A Marathon Weekend

A while back, the Brummie suggested (over a skinful of booze) that we should run the London Marathon. "Yeah, let's get places and do that, we can easy do it", I vaguely remember replying, before probably passing out over my pint. She applied for a place the next day. I didn't. But I forgot to mention this fact to her. So when she had the call from Clic Sargent (charity helping kids who suffer with cancer and leukaemia) to say she'd got a place, she rang me really excitedly to ask if my place had come through. Oh dear...

Marathon day dawned. I'd been to Marc's 40th surprise party the evening before (all lovely - Smiff needn't have bricked it...he loved every minute) but ducked out early for a hot bath/early night combo. Good job I did. When my alarm woke me at 6.50am, I felt like I'd been asleep about 10 minutes. Bloody exhausted. But it's a bit pathetic to think like that when one of your best mates is about to run 26 miles...met up with the Lucas/Driver clan at the bus stop:

As we got to Greenwich, Brummie was desperate for the lav (I'd already warned her that relieving yourself in the gutter à la Paula Radcliffe might result in her arse being splashed all over the Daily Star in a "Marathon Brummie Buttock Shocker" headline). She left us for the start, accompanied by me on kazoo playing the Rocky theme (tune of the day). We moved on to our first vantage point, a pub on the corner of the Tower Bridge road used as a base by Clic Sargent. The atmosphere was electric. We knew roughly what time she'd show up, so we started watching out. 

A woman standing behind was looking for her husband. He was called Simon, and he'd be wearing the CS pink vest. Suddenly, she spotted him and we were all calling out to him. He ran over and gave her and her friend a kiss. When he'd gone, she burst into tears. And then so did I. She told me he was running for her little boy. I didn't need to know any more. It brought it home to me why so many of these people were running. It isn't about fast times, glory, being on tv...it's about a sense of personal achievement, having a go, doing something for a good cause close to your heart.

And then I spotted her. And we were all screaming. She looked amazing, hardly breaking a sweat! She ran over and we were all kissing and hugging (and blubbing, of course), and then she's off again. So we move on to our second and last vantage point of the day, another pub, this time on the Embankment. And this time it's loads busier, and I'm worried that her family and Screwy might not see her in the crowds. But I needn't have worried. Her mum spotted her first, and then she saw me and Screwy further up. More kissing, hugging, blubbing. We went off to sit in the gardens nearby until she got back from the finish. Max, Smiff and Marc turned up too, so we were quite a gang. Screwy did some filming, to add to a video diary he's been making for her. And then we all hooked up in the CS designated pub. Brummie looked great, really glowing and happy, but she said her feet were mashed and her knees were agony. What a woman and what an achievement.

Bravo, Brummie x

It's been a marathon weekend in more ways than one. My old friend Wardy had been over from Australia during my trip to NY and was due to fly back out of Heathrow following his stay back in his home town of Manchester. We go back a long way...countless gigs, nights on the piss and various other states of mind-mess. Catching up is great - I collect him from the station (handsome as ever) and we end up meeting up with the Old Punk, Blondie, Ali and Simon. Beer, chat, laughs, nachos later (sounds like a Big Red night to me) and it's 1am. How??? Time really does fly when you're having fun. Wardy and I carried on the catching up back at mine, over about a million cups of tea, until we noticed the birds singing and dawn breaking...perfect. When we finally surfaced, big fry-up was essential, followed by lazing in the park:

Yorkshire Terrier, Lancashire Hotpot

until time came for the lift to the train station for the journey to Heathrow. I know less can often be more, as the saying goes, but 24 hours just wasn't enough.

Two Jacks

Awoke to a text message the other day. The dad of my dear old friend has died. Her dad was a really good bloke, dry sense of humour, twinkle in his eye. He worked with my Dad at the same engineering works for donkeys years. The finest praise I can give him was that my Dad thought he was a good bloke too. Not over keen on heaping unnecessary praise, my Dad, but all the more worth it when you gained his respect. They got on very well. I'm very sad for my friend, as she’s had a tough few years, as her little girl was born with a heart-related birth defect.

