Saturday, 31 July 2010

Friday, 30 July 2010

Open heart therapy.

Annabel just coined that.

I felt it my duty to put it up and credit her.... Here, first and Annabel.

Overseas readers, punctuation and beer.

I often wonder what my overseas readers think of this blog; I know I have one or two who regularly look in. Perhaps they are expats who want a reminder of dear old blighty.

I get very few comments posted so have little feedback, which is a shame; I have even tried bad punctuation in the hope that I will draw out the colon fanatics, sadly to no avail.

I do hope however that if they ever visit London they will let me know in advance... I can then buy them a beer in the Cow.

Wednesday, 28 July 2010

Port Eliot Images

Charlie Dancey

Murray Lachlan Young
Bess Cavendish
Michael Campari


Port Eliot Festival.

I will not bore you with details of the journey down through sometimes torrential rain. Nor will I bore you with tales of camping; not an activity I relish.

Port Eliot was fantastic, the setting is perfect and the slightly decaying house appears more of a rocky outcrop than a man made structure. I was welcomed, and looked after, by some lovely people most notably Shelly, Rick and Marlon; thank you for that!

The Times described the festival as 'Notting Hill on sea' and there certainly did appear to be a large number of my neighbours down there... The Blue bar tent became the Port Eliot 'Cow' for the duration.

There were some great acts; I'll discuss those in a later blog, and some real surprises; most notably Lana Citron's 'lecture' on kissing... Not to be missed.

Something of a cloud hovered over our weekend due to a broken down car but our bacon was well and truly saved by Charlie Dancey and 'Tugger'. Charlie you are a star!

The atmosphere throughout the weekend was extremely happy... The whole thing was a joy.

I'll write about my 'gig' at a later date!

Tuesday, 27 July 2010

Copping out.

I hate to have to say this but tonight I had intended to write at length but I am so tired I'm copping out. Tomorrow is another day.

Monday, 26 July 2010

Grayson Perry Arrives at Port Eliot.

I'd been sitting outside the bar tent when a strange apparition rumbled into view, a small crowd gathered, including a BBC camera. I wandered over to take a look:

I met Grayson briefly later at the performers party where he was more formally dressed and again the following day sitting out on the grass in a summer frock and red shoes. He didn't come to hear my poems though. Never mind.  

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

Road trip and Port Eliot festival

I could do with a break, things have been hectic just lately. I'm leaving the laptop behind for a few days; I'll take a notebook of course.

I'm performing in the Walled Garden at Port Eliot at 7.30 pm on Friday... Look forward to seeing you there! I'll report back on Sunday

Tuesday, 20 July 2010

Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water Original Version

Peace, love and, oh yeah: Rape! Lattitude Festival.

I heard about this in the pub tonight... two young girls raped at Lattitude last weekend.

Maybe the nice middle class people there were too drugged up to hear the cries. Maybe. Maybe it didn't matter because it wasn't one of them. Maybe. Maybe the girls dressed inappropriately; ie no designer labels. Maybe.

If Hendrix were alive today he'd shoot himself with Curt's gun!

Scuse me while I kiss the sky!

Overheard in a Notting Hill pub: One lady who lunches on cocaine to another - 'Yes but they were only local girls, and you know what they are like'. I did not make this up!

Monday, 19 July 2010

Agony Aunt.

I was thinking about dysfunctional families.

You know, planet Earth, dysfunctional family or what?

I wanted to write to some-one about it and looked for an agony aunt.

Agony Aunt... Excuse me but that is an oxymoron surely... Thus:

Dear Auntie
I'm in agony
I've fallen in love
with the mum of my cousin
yeah the twin of my mother
and then to cap that
so has my brother
he's fallen in love
before you get thinking
that that can't be too bad
I've just discovered
that so has my dad
he's fallen in love
Dear auntie
it's agony falling in love.

they're now always fighting
my pop and my mother
when they're doing that
I'm fighting my brother
We say we are all doing it
for the sake of our aunt
our maxim our mantra
our scientologists chant

Dear auntie
I'm in agony

And i'm no longer in love.

Saturday, 17 July 2010

Pop up Cinema in Portobello Road.

I'd heard about it then sort of forgot about it with all the other stuff going on; a pop up digital microplex cinema has been set up under the westway opposite Portobello Green.

There are some interesting films lined up, sadly I will miss 'Performance' on Saturday the 24th but hope to get down there for 'Withnail and I' on the 30th.

Check it out online at:

An open letter to Mr Kee Scott.

