DAY FOUR

A special day long anticipated. One of my big wishes in going to Mexico was to go to the island of Cozumel and pay a small mark of respect in the area where Kirsty MacColl was killed while diving there in 2000. And today was the day.

We walked around the hotel grounds picking wild flowers, some big some small and set off for the ferry in the late morning. A 3-piece band played for our bemused amusement while O and I had the better idea of listening to Kirsty sing "Mambo de La Luna" on the trusty iPod. We arrived about 25 minutes later and I was amazed how, even in the dock, the water was crystal-clear with the sun shining on the rocks beneath.

We walked a bit down from the pier and could not fail to spot a 100m high flagpole with a huge Mexican flag blowing in the warm breeze which was guarded by two big eagle statues on a small promontory.
As good a place as any I guess. With O standing by I spoke a few words mentioning why I had come and how that this was also on behalf of Dawn and Chuffy, Alan and Graham, Eunice and Rose, Nathan, John and Kris... "This is for you Kirsty" I said and gently dropped the brightly coloured flowers into the water beneath. For a while they bobbed together in the clear green-blue water then slowly came apart and drifted out into the world. I am happy to admit I got a bit teary-eyed as the current started to take them down away from me in the direction of the Chankcanaab reef where the she was diving that awful day.

We walked around for an hour or so then got the ferry back to the much nicer Playa del Carmen. On the way back, watching the huge flag receed away over the dazzling blue sea, we listened to Kirsty's last ever song Sun On The Water:

"It was the place where she felt free
And Heaven lies under the sea
Hell is just dry land to me
When I'm dreaming"

It wasn't long before the tears flowed again.

DAY TWO

After a nice breakfast buffet in the open-air restaurant it was time for Owen to get serious - there was a beach to make full use of. First off we sat around in the reception waiting for Rosario the Kuoni rep - she turned up 30 minutes late *sigh* more Mexican timekeeping! We booked for a few excursions later in the week.

As usual, no matter where the beach, I was unable to just lie there and just - well - tan. O can do it very easily, just tunes out and soaks it up. I dunno... I just get a bit fidgety. Still there was Michael Redgrave to get into - not the first man to say that - and go for the occasional wave-jumping in the Carribean sea. Yes... little old me in the Caribbean sea. Like, woww!


Eventually though one has to have a break so in the late afternoon I wandered back to our little thatched cottage and swung the rest of the day away in my hammock! Later on we had dinner at La Adela on Fifth Avenue. The most delicious calamari! I thought it was time to be a bit more colourful so wore my Tom Tom Club t-shirt!



DAY THREE

Needless to say my brief exposure to the sun caused me to scratch like buggery! So today was spent either a-swingin' on my 'amoock on the veranda or walking around the lovely hotel grounds all the time birds singing heartily, butterflies chasing each other making little clicking noises, the warm sunshine capped by a blue sky.

After walking the length of Fifth Avenue down to the pier to find out the time and cost of a trip to Cozumel on the ferry we stopped off for dinner at Ula-Gula continuing our trend for eating on the first floor so we can watch the parade of people go by! By far my favourite restaurant on this trip - it was cool, laid-back and the food was to die for! I had a starter of a Del Rios salad which was truly lush and then had a chicken teriyaki which was delicious. Even the bathroom was fun with a pebble-incrusted sink. Mas swank!

And with a big yawn I return... ah Constant Reader, the life of the humble jet boy. I appear to have missed a night's sleep somewhere along the way. Mexico was amazing! Tragically my Spanish hasn't preceeded beyond "Esta Biene" but it was an excellent vacance - even with the week-long squitage.

As that Maria woman would say "Let's start at the very beginning" as it IS a very good place to start.

DAY ONE

We flew out on Easter Sunday after getting up at sparrow-fart for a morning flight from Gatport Airwick. Because it was all booked with Kuoni we had to fly direct with Monarch Airlines. Owen observed quite rightly that the whole Monarch operation is based on fear... people fight to get upgraded! We had been automatically upgraded prior to going due to a cancellation - needless to say O didn't get the extra legroom money he had paid in the interim returned. The Premium class equates to a standard airline seat with standard airline service. Usually on Monarch you sit in cramped seat space and pay for all drinks. I happily buried myself in SECRET DREAMS a biography of Michael Redgrave by director Alan Strachan and let the pilot get on with his job. I tried watching CORPSE BRIDE on the digital tv contraption but couldn't concentrate - I never can on flights. Apart from once when I discovered ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER in the film choice options - a bit foolish cos it always makes me cry. Buckets. The stewardesses probably still talk about the man bawling his eyes out on the aisle-seat.

