Yule(b)Log #1

I’m back in Disgracelands. Moved back in last week, after a mental, topsy-turvy year. Thank god that’s all over. Sharing this time. You’d think it’d be weird after having been used to swanning round in my knickers and having the whole huge 2 bedroomed shebang to myself. But no, it’s quite nice and it’s like coming home. My spiritual home.

It’s been a right week since I moved back in. I’m bloody exhausted. It’s hard work, this enjoying-yourself-at-Xmas lark.

Weds: Bob Log III at The Luminaire. We love BLIII. He’s something else. And we were lucky enough to get a ringside seat thanks to the kindness of Andy Luminaire, who let us watch the spectacle from the DJ box. Bob managed to bounce ladies on each knee, but there was no stirring of the scotch. Well, not in the way he likes it stirred anyway (Google it if you’re not in the know – it’s very worth knowing…). Top stuff. (Postscript: The Luminaire finally closed this weekend. I've just heard from a friend that the last two shows had to be cancelled due to the snow. I'm very sad to hear this - that place should definitely have gone out with a big loud bang. Sincere thanks to Andy and all his great staff for the music and memories x)

Thurs: EOTR Xmas party at XOYO. Singing Adams were great as ever, despite Steven Adams being a sickly chap (it’s going round – Bernie felt quite rubbish, and my glands were up – bloody poorliness). Sadly, by the time the superb wizard-outfit-clad Archie Bronson Outfit took to the stage, we were all flagging a bit. So home we went. (I was later baited by Kieran texting me that he and Bernie were eating chips in bed. Bastards.)

Fri: The Local Xmas Bash. We were quite good at the Quiz (didn’t win, but I got an honourable mention for naming the hilarious team of lovely trade unionist types sitting next to us as The Men You’d Want To Hang – they were a bunch of wits). And The Travelling Band were harmony heaven as ever and very funny. I burnt my tongue on a mince pie – am sure some hoped it would shut me up. As if.

Sat: spectacular snowfall. Can’t let snow stop play, mind. It is, after all, just a bit of snow, which bizarrely seems to make London lose its mind. Not me - love it. Was invited into town for sandwich and conversation (sandwich ended up being pie, the mash was disappointing but the conversation wasn't). Felt a bit dreadful later on – got under my blanket and watched Scent Of A Woman (again). The lovely man in Blockbusters, who gives me good tips on film, asked me if I was having a quiet night when he saw my choice. As I turned away, he said “Hoo-Haa!” just like Al Pacino in the film. It made me really laugh, and I chuckled all the way home. Sometimes, people are just brilliant.

Sun: felt like shit. Chest hurt. Sinuses too. Day Nurse is good stuff, though. Head to Wood Green to deliver Mr Carluccio’s choccy panetone to my dear pals Bernie and Kieran (they cracked it straight open – delicious stuff – will make the best bread and butter pudding…hint, hint…). Then Kentish Town for Nad’s birthday lunch. I’ve eaten in The Oxford on Kentish Town Road many times. The food is great. But I’m telling you now – watch out for the ill-mannered, speccy too-cool-for-school prick who works behind the bar. Unfeasibly rude. Thing is, he just didn’t seem to get the concept of customer service – so he shouldn’t be doing that job, surely? And he needed to pull his bloody pants up too. Knob.

And then another gig (really, that’s enough for one week) – Orange Goblin at the O2 Islington. Bit of a gang there, great gig (Firebird were great, Mr Steer handsome as ever), saw the very dear Mr Alan French on the merch stall, sporting cool new spectacles (BTW, I need specs. I can’t read small print easily and am doing that holding-stuff-at-a-distance like the elderly do – bloody hell – but I have found some quite nice Anglo American and Sol Moscot specs that I like, so all is not lost).

Mon: snot central. Like a total knobhead, because my Northern work ethic kicked in, I offered to go in FOR FREE to work this morning. I just can’t help myself. I ought to start being a bit more businesslike about my time and stop doing everything for nothing (few weeks ago, I mucked in for Howard Local, running the door at a gig for the princely sum of a cheese sandwich because I felt sorry for the bands who weren’t making any money. Yup, I'm a saint. If I believed in God, I'd fully expect a trip to Heaven when I pop my clogs).

