Cunts are still

Feeling like a hefty chill I bought a load of newspapers yesterday, one of which was The Times. I stopped reading The Times a while back when it became unbearably right wing, the final straw being a Peter Brooke's cartoon in which Alistair Darling was depicted with red eyebrows, as in like he was a communist.

As I say, I thought a big pile of broadsheets would be just the thing for a nice relaxing afternoon, I was even going to read some of them in the bath. But the whole plan came undone and I was consumed with rage when I read Giles Coren's Opinion piece, the most part of which was taken up with an attack on that graduate who's taken umbrage at being forced to work at Poundstretcher for zero pay. Previously she'd been working for nothing at a local museum but according to Giles she's got no right to expect to occupy herself with work that she finds fulfilling. According to the article, after Giles graduated he knuckled down and got a rubbish job in a clothes shop, he didn't enjoy it but apparently it taught him the value of hard slog, something that would serve him well when it came to applying for the job of restaurant critic.

Other than an awareness that Giles is the son of Alan Coren I had no idea about any other details of his life, but a comment he made about the girl attending a second rate university prompted me to check out his wikipedia entry. And what do you know - Westminster School followed by Oxford. So now, as well as being outraged by his price of everything value of nothing crassness, it's a bit of a class war thing as well.

How far up his own arse is this guy's head? For him to lecture someone on benefits with his vast experience of hardship and struggle. For that's what got him his job at The Times. It's neither here nor there that he attended one of the most expensive schools in the country, not surprisingly afterwards getting into one of the top colleges in the country. And then a coveted position in the world of journalism - absolutely nothing to do at all with the fact that his dad was a famous journalist. What a cunt.

Anyway, I've learned my lesson - never buy The Times again.

Bum

Today, for the first time ever, I was accosted by a roving camera crew (from ITV I think they said). "At last" I thought, "an opportunity to speak out on some crucial issue". The question? Which celebrity bum did I most rate, and why? I admit I was flummoxed. After a couple of seconds' thought I apologised for not really being au fait with celebrity bums and stalked off.

I had thought of saying Pippa Middleton's, but that's only because hers is the only bottom I've heard any mention of in the media. In the end I didn't as, while I was sure it was very nice, I couldn't honestly recall if it was really my kind of bottom or not. I checked when I got back in, it isn't - not big enough. Further research on the matter revealed what my answer, had I been paying more attention, should have been: Christina Hendricks.

Happy New Year.

And we'll have it backwards

Hearing, at around the same time, Tomorrow Never Knows and Don't Stop  I remember thinking, "If I ever record an album, I'll do all the guitars backwards".  I was unaware until about a week ago that such an album had been recorded by the Teenage Filmstars.  (But only in 1997, conceptually I was years ahead of them.)  They don't just do the guitars backwards - everything is, except the drums.  It doesn't blow me away to be honest but I salute their er, indefatigability or something.

Teenage Filmstars H.U.M.

In search of space xmas

It should be one of the hundred things you do before you die - see a Hawkwind gig. And, the other night, that is what I did.

I wasn't sure what to expect really. I've got a few of their albums and obviously I had enough faith to shell out the twenty pounds for a ticket. Chatting to one of my friends the next day he said he'd been worried we were in for a big cloud of dry ice with strange noises coming out of it. And I think that was lurking in the back of my mind.

Anyway, it wasn't like that at all. Instead it was surprisingly full on rock, a decent light show of course and, the first time I've ever seen this at a gig, a couple of gyrating dancing girls. Aside from the inevitable Silver Machine I didn't recognise any of the tunes (my request for Orgone Accumulator went unheeded). But so what. It was great. I think I'll go every year.

Newfoundband

Thinking about all the music that's ever been released you think, "There must be tons of great stuff out there that I've got no idea about". In the past I've been vaguely aware of bands, will have heard what's regarded as their classic track or something but only come round to appreciating their full awesomeness years later.

