New York New York: Day 5

This was the sunniest day so far so we took the '1' down to Battery Park so we could get the ferry to Liberty and Ellis islands. I had never felt the urge to go visit them before. I always enjoy visiting Battery Park however for one big obvious reason, it's a central location for DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN! Luckily I didn't get mugged by a murderer and bang my head, waking up to think I was a light-fingered free spirit instead of a quietly desperate New Jersey housewife... so we went to Liberty Island instead!

I'm so glad we did.. it was actually quite an awesome experience, watching the skyline of downtown New York recede and the Statue of Liberty loom closer and closer. What a strange feeling to finally see this iconic statue close up, very much like seeing the pyramids last year. I've seen it so many times in so many different circumstances that it is difficult to come to terms with it being in front of you, quite an experience.


After a while we went across Ellis Island which again conjures up strange feelings. The main entrance into America for mainly European immigrants over the period of 1892 - 1924, more than 12 million people streamed through it's doors to start a new life in America. Although only 2% were refused entry - usually on the grounds of having a contagious illness, because they were found to be a contract worker or having a criminal past - the whole building seems unutterably sad. It's almost like the hopes and fears of those millions of people have soaked into the walls. I bet it's a mighty scary place at night.
 
In the evening we went to see DOUBT at the Walter Kerr Theatre with Dezur as her birthday treat. DOUBT has been this year's must-see play of the season winning 7 Best Play awards including the Tony and Pulitzer, I must admit I had.. er.. doubts about it as I have seen previous plays of the season which weren't all that. But it was an excellent play, 90 minutes no interval. 

Cherry Jones plays Sister Aloysius a stern nun running a Bronx school in the early 1960s who, despite having no evidence, accuses a priest (Brian F. O'Byrne) of abusing a boy pupil.  Jones - who won the Tony award for Best Actress - plays this difficult part with a ramrod back and caustic wit, making no play for audience sympathy which pays off about half way through in an extraordinary scene with the suspected boy's mother. The actress who plays this - and won a Tony award for Best Supporting Actress - was absent but the understudy Caroline Stephanie Clay was fine.
 
Irish actor O'Bryne matched Jones stride for stride, his three speeches to the audience immediatly connecting and making you want to side with him when the nun accuses him. The other role is the seemingly slow Sister James (Heather Goldenhersh) who is torn between the two protagonists. 

A richly rewarding night in the theatre with a killer curtain-line which had us debating the play over dinner afterwards. Oh and Brian O'Byrne's BROADWAY CARES curtain speech was very engaging!

New York New York: Day 4

Today was Macy's day... a day I had been dreading as O loses all judgemental faculties after walking through it's doors. Actually it wasn't too bad... purchases were made. Then it was up to the top of the shop for their Christmas Lane - the centre of a whole floor given over to trees, balls, baubles, tinsel, trimmings, huge nutcracker dolls and Christmas cards. It was fun trailing around after himself who judged each potential purchase with the wisdom of Solomon and the happiness of Larry.
Lunch found us again at the Heartland Brewery and we then ventured uptown to Tower Records on Broadway at Lincoln Center. I always say I hate Tower but I always end up buying a heap of stuff! Three cds and five dvds to be precise. The dvds were incredibly cheap. If I had a bigger suitcase I would have bought more!
In the evening we went to the Minskoff Theatre to see FIDDLER ON THE ROOF starring the king and queen of Broadway gaydom Harvey Feirstein and Rosie O'Donnell. I have never seen the show before - on stage or screen - so this was a good opportunity to see it. First off I must give the thumbs up to the Minskoff's major selling point: as you go in the theatre and up an escalator you find yourself in a large foyer with a double-story block long window onto Times Square - quelle wow! We were alarmingly close to the stage - about 4 rows back so much of the choreography was lost on us. Sadly the auditorium wasn't full.
I am still slightly puzzled by the show's huge 41 year success - I think more is projected onto it by audiences than is actually contained in the book which struck me as repetitive and obvious. However the show has an old-fashioned warmth and craft especially when compared to the coldly calculative emotion of WICKED. David Levaux's production appears to have divided people - some critics saying it lacks the emotion of the original Jerome Robbins production while others like it's stripped-down revisionist approach. I must say the set and lighting reminded me more of a Gorky or Chekhov play and was a bit austere to frame some of the more rambuncious numbers. 
Looking back now I can appreciate the warmth and chutzpah of Harvey F's Tevye - his scenes with Tevye's daughters were very tender and loving and that totally original voice - like a velvet curtain wrapped around rocks - socked over IF I WAS A RICH MAN.  
Rosie O'Donnell seemed somewhat muted in the role of Golde but then the women's roles are fairly badly-written. In the few scenes where she is called upon to express fire she sounded more Brooklyn than Anatevka but I liked her - she conveyed genuine distress at Tevye's banishment of Chava and her duet with Harvey "Do You Love Me?" showed their empathy and obvious respect for each other. So all in all, I enjoyed seeing the show. 
It transpired we hit Broadway for the week of it's AIDS/HIV charity BROADWAY CARES so each show ended with one of the leads having to quiet the audience down to do a pitch for donations. Harvey did this and it resulted in me buying an extra Playbill signed by Harvey and Rosie for $20 (makes mental note to return $20 to O).

