Babyshambles fairly flaky

Having seen Pete Doherty et al last night, I have to say I still can’t see what the fuss is. A fairly two-bob singer staggering round the stage either a bit fucked or just pretending to be a bit fucked, but either way, he doesn’t really have the looks, charisma or stage presence to justify the hero-worshipping cult around him.

The music was nothing special and the performance adequate.

I have thought a lot about it and come to the conclusion that people love him because in this current world of plastic pop and manufactured bands he seems to be the only guy living an old-school rock ‘n’ roll life – shooting up, doing time for stealing his mates stuff to buy smack, dating a supermodel etc.

I think this appeals to today’s youth – through him they can live the rock dream.

It certainly was fun watching them watch the band. Scores of people crowd surfing and people scaling the walls to get a better view. A seething mosh pit, surged back and forth in front of the stage and bouncers pulling crushed bodies from the front.

At one stage PD threw the microphone into the crowd. Someone grabbed it and shouted ‘Peter, play for me. Pete you are the king of this generation’. Quite good, but I would have done a Delia, ‘Where are you? Let’s be ‘aving yer’ before the tide of excited teens sucked the mike down into the depths, to be lost forever. Or until it appears on eBay tomorrow!

Nice one, Charlie

A day to remember: Sara Fawcett became an official MBE.

I caught up with her, Gail, Jo and Bellen knocking back the Champagne in Claridges’ bar. She looked slightly overwhelmed sitting there with the medal shining on her lapel.

So we drank, and drank to her health. TOH, Steve and Liz appeared in due course and joined the celebrations.

The Queen was presumably too knackered after handing out the VC and Damehoods the day before so Charlie was giving out the MBEs. Sara said he was a ‘very nice man’ who told her he thought she ‘was amazing’.

It was a very special day for young Fawcett and a special evening for us all.

We look forward to a repeat performance when she gets her OBE!

Spinster of this parish

A spinster?! ME! A spinster!

We went to the register office yesterday morning to give notice of our intentions to marry and while TOH gets the cool status of 'bachelor' I have to go down in the records as 'spinster'! Outrageous. What's wrong with being known as 'single'?

The registrar was very nice and went through some legal stuff like making sure we were who we said we were and that we hadn't been married before. She agreed about the spinster thing but said the marriage laws have not been updated since 1837 when they were created.

To ensure that we knew each other and that it wasn't a sham marriage she asked us some probing questions like what the other half's full name was and how old they are, a fail safe proceedure and no mistake!

And to prevent perjury and bigamy she also asked us if we knew whether the other person had ever used any other names or had been married before. I have to admit, while I said he hadn't I really only have TOH's word on the matter. For all I know I could be the innocent victim of a highly elaborate and pointless scam (there's not much in it for him if he was tricking me).

She was also surprised when I pointed out that on the wall where these notices were displayed there were at least six British women marrying Vietnamese men, all of whom were registered at the same address (the women and men).

Not casting any aspersions over this coincidence but if the Home Office was serious about preventing sham marriages, asking how old each other are is probably not the watertight test it's looking for.

Being quiet

It would appear our rock 'n' roll lifestyle (!) has slown down in recent weeks. TOH is beginning to train for the London Triathlon and spends a lot of time swimming, cycling, and gradually getting back into the old running malarky (even though his ankle is concrete proof that 'no good will come of it').

So, basically, we haven't been up to much.

Saturday night, Tidy made up for it by getting thoroughly pissed in a Soho bar for her 33rd birthday. She was so drenched in champagne cocktails that eventually she slid off her stool into a table and knocked over another group's drinks.

I picked her up off the floor and thought she was covered in broken glass but it turned out it was just splashes of candle wax.

The bouncer came up to us five minutes later and said in his menacing Russian accent that 'the drinks were worth £15. The lady will not be required to pay for the drinks, but the lady WILL be leaving the bar'.

Couldn't argue with that so, as the most sober person, I took her down to Bar Italia for coffee and singing along with crappy pop tunes!

Her flatmates eventually appeared to escort her and her huge shiner home.

But by this time it was the night bus for me! The tubes had stopped running and I couldn't get a black cab for love, nor money, and I refuse to get in johnny-cabs when I am on my own. Not a very happy bunny by this point! Walking home from the bus stop in rubbing shoes at 2am ain't much fun.

Sunday, I manned a GP stall in Stoke Newington, handing out info to the much-more-interested-than-they-were-in-Stratford general public with another GP guy until I got bored (after about three hours) and pissed off home again.

If you want to help save the planet, why not check out GP's climate change campaign. It really is happening now! Who knows if it can be halted?

Back on track

It's been a long and drawn out process but I *think* I've finally finished all the wedding plans! Most evenings over the past week were spent sorting stuff out but now it is done, and I am fairly brain dead.

The weekend was very nice - wedding rings were chosen and old friends caught up with. There was even time to go out and get pissed in a club on Saturday night!

Sunday, we went to cheer on the marathon runners. TOH didn't take part, and has not wavered from his 'never again' stance, not even when Nell McAndrew ran past and laughed at us shouting 'come on Nell McAndrew'.

