Spent all day in the fucking pub...

Celebrated a 2km swim by spending the rest of the day boozing with T-Lo. Lunch in the Priory Arms in Stockwell, then Sintra for Sagres and brandies. The bar staff did everything they could to discourage us, first by refusing to accept an out-of-date fiver, then by giving us the wrong wireless password. Where others might have taken the hint, David simply went to the cash machine for more fivers and picked up a book from his flat to provide us with the info we were looking for online. Genius! Then back to the Priory for the pub quiz, presided over by the Steven Berkoff-esque landlord. We did pretty well considering how hammered we were...I think we came third.

The Meninblack

The post-Christmas blood sugar reduction campaign began yesterday with a brisk cycle ride up to Cristapolis to see Robert and Tom. All the good work was undone by stuffing my face with pie and mash in Domalis (delicious though so worth it). Managed to break the speed limit down Gypsy Hill on the way home!

Ho Ho Ho Tally

Returned yesterday from the annual seasonal voyage round the London/Notts/Suffolk triangle. Had Christmas lunch in a Derbyshire pub with two fellow diabetics at the table, trying to convince me that I could allow myself a dessert once a year. I held firm, dear reader, but did succumb to the siren call of the strawberries on top of the cheesecake.

The long drive down the A14 was made more entertaining by Shelly practising White Stripes and Dolly Parton tunes on her new pink ukulele. She's currently hard at work learning 'When I'm Cleaning Windows', which is actually a lot harder to play than 'Hotel Yorba'. Respect due to Mr Formby.

Met up with T-Lo in Suffolk. I was designated driver so wasn't able to join him on the Tally Ho - the highly potent Adnams brew, only served in half-pints as it's practically a liqueur. The effect it had on him was pretty impressive, so I've promised myself a return trip to the Low House to try it out myself. When someone else is driving.

Recanonised

Thanks for bearing with me while I was lensless. Funny how pictures tend to drive the words rather than the other way round - god knows how Samuel Pepys managed without a digital camera. Anyway, I took delivery of a shiny new Ixus 950 yesteday so here's my first few tentative shots. There's Michael and Richard on today's show, which had a festive feel as we pulled crackers and reflected on the year's sessions. Then on to Borough Market to meet Shelly and Jo, and then a cup of char with Spratticus.

Merry Christmas - see you on the other side!

It's just a simple metaphor, for a burning love...

Another picture from the Badger vaults - this time a forest fire in north east Spain in 2005. There'd been a big one in the news a few days before and apparently it's quite comon for others to break out soon after as the news coverage sends copycat arsonists into something of a frenzy.

Loose Canon

Left my camera on the tube last week, hence no posts this week. While I save up for a new camera, I thought I'd raid the Badger archives to keep the blog ticking over. This was taken in 2004 at KROK, the Russian/Ukrainian floating animation festival, which was, as I've mentioned here before, quite possibly the most extraordinary 10 days of my life. For some more recent, and completely amazing, post-communist pictures, take a look at Tomoland's shots from Moldova.

Great Danes, folky fairies and crisp winter mornings

Out last night in Hackney at Peter, Trine and Oskar's farewell do, before they head back to Copenhagen. We'll miss them for many reasons, but for me particularly because Trine is the only other person in London I know who shares my passion for tractors. Good party though; we ate bread baked with entire eggs inside, complete with shells, and drank whisky from eggcups with lions on that looked like mini-toilets. Classy people, those Danes.




A busy but mellow Hello Goodbye show this afternoon. Playing live were Emma Tricca, who looks like a folky lady Ramone and has a fantastic voice, along with Smoke Fairies, also with fabulous voices and the Crisps, who were quite splendid too. They have a song called Tring and their guitarist Walter spent their entire interview applying extra layers of clothes until he had almost disappeared. I guess that must mean winter's here.

I called her honey bee, I called her love...

I've always fancied taking up bee-keeping, and would, I think, particularly enjoy the irony of being an apiarist with diabetes mellitus. I wouldn't want to commit to an entire hive straight away though, in case I didn't take to it. So, I've been getting Shelly to dress up as a giant bee to get me used to the idea. How's it going? None of your beeswax.

Can't complain, mustn't grumble....

