Roth is BAFTA bound - SPOILERS BEWARE

10 Rillington Place –Tim Roth is BAFTA bound as Reg Christie

“Treedown gotobed is a great name for a culture vulture blog” is a statement rarely heard in Kings Cross on a  sunny afternoon. In fact Ive never heard anyone say it. I regularly state it is widely read, but few believe me. How do you convince strangers that you are a successful GP if you are not. It’s a trick Tim Roth pulls off with regularity in his mesmeric performance as Reg Christie in this hypnotically watchable BBC series. Set in grim and grimey post-war London, the cul-de-sac on which Christie lives with his wife(Samantha Morton) looks just like the one in The Ladykillers. That was Battlebridge Road in N1, but there are so few scenes set outside the house and street, it is hard to tell where Rillington Place is.

Three hours is a lot of time to be on screen, and if there was one weakness in this tour de force of a production, it was the sets of the house interior. The peeling wallpaper, squalid dirt and rubbish infesting every corner, the sepia grey and brown tones were all a bit overdone. Times were tough, but a scene in Episode 3 in which a local Bobby calls round and sits on the only piece of furniture in the lounge, a chair surrounded by a few piles of clothes, rings slightly hollow. It is symbolic of Christie’s dire state, he is starting to lose control of a small world he has lorded over for so long. He has treated all comers to a list of rules like he owned the place, but only now nearing stories end are we told he is merely the oldest tenant, his landlord act just another fabrication in a long list of lies, starting with the pretence of being a doctor and war veteran, apparently gassed while in the trenches.

His defence which works so well when poor Timothy Evans is convicted and hung for one of Christie’s crimes – the murder of Evans’ wife and daughter – is what motive would this gently spoken old veteran have? Evans can come up with no explanation. Roth plays Christie as the blandest Northerner you could meet, nearly always speaking just louder than a whisper , the vocabulary littered with harmless phrases like “Ill be back in a tick”, while he vanishes into another room to attempt an abortion on another lady he has fooled. You see the psycho inside, but its only in private and all evidence is gone in a flash from his demeanour. His murder of his wife is so cold blooded, the editing seemed to deliberately shy away from the suffocating agony on Morton’s face. Suffice to say, Roth is a favourite for a BAFTA next year.

Lazarus The Musical

Lazarus The Musical

It was with trepidation we entered the vast tin can like structure erected specially for this musical event in Kings Cross. A quick listen to the songs on the internet had put us –the Bowie / Iggy hard core fans -into a panic. We happened upon one of the two schmaltzy renditions of a Bowie past glory.

“OMG – they are going to give it the full-on jazz hands, singing and dancing Lloyd Webber treatment, aren’t they?” says Bowie fan #1.

“They better not or I will stand up and start breaking things “ I replied.

It isn’t like that , thank God. The story is hard work; Newton, The Man Who Fell to Earth, built a rocket with the billions he made from his 7 major patents, in order to return to his wife and daughter in a far off planet with no water. But Man stopped him, and now he is stuck in a New York apartment, drinking and hallucinating a girl who delivers all the schmaltz there is. But there are other characters, one is called Valentine, and another is a helper who becomes besotted. Played by Amy Lennox, she is terrific, as is Michael Hall of Six Feet Under fame in the main role.

The songs are pretty good, some are even an improvement !! Its No Game came early and was wonderfully twisted, Absolute Beginners was better than the original, Changes was invigorated by a loss of temper half way through, delivered by Lennox’ character, hurling the contents of the fridge at Newton in a fury. All The Young dudes just comes out of nowhere, as do This is Not America and Always Crashing in the Same Car – this was a highlight for me. The new songs all stand up fine, fitting in seamlessly with the 70s oeuvre. Where are They Now is a song I am beginning to think is an ironic look back to Berlin, does he really care? Bowie is proud of his legacy, but it is so unlike him to look over his shoulder at the past. Iggy already did it when they were in Berlin ; Dum Dum Boys does the same thing, just 30 years earlier.Lazarus the song is similar with the line about getting to New York and living like a King. Hmm.

The performance received a standing ovation so I guess most of the audience went with it. The large screen standing stage centre could have been used better. I know they were acting their socks off, but we couldn’t see enough to tell, being so far back. When the screen did relay the on stage action, it frequently seemed to buffer, so the visual was a second behind the sound. Occasionally it was well done, the shot from above at the end, when a rocket has been drawn on the floor in tape is a nice effect. But the shots of earth from space were too little as were the story telling sequences.

Bowie was involved pretty much all the way in the production so this is what he wanted. Its pretty good, I don’t know what many of the peripheral characters were doing there, but so what? Its great to have this treat to go and see on a grey Sunday afternoon.

Picassos Portraits

Picasso's Portraits - National Portrait Gallery - October 2016 - Febuary 2017
Spanish Matador of 20th century Art could give you Eternal Life, but he may also give you the longest lingering Death

" I hate Picasso !" So begin quite a few conversations. If I am holding forth on one my Mastermind specialist subjects; The works of Benny Hill 1992 - 2002 say, or the career of David Bowie 1972 - 1977, someone invariably fancies having a little nip, a tickle around my tender parts to see if I will bite. Why would I ? You are allowed to hate him; he was a bully and a control freak. Misogynist ? Hmmm, he loved women and hated them. His career can be analyzed in terms of his muses, one woman followed another, from 1917 to his death in Mougins in 1973. The women rarely lasted a decade and once a newer, younger model had her feet on the chaise-long, the other woman was on her way out. He was a bastard and he didn't hide it, just take a look at the 1932 masterpiece Nude, Green Leaves and Bust at the Tate .

Marie Therese Walter(MTW) is in, but she is in deep. Picasso depicts her as voluptuous; curves, bosoms and dirty thoughts. This stupendous picture shows her entwined in ribbons, wrapped up like a toy girl for Pablo to play with. The dark shadow of a face dominates the outlines, Picasso has her under control, and it aint pretty. There is a decent Marie-Therese Walter portrait here, but not a notable example; no double face or malignant menace to be detected. Just MTW in profile, bright, uncomplicated in composition and colour, just straight yellow hair. Is boredom setting in? Is the glass half empty, not half full?
This show starts so well I thought we were in for a real treat. The early years are fascinating, when he moved from the bohemian haunts of Barcelona and his hangout Els 4 Gats, to Paris and the outright filthy demi-monde of Pigalle, Montmartre, Aristide Bruant, Toulouse Lautrec, the Moulin Rouge and La Bateau Lavoir. Still finding himself as an artist, he sketched funny cartoons and daft doodles which are dubiously shown here. The self-portraits of 1896 and 1906 shown together, tell a tale of hard living and lost hair. The blue period is marvelously represented with one of the real blockbuster pieces of the show. A swarthy man of high forehead and thick mustache looks straight at us with imperious self confidence, while his malnourished companion looks forlornly miserable behind his shoulder. All in a nocturne blue wash that spoke of debauchery, long nights of voyeurism and absinthe drinking, visits to Maisons-Closes after another riotous night at Le Chat Noir or Lapin Agile.

