brits

The Brits yesterday and some interesting turn-ups with artists that wouldn't usually be considered main-stream seemed to be winning.

Laura Marling is a case in point, right since her first rather home-assembled album, complete with all of the quirky little toys and games in the box.
Forward to 2008 and us standing outside St James Church in Piccadilly before seeing both her and Mumford and Sons on the same bill. And now they've both won Vivienne Westwood designed Brits. And against international mega stars.

Delightful.

And to also see Adele - who we originally saw playing self-accompanied acoustic guitar blues in a different chapel - winning the whole audience with a piano accompanied solo song.

It's great to see some quality musicians and realise that Brits can still own the agenda. And I don't need much of an excuse to repost "My Manic and I".

bridges

We were sitting together in the pub with the Speckled Hen.

Upstairs.

It was a London pub but the sofas has printed signs “reserved for Elizabeth and her party”, so we’d taken a table by the stairs. The wall behind me had one of those full-size Abbey Road Beatles pictures on it. I still check to see whether Paul is holding a cigarette (he was).

We’d decided it was about time, as ‘Chelle says, “ to (G)walk (D9) across that(C) burning (D) bridge” and meet up with one another after a considerable time.

The good thing was, it was easy to pick up like (almost) no gap.

Always good.

shirts

The car park by the supermarket was busy. Most people seemed to be carrying flowers and a high proportion of prominent red packaging for chocolates and heart shaped gifts.

The guy from the onsite franchised laundry was standing outside his shop and smoking a cigarette. He was already chatting when I came along to drop off some items. They were both looking at a mini car divided down the middle with one half mud-crusted and the other half glossy white. I said Hi and he walked back with me and around the corner to the shop entrance.

That's when I saw the disarray. Boxes, clothing rails, toolkits, signage.

“What’s happened?” I asked.

“We’re moving,” he replied.

“Again?”

“90 degrees...The shop is the wrong way around. Its being turned.”

“Huh?”

“They set the unit down the wrong way around. The door is supposed to face directly towards the car park. Its always been wrong. They’re fixing it on Tuesday.”

A pause.

“It means your shirts will be late... but they’ll be ready on Friday.”

FAWM : He brought a riot to the bar

Did I mention its February Album Writing Month again?

I did it last year and we cranked out a few more Christina Nott tracks. There's enough for an album now, so watch this space.

I didn't plan to do FAWM again this year at all, but couldn't help but have a few more lyrics fall out of my head. I seem to be on track 6 by now, which is in its raw form below.

Don't panic, I won't post them all here this time.

He brought a riot to the bar

No questions in Malloy's, it ain't cool
Black walls, neon beer, shoot pool
Patch eyed bar man slowly chews tobacco
Keeps the glass for those he really knows.

Hippy dude, shadow in the corner
Watch the girl, tight in skinny jeans
And the slicked hair priest with all the tattoos
Flash a smile at leather biker sittin' mean.

At nine there's always a razor stillness
Before the real night-time kicks off
Beer slop, floor mop up with sawdust
Chinese eyes look out for the cop

Lazy eyed vixen in the see through skirt
Moves in on the soldier eating mix
Soon they're dancing a wolf kinda tango
While the band scrubs a Mexican lick.

Red tie stranger swills another tequila
Slides a drink to the girl in Cuban heels
The snare does double hit
Slo-mo, glass, it really kicks.

He brought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot to the bar
He brought a riot to the bar

For the folk that ask no questions,
And the bar that's always night,
A sudden move is all it takes
To choose the side for a fight.

He brought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot in the bar

Someone want to have a go at playing it?

triangular characterisation

Click my home-made cartoon to play more news from The Triangle. I've even added a Cinnabon reference from the hazards of Chelsea post.

ink vs e

I've somehow industrialised the Sunday paper reading process.

There's usually some sections left over from Saturday, plus the numerous Sunday sections. A few I can normally abandon without opening, and others get filed into "read now", or "maybe sometime during the week".

Some might say that all we need is electronics for news now, but I still enjoy some 'ink time' during the weekend.

rashbre pummelvision

Yeah............................................................................Go large ^^^

the hazards of chelsea

This is quite bad really.

