Bang a baby's Face

After piecing the Bang Face weekend back together via the power of hazy and distant memories, Resident Advisor ended up publishing my thoughts on the event. After careful consideration I took out some of the more obvious references to drug taking. I know. I'm a fucking sell out bastard.

Check the review on the link below.

Bang Face resident advisor review

Extensive gluttony

Food has been high on the agenda of late - It's basically a munchie ting. I've been sampling a weird array of culinary 'delights' ranging from burgers to iced coffees. That's right. Get me and my extravagant palette. It's off the hook ain't it?

One of the highlights was having a little bbq on our small balcony. It rained on the burgers and went dark as we didn't get round to lighting the fucker until 8pm. One member of our small two man party was also sick - so all in all great success!

Also tried Purdeys for the first time. That's the sort of mood which has been kicking round our way for the past couple of weeks. It's been all go let me tell you...



Burger meets egg - they get along. It's magic.



Fire flex



Fags and bones



Juked



An expensive alcoholic shake



Energy boost sans taurine



Battered sausage business



Mocha frappo babes

Adventures in sleep deprivation

2010 has been a savage year on the synapses thus far. Perhaps no more than usual, but still it occasionally feels like surviving until another birthday comes to pass maybe more of a struggle than it should be.

Anyhoo, in a vain attempt to be civilised, I spent last weekend volunteering (Have I ever mentioned my tireless charity work? zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...) and then watching my pa drive a formula 3 car round the track at Silverstone as part of a lovely xmas gift organised by my sister on the Sunday. The volunteering ting went smoothly despite a thick lagery hangover. This was shaken off by chasing a small 13 year old lad on a bike around Victoria Park followed by assisting with a nappy change. Standard.

The second part went mildly awry as sleep never really materialised on Saturday evening. One thing basically led to another with the only stolen winks of kip taking place on the tube as a I sailed past my station and ended up 12 stops further down the line than planned. Whoops? Cue being 45 minutes late, cue sweats, cue a Macdonald's Big Mac meal being the only thing between me and madness.



The birthday gift goes down



Man up big poppa!



A natural athlete highly attuned to the intricacies of the road



After a couple of confessions, the day went off relatively smooth - Pops went round the track at a leisurely pace while we cheered him on and I beggared about in the midst of the family bosom. I think they're used to it....

However, the final song in the boozer we were drinking in on the previous eve was this little ripper. It has vague connotations of being to do with mortality, which in these times of fast living could be quite pertinent. Or maybe not. Whatevs, it's a big little tune.

Kiss the Fist...

If you're free on Thursday evening, then we're doing a little bit of Djing at the London Fields boozer in Hackney. Kiss the Fist is all about vests and hi-nrg. Whether any of us will be wearing one on the eve in question is a moot point but you can keep your fingers crossed...

You can check our first forays into the murky world of podcasting down below... We're hoping to polish the banter as even having a burn half way through didn't exactly get the vibes growing... Although the tunes are hype. Expect big music and sloppy mixing (on my part anyhoo).

Yippe-ki-yay motherfuckers...

Kiss the Fist

Hip hop and you don't stop. Ever.

The weekend was drunken. Like very sozzled, soused, too pissed, too drunk.

I'm not proud to confess I visited the 'Chicken man' at the bottom of our road on consecutive nights - on the first occasion I was too shitfaced to even eat the disgusting pizza and 4 hot wings I ordered, instead opting to fall asleep on the sofa fully clothed like a tramp with no appetite. Critics would suggest heating up said dishes for breakfast but the former resembled road kill with a bread base and extra olives. Yum.

The second time was slightly more dignified - I managed to successfully stay awake while ramming 8 hot wings down my gob in the street. A tactic to help avoid becoming all comatose on our couch with uneaten fodder on me lap.

However, Saturday prior to the wings binge was pure laddish class - a daring bike ride across the smoke to procure some acid 12s before getting wifebeatered up in an east end boozer. This was followed by accepting honey from a stranger in the street (real bee business - not poontag) and then a lengthy blaze up featuring a collection of hip hop's biggest hits.

It was the sort of behaviour I wish I'd indulged in when I was 18 rather than 28. As a teenager this would have been considered the coolest look ever. Now I'm not so sure. Big tunes though and fuck you if you disagree...



















Props to C-weezey for the playlist. Almost too much

A Sticky Situation?

Lady Chann's video for her latest single Sticky Situation has actually been finished. And lo, we weren't edited out of it in the post production. Look out for the white gok wan, the man with the moustache and an ugly, specky twat in a garish mac. That's us.

Let's hope it tickles dem charts like a man with a salmon. Only time will tell...

It's a Sheffield ting

The weekend just gone found us boarding the National Express coach for a lovely trip to Sheffield. The two days in the field were lovely but the journey up there less so - the stench and the heat was like being smothered in a pissy pillow. But despite the uncomfortable travel arrangements, we went up to catch a slice of Rough Disko party action.

Scratcha DVA and Martin Kemp were the big names on the bill. They both slayed it with plenty of bass bin bothering business, funky and tropicala. Predictably it resulted in another late night somewhere in High Storrs...

The next day involved relatively wholesome activities based around meat, house viewing and beers. Top conkers? Top conkers...



Sean's heart attack in a bap. Google that.



Again some of the tunes were almost too much but were more ghetto than the usual business we expose oursens to in the smoke. Perhaps we're not going to the correct parties...



And this woozey number from Deadboy - big fucking tune...