The cubist era has another top quality example - the portrait of Kahnweiler, one of the first dealers to notice his gifts. This was the only picture I had to look between other people's heads to see. It takes a lot of looking, and even then I dont really like it.
Next - Olga Kholklova gets her own room with three masterpieces telling the sorry tale. Portrait#1 is pure and beautiful, Olga looks like a classic Russian aristocrat with the hair parted and short, a la mode and ready to Charleston or Cha Cha Cha. Diaghlevs prima ballerina married Picasso, had his son Paulo, who is seen in a short film where they play in the garden. Portrait #2 is more stylized, the feel is slightly surreal, something isnt right. Portrait #3 is the killer. MTW has come along, she must have seen the pictures her husband was producing while out on his daily stroll around the Boulevards and cafes of Paris, and then to the studio, no doubt for hours and hours. The coup de grace, Portrait #3 shows ashen faced Olga with eyes popping, the ridiculous hat perched on a featureless face, perched on a neck that curves like Mount Fuji to a point, upon which the head seems to have lost contact and now could topple off any second. Imagine how she felt when she saw it, next to all those sex stuffed portraits of his mistress and mother to his child, Maya.
"Ive dispatched you Olga. You better go before I lose your head forever..."
This kind of cruelty was also brought to bare on the next woman in the line; Dora Maar. She figures large in the tale, in a sumptuously finished portrait of her sitting in a chair, anguish apparent n her body language, eyes looking one way, the rest of the face going the other. Its as if she has turned her head mid-portrait, like a long exposure photo. Dora is memorable as the thin, nervy companion of the war years, famous as The Weeping Woman, did she know this would be her epitaph? She is also the subject of a sculpture of high quality which is a more generous portrayal.

Picasso has produced some ugly pieces - two more are in the final room which is a hotch potch of post war work. Two good friends are shown in garish and tasteless attire. Lee Miller looks like a 70 year old hag and not the uber swanky war correspondent she was at the time. And Nusch Eluard, wife of his poet friend, seen depicted in a charcoal on paper which is Picasso at his most sophisticated. But the portrait again is ugly and vicious in tone. What did these platonic friends make of their portraits?

Two male friends emerge from the story as major influences; Sebastià Junyer i Vidal is involved in much of the work, as is Sebartes, who is on the receiving end of some schoolboy humour. Some 50s posters are defaced by PP - its a daft claim to attribute these to his "highly tuned sense of humour" as the blurb does . The men have a laugh , a cartoon showing two of them catching a train to town, selling the work and receiving the dollars. There are two pornographic drawings, one pure x cert smut, another part of the Vollard suite style of line drawing in a classical style; the pope looks on from behind a curtain as a girl and boy have sex on on a couch. These are followed by serious PP, working on his versions of Velazquez' Las Meninas, as he did on many masterpieces from art history in his later years.
Dotted around this last room are pieces of sculpture, ceramics and pottery. Two flat sheet metal pieces show another muse , Sylvie David in profile in another style Ive not seen before. How can you say you dont like Picasso? You cant possibly know enough about him and his work to judge, there is so much and so original is it.
We end with a major portrait of Francois Gilot and a large work showing final muse Jacqueline Roque surveying her domain at La Californie in the hills above Cannes. Or is she contemplating eternity, as gifted to her by this Spanish matador of 20th century art. To be his subject is truly to live forever; she knew she would be contemplated by the people of the future, for they all will wonder what she was thinking as Picasso worked on his latest masterpiece, one of over 70 pieces he produced of Roque.




Her predecessor, Francois Gilot gave him Claude and Paloma, she also gave him a run for her money. She was the only woman to leave him. But Jacqueline was assistant, protector , secretary and muse. A large photograph shows  them together, with PP teaching the kids how to  paint. Another lovely piece shows the same subject, with the mother looking down and spotlighting each child in a blaze of colour - one green, the other blue. Did Pablo go soft and sentimental at the end? I doubt it.

Ambience, Price and Booking ; Two of us got in for £15.50, that was with a concession, no gift aid.
With Artfund card it was £8.50 or thereabouts.
Full price is £17 or £19 with gift aid.
We did not book and got in straight away. It is reasonably spaced out and as I mentioned, only the cubism room was quite full, but by no means packed. There are choke points in between rooms where I (accidentally)shoulder barged a woman of pensionable age and kicked a lady's bag while showing how the charleston is depicted in Three Dancers at the Tate. Beware the silent seventy year olds!

Bad Behaviour 2016 at Brixton East 14-10-2016

If I told you this years Bad Behaviour show is the best ever, would you believe me ?

Curator Araba Ocran says there were over 700 visitors to Brixton East in total over the 4 days - the opening night certainly was a popular event. Araba's own entry was a large print of "lived in" faces contemplating a burnt breakfast of sausages, bacon and mushrooms, all served on a man, I thought it would win the vote for best work. But the £250 prize donated by sponsors Elemental went to Linda Hubbard with her small, unshowy work "Alice in Poundland" . She will also get a solo show with Bad Behaviour in 2017.
This increasingly popular show has expanded to both levels of this fabulous venue. The trip upstairs was rewarded

with a quality mock Elizabethan portrait of a woman with a collar of cabbages and tongues,  with the footprints of a cockrel walking along the gold embossed borders and golden leaves cut from photos surrounding her. There is a lot of trompe l'oeil type imagery going on, you need to study it. German artist Sabina Pieper pulled off the trick of creating a work which was eye-catching from afar and intriguing close-up.

Best in show IMHO were Alison Berry's works - clever and successful. Two fantastic models worked amazingly well when you peered in to a polystyrene box through a peep hole, and saw them reflected into another level. You see a luxury shopping space, with brands like Apple and Chanel evident. I felt I was witness to the space stations of the future. When you dock from the shuttle to the ISS, is this the gateway you will float through, with Chanel's latest spacesuit in the window?
David Jane's dyptych of a brain scan was the result of a disease he picked up in Brazil. This is a high quality piece which has a black centre and from

which tendrils of colour escape. Also props to Zelda Rhiando and DMK whose film in a box was both fun and popular. The portrait of Nigel Farrage as a grotesque ever gaping mouth was another piece that clearly went down well.

