Thursday is the new Friday.

I had a hell day at my job and was working till 8.00pm. My brain was pretty mushed by the end of it. Got the usual lets get a pint after work text from my pal Dobber. All good. The weather was balmy and I knew a cool beer would hit the spot, and wind me down after my long day at work.

I think I downed like 3 pints in about half an hour. The one thing I'm having a lot of trouble mastering is the whole drinking slow thing. I just can't seem to do it. God knows I've tried. Even tried switching from beer to rum one night, with diabolical effects.

Anyway Dobber had a hard day at work as well so he decided to get a bottle of buckfast to sip on, well for the energy, ya know. We didn't want to get caught swigging it in the beer garden, so we decided to mix it with Guiness. So was christened "The Black Monk". Sounds horrible, but is actually not to bad at all.

Fast forward, half an hour and I spied a reggae DJ that we were going to see up the road at the Telegraph. I told him last week that I'd burn him off some NZ Dub for him. I took him back to my place to and burned a cd for him. We went back to the pub and we all started having a jolly good time outside in the sun.

Eventually we piled up to the Telegraph and got into the skanking vibe. After a while I asked the guy I met, when he was playing. He then told me that he doesn't play much. I was a bit perplexed. I asked him again if he was Djing tonight. He told me he doesn't EVEN Dj. At that moment a guy, who looked a little similar walked into the Telegraph carrying a crate of records.

The penny dropped. I had invited a total stranger into my house, took him into my room, started burning a cd for him, left him in my room while I went pottering around my house. He could have been a bloody psycho, or a thief or thought I was up for a bit of bum sex. God only knows!

Anyway I had to get the cd back off him and give to the dj. I felt a bit sheepish, and bought the stranger, who was even a bit miffed by this point a Scrumpy Jack. This went on for a while. It seemed like everything was going to be ok. Then someone passed a spliff, that basically wiped me out.

I staggered out the Telegraph, quite early, and did the head in front of my feet walk, stopped in at the evil pizza place up the top of my street, got the standard drunken drumstick (which by the way is becoming quite a habit, and is scary because I don't even eat chicken.) Next thing, my alarm is going off and I have to go to the work.

I'm not too sure if I'll post the rest of my weekend, but did include:- The best curry I've ever had, a quiet DVD that turned into a bender at the Whitehorse, a few quiet drinks back at mine, a serious spanking session with belts, too much buckfast, russian cokes (the best shot ever!), semi naked pictures, and a spanish amazonian lady somehow ending up in my bed! Saturday afternoon consisted of getting quite toasted, me thinking that pavement's looked like travelaters, a small curling competition with brooms and ashtrays, a mad, mad party in Hackney, me and a friend cleaning up the party at the end (cos it was fun), a weird excursion to Stoke Newtington, and watching a Serbian freak mistaking essential oil for poppers, a wacko Irish guy playing early 1990's techno, and accompanying himself on a keyboard (he couldn't play to save himself) and a few dodgy things, that we only found out about after we left.

Salad Daze

It seems like summer has finally arrived. What a difference a fat ball of gas 93 million miles away makes to London. Suddenly everyone decides to go outside, to bask in the heat. It's a nice idea. What isn't a nice is people who get burnt to a crisp. It's true what they say. "Only mad dogs and englishmen go out in the midday sun." The amount of sorry looking lobsters I saw on Monday proved me right. As a rule of thumb I usually duck for cover between 11.30 and 2.30. And for your skin's sake, put on some sunscreen or wear a hat. It's common sense.

Another interesting thing I saw is the willingness guys are to get their tops off and play football in the sweltering heat. Does heatstroke mean anything you you guys? At least get a few sunbeds in to give your self a base tan and save us all from the milk bottle white. (that sounds incredibly camp)

I'm digressing. Anyway on the subject of summer, I'm on a mission to find the best salad ever. I've got a few recipes, but I'm always on the hunt for some more. If you happen to read this, take a few minutes to add a recipe, and I'll dig up another recipe, to add to the vegetable pile.