Went for a coffee/paper/croissant, stiil feeling odd. I must have been in a bleakish frame of mind, as I unusually turned straight to the obituaries (this blog ain’t called None More Black for nothing, dear), only to find that Jack Cardiff has died. Visionary cinematographer, master of lighting (all Hollywood ladies hoped to work with him), partner-in-crime to two of my favourite filmmakers, Powell and Pressburger. I immediately rang my friend Steve (photographer and DOP in the making). He thought it weird, as only this morning he was looking on his bookshelf and saw Jack’s autobiography there and thought he’d have a re-read. Jack was 94, helping students make short films right up until he died. I think this quote sums up this lovely, understated man: “I lacked the guts and the bullshit necessary to make more films as director ... I used to get what I wanted more often than not, but I didn't have enough ego to demand it."

Then I turn the page – Jack Jones has died, leader of the TGWU and probably the most influential trade union leader in the history of this country. Scourge of the right throughout the 60s and 70s, he retired long before the Winter of Discontent, so no Tory idiot could pin that on him. So now I’m ringing my mother, who has already heard it on the news. Mum was a great trade unionist back in her day, area rep for the Health Service union, a true socialist. She used to get Militant delivered to the house. And as a kid I always canvassed with her for the local Labour Party. Back when the Labour Party was a Labour Party (ooh, little bit of politics – watch out, Ben Elton).

After commiserating, she had me in stitches by saying she was going into a care home. “WHAT???” I shrieked. But then instantly smelled a stinking rat. Terrible old woman. She means the little B&B she goes to stay at for little weekend breaks in Blackpool with her mates from church. She says they can care for her in their home. Very funny. And as I was distracted, some cheeky sweet-toothed labrador tried to sneak his nose into the paper bag holding my chocolate croissant. Chortled out loud. His owner was mortified, but I told him I’d probably do the same if I was peckish And despite all the sad stuff, I just think I’m still lucky to be here, the sun keeps shining, my bank manager has actually HELPED me save money without forcing me to take out useless insurances. And I’ve been out every single night since I got back from NY, doing great stuff with good friends. Carpe diem, jetlag or not.

Double Bill

New York was a wonderful experience. The amount of lazing around was phenomenal (even for my gentle, slothful day-to-day existence - that is, when I'm not running round like some headless overworked chicken...aaahh, the diversity of my life). But I have to say that among the other smashing things I could actually be arsed to do, Record Store Day night (weird English?) spent in the company of LouLou, the lovely Michael Taylor and Mr Bill Callahan was right up there.

Having already heard before leaving England that Bill C was doing an in-store to promote his new album (refer to hysteria on earlier post), I'd made it a priority to check in at Other Music when I hit NY, so I knew how this would work (Rough Trade give out wristbands for their in-store stuff...no wristband, no entry). Turns out a lovely redhead called Chris had given me all the right info. "Get here before 8pm when we close the store, get straight inline outside, at 9pm we open the doors and let about the first 100 people in. Don't be late!"

On the evening, LouLou and I got to Other Music at about 7.15pm (OK, so what if I'm keen?). Wise move, ladies. Queue ALREADY. About 15 people long. Jesus. I spot the ginger gentleman Chris, and he smiles, cos I think he thinks it's funny that I'm there so early. I tell him I'm not ashamed and ready an' willin' to stand around for nearly TWO HOURS. Honest to god, I have never waited this long for any artist before in my entire life. You'd better be good, sir...

So lucky - we go back outside, and the queue has just reached a small flight of steps, so we get a seat! Oh yes, all was looking bright. And then LouLou's friend Michael turned up. I've never met him before, and he is the most charming and interesting man, with excellent taste in music (and hats - he had a new felt hat on, bought by his wife Judy - very smart). LouLou kindly went off to buy coffees, and Michael went inside to buy vinyl. I sat tight - like I'm moving one inch and giving my place up? Get outta here! (I seem to have slipped into some sort-of newyorkspeak - think of it as scene setting...). They return and there's chat, laughs and queue-watching. The beard/check shirt uniform quota is rather high. Queue is by now HUGE and it's only just 8pm. One hour to lift off.

At 9ish, true to Chris's word, the doors opened and we got inside. Other Music isn't a huge store. For anyone who knows it, it's not much bigger than Rough Trade in Covent Garden. We got pretty good spots close to the front (sadly, it transpired I had some nodding-dog idiot with a baseball cap on BACKWARDS in front of me, but no matter). Michael got us beer from the counter (hooray for PBR).

And then, he appeared. A soft-faced vision of long, thick, greasy, grey-haired loveliness. And he sang and played like a dream. Honestly, I was transfixed. I think my mouth may have been a bit open, in a lovesick gormless way. And although he played for well over an hour, it seemed to be over in seconds. (He played quite a few off the new album 'Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle' - Jim Cain, Rococo Zephyr, All Thoughts Are Prey To Some Beast, Faith Void and more, more, more).

