Thursday, March 31, 2005

Six month review (Part 1)

It's been Six months since I arrived in London, and it's time to take stock and see what I love and hate about London.



I can't stand the bastards. The banking system in this country is backwards, full of paper pushing patronising wankers and a general Nightmare. I have written a few times about my disgust for the banking system, and have not had a good time going to the bank once. It's been six months and I'm still without my debit card. God knows I've tried. I will, however find out within the next week if I'll get my prize possession, only through applying for a bank account as a foreign national. Amazing eh! I'm a british citizen and have to flash the NZ passport to hopefully get a normal bank account. Mind boggling I know, but hey, that's the arcane banking world.


Fucking everywhere. Like 20 people waiting to use a cash machine. 10 people waiting for food in a café. Inside the bank, the Post Office, Argos, Tube Stations. I understand this city has millions of people, but it still makes me insane waiting for anything. It's wasting my time. Can the stupid clerk at the bank, after waiting 10 minutes to talk to her give me the time back? I don't think so. Thiefs.


I'm waiting for summer. I hope it's good. Only because I've never experienced the swings in the weather, that grace this city. One minute it's snowing, then the next week I'm having a picnic, then a couple of days later it's baltic again. Then it's raining, then it's not. It's worse than Auckland, and that's saying something.

Getting paid monthly.

I'm 33 and I still can't budget. No matter how I try. I'm usually struggling for the last week or so before payday. Like clockwork. It's a combination of serious partying, impulse buying, and shouting people. Oh well, I'll learn sooner or later... Not.

Getting sick.

I have never gotten so sick in all my life as I have living in London. I think it has something to do with the serious partying mentioned above. I'm not a young buck anymore. I'm more like a tough old stag, that should be shot and turned into a trophy. I'm way past my sell by date, infact I think I'm slowly disintegrating from the inside out. To date I have had 3 or 4 serious colds, a crippling bout of shingles, a seriously nasty bacteria living in my stomach, a liver that has decided to go on strike, phantom pains on my side that really hurt, and I feel like somebody has gave me a good kicking everytime I wake up in the morning. Apart from these ailments, I'm a box of birds most of the time. Oh, I nearly forgot, I've had the most amount of sickdays ever in the history of my company.

Grey Concrete.

A wee bit of colour wouldn't go amiss. Nuff said.


I'm trying not to become one. Honest.

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

My head feels like an Easter Egg*****

Serious mental block today. Or more to the point, my mental capacity for words is a block. A block of melted cheese to be exact. So today there will be no in depth story of my Easter break. I'll just break it down for you into little bite size globs.

Pick up cousin / Go to Garlic & Shots* / See all good friends / Get great presents / Pissed off with restaurant / Pissed off with thieving little goth c**ts / Food is shit / Start to actually get pissed / Hung out with the Stepney Green Massive / Morning has broken / We are all broken / Tube ride from Hell / Mad garden action**, keywords include "Marsupial" "Scrub" and "Colostomy Bag" / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Curry / Sleep / Borough Market / Saatchi Gallery*** / Camden Market / Cousin can't believe you can buy shrooms / She buys some / Home / Happy Mondays gig**** / Whitehorse till very, very, very late / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Sleep the entire day / Indonesian food / Cousin wants to try Shrooms / Giggle for for four hours / Watch good films / Eat more Indonesian food / Collapse in a crumpled heap / Sleep / Get really confused by daylight savings / Go back to sleep / Wake up / Go to Oxford Circus to eat / Sadly drop cousin off at St. Pancras / Go home / Restore sane life for another week at the office...

* For a more indepth review of Garlic & Shots go here. Thanks Smackie.
** I'm waiting for this guy to write about this. Hurry up Mikey.
*** The new exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery is slim pickings in my opinion, but Jörg Immendorff rocks. Marlene Dumas has serious issues going on, and Hermann Nitsch is slightly a few cards short of a full deck in my opinion..
**** For a more indepth review of The Happy Mondays go here. Thanks again Smackie.
***** Not so much the actual egg, but the contents, which are hollow.