There is a few reasons I love salads in summer. They seem like the perfect food. Not too heavy, really good for you, and with hot weather, who can be arsed standing in front of a stove? Not me. I just wished my local shop knew anything about vegetables. Nearly everything is rotting or shrivelling up. How do they expect anyone to buy this crap? Brixton Hill, sort out your vegetables please! I might have to venture down to Electric Avenue and buy a good supply of veges, or take the plunge and start getting a Abel & Cole's Organic box, once a week. The best reason however for being a salad freak for the next few months is to get rid of the few pounds of fat that have decided to stay put in my belly. Cheers Becks.

This brings me round to the final stage of my summer plan. Actually to do some exercise. Last time I attempted the gym it was a total disaster. I went, paid my dues and went for my induction. Easy peasy. Next time I went down to the gym it was rammed, and nigh on impossible to get on anything. Fuck you Fitness First. They told me to come in the morning at 6.30, as that time was less busy. This was at the beginning of the year. I tried it once. I made it to the end of the street and quickly turned around. There were like polar bears rummaging through rubbish bins, and penguins trying to waddle south. Fuck that for a game of soldiers. Back to bed, to get up at a civilised hour.

To top it all off, I didn't read the fine print of my contract (as usual) and they kept on taking £45 out every month. Wankers. However I'm now an expert with dealing with the man, and got out of my contract. It involved talking through clenched teeth, asking for supervisors, and talking to everyone that would listen. It took a month, but it paid off.

So I've figured out, that gyms aren't for me. My gym card however makes a good chopper, so it's not a total waste. So, I've decided to buy a bike, and start to do a few laps of Brockwell Park, eventually, once I'm game enough, start to bike to work.

Wish me luck, I'm off to price bikes the noo.

Dick of the week

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Following on from Pic of the Week, I'd thought I'd start posting "Dick of the Week". This is a bit old, I think this idiot got this little gem shortly after 9/11. But seriously, this one of the most dumbest things you can do to yourself.

A: It's not centred.
B: Schmuck will see it mirrored.
C: Why even do it?

I hope this guy doesn't get a passport and decides to travel. It would make a pretty easy target.

Pic of the Day.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

Protests are continuing in Pakistan against the alleged desecration of the Koran at the US detention centre at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.

Hey mate, turn around I think the Colonel needs to be fried.

Freaking out.

This sounds really bizarre, but I've been hallucinating smells. Like right now, I'm smelling fish and chips at my desk. Half an hour ago it was cloves. Shit, now it's fried chicken. Also I've got a weird sensation of cold spots on my neck and torso. Like dripping water. Fucking weird sensation. Like an itch that moves. I keep on thinking I'm spilling water on me. But I'm not.

For those who might know me as well, I haven't had mushrooms for breakfast either. Not on a school day anyway.

I've just been informed that a workmate just had an early lunch of roast chicken and steamed veges with Roast potatos, parmesan and pepper.

Note to self: Don't say your thoughts out loud, your workmates think you are a crackpot already. This however doesn't explain the fish & chips, the water sensation and cloves.

Pic of the day.

Something I'd watch.

Life is is a bit strange sometimes. Especially on the telly. I don't watch a lot of the box, but last night, I managed to plonk myself down for a bit of zoning out.

The news at 10 was on. Big news. The Michael Jackson verdict to be exact. Wasn't he lucky. Imagine him being sent down to prison. Jesus Christ. All the lifers would be queueing up to be "the guy who beat Michael Jackson to death with a pipe." Now that would be something I'd watch.

Anyway, back to the verdict. Anyone notice the pack 'o' wackos outside the courtroom. This one lady caught my eye. She looked like a Martha Stewart wannabe, dressed quite smartly in a green power suit. The thing is though, she had a wire cage in front of her that was full of white doves.

She started releasing the doves, one by one as the counts we're being read out. She's mental, right? You'd have to be. Think about it. "Hmmm, I might not work today, instead I’m going to get a cage full of doves and mosey on down to the Michael Jackson trial and release them one by one as the charges are read out." What if he was found guilty? Would she have bitten the heads of 'em? Again, that would be something I'd watch.