Snap: The Lovely Michael Taylor©

And then, he stopped. I didn't want him to (really? honestly, what a surprise). LouLou had had to go outside - it was unfeasibly hot in there - so Michael and I went out to find her. But I wanted to speak to him, so after hugging Michael goodbye, I left LouLou at the door and went back inside. The crowd was starting to thin out by now, but people were still asking for things signed, pictures taking...but then I caught his eye - and all the things I'd wanted to say washed away. So, there was no 'you know we were meant to be together, let's run away to the seaside and live in a little shack near the beach' speech, followed by him whisking me up in his arms and carrying me off. I could only blurt "you are the finale of my trip to America and it was perfect, thank you", to which he replied "thank you" and then I said "I have to go" and rushed off, definitely blushing, idiot that I am. He did give me the sweetest smile, though. Shame I didn't get to sit on his knee as he played...

Second bill of the week (apart from the pile of bills that I can't pay which eagerly awaited my return on the doorstep) was Bonnie 'Prince' Billy at the Southbank on Monday. I arrived back on Monday morning, did a few chores, knew I should try and stay awake, but I curled up for 'just 5 minutes, go on, it'll be fine' and woke up 5 hours later, dazed and confused. Popped out to meet the Brummie and Ralph the dog for coffee and a chinwag (no chinwag from Ralph, just tailwag), then off down to the Thames to meet Nadine.

This isn't the first gig I've been to with Nadine since her husband Mark died. We'd been to see Vic Chesnutt and Elf Power a few weeks earlier, which was the first time I'd seen her since the funeral. Last year, Mark had given me a BPB album when we discovered that we both liked him. Shortly before he died, he'd bought two tickets for him and Nadine. I was honoured that she asked me to go with her.

It was such a lovely evening. Had a great chat with Nadine beforehand, watched the support Susanna (very good, but last night I went to see Essie Jain and I much prefer her stuff), and then Nadine had a quick smoke outside before we went back in. I suddenly realised I hadn't eaten all day (WHAT??? WHY???), so I got a savoury muffin, spinach and pinenuts or sawdust and pinenuts, it was so bloody disappointingly dry and awful.

And then the main attraction. He is jaw-droppingly good. His band are so tight, and he is animated, charming, and can do the best balance-on-one-leg-whilst-playing-a-guitar I've seen in a long time. Or, in fact, ever. His lyrics are witty, raucous, poignant, so many things. And for the first time in a long time, I cried properly at a concert. He played "I See A Darkness". And I'm filling up again just thinking about it. I'd been expecting it, dreading it, but when it came, it was more powerful than even I'd imagined.

And to hear those words, standing next to a good friend, standing in the place where her husband who loved BPB as much as she did should be standing was just a bit too much for me. And I didn't need to look round to know how she felt hearing that song. He sang it just so beautifully. When it was over, I just gave her a big hug. I had no idea what else to do.

BrooklynBlog #2

Back in Blighty today. Very spaced out. Got a bit lazy in the second week in New York, so I couldn't be arsed to write my blog. The highlights were:

• Greenwood cemetery (you know how much I like dead folks)
• Champions League footy in Nevada Smiths (packed to the rafters, I was one of the few girls in the building)
• watching Anvil! at Angelika with LouLou - us both wiping a tear away
• Brooklyn Botanical Gardens - beautiful.
  
• The Watchmen at Webster Hall - singer has some pipes on him
• Met Museum of Art - what a building, what a collection. Great cake in the café too. And cool old bird helped me find the subway when I left looking confused. Upper East Side bohemian glamour puss, retired concert pianist, walked 6 blocks with me and big kiss on the cheek when we parted. Lovely.
• catching up with Charlie and Michelle
  
• Bill Callahan at Other Music for Record Store Day (more of this later - deserves a post of his own)

Time just flew by. Felt like I was there for ages, but also no time at all. It was such a huge treat, and spending time with LouLou, Ted the cool cat, and (albeit briefly) Andy was lovely. Journey back was uneventful. I didn't even read my H.P Lovecraft (superb) or watch films. Just listened to music and had a bit of a drift off into semi-sleep. Am having a lovely cup of PG (none of that Lipton's shite) and toasted crumpets, before hitting the sack for a couple of hours. Bonnie 'Prince' Billy at the Southbank tonight, jetlag permitting...ha! Like I'd let jetlag stop me going to a gig...