Fraser, I am in no way criticising your religious views or indeed your right to chose your particular brand of 'religion'. I have every right to criticise scientology though and I don't think I'm alone in wanting to do so. The concerns I have are as follows:

1. When it emerged that You had accepted money From Warren Todd and the Tabernacle event was cancelled/postponed the blame was laid on the Tabernacle. You said at the time that you would hand the money back, disassociate Mr Todd from the Portobello Rocks event and issue a statement to that effect. To date no such statement has been issued and no-one is any the wiser. I only attempted to explain to the community the full reasons for the cancellation.

2. I do not understand how you feel you have the right to appoint yourself to the role of arbitrator or mediator and then set up a forum without serious consultation with the community... As you were told at the Tabernacle meeting you could only be perceived as a 'lobbyist' for Mr Todd (having accepted his money) and therefore definitely not Neutral. It is with respect to the 'forum' that I harbour my concerns ( concerns that were already being aired by other members of the community) about the Scientology link.

3. I received unpleasant 'phone calls from supporters of the Church of Scientology which is the bullying I referred to... I was certainly not bullied by any of your associates.

I have always supported the Portobello Rocks concert and continue to do so. I wish you all well in that endeavour. However I cannot support the hijacking of the Portobello Road cause in the manner proposed by yourself. Please issue a statement regarding your position with Mr Todd as it certainly does impact on the proposed 'forum'.

It would also help, in future, if you could spell my name right.


Scientology, Portobello and um yes scientology.

When I blogged about Potobello Rocks being cancelled I mentioned scientology.

I got a lot of shit back for mentioning religion... I was pressurised into taking the scientology reference out of the blog. And you know, I bowed to the pressure. I was bullied!

That is what scientologists do; they bully!

The fact is that there was a rather dodgy element to the Portobello Rocks agenda... From my point of view the whole thing was being hijacked by dodgy geezers.

Fraser Kee Scott is the man who had decided to be the self appointed spokesperson for Portobello Road, backed by, and here is the funny bit, NOT WarrenTodd, but by Scientology!

Scientology is not about religion, scientology is about bullying... Crass bullying at that.

If god existed I can assure you he would not be a scientologist. And if god existed he would not want scientologists holding a forum on the future of Portobello Road.

If god existed he would be buying a couple of silver spoons on the Portobello and then going for a beer in the Gold, meeting us and then talking about how we are going to sort this shit out!

Warren Todd would be sitting at his feet.

Friday, 16 July 2010

Jimmy Page, Jimmy Page and Mary Cigarettes.

Picture this.

In the Westbourne with the professor of Irish Rock n Roll, admiring his sunglasses, discussing his book, shooting the breeze, catching up.

Led Zeppelin playing in the speakers.... Cool.

Who the fuck turns up but Jimmy Page. True story, he says did they put this on for me? No it was just one of life's happy coincidences.

So OK. I got to say hello to god and I didn't have to die to do it.

The professor had his eyepod with him so played 'Jimmy Page' by Mary Cigarettes while Jimmy drank his coffee.

Jimmy then cleared up an old bit of confusion regarding 'The Them' and his involvement in a long disputed argument... The professor has the rights to that story.

I started today (absolutely true but I didn't know why) thinking that days like this happen so very rarely ... I then go and meet the most important man in my life musically... scuse me while I kiss the sky.

And now I'm cranking up Kashmir and cracking open a beer... Eat my fucking shorts John Bon Jovi.

I'll leave the last word to Mary Cigarettes on this:

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

Why was Portobello Rocks at the Tabernacle cancelled.

Why was the 'Portobello Rocks' gig at the Tabernacle cancelled?

It was cancelled firstly because at the last minute, after a number of concerns were raised by a number of parties, it was disclosed that 'Portobello Rocks' was being part funded by Warren Todd!

This is the letter sent out to various people in the neighbourhood, I was given it by a pissed off market trader friend:

Dear Sir/Madam
I am writing to you, in what are hard and challenging times, to try and help find a realistic solution to maintain the unique charm of Portobello Road.
I understand that the
last thing people want on Portobello is commercialisation – what’s best is if it can stay like it is in so many ways. But there are problems with keeping it the same and I want to confront them with you.
I have sponsored Portobello Rocks – an arts event at The Tabernacle designed to start a dialogue about what we are all facing on our road.
Portobello Rocks is hosting a forum for traders, councillors and residents at The Tabernacle on Wednesday 28th July at 2pm. At this forum we will confront all of the problems we face in keeping Portobello unique and charming, so that we can find a solution that actually works. I would like to invite you to attend that forum and give your view.
Please email [illegible] or call 07954 051 458 to reserve your space at the forum on the 28th July at the Tabernacle, 34-35 Powis Square, W11 2AY. Refreshments will be served and your opinion will be sincerely listened to.
Yours sincerely,
Warren Todd
Portobello Group

Secondly the 'Rocks' boys seemed to think that they had a remit to organise some kind of forum at the Tabernacle whether the community or Tabernacle liked it or not!

