Monthly Archives: March 2011


It’s ridiculously busy over here. Things are looking good for the whole buying-of-the-flat situation (though it ain’t over yet) the wedding plans seems to be on track, work is being a right shit but the new writing venture seems positive -I’ve even got paid already, which is nice because I’m fucking skint.

Not that the latter situation did anything to dampen the weekend. I think I was a tad stressed Friday because I managed to get so pissed I’m struggling to recall how the evening ended. I know it began in Angel with my bro, IC and a few beers, after I’d returned home without IC (who was already homeski with Mary) I shoved a few more sharpeners before foolishly agreeing to visit a club in Shoreditch.

It was relatively empty when we arrived, enough time to say hello to a few faces then suddenly (to my addled brain anyway) it was packed solid with loads of people I know all stood at funny angles. I started talking to a couple of blokes by the bar, one was quite friendly, one wasn’t, which inspired me to talk more, fuck knows why. I didn’t realise until a while later that were both getting free drinks, it then dawned on me, very slowly, that maybe this club maybe theirs… and why was there a huge bouncer checking me out? I asked the less friendly one if this was his gaff, he nodded slowly and I decided I’d mingle with my pals, by now dispersed into every nook and cranny.

The rest of the evening is a haze, if that. I recall leaving the club under duress from IC and Mary then nothing until waking up 1pm Saturday feeling undead. We took ourselves off to Broadway Market, itself unnecessarily crowded, to drop off IC’s replacement bicycle at the repair shop for a spot of renovation, then we trickled home after bumping into Otto in the park. On the way I met Patti in the one of the locals for a catch-up, IC joined us later and was visibly disappointed that I was already on my first pint. I’d already had two coffees, I explained in earnest, and I was in a fucking pub! Obviously what I said made sense because she ordered a glass of wine.

The evening had been planned during the week. It was very simple; invite a couple of pals over to watch the last two episodes of ‘The Killing’ with some cheese, biscuits and perhaps one or two peanuts. Such is the addictive nature of the TV show, IC and I were not only prepared to give up a Saturday night for it, we were also happy to face the usual post-guest tidying up –by this I mean their detritus, not their internal organs or kneecaps.

In the end there were five of us including yours truly (as it happens the only male contingent that evening, which either speaks volumes about the TV Show, or me -not sure which). Still at least we had lots of scrummy cheese and the sparkly was delish!! LOL!!!!!!!!

I took to my bed feeling much more compos mentis than the previous evening; by the time I woke Sunday I was feeling perfectly okay.

IC and I had decided to spend the day together by means of celebrating a certain date in the calendar. The intention was to go to the flower market for a wander, the reality was a cocktail bar along the way (which has done nothing to aid my financial situation, even though it was reasonably priced). As we were about to go in IC thought she spotted her nicked bicycle passing by, later she said that she was positive it was hers but wasn’t too keen for me to go chasing after the bloke riding it. This was irksome but we didn’t let it ruin our day, by the same token we couldn’t help stare out of the bar window in case the cunt on her bike came back. Later on we discovered Mary had her bike stolen over the weekend too. That’s all of us now, every person I know who has a bike in Hackney has had it half-inched. I curse the thieves, I hope all their mum’s die in screaming agony in front of their fucking faces.

We’d intended to go out for dinner later but by the time we got home at 6-ish we just wanted pizza and film of some description. I wasn’t entirely done though, IC went off to bed at 11 and I decided to watch the F1 on catch-up. Bit dull, you know, but still an event of sorts.

Catch you Friday, yeah.


It’s okay! ‘Chill!’ as they say in LA and Surbiton, I’m okay. I’ve had literally no-one wondering where the ruddy fuck this week’s latest instalment of hangovers, swearing and fairy liquid is. IT’S OKAY!! It’s here, yeah.

The reason it is late, by the way, is that the ‘excellent news’ mentioned a couple of posts back is rather time consuming –it involves writing by the way, and I’m getting paid, not much, but paid nonetheless. This is for free as you know, and will continue to be so. Amen.

So, where were we? I have to say not much has gone down since I last posted, though Saturday was a bit large. I can’t recall how it all began but IC and I invited my bro, Neil and Sian over for dinner, we also invited Jane and Adam on the off chance they’d show.

