EAU DE OH NO

 

  sniff sniff who's there?

Oud. It seems to be the must smell of the year. I don't like the smell of Oud, I find it makes my olfactory senses shudder, and in a London full of odours it's another pervasive interloper to contend with.

The unwashed. These days we have a number of Pound shops, corner shops and discount street stalls where the purchase of deodorant is very affordable and therefore I see no reason to have rampant body odour, but if it were only that simple. The way in which some people reek can only be attributable to never washing, either body or clothes.

Incense. Whoever thought that the pong of burning incense was in any way enjoyable must have had a knock on the head from a plummeting over ripe coconut that resulted in them losing their sense of smell. Once inhaled it reminds one of apathy, it is the smell of ennui.

It's not just the everyday scents that assault ones nostrils. Ladies and gentlemen I give you Truffles! The aroma of burning tyres, the overpowering  pungency from an adjacent restaurant table that results in having to hang one's coat in the garden overnight to get rid of the melted rubber residual pong.

Let us not forget that one smell that is unavoidable it seems; Marijuana/Weed/Puff/Skunk, I don't know what the eponymous kids on the street call it these days but its musky tone is everywhere it seems. Wafting from bedroom windows, balconies and worst of all clinging to the garments of the heavy user like a cloud of ennui. It's as ubiquitous as the smell of fireworks in November as common as the smell of damp leaves as rampant as the smell of vapes.

One of the few benefits of Covid was the availability of masks, this allows us to have at least some protection from these assaults on olfaction. I may take to wearing one again when I am out and about. Or alternatively I could search Amazon for a second hand gas mask

HO HO AND INDEED HO!

 

And so, this is Christmas, apparently. The season to be jolly is upon us once more dear friends, once more. This is not going to be a, as many of you would naturally expect a curmudgeonly post by any means; there are enough Scrooge’s around to supply that. On the contrary I am going to praise Yuletide.

Something about this year has got me all aglow. Maybe because it doesn’t feel like we are saturated with festive fare popping up in all forms of media televisual and social. Yes, there are the predictable eau de parfum and après rasage commercials proliferating; all of which seem to be identical to whatever was conjured up by the creative marketing minds over the last few years, but they are easily fast forwarded through.

Black Friday and Cyber Monday have reared their heads once more but rather than seeing it as a cynical excuse to get customers to PayPal their way into debt, these present opportunities to get a discount on those jeans you wanted whilst picking up a bargain for your “precocious” niece’s Christmas box.

“What about Christmas songs?” you say? It’s not all Mariah Carey and Slade you know. I’ve managed to rekindle some enthusiasm for those Christmas records of bygone days. I’m enjoying the Ze Records A Christmas Record long player which features an eclectic mix on artists with interpretations of X-Mas melodies, alongside the A Very Special Christmas albums that were produced to raise money for the special Olympics and feature Christmas songs by Madonna, Run DMC, Eurythmics, Boyz II Men, Aretha Franklin, Luther Vandros, Macy Grey, Patti Smith, Stevie Nicks  U2 among others. 

Christmas shopping an issue? No. Frankly I spend so little time in shops that I have little contact with shoppers and at this time of year the delivery man (or woman) is King (or Queen) so that when I do venture forth it is not so much of an issue. In small doses crowds of consumers is not an issue especially as a shopping trip at this time of the year is the perfect excuse to get ensconced in the pub. I like a pub at Christmas, correction, I love a pub at Christmas. The tempo of an afternoon down a good British boozer at this time of year is an ideal way to fritter away half the day. People are happier for a start, and the smell of mulled wine, although I am not a fan of the taste, is evocative and welcoming. If there is an open fire, then Bingo! I’ll have a pint and keep them coming.

I'm not sure that this thawing of my cynicism is a conscious decision but, I'm feeling pretty, pretty, pretty, good about Christmas 2025.

CONSUMER OR CATTLE?

