The Show Turkey Shoot! Xmas 2004

On Sunday 12th December The 291 Gallery swings open it`s doors and welcomes Turkey Shoot, a product of The Show and Chopper-Hop.
The chaps behind this event have been hard at it preparing a delectable feast of abounding revelry to kick start Christmas.
Once through the doors you will be spoilt for choice and find yourself over indulging on what can only be described as platters that matter.
Emancipation will be uppermost in your mind as you slip from your reality moorings and slide down into meandering thoughts of unreliable ideas as the extensive line up of entertainment infiltrates your being.
The festive gauntlet was thrown down as the cast ensemble was challenged to write or cover a Christmas song.
Only on the day will you find out if this challenge as been excepted.
Turkey Shoot, a product of The Show & Chopper-Hop.
291 Gallery.
Turkey Shoot has brought together a wide variety of acts for your entertainment including:
Seth Lakeman – songs about Dart Moor devil rape and more from this fiddle playing singer.
Adam De Gruchy - armed with a laptop and a 24 year old guitar Adam blends electronica, rock and blues to marvelous effect.
Ali Love - will melt your head with pure acid country love.
Smaqhead - jumping on a bus down from Blackpool for the day to deliver you rhythm and blues of the highest northern order.

Ralfe – freshly signed to Skint Records with lyrical lysergic acid folk.
Dennis Hopper Choppers - will force you to belt up as he takes you for a ride through a David Lynch road movie.
Lark - will be in the car behind.
The Zillions - a charming band who integrate the trad and the experimental to great effect.
Vincent Vincent And The Villains - Local heroes will give you no choice but to jump, jive, swing and bop to their rock `n` roll rhythms.
Many other very special guests will be performing so come along and expect the unexpected?
Turkey Shoot promises you all the trimmings.
Trust us, your Christmas is in safe hands!
Paul
pitchandputtproductions

The Harbinger part 6

GENTLEMEN'S SOCIETY GATHERING

Steam Room, Grosvenor Hotel, London, November 2004

Gentlemen,

This is your officially appointed Secretary General. I am contacting you all on matters of protocol and policy within the Gentlemen's society.
Regrettably, I am leaving for Bahrain on the 2nd of next month. Marjorie
has become embroiled in things over there, and I must go there and defend her case at the highest court in that land. While I will always
remain a staunch affiliate of our society, matters of Gentlemen do not
attend to themselves.


I therefore call to order all that partook in the inaugural meeting. You
may recall I was blessed with the aforementioned title. With heavy
heart, I realise I must now pass on that torch to another. Please
consider carefully your choice of nomination. As my last act of office I
will oversee the voting process, providing pens, paper and a ballot box.
(Note: black ball rules apply).

During my tenure as Secretary General, I have been accosted by various women - inexplicable creatures of the opposite sex - who tried to berate me for not inviting them into the inner confines of our group. A
comprehensive explanation of the nature of our society provided little
relief. So I propose that the no-tails be allowed to attend, on the
understanding that they adhere to strict conditions.

The Conditions for Female Attendance:

1.They must have been formally invited by a Gentleman

2.Their designated Gentleman must assume full responsibility for
their female's actions.
3.The Gentleman must apologise for any
inappropriate or inane conversational gambits, and be prepared to escort
them swiftly from the premises should the female become unbearable or
'emotional'.
4.Any female attendee MUST wear facial hair - moustaches or beards
only please. (Fake facial hair is acceptable).

Any Gentleman found contravening these stipulations will naturally be
expelled from the Society.

Some of those attending were with me in the 'Mob' and although they will
tolerate civilian company, please be sure to elucidate any of your more
left-field or wish-washy views with a full rendition of the society
anthem - Whitesnake's 'Straight for the Heart'.

"...Stand and deliver in the name of love ..."

Roger J Harbinger QC Bar (retd.)

Kid Kordial's Kompilations 3

Kid Kordial Kompilations - October 04

A
Under the Sea - Bobby Darin
Battle of New Orleans - Lonnie Donnegan
Rebel Rouser - Duane Eddy
Cut across shorty - Eddie Cochran
Cannibal Pot - Tommy Steele
Stranded in the jungle - The Cadets
White Cliffs of Dover - The Robins
I got loaded - The Cadets
Rollin Danny - The Fall
Remember me - The Zutons
Baby you're a rich girl - Franc
In a manner of speaking - Nouvelle Vague
Evil - Howlin Wolf
Another sugar daddy - Bo Diddley
Tell Mama - Etta James
Party Time - Ramsey Lewis
Everyday - Buddy Holly


B
Check it out - Roots Manuva
Tipsy - J-Kwon
Some girls - Rachel Stevens
L.S.F. - Kasabian
Can't stand me know - The Libertines
Beat Surrender - The Jam
You will, you won't - The Zutons
F'-oldin Money - The Fall
Chicken Payback - The Bees
Cherry Tree- Grand National
Touch sensitive - The Fall
The battle of All Saints Road- Big Audio Dynamite.


C
You are the generation that bought more shoes and you get what you deserve - Johnny Boy
DUI - Har Mar Superstar
It's great to be here - The Jackson 5
I'm always dancing to the music - Benny Golson
Wack wack - Young Holt trio
Cha cha twist - the Detroit cobras
Woo Hoo - 5,6,7,8's
All these things that I've done - The Killers
Pounding - The doves
The world is full of crashing bores
Soap bar - Goldie Lookin Chain
Helliopolois at night - Aberfeldy
England - The Proles

D
Emily Snow - Mcraft
The pink panther theme
One small step - stereolab
Ready or not - the delphonics
Another piece of my heart - Erma Franklin
Party wit me - Tiger Ranks
Satisfied - J-Live
WKYA - Saukrates feat Redman
Billericay Dickie - Ian Dury and the Blockheads
(erm, dunno what it's called ) - Dennis Hopper Choppers
The Prisoner
How Soon is now? - The Smiths

John Crewdson Esq. Part 5-ohn Crewdson Esq. Irks The Cold Callers

Do you work in telesales? Does you job involve phoning people up just as they are about to eat their Tea? Well STOP FUCKING PHONING ME UP THEN YOU CUNTS!!
Ahem. Ok, so getting telephonically harassed by people selling you SHIT is nothing new, but in my house it has reached epidemic proportions. I'm beginning to wonder if this is punishment for something I did in a past life. Was I once the person who came up with the idea of junk mail? Was I once responsible for leaving stone tablets at the mouths of everyone's caves advertising "Urgo's Used Mastodons"?


I think not. However every evening I get the phone calls; "You've won a free kitchen", "Are you happy with your Electricity supplier?" "have you had an accident ?"etc. Actually I've no idea what the majority of them are flogging as the person doing the schilling seems to have English as their last-on-the-list-of-all-languages, language. I'm not being xenophobic or racist, but it does seem strange to employ someone to SELL SOMETHING, which is all about COMMUNICATION, who can't speak-a-da-lingo.
Anyway, I soon tired of screaming, "Fuck Your Kitchen", down the line and began engaging the person on the other end in polite conversation. As they are programmed to read from a script any derivation from the topic of kitchens or personal injury claims completely throws them. Ask them what they are wearing and see what happens.
I soon bored of this and have now started merely confirming my name (they usually ask for Mrs. Crewdson, the deaf cunts), and then remaining completely silent for as long as possible. To hear them rattle off their script and then desperately ask, "Hello? Hello?? Are You There???" is very amusing. Throw in some heavy breathing or feign a heart attack and these cold calls can become quite hilarious. Next time they call I'm thinking of saying something like "thank god you called, I'm being held hostage, help me! help me! aaaaarrrgh, no! no! not again, please, please, for the love of god nooooooooooooo…… yes, I'd like to make a personal injury claim please".

If any one has any other suggestions for telesales tomfoolery, please let me know.

*******

Highlights from the shop this week: Two old dears come in (easily in their 80's), one points to a rack of t-shirts and says "oooh look Doris - 'Fonzarelli'".