I began making the Bolognaise for said dinner last Thursday, I like it when it’s sat in the fridge for a while -serve the stuff straight from the pot just after it’s been made isn’t right, all that flavour gets lost. By Saturday, and after much adjusting, tinkering, the stuff was perfect. IC and I went out in the sunshine to do some shopping after I’d completely failed to start Johnston. I spent almost an hour leaping up and down on him, busting my shin in the process and actually soaking sweat through my leathers (unless you were aware Johnston was a 76’ Triumph Bonneville that last sentence read wrong.)

We met my bro in the beer garden of the local and all came home as one. Neil and Sian came over with cocktail shakers and subsequent ingredients and off it all kicked, Cosmo’s, wine and a ton of food, which was sensational, even by my own pedantic standards. I was so busy rushing around, and Neil so quick on the draw with the shaker, I didn’t notice how arseholed I was until, out the blue, Jane and Adam showed up.

Now we were 7, everything was going swimmingly, my bro suggested we crack open IC’s telescope and have a look at the full moon, apparently at its closest in 20 odd years. None of us had a clue how to use it and the instructions were somewhere… until it transpired Adam knew his business. Five minutes later we were staring into the Moon’s craters, I have to say it fair did our little pissed heads in, my bro and I were still popping to the balcony for a look way after 4am which is about time my memory gives in, though I do recalling knocking my zippo off said balcony. That could’ve killed someone, or a baby fox (it still works just fine even though it’s peppered with tiny dents)

IC and I woke at 1-ish with my bro splashed out on the sofa bed in the lounge that now resembled a sink estate. The afternoon was totally fucked; we sat about watching TV feeling like walnuts’ until IC went out at 6 leaving me in the company of the first Moto GP of the season.

The week has struggled past work-wise but most definitely helped by the arrival of the big yellow thing in the sky. IC and I celebrated the first day of spring on Monday, on Wednesday and Thursday I met a couple of pals in the boozer overlooking London Fields for an early evening pint and woven in between have been three trips to the sodding gym, which hurt like murder.

Before I bid you all a merry weekend and present Gerry’s chart, has any else noticed that world seems to be going fucking crazy, Japan, Libya, and now Pixie Geldof has dyed her hair orange.

Check out the choon, it’s Top of the Pops!

NO. ARTIST SONG TITLE Last Week Weeks On High Pos
30 Children Of Bodom Was It Worth It? 19 4 18
29 Snoop Dogg v David Guetta Sweat NE 1 29
28 Two Door Cinema Club What You Know 18 11 1
27 The Levellers Family NE 1 27
26 Wiz Khalifa Black And Yellow NE 1 26
25 The Wombats Anti-D 28 2 25
24 Hurts Sunday 16 8 4
23 Glasvegas Euphoria Take My Hand 29 2 23
22 Mona Teenager 13 8 4
21 Young Guns Stitches NE 1 21
20 Kings Of Leon The Immortals 22 3 20
19 REM Uberlin 11 6 7
18 Alex Turner Submarine 24 2 18
17 The View Grace 17 3 17
16 Band Of Horses Dilly 8 9 2
15 Beth Ditto I Wrote The Book 15 4 15
14 Pigeon Detectives Done In Secret NE 1 14
13 Grinderman Palaces Of Montezuma 25 2 13
12 The Vaccines If You Wanna 14 3 12
11 Elbow Neat Little Rows 9 7 9
10 Interpol Lights 21 2 10
9 Chapel Club Surfacing 6 10 1
8 The Strokes Under Cover Of Darkness 12 5 8
7 Foo Fighters Rope 10 3 7
6 We Are The Ocean What It Feels Like 7 4 6
5 White Lies Strangers 5 4 5
4 Panic! At The Disco The Ballad Of Mona Lisa 3 5 3
3 Poly Styrene Virtual Boyfriend 4 4 3
2 Morning Parade A & E 1 4 1
1 Cage The Elephant Shake Me Down 2 7 1


‘My fucking ears!’ I screamed as the plane began its descent. It’d happened on the way into Milan but the way into London was far worse. It felt as if someone was examining my ear drum with a drill bit. It was then I noticed I’d gone all deaf and that.

