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Thursday 10.19pam 29/6/2006
This past week has seen much interesting activity, but I shall whittle it all down to my trip to Paris, as that was, and always is, the highlight. Fresh from Clare's goth-themed BBQ birthday bash in Belsize Park which was very ruinous indeed, I hopped over to Paree to drink wine and coke from plastic bottles out in Rue de Lappe for the Paris v. Spain match, and also to celebrate Clare's birthday yet again, rather like the Queen you see. Everything got very exciting in the final minutes of the game. After Zidane 'Zizou' scored a scorcher, really putting the boot into the Spics (a minority, we saw only three, cowering in a corner), the whole street erupted into celebration. Flares were lit, glasses were thrown, photographers appeared, children swigging beer emerged from somewhere. How marvellous it was! Two drunk women were shimmying on top of a Volkswagen Polo which, going at a leisurely 5mph, proved too speedy for our spirited duo. The car stalled, chucking the ladies arse over boob onto the bonnet and into a gutter, one even ripping the windscreen wiper off with her bedraggled barnet. We then dragged ourselves to the notorious Bar de Famille, where Slimane treated us to plenty of whisky. I did many other things whilst there, such as catching Sofia Coppolla's 'Marie Antoinette' (puff pastry), finding out what Aunt Nathalie had to say about 'The Clown at Midnight' (nothing nice, much to my chagrin) and going out again the following night to drink wine by the Seine and catch more jazz at the Tennessee bar. But then, whilst all quite pleasant, Clare's text message yesterday morning was unsettling to say the least. Except for the last bit: "Simon you're rank. you licked up wine from the street last night! Ha ha. Let's move to Paris!"
Monday 1.06am 26/5/2006
Tonight was Bonnie's farewell barbecue up in the old neck of the woods where I used to live, Upper Richmond Road. She is going to Maastricht for two months to work on art projects that promote all that is envrionmentally friendly. Ronnie and I have agreed to go and visit her and do our bit to support green-sky thinking overseas, and get incredibly stoned whilst we're at it, hopefully!
Thursday 7.39pm 22/6/2006 The Black Cap in Camden has to be the best karaeoke place in town. Not only does it boast Rachey Stevens' "Negotiate With Love" on it's listings (a rarity), there is also an enormous stage to perform on, with lyrics discreetly hidden from the audience's view. You get real star treatment! And so you could be forgiven for thinking you can actually sing. Lynnie squawked a Madonna song I forget, and I remember posing for photographs beside a pile of vomit on the train back. Yesterday I finally got to feast my eyes on 'Poseidon', which Lynnie and I snuck into 'gratis'. Nothing much happens after the big wave hits the boat, but it was quite a marvellous spectacle, despite there being much better ships-in-peril movies out there. I am reminded of one where a wheelchair-bound Burt Lancaster gets thrown overboard. A good giggle, that one. After that I caught up with Kat, who has moved here from Greece to work at Al-Jazeera. Listened to lots of hot gossip about wife beating, stonings, beheadings and all the interesting stuff you don't get on the BBC (cue megalomaniacal guffaw a la Jonathan Price in 'Tomorrow Never Dies'). Well, not really.
Monday 12.34am 19/6/2006
Too much socializing is bad for you. A marvellous week has been had, including a Grates gig at 93 Feet East, catching up with Uzi and her sister who were visiting from Brussels, bidding farewell to Marsha before she goes globehopping at crappy Motion bar in Embankment, trying to be a club kid and failing miserably at JC's night in uber-hip Fiction, Kings Cross. Ive not had a night in since I got back from Paris, and its about time I savoured another week spent being a recluse. Tonight I finally got to enjoy my 1 euro wine and a buy-one-get-one-free pizza from Sainsbury's. Whatsmore, this feast was gorged upon in front of the telly, with ultimate cheap meal-on-sofa accompaniment Nikki (Big Brother series 7), reality TV's interpretation of a gurning spelling bee. Sure, I don't have chums to chat to or the bustling hububb of a London bar to sate any periods of distraction, but that is just what I need right now.
Wednesday 11.02am 16/6/2006
Another trip to Paris was required for another informal audition for a short French film I'll probably be appearing in. It went okay except the bloody cats which seem to roam free with no respect for visitors and their allergies in the director's home were a nuisance. Got to meet up with Christine and her boyfriend Thomas, and after a few bevvies and jazz and the Tennessee bar, we hit the legendary Highlander, a Scottish pub near St Michel which is open until the early hours. They even played some Test Icicles for me. Cue awful solo crazy shapes being scattered about. Ah, so yes, Paris, yet again, was a superb experience!
