Category Archives: nazi punks fuck off

sub hum enz

Last night I met Colin in Camden. I’d not seen him since Myfwt and I went up to Leeds for his 40th and by sheer luck he was able to make it to a popular music concert that I was facing the prospect of seeing on my own due to the lack of interest from mates.

The weekend had begun rather well following a dismal Friday afternoon in the office having failed at lunch to secure the last of the Christmas fucking shopping. At 6.30 I met up with Harry and Frank in the local for a couple of pints and left those two to touch cockends at about 8 in order to see Myfwt back at the flat. She was exhausted following another ridiculously successful day, which had subsequently unleashed the green-eyed monster from the dribbling bitch in her workplace, so I patted her down and made her some steamed haddock with a few glasses of Rioja in front of the TV.

The following morning after a spell of Saturday kitchen in bed where some miniscule overseas twit said ‘fucking’ whilst showing off to camera and then tried to appear really interested in what was happening because he knew he’s fucked up substantially, after that we went out. Myfwt had a lot of Christmas shopping to do and I was happy to tag along, yes, you read that correctly. I don’t mind Christmas shopping with her, despite being totally disorganised she has this way of connecting me to that childish anticipation of Christmas, I’m not entirely sure why either. It was a splendid afternoon but sadly curtailed by Myfwt having to visit a friend in the early evening. I found solace in the pub with Frank and his missus and returned home to suffer Hostel 2 which is fucking dreadful, the effects are appalling and it goes for the lowest common denominator in terms of cheap shocks -executing children for crying out loud. Bollocks.

Foolishly, following that, I put my headphones on and kissed mother earth goodnight. I woke Sunday feeling a bit squiffy but remarkably well. Ted popped over for a cup of tea and a few spliffs at lunch and we caught up, he seems to have become a sort of country gentleman, the bucolic life suits him well and I found myself yearning for sprawling trees, fields dotted with cows and fat angry racists, perhaps I’ll exchange the latter for the crawk of crows. Ted, bless him, brought me a Christmas present which couldn’t have more astute if it had screamed bollocks and spat in my face.

The reason Colin and I were I Camden was to seeing the Subhumans and the gift from Ted was the gift of music, in the form a 3 rare EP’s from the aforementioned band which he and I listen to as we sipped tea and discussed butter. By the time I arrived in Camden Colin was already at the World’s End trying to score a pint, the pub, a huge boozer not really known for its subtlety was already furnished with some proper old fashioned punk fellows, mowhawks, spikes, DM’s, studded leather, bondage trousers… I wasn’t exactly looking tidy but by these chaps I could’ve been wearing a fucking whistle. We finished our pint and went next door to get tickets from the box office; the collection of punks outside the venue was reminiscent of 1977 on the Kings Road, lots of posturing and swearing but nothing threatening, even a Scottish chap with ‘Celtic fuck off’ (among other things) tattooed on his head who was a little bit cross about everything melted when security asked him to be patient and wait his turn in the queue.

Colin and I got our tickets and went back into the pub to carry on drinking. As luck would have it, Dick, the lead singer of the band passed our table and of course, being the congenial fellow I am I made my acquaintance and lent him my chair so he could have his tea. Colin, Dick and I chatted for about 20 minutes, we discovered that this was the last gig of the tour, that people in Newcastle were very lively when they played, that people in Bristol were not, that he listens to dub reggae and classical music when not being a punk and that he was rather surprised by their recent popularity. We also discovered the band were on at 10 giving Colin and I even more time to drink Guiness. After a skinfull we arrived at The Underworld just in time to catch them play, they were magnificent, they played 2 of the songs from my new EP’s and one of my favourite tunes of all time. The crowd at the front were having a riot but it was all good natured stuff whilst Colin and I observed from the balcony occasionally punching the air, like.

After we enjoyed a drunken stand off with a shawarma, one of the best I’ve ever had, I missed the last tube home. Colin was able to make his as he was going North so after a fond farewell we went our separate ways. I was transported back to my flat by a large racist fellow from Sierra Leone, we had a blazing row for virtually all the journey which was rather fun actually.

Today I have a hangover, but I am soothed by the fact that this the second to last day in the office for 2007. Terrific.

nazi aggro

Many years ago in my local pub in Clapham, a large, young, Irish headbanger called Mick approached me and I was informed that he was starting a band, and could I play. Following a gig when I was 17 in which I was almost booed off -I sort of play the bass- I decided that I’d spurn his offer, but mentioned my mate Jamie who is a veritable guitar hero. The two were put in touch and went on to become one of the most popular metal acts in the UK.

Well, not really, Jamie and Mick played together for while, the latter under the guidance of the former who eventually went off to form his own band.

