Chocolate heaven (and the beer's quite good too)

Visit to Brugge, 24 - 26 November, 2006

So I'm in Brugge and a lovely time I'm having to be sure. The beer (yes beer, sorry gin fans) is flowing smoothly and the chocolate is crumbling nicely, and then, joy of joys, we (GSG is accompanied by vodkaslut, whiskeydiva, and minesalager) discover chocolate/vanilla/assorted fruit flavoured gins! What could round off your first night on a binge-drinking voyage to a foreign city (no rowdiness mind, this all innocent fun) any better? The Belgians have got Christmas sorted - non of that 'win a teddy bear' nonsense in their winter fayres, oh no, they go for the straight up, 'come get your alcohol' type vendors. Hurrah for the plain-speaking Belgians!

Alcohol is good, I think that's the message I take away from my visit. Not that there aren't lots of cultural sites to visit and enjoy also- our boat trip along the canal on our last day was very enjoyable, and the Chocolate Museum was also very palatable (in every way), but basically, it's all about sensory enjoyment- 'Fill your face and drink to you can't say Aberystwyth' that's the message. 'Abstinence?', well its a wierd, puritanical British invention. Yes, over the long weekend I was there, I enjoyed more beer than I've ever drank before in the rest of my life put together, ever, and I consider that an accomplishment. I'm converted (or more broad-minded depending how you look at it)! Beer is wonderful, especially the dark stuff- Westmalle was a favourite I remember.

I particularly reccomend the 'pub of 300 beers' which was, ahem, appropriately named, and also Café Vlissinghe, the oldest pub in Brugge, which is about 400 years old, and stayed open especially for us it seemed (except for a couple of old men playing chess all evening in an authentic Belgian/Dutch way). The Belgians are extremely accomodating in their permissiveness and tolerence of drunk British people we found. They didn't even mind taking our photo for us, although we were all rather red-faced and 'deep in the mire' at the time. God Bless. GSG.

Blonde intentions

The Page Turner at the Renoir, Brunswick Square. 23rd November 2006.


First of all, I’ve never been to the Renoir! I’m not sure why considering its indie appeal and plush interiors. The seats are very comfortable and the bar well stocked with wine and gin. Jackpot!

So on to the film. The Page Turner (Tourneuse de Pages). A Hitchcockian style French drama set in the effete world of classical music. C’est magnifique! What’s good about it? To start with the lead actress is the epitome of restrained anger and deferred vengeance in a role that demands a Catherine Deneuve/Tippi Hedren style presence. Hail the return of the glacial ice queen! The child actress that plays Melanie’s younger self is no less demonic in her self possession and control: the mannered way in which she carefully locks and seals her piano after her failed recital is accompanied by an all-time classic ‘I’ll get you later’ expression. And get her she does.

The film is remarkably restrained. In fact, at first it is underplayed to the point where you doubt that the genteel blonde Melanie can carry through her wicked intentions. She's so unassuming, so ordinary in her manner of dress; her well groomed hair, and deferential sense of decorum. She seems too polite to generate such sinister dark mischief. But when she goes to live with the family of her nemesis her true Machiavellian nature is gradually revealed.

She becomes flirtatious and sensual. She befriends the son, at the same time attempting to ruin his career and harbouring a homicidal intent towards him. Finally there is the masterly scene in which she wreaks her revenge upon the creepy Cellist who gropes her in a clumsy, schoolmasterly fashion. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! Yes indeed (I don’t want to spoil it, but let’s just say that her vengeance hurts like a hole in the foot!).

There aren’t many films like this anymore; it taps deep into the primitive instinct for revenge, and tells us 'it's ok, so long as you don't go too far'. Basically, everyone has someone they'd like to take to task in a similar fashion. Melanie is just going that little bit further than most. The injury done to her is apparently so small that you might not think it warrants the action she takes, but what the film teaches us is that what's insignificant to one party, can be pretty damn substantial to another. Human beings are a lot more savage, and a lot more fragile than you think.

The film is brilliantly acted and brilliantly directed. It has etiquette and class. 9/10.