On top of this we missed the last train to London and were forced on a National Express coach, and I was suffering the early stages of a hangover due to my thirst-quenching extravagancies at the airport and on the sodding plane. By the time we arrived at Liverpool street at 2am I decided that a cab was the only way we could save the following working day. Our bed had transmogrified into a vision of Utopia, by the time we hit it I was out before my sweet little head hit the pillow…

The trip had begun on Friday evening. IC and I knew that we were going to go for an all-nighter as our plane left at 6am the following morning. One of our pals was providing a soundtrack to an avant-garde film (people dressed as creatures doing the hula on abandoned buildings etc). As ludicrously tossy as this may sound it was quite stunning, in addition to that the bar was fall-over cheap, you could smoke inside, and the accompanying installations and photos really added an element of ‘event’. IC and knew a surprising amount of guests and we spent a good while indulging in chat after the show had finished.

We got home at midnight, hurriedly packed, had a pissed row about we don’t know what, and left for the coach at Liverpool Street having made up over whatever it was that had caused us to have a row. Still, I managed to fulfil my intention of getting as ratted as I possible without falling over, now l could face Ryan Air and all the rigmarole of security without living it. But first I had to retrieve my glasses that I’d left on the coach.

It took me about five minutes to work out what was wrong; I just had this odd emotion of ‘something isn’t correct,’ an almost childlike feeling of non-specific vulnerability. We were approaching the check-in desk when it hit me I couldn’t see, I have to say I freaked a bit (a lot) and IC dragged me back in the direction of the now-departed coach. In a panic I barged into the coach company’s office where two little blokes were having a nice sit down, I babbled my problem; IC explained it, and one of the little fellas darted off into the night. Ten minutes later, and now close to tears, he returned with my bins! Apparently the coaches park up round the side of the airport for a few hours before heading off back to London. Anyway, I nearly blew him.

We checked in, stood about, and boarded the plane at 7am. Daylight and a clear day allowed me to see London vanish into the distance, which rarely happens, and IC and I spent a good deal of time giggling at the state of the air crew, one resembling a lab rat and one with a beehive plonked atop a face you could grate cheese. We landed and Len picked us up from the airport and whisked us off to IC’s home. By now I was virtually catatonic but this didn’t stop us from visiting the local supermarket in order to glean provisions for our stay and fridge back home.

We’d been up for almost 36 hours straight before crashing on the sofa for a few hours’ kip. At 4-ish we went back into town to buy material for the confetti (in Italy ‘confetti’ are the favours) and the sugared almonds within, both of which took a huge amount of time as IC, her sister and mum pondered over the right cloth to use with regards to price which varied enormously. I stood patiently like the living dead fighting the urge to lie down on a pile of linen and snooze.

We had aperitivo on the way home which was life-saving and after dinner watched Hotel Paradiso before finally crashing into a black, deep slumber.

Sunday morning, off to the Lake of Garda with IC and her mum for a second visit to the reception venue sat right on the banks of the lake, a real ‘pinch me/ dream’ type place and far too good for the likes of me. Once again all the food was gratis, it was simply a case of choosing the menu for the guests, which meant we had to try all the options, including the wines.

Wave upon wave of absurdly wonderful dishes appeared, held aloft by a host of staff (they’d closed the restaurant for us) each one presented and detailed by the immaculate maître d –not that I could understand a word he said. Each dish was accompanied by a specific wine (also explained in foreign) which would be automatically applied to my glass every time I emptied the contents into my face. Marvellous.

After a few hours IC and I had made the necessary selections for the reception, it hadn’t been easy as everything was sensational, I was both stuffed and a bit pissed when we went for a short walk round the old town but it was sufficient to take the edge off the hour long drive home to see the Priest at 5pm.

We’d met Batman over Christmas, last time we arrived at the church and went straight in to see him, on this occasion we had to wait in the vast, freezing vestry listening to the dulcet tones of evening mass. After an age we were ushered into another large, cold room where I was subject to almost an hour of sitting and nodding at Batman and IC under the screaming face of the son of man who bore down on me from his tree. I fought to keep awake; the big lunch was making feel very comfortable.

