Carry on up the duff

The weekend has vanished in numerous puffs of smoke and gargantuan swigs of beer. Not remembering getting home can be a strong, yet paranoia inducing look. Which is the one I'm currently sporting - fearful.

Big news is one of my house mates is preggers. I'm crossing my fingers for a home birth...



Kebab juice



Home reading - thankfully you can still be glam when 'with child'

Kiss the fist - don't touch the wrist

Yes yes yes - The London Fields boozer is letting Kiss the Fist, our evening of party electronics, take a monthly Saturday slot. Which is almost unbelieveable considering what went down last time. DJ abuse, drinking, smoking indoors, deck failure, shouting at punters, getting shouted at by punters - it ended in my kitchen at 5am drinking week old wine. Delicious.

Despite these shenanigans, we're moving up a gear by taking on a Saturday evening down the local battle cruiser beginning next weekend on November 20th. So see youse there - It's gonna be a fresh look and these are the some of the tunes I'll be wearing...

Juicy

November November November - in some ways the cruellest month. It's still close enough to summer for shorts to be gazed at wistfully, yet night descends like an all enveloping wizard's sleeve before you even leave work. And you know you've still got to wade through some serious shit before you reach the sanctuary of Christmas.

So, in some ways, it's crucial to seize the day during this time of the year. Or you can continue down the same path you've been following for the last 12 months. Decision decisions...



Toni and Craggs



Double papping ducks



Jools, joints and juice



Queasy birds

Dreams can come true

Birthdays - If you wake up before midday and wish really hard, then you can achieve all the things you'd like. Failing that you can get up late, enjoy a fry up and then get messed up at a dubstep night until dawn's crack opens. You can imagine which option was enjoyed around here for our man Craggs. It was big on bass, grease and energy drinks.



Lads at brunch



Chicken playing the sex sax



Paedo's paradise



Dubstep skronkathon



Bin's got bare moves. Bare. Moves.



Hoods up



Rattus Rattus Rattus Rattus



Running scared

Down in the dam

Amsterdam - Oomph. The whole of last week was spent working there at some mad technology conference ting - and unfortunately no time was spent investing in a marathon tear up of the coffee house scene.

No matter. Despite the large buckets of work we swam through, the candle was well truly and burnt at both ends for the five day stay. Injuries, beers and schmoozing...



Night one



The colonel



Baron von Woofhousen



Music for bankers



Free flex



Raw fish and caviar in the hotel eatery



50 euros worth of Lobster thermidor - ouch



Enjoying oneself with Pringles in bed - fucked



Airport



Sanctuary



This is fucking Europe mate. We do things differently here

MOBO shake down...

The MOBOs is the annual Music of Black Origins awards - and to celebrate and build up a bit of hype in the run up to the 2010 event itself the organisers put a tour together.

We went along on the junket flex to Islington's O2 venue, which is in the shopping centre round them parts. When we got in line for the metal detector, it transpired that pretty much everyone in there was on the junket. Them peoples was astute - I'd have pitied any fool who'd had to fork out dosh from their own pockets to check some of the weakness on display.

The bill was proper boil in the bag - perennial UK try hard Donaeo looked well pissed off to have agreed to be included - and rushed through his set like a man who'd have rather have been bathing in someone else's shit than performing in that room.

Aggros Santos is supposed to be a serious contender in the game - but his miniature stature and elderly backing DJ only provoked hysterics. His performance proved to be a real low point in the evening - he leaped on stage at the exact moment the £4 pints suddenly developed the flavour of line cleaner....



The final act on the bill was Skepta - a man who used to be one the muckiest boys in grime - but has given it up for a way with a cheesey pop ting. We left before he'd even got half way through.
As a gig, the MOBOs tour was one of the worst. The pits. A sow's ear. It's one saving grace was the brief appearance of JME - and he was only on stage for one tune. Whatevs though. He made the struggle of those £4 lagers worth it. Keep your ears on him...

Ever danced to witch house in the pale moon light?

The clocks have gone back and everyone's wearing scarves. Jesus fucking h. It feels like it was shorts wearing weather only a few minutes ago but getting one's pins out now would be a well bad idea. The ever quickening movement of time's fingers now means we're condemned to months of permanent night - it's freaking dark before the end of work bell tolls. Thanks. Thanks a lot.

Now that winter is fast approaching, you'll probably want summat which comes with a smile to prevent you from throwing yourself out the window. If this is the case, then you're probably best avoiding Apparat's DJ Kicks mix business.

I gave it the once over for Resident Advisor - it's a suitably intense, earnest almost emo-esque take on whatever it is which comes after dubstep - witch house innit. It's serious dance music which is difficult to dance to for serious types to get serious over. Serious.

Apparat's DJ Kicks mix

Elsewhere, I've scribbled a few other little bits and bobs for FACT's website. First is a solo ting from one of the berk's from Animal Collective. The second is from bass king Zed Bias and his housey housey alter ego. Big up...

Avery Tare - Lucky One

Maddslinky feat. Omar - Special