Sunday, 31 August 2008

Rack and Ruin

It may be a malarial infested swamp (sorry I’m milking my illness aren’t I … I’m miles better now thanks) but Erith and environs has some top industrial sites!

In the space of a 100 yards I found about 10 rusted busted or just weird things. Notably this knackered garage cum showroom, Its ruined and due for knocking down but you can’t but think that the crappy sheds or manky housing that replaces it won’t be that much cop.

As for today’s tune well it speaks for it’s self really.

Summers over by Dusty Springfield.

If you want a good collection try this one.

Out and about

People watching

Left my flat yesterday to travel to the darkest north it involved the Piccadilly line and somewhere called “Finsbury Park” which after looking on Google maps is on the outskirts of Solihull. My friend R &E where insisting on moving house to another Wolverhampton suburbs called “Green lanes” (this being the Midlands it didn’t have a tuft of vegetation and the “lane” was a congested high street full of men with tashes driving cars on their own.

Here’s some stuff that I saw and did on the way there and here:

2 Russians (B &G) sat on the step of our flat smoking and drinking at 10 am wearing very British pyjamas they looked like they were sneaking a quick gasper on a war time hospital fire escape.

“There’s one born ever minute alt: Euston we have problem”
Our train didn’t stop at Euston because one young Londoner was being born on the platform, hopefully it went ok).

Waiting outside the station in Walsaw I got abused by a ballerina for trying to point out her bag was open leaving all her trinkets on display for scally wags of west midlands to pilther.

“Read my arm”
After Miss Tootightbun IwasonlytryingtobenicewhydontUbuggaov had skulked off a very striking Rock a Billy 1950’s girl appeared, she had the full fig on, hair in a scarf, peddle ushers, check shirt, sleeve less denim jacket with “Mrs snake bite” on the back and some tats. The only odd thing was that a big rose tat bore the legend “anti-fashion” underneath. Which just seemed a bit of a weak thing to have on a tattoo particularly on someone so precisely dolled up. Anyway she strode of purposefully towards the bus to Coventry; maybe its a Nottingham thing; vaguely angry but ultimately slightly pointless body art. Thankfully E turned up to stop my musing.

Driving around “green lanes” we marvelled at how all the locals cars were powered by loud music some it had strident repetitive beat structure others was that waily female vocal stuff they sell on cassette in Turkish shops. The radio was playing old songs in our van so we joined the battle Martha and Vandellas had us dancing in the street and presumably knowing we were in the Black country on came “black dog” by ver ‘Zep which had us head banging and making “the sign” and winning the loudest car stereo battle by a country mile.

So after a very good pizza and a lot of cooling drinks we were done

Life through a lens

All that was left is to tell you about the world’s most annoying litter lout:
On the overland safely back in that proper London I was sat opposite a bunch of Kent dwellers, some 50plus types and possibly their 30 something daughters. One of the younger women does something icky to her eye and out pops her contact lens and with out thinking she flicks it on the floor. One more icky scraping picky thing and a flick and the other lens is sticking to the vinyl. All this while the good burghers of Sevenoaks chat away about their night at “les Mis” or whatever.

Now I know it’s not a stinking half eaten take away or a gunk spilling smoothie bottle but come on, in some ways it was even worse because they were so tiny, it was like saying there’s no amount of crud however so small that am I prepared to get rid of properly, I’m not even prepared to dispose of 3 grams of plastic in a bin.

Of course I was even more pissed off as it meant I had to take the paper I was reading home even though I’d only just picked it up!

Contact wearers are always morally flawed what’s wrong with specs you vain git!

Saturday, 30 August 2008

Blu friday?

skateboarding blu tac swordsman

Small sticky things you learn! (while waiting on hold)

That Irish Blu tac is made in the wonderfully named town of “Swords”! Which is just outside Dublin, apparently the name means pure water or something but Wikipedia fails to mention it also mean sharp cutty pointy stabby things.

