Smoke 'Em

Saturday afternoon and having been locked out of my Highland retreat I found myself in the local pub. If I was nowhere then this pub was surely the middle of it. It was perched on a mountainside in the centre of a loose collection of homes in varying states of decay. One or two of these properties were clearly in the middle of being refurbished going by the volume of plant scattered around.

Anyway the bar is L-shaped and furnished in 70’s chic. It wasn't retro the furniture was original. The tables sported chipped Formica tops in burnt orange which complemented the nicotine soaked walls nicely.

I sat at the corner of the L with an unobstructed view of the pub including the alcove which is out of sight of the bar. To my right sitting in the alcove are four 40 something men who from their accents are clearly not local. For the last ten minutes they have been throwing back pints of Stella in between using the Formica tops to “chop up” lines of coke that would have made Scarface envious.

Each of them in turn snorted their lines. Throughout this I was trying to keep my eyes on the novel in my hand but as the group got louder the task became more difficult.

After a couple of drinks and a line or two of the finest Columbian the men all rose in unison before donning their coats and disappearing outside.

They returned five minutes later smelling of cigarette smoke and ordered more beers before retiring to their seats in the alcove. Clearly they believed that observing the public smoking ban was important. After all they wouldn't want to break the law now, would they?

Truly a sign of the times.

Hip Teens Don't Wear Blue Jeans

It is 1974; I am three and a half years old and I am at a Halloween Party at my Nursery School. I am resplendent in a purple nylon jumpsuit with sequins that my mother has made for me and in my hand is a little wooden guitar. Yes indeed, for today I am Elvis Aaron Presley aka The King Of Rock'N'Roll.

Unfortunately my outfit seems to be too convincing. The nursery nurses actually seem to believe that I AM Elvis. Indeed they want me to take to the stage and entertain the party guests with a song. I have made my reluctance quite clear yet they are still insistent.

Oh no…the heavy lady who smells of baby powder and sour milk is heading this way.
Hey lady what are you doing?
She has lifted my puny frame onto the makeshift stage and is now urging me to perform like some dancing monkey.
This can only end one way. Tears. Mine.
It will be seventeen years before I dress up again.

Justified & Ancient

Feeling old this morning...well physically anyway. Who knows this may be a result of all the gardening I do.

Mentally I don't feel too much different from when I was 22 but I am now very aware that I have become a fat dad.

This first dawned on me one morning on my way to work when I realised on walking past the local girls school that my eyes were drawn to the mothers rather than the children they were dropping off. When I say children I'd like to point out that I am talking about seniors here...16+. Not that that makes things much better but you know what I mean. What is the age difference between Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes anyway he mused...

What really brought it home to me was when my boss's daughter arrived in the office. The young lady (18) had been to the record store and was showing her mother her purchases. One of these was the excellent Thunder, Lightning, Strike album by the criminally underrated and largely ignored Go! Team. This is an album that I love. I happened to comment to this effect...only to be met with a withering look. In that moment I knew that I had ruined any enjoyment the young lady may have gained from this superb disc.

In a second it had gone from being a cool album she had discovered for herself to music associated with a fat dad.

To S. I am truly sorry for spoiling this for you.

No doubt you are now using the disc as a coaster as you are unable to bring yourself to listen to dad music.

Anyhoo...I suppose the point of this is that...

I'm old, not wise, just weary.

Steal My Sunshine

Tales From Almost Employment.

Another true story. About a year ago I was walking home from the office when I was propositioned by a rather glamorous young lady. Oh aye! I thought…the old boy still has it.

They lady in question duly introduced herself and informed me that she was a casting director on the lookout for faces to appear in an upcoming TV commercial. A business card was proffered as proof/validation that her intentions were sadly honourable. She stated that she was intrigued by my visage and would I be interested in the “part”.

Inside I was screaming pick me! Pick me! But outwardly I elected to play it cool simply stating that I would be willing to assist as she had asked so nicely.

