God Bless Alan Bennett

My morning (when I'm between styling jobs) generally consists of: walk into Crouch End, buying The Guardian from nice, old newspaper seller in hut (we normally have some sort-of jokey exchange, he comments when I'm late and asks if I had a lie-in - top bloke), going to the Sable d'Or (we call it the Stable Door - not too confident on the French accent thing) to sit with a large coffee, chocolate croissant and to read my paper from cover-to-cover, then do the crossword (quick one only, my fastest time is 4 mins 43 secs, and yeah, I time myself sometimes cos I'm an oddbod).

Lately, the paper has been full of misery (government - hopeless; NHS - knackered; celebrities - idiots; general public - skint), ruining my daily treat (apart from anything written by Charlie Brooker, the wag, cos he's hilarious). Is good news not news? Is there a saying about this? Anyways, last week, I read that Alan Bennett (small, speccy Yorkshireman, author, playwright, oft-called "National Treasure) was donating his entire back catalogue to the Bodleian Library (based in Oxford University). 

Normally, authors sell their back catalogue to make even more money. Mr B is a socialist of the nicest kind. He wants the library and anyone who chooses to use it to benefit from his donation. He doesn't want to make money out of his incredibly valuable drafts, manuscripts, scribblings. He thinks he's made enough. He also stated that as he was fortunate to have enjoyed a completely state-funded education (no top-up fees and student loans in those days), that he should give something back. 

This cheered me up no end. I'm a big fan of the grand gesture (important in romance, but pretty cool in everyday life too), although I'm sure Mr Bennett would be mortified if anyone thought he was being grand. Apparently, two blokes from the Bodleian drove over to his house, had a nice cup of tea, he dug out a few cardboard boxes stuffed with papers, put them in the boot of their car, and said 'I'll be glad to see the back of it, to be honest". Total dude.

Free Bird

Sometimes, it's better not to know what's going on in the world. I try not to watch the news on the TV (or anything else on it, for that matter), mainly cos I don't think they report it in an unbiased manner. I remember watching the news on ITV one night when Lou was over from NY - we shrieked with laughter as the reporter as good as told us that Tony Blair was a bad man. It may be true, but that's for us to decide...

So, when I returned recently from my holiday in France (which was followed swiftly by a weekend at a festival in the countryside), I hadn't had my daily dose of the Guardian for 10 days, and I genuinely didn't have a clue what was going on in the world. I remember ringing one of my contacts that morning ( to touch base, maybe get a bit of work out of him) and him saying "well, what with everything that's going on in the world...), and me saying "eh? Have I missed something? What IS going on in the world?". It turns out that the biggest financial crash for years was going on. For the next two weeks, at least the first ten pages of the Guardian were full of impending dosh doom. Until Gordon saved the world, that is.

And so, I reckoned it was time to batten down the cash hatch and do some free stuff. Free is one of my favourite words - Blondie likes it too, and we often marvel at all the stuff you can do for absolutely nowt. The problem is that seeing lots of lovely live music often involves paying for a ticket. But not if you go to the Sheepwalk in Leytonstone on a Wednesday evening.

The Sheepwalk is a big, old boozer, very trad decor, large wooden bar. Upstairs, there is a function room, and this is where the free fun begins. Each Wednesday, a lovely Irish guy called Stephen runs a night called What's Cookin'?, which usually has a couple of acts/bands on...and it's free. Yes, that's right - entry costs NOTHING. And he gets some great acts. Last Wednesday, me, Blondie and Smiff drove up there in Betty Ford and watched Black Diamond Heavies:



(that organ player - sigh - brunette, voice like crushed glass mixed with a single malt). And we needn't have paid a penny. Stephen has a clever plan - he hands round this huge, oversized, decorative 1970's brandy glass and has a whipround for the band. I love this. This fits perfectly with the venue, which is just one room with a small bar in the corner, and is done out in a kitsch Hawaii-meets-working-mens-club style, of which I heartily approve. Very cool, with a whiff of the homemade about it all. And Stephen is a total sweetheart. I'd love to know if he makes any money at all out of this, but I suspect he does it for the love of it. Maybe some of those greedy City Boys could learn something from a chap like this.

Thursday brought another bargain - the lovely Mr C came up trumps with a guestlist treat for little ol' me to go and see Archie Bronson Outfit at The Roundhouse. I drove over and collected my ticket from the box office, who also gave me a wristband for the aftershow - this was a bit of a bummer, because this could have meant taking advantage of more free stuff (well, bottled water) but I didn't fancy standing around, single and sober, surrounded by a shitfaced Bobby Gillespie and Kate Moss. Gig was bloody good, though. ABO were top, although the audience clapped quite politely, as they were clearly all Spiritualized fans. This is funny, because I am no fan of Spiritualized at all and clapped and whistled loudly and enthusiastically for ABO. Man next to me looked at me in an odd way - "who does this small, noisy thing belong to???". Spiritualized were actually pretty impressive - I'm a sucker for a bit of rock with added gospel/religious overtones.

By Friday, the "free" thing went tits up. As it had been the Brummie's birthday, I'd bought two tickets for her and Screwster to The Local at The Kings Head to see Voice Of The Seven Woods. As I also wanted to go to the gig, I bought another ticket for me. If you can do the math, that's three tickets. As it turned out on the night, they thought that the two tickets were for me and the Brummie, so Screwster bought himself a ticket too. NO! NO! NO! That's four tickets for three people! TOO MANY TICKETS PAID FOR! This made me feel like I'd totally undone all my good "free" work from earlier in the week. So, as penance, I'll be living off Tesco Value beans all week and sitting in the dark.

