weekenders

for the whoopers and wailers the rockin' blues down to good timesers the clacton airshowers the traffic jammers. here we're crowd avoiders round the block saunterers cup of teaers. but there'll be encona in the beans on toast for sure

martine girault - revival

x

*obviously meant for days ago but i'm all rusted up shoddy as all hell so please bear with dears...

off

be good

the voices of east harlem - for what it's worth

x

tweeting

they arrived in april one scooting about the chimney pots one singing loud enough from the very top of marshall street baths to charm all of soho zooming from one peak to another to show off that red tail and black blackness so even a bird buffoon like me could find it in a desperately useless 30p from the library sale field guide to huge corring and blimeying and well did you evering and they're rarer than golden eagles and ospreys you know just imagine golden eagles bouncing about your roof babbling. now every morning around ten and every evening just as the light is fading there's singing from the highest spots around and bugs picked off of walls with the best of humming bird hovering and us leaning out of bedroom windows beaming. soon they're singing loud as anything in the middle of the night no dawn chorus this but west end carousing all through till the middle of may and everything goes quiet my greedy heart sinking at the thought of them gone leaving us to the pigeons and seagulls. finally an empty week fills with the briefest hint of a something out the bathroom window and the little treasure is back but songless and solo and shy busy as a black and red bee almost impossible to spot with no mad tweeting to guide us and now right now there's cheeping somewhere on our roof baby bird cheeping and both the grown ups are zooming about like mad things morning and evening mouths full of flyey treats. we're thrilled




blossom dearie - try your wings




ps

they're black redstarts.

x

out

friday night dancing - we'll be there shaking and fingerpopping and doing it fluid and ooooh all sorts. see you there maybe

hopefully the dream team will play us this (and won't get caught out by the sneaky ending)

jeffree - love is gonna last

missing

now then. there's been a worrying trend developing round these parts. very worrying. my old moniker has started growing. going a bit wrong like. developing capitals for starters. and a troublesome 'miss'. fine and dandy for your confederate states i'm sure but in the people's republic we tell it straight. and there's she who makes my heart go boom to think of too and all don't forget. so let's pull our socks up children and mrs all the way. or comrade has a lovely ring i've always thought. or just ally will do lovelyly.

it's political correctness gone mad.

walter jackson - speak her name

x

buy walter jackson records from the lovely folk at kent

number 63 excursion

so june is busting out all over and we got us another super special guest spot my sweets. please give a give a big dustysevens welcome to mr how does this one go again? his very self and his marvelous magnificent seven selelection




Mr. Grainger's excursion got me thinking to my own past commute on the no. 63 bus from Peckham Rye to Farringdon and the tunes loosely correspond to that oft-made journey through SE London.

1. Peckham Rye Common: Tropicola by Nino Nardini - the Victorian gardens give way to the lush, verdant expanse of the common, viewed through a soft lens of mist.

2. Rye Lane: Le Serpent by Guem & Zaka - Peckham doesn't bounce to the beat of Del Boy and Rodney anymore. Things are a bit more pentecostal down in SE22 these days.

3. Old Kent Road: Looking Out My Window by Tom Jones - "nothing left but sorrow, nothing left but pain"

4. Elephant & Castle: Oh No! Not The Beast Day by Marsha Hunt's 22 - it can be hellish, stuck, waiting to get over the E&C roundabout.

5. Blackfriars Bridge: Why Can't There Be Love by Dee Edwards - why indeed Dee, why indeed?

6. Smithfields Meat Market: Funk Factory by Rose Royce - something a bit, ahem, meatier!

7. Farringdon Road: That's The Kind of Love I Got For You by Dusty Springfield - I met my sweetheart on Farringdon Road. Dear reader, I married her.

a no.63 excursion (zip)

that should keep you smiling through the rain dearies... me i'm off to snap up every last bit of dusty - the disco years i can lay my greedy paws on before the rush. happy listening

x

friday film club

brace yourselves sweethearts it's only a new flipping feature. regular like. and you know how i stick with these sparkling innovations once they're going...

informed intelligent witty star-spangled here! now! oh my giddy aunt. well alright a couple of pictures a line or two and a barely related tune. i'm worn out already



richard burton (oooh we do love richard burton) is cockney nutjob vic dakin a proper rotter who can't do accents but could teach that joe pesci a thing or two about frenzied kickings and loves his mother. and can say "get out of 'ere slag" without getting giggled at. and does a robbery with important roles for jif lemon and hard boiled eggs. i bet you're gripped already aren't you?




what else can i say without spoiling it for you... well it's got donald sinden in it which is always a plus. and colin weland who gets lines like "what do you want cheese and chutney or ham?". and some brilliant bits of waste ground and abandoned factories and a lovely view of the double diamond brewery. you'll like it honest. we did. a lot.

phew. there then. film reviewing - it's a doddle



sergio mendes and brasil 66 - watch what happens

x