Death Is Not The End

The black eyebrowed, silver haired devil has started redistributing wealth. Stealing from the poor, giving to the rich. Patrick Collinson's summing up in yesterday's Guardian Money section makes you want to turn Green, not with envy but with disgust.

£600,000 tax-free, up from £300,000. Due to rise to £700,000 tax-free by 2010/11.

Patrick's been banging on about inheritance tax. Here's two letters from Guardian readers. From the rich south of England, of course.

Firstly, this from someone who I assume is a rich bastard pretending to be a cynical batten down the hatches kind of guy in order to get a letter in The Guardian:-

"Patrick Collinson can 'see no reason' why 'children of 50-plus need to inherit large sums'.
I can think of two. Firstly, they've somehow got to fund their children's education, as the state no longer does this, and secondly they've got to fund their own retirement, together with any medical and personal care, as the state no longer does this, either. You can see why some people think that if the welfare state is being dismantled, it's only fair to dismantle some of the taxes that used to pay for it."

And secondly, this from someone who I'm guessing is a selfish self-made man, a man who thinks the NHS is in a disgusting state and the government really don't give a shit about the health of its citizens but who wants his kids to be rich for doing fuck all. A Guardian reader, all the same:-

"I am a little irked by Patrick Collinson's article. The reason why it's not unreasonable for people to inherit large sums of money is because they then have the chance to help their own sons and daughters in setting up some kind of life for themselves.
I have two children aged seven and nine, and one of my last goals in life is to try and sort them out financially. It sticks in my throat when I think of this government trying to take what rightfully belongs to my sons when we finally 'croak it'."


These were letters responding to Patrick's previous article, before Darling moved the goalposts. I hope these two nice men are happy with Darling's new pronouncements. Or hasn't he gone far enough for them? The Tories are proposing £1 million tax-free. Now that's a fucking real bonanza.

The Mersey Sound

Let Me Die a Youngman's Death

Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death

When I'm 73
and in constant good tumour
may I be mown down at dawn
by a bright red sports car
on my way home
from an allnight party

Or when I'm 91
with silver hair
and sitting in a barber's chair
may rival gangsters
with hamfisted tommyguns burst in
and give me a short back and insides

Or when I'm 104
and banned from the Cavern
may my mistress
catching me in bed with her daughter
and fearing for her son
cut me up into little pieces
and throw away every piece but one

Let me die a youngman's death
not a free from sin tiptoe in
candle wax and waning death
not a curtains drawn by angels borne
'what a nice way to go' death

Roger McGough, 1937-



An Epitaph
(Twopence coloured, penny plain)

He worshipped at the altar of Romance
(Tried to seduce a woman half his age)
And dared to stake his fortune on a chance
(Gambled away his children's heritage).

He valued only what the world held cheap
(Refused to work, from laziness and pride):
Dreams were his refuge and he welcomed sleep
(He failed in business, took to drink and died).

Colin Ellis, 1895-1969



Doesn't the "constant good tumour" sound forced and wanky. But it gets a titter from the audience. Laughing at death? It just feels a little naughty, doesn't it?


I like my poetry easy to understand. I'm not clever enough to enjoy the complex stuff. I usually like rhymes, too. I like Colin's poem. You won't find Colin on the internet. You will find Roger, though. Oh yes, lots of Roger.

I've never got on with Roger's twee sentimentality. And his clever plays on words are not as clever as he thinks.

Patten, Henri and McGough all rode the Beatles' coattails. Right place, right time. Thousands of people in Britain were writing poetry as well if not better than the Liverpool poets. Maybe even more "accessible". Most kept it to themselves. But the Mersey was where it was at and these three had the guts to read their stuff in front of audiences who lapped it up because the poets were scousers and the Beatles were scousers and Liverpool was a hotbed of creativity, working class kids making it big.

I've nothing against these blokes earning a living from what thousands could have done if they'd been in the right place at the right time with the right self-confidence. Good luck to 'em. But Melvyn fucking Bragg fawning over the surviving two like they're something special? Give me a break! It's only piss poor poetry.

