The Luminaire: Thanks For The Memories

**Reader, Beware! In paying homage to the writer of The Luminaire's newsletter, this post will contain a substantial amount of swearing.

On my way back from a work promo event last week (Dean Rogers had photographed the film noir-esque campaign for a new top-of-the-range lager called Stella Artois Black - I promptly renamed it 'Premium Wifebeater'), tiny bit on the pissed side (strong stuff, that), when I decided to check my emails. Lurking amidst the work and assorted other guff, I saw a mail from The Luminaire, and the header read "Friends, it is with sadness that we have to announce the closure of The Luminaire..."

I thought it was some sort-of joke. A bit of a piss-take. So I mailed Andy at The Luminaire to ask. It's not a joke. It's all too true.

And so, I'd like to personally thank a couple of people. The people he wrote about in the mailer a few weeks ago. The fucking arsehole who nicked the three mics that it'd cost The Luminaire £200 to replace. The stupid selfish twat who kicked in the Green Room door that meant a doorframe having to be rebuilt. Fuckers like you, selfish idiots who make it all the more difficult in what must be trying financial times for small venues and promoters, you deserve a good kicking (normally completely anti-violence me, but recently, petty criminals have worn my patience thin...more of that below).

More importantly, I'd like to thank The Luminaire, Andy Inglis and his lovely staff for some brilliant evenings. Host to this year's birthday hilarity, but also the place I chose to nearly lose my hearing once and for all. Seeing Sweden's very finest (and most gorgeous) heavy-osity, the very wonderful and unfeasibly loud Graveyard and Witchcraft one evening (couldn't bear to put my head on the pillow for the ringing in my ears that night) to be followed by Oz's superb The Drones two days later (deaf as the proverbial post following that). Luckily, my hearing came back, but it was touch-and-go for a bit. Not big or clever, but definitely brilliant. So, RIP to another fine independent London venue, leaving those of us not up for Spice Girls at The O2 more limited choice than ever. Huge fucking sigh.

(Postscript: petty criminals, you can beware too - few weeks back, a couple of little scallys stalked me on mountain bikes and tried to snatch my handbag. Lucky for me, it was one of my old vintage bits, so the handles broke - nearly broke my shoulder too - and the little shits rode off completely empty-handed, but not without the sound of "You little fucking bastards, I hope you die" ringing in their ears. Now, I know I'm a bit of a potty-mouth, but I'm also pretty good-natured, try and see the humour in the direst of situations. Even surprised myself with that one...and although I wasn't sure where the outburst came from, I was really rather pleased with it. If you could knock someone out with profanity, I think I'd be heavyweight champ.)

Scorpio Rising

Birthday time for us sting-in-the-tail types. I've had the most lovely weekend. Began with another evening at The Haberdashery with my dear pal Smiff selling our old junk. We like to think of ourselves as Steptoe and Son (I'm Albert, she's the long-suffering Harold). Great fun and a few bob in the pocket:

Soundtrack to our lives

Saturday included pottering around the cafés of Crouch End with The Ex, eating cakes, drinking tea, talking about dildos (don't ask). The Ex is a successful web producer at the BBC. His team had bought him a birthday card (his birthday is the day before mine) which was a really sweet picture of meadow flowers, and they'd drawn a great big cock over the top of it. I found this very touching - they obviously think he's a great boss and have a lot of respect for him:

They spend your licence fee on stuff like this

Was really bloody lucky to get into a completely sold-out Warlocks gig at the Luminaire. Yet again, it's who I know and certainly not what I know. Having been previously introduced to the very witty and charming Andy Inglis who runs the Luminaire by Howard Local at a gig (Dan Mangan if my fading memory serves me right), we were lucky enough to bump into him on the door and get a sneaky pass in. Back of the net! And they were superb, those Warlocks (Bobby Hecksher is top - I saw him afterwards and told him so, to which he replied, "oh, thanks so much for coming down" in a truly humble and enthusiastic way - lovely manners). And then, there seemed to be a lot of booze and things turned a bit soft round the edges, including me...all good, though...:

The perfect combo of psych and good manners

Good, that is, until I had to collect my car next morning after 4 hours sleep...not big, not at all clever. Not entirely sure I should have been driving, actually. But after a shower and a mammoth fry-up, this Lady Lazarus rose again. Back to the pub for my birthday drinks with all my nearest and dearest. Perfect way to spend a Sunday afternoon - pals, few drinks (medicinal, by this point), lots of laughs - big love goes to anyone who turned up and for my goodies too: Mr & Mrs Barton for the choccy cake and fizz; Vik and Tim for my french violet creams; Smiff for my slap; Mr Local for my jazz-metal CD; Liza and Dave for the scary slinky thing and screenprint; Ber & K for the curry when I got in; but topping the lot, me old mucker Blondie who had hunted down a copy of my 70's Hornsea pottery childhood mug which I loved so dearly, until I broke it some years back:

What a mug (it, not me)

(Postscript: Having just read this week's Luminaire mailout, can I suggest that any of my regular readers subscribe here: http://www.theluminaire.co.uk/ Even if you only subscribe, with no intention of going to what can only be described as probably London's best small venue, run by a very witty Scot, staffed by cheerful, competent people, hosting some fine musicians every week, then you will at least be treated to what is one of the funniest mailouts I have the pleasure of reading. This week I feature heavily (see Warlocks paragraph above) as the inebriated 'friend' who suggested he might want to bring the swearing and ranting back into the mailout. We raging potty mouths have to stick together.)

Getting My Oats

At the risk of sounding like a massive bore, I made my first porridge of the Autumn today. Topped with blueberries and organic floral honey. Bloody delicious.