BrooklynBlog #1

"New York, just like I pictured it. Skyscrapers an' everythin'." Correct, Stevie.

Although I've spent a lot of time in New York over the years, I've always stayed on Manhattan. Staying in Brooklyn with LouLou would be a real change. My journey was pretty uneventful - flew with Virgin Atlantic, watched some films (Doubt, Quantum Of Solace), some comedy (Curb Your Enthusiasm - laughing loudly at Larry) and a little music (Okkervil River). Grabbed my case sharpish at baggage reclaim and hopped on a subway into Brooklyn. Got to LouLou's at about 9.30pm. So great to see her and to meet Ted, her very cool Siamese cat (sadly, her lovely husband Andy was away snowboarding). Top apartment too - large open space, exposed brick, huge skylights - she said it used to be an artists studio. We chewed the fat for a while, drank tea, ate biscuits. Finally crashed out.

Next day, she had to go to work on a documentary she's editing, so I decided to have an easy day in the local vicinity. Started off with coffee and a bagel (I'm in New York - what else?), then a wander round Park Slope. Glorious sunshine followed me round. Eventually wandered to the Brooklyn Central Library. This building has a great facade, and opened in 1941:

Had a wander around inside - good exhibition about the history and decline of theatres in Brooklyn. The library is situated at the bottom of Prospect Park, a huge green space (585 acres!) in the middle of Brooklyn. Enough pottering - time for a bit of a lie down...and a listen to the new Bill Callahan whilst looking up at a very blue sky:

Heaven is a place called Callahan

After a few hours, I wandered back to LouLou's and sat on her roof terrace. At this point, I caught my first glimpse of Manhattan's skyline. I hadn't even thought about it! When she got back, we went to a bar called Sidecar for food, then ended up in a bar called Lucky 13. It was like a home-from-home. A cross between the Crobar and a tiny Big Red. A couple of Jack and cokes finished the night off nicely.

Good Friday brought a change in the weather. Overcast and windy, so we reckoned we should do 'useful stuff'. So an itinerary was worked out which included:

• Dumpling Man, St Marks Place - little gem and a bargain, we ate a tray of dumplings each to fortify us for the trek ahead
• Café Pick Me Up - coffee and cake...well a girl needs a lot of energy when she's doing this much walking
• Other Music - to check out about Record Store Day and the Bill Calahan performance. As we entered the shop, I saw a bloke with a bad twitch and mentioned it to LouLou, who said (a bit too loudly), "what? he's got a twitch?" and then she had to wait outside, partly from laughing and partly from mortification...
• Dean & Deluca - foodie heaven. Got some herb tins to replace some I've had in the past. LouLou got a cute bowl for her daily yoghurt fix. It had an owl pattern - is it just me or are owls the bird du jour? They are EVERYWHERE.
• Uniqlo - I needed a vest. It was LouLou's first visit, and she ended up buying knitwear. It nearly did for us both. Banging techno on the decks. Very stress-making. I needed a beer after that...which we had in Sweet & Vicious
  
• Supper - we had supper at Supper. Does what it says on the tin. Had to wait a bloody long time for a table, but oh boy, it was worth it. The food was spectacular, and our seat faced directly onto the hobs where the chefs were making the food, separated only by a glass screen. We were mesmerised by the speed and skill with which they created such delicious grub. This is LouLou's fave restaurant and it was a top call on her part.

Stuffed to the gills, it was about 11pm by now, so we hopped in a cab, got back to the apartment, watched a little Letterman, then crashed out. A very Good Friday indeed.

Day 3 brought rain. A lot of it. And it wasn't stopping. So we did sod all. Lazed about, watched a Woody Allen film (I keep tellin ya - I'm in New York!) called Alice, which was pretty funny. By late afternoon, the rain had just about stopped, so we went to LouLou's local supermarket, Eagle Provisions. What a great shop. Biggest selection of beer I have ever seen in my life, I kid you not. We got some goodies and dropped them off back at the apartment. Then we went to Blockbuster. The two ladies who work in there have a reputation. I think they're not so big on customer service as the rest of New York...I was served by Miss Charm Offensive 2009 (I believe the done thing to do here is put 'NOT!' right about now). Lucky that LouLou and I have sunny dispositions, so no harm done. Collected coffee from Haz Bean (nice guy in shop dissed our DVD selection, and went on to tell us he loves Meg Ryan - eh???) and nice wine from Alex's Wine Shop next door (Alex himself helped us make our selection, then embroiled us in a conversation about how he cannot understand why British police are unarmed. At this point, he flashed his gun in its holster...WHAT??? I only want a nice rosé...steady on, Dirty Harry...)

