rednecks

this made me laugh. these guys are the equivalent of chavs in this country so a great deal of pleasure is to be had by watching this all the way through.

don't do guns, kids.

pretty woman

currently i'm watching the ladies weightlifting.

there are two kinds of weightlifting:

the snatch
where you lift it above your head before straightening your legs.

the clean & jerk
where you lift it to your chest before lifting it above your head.

they both have equally amusing names.

payback

in my current job where i don't really do anything except watch telly, i've been spending a lot of time with the beijing olympics.

my favourite moment so far happened about 20 minutes ago when georgia fought back from inevitable defeat at the beach volleyball against the russians.

yep, that's a strange old situation. i can't help wondering what was going through the girls heads while they were playing. it must've been impossible to not be thinking on some level about the slaughter happening back home. yikes. they say politics shouldn't come into the olympics.... and i'm well aware that beach volleyball is on quite a different level to military invasion, but still, i'm pretty glad georgia won.

on a side note, being able to watch beach volleyball at work is frikken awesome.

the thrill

this is my friend louise. her music is awesome. you should watch this music video as it is really rather good.
and then go to her website: louisegolbey.com

the fly

i don't normally do such things as copy and paste the news, but this story made me laugh. martin brundle, you legend:

ITV has escaped punishment after the word "pikey" - a slang term for gypsy - was used in a sports broadcast in June.

Host Martin Brundle was interviewing Formula One chief Bernie Ecclestone before the Canadian Grand Prix, where part of the track had crumbled.

"There are some pikeys there at turn 10 putting tarmac down - what do you think of that," he asked.

Media regulator Ofcom said it would take no action after ITV apologised and addressed the issue with its presenter.

The broadcaster argued that "pikey" was now used more widely but conceded that it still remains a derogatory term.

It added that Brundle was unaware of the potential racial or ethnic connotations and so had not meant to cause any offence towards the travelling communities.

After the show ITV received 22 complaints from viewers over the remark while Ofcom received 14.

Brundle was a Formula One driver throughout the 1980s and 1990s and has won awards for his work as a commentator for ITV.

He is known for his "walk-and-talk" technique, where he prowls around the starting grid before races to interview drivers and celebrity spectators.

read story here

chariots of fire

try as a i might, i can't find an attractive lady on the GBR olympic team.

maybe we'll win a medal for that.



although china will do quite well.

backdraft

right now there are probably a few high level executives in the oil industry watching burn up, BBC2's new so called "eco-drama" about corruption and denial and apathy and greed.

where we are right now in the story is following the slow realisation of the central character, that perhaps stuff that is bad for the environment is actually bad. now, i'm a cynical bastard at the best of times so my feeling is that those high level executives are probably smirking to themselves about how weak a business man he is, and are pretty un-accepting of the fact that oil might not be the best thing for their kids.

they do make a valid point in the show, though; that we don't know for sure that oil is the main contributer to global warming. science hasn't proved it... fair enough.

but we do know for a fact that some sort of a change is happening. it might just be the natural cycle of the earth, so while there's a possibility that its not man made we might as well enjoy ourselves and burn lots of oil.

i guess.

i guess, is what they are thinking.

now, unfortunately there seems to be a lot of pussy-footing around with no real evidence of action. governments and corporations are being very polite to each other; most notably around the american government who, let's face it, are basically skipping along hand-in-hand with big fat oil producers. it's like tweedle-dee & tweedle-dumb. i had high hopes for gordon brown, but he's basically spent the last 12 months rolling out disappointment after disappointment. i'm not talking about the increasing price of filling up my car fuel tank - i don't care about the rise in the oil price as far as the consumer side of things is concerned. in the world where every cloud has a silver lining, perhaps it has cut down the amount of petrol people have bought recently. and made them think twice about buying a brand new porsche cayenne. (i recently got rid of my 4x4 as the guilt was becoming too soul-destroying.)

what i am talking about is that apparently he had some good attitudes towards environmental change before he came into his version of power, but i haven't seen any evidence over the weekly apologies, repeats of unemployment figures and back peddling. still, at least we're not being run by the tories... yet. shit, that's a depressing thought.

