So that’s it, today is my very last day at work. Obviously these are very exciting times, tinged with no sadness whatsoever, but there is definitely an undercurrent of poo-pants fear. Blah blah, economic climate, blah blah bore on. Thus far, opportunities have been presenting themselves much quicker than anticipated and with little or next to no effort. This is wonderful news on one level, though it means the break I’ve been looking forward might be further away. Listen to me moaning already, amazing. Beyond that, I’d best buy a giant pimp-motherfucker hat and sell my ass to whoever is desperate enough.
Will do a fan dance for tuppence ha’penny. Enquire within.
In the meantime, here’s a review of the wonderful 1971 Paul and Linda McCartney ‘Ram’ album, which is somewhat fitting given the opening of parameters el Moptop was experiencing at the time. You’re wondering what I’m going on about aren’t you. Me too.
It never rains but it pours in Blog Central so I hope you’ve got an umbrella. As you may be aware, I interviewed the supremely talented M. Tellier in Paris in January, though given My God Is Blue is only released here in the next few weeks, this tête-à-tête I did with him didn’t land online until today. But worth the wait I’m sure you’ll agree. The illustration was done by my man Mickey Gibbons, chief designer at the Stool Pigeon.
The countdown to freedom continues and I have seven working days and counting until I’m released. Which is a relief as my plans to tunnel through to the Tower of London with just a rusty spatula I’ve been smuggling into work in my underpants just wasn’t working out. I nearly got an early reprieve with the offer of a junket to Iceland next week, though the chances of that happening now are somewhat flimsy. No matter – I’m fairly irrepressible right now, and some clean Reykjavik air would have been lovely, but what the hell, there’ll be other chances. Anyway, enough about me – you’d think this was a blog or something. Yawn yawn YAWN.
Here’s a live review I did for NME recently for a Lana Del Rey gig at the Jazz Cafe in Camden. Yes, big star, tiny place. The world’s a topsy-turvy place…
I need to watch what I buy online. For some reason purchasing stuff on the internet doesn’t feel like real shopping, and sometimes I surprise myself when something turns up in the post. It’s like the like button on Facebook with potentially more dire financial consequences. Having been made redundant recently (whoop!) I’d best watch I don’t book myself a holiday in my sleep, even if travel broadens the anecdotal repertoire of the immutably dull.
The other lesson I need to learn is that it always pays to actually read about the thing you’re buying. Take these new Asics running shoes i just purchased. Apparently they’re ‘unisex’. I’m not sure what possessed me to opt for a white pair – maybe they were cheaper than a black pair – though they’re the daintiest things I’ve put on my feet since I last played keepie-uppie with a cupcake. They’re not so much for running as for dancing through the streets of London like Cinderella. Every bound I take somehow makes me less manly, and I imagine people behind me pouring out of shops to laugh at the itinerant fairy. Though maybe they’re actually character building, in the way that Johnny Cash’s ‘A Boy Called Sue’ was character building.
I went to step out in my delicate shoes (I’m not even sure if they’re meant for the road – they seem more appropriate for Narnian astro turf) when a family of cockernies passed by my door. My fear of being seen in my shoes made me recoil slightly in the doorway and as I did the matriarchal figure let out a mighty smoker’s cough replete with lung butter. Her husband turned to her and said: “That was so powerful you blew that man back into his house”.