LouLou cooked the most delicious tuna pasta bake. We ate whilst listening to music, when a really nice piece of fingerpicking came on. I thought it was Mississippi John Hurt, but it turned out to be Elizabeth Cotten. I had no idea about her, so we looked her up on Wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elizabeth_Cotten Turns out that the lady who became Pete Seeger's nanny had hidden talents...great stuff. Another top find from LouLou's tune archive. We watched a dreadful buddy movie (my fault - chosen purely for Paul Rudd) called Role Models. I think it pretty much killed us both off, so we hit the sack.

The dawning of Day 4 brought Easter - and Green & Blacks for LouLou, Godiva for me (whooo! look at us with our fancy choccies). We decided to check out a fleamarket nearby at Front St, a short subway ride away. It was OK, but nothing spectacular. On the spur of the moment, we decided to go to Coney Island. I'd never been, so we got extra layers and set off on the subway. I have to say that I'm glad I went, but there isn't a huge amount to see once you get there. I'm a;ways pretty happy just looking at the sea, and it's a good job, cos that's about it. We had some fast food from Nathan's famous hotdog takeaway:

(they put the calorie count next to the price - very depressing to know how much flab you're necking...), had a wander, then got the subway back. LouLou had mentioned a place called ChipShop to me before. It's basically a nice greasy spoon, owned by an English couple, and it sells proper fish and chips, crumble and custard, PG Tips etc. You'd think that after travelling across the Atlantic, I'd be wanting to eat pretzels all day, but I have to say that a beautifully cooked fish and perfect mushy peas, washed down with PG and followed by rhubarb crumble and custard was pretty much heaven.

Thoroughly stuffed, we had to summon the energy to head over to Manhattan for Crippled Black Phoenix at the Mercury Lounge. We had a quick drink in a bar called Max Fish in the Lower East Side (doubled up laughing at this huge piece of 'art' over the bar - 4ft high):

Honestly - who painted that kitty???

And then we decided to head to the venue. On arrival, it became clear I should have brought ID. The doorman was a sweetheart, though, so he let me in. I went to wait inside while LouLou finished her cigarette. The door-list guy had a face like a smacked arse right from the off. I can normally charm anyone, but this miserable door Nazi got cross because I didn't have the credit card for the e-ticket list. I was so put out by his rudeness, I went back into the cold to wait with LouLou. At this point I remembered that LouLou had two spare tickets to sell. I told the nice doorman outside that his colleague wasn't the friendliest...

When we went inside, it got worse. Door-Nazi was now annoyed that LouLou wanted to try to sell her spare tickets. He actually suggested that he didn't want her hassling people. LouLou explained patiently to him that when we'd bought the Walkmen tickets from this very venue a few days earlier, the box office had said that we couldn't pick them up in advance, which would have avoided this problem. At this point, the first act was going on, so we went into the gig hall. First act not up to much, so we went back out to the bar. I suggested to LouLou that as he was being such an arsehole about her selling them, she'd be better to just give the tickets away. Oh, how I'm laughing now to think it could be that simple...

LouLou saw a guy and his friend planning to buy a ticket. She went over and said 'you can have one of my spare e-tickets for free'. This enraged Door-Nazi. But there seemed to be nothing he could do... A few minutes later, a couple of girls came in and again, LouLou approached to offer the final spare. Door-Nazi jumped off his perch and shoved LouLou away. Yes, that's right, Reader - the nasty little fucker pushed my friend because his angry little mind couldn't cope with her generosity. Or he was pissed off that his Door-Nazi powers had been diminished? Fuck honestly knows. I was completely floored by this. LouLou came back to the bar, visibly shaken and upset. Ordinairily, LouLou is one of the most eloquent, smart, erudite women I know. His behaviour rendered her competely speechless. I've been going to gigs for over 25 years and I honestly don't think I've ever seen anything like it. I could have understood it back in the days of punk and hardcore, but at some middle-class chi-chi arty venue? What a total cock.

