Getting there is half the fun?

The last few days have been quite hard. Started off with a few quiet drinks at Spacific Xmas Party, which of course got totally out of hand. You guys and girls know who you are! Fast forward to Kilburn at eight in the morning, well fucked. Stumbled back east London to the evil scottish doppleganers place, found out my HSBC card card had been wiped somehow. Xmas eve too. Great. All I fucking need. Mission to Whitechapel, looking very deranged. Left eye in the right socket, right eye in the left socket. Managed to get a dribble of cash. Spent the cash on vital "pressies" straight away and went home to North London. Mad rush around trying to get a bag packed, clothes not totally dry, a total nightmare. Lugged all my shit to Finsbury Park, dashed to Euston, made it just in time to get on a train, which was heaving! What the hell are British Rail doing, cant they work out there are only so many seats on a train. What complete fuckwits. Anyway spent the next three hours trying to focus and not sweat like a rapist, due to all the previous night catching up with me. Hungry, thirsty, and still three more hours to Glasgow.

Oh and Merry Xmas.

Question wonderland

Stolen from a few people.

First, recommend to me:
A) A Movie
B) A Book
C) A song/CD/band

Then: Ask me three questions ... anything you want ... don't be shy ... and I will answer in the comments section.

Xmas, gigs, sun, wankers & plots to kill

My week rather busy the last week, so I'll give you an update on what's been going on. Busy you think? I must of been out Xmas shopping, and speading peace and goodwill to all. I have been doing none of the above. I have infact, been going out to great bands, getting shitfaced, being cynical, vandalising, and generally gruff to people. To put it bluntly I hate Xmas. Well to be truth I hate this Xmas. Mainly because I'm away from the sun, sea and the sand, and my family, which I miss at Xmas time the most. Especially my little niece, who is 4. Anyway, I'm digressing.

Wednesday
I went to see Kasabian @ the Brixton Academy. I love Brixton by the way, and I'm planning to move there as soon as possible. Can't wait to move out of my flat. Ill get to that little thorn in my side in a bit. The Academy is a great venue, kind of reminds me of the Civic in Auckland. Well Kasabian rocked the party, and they sound a lot like early Primal Scream with a sprinkle of Black Rebel Motorcycle club on the top. Perhaps this is what the mighty Stone Roses could have sounded like if they were still functioning. Poured out of the Academy and downed a bit more booze, was offered skunk and crack by the friendly locals on the way to the pub. Because of this for some warped reason, I find these kind of actions ok, and it makes me feel safe. Here's a few points in case. A friend of a good friend got pulled of the back of a routemaster by four guys in Upper Street in Islington and got a broken cheekbone and 3 broken ribs and generally, a good kicking. Another friend of a friend got told by a freak on Calli Road in Kings Cross that if she didn't follow him, he was going to slit her throat. She managed to escape, thank god. I'd rather see 20 crack dealers, mental cases and alkies in my travels, than the lone super freak who decides because I live in North London, I'm easy pickings. (infact I'm dreading and at the same time secretly wanting that day to happen, the poor sod will get his beans. I've got at least 5 years of pent up fury (ex's, mates who have let me down, lots of bad luck, psycho-ex-mates that who are meth freaks in NZ, mates that have committed suicide, mates that have gone to jail) just waiting to be unleashed. The point I'm trying to say is that, because the the nutters are all on display, and generally the people in Brixton seem a bit more street wise, it makes me feel safer. Go figure.

