John Waters

Director, writer and now artist, everything John Waters does is covered in a thin veneer of utter filth. His film Pink Flamingos features drag queen Divine who notoriously eats a pile of dog shit to prove how disgusting she is. It's good stuff. 

So in line with this vibe, We went to his exhibition recently at the Spruth Magers gallery in a posh part of London. The civilised surroundings most have been chosen as a sharp contract to some of the base business going on inside. Porn novels, badges, guns, more porn and a film of kids reciting his film scripts were some of the best bits... you need to wash your hands afterwards while cackling hysterically...

Thimk

'I FUCK NUNS'

Inside Super Kebab's robo kebab arm

Glastonbury Festival has a fire breathing spider called Arcadia. It's an engineering feat acknowledged with equal awe by ravers and architects up and down the land. Super Kebab at the bottom of our road, arguably the Glastonbury of takeaways, has a similar, yet much smaller robot which is no less of a technological achievement. It doesn't belch out flames or contain techno DJs. Instead it slices the elephant's leg of meat no questions asked bruv and at double quick time to satiate the needs of local drunks.

You'd think that the gents who work there would be concerned by their jobs being potentially put at risk by this new piece of equipment. But instead, they love it, as much for the amount of attention its generating as the time it saves deftly slicing meat up. Whereas before these chaps would be hacking at the meat and sweating their tits off, now they can concentrate on frying the chips and exchanging bants with the customers. It's a win win all round. We're waiting with baited breath to see whether anyone else takes up the challenge thrown down by Super Kebab. But as always, our boys are one step ahead. That's why they're the fucking best.

Super Kebab are so powerful they have invented their own time

In line with the other tourists

Balloon party with Mike Skinner and Murkage crew

Clubbing in London can be sometimes be more hard work than the total gleeful hedonistic hit it should be. 'Oh boo hoo mate,' I hear you say. 'Boo hoo - is it getting tough now going out all the time getting murked? Shall I get my oboe out for you and give you a sad tune to commiserate life being so tricky? Honestly you're making me well up over here at your plight.'

No fam, you don't need to do that for it is very much not a REAL problem. But as you probably know the capital is full of a lot of cunts who can turn a night out into an endurance test rather than an ecstatic thrill. Pricey pints, overly sold, nobs everywhere, po-faced people, in a 'secret warehouse location' not having a whale of a time getting on it?

Turns out you need to find a night put on by someone as fucked off with these so-called 'rules' as you. (although I'm not saying that everyone sticks to them - just the majority seem to forget about the joy). Mike Skinner is best known for being The Streets and inventing DIY, post-ecstasy computerised Brummie melancholy and lad biznarse. But is now putting on amazing parties with Manchester's Murkage crew under the banner of Tonga. We went to check them play a rammed Stonebridge bar at Glastonbury and last Friday at the Waiting Room in Stoke Newington - both were off the chain - the latter was small, sweaty with a Wetherspoon's around the corner, no one was being overly precious about mixing, just maximum emphasis on the music and the fucking vibe. At last.

Check out this ace mix for a flavour of the night... and get to know Skinner on his blog. He's a funny fucker mannnn...

D'Angelo @London's Roundhouse

'Rising from the dead' would be one (incredibly cliched) way of describing muscular soul dude D'Angelo's 2015. But it could be construed as accurate, for even by a holy fella's standards, he's enjoyed a pretty remarkable resurrection over the last year or so. 

In December 2014 he released Black Messiah, an album that while not arriving wrapped in hubris, came 14 years after its predecessor and with enough sass, charisma and funk to allow even his most ardent fan to forgive him for the delay. How come it had taken so long? Well D'Angelo has been through the bloody mill mate - there have been deaths, drug taking, binge drinking, doughnut eating - pretty much owt bad that could happen to a gent happened over the preceding years, meaning its amazing that Black Messiah is as ace as it is. It also meant that the Roundhouse was cheering him on despite being an hour and a half late for his Monday night showing at the start of July. 

Late he was but thankfully, he was willing to wave aside the curfew to play on and on, plucking hits from his previous releases, Brown Sugar and Voodoo. He might not have been as ripped when he stripped off for the Untitled video but he and his band The VanGuard came packing some serious heat a la prime time Prince or the Roots without the jazz interludes. We were so impressed that we even bought a t-shirt off a man outside for a fiver, summat we haven't done since we went to go and watch the Verve at Manchester Apollo almost 14 years ago. Swings and roundabouts as some (might) say... 

