One for the Tracy Chevalier fans:

Highgate Wood Cafe, Autumn 2003.

Photo by Neil Scott.

Happy Birthday Mr Wilde.

<img src="http://www.fosca.com/PDVD_019.jpg">

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Two announcements to the curious:

This Friday, my group Fosca are performing at the Buffalo Bar in Highbury Corner. More information at <a href="http://www.fosca.com">www.fosca.com</a>

Also, the <a href="http://www.fosca.com/DICKONphoto.jpg">Sarah Watson portrait</a> of me features in the current issue (#2) of <a href="http://www.marmalademag.com/">Marmalade</a>, a trendy London art & style magazine. The image has been given a two-page spread (pages 86 – 87 if you're in a hurry). Available in Magma (Earlham Street, Covent Garden) and Borders Books. Or <a href="mailto:mail@hotbed.org">email them</a> for mail order details.

I'm also on the cover of another art magazine, yet to appear. Further details when I have them.

I've just found a spare copy of the Orlando album, "Passive Soul". Mint condition, unplayed.

<a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=1057&item=2563128364">It's on Ebay for this week only</a>, starting at 99p as usual. If you know someone who may be interested, now is the time to tell them.

Here's something you don't see every day:

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<p>This was taken at Ms Scott's barbecue in the suburbs of Oxford last weekend. No tiresome attempt at irony or any similarly deviant commentary on this apotheosis of Surburbia was in the least intended. However, the comparatively bohemian nature of many of Ms Scott's jolly acquaintances did mean the event couldn't help but feature a few Bloomsbury Set-like elements. Certainly ones that would be uncommon at the kind of barbecue documented in, say, the works of Mr Ayckbourn. Not least my own brief stint at the grill, as pictured.

One criteria of the modern garden barbecue is that a man, ideally the most testosterone-charged of men, should do the cooking, often with an unamusing apron. Rarely a man who looks the way I do. And so Mr Storey considered this, quite rightly, worthy of a photograph.
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<p>&nbsp;<p>The gathering was soundtracked by a vintage Dansette-like gramophone that had been wired up to an mp3-playing I-Pod (see photo). Just the kind of dangerous juxtaposition that, it was observed, would have Sapphire and Steel on the scene at once. Thankfully, Time, as far as we were aware, did not "Break Through" at any point.
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<p>A further unusual element documented by Mr Storey was this impromptu Study In Malt Loaf by the artist Ms Dennis. "Maltzilla", seen here menacing an innocent teacake, was created at an impressive speed when no one was looking. "Quite a good modelling material, as cakes go," she commented. "Holds together well."

<p><p><br>&nbsp;<p>&nbsp;<p>(with acknowledgements to <lj user=mzdt>)

To Waterstones, Hampstead, where majesty of comic conciseness Ivor Cutler reads from his new book, "Scots, Wa' Straw". It is his only public performance this year.

Despite arthritis doing its utmost to prevent him keeping the pages still, Mr Cutler's writing and delivery remain wry, sly and spry as ever.

"When I say that I am stupid, I am not making a comparison."

Occasionally, his mind fails him mid-anecdote and he apologies to the audience:

"Try not to live far too long."

A brief, immeasureably sad silence.

Then:

"Thirty-five is about right".

His accidental backdrop is a large display of books about The Atkins Diet.

A new 21st Century spectactor sport – Ebay Racing.

The rules are as follows. One puts a large amount of unwanted items of a similar format, in this case vinyl records, all on Ebay at once, pricing each one at a blanket 99p. This is just enough to cover fees and maximises the chance of a curious, impulsive buyer taking the plunge. Then you sit back and watch, placing mental bets on which ones will sell quicker and for a higher price, and which ones will have the world turning its collective nose up at them.

<a href="http://cgi6.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewSellersOtherItems&userid=wowasfriend&include=0&since=-1&sort=3&rows=50">Click here for all the action.</a>

So far, The Stone Roses are way out in front, while the likes of Shock Headed Peters lag behind. A criminal shame, as "I Bloodbrother Be" wipes the floor with anything those Mancunian purveyors of indie disco comfort food did, and if that record remains untaken after auction closure, I shall take a very low view of humanity indeed. As this is part of my ongoing "Life Laundry", anything unsold goes into the crusher, with no exceptions.

How interesting that the Sugarcubes singles, of all things, have been quickly snapped up, while a Smiths single with b-sides unavailable on CD remains unloved. Fair enough that one such b-side is the somewhat lacklustre "Work Is A Four-Letter Word", but "I Keep Mine Hidden" is the very last Morrissey & Marr composition, and surely warrants 99p of somebody's money.