Day finished on a ridiculous high, as we had the Blunt works do, which consisted of late lunch at Elk In The Woods (lovely Scandinavian style restaurant on Camden Passage, Islington - staff charming, service excellent, food delicious), daft amount of booze (sambucca shots and champagne at 4pm, anyone?), followed by a two hour session at Lucky Voice (which turned into a 4 hour session – I kid you not). And to all those of you who said you’d never sing-a-longa – bollocks. We couldn’t get you off the mic! Any evening which culminates in a mass hug/hokey cokey to Hey Jude, followed by A Fairytale In New York has to be a winner. Performance of the evening – Satoshi Minakawa, Japanese photography genius par excellence, doing the most amazing and unlikely Satchmo (Louis Armstrong to you lot) and It’s A Wonderful World. I had no idea that would happen. Really. None.

Tuesday: built my new bed. Bed will be hilariously known as The Field Of Dreams, for reasons known only to a select few friends (and Kevin Costner buffs).

Wednesday: Drove to Yorkshire with Mr Heneghan in tow. (I asked him to bring a flask in case of weather emergencies. He did. An empty one. I suggested next time I give him a lift, he might want to bring his chocolate teapot - if Armageddon hits, we'll be fully prepared and soon have it licked - Armageddon, that is...not the chocolate teapot.) Have already overeaten rather badly and only been here 3 hours. A sea of beige grub stretches ahead as far as the eye can see (until next Tuesday, at least). Happy Holidays!

Magnificent Fiends and Old Friends

When I heard that LouLou and Andy were coming over from NYC, I was ecstatic. When it came to light that the visit would coincide with a top gig, even better. To have Wooden Shjips, Howlin Rain and Moon Duo on one bill just seems ridiculous, but they were and we went. It was a lovely night, made even better by the fact that LouLou asked along none other than Mr Michael Cooke. It was a thrill to see a man whose very existence I'd begun to doubt - I haven't seen him for over 10 years. Cookie was the coolest dude around in my youth, DJ/top skateboarder/lead singer/heartthrob. And he's still bloody lovely.

Great gig at The Garage - Nads and I caught the last song by Moon Duo (when will I get to see a full set???). Howlin Rain kicked up a 70s storm (Ethan Miller is tour-de-force as a frontman, carrying off high kicks with aplomb, and fuck me, the pipes on him), playing a few of my fave tracks off Magnificent Fiend (I gave in to merch - sucker for a grey t-shirt, me). Wooden Shjips droned away beautifully (think Keith Hawkwind would be disgusted at the plagiarism, but Mr Brock might take it as the sincerest form of flattery).

Definite highlight - catching up with people I suddenly realised I've known for over 25 years...and we're still doing the same old shit (booze, gigs, laughs). And I wouldn't change it for anything.

Food, Glorious Food: Trullo in Islington, Coogan and Brydon in Yorkshire

I like food, me. I'm not one of those thin girls who can live off coffee and a sniff of a banana. No, me and Blondie used to be known as "Two Dinners" when we had the shop because that's what we frequently ate. I'm from a family of greedy guts too, with plenty of sweet tooth going on (in my Dad's case, it was sweet gums - he had all his teeth whipped out whilst still in his 20s - they did that kind of thing back in the day. Still, being a gummy wonder never stopped him enjoying a Topic chocolate bar - he just used to suck all the caramel and chocolate off, then line the hazelnuts up to see how many were in each bar. Borderline OCD, maybe a bit unusual in a miserable old Northerner, but funny and endearing).

Had a lovely treat this evening. Got taken out by a top agent and friend, Ms Squire, to Trullo in Islington. Apparently, getting a table in there is very difficult, but she's a mover and shaker so it's win-win for us plebs. Milly and Jenny came too and the food, service and company were superb. It's owned by Jordan Frieda (offspring of Lulu and hair supremo King of Frizz-Ease John Frieda. Ms Blunt tells me that she lived with John Frieda in New York when she was a fledgling agent). For once, no picture of my food, but if you can imagine the creamiest butternut squash risotto with taleggio as a starter, followed by spinach, polenta, chanterelle and slowcooked artichoke heart, finishing with smooth caramel panacotta, washed down by prosecco and some delicious velvety Italian red. Food wankfest.

Got in just in time for more food, but this time played for laughs. Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon's The Trip has me pissing my pants laughing every time. The last in the series this week, the pair have been doing a spoof restaurant review tour of the North on behalf of The Observer. The food always looks amazing, but is outshone each week by the stunning countryside (The Lakes and Lancashire - OK if you like that kinda thing, but oh, Yorkshire - you bloody beauty).