The Worship St Irregulars

Blah Blah Blah are a band. Their name is basically the epitome of imagination. It’s the closest thing that I can imagine the creative output of J.R Tolkien, C.S. Lewis and J.K Rowling sitting in a room together getting stoned would be.

Their most hyped song is “Death to the Indie Disco” which has spawn-of-dumb-and-dumber scene journos wetting their metallic leggings over due to it’s irony. Here’s a real shit quality youtube live video of the track.

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Epic skating in a lovely underground carpark somewhere in the city tonight. So busy skating I barely took any pics, though there were some videos floating around:

Image courtesy of Pictopia

A nice Shoreditch-related find I think:

“Oranges and lemons”, say the bells of St. Clement’s

“You owe me three farthings”, say the bells of St. Martin’s

“When will you pay me?” say the bells of Old Bailey

“When I grow rich”, say the bells of Shoreditch

“When will that be?” say the bells of Stepney

“I do not know”, says the great bell of Bow

Here comes a candle to light you to bed

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!

Chip chop chip chop - The last man’s dead.

We’ve observed with interest a growing number of lanky chaps wearing red and black lumber jacket shirts and slicked-back hair on a Saturday night around Kingsland Road/Hackney Road junction. For a while we just thought it was the same guy who was always out, but then we saw more than one of them at once. They looked at each other, took a double take and then both dived down Hackney Road.

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So the Irregulars ventured slightly to the left of the northern line the other night in order to be suitably entertained by Monkey Shoulder whisky (has music) at one of their whisky appreciation nights. They had a fine show from Guy Browning, who you may know from his column in the Guardian, who took a pretty flippant approach to his chat about the ‘Art of Seduction’; nothing new for old hands like us, but generally entertaining.

The whisky was pretty fine as well, but it’s an old favourite of ours; good for sipping when you can’t stretch to the single malt and you’re not forced to take Bells.

And sipping on ice, if you’re either of us.Unfortunately, there was a guy there who disagreed fairly vehemently with me about the choice of having an ice cube (and, to note, I specified one mineral water ice cube) in my Scotch. And he wasn’t even Scottish. Disagreed so vehemently, in fact, that he called me a cretin. Read more »

We checked out Crystal Castles, These New Puritans and The Horrors last night at Astoria…we were the oldest people there by approximately 20 years, i.e. everyone else seemed to be five year old versions of the Horrors complete with back-combed hair, waistcoats and a resilient disdain for modern life. I think the somber trappings of the crowd tampered with my logic button as I ended up getting kicked out for smoking before The Horrors started!

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So, last month I vented a bit about being a cyclist in London. It might seem a bit harsh, but generally it’s a pretty tough world out there. I came across these two videos on youtube the other day: one’s a cycle courier in London, the other in NY.

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Don’t normally just post videos, but this sent me a bit ‘Hulk’, so I’d best vent on the blog.My only experience of US cops is, appropriately, getting stopped while skating in New York. Apparently, it’s illegal to skate without a helmet there, which seems to be ass-covering on the part of the city. Still, the guy was carrying a gun, so what are you supposed to do?(in my case, get all smarmy and english, pick up the board and start skating when he’s around the corner. Helmets mess up my balance.) 

I found this guy on youtube, as I trawled through Dostoevsky clips, as you do on a Monday night. He is to reading books what Jeremy Clarkson was to denim in the early 90s. I think we need to subdue Clarkson a bit, he does come dangerously close to the line on issues such as sexism, environmentalism and homophobia and he seems to be some kind of super-hero to those of a balding, paunch-bearing and sexually frustrated bent. His flippant remarks show that you can’t keep a good public school boy away from flirting with bigotry (can you Boris?).

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I spent this weekend in Liverpool, and despite it’s City of Culture status for 2008, I can’t help but concur with the Wombats’ sentiments in the first line of this song:

Anyway, the hours I spent traveling allowed me to dissect the weekend’s written media content and by Jeebus was there some Toss drizzled with waffle and a side portion of blah. Here’s a snippet of some of the clangers I spotted…

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