Good News!

Fortune cookie, NYC or TO, c.2003-5.

Chip upper lip, old boy.

I’ve been seeing London through foriegn spectacles these past few weeks and I’m all the better for it. Playing tourguide to Yanks and Aussies. I’m warming to it; cheese and wine in cellars, playing cards with Satan in Lynchian Wapping (before he tried to make out with me), drinking in an oppulent backstage boudoir, flicking through porn over coffee, reading some of Beckham’s early handwritten correspondance (“I just got my first wage packet. I got £120 …”), drinking in Britain’s tiniest snug bar, seeing horror at the theatre, fairies under London Bridge, eating Okonomi, fish curry, jam rolly polly & custard, venison pie, Welsh cakes, yuzu chocolate truffles and blowing over £100 across Turnmills and the Ministry of Sound (though upon exiting at 5.30am I won the MOS entrance fee back on a scratchcard).

I also bumped into someone in the National Portrait Gallery who I’d met at The Met in NY back in November ‘05 (art geeks tend to travel in small, albeit international, circles). Leading from our brief conversation I was inspired to get back into practical fine art and also dip into ‘art business’. So I’ll be looking into part time courses … and what to do/where to live in 2006! Oh, and I might get round to finding out where in the world half of my genes come from.

“I love the sea, and I love England as long as you can see the edge of it”. AA Gill (author, ‘This Angry Isle’).

And his words on what Churchill referred to as ‘old friends’ – the only food stuffs exempt from WWII rationing: “Fish and chips is … generally better remembered than eaten. It’s a totem of Englishness, a thing that is more than mere dinner and rather less than actual food. … Fish and chips is a silent meal. You shouldn’t talk and eat. It is a race against falling temperature. You need to be perfectly concentrated, constantly blowing and sucking, wolfing with bared teeth and flared nostrils”.

Whilst on a trashy British food note, I found this in a free mag in a bar in Paris (selling wonderful glasses of house red for just £1.20!), extholing the marvels of the English fry-up or, Brunch A L’Anglaise; “Enfin une idee originale pour bruncher a PAris! Sur de grandes tables facon cantine, vivez une experience culinaire rare: beans, jacket potatoes, sausages et bacon, assortis de scrambled eggs, scones, blueberries et delicieuses doucers a l’anglaise, vous reprendrez bien une tasse de the?” If you couldn’t translate that, the accompanying image was pretty self explanatory:

They weren’t kidding when they said ‘une experience culinaire rare’.

Something a little more confusing, is just what goes on at this little bar in the backwater town of Commercy in central France. Sexy drink party and an avalanche of T-shirts? Sounds like heaven. Checkout the flyer:

I also managed to catch the ‘Velasquez’/'Tim Gardner’ shows at the NG, the ‘Photographic Portrait Prize’ at the NPG, the ‘Fischli & Weiss’/'David Smith’ shows at TM and ‘Bound For Glory’ at The Photographers’ Gallery.

