I told you these would be sporadic

I haven't felt the need to procrastinate this much since I discovered MySpace and Facebook, but you know what, those don't do it for me anymore so I'm posting a bog, typo intentional, that no one's going to read. Except those of you I ping on MSN in about half an hour when I'm done.

Since my last post I've been up to approximately nothing whatsoever. Well, I've been up to usual London malarkey: getting drunk, going to gigs, all of that nonsense, but hardly anything at all. In fact, my day-to-day routine has become so formulaic and depressing that I really need to do something about my boring shambles of a life before I go insane. My friend said to me, "imagine flying into a rage," well I'd happily go outside and stab up the neighbourhood but I'm wearing pajamas and I want to at least look good when I'm arrested/shot to death.

By the way, internet police, just in case you should pre-empt some kind of columbine-like shooting, not to worry, I cried like a baby this one time I killed a fly on purpose.

So here's the beaten track that is my weekday. The day doesn't matter, it's always pretty much the same:

• Wake up between noon and 1pm. Feel hungover or tired, stumble to computer at my desk.
• Fumble at a deck of cigarettes. Put one in my mouth, light it. Mm, nicotine.
• Stick on some music. For the last few weeks it's generally been weird post punk that some kindly souls have uploaded to blogspot. Or iTunes. Definitely not Soulseek, because I'm not a thief, okay?
• Refresh facebook and myspace for five hours or so, half-heartedly typing up some articles inbetween (on a good day).
• Cool, it's the evening now. It's acceptable to get drunk. Gather change, stumble to shop, buy red stripe and pack of fags if necessary.
• Blur
• Sober again. Lie down and read and then pass out while some obscure garbage plays out on my Zune. I don't have an iPod because I gave it away to a guy who hates me now.
  

See what I mean? I need a real, proper, bonafide job. Where I HAVE to shower in the morning, or I'll get fired for stinking up the office / cash register. Where I HAVE to leave the house and soak up some vitamins from the sun. And interact with people where, instead of typing emoticons to express how you feel, you say words.

I'd at this point like to note that I'm not a pathetic recluse that suffers from zero human contact, I do go out, I have a girlfriend (who is great) and I'm not fat.

This is pretty boring right. Here's some more boring stuff.

THINGS WHAT I HAVE DONE LATELY

ONE! I saw that film The Golden Compass. My girlfriend absolutely INSISTED that I read the book before I see the film and, by jove, I'm glad I did. The pacing was really off and there was a bunch of stuff that was toned down a lot compared to the books, but it had bears that wore armour and cute animals and all that so it was kind of enjoyable. I'd see it again. They really ballsed up the ending though.

TWO! I've been trying to blag as many free press parties as possible but it's not going so great. I went along to a party at the Tate Modern for some collaboration between BT and a Spanish company. There were an awful lot of David Brents dancing around to forgettable electro spun on the decks by Bob Geldof's adopted alien baby Peaches Geldof. No, really, she's a fucking alien.

Free cocktails were abound, though, so a good evening was had. Ish.

Another one I went to recently was a Sony party in Shoreditch, at their new gaff The Colour Rooms. I think it's called the colour rooms because there are a lot of different colours, and they're in rooms. There were midgets dressed up as smurfs who were handing out free vodka (and enjoying some themselves, I think) as well as a bunch of media twats really high on cocaine who were simultaenously really boring and really repugnant. Fuck them.

There was a party on at Punk in Soho too but I didn't go to that because: a) I was going to see Babyshambles for free at Wembley Arena and b) that's it. But, uh, I should have gone at least for a bit. Who knew you could get away with charging four quid for a pint of Fosters in a plastic cup? Me, because I've been to 333. Don't go there. Ever.

THREE! Stealing drinks off peoples tables in pubs and clubs. Man, it's pretty easy to get drunk for free, even when you're broke! My girlfriend and I did this at Mother bar, the poncy shithole just above 333. It was full of absolute turds and reminded me of a night out in Harrow except it was really fucking hard to get home afterwards. I'm glad I pissed on the toilet seat there.

MUSIC WHAT I HAVE BEEN LISTENING TO

Exploiting the Prophets - Kind of like if The Horrors raped Joy Division in a dark alley and Joy Division had a baby that was ignored for years and years and had to fend for itself and got into drugs and needed a bunch of therapy. Cool! They've got two albums out, Code of Coincidence and The Thaw. They're both cool but The Thaw is a lot less punky and avant garde. You can find them here.

Akron/Family - Love is Simple - My friend sent me a track by these guys a while ago and it was really twee and it made you cringe really hard because it was so happy but after I listened to it about thirty times I started to really like it. The album's more of the same, folk stuff about love but it's really nice.

Nas - Purple - My friend told me to listen to this song just now so I listened to it. It's pretty cool but I really can't deal with hearing about how all your niggaz are in the pen right now.

Blaine Reininger - Broken Fingers - Sounds like Bowie trapped in space. Makes me want to shoot myself in the head because it's real depressing but I like it so much I'd probably bleed rainbows.

According to my last.fm: I've been listening to a lot of Coil, which is funny because I've only got the album The Ape of Naples on my PC and I don't really dig it that much. Also I have Restless Day off Scatology which is a great track and I've had that on repeat for a few hours at a time 'cos I'm weird.

TO CONCLUDE

Alan Titchmarsh

YOU'LL HAVE to pardon me for the shitty photos but they wouldn't let us take pictures while Alan was actually on. And there wasn't much in White City worth taking pictures of other than the BBC studio. I did see a fat boy actually, but I didn't have my camera out at the time.


