New Boots (but not panties)

Look!

Look what Sock Monkey has found!

A betting shop has come up with an ingenious way to get themselves extry publicity by marking the start of the Cheltenham Festival by commissioning what they charmingly call "Horse Hoof Boots".

Retailing at £1,300 - yes that's THIRTEEN HUNDRED QUID - they are a limited edition (well I never) with proceeds going to charity. They also have models clip-clopping around the racecourse grounds wearing said footwear.

They are made out of real horse hair but have pretend hoof. Personally Sock Monkey thinks it would have been far less faff to just saw off the horses legs, scoop out the juice and stick a pair of high heels on them.

I'd wear them. I'd love to get a pair! I used to have a pair of spotted pony skin shoes. Oh I loved those shoes! If I had a pair of Horse Hoof Boots I'd trip-trip-trip around like a Billygoats Gruff or pretend to be Mr Tumnus when I'm at the shops. Unfortunately I cannot have a pair because:

a) Sock Monkey can't walk in high heels. I look like a drag queen. Not a proper drag queen you understand because they can walk in heels. I mean drag a la Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in Some Like it Hot.

b) Sock Monkey has been given strict instructions not to buy a pair. Sternly written. In capital letters.

c) Thirteen hundred quid. Come off it. If I had thirteen hundred quid to chuck away on a pair of boots I'd be going to India on me 'olidays like what I wanted to do

Dirty Chicken

Oh for crying out loud.

Sock Monkey has spotted a new Dirty Chicken shop in my high street. Why on earth would any area need three and a half Dirty Chicken emporiums in a street which is only about 150 metres long??? (NB its three and a half Dirty Chicken shops because one is really a kebab shop but it also deals dirty chicken).

For non-British people (ie The Americans who read this) Dirty Chicken is matter which you would only ever consider eating if you are very, very drunk. It consists of chicken which you just know looked like this one (points right), grease, fried fat and probably some 'special seasoning'. And of course french fries. You can usually get spare ribs too. And apple pie which looks, frankly, dangerous. Drunk people should be prohibited from purchasing something with contents similar to that of a Pop Tart and just as scalding. Burns units up and down the country would no doubt agree with me.

Because drunk people are also stupid people, these places are usually called 'Texas Fried Chicken' or 'Tennessee Fried Chicken' or 'Maryland Fried Chicken' or named after A.N.Other State in America because its almost the same as Kentucky. I would prefer to see them named after their local area. Like 'Penge Fried Chicken' or 'Camden Cock' or something.


And they are always staffed by poor buggers who can't get a job anywhere else and generally can't really speak English very well and have to suffer night after night of drunken abuse from idiots.











However, The 'good' thing about Dirty Chicken is that it has a dual purpose.

Usage number 1: to soak up all the booze you have consumed
Usage number 2: it makes an excellent breakfast! The only thing you want to eat the day after the night before is greasy, calorific crap. And that's the perfect description of Dirty Chicken. Cold chips and deep fried chicken skin. Mmmmmmmm

Unfortunately there is a downside. There is no gain without pain.

Firstly there is the calorific horror which is beer. Combine this with the hideous calorie count of a Jubilee Meal Number 2 or a Chicken & Ribs Special Combo or whatever = big, fat belly. Think a Muffin Top but made out of salmonella-laden fowl.

Just a Friendly Little Cat (as the song goes)

Sock Monkey was actually stunned into slack jawed horror on Friday evening.

I was on my way home, sitting on the train minding my own business, looking forward to an evening of sitting on my behind and doing sod all after a week of doing pretty much the same thing during the day.

Sitting opposite me were two guys who I shall refer to as 'The World's Most Boring Couple'. They started talking about bread. Yes, Bread. Thankfully they had normal accents and not a Ken Livingstone-type of accent. That would have made me burst out laughing. Non-London people, Ken Livingstone, the ex-mayor of London sounds like Henry's Cat.

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 1
"I had a lovely sandwich. It was chicken and pesto."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 2
"Ooh that sounds nice."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 1
"It was. And the bread was very moist. It kept the bread moist. Sometimes bread is dry but this was moist."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No. 2
"Bread isn't dry. You don't get dry bread."

Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No 1 appeared to demur at this point but didn't reply. Then Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses No 2 started reading bits of crap out from the London Evening Standard. Have I ever mentioned that I would not use this rag as a toilet paper substitute due to its right-wing Daily Mail-esque slant? In fact I'd rather crap in my hands.

Anyway, so I've already learned about bread and the fact that it may or may not be dry, and now I'm learning crap from the Evening Standard. Just when I thought please someone rip off my ears the female person (female person as opposed to 'lady' because she certainly was not a lady. Actually 'slut' is probably a more accurate description), so 'The Slut' sitting behind me answered her mobile phone and this is the delightful conversation the entire carriage was subjected to: (actually it was only half a conversation because we couldn't hear the person at the other end of the phone. Thank God.)

Why are you phonin' me on my phone?
Why you phonin' me? Get off my phone.
Get your fax right. Get your fax right when you speak to me. Get off my phone.
I done sell m'pussy. I done sell m'pussy get your fax right.

