Thursday, March 16, 2006

Back from London, which is dirty and full of Phil Daniels and Wendy Craig and, erm, down there, somewhere. Honestly, anywhere south of Grimsby and I'm lost. Travelled down on the Dr John Godber. He's a good ride, I'll say that for him. We were seriously pampered at The Goring, which, judging by the amount of ridiculous things that the staff wanted to do for us, must usually be frequented by people with severe physical disabilities. Or, and here's the truth, the fabulously wealthy but extremely lazy upper classes. I can close my own curtains, pour my own tea and wipe my own behind, thank you very much. As the member of the underclass said to his social superior, you can shove your turn down service up your arse. Altogether now, "a working class hero is something to be". Normal service more or less resumed at the London Marriot, Grosvenor Square, although they still took an unhealthy interest in our curtains. We bought some nice collectibles from Forbidden Planet and Play Lounge while we were darn sarf, and some books and other good stuff too. We don't have shops in the north, you see, just fish and coal. We also ate Thai food just a couple of tables away from Paul Morley who, back in his iconoclastic NME days, before he became a media whore, was something of a hero of mine. London, then, pretty cool. But dirty. And much of it either underground or quite tall.

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