Me 'n' Darren are out of town for a few days.

Lots of stuff floating round media-land today about Mr Lydon selling out to jungle Jim. Plenty of folk admitting that he was their hero for a few years. In 1978 my hero was The Six Million Dollar Man and look at the cnut now! You have to let go of your heroes. Even the bionic ones.

Mike Read vs Johnny Rotten:

We have nothing that we were not given
We have no-one who is really our own
Nowhere to hide that we can't be seen
And nothing to fear from being alone

or

She was a girl from Birmingham
She just had an abortion
She was a case of insanity
Her name was pauline and she lived in a tree
She was a no one who killed her baby

No competition really.

Saturday afternoon playing records and having a late ham lunch (5 ww points!).

That Tracey Pew (*swoons*) bass line and Nick calling out "love, love". 'Fears Of Gun' by The Birthday Party (Tracey in a vest! be still my beating heart). Christ they were good. 1982. Memories of flat top haircuts, ripped jeans, Dr Martens loafers, Kitchenware(launch the site then shake that grater, how cool is that!) disco's at Tiffany's in Newcastle, 'Shack Up' packing the dancefloor, the Falklands, Yorkshire ripper, Thatcher, all night movies at the Scala and eight hour coach trips home. The sidewalk regrets that we had to kill them.
*bores himself rigid with nostalgia*

So, not much happening in my life at the mo. Which is nice actually. Been going to work, coming home, watching what I eat and watching the telly. Shameless is great, Nip/Tuck is good and Coronation Street continues to be a truly representative slice of life in the NW of England. The Simpsons Hit ‘n’ Run has got me beat but I do have a cheat to try out this weekend that will get me through to the next level. We watched the Chris Cunningham video collection last weekend and this week we will watch the Spike Jonze collection. We don’t know anyone with the Gondry DVD yet but I am confident we will soon. This time next week we will be in Copenhagen being seduced by clever Danish design and hopefully lying face-down in a 5-star smorgasbord.

Remember, the uglier your car, the better you look.

This summer I shall be walking along the beaches looking at the peaches.

Is love real or just something that we do?

You deserve to be alone if you have Enya and Enigma cd's on your shelf.

The French killed Diana.

You miss too much these days if you stop to think.

I had such a potty mouth at work today.

Crack is very nearly at a price where I can afford to get addicted.

Why don't you grow some balls and tell your boss to fuck off.

Are we careering across the border?

I need a holiday.

Throughout the years
I've steered these
towards where I am now:

Vespa PK 50
I bought this when I started work down the pit at 16. I had it sprayed gold and the art work from ABC's Lexicon Of Love airbrushed onto the side panels. The next 4 years were a whirlwind of skinhead and scooter rally's, sharing tents with strangers, drinking cider and talking shite round camp fires and riding souped up scoots up steep muddy hills naked. Back then I looked but I didn't touch (I waited until I was 21 and legal before I sinned).

Vespa PX 125 (still got that hat)
Classic scooter rally pose.

Honda XBR 500 (that's me on the right)
I passed my bike test in 1987 and jumped straight onto this XBR. It was a noisy fucker and used to backfire summit rotten. This would cause any old folk within earshot to have a heart attack and think WW2 wasn't over. This bike got me round London during the acid house mayhem years.

Kawasaki LTD 450 (what was I thinking!)
I really don't know why I bought this. Maybe it was because I was intrigued by it's chainless drive and use of a thick rubber belt. This bike coincided with the Madchester period.

Honda MTX 200 (loved this one to bits, literally)
A brilliant bike. Looked great when really dirty. Very nippy in traffic and a right good shag magnet. My Brit pop bike.

Bajaj Cheetak 200 (Indian made Vespa looky-likeys, cheap!!)
Back on the scooters in 1997. This Bajaj was half the price of a Vespa and was made in India using old 60's machinery that Paiggio sold to Bajaj. Not built very well and sucked petrol like it was going out of fashion. Sold it to a Dutch graphic designer who lived in a loft in Docklands.

