Plagued by press releases of an uninspiring nature (eg: "ThomsonLocal.com is tempting us to use its online version of your Thomson Local with a particularly tantalising version of its familiar blue cat." and "Pub restaurant chain Brewers Fayre is championing the revival of a number of traditional British dishes - by including faggots, liver and bacon and suet pudding on it's new autumn menu...") the odd decent one can slip through the net. I'd like to thank Paul Savident for reminding me that auditions for Puppetry of the Penis take place this Thursday on Shaftesbury Avenue. A good photo-opportunity though it is, I don't think we can find room for genital origami in the localised rag I work for. Good luck, flexible penis people, I look forward to seeing the spread in The Stage.
Damn, I was just thinking this
I am failing to acknowledge that any Tories listen to contemporary sounds, despite their claims at this year's party conference. Even given that they have admitted to some very dodgy taste in music (Nicholas Soames loves Dido, Michael Ancram is a big fan of Meat Loaf, John Redwood lurves Marilyn Manson (that's a lie)) the thought of a Tory enjoying anything that isn't shooting, hunting, beastiality or shafting the working class can't be right, can it? Let me at your CD collection, Michael Howard, and I bet I can turn up little more than ripped copies of Saturday Night Fever, Gareth Gates and Erasure.
So much for an early start. My plans were scuppered by a big pile-up round the corner from the house and Humberside Police, who sent lots of us early commuters on a 15-mile detour down country lanes not even wide enough for hamsters. In fact, had I opted to travel in on hamster I would have got here earlier. Especially if I'd been upgraded to flying hamster business class.
A trip to a theatrical press night has been postponed for a very apt, dramatic reason. The leading actor, following all the advice on his good luck bouquets, literally broke his leg. I gave The Stage newsdesk a heads-up on this comedy classic in case they're running short of exciting "Anthony Field new chairman of Theatre Projects Trust" stories. Having suffered for my art last night (Soap, in Scarborough) I'm quite glad of the 'break', which means that I can now hang up the reviewer's bitter and twisted pen until Joan Rivers gets what she deserves next Monday. Still, meeting at Hull Truck tomorrow and a gig on Thursday to show support for M's sister's new man's band doesn't leave much time for relaxing nor even indulging in cat stroking this week. If anyone could attach some invigorating sulphates to an email and send it asap I'd appreciate it.
I was about to give up on life, the universe and everything and then...my friends over at the all-new Gaijinworld have given me a rather nifty mention and I recommend their fine, fancy stylings to one and all. However, there can only be one honorary c**t of the day and that's Joby, who joins that happy band of people who know more about me than I do.
Ye Olde In Car Tape Player: Marvin Gaye - What's Going On
No comments:
Post a Comment