Anyway it’s got a skate park with a “some” quarter pipes.
In celebration and still on hold I made a little Blu man on a skateboard holding a sword.

Still on hold

Swords extra: Good bless Wikipedia for the un-varnished truth:

“For a number of years the centre of the town was allowed to fall into slight disrepair; the town received the title of dirtiest in Ireland in an 'Irish Businesses Against Litter survey for two years running, in 2003 and 2004. However, since then Swords has been labelled as 'only slightly littered' in the 2006 survey.”

“Slightly littered” how many kebab papers does this refer to? Does it just mean the odd discard pickled chilli, moist lemon wipe and the odd tin of tango? Or is it an inland sea of Gregg’s (or the Irish version) pasty bags, chip papers, fag butts, cabbage leaves like Deptford after market day?

The women on the other end of the line can’t help with a working definition of “slightly littered” but she does no word of lie transfer me somewhere else and put me on hold.

Thursday, 28 August 2008

Feeling Better

p The Lazarus of the Sofa
I’ve been laid low the last few days; that’ll learn me for going about taking moody shots in the Delta!

But a few tins of red soup, some ginger nuts, the odd episode of World at War and the new to me “His Girl Friday” and I’m perking up, perhaps not as much as this corker of a tune, but I’m halfway there.

Point of order: when right thinking people meet it’s essential that the purveyors of YES are only ever referred to as Lambert & Butler it’s the law…

YES by McAlmont & Butler

Today's news.

water pistol/zap gun, originally uploaded by monocat.

The most telling bit about the trial of the"garden shed" gun maker. Is that the supposed legitmate arms dealer Sabre who sold him the guns were only a bit worried when a bloke in late 20's bought grates of guns with £55,000 in CASH!

Tuesday, 26 August 2008

Space Junk

Out of this world:
I've started a new blog, it's to channel my inner geek. It's called SPACE JUNK and it's a place for my "archive" of space photos, books etc. I just thought they should be seen by more people.

It won't be full of techy stuff (mainly because I don't know that much) it's more a celebration of the aesthetic and cultural side of things, oh and some of the pics are just cool! see what you think.

PS. I had fun doing the template etc all by myself making things is fun!

Tuesday, 19 August 2008

A dash to the finish

Some more ‘lympic musings:

This American swimmer (Michael Phelps) who wins all the medals, how come if he’s the “greatest Olympian of all time ever, ever” no one can list the events he’s won. I did a test in the office and all I got was a jumble styles and distances. The basic conclusion was oh “it’s all the ones with front crawl in’em I think”.

Tri-ing too hard:
Watched the men’s triathlon while munching toast this morning:
Sadly I think it’s tainted, it has a strong whiff of middle management about it all. Every competitor looks like an IT exec or a sales consultant; they look like when they are not racing bikes in their pants that they plough up the M4 in their M3’s shouting into blue tooth headsets. You can imagine that after 5 mins of conversation with one of them you’d here the deathless phrase “yeah me and Jo have just come back from trekking in Patagonia ...yeah we left the builders finishing the kitchen..... we’re off kite surfing next weekend ......”

Tuff of the Track:
Steve Ovett was on BBC1 talking sense this morning, I must admit as lad I was in the Coe camp (he was local lad from Sheffield which helped) and much like Liverpool seemed to win a race every Wednesday evening after we came back from scouts. Then Coe came out as a Tory (like Emlin Hughes) and I dropped him straight away and moved over to Steve Ovett, who always seemed a bit chippy and was not as glamorous as Coe but was just as great a runner.

We’ll have to see if Andy Baddeley can come up with the goods tonight.

smartie boots

smartie boots, originally uploaded by bltphoto.

I take alot of pictures especially with my new Camera phone.

I took this at Lattitude and for some reason it been very popular almost a 100 views (for me) I don't know why it was a snatched shot the exposure could be better.

Maybe wellies are just this year's thing!

Sunday, 17 August 2008

Golden Weekend

olympics on the TV

It’s hard not to get carried away seeing British team members winning left right a centre.
Tee Heee

Medals of Note: Rebecca Romero a rowing silver last time and gold in cycling pursuit outstanding.