Following (a very light) dinner in the evening IC and I went out to a bar five minutes from IC’s gaff to see some friends and a band performing a load of acoustic Alice in Chains tunes, they were very good actually, even if it was all a bit bizarre. It served as a stark reminder how different things are outside England, the bar in question was operated as a members club (10 Euro for a year) wine was 2 Euros a glass and all the entertainment free for as long as your membership lasts.

Monday first thing, another priest. This one is the bloke actually marrying us. He doesn’t seem as jolly as the other one (his boss as it happens) and he’s a little bit of a scruff too, which coming from me is a little rich, or telling.

After the hairy priest we spent a bit of time choosing the flowers, an expense I’d never taken into account (shit!) and then spent virtually the rest of the day trying to find the right bloody ribbon for the confetti. As it was our last proper day it seemed rude not have aperitivo before dinner and pop out after to the local bar for a spot of fizz.

It was a splendid evening, even if IC did get the name of the owner’s dead husband mixed with the name of her current partner. This wouldn’t have been so bad is she’d not done it in her face.

We were due to fly at 8pm Tuesday evening so we scheduled to set off from the house at 5pm as we needed to get the coach to the airport. The day was obviously ruined by the schedule, so we continued our hunt for the fucking ribbon. About an hour we were due to leave we finally found some.


Right, I gotta go, I have some work to do, please enjoy Gery’s chart and choon and enjoy the weekend, for Christ’s sake.

NO. ARTIST SONG TITLE Last Week Weeks On High Pos

30 Pulled Apart By Horses I Punched A Lion In The Throat 28 4 24
29 Glasvegas Euphoria Take My Hand NE 1 29
28 The Wombats Anti-D NE 1 28
27 My Chemical Romance Planetary (Go!) 30 2 27
26 Cold War Kids Louder Than Ever 26 3 26
25 Grinderman Palaces Of Montezuma NE 1 25
24 Alex Turner Submarine NE 1 24
23 Manic Street Preachers Postcards From A Young Man 13 6 9
22 Kings Of Leon The Immortals 29 2 22
21 Interpol Lights NE 1 21
20 Miles Kane Come Closer 15 5 14
19 Children Of Bodom Was It Worth It? 18 3 18
18 Two Door Cinema Club What You Know 10 10 1
17 The View Grace 24 2 17
16 Hurts Sunday 11 7 4
15 Beth Ditto I Wrote The Book 20 3 15
14 The Vaccines If You Wanna 22 2 14
13 Mona Teenager 8 7 4
12 The Strokes Under Cover Of Darkness 14 4 12
11 REM Uberlin 9 5 7
10 Foo Fighters Rope 17 2 10
9 Elbow Neat Little Rows 12 6 9
8 Band Of Horses Dilly 5 8 2
7 We Are The Ocean What It Feels Like 16 3 7
6 Chapel Club Surfacing 2 9 1
5 White Lies Strangers 6 3 5
4 Poly Styrene Virtual Boyfriend 7 3 4
3 Panic! At The Disco The Ballad Of Mona Lisa 3 4 3
2 Cage The Elephant Shake Me Down 4 6 2
1 Morning Parade A & E 1 3 1


Tuesday morning, up with the sparrows for a behemoth bus journey from East London to the West, specifically, the ludicrously affluent Eaton Place (which is where that craggy old fucker, Thatcher lives) and The Italian Embassy therein.

IC and I entered, got a numbered pass and, happily, seen to in about 10 minutes by a lady who had a face that resembled Billy Bass and a body that contained more plastic than Hong Kong. She nonchalantly sorted our paperwork and in 30 minutes we were granted a licence to get married in Italy. Marvellous.

Speaking of which, we’re off there tomorrow to finalise the menu for the reception and sort a few bits and pieces out with the priest whose doing the honours on the day, I’ll tell you all about it next week, just you see.

It’s been a funny old week. Things got a bit intense work-wise due to a deadline, my boss seemed unable to stop himself from heaping an enormous amount of pressure onto my lovely little head, which was about as welcome a wet turd in my trousers, or any turd frankly. At 9.25 on Wednesday I got a call that instantly fixed everything and I actually did a public ‘yeah!’ and punched the air like a Hollywood cliché. What an arsehole I am, right kids.

That evening I went out and got good and tight with Den, Harry, my bro and a film editor of some note, he regaled me with film-based tales until my knees cradled my jaw and I went home at 11 with Minor Threat screaming in my ears.