 

A night at the Emirates: Arsenal V Brentford

A cold night in North London and an arrangement top meet up with friends for a pre match pint, but to enjoy the pre match drink one has to navigate door staff to whom you have to prove you’re an Arsenal supporter.

When you reach the ground you are herded like cattle through turnstiles after having a body search.

Once in the ground one is treated to a selection of overpriced refreshments and of course any alcohol you do buy (in plastic glasses) you have to drink before going to your seat. Speaking of seats, they are basic and give little room to manoeuvre. My seats were perfectly situated to see the back of a cameraman  and his assistant who sat in my sight line which made for a frustrating viewing experience. But it got worse as whenever Arsenal staged an attack the cameraman stood up and blocked even more of the view.

A half time toilet break was  a urine soaked  wade to the urinals following a long queue.

What struck me was that, for a premium price point the contempt in which the “consumer” is held is completely skewed.

Now I’m not talking about luxury, VIP treatment, just equitable treatment. The supporter being of  value commensurate to the cost of admission .

I can think of no other sport, theatre, opera, ballet, cinema or performance art where the customer is so devalued. Perhaps pop concerts, but as I don’t attend them I can’t vouch for that.

My take away is that I may have to remove myself from the experience. This brings me no joy, but I assume that when one turns up week after week one gets used to it.

It seems that my only alternative is to win the lottery and buy a premium ticket or a box. That’s not me feeling entitled but feeling that we are all entitled to be treated correctly as, without us the club is nothing.

The thing that saddens me most, but also bolsters my conclusion is that going to the Arsenal is mostly about meeting friends. Good people. Honest people. People that you can talk to about the Arsenal and those talks lead to other conversations about all manner of things.

I think that the lesson I’ve learned is that the social aspect is of more value than the game experience, in as much as in the first, respect and having a good time is a major factor and in the former one feels that a lack of respect for fans diminishes the enjoyment of the game

GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY CRACK

It’s not easy living with pigeons. I’m talking about Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds here. A flock of them have taken up residence on the local roundabout. They are fed by members of the public who either can’t or won’t read the signs that are displayed alerting them to the fact that feeding the pigeons is bad for the pigeons, attracts rats and is a general hazard/inconvenience for everybody. The signs also clearly state that it is an offence to do so.

I see the would-be bird-lovers daily with their loaves of Aldi bread standing among the throng of avians with looks of derangement on their faces, almost as if they are struggling to deal with the winged masses that they are inviting. 

Of course, there is no one to stop them, no one to enforce the law and prevent the spread of vermin and excrement as there are no police on the streets. They are tucked up in their patrol cars waiting to engage in a high-speed pursuit to get the old adrenaline going.

The pigeon infestation and those that promote it are a metaphor for a bigger social ill, Crack. Yes, the eponymous drug that has taken London by storm. Addicts are rife at the moment in my neck of the woods. Easily spotted by their Olympic level speed as they scuttle along to get their fix. Their caved in faces missing teeth are also a dead give-away as is their tendency to be skeletal.

They can be seen fixing in doorways and benches, they clutter up the place and recite the ubiquitous mantra “got any spare change”.

I stopped to speak to four of them hunkered down in a doorway next to the supermarket and asked them about their lifestyle. One of them told me to “F*ck Off!”, one was too out of it to respond, one uttered incoherent gibberish and the fourth actually engaged and made some valid points.

Like the pigeons they are attracted to the area as the have a choice of commuters going about their daily routine, to ask to simply give them money. They have a weekly Soup kitchen, and the dealers make use of the ample parking to meet the demand.

And, like the pigeon feeders, there are no police officers around to intervene, move them along or indeed arrest the dealers.

So, Pigeons and Crack Heads do what they do unabated. The pigeon feeders’ actions encourage rats, and the addicts encourage drug dealers. The Pigeons won’t leave as long as they are getting a free meal, and the addicts won’t move on as long as they get sufficient small change to cover their costs.