Commiserations to Katherine Grainger (3 silvers no gold), it’s no consolation but everyone loves Jimmy White much more than Stephen Hendry!

Hoy’s the boy: just seeing Chris Hoy power his way to a win is just great, like a steam engine balanced on an ice skate you almost feel sorry for his opponents they are never going to win!

At lasts something good to watch: I’ve been a bit hacked off with BBC evening coverage with the competent but bland Gabby Logan and loads of trite colour pieces and stupid graphics. So turning on yesterday morning to find Claire Balding holding the fort was most welcome. CB has the knack of being enthusiastic without being dumbly patriotic or glib and brings intelligence, eloquence and humour to the whole show.

Archie Bell & the Drells : I can’t stop dancing*

*From an excellent comp “Sock it to ‘em Soul”

Friday, 15 August 2008

Sad News

Jerry Wexler

Sad news, Jerry Wexler has passed a way. I don’t really know what to say, he’d had a good innings and had brought more joy into the world than any creative person could ever hope to do. If you don’t own at least one tune he produced it’s safe to say you don’t like music.

At times likes this, the temptation is to be obscure but I’m going to obvious. If Jerry’s only contribution to world was enabling Aretha Franklin to express herself fully, he could rest easy.
So here’s:
Respect by Aretha Franklin

On the basis that it’s impossible to have too much good music
Here’s Dusty rescuing the reputation of son’s of the Manse after it’s been trashed by Gordon Brown (& Westwood!) this ones for my soul brothers A & S.

Son of a Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield

Early morning

Margurita Time: 7:19am Newcross station

Things you see going for the early train:

A fox* on the way to bed, builders and painters on the way to work, dozens of snoozing travellers, a street drinker opening up the last of the night or is it the first of the day(?), dew.

The news:
Basra is safe (hurrah!)
Winning a gold medal is hard (no way!)
The government is repressing free speech (boo!)
The seas dying (blimey!)
USA is not going to help Georgia (seems a bit tight)
Something about Chelsea (yawn)
Man eats lots of food (not me this time!)
A beautiful journalist wears lost of beautiful dresses and asks if she looks good: (a new definition of vanity publishing?)

Food: Coffee and seemingly yesterday’s sandwiches. (Coffee yum sarnie semi-yum)

The site: Is this the far corner of the internet (file this a way for later?)

Music: Jill Barber (the Hard Line is the best)

*Don’t you love when a visual cliché comes alive!

Thursday, 14 August 2008

Straight A’s

Results just in

Congratulations to all A level and GCSE students getting their results over the next week. I do think it’s tight to slag them off each year particularly as the rest of us aren’t necessary the sharpest knifes in the draw.
Having wasted half my youth on homework I have a lot of sympathy for the work they have to do and to have it slagged off by some journo who can’t divide a drinks bill by seven seems unfair.

It’s also unfair on teachers who nowadays aren’t like some the monsters who taught us, the days of random physical violence in the hallways, lunchtime in the pub and copping off with VI formers are thankfully long gone (and in some cases illegal).

The only sad thing about exams is that the only person who will ever want to see your certificates is your Gran, mine sit unmoved in their draw from one year the next.

I would however offer a little advice to potential Uni-students (based mainly on visiting a few indie clubnights recently)
Stop drinking red bull
Wear a few more clothes (boys and girls)
Boys learn to dance (no really it’s not “ironic” to jump around like 4 year old if you 19)
Girls try dancing in anyway other than afternoon shift pole dancer

And the only thing I have really learnt in the years since I left college is that “Africa by Toto” is shit and it isn’t a “guilty pleasure” (no pleasure is “guilty”, Oliver Cromwell is long dead) it’s just shit.