Thursday Night
Went to Hoxton for a gig. Fuck Hoxton and Shoreditch. The only thing I like is all the cool sticker art that I see, and added to. But please, is this place supposed to be cool? First thing that pissed me off was seeing a young homeless guy, in tears on the street, shivering with a little sign saying he was hungry. Right next door was a restaurant packed to the gills with drones in business suits, looking well pissed/coked up not touching the mountains of food on the table. Grrrrr. I turned back and emptied my pockets and gave it to this poor kid on the street. I don't really care if he was scamming me. But he was crying, even if the money was for smack or booze or crack or some other method of blocking out his sorry circumstances, it didn't seem to matter to me. I just felt like helping someone less fortunate that me. (that's what xmas really means to me.) The next scene that confronted me was two well heeled oldish looking business women, off thier chops, having a scrap. Seriously. One of them was a dead ringer for Hyacinth Bucket, and the other, a skinnier version of Pat Evans from Eastenders. Pat knocked Hyacinth out. She fell and cracked her head on the pavement. I wished I had popcorn. Ahh. The Xmas spirit, don't ya love it? The bar I got dragged along to see was full of wankers that were either trying to be the Thrills or the Strokes. Phuleez. And most of the music was acoustic. Groan. And it was grade A navel gazing wailing self indulgent shit. I wanted to napalm the whole place. I mean what kind of troubles that these trustafarians have to sing about? They all look lovely, well dressed, got loads of coolish, supposedly trendsetting stupid looking clothes (guys:- suit jackets in my opinion look good. When you have a suit on. Maybe I'm just getting old) and seems, by the dosh I saw going over the bar that money wasn't really an object. They seemed all confident enough to be able to pull any lady they pleased, and judging by the doe-eyed, tarted up, bored looking waifs (that I could snap in two with my fingers) that were drifting around this seemed a sure bet. I mean what is thier biggest issue? Is daddy going to give me a car or a trip to Italy this Xmas? Doe's this shaggy haircut really make me look like the singer from The Strokes? My favourite quote of the night was myself saying too loud, at the entirely wrong moment "Jesus, this guy's butchering Coldplay, and how could anyone be more shit than coldplay" Needless to say, I left early. Next time you wanna go out evil twin, I'll show what a good time is, ok. And that guy? For real? C'mon evil twin, he can't be you're type? Really? I'm surprised. Very surprised.

Friday
Work Xmas party. Tried to get really drunk. I drunk myself sober. Food was lovely. Forced to spend social time with workmates, can be a little odd to be honest. Ended up going out afterwards and getting really spannered on the more alphabetical style as opposed to the booze. No more comment on this night, for fear of getting sacked. Go on I dare ya. Sack me.

Saturday
Spent the most of the day being quite restless, showing an odd german lady my room for rent. Rest of the day was spent sifting my thoughts and eating cabonara.

Sunday
Fucking sour mood. Must be the comedown from friday. No biggie, it's like I've never been here before. So I know how to deal with this. Keep busy. Which I did. I plotted to kill my flatmate all day long. Thats the reason I want to move out. She's a stuck up bitch with a silver spoon wedged in her mouth. Has no social skills, is patronising, extremely petty, hasn't really had a hard day in her life. Mummy and Daddy sub her rent, she gets little parcels sent to her, thinks she knows fucking everything about everything, has the best room in the house, always has a dour look on her face, complains that she only has a £100 quid to live on till pay day, but manages to be buying clothes, taking jaunts to Barcelona, getting her hair done, and have a full "private larder". Oh and to boot she's vain as fuck. No amount of makeup is going to disguise what a snob you are. When we are alone in the house, she doesn't even look at me when I try to make conversation, that or just blanks me. So rude. I can't stand it anymore. Heres the funny bit. When I told my other flatmate all this, she passed on the message to super-bitch. She had the audacity to say "it's not because of me is it?" Hey if you read this you little girl, I don't really care. If you want to have it out with me, bring it on bitch, I'll knock you for six.

NB: Readers, I'm actually one of the most nicest people you could meet. Honestly, just ask my friends. I don't have a harmful bone in my body, it's just this girl totally pushes all of my buttons, and this I find is the best way to vent my increasing rage.

Spiders on Drugs

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Spray something nasty on a spider and it will spin a haywire web. That's what researchers at NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center have found. Citing previous studies, they propose using spiders instead of mammals as toxicity testers.

Because spider webs resemble crystal lattices, toxicologists can employ statistical crystallography to gauge a substance's toxicity. That means analyzing the number of completed cells, radii and other geometric structures in the web. The more toxic a substance, the more quantifiably deformed is the web.

Well I decided to take this research a bit further. The results are below.

Xmas wishes

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

For, what seems a lifetime, I have been searching for this film. Like every time I go into a video shop, I'll ask if they have it. No one ever seemed to have it. I can't count the amount of times I saw this film, alone at home, being the young punk that I was in my youth. It has so much influence on me, I can't begin to tell how much it meant to me. Suffice to say after watching it for maybe the 10th time I heated up a chain, and attempted to brand "T.R." onto my arm. There is still a faint burn still there to this day. If you were anything like me, having to hide your 10 ups, offensive Dead Kennedys records, and explain a mohawk to your mum, this is the film for you. Here is a link to a review. I can't wait to own this dvd.

What a lovely bunch of coconuts.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Six men have been arrested after cocaine with a street value of £100m was found inside sacks of coconuts. Half-a-tonne of the Class A drug was stacked in a lorry parked outside Spitalfields Market in east London. That's 500,000 grams of (i'm guessing) pure cocaine. Those 6 men won't be having a very merry Christmas.

