Take it to the streets

September saw two momentous things take place - Jeremy Corbyn got in as Labour leader ending the reign of terror provoked by Blair and his lemming-esque followers, plus there was a huge march across the streets of London to champion the plight of refugees across Europe.

That both coincided was a rare moment of dry safety in a never ending Tory piss being taken over the whole country. We celebrated by drinking lots of corona, walking across the capital and chanting in the sunshine.

The day after was the Hackney Carnival, a different sort of celebration but a celebration nonetheless. The best bit was a huge toucan shaking its feathers in the street. Yes mate...

Parliament square - somewhere in there is a soundsystem playing jungle

'Tories Fuck The Fuck Off'

Vibing/Photobombing

Toucan you can

CHICKARN

Ridley Road going offffff

Da Carnival

Hackney carnival all up inside the place

Notting Hill Carnival is the big street jam of the year but other London boroughs are also getting in on the act and ramping up their vibe. This year we stuck our toe into the Hackney Carnival for the first time and guess what? The toe came back well fresh mate. It was well good sneaking out our front door feeling slightly hungover, para and edgy to be confronted by steel bands, outlandish attire and beaming smiles. It usually involves a trip over west London to get the same hit and the journey back always feels like you're attempting to traverse thousands of miles blind drunk.

The parade itself was a total vibe but one of the highlights was a certain steel band playing on the back of a float. They refused to stop when the coppers asked them to and provoked some of the most outlandish dancing the streets have ever seen from trendy, white dudes. One fella was flayling his limbs round like an octopus being put down. It was a truly intoxicating and intoxicated move.

The parade

Our favourite steel band

Nice spot of shit faced moves

The octopus man is in the blue shirt... 

Carnival

Pig's Ear Beer Festival

The Pig's Ear Beer Festival is a proper event in the Hackney pisshead's calendar. Now in its 30th year, the event takes place over the course of a week and is an excuse for a weird strain of men to gather together under one roof to sample a dazzlingly large selection of brews, make notes and mutter into their wayward beards. That is the vibe. Socks, sandalls, muchos facial hair, grumpy and ever so slightly smelly. We had a lovely time sampling some ales which tasted like butter, some which tasted of diesel and others which tasted of cheese. My guts were grateful that we only attended one of the five days... 

Steven Spewbag presents...

The battlefield - note large bloke quota

Enjoying a tipple

At one stage it felt like the room was spinning

Beeerrrrrr

A tale of two roasts

24 hours in the food game at Xmas can see a brother gobbling foodstuffs which, while being made of similar ingredients, exist in totally different dimensions. One roast can be from Mars, the other from Venus. And so it was that on a Sunday, we sat down to enjoy a juicy leg of lamb at a gaff of a mate's in Harlesden. A pavlova had even been constructed to follow it down the gullet - gobble gobble.

On the Monday we went down from the penthouse to see what was being consumed on the pavement as we visited Wetherspoons in Hackney to sample their traditional festive grub. The roast was priced at a very reasonable £7.25 for both the meal and a delicious drink. However, after handing over the dosh, we were faced by a series of obstacles. It may be worth investing a little more in your roast dinner to ensure all parts of the plate have been exposed to similar levels of heat. Much of our din dins were quite chilly in parts. I felt sorry for some of the sprouts who looked like they needed some thick, thermal underwear.

The spoons eating experience en masse is quite something to behold. Meals fly out of the kitchen with no logic or any sense of consistency to the order in which they were requested. Some turned up with weird bits attached while others just didn't turn up. After a while, one of our party opted for a replacement soup as the one he'd requested had got lost somewhere between the kitchen and our table. His soup substitute arrived but after a while our chum discovered hunks of ham cowering under the green sludge masquerading as soup. For some of our party, this would have been deemed a true victory but for this poor veggie it was only another thing to be let down by.

Even worse, when we asked to be refunded in booze, we were informed that it wasn't company policy. You bastards! To commiserate we had some more pints and ignored the lack of apology. Spoons, I love you but you're bringing me down. Only slightly. See you soon...

Pavlova

Spoons starter - pate innit mate

Salmon ting