Reach out and (try to) touch me

The Flaming Lips at the Hammersmith Apollo, 14 November 2006

Hurray for Wayne Coyne and his anti-establishment, drippy-hippy, psychedelic live show. ‘If George Bush hasn’t got the answers, then pass on the fight to somebody who does’ announces the bearded and frock-coat bedecked town crier at the start of the show. And there’s nothing disappointing about what follows. Balloons, balloons, and even more spherical-type objects fall from the sky with visual and kinetic aplomb- cascades of ticker tape and confetti follow them periodically and add to the jovial, carnival feeling. First song in, and I’m sure that this is going to be not only great fun but unlike anything else I’ve ever seen in my life before. And I’m right.

Does life narrow down as you get older? Does time squeeze the life and enthusiasm and sensitivity out of you? Are people who tell this to younger impressionable people cruel and vicious? These and many other questions are tossed into the audience like philosophical arrows during the course of the 2 hour live set/extravaganza offered by The Flaming Lips at the Hammersmith Apollo tonight. Wayne Coyne is a garrulous soul with a love of philosophical treatise of the meandering kind and his obvious enthusiasm encourages an already well-meaning crowd into a frenzy of audience participation, especially during the Yeah Yeah Yeah Song- ‘Come on now, sing it like you really don’t give a f**k’.

So what did we all learn at the end of it?

Well, me personally, I learned: 1. Puppets are good and can even be beautiful in the right hands. 2. Balloons are more fun than I previously gave them credit for. 3. The venerable profession of town crier is a lost art and very underrated (surely all gigs should be introduced this way). 4. Most bands really don’t make enough effort in the theatrical staging department- fact. 5. The next time I go to see a straight guitar and stripy top outfit I’ll be really disappointed.

Now I’m going to go and get high on orange squash, make a daisy chain, practice skipping, or something similarly childlike.

Librarian chic convention

The Long Blondes at the Proud Gallery, Camden. 7 November 2006.

Free gig alert! Special, 'selected audience', not for the riff-raff, website-viewing, mail list signer-uppers only, album-launch type deal. Yeah, me- on the guest list like.

What can be said about the venue? Well, there were fake plastic horses a la Barbie's playmates, and balloons (lots of) and a red and pink theme, and giant dice, and sixties music (Stones etc) and lots of Kate Jackson and co, looky-likeys. Oh, and pink wristbands. Very nouvelle vogue.

So, we were relaxing, having a cool time, waiting for the gig proper to be announced or something, and then we notice that the stage area seems to be filling up rather and we have to make like squirrels and scamper over pretty sharpish. Ouch! God, there's a lot of people here tonight. In fact, what with all the balloons, it looks like a load of older, bigger kids with alcohol have taken over a kiddies party. Bad prefects! Anyway, vodkaslut reckons they're liggers in the main (and she knows how to recognise them). But hang on, does that mean us? To be honest readers (or reader), I'm not that hot on the definition of ligger- is it just someone who knows someone who kinda met the band once? Someone who does their hair occasionally? Industry people? Or anyone who didn't pay to get in? I'm guessing its not in the Oxford Dictionary, or I'd look it up. But it would be good to know.

Yeah, so then the band comes on and boy, they're on the small side- Tonka toy height in fact, or then maybe not; just normal size and standing on a very low stage. Anyway, they're fabulous- I think that Kate was wearing a lot of leopard-print and a pencil skirt, but can't be sure what with the being squashed to sardines thing going on. Luckily the atmosphere becomes less sordid (I got to know one young man standing in front of me very well that night) about half way through (I'm so proud of myself for standing my ground), and the crowd starts to regain its capacity to breathe in and out uninhibited. Phew. No fainting for me then. That would have been embarrassing.

The band were great by the way- Kate Jackson has a fantastic voice, really deep and resonant. Very Debbie Harry, Heart of Glass era. And is it me, or does she sound like Adam Ant a wee bit?

I'm loving the whole librarian becomes pop star scene- and the predatory, voyeuristic vibe of 'Once and Never again'. Genius.

8/10.