i don't know where to start.

the weekend was wierd, and i've been mood swingy recently.

i stayed in on friday out of poverty and apathy, went to bed early and fell asleep reading 'the tombs of atuan', part two of ursula le guin's earthsea trilogy (which would be a rock-solid base for a mmorpg). literally fell asleep; as in, woke up with the light on and books and shit fallen of the side of the bed.

no hang on, i went out on friday. the PA at work was leaving, she'd found her dream job, in educational publishiing, nonetheless, so we went out for last night drinks, of sparse but nice conversation. we had to get chips in the pub because we were sat right in front of the extractor fan and it was terribly cold. she drove me home about 11. i offered her my hand as i was getting out of the car and she didn't seem to know what to do with it. 'what's the handshake for' she asked or somethin, i can't remember it's all lost in a futile sea of mild anger.

got up, washed, and went to ed's to start recording the girlfriend experience sessions;put down two drum tracks and worked out a bit. it was a bit disappointing i suppose, but only because my expectations were too high (tautology warning! this is in fact, the entire human experience). we have dropped 'pavana capricho' in favour of situation tragedy (check it out). and yes, that is a dub remix of love. track listing's not fixed of course. we had a malaysian take out, which was also a bit disappointing. not the explosive sambal sensation i was hoping for. went home and slept some more. woke up to a terrible dream - it was the groucho marx party, and i was telling my mum i wanted to kill myself. it must have been anxiety about starting the PA job. it totally ruined my day, which i decided to waste playing oblivion as a theif, under the suggestion thta this was akin to playing 'thief' the game, which it never quite became, but then i only played it for a day. went to bed at nine. dreampt of a certain welsh girl, which was nice, ad went to work.

then we went to see bobby mcgees/plantpot, but i can't be bothered to type anymore tonight.



ticketmaster want 9 pound for the ticket, 2 pound for the booking fee, and five pounds to post the thing to me. if anyone else wants to come, we'd better club together to split the cost...

the trouble with the tommy. (edited)

i had a genuinely nested dream yesterday. i actually woke up into another dream, and realised i had been dreaming, but not that i was still dreaming. and i think after that, i woke again into a dream of waking up in bed, or i might have actually woken up twice in quick succession, because after that i did actually wake up and things were a bit different. the blinds were up and i'm sure it looked funny outside.. like when you fall asleep on the sofa and you dream that the people around you are talking to you and then you wake up when you try to respond and find they're paying you no mind.

the other night i dreampt i was chang tzu. that was wierd.

i got a text from tommy, ex-brighton-house-mate, on sunday night gone 9, as i was making my last rounds before bed (re-discovering the joys of beautiful agony dot com again was fantastic, after descending into a period of... less subtle... entertainment). he 'needed a place to stay' monday night. i had already arranged for to see barney that evening, which i wasn't going to cancel as it's been over a year and he can't come to the PARTY, but what could i do but say yes? i wondered how he had got into the situation of being in london and waiting for his flat to be vacated, and therefore is couch-surfing, and thought, ah, how very tommy.

barney is lovely and good and stuff, and it's tragic that i've been living a ten minute tube journey from him for four months. we went to a nice enough pub, and tommy and i et, although the veggy options were limited and all involved quorn.

tuesday morning, when i had the dream, and my hair stank of other people's fags from the night before, even though we were in the no smoking area, he asked me 'is it okay if i stay tonight as well?'

well yes, i saw no problem with that. we stayed in with dan (who asked who he was, and if i minded telling him if people were staying over)that night; i made saag chana gobi masala and we watched syrano, which was very good, but for, me berjerac will always be john nettles.

this morning, i got out of the shower, and he was gone. to work, at least; his bag was still here.

the story will end eventually; he's going home tomorrow, back near grimsby. but in that case, what is he doing here in the first place? not that i'm sorry to see him. but it's a bit like tommy pinball.

and why is everyone moving to bethnal green?

edit: his bag had actually gone, but his shoes and odd little plastic bag remained. turns out he'd left his shoes because they didn't fit right and he was staying at future house mate libby's tonight.


one frenchman says to the other...