New York New York: Day 3

After breakfast we went to Museum Of Modern Art which was bleedin' shut! We wandered down 5th Avenue trying to find HMV but it looks like it has closed - how did THAT happen? At a bit of loss we wandered into Rockefeller Plaza and noticed huge posters for the "Top Of The Rock" observatory deck. 

I had wanted to go into the Rockefeller Building to see where Diego Rivera's mural was so we went in and sure enough, we found it was the opening day of the deck! That was probably why the staff were hugely chatty & helpful but it was exciting to be there on it's opening day and it wasn't at all busy.

After the fab ascent in a glass-topped lift up the 70 floors - the lift shaft is lit up with bright colours and a film is projected on the roof as you zoom upwards - we stepped out onto the lower of it's three levels and we both were fairly gobsmacked at the amazing views the large window-enclosed terraces provide.

Great views of both uptown and downtown - and this time you get the Empire State Building in your photographs! We had to share the top level with tv crews queueing up to use Central Park as their backdrops in pieces to camera - Tim Vincent yet! - but it was a wonderful way to spend a morning!

After dinner at the Italian restaurant next door to the hotel, we went to see our first show WICKED at the Gershwin Theatre. Stephen Schwartz's score has one too many self-motivating songs likely to be covered by Celine Dion or American Idol contestants and the show seemed curiously empty despite it's bombastic score and special effects.

However the two leads - although similar in voice - gave it their all and there was scene-stealing support from Rue McLanahan as the scheming Madame Morrible and Ben Vereen as The Wizard. It was great to see Vereen finally on stage, a Fosse star from PIPPIN and ALL THAT JAZZ and 'Chicken George' in tv's "Roots".

The audience too were quite bizarre: the first act closer found them screaming and yelling, and their reaction at the curtain calls was like the second coming, or first going.

New York New York: Day 2

Had a very civilised brunch at Dezur's bijou apartment with her and Paul - always nice to see them. Only with Dezur does one start the day with a Mimosa!  Walked down to the Empire State Building for the usual wander around the top - always seem to get there when it's getting dark. Two conclusions - my camera isn't that good at taking pictures at night and anyone who raves about American Customer Service has obviously never been to the ESB. 

Lovely views of downtown tho'. I was a bit chilled after which is always a bit dodgy for my blood sugar levels so had a major nosh at the Heartlands Brewery on the corner of 5th & 34th (under the ESB) - a huge caesar salad and grilled chicken breast.  It did set me up for the journey down to 14th Street to watch the Halloween Parade... what a scrum.  We finally settled on being 4 deep in a group and spent the next hour or so on tiptoe with my camera raised above the heads in front!
The Parade was a bit all over the place... there seemed to be ages when nothing was coming along then you would get a clump of people so it was hard to appreciate the efforts some had made in their costumes.  It was great fun though... made me wonder about digging up The Bride again to make her NYC debut. After all, walking the route HAS to be better than standing still on tiptoe with people surrounding you: when we started walking I realised I had really bad lower-back pain.
It would have been nice to get striding uptown but the crowd from the parade made it difficult not to shuffle along and when we made a break onto 7th Avenue we hit Madison Square Garden just as a sports event was letting out - GRRRRR!

