I Waited for the Man...

An interesting week. I've been in London for most of it....an opportunity to share a national celebration with our English cousins, and to meet long-time hero (always a dangerous move), see a gig, and sample the nation in crisis because our airyplanes couldn't fly thanks to volcanic ash in the atmosphere.

You couldn't mnake it up, really. At least that's what I said to Nelson Mandela, but the dour cunt didn't even reply...



So anyway, ah yes. They've converted the old GLC headquarters into a Premier Inn, of all things. It's right next to the London Eye...



And 5 minutes walk from the wonderful Royal Festival Hall, where I was to meet none other than The Man, the Rock n Roll Animal hisself, Lewis Allen Reed...aka The Godfather of Punk and what-have-you, yes Lou fukkin Reed, man (beat that Immogreen!)

Here's Lou and one of his band, in awe at the realisation that they're in the presence of Supermo (whose left shoulder is clearly visible in this shot, can't be arsed doing a Gladstone smiley face right now)...



Truth is, we should maybe never meet our heroes. Lou turned up late, then complained "we" were late, then signed some autographs, answered a few questions from some awe-struck fans, posed for a couple of pics, and flounced off to the stage.

Here he is with his happy look on......



Honest to God he made me seem like a grinning hippy and James Ellroy seem like everybody's favourite ole granpappy...

Remember my meeting with Mr Ellroy, kids ?


Anyway, Lou was anything but Sweet Jane and seemed to be wearing all of his 68 years rather badly. However, I got a firm handshake, two autographs, a couple of photos and some intensely deep conversation with the other two members of the Metal Machine Trio, who were playing at the RFH (hence our meeting backstage, right!)

Billed as "an evening of noise" basically it consisted of Lou Reed and these two swotty looking guys re-enacting the spirit of Metal Machine Music for 80 minutes. If you haven't heard MMM it's hard to explain really.

Ulrich Kreiger asked me: "You must haf heard the work I did with Sonic Youth?". This guy makes Kraftwerk, Neu and Tangerine Dream (all faves of mine btw) sound like the Spice Girls. The third member of the trio, Seth Calhoun, did tell a funny story about falling into the orchestra pit at a gig I attended in Manchester last summer.



It was while he was onstage I realised why Lou had seemed so grumpy when we met. In fact he was totally hyper, all worked up before going on stage. Goddamit, he was nervous! In hindsight we should have met him after the gig, but I guess that's past curfew for him these days, and he probably needs to be tucked up with some cocoa by 10pm. His missus, Laurie Anderson, was sitting right behind me during the show, but I never realised until we were leaving, dammit.

You're just showin off now

he thought he was imm-o for a day.

So anyway......apparently it was St George's Week this week. That's what it says on this banner at the Leadenhall (off Lombard Street in the City, recommended visiting btw).



Sample ye ole English fayre! Red and white bunting! Roast beef! There was even a couple of musos playing ye olde English tunes....



But this is the thing about the English (and part of the reason I like them so much)....first stall in the Olde English / St George's Week / Jolly England festival celebration was ....er, a patisserie.

The next one was offering Croque Monsieur as a lunchtime special.

The St George's celebration featured every dish under the sun, served by every nationality under the sun. Because London is a true cosmopolitan melting pot, despite what cunts like Griffin think.

I had some Olde English.....Chorizo...



Then a nice plate of Gnocchi, but I didn't snap it. Just ate the damn thing.

The day before I had a healthy Miso and some of this:


Which was just as well because I was so fukkin hungry before my Lou Reed meeting that I ate one of the Premier Inn's dinner specials, which was actually quite good but hardly a healthy option...


Thing about the City is sometimes you stumble across lanes with funny names, there's lots of them but here's a couple:




They've even done up Euston, dragging it out of its late 60s' concrete hell, or at least a few weeks into the 70s....




Off peak returns on virgin £108, 4.5 hours each way. Volcanic ash or not, there are worse ways to travel. Here's to England and St George (who, according to some cunt on Radio 4 this morning, was probably a black guy of mixed Middle Eastern parentage).

I hope they do well in the World Cup, they might give Capello an earldom or at least a waitering gig at the next St George's Week

Immo wrote:

You're just showin off now

You and Crown upped the stakes, man.

Not sure I can keep up taking pictures of food I'm eating though

Gil Scott Heron, Manchester, this weekend. Not sure if I'll get any pics ...

I've got a cracker comin up in August which will (hopefully) involve pics of me drinking warm beer and guzzling canapes with Celtic players and management in a behind the scenes stylee.

Nuff said

Top review BTW

Fukk, I'll have to take up one of those "number 7 restaurant" offers they keep sending...

I'm kinda hoping we'll have a completely difference Celtic team and management by then, tbh.

niall o,dhubghaill wrote:he thought he was imm-o for a day.

A hustle here and a hustle there
Crown Liquor's offering his ass where
you take a Walk on the Wild Side...

Great stuff mo, although the whole time I was reading I was hoping for a picture of your shoes

onomatopoeia wrote:Great stuff mo, although the whole time I was reading I was hoping for a picture of your shoes

Next time, Ono, next time.

Any more shots of your hat?

Supermo, you're my favourite poster now. Not because of the report/review (although that was interesting and informative), and not because you couldn't be arsed doing a Gladstone smiley face (that's my real face ), but because you reminded me about 'Oil City Confidential', which I recorded and have half watched today. Wilko looks a bit diferent!

Thanks!

Great stuff mo, you can tell you're a trained chimp writer. You still haven't got me an android phone to play with though, useless cunt.

I fucking hate Gnocchi, its pointless

I never took you for a racist, James.
The Gnocchi are a proud people, driven from their homeland by pestilence and war. We owe them shelter and a decent pesto.

Dirty bastards Mo, they spread semolina