*in dodgy french accents*
'did you 'ere about the man who tried to climb up le grand tour dans paris?'
'what, eiffel?'
'non, 'e made it to the the top, actually'



did you hear about the beetroot that apparantley committed suicide?

well, did it fall, or was it borscht?


london is...

a bald, shirtless man slamming a metal barrier into a shop front at three am.

someone joined in but the barrier fell on top of him so he went for a lie down on the pavement. then the bald man started kicking the door in.

the last couple of weeks have been very good, and most of this is looking forward to the music i will be making in the coming months, although most of it is merely planning and guitar work. the bobby mcgees e.p. is largely mentally planned, and i started remixing butterflies tonight (basically mashing it up with pyramid song). then there's 'klutzma', my e.p. of radical klezma, and of course, the previously mentioned girlfriend experience e.p., which is in pre-production. then there's the band; ian and i are slick now, just waiting for others to join in.

things seem only, or largely to happen at weekends; an evening isn't long enough to go anywhere and come back. unless it's to a gig, which are always unmissable, and i've just found a page on last.fm that tells you when bands you like are playing in your town without you having to do anything except listen to them. it's great.

lesson learned this week - how to call it a night and go home at the right time.

so last weekend, after sessioning with ed, ian and ruth tried to make me come out to 'oh my god i miss you', the indie uber scene club. we would have made it to, if it wasn't sold out. so instead ian and thalia took me back home, ian changed out of his magician's costume, and we went out to an student indie night (after school klub), and fortunately most of it wasn't nme shite. there was a great 80s hiphop section to the night when i went really sick. however, they did play 'bigmouth strikes again' twice. about two, the night wasn't getting any better and i was tired, and sick of getting pushed around on the edge of the dance floor - is this universal, or do some people just find that they always gravitiate to the middle of the floor? and what do they do when they're in there, how do they possibly enjoy themselves? - i crept off home. all this on a single snakey-b. a decidely excellent night.

this friday, i went out with ian and ruth again, out in bloody shoreditch. we stood outside a pub drinking, then went the offy and got cheaper drinks and stood outside the pub, then went inside and jiggled left and right a bit. about midnight they went into a club and i could tell i wasn't going to like it. rather than go in for a fiver, hang around and not enjoy it, and get increasingly aggravated for three hours, just so i could kip at theirs, i went home.

this was a bad idea. i could have just got the keys off them and slept at theirs, got up in the morning nice and bright, headed out to south london to look at the house i'd appointed. but no, i got on the first bus with 'holborn' on the front. unfortunately, it had already been through holborn, and when i got to stoke newington i realised 'stay on the bus and see what happens' is not a good strategy. at three i got home. the evening might as well have not happened.

but when all looked dubious on saturday, i got a text from robin (girl); it seems the new season of london migration is taking place. she has moved to ... bethnal green! and saw something about 'unskinny bop' which is possibly the greatest club night ever... they played the BLUE MINKIES. loads and loads of cute indie kids, and they're all (probably) gay, meaning no annoying sexual tension. and at half one, i called it a night; robin stayerd knowing they'd play her elastica song eventually. i went out and had the owrst falafel kebab ever. they had absolutely no idea. should have just stuck with my original decision for chips kebab, but no. this is how it happened; a pitta was grilled. salad? onion lettue and tomato, please. the man puts the biggest amount of raw onion i've ever seen into/on top of the pitta, then does the same with the tomato and lettuce. humus? yes please, loads, i say. this goes in the corner of the pitta. three rubbish falafel are then balanced on top. pointless. afther eating the falafel with my fingers, and tearing off as much of the pitta as i get from under the salad and dipping it in the corner of humus, the bus came and i through the thing in the bin. yes it's a waste, but think of it more like it was being put out it's misery.

then followed the bus journey when i saw the man who didn't like the shop.

tonight we made stoved jerusalem artechokes, lovely sauce but the artechokes them selves were like bad potatoes; like they were cooked on the inside and raw on the out. we also roasted some garlic which was rocking.


girlfirend experience press release

the girlfriend experience are dj gallow slutt and mc format, better know under as grilly and drumbo, or under the psuedonyms (XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX) and ed boucher, and will be recording their robust first mini album 'lock the taskbar' over the coming month in fits and starts between other projects.

the album will compromise soft jazz-flocked love ballads, as interepreted by socially inadequte artificial intelligence gradutes.

the tracklisting will provisionally be as follows:

1. circumscised *
2. car park song #
3. tagic love company [working title] $
4. meanwhile back in communist missippi (interlude) *
5. pavannah capricho &
6. love (dub) $
7. boom goes lovergirl #

* boucher/griliopoulos
# boucher
$ griliopoulos
& albeniz

every track will feature guest appearances from talented members of the fraternity (i.e you, probably).

the album will be complemented by the free downloaded only double a side:
a. phobos anomoly (id)
aa. ken's theme (capcom)

we hope that the record will attract major label attention (i.e. ex libris).

the music's nearly written, but lyrics are stil mainly in the conceptual stage and will be fleshed out over time. i don't know about the songwriting devision either, but it looks pretty and professional on paper. i'm hoping to have the 'klein bottle wanking girl' image i've had in my head for the cover, if that's ok ed? oh, and sorry for describing you as 'socially inadequate' but i thought we had to show a unified front..

aaron mcmullen

well blow me away. sorry, i'll start again.

there i was, downloading the rough mix of what has now become widely known as 'situation tradgedy', a piece of doom-folk destined for the 1-track e.p. 'hell on earth' under the psuedonym 'david c. griliopoulos', when i've tweaked it a bit (it needs woodwind), so i hyperlink over to the top secret ex-libris drop box, and find it in the middle of screen grabs of audio files and what looks like rushes from the new aaron mcmullen album, which is always an event worth celebrating (despite the fact i never got around to downloading the last one due to disk spaces shortages, which i will never have again once my 500 gb arrives this week). this one is especially worth celebrating as it's his ex libris debut, with andy fiddling away once aaron's done his one guitar and vocal take. and omfg it's brilliant. it's the slickest most professional thing i've heard from the colerabby studios. the next day at work they're in my head all day and i can't wait to get home and listen to them again. it's especially exciting because the last time i heard any of the mixes, they were at a very early stage and i wasn't too impressed. but now they sound so.. so radio!

so yeah, well done andy.


mic standing

i bought a mic stand the other day. lovely and chrome, it crouches next to my amp, craning round so that it's virtually kissing the cone. over the years, i've used positioned mics in pringles tubes, mini-bins, held in place under books or poking out of drawers, i've had to sing into a moving target, p'haps using a sock as a pop shield.

no more.

it's taken me so long to buy this one simple piece of kit that will do me no end of good. it just never seemed like a priority, but what a miser i was being. i'm quite happy with it now, but if only i had anything to record. well, i do, it's just not come together yet.

also, in my continuing re-development of this blog, i've added direct links to streams of the last two albums on last.fm over there ->
so if you've not got them yet, like luke, you can listen to every minute in crappy 128kbs sound from anywhere in the world without downloading anything.
if anyone would like to contribute tags &c, have a go at doing up my profile or something, that would be quite nice.


'science will save us'

tony blair got in a couple of quotes of the year (already?) yesterday, by going against every advice and suggesting it was okay to fly now because science will save us. to add insult in the wound, he went on: "I personally think these things are a bit impractical, actually to expect people to do that. It's like telling people you shouldn't drive anywhere."

Yes, tony. it's exactly like that.

tone, why don't you wait for science to save us before booking your flights, just to make sure.

this is a really bad frame of mind for mr. 'history will judge me'. as a man of 'faith', you'd expect him to not want to sin, so that he could reap salvation when it comes. instead, his mindset is that it's ok to sin, because salvation is coming anyway. this explains so very much.

great stat in private eye's number crunching:

150: deaths in the kurdish gas attack for which saddam was hanged.
150,000: civilian deaths in iraq since the invasion.


the past

i took my last two days of work off sick, as i had a cold, and played on the computer and stuff. in fact, i went into work on my last day but came home after two hours and a couple of blog posts.

that night i went with ed to see half man half biscuit who were very good (sorry this is a bit old now and i can't remember so well as i didn't blog it at the time). they brought on a cellist and percussion girls for 'it's cliched to be cynical at christmas. i was pissed off at first that we only got seated tickets - it was like watching a gig rather than being at a gig - but i was very glad of it because i got to sit down for the whole thing, and we did have a great view and it was my third gig in a week.

