Jim Lang wrote the music for Hey Arnold, I love it.
Watching cartoons in bed due to being knocked off my bike yesterday by a double decker bus two minutes from home. The ‘designated’ Cycle Lane - a false security measure - was obstructed by parked cars. I pulled out in front of the bus. I indicated right for a long time, looked back, and before I know it the bus is right up close on my right side. Bus wasn’t travelling too fast. Everyone was well annoyed because the traffic stopped for a few minutes - I hate this about London - often zero compassion, or perverse onlooking. I saw that guy at Camberwell a few weeks ago. Everyone standing around looking, or complaining. Where I come from (Rep of Ireland) almost everyone would go out of their way for you, make you tea, give you water, comfort and reassure you. Instead I got tens of people looking on, not acting or doing anything meaningful. No one comforted me when I was hyperventilating and in shock, except the ambulance chaps who said “alright, now, get yourself together, nice slow breaths”
My left arm is very sore and there are bruises all over my legs. I’m very thankful worse didn’t happen but, pissed that I’m missing a day and a half of work with the E17 Puppet Project and it affects my being able to play piano /violin. Boo! What can self-employed people do when this happens, does insurance cover this kind of thing? Loss of earnings? Arrgh… What a dose.
Painkillers, Minstrels, pots of rooibos and cartoons are helping, though. I’m more than likely not going to cycle in London again, not worth the risk, particularly if drivers have blind spots or choose to ignore the fact that there are more vulnerable road users sharing main carriageways.
The one thing you could be sure about in childhood was that every fairy tale would end with a…
fat arse from eating McDonalds?
Soho Theatre, Friday 15 November - review for The Upcoming
Frank Skinner returns to the stage after a six-year hiatus. Man in a Suit is like a 60-minute witty, on-the-pulse, train-of-thought status update in that it lacks a central thread.
Age, ageing, and male perspective inform a lot of the content in the show. He’s 56, he’s lived a lot – let’s hear about it. Age has graced him with experience, authority, and a unique perspective. The first portion of the show is a warm-up for the middle and end – covering everything from the gentle syllabic art of the haiku to hilariously visual bedroom politics, or “smut”, which he acknowledges he is known for.
Skinner’s flow is easygoing, allowing plenty of time for crowd interaction and the unknown. It is impressive to see a performer of any sort, particularly comedy, take on a sizable chunk of the front row throughout the gig. Sometimes this doesn’t work, but in this case it contributes to call-back material that sometimes helps resolve dangling threads. He discusses his distinctly showbiz/celebrity dilemma of where and how to get rid of his old suits of yesteryear – the ones with the wide lapels – give directly to a charity shop, or sell on eBay? He is both self-depreciating and selfish: try and fault him but he will beat you to it.
The comedian speaks about when he met HRH Prince Charles who asked him: “Are you on YouTube?”. He recalls playing a prank on an ex-lover’s six-year-old child, life in London, commuting, competitive charity, homelessness, the Southbank. Although the material covers more areas, it is his anal sex story that garners one of the most laugh-out-loud moments. The way he connects anal sex to the shiny foil of a crisp packet and Plato’s cave is spot-on and very effective.
The structure and pace of the show as a whole is loose, and for this reason gives the sense that it isn’t 100 per cent honed. Skinner himself discusses the current polarised state of stand-up comedy: on one end of the scale you have massively well-known comics who want to be adored in sell-out stadium arenas by Joe Soap, and on the other, niche intelligentsia comics who want to be adored by a small exclusive clique of bohemian types. He raises the question of whether shows should be ”perfect” – so rehearsed that there is no room of error. In this case, the audience got plenty of bang for their buck.
Runs until November 23 at Soho Theatre (SOLD OUT), then Leicester Square Theatre January 21 - February 22
Irish composer Amanda Feery contacted The Outer Church some months ago requesting advice on matters pertaining to the paranormal. Naturally, we obliged, the only condition being that she furnish us with a specially tailored sonic collage and commentary. Feery chose to assemble a mix of vocal…
American pop star and Mumford & Sons singer tackles Behan’s song about Mountjoy
Wow. I never thought I’d see the day. JT has quite a set of pipes on him, and, I regret to say that I’ve given in to the Mumford’s dulcet tones this time ‘round. Only this time, mind. I will still cringe every time I hear those overplayed radio hits. See? Music is both popularised for good, and popularised for evil. It’s ruined for listeners sometimes.
Coincidentally, The Auld Triangle is my favourite weekly Irish traditional session spot on a Friday at Finsbury Park. But I won’t be there this Friday because I’m going to grovel at Giorgio Moroder at Oval Space. He’s 70 years young, and still sporting a ‘tache I believe. Sorry to perpetuate the stereotype but, London is truly awesome.