We arrived at Cancun airport and waited with sinking dread for our luggage. Premium class means you get your bags taken off the plane first. Not in Cancun. Ours was last. I presume some damn pinko union thinking behind that. We then met the Kuoni rep Rosario and waited another yonk for the people-carrier to speed us off to Playa del Carmen. After about an hour's drive we arrived at our hotel, the rather fab LAS PALAPAS. We were the only Kuoni guests there - I should say we were the only English-speaking Kuoni guests there, the hotel is Swiss-owned so the bulk of the guests seemed to be German/French. Brits and Americans seemed to fill in the gaps. After being checked in by Norman - a man who gives good solomn - we were shown to our cabana which was away from the beach & pool in a secluded part of the tropical grounds. It was quite marvellous. After exploring the hotel grounds and wandering down to the beach - hardly populated in the late Sunday afternoon sun - we got ready for our first schlep into town. In a haze of Calvin Klein White, Aqua Di Gio and Mozzy repellent we set off.

Turning left at the top of the hotel drive we found ourselves at the start of Playa del Carmen's Fifth Avenue which like it's NY cousin is the main thoroughfare in the town which is where the best restaurants and bars are found. And tourist shops of course! When Owen described it to me before I quietly dreaded it, I expected another Luxor or Hua Hin where it was difficult to walk 5 paces without making a new persistant annoying friend wanting to sell you something. But no, Fifth Avenue is great to prominade down, mainly pedestrian-only, colourful and buzzing at night with the sounds of competing Mariachi bands and salsa cds in the many restaurants and bars. We finally deceided to eat at MEDIA LUNA which was an excellent choice! A mountain of freshly-made Guacamole to start, a delicious Caesar Salad and a couple of Coronas was the perfect way to end the day.

Think of me, Constant Reader, and the fresh Hell I will be going through as I spend the next two two weeks in Mexico. I have just CNN Weathered and supposedly it will be 91 into the middle of week - and you think *you* got it bad!

Clicky to see my prison http://www.laspalapas.com.mx/

Hasta Luego!

Thanks for asking Constant Reader I had a lovely birthday on the 12th!

Ta for the cards, texts and e-mails.... and where were the ones that didn't show up.

You know who you are......

To the NFT Sunday afternoon with Owen and Tall Paul to see the delightful Spanish comedy REINAS (Queens) showing as part of the Lebanese and Ghoul Film Festival. The initial spur was the mouth-watering thought of three Almodovar actresses in the same film: Carmen Maura, Marisa Paredes and Veronica Forque. However the film would have been well worth a viewing whoever had been it!

It's the eve of Spain's first multiple gay wedding and the nerves of 5 of the grooms are also felt by their mothers. Nuria (Veronica Forque) is the mother of politician Narciso (Paco Leon) and she is wrestling with her compulsion to have sex with men whenever the mood takes her! Narciso is going to marry Hugo (Gustavo Salmeron) whose mother Helena (Mercedes Sampietro) is thrust into being the unwilling judge at the wedding which is taking place in the plush hotel managed by Magda (Carmen Maura) who is attempting to fend off a strike by the kitchen staff which will ruin the hotel's reputation in the eyes of the massed media. It doesn't help that the head chef who is leading the strike is also her extra-marital lover. Magda is also the mother of Miguel (Unax Ugaldo) whose stylish, fashionable apartment is suddenly occupied by Ofelia (Bettiana Blum) - and her enormous shaggy dog - having flown in from Buenos Aries to be with her son, Miguel's boyfriend Oscar (Daniel Hendler). Meanwhile film actress Reyes (Marisa Paredes) is having to confront the fact that her son Rafa (Raul Garcia) is marrying Jonas (Hugo Silva) the son of her gardener Jacinto (Lluis Homar) who despite many years of working for her has never even set foot in the house.

Confused? You will be... The fun escalates when the future partners and in-laws argue, fall out of love then back in again as their paths intersect in the hours leading up to the big day. While watching it I could almost see the film being remade by Hollywood as a vehicle for the likes of Goldie Hawn, Diane Keaton, Bette Midler, Jill Clayburgh and Susan Sarandon.

However the director Manuel Gomez Pereira kept the action whipping along with hardly time to remember who was related to who and the script by Yolanda Garcia Serrano and Pereira showed the deftness of plotting of classic screwball comedies allied to a great warmth and corazon. And of course there was the excellent cast, once again proving the greatness of Spanish screen actresses. I would love to have this on dvd - it's out in Spain but unsurprisingly without English subtitles.