Best Comedy and drama - so far 2016

Best TV / Radio / Web of 2016 so far - 5 October 2016

Netflix and Amazon Prime are coming. In fact they have arrived, they are making their own programmes and they no doubt have the biggest audiences on the planet. They dont have to go through all that selling the product territory by territory like the BBC - the process that made Top Gear such a big deal when Clarkson was running the show. The net based broadcasters can get huge audiences from day one of release, and then the numbers keep growing from then on. The BBC et al know the writing is on the wall, and will have to find a way to make BBC Iplayer available to all, not just UK based customers.
Amazon Prime currently is host to my favourite comedy - Crisis in Six Scenes. I am sorry if who dont like him, for whatever reason - but (IMHO)Woody Allen is a living legend and comedy genius. His comic creation - the worry guts, irrevocably urban, middle class Jewish male has barely changed since the

60s (physically he is older , yes) when he hit the stand up circuit in the States, and then the big screen with movies like Take the Money and Run, Bananas and Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex But Were Afraid to Ask - featuring unforgettably, Gene Wilder unable to break off his love affair with a sheep. He is always the same, worrying about what could go wrong, no matter if he is playing a South American revolutionary or a sperm. Now well into his 80s, he is more paranoid than ever, living with wife Kay ((Elaine May) in suburbia in the early 1970s, when they are visited by a communist revolutionary, played by Miley Cyrus.Two of the three episodes I have seen so far have had me splitting my sides, despite the two protagonists not having the greatest diction (due to advanced years) and my computer not streaming the programme correctly. Or is it because here in SE London we still dont have super fast connection to the net. This is the draw back of watching on your computer. Despite these things which usually would ruin comedy - all about timing and delivery as well as jokes, I love it. The scene where he goes to dinner with his pal and his paranoia develops into a full on terror of everyone and thing out to get him- including the food just put in front of them - was Woody at his best. Hilarious. The first episode is OK but beleive me  it gets a lot better. Stick with it.

The only thing this year to match it has been Julia Davies latest - Camping. David Bamber was leading my Best Comic Performance prize as the demented , increasingly disrobed host of the camp site , who falls in lust with Vicki Pepperdine's bossy wife - instead of the bossy Doctor in Getting on.
In the serious drama realm - we are still spoilt for choice. This is the golden age - no doubt. Not only do we have a new series of The Fall with the fabulous, speaking in a whisper, sexy cop Gillian Anderson. The Night Of  was tense , nasty and addictive, including some great performances - including the fabulous Jon Turturro - and dark prison scenes involving one of the stars of The Wire - Michael K Williams, the actor who played Omar. Now we have a new super series. Its going to rank with the big hitters - the Breaking Bads, Wires, True Detectives. Westworld S1 Ep1 was so packed with amazing plot developments and weird and wonderful visual effects, it made you battle to keep up. Many a scene I had to rewatch, and even then I was unsure who was robot and who was Newcomer or human guest to the theme park. HBO have taken the original

Michael Crichton idea and film and fleshed it out, thought it through, and given it a 21st century spin. Pure quality and not to be missed by sci-fi fans and anyone who has loved HBOs recent big hitters.
Not so mighty but worth a mention is another Amazon Prime production; The Collection. Again my internet troubles are not helping my enjoyment but this is interesting and a bit different to the usual fare of bodies piled high. Set just after the war in the Paris fashion scene - I am unsure who it is really about , if anyone , but there are some great scenes and intriguing characters and plot lines. Frances De La Tour is back - looking great in the Matriarch role of "over my dead body" tied with "he's my boy" type scenes with the gay creative sibling (Tom Riley stealing the show, but he has the best part). I cant help feeling the main character - Paul Sabine as played by Richard Coyle is miscast but its early days.
More to come next time - finally a word re Gary Shandling. It was great to see The Emmy's give him an acknowledgement, after his untimely death was swamped by that of Prince.Larry Sanders Show

was comic perfection, and it always revolved around his likeable narcissist host, who blazed a trail for so many to follow - he was on Seinfeld I think, or was it Curb Your Enthusiam? Are Larry David and Woody Allen massively different ?  Re Gary Shandling - he is much missed.

Turner Prize 2016

Turner Prize 2016 - Tuesday 04 - 10 -16

The new idea of letting visitors either pay the usual entrance fee - £10.60 or more than £12 with gift aid, or pay what you feel is appropriate is a good one. Thank you Tate Gallery - it feels less elitist, more for everyone, art experts or casual browsers. It doesnt cost fortunes when the Prize travels to different cities on alternate years, so why should it cost so much to see new artists trying new ideas when shown in London? Just show up on Tuesday, go to the ticket desk and offer what you feel is right - we paid £1 each .
The Turner Prize is awarded annually to an artist - aged under 50 with an association to Britain - who has had an outstanding exhibition in the past year anywhere in the world.The Prize has had an uneven past, sometimes putting upcoming artists on the map - Anthony Gormley, Cragg, Hodgkin, Hirst, Kapoor, Whiteread, Deller - the 80s and 90s are like a whos who of British artists. But it has also gone disastrously astray in the last 5 years. The worst example has to be 2014, when three of the four artworks were films which focused - it transpired after starting too close or out of focus - to be  of rectums, genitals and many other body parts on top or as well. To subject the fee paying public to this seemed perverse, in the crudest sense.
I am pleased to say 2016  is a vast improvement, definitely a return to form. Even the huge arse is good fun. Entitled "Project for a door(After Gaetano Pesce). Anthea Hamilton's room is divided into two, in one half the walls are covered in a brick pattern wallpaper and the brick patterned ladies suit was well executed and would have looked great if worn by Kate Moss or Grace Jones - in this space anyway. The other half has blue sky on the walls and curious objects hanging in the space. They could have been for many purposes or none, I couldnt tell and nor could my companion.
The first room by Helen Marten left me cold. I couldnt find much to look at or it didnt kick my brain into action. I looked, I saw, I moved on.
Josephine Pride's scale model of diesel train was much more worth taking the time over. Titled "The New Media Express in a Temporary Siding (Baby Wants to ride)" was classy. Had the rest of the work been of this standard i would give her a good chance.

The favourite for the £25k prize has to be Michael Dean. His room worked the longer you spent in it. At first its all a bit of a mess, but as you wander among the upstanding objects, made of concrete, plastic, pipe, polystyrene, I could go on, the more you wonder what is going on. Then you start noticing small hands are on the floor, as are plastic bags with marijuana logos on, mixed with Bob Marley logos. And in the middle, a huge pile of coppers, tuppences and pennies. The value is in the works title ; "UK poverty line for two adults and two children £20, 436 sterling as published on 1st September 2016". The artist then took one penny out, so poverty is literally represented in this installation. Hmm, OK , I am prepared to accept the thesis. More importantly, it works as art in its own right. Ingenious.

Kamasi Washington - Albert Hall - BBC Proms

Kamasi Washington - Albert Hall - 30-08-16 - BBC Prom

Going to the Proms was a new experience for me, so i was initially bewildered by the crowds of students sitting in groups having picnics and jolly times, around the rear of the Albert Hall. I soon realised they were queuing for the £6 standing tickets when the doors opened and a civilised charge developed. Our seats in the stalls were superb, as was the sound. Ive never heard a piano 'ping' in such a pure, vibrant way. As my friend remarked, Brandon Coleman looked like he was loving every minute playing such a concert quality instrument. He could hardly wipe the smile off his face, and he stole the show in several numbers.
Accompanying two drummers, double bass player Miles Mosley was effortless, funky and refined; forever driving the groove, he performed two astonishing solos that you had to witness to believe. The main players - Kamasi on sax, his father Rickey on flute, Ryan Porter on trombone, were superb, and the orchestra and choir were used to boost the sound to epic proportions with regularity. No trumpet ? So what ! But the repetitive nature of the ascending octaves of "Aahs" from the choir did have me wondering if Spock and Captain Kirk would appear and try "to boldly go" somewhere cosmic like Proxima Centauri , or even higher, the packed out upper circle. Kamasi's new song was entitled "Space Travellers Lullaby" so I do wonder if they have a Star Trek box set on the tour bus that sends them all to sleep!
Some of the City of Birmingham orchestra's arrangements were magnificent and raised the level of musicality to new heights, conducted by Jules Buckley. The concert ended with a terrific,  jazz funk number, which had a ever building structure that threatened to raise the roof when both drummers went into full attack mode. The encore followed in the same vein, leaving the soul searching and chin scratching numbers from earlier on fading in the memory. "Henrietta" was sung by the sparingly used female vocalist Patrice Quinn, whose mimes of guitar playing and reaching to heaven in apparent ecstasy were best ignored. Kamasi is a sax virtuoso who seems right at home leading 50 or more musicians in all sorts of genres. Dont be confused by the African tutu attire and wild hair, this dude can write and play ! I will be off to my local record shop to buy "The Epic" asap.