Letter from America 1

Woohoohoo. Busy first few days in the ol’ Apple. Flew in Saturday night, no questions asked at Immigration (sweet!). Got a lift to the flat – in a pretty dodgy part of town. Live right next to an elevated subway line, but my room is in the midle of the flat, and so can’t hear a thing . Drove through a deluge to Queens stopping on the way to pick up a big-haired columbian who talked alot, but not a word of English. Saw my flatmates play jazz til 1am. They’re really good, which is a bonus. They played on a stage suspended from the ceiling by strings (see pic). Oh, and need a torch as the lights are out in the entrance hallway/several flights of stairs.
Up the next day early, jetlag still in full swing. Walked up on our roof, checked the view, in this weather uninspiring. Walked into Manhatten over Williamsburg Bridge. Wandered through Soho and Lower East Side. Lunch was a cheese blintz (like a rubbery pancake) and superb borscht at the 24hr Ukranian joint Veselka. Checked out Greg’s (flatmate) friend’s documentary premiere in swanky Meat Packing District venue. Shagpile carpet about a foot deep, mahogony (free!) bar. All a bit Clockwork Orange.
Monday hung in Central park til started work. Work with an artist from Williamsburg, a (gay) recent Art History grad (haha) and an artist who used to sew stamps together and work with headless dolls. Chilled in the flat to the mellow jazz melodies coming from my flatmates’ rooms.
Tuesday met the artist flatmate Kirsten for about a second. Went on pubcrawl around Greenwich Village. Irish bar Shades of Green, wonderful ex-beauty parlour The Beauty Bar, Green Roomesque Luca Lounge, punk Niagara and then a couple of bars on Ludlow/Stanton – Lower East hangout haunt. A good night. Measures here are about the same price as UK, but twice the size. A good night.
After work Wed ate at Wagamama-style Republic, then checked out Detroyer and The New Pornographers at Webster Hall – the most amazing venue I’ve ever seen; absinthe green pseudo art nouveau entrance, haunted house bookmatched marble interior complete with oil paintings and huge mirrors, toilets like they came out of a blacklit Botticelli painting, gret view of stage and sound system and the balcony bar was a fish tank. The Pornographers were superb, as was the support. Finished the night with two encores, one a Fleetwood Mac tribute. Then to Wiliamsburg (hipster/artistville) for free pizza with our drinks at Alligator Lounge.
Thursday up late, hoovered, laundry, cooked up a massive batch of Bolognese. Felt a day wasted in New York but Lo! Trusty flavorpill.net to the rescue. Ate an ENORMOUS corned beef sandwich at Katz’ Deli (of When Harry Met Sally fame). Went to see John Waters at Barnes & Noble. Got my pic taken with him and got my Juxtopoz signed. Man that guy has a cool moustache. Picked up a wonderful Mexian Cocoa at the 2 by 2ft Vegan booth Kanakamakawaleigha. Then checked out Japanese band Mono at Mercury Lounge. These guys have ESP or somethng. Without saying a word or making eye contact they created the most amazing, harmonised soundscapes with two guitars, hot chick on bass and drummer, and some distortion. At times melancholic and quiet, at others loud and enraged, with distortion that sounded like crashing waves or a calmly blowing wind. The closest I’ve been to a state meditation. Picked up a signed LP.
After work headed to SoHo to chekout exhibition opening of Carl Fudge’s show Camoflaged. Met him, threw some ideas at him, got an autographed press release. His stuff rocks. Picked up Chagall’s autobiography and a chai at the Used Book Cafe (perhaps the quietest spot in NYC). Saw (and then ate) the largest burger/ball of mince I’ve ever seen at The Silver Spur. Raw in the middle, served with sweet potato fries. Gorgeous waitress to boot. Hellyea.
Sunday crawled round Williamsburg. Sat in car seat booths (complete with seatbelts) and ate free tater tots at Trash, via the hidden Lulu Lounge for a few seconds of an anthropology lecture to the divine Tainted Lady Lounge – a mint green lounge filled floor to ceiling with framed pin up girls and 50s sexploitation book covers. The loos are wallpapered with 50s porn! And they have a proper old school til, just like in the movies … cher-ching!
Yesterday night saw The Shining projected onto the wall of The Cellar bar, free popcorn and Haunted Cocktails later headed to the Kelloggs 24hr Diner to dip cinnamon toast into hot chocolate til 3am. Walked home to find everyone in the flat for once, drank vodka and watched Sideways. It seemed fitting.

D I S C O

Thursday
National Portrait Gallery. Tate Britain, Paula Rego. Stood infront of “Triptych” pastels. Incredibly moving and powerful. Couldn’t work out why. Walked across the hall. Intricate and delicate Dalziel Bros etchings. National Gallery, Degas. Practically invented the monotype. You can see the imprints of his fingertips in the bark-rubbingesque “A Lake in the Pyranees” [c.1890-3]. Reminded me of chinese silk painting. Quiet little sushi house round back of Chinatown. Watched the people walk by. £7.50!