I'm reminded of a visit to an indie disco where the floor cleared for The Beach Boys' "Darlin'", but filled for Belle and Sebastian. I think it's far to say that even Belle and Sebastian themselves would comment in a "without whom…" manner.

The thing I will miss most about vinyl is the joy of wrap-around gatefold sleeve artwork. Not least as evinced on <a href="http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=27343&item=2556911662">this Nancy Sinatra album</a>.

Newsflash! Spiritualized have suddenly taken the lead! Over to you, Gary…

"Well, Dickon, this is a turn up for the books. "Lazer Guided Melodies" is perfectly available on CD, but clearly its vinyl incarnation is not to be sniffed at…"

Update a few minutes later:

"And there goes I Bloodbrother Be! Could a sinister 80s indie-cabaret classic give Jason Spaceman's druggy furrow-ploughers a run for their money..?"

Well, it beats watching the cricket.

<img align=left src="http://www.ash-tree.bc.ca/images/ACDSimages/cottingley.jpg"></img>Recently there was a depressing TV advert doing the rounds, promoting a new reality TV programme called "Lapdancing Island". It now transpires this was a <a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/tv_and_radio/3170075.stm">hoax.</a> Which is even more depressing.

"The trailer… is part of an elaborate advertising campaign to promote The Pilot Show… which sets up the public and celebrities to take part in wacky recordings and auditions for fake TV shows, believing they are experimental runs for the real thing. A spokesman for the show said although the Lapdance Island trailers were still running, there would soon be a new one which apologises to all those who were taken in and will be disappointed to learn there was never any intention to make the programme."

I'd love to see this starting a trend. Producers giving public apologies for wasting people's time. Can we also expect similar apologies from the makers of Fame Academy?

"We're sorry this programme isn't a fake."

Or the makers of many a guilty show:

"We're sorry for letting Kate Thornton anywhere near a camera".

Perhaps self-awareness could be the new cocaine:

"We are sorry that, in our privileged position as programme makers to educate, entertain, edify and elevate millions of people, we have instead chosen to waste a lot of time and money, for the sake of making a very, very, obvious point. Without realising the connection between people applying to go on reality TV shows and people like us actually making reality TV shows. Cheap jokes with expensive budgets. Next up on Channel Boy Who Cried Wolf – TV Producers Taking Pleasure From Smelling Their Own Farts. Followed by, oh, more of the same. "

I've always found many hoaxes rather pointless, hollow, tragic and tiresomely unfunny, in the same way I find many April Fools jokes, celebrity impersonation, anonymity and, yes, fake web diaries and "Fakesters", pointless, hollow, tragic and tiresomely unfunny. Chris Morris and Ali G are notable exceptions, preying on the gullibility of self-appointed celebrities and experts in order to make rather good TV comedy. But, and I hate to break this to a lot of people, everyone's not a comedian. Look upon the works of Steve Penk, ye mighty, and despair.

There's just much better ways of making a point, and much better ways of making people laugh. And indeed, much more interesting, even stylish ways of creating a hoax. <a href="http://www.museumofhoaxes.com/pcaraboo.html">Not least the story of Princess Caraboo</a>. Or the case of <a href="http://www.ash-tree.bc.ca/ACDFAIRIES.html">Arthur Conan Doyle and The Cottingley Fairies</a>. That's the way to do it. Elsie Wright and Frances Griffiths – anticipating PhotoShop by some eighty years.

The "dead pet rabbit" web diary entry I linked to in my post about soliciting abuse was also, <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/siamang/44222.html">its author now admits</a>, a complete hoax. Or rather, they offer a rather risible pseudo-philosophical explanation of their motives.

This reminded me of a 90s hoax TV series by Muriel Gray about the state of modern art. In the final programme, she admitted all the artists she had featured were actors, and went into a big self-important speech about reality, TV, modern art, and so forth. Like the dead bunny person, she said she wanted to provoke a response, to make the viewer go away and think about things. She didn't seem to anticipate that such thoughts were most likely to be, "Yes, and I now think, get lost, Ms Gray, you cheap, sanctimonious waste of my time." And she did. She hasn't worked in TV since.

Ultimately, the only way hoaxes can justify themselves is by producing something of genuine comic and satirical excellence (Chris Morris, Ali G), or providing a great story much retold (the cases of Princess Caraboo and The Cottingley Fairies were both made into rather good films), or by stopping Muriel Gray appearing on TV again. This Lapdancing Island hoax, however, is just a depressing symptom of the state of current things televisual. The tragedy is, its instigators have the temerity to look down on people who apply to go on reality TV shows, without realising that by saturating the schedules with those sort of inane programmes in the first place, they themselves are hardly prime, hypocrisy-free, edifying examples of humanity.