To the Retro tonight for What's In Your Record Bag? I had been putting together a set in my mind which seemed great while in there, but it didn't seem to translate aurally! 5 minutes before Showtime I reversed the playing order and that seemed a bit better:

• DIANA KING - Shy Guy
• TLC - Girl Talk
• ME'SHELL NDEGE'OCELLO - If That's Your Boyfriend (He Wasn't Last Night)
• POINTER SISTERS - Dare Me
• PRINCE - Black Sweat

All tracks I had wanted to hear loud 'n' proud playing in the Retro and while Owen and Don bigged it up - and Rob was delighted to hear the Diana King track again - I'm still not sure. Owen did a very well-received 1973 set, Don played 5 Mariachi tracks to speed us on our journey to Mexico and Gerald did his usual eclectic mix (no Stephen or Dawn tonight). I will agree that the Morrissey track off the new album sounded good played loud. Still cannot warm to the album tho'.

Maybe I'll feel a bit more secure in my choices next time round...

Is it me? I read a report that Katie Holmes, unknown ingenue of the Silver Screen who is quick with child allegedly by Tom Cruise, "plans to adhere to strict Scientology rules and give birth without screaming, crying or making loud noises".

Stupid bitch.

Gee... do you think Scientology was possibly started by a man?

So there was I, Constant Reader, at 8:59am clicking away at the refresh button on the Ticketmaster Madonna pre-sale page - 9:01 I'm still getting a more info clicky rather than a buy tickets one. So out of Devilment I clicked the more info link and hey poncho there was the space to put the pre-sale code from Icon (M's fan club) - 2 front row seats in block B4 on the floor.

With a mind still whizzing with M's tour news this evening I went with Angela tonight to our old cinematic stomping ground of the Barbican to see the last proper Merchant Ivory production THE WHITE COUNTESS made just before producer Ismail Merchant's death.

Sadly this is no HOWARDS END or THE REMAINS OF THE DAY... in fact quite the reverse. Despite being written by Kazou Ishiguro it has the distinct whiff of a 1940s b-movie, probably starring Hedy Lamarr and John Payne. Picture if you can a beautiful Russian widow Sofia (Natasha Richardson) who lives in a 2 room flat in a Shanghai back street with her mother-in-law, sister-in-law,aunt and uncle (Lynn Redgrave, Madeleine Potter, Vanessa Redgrave, John Wood) who are totally reliant on the money brought in from her evenings spent working as a dancer/tart in a cheap dance-hall. Despite this her family look down on her morals and do all they can from preventing her 'tainting' her daughter Katya (Madeleine Daly, Potter's own daughter). Into their Chekhovian lives stumbles (literally) American Todd Jackson (Ralph Fiennes). A former diplomat, still mourning the death of his young daughter in the terrorist bombing that blinded him, whose meeting with the honey-voiced Sofia spurs him on to acting on his greatest wish... to, um, open a nightclub called THE WHITE COUNTESS. As you do. Their reticent, love-at-walking-stick's length mutual dependence is played out against a backdrop of ominous Japanese invasion.

Fiennes turns in another watery-eyed sadsack performance - all sighs and wan smiles. Richardson is luminous and always watchable but the whole film seems to be powered on some serious low-wattage. Vanessa and John Wood have a delightful scene where against the wishes of the rest of the family they pay a call on the French Consulate to visit someone they knew in Russia in The Good Old Days and end up being driven back to their back street flat in a large shiny car much to their delight. Otherwise it drifts by like one of the boats seen sailing to Hong Kong at the end. Largely at fault is Ivory's respectful, unispired direction and Ishiguro's erratic script. No more so than when Fiennes' character asks his screamingly shady Japanese friend (Hiroyuki Sanada) to fill his club with Chinese Communists, Japanese soldiers and politicians to create a heady political mix, then later in the film tells him his club is an escape from the growing political instability.

The phoney war is over. Across the world people are going to bed with itchy fingers and hearts a-flutter. 9am Tuesday the pre-sale goes live for Madonna's European dates!

The dates have been guessed at for the past few weeks with occasional dates being leaked on various sites and for a while I was panicking they would be announced when I was on holiday.. and suddenly... all the Madonna websites changed their look today to tie-in with the Big Announcement.
So... another restless night spent dreaming of good tickets in the Wembley Arena on either August 1 or 3.

There I was, Constant Reader, doing what I normally do on a Friday, e-mailing and following up eBay wins at the shop when I deceided to have my chicken and pickle sandwich.

My usual sandwich bought from the usual sandwich bar.

Four hours later I was troubled with crampy feelings in my stomach followed by nasty Tivoli Fountain-like bursts from both ends. As the outside lav at the shop is so squalid I didn't fancy kneeling to heave so stood bracing myself against the back wall so I also had to deal with pain in my back & sides from adopting said position.

Luckily I had Owen to watch over me and Martin to keep him company while I dozed twixt bursts until Andrew was free to drive me home. My eternal thanks to them.

All over a bleedin' sandwich.

Bonjour Lecteur Constant, c'est Lundi, c'est Paris!
 
