A perfect day in the perfect pub - #4

"...folded back shirt sleeves, as the sun streams down from the sky"

The fact that there is a slew of London's finest record stores within 2 minutes walk of this particular 'Moon Under Water', reinforces the reason why this is the best day in the best pub. The fish-finger sandwich, gorgeous. The second Guinness, finished. At the Cricket, it is still lunchtime. Outside, the Soho streets fizz with life. 

Leaving my paper and phone on the table. Nobody will steal my phone or my table. We just don't do that here. I climb the three stories to the roof terrace - empty. I'll come back up around 3:40 (tea-time at the cricket). 

Time to pop into Soul Jazz or one of the other record shops in Berwick Street, Murphy might still be around. Skim through the racks and boxes. Pick up a mint condition copy of Weekend's wonderful La Varieté. Put a deposit down on a pristine copy of 'Ascenseur pour l'echafaud' by Miles Davis. Then back in the pub before she glides through the door at 1:30.

My table has been tidied, a bottle of Tattinger is in one of the pubs rare ice buckets (made from a WW1 German helmet picked up at Ypres). My phone has been recharged, newspapers folded and a printed scorecard of the morning's play placed on a silver tray for my perusal.

The hubbub of Soho seeps in a couple of seconds before she does. Despite the fact that the pub is quite quiet (oh the bliss), a palpable silence accompanies her first step through the side door. She knows where I'll be, same table, same seat. 'The view from her room' by Weekend drifts from the jukebox in perfect time. She is wearing a summer dress, her hair short, two degrees south of ebony. She is beautiful, not least because she doesn't know or care whether she is or she isn't. 

She slides into 'her' seat. A double vodka and lemonade (ice, no slice) appears. 

They know her here.

It is 1:35pm.

Day in the life... (September 2020)

 Everything's Tuesday

--- A lone detached

dragonfly wing

lies ignored 

on the wooden table

outside the kitchen.

--- Dust clings to

the shop window.

--- Off Grove Road.

Second hand 

record shops,

brimming with 

teenage delights.

Invictus blue

labels spin

relentlessly

at 45 RPM.

--- and we sigh

Everything

is Tuesday.

Day in the life.. (September 2020)

 Flat

-- Another year

cardboard days

full of distance,

fog, smoke and

diminished

memories.

The toaster goes 

here -- well, it

always used to.

--- the red and purple

of a child's fridge

painting. Can't throw

it away. Can't keep it.

Photos

Photos

Photos

Photos

... that I cannot revisit

Books

Books

Books

Books

... that I'll never read.

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

Finite

---- The stream 

that flows.

The light that glows.

---- The sea, the moon.

Even the Sun ----

Finite.

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

Blackbell Railway

And over the train tannoy...

-- "This last carriage 

is reserved

only for those 

travelling to 

Bitter, Resentful and Bigot.

--- Please move further

down the train if 

you've got X-ray vision,

a glimpse of the future

and one eye on the past.

All poets must travel

in the front 4 carriages

as this train splits in two

at Indecision.

The last four coaches

will then call at 

Me first, then 

Selfish Parkway, 

Vile Self-Loathing

and Bognor

before finishing at

All-at-fucking Sea ----

Whilst the first four carriages 

will head on to Ecstasy,

Despair, High-on-Hope,

Disappointment East,

Disappointment West,

Euphoria Central

and will finally arrive at

TERMINAL..."

Day in the life of a... (September 2020)

A darker perspective

-- Mountain high, all time low.

Surrounded by love. 

The treachery 

of the mind.

And to think

that the best days

are so far behind us.

--- The mercurial mix

of amphetamine sulphate,

Holsten Pils, treble

vodkas --- and the girl

from accounts. 

---- Did we really have 

to aim quite so high?

-- Apollo and Artemis

got lost somewhere 

between here and 

Leicester Square.

Meanwhile Dionysus

has got the landlord

in a headlock and 

is promising 'free drinks

for all' --- 

----- Bowie on the jukebox,

silence on the other end 

of the phone.

Mountain high, all time low.

Day in the life of ... (September 2020)

Day Off

-- Hoping for a day away

from the churn and terror

of capturing these days.

We are lost. 

The humanity vortex.

--- Turn the net off.

Silence the radios.

This is all getting out of hand.

Day in the life of... (September 2020)

Onyx 

-- White crows arrive,

as the fret moves out.

The garden is yet to fall

to the clutch of the sea.

Grass stoached though.

An olympic white Fender

leans against the bookshelf.