All That Jazz

Marsden is famous for a few things - home to: League Of Gentleman 'local' shop, Simon Armitage the poet, Standedge Tunnel (longest canal tunnel in Britain), burial place of Enoch Taylor (built the first mechanical textile croppers way back in the early 1800s, an opportunity for  the Luddites to name a big fat hammer after him, which they used to smash his creation), last village before the Pennines head into Greater Manchester (Greater Manchester being "wrong side o' t'hills"), my Mum and an annual Jazz festival.

The Marden Jazz Festival runs for three days, normally held over the second weekend in October. For a small village nestling in the Colne Valley, the festival manages to attract some pretty big names in the jazz world. In the past, I've watched John Etheridge (who also gave a great talk about his times with Stephane Grappelli), Polar Bear (top stuff) and even a bit of Humphrey Lyttelton (RIP, you funny clever man). This year I was lucky enough to catch Empirical, a young quintet from London, who won Mojo's Jazz Album of the Year in 2007. As they started off, I thought that sleepy Marsden wouldn't be ready for such modern jazz. How very dare I... Marsden was clearly wearing its jazzhead and applauded each individual as they showed their prowess. Empirical were a cool, young bunch, dressed in a 20s-Cotton-Club-meets-Jazz-Café look. Loved them.

The rest of the weekend was spent with my family, as this weekend was also the first anniversary of my sister Liz passing away. We spent a lovely Saturday evening together, raising a toast (toasts, actually, and lots of 'em) and general fat-chewing...

Sunday was a beautiful day. Marsden really is spectacular in Autumn - the colours are so vibrant, and it'd have been sacrilege not to don the wellies (any excuse) and go for a bit of a wander:

I was joined by The Gay Fashion Designer and his spaniel Sid. We walked out towards Standedge, and then up the road to Hey Green, a country house hotel. The grounds were bathed in autumn sunshine, making the warmth of the colours seem even richer:

We saw this foxy lady lurking in a dry stone wall:

Walking along, you forget how friendly people are up North - virtually everyone we passed said hello. I might try it up Hampstead Heath ("Darling, did you hear that Northern type trying to strike up a conversation with us? How quaint they are"...). After a couple of hours, we walked back, and I returned to the most heavenly home-cooked Sunday lunch. Naturally, Yorkshire Pudding was a main feature...plain and simple, there's nowt jazzy about the brilliance of that.

The Shows Must Go On...And On...And On...

The plan was to have a quietish week...so when Blondie rang me on the Monday to ask if I fancied going to the Astoria 2 to see the last-ever Hellacopters UK show, obviously I said...yes. Well, it'd be rude to say no to a guestlist place to a sell-out, never-to-be-repeated night. Few pints in the Pillars of Hercules, met up with Tez, Lee & Will Rise Above, Frenchie...and the gig was great. 

Tuesday - lovely quiet night in.

Wednesday - met up with Smiff at teatime, went to the flicks to see Tropic Thunder. Completely hilarious in parts, guffaw-out-loud funny. Am now more in love with RD Junior than ever. Afterwards, we went for a drink at The Big Chill House in Kings Cross. Cool building, with lots of little rooms, nooks and crannies. And then on to King's Place, for the opening of the first purpose built concert hall in London for over 25 years.

Very modern, huge, light, bright - bit like a museum, really. We were here to see John Smith play. John is a guitarist and singer, who I first saw play when he was supporting John Martyn at The Roundhouse a few years ago. He is superb, has a lovely, soft but rasping voice. Does a great cover of No One Knows by QOTSA, but is particularly good on traditional folk, but done his own way. He wasn't on until 11.15pm, so once he'd finished, we had to leg it sharpish for the last tube.

Thursday - another day, another gig...Concrete and Glass is a two day festival, set in all the small venues in the area. Ours was in Hoxton Bar & Kitchen. I met up with Bernie & Kieran, and also with Tabby & Nads (I'll be partaking in holiday camp larks at All Tomorrow's Parties in December with them). We were there for O'Death, but also on the bill were Frightened Rabbit (Scottish indie-rockers - good) and Bodies Of Water (OK...sadly, my main preoccupation was with the main girl singer. She was wearing an all-in-one black leotard, and all I could wonder was..."is she wearing any knickers under that get-up???". Very distracting perhaps, but an interesting insight into the workings of my sorry mind). O'Death were brilliant yet again - they truly go for it, completely unselfconsciously mad and fun and riotous.

Friday - decisions, decisions...I could go to Shoreditch again, to see the wonderful David Thomas Broughton. But would I be overdoing him? Or should I go to The Forum to see Killing Joke (guestlist treat courtesy of dear Tez and the Forum Big Fish)? I opted for The Forum - and what a great choice. I'd thought that it'd just be a bit of nostalgic fun, harking back to my youth. But they more than delivered. From the opening strains of "Requiem", they had the whole crowd with them. Albeit a crowd of forty-something überfans, so no surprises there...finished the night at the aftershow, having a drink with the Germans over from Metalblade and Nuclear Blast. And then Jaz Coleman appeared and kindly let the Germans take a pic with him (they were also überfans). And then I went for a chip butty :) Perfect end to a brilliant and exhausting week. Next stop - Marsden Jazzfest - nice...