This weekend at Alton Towers was meant to be their 2006 opening weekend. Cadburys hired the park for a one day party over two weeks ago and management decided to keep it open even though it was early in the season. Darren booked this 'surprise' weekend trip on the basis of it being opening weekend so today I complained and was rewarded with priority passes for Rita (meaning we won't have to queue for their newest coaster)! Not that I'm a moaner or anything but if they'd contacted us to say the first weekend of the year is now March the whatever we would have changed our booking and gone then. But they didn't hence my Hyacinth Bucket complaint.

UPDATE: My Mum just called me at work to tell me they got tickets for The Producers tonight. While she was talking to me a bird pooped on her head! Hahahahaha. I told her to get a lottery ticket.

Of all the flickr groups devoted to London this one is my favourite.

Have you heard Will Self speak? Well, the platform announcer at Kings Cross underground station this morning sounded just like him. Maybe it was him.
"...please stand clear of the doors, this train is ready to depart, my morphine addiction is coating my arteries in chalk..."
I've been lstening to The Sounds album this week. Dying To Say This To You is like Blondie/Transvision Vamp/Sleeper/Le Tigre but, as they are Swedish, so much (god, I hate this word but my thesaurus is not throwing anything more suitable at me) 'cooler'. They look great too (which almost guarantees them a space in next years bargain buckets).
My parents are in town but are at a hotel as they have friends with them and our spare room is occupied by Tom. Yesterday was the (far from) Ideal Home Exhibition and I met them after work and we had dinner in Kensington. Today is the V&A and the theatre (though not with me). Darren and I recently re-watched the first series of Tales Of The City and my evening with Mum and Dad reminded me of the scenes where Mouse (on the left) has his parents visiting San Francisco from Orlando (this will mean nothing to those who haven't seen the show). Chalk and cheese me Dad and me. If I say I'm sick of London he'll say "are you mad? it's the greatest city on earth!" and if I say I love London he'll say "it's ok i suppose, but not a patch on Newcastle". Contrary Mary we call him.
Routine annual vet visit tonight for Edward. He hates the vet with a passion. So much so that the vet straps a Hannibal Lector type face mask to Edward before he's examined. Darren won't even go into the surgery any more as he's so embarrassed by our dogs venom. I have to hold his head while the vet sticks a cold thermometer up his arse (that's Edwards arse not Darrens or the vets).
One of my Christmas presents from Darren was a two day visit to Alton Towers including a night in the theme park hotel. So, fingers crossed, we get to ride the campest rollercoaster in the world - Rita Queen Of Speed.

Have you seen the state of the top 20 album charts? I fell asleep reading it. Who let all those old folk into the record stores? When did we start rewarding 'bland' with huge sales? I know it was Mothers Day yesterday but if my offspring came home with any of those albums for me I'd ask for the receipt and smack them round the side of the head. The charts have always had a few boring visitors but the whole of the top 20 this week is excruciatingly humdrum:

1. Journey South (X Factor losers)
2. Andy Abraham (bin man and X Factor loser)
3. Corinne Bailey Rae (this years Nelly Furtado)
4. Russell Watson (pop opera and supremely shit)
5. Andrea Bocelli (ditto)
6. Jack Johnson (bet he's really hairy)
7. David essex (he's still alive!)
8. Vitorio Grigola (who?)
9. Prince (lost the plot)
10. Beverly Knight (a backing singer who got lucky)
11. KT Tunstall (soap dodger)
12. Barry Manilow (believe it or not but he owns shares in Hooters)
13. Simon Webbe (his luck should run out any day now)
14. Johnny Mathis (grandmas fave homo)
15. David Gilmour (fat fuck)
16. James Blunt (skinny cnut)
17. Will Young (grandmas 2nd fave homo)
18. Kelly Clarkson (too many lungs, stop shouting!)
19. Carpenters (I quite like them)
20. Neil Sedaka (have you noticed his resemblance to Quagmire from Family Guy?)

Not far behind this sorry bunch are Coldplay, Katie Melua, Jose Gonzalez, Neil Diamond, Daniel O'Donnell, Il Divo, Leo Sayer and Rod Stewart (who, believe it or not, is married to Martha). So, just to prove my own superior taste, this weekend my listening pleasures have embraced the new Morrissey album, The Delays, The new Buzzcocks album, Sway, The Crammps, some ELO and Supertramp, a smidgeon of 70's one hit wonders and Bankrobber by The Clash. No Embrace though.