i went off the subject there, what i was going to say is that there is too much politeness & diplomacy where there should be raised voices & honesty. what words should be being said by those with access to the people in question are:

to the american government and the shareholders of shell, bp and esso and all the others -
you are cunts and nobody likes you. stop killing people so you can have bigger portfolios. it's just numbers on paper.

to the governments of all the other countries in the world, specifically the british -
stop being so wet. we, like you i'm sure, are aware that the world has run out of real leaders and we have to deal with the timid, politically correct wimps that now sit round the table at G8. but come on, buck your ideas up and start earning yourself a morsel of respect from the the folks in your country. you never know, you might even prove yourselves worthy of sitting in that seat.

of course, climate change champions might be completely wrong and either there is no such thing as global warming (*nonchalantly shrugs shoulders to the population of southern bangladesh*), or there is global warming, it's caused by the natural cycle of the earth and we can't do anything about it.

i dunno, we might end up with a booming alternative fuels industry though. and cooler, quieter, less polluted streets for the 100 years we've got left on the planet.
and greener golf courses,
and better quality steak,
and maybachs that run completely silently....

serenity

spread the word.

planet of the apes

occasionally i like to point you towards things that might make you laugh.

try this.

childsplay

weeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!

hard target

jean claude van damme: he's in the same league as dolph lungren and steven segal. despite desperately wanting to, i can't lump arnie in that group because he had the good sense to get out of the movie business. he now runs california which is equally as ridiculous, but that's another story.

jcvd, though.... has made an interesting choice. um. yeah, interesting. and i'm quietly applauding and immensely fascinated. i can't wait to see this:

WHAT!?!?!

money for nothing

my entries are sparse (on this blog)

my time is filled (with other stuff)

there are four things that are currently fulfilling my life. they are good, and they look like this:

ladybudd: my gorgeous goirl-freund.

my job: that is way better than the last one.

my new car: that works with magic and has so many gadgets it hurts.

the odd cast: a damn fine hobby with damn fine people.

the lion king

i have a wide and varied music taste. it is something i'm immensely proud of; that i can give adequate time to, and often thoroughly enjoy any type of music (that isn't house or misogynist hip-hop). i even let kanye west into my life for a moment until i saw for myself that he was utter pap.

tonight's gig was pretty far out there in terms of experiencing variety.... yup. it's difficult to explain the animal collective and very difficult to explain who they are and what they do. only that there are only two people i know who've ever heard of them. one is myself, and the other is my old boss and good buddy 'ass' who introduced them to me. they became an invaluable tool in getting through daily life at our old job, where the only way to deal with the irregularities and dystopia of that crazy workplace, was to go back and load the office p.a. system with something even more random and uncontrollable.

step in the animal collective (amongst others*).


for a long time, since i first heard about rave music actually, i've wondered where music was heading. where it would be in 10, 50, 1000 years. in the last hundred it's changed and evolved at a ridiculous pace into uncountable streams almost indecipherable and unrelated to its roots. back in those days i listened to nothing but metal and thought the likes of The Prodigy and The Shamen were bouts of mindless noise akin to mental illness, symptomatic of broken homes and shock treatment. i did know that there were people who found ways to appreciate wider music than me at that time; people who could somehow enjoy meatloaf, biohazard, barry manilow AND 2unlimited. equally.

don't worry i've killed him now.

before i'd reached this audio maturity i did have an inkling that somewhere in the distant future someone would find a way to combine musical genres. someone out there would be able to see a link between hardcore, repetitive dance-centric beats and lyrical, oppressed, melodic flows. my suspicion is that eventually it will all lead to a hundred people sitting in a room listening to 1k tone, but for now i'm very happy to enjoy the animal collective and anything within that genre. if someone could tell me what that genre is, i'd be most grateful.

electronic hardcore punk-rave?
binary soul?
intellectual death drum n' bass metal?

...no idea. but i like it and the gig this evening at koko, camden was an sensual experience in the literal sense of the word; encompassing confusion, pain, wonder and watery eyes. me like.