A few minutes later after exchanging details and posing for a couple of polaroids I was informed that she would be in touch.

Now I have always considered myself something of a level headed chap but by now my head was swimming with thoughts of fame, stardom, trips to Cannes etc. I was also imagining what the mystery product I would be advertising was.

In my mind it was obviously something uber-cool. A new bar, a masculine fragrance, maybe a hip band or cool gadget. So somewhat sheepishly I plucked up the courage to ask.

“Oh! Did I not say?” the young lady answered.

“It’s for Dobbies Garden Centre”

And right at that moment another one of my dreams were crushed. I had gone from chisel jawed hero to fucking gnome in about the time it takes to boil a decent egg.

What disappointed me most was that to this lady I looked like someone who gardens.

And she never did call.

Scar Tissue

A man cuts himself shaving...fuck he thinks, I hope I don't get blood on my clean shirt. Note to self...best remember to remove the toilet paper from my chin before leaving the house.

Being a man who has cut himself on a few occassions I can confirm that this is the normal thought process.

However I am not David Young of Crosshill in Fife, no siree!

You see Mr Young cut himself shaving but his thought process was probably a little more like this...Damn I've cut myself shaving. I do hope I don't get blood on my clean shirt. Hey (and you can almost see the lightbulb above his head) I wonder if I can find a shyster lawyer who will sue the manufacturer of this razor.

And you know the saddest part of this story...he actually did it! He launched legal action against Wilkinson Sword.

More bizarre still...Wilkinson Sword offered an out of court settlement of £6,500 ($11,000) and more baffling yet Mr Young knocked it back stating

"We think it is simply not enough. We think that considering the injury and the distress it has caused us we should be getting a lot more."

"We have spent £900 having the razor analysed (£900 for fucks sake. Consider the other things that could have been done with this £900) and our lawyer will take £3000 (This may be the only case I've come across where I'd actually like to see the lawyer increase his fees) of the £6500 as his fee."

And right there we can see the motivation for this farce. It's not about righting wrongs or sticking up for the little guy. Oh no this one appears to stem from one of the basest human instincts...greed!

The TWAT Davenelli opinion on this

If you are too fucking stupid to operate something as primative as a razor then why the fuck should the rest of the world financially reward you for your ineptitude?

I sincerely hope that this case now goes to court and Wilkinson Sword triumph with Mr Young ordered to apologise for raising such a worthless lawsuit. I'd also like the court to award costs to WS just for spite.

I will now be swapping my Gillette shaving gear for those of their rival as a show of solidarity. Further details on The Wilkinson Sword range can be found here...

http://www.wilkinson-swords.co.uk/

As a footnote

I once cut my finger slicing bread...should I sue Sabatier?

Anyhoo...the whole "hilarious" article can be read at the link below...

http://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/news/tm_headline=shaving-scar-&method=full&objectid=17895124&siteid=66633-name_page.html

Fool's Gold

Further Tales Of Previous Employment

Long ago in a galaxy far far away I was involved in The Arts, proper theatre not some amateur dramatics lark I hasten to add.

One of the most memorable shows that I worked on involved the legendary Wooster Group from NYC. The Wooster Group membership is like a who’s who of avant garde theatre and features/featured, amongst others, such luminaries as Ron Vawter, Spalding Gray, Kate Valk, Peyton Smith & Willem Dafoe.

Anyhoo…As I understand it part of the deal when the contracts for their visit were inked was that we (the hosts) would throw a large party at the end of the run. Being the hospitable lot we were this did not present a problem. We duly hired a ballroom and on the last night of the Company’s stay we threw back the booze and danced the night away.

Ok, I know it’s quite a dull story…I’m getting to the good part.

In order to access the venue we had procured for the evening one had to pass through a public bar (the ballroom was upstairs). On making this journey one of my colleagues spotted a TV producer that was a friend of our venue and their other half enjoying a drink in the bar. When this news was relayed to the party it was decided that we should dispatch someone downstairs to invite the couple to join us for a drink, which we duly did.