The following is info about Kamasi lifted from his website.


At the age of 13, Kamasi Washington started a lifelong quest discovering the many wonders of music. One night, his father left his soprano saxophone lying on the piano. Kamasi, filled with curiosity for all the beauty he heard from the instrument, picked up his father’s horn. Even though he didn’t know anything about the saxophone – in fact, never even touched one – he played Wayne Shorter’s composition “Sleeping Dancer Sleep On,” his favorite song at the time.
At the prestigious Hamilton High School Music Academy, within two years, Kamasi earned the lead tenor saxophone chair in the top jazz ensemble. At the same time, Kamasi joined the Multi School Jazz Band (MSJB) where he reunited with several childhood friends who were pursuing their passion for music. During his senior year of high school, Kamasi formed his first band, “The Young Jazz Giants,” with childhood friends including Ronald Bruner, Stephen Bruner and Cameron Graves. After high school, Kamasi received a full scholarship to study ethnomusicology at UCLA, where he explored many of the non-western musical cultures around the world. During the summer after his freshman year, Kamasi recorded his first album with “The Young Jazz Giants” to spread new sounds of jazz all around the country. In his second year at UCLA, Kamasi went on his first national tour with the west coast hip-hop legend Snoop Dogg. Later that year, Kamasi joined the orchestra of one of his biggest heroes, Gerald Wilson, and later went on his first international tour with R&B legend Raphael Saadiq.
Over the years, Kamasi has performed and recorded with many of his musical heroes from various genres, including Gerald Wilson, McCoy Tyner, Freddie Hubbard, Kenny Burrell, George Duke, Lauryn Hill, Jeffrey Osborne, Mos Def, Quincy Jones, Stanley Clark, Harvey Mason and Chaka Khan. Kamasi’s own band “The Next Step” is a modern spin on a big band, which includes two drummers, two upright bass players, keyboard players, three horns players, a pianist, and a vocalist. In addition, Kamasi is part of a west coast musical collective called the “West Coast Get Down.”
Most recently, Kamasi worked on Kendrick Lamar’s acclaimed 2015 album “To Pimp A Butterfly.” On May 5th, Kamasi released his groundbreaking solo album “The Epic” on the trend-setting record label Brainfeeder. “The Epic” is a 172-minute, triple-disc masterpiece, featuring Kamasi’s ten-piece band “The Next Step” along with a full string orchestra and full choir. “The Epic” debuted #1 on several iTunes Jazz charts, including the US, Canada, Australia, Russia and UK.

France 2016 - how to spend over a grand on beaches, beetles and nervous breakdowns

The plan ; pick up the car from Nice airport, drive to Cannes, a coupla nights in a four star hotel and then on to Avignon and four nights in Airbnb flat.Ambitious ? hmm maybe. Expensive? definitely. Stressful? Ha ha, what do you reckon?
We arrive at Hertz desk at about 9pm, Ten minutes earlier we stepped onto Nice runway, the warm air hits you like a giant hair dryer is blowing from Libya. No queue.
The nice fella has my Citroen C1 all prepped and ready to go. We have gone through the prelims, having a laugh, until the lorry attack comes up and he declares they should all be killed. OK, bit harsh, i will forget as I bowl down the peage in a few minutes time. But ... he wants one last thing, E400 for a deposit.
"Ive already paid all that " I declare with confidence.
"No, you must pay this and get it back when you return the car".
"OK" - what the hell me thinks.
The card doesnt work. OMG !
"We try E250 " he says.
Thats a bit odd I think. Again no dice from the pay machine, and he declares the credit card company want to keep my card. He steps away from the desk with my card in hand.
"Hang on, everything is booked with that card, give it back, s'il vous plais".

He agrees. Phew. We try everything, I cant come up with enough euros via credit card. Cash? non. Debit card? "Non, non !" accompanied by a super en francais tut and semi-guffaw.
"So what now?"
"I cannot give you the car, monsieur". Everything unravels at speed.
I return to JK, with the bad news. Its now 9.40pm and the last bus to Cannes goes in 5 minutes.
We have to find another way. We arrive at about midnight at the underwhelming hotel.
4 stars my arse. Money has changed hands somewhere, or the hotel has gone to shit since that award.
The next day is spent sorting this screw up. I pay more funds into the credit card account and speak to a chap who denies they have requested the card be confiscated. It was refused due to insufficient funds.
"Hmmm," I think outloud. "That little shit at Hertz was trying it on.."
The chap thinks it will take a working day at least for the funds to clear. JK is having a nervous breakdown while i try to listen to the fella and ignore her increasing volume of fury.
"Let me speak to him, now !"
"No, shut up, go away.."
"What?"
"No not you"
"If your wife thinks it will be quicker by online transfer, fine, you can try..."
"Ok thanks awfully".
"Why does this always happen when we try to rent a car?" she pleads, in full meltdown mode.
Is there a culture of rip and rinse around here ? Possibly.
Cannes is pretentious and souless. We visit Mougins, the pretty but super expensive hilltop village where Picasso spent some his best years. We are told there is no chance of seeing the villa. It is privately owned, as is La Californie, the large villa he owned in Cannes. I am happy to leave for Avignon, taking the coast road westward.Its magical and we stop at Theole-sur-mer, where I have a fabulous swim and chat to some Brits on the floating raft they put out. In the distance is a superyacht called Casino Royale. I wonder who is onboard? Broccoli? err, cant think of anyone else. The sea is azur, warm, clean and sweet.
Later I see my friends in the cafe.

"Did you get stung ?"
"What, no"
"My daughter has a red swelling all up her leg, I got one on my arm, it feels like a red hot poker ..."
Blimey, the Med isnt quite the heavenly water it appears to be.
Even the jellyfish are out to get us Brits.