I worked from home yesterday and receive some excellent news which I can’t divulge, annoyingly, and IC and I went out to the local Vietnamese Restaurant for a celebratory meal of sorts. We rounded it off in the local with a few of our East-End pals then home full, refreshed and happy.

Gerry’s chart, a tune from said chart and a fervent desire your weekends will be as splendid as the one I’m anticipating (save the fucking Ryan-Air bit)



NO. ARTIST SONG TITLE Last Week Weeks On High Pos

30 My Chemical Romance Planetary (Go!) NE 1 30
29 Kings Of Leon The Immortals NE 1 29
28 Pulled Apart By Horses I Punched A Lion In The Throat 24 3 24
27 Brother Darling Buds Of May 16 6 12
26 Cold War Kids Louder Than Ever 30 2 26
25 Chase And Status Blind Faith 17 11 4
24 The View Grace NE 1 24
23 White Lies Bigger Than Us 15 14 1
22 The Vaccines If You Wanna NE 1 22
21 Yuck Holing Out 19 3 19
20 Beth Ditto I Wrote The Book 25 2 20
19 British Sea Power Living Is So Easy 11 7 10
18 Children Of Bodom Was It Worth It? 23 2 18
17 Foo Fighters Rope NE 1 17
16 We Are The Ocean What It Feels Like 28 2 16
15 Miles Kane Come Closer 14 4 14
14 The Strokes Under Cover Of Darkness 22 3 14
13 Manic Street Preachers Postcards From A Young Man 9 5 9
12 Elbow Neat Little Rows 13 5 12
11 Hurts Sunday 5 6 4
10 Two Door Cinema Club What You Know 2 9 1
9 REM Uberlin 7 4 7
8 Mona Teenager 4 6 4
7 Poly Styrene Virtual Boyfriend 20 2 7
6 White Lies Strangers 12 2 6
5 Band Of Horses Dilly 2 7 2
4 Cage The Elephant Shake Me Down 8 5 4
3 Panic! At The Disco The Ballad Of Mona Lisa 6 3 3
2 Chapel Club Surfacing 1


Friday at the wine bar.

IC and I had arrived at about 5.30, the place was quietly busy but one remaining table by the door was available. I was rather taken aback by a member of staff who said ‘good evening, Sir, not seen you for a while… ‘ To which I replied, ‘I’ve never been here in my life!’ Until IC reminded me we had about nine months ago. (My initial surprise at his memory was curtailed when I noticed that everyone in the place was in a suit and I was stood in my leather jacket and beaten Converse, as per.)

We sat down next to a table of three sharply dressed fellows, an Uncle Monty look-a-like, a young Tory boy and a particularly well-heeled man in glasses who was utterly pissed out of his tree speaking in incoherent bursts of blabber- it was just about possible to gather that he was, to use the vernacular, ‘posh.’

They were drinking champagne and had been there since lunch, I gathered, and their behaviour was public-school rowdy and not entirely without a touch of privileged campness. Indeed, Tory boy seemed to be the sexy focus, albeit blurred, of his two companions.

Specky was slumped in his chair and getting increasingly close to IC as he twisted in his seat blurting out non-sequiturs until the point came he actually made contact. IC invited him to move away, which he did. Then the younger, shorter, Uncle Monty said something to us… Not entirely sure what exactly but I didn’t like his tone.

The polite member of staff finished his shift and was replaced by a pedantic little woman who occasionally fawned over the three piss-pots like they were minor royalty, which they may have been for all I know, or care. Either which way, it was clear they were regulars and judging by the amount of booze, and the quality being consumed, earning the wine bar a tidy sum.

IC got another bottle just as Specky passed out in his chair, his two companions carried on regardless. Shortly Specky awoke and made a grab for his glass, missed and knocked it crashing to the floor. The pedant ran over with a dust-pan and brush, accompanied by cooing noises of placation, to slurs of received-pronounced apology.

Shortly after the latter pair went to the bar to get another bottle, I glanced over at Specky and concluded he was close to being very ill. I called to Uncle Monty and suggested that he/they might like to get their friend some water. This was greeted by what can only be described as aggressive conjecture, and at the same instant Specky made a go of standing up, fell forwards onto the table and with an almighty crash brought himself, table, glasses, bottle and bucket, cascading onto the ground.