Thursday, March 24, 2005

12053 days so far.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Today I hooked up with a few people, dead and alive. Old mate Harry Houdini, my drinking buddy Steve McQueen, my two dates, Kelly Le Brock and Lara Flynn Boyle. My crazy twin, Sandy, and evil twin Kym. Mase from De La Soul was spinning some tunes, and we were all talking about old times. Like on the day I was born, Great Britian imposed direct rule over Northern Ireland. That crazy incident when I was one, when Lou Reed was bitten on his bum by a fan. The sad day in music history, when I was six when British Courts granted record companies to sieze bootleg and pirate recordings. Or when I was 8, banging out to the new Iron Maiden album "The number of the Beast." Or the suspect times when I was 16 when Oliver North pleaded innocent to Iran-Contra charges. A year later we witnessed the Exxon Valdez spilling it's guts. We toasted Queen Mary popping her clogs, and drank to all those departed, including Sandy, who was born today. Where ever you are now bro, Shine on, you crazy diamond.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Banksy Hits New York Museums.

Just got this in my inbox...

Over the last couple of days, a British pensioner has visited four of New York's Most Famous Museums...

The Museum of Modern Art
The Metropolitan Museum of Art
The Brooklyn Museum of Art
The Museum of Natural History

In each museum the pensioner surreptitiously installed a piece of artwork.

The British Pensioner....


The exclusive photos are online here

Wonder when this will hit the papers and TV?

Punk rock Preschool.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I stumbled across this place today. It's a kids show in Washington D.C called Pancake Mountain. It's made by old punk rockers. They seem to be sick of all the commericials and violence on TV, so they made thier own show. The music on the show is outstanding. Performances by The Arcade Fire, Steel Pulse, Anti Flag, Fiery Furnaces and The Thievery Corporation just to name a few. There's even cameos by ex Minor Threat/Fugazi frontman Ian McKaye singing a song called "Vowel Movement" with his new band the Evans. They even have a savvy sheep puppet called Rufus Leaking who interviews the likes of George Clinton, The Undertones, Henry Rollins, Presidents of the USA, and the Scissor Sisters to name a few. They even have little kid dance parties. How cool is that? I'm totally glued to my screen and I'm supposed to be all grown up and stuff.

Banksy strikes again.

Tuesday, March 22, 2005

The Guns of Brixton.

Just heard on the radio that last night at the NAS concert at Brixton Academy, that "gunshots" were fired at the ceiling and people were evacuated and the concert was stopped. You can read the story here. What a bummer, I'd hate to pay money for a gig and have to leave because of some wannabe gansta decided it would be a macho act to unload a few rounds into the ceiling.

But what really got me pissed is that at the end of the radio news piece, it had snippets of people giving thier view of what had happened. It was all "Well it's Brixton innit" and "It's Brixton, there's lots of crazy people here innit." How stupid are those comments. A: "Innit" is not a word. B: How do we know the person firing the shots came from Brixton? What if the gig was at Earls Court? Would the public say "We'll he probably came up the Victoria line from Brixton to fire the shots tonight" and "Look at all the crazy people here! They must all be from Brixton!"

I've been in Brixton a little while now, and I walk the streets day & night, sometimes alone, and apart from your usual skunk dealers and the odd homeless person, I have felt totally safe. I've never seen a gun, never seen any street violence and never seen anyone being shot. I don't think any of my friends have either. Now I'm not saying that these things don't happen, but from my view I ain't seen jack.

I'd rather live in charming Swiss Cottage in North West London where you can get your head lopped off with an Axe. Or being kicked to death by a traffic Warden in Highbury. Or being stabbed to death while in the back of an ambulance in Bounds Green. How about the cosy Somers Town where you can get stabbed and your child asphyxiated. Or where you can get knifed in the chest over a dispute about a £1 pizza in Holloway Road.

Maybe this post is a little bit biased, but stop slagging off Brixton. It's been ten years since this happened. And 24 years since these dark days. Get over it people. It ain't as bad daan saaf as everyone makes out.

Monday, March 21, 2005

Aliens, Fat Slags, Ikea and the sun.