We arrive in Avignon late. The host is genuinely 'sympat' about it. The flat is fine.We settle in to relax and let the stress wash away. Until I start to boil. Its 9pm and its so hot I begin to have my own, personal meltdown - literally. There must be a fan? Looking at the bed, I notice the thick winter  duvet. OMG, you have got to be kidding. My mind swings to a scene on The Bridge on the River Kwai, probably because its on the TV, dubbed into French, like everything. Alec Guinness emerges from a tin shack on the riverbank, and marches in a robot stomp to the camp torturer-in-chief. Christ, imagine that , 10 minutes under that duvet would give me the screaming ab-dabs. Days baking in that tin thing would be like being in an oven without water. They made 'em tough back then.
I wasnt impressed by Avignon.How can a bridge that ends half way across a wide river, have a song written and sung about it? Sur le Pont D'Avignon, on y dancer, on y dancer ! They dance on the Bridge at Avignon do they? Oh? Really? Not when I was there , they didnt,  (Frere) Jacques !They should change the title to the demi Pont d'Avignon , or the Pont to Nowhere..And then it should say one takes selfies, not dances.
 It was 35c in the day. We baked, tous le temps.

 

 The only relief  was to be found at the local piscine where I went through the familiar French ritual  of humiliation of pasty Englishmen.
"Non monsieur, you cannot go in without, how do you say, ze hat. "
"Oh, I didnt know that" I lied, I have been through this before, and I knew what was going to happen after I had bought and donned a women's shower cap.
"Oh monsieur, non non, " the tutting noise ensues.
"You cannot go in ze water with these ....." he points at my swimming shorts.
"Oh FFS, They are swimming trunks, look" I show the net lining.
"We give you some..."he ignores my pleas like I must be a complete idiot, departs and returns with some black speedos. They are actually not as bad as the revolting, ancient pair I had been given in the same circumstances in Metz. The  thought of the number of horrible appendages and orifices that had been in that pair of speedos still gives me the nighttime sweats.
So elated was I to get away without total humiliation that I did a length of such superhuman power speed and grace, even Phelps or Spitz might not have laughed at my ragged crawl. Blimey, swimming, its great.
They do have a fabulous spray at the outdoor Avignon cafes which cools you every ten seconds with a fine mist. Good idea, works well, until you have to go somewhere else. Like the Palais des Papes, an ancient building which has a great view. Only problem is, you are so hot and tired from climbing the steps you cannot enjoy it. My mind started longing for a shower cap, speedos and pee taking Frenchmen. Anything, just let me in the water again !
We go to Aix-en-Provence - what a fantastically buzzing place to spend an evening. We had been to Camp des Milles, which had been used as an internment and deportation camp in WW2. It had been set up by Vichy France to imprison artistic types, like Max Ernst and Feuchtwanger, the German writer. It is so easy to imagine 38,000 prisoners crammed into the freezing and drafty warehouse. Unfortunately the amazing pictures produced in there are now housed elsewhere.

On to Saint-Remy-de-Provence where Van Gogh spent some of his last months in the asylum, This is another beautiful Provencal town where sipping citron presse and watching the world go by is one of life's joys. The building where Van Gogh recuperated having chopped off his ear is well preserved. The gardens have large scale copies of the wonderful paintings Vincent executed in this miraculously productive time. The persimmon trees still survive; the vibrant yellow scenes of the threshers resting and the solitary harvester scything the corn are easily imagined, as elements like the stone walls and distant hills (Les Alpilles) can still be seen. The bedroom he stayed in looked like the famous scene from the yellow house in Arles, and the bathroom where he got the water treatment has two baths, one with an apparatus to hold the head up and body down. According to the film Creation, Darwin was treated with this bombardment of water as well - why would that do you any good?
One night we saw an amazing art and music event at a cave in Les Baux de Provence. Wow, the huge space was filled with projections of works by Klimt, Egon Scheile, Da Vinci and Michelangelo, all accompanied by a booming classical soundtrack. What a visual and sensual treat. This pic shows you some of the audience milling about in the man made limestone cave. I suppose the white walls that remain are perfect to receive projection, and the acoustics are another fortuitous gift from the past.

The French tour ends as it began, in calamity. We leave too little time to negotiate the traffic on the way to Nimes airport and miss the flight. OMG. Thats another E300 down the swanny river. No wonder the song is about dancing, the French must love us tourists, they do a jig every time another sucker goes through the lax customs border. My suspicions they are rinsing everybody they can are reinforced when we see 3 girls nearly get fleeced E33 by a bus driver. Its fabulous in Provence, just be on guard.

France 2016 - chucking euros into the Rhone while the French do a jig

France 2016 - how to spend over a grand on beaches, beetles and nervous breakdowns

The plan ; pick up the car from Nice airport, drive to Cannes, a coupla nights in a four star hotel and then on to Avignon and four nights in Airbnb flat.Ambitious ? hmm maybe. Expensive? definitely. Stressful? Ha ha, what do you reckon?
We arrive at Hertz desk at about 9pm, Ten minutes earlier we stepped onto Nice runway, the warm air hits you like a giant hair dryer is blowing from Libya. No queue.
The nice fella has my Citroen C1 all prepped and ready to go. We have gone through the prelims, having a laugh, until the lorry attack comes up and he declares they should all be killed. OK, bit harsh, Lets forget it as I bowl down the peage in 5 minutes time. But !!!!! he wants one last thing, E400 for a deposit.
"Ive already paid all that " I declare with confidence.
"No, you must pay this and get it back when you return the car".
"OK" - what the hell me thinks.
The card doesnt work. OMG !
"We try E250 " he says.
Thats a bit dodgy I think.Again no dice from the machine, and he declares the credit card company want to keep my card.He steps away from the desk with my card in hand.
"Hang on, everything is booked with that card, give it back, s'il vous plais".
He agrees. Phew. We try everything, I cant find the money.
"So what now?"
"I cannot give you the car, monsieur". Everything unravels at speed.
I return to JK, with the bad news. Its now 9.40pm and the last bus to Cannes goes in 5 minutes.
We have to find another way. We arrive at about midnight at the underwhelming hotel, at least it has a balcony

4 stars ? my arse. Money has changed hands somewhere, or the hotel has gone to shit since that award.
The next day is spent sorting this FUBAR .
Cannes is pretentious and souless. I am happy to leave for Avignon, taking the coast road westward. Its a magical road, constantly swinging left and right and right again. There is nowhere to park until we reach Thiol where I have a fabulous swim on a mysteriously empty beach.I chat to some Brits on the floating raft they put out. In the distance is a superyacht called Casino Royale. I wonder who is onboard? Broccoli, err, cant think of anyone else. The sea is azur, warm, clean and sweet as.
Later I see my friends in the cafe.

"Did you get stung ?"
"What, no"
"My daughter has a red swelling all up her leg, I got one on my arm, it feels like a red hot poker ..."
Blimey, the Med isnt quite the heavenly water it appears to be.
"Thats why its so deserted here. But how do the locals know? Is there a sign ? " No-one knows.
We arrive in Avignon late. The host is genuinely sympat about it. The flat is fine.We settle in to relax and let the stress wash away. Until I start to boil. Its 9pm and its so hot. There must be a fan, and looking at the bed, I see a thick winter duvet .OMG, you have got to be kidding. My mind swings to a scene on The Bridge on the River Kwai, probably because its on the TV, dubbed into French, like everything. Alec Guinness emerges from a tin shack after days cooking in a oven, and marches in a robot stomp to the camp torturer-in-chief. Christ, imagine that , 10 minutes under that duvet would give me the screaming ab-dabs. Days baking in that tin thing...they made 'em tough in those days.