* also look up:
squarepusher
battles
and steve reich's train album

annie, let's not wait

unfortunately i have no control over public transport. 

sometimes it doesn't matter, i'm just meandering aimlessly or i'm only going to be late for work by 5 minutes. i can deal with that. but there are other occasions, like today, where it doesn't matter what i do and how quickly i get things done; i can hurry home, get changed in a flash, tidy up in a haste enviable by billy whizz. i could get everything together and ready at a speed you've never seen before but 8.15 just will not arrive any quicker than the laws of time will allow.

stupid laws.

niagra

everyone has their own heroes. and they should. in the sentiment of self-development; and immediately after, the development of the human species we should all have an aspiration to be better. personal heroes are a template; not to be worshiped like some earth-bound deity, but an example of a pattern to knit your life and your theology and your ethics to.

my esteemed friend the troubadour has chosen Doctor Who, and to be honest i can't think of a better choice; certainly for him. he would acceptably maintain that Doctor Who chose him. it makes sense, you can't choose who suddenly makes a profound impact on your life, especially not when it's a fictional character penned by the hands of a skillful writer. there's no development there, just BAM! and suddenly it's a new feature of your life. i guess it's the same with those chaps that end up with sports-people as their aspirational being - one spectacular performance and the immediate accolade is impossible to ignore.

i can't understand the sports thing entirely, though. lest not footballers who generally appear to be amazing at kicking a round thing between two sticks, but often brain-dead and rapists. they're good looking, oh yes, but to aspire to be good-looking when you're not good-looking is a pretty pointless and wasteful use of energy.

i have two heroes outside my dad and a few of my close friends, who create feelings more akin to an ultimate respect than the idea of an abstract heroic entity. in this conversation i'm calling a hero a distant figure, admired from afar. and there's a huge list of very adequate people to choose from in the worlds of science, religion, human advancements, literature... fiction and real. worthy contenders feature martin luther king, einstein, beethoven, superman, michael gambon, the suffrogettes, neil armstrong, king arthur. none without their faults, but a decent selection of life aims and objectives could be filtered from such a list.

i have two. and they may lack the grandeur of a world leader like j.f.k, or the historic significance of someone like mahatma ghandi, but i suppose that echoes true with the reality of myself. my intention was just to write about one, but it looks like i've waffled out a bunch of unnecessary exposition, how very like me. if by some chance i may lose any of the regular readers that my deluded mind convinces me exist, may i take this moment to thank you for letting me dribble my nonsense into your consciousness. i won’t be in any way offended if you leave now, with only a peripheral sight as to how long this entry is turning out to be.

my heroes.

the first is ewan mcgregor. i shouldn't have to formally write many reasons why, it’s far too obvious - the man's successful, talented, has a respectable list of brilliant films and theatrical productions to be proud of. then of course there's the immense human achievement of riding around the world on a motorbike. for charity. and to top it all off, the man is beautiful. i mean, seriously. it takes a lot for a definitively hetero chap like myself to entertain the idea, but... i would. for mcgregor.

but he’s not quite at the top of my list. yes, he’s a man of integrity and talent, and has french-kissed scarlett johansson... but i have a favourite. someone who sums up all the elements, attributes, achievements and life stories that i can only ever dream of catching a glimpse of. that man is john ravenscroft, better known as radio one d.j. john peel. if you ask me, he’s one of a rare few true jewels in the british crown (not that i’m in any way patriotic) joining a list that should include shakespeare, richard noble, monty python, robin hood and steven fry. a quietly unassuming character that could literally be held responsible for a change in the zeitgeist of british popular culture, although arguably unsung comparatively to the impact he had. one of the many reasons for my unending respect.

