Father's Day

You know, I actually had rather a splendid Father’s day this year. My beautiful youngest daughter, YD, bought me socks, a large box of jelly babies, a copy of ‘The Mail on Sunday’ because it had a free Peter Gabriel CD with it, and a card with a picture of a farting goldfish on the front. This is what I expect from her, because she is sweet-hearted, kind, loving and wonderful, and always behaves that way. My beautiful oldest daughter, OD, bought me Homer Simpson boxer shorts, a giant Toblerone and a card which also had a picture of a farting goldfish on the front of it. This was unexpected because, despite the fact that I know she is just as sweet-hearted, kind, loving and wonderful as her sister, she spends the majority of her time attempting to disprove that opinion every way that she possibly can. So I was touched. And then, that afternoon, for the first time in many years (four perhaps, five?), I went to the cinema with BOTH of my children and they sat either side of me in the front row, just like they used to when they were little. Admittedly they each had a friend sitting the other side of them, so it wasn’t quite the family outing it seems. And OD did shuffle up a seat during the previews so she wasn’t actually sitting next to me when the movie started, but - for a few minutes - I was in the front row of the pictures with each of my daughters either side of me and, I will confess, I felt really, really happy.

Film was alright as well (new ‘Fantastic Four’ flick) and, on dropping YD back home, OD went in and made-up with her Mother too (well, she’d spoken to her on the phone for the first time in a fortnight that afternoon but it was a big step for her. Admittedly her Mum has just booked a villa in Greece for two weeks in July and flights for everyone bar OD, so she there was a bit of an incentive for her to sort things out but, hey, let's not spoil the story).

Feel the love, gentle reader. Not sure how long it will last so let’s just suck it up while we can.

Two Drunken Nights

What more can a man require than fine company, fine music and plenty of booze? Very little indeed I hear you declare. Well I’ve had two such opportunities for enjoyment in the past week.

Last Friday June 8^th, the man who tutors me in the rigours of the jazz playing double bass world had a gig with his band, Led Bib, at the Queen Elizabeth Hall. This was one of the QEH’s summer ‘free’ concerts, which the hold in the foyer every Friday at 5:30. Very good they were to. Two alto saxs play separate melody lines whilst their twelve year old drummer (alright, he may be older than that), thrashed around like a good ‘un, and some very ‘Emergency’ style organ was played on top. Most enjoyable. On finishing, myself, the Wing-Commander and young Tiny then took in the sunshine whilst, as part of the celebration of the Royal Festival Hall’s reopening, a show band played ballroom music by the Thames whilst same-sex danced gaily (and I meant that quite in both senses of he word). How very modern.

On Thursday it was music of a very different flavour as Jon Bon had won tickets from XFM to go to the Wireless festival in Hyde Park where The White Stripes were headlining. On arrival he informed me that we also had a meet & greet planned. Fantastic, I thought. I get to meet Jack White!. Errrr… not quite. The meet & greet was with The Thrills. Never mind, there may be some free beer involved, and there was. The Thrills were nice enough chaps. That Alex Zane off ‘Popworld’ said hello to us, and I got the opportunity to flirt with XFM DJ Claire Sturgess. As for the musical fare, I’m afraid it was one dull band after another: The Only Ones, The Thrills, Satellite Party, and Queens of the Stone Age. The White Stripes - good as they were - are just not suited to a large scale festival. Two small people on a massive stage in front of thousands simply doesn't work. Musical highlight for me though was the band who headlined the second stage, Air (all the stages bar the main one finished five minutes before t’ Stripes came on). ‘Moon Safari’ is now considered a lounge/chill out/ambient/electo classic, and despite the fact it is nearly ten years old, it still dominated their set. They certainly knew how to create an atmosphere that’s for sure, all shimmering keyboards, laid back bass and clockwork drumming. Most splendid.

As Hyde Park remains a residential area, the gig ended at 10:15 (although Jon and I left during the encores). However, deciding that we simply hadn’t drunk enough, we made our way to Tottenham Court Road and went to the Pillars of Hercules where we bumped into James from Silvery. By coincide, his band are first on the bill at the Tuborg stage at Wireless on Sunday so we sunk a few to celebrate. Indeed, by the time we reached chucking out he was accusing me of Internet grooming him and I'd nicknamed Jon 'Uncle Disgusting'. I eventually got home at about a quarter t one and burnt my hand on the sandwich maker. A good night then!

"You and me / We are / Blood Brothers" - errrr, perhaps not weirdo!

There are two ‘X’s before the ‘L’ if you are a man with a 46” chest. That explains why the Cardiacs t-shirt I bought at the Astoria last December is a little tight (and the ‘Roots Controller’ one ordered from the Real World website back in March is too, come to that). Both were purchased as one ‘X’ too few. Previously the last t-shirts I bought were in California last year, where chest sizes are larger because the people are. Oh dear. ‘XXL’. I had a mini-crisis a few years ago when I had to buy jeans which were size 40 (but, thankfully, my wait soon eased its way back to 38” – although I feel it has crept up again as all of my suit trousers now hang below my gut).

I mention this because I was perusing the t-shirt stall at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire last Wednesday when I went to see The Mission. Yes, before you ask, they are still going although watching them was a little like seeing their own tribute band, chiefly because there is only one of the original members left. So I found myself thinking ‘the Wayne Hussey is very good. Looks and sounds just like him. However, I bet the guitarist also doubles as Trent Reznor in a Nine Inch Nails act. No idea who the other two are supposed to be but I’m sure the original bassist wasn’t ginger and frizzy’. The Mish (as we used to refer to them twenty years back) remain a very enjoyable turn. They may only have the one song, and it isn’t even their own (Led Zeppelin’s ‘Kashmir’) but they have managed to forge a lengthy career out of endlessly re-writing it. Sometimes they excel themselves and produce works that are almost as good as the original (‘Tower of Strength’ being the obvious example), but chiefly they are average to middling versions. However four pints of Guinness before I arrived and the chance to gawp at a crowd of predominantly middle-aged Goths (not a look that looks good on a forty-something I feel) meant a hearty evening was had. I must go and see some modern bands though. The last new group I saw were Tiny Dancers back in March (and very jolly they were too). The other week was my friend Bob’s 50^th birthday party and for a present I bought him a Cream DVD and the new Arcade Fire album. He was pleased as punch with the former but looked completely bewildered by the latter. “It’s a great album and I thought he should still be listening to new music. I did choose it with his tastes in mind; it wasn’t just a random selection” I explained to his wife. She looked at my doubtfully. Oh well.