Oh. My. God. The. Pain.
It's many years since I was last tattoo'd and I'd completely forgotton how painful the procedure was. Yikes. Like being burned with the tip of a hot cigarette for three hours. The outlines took two hours and in the final hour the colouring was started. How can those little blue itty bitty dots be the most painful part of the day? This design needs another three hours colouring work and then we start on the other arm. My mid-life crisis seems to be progressing quite smoothly at the moment but it's costing me a fortune (for the cost of this custom design by the wonderful Saira at Family Business I could have bought a holiday home in Goa). Still, it's best not to be mean when it comes to stuff that will be with you for the rest of your life. This is forever you know.

That final pic below is the great Italian stallion Mo Coppoletta working on a Trent Reznor looky-likey in the chair next to me (yes, those are tears of pain he's shedding).

Thoroughly enjoying that otter book and hoping the BBC buy the rights and do a quality drama like what they did with White Teeth and Buddha Of Suburbia. The new Buzzcocks album is good too (cue comments along the lines of ‘there may be snow on the roof but there’s still fire in the grate’). Whatever. Track 2 on the new Delays album has got us rolling back the carpets and having a spastic 1981-esque jig at Spellcnut towers. The documentaries on Russia on More 4 this week have been stunning and oh so accurate in portraying the whole fucked up mess. I only had £2.50 in my pocket at lunchtime on Monday so I bought two boxes of Sugar Puffs (buy 1 get 1 free) and two pints of skimmed milk and I should finish it all off today and I never want to see another grain of puffed wheat in my life. Whatever. The same thing happened with After Eight Mints years ago when I ate a very large box in one sitting. They’d fallen off the present table at Nick Heywards wedding where I was a barman (at that inn I mentioned in my last post). We found them while tidying up at the end of the night and I ate them in the staff room while watching The Entity on video. Whatever.

That was quite a busy weekend for me. Had chinese takeaway and watched Wolf Creek and The Descent on Friday. Both were classy and clever horror movies which deserved their '18' ratings ( a 'proper' horror film can't have a '15' certificate, imo). The Descent just pipped Wolf Creek at the post as the scariest with me physically jumping and spilling popcorn several times.
On saturday I pootled along for a 2nd consultation with my tattooist in Exmouth Market. The needle-work starts this Friday. It was a sunny yet bitterly cold day but I still enjoyed a stroll down Farringdon and through Clerkenwell and Smithfield and onto the Millenium Bridge. On my return I found what I thought was another Banksy piece but it turned out to be by dbase, still good though. There was a huge queue at old skool Italian deli Olgas Stores so I didn't get any tomato bread and mortadella, so, as it was tea time, I stepped into the Indian Veg BhelPoori in Chapel Market and indulged in big plates of veggies cooked southern style (that's Kerala rather than Georgia). I hadn't been to this place in years and was amazed that the quality was still top-notch and the price hadn't changed from £2.95 for the all-you-can-eat buffet. I got home as the rugby on TV was finishing (I'd gone out to avoid it) and watched The Brothers Grimm with Darren. Sorry to be so obvious but it was a real stinker and therefore grim.
On Sunday I woke with a longing to mosy round Brick Lane and Spitalfields and have a salt beef bagel lunch but this notion passed while I walked the dog. I then fancied a full Sunday roast from the Grasshopper Inn in Kent (I was a live-in barman here for 6 months in 1984) year but Darren wasn't keen so this idea was binned too. We settled upon a drive to Enfield to visit the Krispy Kreme outlet (the 'hot' light was on!!). Lunch was a large coffee and two highly delicious donuts. Nutritious eh. In the evening I went to a Readers Wifes birthday party. Happy birthday Mark (who was the 'dish' playing the tunes?). More chinese takeaway and Desperate Housewives on telly then bed for midnight. Nice one.

Still loving the Sway album. Also been blastin' Judy Collins, Staples Singers and Harold Melvin this week. I shut my eyes and I'm riding in the back of my Dads huge Zephyr listening to his 8-track player and staring at the T-Rex pic on The Slider, willing my hair to grow like Marcs.

I've had a bunch of photos on my camera phone for months and could never be bothered to extract them. Mainly because Nokia want £30 for the USB cable and drivers. So I bought a moody version on Ebay this week for £3 and it works just dandy. Below are the pics I took last Sunday in Blackpool during the 'once in a decade' snow storm.

