The Troubled Diva Old Curiosity Box – Item 2.
Hard-Corps – Dirty (1984) (4.41mb)

Admin: I’ve decided to release these on Friday and Monday afternoons wherever possible. I shall also retain the immediately preceding MP3, so that there will always be two MP3s available at any one time.

Got that? Right then.

For those of you who are still (yawn) into electroclash (don’t worry – the electroclash revival starts next Friday at noon), here’s an obscure 12-incher from 1984 which sounds quite extraordinarily up to date in the current climate. It could quite plausibly be passed off as a hot new release from the International Deejay Gigolo stable, without anyone batting a kohl-blackened eyelid. Lots of those beguilingly incomprehensible mutterings in some unidentifiable European language, which are so de rigueur these days. Could somebody please tell me what she’s on about?

This is great. You’ll love it.

Update: Sorry - you weren't quick enough. These MP3s are no longer on my server. I generally make them available for a week or so (sometimes less) before substituting them for new ones. Better luck next time!

“If loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.”
Ten Fashion No-No’s Which Make Me Go Yes! Yes!

1. Medallion men.
Ah, that tantalising sliver of exposed cleavage. Universally accepted – nay, encouraged - on women. Unaccountably discouraged – nay, reviled - on men. Not fair, I say!

2. Deliberately ripped jeans.
Garments are at their most alluring where they gape. See also above.

3. Braces.
Disappointingly, braces (or suspenders, to my American readers) are now at the very bottom of the fashion cycle. Their time will surely come again. I think the appeal has something to do with their restraining, harness-like qualities. Yes, I think I’d better stop right there.

4. Jacket & tie with jeans.
So endearingly gauche (unless you’re a member of The Strokes, and doing it in a Noo Yawk Noo Wave Retro Stylee). It’s all about contrasts and contradictions – the smart and the scruffy, the rough and the smooth.

5. Sleeves rolled up above the elbow.
Has the visual effect of enlarging the upper arm. Bonus naff/nice points for rolling up the sleeves of T-shirts (if you can dismiss all thoughts of Kajagoogoo, and Harry Enfield’s “Booger All Money”).

6. T-shirts tucked into waistbands.
The “untucked” paradigm shift of the late 1980s/early 1990s ushered in one of male fashion’s most prolonged Dark Ages – for reasons which I hope I don’t need to spell out. Thanks for nowt, Madchester! Again, bonus naff/nice points for T-shirts tucked into shorts.

7. Matching denim jackets & jeans.
A symphony in faded blues. That Shakin’ Stevens look gets an undeserved bad press, doncha think?

8. Collars turned up.
See above. Emphasises and eroticises the neck in some strange way. Or is that just me? Don’t answer that.

9. Banana hammocks.
When did the decree go out that all male beachwear should henceforth be long and baggy? Did I miss a meeting? I certainly never gave my assent.

10. Sunglasses at night.
Adds an air of low-rent mystery. When Tiga & Zyntherius go top ten, they’ll all be doing it…

Sunglasses At Night (Nottingham's bleeding hedge electroclash silk sash bash) - Buni tells it like it was.

Anyway, electroclash is sooo three days ago. There’s even a centre-spread article in today’s Guardian review – the final nail in the coffin, if ever there was one.

I’ve moved on, and am now planning to spend the weekend listening to early 1970s Genesis albums. Ironically revive/recontextualise that, you motherf**kers!

K flies back from his US business trip tonight. He'll be home in the morning.

(*) He's actually flying from New Jersey airport - still, pretty close!

Addicted To You, by Laura Voutilainen. So good, that it wouldn't sound out of place on the current Kylie album. Yes, that good. Oh, stop smirking like that, would you?

Helsinki 2003, or I'm a Dutchman. Remember, you read it here first.

Peter's opening chapter for The Naked Novel is now online. This is the web based collaborative writing project which I mentioned a couple of weeks back. It's a long piece, best printed off and enjoyed at leisure, which sets an admirable standard for the rest of us to follow.

Unfortunately, there has been a heavy price to pay for my Good Old Fashioned Big Gay Boozy Weekend. Yes - The Fist, The Screwdriver and The Spasm are back. Ouch. Nasty bottom.

I’ve been scuttling round the comments boxes today, leaving little messages here and there, and basically burying what might otherwise have made decent content. So, having scuttled back round again to collect it all together, I can now bring you:

Wednesday’s Comments (Extended Remix).

