Archive for March, 2008

Gagging for Stalin

I am proud to report that I am not the only woman on the planet with a maniacal crush on Stalin.

It turns out that stand-up comedian Lucy Porter shares my penchant for the Russian control freak, which either makes me look slightly less derranged or means both Lucy and I need to sort out our taste in men.

 In this week’s Time Out London Lucy has been interviewed by Tim Arthur to promote her new show, ‘Lucy Porter’s Love In’, at the Arts Theatre tonight, where she will be discussing her ‘tragic love life’ which she attributes to ‘accidentally fancying Stalin and having an imaginary dog’.

As a fellow accidental Stalin fancier I must interject that on the whole my own love life has fortunately not been particularly tragic(except maybe on a couple of occasions), so maybe I should get in touch with Lucy and explain that it must be the imaginary dog.

 I actually went to see Lucy Porter doing stand-up once in this joint in St. Martin’s Lane in Covent Garden. I think it was my second anniversary with my current Boyf and we had a great laugh… Sometime during the set I left to go to the toilet and found that on my return the whole audience had turned around to stare at me, as the Boyf had dared to heckle her in my absence. From that moment onwards Lucy showed no mercy on my uppety partner-in-crime, whose slimline metrosexual frame, cherubic Botticcelli curly locks and long fan of eyelashes were an obvious target for taunts on his virility. The result was, of course, that I laughed so hard my sides almost split for the entire evening. She also said I was very pretty 🙂 which definitely makes her GREAT in my books. Especially as the front row was occupied by a gaggle of dancers from neighbouring Stringfellow’s- Lovely girls, but I really didn’t want the boyf to suggest we made a visit on our anniversary!

Anyhow, back to our lovely Joseph. Here’s a painting of him for you to feast your greedy eyes upon. Yum.

stalin-painting.jpg

Should we go out later? Showtime for strangers…

This morning I woke up with:

1- A Hangover

2- A Five-Mile-Smile

3- A Big Fucking Bottle of Joie-de-Vivre

4- A Confused and Concerned Boyfriend

All this because I saw Velvet Revolver last night at the Brixton Academy. Hell yes.

Poor little me went all alone to Brixton because different mates chickened out due to varying degrees of lameness and poverty. So I did the usual trick of going to the Wetherspoons’ on the corner to get nicely tanked up without paying the exorbitant drink prices in the venue. Where else can you get a double vodka and coke for 2.80? I think I necked 3 of those in about 15 minutes. Then I left, because, trust me, the Wetherspoons’ in Brixton isn’t the jolliest of places for a gal to be seen standing on her own!

When I got to the Academy I had already missed the first support band, but the crowd seemed to be digging them. The second band were the Stone Gods. I loved them. I was tossing my mane into the eyes of all in my vicinity as I rocked to their meaty riffs. I am not sure where they were from because I am crap with British accents, but I’m guessing Scotland. Nevertheless, they were extremely well curated. They were a nice little warm-up for the joys about to unfold before my eyes…

As this was my third Velvet Revolver gig I knew Slash would be standing on the far right hand side of the stage, and after downing a couple of pints I made sure I snuggled myself up right at the front in a very choice spot. There was only one person in front of me. Sweet. I was definitely not going ANYWHERE.     

  

And then, the explosion.

BOOM! Velvet Revolver arrive on stage, and the crowd go maaaad. Scrawny little shit Scott Weiland starts belting out ‘Let it Roll’ over Slash’s awesome musical juices and Matt Sorum’s powerhouse drumming. I am getting so excited just thinking about it.

It was at this point that I noticed that the guy standing behind me was taking advantage of his position and dry-humping my bum. PUKE!!!! DISGUSTING FREAK!!!! I should have punched him clean on the nose, the dirty fucker, but I was alone and didn’t want to get into a fight. And I definitely was not going to move from my amazing spot.

Velvet then basically powered through their new songs, intermingled with tracks from their first album. It was all SO GOOD. Aw. They were all on top form. I took loads of photos and videos, but I had to be careful doing it during the more rocky songs because I kept almost having my phone tossed out of my hand. At other points the over-zealous self-important fat bastard of a bouncer kept trying to snatch it away from me. But I did get some beauties!!!

I am very pleased to report that even with their new tracks Velvet Revolver have not disappeared up their own arses and obliged the audience’s desires by knocking out some Guns ‘n’ Roses CLASSICS. Needless to say, I was having multiple orgasms(although not of the same kind that pervert was still trying to ejaculate onto my arse). They played ‘It’s so Easy’ and ‘Mr. Brownstone'(I nearly cried I was so happy) and also the jingly-jangly foreplay song ‘Patience’, which you can see a clip of here:

You can just make out me singing along. And then the pervert behind me comes in singing ‘Sad woman, take it slow’ REALLY OUT OF TUNE. TWAT.