At this point I stood up with a V sign and said, ‘I told you that you should’ve got your mate some fucking water.’ Tory boy and another member of staff grabbed the unconscious Specky and hauled him outside as Mrs. P got to work on the mess. Over this scene of chaos, still stood at the bar, Monty continued to throw incoherent insults at me and for the first time in a long, long while, something within gently parted from reason and I concluded that I was going to hit Monty in the fucking mouth.

I took two steps forward when I felt a hand in my hair pulling me back and down into my seat. Monty disappeared sharpish and my gaze was met by a less than chuffed IC. ‘What are you doing?!’ She said. ‘By all means carry-on but if you do, I’m off home.’ My cries of justifiable offence weren’t hitting the mark, I was calmed down and we finished the bottle in relative silence with Mrs. P shooting me disgusted glances, which I thought was a bit bloody rich.

As we were leaving P, aware that we too were money-spending punters (albeit with much less extravagance than the recently departed piss-pots) fell into her obsequious stride and reluctantly bid us a ‘good evening.’

‘Fuck off,’ I said back, we exited onto the street and took the bus home.


It’s been one of those weekends that leaves you feeling depressed because it was so good. Bollocks.

I’d give my eye teeth to be back at that wine bar on Friday with IC about to take an Uncle Monty looky-like outside for a slap. Oh well.

I think Saturday was the best day, I had some mates coming down from that there North place and I met them all in London Fields at 4pm after IC and I had undertaken a spot of shopping earlier. Chas and I used to live together as students a few (*ahem*) years back, now he’s in front of me showing off his missus and two kids, one of whom thinks I’m a pirate, if you please.

We wandered about Broadway Market where we met IC, then we wandered to the pub which was busy but happy to accommodate children. We spent a cheery few hours drinking and herding the children away from danger, a full-time consideration and, I have to say, rather fun, before heading back to our gaff where Jamie was waiting for us. By now the smallest of the kids was asleep but her brother had taken it on himself to be a dog, he was still in dog mode when we got on the bus which was hilarious as he didn’t give two tits for his/our fellow passengers -actually, he was still yelping when IC, Jamie and I got off the bus after saying a fond goodbye to our Northern pals.

We were a little late getting to the restaurant to the point that everyone was patiently waiting for us to arrived. The place was packed out with rowdy groups of shoddy families and downmarket teens all adding to the overtly ‘Mexican’ atmosphere. It transpired later that Patti had thought this Mexican eatery was the nice one we’d been recommended a few block away.

I can’t say the food was that good either, I had this chilli burger thing which tasted okay but was wetter than a fishes bum, but in spite of all this we all had a splendid evening and the bill wasn’t to awful to boot. We all took the bus back to Patti and Mary’s gaff and had a few more glasses with some weird chocolate before Jamie, IC, my bro and I went back to ours to see the evening off with nightcaps, until 3am, or something.

All IC and I wanted to do on Sunday was crash in front of the box with cups of tea, this was achieved after a massive fry up at the excellent cafe round the corner and seen our guests off. We watched the latest two episodes of The Killing, during which I had an obscene panic attack out of the blue, and then Human Planet the eyeball popping BBC 1 Show narrated by John Hurt.

At 5-ish Paul called and suggested we might want to meet him at the pub, we reluctantly agreed and took the freezing walk to a seldom used local that was half empty yet fully accommodating. I wasn’t pissed when I met Gerry later on that evening but due to lack of food and adequate sleep I wasn’t quite right, in fact I had a panic derived whitey at some point, which I’m glad to say passed. Nonetheless, we had a marvellous evening chatting about this and that before time called us back to our respective dwellings heralding the cessation of the weekend.

I’ll recall the Uncle Monty tale later this week, in the meantime, eat this.


Following the weekend it seemed reasonable that IC and I would spend a couple of days drinking nothing stronger than tea and Tizer, but inconceivable our two days of abstinence would be obliterated by one Father Donaldson of the Catholic Church.

We’d met Father D a few months ago to help us organise the Catholic aspect of the forthcoming nuptials. After our meeting with the priest-overlord in Italy he agreed to let Father D do the ‘wedding preparation.’