It's all about the music innit

Hi, my name is Reilly, and I'm an addicted to music. I just discovered the I Tunes music shop. Fuck, this is going to be the death of me. I'm getting no work done. We have some pretty nifty computers at work, and a really fast internet pipe. This makes browsing music oh so easy.

I also discovered possiibly the most detailed, wide ranging music review site. It's called Allmusic.com. It's all catergorised and cross-referenced to bands that have similar influences. This makes for an infinite amount of music to check out.

Armed with my debit card details, I took the plunge and got an account. Most albums are £7.99 and you can buy tracks for 79p. You can send in your own mixes, and look at what other peoples tastes are. They have musicians playlists, and a whole lot of "essential" lists. I've been quite choosy in my picks however. I tend to be so narrow in my choices, only because I want to find exactly what suits me at the time. Nine times out of ten, you won't have heard it anywhere, but hey, it still exists.

In the last few days, I've bought Pink Grease : This is for Real. These guys are from Sheffield and are a bit glam rock, without being cheesy. (Is there such a thing?) They seem to pull it off. This album is a belter. No filler.

The next artist I bought is a retrospective by The Brian Jonestown Massacre : Tepid Peppermint Wonderland: A Retrospective. I found out about this guys from seeing a trailer at a film last week. The Film is called DIG! It looks really good. It's all about 2 bands, namely BJM and The Dandy Warhols. A film maker followed them around for 7 years and watched the Dandys bow to record company bitches and BJM, well basically implode.
From what I can gather. Anton Newcombe, the guy behind BJM is a genius though. They have gone through an estimated 40 band members but made have 10 albums in 5 years. 3 of them in a year, and to boot they have gotten a nod from Patti Smith, who has booked them to open the Meltdown Festival. Where are the Dandys these days? Bittersweet.
(On a meltdown note, Who can't wait to see Television. I'm wetting my pants over it.)

Next up on the buying spree is The Teenage Fanclub : Bandwagonesque. Released, just when first wave of grunge hit the sand in 1991. This is 42 minutes of pure power pop paradise. I fell in love with this album. Infact on Sunday afternoon, in a hungover state, while cleaning the house, I listened to this album 4 times in a row. I like it that much. Go the Fannies.

Today I bought a band called Flunk : Morning Star. They are a folktronica outfit from Norway. The lead singer has a honey voice that sounds a lot like Björk, except not so tweaked. Her voice, combined with ethereal soundscapes and acoustic guitars, make the hairs stand out on my arms. Serious goosebump action.

To round it off today, I bought Mark Lanegan : Bubblegum. He's the ex singer from The Screaming Trees. This album sounds like if you tied Tom Waits down the bottom of your garden and fed him gravel, whisky and the occasional shot of morphine for a week. It's moody, troublesome alcoholic blues. Just fitting my mood today.

God I love music. But someone take my debit card from me, before I'm homeless.

A quiet weekend at home.

Sorry I haven't written much lately, but last weekend's antics stole my brain for a few days. The brain has been returned, however, and was reunited this morning when I woke up.

It was a typical weekend in my book. Friday started of with a few innocent beers down the pub. Was quite nice, glossing over the last week of work, and realising that I'd gone into this very pub, and sat in the same stool, every night for the last week. A home away from home you could say.

Then a pal of mine "Curly" made the typical Friday night suggestion. "Let's get a nose bag!" From there, things always seem to get out of hand. Well, round my way they do. He went off to get supplies. Meanwhile another friend "Dobber" popped in and told me of his new job, which was going to start next week, and the fact that he was going to be drug tested, so he had to be a good boy. This roughly translates as lets go on a bEnder of epic proportions. What could I do? Go home? Say no? Be responsible? I decided to join him. For moral support of course.

We went off to get supplies. Met up with "Curly" and went back to the pub, fully loaded and ready for action. "Dobber" decided that things we're going a bit slow, so he decided to double the dose. Soon enough, he realised that he should of waited a wee bit more. Ha ha. "Dobber" is a looney at the best of times, (with a heart of gold) but with this added enhancement well, he had me in tears. I then noticed my flatmate and a whole bunch of his friends pour into the pub. That can only mean one thing. Back to mine later. I don't usually have people back to mine, mainly because of the size of the place, and that there is far too many really expensive things that can be broken. And usually with my bunch of mates something usually gets broken.