As you can see Scott Weiland did a pretty fine job of stepping into Axl Rose’s biker boots. I did think it must be very strange being a frontman when you have Slash and Duff McKagan on stage with you. I’m sure it’s enough to make your dick shrink (that’s if you have a dick, of course), but he carried it off well. He will never have the same sort of charisma though. Check this out:

Slash. Is. God.

I did think it was a shame not to do a Stone Temple Pilots song or two, it would have been wicked to hear ‘Plush’ or ‘Big Empty’, but I guess VR shouldn’t narrow themselves to some sort of retrospectiveness. Shame though.

On a different note (here I go again), I had noticed on my previous VR gigs that DUFF MCKAGAN IS HOT! I mean, I know he was hot back in the day, but he seemed HOTTER now. I was keen to see if I would still think that third time round, and I am pleased to report HE. IS. HOT. The Ministry of Health should kick him out of the country for sending out the wrong message to kids. It’s like “Hey, don’t worry kid: You can drink until the doctor tells you your spleen will explode if you dare to have another JD, but you can still be super hot in your fourties”!!!

 Oh, I forgot to mention they played a cover of Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’. I felt like I was in fucking Leicester Square or something! I can’t believe they picked that tune. It was quite bizarre seeing Slash, the epitome of Rock ‘n’ Roll cool, scratching out what is perhaps the ultimate number one busking song. I almost pictured him taking off his hat and passing it round! It was cheesy as fuck, but I didn’t care in the slightest and was belting it out at the top of my voice with a huge smile on my face. Granted it is a great tune, if a little overplayed by balding beer bellied men on street corners. Needless to say, Slash’s solo was UNBELIEVABLE, and it was definitely the best rendition of this song I could shake a stick at… it’s just… well, maybe it has too many Leicester Square associations for me… I didn’t notice anyone else complaining though, so you’re welcome to take my criticism with a pinch of salt.  🙂

Anyway, so I explained why I had a hangover, a smile and a renewed lust for life when I woke up this morning. What I haven’t told you is why my boyfriend was confused and concerned.

  

   

Turns out I had a crazy sleepwalking episode last night!

The boyf explained that I got up with a start and went a bit psycho, pulled the cushions off the sofa, then went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard and tried to pee(!!!) on the floor. Boyf, very confused, directs me to the bathroom and sits me on the loo… Then I get up and try to get into my baby’s room, and get very angry when Boyf tries to stop me, saying ‘I have to go in there. My mates are in there.’ Eventually he convinces me to go back to bed.

WHAT THE FUCK?!!!

I haven’t had a sleepwalking episode for years! How very bizarre.

I see you standing there…

You think you’re so cool.

Why don’t you just…

… FUCK OFF!!!

   

Intimate Details

So today I drag the 21-month-old son with me across london to the university library.

          

           

Catastrophe ensues.
But it’s ok.

I stopped by intimissimi on oxford street and bought myself a beautiful set of matching underwear and it looks fucking hot on me. Phew.

              

            

Funny how pretty lingerie has the power to lift one’s spirits. It’s like ‘it doesn’t matter that I have yoghurt and snot and poo all over my clothes – you should see how hot I look underneath.’

          

        …And relax.

I was going to put a picture of my new set of undies up but the bloody website won’t let me copy it. So you’re just going to have to picture it in your head. 

                        

                                 

And here is one Jim Morrison made earlier…

I am troubled immeasurably

by your eyes

I am struck by the feather

of your

soft

reply

                    

            

The sound of glass speaks quick disdain

and conceals

what your eyes fight

to explain.

                          

                              

                              

(Jim Morrison)

That’s just political correctness gone wrong, motherfucker.

Ah, like I said, postmodern parenthood… So much that needs to be addressed. At least I had the wisdom to stock my pantry with fair trade organic bananas this afternoon on my visit to Waitrose.

Another Poem.

There is a moment when the sky

opens up and the clouds part

like a hungry mouth to

give me a kiss that’s electrifying.

                                                                            

                                                        

Tangled up around the coil

of your breath, held and baited

The slip that tumbled you over

onto your back and winded you

Made you lose your speech.

                             

                                        

                                     

Now the minutes stack up on each other

and the room is empty

and all I can do is make a

cup of tea and wait and wait and wait.

My name is Nemi Montoya, prepare to die.

159674860a4743049520l.jpg