Even if I’m not a fan of this organised religion business he seemed okay, he didn’t start giving us grief for ‘living in sin’ and he seemed entirely nonplussed by skull rings and my Slayer tee-shirt that I’d worn especially for the occasion. Even so, I was a little surprised when he called last week and agree us to meet in the pub to do the prep.

We all arrived at 7, IC and I got a bottle of wine and three glasses, FD preferred Fosters and suggested we go out for a fag before things got underway. He gave us the ‘I’ve done my job’ certificate before actually doing the prep. Instead we talked about paedo priests, the ordination of women in the Catholic church, the death penalty (that he was in favour with and I’m not) and beach holidays. At some point into our second bottle and him on his 4th pint he took 30 seconds out of our chit-chat to mumble the required prep, essentially, we’re allowed to enjoy sex but remember it’s primarily for pro-creation purposes and how I’m not allowed to rape IC when I fancy a bit of the other.

By the end, all of us thoroughly pissed, we fondly said goodbye over a last cigarette and went on our way. All very weird, really.

Yesterday I woke with a bit of a hangover, it’d been somewhat negated by a large bowl of Bolognaise sauce the previous evening so I was able to attend the fucking gym at midday without feeling like puking all over the shoulder press. After a shower I took myself off to my appointment at the tattoo parlour in Shoreditch.

I’d not been inked since a less-than-successful rendition of one of my designs a couple of years ago. The design wasn’t at fault but the execution wasn’t 100% to my satisfaction and over the months I decided that something needed to be done about it.

The artist I chose was the same chap that transferred my design onto IC last year, I was happy for him to lead the way this time and he suggested a design to compliment and embellish the iffy one. I was happy with what he came up with and off we went.

In the past I’d always been rather surprised that being tattooed hadn’t really hurt much but this artist was using a rotary needle, admittedly it’s quieter than the coil guns but by Christ it hurt. For a couple of hours I lay on my side whilst ink was applied to my upper time. It was either painful, excruciatingly so, or complete agony. Once or twice I felt the opening chords of a blackout, though I’m pleased to say this didn’t materialise.

IC showed up 30 mins before the end, by now I was almost speechless with exhaustion but at last it was done.

I am very happy with the work carried out but, annoyingly, it’s made the original tattoo look even worse. I forsee another visit shortly.


Gerry’s stuff to follow after weekend greetings. Weekend greetings.


ARTIST SONG TITLE Last Week Weeks On High Pos
30 Cold War Kids Louder Than Ever NE 1 30
29 Neon Trees Animal 19 6 19
28 We Are The Ocean What It Feels Like NE 1 28
27 You Me At Six ft Chiddy Rescue Me 21 5 21
26 The Wombats Jump Into The Fog 15 11 2
25 Beth Ditto I Wrote The Book NE 1 25
24 Pulled Apart By Horses I Punched A Lion In The Throat 24 2 24
23 Children Of Bodom Was It Worth It? NE 1 23
22 The Strokes Under Cover Of Darkness 27 2 22
21 PJ Harvey The Words That Maketh Murder 13 7 7
20 Poly Styrene Virtual Boyfriend NE 1 20
19 Yuck Holing Out 25 2 19
18 Glasvegas The World Is Yours 14 3 14
17 Chase And Status Blind Faith 8 10 4
16 Brother Darling Buds Of May 12 5 12
15 White Lies Bigger Than Us 7 13 1
14 Miles Kane Come Closer 20 3 14
13 Elbow Neat Little Rows 18 4 13
12 White Lies Strangers NE 1 12
11 British Sea Power Living Is So Easy 10 6 10
10 Morning Parade A & E NE 1 10
9 Manic Street Preachers Postcards From A Young Man 11 4 9
8 Cage The Elephant Shake Me Down 5 4 5
7 REM Uberlin 9 3 7
6 Panic! At The Disco The Ballad Of Mona Lisa 16 2 6
5 Hurts Sunday 4 5 4
4 Mona Teenager 6 5 4
3 Two Door Cinema Club What You Know 1 8 1
2 Band Of Horses Dilly 3 6 2
1 Chapel Club Surfacing 2 7 1