A couple of years ago there was a South Bank Show about The Darkness. I'll remember that when Melvyn comes knocking to interview the cream of Bexleyheath bloggers. I'll remember that when I say something humorous and the camera cuts away to Melvyn's orgasm face. I'll remember Justin Hawkins. And where he is now. (Rich cunt).

*****

The Liverpool Poets

If it wasn't for the success of the Fab Four
The Liverpool Poets would be dead poor
And instead of publishing yet another edition
McGough would be dying from malnutrition

Geoff, 1961-

Willy Russell

This is Willy Russell in The South Bank Show about the Liverpool poets. Once we've finished watching it I'll write a post about it. Willy Russell is currently modelling himself on Noel Edmonds. Why, I have no idea.

Willy is described as a "Playwright and Musician". If you look closely at my very dark picture you will see an acoustic guitar propped against the wall behind Willy.

Most writers are filmed in front of bookcases filled with books. Or computers. To prove that they don't sit on their arses all day doing nothing. They read and they write.

Willy's guitar proves he is a musician.

And look, here's his CD!

Well done, Willy!

Weekend Fun

So we go out for a curry to celebrate England's win. Rugby Union and Patriotism really are my favourite things. All those posh cunts singing about chariots really turns me on, in a Johnny Rotten and classical music kind of way.

So we go out for a curry, a mere 15 minute walk away. We're a bit nervous as last time we went out for a curry, in the town centre, Betty was verbally abused by some young tossers in a car on the way to the restaurant. And on the way back we were nearly killed by some young tosser in a car who thought it fun to drive at 50 m.p.h. jerking the steering wheel like it was his tiny cock.

So we're a bit nervous but this time we're not heading for the town centre, we're going down some quiet roads.

So ten minutes into our walk, we hear the screech of tyres. The car is coming up behind us. We've put our life in our hands again. The wanker revs up. We can hear the car speed up. He slows down, speeds up. He isn't jerking the steering wheel like it is his tiny cock but that's probably because there are a couple of girls in the back seat and he wouldn't want to scare them too much. No, he just wants to scare us pedestrians as he goes past us at 80 m.p.h. Thank fuck we survived, nervous but alive.

So we're within two minutes of the restaurant. A large group of teenage boys cross the road and arrange themselves into a pavement gauntlet. We don't run, just keep our heads down and walk through them, waiting for a comment which thankfully doesn't come.


*******


In the restaurant, a couple of blokes talk about football, rugby and Ruskin. This is the first time I've ever heard Ruskin mentioned in Bexleyheath. Or rugby, come to think of it.

About Bloody Time, Too!

Ah, Norfolk. It seems like another lifetime. When windmills were active on land and not in the sea. When postmen sang and were happy with their lot!

Here then are the photos. What a lovely time we had.

1. Winterton-on-Sea
Winterton should really be called Windterton. If we'd brought any sandwiches to eat on the beach, they would have been full of sand by the second mouthful. Winterton has a desolate air, a bit like George Alagiah.


2. No Dogs!
Most of Norflok's beaches have a policy of not allowing dogs to roam the sands in the summer months. Presumably so that we don't get any headlines like "Devil Dog Ate My Little Angel". Of course, the dogs themselves can't read and drag their owners onto the beaches, unclip themselves from their collars and run around like crazy. the second photo in this section is proof. Those aren't seagull footprints!



3. Cromer.
Cromer. A poor man's Great Yarmouth. Whereas Yarmouth pier has the superb Jim Davidson, Roy "Chubby" Brown and the Chuckle Brothers on its bill, Cromer's lineup is distinctly provincial. I mean, "Magic, a Kind of Queen"! Who dreams these up? Elton Ben*?


4. A National Trust Lake
This is the lake we stopped at to take some pictures, just minutes before my brand new Primark t-shirt was shat on by some bastard bird. "Get off moi fuckin' land," the bird chirped as I walked disconsolately to the cafe, to be greeted by some foul tasting National Trust tea which was polluted by its "green" recycled packaging. What's wrong with a proper cup, eh?


5. Sheringham Park
Beautiful, beautiful Sheringham Park. Go there. The garden to our holiday cottage was supposed to contain grass snakes. I'm glad I didn't see them as I have a snake phobia. At the entrance/exit to Sheringham Park kids can write what wildlife they have spotted on their way round the routes. Adders came up quite regularly. I'm glad that most kids are lying little shits otherwise I would have been cacking myself all the way round. One kid had seen a "bear". Oh yeah? This isn't Yellowstone, buster!