After a lengthy ride on the tube where I read The London Paper six or more times I finally arrived at White City station. This ugly building was just down the road and was to be our gateway to OAP chatshow paradise.


We were pretty early so I got Lee to roll us some cigarettes because I suck at it. I'm still on the rollies and they look like papier mache models of tiny bananas fashioned by blind, spastic toddlers. He rolls them okay but I had to hold the filter pretty tight. See that funky wall behind him..? It's some kind of crazy BBC thing to show the diversity of the company, I guess, since it was adorned with all sorts of cartoon characters. Lee's sitting in front of some poor wheelchair bound BBC runner.


Jesus christ, look at that guy on the left. That's what happens if you don't pay your license fee.

So we got let in through the front gate where there was seemingly tight security. Metal detectors, scanners, beefy foreign guys. They were shit though, some guy walked through and let off a beep, all he got was a tired "hey, come back." I swear I could have had kilos of coke in my bag and they wouldn't have noticed. They're probably pretty used to that at the BBC actually.

Anyway some bird took us through to the studio. It was a long walk but all the old people did well and didn't die of exhaustion or anything. When we got in, it looked something like this:



Now, I thought this was actually Alan Titchmarsh's house. But it's just a fucking studio. Notice all the grey hairs, no lie, we were the youngest people there by probably thirty years save for one or two forty year olds who had to accompany their decrepit parents.

Some asshole "comedian" came on stage to entertain all the gravedodgers and told a bunch of shitty jokes about how things are different up north. He also made a bunch of vaguely sexual jokes which was frankly fucking terrifying considering the average audience age of 5,000.

Alan came on eventually greeted by raucous cheering (mainly from us). According to my girlfriend who I told to watch the show since it was live, us yelling ALLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNN was perfectly audible. At one point I shouted pretty loud and he jumped in his seat and looked as confused as the senile old bitch next to us.

We sat through the first show (there were two showings) because we were promised free booze in the break. There wasn't any though, that prick comedian was lying to us. There was orange juice so we left.

"Those two young boys have to leave now" said some lady on the production team. They escorted us off premises and told us we couldn't go to the BBC bar because we didn't work there. Assholes.

Supersuper London Fashion Week show

SO HERE'S the deal, I managed to blag a guestlist spot at the SuperSuper magazine party in Kensington tonight, stayed for a bit then rushed home quickly to make a blog about it. The haps:

I arrived at some classy tube station (really, it was classy, the whole place reeked of being well groomed and pound coins) in Kensington and waited for my pal Lee, bandmate, friend, and fellow you'll hear more about should you carry on reading. The moment he blipped his way through those barriers I knew we looked like a pair of utter tossers. He was dressed head to toe in white and I head to toe in black, save for grey stripes on my trousers and spots of white on my shoes.

We made our way toward the venue which had temporarily been turned into Vauxhall Fashion Scout for the LDN fashion week. Jesus christ, we thought, look at that queue. It stretched for miles so we headed on to see if there were any familiar faces nearer the front. Lo and behold, there were. Hopped the barrier, we did.

Not that that mattered. The queue wasn't moving and it hadn't for about forty minutes. We were surrounded by drainpipes and Hoxton Haircuts and it looked like we would be for a while, until we played the press card which pretty much got us in straight away. Hey, I'm press. BLOGS ARE PRESS.

Thanks muchly to the kind people at the door.

Inside we strutted around after the free bar, which was free. Beer was drunk. Lee decided to get us interviewed, videos of which will be going up on certain UNNAMED websites. Until I've seen the footage anyway. We basically didn't know what we were talking about and stuttered on all the questions.

"Who's your favourite designer?"

uhhhhhh...

Then the free bar ran out so we trotted about lifting unmanned drinks until it was time for me to head off. I grabbed a goodie bag and walked back to the station, retardedly querying passersby where the train station was. It was just over there. (There)

Pictures and links and stuff to come, oh loyal readership of none.

Blog over.

First post on another throwaway blog

MUCH LIKE every other creative endeavour I've started on a whim, this is bound to fall into that "I did that once" list. DJing? Oh yeah I did that once. Joined a band? Yeah, I was in a band one time. Well actually, I'm in a band right now, but I haven't played any shows. Still, it's cool to say yeah, I'm in a band. Right?

Anyway, the lack of alcohol but the presence of an unhealthy sleeping schedule has prompted me to start up this blog. For all of my outer-most thoughts, for me to chart my ridiculous japes about town or what have you. I don't really know yet.

Let me first post a few links to other folk riding the web 2.0 wave. I don't really know what web 2.0 is exactly but apparently blogging is it. Here's my miserable Finnish pal's blog, which is full of cryptic posts about stuff that makes me want to kill myself. There's also Teahawk's blog which has a bunch of neat stuff on it like one thousand chatlogs.

What can you, dear reader, expect of this blog? Why, self indulgent tripe, of course. The internet's made this easier than ever and I'm not about to miss out.

Tomorrow I am attending The Alan Titchmarsh Show with two good pals of mine. It was supposed to be three good pals but now it's two. So I guess I'll write about that tomorrow. Apparently there is a bar. We were gonna get t-shirts printed with Alan's face on them but that kind of fell through. So we're just going to get drunk and cause a scene instead, probably. I'll be trotting down to my local Londis for the 2-for-2.99 wine of the month deal, which will make that train ride go that much quicker. I wonder if they'll even let us in.

So toodle pip, and let me end on this note:

I have become, in one swift registration, all that I hated about the internet.