Kendall asked me a few months back would I be interested in a day trip to the City of Light while he was here as he wanted to finally see where Jean Seberg was buried. Coming from Iowa, the same US state as Seberg and being a lifelong fan of the talented but tragic actress, he wanted to pay his respects. Always one for the Dramatic Gesture, I agreed!

The 9:09 (To Owen's surprise I woke up early) Eurostar on Monday whisked us away beyond the Channel and we arrived at Gard du Nord at 12:56 (Paris time). We set off from the station in search of the Rex Cinema which Kendall wished to visit, a towering 1930s picture palace which is still in use. After that it was only a small stroll to the delightful Passage Joufrey on Boulevard de Montmartre. Built in 1835 it is one of several remaining shopping arcades from the time when this was THE way to shop before the advent of the first ever department store Bon Marche. The Passage Jouffrey's big selling point was the fact it had underfloor heating!

Apart from all that it's where Cine-Doc the film memorabilia bookshop is! Kendall broke the purchasing duck first buying a few posters and, not wishing to let the British side down I bought a few nice postcards of Jean Seberg and Jean-Paul Belmondo in A BOUT DE SOUFFLE, a small French poster for ALL ABOUT MY MOTHER and a larger French poster for CARRINGTON. A cramped but delightful shop.

After walking down the Rue de Richelieu passing the Biblioteque Nationale and the Comedie Francais we found ourself in the grand sweep of the entrance to the Louvre. Even as the heaven's opened and the obligatory rain fell nothing could dampen the epic majesty of the former palace of Louis XIV and the glass pyramid. Turning to take a picture of the arch I saw the Eiffel Tower appearing through the clouds.

We walked over the Seine and deceided we would make a fist of walking as far as we could before possibly having to jump on a Metro. We set off down the Rue de Saintes Pere past an enormous medical unversity disgorging students - luckily not rioting - hung a right into Sevres which brought us out to the Boulevard Raspail - at the end of which was our point of destination, Montparnasse cemetery, We bought some flowers along the way from an enormous florist which was crammed with - you guessed - flaars.

We arrived at the cemetery at 4.30 just as the rain tailed off. O had asked me to say hello to Simone de Beauvoir and I remembered where her resting place was, just down from the gateway by the wall where she is buried with Jean-Paul Sartre. I left a flower there for him and then took Kendall the short distance to where Jean Seberg is buried. Montparnasse is still a working cemetary and there was a funeral in place a few down from Jean so we were circumspect while there.

Ah Jean. Discovered at 19 by Otto Preminger after a nationwide search, she won the title role in his film SAINT JOAN. Despite bad reviews he bullied her through the filming of BONJOUR TRISTESSE with David Niven and Deborah Kerr, another critical no-no. Considered a has-been at 20, she was re-born in France as Patricia, the American femme-fatale in Jean-Luc Godard's A BOUT DE SOUFFLE with Jean-Paul Belmondo. She continued to work mostly in Europe, occasionally finding roles in off-beat American films including her finest performance in the title role as the disturbed and disturbing LILITH with Warren Beatty. Despite a Golden Globe Best Actress nomination, the film's poor business again meant a return to Europe including two films for Claude Chabrol.

She was back in the US for two major films PAINT YOUR WAGON and AIRPORT but these had negligable impact on her career and she drifted into unworthy film roles. However there were darker agencies at work. Always a liberal, she espoused the rights of the Black Panthers in the late 1960s which brought her to the attention of the FBI and J. Edgar Hoover who launched a covert operation to 'neutralize' her. A story was placed in the LA Times and Newsweek that her unborn child was by a black lover and not her 2nd husband Romain Gary. The upset this caused her resulted in the child being stillborn and she even went so far as to open the coffin at the funeral to prove the child was white.

Her depression after this was compounded by attracting hangers-on and men who used her as well as addictions to alcohol and prescriptive drugs and several attempts at suicide. Eventually in 1979 at the ridiculously young age of 41 her partly decomposed body was found lying wrapped in a blanket on the back seat of her car 11 days after she was reported missing. An autopsy revealed massive doses of Barbiturate and alcohol and a ruling of suicide was given. However her death has never been fully explained and it remains a troubling ending to this troubled woman.

Knowing all this it is moving to stand at her grave thinking that in that quiet well-tended cemetery she is finally beyond the reach of the bullying men she was used by personally and professionally, from the Black Panthers who used her money and celebrity then accused her of being a racist after attempting to prove her dead daughter was white, from the government agencies of her own country who did so much to ruin her and finally from her own unnameable demons. My roses are by the name tablet, Kendall's is the single one.

Appropriately enough, like a bad Hollywood movie, as we left the cemetery the rain started again. We walked back the way we came finally stopping for a much needed pizza, salad, and red wine around 6pm. A slow meander back, taking in the Virgin Megastore - where Kendall set off the theft alarm! - and walked past our first port-of-call again, the Rex Cinema now brightly illuminated for what appeared to be a premiere. We made it back to Gard du Nord in good time then chuffed wearily back to Waterloo to arrive dead (to the world) on 10:30. A slightly sad but very enjoyable day.