People died, took over doses, drank endless cups of tea, learned to play fiddly 12 string guitars, put up with drunk drummers, photocopied fanzines, read Camus, moved to Berlin and had stand up rows with Bruno cocking Brookes so we didn’t have to listen to arseing Toto; so don’t go throwing all this sacrifice away because some ageing “too cool for school” media tosser thought it was a kitsch classic. By all means listen to old music, listen to new music, sit quietly in silence looking at the wall of your dorm room, but whatever you do from now on never ever, ever listen to Toto.

The same goes for that deeper evil Bon Jovi in case you were toying with a battered copy of “Slippery when wet”.

ps: Oh and don’t do any course where they make you study Beowulf......

pps: Hope you like the visual cliché of attractive posh girls (from the beeb’s website) getting their results see every paper and news slot for the next 10 days; ugly poor people don’t do well at school it’s official, I’ll stop ranting soon honest it’s all this rain.

Wednesday, 13 August 2008

You spin me round.....

Hurrah it’s Vinyl Record Day (isn’t everyday...),
here’s my contribution I was in Oxford at the weekend dodging in and out of the showers and found an Oxfam (a local shop for a local charity!). It had a very well laid out record section downstairs.

I don’t mind places like Oxfam getting organised and making the most of their donations (i.e. charging higher prices) I’d much rather the money went to them than to a shark on E-bay with no love of music or any charitable leanings. If they can generate money for their work good luck to them, even if some of their pricing is “optimistic”.

The women who ran the place was a “character” berating customers who didn’t say hello (in there defence they probably not use to cheery record store staff!) and telling me about her dog troubles (I fear she may have told me about them even if I wasn’t there if you know what I mean).

Anyway I found a copy of a Shirelles’ single and something by Nancy S which looked good and then went for celebratory mug of builder’s tea!

Soldier Boy by The Shirelles

Tony Rome by Nancy Sinatra

Tuesday, 12 August 2008

Life's a Peach: the movie

Acts of Fruitility (Pavement Art)

There was this peach in our road last week; here's a little film of how it returned back into the carbon/nitrogen cycle via some new baby ants, flies and I suspect a fox or may be some rodents !

Sunday, 10 August 2008

The running, jumping and standing still show


A little bit of sport isn’t a bad thing I could do with out the following though:

After someone has been training everyday since 1996 and raced 10’s of miles on her bike in the rain expecting them to say anything more “ I’ve won, ‘kin’ hell I’ve won” is stupid, annoying and totally unenlightening stop it now.

Bland glib Olympic sponsors advert:
Choice ones this time: one for a fancy watch were a little Chinese girl gets lifted up to see into the stadium by her grand dad, I have suspicions in realty some friendly police would arrest them and put them under house arrest at best.

Next is one for a phone, the creatives at the agency having all the sports in the world to choose from decided that the funkiest exciting totally cool thing ever ever is for some poxy DJ in 80’d leather jacket to mix up a funky tune from the sounds of squeaky trainers, cue the crowd goes wild.

Also bugger Damon “I don’t make cheese or want to be MP I’m the other no not him with funny voice you know the singer” Albarn and Tank girl boy why isn’t this the theme tune for every Olympics?

Who's watching who?

who's watching who?, originally uploaded by bltphoto.

Saw this the other day in that there Soho. How many ways can THEY can follow you? oyster, bank cards, gym pass,work id, mobile phone.........

Is this least informative helpful website ever?

Thursday, 7 August 2008

Pies and Bull Fighting!

Just plain Madness

I have fondness for slightly heightened records see “Eloise” and also slightly strange creepy or other songs from second string 60’s pop bands trying to be profound or freaky. See this and also The Association. Who are excellent at close harmony but try a little too hard sometimes with the words.
Well the other day I was down Portobello with A and B and popped into the excellent Oxfam record and book shop and I found a couple of things one of which was best of the Association.

Which led me to Requiem for the Masses (do you see what they did) which is marvellously over the top as well as being daft. here's the lyrics in full .
Any song that starts “mama leave your pies” and then goes on about Matadors is guaranteed to get my attention.
The other song Enter the Young (more lyrics)just makes me smiles, for being sunny and poppy and also surely the perfect cover version for Frankie Howard.
Requiem For the Masses : The Association

Enter the Young: The Association

My new favouritist new band:


Do Yourself a Favour........ and get hold of this # 1.

I was reading (god I’m so old fashioned ) a music magazine (kill me now) the other day and the review of a record sounded good (here comes the modern bit) I went on “web” and heard some the songs and then (my Old Skool roots showing) I bought the lp.

It’s by Windsor for the Derby who are from that there Texas I think and is called “How We Lost” and I really like it. Being a gushing type they are my favourite new band this week. New that is except this is there 7th LP and they formed in the early 90’s!

They have had a bit exposure in the wider world appearing on the recent soundtrack to Maria Antoinette. Any way the review listed “lowlife Era” which is where I came in so what’s not to like.

WFTD are what’s increasingly called “electronica” and so sound like British bands like New Order with flat but not un -engaging Indie vocals. They are a bit “post-rock” but don’t hold this against them. They aren’t a complete pastiche and have a charm of their own and as much as I like hip swinging music as I said after seeing the Blue Nile the other week there’s al ways room in my heart for a bit of melancholia and songs that have a bit of Steve Morris drumming keyboards and go “Ba la la la da Ba Ba bla da in the middle.”

I nicked a bit of the intro to “let go “for my latest film and I like “maladies” a lot. See also “Fallen off the Earth” and “Hold On”

I won’t post a song partly because they need some cash but also they have MySpace site and also you can get whole LP’s for free at their web site.

Now one last thing their name: Now I don’t want to be like one of those types who falls in love with soul objective of changing the object of their desire to some unattainable idyll. But Windsor for the derby is a rotten name I know it’s probably deep or the name of Robert frost poem or summat but it’s is rotten.

So here’s a list of suitable names for the era of band they want to be: Silicon Oppenheimer (either together or part), the ancient futurists, schism, Chime, The Rainmakers, August, Weimar, Die Stjhl, Chain, oh I don’t how about “gosh look at all those trees”, “Are we there yet?” “One potato” “One finger typing” anything other than “Windsor for the Derby”*

* Unless it refers to entertaining the star of “it ain’t hot mum” in dare devil smash’em up car race that is.

Wednesday, 6 August 2008

Travellers Tale

Travelling light, originally uploaded by bltphoto.

It’s a constant problem of the news and outside events souring every day things, take suitcases until now just something you took on holiday or possibly an excuse for some visual comedy with Terry and June trying to get the lid shut on a bulging portmanteau
Scene: 12 the bedroom
The case explodes
“Yes, dear”
“Are these yours?”
Terry emerges a pair of skimpies on his head
Cue laughter and fade

But now seemingly once a month some poor soul is found dead inside a case and this does start to taint everyday life. Take for instance the occasion the other day, hurrying through the tunnel at the station, there’s a guy in front struggling with large case sweating as he heaves it up the steps. In times past he would be just a traveller who needs to lighten his load, now you start to think “if I help him does that make me his accomplice? In the end I decided not to be melodramatic and gave him a hand.

So where's this then?

Even if you don't visit London much you'll have walked past/near this mysterious doorway.... my new camera's sepiatastic too.

So where's this then?
Originally uploaded by bltphoto

The lastest top secret member of the SAS

God I hate the royals. look at me, look at me I'm joining the SAS .... Don't you wish they'd just go away and leave us in peace....

Monday, 4 August 2008

Just get up and do it!
I've got a new phone and it's got an excellent camera on it so I made a film.
It's my view of some pavillions in Bedford square, I've released me inner Jonathan Meades.

Sunday, 3 August 2008

The Tribes of London

Go west young (ish) man: it always worries me, there’s the language (I never mastered Welsh) and the posh types. Have you been to Parson Green there’s a Champagne bar called “Bijou”.
Anyway I set out to Putney to meet up with S and to go exploring and do some plotting.

And what follows aside we had a ripping time.

