Pussy galore

 I was in the town of Ludlow* just this past weekend. You know, having a mooch around, looking in shop windows, all that stuff. Anyway I came across the Cats Protection League (although these days they're just called Cats Protection) charity shop. I don't know how many of you are familliar with that series in which that dreadful Mary Portas woman shouted at a load of OAPs who'd volunteered to help out in a branch of Save the Children, but I reckon this branch of Cats Protection could have done with a nicer version of Portas to go in and give them some pointers. I have in my head the sort of person who'd either donate or bequeeth item to a cats charity. I'm sure you have the same picture in your head: elderly woman, likes a comfy cardy, doesn't get out much, stinks of cat piss. Is that the same mental picture as yours? I thought so. And obviously the same goes for the kind of person who would volunteer to work in the Cats Protection shop. To be honest, I was shocked at the items put on display in the window. That's right, in the window. You know, in the window where you're supposed to put all the decent, eye-catching gear.
Exhibit 1:

A nice floral teapot. But look closer. It has dried tea drips on it. What's happened there, do you think? Have the staff in the shop been using it to brew their breaktime cuppa? And why is tea running down it from the top? The tea's supposed to be either inside the pot or coming out of the spout, isn't it? Or am I being very old-fashioned and this is some new kind of avant garde tea-making? Or, and I suspect this to be the case, did the staff not wash the teapot before putting it on display. In the window?

Exhibit 2:

I like a nice salad as much as the next man but what you can't really see on that photo is the amount of muck that looked as though it had collected around the plastic on the top. Would you put an iceberg lettuce, spring onions, radishes and a few tomatoes in there? Would you? You would? You're insane. I value my health. Would you put that item in the window or in the skip? Total scut.

Exhibit 3:

On the left is a teaspoon rest. Now I find the teaspoon rest to be a handy item for any home (in fact, I covet one for myself). Not only can you rest teaspoons on there but also teabags freshly plucked from a mug or pot so that you can get them dry before they drip on the kitchen floor in transit to the bin (we've all been there, right?). That one was incredibly mucky. So mucky that I wouldn't even use it after it had had a good going over with a bit Domestos diluted in hot water. Again, this item was in the window, with what is supposed to be the best gear. And look at that football mug! Who'd pay money for that? It's the sort of thing that comes with a really cheap Easter egg. I bet if you turned it round in really really cheap-looking, non-trademark lettering it says 'Ipswich' or 'Queen of the South'. Scut, scut, scut!

This next item though is my favourite:

This piece of A4 fascinates me. It's clearly intended as an ad to find a stray cat a home. Why then has someone stuck not onkly Blu Tack but also Cats Protection price stickers over the text? Has someone in Cats Protection took a shine to old Demon here? Or is something more sinister afoot? Look to the right and you'll see written, and then scribbled out, 'found dead'. What's happened to Demon? Was he alive at the vets, escaped and then his was corpse found later? I've hardly slept a wink since worrying about him. Pity the shop was shut or I'd have gone in and asked.


*Nice place. It's crowning glory has to be the public toilets though. I mean, how can you not like a place whose bogs pipes in Donna Summer's State of Independence whilst you're straining your greens?

Now we are 3

One thing I forgot to mention yesterday is that while I've been away on holiday this blog celebrated its third birthday. Hooray for Modern Gutnish! Little did I know that back in the summer of 2008 whike innocently posting a photo of Diane Keen with a breast on show on one of this blog's first entries, Modern Gutnish would be no.1 in the Google search list for 'Diane Ken tits'. Who knew so many people were interested in the Cuckoo Waltz star's knockers? Not I, that's for sure as mustn't. Turns out this blog is also no.2 on the Google list for the search term 'Jo Whiley tits'. Funny thing is that the sentence I wrote on that particular entry was "Jo Whiley's a tit". So, for all the pervs out there I'm going to try a little experiment just to see how stupid some people are. Here goes: JUNE WHITFIELD TITS. There, now I just need to sit back and see what happens.
Getting back to 2008, do you remember it? A long time ago now of course, but let's get a bit nostalgic, eh? Lehman Brothers Bank was still very much a going concern, Gordon Brown was well on his way to becoming one of the UK's best-loved Prime Ministers, your house was worth double what it's worth now, you could get credit just like that, Cher Lloyd was busy being a school bully, my mother was still very much with us, there was one of the greatest statesmen of our time in the Whitehouse, nobody had heard of swine 'flu, I still thought Christine Bleakley was nice, Rupert Murdoch was a cuddly old gent who just happened to own a few newspapers. Halcyon days indeed. Here's to the next three years of Modern Gutnish!

