Diary of an up and coming sociopath

Just before it gets too late, I should mention the Ben Folds gig. Fucking excellent, it was. Easily the best of the three times I’ve seen him. Frankly it sickens me that this is the third time I’ve gone alone, because even at over £30 a throw thiese are some of the best gigs I’ve ever been to. You should all be ashamed.

Before the gig, I went to a nearby Wetherspoons and read the paper with my dinner, having very little desire to stand in the freezing cold following yesterday’s snow (yes, snow! fucking SNOW!) I arrived at the venue just in time to see Clem Snide (supporting again) do a cover of “Beautiful” and then the one song of his I both know and like, The Ballad of David Icke, and then I found myself a place to stand and try not to go insane at the sensory beating you get at gigs.

As the background music faded away and the lights dimmed, we knew Folds was about to enter. However, before he did, we were treated to the start of Europe’s The Final Countdown, with the man himself eventually emerging after the first chorus hit the line “It’s the Final Countdown.” That’s an entrance that’d be hard to beat.

The set started off with quite a lot of his more recent work, and had a load of classics shoved in closer to the end. Plenty of my favourite songs got missed off, but I’ve seen them before, so I wasn’t bothered. He’s got such a huge back catalogue that it’s a real treat to hear anything new.

Theme from Dr Pyser / Trusted / Gone / Synth improv + Freebird / Rock This Bitch / All You Can Eat / Learn To Live With What You Are / Jesusland / Bastard / Still Fighting It / You To Thank / Losing Lisa / Landed / Bitches Ain’t Shit // Fred Jones Part 2 / Evaporated / Gracie / The Last Polka // Narcolepsy / The Ascent Of Stan / Army / Such Great Heights (Postal Service cover) / Kate / Underground /// Zak and Sara / One Angry Dwarf

Best song of the night was easily Underground, being played on this tour for the first time in like 7 years, though his cover of Such Great Heights was utterly euphoric, and Losing Lisa was probably the best song off RTS that I hadn’t previously seen live, which is good because it’s also one of my favourites. The solo set with Fred Jones Pt. 2 was brilliant. He responds to Freebird requests the best way anyone can - by shouting “Shit yeah!” and then playing Freebird (with improvied lyrics.) He also had a synth on stage which meant he inserted synth interludes into about half of all songs. Self-indulgent? Maybe. Hilariously entertaining? Definitely.

For a change, the T-Shirts this time weren’t all shit, though I wasn’t particularly moved to buy any. At this rate, by the next time I see him they’ll be at a must-purchase level.

I’m just listening to The Good, The Bad and The Queen, my most awaited album of the last week. So awaited that I’ve been resisting the temptation to go into Fopp to see if it’s out because I knew it wasn’t and that kind of insanity isn’t good for a person. I’m increasingly under the impression that anything Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton touches turns to musical gold.

At the same time I bought TGTB&TQ, I also got the latest Manics album (Lifeblood) for a quid. I had previously felt a mild sense of concern that I didn’t buy it when I saw it for £3, because even though it wasn’t very good, I felt like I should keep the collection going, but now I see I made the right choice - £3 still wasn’t too little for this album, but £1? Right fucking On. This beats my previous record of buying Know Your Enemy for £4.

2007 is going to be a good year for music. Let’s look at my events calendar for ‘07 so far:

Tue 23rd Jan: Ben Folds @ Hammersmith Apollo
Fri 2nd Feb: Arcade Fire @ Porchester Hall
Mon 5th Feb: Tedstock (Lee! Herring! And Lee & Herring! And some other stuff.)
Tue 6th Mar: Charlotte Hatherley @ Islington Academy
Fri 9th Mar: Ash @ ULU
Fri 16th Mar: Arcade Fire @ Brixton Academy

Also at some point in Feb we’re planning to go see Bill Bailey & Co. do some of Pinter’s sketches.

And, more importantly, somewhere out there, the Pixies are attempting to demo a new album. I might just die.

Okay, so I promised an epic tale of epic sandwich proportions. Let me set the scene.

It’s Tuesday, at work. Since Ian has the day off, I’m forced to entertain myself at lunchtime. Usually, this means I go off for a wander around Covent Garden to see if I can discover any closely-guarded secrets, but usually I end up finding nothing more than clothes shops I’d never go into and overpriced Delis. On this occasion, I decided that I’d act on a discovery Nikki and I made some weeks before, and head out to a certain sandwich shop. It seemed like it might be slightly too far out to be accessible. I deliberated over whether I could make it there and back, over what would be the best way to get there. I read reviews to give myself further clues on where to find it, and I compared map upon map to decide which route would be the speediest.