Fuck work love disco

Shitttttttttttttttt has been really real, as you just know it's just gonna go when the days heat up, become longer and start getting their pins out for all the world to see.

We've been living life like its golden, with plenty of night times, weekends away and musical endeavours. So where we've been? Well you'll find our footprints at Dalston Superstore (thanks Tusk!), the Lambeth Country Fair (thanks Odyssey!) and the Walthamstow Garden Party (thanks to Jen and Andrew for letting us jump their fence into the park). We've been carried to an inflatable bed in York after going a long way for a BBQ, been house hunting and had more contactless transactions at the Marquis of Lansdowne than is really acceptable. Whoopsy daisy...

Records

'I take my style tips from everything, even kids and homeless people'

Teklife in Hackney Primark. RIP DJ Rashad.

Yeahhhhh

Friday one in one out at Micky's Chippy. 

3 train journeys, 31 train tickets

The science of procreation and the ensuing child birth as drawn by really, really shit faced people

WKDDDDDDDDDD

 

EROL can keep your kiddy dancing

Odyssey at full pelt at the Lambeth Country Fair

The youf of today like dere balloons, so they do

A rare vintage

Femi Kuti doing it in Walthamstow

Tom Daley crying toe nail tears

Big weekend mate? Send grapes

Yagga yagga

Said it on Instagram, let's say it again - that's £18ks worth of kebab technology

Pembury Tav - wrong side of midnight

Glastonbury - love the farm, leave your tents

This year marked our first Glastonbury Festival experience. I know. For those who realise how much we love a good pillage it must seem weird that we've left it until now to visit but previously the organisational demands have always proved too much. Plus when you're left with the BBC experience and think the festival is mainly about the hemp-stuffed, mumsy gnatterings of Jo Wiley, and Mark Radcliffe from the BBC hot tub it's not that appealing. But the reality is a more full on experience than the wildness equivalent of choosing a different kind of hummus from Ocado.

Our recent jaunt to Worthy Farm was through the filter of work. But that in its own way had a weird charm. It didn't get in the way of drinking heavily throughout or really going for it once dark had fallen. Plus our tents were fully erected (weeeeeeeeeyyy) when we arrived, there was a free air bed, plus they even sorted out the choo choos there and back. Shitloads of things went down and we saw shed loads of great stuff. Here are just a handful of the many thing we learned...

Cider - it's delicious!

The festival offers one official lager and one official cider - Tuborg and Thatchers respectively. Outside of events such as this, the former would be the slightly more appealing choice but here on the farm, cider is the only thing worth necking. Somehow it's an inconspicuous drinking friend for days on end, although when it eventually explodes inside your mind, you (and everyone around you) knows about it...

Let's get gnarly

It's not all about healing, the Dalai Lama and love. Although his mightiness was there to bless the festival. But a lot of night time Glastonbury (and subsequently the early mornings) are given over to 'going large mate' and as such you see all sorts of weird and not so wonderful things. A puddle of blood on the bus queue on the way out was prangworthy. The strange party with the gimp flamingo and bearded man miming anal sex with a fake polar bear on Monday morning was well trippy.

Hot Chip are one of the best things ever

Like the best bits of Prince, Talking Heads, LCD and Chic all rolled up into five nerdy white nerds, Hot Chip stopped being geeks and brought the funk on the Friday night of Glastonbury. Their bro-in with Caribou over the Boss's Dancing in the Dark was one of the greatest tings ever. Bravo Hot Chip.
 
It's (a bit) massive

Before you go all you hear is everyone bleating on about how huge Glastonbury is, how many people there are and how many different types of falafel one might be able to procure. It is indeed gigantic compared to any other festival you've been to meaning finding chums can be tough once you've enjoyed 15 ciders or night's curtain has dropped. At the same time, if you wait for everything to wear off and daylight to land, then you can get from one side to the other in ten minutes. Fact.

Lionel Richie has got it in spades

This year's old fogey's slot was taken by the man himself Lionel Richie. After the let down that was some of Kanye the night before it was down to the Commodores dude to bring the party. And party he did. If there had been a ceiling, the whole Pyramid stage field would have been dancing on it. Instead it felt like the greatest wedding disco ever...

Libertines

Night

Morning Pimm's

Arcadia Sunday night

Glastonbury early Monday morning

The back of a gurning Idris Elba

Falling off the bike and getting back up again

One fell off the bike back in June going round a corner really, really hungover. It hurt, it was a bit embarrassing and the road rash was gnarly. You'll be pleased to know that the wheels (aka 'Jon Benet') is okay.