New York New York: Day 1

Back from a hugely enjoyable week in New York, I was a bit underwhelmed by the thought of it after having had such a good time in Barcelona but it was a great week.

Day 1: Sunday 30th October.
No problem flying out tho' it must be said Continental are the dreariest of airlines. Made it through immigration easy enough, a $60 cab ride into New York from Newark found us at our rather fab hotel The Millenium Broadway, 145 West 44th - literally a stone's throw from Times Square. Our room was on the 36th floor which gave us an amazing view of the Chrysler Building... and yes I still *heart* it. 

Quickly unpacked so we could get out and plug into the NY current which tingles underfoot on the sidewalks. Dinner at an old favourite.. the Art Cafe on Broadway and 52nd. Wandered around Colony Records and the huge Virgin store in Times Square... checking prices and making mental notes for future purchases!

ADIEU LECTEUR CONSTANT.. JE VAIS A LA GLOIRE

Well... New York actually. For a week.

Dawn, that's spelt

N - E - W     J - E - A - L - O - U- S

NEW YORK DOLL: Rock'n'Roll Redemption

Went to see my only film in this year's London Film Festival this afternoon, NEW YORK DOLL a documentary on the one-time New York Dolls bassist Arthur 'Killer' Kane. I saw the 2004 Festival Hall gig covered in the film with her Dawness so 'twas right and fitting to see the film together too.

The shortish film - a mere 75 minutes - is directed by Greg Whiteley who met Kane at the Church of Latter Day Saints in LA where the former 70s rock star had found work in the Family History department. Mormonism had been a lifeline to him after a lengthy alcohol problem and a suicide attempt after the end of his marriage. The film follows the tall but strangely ethereal Arthur, taking the bus to work, going about his day job, to the news that Morrissey wants the three surviving members of the New York Dolls to fly to London to play at the Meltdown Festival he was curating.

This stroke of good luck for the film maker meant that the footage he had of Arthur talking about his journey 'from rock star to rock bottom' could form the basis of a proper film. Indeed 10 minutes of the interview footage has been previously seen in the extras on the Festival Hall gig dvd.

The events that shaped Arthur's early life are left out, his troubled family life hinted at when he reveals that he only found out about his father's death by idly going through the Family History Records where he worked. The Dolls' years are alluded to throughout the film but this too is kept to a minumum and it's just over halfway though before the deaths of Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan are mentioned, events which he is strangely never asked about.

However the film really kicks into gear with the offer of the reunion and Arthur's tremulous optimism that his biggest dream is coming true - the chance to play with estranged friends David Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain once more and to show the world what it's been missing for thirty years - is wonderfully infectious and makes their London triumph all the more deserved. However fate had not finished with Arthur....

The film includes interviews with Bob Geldof, Chrissie Hynde, Mick Jones, Iggy Pop, Don Letts and, of course, Morrissey. Indeed the use of his Smiths song PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT is poignantly used. If you hear of this film playing - and so far I don't think it's been picked up for GB distribution - I do urge you to see it.

The first time I heard about the New York Dolls was in 1973 when I saw their poster in Biba announcing they were going to play the rooftop Rainbow Room. I remember being fascinated by the famous group shot with a combatative Johansen - if I had only had the courage to buy a ticket... £2.50 including dinner!

I can only claim the giddyness of youth.

TIME GOES BY... SO SLOWLY...

 
Especially waiting for Madonna's new single! Just two weeks to go.. When I heard the first short download I was worried Constant Reader. Why ABBA of all acts to sample? But now I've heard the track I'm lovin' it


Currently blasting out of the cd player is the new Sinead O'Connor THROW DOWN YOUR ARMS, her roots reggae tribute. It was produced by Sly & Robbie at Tuff Gong studios in Jamaica - it's a richly rewarding cd, truly the Lion of Judah's bollocks!

AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!

I am making my own mewing noises. Can you hear? I *heart* puddytats!

Double Dusty!

I was in a delightfully original quandry last night Constant Reader... which of my two new Dusty Springfield DVDs do I watch? Yep two... would have been more than happy with one!!