Once back home, I opened the guide book and did some serious figuring out... we had walked 8.2 miles!! No wonder my blood sugar was remarkably low
*makes mental note about a walk around Paris' arrondissements being good for high blood sugar*

Another evening, another show... went with Kendall to see WHO'S AFRAID OF VIRGINIA WOOLF? tonight at the Apollo Theatre.

Edward Albee's coruscating marital drama is masterfully directed by Anthony Page - whose production of Tennessee Williams' THE NIGHT OF THE IGUANA is on next door to this theatre - and brings out nuanced, human-scale performances from his cast of four, Kathleen Turner and Bill Irwin as Martha and George, David Harbour and Mireille Enos as Nick and Honey. The shadows of Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton still linger 40 years after the Mike Nichols' film of the play but Turner and Irwin hold the stage, Irwin in particular playing George as a needling teasing sarcastic bantam. Turner comes into her own in the third act delivering Martha's soliliquy with a wistful regret, rising to the final game with George only to be left broken by his revelations. Thrilling, funny but ultimately sad, Edward Albee's play still proves itself one of the greatest of American dramas.

My mate Kendall - formally of Iowa now happily relocated to Miami - is here this week for his annual London visit to soak up as much culture as he can! This afternoon I meeched 90 minutes off work to see the matinee of Mark Ravenhill's new play THE CUT at the Donmar.

In an un-named country, Paul, a civil servant, is interviewing a man in hospital-style pyjamas. He is about to administer The Cut, a painful operation without drugs which appears to be used on possibly dissidents or members of the lower orders as a sort of lobotomy but he first must make sure all the correct paperwork is filled out as the new ruling party prefer things to be done by the book not like the old regime - which one presumes he was also a member of - who used a more stark procedure. He is taken aback when the man says he is more than willing to undergo The Cut as it's seen by his people as a rite-of-passage and also a way of happily disconnecting from the troubles of living in an unequal society. Paul confides that he is disenchanted with his work, having to keep what he does secret from his family and wanting nothing more than the peace that The Cut can itself deliver,even going so far as trying to pursuade the man to kill him. The man refuses and demands The Cut which Paul administers.

Later that night he and his wife Susan, while waiting for their late-running dinner, start to argue. She presses him on his refusal to be specific about what he does and he counters by demanding to know why she refuses ot sleep with him anymore. Paul flies into an angry tirade against her and their absent son away at college who has written to her saying that he is involved in a movement to stop the ruling power's use of The Cut. She tells her husband that she agrees with her son and wants to become active in it's banning. Dinner is served and eaten in silence.

The final scene takes place in an empty cell, now it's Paul's turn to be a prisoner. He is visited by his son who is now part of the new ruling party. The son has come with the news that his father will be kept locked up and will not lose his life as Paul appears to have wanted to happen. When he demands to be punished for his crimes the son tells him that the new government are beyond such cruelties, which Paul laughs at and tells him that they too will one day use methods like The Cut. After an awkward embrace Paul is left in his solitary confinement. Blackout.

On reflection, the play was a little too Pinteresque for it's own good: constant threat of violence throughout and teasing, eliptical dialogue. Despite an excellent second act, the play left me feeling that it didn't quite hang together. However I was involved throughout by the excellent production by Michael Grandage who never let the tense mood of the play slacken and the two excellent central performances. I am not an admirer of Ian McKellen but his driven performance was the best I think I've seen him give and in the second act he was matched all the way by the always wonderful Deborah Findlay who gave such an excellent performance last year as the all-seeing housekeeper Poncia in The National Theatre's THE HOUSE OF BERNARDA ALBA.

Last Friday the BBC showed the Sista show to last week's KINGS OF GLAM show with QUEENS OF DISCO. It won't change anyone's life but it was great fun nevertheless. It featured short profiles on Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, Grace Jones, Sylvester, Chaka Kahn and Madonna.

Gloria Gaynor has always left me a bit cold but it was great to see the vintage footage. In particular it was good to see Sylvester in all his colourful glory although there appeared to be less of him than anyone else. There were nice interviews with Martha Wash, Jeanie Tracy and Jocelyn Brown all of whom gave testimony to his love of shopping and great stage act. There was also a sad little interview with his mother, obviously still proud of his accomplishments.

HA!

It was announced this week that Kylie Minogue has roused herself from her sick bed to.... write a children's book.

And there was me beginning to soften my cynical stance towards the unoriginal Ozer. That'll learn me.

First off Constant Reader... what a shite week I have had. That twunt with the voodoo doll and the Acme box of pins has been having a field day at my expense. Strangely what seemed to kick it off was actually the highpoint of the week, namely seeing THE EXONERATED at Riverside Studios with Owen.
The play has been acclaimed in it's off-Broadway and Edinburgh stagings and I can see why. Ten actors seated in a line behind lecterns take turns telling the stories of six real-life cases of innocent people being condemned to death in the US and spending years on Death Row until they were exonerated of all charges and released. more or often than not, to a world that still viewed them with suspicion. The text was based soley on interviews with the parties concerned and court transcripts.

The focal point is the case of Sunny Jacobs, a single mother-of-two whose partner Jessie would sometimes get involved with shady deals which took him away from home. On a trip to Florida his deal went wrong which left him penniless. She drove with the kids to bring him home but the car broke down when she arrived. When the offer came from her parents to wire money, Sunny and Jessie asked an aquaintance of his, ex-con Walter Rhodes, to drive them to the house it was being sent to. On route they pulled into a rest stop followed by two policemen on a routine check. Sunny, in the car, heard gunshots and covered the children,. When she got out of the car she found the policemen dead and Rhodes, holding a gun, shouting at her and Jessie to get into the police car. Rhodes car-jacked an elderly man's car and drove on with the terrified Sunny, children, Jessie and old man. Soon they were stopped by a roadblock where Rhodes was hit by police gunfire. Sunny assumed the police would believe that they were hostages but found herself and Jessie arrested. Rhodes from his hospital bed plea-bargained a deal for a life-sentence while implicating Jesse and Sunny in the shooting. Amazingly on this evidence they were both found guilty and sentenced to death. Sunny and her parents put their faith in the judicial process so never tried to get a different attourney to the court-appointed one. 17 years later she was released after an Appeals court ruled that witness testimony was falsified. But it was too late for Jessie. He had been electrocuted two years before, suffering a horrific death as the chair malfunctioned and it took 13 minutes to kill him.

Sunny's words were movingly interpreted by Stockard Channing, making a welcome return to the London stage, really making Sunny's words hit home. Also the main reason for going was to finally see my Aidan Quinn on stage... 20 years after falling under his spell as 'Des' in DESPERATELY SEEKING SUSAN. He read the words of Kerry Max Cook who has the dubious honour of spending the longest time on Death Row without dying, 20 years incarcerated for the murder of a 21 year old girl - even when all DNA testing pointed to a middle-aged professor she was having an affair with. It was great to see him in his London stage debut. With a cast that also included Delroy Lindo and Matthew Marsh it was a haunting experience.

I so wanted to get Aidan Quinn to sign a portrait still of him from ...SUSAN but when I came out the walking dead autograph collectors were standing in a smelly huddle around the pass door and my heart sank. I slunk off into the night, dejected at not meeting an actor I've liked for 20 years. After that the week was a procession of burst water pipes flooding the kitchen, trains breaking down halfway home, not getting a chance to play my 5 tracks at the Retro, not being able to list on eBay as I couldn't upload listings from the Lister software on my computer... I couldn't even find anything in HMV that I particularly wanted when I went on a retail therapy appointment.

Come back soon Aidan.... *sigh*

Oh Gawd... I tried, I really tried.

I told myself that by doing it I would bring myself down to the level of the great unwashed. That strange amorphous lump of grey people, no doubt bedecked in their best Elizabeth Duke jewelry and pret-a-porter off-the-market-stall tracksuits who one need never worry about voting in a general election as they will be too busy voting in one of the many celebrity challenge shows.

You know the ones I mean.. take a newsreader, weather-forcaster, a smattering of tv presenters, soapy actors etc. and turn them into dancers, roller-skaters, abortionists etc. when paired with a professional in that field.

Well, Constant Reader, I tried... I really tried. But I am only a poor weak man. And I have had a very poor week. I have found myself watching JUST THE TWO OF US on BBC1.

I hasten to add I was only watching it as one of the professionals is Beverley Knight, my favourite r'n'b singer. Bev is a singer of rare passion and soul... but sadly has an agent that books her into more primetime tv than is strictly neccessary. And to make things worse she is paired with Nicky Campbell, someone who I usually would happily walk a mile in tight shoes to avoid.

Of course now I am finding myself not only watching.. but caring what happens to them.

In the process I have to also watch gurning Vernon Kaye and slack-boobed wife Tess Daly.

Beverley better give me some serious grooving when I see her at Shepherds Bush Empire in May - I have a reputation to repair.

Today being the Coates' birthday we joined her for a glug at the safety haven that is the Retro Bar. The added bonus was that tonight was "What's In Your Record Bag?" night wherein the dj booth is open to anyone who wants to play 5 of their own choons or play fewer up to 20 minutes. I had been tempted in the past to go along but it being ooor Dawn's b-day n all was a good opportunity. I hit upon my tracks quite easily last week but then came the putting them into a workable order, putting them on iPod playlist so I could listen to them on the train, working out the exact moment to bring in the next track as the last one fades.... O and enjoy the experience too!