The whole evening did however give another chance to review London’s multifarious tribes.

First off the “The Grizzled Chelsea fan”: While I waited for S, I ordered a medicinal pint of Pride to be welcomed by a “for gawd sake mumble grunt the bleedin’ screen mumble” these strange grunts where coming from a gnarled Chelsea fan who’s main source of complaint and sorrow wasn’t that his universally hated team are universally hated or worse that their current success is funded from money that could provided decent health care for the poor of Russian. No, this half formed gargoyle was upset that I was partially blocking his view of Sky sports (you know their rolling, repeated every five minutes dull as a Chelsea semi factual “news” show). His apparently age and wealth of life experience having not taught him the vital lesson “if you’ve got one broken hand in plaster don’t go starting more fights in pubs”

Anyway wandering outside with my pint S turned up and we wandered off to indulge in necrophilia, no, no stop that came out wrong, what do you call a liking for tombstones and church yards?

Anyway after takings some snaps we wandered on the foreshore for a bit and as usual I found some treasure.
Tired of being barracked by the 12 year old wits and raconteurs from the riverside alcopop dens, we headed for the Bricklayer’s Arms that was a haven of burbling good humour and Timothy Taylor’s landlord. A haven until that is until our next tribe arrived.
The Rugger Buggers: yes, braying and flushed faced they burst in, Tim and Josh pressing to the bar to buy “loads of fawking beer”, like all posh people they were all wearing a uniform, in this case their traditional garb of beige chinos sports jackets, oxford blue shirts, one of those huge sportsman Windsor knots on their club ties all topped off with public school boy hair cuts.
For the next half hour they shouted and joked and generally acted like not just the pub but most of the world belongs to them. Thankfully the land lady tipped them out when Josh, or was it Guy anointed himself with his pint in the process of passing out.
After that calm returned until closing time.

Don’t get me wrong we had a great time the odd chippy Blue’s fan and inbred gimp doesn’t ruin my good humour that easily, especially in good company and with excellent beer.

Anyway wandering up the high street we had glimpse of Hades, the usual Friday night nonsense, semi clad girls crying in door ways, pink shirted blokes trying to flag down taxis, “mullahed” estates agents banging on the windows of kebab shops.

On the station we encountered the next tribe "The border line geeks Jnr. sales team": waiting in a glazed shelter they rolled up, a rainbow alliance of “casual Friday” young blokes, noses in large boxes of KFC. They discuss the Colonel’s fare, the white one leading the discussion pipes up

“Look, well, see back in the day”
(He’s at best 24 so this will be last year)
“I woz goin’ out with this Philipino girl and do you know what she could do”
I’m not the only one leaning listening in now.
“Do you know what” he continues
“she could do, right, well she could make her own chicken in batter, yeh, eggsactly like KFC, no lie, course she use to put all dem chillies on it but it woz well proper”
He goes on “da ya know what else, right we went to Dubai and she “

We are still all ears except we never know what went on in Dubai as all the time he’s be talking he’s been conducting his speech using a chicken leg as a baton. The Colonel’s special grease finally frees the poultry limb from his grasp and the half eaten thigh is somersaulted across the shelter and thwack hits the window next to me. The grease that now gently marinates my face causes the fried appendage to adhere to the glass and hang there without moving. We all laugh and the “little drumstick lad” apologises jokingly (amongst the “ ‘kin ‘ells” “whata the chances” of his workmates) to me offering, a chip as recompense for any offence, his sales technique kicking in as he goes on to offer me “a free dunk in his mates gravy” as a bonus for signing up. (Sadly my phone’s low on charge so I can’t capture his feat).
I demur and he sits down. The sales team settle down and brag about their targets and have a surprisingly un-sexist discussion of their lousy (but female bosses) never once let slip what they actually sold.

The train pulls up and I find an empty carriage and am followed aboard by a tall black guy in bright blue batik overshirt, pushing a nice looking racer “god, dem lads talk a lotta shit and no mistake” he says almost to himself.

