In the course of my job I have to read a lot of blogs, leaping from one site to another via hyperlinks, or clicking through to an article from a convoluted Google search. Every now and then, I'll find some well written blog with insightful articles and a real sense of identity that will just one day for no apparent reason stop.

It's always interesting to speculate on why the blog has ceased to be updated: death, debilitation, imprisonment. But the real, prosaic reality is that these bloggers just stop caring. It's not worth the effort, why bother?

The fact that the internet is littered with so many relics to failed ambition, examples of ambition trailing off to indifference is full of pathos. These failed blogs are indeed monuments to an aspiration that has trailed away.

This post is inspired by a blog I stumbled on today that was full of informative music writing. I was particularly struck by one piece about the Velvet Underground, so was upset when I read the following:

To everything…

Has anyone else noticed the striking similarities between today's world and that of the 1980's?


Tory Government

Recession





Resurgent Northern Ireland Terrorism



Union Threat






Wall St





Radical Labour



Sue Pollard

Went for a quiet drink with my friend with the aim of getting home and going to bed early. Fast forward 6 hours and I standing on the roof of a building overlooking Curtain Road, fucked.

Why does this always happe? I think it has something to do with the 3 pint rule. Up to 2 pints you can pull back; you're sober enough to go home with a clear conscious; you're in control. Past three and you just don't give a fuck anymore and all those plans get pissed away.

Must try harder.

And in the process boards the diabetes bus.

If deep frying a cheesecake wasn't outageous enough, she tops off the monstrosity with frosted sugar and cream. I think even watching it gave me a sugar rush.

The biggest question I had after watching this video, is how is this woman still alive? How hasn't she had a massive heartache. It's a supreme act of culinary hubris.

By September I am aiming to finish, Andrew Rawnsley's 'End of the Party' and Peter Mandelson's 'The Third Man'. This would be some feat, given that Rawnsley's opus is 700 pages and Mandelson's is around 400. But maybe it's too much and I'll overdose on new Labour. I think this is how specialist rounds in Mastermind start. Then once I have finished those two tomes I can start on 'The Journey' no, not the Miley Cyrus hit but Blair's much-anticipated justification memoir.

I would love to read something from Brown's perspective though as he demonised in 'The End of the Party' and from what I've heard, Mandelson isn't too keen on him either. In both books he is depicted as an abject monster, completely ruthless in pursuing his objectives, however misguided they were.What is particularly interesting about 'The End Of The Party' is that Brown's bad behaviour is blamed on Blair's own weakness and dependence on the Chancellor. If TB was a stronger PM, then Brown wouldn't have been able to spend Blair's premiership trying to thwart him at every turn. He would have been sacked, demoted, pushed out of the picture.

It was a bit of a random choice for me to read this 1986 booker winner, considering the plot revolves around the antics of a group of semi-alcoholic Welsh pensioners. Maybe I was just trying to reconnect with my Welsh heritage or maybe it was just to give me some comeback to the some of the Welsh nationalists I have ended up being friends with. Not exactly nationalists, not burning down English farm house or anything, but PROUD Welsh men and women. Also it was the sort of book on my parent's book shelves, what with its evocative 1980's cover, it was perhaps nostalgia.


What first attracted me to the book, was a brief review in the Guardian or some other liberal arts supplement. There was a great quote the writer chose to illustrate the novel: 'Show me a Welsh nationalist, and I'll show you a cunt'. Written in the 80's it deals with a generation who feel slightly embarrassed about being Welsh but who are bombarded by the resurging Welsh nationalism of a younger generation. My granmother who lived in Swansea epitomised this attitude, she herself could not speak Welsh and looked down her nose at 'drink Welsh' even though she had lived her whole life in South Wales and was Welsh.


Another interesting aspect of the novel was Kingsley's rendering of the boredom of old age and retirement. He captures the suffocating reality of what it must be like to not actually have anything to do with oneself. His characters drink themself stupid every day to fill the time, binge eat and have meaningless affairs with other 60 year-olds. Amongst all the comedy there were these occaional moments of darkness and his depiction of old age was the most sympathetic I have read.


Unlike his son, Kingsley stuck to what he knew best comedy-writing. Although it is well-written it is a light-novel. None of the high minded post-modernism of young Martin, no thank you.

I just received a Facebook invite to a 'Save the George' group from one of my friend's who live in Dalston. I've been to the George several times and it's a really nice pub. The problem is, local residents are complaining about the noise at the weekend and are trying to have its late-license revoked. It would be a real shame to lose this pub as as well as being frequented by the local trendies it is family friendly and has a really authentic, pleasant atmosphere. 