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Whilst having my hair "done" the other day (that number 2 crop takes time and money to perfect, I'll have you know), my hairdresser was telling me about the theft of his home PC, while he was away on holiday. All his coursework lost - no backups - a total disaster.

"Oh, but what you need is a zip drive!" - and I told him all about them, with great authority of tone.

"That sounds good - thanks - guess I'll have to go shopping for one. Never heard of them before. Hey, how did you find out about them?"

"Well...erm... Aidan got Carrie one on Sex In The City..."

Sex In The City is just a primer for life - in so many ways.

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This lunchtime, I manfully braved the glares of the snooty assistants in Nottingham's snobbiest record shop (Selectadisc), in order to buy budget CD reissues of two Genesis albums: Selling England By The Pound and Foxtrot. I don’t think I have felt so furtive in a retail establishment since the early 1980s, when I first started buying Gay News. There were the same nervous glances at the counter, waiting until it was clear of customers, then approaching the one assistant who had never served me before, in a vain attempt to preserve my anonymity.

Back in the office, I quickly stashed the CDs away in my desk. Normally – and especially if I’ve bought something groovy which the Young People might like – I will happily leave the CD box on my desktop, almost as an invitation for comments. But not this time. How do you explain Genesis to the young and hip?

Later on, I popped Selling England… into my Discman. It was like returning to an old friend. Dear God, but it still sounded ravishing. I was really quite overcome – so much so that I had to call a halt after The Battle Of Epping Forest. My work rate was suffering badly, as I sat staring into the middle distance, lost in Prog Heaven, fighting the urge to mouth the lyrics and play air keyboards.

I’ve defended Prog before, and I’m not about to do it again. But I can’t help feeling a continued annoyance at my prolonged collusion with the popular received wisdom that All Prog Was Rubbish. It wasn’t rubbish at all – it was just coming from an entirely different place than most of the music which has succeeded it.

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Having written extensively about “electroclash” yesterday, I now discover, with some excitement, that an electroclash event is taking place right here in Nottingham tomorrow (Thursday) night.

The event is called "Sunglasses At Night", and it takes place at the Moog bar at Canning Circus, just off Alfreton Road. 8pm to midnight, free admission, two DJs. The posters display a long and mouth-watering list of artists, both old and new.

The venue is only 10 minutes’ walk away from my home, and even less of a distance from Buni’s place (he’s coming along too). What’s more, my favourite local pub (The Sir John Borlase Warren) is just around the corner – so if the night does turn out to be a dud, we can simply retreat to the comfort of our usual Thursday night environment. It’s what you might call a no-risk operation.

Expect a breathless report on Friday.

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Do you use Blogback to host your comments? Well then, listen up.

You know when someone posts a HUGE URL in the comments box, which throws the page size out, but you can't resize the box? You know how that makes the comments really difficult to read, what with all that constant scrolling to the right and back again?

Well, if you put &resize=1 into the "script type=" string at the top of your Blogger template, you can then manually resize the window whenever the situation occurs. Go take a look at my source code for clarification.

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Marcus posted an admirably passionate and heartfelt piece about his attitude to gay relationships, which struck several major chords with my own views. His piece also served to remind me of how often I have observed other gay men getting things so very badly wrong.

One particular attitude, which I’ve witnessed many times over the years – particularly on the London scene, it has to be said – runs like this:

Since I've been f**ked over so often in the past, I'm now going to f**k you over, before you get the chance to f**k me over.

This attitude is both woefully self-destructive and hideously disrespectful. It also negates any chance for any measure of trust to establish itself. This is fatal.

Because without trust, you have nothing. It is one of the very few indispensables in any relationship – along with respect and commitment. Respect for the other guy, and respect for what you have together. A commitment which is not blindly made to some notional endless future of perfect happiness, but which is directly applied to what you have in the here and now – implying a will to make things work, even when things get tricky.

Other than that – there aren’t really any other rules. Except the ones which you might choose for yourselves.

Oh, someone shut me up before I get any more preachy…

Tuneful Tuesday (slight return).

It's all gone music mad today! I've loaded up the first MP3 from my Old Curiosity Box (see sidebar, and below), and I've penned a lengthy "think piece" on the movement they're all calling "electroclash" (coming up next). And now, here's the rest of the day's music stuff in brief.