Having done my research, I printed off a map and headed out the door, stopping only at a cash machine to ensure I could afford the object of my hunger. I timed myself to the station platform at Leicester square. Including the time spent behind a paranoid guy at the cash machine who spent more time looking around to check no-one was watching him type in his PIN and trying to hide his fingers as he typed than the entire rest of the process, it had taken a little over 6 minutes. By the time the next train arrived, it had been 8. I got on it.

Tube trains at lunchtimes are often mercifully empty, especially if you’re going against the flow. You forget, travelling only at peak hours, but during the down periods the tube genuinely is a comfortable and fast way to travel, the only real problem with it is the vast amount of people trying to cram themselves onto it. Buy yourself a bike, you lazy bastards.

As I exited Green Park station, I was pleased with my progress. The tube journey was one of the larger variables and the one I had least control over, so I was glad to see it went well. Still less than 15 minutes into my hour and I was making good time. Now in unfamiliar territory, my navigation skills were near-useless. This is where the map took over. I walked up Piccadilly, crossing the road and was about to turn right onto what I assumed to be the street I wanted, when it became immediately clear from the geographical features that it couldn’t be. It wasn’t long enough, for a start. This road wasn’t marked on the map. It lacked any identifying signage, but it couldn’t be correct. I continued up Piccadilly, and arrived at a much larger road. As before, it lacked any indication of what road it was, but I was now certain. If all had gone well, I was now on St. James’ Street. It was downhill from there. Literally, I mean, since it’s actually a hill. I walked down, checking the names of various hotels and shops on my way, hoping for some indication of what road I was on. I passed St James’ Hotel. St. James’ News. St. James’ Tobacco, Est. 1917. This seemed like the place alright.

At this point, I double-checked the map. I needed to find King Street. I looked up at the road sign I was standing beneath. The strange glyphs on the map and sign both looked the same, and they looked like this: King Street. Of course, every king needs a crown, and in this case my ultimate destination was to be found in the slightly risque sounding “Crown’s Passage.” A few steps down the road and I found a large archway with people streaming in and out. This was the fabled entrance to Crown’s Passage. Inside was a thin marketplace street of the kind you only expect to find in third-rate fantasy films and dystopian futures. On either side there were shops and pubs and cafe-eateries of all kinds. The view that greeted me was exactly as I expected from the photos I’d seen during my research. I walked down the road, past “Get the Foccaccia” and finally, slightly over 20 minutes after I left work, I at my destination. Fuzzy’s Grub, it’s unfortunately called (not, as Nikki would later call it, Fuzzy Grubs, which makes it sound like they sell caterpillars.) But why was this place so important? What sandwich could be worth this quest? Those of you that know may will not be surprised.

Fuzzy’s will, for £5, give you an entire Roast Dinner in a sandwich. Meat, roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, gravy and other sauces, and, if you’re into that, vegetables. It’s literally nothing less than a buffet carvery merged with a sandwich shop. You can get the food to eat in, to take away, and optionally, between two of the thickest, softest, tastiest slices of farmhouse loaf I’ve ever had. The potatoes were crushed flat, because I know you’re wondering about them. The gravy was prevented from tainting the bread too completely by the sheer amount of food in there. The available meat was Pork, Chicken, Turkey and Beef, and there may have been lamb too. When I received my food, I wrapped it up in an extra bag to insulate the heat and quickly made the return journey back to the office. For a round trip of about 40 minutes and a total cost of £4.95, I found myself consuming the thickest, tastiest sandwich of my entire life. This was literally the way they were designed - an entire meal inside a sandwich. I went for the Turkey option, and I was utterly stuffed by the end of it.

They do Roast Dinners to take away too, where you’re given them in a foil container, but the sandwich worked so well I’m not sure I’d bother! I highly recommend that anyone who’s able to should make it their business to attend one of these fine eating establishments, as located throughout London: http://www.fuzzysgrub.com/wheretofind.html

As if it needed to be said, I’m planning to return in the future, and I think I might give the beef a shot…

For some reason, I find myself bizarrely enjoying “Starz in their eyes” by Just Jack. Not for the musical ability, but more because it sounds like the song parodies Adam and Joe used to do, from the barely-believable affected singing voice, to the sparse and twangy guitar-synth simlicity, to the oddly comic lyrical choices. It’s aimed at the whole reality-TV popstar phenomenon and it’s afforded me a few minutes of chuckling, which is better than the screaming torment most radio drives me to.

Intervention by the Arcade Fire gets better every time I hear it. I have tickets for gigs in February and March (there’s a mildly uninteresting story there to tell, actually) and I Cannot. Fucking. Wait. As a live experience, they’re the only band who come even remotely close to equalling the Pixies in terms of how deeply they reach in and pull out my insides.

Weapons of Mass Media is the song I was always hoping the Basskniv3s would write. The other three tracks on their EP are all incredibly heavy and good for that, but even in 3CR, Vuckovic’s true strengths have been in making politics and rock fuse like a punch in the head. Seems like we’ve got a worthy successor to 3CR in these guys.

On another note, I have to tell you all about this really excellent sandwich experience I had recently, but I’ll save that for a particularly bored moment at work tomorrow before typing the whole thing up.

Just before it becomes inappropriate, here’s my look back at 2006. I wrote this a while back and it needed some tidying, hence the late appearance, but I’m sure we can all appreciate that it’s not the most urgent thing in the world. Maybe it’ll remind you all that the year is still in its infancy, even though it doesn’t really feel that way anymore.

Previous years I did this are 2005, 2004 and 2003.

January appears to be “wildlife month” following last year’s mouse antics. Not quite as destructive as bombs but equally unifying to a city of people desperate for any break in the tedium of routine, it’s The London Whale.

February was looking grim until, inspired by a particularly ghostly episode of Quantum Leap, I became a fully-qualified parapsychologist. As much as that requires qualification. If you have any ghostly or paranormal problems, well, I’m your guy.

We brought it back to earth slightly in March, managing to get to see Placebo perform and sign at Oxford Street Virgin Megastore. Kind of a pity it was their most dubious album to date, but it was still a unique chance to see one of my favourite bands at a distance usually reserved for stalkers and familiy members.

At the start of April, Josh and I spent one bored evening creating our surrealist masterpiece art-site using only Google Pages, Google Images and increasingly sleep-deprived ravings.

Shortly after that, Nintendo conspired to make sure that for the rest of the year people would think I needed the toilet every time I tried to talk about their new console. It’s testament to the genius of the machine that a name like this didn’t kill it stone dead. It’ll never stop being stupid, though.

Having experienced Douglas Coupland a few years back, it seemed only fair that I give my second-favourite writerer, Chuck Palahniuk the same pleasure. This was a particularly enjoyable evening where I wandered around the south bank in an excessively peaceful before hearing a reading of my favourite book of ‘06, Haunted.

In May I conspired with Seb to head over to the Bristol Comicon. It’s an event I’ve eyed up many a year, but never really fit in before. The trading floor is like a giant back-issue shop and for the first time ever I actually saw a comics writer or two in person that I’d actually heard of. An experience that may be repeated this year.
Then in June, it was yet more writers, this time we saw Douglas Coupland do a reading of his latest novel, jPod, which I also reviewed for NTS.

First festival of this year (first of 2, I mean) was June’s free O2 Wireless festival, wherein we sat in terrible heat and drank excellent milkshakes while watching eels. The band, I mean. I also appear to have bought my DS Lite immediately beforehand. As the only console I’ve bought on launch day, I consider it a worthwhile investment. I’ve had my hundred quid’s useage out of it, anyway.

Heading more towards July now, we find the S****a A****s Flim Night Outdoor Thingy, to use its full (sponsorship deleted) title. DJ Yoda was a particular highlight of that evening. Walking uphill a lot wasn’t. A few weeks after this event Lauren Laverne accidentally played the advert for it again in one of her ad-breaks, which deeply confused my half-awake mind as I tried to figure out whether I’d gone back in time. Still, I forgive her.

Despite the ridiculous heat of a London Summer, Josh, Nikki and I still found time to meet that feisty Scotsman and IRC veteran Dave in the flesh, thus proving that meeting people on the Internet isn’t just for social retards and fucking.

In August, we attended the second (of 2) festivals, with the Staffordshire V Festival. Because Radiohead were playing and we’re fanboy/fangirl. I did get introduced to Captain, though, who musically dominated my brain throughout the latter half of the year.
Then shortly after my 24th Birthday, managing to eclipse the tail end of the world’s celebrations for me, Steve Irwin finally got what he’d been asking for. My suggestion is to start making your bets for the 2007 dead pool now. Fidel Castro is probably a pretty safe option, though I’d like to throw in Patrick Moore and The Queen as my outsider choices. I would’ve said James Brown but he beat me to it. I hope he feels good.

Throughout July, August and September, we all faced the truly horrible spectre of moving house. Nothing is so horrendous. I did drive a van, which was equal parts cool and horrible. I don’t expect to be moving house anytime soon again though, sweet jesus.

In October, there’s only one way to say it. Alan Fucking Moore! A legend in his own time. Seems like in November, nothing happened. Or maybe I was too beaten from work to actually blog about it. Actually, in November I technically moved from Travel to Shopping at work, I suppose that’s an event worth mentioning, even though I’m sure it interests you lot only about as much as it interested me.

Then, in December, a year and half’s anticipation/whining came to fruition when Josh got hisself a Wii! And then connected it to my television, in our house. So I got a controller for it as well, just to shoehorn in on the situation. There’s a shortage of especially desirable games once you’ve got past Wii Sports and Zelda, but on the other hand, that’s a lot of gaming right there in itself.

And so 2006 passes into the annals of history. It has its good points, I’ll admit.