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º April 16th-April 22nd 2001
Sunday Sir
Saturday In Love. Again.
Friday Deep Blue
Thursday Gay Go Up
Wednesday Choice
Tuesday unGaunt
Monday Peace and Lurv
º Sunday 22nd April 2001
Well, well, well. And another coupla wells. And one more for luck.
The reason that I wrote last week about the "auto"-biography wot I ghosted was to pick-up on 'perspicacity', Vaughan's word-of-the day meme. Other than that, I've hardly thought about the book since it was published, nearly fifteen years ago.
But darker forces are at work, it seems.
Although I'll continue to refer to the subject of the book as Sir, simply to observe the proprieties, there's not a lot of secrecy about who he is. (Nor a lot of kudos, either: you twenty-somethings probably haven't even heard of him, unless you're really devout Hello-readers.)
So when I got a phone call from Sir's secretary a couple of days after that blog-entry, I wasn't really concerned that he might be calling to complain - after all, I've been a lot more indiscreet about our relationship in the past, and in Harpers and Queen at that.
But why else would he be ringing?
I've moved since Sir and I last worked together, but last month I helped a net-stranger locate Sir's offices; my guess was that she'd mentioned my web-site in passing and that Sir had taken an idle glance. So maybe he wanted me to help him create a web presence? That might just about be worthwhile if he was prepared to pay well, which frankly I doubted.
Imagine, then, my amazement when I finally contacted him today.
"You know why I'm ringing? No? They want to do another one. Mark McCormac's people, IMG, have a publishing arm, and it seems they're very keen to set up some sort of deal for another book. I'm...persuadable, but I said that I wouldn't consider it unless you were involved, and that you'd disappeared off the map. Then my secretary suggested we do a web-search and there you are..!"
We're having lunch next week. Stay tuned.
º Saturday 21st April 2001
Oh gahd. When I said "I'm in love. Again." it wasn't supposed to point here, it was supposed to point here.
Commiserations to all those of you who spotted Union flags flying on Government buildings today, and rushed home to find out which one of the bastards had died.
Nothing so fabulous, I fear; it's simply Mrs Queen's genuwine birthday. Caviar to the general, then? Apparently not.
What a pleasant surprise to see Matt and Dan last night. (I think I behaved myself too - though I was drunk, so it seems unlikely.)
º Friday 20th April 2001
Dave points out that Trotsky sounds remarkably like Anne Robinson; Marx, innit, who said that history repeats itself, the second time as farce..
Ooh, my first even half-way amusing search request:
"google.tmpl?cp=srpwidsrc&search=sex++clubs+in+halifax"
Ah well, two outa three ain't bad.
The Discodamaged list recently mentioned in passing that the UP-people were organising a new Thursday night called Deep Blue, at Katabatic in Shoreditch (89 Great Eastern Street, just across from The Foundry).
They didn't say which Thursday but, given I was heading out towards The Spiral for a couple of quiet post-hangover pints, I thought I'd pop by on the offchance.
You know not to expect much when the doorman, having confirmed that you know what you're looking for, hands you a membership card and tells you it's quote dead down there unquote.
Which was a slight exaggeration, given there were about twenty people in (even if most of them did look as if they were friends of the management).
But, despite the attractive venue ("small, posh & trendy" said discodamaged, correctly) and the music ("mellow, soulful house" just about covers it), it's difficult to see what kind of following a night like this can hope to gain - even when, or if, it gets the publicity right and the numbers up.
Somehow I don't see the professional stylists (that seem to make up the UP crowd) wanting to stay out post-midnight on a school night. And if they do, opportunities for a late drink in this area aren't exactly thin on the ground (though admittedly most UPpers would rather be seen dead, or -eek- eating, than go The Spiral or The Joiners).
If you live locally, this would be a great place to slide into after an evening spent drinking elsewhere; Up's own publicity says that "Deep Blue embodies the attitude free and friendly east-end vibe synonymous with UP's reputation".
Given that we cannot know what UP's deal is with Katabatic, and how that impacts Deep Blue's survival, I'd guess a lot depends on the door-charge; courtesy of the doorman, I now have a card that lets me in free for the foreseeable future.
I will return, and keep you posted.
The next UP is this Saturday, and after that May 12, and May 19. They also have their eyes on "a stunning 1500 capacity venue in a secret location" for a Mardi Gras party, apparently.
And, ooh, OI! returns tonight at The Fringe, 330 Kennington Lane, with Q-jump tickets at The Coleherne, Comptons and the RVT.
So, farewell then, fabulous blonde bitch.
Thousands will mourn the loss of the popular Blue Peter star, who was rarely seen outside the seclusion of her Surrey home in recent years, and who has now died, it is rumoured, as the result of a lethal injection. Many will remember with equal sadness the death of her mother in 1992.