I CLOSE MY EYES AND COUNT TO TEN is a Dutch DVD which collects 16 of her tv appearances from the 1960s and 70s, 8 b/w and 8 colour. Kicking off with a nervous looking Dusty with The Springfields singing "Island Of Dreams" the next two are from a Dutch programme of her miming "Once Upon a Time" and "I Only Want To Be With You". Shot from high up and picked out from the blackness by a single spotlight, for a minute I thought it was Lady Penelope - I had never noticed the similar blonde bouffant hair and panda eyes before!

There's a great version of "In The Middle Of Nowhere" from an NME Poll Winner's concert where she looks stunning (see photo) and is backed on stage by Madeleine Bell among others. Three clips come from her BBC series - including the one that is always shown of her singing "You Don't Have To Say You Love Me" - then it's into the colour clips.

Most of them come from a Dutch show she did called "Just Dusty". Sadly the director deceided to art it up a bit so she is subjected to miming in long narrow neon corridors, stranded in the middle of a big studio stage surrounded by columns for the title song and most bizarrely during HOW CAN I BE SURE, she is superimposed next to a huge lightbulb. Poor the Dusty. Added to that the budget didn't stretch to a great wardrobe either. Huge big embroidered kaftan affairs which surely looked de trop even then! All is saved by the final clip of her doing the supercool "Spooky" straight to camera and looking great.

TV footage of Dusty with a live audience usually shows her at her best so LIVE AT THE ROYAL ALBERT HALL from 1979 is an essential addition to any Dusty fan's shelf. Not the best concert ever saved for posterity it must be said, probably down to a combination of under-rehearsal, Dusty's famous nerves and the added horror of performing in front of Princess Margaret! The first few songs are a bit worrying but soon Dusty starts finding her feet and, with the audience crowding the front of the stage, she loosens up and by the time she encores with an amazing version of Peter Allen's "Quiet Please, There's A Lady On Stage" she is in majestic form.

This song is an interesting choice for her - written by Allen after seeing Judy Garland face a disgruntled audience, it demands attention be paid to the woman behind the diva facade who has usually paid a high price to get where she is. At this point in Dusty's life - on her second attempt to restart a recording career after several unhappy years in Los Angeles - it must have been a particularly personal song. Sadly the momentum of this and her Drury Lane concerts earlier the same year did nothing to halt the disappointing record sales and there were eight more artistic wilderness years until she was offered the chance to duet with the Pet Shop Boys on "What Have I Done To Deserve This".

Sadly the one thing that made the Albert Hall show infamous is missing - referencing how many queens were in the audience she said "It's nice to see the royalty isn't confined to the box". Princess Margaret took this as a personal insult, snubbed her at the reception afterwards and later sent Dusty a type-written apology to the Queen which Dusty was made to sign and return! What a cow!!! It is also not the full show but an edited-for-tv version which was ultimately never shown. There are however some excellent interviews with her secretary, agent, backing singer Simon Bell as well as Madeleine Bell talking about Dusty the artist and woman.

Barcelona Weekend

Back from our long weekend in Barcelona which continues to enchant me despite lowering clouds and the frustration of not getting to see either Gaudi's gate houses at Finca Guell or the Palau de la Musica Catalana.

We arrived on Saturday to find the city basking in warm sunshine and, after getting settled into Le Meredien off the top of Las Ramblas, we ventured out to join the florists, pet-sellers and mimes along that colourful thoroughfare. Visits to old favourites: the dazzling La Boqueria market, L'Espirtu cafe, Carrer de Montcada - the street of a 1,000 ceramic shops - and the Basilica de Santa Maria del Mare (just in time for a wedding!) was topped off that evening with a visit to the small Pizza Nostra... home of the half and half pizza. Why have one pizza when you can have two halves of different ones?

Sunday was another wonderful sunny and hot day (hitting 30 in the afternoon) so, Constant Reader, your intrepid twosome deceided that was the day to race around the city like things possessed. Ventured up to Pedralbes for the first time to see the very grand Palau Reial - now the Museum of Ceramics and Decorative Arts. Nice to wander around and the gardens were nice and quiet too. Next to them is one of Gaudi's first commisions... the impressive gate at Finca Guell in the shape of a fearsome dragon made out of wrought iron. Eeek!
 