Mustang ---

The notebooks red, filled

with black ink spider 

scrawl and sprawl. A long

black hair trapped

in the stapled pages. 

---- Tanned yet white,

long fingers stretch.

The songwriter looked down.

"Never can recall exactly

when this Onyx ring

came into our lives...

It changed everything"

Tea is ready, the fire is lit

and the whisky is 

just an hour away...

Stoach - To trample grass to mud (Sussex dialect).

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Suburban rapture 

 -- Dusk builds in the distance

behind the drab grey

Corporation tennis courts.

Fading football matches

scurry to a last goal wins

disputed conclusion.

Clouds of Rothmans

and Embassy, filter 

upwards --

Suburban rapture.

She loves he loves 

we love we hate

West Ham run

ACAB etc---

Brick wall, Fluoro script, 

the Newtown Rosetta.

Another cider night

in the den. Rituals.

-- Bringing us closer

to the end. 

Perfidious Albion - #3

The horrorshow that is Brexit & Covid beggars belief. And yet, the blatant cronyism, piled on top of the numerous grants offered to numerous friends of the Tory government - are like breadcrumbs leading us to the bigger project that is rumbling along inside No.10 - 

The break up of the Union.

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Mayfly

-- In the semi-light,

a magical domain.

Senses collide.

-- Arcane
two-stroke

petrol and 

creosote mingle
in the warmth.

The rusted tins,

stale tobacco

and fertiliser 

fill the old shed.

Fresh sandwiches

ready for noon, 

cucumber spread, 

Sunblest and 

Anchor butter.

---- To Stamford Pond

to find a Mayfly.

Another day,

ancient sunlight,

eternal summer.

Perfidious Albion - #2

I wake up in the middle of the night and have to check the news. What ghastly horrors await? What have they done this time? How much have they stolen? Can nobody stop them? Just exactly when did all the adults leave the room? Does integrity count for nothing? Does honesty count for even less these days? I always believed that the notion of 'one rule for them and another rule for us', was a rather trite appraisal of the situation. But it would seem that I was kidding myself... The old and oft spouted adage adage that "if you are not a Socialist by the time you are 21 - then you haven't got a heart. But if you are not a Tory by the time you are 40 - then you haven't got a brain" is something that has stuck in my craw ever since my very first day at work. 

Although in these days, it would seem that even the old time 'One Nation' Tories would be tarred with a similar brush. The new brutalism of the current Eton crop leaves many traditional Tories gasping for air. And the thing I don't understand is that, if they played the old game, they would still be in control. This new approach seems so hellbent on leading us at breakneck speed towards chaos that they are going to break everything they once held dear. 

Or is this all part of Der Masterplan...

Shameless - A review

Excerpt of a lovely review from Dave Smithers of SHAMELESS Magazine in the U.K.

- It’s not often you get to revisit your teenage musical fascinations from this distance but The Butterfly House have managed to transport me back to April 1983, across the space of their 8-track 10” LP ‘From the Wish Tower...’. 

No studio pyrotechnics or overdubs means that the result is fresh, yet reminiscent of the Cherry Red recordings of Everything but the Girl & The Monochrome Set.

Sanaz has a unique yet beguiling vocal style and the songs betray a lyrical variety that is missing from so many current releases. Franks, the songwriter and guitarist wears his influences (Weller, Mayfield, Pearson) comfortably.
The rhythm section of the former 10-Bob Nostril bassist Eric Lawrence and Sydney drum legend Hamish Stuart raise the bar and all in all this is a delightful, simple yet occasionally flawed debut. 

SHAMELESS FACTOR: 7/10
FORMATS: 10” LTD Black Vinyl, CD, D/L.
STANDOUTS: Walking Home, Last Wave

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

 Wild Poppies

-- In the lee of the 
Sussex Downs,
a field of wild poppies

explode in the heat

of another

Jevington morning.

a glimpse of

heaven, along 

the lane.

-- St Andrew's

door is open. 

The silence is

fractured.

--- The Sunflower 

Ceremony.

The faintest hint 

of Absolut ---

Some kisses 

mean so much 

more than others.

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Le Couple, La Radio et Le Vin
(Bar de La Marine, Cassis)

-- Resting against 
the Zinc. 
Kir Royale in 
the embrace of her 
sun-tanned hand.

Both damp
after the long
walk back from 
the quietest Calanque.
---- Her hair lemon 
bleached and smile
magnetic bright.

The afternoon
stretched out
before them like 
Le Méditéranéen.