"And there won't be snow in London this Christmas time
The greatest gift they'll get this year is life"
Sung to the tune "Band Aid 20"

Get your laughing gear round this.

Originally salivated over by LIFE OF REILLY.

In these times of fast food life, I'm glad that someone has stepped up to the plate with this burger. At 1,420 calories and 107 grams of fat, this puppy will rock your world. It would rock mine. Here's the lo-down. Two 1/3-pound slabs of all-Angus beef, four strips of bacon, three slices of cheese and mayonnaise on a buttered sesame seed bun. Salad-dodger-heaven. My mouth is watering. It's good to see in this ever conscious calorie counting world that Hardees has stuck up two chubby fingers at the norm and said "Yes! We want a burger that WILL give you a heart attack!" McDonald's makes me laugh these days, the pussies, with all the "healthy options". they seem to be prostituting at the moment. Who you try to kid Ronald? People don't go to McDonald's to eat some thing healthy. They want the food that is bad for them. So what if America is freaking out about it's obesity, I'm sure it's not stopping punters from gorging on this baby. Why? Because fat makes food taste good! If anyone in the States who reads this, and has had the pleasure of a monster thickburger yet, let me know how great it was. Even better, send me one. With all the preservatives in it, it will ship fine, and be good as new, by the time it gets to London. I wait, drooling.

Typical.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

This time H.S.B.C. takes £250 too much out of a standing order. This is after me after ringing them 4 days in advance. I called them and complained as cooly as possible. The reply came..... "We will get back to you in 5 working days, and either call you or send you a letter."
Five fucking days. For thier fuckup by some dopey cow on a help desk who can't even spell London, and most likely lives in Bangledesh. Great customer service. So if you see this image above stuck to your local cashpoint, blame me and spare a thought for the guy asking for bus fare, who don't look homeless just yet. It's probably me.

Mair Glesga.

Day Two. Sunday.
Somewhere in Glasgow @ 7.00am

Woke up, not knowing where I was for a second, next to my cousin, who I haven't seen in years. ( Not one those "Deliverance" type cousin scenarios). Got my bearings and went back to sleep. Eventually got up and went and visited my granny. It's strange seeing grannys. I haven't really had close contact with my grand parents my entire life, so I always feel odd. I can't put it into words at the moment. Anyway went from there to see my Mums sister. She's my favourite. She's just like my mum, which I do miss. Stayed for a few hours and then caught up with some cousins and watched football. Not just any football, mind you. The bhoys! The Hoops! The one and only Celtic. I've been brought up since day one on that football team. I couldn't tell you any of the players names, or what position they are in the league, but that's unimportant to me. It's that unconditional allegiance to something that means something so much to your entire family. I'm never gonna fuck with that. 2-2 draw. Bummer. Nevermind. Went down to the pub and had a session, then made our way to someone's place and got quite blotto. Highlight was a dinner of the HOTTEST chinese beef curry and rice with chips through it. Sounds rank, but it's amazing. Well when your half cut, a scabby dug tastes good eh? First mouthful, my windpipe went on strike in 0.1 of a second, and I was choking. Funnily enough so was my cousin in the sink. Family trait? After that hurdle, it was wolfed down in quick-smart world record beating speed. Then we watched The Life of Brian and had a giggle. After that my cousin and I cut a track back to his gaff, where I gaped in amazement at his incredible musical taste and massive collection of every cd I have ever owned or wanted to own. It became apparent really quickly that, my cousin is my older doppleganger, and that we were gonna have a good time. We even dress the same, it's quite funny to see where I'm going to be in ten years. We spend the next few hours watching Nick Cave videos, and getting the munchies. (Note to self: Don't eat Jalopeno peppers at 2am) Went to bed with terrible indigestion and woke up late. All in all a good day.

Drugs have done some good.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Don't get me wrong here. I think the Metropolitan Police are quite savvy to use the Roseanne Holland photos of drug decline to promote the dob in a dealer campaign. I've seen the images for a few years, and although they are quite terrible and have a certain shock value, I think they are a little misleading. No doubt about it, she is totally ravaged, as you would expect from doing smack & crack for nine years, but its the other factors that go along with a serious drug habit that maybe a few people might not realise. Drugs don't come for free, well unless you are a drug dealer, live in Boliva or a dodgy doctor or have an endless supply of cash. So poor Roseanne Holland must spend all of her cash on drugs. I doubt she held down a job, which I think would have been pretty hard, or pay rent, or even eat a decent meal. So I'm guessing she maybe lived rough a little and did have not enough money to eat, and probably had to do what it took to score. I shudder to think what she had to offer, and taking a wild guess, thinking it might have been prostitution? Those factors alone, would make anyone start to have a dramatic decline in their health. She seems ok from 1979 - 1982, where she seemed to have things under control a little. The cracks aren't showing that much. (no pun intended). It's the gap years between 1982 and 1986, where she's really lets herself go. I'm guessing this is where she hit the rocks - bigtime. And maybe, just maybe she might have not been able to support herself as much as she would have liked to, that's if she was on the game, and again, I'm only guessing here. It seems that from 1988-1989 she has had nothing to eat and seems to be at the end of her rope. Poor thing. I wonder if she went to jail? Rehab? I wonder what she is doing now? I'd really like to see a photo of where she's at these days. Did she get paid for the use of her image? I doubt it. However Penny Wood, who is a meth addict, and found on the same website, has been spotted recently. She's now a full time Orc. Good work, Penny.