Friday 11.15am 9/6/2006
Consider this. In yesterday's episode of 'Neighbours' the words 'melon balls' (Lyn had prepared some for an impromptu celebration for the supposed christening of her grandchild, a plan duly scuppered by nutty Steph) were said four times in a single scene. This was then followed by the culmination of a nudist subplot featuring Karl Kennedy. Coincidence? The witty genius of the Grundy scriptwriters knows no bounds. Other news: Oh Sunni Day! Abu Musab Al Zarqawi has been blown to smithereens, hurrah! To celebrate this (and Clare finishing her Masters) a gaggle of us pitched up our own party on a bench outside the School of African Studies near Russell Square. Much Cava, beer and wine was quaffed, but at 2am we decided to clean our act up and vacate the premises.
Tuesday 11.41pm 6/6/2006
Said drunken goodbyes to Emma today, who will be moving to New York for three months, and will probably tie the not with her boyfriend Arsenio. Sad as it is, I am itching to get back to the States, and I do miss the Apple so. Last night Anna and Kerstin stayed over at the Union Jack hotel, where we feasted on crisps, crusts and dips, oodles of Blossom Hill and 'Carrie', which was on telly. What a combo, and how satisfying!
Sunday 10.06pm 4/6/2006
Despite some serious apprehensions, this has been a great week. Had two brilliant celebrations with the Eurostar gang, the best one culminating in the RMT union representative putting a bare foot into her own vomit. Yesterday I also saw the UK Subs again, rather randomly (met them in Cannes, top bunch) who told me they'd be doing a free gig in Finsbury Park next week. Also got some top news from Natalia in LA and even heard back from some of the crazy film festival folk who I don't remember meeting last week, due to being sloshed out of my head, no doubt. Last night there was a barbecue at Lynsey and Vicky's house, top notch meat stuffs with plenty of mayo which went down rather well. This was followed by a drunken traipse to Charlie's Bar at Stepney Green for tequila and some horrendous karaoke. Managed to top last year's S Club embarrassment by ripping into a Soft Cell/Eagle Eye Cherry medley which was really quite disgraceful. Lynnie was so langered that, after whispering Nathalie Imbruglia's Torn in between belches and hiccups, she retired to a sofa beside an aquarium, to exchange sweet nothings with a half-dead crab. Today we checked out the amusingly titled 'Race for Life' at St Paul's, where the vast majority weren't racing at all. Buggy-bound walruses and 'I-pod therefore I am' Sloane Rangers were all there, mincing about like the whole thing was a walk in the bloody park. Just because it's in aid of cancer research doesn't mean they shouldn't put some fucking welly into it. Its all very well that Doris or Carol or whoever made �100 for a good cause, but what does it say about our country when you see a bunch of nonchalantes and lazy fatties excluding themselves from any physical exertion at a charity race. Hell, you might as well sink twenty shots of vodka and puke on a fourteen year old chav at the Hammersmith Palais and expect to be sponsored for it. All perfectly acceptable of course, if you're doing it for Mencap or the RSPCA. Oh I don't know. What's the bloody use.
Friday 1.03am 2/6/2006
I've had a fantastic night tonight. A �2.50 bottle of Valpolicella, a tub of houmous and Tom Hanks and Elizabeth Perkins saucing it up in 'Big', which I recently purchased on DVD for the princely sum of �3.99. Aren't you jealous?
Tuesday 11.21pm 30/5/2006
CANNES HIGHLIGHTS Going up the red carpet to see Ken Loach's Palme D'Or winner (even though it isn't his best) Trashing the Canal+ party, getting my bum pinched by Brian Yuzna, Thea's karaoke renditions Meeting Tara Reid and stealing a 500euro magnum of Cristal from some stupid model in VIP Roasting under the sun glugging Moet Chandon and raspberry mojitos, covered in fake blood Getting drunk, happy and nostalgic with Lloyd Kaufman and the Troma gang, all over again Monday 11.58pm 16/5/2006
Tomorrow morning I shall be flying out to Genoa. Aunt Nathalie told me that the only thing she remembers about the place is a pool of blood she saw once down a back alley. Simon�, who is Italian and should know, says that it is the drugs capital of Ligura and that I should not venture into the historic centre unless I want a painful red line drawn between both ears. However, I am determined to enjoy Genoa. And yes, Ana, there is a fucking funicular there, just like everywhere else I've been outside England. After that, and a fair bit up the coast into France, is Cannes. As per, this blog will not be updated for some time, and I shall pretty much have forgotten everything about the festival upon my return.