The radio played
in the corner 
of the bar.
--- "Perhaps, 
we should have had
one more bottle."

Perhaps not.

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

One day Summer

-- Shingle shards
dig deep into 
tanned back.

Alone with the 
pages browned 
by age and 
the sea mist
that drifts 
along Seaside
into my
open window ----
Moonraker.
--- Time to swim
before the call
and clamour.

I miss the
solitary days
on the beach 
below the 
Holywell Beach Huts.

--- In the quiet days
at the end of 
the affair.

Perfidious Albion - #1

I've done well. I mean credit where credit is due. I've tried really hard to keep my part of the bargain, anyone can see that. The problem is, when I promised myself to commit to updating https://thethingsimissaboutengland.blogspot.com on a more regular basis. I challenged myself not to fly off the handle at the incompetence, laziness, ineptitude, brazen pilfering, backhand deals with dodgy Eton mates and comfy arrangement with coked-up/messed up city chums and demonic overseas backers. 

In fact, I swore to myself that I would not call out these feckless bunch of Neo-fascist chancers with their ghastly anti-immigrant stance and their divisive; smash the poor, starve the weak, kill the old and feed the rich policies. 

I also made sure I wouldn't draw attention to their numerous U-turns, vile distractions and abysmal solutions. 

I've done well. Unlike...

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Russell Square Tuesday

-- Still hiding behind 
cigarette smoke
after all these years.

On the top deck, 
the metallic
click in the back clack
of the throat.
--- shouldn't be drinking 
on the way to work really
but who is going to stop me.
I'll get off at the stop 
after the office
and sit in the park 
awhile. 

---- Birdsong
traffic hum
diesel fog
vodka fumes.

The Russell Square
Cabmen's shelter
---- one oasis amidst 
the madness.

Before the inevitable. 
-- revolving glass doors
cold design, hot desks.
I'm sure nobody suspects.
Staff protocols/free coffee.
------ Well, maybe they do
but if they do
they sure as hell don't care.

-- It seems like everyone 
has got their own world 
to worry about these days.

And I mean everyone...

Day in the life of a Poet (September 2020)

Noonglow

-- Midday sunshine
hits Soho directly 
between the eyes.

The swiftest 
of Cappucinos.
--- And then we plunge
down the Dive Bar steps.
-- Sounds of 
Detroit Soul
Jamaican Ska
revving up 
from the depths.

----A rainbow appears 
in our underground.
Ivy League
 Spezzato
  Sprezzatura
   Su misura
     Sartoriale
       Schmutter

A taste of honey 
on the lips of angels.
-- we are all in paradise now.

Welcome to Noonglow!

A perfect day in the perfect pub - #3

"The Place I love is a million miles away..."

Lunchtime at the cricket, lunchtime in the perfect pub and a distant dream time on the jukebox. The Jam's 'The Place I love'* is playing. One of my favourite Weller songs, it always reminds of George Orwell's 'Coming up for Air'. 

In which, the main character George Bowling decides to revisit the places of his childhood, in particular he plans to revisit a specific pond with a large fish in that he had tried to capture over 30 years ago. When Bowling returns, he finds the whole place unrecognisable. He eventually locates the old pub where he is due to stay but finds it much changed. His old family home has become a tea-shop. Only the church and the vicar appear unchanged. 

The saddest part is when Bowling sees his ex-girlfriend. She has been so ravaged by time that she is almost unrecognisable and utterly devoid of the qualities he once adored. She in turn, fails to recognise him at all.

Thankfully, 'The Place I love' lingers in utopian days of sanctuary despite the fact that: 

"... the place I love is overgrown now
with beautiful moss and colourful flowers
and goldfish that swim in a pool, there's a small brick wall
with neon lighting, controlled by lightning"

As my mind reaches out for the opening salvo of Rick Buckler's drums on A-bomb in Wardour Street that never arrives, a fish finger sandwich drenched in Heinz Salad Cream, Vinegar and Tabasco does. The barman knows to leave bottles of all three condiments on the table too. The thick cut chips were brought here directly from Mount Olympus and melt on contact with my tongue. A second pint of Guinness has also appeared in a blur of efficiency and gratitude. 

The good news from the cricket is that Jimmy Anderson has already bagged three early Aussie wickets. Meanwhile, Internazionale are interested in buying a decent goalkeeper from Genoa and an amateur British cyclist has been tipped as an outside hope for this year's tour. 

All this and it is only ten past one! 

*I know that 'The Place I love' was never released on 7" 

but this is a perfect day in a perfect pub....