* Copyright Betty's dad.

Bear With Us

I'm coming out in solidarity with Betty. Until our home broadband is connected (fuck knows when) I'm not going to post another thing. I'm so pissed off with everybody connected with fucking technology at the moment. Nothing is going in the right direction. One step forwards, three steps back.

The Bakers That Used To Be Broomfields

My mum's telling us about her visit to the bakers "that used to be Broomfields". None of us know what it's called now.

"So they had two tills at opposite ends of the shop and I went to the till where the batons were and another woman walks in the shop. The assistant goes to serve her from the other till. As I was first in the shop, the other customer kindly lets me go first."

MUM: Can I have two batons, please?

SHOP ASSISTANT: DON'T DO BATONS!

MUM: Well, can I have two small French sticks, please?

SHOP ASSISTANT: DON'T DO FRENCH STICKS!

MUM: (Pointing to the batons/small French sticks) Well, what do you call these?

SHOP ASSISTANT: STICKS!

Crocs Away!

Elton John dies and David Furnish prays to God. You see, Elton had a pair of green crocs that were his pride and joy, but when his left leg was lost in the accident the left croc went with it.

So David has one croc to treasure forever. If only he had both!

David prays to God and asks him if he could point him in the direction of the missing leg and croc. God says he can, but as God likes to see men suffer he asks David the following:-

GOD: David...who is your favourite dead film star?

DAVID: Why, Rock Hudson. He was absolutely gorgeous.

GOD: What would you say to a five minute telephone conversation with Rock Hudson?

DAVID: I'd do anything for that. But he's dead!

GOD: I can arrange it, David. I have his number.

DAVID: Yes, then. Yes, please.

GOD: Only one thing, David. If I give you Mr Hudson's number, I will not tell you where the missing croc is located.

DAVID: Why not, God?

GOD: Because that's the way I am.

DAVID: So I have a choice?

GOD: The choice is yours.

David's brow is furrowed.

DAVID: Can I have some time to think it over?

GOD: I want an answer now, David. Come on! Elton John's croc, or dial Rock?

Norfolk and Northern Folk

So it's Monday and Norfolk seems like another country, another century. Today's the day (hopefully) we get our Mac up and running and on the internet and the future will no longer be dimly Orange.

Our holiday snaps will be along later in the week. We sampled all that Norfolk had to offer except for a trip on the Broads. I just didn't fancy piloting a boat after all that driving.

Over the two weeks we watched the end of the second series and the whole of the third series of The Wire. It's still classic television, though the third series was sexed up considerably. It was as though the actors had told the producers, "What's the use in me going to the gym for four hours each day if you're not going to show my lovely body in all its glory?" So the producers capitulated and we got a sculpted chest and clenched arse fest.

My reading matter was Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North by BBC stalwart Stuart Maconie. I'm supposed to like Stuart, he's a decent bloke and he has marvellously catholic music tastes, and I do like him but he don't half get on my nerves, too. Like that dick Robert Elms, he's always seemed to be in the right place at the right time, whether it's the Northern Soul explosion, the Punk explosion, the Chicago House explosion or the Madchester explosion. But then, as he says, he does have marvellously catholic tastes.

In this book, a lot of the time he's confusing being "Northern" with being working class, (e.g. the word "dinner" to describe the midday meal as opposed to the middle class evening meal). This gets even my upper working class privileged Southern jessy hackles rising. His prejudice against southerners I can't really take seriously as it seems to be a prejudice against his BBC middle class mates. No wonder he lives in the West Midlands! He must hate his poncey London-based working life. He says near the end that there are many northerners who are not typical northerners and are twats and many southerners who act all northern like and aren't twats. I think I'm likely to be one of those untypical southerners. Will you be my mate, Stuart?