For those not in the know Warren Todd is the property developer behind the All Saints intrusion as well as owner of a number of other 'prime' sites on the road. For the 'Rocks' boys to get into bed with Warren was the final straw... Portobello Rocks had become advocates of the very person they claimed they were fighting.

The management at the Tabernacle had no choice but to cancel the gig... Acts were already beginning to jump ship before it foundered on... Portobello rocks.

The Tabernacle has had a reputation in the past for being difficult (it is a difficult collection of balls to juggle) but in this instance the management acted in the only way they could in order to maintain some integrity. The Tabernacle after all has to sleep easily with the whole community, not just Warren Todd.

For Portobello Rocks to say on their Web site: 'Who needs the Tabernacle' beggars the question; Who needs a Warren Todd funded 'save portobello' event anywhere.

It would have been right for the 'Rocks' boys to put their hands up and say: 'We got it so completely wrong. Not the Tab's fault... Sorry!'

Having said that the Event is going ahead at the Drawing room in Portobello Road on Saturday night and I shall be there to support them... Let's hope they leave the politics at home.

And no! I do not work for the Tabernacle... The Tabernacle works for me!

Ray Roughler - Jones. Drowning on dry land.

I bought a copy of this with my own money - cash - I put the crispy tenner into Rays hand and told him that it allowed me to write an unbiased review.

'Warts and all.' He said... He even wrote that on the title page.

I have always been drawn to the 'Picaresque' over the picturesque; and Ray does picaresque well!

An unadorned tale of a scallywags journey through life (or lets hope, part way through life) from his Swansea roots via trouble, boozers, alternative journalism, pantomime, girls and scrapes to Notting Hill today.

As a local resident this book was essential reading, not a great work of literature (nor ever pretending to be) but a damn sight better written than a lot of so called literature. Ray is a natural storyteller and his voice resonates throughout.

I wasn't here in the Eighties... Ray has filled in a lot of the gaps!

Monday, 12 July 2010

Society snot.

It seems that I have annoyed a few people by mentioning Kimberly Festival Norfolk, Notting Hill and Cocaine in the same blog.

Listen up! Cocaine is a fact of life in elitist Notting Hill (across the fault line north of where I am it may be crack or heroin). It is omnipresent at dinner parties, in clubs, restaurants, bars and pubs.

That statement is purely an observation. As I have written before I am not anti drugs (I smoke, I drink, I have tried every narcotic yet invented (with the exception of Heroin)). Nor do I have anything against the people who use drugs. I'm just bored to death with the arrogant, boorish, inane bullshit that issues from their mouths once a line or two has gone up their noses.

Also I am not just singling out Kimberley... It just happens that Kimberley is the festival of choice for the snottier elements of society and society snot is 75% pure Columbian!

There are very good arguments for legalising cocaine (the revenue generated alone could be put to good use ( but now is not the time to discuss it...)) After all it is the drug that gets the 'chattering classes' chattering!

I will leave the last word to Murray Lachlan Young...

Kimberley festival Norfolk, drugs and the Notting Hill promise.

It must be Kimberley weekend coming up: there isn't a drug dealer to be seen in Notting Hill and the Hillbillies are all dressing alike to be different.  It is of course the lead up to the time of the year when 30 and 40 somethings die in their sleep due to excess drug use but their wives/mistresses/family put down to work or depression or not being understood!

It is however the perfect occasion to shag someone  while their partner is off his/her face on horse pills and MDMA in a tent.

Shhhhhhh... Don't tell anyone. It's secret!

The jeweller to the stars.

They are waiting in the cafes
the restaurants and bars
or parked on unlit corners
in expensive cars
they are waiting for the snowman, the blow man, the let's go man
they are waiting, waiting, waiting
for the jeweller to the stars.

He is the closest thing to royalty
their business is all his
with his bags of herbert sherbert
(the silly rich mans whizz)
he makes them feel quite special
and just a
show biz
they are guaranteed to talk the talk
walk the walk as well
he is the pied piper
the piper at the gates of hell.

White christmas is his ringtone
on his prepay mobile phone
his sole visible means of support
the long suffering wife at home
he is the king of the powder rooms
his shit it smells of roses
to the vacuous trustafarians
silver spoons up their noses.