Sometimes though you find an amazing band of whose existence, like some lost tribe in the Amazon, you'd had no inkling. This happened to me a few months back with The Young Rascals. The "Where have you been hiding this band?" is made all the better, I think, by the fact that they were pretty famous in America.

They're a bit Small Faces, starting off quite straight soul belters, then getting a bit weird and psychedelic and this tune is from round about the time they pop out the other side.

The Young Rascals Easy Rollin'

Psychedelic warlock

Flipping through the latest Mojo I was most struck by a full page photo of Roy Wood (pg 105). I don't own any of his stuff (might put a bid in for Boulders) but that is one of the most impressive pop star get ups I've ever seen, just look at that hair. And I'd love a top like that. Not sure where I'd wear it though.

Unser Herr Nimmersatt

There are so many great things about autumn - wearing big coats and scarves, crows cawing in bare trees, Bonfire Night, the sharp night air, massive industrial action, several family birthdays, pubs with fires and it all culminating in Christmas.

Yet another great thing about autumn is the reappearance of hearty food, food that just wouldn't seem that palatable during the warmer months. And so, in a slight change to my usual output here's a post on me making bratkartoffeln.

With some obvious exceptions I find myself drawn to German things. When I was young I used to prefer my little model German stormtroopers over their British commando counterparts, whose uniforms looked a bit scruffy in comparison. (My favourite was the one with a shiny flame thrower, what an insane toy.) This preference must have been marked, I remember my mum waking me up one morning with the words, "I've got some good news for you, you've got German measles").

But anyway, the food:

A nice chunk of smoked bacon. A tiny bit carcinogenic apparently, but then what isn't eh?

Cook for about ten minutes in a pan with a chopped onion and then put to one side.

Next in the pan, the main ingredient: potatoes. For the best results you need to have boiled them the day before and kept them in the fridge overnight, otherwise they tend to fall to bits.

Plenty of salt and pepper.

Parsley, certainly adds to the flavour and, at a stretch, one of your five a day.

I started the pan warming with a splosh of vegetable oil but round about now like to add a bit of butter.

The triumphant return of the onion and bacon.

Move it around a bit with a spatula and then just before it really starts to burn serve with bratwurst and I've been eating it with salad with tons of fresh peppers.

Danger falling stars

In my favourite (and consequently top secret) charity shop for these things I acquired Echo & the Bunnymen's Crocodiles the other day (nice copy, original inner bag and all that). I was a bit too young (or uncool maybe) for Echo & the Bunnymen in their original incarnation, I only remember Bring On the Dancing Horses from the time, and I thought that was rubbish.

However when I got my first little record player I thought I ought to get a record to test it out and so popped round to a record shop just around the corner (the short lived Play It Again Sam, it's all about location, location, location). For some reason I picked out a 12" of Seven Seas. It's a good single but I was soon infatuated with the b-sides, acoustic versions of Stars Are Stars and Villiers Terrace (and the Killing Moon but that's not from Crocodiles).

Far better than the album versions, lots of interesting instrument choices: a harpsichord, double bass, a sitar or some other churning, ringing thing. And all somehow very autumnal (probably suggested by nothing more than the lyric about the stars shining so cold).

Echo & The Bunnymen Stars Are Stars

There was an horse in the early Seventies

I don't go in for compilation albums much but I'm very fond of the first Greensleeves Sampler, for the very straight forward reason that it's got loads of great tracks on it (Ganga Smuggling, Dematerialize and Zungguzunngguzungguzeng for three).

Despite how wonderful they all are it's only the work of Eek A Mouse that I've investigated further, ages ago buying Wa Do Dem and then last week picking up Mouseketeer (I really liked the cover). It's never been a question of vital importance to me but over the years I'd probably pondered his funny name, but no more.

Eek A Mouse How I Got My Name

In the dark night that is very long

For a quid I'd have bought this for the cover anyway, so imagine my delight when I saw there was a reading in anglo-saxon on there. Read along (from line 304) here.

Unknown Bard The Battle of Maldon