Inspiration from Bertram Wooster

A line from last night's book stuck with me for some reason. Bertie and Jeeves were discussing a friend of Bertie's who was having terrible trouble building the courage to propose to a lady.

"I recollect you saying he was letting - what was it? - letting something do something. Cats entered into it, if I am not mistaken."

"Letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would', sir."

"That's right. But how about the cats?"

"Like the poor cat i' the adage, sir."

"Exactly. It beats me how you think up these things."

Apparently the line about cats and letting something do something is from another book or a play or something, possibly by some Scottish chap. But anyway, it made me smile enough to share it. I encourage you all not to let I dare not wait upon I would.

Remember! That Metal Is In Your Heart! And You Can Sta-art! With Diamond Headers!

Last night I saw Beatallica's first UK gig. It was side-splittingly funny. Not only did the band play in the style of Metallica, but Beatles songs were rendered in the Michael Jackson style and the Lynyrd Skynyrd style. A new song was in there (at least I think it was new, the band failed to mention whether it was or not), as well as pretty much everything they have on their website at the moment. And it was just loud enough to hurt, which is probably what you want. The crowd singing along to the 'Na's at the end of Hey Dude is a memory that will stay with me forever, and when Jaymz split the audience into two and had them all chanting Hetfieldisms, I could have collapsed with laughter. £10 well spent, I think.

I am Jack's eager anticipation

Last night I watched Fight Club, and it put me in a remarkably good mood. On the way to work I thought about pushing random strangers to try to get them to beat me up. I've mentioned the 'ass or crotch' line to several people so far, and I certainly intend on describing my neighbour on the plane to China as my 'single-serving friend'. I'm still going to go to Ikea sometimes though, and I have no intention of blowing up the financial areas of London to the tune of something or other by The Pixies, nor do I intend to run my car off the road, just so I know what it feels like. Perhaps something crazy will happen this weekend though - I could do with a near-life experience.

Tonight I'm going to see Beatallica in Camden, which I'm eagerly looking forward to. Sunday's Calexico gig was excellent, compelling, emotional even, but it's been far too long since I went to see some mindless noise, and the comedy element definitely appeals to me.

Invented by thugs, played by drunk people

Later today I'll be playing my first match of rugby in about 10 years. I'll be playing with, and against, some people who could have gone pro if they'd had the inclination (or so I'm assured). They tell me they've put me on the wing, out of harm's way. I think only time will tell whether that's true. Fortunately there will be a licensed bar on site, so should there be any injuries there'll be a cry of 'I've broken my ankle - for God's sake, somebody call a barman!'.

Gmail and my paranoia

After a very personal and rather emotive email conversation from my gmail account produced Google Adverts saying 'Considering suicide?' and 'Thinking of ending it all?', I've been very suspicious of Gmail. Then I realised it was storing all of the addresses I ever wrote to. Then I thought, if Gmail 'knows' who is writing to who, how many degrees of separation am I from a terrorist, or a child pornographer, or something else? Will I be under suspicion of a bombing in the future because I know someone who knows someone who knows someone who knows a convicted bomber? Does Gmail know I want to commit suicide, even though I'm pretty sure I'm happy in this world? Are my email conversations as private as I think? Can anything I ever say be taken to be going only to the person I send it to? Is there any security in any kind of conversation except spoken word? Could I be recorded and broadcast if I was just chatting to someone? Whose business is it what I say to anyone? Is there any escape from The Man? Is my life really my own?! Am I even who I think I am?! Who am I?! Where am I?! What do I do?!

But it's probably nothing.

More of the same - happy side

Humphrey Lyttelton is really utterly lovely. As a trumpet player, you can expect the man to lose a little of his lung power at 85, but he could definitely still cut it, and he'd assembled the most wonderful band. The alto solo in 'Lady of the Lavender Mist' nearly had me in tears, somethnig I never thought an alto would do. The two tenors soloing together nearly had me on my feet, and it was a particularly sit-down venue. I was grinning for an hour afterwards. Humph himself was the most charming old chap, full of stories, and only occasional dirty jokes. The onyl one I can remember was Q: 'Have you ever shoed a horse?' A: 'No, but I have told a pig to piss off!' His stories about the tunes were nearly as compelling as the tunes themselves.

The new Gotan Project album is wonderful too. TimeOut said the only thing that stops it descending into MOR pretention was the bandoleon. Fuck TimeOut. True to form, they hate everything. I've so enjoyed the new album I'll be off to see them live again in Shepherds Bush on 29th July. Hurrah!

Beatallica is a week today! How can I possibly be so excited about such a puerile and ridiculous gig? Who knows, but it's keeping me going when I wake up at 3am and can't get back to sleep, and when the salesmen just won't stop ringing at work. I can't wait to hear the opening strains of 'The Thing That Should Not Let It Be'.