Friday
Work 11-3pm. Charity shop hunt. Found hideous NY baseball cap in red, blue and white in NEXT sale along with garish wristbands. 80s party at Nicola’s. Went as a teenager in a pic in one of my graffiti books. Nice to see wonderful people I rarely get to see and having made such an effort too! Nicola looked every bit the 80s swinger party host, Robin the Harry Christianer, Sam FAME!, Matt Suggs and various Wall Street bankers. Quick catchup with Pete and Maria before the bells. Suspect the aid workers won’t be celebrating in Asia. Party picked up after midnight. Malibu and OJ. Twister at 4am. Decided to walk home at 5am. Chased a 281 bus. Caught the N22. Went the wrong way. Got one going the right way in Kingston. Got to Beata’s house in Richmond at 6. Wiola, James and a large kiwi all present. Drank Zubrowka and apple juice. Direct correlation between my drinking and the increased obscenity of the acts of the large teddy bear in my hand. The chance to freak out Wiola too irresistable Went outside and stood in my socks on the wet pavement. Left a message on Aynsley’s phone at 8. Slept on the foldout sofa at 9.30. Got up at 10.30. Walked to work.
Saturday
Work 11-3. Feel ok. Nearly grown a beard. Bought a drink. Force down 1/2 a pint of cider and OJ. Head aches. I feel like a rat has just crawled into my skull and started convulsing. Stomach churns. Beata is 4 minutes late to take over my shift. Feels like 4 hours. Manage to politey wish people a happy new year and make it outside the pub without hurling. Walk into a public loo to get out of the wind. Phone Orange to top-up my phone. Can’t remember where I lived in 2000 so can’t answer the security questions. Walk home. At one point, the beating of the wet, cold wind across Old Deer Park matches the rhythm of the beating pain in my head. Feel quite refreshed. But it only lasts a second. Lie on a bench by the river and watch parrots fly into an enormous fur. Get home and kneel on the floor, pressing my hands into my temples. Jeez I feel rough. Have some toast.
Seems I was just hungry. Feel right as rain now. Have a fry-up. Feel even better. Lesson learnt. Eat more.

Is it wrong if your New Years Resolution is to be prosperous?

Ricky Gervais: My brother, whose 11yrs older than me had a tape of Derick and Clive live. One day he called me over to the corner of the room to hear some. He’s cracking up. My mum walks in and hears; “Tell that f**king c**t to f**k off coz he’s a f**king c**t”. I think shes amused really and she quite likes it, but she just says; “Mark. What if the vicker comes round?”. NEVER happened before. Never come round. My brother, he says; “I’d tell the c**t to f**k off. It’s nearly midnight”.

Man dies. Welshman falls asleep.

Coming out of the pub after work to get the bus home I met Matt, a Welshman who is often in The Sun Inn, and had managed to get himself particularly pissed this evening. The first thing he snarled drunkenly to me was; “I nearly got bloody arrested!”, I asked if it was for loitering with intent, to which his reply was; “No… sleeping on the pavement.” Legend!
On a less joyous note, just what has happened to Richmond since I left for uni? A guy got stabbed to death oppposite the station (exageration, it was nearer O’Neils) at like 11.15pm last night and then on my way to work this morning, as I got on the foot bridge I passed a guy who looked like he’d recently had his head kicked in. Blood all over his face. I’d thought better of the people of Richmond. Someone clear this matter up, please.

A noble and faithful steed.