Not wanting to hang about waiting 45 minutes till the next tour of the Gaudi gatehouses we headed off for another favourite: Parc Guell. Worth every step of the long walk from the station, Gaudi's magical park never fails to make me feel at peace... despite the crowds. Third time lucky... this time we finally managed to get into see the interior of the 'gingerbread' gatehouse which had been closed the previous visits... a ho-hum exhibition of the park's history but a wonderful space that made me want to live in it's small curvy rooms. But then I want to live in Parc Guell full-stop!

I somehow managed to talk us both out of getting the Metro back into the centre and instead plumped for walking down the Carrer Gran de Gracia which leads into the elegant Passeig de Gracia - actually it didn't take as long as I expected and it was quite quiet being a drowsy late Sunday afternoon. Some lovely houses were seen on our journey down and somewhere along the way I passed the house where my nice shop customer Vicente was born 70 odd years ago.

After a visit to another much-loved haunt - the rooftop of La Pedrera - we wolfed down our late late lunch at the always welcoming Qu Qu. After somehow dragging ourselves out later for dinner at Montello on Via Laietana, sleep finally claimed us.

Sadly the extensive walking of Sunday put paid to any dynamism on Monday allied to an overcast and mostly grey day. After another attempt at Finca Guell - and God help the bastard who told me on their phone enquiries that you could go in without the guided tour - we high-tailed it diagonally across town to finally get to see inside the palatial Palau de la Musica Catalana... to be greeted by a small sign that all tours were sold out for the day.   

Constant Reader, I was plunged into the pit of Catalan despair which finally was lifted by retail therapy and the thoughtfulness of his Oweness. The evening improved with a visit to our favourite restaurant Citrus on the corner of Passeig de Gracia and Carrer Consell de Cent. Dunno whether it had anything to do with the e-mail reservation Owen sent the week before but when we went upstairs we found we had a window-seat. I should add that Citrus is on the first floor and it's huge window gives a majestic view up and down the Passeig.  Delicious food, a nice Rioja and a glass of Cava to toast our third anniversary... people who live any other way are just silly.

I cannot wait to re-visit this amazing city.

Holiday!

 
Normal service will be resumed next Tuesday when Owen and I return from our long weekend in Barcelona! I hasten to add this trip is not just an excuse for shopping... it's our third anniversary on the 10th - and they said it wouldn't last.
 
Mind you... there WILL be shopping!

Joan...

CONSTANT READER, I have been pleasuring myself again..

After a few weeks of doing the "pick it up, look at the back, put it down again" trick, last night I succumbed and bought a four dvd box set of Joan Crawford films.. HUMORESQUE (1946), POSSESSED (1947), THE DAMNED DON'T CRY (1950) and GRAND HOTEL (1932).

The bugger is I have GRAND HOTEL already... but what's eBay for eh? Of the four films THE DAMNED DON'T CRY was the only one I hadn't seen before so last night it was finally viewed. Typical hard-boiled Warner Brothers fare full of crooked guys and seen-it-all broads, noir-ish lighting and tough dialogue "Don't talk to me about self-respect. Self-respect is what you tell yourself you got when you got nothing else."

Joan excels in a role which gave her a chance to combine her two best Warners roles: MILDRED PIERCE (1945) (sacrificing mother who wants more out of life) and HUMORESQUE (glamorous society woman). Indeed the film she made before DAMNED... was FLAMINGO ROAD which also tells of a woman working her way up the social ladder. Roles like this mirrored her own rise to stardom from very humble beginnings.

Born Lucille LaSueur, her parents separated before she was born and had two step-fathers by the time she was 16. After the humbling experience of working in the college cafeteria to pay her way on campus, dance-mad Lucille won a talent competition and found work as a chorus girl. A few years later she joined the exodus to Hollywood and soon found work as an extra and in small parts at the most successful of film studios Metro-Goldwyn-Meyer who soon launched a film magazine competition to rename her. After the initial choice 'Joan Arden' was found to belong to a bit player, the runner-up name of Joan Crawford was chosen. Three years later, dancing again proved a success when she played the Charleston-mad Diana in OUR DANCING DAUGHTERS and became an instant success. 