Originally uploaded by the tiniest man with the tiniset camera.*

Friday night started with the best intentions. Don't they all. I went out with Smackie for dinner at Yelo in Hoxton Square. First thing i noticed was the temperature. It was positively tropical. When we hit Hoxton Square, there were people friggin' everywhere. Supping beer from plastic cups on the grass, punters spilling out of pubs, and everyone had on t-shirts and had smiles on their dials. Amazing. This instantly put me in a good mood.

We then proceeded down to Bethnal Green Road to see Smackies mate Nick's Band. We were early so went to possibly the worst pub in history. The Marquis of Cornwallis. Karaoke. What is it with Karaoke? A machine that poorly masks some idiots idea that they might be albe to sing. Play a jukebox, or get a band in. Don't let punters sing, because usually, as a rule of thumb, they can''t. If they could, they'd be in a band right? Right!

Next stop is a tiny little pub up the road to see Nick's band the Zapitistas. The were first on, and sounded good, a cross between The Gang of Four and The Cramps. Alas it was over in 4 songs. Five more bands to come. The next on offer were 3 old men who had been listening to The Pixies for the last 15 years in their bedrooms. The lead singer even looked like Black Francis. Uncanny. This got too much and we went to the set of Eastenders.

Well you would have thought so. We set up camp in the corner and watched the freakshow. At first we thought the "entertainment" was another round of ear bleeding Karaoke. It was worse. It was one guy doing Karaoke. Correction. It was one shit guy doing Karaoke. It made you want to get boozed. Which we did. The place was full of big bellied old West Ham supporters, complete with navy tattoos with the fat slags from Viz in tow. As for the younger generation, there was a lot of scary dough faced women, with bad taste in clothes, bad tattoos, who were on the pull for equally chavish pasty wide boys from the outer suburbs, who had gone for a big night out in Bethnal Green. Woohoo! Scary. There was even a guy with a hugely deformed face, which I just couldn't stop looking at. It was surreal. But the drinks we're cheap and the giggles were a plenty. On a side note, everytime I went to the loo, everyone I talked to was from Newcastle, and I could not understand a word. We left at closing time. Surprise surprise.

We walked to a nightbus which number was a new one to me. But apparently it went through Brixton. On the way, I found a mop on the road, which with my excellent puppetry and ventriloquist skillls became a skinny rasta headed northerner which was my date for the night. You had to be there. I mopped the floor with the lot of them. A clean sweep, you could say. The bus got us home eventually, and I hid till morning.

What a morning it was. I woke up with the sun streaming in my window. In the afternoon I went to Brockwell Park and sat around with friends and attempted to play frisbee. Such a difference a few hours of sunlight makes to peoples attitudes. People were everywhere, kids, dogs, smiles around. It's a taste of things to come I'm hoping.

Later that night I had my first ever Ikea experience. I strayed from the arrows on the floor and got hopelessly lost in 5 minutes. It took me 45 minutes then, to figure out what what kind of desk i wanted, what kind of legs I wanted, with what type of wood. All I wanted is a friggin desk! Too many options makes Reilly's head pop rather quickly. I eventually got what I wanted and a few other things like lamps and duvet sets. I think the quality of products is good, and the range on offer is outstanding and the prices are very cheap. It's just the actual act of shopping at Ikea that makes my brain start to hurt.

The rest of the night was me swearing at a screwdriver in my bedroom and looking at a set of instructions like my life depended on them. Eventually the desk got made, my room looks 100% better and I went to bed a happy chappy.

Woke rather late and surfed the net on my laptop on my new desk happily for a few hours, until I went to meet a mate at The Effra pub in Brixton. The place hasn't been decorated for 30 years, and is full of old Jamaican dudes playing dominos. Quite a quaint charm, and I got stuck into what is possibly the strongest white rum I've ever tasted. There should be a law against this rocket fuel. Honestly. It sends you loopy. Not that I need any encouragement in the loopy stakes. My mate played the "got an early start" card which I was secretly going to play if he didn't. We then shuffled off to Satay Bar and some Indo grub, which wasn't all that bad considering I haven't really ventured out food-wise in Brixton yet. Unless beer is a food group.