I also got into a long meaningless conversation with someone who had the most boring whiney voice in the world (what was the name of that priest in Father Ted, the one with the most boring whiney voice in the world?),which started, don't ask me how, about how rock and roll became rubbish in the sixties (?);

(image this in a heavy Lancashire dialect)
"Elvis were good until 'e came out t'army and then went rubbish doing things liyke Wuden 'Art, and all them bal-aards. I like Joan Collins me av you got er biography I've got it the first one she did not the second one that were rubbish………" etc.etc.etc.

*******


Things I Wished I'd Said:
Some old geezer came in asking me if I sold vests like 'this one', he said, showing me his vest.
-"What stinky old piss stained rags like that? No, fuck off and go look in a bin" I wish I'd said.

The Harbinger part 5

Returned from a stag weekend in a train from Paignton this afternoon, grubby and emasculated by the great big hormone of a group I have spent the last 48 hours in the company of.

The weekend had it’s highpoint with a gloriously perverted incident in the early hours of Sunday morning. The group, dressed in mackintoshes and false moustaches (save the stag, in a pink panther suit) shambled down from the village towards the moonlit Cornish beach. As we got nearer it became obvious that a little local event or other was taking place on the beach. The sound of the tide punctured by chatter, and flickers of light leapt above the prom as we approached the shingle.

There were in fact a group of ten or twelve people on the beach. The men were topless and four females were in attendance. Forming a circle round two of the men who were brawling amidst shouts of some excitement, clearer and clearer as we approached. I saw the stag and his best man quicken the pace and happily jog towards the locals. One of the men was winning the fight. This much was clear from forty yards, and I decided to keep my distance. Our panther of a stag hastened towards the brawl, in many ways more animal than human, urinating as he ran.

“Oi’m a nutter!! Oi’m a nutter!!” screamed the stag.

“Fuck off back to London!” replied a male spectator.

“But o’im a fookin nutter!!” shouted the groom-to-be again.

“Fuck off back to London! This is our life and you can fuck off,” said the chap once more.

“Yeah, fuck off!” echoed two, maybe three others in the local party, difficult to tell as they all looked remarkably similar in features and dress. A sort of polyester plus four in the tracksuit style, white tennis shoes, and close cropped hair. It was hard to tell through the fire-light, and perhaps the emotion of five or possibly seven gin and tonics was fugging my brains somewhat – but I had to fight the urge to ask the first man if perhaps he, like Liberace, was fond of surrounding himself with look-a-likes.

The pink stag, himself a policeman standing a full head higher than the average man, seemed amused by all this. He turned his attention to the unbelievably hairy man with the four-pack stomach who at this time was standing with his foot on his last victim’s head while pulling the other man’s leg back in excruciating fashion. The man in his grip was crying tears of agony.

“Come on Haystacks. Fuckin’ fight me!”

My god! The thought! Panther’s head gnawed out of its sod by some son-of-a-Thursday-morning bread and cheese sexton. I took off my shoes and watched as our stag and Haystacks squared up. That peculiar rough yet pleasant feeling afforded by shingle on bare feet reminded me of my driveway at home, where in summer I trip gaily and sockless over my own Three Colour shingle from B&Q, in transit from clipping the hedge or tinkering in the nethers of my quad bike in the garage.

Blows were exchanged. Panther hit hard and the power of his shots belied the fact that his opponent would have been a good two stones heavier. A cry went up from the locals – “Toohey! Toohey!” And Toohey responded with a sickening combination of prize-fighting brilliance. Somehow the groom rode this assault and punched Toohey to the ground, but the bigger man took the Pink Panther down with him.

The crowd screamed and bayed and begged and swayed. For him who is overcome by death no protection is there from kinsmen, I thought. Siddhartha must still have been with me since my afternoon with Buddhism last week. The local man next to me tapped my shoulder and just audibly over the commotion he said (and I had to have him repeat himself twice), “As a child I had a toy dog called Rags, a teddy bear and a rabbit, but only Rags meant anything to me. It sat on the dining table at meals, until one day it fell with its ears into the mint sauce. It was hung out many days to sweeten, and washed and scented, but I never felt the same about it.”

From somewhere though, in amongst the shouts for Toohey, louder and louder came another cry. “Panther! Panther! PA-N-THER!!” The panther camp was not exclusively the stag-party. Some of the local girls were leading the chant.

The group was about half and half in support of each man, and the epic scrap continued until finally Panther was forced to submit. He walked away with a girl on each arm, and I heard him cut quite a dash with a composed “But of course darling, as you were about to remark with such truth, it really is lovely to work off a hard evening on the drink.”

Toohey got me to thinking what Giant Haystacks would be doing were he still alive today. I’ve come to conclude that his physique would make him a perfect and formidable nightclub bouncer. It’s likely that with his cult UK celebrity he would still work on TV from time to time.

I cried tears of happiness such as you read of in books.

Ian Thorp: Big Down Under

Its amazing how times flown and how many threats of violence by Patrick Kagoul I've received between reports, I didn't think I'd done very much apart from work recently out here in the third world, however there seems to be a lot more going on than I thought, so heres a quick update:

Went to an Australian No Rules Football game on the weekend - The Presidents lunch actually (I don't do prole class at sporting events in Australia - simple reason - the general public only get 'light' beer and what is sport without booze?). There was a vast number of B-Grade celebrities, news readers that sort of thing the only one that anyone outside of Australia may have heard of is Michael Gudinsky, then again maybe not - he's head of Mushroom records - or at least used to be - you know they get a mention on the end of the Neighbours credits.

Bought a BBQ - well I say bought, it was more thrust upon me as it was 'a bargain'- great, apart from the fact that we live in a flat, still, I supposed that's what balconies are for. It is truly an Aussie male magnet - especially as not only is it a BBQ but it is also a Eskey/Cooler - not the Steve McQueen kind - the type you keep beer in, http://www.salton.com.au/brands/fireice.html so held my first Aussie barbie, unfortunately we didn't have any shrimps on it, sausages and tofu - who bbqs tofu? Apparently we do!!!

Went to Moonah links - home of Australian Golf, didn't play, (was an extortionate amount and I'm no Tiger Woods), didn't even ride a golf cart - so a bit poor, did however get the notion of buying into a race horse - we as a group get to name it so any suggestions would be much appreciated - I'm thinking along the lines of 'Glue' or 'Pet Food' related names.

Saw Ash in a pub, playing not drinking; was brilliant full on metal mayhem - very happy with that

Went to Brisbane and watched Australia beat England at Rugby, no surprises looking at the team, good night all the same, very easy to confuse Australians with singing and particularly enjoyed the abuse from the aussies who didn't realise we don't really mind losing that much if there's still beer available.

Went home, saw The Mighty Golf Harris in concert, not one of their finest hours but that's what happens when yours-truly is on the desk. Was great to be home even for a week - stock up on all the stuff I miss being down here; penguins, pickled onion Monster Munch, Home and Away, chips and gravy and money that's worth more than Monopoly money. Went to a wedding, don't go to many weddings, but was novelty to go to someone's second wedding, having been best man at the first -this was a much better effort! Congratulation Mr and Mrs B!!!

On the plane home had possibly the worst series of movies to show on a plane that don't involve planes:

The Butterfly effect - death, death death, abuse, violence, mutilation, more death.

Into Thin Air - a nice pleasant little number after the previous.

House of Sand and Fog - I expected kitchen sink drama, more traumatic viewing thanks to Ben Kingsly!!

21 Grams - See Butterfly effect.

By the end of 24 hours in the air I was paralysed with fear and hoping for Alive or a September 11 documentary - I refuse to bow to Americanisms and say 9/11 as that's in November!

Completed the upgrade on my hi-fi, it's the best its ever sounded - its like being granted a whole new CD and record collection (For the record, Arcam CD82, Cyrus 8 amp with PSXR external power supply, PMC2 speakers, Ariston 8 turntable with Lynn BasikIV , Rega cart and some fancy cables and stuff).