We didn't stay. Upon asking for the venue manager, we were told they weren't in the building (hmmm...), but got the name of the bar manager who had witnessed the incident and also the name of Door-Nazi (damning letter winging its way to the Bowery organisation as I write this blog). As we left, I let LouLou go ahead. I hung back and very quietly and calmly told Door-Nazi that his behaviour had totally ruined the evening for both myself and my friend, and as a customer-facing representative of the Bowery organisation, he should be ashamed of himself and his actions. And then I chopped his head off with a huge machete I keep in my handbag (that last bit is a lie).

We got on a subway back to Brooklyn, and went for a nightcap in Lucky 13. The locals had Star Wars on the TV and we chilled out watching that over a JD and coke. Back at the apartment, we still couldn't believe how the evening had panned out. I'm just hoping Door-Nazi gets a huge bollocking at the very least once my letter drops on the Bowery doormat. That, or they can borrow that machete I keep in my handbag (oh...no, keep forgetting the machete-in-handbag is a made up thing).

Big Leggy Brummie

It's been a massive secret but now it's official - Brummie is running the London Marathon (am so exhausted even thinking about this, I can barely get my arse off the sofa). She's been legging it about for the last few months, even through the build-up to her wedding day, but kept it very low-key. As the Brummie is one of the very best people I know, I'm telling you all here and now - you need to give her a couple of quid to egg her on! Here's a link to her page:

http://www.justgiving.co.uk/stephdriver

She's running to raise money for CLICSargent, a charity helping kids with cancer and leukaemia. Go on, ya know ya wanna - every little helps...x

AOP + NYC + BILL

Day after tomorrow, I'm going to NY for 12 whole days - hooo-haaaa! But first, I must negotiate the bedlam that is the Association Of Photographers Awards at Sadlers Wells. My mission (should I choose to accept it without self-destructing) is to go along and stay sober (can't fly 7 hours with banging hangover). Sobriety is not the norm for this event. In a hall packed with egos, bristling with competition ("it got a GOLD??? But it's been done by Eggleston/Cartier-Bresson/McCullin/my six-year-old niece so much better*"... *delete where you like...), booze is mandatory. Me? I'm normally shit-faced by about 11pm. Last year, I rolled into a cab at about 3am. I didn't function properly the next day. Or for several days afterwards. But it's a good night for catching up with old friends, and for spotting emerging talent. Last year, my mate Dylan won a Gold award, and I remember his early struggles to get commissioned. Those days are over and I'm thrilled for him.

 

I'm off to stay with LouLou in NY. Can't wait. There'll be more to tell when I get there and have done some stuff (eat cake, potter about, see bands - Walkmen, Tallest Man On Earth, Crippled Black Phoenix), but one important thing to note is that the 18th is Record Store Day: http://www.recordstoreday.com/Home  

And aside from all the special vinyl releases and exciting events, BILL CALLAHAN WILL BE PLAYING LIVE IN-STORE AT OTHER RECORDS IN MANHATTAN AND I AM NEARLY LAYING AN EASTER EGG AS I HAVE ONLY JUST FOUND THIS OUT AND CAN YOU TELL I AM REALLY BLOODY EXCITED AND HOPING TO SIT ON HIS KNEE AS HE PLAYS OK WELL MAYBE THAT'S A BIT SILLY BUT GOD OH GOD I AM VERY PLEASED. And he has a beard now which is just lovely. Don't go shaving, Bill.

Fool's Gold

Gorgeous day today. Pottered into Crouch End, got a takeaway coffee and a Guardian and sat on the usual bench, soaking up a bit of springtime sunshine, having a nice read and listening to Howlin' Rain. Got to page 5. Read the following:

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2009/apr/01/guardian-twitter-media-technology

I got to "Twitter-only publication", when I started laughing and saying out loud (to no-one in particular) "this has to be a spoof! Surely?" And then it clicked. April Fool's Day. What a knob I am. I think most people think the announcement of Alan Shearer as manager of Newcastle has to be the most long-winded and elaborate April Fool's gag ever. But let's face it - no-one will ever top that spaghetti tree...

(Also, received my new Bose SoundDock today - payment-in-kind from a pal for services rendered of the non-sexual variety. Just plugged it in, tested it with Zep and a bit of 'Back In Black'. Joy of joys, LOUD is back, with a Heavy chaser and a nice folky acoustic parasol with a cherry. My fave cocktail.)