Met up with the Diva last night at The White Swan (typical Diva style - 20 minutes late). We were joined by Wednesday-night-connoisseur Ian (see this marvelous post about a typical Wednesday at The Swan). I hadn't been to this pub for a few years but was pleased to see that not much has changed. The place was chock-a-block with 30 somethings in straight drag. Umbro, Hackett and Adidas still rule in Limehouse. We did spy two skinny Gaultier queens in matching vests and crap hair and I'd like to say that they injected a bit of style into the room but they didn't so I won't. There were three contestants for the amateur stripper contest (technically four as the first act was a duo). The double act were a young fella from Denmark and his boyfriend from Brazil. They were very drunk and took the stage first and began snogging each other. They slid about in their socks, tore clothes off each other and made the Diva wee himself with laughter (this was NOT an erotic routine). The tranny compere insulted them then booted them off stage before introducing her next contestant. His name was unpronouncable, he was from Poland and he was built like a brick shitter. Unfortunately this body building hulk couldn't dance to save his life and had his kit off within a minute of starting his 'routine'. He did finish by doing the splits though which was quite impressive. The last entrant was a 24 year old Tesco worker with the body of a 54 year old Tesco worker. He had spirit and a smidgeon of rhthym as well as a bunch of mates in the crowd so he won. The Polish body builder looked distraught. The winner is forced to strip again before he is awarded the £100 prize so it's a good job the double act didn't win as the Diva only had one Tena Lady with him last night.
I had fun so thanks for asking me out Mike.

So this week I have mainly been enjoying 'Stop Making Love' by The Gaylads. Quality skinhead ska by some Jamaicans with an unfortunate name. Email me if you want a copy. The Kenneth Williams thing on telly tuther night was brilliant. I loved the scenes with him and Joe Orton out cruising the graveyards of 60's London. Kenneth was a pathetic figure who was scared of his own shadow and constantly pushed away what he constantly craved - love. Even his doctor told him to find a 'companion' - "someone to enjoy a bit of mutual masturbation with", but his warped view of relationships just worsened as he got older and he died lonely and a snob. Shame. I'm off to The White Swan tonight for amateur stripper night. I used to work at this pub about 15 years ago (I had two mortgages and this was cash-in-hand) so I'm well aware of the horror-shows that volunteer to de-robe for cash. I remember Paul the pot-man (glass collector) was always called upon to swell the ranks when there were only a couple of volunteers. He was glad of the extra tenner and we were glad of his performance because he was devoid of any rhythm and had the body of a bin man so was hilarious to watch. I remember the crowds at amateur strip night being completely evil and always awarding their loudest cheers (and therefore deciding the winner) to the worst and ugliest of the contestants. If that's still the case then I'm a certainty and I still have two mortgages.

A mocking piece of graffiti near Victoria Station:

Working to live has killed your life

On Friday I was in Manchester with colleagues from Russia at an event in the Castlefield area of town (“where Manchester makes movies”). I found it to be a pretty soulless part of the city, all warehouses and lofts and stark empty drinking dens which were totally deserted. The trams trundled past the windows of our venue for the afternoon and through the arches of the railway bridges I could make out the Granada TV studios where Coronation Street is filmed. I gazed through the drizzle outside during an afternoon of dull presentations then caught the evening train to Blackpool. As I walked to the train station I came across the Hacienda Apartments which have been built on the site of the Factory Hacienda nightclub (Madonna performed here 22 years ago!). Manchester City Council allowed developers to flatten the classic 100 year old roundhouse style building and build some tiny shoebox apartments which were then marketed using the name and cache of the classic nightclub. Cnuts.
On Saturday we bimbled through the town and had brunch* at our fave greasy spoon, Pie In The Sky. This caff is upstairs inside the indoor market on Abingdon Street and the tables overlook the stalls and shoppers below (we now know where the ‘secret’ switch (the one that opens the drawer) is located on the cash register at the cold meats and pies stall). The sub zero weather and imminent snow kept us on the sofa on Saturday night and a man on a scooter brought us pizzas. Woke up on Sunday morning to thick snow. It never snows in Blackpool as the Irish Sea keeps temperatures higher than inland so this was big news. The last snow fall was 10 years ago so the streets were full of urchins who hadn’t seen snow EVER! I ushered the dog down to the beach through snow drifts higher than his head but the wind was wickedly cold and nearly cut me in two so we headed back home for tea and toast. As I slid back from the corner shop with fresh bread I heard “Oi! Mister!” and knew exactly what was coming next. The snowball smacked me bang between the shoulders and made me smile and as I turned around I heard the culprits laugh and saw them run off down the street scooping fresh snow off the car roofs.

*brunch! the very idea of taking brunch in Blackpool is preposterous.

Manic week. Russian visitors. Busy busy busy. Conferences. Seminars. Vodka toasts (I threw-up on the tube). Taking them to Manchester today. Over to Blackpool tonight (not with the Russians). Weekend by the sea with Darren and Edward. Back on Monday.