So we speed into Waterloo and out for the bus only to bump into tribe #4
"the 99p nu ravers": a 10 legged race of year 10’s (fifth years in old money), one lass in a baseball cap that would have embarrassed Timmy Mallet, the boys in PLO scarves and bangles, one of them in the obligatory white plastic sun gebs. They are shouting and huggin’ in the way that kids do now but never use to. They bump into a friend going in the other direction and moaning and cursing commences,
“Listen, listen guys” says a flappy tall lad “Claire just heard about the rave right, the rave right, well it’s a POUND to get in” shocked looks all round.
“See, I said it was and I’ve got bare money”

Further “shock and horror” from the “crew” along with much urgent pocket fumbling, as they worriedly wander off.

Blimey I thought kids were loaded nowadays, and is it just me but a “rave” for a £1 isn’t that some bodies mate with an Ipod and a desk lamp! Also doesn’t “rave” sound quaint?

Anyway the 171 arrives before I can find out how this Jnr Branch of the IMF solved this urgent economic crisis. I did feel like giving them a £10 and telling them to treat themselves but blokes giving teenagers cash at 12 am outside Waterloo…..

On the night bus all went smoothly apart from the octopus couple in front, the female of the clinch, in between embraces berating her beau, punctuating each sentence with a teeth suck, that once heard got steadily more annoying, thankfully they get off still curled round each other.

After that it was just peaceful, my tunes mixing with the low hum of tired and “refreshed” members of my own tribe “the tipsy night busers” on the way thankfully to our beds.

Un-easy like sunday morning

It's time the tale was told:

According to late-capitalism my life should being going like this at this very moment I'm should be tapping away writing this on my wireless laptop, outside on some teak garden furniture under a large canvas sun shade in my garden over looking the Med, dressed in a spotless white shirt and khaki chinos, there's coffee and fresh juice in easy reach. My beautiful partner wanders out with a tray, she's fresh from the special K ad, in the distance our unblemished cherubic children are playing with a large red balloon which they let go as it drifts upwards it turns into the Japanese flag which is being gazed upon by an aspirational Japanese girl, the only cloud on the horizon is that our Dalmatian might jump up on the table and nick a croissant, while we react in mock horror!

I'm not the man you think I am:
You wont be surprised to find things aren't going like this, putting aside spotty dogs and cereal eating models I can't even use my new mobile Internet dongle do dah to access half the sites I want to . It needs me to prove I'm 18 ( can't they see I'm married to Miss Croydon 1993 with Saffron and little Josh chasing dear old spotty round my patio) something that didn't happen when I paid stacks of money for a new phone or when they take my phone bill out of my account every month, it didn't happen when it took 45 mins to sort the thing out the in the vodafone shop the other lunch time, no it happens on a Sunday morning when everythings shut and I should be drinking juice with the woman from the DFS ad!

I can log in and sort it out but that would require me remembering a password and code I set up years ago before I had a computer at home and got a paper phone bill and who really wants a funky lifestyle account with a phone company when they could be feeding black and white dogs french pastries or blowing up large balloons.

I only wanted to check my flickr account which is obviously sullied and verboten because some users like to post pictures of their naked wives for people 1000 of miles away to gawp at.

So much like the balloon my hopes of a seamless techno future are drifting skyward. Thankfully, I bought a copy of this for 20p yesterday, so I'm not too unhappy (oh I don't know why I haven't got it before, I only had a few quid pocket money and paper rounds paid nowt and wanted the cool cover of Lowlife instead and anyway BLBW had it and taped for me) .

It's on vinyl which is a bit crackly but works 20 years after it was made and doesn't randomly stop me listening to certain track because Stephen M sings about some youths loins.

Now time for some coffee ( I bet mines better than Vodafone's) and my model of Croydon airport!

ps: Bloggers spell check wants to swap "Croydon" for "Crouton"

If you can't be bothered to walk over to your records this kind person has posted "Reel around the fountain" so I don't have to which is good of them.