Co-star Anthea Turner said today: "[She] had the perfect temperament for children's television, gentle, unflappable, worked very hard and brought pleasure to millions."
A special Blue Peter tribute to the 15 year old star will be aired on 25 April.
"You are miserable, isolated individuals.
"You are bankrupt. You have played out your role.
"Go where you belong: to the dustheap of history"
Thus Trotsky to his more conservative opponents in the Congress of 1917. A useful quote to have by you in the next few months, hopefully.
º Thursday 19th April 2001
I guess you know:
Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement's.
But I bet you don't know that the first lines are:
Gay go up and gay go down,
To ring the bells of London town.
Oh, Darren? I was never a big fan of Blake's Seven - but I was introduced to Jacqueline Pearce at a party once. ("Hi, I don't believe you know the President of the Terran Federation, Ruler of the High Council, Lord of the Inner and Outer Worlds, High Admiral of the Galactic Fleets, Lord General of the Six Armies, and Defender of the Earth?" "Err, no. Hi.")
Oh bugger, I forgot to go to the Popbitch party. And Daniel was there too. Damn.
That fat guy you saw being fisted at Chubbies Nite last week? The one you thought looked like Al Gore's plumper brother? Think again. The former veep has apparently gained three stone since losing the election.
Note to self: Tube strike Thursday May 3rd (starting Wednesday evening, but that's ok because I can walk to the White Swan). (And stagger back.)
A few days ago, Angie was asking if anyone shares her pride in being able to show a film she's enjoyed to somebody else.
Me certainly, but I do it with pubs too, as last night with taking David and Andy to The White Swan - neither of them strangers to it, but both of them going again for the first time in a while. (David seemed particularly miffed that he knew no-one there.)
In truth, it wasn't that good a night, but we were far too pissed to care, having spent the previous few hours up the road at The Old Ship, being voted out in their version of The Weakest Link (and talking about sex with men with colostomies, but that's another story...)
º Wednesday 18th April 2001
Of all the things a small, cute, young guy, who stops and stares intensely at you as he squeeeeezes past you in the middle of the show at the massively crowded Vauxhall Tavern, might say I bet you wouldn't come up with:
"I remember you! You used to bring me books!"
Oh gahd. I'm in love. Again.
"Choice" is a night at the Time nightclub in Chesterfield. There are no DJs, and no choons. Or rather no shared choons. Punters are encouraged to bring their personal stereos and dance to their own choice of music.
Quotes without comment:
(B) "We had to look through the eyes of a sex offender and look for possible gaps and then plug them."
º Tuesday 17th April 2001
As a self-employed slacker, I don't benefit from Bank Holiday weekends as much as most. (And if I had a list of organisations that deserve extra holidays, Banks would not be high up it.)
I quite like the mini-festivity vibe, though, with bars and clubs organising special events. (UK licensing laws decree Sunday-hours for Bank Holidays, so a lot of pubs lay on 'charity' nights to help them with their applications for license extensions.)
For me though, this weekend was more notable for being packed with stuff that I didn't go to, and didn't miss. Indeed, I didn't spend a penny on cabs all weekend, which is something of a significant first.
A lot of people I know had tickets for Giant (aka Gaunt) - five clubs coming together at Kings Cross - but I've been to a few of those in the past and found myself simply wandering round and round looking for the best bits, or for people I knew.
In the abstract, I quite fancied the Sleaze Ball at Crash on Thursday, and Popstars at Crash on Sunday also sounded quite appealing, but - nah. Fist, Love Muscle, Trade? Naaah. Nonetheless, you'll have noticed that I was busy enough for blogging to be a low-priority.
Friday you know about (see below), Saturday I worked, and Sunday was excellent - wonderful lunch at Alex'n'Andy's followed by the usual cramathon at the Vauxhall plus (and this is the innovative bit) a lengthy bear-shaped sabbatical down the road at Dukes, with lots of friends and familiar faces and a very good show from Pam Ann.
Yesterday I was tempted to join in the group outing to Chessington but (wisely it seems) I chickened out. Had a few drinks in Comptons and Bar Code instead, with some low-key lusting from darkened corners and the last tube home.
Overheard: "We don't have sex any more: if he's doing the wahing-up, I'm allowed to give him a wank..."
º Monday 16th April 2001
Oscar Wilde First Hippie Shock Drama
There is a geat deal of beauty here. The Kabyle boys are quite lovely. At first we had some difficulty procuring a proper civilsed guide. But now it is all right and Bosie and I have taken to haschish: it is quite exquisite: three puffs of smoke and then peace and love
- from a letter from Oscar Wilde to Robert Ross, 1895.
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