the next day i fled to macc, and then manchester, in an effort to get just the perfect presents. i was determined to buy tim a line 6 ux1, for birthday and christmas, but i had to go and have a think about it, and then it was too late - the train was going back to mac so i ended up getting him only a bottle of wine. (today however, this paid off, as he awoke on his birthday to find a toneport keyboard interface, a very sexy piece of hardware and software.)

christmas came and went, where i finished watching the first series of the kingdom - lars von trier is a very sick man. a nice quiet family christmas. et shitloads and walked it off.

the adventure began on the last friday of the year. i went to rugby to see laurence and his lovely parents, as he was on a visit over from kaneda. got in at a reasonable time, refried some pasta sauce, jammed, played trivial pursuits and it's rival quiz games, adn then got out the hero quest.. i took laurence and martin through the first quest of 'return of the witch king', with my best games master hat on, bullying and caressing the players in equal measure; we finished at 6 and collapsed into bed (except martin who had to walk home).

after tidying everything away the next morning/afternoon, we et cheesy sausagey oatcakes and went to london and things went fuzzy or maybe that's how i remember them. we watched jamie play zelda for a while. none of this is as interesting in retrospect as what';s been happening more recently, and i've no idea how it gets to new years eve so quickly, so i'll speed up. laurence and i went to a pub with a near-empty no-smoking room (that's something i'll miss come july) then went to bed and then it's seven o'clock the next day, and we're meeting corey and ross (or was it joss?) in the foyer of the british museum, which is as far as corey's ever been in. we had the same conversations about hotdog stands as we did in copenhagen, which was grounding, and then in our quest for grub ended up in maoz, as everywhere else was closed, because it was new year's eve, you fool. some nice veggie model archetypes on the menu, although i thought the lass with the chips looked a bit beefy though you can never tell. and then the other maoz outlet had different people on the menu! i wanna be a maoz veggie role model for a new generation of falafel kids.

so then we went to a big gay pub, and joined the london bear society. i caved in and played pool, and found out that if you simply hit the white in a straight line in the right direction, it will sink the desired ball. i never knew that. we hit camden and using my a-z and mobile phone, fawlked a zig-zag around the direct route 'til we found jasmine's.

given the quality kit on display, it's a shame there was no performance. a wierd night with a psuedo-roleplaying espionage game which some people took completely seriously and others totally ignored, leaving me heckling jasmine's boyfriend about how it was all predetermined (only because my clues were completely chod). i stopped drinking at some point because i was rediculously dunk, then started again on the ginger beer and whiskey. hooray for chocolates and candians.

leaving jasmine's at 6 or 7 in the morning, we walked in what we thought was the right direction in the rain until we found a tube station, i've no idea which one or what line it was on. four hours after getting to bed, i was being forcibly woken up in the bright sunlight of a new year (as if you could tell) by laurence and dragged to victoria. by the time we got to brighton the sun had gone in but never mind, it was still great. actually great. went round chris and rifa's and rach and robin's and everything was all right with the world.

brighton is good. brighton is a lovely town with a needlessly good concentration of better shops than anywhere else i've ever been. and it's got the sea, which is completely great, and planet india which is the best indian scran if only it were ever open. we did grubs for tea and dumb waiter for breakfast, and met steve from dave's comics - everything you could want from 24 hours in brighton. the journey back to london seemed superfast and we parted as we always do at victoria.

so that leaves us last tuesday.. tuesday i went over to ian and ruth's, which was another classic freeform jam, staying over and playing narcolepat on the central line at quarter past seven in the morning. friday i watched boys from brazil with dan (brilliant film, watch it but don't look up the plot on line if you can avoid it). saturday was games day/night; terrence, toby and ed came over for munchkin, power grid and more munchkin, then guitar hero. power grid was great, guitar hero i didn't find fun at all. toby is scarily good at it - if only he'd invested that time in learning on an actual guitar, which is more fun, i'd be impressed. sunday was nice and tidy.

all the photos (well the best, non-repetitive ones) are here

the future


the third of february is my birthday party/our flat party, and you're invited. it's a groucho marx party - you must come dressed as groucho marx, and if you're fool enough to not know who that is, then as a forfeit you must come as karl marx. guests of honour may come as harpo or chico, by prior arrangement. expect all the usual festivities.


blog not dead

i have much to write, but i keep getting distracted. hopefully i'll delete this post soon and replace it with something less apologetic.