unlike the troubadour and the doctor, i don’t have a definitive and vivid recollection of my first conscious engagement with peel. sadly too, it is far too late in my life to have built my youth around him in the same way that the doctor has influenced troub’. my initial experience was most likely not even john peel himself but a track he played at around midnight as i drove home from my university years job at the ugc cinema in northampton. terribly, i don’t even remember what track it was that caught my attention as i searched for radio enjoyment in the dull greys of that horrible midland town, i suspect and hope that it was some sort of odd bluegrass number or a poorly produced punk track made in someone’s lounge. both are equally likely from john’s eclectic, eccentric playlist. whatever, it caught me off guard and aroused enough interest to keep me listening to an otherwise unbearable radio station. and it suited the atmosphere of the stillness of the night, the flickering street lamps and the pile of scrap metal i was driving around at the time.

as i say, i can’t remember particular details. i do remember being intrigued by the existence of such an oddity amongst the other d.j’s i’d heard that mostly put me off listening to radio at all. i do remember hearing captain beefheart for the first time on one of those drives home. my appalling memory only allows me a blurry idea of a weirdly varied selection of music and the drawling, strangely hypnotic delivery of an unending list of life stories that while not always life-changing, were always true, honest and erudite. i say not always life-changing, but subsequent interest has informed me that he was arguably instrumental in the careers of some of the most important bands in british popular culture: the sex pistols, the undertones, pulp, t-rex... actually i’m not going to list them, suffice to say that you have all heard of them and they could each be held partly responsible for much of the music you hear today, for the clothes you see on the street and for the attitudes of yourself and the sub-cultures around you... the rolling stones. ahem.

in short, in my opinion, if you have listened to any music and it has had any effect on you in the last 30 years then you have most probably been affected in some indirect way by peel. my love of the man doesn’t end there. anyone could play such an eccentric playlist, if they had the gall (sadly not very evident in todays media pandering to the mediocre tastes of the license paying majority), but there was a dedication that went with it that’s even harder to find. oh shit, i can see this going on for a long time... i’ve lost the brevity of my intentional blog entry. actually that disappeared after i wrote that thing about king arthur. it’s hard to stop once you’ve opened such a sluice of sickly gushing. for some reason it’s strangely satisfying to write, if not read over.

i just liked the guy. there was an honesty, an integrity to him. he quietly changed the course of popular culture without any desperate need for acceptance or praise. he loved his family. he was funny, intelligent, witty, eccentric and interesting. did you know he met J.F.K? no, i bet you didn’t. he worked hard at what he believed in, never let himself be compromised by external pressures, hated tony blackburn. it is basically a list of features that i had tried to have before finding peel, but a list that became suddenly credible and obtainable post-JP.

the best decision the bbc could make would be to resurrect all the recordings they have of him and play them in the same old slot, in chronological order, as they were first broadcast. i would listen intently, lapping up every track and word and mistake like a teenaged girl at a new kids on the block concert.

god i hate fanboys.

die another day

the following may well be read as grossly smug. read it at your peril if you're not happy with that, but don't say I didn't warn you.

a couple of times in the last twenty-eight years i've had a moment of clarity where everything seems to fit in place, where all that is happening to me makes sense. the first one perhaps shortly after birth, realising why i had been curled up in a comfy annex that more recently had been feeling like it needed some sort of extension. perhaps a conservatory. i have a morbid recollection that as i rolled down a road in islington at 50mph after dropping my bike i may have partly accepted the inevitability of the event as a brutal poetic justice for someone who was basically being an idiot. there have most certainly been others, most likely involving my long time confident: the troubadour, a certain evening in a tiny village with tisch, and standing on a high up volcanic rock as the sun set over the great white lake in the middle of nowhere, mongolia.

i can't help but have a spring in my step as i meander my way to work this morning; after a spectacular 10 days centred by my birthday, a fine selection of happenings enhancing my 28th like dolby digital.

the order went something like this:
a lovely evening with the lord and lady monkhouse: the 'rents who made it all possible. indian food and fine conversation, what more is needed?

being rescued from a disappointing evening with the new work mates by whackwit, and having a much more pleasant evening with him, a pint of finest and a handmade burger.

a day kicking terrorist ass with the troubadour, followed by a genius party for the duchess involving high spirits, high notes and an array of highly attractive young ladies. more of one of those later.

a very pleasant date with a girl who could be mistaken for natalie portman.

