Beautiful People...

A close family friend is a fashion photographer and he publishes a periodical to showcase his and several other people's work. The shoots and the models are quite high end but it somehow manages to be self-financing. How? I have no idea...

But last night was the launch party for the latest edition of his publication so myself and the Missus attended the bash at a Soho gallery. The Missus, of course, is used to such hob-nobbing with the rich and famous and faintly annoying but I was at a bit of a loss because it soon dawned on me that I was in a room surrounded by fashion photographers, fashion buyers, fashion journalists, fashion models and fashion hangers-on all keen to give the free bar a hammering.

And to make matters worse they were all utterly beautiful and immaculately turned out and, judging from the utter hilarity ensuing every time one of them opened their cake holes, they were also incredibly charming and erudite and witty.

The cunts.

I wanted to tell them how their whole industry was a sham built on a lie bought and swallowed by preposterous idiots like themselves. But it my friend's party so I behaved and played my role as the token ugly bloke in the corner. It was like Hollyoaks and I was the token fat bird...

But I'm not bitter. Or jealous. Or insecure of the beautiful people whose club I'll never be asked to join. Oh no... Not me...

Kuniyoshi: A Review...

Utagawa Kuniyoshi (1797-1861) was one of the last great masters of the Japanese ukiyo-e style of woodblock prints and painting.

Add to this little biog that he was also a contemporary and rival of Katsushika Hokusai of the Great Wave Off Kanagawa fame then the exhibition featuring Kuniyoshi's work at the Royal Academy was something of a must-see for me.

The exhibition itself divides his work into five main categories, namely warriors, beautiful women, landscape, Kabuki theatre and humour, and it's incredibly well presented and annotated with clear and concise descriptions attached to all the prints.

The work is truly beautiful and it also makes you appreciate the astounding level of skill the block carvers-cum-printers possessed to mass produce this type of work with such precision and vibrant colours.

In short the exhibition is impressive and the featured work is quite simply beautiful. It's one of those experiences that is, quite simply, incredibly life-affirming and energising.

Neil Sedaka...

I love Neil Sedaka. Not in a sexual way. Obviously... he probably wouldn't look at me twice... but I've always thought that he and Howard Greenfield were one of the finest songwriting duos the US has produced and Sedaka's solo work was also a genuine cut above many other singer-songwriters around in the 1970s and early 1980s.

His music is also beautifully orchestrated and I could quite happily while away an afternoon listening to his Greatest Hits with Solitaire, The Other Side Of Me, Bad Blood and Breaking Up Is Hard To Do (Slow Version) getting several replays.

I could actually talk about my love of all things Sedaka for some considerable time if I was allowed... so imagine my delight when I cycled past the Albert Hall and saw posters of him appearing in concert there at the end of June.

So I rushed home to inform the Missus.
'Do you want to come and see Neil Sedaka with me?'
'You want me to go see Neil Sedaka with you?'
'Well I'm going to see Gaslight Anthem with you...'
'But you like Gaslight Anthem...'
'But you must like some Sedaka. Everybody has a favourite Sedaka song. It's almost like a rule... like not inappropriately touching pensioners in care homes.'

The Missus pauses to consider my thesis.
'I actually think I'd rather die than sit through three hours of Neil Sedaka surrounded by his octogenarian fanclub and you enthusing...'
'So you'll think about it...'
'I refer you to my previous comment...'

Guess I'll have to go on my own then if I can get a ticket.

Addicted...

I am having my annual One Month Off The Beer and it's going quite well and, despite several trips to play pool and several visits to the pub, I have yet to succumb to alcohol.

Unfortunately the key side effect of not having a drink to unwind seems to be a craving for comfort food and this has taken the form of custard creams, which without doubt are the king of economy biscuits.

I opened a double pack on Friday and by Sunday evening they were all gone. More have been delivered in the shopping today and I'm already making inroads, which has prompted the Boy to point out that he would also like to try some if I would be so good as to not guzzle them all down as quickly as possible.

I think he was being sarcastic...

So the good news is my liver is having a rest. The bad news is I may weigh another three stone thanks to the amount of processed fat and sugar I am now ingesting at a rate of Knots. I'm also starting to understand how people can get really fat...

All Change...

The threatened move from cosmopolitan London to the leafy backwaters of Surrey is now becoming something of a reality.

We've had the house valued and we're signed up with estate agents and we're getting property details through at a steady rate and, with the Boy heading to uni in September, there's nothing to hold us back... except the fact we both love our house and we've been really happy there.

