The Stone Roses @Finsbury Park

At 31, it can sometimes feel like you’re still acting the giddy goat by getting in a state every Friday and Saturday. 'What should a bro or sis be doing?', I hear you cry. Knuckling down and saving dosh for that all important home deposit? Cutting out bread and getting into exercise? Exchanging intake of narcs for consumption of Neal's Yard produce? 

Whatever floats your boat - but if the inadvertent avoidance of maturity is a cause for worry or concern, then you should have been at the Stone Roses gig last weekend in Finsbury Park. If you'd attended, you could have witnessed the example set by the majority of the lairy blokes who rocked up. Ignore the attractions of fitness! Let it all hang out! Pep up your moobs with as much lager as possible! Put on that Reni hat - it's like being back at Spike Island! Have that other shy slice of Laughing Cow!

By the time we’d landed and found a ticket from a tout, nearly everyone we encountered was totally out of their tree. So out of it, they would have had difficulty in finding the tree from whence they had come. Or remembering that it was in fact a tree that they’d just got out of. 

Indeed, people were going crazy. One young lad got as far as the gate then got turned away for involuntarily slapping a security guard. Why would you do that? Once inside it was also clear that the grass of Finsbury Park will never be the same again. There were hundreds of elderly dudes gurning up to the fences and taking a leak everywhere. Some of them didn't bother going up to the fence and just had a piss where they stood. If synchronised weeing was a sport, then sacks of gold medals would have been dished out. Shitloads. 

But once you'd got through the gate, avoided the wee, laughed at the lads, saw the massive mess going on and bought an overpriced Fosters, it was all total vibes. The collective sense of giddy euphoria was overwhelming and before we knew it, we were getting as lairy as the rest of them, buying delicious small bottles of Echo Falls as chasers to our £4.50 pints. 

So what happened? Well we arrived in time for the warm up DJ who played a classic indie disco set of housey classics probably last heard at the likes of 5th Avenue or 42nd Street back in Manchester the other Friday. Then The Stone Roses bounced on stage. The roar of approval was big enough to be heard on the other side of London and may have even have reached Sale if the wind had been blowing in the right direction. The holler was more like being at a football match, which was the vibe. Total matey camaraderie over a band rather than the direction of the ball. Nostalgia, being pissed, the teenage rush, Ian Brown's cheek bones and one of the best musical trios the world has ever seen. Watching and hearing Reni, Mani and John Squire (with a thick bouffonic plumage of hair and awful arts teacher waistcoat) lock it down is one of the most magical things you can ever treat your ears to. 

Over almost two hours, the Roses blessed us with some of their finest moments - and lo, everything sounded fucking great. Made of Stone, Standing Here, Elephant Stone and This is the One were just some of the highlights out of many - all which were married to increasingly trippy visuals and lasers transmitting their music into space. Despite seeming like they'd been brought in from a 60s psychedelic film, the sights perfectly fit their groove. Especially when they took it way out on Fools Gold with Captain Reni at the helm. 

It's obvious that they've long since put the demons of Reading '96 to bed (although granted this is the actual original band rather than a bunch of session musos) and are now sounding as tight and as sleek as you like. Even Ian Brown's voice sounds great. It's pretty much perfect. What a night. What a band. Ooofffff...

Joe Bloggs sets his flares alight

Gurner

Not mentioning hair to Tim Burgess

Tim Burgess used to be known as the lead singer of The Charlatans and for being fancied by any self-respecting indie loving teenage girl. Now he's perhaps most famous for being teetotal and having, what some might say, is really bad hair.

I had the pleasure of speaking to him twice over the past two weeks for interviews on different tacks. On neither occasion did I ask him about what was going on top of his head. Instead I spent more time prying on into was going on in his head. A chance missed? You decide below...

Read the full interview with Tim about songwriting.

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch ting

Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch is quite the mouthful. As is, arguably, much of the Welsh vernacular.

On a recent Bank Holiday flex, we did our best to embrace this dialect as much as possible by journeying along the coast of North Wales and memorising the Welsh bits on all the road signs. It wasn't the sole point of our voyage, it certainly spiced up our short tour of the more glamorous parts of the north west. While we were of a Welsh bent, it seemed only natural to pay our respects to the town with the longest place name in Europe.