The digital radio I bought before we went away turned out to be a waste of money - BBC6 Music and 1Xtra are far too worthy and boring. We listened to Radio 1 in the car, usually untypical northerner Sara Cox (because we didn't get up in time to listen to untypical northerner Chris Moyles), and in the cottage we had on East Anglia's Kiss. At least Kiss played some decent music, even if their playlist only consisted of twenty tunes. At the weekend we listened to Kiss in the car as anything, and I mean anything is better than that untypical northerner Vernon Kay.

Classified Results

Klaxons 8, Winehouse 1

Fresh, exciting new sounds from South East London versus derivative Radio 2 approved cod soul from North London.

Saxondale 1, Gavin & Stacey 8

Steve Coogan is Steve Coogan (as always) in shoddy "comedy" with no laughs versus well-written, funny, touching romcom. Both Baby Cow productions.

Bluewater 0, Lakeside 0

Shite shopping mall versus shite shopping mall.

Pardew 4, Curbishley 7

Tony Blair style bullshit versus Gordon Brown style "does what it says on the tin".

Sopranos 10, The Wire 10

Genius versus genius.

Work 3, Jury Service 1

Boredom versus extreme boredom.

Led Zep Live 1969 7, The Who Live 1970 4

Overblown yet entertaining blues rockers versus past it, going through the motions show offs.


Back on 24th September, hopefully with a new home internet connection.

See you then.

Very Flat, Norfolk

It's no good. I can't get away from him. This morning I sat on the other side of the carriage. He sat next to me. Suicide seems the only option.

I went to John Lewis at Bluewater on Sunday to pick up my new macbook. Bluewater: what a shithole. One episode of the BBC4 documentary series The Secret Life of the Motorway, featured a long-distance lorry driver who, for relaxation at weekends, drives his wife hundreds of miles so she can do her shopping at shitholes like Bluewater all over the country. He sits outside the shops and reads. He finds it relaxing. They say there are more out than in.

I think I prefer shopping at Argos than John Lewis. There are hundreds of baby buggies at John Lewis. And customer collections takes an age. I was told my mac would be 15 minutes so I spent some time in the wanky hi-tech Apple shop, listening to an assistant saying "Apple just lurve university students" to a university student. I got back at John Lewis within the 15 minutes. Twenty minutes later, after several enquiries, I finally collected my mac. Apparently, they'd already called my name. Even though I was told to go away for 15 minutes. "Never knowingly undersold" should be augmented by "patience is a virtue".

We're off to Norfolk on Saturday for two weeks: another complete break from the internet. Honestly, the lengths we take to get away from our blogging compadres! The question is, will there be enough for us to do in Norfolk for two weeks? Once we've visited the Mustard Museum and paid homage to the Anglia tv knight on horse statue, what else is there to do?

I think I'm getting a bit nutty in my middle age. I mean, Norfolk! I ask you!

Have A Good Weekend, See You On Monday

So Betty's moved to Wordpress for a while. But I'm not joining her. We can have our own space like Woody Allen and Mia Farrow used to. I can still access Blogger from work in my lunch hours. Besides, we're away for two weeks from a week tomorrow so our five week wait for Orange to disconnect will just fly by.

Thank you all for your advice re. Macs. I'm off to buy one at the weekend and should be connecting it to the internet in early October. I've bought a dummies book, not because I'm a dummy, but because I want to know how to turn the damn thing on and off and to gen up on any hints and tips that will make my Mac experience a more rewarding and enjoyable one. If you're reading, Bill Gates, it's alright, we've still got PCs at work.


*******


I'm always the first one on the train in the mornings. I sit at the back of the train in the window seat of a two-seater. There's just me in my part of the carriage as we pull into the second station. Recently, a man has begun to get on and sit next to me. He has a choice of hundreds of seats and he decides to sit next to me evey morning. He chews gum noisily, with his mouth open, and plays with his mobile phone. He has long, shiny shoes.

Today I got on the other side of the carriage. For a change, he wasn't first on the train at the next stop. A woman sat in my old seat. He sat next to her!

So it's not me he likes after all. It's that damn seat.

Moan Moan Moan

It's probably a problem with our home computer. We still can't access Blogger and now our antivirus is fucked up. Our PC's probably full of nasty viruses. And I can't be bothered to go through the rigmarole again of resetting the computer to its factory settings then getting more viruses then tearing my hair out in frustration over this four year old devil.