Strange thought the other night - rather than have warnings on cigarette packets saying smoking kills and having adverts on the TV showing arteries full of gunk and lungs full of tar, they should play 'Something In The Way She Moves' and say if George Harrison hadn't smoked he'd still be alive and writing songs like that, although in all likely-hood more likely it'd be another Travelling Wilburies album. Must be others that could be put the packets too, er… "Smoking Killed Roy Castle." ? Maybe not then!!

Until next time, stay off the moors!

IT Aug 2004

Where else in the world can you drive or ride along a Grand Prix track on the way to work every day (well Monaco, Canada, er.. probably a few more too) but its great to go flying round the track at Albert Park with all the stands up and tyre walls, I feel like Michael Schumacher every day except he's going down the straight at 200MPH in a Ferrari and I'm doing 10 on the push-iron. Some claim that doing this is bad for the environment and spoils the park, it probably does but ask me, Daz or Kenny who have $600 tickets to the stand on the first corner if I really care! Two weeks to go and to quote a famous Australian cleaning product salesman - "I'm excited!"

Well it's my favourite time of the year here, when the drought of international music breaks and there is a sudden flood of talent pouring into the country for the 'Big Day Out' festival. Some claim that at 32 I'm far too old for this sort of thing, but I love it -this year promised to be a absolute scorcher and I certainly wasn't disappointed.

First up were all girl rock band from Sydney Skulker who made a decent racket and there's definitely something to be said about rock chicks with low-slung guitars.

Next up were Fear Factory who really are a proper metal band and certainly did their best to scare the kiddies.

From proper metal to… not sure how serious a band they really are but The Darkness certainly didn't disappoint, they pulled off a perfect show and they certainly have all the moves and I was impressed by Justin telling the crowd that his finest achievement was getting a song that includes a word I shall refer only to as '2868', played on Radio 1 (Get Your Hands Off My Woman). Strangely I came away a little under whelmed - I think maybe if it wasn't mid afternoon in the middle of a field they would've impressed more or maybe it was because I'd seen all the original Zep, Queen, Maiden. Will be very interesting to see where they go from here.

Next up were The Black Eyed Peas who, rather than struggling to follow The Darkness did an absolutely
champion job of getting the crowd up and dancing unfortunately the crowd consisted of an awful lot of Simply Red loving MOR types who other album purchase of the year was Nora Jones' album coz it won a billionGrammy's (speaking of Grammy's that bloke from Pop Idol won a lifetime achievement award - WTF for?), thankfully they seemed to all disappear quickly. Anyway they rocked; there were big velvet suits, break dancing and Justin Darknesscranking out a solo on Lets Get Retarded - comparisonsof Ed Van Halen with Jackson?

Went over to the dance tent and checked out the end of Salmonella Dub - who flatmate Karen has played round the house a lot and of whom I can't remember much about but they're a NZ dub/hip hop type thing- I liked it, after that were Audio Bullies - who seemed to be pretty much as annoying as that other London ejit 'The Streets'.

Saw a bit of Melbourne hip-hop trio 1200 Techniques who are definitely good value and who's album will definitely check out - oh and who was that stood at the side of the stage - several of the 'Peas and Wayne Coyne!

The Dandy Warhols - a band I feel I really should like but for some reason I just feel really indifferent towards them.

Muse followed them and absolutely blew me away, most definitely the loudest band of the day and really hit the spot, what with that funny Close Encounter's keyboard lighting thing. Really regret not getting ticket to their own gig, thought that seeing them at BDO would be enough, let me quote from local press review, "The crowd had just witnessed the best live band in the world put on the best show this reviewer has ever seen." Doh!

The Strokes just wanted to be somewhere else, Metallica did actually make me feel old as the average age was about 12 and Basement Jaxx were top and played a rendition of the White Stripes Seven Nation Army.

Ahhh, the Flaming Lips, whenever there's a Lips gig the sun shines a little brighter, saw them at the BDO (instead of most of Metallica - worried it might be a mistake, how wrong was I) and then again later in the week - giant balloons, confetti, a plethora of animal costumes, fake blood, video back drops, fish eye camera on the mike stand, glove puppets -a children's party for muso's and then the music, highlights for me were 'Yoshmi' and 'Do You Realise' - which alternately brings a smile or tear to the eye and then a rendition of White Christmas, Happy Birthday, their version of Seven Nation Army (complete with tales of replacing The White Stripes at T In The Park) and "Thank You Jack White For The Fibre-Optic Jesus." Awesome! Add to that a tribute to Elliot Smith, whom Drodz was a good mate of and the sound mixer was the engineer for and it truly was a great gig. But don't take my word for it read Kilphs tour diary at http://www.flaminglips.com/main.php

How do you top that? Not sure you can but last week I went to see to see The Pretenders, The Wailers (minus Bob) and Bryan Ferry at the Music and Blues festival and they were all actually a lot better than I expected, The Wailers just sounded like a decent covers band although they were definitely into the spirit of the thing - the bin bag of herb they (allegedly) had backstage may have helped as for Bryan Ferry - It was like a Tom Jones gig - I was surrounded by ecstatic 50 year old women - like Take That for old people, I feared I may be ripped to pieces or trampled in the stampede to get to Bryan with his fop hair and shiny suit. Give the man his dues it was a great show, he played all the classics and had a great band a bit MOR though.

Speaking of Middle of the road, could up for a week of it, so more from Melbourne next time (hopefully) and maybe even something unrelated to gigs…

Ian

Been a long time once again since my last report but if you spent your days chained to a computer spewing forth documents that make as much sense to the average person as the average Styx album (See here for interpretation … http://www.styxnet.com/styxlyrics/roboto.htm ), then the last thing you would want to do when you got home is write when there's so many better things to do like… well anything really!

For those that hadn't noticed Christmas has come and thankfully gone for another year. Apart from the fact I was very happy with the number of free Christmas booze ups I managed to attend, I shall say no more than that - its not that it went badly I just don't hold the level of excitement for Christmas that others do.

Pre-Crimbus went to Meredith music festival -one Pat Kagoul has previously graced with his presence, however he could not be coaxed to perform - he claimed it due to issue with visa however it was more likely due to his inability to stand - poor none the less as that has never phased Lemmy and he's 58!

Standard festival M.O. - field middle of nowhere alternate between rain, standard poor fodder, intoxicants of choice until all coherence is list. Highlights of the weekend Mcluskey -Irish apparently, The Cat Empire - Previously mentioned, came on at 3am after Radio birdman (see crap bits) and DJ Dexter - in tent by the time he made the stage at 4am. Tim Rogers - still great. Also one of our party battling with their own drug enhanced demons - Still waiting for my letter of apology!!

Crap bits - Apparent 'Oz legends Radio birdman', Sleepy Jackson -still shit, Bob Log III - http://www.boblog111.com the Frank Sidebottom of blues.

This weekend brings the long weekend - Australia Day - whatever that means - does anyone care? Not as long as they get to drink beer rather than work on Monday (see Queens Birthday holiday!) That means Big Day Out Festival - and with the weakening US dollar they can afford to get some good acts - my day looks thus… The Darkness, The Datsuns, Black Eyed Peas, 1200 Techniques, Muse, ACDC(Sorry I mean Jet), Kings of Leon, The Mars Volta, The Strokes, Metallica and then torn between Flaming Lips and Basement Jaxx - got tickets for Flaming lips later in the week anyway.

Talking of tickets - discovered I have an odd trait when it comes to buying tickets that I don't have a remotely relaxed attitude to ticket purchasing - I'm sat hitting the refresh key for about 10 minutes before the tickets go on sale and re-dialling the ticket agency in case there is a sudden influx of calls that crashes the computer system and the phone lines - it's a very tense moment for me - thus when the Radiohead tickets went on sale and it took me fifteen minutes to get through I was almost hysterical - however I generally have more success - thus I have ticket numbers three and four for The Flaming Lips (not that it matters as its general admission).