About five minutes later the TV producer and spouse appeared. After exchanging pleasantries it was quite apparent that spouse (a minor TV celebrity) was somewhat the worse for wear and to be avoided whenever possible.

A little later Willem Dafoe joined the party and knowing that the majority of eyes in the room were on him took up a position close to the bar with Wooster Group Director Elizabeth LeCompte.

It quickly became apparent that the “tired & emotional” spouse (a minor TV celeb remember) was somewhat starsturck by the attendance of a bona fide star like Mr Dafoe. After several minutes spouse could not contain themself any longer and duly strode across the floor towards Mr Dafoe. By now all eyes were on the unfolding events.

What followed was one of the most embarrassing spectacles I’ve ever witnessed.

Minor TV celebrity duly accosts Willem Dafoe and offers up a hearty handshake with the greeting of “I’m xxxxxxxxxx (name removed to protect the guilty) you may have seen me on the TV”

Now what was obviously lost on the minor TV celeb was that Willem Dafoe is an American and like most Americans lives in the USA. Minor celeb meanwhile could only be seen, at this time, on STV (Scottish Television to those who do not know). How the fuck did minor celeb think that they may have registered on Willem Dafoe’s radar?

A classic example of having no perception of your actual worth.

Should you ever get the chance to see The Wooster Group in action I’d suggest grabbing it with both hands as they rarely disappoint.

More information on the Wooster Group can be found here.

www.thewoostergroup.org/

Diamond Dogs

Memories Of Casual Summer Employment

True Story – half a lifetime ago in the time between high school and university I spent a few weeks working on a building site. The job was to convert an old whisky warehouse into executive apartments which would then be sold for the equivalent of the GDP of a small Central American country.

My task was to run the cables for the TV antennas and the CCTV security system then install the wall sockets and cameras. Easy work and as we had negotiated a daily rate with the contractor speed was not important. As construction work goes this is about as simple as it gets.

The crew consisted of me, another student, the contractor’s son and a gaffer. For two weeks we were all lads together and lurked around the site like “the last gang in town”. Taking extended lunch breaks, heading to the pub when it rained, having a laugh and generally just fucking around trying to spin the job out as long as possible. To this end we would engage other workers in conversation, so much so that an Indian labourer started to seek us out to shoot the breeze.

Anyhoo…this gentleman started to join us at lunch time to enjoy his sandwiches and practice his English. All in all I have to say he was a rather charming and intelligent chap with a nice line in self deprecating humour. The one thing that bothered me though was that he had the nastiest looking and smelling lunch I’ve ever seen.

Eventually I plucked up the courage to address this issue and asked him what it was that he was eating. The gentleman stared at me for a moment then simply said pate.

I thought no more about it until the following day when lunchtime came round again and I found myself in the company of the Indian chap. Again I was overpowered by the scent of his lunch and again I asked what it was. Once more the answer was simply pate.

After a few more days of this one of our crew decided that he fancied pate for lunch instead of the usual cheese and pickle combo that he had in his lunch box. Finally it was lunchtime and again the enigmatic Indian sat down to join us. My colleague enquired as to the identity of the gentleman’s sandwich filling and received the usual answer of pate. This was followed by a couple of minutes of frantic negotiation on a possible exchange between the two with my colleague enthusiastically extolling the virtues of cheese and pickle with the fervour of a TV evangelist.

Reluctantly the Indian gentleman gave over his lunch to my delighted co-worker and settled down to consume the cheese sandwich he had received in return.

Meanwhile my colleague was grinning from ear to ear in anticipation of his tasty delight. He smiled, gave the Indian a big thumbs up and took a huge bite of the pate sandwich.