Thursday night rocked. Have you met Jules? He’s big, curly and mean. One of those terms isn’t true. Anyhow, he came with me at 9pm to the “Something Else” show in Soho feat. SWOON who’s one of the greatest artists ever. In a street kinda way. Lots of beats, lots of crazy kids in hats and live painting by a diminuative Japanese lady in pyjamas. Who just made a mess. Will post a pic or two when I get them developed. Was hoping to meet her but couldn’t find her. The loos were tagged up something rotten and I got to sneak around the Swoon installation and touch it and take photos and and… I’m so excited! Then today I turn the page in The Times Magazine and theres a portrait of this guy whose meant to have turned Miami into the latest artworld mecca and whats glued onto the windows of his building? Swoon stencils. But she wasn’t mentioned in the article at all.
Man I wasn’t with it before the show. I got off at Picadilly and I COULDN’T FIND CHINATOWN! Yes folks, thats how much of a lost cause I was. I think my brain just died. We ate far too much Chinese food, dude. Must do it again sometime. Next time round I’ll try and finish my sentences.
Friday was work, work, work. Lots of old guys with their bint ladies got to stay for a lock-in til 3. Joe sneaked off dead early without telling anyone, but the arseholes bought me and Al loads of drinks for still serving them 3hrs after closing time. Then one of them picked a fight with Al behind the bar (“20 years, boy! 20 YEARS! You won’t last a minute” However having seen Alex I’d beg to differ.) So they were all kicked out, with that same guy asking me if I’d want a smack on his way out. His best mate had just died apparently. He was just feeling vunerable I guess.
Saturday – even MORE people than last week. Made £23000 (normal Saturday turnover around £9000). Had Gift of Gab to guide me through the breaks and discovered solitude, quiet and food in the kitchen. Left at 3.30am. Felt uncomfortable, I suspect the landlady thought the same thing as the Poles (for some reason) that I’d been on…get this…cocaine! haha. That’s me to a tee. Or rather not.
Sunday was sweet coz I trained up a new Kiwi and then a load of staff turned up and bought me drinks which made the shift flyyy by. Boss bought us all tasty Tapas and Rioja for lunch then a drink at the pub. Stayed til I was bladdered, then went for a curry that James kindly paid for. I managed to get away without paying a penny today. Staggered home.
Woke up today with one hell of a hangover. Now I’m helping to sort out the emotional mess James is getting into at work with the smaller of the two Poles. And preparing to cook steak at home for the first time in years and years and years.
And this techno version of California Dreaming rocks.

Sur le weekend.

Last night I learnt never to get on a bus filled with drunk rugby players. I also learnt never to get OFF a bus with drunk rugby players….

Saturday’s England Canada game wasn’t as busy as I had expected. Which could have had something to do wityh the fact that there were 14 ppl behind the bar. Id spied aload of enormous tiger prawns defrosting in the kitchen in the afternoon and after closing I sneaked into the kitchen to check on their progress, and was reassured by the boss’ drunken words; “Don’t you worry Hayden, they’re all for us… all for us.” And indeed they were. Split between me and 2 others, accompanied by smoked salmon, cream cheese on toast, steak pie, chicken tikka pastries, hot dogs and booze. Wioleta won best barperson of the day and had to drink Sambuka from her trophy cup. The biggest slacker of the day award wasn’t awarded, probably because it couldn’t be ascertained whether anyone was actually managing (however hard we tried) to work less hard than James, and he was pissed as a fart, and so couldn’t be counted. A glorious day was had by all. Mainly due to the post-work feed. And the fact that at least three of the staff were more pissed than any of the punters.
After an hour of setting up the bar by myself the first person into the pub on Sunday morning (Ben, a chubby forward in the Richmond squad)was also the last to leave, thankfully with all his clothes on. Two of my mates from school popped in which was a rather splendid surprise and the evening was quite easy going, except for the clamour of the wasted rugby lads. I got on the bus after work and 4 of the rugger-buggers were in the back, literally swinging around like monkeys, doing 360 spins around the bars and trying to kick each other out of the doors from the moving vehicle. At one point ben took a fall from the ceiling of the bus which he totally didnt expect and momentarily passed out, much to the hilarity of all present. I felt sorry for the other ppl on the bus though who must have been scared shitless at the sight of these 6ft monstrosities climbing around the bus and shaking every bolt, window and fitting in the vehicle, whenever one of them came crashing to the floor, head or feet first, which was often. I got off the bus and they all seemed to disembark with me. Turns out they live about 2 mins walk from me! Humourous events unfolded – Ben knelt down and vomited by a car, only to be coaxed by his team mates into scrumming with it and nearly pushing it back into the car behind it – to top the evening off, half way down the road Ben got completely naked and gave out a dirty snigger whenever I looked at him; Alex had on his boxer shorts and waddled home with his trousers round his ankles describing to me the different elements of humour in Road Trip, Old School and American Pie; Philipos (an enormous Greek) ran down the street wearing only his sweater and bumped violently into a taxi; another guy – managing to not wear any of his possessions yet drunkenly and rather skillfully tie them all around his waste walked up behind me and asked me who I was (Lord knows what he though I was doing sitting next to them on the bus and walking back with them!). Bear in mind it was midnight in November! I was invited back for a BBQ, but I though that way madness lay, so declined the kind offer.