Dec 2003

Busier than Saddam Hussein's travel agent at the moment, doing the work of 4 people because of holidays, paternity leave and my

boss's absence- again! - Having only just come back from what was in effect a 3-week drinking tour of the Americas

(where for the record he spent more money in 1 night in Santiago on booze than we did in two weeks all up - Good work fella),

he has disappeared off to do the same thing in Africa.

Still, how can I wield a Peter Grant style cricket bat and the 'Harris if I can't sort my own affairs?

What can I say that hasn't already been said, this year I've seen Australia beaten by England twice on their home soil. I was up

in Sydney (or New Leeds as it has now been re-named) last week for the final and it was a case of 'spot the Australian' as we

had completely taken over the city.

Watched the game at a mates house - I was the only Englishman there, resplendent in my England top - me the least patriotic

man in the world - being on the opposite side of the world does funny things to you! Realised early on that most of the people

were Fed Police - all trained to use violence and weaponry - I was somewhat worried that it might get ugly and they might

employ some of that training on me, thankfully they refrained and only locked me out in the garden at the end of the game.

Best think about the whole event was the PM "Big" Johnny Howard sulking at the award ceremony …
http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2003/11/23/1069522475543.html
http://members.optushome.com.au/thesquiz/s8letters.031124.htm

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=2362150346&category=204

Kudos to Prince Harry - managed to pull one over on his old man - came over to here 'to work on a cattle station

.' However he seems to have managed to get to a lot of rugby games and be pictured mainly quaffing pints and

smoking tabs in Sydney all at the Australian taxpayers expense - hold on a moment that's me. The Bastard!

Supposed to be writing about the music scene down here so heres part 1:
If you want to get a recording contract claim to be from Melbourne ring the NME and bob's your uncle.

Quick guide to Australian bands seemingly "destined for world domination":

Jet - ACDC covers band - apparently saw them as support for The Vines - they were marginally better than

Vines who were poor - next Nirvana? Back to McDonalds with them both.
The Sleepy Jackson - Possibly worst live band I've ever seen.
You am I/ Tim Rogers - Very good
Avalanches - New album on the way
Ice Cream Hands - good, better live than on CD.
Rocket Science - apparently Supergrasses favourite band - top live.
The Cat Empire - bizarre but good check the web site: http://www.thecatempire.com.au/ce_stage_menu.html
Powederfinger - New album Vulture St rocks suitably hard
Guy Sebastian - Pop Idol winner probably on plane to London as you read this- born again Christian!

More as I think of them.

Having a music fest at the moment, got all the gear over from the UK so paying attention to the back catelog,

bought new CD player and speakers - is most excellent set gotta go -watching Live After Death on DVD - "Scream for me Longbeach!"

IT

Nov 2003

"You can take the boy put of Fleetwood, but you can't take Fleetwood
out of the boy," someone once said. It's nearly six years since I
took two taxis and got outta Dodge, but nothings changed, same old
shit just older and in a different city.

My birthday was last week, 32, celebrated in the traditional way by getting as drunk as is humanly possible.

Actually, I was by general agreement the most pissed man in Melbourne. Began with the intention of drinking

32 halves - made an excellent start - two fisted
drinking virtually from the start. However plans went astray very quickly -my fatal mistake of the night was

agreeing to drink whatever was put in front of me. After that my few recollections of night are; shot glasses,

something that tasted of Pernod and Whiskey
and something called a Cement Mixer (Baileys and Lemon Juice). I recall this one as I though it had cheese

or bread in it. Oh, and a vague memory of being a bit sick on a pavement somewhere.

From what I have been told since I was doing Father Jack impressions in an Irish pub. I sat next to someone

for half an hour that I have met several times and then turned to someone (who happened to be his girlfriend)

and asked "Who the fook was that?"
Bring on 33 I say.

Rugby fever here at the moment. Can't understand the rules that well, but the World Cup's on, England's

got the best chance - Ranked No 1 - when was the last time you can remember England ranked No. 1 in anything?

Went to see New Zealand v Canada. The Victorians (the state Melbourne is in - they have states rather than

counties - as they want to be American - more of that some other time), don't understand Rugby - they play

Australian Rules football, (www.afl.com.au -a silly game).
So it's easy to get tickets for the pool games and the majority of the crowd are ex-pats and tourists.

They don't usually serve 'full strength' beer at sporting events here, so the novelty value for the locals is

that they can buy real beer rather than the piss weak 'light'
or 'mid-strength' stuff which means that many of the locals who do go are absolutely wankered by half time.

Bizarre Australian Trait #1: Drive Through Off Licenses (or 'bottle shops' to use the local term). You are

unable to buy any kind of booze in a supermarket, however you can go to the drive through, and buy

12 bottles of vodka or a 'slab' of beer without even getting out of
your car. It is illegal to drink and drive but… surely this is more
of an encouragement than a deterrent?

Until next time . . . - IT

John Crewdson Esq. Part 4 – Sole Trader

Well, I may have taken many many years to get round to doing it, but I've finally grasped the capitalist dream by the scruff of the pants and gone and done it; "Dear Mr. Taxman, I am now self employed. Please take my money away".
After years of doing shitty jobs, and years of avoiding shitty jobs (being in a band, going to university, the Dole (ahh, remember the days when all you had to do was sign on and feign an interest in work?), I finally came to the conclusion that climbing the corporate ladder wasn't for me. Call it an 'independent spirit', or call it 'being immature' but having a boss telling what to do never sat well with me, and seeing perfectly sane people spout 'office new-speak' made me want to vomit with rage, (you know the shit people spout in meetings - if I heard one more person say "going forward", or "lets think outside the box here people", I think I would have flung myself at them, grabbed their throats and screamed "DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT YOU ARE SAYING? WHAT EXACTLY DOES THAT MEAN? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE IMPRESSING WITH THAT CORPORATE OFFICE CUNT SPEAK??"
So the only options I had left were,
A: To become a 'Homeless',
or B: To become a 'Self Employed'.
So, having abandoned drinking "mad white cider" years ago (see 'being on the Dole above'), I opted for plan B. But what to do? Paper-rounds don't pay well and not having a head for heights, being a window cleaner was out, so I decided to open a shop. I'd never worked in a shop before, unless you count 6 months on a Y.T.S. (those under 30: ask your parents), at a car parts shop in Fleetwood as experience, but I wasn't going to let that get in the way.

So first of all needed a name, so I asked my good friends from around the globe for suggestions. Here's what I got in return:


Crewdsons Unbelievably Naff Tatt
Vinyl Wallpaper
Wallop!
John's Not Mad
Snooper's Paradise 2
Albion Market
Brou-Ha-Ha
Truly Bazaar
Fools Gold
Alf's Mini Market
Pete's Pink Bicycle
Beard Of Satan
Bread Of Satan
Captain Jacket Shop
Kill All Tourists
Dr Johns House Of Bong
Clothing Down
The Eccles Cake Shop
Afleks Palace
Ben Afleks Palace
J-Low
Buy-Low
Aldi
Burtons
Woolworthless
J-Mart
Stanley Matthews Was Gay
The Stanley
The Palace
Yate's Wine Lodge
Blackpool Tower
6 For A Pound Yr Gas Lighter
Cabbage
Toast
Jam
Northern Fried Chicken
Can You Smell Onion?
Wheel Of Justice
Myxamtosis
Myxamt-Shirt
Cat Litter
Johns Old Tat You Don't Really Want But Will Buy Anyway

... my mum's suggestion was "A Mistake" - thanks mum.


So, as readers of this site may well know, the Pitch & Putt Shop was born (obvious really. I originally thought of opening either a book shop, a record shop, or a video shop, but, because I was in no position to compete with Waterstones or HMV, and I figured that there's no future in selling anything that can be downloaded on the internet, those options where out. So T-shirts was the thing, and, as anybody who lives in Blackpool knows, there's fuck all shops selling decent T's. Well not the kind of stuff I sell anyway.