He is known to each and every one
the jeweller to the stars
he hasn't got a friend on earth
and there ain't no life on mars.

Wednesday, 7 July 2010

Schmick.TV, Dreadzone - Gangster and the hood.

Directed by Christian Banfield and shot in West London.

Does stuff like this really get through to the kids? I have a nagging feeling that it does not; Kids have a way of filtering out what they don't want to see or hear and find their own sub-subliminal messages in order to justify their behaviour.

Oh. And the minute you start growing up and having second thoughts it is too late... You have become the enemy of Youth.

But it is good to see the views of the hood!

Tuesday, 6 July 2010

Postcard from Tecoman. Mexico

Posted by the delightful Viviana from Mexico. The beach is bio-luminescent; what am I doing in London?

Sunday, 4 July 2010

Killing pigeons in a strange land.

They say that the past is a different country; people do strange things there.

Back in the sixties my brothers and myself took a friend on a pigeon killing expedition; we lived on a fruit farm, pigeons were vermin. we were boys with knives and sharp sticks. Maybe I had just read 'Lord of the flies'. The memory has remained fixed in my head since then; I cringe even now.

I think we were probably showing off a little; our ability to take the lives of defenceless critters without remorse, A macho boy thing.

I had forgotten who our companion was on that day.

Until now.

This morning, during an on line 'chat' with a guy I haven't set eyes on since that summer, he reminded me of the incident... It remained in his head all these years too!

Sorry Hugo... As I said: Strange country the past.

Sam Fox, Rabies and parties.

At the Tabernacle all day today... Party type thing. If anyone turns up.

On the way here I saw the headline in the Sun: Samantha Fox is being treated for Rabies.

How did she contract the disease?

Bit herself shaving perhaps.

Friday, 2 July 2010

found objects

I found this in Westbourne Park Road today. I was on my way to a cabaret type thing.

I'm intrigued by the Afghanistan ribbon on it.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

Rusty's old man.

Rusty called in for a coffee and brie sandwich today.

He said it was (or would have been) his pop's birthday.

He said that every year when asked what he wanted for his birthday his pop would reply: 'Peace of mind'.

He's got peace of mind now Rusty. I said.

On Haiku.

It is sad that it has come to this
that I must count syllables
when I would have counted
the ways that I loved you

the ways that I loved you
before you demanded a haiku
you said life was too short
for anything more than three lines.

Write a poem you said
write it in our autumn mists
I'm leaving you now.

Cheating death with black balls.

Many many years ago, not long after the squabble with Jackson Pollock (blog passim) and as a result of that squabble I entered into one of my periodic bouts of depression.
I was living in the apartment of my old friend Ingmar Bergman at the time and annoyed the man greatly by painting everything black including the balls on his pool table. The pool table was in his bedroom which I thought a curious thing. Ingmar told me he suffered from insomnia and pool helped him get through even the darkest nights.

Ingmar would have thrown me out for painting his balls black but for the raging fever that swept through my body that winter; for weeks I lay in that Swedes bed storm tossed in a sea of swelter navigating that fine meridial line between this world and the next.
One night, when I was in a momentary state of lucidity, a figure entered the room; Tall, gaunt, bony fingered, wearing a dark hooded cloak thing and carrying a scythe.

'who are you'? I enquired.

'You know perfectly well who I am and why I am here'. He replied.

Indeed I did know that it was Death himself arrived to carry me off. But I was in no mood to cross the Hudson let alone the Styx. I told the man (oh the arrogance of man to cast death in his own likeness)
that I was not prepared to go without a fight.

He suggested we play a game of chess to decide my fate.

I informed him that there was not a chess set in the house... 'But what about a game of pool'.

Death agreed to the game of pool but was taken aback by the sight of 15 black balls resting on the green baize.

We played that hellish game of pool for a month, day and night, without respite. The scores remained resolutely on 0 -0 as each of our 'breaks' resulted in a foul as we pocketed black ball after black ball.

On the 15th of December Death gave up. He threw down his cue in exasperation, picked up his scythe and swept out of the room hissing: 'You cheated me this time Jan Nieupjur but next time I will be ready for you'.

I then fell into a deep, peaceful slumber, awaking some days later to find my fever departed and the depression lifted.

A few days later I told this story to Ingmar over a game of chess - I had lied to Death, there was a chess set in the house - Ingmar (smiling for once) took notes in a little red book. I did not see him again, he departed for Sweden and a new film project.

Next time Death comes calling I shall challenge him to a game of 'happy families'.