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Kevin Ayers. In my teens, this man was my absolute musical hero. I still own all his albums from 1969 to 1983, plus all sorts of other stuff besides. The best of his work still sounds great today (Joy Of A Toy, Whatevershebringswesing, Bananamour and the Odd Ditties compilation).

Damon Albarn. Did some great stuff with Blur, then some mediocre stuff with Blur, then some inexplicably overrated and really rather annoying stuff with The Gorillaz.

You'd think these two figures would have nothing in common, wouldn't you? Well, you might have to think again. For if Popbitch is to believed, then they might just have an awful lot in common. Like genes, for instance. Here, go read this. I am still in a state of shock.

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Ever wanted to get your hands on every video of every song of every Eurovision Song Contest ever? Of course you have. And now you can. Thanks to David for that, even if he did provide the link through clenched teeth.

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The "suddenly interesting again" Pet Shop Boys are back on tour again, and this time they're coming to the Nottingham Royal Concert Hall, just 15 minutes' walk away from where I live. Hooray! And today, I got the best seats in the house (6th row in the centre stalls) for myself, Chig, Dymbel, Dymbellina and Mir. Double Hooray!

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Back in 1973, when K was but a youngster, he had a ticket to see Genesis in concert. This was back in the days when Genesis were considered to be the last word in cool by a certain strata of English youth. It was also back in the days when they were - whisper it if you dare - quite good. Which means, of course, the Foxtrot / Selling England By The Pound period. Anyway, K's ticket was for the official Selling England By The Pound show, an elaborately staged spectacle by all accounts. Unfortunately, K then got sick and couldn't attend - and was bitterly disappointed.

This Spring, a show called The Musical Box is coming to the Nottingham Royal Concert Hall (yes, that place again). It has been touring internationally for some years now, and is - guess what? - a faithful recreation of that very same Genesis show. They've even got their hands on the original back projections! Cool! And so - of course! - I've bought us tickets. Who could possibly resist?

Awash With Electroclash...

Over the past few days, I have been immersing myself in the increasingly popular mutant strain of eighties-retro-synth-dance-pop which some people (OK, some style journos) have started to call “electroclash”. As something of a former 80s synth-kid myself, it’s enjoyable to track the revival and recontextualisation of a genre which I enjoyed so much the first time round.

Of course, we’re not dealing with straightforward nostalgia/pastiche here – beyond an undeniable kitsch appeal, that would be dull indeed. Instead, what he have is 80s electro filtered through later musical developments, and with subtle shifts in emphasis.

First off – much of the synth-pop of my youth had “arty” pretensions. You imagined its creators as pale, tormented souls, copies of Kafka stuffed into the pockets of their trenchcoats, making music that reflected a world of cold, harsh urban alienation – man versus machine, that sort of thing. Whereas the new breed seem altogether more hedonistic, up for it, and – well – sexy.

80s synth-pop was rarely sexy. It came in the wake of punk and post-punk, which were both avowedly asexual – almost anti-sexual. Cabaret Voltaire and Fad Gadget may have been many things, but they certainly weren’t shagging music. However, there were two noticeable exceptions to this, who I would class as particularly significant influences on today’s electroclashers. Suicide and Soft Cell: the two great pervy synth-duos. Why look – there’s even a Marc Almond track on the new mix CD from International Deejay Gigolo Records…

And boy, is this new music ever obsessed with sex. Here are some track titles: Porno Actress (Dopplereffekt), F**ker (Fischerspooner), Lovertits (Peaches), Grab My Shaft (Louie Austen). Ooh, missus! All those breathy Germanic sounding ladies with slightly off-key voices, muttering about their private parts!

But hang on though – wasn’t there another musical genre with similarly cartoon-porn lyrical stylings? Anyone remember Belgian New Beat? It was the future of music for ooh, about three months in the middle of 1988, but the underground scene that went with it lasted a lot longer. I think we’ve located another point in our musical journey here, folks.

And let’s not forget the music that immediately preceded it, either – electro. Where Kraftwerk met George Clinton, spawning the mighty Planet Rock, quickly followed by squillions of records about Smurfs, Pac-Men and Space Cowboys. When “hip hop” meant Man Parrish, not Eric B & Rakim. Again, hardly sexy – but you can hear its influence all over acts like Ellen Allien and Miss Kitten & The Hacker.