We go to Aix-en-Provence - what a fantastically buzzing place to spend an evening. St Remy where Van Gogh went to the asylum, we visited the very bedroom he stayed in, and the bathroom where he got the water treatment - its so atmospheric.
Then we saw an amazing art and music event at a cave in Les Baux de Provence. Wow what a visual treat. I wasnt impressed by Avignon. how can a bridge that just ends half way across a wide river, have a song about it? They should change the title to the Pont over the Orwell, or London, Tower whatever.
We leave too little time to get to Nimes airport. We miss the flight. OMG. Thats another E300 down the swany river. No wonder the song is about dancing, the French must love us tourists, they do a jig every time another sucker goes through the easy customs border. Theres a feeling I get that they are rinsing everybody they can. We saw 3 girls nearly get fleeced E33 by a bus driver. Its fabulous in Provence, just be on guard.

July 2 2016

Weekend in London July 2016 - Artnight

Sometimes it all just comes together and you think to yourself ;

“Yep, Im in the right place , right time…”

Friday - The weekend started in the most unexpectedly haunting way. Going through Pimlico and over Vauxhall bridge, I saw two platoons of WW1 soldiers crossing the road. They were part of the Battle of the Somme commemorations, and I felt like I had witnessed ghosts from a 100 years ago, returned to the streets of London from which they had departed for France. They were immaculate, the uniforms were superb, the haircuts and mustaches were spot on, even the pipes they were smoking gave it all a ring of authenticity Ive not witnessed before. The vision stayed with me for days.

Saturday - We were walking down The Strand at about 10.45pm, rushing to get round as many events as possible at the inaugural Art Night with the ICA. We started there on the Mall, watched some tango on the steps outside , while people dressed as rabbits wandered between the musicians and dancers-Brit artist Linder was paying homage to Jacques Demy's Donkey Skin apparently. The main draw was Turner Prize winner Laure Prouvost event at Admiralty Arch, just round the corner. The queue wasn’t too bad, but the ever helpful info guides told us it was fully subscribed and we had little chance of gaining entry without a ticket.

So we are wandering down The Strand when an almighty roar goes up from the nearest bar. I realized it had emanated from every pizzeria, pub, tavern or shop with a TV on. The Germany v Italy Euros quarter final had gone to penalties and now every shot was life or death. It was a special time, and special atmosphere to be in the West End. I plunged into the nearest pub, everyone was transfixed by the unfolding events…

“Ooooooohhhh “ the crowd cried.

“Aaaaaaahhhh…” then

“Ooooohhh” but more high pitched, Italians were screaming in frustration….

I couldn’t stand to watch the Germans win another penalty shoot out and plunged back into the heaving mass of boiling humanity in the street. But the noise just went on and on. The rest is history.

We got into the incredible, semi-porno event at Two Temple Place by Alexandra Bachzetsis entitled Gold. A woman dressed in gold acts out a strange series of porno moves to a camera , positioned stage right. Then a screen is erected and we see what was being filmed, accompanied by banging disco and techno beats. The sexual lyrics..”The boys like my milkshake..”etc are written on bits of paper, which she systematically shows to the camera and then screws up and flings away. The whole thing was arresting,  puzzling, and im not sure how great it was as a piece of art. Yes women's bodies are sexualised and objectified in rap and other pop music. Is this news ? Hmmm.

The great thing about the event was it went on well into the next morning, some events not ending til 2am. And they had manged to stage them in some fantastic locations. We also popped into St Mary le Strand church, where a film of film titles was being shown along with a soundtrack.

“Whats the music ?” I asked the artist, Jennifer West .

“It’s from Liquid Sky “ she said.

“OMG, I remember that film…sort of sci fi female avenger living off mens orgasms?”

“Yes, something like that…”

What a great event, and I rediscovered a long forgotten low budget 80s classic. London is where its at, sometimes.

Blood Orange - Iggy Pop stars in new Ibiza set movie

So what's it like? Whats he like ? Be honest I can hear you cry. He is very good  , but he should be seeing he is essentially playing himself ; a rock star living out his days in a chic villa in the Ibizan hills. He has bagged himself a sexy wife half his age (Kacey Barnfield in a "watch my career go stratospheric" role ), who spends much time swimming naked in the pool, and generally being sexy. One of the first scenes has the pool cleaner drooling as she majestically emerges from the water wearing only a blase expression. She has little to do but her presence is the catalyst for the plots tortured twists that follow.
Iggy has acted before, notably in a funny scene with Tom Waits in Coffee and Cigarettes where they famously dont hit it off. His first few lines are a bit clunky but he soon mellows into the part and is pitch perfect for the remainder. When he is not blasting the local rabbit population with his shotgun, he is often suffering in bed with various unexplained ailments, at least until the tawdry denoument. He has a deluxe studio set up in a upstairs room where he plays around a bit and pop pills, daftly washed down by the contents of a hip flask. Even rock stars have to kick the booze when they are on meds for serious diseases like cancer ( or leukemia). The real Iggy is glimpsed more and more as the tale progresses. he has to drive off somewhere, so its a Rolls Royce he leaves in, perfect for the windy lanes of Ibiza's mountains ! Theres a great POV shot that looks like vaseline has been smeared on the lens to give a sense of how little he can see through his cataracts.Iggy famously has driven a pink Rolls around Miami way for years. He is also having trouble with his legs ( and possibly hip) which means he walks with a pronounced limp. This is clear to see. His ailments in the movie maybe fictional, but Ig is paying for his wild ways now in later life.

The main thing though, is that he is still uber cool. He brings the disarming toothy smile to his dialogues with his wife's loathsome ex-boyfriend who turns up, digging for gold. Bill is all business, no small talk. Having invited Lucas to stay for dinner, his opening gambit is ; "You are either stupid or a idiot...."and proceeds to explain why his presence means one of the two.
"Why cant I be both" counters Lucas. Iggy laughs.
"Thats good, I like you. Stay the night and i will take you rabbit hunting tomorrow. Its good to hunt".
So begins the second half of this enjoyable melodrama.
The plot twists do descend into the absurd, but I was captivated enough not to let them worry me. When one of your protagonists explains how he wants to die, you know you have entered the world of make believe. It works in the cinema because Iggy is a great presence, and Kacey Barnfield is always his equal. Lucas is a nasty villain who has little to redeem him, so it is hard for Ben Lamb to shine. The last 15 minutes are pretty ridiculous, but Toby Tobias has done a great job directing such difficult narrative twists. Congratulations to everyone involved. You have done an incredible job getting Iggy to appear. Here's hoping the movie works on the small screen, although I do worry the twists may be just a bit too difficult for all but the most committed to follow.
Oh, I want to rent that villa, is it on Airbnb ?