My criteria was simple, tracks I wanted to hear loud on the Retro speakers!
My five were:

• ESTELLE - Dance Bitch
• MADONNA - Superpop
• KIRSTY MacCOLL - London Bridge Is Falling Down
• CHRIS CLARK - Everything's Right, Everything's Wrong
• KANYE WEST - Touch The Sky

Estelle is a British hip-hop singer with a great way with lyrics, the Madonna track was available only through the fan club to celebrate the release of the CONFESSIONS... album, Kirsty's calypso was recorded around the time of MY AFFAIR, Chris Clark's track is one of the many great unreleased tracks she recorded while at Motown and Kanye... well y'all know about him.

I had a whale of a time! I was shocked by my forgetting where all the buttons were on the decks from when I djed the Madonna Pop Quiz but apart from that the tracks all sounded great being played 'bigly' and I was happy with the response.

Then it was time to enjoy the debut of Owen the dj! The boy did good. So thank you to Dawn, Wendy, Rob, Tall Paul, Gerald and Stephen for a very enjoyable night

*scampers off to see what he can play next time*

Everyone else is having a go at the Brit Awards so I thought I'd add my pen'worth.

Thank God for the following:








and of course:

Apart from them... Amateur Night in Dixie.

The jaw-dropping display of musical media whoredom that is James Blunt, KT Tunstall and The Kaiser Chiefs. Have any of these oxygen-thieves EVER turned down a television opportunity? The first two are understandable I guess being light entertainment at best but the KC are truly frightening. Not forgetting the almighty strop they pitched at being beaten for the Mercury Prize by Antony And The Johnsons, their wallowing at the Brits was quite astonishing. Oh for just ONE band these days *not* to run to any award ceremony going (tho' The Arctic Monkeys won snaps for non-appearance). According to Popbitch, the KC's performance of "I Predict A Predictable Song" was the cue for the waiting staff in the platinum corporate section to come round with the stilton and oatcakes. How appropriate.

Also what a win-double... James Blunt and Jack Johnson on the same stage. I am loving the reports that everytime Blunt was mentioned when the nominations were read out the crowd booed! Cue that slappable sanctimonious tosser Chris Martin starting an onstage whinge about how we should support our English talent. THEN he did that big dramatic statement about "You won't see us for a while". Then said it again. And again. Would you believe on the basis of that statement EMI's share-rating dropped this morning? Says it all I guess.

Shall I push this a bit more? SURE! Didn't you love the way when they read out the nominations for Best Album it was all about how many units were shifted, how many platinum discs they had etc. etc. - well all except the Kate Bush one.

Added to which there were the humour-free zones that were the presenters... Harry Hill with the jaw-dropping comment "Good news: Madonna and Guy are here. Bad news: they're fighting". Charmed. Oh and the humour-bypass that was the bloke supposedly billed by The Brits as "Chris O'Dowd (from The IT Crowd)". As the Guardian blogger said, at an event like this it must be particularly embarrissing to have your name followed by parenthesis.

Apart from the three Americans shown above, as La Golden would say "A new high in lows".

On Thursday I had a great time with Owen (my own Northern Soul) at the Jazz Cafe seeing Motown diva KIM WESTON. She was one of several solo female singers - Brenda Holloway and Chris Clark also - who despite being signed to Motown during it's golden period in the 60s never quite managed to attain the status she deserved.

While charting Stateside with such 4-to-the-floor stompers as TAKE ME IN YOUR ARMS (ROCK ME A LITTLE WHILE) and HELPLESS as well as her classic duet with Marvin Gaye IT TAKES TWO, Kim never managed to consistently achieve chart success as well as being hampered by Motown never releasing a solo album in the 5 years she was there. She was also in the tricky situation of being married to one of the company's leading producer/songwriters and A&R man Mickey Stevenson. A shoe-in for success one would have thought, but it caused resentment in some quarters and eventually they both left the company in 1967.

Her rich powerful voice, so effective in the ballads she preferred singing, has weathered the test of time and she certainly put all she had into the performance... maybe a little too much as she seemed to be totally spent at the end of her set! She gave us the afore-mentioned chart hits as well as favourites like A THRILL A MOMENT, LOOKING FOR THE RIGHT GUY, DANCING IN THE STREET (which she complained had been taken from her and assigned to Martha & The Vandellas), blues standards PLEASE SEND ME SOMEONE TO LOVE and STORMY MONDAY and even a rocking gospel song which she sang while standing playing the keyboards. She would have sat on the stool like she did in rehearsal but then she "wasn't wearing this tight-ass dress" - she certainly has a way with the words!

