the kids are (still) united…
First, to briefly return to last week’s topic, requests have been made for a picture of SAAFE ‘s award; I do have one with the three of us in attendance but whilst Anika Mae does have face pics, the lovely Cassie does not, and to be honest I am loath to crop her off (my photo editing skills do not extend to blurring with any confidence), so huge apologies to the ladies but I am sticking to the subject itself, proudly hand carved and painted in Bali. Congratulations (again) to everyone involved!
This afternoon’s regular update comes from the East Coast mainline, following a full English at Smithfield and my semi-regular wild-eyed trolley dash around the Oxford Circus Topshop (+ one vintage layered net underskirt in scarlet; you can never have too many) and I am now well on the way back to Scarborough from a brief but long awaited Non-Working break in That London in order to relax, run a couple of errands and watch one of my enduring favourite acts live at the Hammersmith Apollo last night (for anyone who’s interested, Gogol Bordello are a New York based gypsy punk band fronted by elaborately-moustached Ukrainian Eugene Hütz, and are possibly best described as the sort of noise which might result if someone put The Clash and The Pogues into the Large Hadron Collider).
A fine time was had by all, enhanced by not only two pints of cider and black (rank, but a must – I should think myself lucky that it wasn’t Thunderbird wine) and the unexpected (by me at least) appearance of support act The Bronx, whose indecipherable shouting over heavy thrashy-guitar stuff made me misty-eyed with nostalgia and reminded me fondly of my Saturday afternoons all those years ago as a fully paid-up, daft-haired and black-clad ‘difficult’ teenager. The independent record shops near me were where most of my money ended up having taken care of the essentials; Born Blonde home peroxide kits, patchouli oil, cheap nickel jewellery with skulls on it and my favourite menthol cigarettes, a whiff of these even now whisking me back to being fifteen as instantly as the aroma of gently smouldering Studio Line from the plates of a well-used set of Babyliss hair crimpers. Having spent these formative years listening to much the same thing needless to say I was delighted, although the frenzied crush at the front is by now a little outside my comfort zone, and I am ashamed to admit that a recurring thought all evening was the likely state my shoes were going to be in by the end of proceedings (I was right, though).
Unlike some, I find it genuinely comforting when it is proven once again that nothing ever really changes and it was heartening indeed to behold the same cider-drinking, ridiculously-coiffed would-be nihilists (if they were old to enough to understand the term) self-consciously preen, jump up and down, throw plastic glasses about and fire scornful and dismissive glances at anyone over twenty, just as I and my contemporaries did in the eighties, and our forefathers before us probably long before Roger Daltrey sang ‘Hope I die before I get old’ in 1965 (although I can only speculate, but bearing in mind that not long before that a World War was in progress, such a sentiment would be rendered fairly redundant since many people of the same age would have had their wish granted whether they liked it or not).
All in all, wonderful stuff and best of all followed by a kebab-with-everything from a dubious looking outlet nearby, (risky indeed given that I was sharing a room with a friend at a localish budget chain, a place so spartan and depressing that it was immediately obvious why it was built on a mainly one storey basis). The real world, however, cannot be ignored for long, and having had at least some prior warning thanks to my BlackBerry, it was with not a little trepidation that I switched on my little Vaio and dongle to be greeted by 40+ emails. No rest for the wicked, indeed.
Back to business, and my Aberdeen trip is shaping up nicely; it should be noted that due to a frankly silly amount of requests from the capital I am cutting my stay slightly short and heading to Edinburgh earlier than planned on Friday 21st, where I will be available for bookings until Saturday lunchtime. Most of this time is already spoken for, but please do email for availability; after some considerable effort I have located a nicely central hotel and am looking forward to my return very much, given that little of the city was even visible on my last trip due to the snow. This coming week in Scarborough will be a more relaxed one, and Tuesday, Friday and Saturday are largely unavailable but again, proper notice and enquiries will reap rewards! London (June 6th-9th) is steadily filling up too, but there are still appointments left each day provided that available times suit.
An afternoon of Marmite toast, Glee repeats and the April accounts awaits. For anybody who is wondering why on earth I haven’t mentioned the General Election, just content yourselves with a break from the whole sorry mess – I suspect you will be able to find some mention of developments online, but it won’t be here. Well not yet, anyway.
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