Parents - keep your kids on a tight leash near roads , please

The horrible stories on Page 13 of todays Standard just about sum up the unpleasant side of life that can suddenly visit anyone in London. The main story tells of the" Madness of Knife Crime". Yet another youngster has been stabbed to death in South London. apparently Rukewve Tadafi - aka Peanut - was the fourth ex-pupil of Crown Woods College in Eltham to have been targeted. There must be plenty of whispers about rivalry from other kids who were there a few years ago. The other story is about a 8 year old running into the road and being hit by a car. The inquest says the driver was blameless. This made my blood run cold, because the same thing so nearly happened to me a few weeks ago.

Crossing the major junction in Camberwell on my motorcycle, I had reached the other side and must have been going at least 20mph. Out of nowhere a young boy ran into the road, directly heading for my path. His head was down, looking neither left nor right. Something made him stop and i brushed past him, with a rizlas width sparing him a broken limb, maybe worse, and me god knows what kind of hassle. Imagine what its like for the driver or rider to hit a child. Its natural for neutrals to blame you; it couldn't be the kid's fault, could it? Or the parents who were standing in the middle island like statues. I wobbled to a stop, my heart was going like the clappers. The relief was huge. The van driver who was behind me pulled up along side.
"Those parents should be flogged" he said.
" Christ, did you see that kid ?" I blurted.
"Mate, they should have a kid like that held tightly by the hand".
It was a good point. Was this the first time he had run into the road without looking or thinking? I doubt it. So you would think the thicko oiks would grab him while waiting for the light to turn green.
No sir. Not a murmur, not a thought. Just bumble on in your daft world, madam.The only accidents I have had on the bike in my 16 years of riding have been caused by pedestrians stepping into the road. There have been many close shaves with cyclists swinging out with the headphones no doubt blaring out. But I have been lucky.On the day a biker was apparently decapitated in Pimlico having been hit by a truck, one can just hope the luck doesnt run out on me.Wheres some wood.
It is also an irony that the successor to Mayor Boris has been voted in today.Johnson is the one politician who has truly done things that have improved my life. The day he allowed bikes to use bus lanes was a wondrous but obvious change for the good. Henceforth I have not been forced to ride a hairs breadth from the ongoing traffic heading at me. Biking became reasonably safe, not just a pastime for suicidal maniacs. The massive numbers of scooters, bikes and cyclists in London now has got to be down to this law, and the new Superhighways which look like they have been properly thought through. The nightmare junction at Oval is really good, I  hope the road works on Blackfriars bridge are equally as successful. The disruption to traffic around there has been mighty, not helped by the Crossrail station being built at Clerkenwell.
They have not all been a success. The weird arrangement going round the Oval cricket ground is hard to comprehend. The cyclists follow a purpose built track half way round. It then ends. The bikes have to cross into the bus lane. The bikers are forced back into the road with the trucks. All this with a right turn up coming that newcomers will not expect. How else do you get onto Kennington Lane if you are coming from Camberwell? Quite bizarre, but the timed signals allowing cyclist to go straight on heading for Stockwell from Elephant are really good.

 Lets hope the new mayor gets a grip of this major London problem - the traffic system. Has it ever been so? I remember Joe Strummer singing a line about it in 1978 ! There was not so much different stuff on the roads then, was there? But i bet 8 year old kids have always had a few dummys in the class!

Pope Head - The secret Life of Francis Bacon

Popehead - The Secret Life of Francis Bacon - Pentameters Theatre 07-04-16

Written and performed with vigour by Gary Roost, this one man show is a tour de force of pacey story telling and naughty innuendo. Roost takes to the stage of this tiny theatre near Flask Alley with no more than ten fellows for an audience. Why is such a well executed play so poorly attended? It must be the £13 admission fee that prevents more from abandoning Eastenders and a comfy sofa, to wander down to Pentameters Theatre in Heath St NW3, just behind the Horseshoe on Hampstead High St. I wouldnt have gone myself had i not got a ticket for much less from The Audience website.
Roost storms on at about 8pm, and he does not stop delivering anecdotes and performing dirty tristes in public places for the next hour. Gary had me howling with laughter half way through, when he projects Francis' warped way of thinking on getting his first show.

"I'll show them! all those fuckers who put me down and bullied me and slagged me off ....."
There follows a tragic tale of his boyfriend being found dead on the eve of his first major show in the UK at the Tate. He attends the opening with good grace and on best behaviour, but all the time he is crying out inside. Having told us of his two brothers early deaths, and his military father's regular thrashings of him, during the 90s he is struck by the cruel hand of fate on the eve of another major show, this time in Paris. His "bit of rough" boyfriend George, who he invites to bed when discovered burgling his studio, is found dead in his flat with huge amounts of booze in his system.
Just like the paintings, the life is tortured, twisted, full of pain - to which he is attracted - and violence.

Gary Roost starts out with lipstick and mascara, but it is gone by the end, so much does he pull and push his face in a depiction of the agony seen in the pictures. Francis painted faces; he didnt do landscapes. He did people ; The Pope, a Crucifixion, Lucien Freud, many others and himself.
The monologue ends with Roost explaining Bacon was trying to paint your insides outside.
He has been performing the play for so long now it propels forth like a brakeless train. There are many wonderful tales of debauchery; his account of the war years was particularly good fun. Air warden Bacon taking advantage of every air raid to fill his pockets and try his luck with whoever he may happened to have encountered. Francis was always gay, it was never in doubt. There is a lovely tribute to Maeve, the landlady of the Colony Club. She dies and Francis misses her terribly. He is consoled by something she once told him;
"You see Francis, I dont give a fuck about art. But i love you Francis, and I love the woman in you !"
One of the great things about living in London, is you can see a play like this one night. Next day, you can go to Tate Britain, and gaze at the Bacon Tryptych displayed on the first floor you have just heard so much about. All for less than the price of a pint at The French House.

Free museums

The state of London's museums #1 Imperial War Museum - 29-02-16

I am disappointed with the refurbished Imperial War Museum. There seems to be a worrying trend of dumbing down museums, the new part of the National Maritime Museum in Greenwich is similar. Low in detail, big on interactive features and large print in the information cards and text based displays. OK, people dont want to read reams of print, but there is a tricky balance that curators have to deal with. The worst thing possible is to talk down to your visitors, as if they are all children with zero knowledge of the subject matter. The IWM has been stripped of many exhibits, I especially missed the basement labyrinth of displays regarding WW2. Its pretty much all gone. There is less of everything, except space. The Lee Miller exhibition is a delight, but it ends soon - the permanent displays are disappointing. Having said that, its great its still free. Here's hoping it, and many of London's great museums, remain so.

We Talk - London English conversation
Proposed new group will meet every week at different museums and galleries that are free to enter.
We will take a walk around for 45 minutes or so, and then have a drink and conversation in English.
Everyone is welcome, as long as you can converse in English and are open minded.
You must be able to discuss matters with people who think differently to you.
Politics and religion are banned as subjects for discussion.
Groups will be led by native English speakers who are well educated and may be teachers

get in touch via pbudgie12@gmail.com if you want to get involved

Men - How to judge their age

How to judge a middle aged man's age - 7-02-16

How old are these men, or a better question, what year were they born? No idea? Then look for the following clues in their conversation...