Anyway "the girls" showed up at the pub and things we're in full swing. I think I must have been abducted by aliens at this point, because all I can remember is being on my couch, and it's early morning. "Curly" had gone for more supplies, and I had given "Dobber" a hospital gown to wear. (Read this to see how I aquired the gown.) That, and I noticed quite a few bottles of Buckfast lying around. Uh oh. Buckfast has an insane amount of caffiene, that coupled with all the other bits and pieces makes for a rather hyperactive time.

Like finding 101 uses for a colander, "dobber" trying to climb trees, turning a pestle into a unicorns horn, using a triangle into a stirrup, using the colander as a helmet, and a little plastic model of the Seattle tower as a lance and having jousts in my living room. That was pale compared to my amazement listening to "Dobber". He had the best stream of wasted rubbish I've ever seen coming out of someones craw. You had to be there. It was simply incredible.

Fast forward to my turn to get supplies. I was cruising down Brixton water lane and who should I see popping out of a dodgy housing estate. Shaun Ryder. We crossed paths. I thought to myself. That's Shaun Ryder. He looked back. he hopped into a waiting car and drove in the same direction. I kept on looking at him, and he kept on looking back at me. I stopped at the lights, and so did his car. I then did a tiny bit of freaky dancing - Bez style. He smiled. I smiled. Then I turned round to see a bus load of people looking at me with the "Isn't Brixton full of nutters look." Fuck it. It was worth it.

Next thing I remember it was 4pm and my front room looked like a five year old's bedroom, apart from all the booze, ciggies, spliffs, colanders, cheese graters, strainers, pots, and other assorted goodies strewn all over the place. We cleaned up and went to a mates BBQ. Found a couch, and got stuck into some rum for a few hours. Slowly a few people showed up, and a good BBQ was in full swing. It was a really nice way to end a day.



Highlights of the BBQ were rediscovering Teenage Fanclub, and mainly the song, "What you do to me." Which is two minutes of power pop heaven. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Finding a toy chihuahua, the birthday boy and myself getting mistaken for Starsky and Hutch (see above. The resemblence is uncanny) and wearing the loudest cardigan ever. It rocked. Eventually got home at 3.00am and slept till late afternoon.

Spent till late afternoon, slowly cleaning my gaff, to get some sense of normality back into my life. Got a call from my "Battersea Boy". He came down for a visit, and we went back to the pub for a few quiet drinks. A few turned into a lot. I switched from beer to rum, which was a bad move. You drink twice as much. It was quite a nice time though.

Then Scribe walks in. (he's quite a well known rapper in NZ, who is on tour at the moment.) I have met him a few times and we exchanged the ol' raised eyebrow greeting. Started to thin out later in the night, and I went to the loo, and found a battery and a fan on the floor. Don't ask me why, or how it got there, but there it was. I put the two of them together and bingo! It worked. I then sauntered over to were Scribe was sitting and popped down the fan in front of him, proclaiming "Here's you're biggest fan". He replied "it's not very big". I replied "We'll it's still a fan." Priceless. You had to be there. It was a hoot. The pub closed soon after and I stumbled home about midnight, and eventually got to bed. I woke, well rested and ready to combat another working week.

* The names are changed to protect the guilty.

Die, you motherf**ker.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I can't even begin to say how much this make my blood boil.

Considering how bad Africa is doing right now.
I'll make a point. Just picked off the bbc news site today.

• 22,000 people arrested in Zimbabwe and their homes burned to the ground.
• Civil war in the Ivory Coast.
• Child miners in the Congo.
• No aid going to Niger.
• The rapid increase of HIV/AIDS in Africa, and total lack of medicine to combat it.
• Nigerian corruption.
• Explosions in Burundi.
• Sudan is starving.
• Child traffiking in Benin.
  