I opened the doors to the public on the 3rd of July 2004, a Saturday, and the first thing I sold was "The horses neck", a book of Pete Townsend's poetry I got from a second hand shop years ago, I never finished reading it `cos it's absolute drivel, but a sales a sale, and to celebrate me and Paul Taylor cracked open the warm bottle of champagne he's graciously brought. I made a colossal £1.70 that day; thankfully it's got a lot better since.
Being situated on Blackpool's glorious Central Drive, (opposite "Andy's Tattoo's, Weed City and a few doors down from "Exxxxxtreme videos" (not to mention Blackpool's only Rangers FC bar 'The Union')), the shop does tend to attract weirdo's. in fact on the first day I got some cunt asking me to give HIM money! I've been offered everything from gold chains, pirate DVD's to a shopping bag, for 25p, from a Muslim fella. The other day a bloke appeared in the shop, crew cut, tatts, wearing a t-shirt bearing a bull-dog and a union jack. He said "have you got any union jack T-Shirts? I love owt patriotic me". Hmm.
Here's a list of the odder requests do far:


"Have you got a T-Shirt with……. On it?"


Will Young
Stephen Segal
Big Daddy
"A Lion"
"A Horse" (?)
Blue (not the band, just a Blue t-shirt)

…. Why do I even fucking bother…?


*******

Other news: having decided not to murder my neighbours just yet, as their own miserable lives is punishment enough, I was overjoyed to over hear a conversation between them and their landlord about the fact that they owe £400 on rent, and with any luck will be evicted sometime soon. I can only hope, and pray, that this will be the case. Please god, make it so.


The Harbinger part 4

Dear Danny,

Why have you forsaken me? I'm wearing your jock-strap taped high in to my inner thigh, rubbing into my manhole. You saw me I think, this morning. I saw the curtain twitch as I took off down the gravel drive and I slept under the old oak, where she used to kick her legs, tired from walking in the graveyard picking off the lichen to reveal ....old names!! And as I slept I dreamt I was a woman and you were my man. Here is my dream.....

"She got up. The sunlight cracked through the broken blinds, and she shuddered. A thin small line of urine, left in her tube these 18 hours of sleep, now seeped from her panties down her inner thigh.

"Christ!" she exclaimed. "Fucking Christ..." But her shrill cry just tailed off into a whimper.

The flannels still sat there, washed and ironed, where she had presented them. As commanded. But so much had happened since. So much of the usual, she thought to herseld as she ran one manicured nail over the crease in the cricket trousers. And, before she knew humanly what she was doing, she was tugging off her cerise pink teddie, tearing at her stockings and replacing them with the pressed cricket flannels. She was wearing his whites.

She vomited a small spew on the floor at sheer pleasure of feeling his trousers against her naked skin.

Awoken to the sheer power of her dress, topless, she made now for the old-fashioned 'jock-strap' he insisted on wearing. Something about "protecting the crown jewels for my little princess," he used to say to her, with one thick hand around her chin and Remy Martin breath all over her face. She picked up the contraption and used a stray piece of elastic to tie it to her upper inner thigh. Next she bounded from the house and away, down the gravel drive, enjoying the pain of the stone 'neath her feet. The jock-strap curiously gripped in to her with every stride, and soon she was coming with every 9 yards. Expiation is impossible, sin is endless, she thought....."

yours,
Roger.

Harbinger,
A telegram to my office? Are you mad, man? The typing pool is awash with rumour and I now have to undergo the ignominy of drinking from the automatic water fountain under the smirking gaze of a dozen bovine wittering females.
As to your question of abandonment, since Furbish-Jennings withered under my coruscating attack on his Commie leanings in the Union, I have discovered a new love, other than you and your myopic approach to living this life we are forced into. My debating society has provided me with a freshly discovered sense of pride in my own abilities and this, my dear Harbinger, has led me into the wanton meadows of onanism and self-exploration to the nth degree.
I no longer require your services, yet, touchingly, wish you all the best with your chosen career path in the work of cricketing merchandise retail.
Should you need to call upon me for anything, do call my manservant Adams and arrange a luncheon date forthwith.
I shall never forget our sun-soaked days on the Cam.
Yours,
D.H.

Patrick Kagoul Notes from the Frontline Part 8

D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

As Billy Connolly correctly spelt.

That's it were through, it's over, 10 years together but no more. I can't live like this, it's gone on too long.
Too many days of waking up head hurting, pain, remorse and long periods of self loathing, recriminations, doubts, large patches of my memory that I can't account for my actions. But it's not that easy to make a clean break is it? No, everywhere I look I see her, every time I go out to the pub, too bars, to clubs she's there and it's so tempting, it would be so easy just to go back, forget my strength, my resolve and to take her back for one last drink.

I was out in a bar with my friends when I was speaking to Mr. Si Timmings and he pointed it out to me first.
The problem.
Did I get really bad hangovers? - Yes.
Did I ever have nights when I couldn't remember much the next day? - Yes.
Did I drink Stella Artois? - Yes.

It was then that the realisation hit me, luckily as it was still early in the night and Stella had not seen off the other still functioning brain cells..
Say it wasn't so, somebody tell me that he was lying, but no, somewhere deep down I knew he was right. My friends had warned me, Jason had always referred to Stella as 'dirty Stella' but I never listened, I couldn't. I never wanted to face up to it, the possibility that this, my great comforter and tasty friends was indeed bad for me.

But it was and it is and for that reason I have tried to separate myself from it, to try to go with other beers but it's just not the same. I go out and what's on offer well it doesn't compare. Everything is weaker it's not as tasty it's not as appealing and on top of that there is the comforting habit that long relationships bring. The security of knowing where you are with the other, or where they are in the shop at least.

All of this I now need to find in my arms another beer. It's not been easy I admit the courtship process is great, no catches no ties just a quick word with the bar staff and that's that, but what about the long term? Well that's a different matter. There are a few contenders at this early stage but well I don't like to say, not while the hurt is still too raw.

The Show July 10th Summer Special

Who`s bright idea was it to stage a Show summer special? Oh yeah, it was ours.
"We`ll definitely play," "yeah we`ll do it," These were just some of the comments I heard from various bands in the build up to staging the summer specials.
My god, the grief we suffered trying to organize things for your pleasure! Never have I been put through the rinser or been fecked from pillar to post as much as I was during this period.
Bands, or should I say band managers gave me their word, swore blind that they would come and play The Show.

Bands dropped by the wayside one after an other as we stood there, hair falling out, smoke emitting from our phones due to over use and generally waiting for Tom, Dick and Barry to get back to us.

Then, at the last minute, when things were looking grim and the storm clouds were brewing, we snatched victory from the jaws of defeat (unlike the national football team who usually do it the other way round) and called upon our old ally Dennis Hopper Choppers.

Along with Blofeld, who also stepped up to the board at the last minute, DHC saved the day and made sure that The Show faithful were, once again entertained.
Variety was also apparent on the wheels of steel where our very own P.M. Soloman Burke played an eclectic set early doors traveling heavy through country & western, swampy blues, rock & roll and a whole host of different genres for you to devour.

It was hard work getting there but we done it in the end. The minus factor sure outweighed the plus factor in the run up to the summer special but with the help of the good friends and lovely punters of The Show the plus factor was shining brightly when the fat lady sung and Elvis left the building.

Thank you all.

Jim Doc.

ps: Apologies to those who were expecting to see The Alps and a DJ set from The Lo Fidelity Allstars.
Due to circumstances beyond our control this gig was canceled at the last minute which in turn resulted in the incorrect listings being published.

The LO Fi`s will be with us soon and you can THE ALPS doing their thing at The Show on Friday 30th July with support coming from the wonderful FRANC.

W.D. Durnian: Everyone Has A Home Town, Don't They?