That’s supply and demand I suppose. I wish they would all simply fly away

TWENTY TWENTY FIVE : A CINEMATIC LONG ROAD

 

It’s been a long road this cinematic year, yes, I know it’s not over yet, but It’s time for my year in cinema. The films I have seen in 2025

Nosferatu-Dark gothic take that is both scary and thoughtful. A good job well done

We Live In Time- A surprise. The second-best British film about a couple this year

Alba Rose – A great little movie about loss with a subtle lead performance from Nicola Wright

Luther Never Too Much-A must if, like me, you are a fan of Mr Vandross

Nightbitch- A bit more miss than hit but a original ideas are worth celebrating

Hard Truths – Spot on and timely performance from Marianne Jean- Baptiste. Mike Leigh does it again

Captain America Brave New World – Entertaining fluff. Perhaps it’s a franchise film too far though

The Monkey – I liked it. Very much a retro feel to this tight horror

Maxxxine – The last instalment in the trilogy. Aspires to All About Eve status

Mickey 17 – Disappointing from the great Bong Joon-ho. A blemish on his career

Black Bag – The best British Couples movie of the year. Compelling with uniformally good performances

Alto Knights – Not sure why it needed the multiple roles gimmick. Fell short of the qualities the leads possess

Thunderbolts – The other Marvel team take a bow. Hokum, but fun

Drop – High concept, well executed 

Sinners- Strong shout for film of the year. Singular horror gangster noir from Ryan Cooglar

Mission : Impossible The Final Reckoning – A worthy send-off that ties up a lot of loose ends and proves again that nobody is better at being Tom Cruise than Tom Cruise

28 Years Later – Great, great sequel. Enthralling and elegiac at the same time

The Ballad Of Wallis Island – A gem of a film that should have had more coverage

Hot Milk -Excellent film that uses the old trope of ‘quirky non-conformist meets ordinary girl’ with fresh breath 

Superman – Enjoyable and for once we don’t have to go through the whole origin thing. For fans of Silver Age Superman and All-Star Superman this is essential viewing. Great supporting cast of heroes by the way

Fantastic Four: First Steps – Tough one for me. My favourite comic becomes flesh for the fourth time, so expectations were high. Superb retro design underpins a story of family with a light touch Let’s see where this goes

Friendship – An odd couple dark comedy that is well worth your time 

Weapons – Originality again and a sense of dread pervades this film that packs a punch

The Life Of Chuck – Left me feeling “is that all there is”

The Last Showgirl - Pamela Anderson is fantastic in this story of faded glamour and parenthood

The Roses – This, for me is the worst film that I have seen this year. The two leads give the expectation that one is about to see something special, but it’s far from it. It’s impossible to feel anything about its cast of characters and the moribund story. Hard to know what went wrong. I would imagine ‘everything’

Highest 2 Lowest – Spike Lee returns with another solid performance from Denzel Washington. Doesn’t reach the heights of Lee’s best work but still very watchable 

Companion – The perils of AI made real. Unusual to see humans stalking a robot, and that robot has more soul than the humans involved.

Chungking Express – An Oldie but Goldie. Could have been made yesterday. Loved seeing it again on the big screen. Outstanding 

The Long Walk -Very good Stephen King adaptation, that has some similar themes to Stand By Me

The Surfer -Nicolas Cage is hit and miss. In this he is definitely a hit. Surreal and thought provoking in these times of toxic masculinity

Presence – Strangely unemotional but a one-off experience that leaves you guessing

One Battle After Another – Film of the year. Paul Thomas Anderson gives us his usual excellence in storytelling, pacing and emotional intelligence and as for the car chase; wow!

A House Of Dynamite – Outstanding from Kathryn Bigelow. A premise and delivery of that premise that is exceptional

Bugonia – Strong performance from Emma Stone in a wonderful film that, like most of Lathinos’ work is unique.

DYSTOPIA NOW

In a dystopian future the leader of the free world is a rotund man, devoid of empathy. A man whose features peer out from behind a mask of a radiant hue, a man who festoons his living quarters with the garish blandishments of opulence and entertains his guests with fast food while the citizens scrabble for the meagre offerings available to them. In this future, corrupt warlords visit to pay homage. Critics are silenced, shouted down for their impudence and his followers adorn themselves with his symbolism.