As fucking daft as that name is, it turns out townsfolk made it up for their railway station so they could get themselves the accolade of having the longest moniker. Which undermines the whole point. And says much for the mentality of the town's inhabitants. Or at least how fucking bored they must have been.

If you’ve ever visited this small spot on the lower cheek of Anglesey, you’ll know that apart from the train station and the peculiar shop with huge amounts of tat inside it, there’s absolutely fuck all there. We acquired as much merch and photos as we felt we could get away with before doing quick one to find somewhere more interesting to basque in the bank holiday heat. 

The rest of our time in Wales had been wonderfully pleasantly passed. We’d stayed at the Liverpool Arms Hotel in Beaumaris the previous evening which had greeted us with a dilapidated sign falling over the entrance. That sign's vibe was heavily reminiscent of the League of Gentlemen which is a fair description for the whole place. Exploring Beaumaris takes all of 20 minutes before you settle into what the rest of the populace seem to love doing. Drinking. There’s more pubs here than anything else some of which are weird and others just well weird.

So after checking out some cows and bulls, we ended up at a boozer with live music from dynamic acoustic duo Kev and Miv. I felt a bit sorry for Kev as it seemed some of the punters were into the idea of giving him a bit of verbal lip and blowing a communal trumpet when he tried to sing. Despite his nerdy appearance, it seemed he could take it. Big up Kev. Nice chords mate. You smashed it.

The first evening of our adventure had seen us take on the Wirral's only club entitled 'The Grange' for a 30th do. One sharply dressed susan sported the timeless look of jeans with an embroidered dragon on the flank. Which was rather in keeping with the Welsh theme. Big up to that dude for ensuring his sartorial flex was on point. Wales ting!

The station

'Lols'

In the Welsh desert

You always get a wonky welcome at the Liverpool Arms Hotel

Cryptic bench vibes

Moo crew

'Let's get wrecked on cheap...' what? 

Kev and Miv doing their ting

Brekkers

A map

Weekenders at Stafford station

The man with the dragon sewn into his arse

Provocatively poor parking

Brandishing an AK47 in Amsterdam

‘I’ll have the AK47 please. And two cappucinos’.

You’d be forgiven for thinking this was some sort of relaxed arms deal. But nothing was blown away in this transaction. Apart from perhaps our minds. 

This opening exchange went down in the first of many visits to various cafés in Amsterdam. Oh yes. After plenty of talk, action had taken place and we’d made it across the sea to the Dutch home of nefarious behaviour. As such the middle of day one on our recent jaunt seemed as apt a time as any to start chonging on the good shit - we spent the next 36 hours cackling like hysterical, red-eyed hyenas. 

Our trip had begun the previous evening via an overnight ferry to take advantage of the first bank holiday of the year. And the tone had been already set by getting extremely carried away by the wonderful attraction of a smoking room on the boat. Despite this small, foggy oasis seeming to be full of chain smoking children, we  sat back and supped on lagers and smokes until the bar keep had to shut up shop and usher us to bed. 

Unsurprisingly, our first morning was one born of much confusion. Woken up by the ship’s alarm call of ‘Don’t Worry - Be Happy’ at what felt like an early hour, we’d rushed down to breakfast almost too late to eat owt. We made the most of the five minutes given to us by making a heap of bacon butties, tying them up in serviettes and legging it off the boat just in time to catch the train to the ‘dam.

Our stay was to the west of the city in the apartment of a camp, muscly dude called Anthony who’d I found on the internet. His apartment was lovely with a walk in shower thing and plenty of cruising ground flyers but we barely spent any time in there apart from to kip. The vertigo-inducing, anorexic flight of stairs which he bounded down to greet us when we arrived added an extra frisson of danger to our two days of going Dutch. 

Our wee stay involved a relaxing routine of walking up to Anne Frank’s house and looking on the queue in aghast, then hitting up a coffee joint for a sugary hit of caffeine and massive bifter. When the smoke got too pungent, we’d level out with a refreshing lager and a bacon butty we’d nabbed from the boat. And so the routine for our stay was set. One of the realest moments was seeing a fellow elderly toker finish a particularly stinky reefer, then make off really slowly on a mobility scooter. Vibes to that old man. 

We were in bed by ten on the Saturday due to being overly baked but got up the next day to take bikes round Vondelpark at a very pedestrian pace, then hit up the café scene for more vibes, this time in the sleazy heart of the Red Light District. It's undoubtedly a pretty weird place. Liberating, otherworldly, bleak, shocking take your pick. But going for a mooch round there baked is probably wise. Then hitting up Amsterdam’s cheese museum with shit loads of free samples is even wiser. We didn’t pay for one piece of that fromage.

It was at this point of cheesey overindulgence that our good luck came to an end. After eating the starter of a thai curry, we realised it was hugely expensive and did one before becoming hugely lost on the canals. We and walking around in circles for an hour and a half.before being forced to hail a taxi back to our home. Which turned out to be just around the corner from where we’d set off. Classic stoned flex. 

Leaving Amsterdam is where the fun of the last two days catches up with you. My paranoid fug didn’t abate for a couple of days while I was incapable of navigation or rational thought on the way home. Thank god for the cinema on the ferry back. A Good Day to Die Hard has never felt more apt…

Unfortunately timed sign

Anthony's bathtime friend

Honk honk

Biking

Pork pies on the ferry

Viva le smokey room

Bev ting

Captain of the ship

Scran for days and days

 

Bevs

Sunshine

Landing in the dam after 4 hours kip

Doing Record Store Day our boozy way

Record Store Day was perhaps the first properly hot day of the year - and was suitably ridiculous as a result. It was a 24 hours in which we drank a lot and didn't do a single bit of record shopping. 

We kicked off proceedings in Soho for the Sounds of the Universe street party. It featured the skills of Floating Points and Thristian from the Boiler Room and allowed us to let our inner nerd out. This proved to be a right riotious sunny vibe and a mint place to spot celebs, in particularly Jarvis Cocker who mooched past with his young son (who looks exactly like him) and his wife (or sister - who knows). We caught some of Steve Mason performing Dry the Rain on Berwick Street and managed to sink a proper skinful before wobbling off on our bikes. 

After narrowly avoiding death on the roads, our next stop was Nando's where we saw a whole set of cops getting their chicken on (why are they always in Nando's?) and I managed to prove just how pished I was by losing my piece of poulet. The slippery, greasy bit of bird shot off the plate and straight onto the floor as soon as my blade touched it. 

After blowing the hair off and noshing the lot, we did one to the sanctity of the Kingsland boozer. Here things began to become unhinged. We witnessed a ferocious dance off between two old gentlemen who were completely out of their fucking minds. They boogied like true gents half their respective ages before we got locked in an hour-long conversation about football. It's indicative of just how daft the game is that we were able to keep up the pretence of being avid fans without or fellow conversationee/victim having any inkling to our ignorance. Phew.

It was then on to more familiar territory by heading down to Concrete for the evening's Bugged Out! session with Oneman and Martelo. These two are perhaps London's finest party starters and provided a suitably energetic display to ensure we danced and drank until the very end. The following Sunday was one full of confusion and random wandering in a desperate bid to sober up and regain brain cells. Standard businesssssss....

Sounds of the Universe street party

The cops discuss chicken

Slippery chicken business

Old dudes dancing

Drop down and get your eagle on old man

Word

BO

Saaaatchiiiiii

The Saatchi Gallery is in a right swanky part of London town near Sloane Square on the King's Road. It's right swanky let me tell you. But this swanksville vibe contrasted sharply with what was inside and on the walls. We caught a very bleak art exhibition about extreme poverty in Russia. It was unrelentingly depressing with the huge blown up images of cocks with runny growths on the ends being particularly harrowing. To cheer us up, I took a picture of a coy looking bear. Check him out below. Awwwww...

