Posted in Music, Beer, Big Daddy Merk, Fulla at Mon 27 Feb 2006 by Stavros
Friday night we headed off to Fairbourne, with trepidation and one hell of a cool CD compilation. A holiday cottage in February. It was pitch black, and empty. Walking to the (only) pub, it felt a bit like that Playstation game Silent Hill. Silent Hill on Sea. The pub was huge and seemingly full of Brummies who had never gone home. Still the beer flowed. Saturday morning was windy, and a bit painful on the head. Fulla barged in and opened the curtains, and lo! Fairbourne’s appeal (which seemed so mysterious the night before) was there in bright panorama. Wall-to-wall white-topped mountains. Breathtaking. Literally with that wind.
The relative metropolis of Barmouth was the next destination for the gang, now swelled in numbers to seven overnight. Food, beer, tenalady, rugby, spicier food, fork-waving nutter and mouthy cockney bird, and last train back to Fairbourne. Good fun. Saturday night dragged on a bit longer than it should’ve really (might’ve had summat to do with my ineptness on the pool table when playing Fulla), and I was ready to come home on Sunday. But a pretty decent weekend. The trip home combined Sigor Rós and more dramatic mountains that had been black and invisible on the way there. Beautiful landscape, in February it’s probably best suited to trees and sheep, than this drunk townie.
Stavros.
Permalink
Posted in Music at Fri 17 Feb 2006 by Stavros
Even though I have the musical talent of a randy tom cat, and even though I work in an accountants (which could only be less rock and roll if it they sold insurance aswell), and even though at 26 I’m already 7 years older than most of the Arctic Monkeys, I still read words and phrases and think to myself, “that’d make a great band name”.
This is probably the wordy equivalent of singing in front of a mirror, or playing guitar on sporting equipment (ie. Duncan Fearnley Botham cricket bat as a ‘Flying V’ substitute). As such isn’t it time I realised that End of Level Boss will never play their unique brand of ska influenced cock-rock on Top of the Pops? Or that From Under the Patio will never be the doom laden indie choice of thousands of students in bedsits? Or that the 9-piece band Ghost Wipe will never win over the X-Factor viewers with their ‘hilarious’ mix of toilet humour and cabaret? Or that Pedro and the Ripped Chinos will never accept their Brit Award for services to Latin-Funk by video link? I think we all know by now that through my idleness and lack of talent, humanity is yet again missing out.
Stavros.
Permalink
Posted in Music, AFC Telford Utd, Beer, Big Daddy Merk, Fulla at Sat 11 Feb 2006 by Stavros
I remembered seeing in an advert in an imported US hip-hop magazine for obscure English and Scottish football shirts. Apparently the hip-hoppers of the Bronx and South Central LA were walking around in Colchester, Huddersfield and Falkirk colours. Over a few beers (it was ever thus), me, Merk and Fulla decided that it was obvious that this marriage between the beautiful game and rap culture should culminate in Snoop Dee-Oh-double-Gee buying into Telford United. The entertainment at half-time would be better than the local stage school preening their way through Five’s awful version of that already awful Queen song. Snoop could bring over some of his friends for big matches on Boxing Day or the last home match of the season. Dr Dre and Nate Dogg “spitting some rhymes” about how if they had the wings of a sparrow and the arse of a cow, and what they might do to the residents of Shrewsbury, to a packed Hutch End all waving their arms like they just don’t care. If the crowd got a bit out of hand 50 cent would make a top steward. Afterwards they’d drink their Cristal in Joshua’s after naming Dean Craven man of the match (somethings won’t change). I think the conversation turned to Chuck Norris and duck’s tongues after that. I love Friday nights.
Stavros.
Permalink
Posted in Politics at Thu 9 Feb 2006 by Stavros
Blimey, for all that Grease, Don McLean, Happy Days shit, I’m glad I’m not living in 1950’s America. I’m a definite pinko! According to the test over at Political Compass I’m to the left of Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama, somewhere close to Gandhi. This is where I ended up on the matrix. Sadly for me, none of the major UK parties come close to representing my views, the closest being the Greens (and I’m not ready for lentils and sandals - sorry, lazy posting = lazy stereotyping).
I knew I was a Guardian-reading leftie, but I should be plotting some revolution or something with this outcome (do they not know about the Wispas?). Anyone else surprised about their positioning on this test?
Oh yeah, Stav the artist is gaining a reputation quickly, maybe I should think about a change in career. Ha! Can you read that my old art teacher, eh? With your weird marking system, endless fecking fruit paintings and your mint imperials! Here’s a primitive portrait of fellow artist (like that?) the late, the great Bob Ross. I did it a while ago using the handwriting tool of msn messenger. Mmmm resourceful. I think he’d have liked it.
Stavros.
Permalink
Posted in Crown, Beer, Big Daddy Merk, Fulla, Fighting Cocks at Sat 4 Feb 2006 by Stavros
So here we are. A new blog. Like running across snow that no-one’s trod. I hardly want to spoil the err, tangerine-ness with my witless scribblings. Literally hours in the making (cheers Merk), and for what. More of the same shite about hangovers, work and dreams.
Start as we mean to go on then. Last night I think I discovered I can get a bit obnoxious on Kronenberg. Still, I wasn’t as pissed as Fulla. The breakdancing, furniture-free-falling Fulla. The “punch me in the face… no, harder than that” Fulla. Not sure what he’d been drinking but he couldn’t pick out my leg-spinner when I was bowling sugarcubes at him. Good jukebox. Hazy evening.
On Wednesday I had my return visit to the dentist. The scale and polish. The dentist, let’s call her Andrea Fordhamski, didn’t use an industrial buffer. Or that hooky thing. She used a whirry-whirry instrument of torture. I naievely asked why I had to put protective glasses on. She looked at me and enthusiastically told me that bits of plaque can fly about everywhere. I sensed a mad glint in her eyes. She loved her job. She was the plaque-buster. And I had 12 years worth of plaque at the back of my teeth, like a concrete wall. Shit, it hurt. She showed me some crap she’d salvaged from the back and I thought she was about to tell me she’d slipped and broke my tooth. She hadn’t, which was kind of worse in a way. And the blood. I thought she’d stabbed me. It was soon over and the polishing wasn’t bad. After all that I didn’t need any fillings or anything. My teeth are (miraculously) in good order, and my gums aren’t bad neither. Just got to keep gargling that mouthwash. They feel a bit weird though, I can feel the individual teeth at the front with the tip of my tounge, rather than the great wall of stavsmouth. I feel clean. I feel relieved too, no more dentists until next January. Hopefully.
I’ve bought We ♥ Katamari for the PS2 today, and it is the maddest game I’ve ever seen. It involves rolling objects into a big all-consuming ball. The J-Pop/cabaret soundtrack was a bit much this morning with hangover though. Very original, very colourful, very Japanese and very very weird.
Stavros.
Permalink
« Previous entries ·