There are a few give aways i would suggest those who trawl Tinder, or suspect a man is being economic with the truth when he says he's 39, should look out for. Football, books, travel, TV and comedy. Heres how it works...

Football - dont switch off when a man starts to talk soccer - it can give you loads of info.
World Cup - If he remembers England winning the World Cup, he is at least 55. The great day for our nation was in 1966, so i think the age of 5 is a reasonable time to say "yes i remember it ". If he fought in the war, that was 1945, he is in his 90s, at least.
Chelsea - CFC won the FA cup in 1970. Many Chelsea fans started supporting them in that year , so if this is mentioned they are well into their 50s.
Arsenal - Gooners glory years were just after the CFC v Leeds final. In 1971 they triumphed over Liverpool 2-1 in what was probably the best final of the glory years, although Sunderland supporters would dispute the point. Charlie George , a most old fashioned type of smoking and drinking professional, scored the Arsenal winner with a shot from outside the box and lay on his back to celebrate. That team had the mothers favourite and TV pundit Bob Wilson in goal. Similar age group - in their 50s.
West Ham - only won stuff in the 60s , most fans who were there are 60 +.
Spurs - Tottenham havent won anything for years, if the chap starts saying he was there when spurs won the Cup in 81, 91, etc, dont believe a word he says, he's a bullshitter.

Books - this is a tough one and the following generalisations aren't necessarily true, so pinch of salt etc...
George Orwell, Graham Greene, John Fowles, Carlos Castaneda, F Scott Fitzgerald, Evelyn Waugh, Hunter S Thompson. It strikes me these writers have fallen out of fashion. In the 60s and 70s everyone at least read Orwell, even if they didnt love him. Any English A Level student would be able to talk about Animal Farm and 1984. Greenes Brighton Rock was another novel everyone had read. The rest of the list was not so de rigeur, but Fowles and Castaneda are fairly hippy type writers, so if they are mentioned, your companion is nearing 60, at least. Waugh was old fashioned by the 70s, but Hunter S Thompson was the coolest writer of the time. Everybody's favourite book was Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Fans of this are probably 50 +.

Travel - it was different in the 70s. People used to hitch-hike.A phrase like "we hitched all over Europe following The Ramones" isnt as preposterous as it may sound. Similarly;"we hitched across Europe and met in The Pudding Shop" was commonly heard until Midnight Express came out and no westerner went to turkey for the next 20 years.People also went to Goa, especially in the hippy era. If the person you are examining has hippy tendencies, likes Bob Dylan and goes misty eyed at a whiff of patchouli, they were probably born in 1950, making them 66. the punk era had a saying - never trust a hippy. If the man saw the Sex Pistols gig at Central St Martins, or The Clash tour in 1977, they would have been at least 15, making them mid 50s now. The Iron Curtain existed until 1989, as did Checkpoint Charlie. Anyone who went to East Berlin is not only interesting and worth talking to, they are not necessarily old.

TV - children's TV is one of the best ways to judge someones age. In the 60s, French programmes dubbed into English ruled. Belle & Sebastian, White Horses - great theme tune btw - Flashing Blade, were all super cool among 4 year olds in the 60s. If these make for misty eyed memories, you are looking at someone in their 50s. Animal Magic, Daktari, Banana Splits, Jackanory, Tiswas, Blue Peter all had followers. The hards in the playground only liked Tiswas because there was something about Sally James they liked, they just couldnt articulate what it was.

Comedy - the best indicator - The Goons & Hancocks Half Hour appealed to those born in 1950. Prince Charles' age group. Monty Python was a 70s show, so fans were born in 1960 or after. The Two Ronnies and Morecombe & Wise were big in the 70s, so again, appealled to those in their 50s now. Rick Mayall, Ben elton and The Young Ones crew came later, so now we are probably talking to a 40 year old. The Inbetweeners is strictly for teenagers, so youve landed someone who's never grown up and expect a selfish adolescent in the behaviour department.

Physical Appearance - hair gives you no clues. Hands maybe, teeth are a possible, but its easy to look young nowadays. You cant fake your memories though.

If said individual fails to mention any of the above, it means one of two things. Either he really is as young as he claims to be, or he was brought up abroad.

David Bowie - all the young dudes will always be trying to catch up

David Bowie - Superstar 07-01-16

Ever since I was 9, and the cocky red haired dude with a blue guitar sang about Starman on TOTP, David Bowie has been there in my consciousness. He embodied all that was new, cool, clever and different. Even after Let's Dance and his straight, money making years that followed the incredible 70s, a decade of untold creativity, he was still top of the pile. The number 1 dude. Mott the Hoople got lucky the day David gave them the song. As did so many
thers who benefited from his generosity of intellect. Iggy Pop, Lou Reed & Lulu, Reeves Gabriel, Earl Slick, Carlos Alomar and Brian Eno, Queen, Luther Vandross, Rick Wakeman, Tony Visconti. Do you see ? It's always the collaborator who benefits from working with Bowie, in reputation and financially.

No-one got more from David than Iggy. He was the washed up singer everybody in the music business avoided when David visited New York and found him in a mess. There was so much more to David Bowie than everyone else. A genius isn't just ahead of the rest, he creates what they've never even thought of. Other people's opinions are of no interest, the genius knows what he likes and what he values. Like Lou Reed, Bowie saw past the the drug habit to the talent that just needed help to be unleashed. Raw Power was the first output of the collaboration. But who could have ever predicted a record as innovative as The Idiot was in Iggy, as well as the amazing energy of Lust for Life, released on RCA - David's record label - just a few years after a sojourn in Berlin together. Watching them being interviewed on American TV by some middle aged ladies is a great joy, as is Iggy's performance of Funtime and Sister Midnight, with David on keyboards, backing vocals and a caring eye on the singer.

Another great joy to be found on YouTube is the Young Americans performance with Luther Vandross leading the super hard working backing singers. The second song performed is called Footstomping, which metamorphises into Fame by the time the LP is released, Bowie having spent a recording session with John Lennon. What a bizarre volte face this soul album seemed when released, following those three rock LPs that established him as a star; Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane and Diamond Dogs. Us teenage boys hated it ! But now its my favourite LP. Same goes with Low and Heroes, those super masterpieces that were so far ahead of their time, most of us were just confused by them. Now the side 2s are my favourite ambient albums ever !

He gave us so much, the top 100 books list he did was fabulously eclectic, intellectual, arty and confusing. Like him, so far ahead us followers take years to catch up! Thank you David - from all Iggy, Lou and Eno fans .

Top Ten Bowie tracks
Golden years
Fascination,
Lady Grinning Soul / Aladdin Sane
Subterraneans
Warsawa
Ashes to Ashes
John I'm Only Dancing
Be My Wife
Changes
Queen Bitch