pub quiz with some of my nearest and dearest, accompanied by bangers and mash - the choice of a new generationX. we didn't win but at least i now know what piacrete is.

to the theatre with some more nearest and dearest to see a show that is just about the closest to manly that a dance show could get; about a family of kung-fu stars who spend all their life training under their kung-fu master grandfather. the nearest it gets to a story is when 2 burglars try to break in to the house and they end up having a half-hour martial arts fight. utter genius.

then the troubadour and i whacked out a very tasty odd cast within only a few minutes.

the biggest disappointment was when i found out my wonderful friend xany was suddenly unable to come to my birthday party, but i managed to swap an evening with her for an evening with the - frankly delightful - miss budd; a very easy-on-the-eye, pint-sized blonde with a filthy sense of humour and turquoise eyes you could swim in. life dealt me lemons, i made long island ice tea.

a very enthusiastic lie-in on saturday was quickly followed by ale & pie, shopping with The Budd, more drinks with nearest and dearest which involved (quite thrillingly and against all odds) xany appearing from nowhere. battles had been fought and variables had been conquered and there she was in the pub we had chosen but minutes before. i still don't quite understand how it happened, but will happily remain in the dark, marveling only at the way the world works sometimes.

more food, mexi-CAN. by this time, my stomach was making some noises of complaint and one or two worrying gestures. nothing a good cocktail couldn't fix, mind.

then onto shunt, my favourite of all london clubs; possibly the only one i actually like: a selection of darkened tunnels weave their way under london bridge. a series of manmade caverns and hidey-holes and pinball machines, where between 20 and 30 wonderful people joined me to share in the wonder of 28 years of jonathan. so many thanks to all who came, i spent the evening with the funniest men and the most beautiful women in all of christendom.

and that's just an overview. how could i pick a favourite bit?

perhaps the x-box 360 i bought myself as a birthday present.
perhaps the dedication of The Fox, who queued for 2 hours to get into my party after being stuck on a tube, only to be mildly concussed by a hurtling drum stick soon after she got in. thank you jenny.
perhaps the crazy chain of events that suddenly leapt in our favour and xany magically appearing from the depths of the midlands.
perhaps the spectacular time i spent with The Budd, who by now must be aware of my growing affection and doesn't seem to mind responding to my poor-witted (and sometimes rude) text messages, and with whom i share a love of geese and trickle vents.

i literally cannot find fault with the last 288 hours. if you have seen me or sent me a message in that period you have contributed to the spring in my step and the whistle in my suit. or something. it has been a feast of great joy and for a while i forgot how close i am to turning 30.

fuck.

indecent proposal

remember kids:

eagle vs. shark

(it's likely that you will now encounter a very bad metaphor...)

typical. you wait for a bus for a good few months and suddenly out of nowhere two come along at the same time. two very beautiful buses.

your brain tells you to take the first one and disappear into the wide blue yonder. but there's a wildcard; your heart tugs you to the second one. it's a bit of a walk, but it's got a CB radio.

and it's a really very sexy bus.

my happy ending

almost famous

it's been far too long since i went to my last gig, but thankfully the drought was ended with a brilliant evening spent with shoelace and his old school pals from devon, the rumble strips.

a long while ago i heard their song "motorcycle" which is frankly nigh-on anthemic, disguised as a sort of lo-fi garage recording. not only is it a catchy little number, but also came onto my radar at pretty much the same time i passed my motorbike test and got myself a crotch rocket. the 'strips encore performance of said song bought those pleasurable feelings flooding back and i was momentarily back in the fresh air with the wind in my eyes and flies in my teeth.

in the very hip new proud gallery, camden (£5 drinks... urgh) the rumble strips played to a small but energised crowd. there was an honesty to the set, a result perhaps of a group with their feet still on the ground; becoming famous, but not yet suffering from the fall out of mega-stardom (despite collaborations with mark ronson.) anyone who knows me will know i will always favour the underdog, the independent, the cult... and this band is happily within this gamut; certainly for now. though there's something unpretentious and genuine about their writing that implies they could remain untainted for a good while.

brilliant, don't ruin it.