So I suppose my hometown is Fleetwood. A fishing port situated about seven miles north of Blackpool on the Fylde coast in Lancashire. I recently returned to my hometown for the first time in 18 months. Incidentally, I now live in the north east of England just outside Newcastle-upon-Tyne and moved away from Fleetwood in 1997. Fleetwood, I'm afraid, is the end of the road. It isn't even on the way to anywhere more interesting, unless of course you are mentally ill and consider jumping on a ferry to Knott-End a good idea. Fleetwood used to smell of fish. It doesn't today, and I don't think it does very often any more, (it now smells of shit, due to a massive new sewage farm ~ ed). Like other, once thriving fishing ports it was decimated by the cod wars of the 1970's and of course the infliction of European Union fish quota's contributed to its decline. Fleetwood is unwell. If it were a patient in hospital the consultant would be humanly recommending that it should immediately take a trip to Switzerland and be admitted to the nearest Euthanasia clinic.

I'm not the only one fortunate enough to have the enviable opportunity to have called Fleetwood my home. It's other more notable residents are Jane Couch, the female boxing champion and Sid Little who lives on the outskirts of town (I bet he tells people he lives in Rossall) who is one half of the comedy duo Little and Large (a.k.a 'Fat and Useless' ~ ed.) Comedy? Ha! You must be having larff! Undoubtedly and inaccurate description, but it's how the TV Times used to describe them. I know where he lives. I also know that he's currently appearing in a 'Seaside Special' for the summer in Great Yarmouth. I take this as an open invitation to burgle his house. There is some good news for Sid today. I can't be bothered, maybe some other time. I suppose I can count not breaking in Sid Little's house as my good deed for the day.

Spurred on by my own sense of generosity I decide that's it's time for a long-awaited reunion with the streets of Fleetwood. As I walk past the gloomy terraced housing I realise that I no longer belong here and to my surprise my heart sinks a little. I'm sure there was a time when I did belong. Maybe, I never really did. I turn into Hatfield avenue and plod disconsolately towards the roundabout at West View, half hoping to bump into someone I know, even just a familiar face would do. I don't see either. I hope my friends that have chosen to stay here are happy in their marriages, employment and children and are busily enjoying living their lives. I know that we didn't say we would be friends forever. Suddenly at this moment I wished we had. I have a thousand memories growing up here and I think I'm laughing in nearly everyone of them. You know what they say don't you? If you didn't have a wasted you, you wasted your youth. I can easily admit that I enjoyed wasting my youth here and with the people I wasted it with. As I approach the roundabout more memories of the past come flooding back and I remember the 1990 world cup finals where hundreds of football fans flocked here to celebrate after every English victory, dancing and singing in a good natured fashion around the roundabout. The police promptly arrived every time and began pushing people and before you could say 'heavy handed police tactics' trouble erupted and the police got the arrests they wanted. This memory fades and is quickly replaced by one that makes me laugh out loud. This of course is acceptable whilst in company but never really looks that good when your by yourself. Two girls walking toward me look at me oddly, quickly glancing at each other and move, as one, across the road to safety. It was a Thursday night in the summer of 1988, I was returning home in a taxi after a night at the Palace Discotheque in Blackpool. As we approached Westview I could just make out a solitary figure moving in the distance on the roundabout. I was my mate Jonesy, attempting, to drunkenly recreate the dance moves to 'Y.M.C.A.'

I turn right into Broadway and walk past my old school. Oops no I don't, its been replaced with a pile of rubble. They'll probably be building the usually uninspired houses and black of flats all in the name of progress. Change and decay is all around me. It's not that I have any particular affection for my old school. Perhaps I'm just turning into a grumpy old fucker. I soon arrive at 'Toms Joint' my parents Butchers shop where I lived from 1978 to 1997. my dad still lives there, although the shop is now closed and the exterior has seen much better days, I still have a soft spot for the place. Another memory that makes me smile; my dad (Tom, obviously) once made some fried chicken and displayed it proudly in the shop window accompanied with the advertising slogan - "Tomtucky - better than Ken's". it wasn't long before a representative from Kentucky Fried Chicken turned up threatening legal action and he was forced to remove his sign.

Christ, I'm thirsty. I was on an all day drinking session in Blackpool yesterday and I'm starting to experience waves of nausea again. In need of liquid I enter the newsagents on Poulton Road in search of Lucozade. I momentarily consider dishonestly appropriating the refreshing energy drink. I decide against committing theft and purchase the item. As I'm leaving the shop I hold the door open for a middle-aged woman who is smoking a wearing a pair of pink, fluffy slippers. I give her my best smile, usually reserved only for people I really like. She doesn't smile back, never mind thanking me for holding the door open for her. My heart sinks again and I wander off towards Manor Road and head for the beach, muttering to myself.

I've been dreaming of this moment recently. This is my favourite part of Fleetwood, the boating lake and the impressive ornate hump-back bridge that crosses it. I've been coming here all my life and it's still the same. Maybe that's why I like it here so much. I fantasize that if I still lived here I would walk up here every day and stand on this wonderful bridge. My heart lifted in a buoyant mood I set off for a stroll along the beach. I find a bench to sit on and look out across Morecambe Bay.
Minutes later a man walks past with his dog. "Hello", he says brightly, "Lovely day isn't it ?" I glance up at the battleship grey sky, whilst the wind streams in off the Irish Sea numbing my hands and face and I begin to feel the first splashed of rain. "Ooh yes it's a lovely day", I reply. I know my attempts at sarcasm will be wasted. I consider murdering him. I know I could do it in a split second and I'm sure he knows it too. I generously spare his life and he moves off. I know I have a criminal mind but I lack the essential qualities it requires to commit any of my dastardly ideas. A life of crime is obviously not for me. Pity, so many unfulfilled ambitions…..

A flood of memories engulfs me. It's 1975 and I'm 4 years old and my mum is dropping my sister and I at my cousins house on Macbeth Road. We're watching Tiswas and drinking Vimto. We called it Vimpto for some reason. I still do. It's now 1979, I have a skinhead and a green flight jacket with orange lining. I am also wearing cherry red Dr Marten boots. I know what your thinking; a very cool 8 year old. Unfortunately I'm going to Cub Scouts where it is mandatory to wear shorts so I just look like Forest Gump in his calliper wearing years. 1982 and I've just purchased a grey and burgundy Y-cardigan which I'm going to wear proudly at my first Halloween disco. 1986 playing and watching football all summer. 1989 being sick outside the Steamer pub after three pints of Theakstons Old Peculiar before heading off to Planters. Fast forward to 1997 and I'm leaving Fleetwood , maybe forever. These thoughts of the past drift idly away and are replaced with the image I had 18 months ago when I was last here. I'm in the Conservative Club with my dad. It's mostly full of old men sucking of rolly's and drinking pints of mild, playing snooker, darts and dominoes. Some one opens a door and Club Tropicana by Wham emanates through from the function next door. The Conservative Club is a place where two very different worlds collide. I also notice that slip on shoes with white socks are still not considered a fashion faux par in here. I eventually decide to rise from my comfortable bench to leave Fleetwood. I don't look back as I head for Blackpool to catch my train back to the North east and home.

