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.

Gladstone Bag

Don't tell me that aesthetics are subjective - you'll know the truth when you see it...whatever it is! More drinking beer and shouting about the Stranglers, this time at Acoustic Suicide, with a lot of talk of cheese too. Here's Gerry with Seb from the Teens, about to fall into the existential vortex.

The midweek drink

Tabard Street SE1 boasts both a very fine public house, the Royal Oak, and a superb curry house, Simply Indian. Tonight Mr Adams and I sampled the delights of both, extolling the joys of airfix kits, the Stranglers, the Bristol Beaufighter and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in the process.

W10/SW9/SE1

Been mixing the Crops with Toby in Ladbroke Grove today. Sounding very good indeed, though Toby has to take the credit, as we spent most of the day twatting about on the internet. It all went so well that we knocked off early for a beer or three in Stockwell, then Shelly and I went to the Thames festival.

Hackney Marriage

Had a great day in Hackney yesterday at Lizzy and Simon's wedding. Lizzy is Shelly's friend and fellow animator, and made the excellent film, 'The Old Old Very Old Man', among others. Here she is with her son, George, who spent much of the day running around naked, and her Dad, who gave a great speech. Good job it wasn't the other way round.

She loves me, she loves me not...

Tour of Britain Prologue

Spent yesterday afternoon in Crystal Palace with Mr Adams, Mr Smith and offspring, watching the prologue of the Tour of Britain - a time trial around a 1.62 mile circuit. Britain's Mark Cavendish was triumphant in victory, clocking up a time of 2' 27.61", which equates to an extraordinary 39.43 mph (to put this into some sort of perspective, I reckon it would take me at least six minutes to cover the same distance). There were three other Brits in the top ten, including Geraint Thomas, pictured at the start, above, apparently being searched for drugs. Cavendish won today's stage too, so things are looking up for British cycling.

Shed's birthday

Another train journey to Essex - this time for Mr Shed's 40th birthday party in Wickford, once home to the legendary Adrian's Records. Everyone was dressed as mammals, with the odd bird and, er, Shrek thrown in for good measure. Shelly and I were a pair of giraffes, though I did feel a tinge of envy when I saw another badger. Not too sure what Shed himself was supposed to be, but before we got there he was festooned with dead rabbits apparently. Great party though, with Shed's band playing rousing versions of Psycho Killer, Port of Amsterdam and the Cadbury's Flake song. Happy birthday sire!

Ale by Rail

Real ale. Trains. Hog Roast. Men. Beerguts. Beards. These are the essential ingredients of the annual Chappel Beer Festival, held at a railway museum (a boozeum, if you will) in Essex. Spratticus, Shelly, Ian and I set off from Liverpool Street, by train of course, yesterday afternoon. We were hoping that we'd be allowed in despite our lack of facial hair, beerguts and in Shelly's case, testicles. Fortunately the Real Ale Gods were smiling on us and for £5 we not only gained admission but also our own returnable commemorative pint glass each. Wa-hey! Straight to the festival's smallest bar then, the Shunter's Arms, situated in a goods wagon, for our first pint. I believe mine was Marsdon Gold, but more precise details of the evening are a little hazy for some reason. Much vintage railway carriage based quaffing of amusingly named draughts followed as we were joined by Adam, who had arrived with a considerable amount of cheese and a pair of doctors. We did the rounds of the other bars, based in the train sheds, and avoided the horrendous covers band belting out 'classics', before catching the 11.00 train back to London. A first class evening all round. There's talk of cycling and camping next year. Bring it on!

Utrecht - home of Nijntje

Back from a great weekend in Utrecht, saying farewell to Sharon, Marc and Eleanor before they head off to a new life in South Carolina. Did lots of high quality eating and drinking and also went to what must be the world's cutest museum, the Dick Bruna Huis. As you'd expect, there's lots of great Miffy stuff, but also loads of fantastic book cover designs he did for his family's publishing company earlier in his career. For added entertainment, the staff all wear double denim, though we weren't entirely sure if this was by coincidence or design.