Pronouncements that would put Caligula to shame are issued on a daily basis. A harem of young women are offered to him by those seeking favour and the disdain with which he treats the female populace is not hidden from sight.

Like all good despots there are Jesters aplenty to entertain him, Jesters and Knaves abound in his court.

His kingdom is protected from interlopers by a high wall, guarded by the paramilitary and celebrated by the acolytes.

His devotees see him as almost religious figure; a Jesus without a conscience. He is a snake oil salesman with less integrity, a bile filled tyrant with a motto, a man without a moral compass.

This is not a preface to a science Fiction novel from the mid 1970s, this is not an unused Mad Max synopsis, no, this is America 2025. And it's leader is a cross between Baron Harkonnen and Immortan Joe, who cheats at golf and salivates over his daughter. All that's missing are hybrid cars roaring across the plains and skulls haging from lampsts in Washington.

Like most things that are real, truth is stranger than fiction and the reality of the current President's tenure is the stuff of future shock. Each day brings a new sound bite of dubious content. Each action and pronouncement is more bizarre than the last. The levels of denial and delusion are staggering, yet he prevails, his zealous fanbase lift him in his throne, his MAGA minions prop up his ego, polish his crown of thorns, belittle his opponents and the the term "fake news" as a weapon.

A quote, attributed to Abraham Lincoln (the antithesis of the current incumbent) is aposite:

"You can fool all of the people some of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you cannot fool all of the people all of the time".

Sorry Abe, but in Trump's head it seems you can fool all of the people all of the time.

THE GOOD THE BLAND AND THE UGLY

Desaturated Saturation

It occurs to me that the more the public ingest banal popular entertainment the more banal it gets. The diet of banality is the new Atkins’. Banal popular music with little or no originality is played on rotation in shops, when waiting to be put through to a human on customer helpline and it assaults our ears via the medium of mobile phones used without headphones. 

Singers’ voices seem to me, at least, to be indistinguishable from each other. There was a time, a time that still has resonance, when a unique voice, a distinguishable voice and identity was prevalent in the world of popular music. The once venerable TOTP would feature singers with diverse and recognisable voices such as Annie Lennox, Pete Shelley, Kate Bush, John Lydon, Larry Blackmon, George Michael, Kevin Rowlands, Siouxsie Sioux, Phil Oakley, Martin Fry, Enya, Sinead O’Connor, Paul Young, Lena Lovitch, Luther Vandros, The Bee Gees, Bono, Terence Trent Darby, Fergal Sharkey… the list is a long one. The point being, that it was okay to have a USP.

The banality of current popular music is clearly a byproduct of saturation, polished production techniques and most of all commerce “if it works don’t change it”. Production houses and labels with something about them are merely a memory. The sound of Two Tone, Jam & Lewis, Trevor Horn and the many self-produced acts has given way to ubiquity. the Spectrum is narrow instead of broad 

There's a lack of heart these days, a lack of appreciation of the beauty of difference in the mainstream of music.

It's obvious to me that there are still artists making good music, underground, on small labels plying their trade gigging and honing their art. But the mainstream of popular music, at its best says something about the times and it’s possible that the current blandness is a reflection of a time where the ideas that float around are less interesting and more transient. More product needing less attention rather than the other way round

FLYING THE FLAG

 

A man or woman going about their daily work. Working to earn money to put food on the table, have a purpose and generally contribute to society. A fine thing. Obeying the rule of law, looking to be left alone to carry out their tasks.

Men (generally men) spending time hoisting union flags made in China on lampposts owned by the local authority. Breaking the law. Prioritising their thoughts over and above all else. The men (yes, it’s usually men) of Raise The Colours. An organisation (sort of) dedicated, it seems to the importation of plastic flags and the harassment of the employed.