What followed was a few moments of coughing, retching and much shouting of “what the fuck is this?” “That is the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted” and “Pate my arse”

Once the dust had settled the inquest began. It turns out that the sandwiches had not contained pate at all but actually contained dog food. Our Indian friend admitted that he had initially eaten dog food by mistake believing that it was pate. On discovering the truth he was somewhat embarrased but by this time he had decided that he actually quite enjoyed the taste. He then decided that given the relative low cost of the filling that it made economic sense to continue eating it.

I was 17…I had no idea you could be that poor, especially in this country.

From Trumps To Tramps

Yesterday was Sunday so I took my kids to the park. On our walk through the park I passed a bum sitting on a park bench. Given the homeless problems that continue to blight our society this was no real surprise. Well not until I had a proper look at the gentleman concerned.

This guy was a genuine 24 carat Tramp. Not one of these "excuse me have you got 10p for a cup of tea?" guys you normally encounter but a proper bona-fide full beard, woolen overcoat (in summer) rooting through the rubbish bin tramp. This guy looked like tramps did when I was younger, you know what I mean. He looked like he was what he was through choice rather than life kicking his arse. It was a total nostalgia trip back to my childhood.

Whilst pondering my younger years I remembered an iconic card game we played called Top Trumps where a selection of themed items (cars, planes, footballers etc) were rated on various categories and I started to mentally devise a version of this game which would be called Top Tramps. I considered that the ratings could be aroma, proof, teeth (as in how many left), beard and swearing ability. Yes I accept that this is one of my darker thoughts but consider the positive aspect of the idea.

In the UK we have a charity which helps the homeless called Shelter. This is an organisation that I have supported over the last decade or so. I think that as well as highlighting the burgeoning homeless problem in our major cities a special edition release of Top Tramps could also raise some much needed revenue for their ongoing initiatives.

Further information on Shelter can be found here

http://www.shelter.org.uk/

Top trumps (the non-tramp editions) can be purchased here

http://www.toptrumps.com/index.asp

I Drink, Therefore I Am

Well the summer holidays are almost upon us so I thought I'd take the opportunity to share with you some of my favourite places. Ladies & Gentlemen I give you

Davenelli's Top 5 Worldwide Bars

1. The Doublet, Park Road, Glasgow. Yip my home town is number one and rightly my local tops the chart. In a city obsessed with "style bars" I am delighted that this place has remained unchanged in all of the years I have lived here. It is a classic bar intended only for two things, drinking and conversation. This place is so out of touch with 2006 that it should be uncool. Strangely though this seems to add to its charm and has the result of making it ultra-cool. Clientel is an eclectic mix of senior citizens, students, journalists, musicians and people like you and I. Another bonus is that it is right next door to one of this city's finest Indian Restaurants, The Shish Mahal. Tip for the boys...you are not likely to meet the woman of your dreams here but you will enjoy some stimulating company.
2. Chateau Rouge, Jakubská 2, Prague, 1 Czech Republic. Chateau Rouge is a bizarre establishment and like nowhere else I have ever been. Located in the old town area of Prague it attracts a leftfield crowd who all seem to share a common goal. Sex, Drugs & Rock 'n' Roll. The party is driven by some ace DJs & a fantastic sound system. The last time I was there I spent the evening chatting to a 6'4" transvestite and his a-sexual sidekick who boasted 40+ piercings and a nice collection of tattoos. No idea when this place closes as the locals are always keen to buy the fresh fish Absinthe. Tip...If you have never tried Absinthe - don't. It's not big and it's not clever and the evening will end in tears, probably yours.
3. Churchill's Shack, Mobor Beach, Cavelossim, India. Named after the owner and man most often seen behind the bar this place is something special. If you check the word idyllic in the dictionary it will say "see this place." Located on a 10km expanse of sand Churchill's offers cold beer & great seafood at rock bottom prices. Run by two of the most genuine people I have ever met, Churchill & Chandhu, the company is good and the service first class. The only downside is that they will make you play beach volleyball with them, what a hardship ;)
4. El 21, somewhere off the Plaza Mayor, Central Madrid. A bar I only visited once about a decade ago and instantly fell in love with. A single doorway from the street leads you into a long narrow windowless bar decorated with posters of bullfights long since fought and provdes some much needed shelter from the stifiling heat outside. An ice cold bottle of Mahou and the obligitory tapas sets you up for a return to the outside world but a strange thing happens in this place...time disappears as the owner is happy to chat and you find yourself drawn into a conversation. During my visit we discussed bullfighting(naturally), Hemmingway(the owner was not a fan), Dali(the owner, like myself, was a fan) and football. Several drinks were consumed before I emerged blinking into the afternoon sun. I tried to return several times during my stay but on each occassion it was closed. If anyone knows if it is still in business please let me know.
5. The Hungry Duck, Pushechnaya Ul. 9, Moscow. Sadly this place has now closed down. I spent an evening here in the summer of 1998 and I have to say it was undoubtedly the wildest night out I have probably every enjoyed. I cannot even begin to describe the madness of this place but I did find this article written by the former manager which pretty much sums the venue and the city up.

