wanted a German backing band & were going to call ourselves SS Club, but this proved difficult as we don't know any Germans. ( I know a couple of Nazis - but they're not musicians - or German.)
So we've settled on the name The New Lurkers.
She's singing and playing tambourine (not at the same time). I'm playing bongos.
We're mostly going to do covers of Stiff Little Fingers songs (her rich voice really suits 'Johnny Was') - and possibly some early Bucks Fizz (the pre- sell out material).
We're hoping to recruit Dick Vomit on drums & Richie Sambora on bass. We may not bother with a guitarist (though John Parrish keeps calling - he wants to produce too - fucking control freak). We're going for a quasi-ironic sound (like The Mavericks used to have). I guess our style will be Drum & Bass & Tambourine & Bongo.
Unfortunately our debut gig may have to be postponed because Tina (aka The Plank) is doing a 'get em out' shoot for FHM to pay for some new trousers she wants to buy.
Hopefully this won't delay our first single - 'Zulu Dawn' - being released in time for the Christmas charts, although I am having to rewrite the lyrics to make some of the words a bit shorter for her.
Watch this space. Or don't.

Stay Awake

I dreamed last night I was in The Munsters.
Got up at 3.30 am and went to work at the BBC - so I can't actually tell when the dream ended and Real Life began.
I do remember Tina (aka The Plank) from S Club was there - and she's not here now - so I guess I'm awake.
How very.

Fishy

A couple of Cool books picked up recently, while I'm on the subject of fish.

1981 In The Acid Cellar

Drinking the other night with one Dick Vomit at Skipper Webb's birthday celebrations.
He was telling me he'd found a vintage tape of pop combo Terror Fish, circa 1981, in his mum's attic. He seemed V happy as he'd been going on about their celebrated drug classic 'The Squeaking Goblin' for approximately 18 years.
He still wants to do a cover of it. What superb taste he has.
Found this poster at the back of my filing cabinet for their last ever gig in the dungeoness underground shithole Baxter's - where anybody would be lucky to leave alive.
Berlin Nacht, the support act, were Crewkerne's answer to, well, all the other bands with a desire to have German names. They were a cross between A Flock Of Seagulls & Toto.
Note the Void Jazz logo, possibly the most prolific organizers of drug-fuelled, bargain-basement, off the wall, deranged, one off gigs of their time.
My memories of this gig are vague, but I do remember the joy of leaving the place without a broken glass being put in my face.