Tuesday 10.25pm 10/5/2006 Behold, Janelle from Aussie Soap smash 'Neighbours' and the First Lady of Azerbaijan! And guess what? They were both travelling on the 19.39 Eurostar train to Paris tonight, I know so because I saw them with my very own eyes. Janelle, or whatever her real name is, was considerably slimmer than her Ramsay Street counterpart, and the First Lady's security guard wore a wife beater vest. Now really, what are the odds of these two powerhouses travelling together on board the same train, I mean, it is just inconceivable! Yet it actually happened! Planet Earth never ceases to amaze me.
Monday 11.51pm 9/5/2006
Pure decadence and lavish food and drink were the order of the day at Genia's 21st birthday party on Saturday night. The Arabian Nights theme meant there was an enormous chandeliered marquee in the garden, complete with low tables and throws, pillows and velvet cushions to lounge on, shishas and hookahs were all over the place, and the kebabs were divine. Of course, Genia's family being Polish there was a stupid amount of alcohol at the party, and in no time at all it degenerated into awful, unintelligible conversations about Andy Warhol and Margaret Beckett, of all people. At one point I danced with Alex's outrageously sozzled mum, and great party girl, Sally. After one appalling boogie she shrugged me off, saying I was 'crap'. Too bloody right.
Friday 7.04pm 5/5/2006
Well reader, you may not like to hear more harping on about how terrific Paris was and of course always will be, as it has become a habit of late, but I don't care, sod you all, you're going to have to put up with it. Yes, Paree played host to yet another grog-soaked week of merriment and slurversation. Dusie and Julia, for some strange reason, don't mind me crashing at their pad and stinking up the place with socks and clammy underwear, rank wine and fag ash. But then they are American, and thus such courteous hostesses. I will miss them dearly. As for Beth, she was on top form as usual. Yet again the cobbled streets and slate rooves of the capital of love shuddered and cracked to the screeching, spit-coated overtures of 'We All Love Clover', 'Thank Crunchie Its Friday', Boney M's 'Rasputin' and many more advertisement ditties and naff 80's pop songs, which Beth and I are rather good at memorising, oddly enough. Then there was the frolicking naked in the fountains of Hotel De Ville, the self proclaimed 'actrice' who drank all our wine, a picnic of Muscador and muffins by the Seine, and the two hour conversation with the man at the kebab stall about Darfur. The quest also continued to discover just how low my Aunt Nathalie's taste in films might stoop. Quite close to mine, as it happens. I didn't think I could get away with lending her 'Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter' without getting an earful the following morning. But no, she thoroughly enjoyed it, so much so that she spent the night sleeping with the kitchen knife under her pillow.
"Jon Clark's (pal from Troma) excellent video for Nintendo Punk Rock band, Maniac Mansion!"
Tuesday 1.10pm 2/5/2006 Back in Paris, couldn't resist. Mix Irn Bru, vodka and cheap red wine, add a card/drinking game called 'arsehole', throw in a generous serving of loo roll along with quite a lot of falling over and shouting in the streets. To garnish, add plastic cups of nameless alcohol, and finally finish off with the Macarena, which only you and your two steaming drunk friends can hear, accompanied by a very bad and completely out of sync dance routine at Republique train station. Serve cold.
Saturday 2.52pm 29/4/2006
Long time no update indeed. Well its been extremely hectic this week as, you guessed it, my monthly pay day resulted in much sterling exchanging hands and plenty of beer being guzzled. Highlights were watching a pants Antonio Banderas back-alley salsa school movie with Ronnie, hitting up the Bistrotheque with Kerstin and Piers, glugging Tesco's finest vino with Lynnie in Bethnal Green, checking out Martine's new cafe on Portland Street, the D'Sliva gig at Madame Jo Jo's on Thursday, catching Isa's hilarious, but very good, drunken MC'ing at 93 Feet East with Julia and Gina last night, and a card I received from Hannah all the way from Melbourne, featuring a drink-driving teddy-bear with a gollywog in the back seat. Tonight I am going to go drinking with Elina, Gools and Bene at the Wellington in Aldwych. The wine is cheap there.
Friday 10.56pm 21/4/2006
Last night I met up with Fab and his mate Tom to go drinking around Embankment. I was already worse for wear, and quaffing Fab's horrid Negrita Rum was of course a very bad idea. Bumped into Soni, a girl I knew in my first two years at uni, which was a nice surprise. However by this point headache, soggy sinus and irritation (Tom was being frightfully rude to our taxi driver) had combined to terrifying effect, the results of which reared their ugly mugs this morning in the bathroom vanity mirror. Not even my bargain purchase of Torque on DVD for �2.99 and the new Studio B single has medicated my illness today. I mean for crying out loud, is there a cure for anything these days?