It's always nice to watch the marathon, especially when the sun is shining. It's nice to see people in London supporting each other instead of just shoving them out the way or tutting loudly at each other on escalators. I'm just glad I didn't see Paula Radcliffe squatting down for a piss (or was it a dump?).

It's springtime for Hitler

Just as I think we needed a nice night out, TOH outdoes himself again and organises a surprise trip to see The Producers!

It is a brilliant and hilarious show, and we really don't normally like musicals. The whole cast was faultless.

Oh, the costumes, the scenery, the clever theatrical jiggery-pokery! It was a breathtaking performance.

I don't think I have ever seen such a no-expense spared piece of theatre. The rows of goose-stepping Hitlers, the camp and outrageous characters, the huge rotating mirrors, the squawking Nazi pigeons, the large-breasted Swedish secretary/receptionist.

The audience cheered when Lee Evans came onstage, and despite his trade-mark rubber-faced performance, he seemed a little shy when it came to the curtain call, like a man who couldn't believe his luck!

Highly recommended.

General boredom

Who to vote for? I did this test and it turns out I need to vote Lib Dem. I don't suppose I will, as I have to vote in Tory safe seat Chislehurst so normally tick the Green box, but I have always liked the idea of living in a liberal democracy.

It's only been a few days and I am already bored shitless with the smiling politicians lying to us down the telly. The small smidgeon of hope that one day they will behave differently has been quashed already.

Still, I'm not as disappointed as the pope seems to be!

We laughed like drains

Last night TOH, Steve and I went to see Perrier-nominated comedian Reginald D Hunter. And he was excellent.

His one-man show was a mix of stand-up and trying to start a conversation with the audience. His, as far as I am concerned, correct views on children, the Pope and Diana managed to offend some of the crowd - there was a collective gasp as he said 'fuck the Pope, I just don't give a shit'. He defended this by pointing out that a god who was capable of making the universe and everything in it would hardly be offended by anything he could say.

It is always hard to recreate the genuis of a comedian, if I could I guess I would be a highly-paid critic. But he is going to be at the imaginatively-called The Venue for the next six weeks so there may well be a return trip.

Wyebird The Vacuous

While the world buries a handful of state leaders and respected authors, and some overbred Germans get married, I have to say that for me, personally, it has been a very quiet week.

Unaffected by these history-making events, I have been sitting on the tube looking at the Admiral advert and, rather than thinking, 'ooh, cheap car insurance' like they want, I was thinking, 'I wonder if old school pirates had parrot shit all down the back of their jackets, and whether their underlings were able to say, Jake, you've got something on your shoulder there.

And, now I have got a the beginnings of a music library going on the old iPod, thinking I must go through and delete some of the rubbish that 'shuffle' keeps bringing up.

And as if all that wasn't exciting enough, I have also enjoyed playing 'The Verve' game, taught to me by TOH, whereby you fix your eyes in the distance while walking through a crowd and walk fast, not getting out of anyone's way. Points are deducted for any contact with bags etc, but to be honest pretty much everyone will avoid you.

Ciao, Papa

The Pope is dead. But he had a good innings, eh?

Perhaps one of these fine examples of the Catholic priesthood would make a good replacement?

Jolly bad timing though, Charlie is going to have to put off marrying his horse until Saturday. I suspect that has rather thrown the TV schedules for Friday!

La Belle France

1,200 miles later and we are back home. I feel like I have been away for simply ages. TOH managed to walk without the crutches after a couple of days, which was good as the pain in his ankle was being superseded by blisters on his hands!

We had a lovely time cruising around the French countryside, visiting ancient cities and towns such as Rouen (where Jean D'Arc was burnt as a witch), Angers, Saumur (where we just missed watching this peculiar equestrian competition) and Chinon.

There were the chateaux and medieval fortifications of the Loire Valley, the rural beauty of the fields and coasts, the simple pleasures of moules frites and vin rouge, and the ornothological delights of a bird sanctuary where we saw cranes and storks, egrets and rarities such as Whooper swans.

Some of the highlights of the week were the Apolcolyptic Tapestries, which illustrate Revelations, and the Bayeux tapistry, which enlightened us about 1066, an all that, although as every schoolboy knows, they are not a tapestry, they are, in fact, and embroidery!

Also the lovely town of Honfleur (tip: do not have moules frites at La Maison Bleu on the harbour front - they were full of sand and small orange crabs!) and the magnificent Mont St Michel.

The first four nights we camped in the drizzle and cold. Unfortunately, the tent didn't really have time to dry out inbetween camp sites so it was a bit leaky. Then the floor started to decompose! So the last three nights, I insisted on staying in hotels (Thames pathers, I take it all back about camping in the damp!) as I was beginning to feel a bit chesty!

It was fun driving on the 'wrong' side of the road and speaking appalling GCSE-level French to bemused looking waiters. Contrary to popular belief, all the French people we met were very nice and extremely patient with our verbal offerings. Perhaps the famous Gallic rudery is confined mainly to Paris.