The weekend was rounded off nicely with some good news from the doctor on Monday. What I thought was an ulcer in my belly, which has been plaguing me for what seems like months, is actually this. Thank Christ. Fucking gross really, but with the marvels of antibiotics I will be free from the stomach aliens that have been having a party in me for way to long.

(By the way the pic is an actual screenshot of the inside of my belly. Apparently doctors have little photograhers that can fit on the head of a pin with tiny cameras that live in tiny capsules that they make you swallow. How they get the photos developed, I haven't got the foggiest, but it looks pretty alien eh? The little wormy things with the whispy tendrils are the offending little bastards.)

Friday, March 18, 2005

Nice wig.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

In great New Zealand taste, this young lady gets arrested showing off her tits to Prince Charles. You can't read it here, but her slogan reads "Get your Colonial Shame off my breasts". Hey lady, get over it ok. Every fucking culture has been colonised by some other wankers since year dot. It sucks, but hey, deal with it, we all have to. If it wasn't the English, it would have been the Dutch, or the Spanish, or anyone with a boat. And come to think of it, looking at the colour of your skin, there's been some "colonisation" being going on in your family tree.

Bogan Brilliance.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I can't help it. I'm a closet metalhead. I got hold of one of my favourite albums of all time today. It's the first Danzig album. I can't believe how good it still sounds. Everything about it is brilliant. Apart from the obvious silly notion of being satanic, which I dimissed at the time as being a gimmick, which I've been proved wrong considering Glenn Danzig's output since this classic first album. Not to mention his company Verotik, which has some truly satanic.... er comic books.

But lets get back to that album. The original lineup of Glenn Danzig, John Christ (love the name!) on guitar, Eerie Von (again, love the name!) on bass, and the best name ever on drums Chuck Biscuits. (who used to be in the Circle jerks and Black Flag). All under the wing of super producer Rick Rubin. These faustian four made 40 minutes of hard rock heaven (or hell).

Tracks such "Twist of Cain" (with Randy Rhodes trademark guitar noodling), "Am I demon" (which is faster version of War Pigs in my opinion), the bluesy "She Rides", (which has one of the sauciest videos of the day). The highlight, and possibly their biggest hit was of course "Mother". He almost sounds like a weird mix of Elvis and Jim Morrison if you take away all the music, and are left with Glenn's evil crooning. If you ever get a hold of this video, it will maybe get a giggle. Picture this if you will. Glenn Danzig crucified on a cross, surrounded by scantily clad women. Oh and he's got a fake goats head on. Priceless. Infact this video sums up the whole theme of the album, religion and women. Which seems, by the rest of his catalogue still seems occupy Glenn's dark and twisted mind. Good on you Glenn, you dark prince, thanks for turning me onto this slice of the devil's music. I hope you go to hell. You deserve it.

Thursday, March 17, 2005

Wankered on a Wednesday.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

A sure fire way to kerb yourself on St. Patrick's Day is to get hammered the night before. That's what I did. Unintentionally of course. Can there ever be a quick jar? I'm highly doubting it.

Anyway a couple of interesting things happened while playing silly buggers at the pub. The first was a random stranger coming up to my friend and asking if we were both Kiwis. We were impressed. The amount of times I get mistaken for an Aussie is prolific. I'm so sick of it, the stupid Aussie jokes people make, after telling them I'm not from Aussie. (It confuses people even more when I say I'm actually Scottish.) Only to get the reply "Well it's all the same down there, Isn't it?" Yeah right. Like Scots, and the English are all the same. Next time it happens I might bite someone's face.

Back to the story in hand. We asked this guy how he knew. He'd been listening to us, and had noticed we say "Eh" a lot. I'd never noticed this, and you know what, he was right. Eh. Us Kiwis say "Eh" all the time. Eh. Well I know I do. Eh.

Then he told us that he had just seen Whale Rider. I must recommend this film to everyone. It nearly had me crying. And that's saying a lot. It's one of the best depictions of the East Coast of the North Island that I have ever seen. Go and see it.