Owen and I had deceided to sit this one out in the restaurant, seated facing the stage so we were rewarded with Kim coming along behind us to go down to the ground floor.... got a nice smile from her as I clapped her walking past first time and shook hands with her as she headed to the dressing room. She signed autographs after the show so got her to sign my 2 cds and a nice 10"x8" she had with her.

I would love to see her again... and hopefully word will get back to Brenda Holloway and Chris Clark that this is one room they should definately get booked into!

It had to happen...

after telling Suzanne when she was over here last that Broadway really should see a production of Lorca's THE HOUSE OF BERNARDA ALBA, low and behold...

BERNARDA ALBA - A MUSICAL at Lincoln Center!

Go figure!!

This evening I had a most enjoyable 45 minutes in the Olivier Theatre. Christopher Bigsby who edited the book REMEMBERING ARTHUR MILLER published last October was in conversation with Vanessa Redgrave and Patrick Stewart about the great American playwright.
Vanessa can sometimes be a little stumbling in these sorts of things but tonight she was in very good form. How lucky I am to have seen her, my favourite actress, on stage and in conversation so often.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEK! Have just watched M's latest video for upcoming single SORRY. Colour, whizzing, glittery boots, lads getting clothes pulled off 'em, some excellent krunk dancing.... I so want to see this live!!!

Last night O and I managed to catch the final performance of the National Theatre's acclaimed production of Ibsen's PILLARS OF THE COMMUNITY at the Lyttleton - and what an actory audience, with Adrian Scarborough, Iain Glen, Phil Davis and Lindsey Duncan spotted in the throng.

Andrew came through with staff tickets for this excellent production directed by Marianne Elliott with a new version of the text by Samuel Adamson. As with the production of THE WILD DUCK I saw last month, it hit a definate topical chord, namely the lengths a man will go to when his favoured standing in the community is threatened with the disclosure that it's all built on a lie.

Karsten Bernick is a leader of his remote harbour hometown in Norway mainly thanks to his family's shipbuilding company. The 'good' people of the town are a closeted bunch, disparaging to anyone who is seen to be different from them and anxious over the news that a railway line will soon be built past the town. The chance of undesirables arriving has not stopped Bernick, who once hated the idea, from now backing the scheme. Unknown to anyone he has bought up large areas of the land the line would pass through. His life is shaken however when his wife's half-brother and sister arrive unexpectedly in town from America. Both had left the town years before under suspicion: the brother Johan was accused of having an affair with an actress whose daughter has been raised by Karsten's sister as well as stealing a large sum of money from Karsten's business, the half-sister Lona disgraced herself by physically attacking Carsten after he proposed to her sister.

The truth of course is different. The money was never stolen, it had been squandered by Karsten's mother and it was easier to fuel the rumour that it was stolen by Johan, he had also been courting Lona and then proposed to her sister Bette when he realised she would inherit her father's wealth. When Johan and Lona threaten to expose him it appears Karsten will willingly send someone to their death rather than be exposed.

The damp squip performance of Damian Lewis as Karsten was easily eclipsed by the feisty performance of Lesley Manville as Lona. It was a delight to see her in this role, Elliot could have cast one of the usual faces one sees but casting Manville paid off in spades. She was matched by the performance of the always dependable Brid Brennan as Karsten's sister Marta, always ready to sacrifice her needs for others. It's always difficult to play selfless characters but Brennan pulled it off great aplomb.

There I was, Constant Reader, poking about the rather wonderful MADONNALICIOUS website when I noticed the downloads link. Why had I never noticed this before? I now have the 1990 Omnibus documentary (albeit in 4 segments) and her sensational appearance at the 1991 Academy Awards singing Sondheim's SOONER OR LATER from "Dick Tracy".

I hasten to add M has appeared twice at the Academy Awards singing nominated songs in the Best Song category, the afore-mentioned from "Dick Tracy" and YOU MUST LOVE ME from "Evita". Both won the award. So songwriters... you want an Oscar? Then get Madonna to sing your song in a film. It was also announced last night that she is going to be appearing with The Gorillaz at the upcoming Grammy Awards... can't Wait to see that!!


In other news today the once essential SMASH HITS magazine is to close after 28 years of publication. How's that for a telling comment on the music of today? When even SH can't maintain interest in the shiny pop people de jour? It came at a good time for me... just as I was beginning to tire of the NME's increasing ponciness - there was the bright and irreverant SMASH HITS. I must rifle through my shedloads/shitloads of old cuttings... I am bound to have some of Debbie, Siouxsie and Kate from this august journal.

Gordon Alexander Pritchard probably always wanted to be famous for something. And now he is, the 100th soldier to be killed in Iraq since the invasion.

It does rather pale in comparison to the 2,245 American dead but it is still a grim statistic which I still believe should never have been allowed to happen.