I took many of these screen schnapps offa' laptops as it was my gherro way of orientating myself around the bright lights of ratraceville. For the third time in my waking life I had once again found myself amidst the hustle and/or bustle of foggy Landan town.
The tubes are always the first thing to hit me- a full frontal assault on your perceptions- "Shit or geh' off th' pot mayte" is the general impresion I recieve as I attempt to retain my silly home grown politeness amongst the elbow throwing suit fwacks. Smelly corridors, offensive stares, hot temprematures and inasion of personal space all left me somewhat inspired.. really, I just find it bizzare how much people conform to the tube sterotype of being cunts, I mean, some folk just embrace it!
So upon arrival with my better half Christ-teen we did descend amongst most trendy free joints as the British portrait gallery, some baaaad shit there, well good baaad, but also shite baaad as Marty demonstrated, seriously, this took at least 7 minutes to complete.
Micheal Caine, good baaaad.
Micheal Doherty's school suppies of Main st. Bray had some seroius competition in this joint just outsida the gallery- 75% off and no loitering junkies, too good to refuse!
Green room 'brah.
Had the fortune of witnessing the pixies in thier flesh and non compacted disc form in the brixtone accademy. good show-
No, really, good show! 2 encores and a standing ovation in the seated section that ruffled the feathers of the security dudes, oh the rebellion of it all.
Had to hit up an aul vintage camera shop in soho to replace my duty free damaged camera from the last trip- luckily they had a lot to offer and Landan town fulfilled its roll as cash vampire upon my replacement.
Low and be-hold, know who's the illest ever like the greatest story told- or so MF Doom would aptly spit to introduce the fantastic Mr. Jensen to this stage of the trip. I pried to indulge in Nick's current happenings and he was much obliging..Was a good first outing for my new recording device toy- gots to peep some work in progress thats part of a series too
I'll have to consult the audio to remember the motivation behind the series, but I do remember that Nick had to make some very strange sculptures and bring them to southbank and take flicks of them, much to the bemusement of the onlooking masses.
Art... serious stuff, hey-
Ah sure there's an aul smile- muchos gracias.. Nick was very obliging to show me what he worked and was working on, even to the stage where he made lucid word noises into amicrophone device- look for more of that on the HP site some time this century.
Apres digi mic stuff I hit up a verdy strange club built around the archways of Lodon bridge... pretty rad place upon the neglection of the threat of being disembowled at every shady dark archway in the hoose. "Fo' real" - went in the door, proceeded in the direction of the lights, only for them to extinguish/change colour/blind me- all to the soundtrack of distant opera set to cheering- felt like some eyes wide shut shit. Upon finding my hombres they reaffirmed my suspissions "yeah, its mad"
Skip to the next sunrise where I found my remains slouched upon an office chair in Kingpin corps meandering hallways. My presence there coupled with a coffee tasting caffiene induction to remind me that I was there to interview the notorious desk punching cee-gar chomping chief editor Alex Irvine for an upcoming documentary that I'm working on.
Somehow I lucked out on a 2 o'clock power meeting at Stockwell- dayum that park is fun, couldn't have axed for a nicer day too.
again.. serious stuff, no fake, no fake. Some poor fucker got ambulanced with a to-flat-bottom elbow slam. Another guy, upon collision, felt his knee do a very unexpected shimmy to the point of agony, only to get his head popped by an un-manned plank while suffering his first Ian Dury, bummer!
Was honhouerd by the dishonhourable presence of anuvah' Bray human Toe Knee. Good to see a fellow Bray cretin livin the hi low life the amongst the lobotomised masses of the big smoke.
Faaasht forward a whole earth cirulation and you'll run into the fantabulous motor mobile of Ben Raemers. For the good of the film Alex had taken a photo mish' upon himself, and the infectiously chirpy Raemers has obliged with muchos gnarlious suggestions.
Unfortunately rain clouds has planned ome other shit in advance so we dipped to the finest abanodoned warehouse Ipswich had to offer.. man, that town had a level of grimness I'd yet to witness (since leaving Bray to get the plane)
Ben obliged me with some in-depth in-pub eye-wide-shut words on Alex, allthewhile ignoring a sticker that someone had slapped to his brown bread. A couple of years ago Ben Reamers rolled his urethane on haggard Bray concrete as part of a Duffs UK tour. Such was the spectacular level of trickery from his Essex feet I decided to point at the fella with my camera- unfortunately my camera decided to play trickery on me with the viewfinder, exposure meter and white balance all going haywire- so I couldn't see a thing I was filming!- hence the footage looks shit. Fortunately Ben's hardcore rippage coupled with the prime movie location of Bray meant that I had two good reasons to salvage these coolio stunts from the depths of my 'ard-drive. All set to "morning tears" by Bray's very own WSL.
Look at the concentration, here's a kid that really takes interviews as seriously as they should be.
The aforementioned tah'ooos- jayzis, even the aul lad in the background is disgusted and he can't even see it. Ben and his filmer matey Gorm are making some serious playa moves with their own sticker/tattoo company "Visitor" Genuis.
Apres Ale house Alex and I had to catch the soonest off peak locomotive to get us back into the thick of the rat race- Fortunately for us Thomas the tank engine decided not to go anywhere for 2 whole hours, joy to the forking world. Luckily we'd purchased some beverages to pass the time, and I even hit the double bar jackpot in the vending machine- sheeed, I've never come up on such mad loot- watch out diabetes, I'm coming for your ace.
The good people at the national express decided to inform us (after a couple of hours) that there was a bus waiting to take everyone to the next stop. So long Ipswich, it was genuinely emotional. Really, I'm not messin'... 45 mins of an upright bus journey later we found ourselves in rainy Colchester, oh baby, i thought I'd died and gone to purgatory- especially when there was no train waiting for us... 5 hours behind schdule we eventually somehow arrived in a very crowded Liverpool St station. If you are ever considering visiting Ipswich, don't, its just too epic.
I seen this poster in a cafe jax the next day, kinda somes up the trip- a strange feeling of stoke despite the circumstances... can't wait to go back!