I'm going to buy a Mac. they're supposed to be less bovver, aren't they? Plus you get Garageband and you can compose your own bangin' drum & bass tunes. I can become Nathan Barley.

I would be grateful if any of you Mac users out there would advise me whether it's worth purchasing any antivirus software or do you just connect to the internet naked?


*******


The Guardian's Saturday Guide sometimes recommends blogs to read. They've never recommended me a decent one. This Saturday's was Dave Gorman's blog. Dave is a famous comedian. He has no links to other blogs so he obviously couldn't give a toss about other bloggers. His blog is just another way for Dave to promote his career and sell his books. Dave got Post of the Week a couple of weeks ago. None of the blogs I like have ever won Post of the Week or been featured in the Guardian Guide.

It's all a load of bollocks, isn't it?

Hansi, Knees and Booompsadaisies

I'm too old to fight. Even James can't get my macho pumping arms into action.



If Blogger want to get rid of us we'll move over to Wordpress. They've got a couple of days. Then I'm outta here.

Wonder Milky Bitch*

So I'm not enamoured with alternative medicine. One thing they all advised me though was to give up the dairy products, something I've never heard from a conventional doctor.

Having spent the last month and a half with chronic catarrh and a nasty cough, I've decided now is the time to not give up, but to cut down drastically. I know from experience that dairy causes catarrh in me so I'm trusting my experience rather than my GP this time.

Cutting out cheese is no problem. But milk's a different kettle of fish.

Soya milk on my breakfast cereal gives me bad guts. And it's crap in coffee, though better than cow's milk in tea.

Rice milk tastes absolutely foul in coffee and tea. But gorgeous on its own or on cereal.

So my proposal is this...

Rice milk with my breakfast cereal.

Cow's milk with my morning cup of coffee.

And soya milk in my four cups of tea throughout the day.

Wish me luck. And anybody who says "Have you tried goat's milk?" is no friend of mine!



* £1.50 in luncheon vouchers to anybody who can tell me who did this song.

The Enemies Of Reason (Part 2)

After his attack on superstition in part one, Dawkins turns his attention to alternative medicine.

The conclusion drawn is that any reports of these remedies working is totally down to the placebo effect of the way the patient is treated by the practitioner. The time spent and the empathy shown. Any healing is the result of self-healing which would have happened anyway if a sympathetic ear was available. The healing is not due to the actual treatment itself which is unproven by scientific tests.

Homeopathy is a particular target of Dawkins as in this country it is partly funded by the NHS (£10 million on the refurbishment of the Royal Homeopathic Hospital itself). Everybody should know by now that homeopathic medicine is basically water, but nutty Prince Charles uses it so crawling politicians fund it.

For a few years I took homeopathic medicine for hayfever. Fucking useless. Still, I wasn't filling my body with naughty chemicals that could have had all manner of side effects, was I? No, I was swallowing water!

I've gone down the proper alternative therapy route. I've seen a naturopath for my IBS and a kinesiologist for my gastro-oesophageal reflux problems. Both very relaxing (lots of laying down and having bits massaged, lots of listening to my problems, nodding sympathetically), and in the case of kinesiology as nutty as a fruitcake with all that chakra bollocks. Both fucking useless though.

I needed something real, something that gets in there and gets the job done, changing the fucked up chemistry in my brain, not some mind over matter placebo shit. Good old tried and trusted drugs to smash my problems like a nutcracker smashes a nut, enabling me to put on weight and feel healthy, not walk around as thin as a rake on a diet of the few things I can eat because poor little me has too sensitive a digestion to eat certain important staple foods.

So yes, Dawkins. I'm totally on your side. I've been there, done that and I'm not going back.


p.s. Professor, did I tell you about the time I was abducted by God-botherers?

Forthcoming Attractions At Our Local Theatre, The Dartford Orchard

The following are shows I'm recommending. Though to see the full range of entertainment at this local godsend, feel free to visit the website.

DANCING QUEEN

- This high octane musical extravaganza features fabulous “Broadway Style” production pieces, performed to wall-to-wall mega Abba hits. The show also features a medley of fabulous party classics from the 70s, and a dazzling compilation of highlights from the iconic film Saturday Night Fever.

