Popping into my favourite café one day for bunting chat, it turned out that Massimo was a little short-staffed. And so, my new temporary employ as waitress began. I managed to get through a whole Saturday and Sunday without major incident (apart from a little spilt milk, which I didn’t bother crying over). According to my new boss, I acquitted myself very well, and there’s a job for me if I decide to change career direction:
Lucky me, I was invited along to The Borderline to see Arbouretum play (by Anthea at Thrill Jockey records). I’d wanted to see them for a while, but the last time they played, I was away Down Under. So, I rocked up at The Borderline for an evening of heavy noodling. It’s a small world, this. I bumped into Michael Singing Adams, whose girlfriend Lucy also works at Thrill Jockey. I had no idea. I see them at so many gigs, but never knew what she did for her spending money. Thoroughly enjoyable evening - Arbouretum were well worth waiting for. I haven't seen a band look so pleased to be applauded in ages. They kept putting their thumbs up. I love this.
Somerset House was holding the second Pick Me Up, this year curated by a friend and graphic design favourite of mine, Anthony Burrill. Anthony is a clever man – his work is so simple, and often plagiarised. It’s a standing joke that my home is like a little museum of his work. Anthony very kindly gave me a really nice goody bag of his stuff and I bought a print by Linus Kraemer, depicting 360˚ of cake. I like cake, me.
Met Up with Helen P, Lou W and Scooter Steve (he wants to be known as this on my blog – just passed his bike test, he thinks Biker Boy sounds a bit on the camp side, and that pointing out he has a scooter is a little bit cooler, in an espresso-sipping/Dolce Vita kinda way. I've explained carefully that he won't get a new girlfriend by having a snappy moniker on my blog - getting a decent personality would work better). Saw The Boss from Blunt too. She was slightly worse for wear, having been up until 3am at a friend’s surprise birthday party. I think the only reason she came along was because Ian Stevenson, one of the very fine graphic artists Blunt represents, was part of the exhibition and doing a spot of DJing at the event. It was good to see Ian and his luxurious beard, whose work (his work, not the beard – the beard is brilliant, but its talent for art has yet to be discovered) is superb, funny and with a dark side that appeals to me greatly:
The Beard can't draw...yet
All this fun culminated in a massive piss-up at Aces and Eights. This is a relatively new bar by Tufnell Park tube station – painted black with diner-style booths, bit American dive bar, with a selection of decent whiskey and beer (LouLou - come back from NY soon - it's like Dick Manitoba's lite). There are a row of bras hung above the bar – I think the premise goes that if you hang up your bra, you drink for free. This was very tempting, as the imported ale I was necking was over £4 a bottle. Wisdom, however, decreed The Lads should stay in their lacy confines. It was a good night. Lots of old friends, some not so old, all good company. DJ played some top tunes, which culminated in me acting out, in bastardised sign language, the entire lyrics of Bat Out Of Hell. There was also a picking-up competition. Newly named Scooter Steve won this by trumping me, picking up both me AND Lou W at the same time. Like some mental Scales Of Justice. Hilarious.
I had a photoshoot for The Times at The Royal Albert Hall with Hamish. Hamish Brown is a well-known portrait photographer – he’s snapped pretty much every famous modern footballer you can imagine, and a whole heap of top musicians (his shots of Iggy and Dave Grohl are two of my favourites). It was a pretty straightforward shoot, but this didn’t stop me from having a bit of a sleepless night (will pre-shoot nerves ever go away?). It was a nice team on the shoot, all was going well. Until the schoolkids turned up. 200 of ‘em. With bongos:
Little bongo-bashing fuckers
My views on bongos are well documented. Bongos are fine when placed within musical arrangements, preferably as part of a combo, kept within a properly constructed tune. Not just fucking getting banged on randomly by some crystal-toting trustafarian outside his tent at a festival at 7am. Or, by some idiot standing right next to me on a train platform while I was trying to get to work in peace (fo' real - picture my indignation – if he hadn’t been so handsome, I’d have decked him). Needless to say, the acoustics in the RAH are excellent. So, try and imagine the aural hell for me as 200 little shits knock their skins about while I’m trying to work. Aaw, bless ‘em.
Luckily, I got out at a reasonable time, meaning that I could catch up with pals to see Pål. Pål being the Norwegian phenomenon that is Moddi. Met up with Kieran, Bernie, Nads and Scooter Steve (how long can I keep calling him that? It may get shortened to SS, but the worry there is if I put him in a black leather trenchcoat, he actually might look a bit Herr Flick). Benjamin Folke Thomas on first. He had a good voice, decent fingerpicking, and quite a good line in chat between songs. Moddi up next. He has a new cellist this time (I hear from The Scot this is a regular occurrence – ten a penny, these pretty and talented cellists in Norway, it would seem). His performance was excellent, but I think because I’d seen him do such an amazing set quite recently, it didn’t blow me away quite so much. Maybe it’s because I was so tired from my 5am start. Briefly saw The Scot and Ken, his music PR friend. Ken seemed quite pissed, The Scot didn’t. Hence, Ken was very funny and making some truly terrible jokes, which were rendered brilliant by their sheer crapness. Saw some of Ed Laurie, but by now I was flagging badly – I think I may have started to nod off…sorry, Ed.
Next night, we were very kindly invited by Elbow’s management to see them play at The O2 arena. I’m no fan of big gigs. I struggle with anything bigger than The Forum, it’s just not my cup of tea and most of the acts I want to see wouldn’t be playing somewhere like that anyway. And I've been listening to a lot of Bad Brains, not Elbow. But thanks to Hamish doing a sterling job on their recent PR shots, we were being treated and actually, a treat was in store.
Despite my reservations, it was a lovely experience. We travelled to the venue by riverboat; collected our treat tickets; sat in front row seats; watched a great band do some top songs; saw a witty, charming front man have an audience in his Northern palm; had a thoroughly good evening. I even shed a tear at one point (bloody pathetic – must get a grip, and also a bit more sleep).
All this fun has to have a downside – it came in the form of a two-day stomach bug with added flu symptoms. And so, as Spring has now officially sprung, I’ll be doing a little personal Spring cleaning. Which means nothing more racy or exciting than taking better care of my poor, fragile old body, getting fit (I'm in the market for new trainers and a tennis racket tomorrow) and maybe painting my toenails. Cos that’s how I Spring roll.