Reliant Rialto 3 wheeler (car driving licence not needed, hurrah!). Less embarrassed about this one than the LTD 450!
I was watching Top Gear one night when I finally discovered that if a car is under half a tonne I can drive it without L plates on my bike licence. Bought this for £500 and loved it. It made people smile/feel sorry for me and meant I could take my dog Barry everywhere with me. A classic era for me as I met Darren on New Years Eve in 2001 and drove him back to mine in this and I fell in love with him when he didn't refuse to get in it.

Currently riding my beloved Honda CG 125 and lovin' it. Retro not metro.
Back onto the CG after 15 years (I learned to ride on one). I bought this bike new over 2 years ago from an importer of Japanese machines. In Japan they still make the CG in the style of the 1970's version. The European models on sale at Honda dealerships are made in Brazil and are a nasty modern concoction that doesn't appeal at all. Both versions, however, have that classic 4 stroke engine that will go and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on.................

I feel like this today. Pic taken from my 1960's ads desk calender.

And they still sell them!

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Ooooooo! Husker Du and Sugar man Bob Mould has a blog. And it seems he's a friend of one of Darrens regular reads. Therefore, in a 'six degrees of separation' sort of way, I am related to Bob Mould (but I wish it was Greg Norton!)

Dean Lennox Kelly, that's who it was.

FURTHER INFO (10pm):
And here he is in all his Northern glory.

Off for a stroll along the prom in Blackpool. Back on Wednesday.

Went to Greenwich today which was nice. Walked through the Royal Park then browsed the retro shops. Nearly bought some Harpers & Queen mags from the 70's to wallpaper the house but didn't. Bought a new bin for the bathroom and a magazine rack for the mags scattered all over the lavvy floor. Had a craving to hear Air so came home and put on 10000hz Legend. Ate a sticky syrup steamed pudding with custard for tea (6 points).

Darren supports Everton. Has done for years. His Dad does too. So do I now.

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We just got back from the pictures. Saw Lost In Translation. Just perfect. Beautiful. Loved every second.
Must visit Tokyo.


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Yesterday at Westminster library I borrowed 9 albums by The Fall and 2 by Sondheim. Genius lyricists, love 'em. Off to check out some kennels in Chingford now. Holiday home for Edward while we're in Scandinavia later this month (plastic surgery is sooo much cheaper in Malmo).

hahahahahahahahaha...

"I hate television channels chasing a young audience. Teenagers should be outside, taking drugs and getting pregnant."

Joan Bakewell in todays Independent article called 'Grumpy Old Women'.

No, of course we don't spoil him!

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What's getting our groove this month?

PiL, The Cure, A Certain Ratio and early New Order all on one album! Echoes by The Rapture is very derivative yet strangely original. Playing this a lot.
The Hidden Cameras are gay and Canadian. The Smell Of Our Own is a handsome and melodic album featuring songs about taking a leak on your boyfriend.

Heart On Snow by Marc Almond is stunning. He has reinterpreted classic Russian romance songs and pulled it off in chillyslashfreaky way.

Friday’s Child by Will Young is the huge-chinned stomper he’s always promised us. Mostly played at spellcnut towers during bouts of hovering. Sorry, hoovering.

I was very stirred and moved today upon reading in The Independent about a fella who organises raves in London for deaf people. Blasting dance music and double the bass. Deaf folk come from all over the world for his parties as, believe it or not, no one else is organising anything similar. Isn’t that heart-warming? Apparently there was also a deaf Pop Idol recently where the contestants signed along with songs in a karaoke stylee. I’m not sure why I found this info so moving and uplifting but it left me with a lovely squishy feeling as well as a small amount of anger that some people, like the organisers of these parties, are not invited to Buckingham Palace to meet you-know-who and Nicholas Parsons is.