Do you remember back in old LA? When everybody drove a Chevrolet? Whatever happened to the boy next door? The sun-tanned, crew-cut, All-American male? Remember dancing at the high school hop? The suit I ruined with the soda pop? I didn't recognize the boy next door with beat up sneakers and a pony tail.
Beach baby, beach baby, give me your hand. Give me something that I can remember. Just like before we can walk by the shore in the moonlight. Beach baby, beach baby, there on the sand from July to the end of September. Surfin' was fun we'd be out in the sun every day. Oh, I never thought that it could end. Oh, and I was everybody's friend. Long hot days. Blue sea haze. Jukebox plays but now it's fading away.
We couldn't wait for graduation day. We took the car and drove to San Jose. That's where you told me that you'd wear my ring. I guess you don't remember anything.
Beach baby, beach baby, give me your hand. Give me something that I can remember. Just like before we can walk by the shore in the moonlight. Beach baby, beach baby, there on the sand from July to the end of September. Surfin' was fun we'd be out in the sun every day. Oh, I never thought that it could end. Oh, and I was everybody's friend. Long hot days. Blue sea haze. Jukebox plays but now it's fading away.

Since last weekend I’ve watched a lot of movies. I can’t be bothered to review them all and I’m sure you can’t be bothered to read about them. I do feel, however, that I should let you know what those movies were in case you think I’m lying to make myself seem interesting and cultured (as you know, I am neither). I have given the films a score based on how much I enjoyed them (rather than scoring them according to their merit and significance, which I annoyingly and normally do).

Wallace And Gromit And The Curse Of The Were-Rabbit - 8 out of 10
The Corpse Bride – 7 out of 10
The Fantastic Four – 8 out of 10
Batman Begins – 9 out of 10
Yossi And Jagger – 6 out of 10
Mysterious Skin – 9 out of 10
The Heart Is Deceitful Above All Things – 7 out of 10 (would have been a much lower score if I hadn’t read the book)

What a rainbow coloured line-up! And we don't even live in a ghetto!!
Camp - Wallace and Gromit, Corpse Bride
Beefcake - Fantastic Four, Batman
Gay - Mysterious Skin, Heart Is Deceitful, Yossi

Quite high scores, eh. I’m obviously not suffering through a ‘hard to please’ critical phase at the moment. This will explain why a simplistic and “quite Brokeback-ish” 65 minute film about gay Israeli soldiers hiding their love was given a high score of 6 out of 10 (yes, that is a high score). Maybe I was in a good mood before watching it because we had been out to buy a new vacuum cleaner and some radiator paint.

Don't faint (or splutter coffee over your keyboard) but Blackpool has applied to join the Pyramids and the Taj Mahal as a World Heritage site. And why not I say. The application is based on providing 150 years of seaside fun and being the first mass marketed working-class holiday resort in the UK. Fingers crossed for a decision later in the year. It shouldn't be too difficult to get our hands on some of that £3bn that Heritage tourism brings to the NW of England. I mean, Paris is a World Heritage Site and their tower doesn't even have an exquisite ballroom (with huge organ) at it's base. None of the other sites offer donkey rides and Venice can't hold a candle up to Blackpool's illuminated tram gondolas. Support for this application shouldn't be too hard to come by as 700 billion* visitors have frolicked in the town over the last century and a half. Sigmund Freud visited Blackpool twice and on his second trip he sent a postcard home with a picture of the Tower on it (obviously a nod to his 'theories'). Bill Clinton left a glowing endorsement following his dirty weekend there with Kevin Spacey a few years ago - "I like Blackpool. The weather is great and the town's kinda....sleazy isnt it!" Don't forget that Harry Corbett bought the original Sooty at a shop on Blackpool's Golden Mile and that Sarah Bernhardt performed at the Winter Gardens 100 years ago in French! Of course, she was boo'd offstage which illustrates Blackpool's exacting entertainment standards. I shall wash our front step and windows next weekend when I'm there just in case the judges pop round.

*I made this number up. It's probably more.

This week is Mardi Gras in New Orleans and although I've been to New Orleans several times I've never been to Mardi Gras. I sure would like to go. New Orleans is a fairly decadent city most of the time but this week it cranks up the sex and liquor until the streets are a frenzy of naked bodies, trannies, drunken frat boys with their dicks hanging out, stoned swingers from Ohio and indifferent locals looking down from their balconies tut-tutting. Of all the various parades which take place (and they take them very seriously) the Barkus Parade would be one of my must-sees. If you are the type of person who finds dogs dressed up in costumes, hats and little boots funny then this is the one for you (and me). All in a good cause too as the money collected on the route goes to various animal shelters in the area. And don't go giving me all that 'this is soooo cruel' bullshit cos these dogs are all gay and they love dressing up and Barkus Day is better than Christmas Day for them.