Kid Kordial Set 10th July 2004 The Show

1. Robert Mitchum – Julian Cope
2. The Biggest Lie – Elliott Smith
3. Dog On Wheels – Belle And Sebastian
4. Sin City – Flying Burrito Brothers
5. Different Drum – Lemonheads
6. Something Happened To Me Yesterday – Rolling Stones
7. Cut Across Shorty – Eddie Cochran
8. Beat Surrender- The Jam
9. Janie Jones- The Clash
10. Unknown Stuntman – Lee Majors
11. Walk Don’t Run – Herb Alpert And Tijuana Brass
12. Cant Buy Me Love – The Torero Band
13. Tijuana Taxi – Herp Alpert And The Tijuana Brass
14. Golden Retriever- Super Furry Animals
15. First Of The Gang To Die – Mozzer
16. Connection = The Rolling Stones
17. Billericay Dickie – Ian Dury And The Blockheads
18.  24hr Party People  - Happy Mondays
19. Love Will Tear Us Apart- Joy Division
20.  Guitar Man – Jesus And Mary Chain

The Harbinger part 3

I've been in Australia since we last spoke, and I can assure you that was exciting and modestly extreme. It's always strengthens one to do something involving lengthy travel, a woman and stupidity. And Australia seemed like a fine place. The whole affair has spared me the trouble of my usual melodramatic holiday-search, this year. Instead of jumping on a ferry at Harwich and seeing where I end up, this summer I have decided to see it out in my modest quarters here in London. At this time I am quiescent, lest sporadic manual labour and the odd life-drawing class.
For four hours last Thursday I became a humanitarian vegetarian, pushing aside the sardines on my plate, sating myself merely with the watercress and artichoke hearts. I happened to be fingering a copy of The Idler, and a particularly ingratiating article about 'Buddhism in cold climates' had diverted me. The crux of the piece appeared to be about the feasibility of this most fascinating of religions in temperate parts of the world. Can one accept that all existence is suffering, that the cause of suffering is desire and that freedom from suffering is nirvana when day-in day-out cloud and sodding rain? Is it any wonder we're so alienated as a people, I meditated, a fork limply hanging from my mit.

And it was only the appearance of my acupuncturist Gerry clutching a bottle of good dry Turkish red and a cylinder of Spanish Sausage, round about tea-time that really lapsed my flirtation with vegetarianism. I'm down to half a sugar in my PG in the morning, though.

I think the Buddhist theme is one that becomes hard to shake. A good friend of mine killed himself recently. I'd made him promise that if he ever felt the urge to shuffle anything off he should telephone immediately. If he was to kill himself I was to be present in the room. I'd forced him to agree to this much. He didn't keep to his word unfortunately, choosing instead to leap from the roof of the Ibis hotel in Reading. He left no note.

We were both men who knew depravity and the rules regarding the wearing of tan footwear. He was the type who tried really to rush through life with his head down and his collar turned up, and I rather think he'd prefer to avoid the afterlife, or even what Mr Hendrix described as 'not to die but to be reborn'. He didn't want to be here in the first place.

Who wants to come back as a frog, when the chances are you'll end up in a lab somewhere being thrown bodily against a brick wall by a technician and dunked in acid in order that the boffins can see your spinal cord at work??

I shall miss his intermittent visits to my boudoir, always unannounced, and rarely with very much to say. I would offer him a cup of tea and he would always say, "No thank you, just a cup of boiling water, please." He was fond of hot water, and would try and savour the difference between one cup of water and another. It was rather like having an imaginary friend in some ways. The stillness of the man and his habit of saying nothing further for the rest of his visit was at times quite chilling. It all brought back memories of a childhood imaginary companion I had, who hated me.

No man is an island, entire of itself … any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

I shall endeavour to be at the Pleasure Unit in Bethnal Green at 'The Show' next time round, and I will introduce myself to anybody wearing a desert spoon in their breast pocket. I'm actually having my hair washed that night, but I've recently acquired a Revlon Celeb Hair Stylist dryer, so I shall probably be along without any kind of frizz.

Pip pip

Roger J Harbinger QC Bar (retd.)




Harbinger dispatch is camp x-ray 'APPROVED'. When I was in the RAF we
had a pretty good relationship with the USAAF.
I can remember a conversation I had with a Stealth Bomber Pilot only
very recently, and I said to him "What are you gonna do when this damn
show's over Tiger (a playful name I had for many of the boys in
there)?"

"You can't talk to me that way" he said, "I'm a free American."

Roger J Harbinger QC Bar (retd.)

The Show June 2004

Lark
I would have never believed that this was only Larks 3rd gig. You probably don't believe me now when you read this.
Lark very like Dennis Hoppers Choppers (who, if you missed in January- shame on you, but as we are such nice people you will get another chance to see them at the July special), have the same musical menace about them. They sound like you are in the wrong pub, in the wrong part of town and you have just spilt the wrong pint. Musically they look (as do Dennis Hoppers Choppers), like they drink in that pub as well, (they don't, they are all nice people, honest), there is, however still an element of 'nervous tension' about them. Encapsulating some of the best bits of Babybird (NOT 'You're Gorgeous'), Tom Waites and elements of The Fall this was a measured and sublime performance from Lark. Containing short instrumental tracks between full songs that stood, not as fillers, but to maintain and enhance the overall feeling of the set. Lead singer Karl even managed to pull of some nice Mozzer poses as well. Top. If you missed them; you mug, now don't do it again!
On the other hand the intriguing 'Paloma and the Penetrators', (far from being the all girl band as misinformed by my erstwhile colleague, apologies here for that), were the exact opposite. Watching `the Penetrators has all the joyous carefree abandon of drinking cheap martini at a party and getting your hand up a girls / boys, (delete as appropriate), jumper at the age of 15, (actually that sounds good to me now), they blazed through a set of cover versions of pre 1962 material succeeding in making incredibly famous songs such as 'twist and shout' all their own. Some feat. They're two pronged attack on the front of the stage and the multi layered harmonies had the whole audience on their feet dancing. Brilliant. The best I've ever seen them play, which is nice for you, lucky 'Show' punters.
All this and Paul Doc, big brother of show dj-meister Jim, who had the crowd going buck wild with a full set of some of the finest tunes to grace any decks around the country. A master class so good he was begged to support both Paloma and Vincent Vincent and The Villans at all their future gigs. Enough said, a set list is promised by the man himself.
Be looking out for a Doc v Doc djing set at the show very soon. My ears are watering at the prospect, if they can do that……. Actually, I'm off to the doctors.
pb

































Kid Kordial At The Pleasure Unit June 2004

ruby don't take your love to town - kenny rogers
pass it on - the coral
dead flowers - the rolling stones
happy place- the jesus and mary chain
last gang in town - the clash
eardrum buzz - wire
soldier girl - the polyphonic spree
40 - franz ferdinand
tijuana taxi - herb alpert and the tijuana brass
songs of love - the divine comedy.

John Crewdson Esq. Part 3 – "My House Is Trying To Kill Me"

HELP AND ADVICE FOR THE FIRST TIME HOMEBUYER.

Ah, the joys of owning your own home. Owning, as opposed to Renting, can have many advantages. You can have pets, use blue tack with abandon, or daub 'stop me before I kill again' in blood red letters across your living room walls with out fear of landlord wrath or deposit loss.
However, with such freedoms come great responsibilities. When things go wrong you cannot simply phone the letting agents and expect them to dash round and fix leaking taps or mend drain pipes that have turned 'foolish'.
Also, there is no one to blame for the errors made by previous owners. Their wayward attempts at DIY will come back to haunt you, and they will be long gone.


I was preparing to decorate my new abode, removing the dozens of nails and picture hooks that festooned the living room walls when, upon removing one particularly large nail I noticed gas issuing from the tiny hole. At first I was confused, I thought I'd burst the house, until I realised that the nail in question had been driven into an old lead gas pipe, and that this one rusty nail had been plugging the hole for god knows how many years. Years of deadly noxious gas seeping slowly into to the house….


Then, a few weeks ago I started hearing loud popping noises in the same room. "Odd", I thought. I checked all the electrical appliances and sockets but they seemed fine.The noises continued, so I unplugged everything and switched off all the sockets. Then I saw a great flash coming from one corner of the room! The very walls where exploding! Perturbed, I telephoned an electrician. He told me to turn off all the electric in the house and await his arrival. So there I sat. In the dark. Waiting.
Picture the scene. It's the early 80's and you're a young apprentice electrician. Your name is Barry. Your sporting faded denim, a thin blonde moustache and side burns like your dad. You tell your mates you think The Quo are 'ace' but secretly you yearn to be a New Romantic and wear eyeliner.
Your working on wiring up a new extension on a poxy little terrace in Blackpool. Its late Friday afternoon and your mind is on other things (Rubic's cubes, Ford Capri's and Boy George). You're thinking of that instead of doing the job in hand: wiring up the kitchen properly. Insulating the wires properly. You run the wire horizontal instead of vertical to save time. It doesn't matter, no one will know once its been plastered. Your shitty work will not come to light for another 20 odd years! Admit it! You Don't Know What Your Doing Do You, You Miserable 80's Fuck!