Geoff's Preview - Come on, ladies. You'll be dancing in the aisles. Singing at the tops of your voices. "SEE THAT GIRL! WATCH THAT SCENE! DIGGING THE DANCING QUEEN!" A real girl's night out! And those party classics from the seventies! YMCA! Blame It On The Boogie! Suitable for women aged 16 to 86.


JETHRO 2007 TOUR

- After 32 years, this hilarious Cornishman still packs theatres the length and breadth of the country. He has his own unique style and timing, and with his new stories you will be entertained by one of the funniest story teller’s to date. If you’re looking for an evening of continuous laughter, this is possibly the best in the UK.

Contains adult material, Cert 18.

Geoff's Preview - Jethro is what is considered to be a "blue" comedian, therefore this show is only suitable for adults who enjoy swear words and mention of ladies' and gentlemen's private parts. Not really suitable for a younger adult audience, Jethro is very popular amongst older married couples. Suitable for married couples between the ages of 55 and 70.

THINK FLOYD

- Think Floyd are now well into their 2007 tour of the UK. By popular demand the show is once again featuring complete performances of two of the most influential albums of the 20th century, Dark Side Of The Moon and Wish You Were Here as well as Floyd classics from Barrett to The Division Bell. Plus a few selected venues will feature their highly acclaimed presentation of The Wall.

Geoff's Preview - Think Floyd will not be performing The Wall at The Orchard. If you want to see this spectacular show you'd have to take yourself along to Hertford, Burgess Hill or Milton Keynes. But there's still plenty here to keep the most ardent Floyd fan happy. Suitable for single straight men aged 45 to 65.

AN EVENING WITH MICKEY ROONEY - Celebrating 85 years of Entertaining!

- Crawling on to the stage during his father’s Vaudeville act at 18 months in 1922, Mickey Rooney began a truly legendary career. He now announces an 85th anniversary tour to be performed this year. Joined on stage by his wife, the singer/actress Jan Rooney, they sing, dance and laugh their way through the years.

Geoff's Preview - This is definitely worth going to see as it's probably the last chance you'll get to see the great man live. Still as sprightly as a spring chicken, Mickey will hopefully be performing his classic "Chinaman" act from the film Breakfast at Tiffany's. Who can forget his superb rendition of "Miss Gorightry! Miss Gorightry!" Suitable for widows and widowers aged 85 plus.


DEREK ACORAH

- No official preview.

Geoff's Preview - Derek is one of many male mediums regularly performing at venues up and down the country. Lost a loved one or a grandparent? Want reassurance from them that you're in their thoughts as well as them being in yours? Derek may be contacted by them and will translate what they've got to say to you. Suitable for women aged 16 upwards.



ALAN CARR

- Following a hugely successful tour of the UK this spring that culminated in 3 sell out nights at London’s 3,500 capacity Hammersmith Apollo, the hottest brightest award winning comedian Alan Carr will be back on the road this Autumn.

His recent television appearances have received great critical acclaim and include Friday Night with Jonathan Ross, Eight out of Ten Cats, Countdown, and of course as the brilliant co host along with Justin Lee Collins on Channel 4’s The Friday Night Project. Alan’s debut live DVD will be in shops this November.

"Belly achingly funny" THE SUNDAY TELEGRAPH

Geoff's Preview - Alan is one of Britain's rising stars. With a remarkable resemblance to Fleagle from sixties children's tv show The Banana Splits, Alan's affable camp manner will have you rolling in the aisles. Suitable for students, though unfortunately there are no concessions.



NOISE ENSEMBLE - NOISE ENSEMBLE

- Noise Ensemble is the new percussion spectacular by Ethan Lewis Maltby.
“Dynamic, vibrant and energetic”

Take ten sexy young virtuoso drummers and over a hundred different instruments, add a majestic score by acclaimed local composer Ethan Lewis Maltby, blend in stunning visual effects and you’ve got Noise Ensemble, a dazzling new music spectacular that’s set to take the world by storm.

“will do for drumming what Riverdance did for Irish Dancing”

Noise Ensemble explodes onto the stage with stunning choreography and breathtaking lighting and visual effects. This outstanding theatrical and musical experience is on its way to becoming a new entertainment phenomenon. Don’t miss it!