Pure techno music has played its part along the way, as well. You can continue drawing your line from New Beat, over to Detroit techno, and back to some of the Dutch and German hardcore that was around in the early days of Trade and FF (whose main DJ Mrs. Wood had previously worked for Some Bizarre). Much of electroclash is still basically club music – to be heard in the mix, on the floor. Even Zombie Nation was not so very far away from being electroclash (they started off on the International Deejay Gigolo label as well, you know).

Now, worryingly, the Ministry Of Sound seem to be sniffing round the "movement" (if we dare call it that); they’ve already signed Fischerspooner, and there are also rumours of a forthcoming TV-advertised compilation. The dance industry is already in something of a pickle, with falling sales, dwindling attendances, club closures and severely arrested musical development. Will it seize upon this music as a lifeline? Will there be electroclash “Room Twos” in the superclubs before the summer is through? It is all too possible.

In fact, within a year from now, all this retro-modernity might very well be looking distinctly tired and dated. But for now – while it’s still new(ish) and fresh and full of ideas – I just can’t get enough.

Recommended listening:

Fischerspooner - #1. If you only want to own one album in this genre, then this is the one to get. Definitive.

Ladytron – 604. A Liverpudlian take on things, with more of a 60s sci-fi/cold war feel and plenty of enjoyably incomprehensible Bulgarian mumblings.

American Gigolo – The Best Of International Deejay Gigolo Records. A budget priced mix CD containing several tracks from Miss Kittin & The Hacker, along with Fischerspooner and the track which is being tipped to be the movement’s first top 10 hit...

Tiga & Zyntherius - Sunglasses At Night. This is a cover of Corey Hart’s dodgy mid-80s European hit (which I dimly remember being mixed with the original version of West End Girls, on an even dodgier import 12” called West End Sunglasses). I can’t quite hear the mass commercial potential of this track myself, but I seem to be firmly in the minority, so will no doubt be proved wrong in the very near future. Anyway, it’s fun trying to mentally fit West End Girls over the top of it, if nothing else.

Kitty-Yo Int. 2002.02. A sampler compilation from one of the other big labels, Kitty-Yo. This has the advantage of cheapness - a mere fiver in Fopp Records, my local store. Nicely varied – from porno-naughtiness to soothing ambience. Features Gonzales on a couple of tracks, as well as Peaches. Along with Fischerspooner, Gonzales is the other clear candidate for stardom here. His work transcends the genre, and his forthcoming album sounds highly promising.

Ellen Allien – Stadtkind. Sent to me on CDR by Arcol, my muso-buddy from Louth. Berlin based bleak urban desolation music which you can dance to. Stark, fairly minimal electronic grid patterns. Not for the beginner, I have to say.

City Rockers presents Futurism. Recommended by David. A comprehensive round-up of most of the current leading lights, including last year's lovably dumb Euro-smash: Missy Queens Gonna Die, by Tok Tok vs. Soffy O. Not heard it myself, but I know a good dozen of the tracks already, and this does look like a perfect introductory primer.

Electric Stew – The Album. Double mix CD from the painfully trendy East London club night (frequented by the likes of Jarvis Cocker & Chloe Sevigny, big with the Sleaze Nation crowd – oh yes, I’ve done my background reading all right!) Only the first CD counts as electroclash: here you’ll find Sunglasses At Night again, plus Felix Da Housecat, A.R.E. Weapons (who are at the rockier end of the spectrum), Peaches, Playgroup, Miss Kittin and other people with funny names. Particularly fine. The second CD is something else entirely – an “after hours” set of utterly gorgeous, very well chosen stuff from the likes of Spiritualized, Sigur Ros, Nick Drake, PJ Harvey, the B-52’s, Doves and Turin Brakes. And even two short pieces from Siobhan “thought you were dead” Fahey. So, if you buy this and then decide you hate all this poncey electronic nonsense after all, you're still left with a quality product...

As I'm sitting on a truly huge music collection, it does seem only right and proper to share it. So, taking a leaf out of Remi's book, I'm going to start offering MP3s for download.

The MP3s will be taken from the most obscure corners of my collection. Think of them as musical curiosities. I'll only be offering old tunes which are difficult or impossible to get hold of (so there will be no Britney, Shakira, Will Young or Gareth Gates downloads here - goodbye Googlers!)