http://www.exile.ru/feature/feature61.html

I've done the list so I guess I owe you a joke.

A sandwich walks into a bar and asks for a drink
The barman replies sorry we don't serve food.

Unnecessary Labelling

Well the Easter weekend is now just a memory and my life is slowly returning to normal. I spent the weekend playing host to a number of friends from out of town. It's always nice to catch up but sharing house space with four other adults and seven children under five was tiring/trying to say the least. In saying that it was still a rewarding experience. As 80's indie stalwarts The Wedding Present correctly noted "You Should Always Keep In Touch With Your Friends" From the album Tommy. Available on the Cooking Vinyl label at www.amazon.co.uk and all good retailers.

On returning to work this morning I caught up with some other "old faces" two of my colleagues had returned from vacation (one from Spain the other from India). This leads on to tonights topic - Unnecessary Labelling.

The colleague who had enjoyed a trip to Goa had brought back some souvenirs for the team. I received a carved wooden elephant key ring, all very nice until I inspected the item closely and noticed that it sported the legend Goa, India (as opposed to Goa, Wisconsin obviously) in large lettering along the side. Strangely this put me "in one of my moods". It's not that I felt ungrateful towards this gift it was simply that I do/did not understand the need for the word India to be included after Goa.

Let's consider this for a moment. To my knowledge, and I accept that I am no expert in these matters, I am unaware of there being another Goa in the world (feel free to correct me on this point, I am always happy to be educated). If as I believe the only Goa exists as a former Portugese colony on the west coast of the sub-continent then surely the inclusion of the word India is thoroughly redundant.

If I am correct in my assesment of the situation then I blame Hollywood. Think of the number of movies you have seen where we (the audience) are treated to a nice panning shot of The Eiffel Tower, instantly you know where the scene is set. But then a strange thing happens, the screen is invaded by a large caption declaring that we are in PARIS, FRANCE. No shit Sherlock!, like we all thought this might be Paris, Texas. Or we get a glimpse of a couple of pearly kings & queens followed by a shot of a red double decker bus driving past the Houses Of Parliament and a HUGE CAPTION declaring that this is LONDON, ENGLAND. Jesus Christ how dumb do these arseholes think we are?

Whilst raging against this stupidity I started to think of a report that I had recently read regarding the USA. Whilst there are no official statistics it appears that less than 22% of the population of US own a passport.
(source: http://www.gyford.com)

If so few of the American population own a passport then it stands to reason that the places Europeans are au-fait with, like the examples listed in this article, will not be so familiar to those residing across the pond, hence the unnecessary labelling of the obvious.

I would like to point out that this article is in no way anti-American. I accept that if you live in the Land Of The Free you reside in one of the largest and most diverse countries in the world. The need to travel is obviously lessened as a result but as wise old sage Morrissey mused "America Is Not The World" from the Attack album "You Are The Quarry". This is also available at www.amazon.co.uk

Goodnight.