An interesting weekend in all, one that I suspect I shall not experience again. At least not for another week!

Spilt drinks and knickers.

Today I managed to empty a barrel of Strongbow over the cellar floor. Without even knowing it. 50 litres (equaling roughly a gazzilion quarts or a million .oz or whatever those strange North American excuses for measurements are) all sprayed onto the floor. And I’d have gotten away with it too if it hadn’t have been for that pesky gas leak! Luckily my boss is gold and just chuckled cheekily about it. I did a quick bit of maths and worked out that was about £220 worth of cider. Oooops. That’s like two weeks worth of wages. Down the drain.

Then I saw the film Pieces of April. It’s great. Even my dad liked it. It surprised me with its maturity. And the sight of young Miss Holmes in her skimpies made me think about what I’m missing in T.O. (And I’m not talking about sushi). Still, better to be hers and without her than not be hers at all.

Sur le weekend.

Last night I learnt never to get on a bus filled with drunk rugby players. I also learnt never to get OFF a bus with drunk rugby players….

Saturday’s England Canada game wasn’t as busy as I had expected. Which could have had something to do wityh the fact that there were 14 ppl behind the bar. Id spied aload of enormous tiger prawns defrosting in the kitchen in the afternoon and after closing I sneaked into the kitchen to check on their progress, and was reassured by the boss’ drunken words; “Don’t you worry Hayden, they’re all for us… all for us.” And indeed they were. Split between me and 2 others, accompanied by smoked salmon, cream cheese on toast, steak pie, chicken tikka pastries, hot dogs and booze. Wioleta won best barperson of the day and had to drink Sambuka from her trophy cup. The biggest slacker of the day award wasn’t awarded, probably because it couldn’t be ascertained whether anyone was actually managing (however hard we tried) to work less hard than James, and he was pissed as a fart, and so couldn’t be counted. A glorious day was had by all. Mainly due to the post-work feed. And the fact that at least three of the staff were more pissed than any of the punters.
After an hour of setting up the bar by myself the first person into the pub on Sunday morning (Ben, a chubby forward in the Richmond squad)was also the last to leave, thankfully with all his clothes on. Two of my mates from school popped in which was a rather splendid surprise and the evening was quite easy going, except for the clamour of the wasted rugby lads. I got on the bus after work and 4 of the rugger-buggers were in the back, literally swinging around like monkeys, doing 360 spins around the bars and trying to kick each other out of the doors from the moving vehicle. At one point ben took a fall from the ceiling of the bus which he totally didnt expect and momentarily passed out, much to the hilarity of all present. I felt sorry for the other ppl on the bus though who must have been scared shitless at the sight of these 6ft monstrosities climbing around the bus and shaking every bolt, window and fitting in the vehicle, whenever one of them came crashing to the floor, head or feet first, which was often. I got off the bus and they all seemed to disembark with me. Turns out they live about 2 mins walk from me! Humourous events unfolded – Ben knelt down and vomited by a car, only to be coaxed by his team mates into scrumming with it and nearly pushing it back into the car behind it – to top the evening off, half way down the road Ben got completely naked and gave out a dirty snigger whenever I looked at him; Alex had on his boxer shorts and waddled home with his trousers round his ankles describing to me the different elements of humour in Road Trip, Old School and American Pie; Philipos (an enormous Greek) ran down the street wearing only his sweater and bumped violently into a taxi; another guy – managing to not wear any of his possessions yet drunkenly and rather skillfully tie them all around his waste walked up behind me and asked me who I was (Lord knows what he though I was doing sitting next to them on the bus and walking back with them!). Bear in mind it was midnight in November! I was invited back for a BBQ, but I though that way madness lay, so declined the kind offer.