The other interesting thing that happened, is one of the most pathetic scams that I have ever heard. My mate and I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker. We were leaving the pub last night and this lady came out after us. She then proceeded to tell us that she needed some spare change for the bus. Same old story. But then she told us she needed to go to the hospital because she has just miscarried in the toilet in the whitehorse. We were speechless. Literally. I emptied my pockets, so did my mate. She then walked off. We were both gobsmacked. It started to sink in. We both started to think that we might have been scammed.

For a kick off, what the hell was she doing boozing and smoking in a pub, pregnant. Then going to the toilet and having a fucking miscarriage. Then going back to your drink like nothing has happened. It's so wrong on so many levels. This scam ranks No.1 in my books. It's probably the most saddest thing I've heard coming out a womans mouth. Where is her head at? What kind of women even says that kind of shit? The depths people will go to to scrounge a few coins. On the other hand, I hope she wasn't telling the truth. Gross.

Moving right along. Also discovered these last night. Yum. What a taste sensation. Smooth and fruity and knocks you for six, considering the size of them.

Woke up this morning and realised it's St. Patrick's Day. The day everyone seems to think that they are Irish. Of course it's just an excuse to get plastered. I don't really get into the whole thing. I mean it's to celebrate St. Patrick getting rid of all the snakes in Ireland. Isn't it? When did it get highjacked and turn into yobs swilling Guiness and wearing stupid hats. I reckon they should canonise Shane McGowan and turn the whole affair into St. McGowan day. He's clearly the right man for the job, and a fine representation of what March the 17th has turned into.

Monday, March 14, 2005

Twenty Tracks.

Step 1: Get Bored.
Step 2: Compile a list of twenty tracks.
Step 3: Take a line from each song in order from your track listing.
Step 4: Try* to make a story from the line in order.
Step 5: Post the story.
Step 6: Throw down the Gauntlet to anyone. (that means you)
Step 7: Wait for a reply.
Step 8: See Step 1.

He calls her aloud from above,

She doesn't know your name
Me think of girl constantly
In love with nobody else
I'm gonna lose myself in you

There's reason to be uncertain
I I I I I'm not your stepping stone
Uh-oh, little girl, psychotic reaction
Then he cries, then he screams, saying
I'm standing out your window

Spent my cash on every high I could find
Don't look so scared I'm no mad-brained bear
Maybe she's sleeping, maybe she's ill
Can’t you hear me knockin’ on your window
It is you, oh yeah
Sneakin round round round in a blue jumpsuit

I been very tempted
When there's no one around
We can talk, if we like
Take my hand you ugly girl

Joy Division - Isolation
Blondie - Maria
The Sonics - Louie Louie
The Stooges - No Fun
Magazine - Give me Everything
Radio 4 - State of Alert
Paul Revere & The Raiders - I'm Not Your Steppin' Stone
Count Five - Psychotic Reaction
Patti Smith - Land
QOTSA - Little sister
Richard Hell And The Voidoids - White punks on Dope
Rolling Stones - Stray cat blues
Rolling Stones - off the hook
Rolling Stones - Can't You Hear Me Knocking
Pressure Drop - The Specials
Ghostrider - Suicide
The Clash - Somebody got murdered
The English beat - Tears of a clown
The Futureheads - Meantime
Ween - Mutilated lips

(*Yes, I might need my head read, but I think I've done ok on my first attempt.)

Friday, March 11, 2005


This made my day. Check it.

Thursday, March 10, 2005

Spotted on the box.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I saw this "Blob" ad for marmite last night. You see the little fella on the right. If you are a Kiwi, you would have grown up with this him. He's the 4 square man. He's been ripped off on t-shirts, and in some fine art paintings to good effect. It seems he's been ripped off again. Now DDB London have put thier hand up for this ad, and I'm wondering if it's just been overdubbed from a Southern Hemisphere ad? If you look at the ad, the prices are in dollars, and the whole street looks very Kiwi. Have a look here and tell me what you think. (If you are from New Zealand, or it won't make any sense what so ever.)

The end of an era?