Geoff's Preview - This is a show, not unlike the more famous West End smash STOMP! which will raise the adrenaline and make you want to dance and shout like a screaming dervish. To see this show it is best to arrive at the venue by public transport, otherwise it would be like driving home after consuming 7 double espressos. Not suitable for those currently taking anti-psychotics. No age or sex recommendations.




LENNY HENRY - WHERE YOU FROM?

- Ever since he burst out of our TV sets in the mid 70’s LENNY HENRY has risen to become one of Britain’s best-known and loved personalities. Comedian, impressionist, singer and serious actor, Lenny’s appeal is classless and ageless. He’s made numerous series of his own BBC show, as well as television specials, documentaries and films. With his new one-man show Lenny delivers an electrifying mix of stand-up and character comedy guaranteed to blow your socks off. You have been warned!

“Stunning, a complete blast” DAILY MAIL

Geoff's Preview - Lenny is a British institution, having shrugged off his earlier seventies "light entertainment" tag with his involvement in Comic Relief and Dawn French. Half of Britain's best loved comedy couple, Lenny's recent documentaries on the way Britons live today has cemented him as an everyman for the noughties.


THE VAGINA MONOLOGUES

- Based on author Eve Ensler's 'Vagina Interviews' conducted with women from all around the world, this hilariously witty and moving collection of tales gives voice to a chorus of lusty, outrageous, poignant, brave and thoroughly human stories.

As sharp as Sex and the City, as unmissable as Friends and as funny as Smack The Pony! This is ultimate girls night out…trust us!

‘Eve Ensler’s GLORIOUS show is WARM, OPEN, EXCITING, ENCHANTING and HILARIOUSLY funny! See it even if you haven’t got one’ Sunday Times

Geoff's Preview - You can see it if you haven't got one but you'll be in an embarrassed minority. This is a show for ladies to let it all hang out, no punches pulled. If you think Sex and the City was sharp, Friends was unmissable and Smack The Pony was riotously funny, this is the show for you. Not just for young professional women, this show is suitable for any woman who is able to laugh and cry, without embarrassment, at the female condition.


ROY CHUBBY BROWN

- The most outrageous comedian is back!

Still as popular as ever but too rude for television, there are only two ways to see the ‘Most outrageous comedian in the world’ – in his best selling DVD’s or at his live performances, but be sure to get a ticket as his shows will sell out.

You can always rely on ‘Chubby’ to shock but never disappoint, but be warned - if you are easily offended please stay at home. If not get practising the famous chant, we can’t print it, but we know you know what it is!

Geoff's Preview - X-rated humour from the jocular Geordie. The famous chant originates from the old Smokey song, Living Next Door To Alice. "ALICE? ALICE? WHO THE F**K IS ALICE?" This hilarious chant, originated by the Germans, is the centrepiece in Roy's cheeky show. This show is suitable for anyone over 18 with a sense of humour. Beware, though. Roy tends to pick out members of the audience for a bit of banter. So if you want to enjoy the show without being featured in it, I'd book a seat near the back of the auditorium if I were you.

ELVIS: A Tribute

Thirty years ago today
Elvis Presley passed away
But I feel nothing inside
For Elvis liked his squirrels fried

He never stood on British soil
Though his British fans were loyal
They cried from Land's End to The Wirral
When Elvis choked on Secret Squirrel

The Enemies Of Reason

I don't believe in any thing
Hymns you will not hear me sing
The New Age is for silly sods
For Richard Dawkins is my god


dedicated to Neil Spencer, ex NME editor, now Observer astrologer

Is It My Imajinaysheyonnn?

I know it's commonly believed that Oasis were a remarkably original band, a breath of rocking fresh air for 1994. But here's Ride from that same year proving that their fey, middle class Oxford heads were in a remarkably similar place to those working class bonces from Burnage. Except with a more interesting guitar sound.



This is a cover of a song by sixties psychedelic band, The Creation. Both Ride and Oasis were on Creation Records. Andy Bell, one of Ride's two exciting guitar wizards, is now mainly the plodding bass player in Oasis' middle aged dadrock rhythm section.