gabba gabba ow

The meeting on Friday didn’t pan out as expected. I became apprehensive about it from the moment it occurred to me that my choice of venue hadn’t included 200 yelling children and the reincarnation of Toni Arthur cavorting about on a stage dressed in giant yellow dungarees. Fortunately, I was early and in a position to find a more suitable location, but The Festival Hall, the place we’d arranged to meet, most certainly wasn’t it. I jumped over to the Queen Elizabeth Hall which was also crowded but happily devoid of kids. I crammed myself onto a revolting white formica table and sipped lava-hot tea until my re-directed client (who I’d never met) called my phone and waited for me to stand up amongst the twin-set and pearl auntie’s waiting for some concert or other to begin.

Fortunately she was very pleasant and being Danish we could break the ice discussing The Killing before getting down to the horrors of business, which we’d sort of started when her colleague arrived just after 3pm. I realised I’d met him before and a dull bell clanged in my liver, within 5 minutes a glass of wine was being thrust into my hand and arrangements were being made to visit Gordon’s famed wine bar on the North bank when we’d finished the current bottle.

Even in fuzzy hindsight it was the best meeting I think I’ve had, but I’d arranged to meet IC and some friends at 8pm at our place and was keen to retain some sense of sobriety. How on earth I managed to get home and then re-engage in a separate session with IC, Den and Aiko is, even now, beyond me. But I was okay, possibly because of my pace and the inclusion of food at critical points, and we all had a splendid evening…

Still, it’s nothing to write home about, even if, in a way, I am.

Saturday took a while to become fully formed. When it began to solidify I met IC in the shopping centre in Dalston round lunchtime. Not the happiest place to be in after a skin-full the previous day (those sodium/fluorescent lights make the world a bit space cake at the best of times) but I ploughed through with a bit of help from the better half. We rewarded ourselves with a Masterchef catch-up and generally spent the remainder of the afternoon taking it easy before heading out once more to the pub in North London where we’re having our London wedding reception.

Our reasons for going were twofold, in the first instance we needed to give the guv’nor a cheque to secure the venue; the second was to meet an old pal of IC who she’d not seen in a while. To start off I wasn’t in the mood, the previous day had started to take its toll on me and I was knackered out. IC’s pal Diane was sufficiently engaging to make a spot of effort on my part and hour into proceedings I was rewarded by getting into the swing of things. We stayed until 10-ish before heading home to French cinema and nightcap, which sounds a lot more civilised that it was. Well that bit was, it’s what followed after IC went to bed leaving me in the deathrocker hands of youtube, a progressive thirst and the need to tinkle.

Let’s nail something down quickly. I’m not a fan of shaving and if it wasn’t for reasons of employment and the fact IC isn’t overtly keen on facial hair I’d have none of it. But I don’t seem to mind it on an ad hoc basis, sort of ‘whilst I’m washing my digits following micturition I may as well shave, like.’ And usually these intrusive decisions are made late and after a few tonics. Perhaps this is why I managed to tangle my upper lip in the blades of my fresh, disposable Gillette at 2am. Either way, the resulting blood was simply awesome, it just refused to stop, despite the ice cold water that was applied under bundles of tissue, so after almost an hour of this I just bunged a roll onto my face and went to bed still bleeding.

I was woken early on Sunday morning by a scream; IC had discovered me looking like poorly botched crime scene and it had given her rather a shock. She even said, ‘who did this to you,’ which was a little embarrassing.

Not one to be fussed by a couple of rather STD-looking scabs we went out for brunch as planned and spent a brilliant couple of hours in a favoured restaurant eating eggs Benedict and drinking Prosecco by way of celebrating an calendar event. Of course we’d also opened the door to a thoroughly reckless afternoon, as we were walking home from the restaurant we decided to stop by our local for one when a load of friends just seemed to appear from no-where and began aiding and abetting our weakened conditions.

On the way back to the flat at 7-ish we decided, as we lurched about like a pair of sailors on shore leave, that we fucking jolly roger well deserved it what with all the stress and shit we’d been having to deal, and continue, to deal with.


Right, I found this at 1am or something on Saturday prior to slicing open my face, could be one of the best things I’ve ever come into contact with. Here, have it all. And take the bags of rubbish down on your way out.