It's an all too depressing occurance in East London. For instance, over the last two years, I have seen the Joiners Arms once a seat of such free-wheeling debauchery turn into the gay equivalent of a Yates' wine bar. It happened so impercetibly, first it started closing earlier from 5 to 3,then the bouncers arrived, then the regimented queue and after a year finally there's a door charge after 12 and £4 pints. You can't even go outside to smoke in the street anymore and have to shuffle into a cramped yard out back.

It's so intense. I don't know what it means.

Isn't there some electoral rule stopping the mentally ill standing for office?

I thought the Swedish were too boring, too obsessed with social egalitarianism to go about committing high-octane bank robberies:



Fantastic, better than anything Michael Mann's directed.

Lea T transvestite Brazillian model does a stirling impression of a lady.

via @FagCasanova

Priceless YouTube commment - I like the bit where the dog mowed the lawn

I think it's a keeper it's called the Dreamwork Redux Template and I downloaded it from Jack Book. But obviously I'm the only one allowed to use it.

I know this has been going round the blogs a fair bit. But to be fair I did see it about a week ago. I was sent it by a friend from South Wales, so she could vouch for its authentic portrayal of Newport[...]

According to BBC's Welsh music blog, the group are due to release the CD as a single. I hope this doesn't go the way of most novelty songs, becoming rapidly annoying, it's too good for that fate.

After an exhausting journey back to London on Monday I somehow managed to blast the dirt off and make it down to the Peacock theatre to hear Mandelson in conversation with a Times journo to discuss his new book, The Third Man.

To see Mandelson in the flesh was pretty exciting. For political geeks such as myself, the experience was akin to seeing a rock star up close. What is most noticeable about his delivery and his body language was the ease with which he held himself. He is so calm, languorous in his movements and simply nothing can ruffle his composure.

There was one moment where I thought this carefully built edifice would crumble when a member of the audience posed a particularly taxing question; 'Have you ever played the game, shoot, shag marry?' The questioner asked Lord Mandelson of Foy how he would deal with Cameron, Clegg and Osbourne with the above stipulations. Quite how he was able to dodge the question, without it feeling like a cop out was amazing. He invoked Reinaldo, his partner to deflect the audience, saying that the Brazillian would shoot him if he either married or shagged someone else. It was a nice insight into his personal life which is often lacking with him and he didn't lose face by having to admit he would shag Cameron et al.

There weren't enough pertinent questions for MAndelson he was on home ground, the audience was full of Westminster types, worthy Labour supporters and what seemed like a handful of researchers. Half an hour after leaving the talk did I actually think of some tough questions I should have asked myself. But the shame, the utter humiliation to be brushed aside or belittled by the Prince of Darkness himself if the question fell short of his standards.

I went to Latitude festival this weekend, it was pleasantly different from other festivals I had visited. Highlights include seeing The XX as well as Florence and the machine.

It was a much more quaint affair than other festivals I have been on, as the emphasis is definitely on the family. Festivals like Leeds, Reading and the Isle of Wight are all about pissed up rowdy teenagers pushing over portaloos and fighting in mosh pits. Latitude is more about face painting, performance dance, live theatre and comedy. Hell there are even seats to watch the performances on the main stage. Seats in a festival!

Part of me missed the crowds of men pissing on every available surface, puddles of sick and passed out drug casualties. It was pleasant sipping cider, cross legged listening to some writer read out a chapter of their latest book or watch some desperate drama student march around on stage.

As it was very relaxed and family orientated I was able to observe a lot of families in action. Genrally I live in a world apart from children and parents. SO it was very interesting for me to have an insight into the over-protective, suffocating face of modern parenting. I saw one eight year old child lying in a sort of flat wheelbarrow, a veritable burnished thrown being pushed around the festival wrapped up in a blanket. As if they were some terminally-ill invalid (they weren't) Fuck's sake, I thought,how anxious are modern parents that they invert the power relationship and treat their children their superiors like nobles that must be transported round in a sedan chair, never allowed to touch the very ground.

The major problem for the festival for poorly thought out travel arrangements. There was one coach leaving the site on Sunday. Originally they planned to stop the coaches to the nearest station at 1. At 12.30 and at the front of a hundred man queue they decided to keep the buses running.

Take a look at the state of the bath after I had my first shower of 4 days. ANd I thought I had a tan, no it was ingrained dirt and sweat and filth.