Recovered from the rock and roll excesses of Saturday night with Sunday lunch at the Oak, washed down with a few leisurely pints of Pale. Lucien had a whale of a time getting passed round the various laps on the table as his mum tucked into her dinner. Vast quantities of cheese were consumed, which would no doubt have horrified my dietician, who reckons the safe amount is one matchbox size piece of fromage....per week!!!! Then again, as my neighbour Beaver Bill pointed out, he didn't specify the size of the matchbox. Anyway, at least I kept away from the crumble, which I'm reliably informed was delicious.

Charing Cross Road Uber Alles

Busy day for the Badger yesterday. Cycled up to Olympia after the resonance show to see English teaching guru Jeremy Harmer talk, then got the bus to Brixton for Michael's birthday shenanigans at the Windmill, which featured an excellent set from James III. Then back in to town to spin some discs with T-Lo at the Mean Fiddler. Last time I was there it was still called the LA2 and we were onstage with Heave (supporting Salad!) in 1994. Yikes! Last night most of our DJ set coincided with a band playing downstairs, so we were mostly putting the wax on the tracks to an almost empty room. Luckily Keith, Sandra and Tommo were on hand to lend moral support and to savour the delights of the UK Subs, Dead Kennedys and Dead Boys heard on scratchy vinyl at full volume. Mind you, that didn't stop Keith berating us through the chicken wire of the DJ booth for occasionally straying from the punk rock remit.

Formidable!

Cracking sessions from improvisers Uncle Rabbit and French duo John & Jehn on the show today.

Curry Up Harry

The four horsemen of the apocalypse (Catford branch) gathered in Brockley last night for a curry to honour Mr Smith's birthday. Very good food indeed and a right old laugh to boot.

Prison Walls, Burning Leaves

That's what's left of the wall to the Marshalsea Debtor's Prison, where Charles Dickens's father served time. It's round the corner from the new and decidedly un-Dickensian Resonance studio. We're still getting used to our new surroundings, and the challenges of adapting to fully functional equipment, but yesterday went pretty smoothly, with Burning Leaves playing a charmingly mellow set of beautiful songs. Richard brought in a CD by a Scottish singer called Iona Marshall, with a song called Shell and Dye - that's me and the she-wolf, innit? Spooky.

Wolf Whistle

Another makeover for Shelly, this time of a more lupine bent.

Triplet Makeover

Shelly got a makeover on Sunday from the Dalston triplets. Nice work girls.

Oktober Festering

Shepherd's delighful skies over SE10 yesterday. Keira Knightley had been filming a period drama called Duchess outside my office window. Sadly it did not appear to be based on the lyrics of the Stranglers song of the same name. Rattus Norvegicus: The Musical, now there's an idea to conjure with. (Note to self: try to stop mentioning the Stranglers in blog)
Up to the Gladstone again last night for another Acoustic Suicide, hosted by a particularly bouffant Richard. I stood outside with Spizz and his daughter Molly, though none of us are smokers, and admired the appropriately autumnal Burning Leaves through the bleary lens of the pub window.

Sugar: beat

Haven't blogged from the diabetic frontline for a while. The good news is that the metformin seems to be working a treat. My blood sugar readings have been quite respectable for the last month or so and my HbA1c ('glycosylated haemoglobin' count) last week was 7.1, only just outside the 'good control' zone of below 7.0. To get it down a bit further I'm now popping one more pill a day and trying to cut down how much I eat in the evenings. Not an easy thing to do when you're half-man, half-gannet, an affliction I share with all the other males in my family, but I shall try.

I do like Mondays!

An horrendous week for many reasons, among them succumbing to a particularly nasty gatric virus of some sort. I will spare you the details. Some relief yesterday at the swish new Resonance premises in Borough, with the fabulous Monday Club putting in a tremendous session performance. Apparently they chose the band name in homage to the reduced drinks prices in Wetherspoons at the beginning of the week, without being aware of the far-right group of Tory dimwits using the same banner, who may well have chosen the name for the same reason.

More reasons to be cheerful were supplied by Robin's splendid Tron trainers - 'Tronners' if you will. Nice!

Tic Tac Tank Top Toe

Attack Switch Attack on especially fine form at the Tavistock Hotel Bowling Lanes last night, with Simon sporting a great Wilfred Owen haircut. Disco Bobby had to dash off to the news desk of the Mirror straight afterwards. Hold the Front Page indeed.