Russian ting

Pearls or pills

A stoic bear

Red cheeseburgers

Oil slick

Tiger spotting in London zoo

Back in April I decided to try and better myself, add an extra string to my bow and possibly another income stream by taking on a travel writing course.

Peter Carty, former travel editor at Time Out, was the man behind the four sessions which he delivered via a wit as dry as the sahara. Check his website and more deets on him.

I chose to write my feature on a recent trip to London's Zoo. You can check it below.

Tiger spotting in London Zoo

London Zoo’s new Tiger Territory gets you closer to the animals than ever before, writes Jim Ottewill. 

‘She won’t bite. Go on. Get a bit closer.’

The tiger eyeballed us with a stare which looked, despite the words of the guide, very much like she wanted to extend that luxurious neck, unclench those jaws and rip a chunk out of us. We ignored the encouraging words, stood stock still and looked in awe at her beautiful fangs. We were close enough to clean them with a brush but this feline jungle queen popped the tension between us before we were able to embark on a new career in animal dentistry. She did an about turn and sloped off into the bushes with a derisory swish of her orange and black tale.

We weren’t on a jungle safari or a wilderness adventure. This is London Zoo’s new Tiger Territory and our guide an enthusiastic young volunteer. It’s a new exhibit which gets you so close to these animals, it’s a wonder you can’t smell their breath.

As any London dweller so painfully knows, size and location can be delicate subjects when it comes to discussing bricks and mortar. And the word ‘view’ does not often apply. But Jae Jae and Melati, the pair of endangered Sumatran tigers who now call this exhibit home, have plenty to boast about if their big cat mates ever call up to discuss the state of property in the UK’s capital. Although not cheap at £3.6m, their territory is an impressive 2,500 square metres with huge amounts of outside space and even a view overlooking Regent’s Park. It points to a future where animals can roam, if not free, in ways they would be more accustomed to in the wild.

While the enclosure is ostensibly built to provide its residents with the kind of mod cons they’d find in the jungle (pool, high vantage points, open skies), it also allows visitors to get close to these creatures but in a way which does not risk life or death. They may look like they have savage designs on your person but there’s (thankfully) a thick piece of enclosure between you and them.

While the Tiger Territory offers an injection of novelty to the London Zoo experience, there are animal-shaped treats to be had right across the zoo - and big does not necessarily mean better. Often the weirder, more eccentric creatures from the 750 different species living here offer just as much fun and entertainment.

Highlights on our recent visit were numerous. The bearded pigs are a curiosity with facial hair more usually seen on hipsters in the trendier quarters of London's east end. We were also hypnotised by watching a sloth eat with its over-long nails and the enthusiasm of the penguins during feeding time makes you want to jump into their pool and bray for fish from a keeper as well.

A visit to the zoo may not be cheap, but you'd have to go far further afield and spend much more to feel this much like David Attenborough. And the new exhibit does much to suggest the future of zoos will not be cages but spacious loft apartments. Just don’t get too close to the inhabitants…


When to go? 

Get there early. The zoo becomes busy especially at the weekends and during school holidays. If you can, try and take a day off work and head there during the week.

How much is it?

£23 for an adult, £17 for a child. Find out more on group deals from the zoo website.

How to get there?

London Zoo is within walking distance of Camden Town and Regent's Park tube stations and a short bus ride from Baker Street station.

Other animal attractions 

Still after an animal fix? Then see the below…

London Aquarium 
London’s Aquarium offers a whole host of underwater delights allowing visitors to get up close to penguins, sharks and more than a thousand other creatures.
http://www.visitsealife.com/London/

Battersea Park Children’s Zoo
Heading south of the river takes you to the Battersea Park Children’s Zoo and it’s menagerie of monkeys, ponies and meerkats. It’s meant for kids but adults can have fun too. http://www.batterseaparkzoo.co.uk/

Greenwich Peninsula Ecology Park
This area of wetland and marsh allows visitors to get close to the numerous birds and frogs which make up its population.
http://www.urbanecology.org.uk/gpep.html

Lost in space

Frog ting

Our bearded brethren

Bearded pigs are nuts

Wee men!

Sloths having a munch innit