Here's my pitch: a programme that addresses why it is that the premise of Lapdancing Island was entirely believable in the first place. Why "Touch The Truck" (game show where people have stay touching said vehicle for days on end) and "Chained" (strangers having to carry on their lives while chained together) are actually very real programmes. The show would put a group of TV producers in a house surrounded by cameras and mirrors….

"Day 32. And Jeremy Nokia-Comfortable, producer of Abbatoir Academy and Britain's Sexiest Children, is in the diary room weeping again:

"There's something wrong with the mirrors in this place. Instead of being covered in lines of white powder, I can actually see the lines of accountability etched into my wretched face". "

There's an Alan Bennett TV season at the NFT next month. How terrible that the only way of getting good TV is by going to the cinema.

I do feel like dragging the makers of The Pilot Show along to the NFT, saying,

"Look, do you see? THIS is how to make television! There IS a better way! Everyone will benefit! Your lives need NOT be in vain!"

I'm writing this entry as I bleach my roots in preparation for <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/dickon_edwards/39214.html">tomorrow's concert</a>. In case you're wondering, I currently use the Jerome Russell kit, the one for men. This isn't at all important chemically, as the kit's contents are identical to the distaff version. And I'm hardly one of those men put off by the thought of being caught using women's hair products. In fact, I'm more embarrassed by the thought of being caught with men's grooming products. Lynx, Gillette, Old Spice, that's your lot. What a choice. The least a man can get.

No, the reason I deliberately plump for the men's bleaching kit is purely because of the larger plastic gloves included. Contrary to the boasts of many a smug drag queen spotter, not all male hands are bigger than females – I've encountered males with palms as slender as rain. Admittedly, such epicene creatures of the night would hardly win any Mr Universe competitions, but you get my point. My own hands, however, <i>are</i> too large for the standard gloves in the women's bleaching kits, and so I must resort to the Y chromosome version for this purely practical reason.

<img align=left src="http://www.wholepoint.co.uk/tschits85.jpg"></img>
While waiting for the chemicals to do their sacred work, I listen to a recent Radio 2 documentary on The Style Council. What a wonderful and strange 80s pop group they were. Paul Weller as far removed from his rockist personae in The Jam and in his solo career as one could possibly imagine. Blissful, timeless pop classics like "Speak Like A Child", "You're The Best Thing", "Long Hot Summer", "My Ever Changing Moods" and "Shout To The Top". Achingly beautiful lesser-known songs like "Changing Of The Guard", "It's A Very Deep Sea" and "Spring Summer Autumn." The only band that played Live Aid AND benefits for the miners' strike. Chart pop record sleeves with incredibly arch sleeve notes (from "The Capuccino Kid") alternating with <i>reading lists</i> and addresses for contacting CND, anti-vivisection and hunt sabs groups, and so on. It's very easy to get cynical now about their brazen "SOUL-cialist" agenda – not least a lot of the lyrics, but their attendant sly, self-mocking sense of humour, noticeably absent in The Jam, always endeared themselves to me. From Michael Moore to Morrissey to Ken Livingstone, seriousness is more sincere when spiked with a smirk.

"We had a choice between doing a soundcheck and meeting Charles and Diana. We did the soundcheck". – on Live Aid.

I'd also forgotten how much more <i>uranist</i> Mr Weller was back then. The sleeve of their biggest selling album, "Our Favourite Shop" featured Joe Orton, Kenneth Williams, and a poster of Rupert Everett in "Another Country". Half-naked men and much EM Forster-like riverside earlobe-stroking in the video to "Long Hot Summer". Titles like ""I Was A Dole Dad's Toy Boy". And, in the sleeve notes to the recent compilation, "The Sound Of The Style Council", Mr Weller has this to say about rare Style Council gem "The Piccadilly Trail":

"I imagined a middle-aged teacher who has got a love affair going on with a Soho rent boy, but the tables get turned. The teacher is always being used by this boy… It's a great London song."

Returning to the subject of bleached boys, Mr Weller also attempted the peroxide look for the "Cost Of Loving" album era, with somewhat unflattering results. I think the look he had on this Smash Hits cover, the boyish – well, let's face it, girlish – dark floppy side-parting, was far more fetching.

Mind you, standing next to Mick Talbot was always going to pay dividends.

My group Fosca are performing at the Kings Cross Water Rats this Thursday, with The Free French (featuring <lj user=rhodri>) and Simon Bookish (<lj user=automatique>). Perhaps we could jointly procure a laptop and update our web diaries from the stage, commenting on the audience's dress sense.

Fosca are onstage 9pm. Full details here:

http://www.hitbackonline.co.uk/festival.html

We'll be airing a new pop anthem called "I've Agreed To Something I Shouldn't Have."