I heard today they might be closing down CBGB's in New York. Fuck. I haven't been there yet. It has been a dream of mine for a long time, to go see any bands there, get drunk and act like a rock star for a few hours, and maybe throw up where some of my heroes have. I first heard of CBGB's through The Ramones, when I was a little punker 18 years ago.

I remember getting The Ramones live at CBGB's, New York, 10/27/77 at Rock & Roll Records when I would have been maybe 15. Many friday nights going into Queen St went like this. Going to Blue Beat behind the civic, which was about the only place I knew where you could get tartan trousers, stovepipes and goth/punk clothes from. I had a prized pair of black stovepipes and some 10 up doc boots. (which I had to take off and hide from my mum when I sneaked home). Oh they were the days. Then I'd stroll down Queen St, with my soaped up spikes and have a look at Marbecks in the import section, then across to Fort St and to Rock and Roll Records and maybe buy a badge or a cloth patch to sew onto my army bag or the back of my shirt. If I had enough money I'd buy a record. I can remember buying The Exploited : Punks not Dead, Crass: Best Before 1984, Black Flag: Everything went black, Dead Kennedys: In God we Trust (which I had to take back after my mum found it. The cover art alone was enough, God knows what would have happened if she had actually listened to it.) Then I'd walk up the otherside of Queen Street, a long long way to Real Groovy Records, which used to be smaller than it is now, but heaven for a 15 year punk rocker. Then I'd go across to Myers Park and smoke pot, and walk back down to Britomart place, try and not get beat up by Samoan gangs and catch the last bus home.

These memories are pretty hazy, but I do remember being very stoned when I was young and feeling quite sick and somehow ending up in Symonds St outside a really rough pub that was on the corner opposite cheapskates. God knows I can't remember the name of the pub. I'll never forget the wasters piling out of that hole.

Whoops I'm rambling on here. Back to Cbgb's. From what I can gather they owed 300,000 US dollars in rent in 2001 and have been paying it off ever since. (How do you get into that much debt for rent???) They have just been lumped for another bill for 76,000 US. The owners of the building want to double the rent and and negotiate a new lease. The club is fighting the unpaid bills and rent rise in court later this month. Here's hoping.

CBGB has had an incredible run for over 30 years. It opened in 1973 and was originally supposed to be a country bar. CBGB stands for Country, Bluegrass And Blues. Over time however these acts ended up playing here. Agnostic Front, Blondie, Babes in Toyland, Cop Shoot Cop, The Damned, The Dead Boys, Fishbone, Guns n Roses, The Jam, Jon Spencer, Pavement, Pere Ubu, P J Harvey, The Police, Patti Smith, The Ramones, The Rollins Band, Talking Heads, Television, Richard Hell & the Voidoids. What a list! I'd give my right arm to see any of those bands. I hope they sort something out, it would be a great loss to good music.

(No doubt I've missed some essential bands out, and my memory of Auckland 18 years ago could be be a little fuzzy. The rock and roll lifestyle of my youth maybe have impacted on my brain to remember anything.)

Tuesday, March 08, 2005

Stencil me in for an appointment.

I love stencils. I used to do a bit in N.Z. just before I left. With so many walls in London begging to be adorned with some art, I might have to get off my arse and actually get some work out there. Banksy of course is my hero, when it comes to stencils. Just the sheer amount, detail and original ideas he comes up is mind boggling. I'm almost tempted to go to Bristol and have a day with a camera. I've spotted a few good pieces in London, but I think Bristol will be better. Another thing I have noticed, how clean my neck of the woods is. Brixton, I would have expected to be covered with decent graf and some nice tags. Maybe I haven't found any yet. I must investigate more. However around my work is a street art paradise. Which is around Old Street. Lots of stickers. Infact too many stickers. Most of it I think is due to the stupid amount of graphic designers in the area. Mind you I see work everyday by D*Face and The London Police which lends a bit of cred to the area. So many people I know don't even notice street art, and see it as petty vandalism. I see the streets around me as one big potential canvas, just waiting to be filled. (God that sounds so pretentious, but I'm so not an art wanker. Go here for my take on art wank.) Get out there people, and start to beautify your part of the city! Here's some sites for inspiration, that I salivate over daily. This site is possibly the daddy of street art sites, and this is a great worldwide sticker site. And this lil puppy blows my mind. And last but not least, where I got today's pic from. Like the Kiwi angle? Funny eh.

Monday, March 07, 2005


In the spirit of my new improved commitment to weedends that doesn't revolve around boozing, going bonkers and staying awake, I did some "normal" activities, and y'know what kids? I had a great time.

On Saturday I decided to go to Borough Market. What a good idea. Here's what £50 will buy you. Coincedently the exact amout of money I would spend on a neatly folded bindle on a Friday night.

A whole fresh red snapper, A jar of Mediterranean tomato pickle, a jar of Roman mustard, a packet of Spanish deep fried broad beans, some amazing rye breads, some spanish goat cheese (a good sized wedge), a punnet of delicious queen olives, a packet of Quinoa (my new favourite grain-not-grain), some organic pasta, soy milk, some decadent pieces of fudge, and to munch on, a smoothie, a spinich and feta tartlet. Oh and a few scallops that I devoured in a split second.

Needless to say, my bags we're bulging, and my belly was following suit. I'm glad I had only £50, because whatever money I had on me, I would have spent it. Easily. The rest of the day was spent nibbling, reading music magazines. Very civilised, well for me anyway. Usually on a Saturday afternoon, I'm a total mess, either trying to take my excess to dizzing heights, or at the boozer trying to get down from those dizzing heights.

Saturday night, Mikey and Smackie came round and we had the fish for dinner, which was sublime. Then we trekked down to the Ritzy and saw A Life Aquatic. Wes Anderson, you are one stylish mofo. Every shot was planned to perfection, every piece of dialogue honed. It was a curious, slow burning film, that kept me amused for the entire length. Not to forget the great David Bowie soundtrack, sung entirely in Portuguese and on an acoustic guitar. I had goosebumps. A good film, not his best though, but very good none the less.

Sunday was a nice lazy day, full of odd surprises and a few belly laughs. Went to Spitalfields market with Mikey. Not what I was hoping for to be honest. I expected a lot more cool clothes for guys. We ended up just gorging on food. A nice vege curry, some really, really good dried figs, (which wasn’t a figment of my dried fig) and a banana and maple syrup crepe, and a fruit filled smoothie that was to die for. Killed a bit of time and headed back to Brixton just in time for the Comedy Club. Suffice to say it was fantastic! Didn't laugh as hard and as maniacally as Smacked Face and Ms.G though. They we're positively cackling and snorting thier was through the entire set. They were almost as fun to watch as the talent up on the stage.

Oddness spotted on the weekend.

A frail, gay old man on crutches, dressed in Union Jack Boxer shorts with a chain across the front, studded belt, a string vest and what seemed to be a cape, complete with a big brooch trying to hop on the tube at Stockwell. An old lady walking her ferrets, complete with little ferret harnesses. A weird loner at the movies who had the most fucked up laugh, who laughed when no one else did, and then left before the end of the film? Last but not least, a lady in the row in front of us at the comedy club set her own hair on fire.

God I love London.

Friday, March 04, 2005

Dr. Feelgood gets a check up.

Had quite a mad day with the backward world that is the N.H.S. This morning I realised that my idea of seeing how long I can go without an inhaler is not not such a good idea after all. It was snowing, I was gasping, so I thought I should go see the doctor.

Found the doctors and filled in a whole lot of forms, and sat down to wait my turn. I look around to check the waiting room, every person a deadly infected person that can make me even more sick than I already am. Must get this over with.... pronto.

There is a lady a few chairs away that looks ok, but I soon figure she's totally bonkers. She gets up and asks the receptionist for a light, then 2 glasses of water. Then sits down. Then gets up, then laughs, the asks if everyone is ok. Then asks the receptionist if she can get an appointment, then complains about the time. You get the picture. She then asks for the number for the local psych ward. I'm quite amused at all this and try not to chuckle. Meanwhile the only other patient is looking at me and shaking her head. She's a waspish old chav hag with big fake gold hoop earrings. Real classy. She was dying to blab to me, but to be honest I couldn't be fucked to talk to this old boot. I just wanted to get out. My name came up, and I was off to see the doctor.

The doctor has advised me to go to the hospital and get xrays of my chest, and poke me with needles. Great! Just what I want. To go to the bloody hospital, in the bloody snow, on the bloody bus, in bloody Dulwich. What a way to spend a morning. I trudge to Dulwich Hosptial and find where I have to go. Get the nasty blood tests out the way, then join the queue of freaks for x rays.

There's a few of us. There's big west African gangtster dude, with big Avirex jacket, cap, totally blinged out, a real 50p. There's old fat grandad, who looks pissed off with everything. And to top it off there was an extremely posh, rich looking old dame.

Some guy came in and told us that we would be seen to shortly, but first we all had to get into our gowns. We all got handed these standard cotton gowns. The ones that you do up the back. I looked around and immediately thought, this is going to be fun. We all went and got changed and the games begun.

Gangster guy came out with the gown tucked in to his jeans, bling over the top and jacket still on. Old fat grandad came out with the gown on backwards with his huge fish white belly hanging out the front. Gorgeous eh. And to top it off the posh dame comes out with the gown on, dressed immaculately, except for her legs which were covered in thigh high black stockings, with suspenders and boots. Believe me, it's not a good look. Not by a long shot.

All I can say is that I felt that I had been admitted to the looney bin, that or an extra from "One flew over the cuckoo's nest". It was very surreal morning, and I wondered what possibly could happen now.

Two x ray nurses came down the hall. The first one was this old sausage-fingered, portly old mole with a face like a bag of smashed crabs. The other was a svelte, leggy, eastern european, fully bonified A grade porno nurse.

You can guess who I got. Old cumberland claws. I was postioned with my hands behind my back, my chest on some freezing metal and told to hold my breath. The nurse waddled behind a thick screen and i was photographed by some giant sized metal dental drill.

Finally I can go. I walked out and got changed. A silly notion crossed my mind. I'm going to steal this gown. I looked down and saw a discarded gown on the floor. Perfect. I do a quick switch, bung the gown in my bag, come out of the changing room, slam dunk the decoy gown and casually stroll out of Dulwich Hospital. I hopped on the bus, and before you know it I was, far way from the madness that was my morning.

Nuff Said.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Thursday, March 03, 2005

Food for thought.

I haven't posted for a while simply because my life has been reasonably uneventful. My weekend was as per usual spiraling out of control and I have been licking my wounds for the first part of the week.

My health, however seems to be improving, particulary my asthma, which is notably better since I have knocked the ciggies and dairy products on the head. It's only been a week or so for the dairy and since the weekend for the tabs but I feel a hell of a lot better. It's quite a relief. I've actually run out of my asthma medication, and am going to see how long I can go without sucking on the blue inhaler.

This morning I had a revelation. I popped into a vegan café this morning to pick up a soy latte and was taken by the food on offer. It looked divine. I ordered my coffee and looked around. The colour, texture and smell of everything was good. I then looked at all the people in the shop. They all looked radiant and really healthy and relaxed. As much as am loathe to admit it, there was a vibe in the shop. It felt good. I didn't buy anything as I had just bought a bunch of grapes for my brekky and I left the shop.

I felt something had shifted slightly in my perception. I actually started considering what life might be like not eating meat. Now this is a big concept for me. I love meat. It's such a base animal instinct for me, and I've embraced this ethos for such a long time. But surely this can't be good for me in the long run. I know it can't. But it's like a bastion of manhood. Eating lots of meat. Denis Leary comes to mind as I write this. A few friends I know don't eat meat and they seem to be quite healthy and have good disposition. It's getting me thinking. Don't worry people, I'm not going to turn into some crystal wearing, patchouli dipped, hemp wearing, tree hugging vegan overnight. However, I'm going back to that café and getting some lunch, and I don't think I'm going to buy any meat for my dinner tonight. I've also just realised that at home I have a book that I bought in Portobello market, which has been sitting on my dresser unopened for months. It's called The enchanted broccoli forest, and it's by this lady. I might just open that book tonight and turn over a new leaf.