"Santa baby..."

 

Christmas cheer back in the shires.  Good to see the usual suspects -- and at least one unexpected night out.

Life in the Bank.  "Outside this bar, there's no one alive... Outside this bar how does anyone survive..."

Shame to see what's left of Waitrose, just a mass of scorched timber and blackened brickwork.

Right.  This year, New Year's Eve is something that happens to other people.  Turn off the lights, hide under the duvet and bid adieu to a grim and lonely 2008.

Here's to you, 2009, you promising young slip of a year.

Note to self:  enjoy yourself.

I am nearly 40.

"It broke my heart to leave the city, I mean it broke what wasn't broken in there already..."

Taken from Sunday December 21 to Monday December 22.

Flitting hither and yon between Hackney and Our New Favourite Pub -- The Sun on Bethnal Green Road-- plus the NME/UNCUT Christmas quiz, up at the Easton.

Bambi and Thumper Mk 2 in full effect.

Thumper Mk 2 deserves a medal for her exceptional man management skills on Saturday.

Now back in the fatherland, out for Festive boozing later.  Usual low-level sense of anxiety permeates everything.  Gah.  Can I please switch off..?

"I heard a siren from the docks, saw a train set the night on fire.."

Some random out and about pics.  View from the roof terrace Tate Modern members bar, then assorted bits along Redchurch Street.

Happy birthday, blog!

"In my mind, a celebration, the sweetest of sensation..."

Some catching up from random jaunts.  Mostly, Alick and Sarah's wedding near Birmingham.  Nice photos in the Chapel graveyard the night before.  Later, Neal and I only cleared the dancefloor twice.  Josephine, Kamilla, Laura and Katrina all looked amazing.

"There is a crack in everything/That's how the light gets in..."

Culture packed weekend with Ma Bonner.  Friday, took her to her first ever rock 'n' roll gig -- L Cohen Esq at London's bijou 02 Arena.  We were five -- count 'em -- five rows from the front, courtesy Ms Lorca Cohen.  Highlights?  Way too many, but I nominate "The Partisan" and "Suzanne".  Then, boozing with SamAndSimone Upstairs until very late.  Ma Bonner is now a Nick Cave fan.  Who'd have thought..?

Saturday, post-breakfast with Ma and a cameoing LaLa, to Stratford-Upon-Avon and David "Doctor Who" Tennant as Hamlet, with Patrick "Captain Picard" Stewart as Claudius.  It was a melding of sci-fi brains.  Phasers to stun, polarity of neutron flow reversed, Tennant sparky.  Long drive back to the Bonner ranch.

Sunday, playing with the cat and eating roast beef.  Weight:  a smidge under 11 stone.

Then, later, the Lock Tavern and a 3am touchdown.  Good work for a school night.

Weirdly, BBC1's going dead pastoral singer-songwriter as I write.  J Buckley's "Hallelujah" on some generic BeebEeeCee trail, and N Drake's "Pink Moon" playing in Holby City.

Wha' 'appen to the world..?  What did I miss..?

"The beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad/So I had one for dessert..."

To St Pancras International Train Station with H-Lo for a potter and a coffee.  Hadn't been since the refurbishment.  The Eurostar level was very sleek, modernist and quiet -- as train travel was always meant to be in the future.  Barely a soul around -- just trains sitting silently.  Downstairs -- full of people, and posh cafes.  Couldn't find the Champagne Bar.  Wish I'd had my passport and a couple of hundred quid spare -- had the urge to hit Paris.

To The Social, and a chance encounter on Oxford Street with LaLa.  Not been to The Social for centuries...  Diff'rent times.  Later, there were mussels.  And too much wine with Mark Upstairs.

And today to the Royal Inn for Alison's birthday.  Good to see Katrina, Shenda et famille.  Hatching New Year plans...

"Stick a pony in me pocket/I'll fetch the suitcase from the van..."

If I ignore last night's third act tragedy -- oh, the washing machine -- then today's clock shifting shenanigans hopefully didn't auger some Wintry tragedy.

Anyway, to Columbia Road where Mr N. and Mr G. were selling their Banksy prints, manfully despite the fairly unwelcoming weather conditions.

Later, we repaired to the Royal Inn to see Alison and Martin, and always a pleasure to see Lady the Miss J.

Is it Winter now..?  Gosh, I surely hope not.

"If you call your dad he can stop it all..."

To Shoreditch, then, in London's fashionable East End.

On the junction of Commercial and Great Eastern Street, there's a massive billboard tethered to a building advertising Wrangler Jeans.  The picture features a semi-feral girl, emerging head first from some green, stagnant-looking water; the caption,  "We are all animals."  11am on a Saturday morning and there's people stumbling round the streets of Hoxton looking like victims from a bomb blast, all dazed expressions and slightly jerky movements.  Ha, they've just not been to bed yet.  Tsk, kids!

I'm pretty shocked by the state of Shoreditch these days.  When I lived here, there was a certain shabby chic about it, sure, that felt a bit cool; hey, urban, a bit edgy, yadda yadda.  And, yes, I didn't go to bed some nights either.  Now it's just gone beyond ironic and looks horrible.  I could smell the mould growing outside The Old Blue Last.  There's broken windows and boarded up buildings a hop, skip and a jump from Shoreditch House with its rooftop swimming pool.  Everything's covered in graffiti, some of which is quite good but mostly agonisingly arch:  naked women in gas masks, sub-Banksy stencil work, yawn.

It baffles me why people are prepared to live here.  It baffles me, also, why the bar staff in the Griffin think it's somehow cool to put a Swastika on a head of Guinness instead of a shamrock.  I did ask, once, but I just got shrugged at, ironically.  It's probably part of the same condition.

Walking down Curtain Road, towards Mr N. and co's old warehouse, I pass The Hoxton Pony.  Semantics suggest that with a name like that it'd be a down-at-heel old boozer, like The Owl & The Pussycat or The Pride Of Spitalfields.  But, no, this is all modern and stuff, with brushed grey steel and tinted windows.  Ha -- do you see what they've done there?  Their website promises "an individual and unconventional slant to the gang of venues in Shoreditch" and the music that greets me when I open their homepage is... electroclash!  It's a virtual 2002, and no mistake.  But are they being ironic..?

I am nearly 40.