De drummer på sondring

Right, I've literally been inundated with absolutely no requests from people asking how I did on my drum grading exam, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I passed. With distinction. Can you believe that? I can't. Look, that's my certificate there on the photo. Obviously I've covered up my name with a pair of drumsticks, but I can assure you that really is my certificate. If you don't know my name then you'd best just pretend that it really is Vic Firth. The examiner was even very kind in his notes. I'm rather chuffed. I know it's only Grade 1 but it's a big thing for me.
In other news, kind of related to the drum exam, I'm growing a beard. The last time I had a shave was the day of the exam. It needs a lot of work. I find myself trying to push hair out so it goes from the stage of looking like you can't be arsed to shave to having a beard. Trouble is that if I get to the stage where I look like I've got a Noel Edmonds Tidy Beard then it's coming off. I've even got an electric 'grooming kit'. Oh dear, that's just a slippery slope towards moisturising territory. I hope that doesn't happen as I'm a man after all. And only tonight while looking at an early photo of Metallica (which I like to do every now and again) I realise I bear an uncanny resemblance to a 20 year-old Lars Ulrich...minus the head hair. Hmmm.
And in some more news, I saw Darren Ferguson in a motorway service station the other week. Just thought I'd tell you that. Have you ever seen the son of anyone famous?

Anyway, have one of my favourite tracks for drums courtesy of the talented man Dave Grohl. Too talented for his own good. The bastard.

Der Trommler

So, had my first drum exam yesterday. Oh dear. Grade 1 and things didn't go according to plan. The day started with a two hour lesson which kicked off at 6am. Now, I don't know about you but I doubt if there's many occasions where drumming is deemed acceptable at such an early hour. I was the first exam of the day so we had to travel to Lincoln for an 8:45 start. Got there early so just managed to sneak in a cheeky bacon bap from a tea bar around the corner from the studio where the exam was due to take place. Surprisingly for an exam phobic like me I felt strangely serene - that should have been the portent.

Went to the studio where I was allowed fifteen minutes warm up time. My drum tutor came with me - we knew he wouldn't be allowed in the actual exam but he wanted to come anyway as I'm the first person he's sent for grading - and told me that I'd best practise my rudiments. Now rudiments are the easy stuff you're supposed to know in your sleep. Not going to get technical but they involve rolls, triplets and paradiddles. So, armed with my 'lucky' drumsticks (a pair of Zildjian Zak Starkey's complete with mod roundels which have virtually worn off, as you can see in the pic which was taken in my very own pad, you lucky bastards. A gift from my drum tutor, even though I have plenty of sticks of my own. It was he who called them my' lucky sticks'. His girlfriend bought them for a pound from a car boot sale) I was called into the examination room. The examiner, a personable Geordie in his forties, put me at ease and asked me which three set pieces of music I'd be playing (there's a guy playing one of them here. It isn't me, but if you're unlucky enough to be a friend of mine on Faceberk then there's a video of me playing all three pieces on there). Now, the set music is supposed to be one of the harder parts of the exam. I sailed through all three barely putting a foot wrong, perhaps two small mistakes.