But then I realise it's purely nostalgia and I realise the thing that's made our house a home is the Missus and the Boy and the cats and not bricks and mortar. Then I also realise we'll be heading somewhere where the pace is less hectic and there's less noise and I'm warmed and fully back onboard with the idea...

Hell, I may even get a pool room and a garden with enough space for a mini do-jang. The future's bright, the future's Guildford...

Maps...

I've had an idea for a new play and, while I'm in the middle of rewrites for my current one, it's slowly starting to take shape in my head.

It's about maps and as I know very little about maps I decided I'd start reading up on cartography so I bought Remarkable Maps: 100 Examples of How Cartography Defined, Changed And Stole The World by John Clark and Professor Jeremy Black.

I've also started reading up on the various impending battles for mineral rights off the North and South Poles that will be fought out over the next few decades.

My play idea is not fully fleshed out yet but I think it will be about how an academic study of cartography can be corrupted for political means.

I'm hoping to get round to this when my current set of rewrites are done, which will hopefully be in about a month.

Fortysomething...

It's official. I am now old. This is because I have now turned 40. I have grey hair, hair now grows from my ears and nostrils with gay abandon and I sometimes feel very stiff (and not in a good way).

On the plus side, though, I feel pretty damn good about it. And even though my pool game may be going down the shitter, I'm leaner, meaner and fitter than ever before because of the cycling, boxing and hapkido. And I'm geting lots of writing done, too, and I'm more settled and more domestically happy than I've ever been.

So it's still all to play for and I'm still in charge of when, how and where I wee. Excellent!

Neighbours...

The neighbours have kicked off again. We had major problems with them a few years ago and the noise has been steadily building again for a few weeks until they had music blaring out at 1.30am last Wednesday morning.

As cordial relations broke down some time ago – and the last time we asked them to turn the volume down we got a load of abuse – we called the council and they arrived on the scene and paid them a visit and issued a warning. You'd think that would be the end of the matter...

But you haven't counted on the pettiness of our neighbours. They spent the rest of the night tapping on the wall separating our bedroom from their living room, then had another party on Saturday night which culminated in more wall-tapping with the addition of foot-stomping and banging metal pots with a sticks. At 2.30am.

Sadly the council were busy and didn't make it over but I took a sound recording of what was going on as I thought nobody would believe me if I tried to explain it. So in a final bid to sort the situation out I've now written to their housing association to lodge an official complaint.

You'd hope that will be the end of the matter and they'll shut up... but I suspect it won't be.

On the plus side another of our neighbours did say 'Hello' this morning. We met him some time ago and he explained that he'd been away 'shooting animals' so I asked him if he killed anything good.

He looked perplexed and smiled and edged away. The Missus then pointed out to me that he was a photographer. Ho-hum...

Bloc Party...

I am in the kitchen with the Missus discussing the previous night's trip to see the quite brilliant Bloc Party at Olympia when the Boy walks in and goes up to the new cat Willow.

'Be careful,' advises the Missus. 'I stroked her and she tried to nip me.'
'She already bit me earlier,' replies the Boy.
'Well I picked her up and nuzzled her just a few minutes ago and she didn't try to bite me at all,' I say, before ading: 'But then again she probably recognises me as the Alpha Male in the household.'
The Missus smiles...
'We don't recognise you as that, my love, and we're the same species...'
'Well... me and you are, Mum,' adds the Boy.

It's my 40th birthday tomorow and they both have to be nice to me all day. I don't reckon they'll last longer than an hour before they revert to type.

Thinking about it, maybe an hour is being optimistic...

Let The Right One In...

We're all fans of horror films at From Beer To Paternity Towers and vampire movies in particular have been a source of fear then fascination for me for a number of years...

So I could wax lyrical about Let The Right One In as it takes an established genre and turns it into an arthouse rites-of-passage love story between a bullied boy and a 12-year-old vampire.

A wonderful film, beautifully shot, sparsely written and superbly acted, which features under-stated and brilliant performances by its two young leads.

I was going to see it on my birthday but I'm glad I didn't wait.

Hell, it's so good I may even go and see it again...

The Kids...

I went to Yorkshire for a few days to see my older brother play in a pool championship and to catch up with my family and, even though it was only a flying visit, I saw my nieces and nephews and they remain truly fantastic.

It gives me genuine hope for the future because they're such lovely, bright, fun kids and they have such great potential. They really could achieve anything they want to.

They also taught me a rugby league chant, which is sung to the tune of She'll Be Going Round The Mountain When She Comes and it goes along the lines of:
'I'd rather live in Baghdad than East Hull...'

Bless 'em...

Le Corsaire...

I am with the Missus at the London Coliseum to see American Ballet Theatre perform Le Corsaire, a tale of derring-do and piracy which they're performing alongside Swan Lake on a tour of the UK.