If you disapprove of this flag fluttering overhead outside your house you are labelled a traitor. If you try to take down this flag you are threatened both with quotes about the law that are not actually the law and with physical harm. All done with mobile phone recording for dubious posterity.

The local authority sends a couple of staff to remove the flag, costing the taxpayer money, and these ordinary people doing what they need to do to fulfil their job role are harassed and harangued. The police who arrive on the scene carrying out their duty receive the same treatment.

It is almost as if the men (it’s mostly men) of Raise The Colours have nothing better to do with their time. Shouldn’t they be at work?

The Union flag is our flag, and when I say “our” I am referring to everyone who lives in the United Kingdom. When the Lionesses won the world cup, people got their flags out. When Mo Farah won gold medals at the Olympics people got their flags out. The Who and the Jam celebrated the Union Flag, so did Stormzy and Ginger Spice. 

A flag is a symbol; we all understand that right? But the use of symbols is all about intent. A symbol can be celebratory, but it can also be frightening. A symbol can be unifying, but it can also be divisive. A symbol can be welcoming, but it can also be threatening.

Here in London, one doesn’t see many, if any, Union flags fluttering atop lampposts. Maybe because Londoners are too busy getting on with things, maybe because intimidation and bullying won’t wash or maybe because London has been through the Blitz, 7/7, riots, terrorist attacks and American Tourism so perhaps a couple of blokes attempting to climb a ladder with cheap flags is the least of our worries.

Or maybe it's that rage is not as misdirected in communities in a metropolis as it is on the outskirts where other reasons for self loathing are easier to fixate on?

WHOSE LAUGHING NOW?

 

"Whether you do stand-up comedy or write a story, you have a duty to deliver. As a comedian, you walk out on stage, and you have a minute to hook them, or they'll start booing." Mark Billingham 

BBC New Comedy Awards is a competition come showcase for new British comedians that features five stand ups performing for the delictation of a non paying audience and three fellow comedian judges, I say "fellow comedians" but they invariably prove to be as funny as a thing that isn't funny at all, like sciatica.

Being a regular and avid atendee at the wonderful Edinburgh festival I have seen an awful lot of stand up over the years (very little of it being awful) and I can honestly say, or rather I can honestly ask "Where do they get this lot from?"

I understand that of all the arts comedy is the most subjective. Some find humour in a cusratd pie in the face, others in a sketch about philosophers playing football; different strokes. But there is a universal truth that some people just don't have funny bones. For some people stand up comedy is not for them, despite what their mates from work say. These people need to take heed that when Tracy from HR and Gavin from marketing crack up at their humourous anecdotes and tell them "OMG, you are hilarious, you should try stand up mate" my advice is, don't listen to them, pause to reflect.

Trying your hand at an open mikes is the best way to see if youve got it, audiences at these events will soon let you know. writing and writing and writing, performing, performing and performing is the best way to hone an act. You know, hard work. even then its a long way to the O2 Arena.

Which brings me back to the BBC New Comedy awards. How did some of these brave/foolhardy contestants get a slot on national television? The only logical explanation is producers.

The modern day Television producer has a degree in media studies and like their burgers smashed they grew up on reruns of Red Dwarf and Father Ted and think that Michael Macintyre is "actually dissentient". These are the arbiters of comedic taste with a healthy slice of  box ticking thrown in for good measure.

Yes we no longer have Bernard Manning on the big screen, which is a good thing but some of his contemporaries were funny, for example a regular face on TV  Frank Carson had funny bones, regardless of changing tastes he was funny. Not everyne is or can be

Now, before you start to think I'm off on one again, there are some funny acts that I have seen from stand ups with genuine talent but, by and large there seems to be an identikit to being one of the other ones, the ones that are there to make up the numbers. The standard operating procedure appears to be-

1. This is something that I am

2. These jokes are all about that something

3. That's it

An abrupt end to this post, but I wanted t give you a flavour of what it's like  watching one of these acts when you are left with the feeling "is that it?

THE NAME'S FRANKENSTEIN, BARON FRANKENSTEIN

 

"Monster, you Plonker"

Gothic here gothic there gothic everywhere. There has been a rise in mainstream gothic horror. Recent and upcoming movies such as Nosferatu, Werwulf, Dracula, The Bride!, Wolf Man and the just released Frankstein all dig this rich seam. Some find gothic horror over the top or overly demonstrative (Emphasis on the demon) I find that it allows for interesting costume and set design, inovative character concepts and lashings of heaving bussoms, lust, tragedy and blood.

I have always found Victor Frankenstein and his monsterous creation fascinating and it is one of the stories strengths and longevity that the question it poses is "which one is the monster?"

Victor is clearly a narcissist with a god complex, while the monster is pretty much angry most of the time; let's be honest, wouldn't you be? They have a fraught father and son relationship and they both need each other. Victor knows that without the monster he is a one man band. A Laurel without a Hardy, a Ray Allen without a Lord Charles, a Del Boy without a Rodders.

The portayals of the monster have been similar, by and large he's presented as an abomination with a face only a mother could love, but surely Frankenstein would have wanted to create a perfect specimen and in that case wouldn't he have been on the lookout for heads with faces that have good bone structure or cheek bones to die for? Wanting to improve on God wouldn't he have made the monster akin to David Gandy? wouldn't he want his creation to be more like Superman than a shambling oaf?

These questions are answered in Guilermo Del Toro's adaptation of The Modern Prometheus as his monster is a cross between Wolverine and a very tall Brad Pitt.

Were he to exist today, Victor Frankenstein would have been on social media as he would probably have had a weekly podcast about makeovers. He would be the celebrity scientist on BBC, he would have written some books about self improvement and he would most likely have had a serial killer character based on him.

Victor and his monster are the ultimate odd couple and I await further takes on these two amazing literrary characters conjured up from the mind of  the 20 year old Mary Wollstonencraft Shelley 

SCANNERS

If our fingers were athletes they would win Olympic gold medals. The reason being that they have so much daily excercise scrolling that they would be a cross between Daley Thompson, Carl Lewis and Usain Bolt. The average person in the UK has a smart phone and the average person in the UK spends an extraordinary amount of time looking at it. An inordinate amount of time scrolling for soundbites and visual stimuli. An overwhelming amount of time sending out meaningless words into the ether.

That's not the worst of it though. Living in the moment is a defunct concept. If the phone isn't out held aloft recording the moment then the moment didn't happen. What if a tree fell in the forest and no one was there to film it on their Samsung Galaxy?

There was an eighties TV film called Max Headroom:20 Minutes Into the Future (which spawned the eponimous AI presenter) set in a corporate owned dystopia and one of the marketing tools that was used to sell to the masses was called a 'Blipvert' a new high-speed, concentrated, high-intensity television commercials lasting about three seconds. Their purpose was to prevent the channel-switching that may occur during standard-length commercials, but they had the side-effect of making some viewers explode like those unfortunates in Scanners

We now live in the world of the Blipvert on the much smaller screen via Tik Tok, Snapchat, Reels and other short form video platforms, except people don't run the risk of exploding but the risk imploding mentally.

It seems we are too busy absorbing information to actually diferentiate what is meaningful and process that information for our benefit.

To say that all mobile phone use is negative would be churlish. Good technology should be embraced and utilised in the service of mankind not to promote somene that can put 11 golf balls in their mouth, light their farts, jump over an icy puddle without falling in, or have Bolton's larget collagen lips.

Having just been on holiday in sunnier climes I reintroduced myself to the pleasures of putting my phone away. I read some books, closed my eyes, watched some cats playing, listened to the sound of the sea and people watched. If that sounds boring you aren't doing mobile phone detox right.

To scroll or not to scroll? that is the question. I would like to put things simply. Think to yourself "what do I need to see?" "what do I want to see" and "what don't I need to see?" I think you will find that the answer is staring you in the face.