Then came the rudiments section. Oh dear. I had the choice to play along with a metronome or not. Should have said 'not' but was mindful that more points would be added to my score if I could play along in time with a metronome...which I normally can. All three rudiments he asked me to play were a complete and utter shambles. In fact I'd even go as far as to say it was fucking awful. Shit!

Next part of the exam was recalling a groove, recalling rolls and sight reading and interpretation, and questions on music notation and general music questions, all of which I sailed through. Again, I got the more difficult stuff right. Oh well, fifteen minutes and the exam was over - the examiner said "You've done very well. You'll get your results in two to three weeks." Yeah, right on the 'you've done very well bit', I bet he says that to all the others going for Drum Grade 1, which is usually eleven year-old boys, not midlife crisis boy here.

Went back to get tutor, who could hear every thing despite it supposedly being soundproofed, where he called me a wanker for the rudiments section. Yes, what a wanker. Still, at least we could laugh about it - on the way back we were going over what the examiner might have been saying to the guy who owned the studio: "Did you hear old baldie's rudiments? What a prick, they get a bit of cash in their pockets buy a kit and think they're Dave Grohl. A-ha-ha. A-ha-ha." Yes, A-ha-ha indeed. At least I can drum along to AC/DC's Back in Black, hardly Rush's YYZ but hey.

Roll on Grade 2.

The King of the Tits

Good to hear Roger Taylor off of Queen having a pop at Rupert Murdoch along with everyone else. Hurrah! That's Roger Taylor off of Queen who thought it was okey-dokey to play in South Africa in the 1980s. I can't think of any other song which includes the word 'denominators', can you?



The lyrics in full:

Dear Mr. Murdoch you play hard to see
But with your bare-arsed cheek you should be on page three
And dear Mr. Murdoch you're really the pits
Bad news is good business, you're the king of the tits

They stain all they touch, they're real woman haters
But we're on their trail
They go straight for the lowest common denominators
How could they fail? go straight to jail - (no bail)!

Dear Mr. Murdoch you're a powerful man
You control half our media whose values don't scan
And dear Mr. Murdoch we're not so amused
Just line up the people whose lives they've abused

Dear Mr. Murdoch what do you know
With your minions like vultures and carrion crow
They've sunk just as low as humans can sink
For profit they tell us how mass murderers think

And dear Mr. Murdoch you come down from on high
You even bought up the air waves, you control all our sky

Dear Mr. Murdoch you're a dangerous chap
With your jingoist lingo we're drowning in crap

Dear Mr. Murdoch where are you coming from?
Getting so hard to tell if you're a yank, oz or pom

Dear Mr. Murdoch you're really the pits
Bad news is good business, you're the king of the tits

Dear Mr. Murdoch you do it with zing
At lowering the standards you're really the king

And dear Mr. Murdoch what have you done?
You're not quite as nice as Attila the Hun

Now then

Yeah, I'm back, back, BACK! Got meself a hot new computer and internet connection. I bet you're all so pleased, eh? No? Oh, please yourselves...
Anyway, I'm back and have absolutely nothing to blog about, so soz about that. Icould have a moan about something I suppose, but sod it. Not only that but my sister's just texted me to tell me that Elbow are on BBC3 in ten minutes so I'd better hurry up and settle myself in for more, er 'stuff'. I'm sure you'll be hearing more from me, but tonight I'm going to watch some telly for the first time in ages. As the song goes: "Food in my belly and a licence for my telly and nothing's gonna bring me down" Hurrah!

Edit: I have got something to moan about: the announcer on BBC3 saying "One Day Like This byElbow is one of my most favourite songs ever - always cheers me up" Oh, piss off will you?

'Ere, have a bang on this, currently residing in the 'where are they now file'.

Hey Scenesters!

Hey, you groovy cats, I'm going to be without decent internet access for three - yes, count 'em - three weeks! So I'll be quiet for a bit, which will no doubt come as a relief to you all. Behave yourselves while I'm gone and have a bang on this because I love power pop, Charlotte Hatherley and cheerleaders. Mind how you go: