We're Gonna Be On Telly

I've just received a call from my estate agents who have passed-on a request from Sony to film a 'lifestyle' TV commercial at my empty and still un-sold batchelor flat.

The lovely Japanese people and their dharling Soho Square meejah luvvies are prepared to pay me £800 for a day's shoot, and the same amount for each day they need the place.

Let's hope it takes and week and that Messrs Spielberg, Scorsese and Coppola are watching.

BTW -- If you're in the market for a new city pad, or just want to inject a bit of pazazz into Mr. Kipling's cakes or Wall's Ice Cream, just call my people and we can 'do' breakfast.

Here's are a few pics of the old place to whet your appetite..

When Is A Hand-Man Not A Handy Man?

Answer: When he's a rock star in waiting.

Our mate Rusty who does the occasional job for us around the house -- most recently -- erecting the garden fence this week is doing something a lot less mundane tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Matthew, Rusty will be playing keys for Razorlight at The Royal Albert Hall. The thing is that Rusty is only playing on one song as The Razors are a four-piece guitar-led band. But he is playing on probably their best known track, Something Else -- *the* real crowd pleaser and probably their encore.

In addition to his 'moonlighting' in the Premier League, Rusty is also a key member of The Doctors Of Love -- gigging at a venue near you.

I'm not sure what all this means to us. Will his cost go through the roof or do we simply lose a damn good, (relatively) punctual and all-round nice guy to have around to Led Zeppelin-levels of excess?

Frankly, I'm dusting-off the old Gibson and re-learning the five or six chords I know.

Rusty -- take me with you..

Columbia Road Market

This is Columbia Road flower market in the East End. With Spring almost here and our garden a priority, this is where we'll be most Sunday mornings for a few months to come. As you can see, it's quite a bustling place and a cornucopia of all things flora -- all at a knock-down price.

Arbiters Of Idiocy

Idiotic journalists and their idiot editors sometimes strike deep..

This from last Sunday's Observer magazine.

The Rules: The Internet
Rule 5. If the most interesting thing you've done today is walk the dog, don't blog

Defiant. Moi?

My Favourite Things (These Are A few Of..)

Ekch. Julie Andrews? No. Just a bloke-like, Nick Hornby thing..

In descending order of randomness, and actual importance, 20 - 1:

1. Gretsche semi-acoustic guitar, vintage 1958. it's a beauty
2. iPod -- but then I do want to up-grade to mega-gig when it inevitably comes
3. Mini Cooper S -- so bloody cool and a daily joy
4. Early morning walks with Emms -- man, dog and getting sorted for the day ahead
5. Yeats' collected works
6. The Godfathers I & II -- God bless you Mr. C
7. Eames chair and foot stool -- on a promise..
8. The fact of having a garden, and soon having it "Homes and Garden"
9. That Mr. & Mrs. Chagall got jiggy in a Russian village and made Marc
10. Joe Strummer, and all his works
11. B&O telly -- the puppy's..
12. Coca cola chews -- an addiction
13. Blue Wave speakers (silver)
14. Sir Paul Smith of Nottingham
16. London -- the best city in the world and only imaginable place to live
16. RB & PJ -- 'spect
17=. My Dad -- my constant and amazing inspiration
17=. The Atkinsons -- all of four of 'em
19. Emmie, my lovely, wonderful, brilliant, fantastic dog (she talks too ;-)
20. Pippa my darling wife-to-be -- and the single person/thing I would happily trade all the above for..

William, It Was Really Nothing

Well not nothing really. Only the best *proper* no-nonsense pub in north London.

Why Are Men Stupid?

I know this is a question that women all over the world have a million answers to, but one I've ony recently come to ask -- of myself, of colleagues and sometimes friends.

I know why I'm stupid. I'll spare the armchair psychoanalytics, but I am -- from time to time -- stupid. Sometimes phenominally so. But it's now clear to me that stupidity among my gender is rife. It's everywhere.

Is it ego or testosterone (plus a multitude of other socio-policical-economic inputs), or a heady combination of the two+? Add alcohol, and -- God forbid -- you have a molitov cocktail..

In the workplace -- and indeed, anywhere where they are among the generally more mature, capable, intelligent, balanced, practical (etc.) women -- men's stupidity is only made more obvious.

I'm not saying that women are not without their faults, but any faults laid at the female of the species pale by comparion to the generally ****witted male.

Men are inconsistent, spineless, deceitful, spiteful and vain. This is their inherant stupidity. They are singluar -- which only serves to leave them exposed. Women -- sensible creatures that they are -- seek companionship, consensus, and find strength in solidarity and team. Men just lie and bollox it all up.

I've made a pledge not to name names here (apart from Pippa and Emmie in the main, and then only discretely and in a positive manner), and I won't break that. But sweet Jesus, I'm tested.

Men are stupid. Period. Fact. End-of. That's probably why -- if we're all honest as a gender -- we only ever have two or three close mates. It's just too hard work to deal with complete ****s with any frequency, expect loyalty and trust and consider them friends.

Home Improvement, After A Fashion

I wish I'd taken 'before' pictures as well as these 'after' shots of our little front well. Imagine it a filty, nasty cess pit -- and look at it now. All rather zen.



Unfortunately, the same can't be said of the indoors (especially the floors) or its inhabitant's current humour..

Cow, Dog. Dog, Cow..?

Natural camouflage is very important in north London

All-Day English

No, this is not an uninformed rant about immigration or anything so unpleasant. It's about good old, honest to goodness grub..

I admit it -- I do like the good things in life.

I consider myself a man of taste and am equipped with a smattering of education and an innate appreciation for quality in art, literature and design. I wouldn't say bon viveur, as it implies studied, insouant and almost greedily conspicuous consumption. No, my enjoyment of life is far more modest -- which I guess, is informed by what I like.

In matters of food, I'm well read and have a good grounding in world cuisine. My appetite can run to the exotic. I adore oysters for example. Indeed, a passion for oysters is something Pippa and I share. And one of my fondest recollections of our time together is hunkered-down for a couple of hours sampling the extensive menu of crustacea at New York's Grand Central Station. Actually, we're naming the tables at our wedding reception after varieties of oysters we've consumed and our top table will be 'Rock' -- which given my other major obsession, is appropriate ;-)

But by the same token, my taste is very basic. My ultimate 'comfort food' for example, is baked beans on toast -- all be it dolled-up with grated cheese and lashings of Lea & Perrins and ground black pepper.

But my greatest gastronomic delight is the plain old English breakfast. Not the one of Little Chefs and a million miles of road-side cafs and foul motorway service stations. Nor that of the urban 'greasy spoon' with tepid weak milky tea its ubiquitous accompaniment. No, I love my brekkie to consist of proper freshly-sourced bacon, sausage, tomato and mushroom cooked gently under a grill and drained of excess fat. This is what we have at home -- not often I hasten to add -- but every now and then as a wonderful treat and when richly deserved after trial, toil or triumph.

But with the all day English at the Londesborough just around the corner (and its sibling, The Talbot in the nearby de Beauvoir), there's no reason to stink-up our little kitchen in the morning. And the slight indulgence is made more a treat with the addition of a bloody mary or pint. This is where we go every fortnight or so -- either to lazily read the papers or just get out of the house and chat away from Ems.

So if you're ever in our bit of north London feeling a bit peckish and hanker for simple brilliance I heartily recommend this oasis. It's where I've just been, can't you tell..?

Passing Muster

Last night a very nice man from Battersea Dogs Home popped-by to check on how well Emmie is settling with us.

I'm please to report that she/we passed with flying colours. Clearly, the on-the-job training programme is paying-off and the three walkies a day are maintaining fine fettle.

But catostrophic events of Sunday might have also contributed to our good report.

On Sunday morning the dog *and* our whole house stank.

Cold as it was outside, all the windows were open; joss sticks lit like a hippy commune; and scented candles enough to warrent an evening of amour with the accompanying tones of Mr. B. White esq.

Another fact of life is that all dogs -- and especially springers -- love to roll in foul-smelling waste, excrement and carrion.

And true to her breed and more unpleasant instinct, our darling pooch happened upon the Holy Grail of foulness in the park and enjoyed a damn good roll in it too. I'm not sure what it was -- fox poo, decaying fauna, fox poo mixed with dead or mad cow, who knows -- but it really was noxious.

This was far too gross a substance to be dealt with by a customary wipe-off with a damp towel -- though I did try, but it only served to make matters worse and the smell more intense.

Nope -- it was into the bath and a shampoo and set for doggie dear. But lacking proper canine soap, I used a few applications of Pippa's expensive Bond Street stuff (heck, I use it too, so what's the harm?).

Suffice it to say, the results have been a triumph on three fronts. Emmie's coat is lovely and soft, shiny with great body [because she's worth it]. She was a little forlorn after the indignity of the bath, and therefore extremely biddable and very well behaved all day -- and since, I might add. Finally, her (sic) condition really impressed the inspector, so we may all continue in our peaceful cohabitation.

Our Humble Little Church

Impressive isn't it?

Rebuilt by Wren after the great fire, the tower is the inspiration to the traditional tiered wedding cake. It's also where we're getting hitched this summer.

Up Yours!

To all those oh so vocal critics..
It's a 'double' for us. And that'll do nicely, thanks.

Been Offline Awhile, Been Busy

'Life' gets in the way sometimes. So it's been with me and my posts.

So much going on; so much to do; and such little time. I'm not complaining, but things have been very hectic and upon reflection, hectic has been great.

Family, friends and a lot of work have all -- in their own way -- eaten-up my time for refection and random observation in the last week.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't play it any different. But we've been so full up with activity, I've had not time to think.

Ar work, Pippa and I have had our own individual trials of late, but sharing burdens has only served to provide one another with wise and balanced counsel, but also brought us even closer.

I'd begun to think that having a partner in 'roughly' the same field as me was a pain. We bring our work home each day, and heck, sometimes it's really tedious listening to one's own day-to-day experience played-back by one's co-habitee and partner -- especially when you're trying to switch off.

But this week, I had a fairly simple work problem -- one normally sorted very easily. But with so much riding on success and with so much else to do, I couldn't think straight and was really losing it.

I'll spare the details, but suffice it to say, Pip sorted me out. She claims only to have led me to my own natural and obvious solution to the problem -- an elegant one too, I might add.

But there's something about the woman with whom you're soon-to-be betrothed giving a look that says, "I'm not offering-up my life to a spineless wimp -- sort it out and fast," that galvinises clarity of thought and girds action.

She too, as noted, has had a tough time of late in the office, and I can only hope that my contribution has been equally as helpful.