The transition to talkies was effortless and she soon became one of the biggest stars of the 1930s. By the end of the decade however she, along with Katherine Hepburn and Greta Garbo, were labelled box office poison and she was dropped by MGM. She was signed up by the no-frills, grittier Warner Brothers studio and triumphed in her first role there in 1945 MILDRED PIERCE which won her a Best Actress Academy Award.

Before MOMMIE DEAREST and the drag acts was the woman. Once a star, always a star.

Name That iPod Star!

There you go, Constant Reader... the 30 artists heard on my iPod to and from work today - via Tate Modern where Owen and I attended an excellent talk by Hayden Herrera, the biographer of Frida Kahlo. See how many you can spot?

MARIANNE FAITHFULL at Queen Elizabeth Hall

Went to see Marianne Faithfull at the Queen Elizabeth Hall tonight with Owen.  

Been damn lucky this year as regards herself, the gig in the spring at Shepherds Bush as well as her appearance at the Meltdown in the summer. Excellent seats... about 6 rows back, dead centre. She seemed a bit more subdued this time out and noticeably there was no WHY D'YA DO IT? but she looked great in leather jacket, white shirt, black trousers and heels. She always makes me so worried... tottering around the stage in her heels where there are nasty snaking cables everywhere,  The set was a slightly slimmer version of the Shepherds Bush gig and her band were as excellent as before - always a pleasure to see Barry Reynolds. The numbers she does from the BEFORE THE POISON album shine more brightly live than on the cd namely NO CHILD OF MINE, LAST SONG and CRAZY LOVE. Once again she gave a barn-storming performance of Lennon's WORKING CLASS HERO - she has mined that song for every nuance in the lyrics and it now stops the show. 

As the lights came up I turned to put my coat on to see Anita Pallenberg sitting directly behind me! Owen noticed the guitar tech was placing the vases of white roses which had adorned the keyboards platform at the stage apron along with the band's set-lists. So we galloped down and nabbed a rose and list. After a moment's hesitation, I picked another rose and presented it to La Pallenberg. I know, Constant Reader.... show me an old Rolling Stones squeeze and I lose it. 

There was a nice surprise in the foyer too, a new concert dvd filmed in Hollywood this spring. Needless to say that was played as soon as I got home. Not only is it a record of her current excellent form but there is a delightful interview extra where she reveals the background to songs in the repertoire. The dvd also comes with an 11-track cd of the show's highlights. So I currently write this from a cloud in Marianne Heaven. I cannot think of another British singer of her era who is making music as valid and interesting as she is, male or female.

NOW IS THE WINTER OF OUR DISCONTENT...

Made glorious summer by this son of Vaio!

Constant Reader, I am cock-a-hoop. After last week's computer ballzup and the knock-on effect on my fragile psyche I was a near-basket case. However help was on hand in the shape of Owen (no change there then). He proved to be an early Santa by getting my a new Vaio laptop as an early Christmas present.

I know... he *is* a diamond.

It is lovely... it makes a woo-be-doo noise when the Vaio logo appears and it has all the extras that before I had only dreamed about... or waited until I got to Owen's to play with on his comp!

I have yet to play with all the toys but am I a big ol' happy ho now.

Nothing can shift me from my humour... not wonky punters, not recalcetrant eBay buyers, not even my pile of unwatched dvds that I cannot find the time to watch.

But panic not Constant Reader, normal raised-eyebrow attitude is bound to return soon!

I WAS A SOHO SEX PRISONER!

Yes, Constant Reader, it has taken me a few days to be able to confront what happened on Tuesday night but I am here to tell you... I am a Soho Sex Prisoner survivor. 

For the few who have not visited the shop, there is a communal front door for us and the flats above, shop door on right, flats door in front of you. Oh and the shop doors have no windows apart from a transom above.  There I was with jacket on in the shop, due to meet Lady Miss Coates for a snifter before she spun the toons at the Retro Bar Pop Quiz - have I mentioned my 21 wins? - turned the shop lights off, nipped to the lav before the arduous trek twixt Soho and Strand, and as I came back in from the back, I saw 'Y' who lives in one of the flats above us walk along in front of the window with a young homosexulist.