An interesting weekend in all, one that I suspect I shall not experience again. At least not for another week!

It’s Gwen Stefani month!

Ladysmith Black Mambazo + Vusi Mahlesela:
Took me ma to see Ladysmith tonight at the Barbican. Got the last three tickets. It was a wonderful experience. Kinda spiritual I guess. It’s hard to put into words. 10 guys jumping and jiving in a tribal (Bill Cosby) manner, jumping 4ft into the air, kicking above their heads, and yet, there is not once a faulter in their delicate melodies throughout the entire performance. Nor can you hear where one singer’s voice ends and another begins. Soothing and exhilirating.
Vusi Mahlesela is apparently known simply as “The Voice” in South Africa, and I can see why (He’s kinda like a South African Shahen Shar). His range includes falcetto highs, barks, lullaby-softness, clicks, rasps, gutteral roars and more; with split-second changes in tempo, tone etc. The music was about romance and also political oppression – aparthied, which he had seen at first hand as a child. If you haven’t heard of either of these artists – I strongly recommend you have a quick search on Limewire/BitTorrent.
Saturday night was meant to be crazy busy, but it was dead. I’d worked friday morning and night, Saturday morning and night, and had planned to go home asap and sleep for Sunday was also to be crazy and I was due to work… you guessed it, morning and night. Instead, I hung around for a staff lock-in til 2am, for which we were provided a huge ham and fresh cobs by the boss-man. Then we all swankered back to my workmate’s pad where we drank cider til 6am. Then I cycled home (very, very slowly), and barely got any sleep before I was back, completely knackered and hungover at work bracing myself for the onslaught of wedding guests that … never showed. Working on a dead sunday morning by yourself is worse than watching paint dry.
The crowds came following the fireworks at 7pm. So too did the guy that got a HANDFUL of chest hair pulled out by one of the barstaff (ouch) and a big black guy who had recently joined a ‘private club’ and had received a txt telling him to meet ‘two couples’ in our pub at 8pm. One of the rugger-bugger bar staff got wind of this and kept sending wave-after-wave of rugby players over to wind him up and ‘help him find the couples’. Poor guy. But it sure was funny. He never did meet those couples.
By this time I was just about ready to smother myself with a dead fish and eat my shoes I was feeling so rough, when the rugby team that was in piped up a bad rendition of Happy Birthday and bought two “dirty pints” for the poor lad whose birthday it was to down. Piece of advice – if its your birthday, don’t tell any rugby players. The first pint, of my own concoction, contained gin, vodka, whisky, amaretto, tequila, tobassco, lime, lager and cider. The second one, well, it wasn’t quite so pretty.
Thank you to my Gwen-spotting minions out there. Your txts regarding her appearances on tv are much appreciated. However I’ve been working like a dog so I haven’t been able to get even close to a tv in days (which isn’t a bad thing). [http://channels.aolsvc.co.uk/music/exclusives/artomon/]
Sometimes things in the universe align perfectly. Gwen Stefani makes a solo video and its based on Alice in Wonderland (and a bit Matt Barney-esque). Case in point.