As a dance novice I grab the programme and read the plot outline while the Missus grabs us drinks at the bar.
'What's the story?' she asks as she returns.
'It's not very cheery. It's about a princess who gets a spell cast on her and turns into a swan. The some bloke falls in love with her and they both end up dead but reunited in death...'
'Are you joking?'
'No. It's what it says here...'
'You really are a fucking idiot...'
'Why?'
'That's the plot to Swan Lake. You're reading the wrong page!'
'I wondered why it didn't have any pirates in it...'

I get the look. I start to drink and decide to keep my mouth shut...

I Predict A Riot!

To read several internet news sources yesterday and most of the press this morning you could be forgiven for thinking that the British Government were about to toppled by marauding armies of crusties with dogs on bits of string.

Instead, of course, a small percentage of the assembled 4000 protesters kicked off a bit and got kicked back a bit by the assembled riot police. Then some others barged their way into a branch of RBS and smashed a few windows. And that was about it…

From what I could see there were as many would-be journalists and onlookers wielding mobile phones hoping to get a picture of the action as there were protestors. It was all a bit low-key really and most of the assembled throng were law-abiding and peaceful and it all went off pretty quietly.

The media coverage, however, was way over-the-top and suggested London was on the brink of civil war. There are times I hate large sections of the British press but, as ever, thank god for the BBC website for its balanced and factual instead of emotive and sensationalist reporting.

On a related note I chanced upon some very posh, crusty, anti-capitalism protestors on my cycle home who were blocking my route and refused to move. So I threw a £5 note on the floor and they all scrambled after it and my route was magically unblocked.

Down with capitalism and a corrupt financial system? Yeah… right… You should have the speed they went after that £5…

Pussy News...

The Missus thinks I have lost the plot because she walked into our spare bedroom the other night and I was explaining to our injured cat, Buffy, that she only has to stay in the room for another three weeks then she'll be allowed out as the vet has said she'll be pretty much repaired by then.

But I took the wife's comments onboard and created the above planner which I will stick up in her room to give Buffy a visual representation of her ever-nearing release date.

Hell, I may even sellotape a marker pen to her good paw so she can tick the days off herself. I love my cat. And not in a wrong way...

The Apprentice...

It's no secret that I love The Apprentice. Whenever it's opening music comes on I sit there in anticaption like some Pavlovian dog salivating in preparation for the feast ahead.

Sadly, I know that what I should really do when the opening music comes on is press the off switch on the TV set and put on some Beethoven and try to work out why everyone else gets it and I don't... or read that book on cartography that I ordered to research a new play idea that I haven't got round to picking up yet... or find some 1970s pornography and masturbate furiously until there's nothing left of my manhood but a bloody, exhausted stump that will never function again without the aid of major surgery...

And that's because I know that pretty much anything else I could do to pass an hour would be morally and educationally better than watching this bilge. But it's my guilty pleasure...

So here's what I've learnt so far after episode one:

i) The candidates this year are really odd-looking. There's Anita, who got booted last night, and has the smallest mouth in the history of the world, which with the red lipstick she wore last night makes it look like a bottom hole after a hot curry. There's also a chap called Rocky who seems to have a shrinking head and a woman called Debra who seems to have an ever-expanding face. It's like a lunar landscape that just goes on and on and on...

ii) Alan Sugar has new scriptwriters. The Amstrad mogul opened the show last night by telling his wannabe business lackeys that 'You can't play me... I'm harder to play than a Stradivarius and you're easier to play than... bongo drums!'

iii) Sugar is becoming more and more like John Culshaw's impression of him with each passing series. I can now genuinely no longer tell the difference between the two.

iv) The business soundbite, utter cock-jockey detector nearly went off the scale last night with gems such as 'Business is the new rock 'n' roll and I'm Elvis Presley' and 'To me making money is better than sex!'

v) They've changed the voiceover on the opening titles boasting about the net value of Sugar's operation because it's obviously no longer worth anywhere near what it used to be.

vi) And the winner is... don't really care as they all seem equally hateful at the moment. Based on last night's evidence I wouldn't hire any of them to run an idiot-proof bath that only operated via an on-off button let alone a business.

Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle...

Most television is shit. And as a professional journalist working on the TV sections of several national newspapers and on several national TV magazines for the past 20 years this is my honest-to-goodness professional opinion.

It's mostly mind-numbingly awful shit masquerading as human interest in the case of the never-ending stream of reality TV and in the case of pretty much anything ITV chooses to screen it's just irredeemable shit. Mostly...

Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle on BBC2, however, is the sort of show that provides hope that TV can be funny and articulate and entertaining and make people think. That's right... think. Think... while watching... telly.

The format's pretty simple. Stand-up comedian Lee delivers a 30-minute routine on a chosen theme and this is interspersed with a few sketches to underline the points he's making. And that's pretty much it. No fancy gimmicks, no celebrity guests, no quirky format surprises... just a man talking to a studio audience and saying intelligent things that are funny and thought-provoking.

The opening show was on books and Lee ripped into the rise of the celebrity biography while the second show was on the medium of TV itself and Lee waded into all manner of celebrity shows and reality TV.

Some of the material is culled from his stand-up shows over the past few years but as they were fantastically good it's hardly a trauma to see it repackaged annd presented again for TV, especially as there is plenty of new stuff too.

Basically it's the most intelligent and entertaining thing on TV at the moment, an oasis of brilliance in a sea of mediocrity. Watch and enjoy...

Sparring...

Sparring: Strategy, Tactics, Technique is the new book by UK martial arts legend Bob Breen.

His first book, Fighting, was a guide to basic martial arts strikes and techniques and it was well written and well illustrated with lots of good pictures and it emphasised drilling technique on basic strikes rather than learning fancy new techniques.

His new book is very much a companion to this book but it takes the reader a stage further and discusses ideas and strategies for sparring using the basic kicks and strikes discussed in the first book.

Like its predecessor it's also well laid out, well written and draws on Breen's extensive experience as a fighter, a martial artist and a teacher to give the reader a comprehensive but never alienating account of the ideology and practice of sparring.

A must-read for any aspiring martial artist.

Pussy News...

We are in the kitchen at From Beer To Paternity Towers. I am cooking, the Missus is reading a magazine and the boy is playing with the new cat Willow.

The Missus looks on affectionately.
'You love that cat more than anything in the world, don't you?'
'Yes. She's my cat...'

I interrupt.
'What happened to Buffy?'
'How do you mean?'
'I thought Buffy was your cat?'
'She was... but she broke...'

The Double Life Of Laurel And Hardy...

Simon Louvish's book The Roots Of Comedy: The Double Life Of Laurel And Hardy is an absolutely wonderful read.

It not only chronicles the life and times of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy and charts their rise from humble beginnings to worldwide stardom, but it also produces an evocative and entertaining history of the early days of the silent movie industry and its move into the world of the 'talkies'.

Included in its cast of guest characters are Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd, Hal Roach and Jimmy Finlayson and a host of other early movie stars, but it's Louvish's ability to interweave the stories of these people without losing focus on the main stories of Laurel and Hardy (then the story of Laurel and Hardy as a comedy duo once they come together) that makes it truly superb.

Although Louvish clearly adores his subjects he isn't shy when it comes to discussing the scandals and various marital problems that plagued the duo throughout their lives. But he handles this material with sensitivity and the book is all the better for sticking to the facts rather than indulging in sensationalist speculation.

It's a truly wonderful and enlightening book and its final chapters that chart the end of Hardy then Laurel's lives are both moving and uplifting.

Pool News: Part II...

I’m nearly 40 and I’ve been playing eightball pool at county level on and off since I was 17.

In fact playing pool has always being a large part of my life and, since I no longer direct plays, much of what I now do for hobbies, such as writing, cycling, hapkido and boxing, can be quite solitary things where I often work or train on my own a lot because I’m largely doing them for myself.

But every so often it’s good to be reminded why it’s important to belong and be part of a wider group that you contribute to and get something back from. And that’s pretty much why I still play county pool because it’s a team event and you’re playing with your mates and you support and cajole one another through both good times and bad.

In fact playing pool for me has always been about the people rather than the game and this weekend, when three of my county's five pool teams attended the National Inter-county Championships at Great Yarmouth, only served to reinforce that idea.

At stake were national titles and we'd all played well and really supported each other as teams to qualify for this event throughout the previous season. And there were a few times over the weekend that my lot, the Surrey B Team, looked in trouble.

Instead of giving up, however, we all got behind each other and spurred each other on and it was fabulous. At times the noise and enthusiasm was like a wave surging forward to move everything out of its path.

It provided a real lesson about positive thinking and self-belief.

It also made me really proud to call this diverse group of people my friends and winning not one but two national titles, as the Surrey A Team where I played for years also won, made it extra special. And just to make it that little bit better the Kent Ladies, who play in our region, won too.

The winning and the subsequent celebrations will be a memory that will help me smile in old age when less happy things make me sad.

And I wouldn't ever have been able to have that memory without my friends. So if any of you ever read this at any point... thank-you.