I saw through the transom the outer door open and close and the sound of shopping being put down on the floor. After checking I had my mobile phone - so called because I cannot walk five paces if it's not on me - I made my way to the door thinking "Funny I didn't hear the flats door open and shut'. Just as I reached for the knob, I heard a noise. From beyond the door I heard what sounded like a slightly malfunctioning Dyson. Then I heard a slurp. And the squeak of Trainers on vinyl flooring. And it slowly dawned on me I possibly wasn't the only one reaching for a knob.

Yes, Constant Reader, the chap who lives above the shop was having a quick knee-trembler with his bit of trade. And I was trapped. What to do? Turn the shop lights on giving them some sudden if much-needed light and possibly a heart-attack? Do I throw the door open and push my way through the gay sex love action to get to the front door? Do I slowly open the door and try to squeeze around them hoping my presence would not be detected as they had more pressings things on their... well, more pressing things? My thoughts were interrupted by the shop door starting to rattle and judder like something out of THE EXORCIST and the deeply irritating sound of loose belt buckles jingling.

Just as I arrived at my solution, namely letting them use the basement then charging punters to see the live sex show, there was a bit of frenzied whispering, more vinyl floor squeaking... and silence. This was broken by the sound of 'Y' saying "Well you know where I am if you are ever in Soho", the door opening and the two of them walking off. After extracting myself from the poster rack where I hurled myself in case they saw me I gingerly stepped outside the door. Amazingly I didn't skid completely upsy-dutch so they obviously have good aim if nothing else. Cue me running through Soho, giggling hysterically on the phone to Owen and racing to tell Dawn of my Soho Sex Prisoner Hell.

On the whole she was sympathetic despite calling me a twat for not securing the mobile phone video footage so beloved now of breaking news stories.

I do so look forward to bumping into 'Y' and having our usual discussion of the way the nasty postman leaves elastic bands off the letter bundles in the vestibule. Can't wait to see his face when I tell him it's not quite the same as someone having a sex wee there!

You think YOU got problems!!

Constant Reader, I have been through quite a week.

I knew it was going to be a tits-up kinda week when I realised I have been living a lie for 27 years. All this time I have been searching for a copy of the NME from May 6, 1978 which had the first Anti-Nazi League/Rock Against Racism march and open-air gig on the cover. I was there and had told the world that I was well featured inside the paper in a crowd shot. Lo and behold... there it was on eBay and I won it for the princely sum of one whole pound. Skippity-hop I went that I would finally have this piece of tangible history in my hands. It arrived and I sat calmly on the couch, licking a finger and slowly turning the pages, legs crossed like a Pinter heroine.

THE BLEEDIN' PHOTO WASN'T THERE. It must have been in SOUNDS or MELODY MAKER. What a capricious mistress memory is.

Then last Thursday I decided it would be nice to have a Motown tribute on my website which was due an update the next day. There I was, happily clicking and saving on internet sites of sepia sirens of soul when I was aware my Zone Alarm was trying to tell me I had something trying to access my computer. I clicked 'deny access' and the next thing I knew I had the damn thing's icon on the computer. Cut to the computer going completely upsy-mong... switching itself off, ominous blue screens then nothing, terminating my internet access... Luckily my 24 hour computer helpline (aka Owen's mobile) was to hand. However, despite Owen sending me a weblink to help blast the spyware to bits, the computer and it's new cyber-squaters refused to yeald and then started turning off 5 minutes after it was turned on.

Owen left the leafy bowers of Streatham for the wilds of Enfield on Sunday morning to try and solve the problem but to no avail. He appeared at 12.50 - and we left on the 18.30 train for Michele's 40th birthday dinner which had started... 3 and a half hours earlier. Every time we thought it had finally become lurgi-free we would find the bloody thing lurking and sniggering loudly, proffering v-signs and mooning us. For the sake of our sanity we left with fingers crossed that Michele might have stayed in the bar bit of the bar/grill where her afternoon gathering was.. but allegedly we missed her by 20 minutes. A walk down to her flat was to no avail.