Fast-forward to 2004, and the same bit of wire is sitting in my hands, smouldering, freshly dug from the walls by the Emergency Spark. "That's the worst bit of wiring I've ever seen" he says. "its probably been burning away inside your wall for years". I sit there dumfounded, nervously eyeing the rest of the house and wondering what will go wrong next, when it dawns on me:

Leaking Gas Pipes + Exploding walls = Oh dear.


The Electrician gathers his things and prepares to leave. "I'll take that", he says grabbing the blackened bits of wire from my hands. "One for the Black Museum" he jests.
He begins to leave. Then I notice something...
Is he wearing eye liner?

*****************************************

I still haven't got round to murdering my neighbours. Their latest bit of mind torture involves repeatedly watching the final of Pop Idol on video. At 3 in the morning. Very loudly. And, even more bizarrely they follow this with The Worlds Strongest Man, all fucking night! My latest scheme is to send them 'free samples' of 'Oatsosimple' laced with ground-up glass, or releasing ravenous pigs into their house.

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I bought one of them 'Lloyd Grossman' pasta sauces the other day. The label said, "I make it, so you don't have to". I waited all night for the cunt to show up, but he never did. I was starving.

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What ever happened to Motorcycle Display Teams?

Patrick Kagoul Notes from the Frontline Part 7

Get me to the church on time………….

Well as you read this I am probably on my way to get hitched. Yes there will soon be a Mrs Kagoul. Shocked? Me too, but I'll explain, or try.

I have a friend that I know, biblically, that is about to be kicked out of the country. She of course, wants to stay. Now the only way that she can achieve this is, yep, you guessed, she needs to be British and she isn't. Now this isn't the ideal scenario that I dreamed of throughout life but……it serves a purpose and it helps out a friend. I'm also at that age where everyone I know seems to be getting married and settled down so why not me? Just because I can't manage to get a girlfriend isn't my fault, well I suppose it is but I've tried absolutely nothing and I'm all out of ideas. Seems like if I want to keep up with the 'Naylor's' then I may have to cheat a bit.

I had hoped that I would marry for love and I have managed to have 3 serious relationships, 2 of which with people I would have married, but they have gone wrong (the girls, not the relationships) I have tried, and regular readers will know this, to get in touch with these people. I have sent emails to both of them and neither of them has replied. Now this is the thing that I always find so odd, how two people can be so close that you could appear on Mastermind with that person's life as your specialist subject and then something happens and you never speak or see each other again? I think that this is wrong, but I tried and no response, obviously I'll be sending a copy of this column to them.

So what about my future bride, just who is the 'lucky' lady? Well she has slept with two of my mates, so obviously this narrows down the choice for best man. I don't want this to be too much of a literal title. Hey, it wasn't my fault I was very drunk, I can do better. And on the down side she is Australian. I know I'm painting a bad picture, but on the plus side she is nice, we do get on really well we have a lot of fun, she really likes my friends - actually scrap that one - but she's, well I dunno, she's everything I look for in a woman. Desperate to do exactly what I want and not make my life a misery or I'll turn her over to the authorities. So you see we make the perfect couple. It's a match made in well, somewhere.

So feel free to send in your congratulations and also some presents. We, unlike most couples do not own a toaster, actually she might I have no idea, what I don't want is any fecking vegemite or any of that Australian palaver, as she now needs to be British then she will have to denounce all this in a ceremonial Kylie Minge record burning and some chips and gravy or something in the rain to prove her love for her new country.

Right now where did I put that top hat?

The Show May 2004

Screamer on the hill were forced into an acoustic set at the last minute when there drummer was caught in a freak accident a flash flood in a waterbed shop and was unable to make it. Like the true pros they are they soldiered on and played a fantastic rocking acoustic set and were brilliant. They'll be back with a full band set soon so keep yours eyes on this site for details!

The Toy Guns were absolutely brilliant and even gave away free badges, nice, almost as nice as finishing with an encore of a rocking ska'd up version of The Cures 'Boys Don't Cry'. Wallop.


No pictures this month as the digital camera has become foolish, sorry. - PB

Patrick Kagoul Notes from the Frontline Part 6

"Day 26 and Kagoul still hasn't slept."
Reality television, hey? Call me old fashioned but I like my so called celebrities to be able to do something. Possibly to have gained fame for some actual hard work or talent; is this too much to ask? I know I'm being unreasonable, aren't I? We live in some sort of Warholian nightmare scenario, useless nobodies cueing up one after the next of these fucking pituitary retard whores demanding their 15 minutes of fame, like it's some God Given right just because they want it, everyone of them sucking satans cock. Then when their 15 minutes are up, clinging desperately with bloodied fingernails to the last scraps of attention, "look at me, look at me," dignity long since sold up the river, if it ever existed.

Even famous people will now do anything to keep some form of grasp on their dwindling popularity, these media whores have not one ounce of pride or self esteem. They would sell their first born if it meant the slightest chance of rekindling their fleeting taste of fame. The problem is if you are famous for nothing, you have no purpose or talent then you have no re-saleable value. So when the time is up you have no way back.

Well I've had enough. I'm going on Big Brother.

I have a plan: ignore everyone but not to sleep at any point, this way I'll get to have the conch shell, I'll be the leader, I'll be the one who gets to stick the pig. As I hate these desperate self promoting swines I will have nothing to do with them and there comments will be met with my vitriol. Won't this mean that I am as bad as they are? Well no. Why? Well, it just won't. My planning to not sleep will bring about some interesting viewing and am hoping by day 26 all manner of japes will have taken place, all with of course hilarious consequences.

"Day 26 and Kagoul still hasn't slept, he seems to be building some form of small fort and constantly muttering to himself, seemingly about shells and pigs. There are no pigs in the big brother house so it seems a bit strange. Now he's going into the kitchen, he seems to be choosing larger and larger knives, settling on a large carving knife, he's started laughing uncontrollably and now talking about a shell. He's heading for the bedrooms……"

Oh how we laughed, especially on the extended coverage for angry loners, insomniacs and the truly desperate. Press red now to stop me.


Patrick Kagoul

The Show April 2004

Under April Skies......
Well dunno what to say I'm running out of adjectives for brilliant:
Crowd - Brilliant
Bands - Brilliant
Music - Brilliant

... the usual really, if you've not been down so far then I suggest a quick cry.
A special thanks to Power Sherlock for an outstanding night and for saving the day, nice one fella.
Look out for him back in June when were planning a special Tijuana set.
Next month it's more of the same but with guest DJ Ashton all the way from Derby He used to play at The Republic in Sheffield back in the day when we were squeezing in 2000 students into the place on a Monday night. So safe hands. Hopefully they'll be a nice set of scratching from him as well.
I can't wait, see you there and please don't feed the DJ's beer, especially young Jim Doc.
Paul
pitchandputtproductions
May 04
Jim Doc's Set For April included....
Kings Of Leon - Red Morning Light
Bugsy Malone Soundtrack - So you wanna be a boxer
AC/DC - High Voltage
Public Enemy - Fight tHe Power
The Jam - Town Called Malice
Jonathan Richman - Velvet Underground
Beta Band -Assessment
Jackie Wilson - Reet Petite
Dreaming Of You - The Coral
Half Man Half Biscuit - Bottleneck In Capul Curig
Franz Ferdinand - Matinee
The Fall - British Poeple In Hot Weather
Happy Mondays - Kinky Afro
The Rolling Stones - Get Off my Cloud
Vincent Vincent and The Villans - On My Own
The Kingsman - Louie Louie


Vincent Vincent And The Villains