Penny Wood
Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Glesga.

This is a feeble attempt to document my little wee trip to Glasgow. I’ll fill it with useless observations, drunken exploits, my attempts at Glasgow slang, whiskey appreciation, and the search for the perfect piece and square sausage.

Day One. Saturday.
Kings Cross @11.00am on “The Flying Scotsman”

Get on the train and as usual get confronted by the usual barrage of total idiots. I snagged a good seat by the window, and hunkered down for the next 6 hours. Two minutes into my special travel mix on the ipod, I’m rudely interrupted.

Stupid Women: “Are those seats reserved.” Pointing to a small but very important slip of paper with the words “RESERVED” emblazoned across the top.
Me: “Yes, and the seats with out the paper slip……..”
Stupid Women: “ Are for anybody, right?”
Me: “Well you’re anybody!” (In the nicest way possible way. It’s always nice to mix in a little urine with the sugar in these situations.)
Stupid Women: “So is anyone sitting in these seats, then?”
Me: “The reserved ones you mean?”
Stupid Women: “Yeah.”
Me: “ Well they are RESERVED”
Stupid woman sits down, muttering that she can’t sit backwards on a Train all the way to Glasgow.
Me: Putting back on the headphones thinking [Do not talk, smile, or in any way ask me a question for the next 6 hours lady, I hope you get kicked off the train.]

Also my coach is supposed to be a quiet coach. The lady across from me with a mobile phone glued to her ear, babbling for the last half hour gets told off by the conductor for talking on the phone, meanwhile there is a small tribe of troll like children just out of shooting range who every time they open their little gobs seem to break the sound barrier. The irony is I’m listening to early Metallica on the ipod, and an earsplitting level and I’m feeling quite smug.

I’ll pick up later.

Just looked at the window, at a real hole of a city, very depressing looking. As I’m writing this I’m just crossing over a river. It must be the Tyne. What’s with all the frigging bridges? Aye. Geordie land. I love Geordies, they are great, but Jesus, what a shitehole. I can see the reason for Nuke-Broon now. It all makes sense. And I suppose its true what they say. It’s grim up North.

Picked up by my cousin in Glasgow and realize its FREEZING up here. I’m really glad I had enough sense to buy a coat/sleeping bag. I haven’t been here for 15 years, and it’s all brand new to me. I think Glasgow is beautiful, if you take away all the rubbish, and all the crummy looking houses. But it’s hard not to love your hometown, even if you don’t know it from a bar of soap. Proceeded to the family rounds. Saw my wee granny, which was fantastic, and then saw an uncle. Had dinner then got down to a serious bevvy in the toon. Went to some boozer and my god it’s cheap compared to London. Maybe that’s the huge myth with Scotsmen being tight. Maybe we are not tight at all we just live in the cheapest place on the planet. Met up with two of the most foul-mouthed hardcase Glasgow women that I have ever met in my life. Ever. My jaw was constantly on the floor with the patter that was pouring out these septic mooths. Brilliant. I’m not going to go into too much more detail except for that I’ve never had my crotch grabbed and asked if this was my kangaroo pouch.

To be continued…tomorrow. (I’m so lazy today). But in the meantime here's a link to a great video from a Glasgow band called Sons & Daughters. Who are playing at Optimo's Hogmanay bash by the way, and which by some delicious twist of fate I'm going to go to with my two favourite gal pals, Ms. Smacked Face and Ms. G. (Thanks Ms. G for the FANTASTIC time on Friday night, it was one of the best birthday parties that I have been to in a long time. You rock, girl).

NB: I’m not going to post the rest of the Star Wars Glesga Style, for the simple reason, probably no one but me will read it. If you, one of my avid 7 1/2 readers out there want the full transcript; I’ll send it to you.