This is why I found myself in fucking Croydon of all places on Friday night with Jamie watching Mick’s band, Infiniteuem, or something. I have to say after a shaky start they weren’t half band, one of their screaming ditties actually being quite good, but that was about as good it was going to get in the pub.

Jamie and I had already had a couple of pints in the Tooting local before opting for a cab ride to the chod bin of sarf Landan. In addition to the few pints I had when we were in the venue I was still extremely unnerved by the arrival of 5 very unpleasant looking skinheads, especially when the peanut-brained ‘leader’ gave his crew a full on Nazi salute on his arrival. This Broadmoor of bollock heads were fucking bad news ladies and gentlemen. I was therefore delighted when after the band had played to discover that they’d N effed off back to their cave.

I began chatting to an ex-member of the band and his wife. I couldn’t help but voice my disapproval of some young cunt goose-stepping around a pub, yelling across the bar and making possibly the most offensive gesture in the history of the world. Turned out the ex-members wife knew them, she’d lived in Croydon all her life and apparently, they were okay.

I went to the bar and returned, to my horror one of the SS had come back into the pub and was chatting to the ex-members wife, he was the biggest of the crew by far, a huge chrome-domed moron with a head like Stewie from Family Guy, or if you prefer, a rugby ball on its side. As the Fuhrer wasn’t around I slipped into ‘mildly-concerned’ mode, rather hoping she wouldn’t inform him of my earlier comments, and carried on chatting to the ex-member (a nice chap) and as his wife seemed okay too, so by default this shaven ape of a man must be, despite everything, at least ‘alright’.

Jamie and I decided to nip off for a smoke; we were just about to set off when Jamie said, ‘where’s your pint gone?’
I looked about, one minute it was in front of me, the next it’s vanished, gone.
‘No idea,’ I said catching Jamie’s eye. Jamie stared at me and gestured with his eyes to Attenborough’s mate who was quite casually drinking my beer. He was also staring at me, intently.

I couldn’t just ignore this; pretend it was perfectly acceptable to have another man taking your drink at your expense and indeed, humiliation. Having said that, I didn’t fancy having his fists and boots pummelling my bones into flour…
‘You’re drinking my pint…’ I heard myself say.
Two bulbous eyes gripped my vision.
‘Nah, this is mine…’ the beginnings of a kicking appeared over the hill.
‘It’s not yours, it’s mine…’ I said, shocked at hearing my voice again, his mouth turned down, ‘oh shit’ I thought, and I so wanted children too.

Out of nowhere a short girl grabbed the pint from his meaty fist and offered it back to me smiling sheepishly. I politely told her I didn’t want it and briefly deliberated the option of loudly announcing I was HIV positive and riddled with syphilis and leprosy. I looked back at the skinhead who was frantically texting someone, it wasn’t rocket science who so I calmly suggested to Jamie we go and have the cigarette, we walked out the bar and straight into a black cab, in 15 minutes we were back in the local. It was rather like being in heaven, metaphorically as opposed to actually, with my face all smashed up.

On Saturday morning we both awoke with mild hangovers and had some breakfast with Saturday kitchen providing excuses to be silly. Jamie left at 11 to be replaced by a Myfwt at 12. We had a date with the family in the dark Surrey countryside to celebrate my bro’s birthday. We set off in the car and within 15 we were totally and utterly grid locked due to some incident on the A3, we attempted to turn round but this made the situation even worse. After an hour, which we’d completely wasted, we managed to get back home via some creative navigation and dump the car, get the bus, then the train to arrive at hour destination about 2 and half hours late.

It was a jolly afternoon, lots of giggling and idiocy, my parents are like two big kids, we ate and drank, played with my niece who wasn’t sure if she was in a good mood or not and nattered away until the evening. My bro his missus, Myfwt and I took the train back to London, Myfwt and I went to the pub to sit by the enormous bonfire and watch the fireworks until midnight or so when we returned home full of good cheer.

On Sunday morning Scrapheap Challenge was undertaken in bed as the hangovers drifted off into the ether, Myfwt went out for the afternoon and I wrote, casually watching Jamie at Home on TV. Inspired I went shopping and got some stuff for dinner and made pork chops with roast potato which was served with cabbage, peas and leeks, a wonderful combination but the icing on this culinary cake was the gravy I made with a roasted onion, chicken stocks and seasoning. Bye bye Bisto.

We spent the evening reading in front of Top Gear and The Long Way Down which seems to have lost it’s way, ironically. Check for a review on Watch With Mothers due shortly; go on, the links on the right ——————>

This is for the skinheads. (The original version isn’t available; this will have to do, which it does rather well. Bless)