So here's the first one for you:

Cristina - Is That All There Is? (5.30 mb)

This was released on the legendary Ze label (from New York), and is a reworking of the old Lieber & Stoller song, with some drastically revised lyrics. In fact, so drastically revised that Lieber & Stoller themselves kicked up a huge fuss over the supposed desecration of their song, leading to the single being withdrawn from the shops after just one week of release. This makes it terribly rare. However, being a hip little dude, I actually bought it during that first week (in Spring 1980), and have treasured it ever since.

We are a long way from the well known Peggy Lee version here. Or the more recent PJ Harvey / John Parrish version, for that matter. Cristina's version is drenched in New York sleaze and gloriously black, black humour. You remember that story I told you about The Rent Boy? Well, when I played him this record, he immediately fell in love with it, adopting it as his personal anthem thereafter. Listen to it, and gain a window on his twisted soul.

Without wishing to be unnecessarily evangelical, I do honestly believe that every single last one of you will love this one - and I certainly won't be saying that of some of the other, more specialist tracks that I've got lined up. So go on, do yourselves a favour, and cop a listen.

I'll be leaving this on my server for a few days, before replacing it with a new track.

When I was young, and single, and screwed up, there were any number of pop songs whose lyrics would make me go “Yes! Oh God, yes! This is me! This is just how I’m feeling!”. I’d put them on the record player, I’d flop onto my bed, and I’d live every word of them. ABC’s Poison Arrow and The Look Of Love immediately spring to mind, as do Japan’s Ghosts and The Jam’s Start!

Now that I am older, and settled, and sorted out, this very rarely happens to me. Which makes it all the more exciting when a tune does come along which perfectly describes my current state of mind.

Pet Shop Boys, I salute you. After the disappointment of the Nightlife album (come on, when was the last time you played it?), Home And Dry is a cracking return to form. Playing it at my desk this afternoon, it was so startlingly apt (right down to the name of the bloody airport that K will be flying back from on Friday!) that I nearly lost it and blubbed in the middle of the office.

I might act all hard and independent minded, but I do miss him when he’s away, you know.

And just like all the best Pet Shop Boys singles, there’s a terrific extra tune tucked away there (I want to say B-side, but I guess that would date me terribly). It’s called Sexy Northener, and it’s right up there with the best PSB B's: Shameless, Too Many People, The Truck Driver And His Mate, The Boy Who Couldn’t Keep His Clothes On. If you don’t buy singles any more, you just might want to make an exception here.

You know, some of the Big Blogs can almost be too popular for their own good. I’ll go and take a grudging look at them, thinking all the while, Huh - so just what’s supposed to be so special about you? Come on, impress me. Betcha can’t. No, didn’t think you could. Pah - I’ll be off then.

I think the only word for this is…prejudice. Oh dear.

Anyway, I’ve finally got to come out and admit it - east coast/west coast really is a bloody good read. Part journal, part weblog (hey, just like me!). Sharp, sussed, sassy, funny, provocative, moving, and somehow definitive of its genre. There, I’ve said it. Harumph.

Elisabeth's long-awaited interview with Bent is finally online. Ooh, and she mentions me and my friend Trundle in one of the questions!

A Good Old Fashioned Big Gay Boozy Weekend.

After the rigours of the week (hard work, long hours, and wind-lashed Portakabins in the industrial North East), and with K departing for New Jersey on Saturday morning (for a week’s intensive “leadership course” – yikes), I decided that what was needed to restore my spirits was a Good Old Fashioned Big Gay Boozy Weekend. Which is precisely what happened.

Friday night, and K, Buni and I started the evening in our favourite Chinese restaurant. We usually eat there with Fiat Lux, who has a Chinese mother and is thus able to negotiate his way through the Chinese menu (containing all the most interesting dishes - ducks' tongues, chickens' feet - which don’t even appear on the much more orthodox English menu). However, Fiat Lux wasn’t with us this time, and we were feeling lazy, so we just stuck to the English menu for once. Oh dear. It really was very mediocre indeed. Plus we were still tired and out of sorts. Thankfully, Buni’s natural buoyancy eventually coaxed us into conversation, and saved the day.

Onwards to the Lord Roberts, where Dmouse was due to join us. He was running late, which led to the following exchange between Buni and myself:

- Do you think he’s left the house yet?
- No, he’s probably still on Gaydar.
- God, he really is addicted to that thing, isn’t he?
(Pause, for general head shaking and tch-ing).
- Mind you, who are we to talk? We spend just as much time on weblogs, don’t we?
- Yeah, suppose we do. And at least with Dmouse, there’s a practical objective - after all, he does gets a shag at the end of the day. Meanwhile, what do we get? Links, referral stats, and poxy little graphs with lines going upwards to show how popular we are…
- Hmm, maybe it’s us who are the sad ones.
- Hmm, you might be right there.
(Pause, as we stop short, look at each other and burst out laughing).