I've acquired a random addiction for Chelsea buns. They are normally a spirally current bun with extra lemon peel and cinnamon, about twice the thickness of a Danish pastry but only about half the diameter *. They should really look kind of square-ish rather than round and have some of that blocky looking sugar on the top.

They are really quite old school and wouldn't normally be on my radar.

But as part of my regular shopping I happened to spot them a few days ago and popped some into the basket as a piece of nostalgia. They had the right look - no cherries or icing on top, a hint of cinnamon.

The epicentre of Chelsea Bundom would actually be Pimlico, where the original bakers operated back in the 1700s. There's a road called Bunhouse Place which is about halfway between la Poule au Pot and the Fox and Hounds, and which is where it all started - but no longer a source.

My recent purchase disappeared (not just by me) in a few hours.

I tried them again on Friday. They're also gone.

I'd better avoid that part of my shopping route for a few days.

*They should not be confused with Cinnabon, which is a relatively gigantic American snack coated in a sort of cinnamon paste and weighing in at 880 calories per edible unit.

Abigail Washburn - City of Refuge

Part of this week I've been glued to PowerPoint presentations and spreadsheets. Some might say 'locked away'. My background music of choice has been Abigail Washburn.

Abigail has just released a new album and is touring around the UK at the moment, including small venues like Monday evening at the Slaughtered Lamb. I've followed her through various bands like Uncle Earl and then The Sparrow Quartet as well as her solo music. Her main instrument is the banjo as well as fine vocals and the mix of bands has created quite a fusion of styles.

The City of Refuge album is like a kind of road trip. Parts of the lyrics talk of a border man taking the papers and telling that you are now free. There's burdens left in the towns departed. Where there's rails they don't run in circles, they only shoot straight lines. There's running down the frontage road off of Highway Three and kickin' off the old home soil.

And the optimism of bright morning stars rising.

The music is a kind of progression of bluegrass, in this case with blends of Chinese influences in the way the notes sway.

And in case you think its all too serious, here's an older and somewhat unconventional video of a previous band, complete with early hints of Chinese undertones. As well as a clog-off.

And I've dropped the EPK here too. It's quite interesting how Abigail fell into the music.

the sandwiches are wicked and they know you at the mac store

We've been trying to bail out the water from a Macbook.

It's difficult to know how quickly it would evaporate or drain away, but I guess it could take several days.

The strange thing is, when you search on the internet, there's plenty of videos of people pouring water into their MacBooks which remain steadfastly working.

I'm not planning to dismantle this one.

My previous experience with the pictured and once legendary 12 inch Powerbook informs me that they are quite a snug fit into the case and can be very difficult to reassemble.

Instead, I sense a visit to the Mac Store in the near future.

heatless

After Paris it evolved into a kind of chill-out weekend - rather literally.

A late start to Saturday and some good weather made it seem like an opportunity to step out of 25x8.

That's when I heard the ticking in the cupboard.

The control unit for the heating was protesting. First noises and then all the little words on it turning into a sort of ransom note. Needless to say it switched off the heating and water.

The 'ever-open' plumber shops were closed. They are only open until 12:00 and not at all on Sunday. I could call an emergency plumber but that would get very expensive.

Instead try switching it all off and then back on again. It's partly worked. Not properly, but survivable for a few days.

I'll call the plumbers again on Monday, but meantime I've ordered a replacement part from the internet. We'll see which works fastest.

i know cafe debussy doesn't exist

Paris this week, although it was the usual blur of meetings, taxis and hotels.

At least I saw the Eiffel Tower, even if from a distance. It gives that sense of being somewhere recognisable, as if the interesting driving wasn't enough.

At one point I commented to my fellow passenger that I usually ended up getting lost in the tunnels around la Defense and driving in circles. Of course our professional driver wouldn't do that...Or would he? Yes we drove around the same area three times looking for the exit to the hotel.

It could have been a scene from a gritty gangster movie where we were eventually dropped. We found our way past some loading hatches and then into the hotel by what seemed to be a side entrance.

La Defense is a busy daytime office area, but I'm not sure that it has quite the vibrancy of downtown Paris in the evening.

Still, une nuit a Paris.