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.