Sunday 9.14pm 16/4/2006
Oh my fucking god. Breaking news folks: Rachel Stevens, the UK's most famous pop Jewess reject (there can only be one), has been cast in Eli Roth's offal-grinding sequel, Hostel 2 (aka Hostel: Deux)! She will be playing one half of a honeymooning couple. Any slasher afficionado can tell you that this is a bonafide guarantee she will be hacked up into tiny pieces, oh joy! Whatsmore, she beat out Pink to snaffle the role! Although let's be honest, no producer would cast a crew-cut biffa like her as a newlywed. No offence to the Pink Lady! After all, I loved 'Feel Good Time'. But 'More, More, More' was a fucking masterpiece.
Thursday 3.22pm 13/4/2006 Forget bird flu, this year's buzz word will be avian snakes! I am of course referring to the most hotly anticipated movie about airborne reptiles in our history: 'Snakes on a Plane'. Thanks to all the internet fan sites that have emerged to support the hype surrounding the film, and the resulting huge publicity, New Line Cinema have decided to reshoot several scenes to up the gore factor and secure an R rating, bravo! The best of these websites is Snakes On A Blog, an online diary charting the ingenious and bizarre efforts people will go to to pay respect to Sam Jackson and those meddling vipers, including Snakes on a Paper Plane, Snakes on a Maths Problem, and Snakes on a Sudoku.
Tuesday 7.38pm 11/4/2006
Three pints of Strongbow and a box of the colonel's finest poulet caught up with me this morning when I experienced (probably) a heart murmur. For about a minute I had to lower my breathing to a whistling wheeze, hunched over the Arrivals desk at Waterloo. A little old French lady was watching on in horror as I teased her a leap-frog across life's finish line, whilst a concerto of aorta-thrumming palpitations played their evil song upon my heaving heart. I must quit smoking/binge-drinking/eating shit. But not yet. This afternoon I was seized upon by Angela the charity worker, a grinning girlie complete with garish rain mac, umbrella and officious-looking clip board. I jimmied and jived, uhm'ed and ah'd, shimmied and parried, but it was no use. Ten minutes later and I'd signed away �12 a month to sponsor Hewajulisge Leelawathei, an ageing granny from Sri Lanka. I even got a photograph of the old bag. As much as I hate myself for doing this whilst having only seventy pence to last me until next Friday, I suppose it was a good deed. To all those who live in the Whitechapel area, avoid Angela, at all costs.
Sunday 6.36pm 9/4/2006 Just got back from Brighton where I have spent two days drinking with Scragg, Celine and Ana. Highlights were the old arcade amusements museum, breakfast on the balcony at Kensington's, a book of sketches called '100 Uses For A Dead Cat', and a trip down the back alley where Leslie Ash gets fucked in 'Quadrophenia'. Being beside the seaside is always a pleasure. To cap off a top weekend, I finally received my Lorraine mini-CD, and it is super duper.
Wednesday 5.51pm 5/4/2006
Yesterday I mosied on down to Paris to check out what all the fuss was about with the protesting. A lot of flag waving, foot-stomping and Nokia-nicking, but sadly no water cannons this time. Sure enough, after a half hour of enjoying swearing in public about Sarko and the CPE, Nesquik and I decided to busy ourselves with wine, by drinking lots of it. Went back to her new flat, a pretty little place just a stone's throw from the Eglise Saint-Ambroise. After meeting up with Beth, Julia, Dusie, Jonathan and the gang, we ended up at the usual place, Bar de Famille. After a lot of whisky swilling Beth decided to straddle me (as per), and we both fell back onto the fire escape and ended up in the street, bruises and boozes everywhere. We were then asked to leave, very much as per. Because the Alcoholics pub was closed, we went to a no-name bar across the street which we usually avoid due to its popularity with even filthier OAP's. Left at 5am, got into a blazing row with Nesquik (about what, we cannot remember) that would put any Queen Vic barney to shame, before getting hassled by some police, and scarpering back to Nesquik's pad to pass out. Tonight we are all going to the Tennessee bar in Odeon to soak up some much needed jazz, and piece together last night's events. I havent been there for almost two years now. Its great being back in Paris, wonton chaos and gin-fuelled debauchery is just so de rigeur here.
Sunday 10.40am 1/4/2006
Got horrendously mothered with Ronnie in Brixton last night. What I really love about that place is the dazzling array of fried chicken outlets, all open into the early hours. We were spoilt for choice!