With the huge push to help Africa's debt by the world's wealthier nations, it amazes me that American c**t decides to do this. Fuckface's defence budget is running into the billions, and he has the utter stupidity to say, and I quote "A key part of the plan did not fit with the US budget process." Maybe because you submitted a £1.3 trillion budget for next year, cutting back on welfare and schools, I might add, just to prop up your fucking pointless war machine.

You fucking monkey, there is blood on your hands, wanker.

*Sorry for all the swearing, but I'm raging here.

Genius.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

If you live in London, and travel through Shoreditch, you might notice some rather large characters spraypainted on roller doors and walls. Pretty cool eh. I think so.

We all know Shoreditch has long been a favourite place to be be seen and home to a lot of wannabe fashionistas. People trying to be hip and striving to have an individual style to the point of absurdity, that they end up all looking the same. Take all the stupid Keith Richards shaggy mane haircuts and wildly mismatched clothes that some blokes tend to wear. Very Nathan Barley. It's a funny thing to notice.

Shoreditch is also a popular place to position stickers, stencils and the odd piece of graf. I suppose it adds to the bohemian atmosphere of the place. The coolest thing about the art shown above is that all the letters are dotted over Shoreditch and Hoxton, so all you see walking down the road is a 12 foot high brightly painted character. They look good up close too. But the real message is what these characters spell out. A message to Hoxton and Shoreditch perhaps? Hats off to you Eine. Good work fella. You can see some of his work here.

I predict a riot.

Originally uploaded by LIFE OF REILLY.

I think it's a good thing what Bob Geldolf is doing with the Live 8 concerts. Well kind of.

Well for a kick off, I think it might kick off. Not the concert that is. I think the concert, well the Hyde Park one will put me to sleep, save for maybe Muse, The Cure, Velvet Revolver and at a stretch the Killers. The rest of the lineup, well it's all a bit too fashionable innit? I know it's a good cause and all that, but between Mariah, Elton John, Madonna, U2, Paul MaCartney, Sting, Robbie WIlliams they could probably buy Africa. Well maybe not, but you get the idea.

The main flaw I see with the whole Live 8 concerts is that Sir Bob is trying to get 1,000,000 people to go protest at the G8 Summit at the Gleneagles hotel. I think the idea of it is great, but the reality I fear if he pulls it off will probably get ugly. Just look what happened in Genoa the last time in 2001.

Poor Edinburgh will grind to a halt. I don't think it will be albe to cope at all. With all the tourists in July, a huge load of schemies looking for easy pickings, and a lot of people who will think there is a bit of "per-tay doon the toon." It's going to be chaos. Maybe Bob should have asked the people of the city first maybe? Or at least ask how the council is going to accomodate the influx for the week.

Of course there is going to be a ton of more police on patrol and they seem to be building a five mile long fence around the Gleneagles hotel as I write this, to keep out pesky protesters from rushing the hotel. Another great metaphor. 8 of the big bastards of the worlds biggest consumer nations, discussing what's best for the world without really asking the world or letting them anywhere near. Typical really.

But apparently he's urging it to be a peaceful affair. How exactly to you control the possibly of a million people protesting Mr Geldolf? You can't. All is going to take is a few hardcore folk to start hurling the molotovs at the cops, and it's all on. Bigtime.

If the worlds top 8 governments want to fix Africa before it dies, they need to curb the rampant corruption in African governments that siphons off all the aid that comes pouring in, sort out some kind of deal with all the assorted tribal militia running amok all over the continent, and try to somehow give all the people who leave Africa looking for better money in Europe some incentive to stay put and get a bit an economy going on.Maybe tell George Bush there is a whole lot of untapped oil in Africa and he'll send in the bully boys to create "democracy."

Here's a link to a spot of email terrorism from the make poverty history site. (which everyone is getting those naff white bands for, and incidently is supposed to be quite trendy.) I've had the banner on my site for ages, but geez it's all getting a bit "cool" now eh? Don't ya hate how people love to jump on the charity bandwagon.

Email Tony Blair and say your piece. I'm not gonna rant on to Tony about Africa, I'm going to ask him what he intends to do about the shit state of affairs in the U.K.

We'll see what happens.