So I presume my name is mud in that mews.

So how come I am typing this now? Because I bit the bullet - yes and with MY teeth too - and reverted the computer back to factory settings. Of course that was a factory in 2000 so the damn thing is now completely confused about how life has changed in 5 years. Honey ain't we all.

How ironic that I finally saw ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND early last week before any of this started. How handy it would be to be able to erase unhappy memories from one's mind. I know where I would start.....

FRIDA KAHLO at Tate Modern

Finally made it to see the Frida Kahlo exhibition at Tate Modern with Owen at a 7pm admission time. As usual, the experience of looking at paintings, more often than not, sideways on and edging between people got a bit wearing after a while. But hang around long enough and you get there eventually.

It was a wonderfully illuminating experience to finally see so many of her famous paintings. More often than not they are smaller than one would expect which makes them more intense. Three 'shock' works: MY BIRTH, HENRY FORD HOSPITAL and A FEW SMALL NIPS are all in one room and are riveting for this very reason. The starkness of the images is what makes them such painful viewing.

I was reminded when walking around the rooms of the Barbican exhibition of Carrington's work 10 years ago. Kahlo was by far the more important and successful artist but there seemed quite a few points of reference to both of them. The reluctance of either to see themselves as strictly professional painters (giving paintings away to friends and lovers as gifts), their bi-sexuality, their early deaths and the insular vision of their art, painting what they knew and saw and lived.

When I got home I watched one of the extras on the US dvd of FRIDA which is an onstage interview with director Julie Taymor. She is asked by a woman in the audience why the film focused on the love story of Frida and Diego Rivera and seemed to neglect her political and feminist leanings. Taymor eloquently argues that you cannot have a discussion of Kahlo without the relationship with Rivera which was the inspiration for her art. Similarly one cannot discuss the life of Carrington without acknowledging her profound love of Lytton Strachey. Julie Taymor then pointed out that when Frida was first championed as a feminist icon during the 1980s it was not just as a victim of physical pain but for the perceived emotional neglect by Rivera. This triggered in my mind the way Virginia Woolf was similarly viewed and lauded in the 1970s as a feminist victim of the sexual abuse of her step-brothers.

But as when reading Woolf's writing, when looking at the art of Kahlo I don't look upon them as the work of victims. Even in Kahlo's darkest work there is an ironic humour and a strong sense of self which makes one fully believe their friend's reminisces of their being such positive life-forces.

Kahlo's best work as a visual rendering of Woolf's closing lines from THE WAVES "Death is the enemy. Against you I will fling myself, unvanquished and unyielding".

THE MAN WHO CRIED... he wasn't the only one

Just watched the mighty strange film THE MAN WHO CRIED on dvd.

The next time someone of older years says "they don't make them like they used to" you can now point to this film and say "Yes they do". However whether said person will like it or whether it is successful is something completely different.

The always-watchable Christina Ricci plays a young Russian Jewish girl who as a child is sent to America to live with her father already there. But what with one thing and another she ends up in England and renamed Susan. She gains employment with a dance troupe in Paris where she meets and befriends emigre Russian Lola (played by Cate Blanchett darlink). Lola's machinations get them employed in the chorus of an opera company run by... Harry Dean Stanton (?) where the star is an egotistical Italian tenor played by... John Turtutto (???) Cue one too many scenes of Turturro lip-synching arias in cheesy costumes. 

While Lola is seducing the tenor, the doe-eyed Susan has fallen for the dark charms of Johnny Depp in another of his flashing-eyed gypsy characters. Soon the talk is of impending war and our four displaced characters must do what they must to survive.

Blanchett is wonderfully flashy in her characterisation of the predatory Lola, Depp smoulders on a low-light, Turturro makes a good hissable villain and Ricci is one of the few actresses who could make the character's fate-tossed journey believable.

Excellent cinematography and lush music help to guide one from a Russian shtetl to (literally) a Hollywood ending via a sinking liner. As much as I admired Sally Potter's film the hapless Susan brought to mind Thelma Ritter's line from ALL ABOUT EVE "What a story! Everything but the bloodhounds snappin' at her rear end."