'if music be the food of love, play on, play on'
a hammered day, sunday was,with its red eyes, it furry mouth and stale smoke stained levis tshirt. twas a day to fly beneath the radar, remain unnoticed stealth-style. twas a day i didnt need.
Manchester United were playing the chelsea,and that was all that concerned our hero. he headed off to a stinky shwetty pub that shimmed of yesterdays stale pig vomit, gripped a pint of that syrupy shyte they call Pepsi for they pleaded guilty to not having Coca Cola and strollled over to the 48inch tv.having screamed and yoddled like Heidi in the Alps carrying Toblerone from the barn, United were finally victorious and i could once again enjoy my existence as a humanoid on this planet called earth. Glorious.
as science fiction as this might sound i was that eve off too meet a tsoogoo tsoogoo to catch a flik- War of the Worlds for the cheap seats at 4 squiddinks a pop. but unlike me i pulled into Leicester square on the Morden via Charing cross train well early. i probably got there so early that i could have made a cigarette ashtray out of pottery clay. but instead decided to take a stroll around the oh so Soho.its always super duper to see a city when the crowds have returned to the cracks in the walls and all that is left is the residue-the drunken scot,the the stains of the previous eves vomit, the debauchery of an emancipated 18 year old that doesnt know his tequila from his gasoline, and the sweaty stench of greasy kebabs. the city reveals itself somewhat, it bares all and holds no surprises.anyways i was coming to the end of my sojourn and heading to the movie,now strolling down charing cross, when lo and behold (..no the lord didnt reveal himself to me in the form of a burning bush) rather i could hear the sounds of true music,Rock n roll-the blazzing riffs of a sickly played fender and the tiney crack of the percussion. so i followed the beats like Jughead to a burger and arrived at the St Martins school of Dramatc Art.
out of the building, which remided me of my Castle Greyskull action toy where He-man lived,was a wee queue. so i milled around thinking,'i gotta get my scrawny a*s in there, man.' so i hung around and eventually an organising official (i knew he was an official by the big tag around his neck that said, 'official'.) came out the door and i asked him how i could gain access to this gig. he said, 'sorry champ this ones for VIP's only.' so i was like, 'ah what says that once the doors close and theres space for one more, then could you let me in?' so the good geezer said ,ah alright son lets take you on in, but if anyone asks, answer youre a student.' honest, true story.so i get past all the ticket shyte and the bouncer heavies and roll downstairs, to the 'Underground', then the dude says, help your self, the bar is on the house.
i simply couldnt believe what was happening.its like when youre wee a kid and all you wanted to do was gnaw on the wall,cos it felt good.so im in there,my eyes are just oozing custard and red jelly, im loving it.the peaches around me were dressed like the typical rock chick ive come to love- red red lipstick,that jet black hair cascading down half her face , the blushed cheeks,fishnet stockings, the suit,the heels,that sorta grunge look that simply kills me. the lads were so greasy, jamie oliver coulda organised a sunday fry-up, bangers and all in that sickly hairdo.the tight dinner jacket and pencil jeans,the mud dirty converse kickers.sick im telling you, sick.
that night was an absolute screamer,the one ive been looking for on this ragged lil island.I think ive scratched the mole that london is and slowly slowly its beginning to reveal itself - its not about the people, its not about the rat race,its not about the lady who is carrying her bags up stairs and no one offers assistance, its not the fact that every shop owner tries to screw you, or the expense of booze,london is truelly an extra ordinary little island. i think its about the culture,the music,the shnacks,the drinksh(best said in a sean connery accent). its this dynamic city where if youre not somewhere that somewhere actually mutates and morphs itself into something else.
the monday eve,saw me extremely lambasted from tiredness, but nevertheless i managed to up and head to the movie i missed so joyously the previous eve-War of the Worlds. the headlines, 'The greatest action epic of al time',the dailymail.yeah riight and im a jet pilot of the 51st squadron of intergalactic super aviators.'how could you do this to me oh great spielberg, and tom cruise?,youre like a 3squid vegetatrian buffet,such potential, only lacking the meaty ingredients.'
do i hear tuesday eminating from the peanut gallery?.ah another lecture at the royale institute of british architects.this time Moshe Safdie spoke,an israeli acrhitect who left me dazed.hadnt seen or heard much of this lad,knew he did the holocaust memorial in israel but thats about it.so i went into the lectuire not totally energised then all of a sudden he started tossing these glowing white effervescent(sick little word) pearls of wisdom at me. it was like this meteoric shower,and i was just soaking them up. this oke wasnt full of shyte. he was a humble gent,an albert einstein lookalike. as rough and hard a lad as i am i nearlly shed a tear. he spoke of landscape and its inherent natural beauty,he spoke of architecture as though it were music,he spoke of architecture as that which transcends fashion.its architects like moshe safdie that are the reason i have chosen this profession.man alive i left that lecture hall feeling totally sweet.
my adventures for the week id say culminated in a trip back to the barbican for a splash of the London symphony orchestra.when i tell you that i was waiting in a queue and some oak offered me a ticket, i aint lying.the problem here is the oak offered me a ticket that his mate who was standing next to him had paid for.this ticket wasnt coming free, i reckon i had already cashed in my 'good deeds' coupons on the last free ticket i received.now im gonna have to help more ladies with their bags up the tube stairs. so i handed over 5 squids and moseyed on inanyhoo classical music is great,it differs from a rock concert. you dont have your lunatic boozed up nacho munching hooligans moshing around like mental patients in a sanatorium, rather you got your old geezer in bow tie farting to the tunes of 'the sound of music.'
i really dig classical cos everyone is plucking their violins like a turkey thats ready for a good basting on a chilly eve.the guy with the symbols gets like 3 oppportunities to be fanmous,but no one really gives a shyte.then there's the conductor who waves his magic wand, and im sure if he clicked his heels 3 times, and said 'theres no place like home, theres no place like home' he'd be infornt of his telly watching Opera winfrey reruns.
all in all a killer week, and one you should try.hang in there oh far flung ones.from the scratchings of a wandering lad,the chaitoman, russian bear hunter, master swordsman
'Goodnight you princes of Maine, you Kings of New England."
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