So everything is good, especially when you're not inSurbiton.

More of the same - dark side

Right - lets slow things down.

I was a bit wound up on Saturday night for the fact that everyone who only knew me loosely seemed to only remember me from the fact that I'd:

a) Fell in a pond
b) Said libellous things about some mysterious third party's mother, and said party's involvement therein.
c) Got drunk and come on to someone they know.

This is not undeserved. Undoubtedly, all of the above had happened, but the vast majority was seven or more years ago, and I feel there should be some rule against dragging this sort of thing up from a person's past. aving said that, my mother still reminds me about the time I broke the glass top of the coffee table, and that's nearly 25 years ago now...

Fucking night buses! The 77 goes straight to my house. Why shouldn't the N77? Who thought up the idea of having a bus 77a, and having the nigth bus follow the 77a route? Why isn't it the N77a? It took me more than two hours to get home from Vauxhall. I could have walked it in that, saved 80p and got some exercise! Still, I did get some good views of Surbiton, famous for 'The Good Life'. And I won't do it again. At least I had the extra day to recover this weekend.

Damn, damn, damn

I need to leave in five minutes. I had so much I wanted to say. I wanted to start by saying how easy it would be sometimes to react badly when being bated and just say 'Well, fuck you guys, I'm going home' when someone mentions the falling-in-the-pond incident for the fifth time that evening. I wanted o say how furious I was to take a bus N77 to Tolworth Broadway (out beyond Surbiton somewhere) when the normal 77 goes to Tooting Broadway, and sometimes it's hard to make out the difference in the dark. I wanted to say how nice everyone has been about my recordings (thanks everyone). I wanted to wind Michelle up by saying I'm off to see Calexico again. (Still, she's holidaying in Vietnam, so it's one each in my book). I wanted to say never, never develop a romantic interest in someone you work with, no matter how shallow or fleeting. It's a permanent headache for 40 hours a week, much as it may seem otherwise when it works. I wanted to say how delighted I was with the ne Gotan Project album, and how much I'm looking forward to seeing, and perhaps meeting, Beatallica. I wanted to say how much I liked Humphrey Lyttelton's performance last Tuesday in the Bull's Head in Barnes. I wanted to cram a month worth of information into one short post.

Oh, I did.

Kids can be so cruel

On Saturday I spent a very strenuous two hours playing with the kite and the board on Tooting Bec Common. My shoulders are still recovering. During the two hour boarding session, I lost control of the kite slightly and as I regained control, the board started heading downwind. Just then the wind picked up and I got another twist in the kite lines, and treid to undo it. I jumped off the board - which was doing a steady 15mph at the time - and twirled round to untwist the lines and get my breath back. When I turned back towards the kite, it was sat in a tree.

'It's like kite prison' said a passing urchin. I agreed, through gritted teeth. The kite eventually came free, undamaged.

Calexico, The 100 Club, 5th April 2006

Last night I saw this band I haven't really heard of, in a cosy little venue on Oxford Street. I know this is probably going to make one of my occasional readers insanely jealous (sorry...), but to be honest, I don't think you'd get much more out of the little gig than you would out of something like their forthcoming Kentish Town Forum gig.

Anyway, the guitarist/singer was a fantastic guitarist, with an excellent stage manner. Their Mexican trumpet player sang one song (from their new album, I'm told) and that was a lot of fun, much more upbeat than most of the rest of the set. They used a double bas on a couple of numbers, which is always welcomed by me, as a jazz enthusiast. And then afterwards they sort of wandered round the crowd chatting to people, for the most part, which was pretty cool. Ok, you wouldn't get that at the Forum, but they didn't speak to us, so I'm not sure that's an issue. All in all, it made me think that I need to go and see Joe Zawinul next time he plays Ronnie Scotts, cause that's another place where the acts wander around the crowd afterwards, and I'd love an opportunity to speak to someone who knew Jaco.

And Michelle, you're right, I really did like Calexico, and I'll see if I can buy/obtain an album or two some time soon.

A family movie

Last night I saw Romance and Cigarettes at last, and it wasn't nearly as sily as I expected it might be. But it was sillier too. And sensitive and realistic and ridiculous and over-the-top, and beautiful and brutal. And really one of the nicest ways to spend two hours. It was also nice to see that around half a dozen people in the credits had the surname Turturro, so John's clearly keeping it in the family. I can't recommend this film enough. (Unless you're particularly sensitive about circumcision, your bottom, general sexual openness, violence of any kind, you know, all the stuff Hollywood sells itself on nowadays).