Slept like a log last night (J'ai dormi comme une souche). I've never understood what that meant actually cos logs don't sleep. Deep and long. Currently having a coffee and surfing round blogland while listening to Remain In Light. Tom came round yesterday morning and we all went off to Sainsburys to ogle shopping-dads. Bought a new dinner service and a wall clock and some weight-watchers frozen dinners. Ate a late lunch then fell asleep watching Kangaroo Jack on dvd. I love talking animal movies but this one was a right pile of poop. I spent the evening tinkering with some music on cool edit pro. I've had a number 1 download on Vitaminic you know.
Christmas decorations coming down today. Am I ready for the blandness of tasteful white walls and artistic black and white photographic prints? Yes. Pizza for breakfast I think.
*leaves to go and ignite the oven*

I started London Calling nearly two years ago after reading various blogs regularly for a few months. My favourites were always the

‘we went there and saw this and spoke to him and I bought that…’

type blogs (the ones that read like a diary because I'm a nosy curious person). I never kept a diary when I was growing up but I did receive them as Christmas presents and loved the idea of documenting my daily and dull doings. But I never did and I think the reason why is because a paper diary is very private and concealed and hush-hush and therefore not at all like me. It seems that even ‘back then’ I was under the impression that sharing my inane scribbles would be much more amusing (for me at least) than keeping them locked away in a drawer with a picture of Burt Reynolds shirtless. So...

New Years Eve was lovely. Pizza and champagne with Darren at home then into town to Duckie where we got drunk with friends and enjoyed listening to records played by The Readers Wifes. The tube was running all night (and was free!) so we got home in half an hour AND chatted to strangers in our carriage.
New Years Day 3 years ago was when I met Darren so this morning he gave me a surprise in bed when we woke - an anniversary card and the authorised biography of The Fall! I, ashamedly, gave him nothing. We spent the morning in Islington walking up and down Upper Street looking in estate agents windows and gasping at the price of a council flat in N1 (£250,000). Yesterday I’d seen Neil Hamilton shopping alone in Sainsburys and today we saw Alan Davies in a snorkel parka on Cannonbury Square. We stopped him and told him how much we loved his performance in Bob And Rose but that Jonathon Creek is a bit boring now. We didn’t really, he just walked past us staring at his shoes. While waiting to cross the road to have lunch in Pizza Express I was soaked by a speeding car which put me in no mood to sit with steaming pants in a restaurant. This worked out fine as we got a KFC bucket of chicken on the way home and ate it watching ‘The Sound Of Music’. Had a bath then played ‘Simpsons Hit ‘n’ Run’ on my PS2 till bed time.

See, I told you, dull.

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Yesterday in the Guardian they did a list of 100 things to do in 2004. These are the ones that I shall try and do:

8. Chuck out all your old opinions. It doesn't hurt to start afresh every once in a while. For the first few weeks of the year your only contribution to any conversation should be "huh". Eventually you will form brand new opinions based on the abject stupidity of other peoples opinions.

16. Remain alert, but not alarmed.

22. Wake up every morning and say to yourself "Schwarzeneggar is the Governor of California". This will serve to remind you that you are living in a surreal dream world where your actions have no consequences.

33. Load your entire cd collection onto your ipod, then lose it.

35. Go to the cinema to see Kill Bill Vol 2, Star Wars Episode 3, Indiana Jones 4 and Superman 5. Be repeatedly disappointed.

40. Turn 40, have a huge party and suddenly become keenly aware of your impending death (39 year olds only).

66. Instead of complaining, listen to what spammers are telling you: you need cheaper insurance, prescription drugs, lower heating bills and a bigger penis.

76. Accept that echinacea doesn't do anything except taste bad.

79. Make yourself a t-shirt that reads "No, I don't have a fucking Nectar card".

91. Stop watching Saturday morning telly. If it was meant for you, you would have heard of the bands they have on.

95. Let go of the whole Lord Of The Rings thing. It's over.