At closing time, K goes home for a decent night’s sleep, and the rest of us descend on NG1. We install ourselves round a table in the bar, and receive visitors. At one point, one of Nottingham’s Great Beauties comes over for a chat. Suddenly, our little table is the most popular little table in the bar. Seemingly from nowhere, there is a flurry of activity, all centred round the Great Beauty – people are saying Hi, shaking his hand, patting him on the back, offering him drinks, offering him cigs. The Great Beauty seems barely aware of this, and continues to smile radiantly. I suppose he must be used to it by now. We all have our crosses to bear.

There is much drinking. There is prolonged dancing. We nab a corner of the dancefloor and don’t leave it for the best part of two hours. Even the shitty Ibiza trance records sound reasonably OK. I dance my blues away, and flush away my residual edginess on a veritable tide of cheap booze. Fantastic.

After K’s departure on Saturday, I head over to Birmingham to meet up with Chig, for the second leg of the Big Gay Boozy Weekend. We kick off by watching Melodifestivalen, which Chig has just received in the post from our Eurovision pal in Stockholm. Melodifestivalen is the Swedish version of A Song For Europe, except that over there, they take their Eurovision very seriously indeed. All stops are pulled out. This is big budget primetime, with ten songs competing, and – oh joy! – it’s being staged in the Globen arena, where Chig and I watched Eurovision 2000 in one of the best weekends of my entire life (and yes, I do know how bad that sounds). The show feels so much like “proper” Eurovision that I keep expecting Wogan to make sarky comments at the end of each song.

Which reminds me. This year, the BBC are finally getting their act together over Eurovision. The previews are being screened in advance on BBC Choice (YES!), and on the night itself, you can choose between the traditional Wogan version on BBC1, or a five hour live spectacular on BBC Choice, hosted and commentated by Christopher “Liquid News” Price. If I wasn’t going to be in Tallinn myself, I know which one I’d be choosing. Oh, but Wogan is Eurovision, surely? Er, nope, he ain’t. How many more years can he trot out the same tired old lines? “A handsome woman there.” “A whiff of the souk!” “Ah, the old Melodian…”

Anyway, Melodifestivalen is as fabulously entertaining as ever (Singing firemen! Old geezers playing the spoons! Plump ladies of a certain age in ribbed rubber jumpsuits!), and what’s more, the best song wins. It’s a fast and furious seventies disco number, performed by Sweden’s answer to Destiny’s Child, who are a symphony of Bacofoil and tit tape. It was written by the team behind the last Swedish winner, “Take Me To Your Heaven” (Look! There's the bloke who fell on top of Dana International!), and I rate its chances highly. Could it really be Stockholm 2003? Dare I dream?

We’re helping to celebrate I’s birthday tonight, and so a whole heap of us start off in Kudos, and move on to DV8, Birmingham’s newest gay club. It’s my first visit to DV8, and I like it a lot. Cheerful, friendly, unpretentious, large main dancefloor, plenty of space, obvious charty music which I know all the words to. Standing on a raised waIkway and benevolently surveying the scene below, I feel like I’ve wandered onto the set of Bob And Rose.

Another marathon dancing session ensues. Upper clothing is loosened. Oceans of cooking lager are consumed. There is the occasional moment of mildly inappropriate tactility along the way, but other than that, my behaviour is impeccable. Well, as impeccable as can be reasonably expected in such situations.

Here's a top tip, if you should ever visit DV8. Buy your beers from the bar in the much smaller second dance area, where they play the serious, credible stuff. There’s not that much call for alcohol in there (if you know what I mean), and so you’ll get served straight away.

Sunday is recovery time, helping Chig with his weblog, listening to Eurovision MP3s, and a long leisurely pizza in Birmingham’s swish new shopping development in the old Post Office building (Harvey Nicks, Lacroix, names names names darling).

And like all the best Good Old Fashioned Big Gay Boozy Weekends, there is a Big Tune, which will always remind me of the fun I’ve had. It’s Shakira’s “Whenever Wherever” – a totally uncool blend of the sublime and the ridiculous, like so much of the best pop. Ah, the old pan pipes…I can hear them now…

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