Ride had their time in the late eighties to mid nineties shoegazing era. Oasis should have had theirs in the mid to late nineties Britpop Shitpop era. However, the Britpop Shitpop era never ended and it seems as if Oasis will Live Forever.



The Andy Bell mentioned above is not to be confused with the Andy Bell of Yazoo replacements, Erasure. Yazoo were called Yaz for the American market and are not to be confused with Yazz of The Only Way Is Up fame. Neither Erasure, Yazoo or Yazz were on Creation Records.

"Jury Service Sucks"

"No It Doesn't"

These two opposing views are part of the graffiti in the Gents cubicles. "Wee, the jury" would have been a good one but the doors are mostly filled up with "I'm bored", "They're all gulity", the usual football allegiances and the odd sexual outburst. "Twelve good men and true, have shat here before you" would have been another good one but I'm not the type to deface public property.

If you just need a piss, there are six urinals, one of which is the right height for a child. Or a dwarf. And because children can't do jury service, I'm assuming that this urinal is meant for a dwarf juror.

Jury service does, indeed, suck. You wait and you wait in a room full of strangers. You can't concentrate on your book because every few minutes names are called over the tannoy system and there's a television slap bang in the middle of the room showing daytime bloody television: alternating between antiques and property shows. Kill me now!

Even when you do get on a case, you wait and wait. You go down to your court waiting area, you get sent back up to your jurors' waiting area. Up and down, up and down, wating, waiting, waiting, whilst points of law are taken up and other cases are dealt with. "A couple of minutes" waiting in court time is three quarters of an hour in real time.

The theatre of the court sucks the juror in. You are in full view of the viewing gallery. The first day I want to shout out, Tourette's-like, take my part in the play. But I have a non-speaking part and soon learn to sit still, concentrate on what is being said, blot out the audience. Deadpan, don't react.

We take notes with court pencils. The juror next to me has an HB. I have a 2B. A 2B! I smudge my way through the first day. The one pencil sharpener between the twelve of us is useless on my 2B pencil. The second day I take my own protracting pencil to the court.

When both sides have been aired several times over and the judge has summed up what we've heard, we are sent to our room to deliberate. Gulity or not guilty? The jurors with recent meeting and seminar experience dominate proceedings. Which is just as well because it is here I find out just how shy and inarticulate I am in a roomful of people I barely know. I have spent over a week with these nice people, dismally failing to make small talk and now when it comes down to the meat and potatoes I am found severely wanting. I want to get it over and done with now! When it's my turn to talk, I stutter and blush.

We all agree, file into court and it is over and done with. We are escorted up to our jurors' assembly room and, hey presto, we are signed off! Just like that! Which I am bloody grateful for because I'd earlier heard a group of jurors saying they'd been there since February. They looked institutionalised and very down about the whole thing.

I've now got two years' respite before I start worrying about being called again. Because, as our second-time juror said to me...

"Once they've got your name..."

Those Answers In Full

The answers to Saurday's quiz in full:-

1. Jack Knit Shh = Jack Nitzsche
2. Stock Kate King Water Mann = Stock Aitken Waterman
3. Marr Tin Hairnet = Martin Hannett
4. Tree Fir Horn = Trevor Horn
5. Doctored Ray = Dr Dre
6. Fill Spectre = Phil Spector
7. Marr Tin Rush Ant = Martin Rushent
8. Timber Land = Timbaland
9. Huge Jones = Hugh Jones
10. Jar Joe More Odour = Giorgio Moroder
11. Brine Knee No = Brian Eno
12. Toe Knee Viz Con Tea = Tony Visconti

I bet you're all kicking yourselves. Well, actually I bet you're all willing me to get a bloody move on and post something more interesting. I will as soon as I'm over the man flu and back to normality. Bear with me for now.

Saturday Quiz

I'm here for a short while before I resume my responsibilities. And here's a little weekend quiz for you.

The following are twelve people or peoples. You've got to tell me who they are. They've all done the same job at some time in their lives. And most of them are bloody good at this job.

Good luck. There will be no prize for the most correct answers.

Thanks to Betty for her help and the London Lite for its inspiration.

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