- at this point Boring Gay Man Wearing Glasses no. 2 and I look up and catch each other's eyes. And we both are sporting a look of abject horror. The conversation continues, but even louder than before:

I done! sell m'pussy. An you had that abortion for Chad right.
I done need to sell m'pussy 'cause everyone wans it anyway.


We had 3 stations-worth of a conversation which was definitely not about a cat; all the way from Streatham Hill to Crystal Palace, where I got off the train. As I was leaving the carriage I could still hear her muttering to herself, "m'pussy, m'pussy" whilst huffing in indignation.

I would have much rather listened to more facts about bread whilst someone else was on the phone shouting, "Yes. Yes dear. I'm on the train. ON THE TRAIN! I'll be home in 10 minutes."

If the conversation had been about a cat, though, I think it would have looked like this।

And as I mentioned in the title here is a song about a Friendly Little Cat

A Year of Performances: The 2010 Theatre Round Up

I thought I'd do a little round up of the things Sock Monkey went to see in 2010. Hold onto your hats, make a cup of tea and a grab a biscuit as this if going to be one long old post. So here we go in no particular order:

Darker Shores at the Hampstead Theatre. This play was a sort of Victorian Ghost story. It wasn't bad but it wasn't the best thing I have ever seen. However on the plus side, I'd never been to this theatre before and I thought it was a really lovely little place.


Miss Hope Springs - Recovering Showgirl at the Drill Hall. Fab, Fab, Fab. Ty Jeffries' creation, Miss Hope, is in the best washed-out, has-been cabaret singer style. Lionel Jeffries' son, he has some amazing stories from his childhood when his dad would bring his showbiz buddies home. And Ty has a fantastic voice.

A totally different style of cabaret was from Taylor Mac at one of my favey places, the Soho Theatre. I bloomin' love the Soho Theatre. Taylor Mac is a teeny weeny bit difficult to describe but look at the photo of him and trust me when I say he was A-ma-zing.

Also at the Soho Theatre was A Life in Three Acts. In this show Mark Ravenhill 'interviews' the legendary actor/actress Bette Bourne. I put the word interviews in inverted commas because although Mark did indeed interview Bette, the show was a re-enactment of the original interview which had been rewritten and polished up. Bette has had a fascinating life. Like Forest Gump finding himself present at every landmark event in 20th century history, Bette has been involved in every landmark event in the 20th century history of the gay movement.

Soho Theatre again saw me attending Re-Orientations which I can categorically say is one of the best plays I have ever seen in my life. In fact I enjoyed it so much I saw it again two days later. Theatre group, Border Crossings, present this multi-media performance which uses video, music and dialogue in several languages. It tells the stories of several people who find themselves in Shanghai: two actors on tour who are questioning the state of their marriage, a father looking for his missing daughter who is eventually joined by his ex-wife who runs a charity in the area, a young rent boy, a fisherman. All these stories take place in the aftermath of the Boxing Day Tsunami of 2004. Visually stunning and hugely creative I immediately thought of Robert Lepage who, if you have read any of my other posts, you will know if my favourite theatre director in the world. Then I read the programme and found that one of the actors has collaborated with Robert Lepage on a lot of shows.

I also went to see this thing called Align at the Bridewell Theatre. Oh. My. God. It. Was. Long. It was a lecture about Leylines in London which I thought would be right up my alley. In actual fact I was bored out of my skull and can't actually remember much about it as my brain appeared to switch off after about 20 minutes.

P also got tickets for Blood Brothers which I disliked beyond words. Thank God we got the tickets through The Audience Club so they were only 2 quid.

Something else I saw twice was Ghost Stories. First at the Lyric, Hammersmith where it opened then again at The Duchess when it transferred to the West End. I didn't see it twice because it was a spectacular performance. I actually went twice because P was too scared to see it the first time because she believed all the publicity about it being the scariest play ever. I can't understand the people in the trailer who are screaming their heads off. I didn't jump even once. Its a good play and its clever but its hardly the scariest thing in the world ever, ever, ever, ever. The house I grew up in was a lot scarier than this play. Mind you the house I grew up in is haunted and that deserves a whole post all to itself.

Talking of haunted, David and I went to a 'seance' at the
Last Tuesday Society. We met at the Blind Beggar for extry creepiness (American readers please note that the Krays and their henchmen murdered someone in this notorious East End Boozer). After a couple of drinks we wandered up there. The Last Tuesday Society is creepy enough during the day but in darkness its even worse. The LTS hold some of their events at Viktor Wynd's Little Shop of Horrors. In this shop (which reeks of formaldehyde and that P described visiting as the most disturbing experience of her life ) you can buy pickled two headed babies, shrunken heads, stuffed birds and animals and all manner of things in a similar vein. Actually I was really disappointed when David pointed out that the two headed baby wasn't real. Harrumph. After hanging around in the shop waiting for the previous sitting to finish (Derren Brown was there) we were shown into a pitch dark room, told to say our names out loud and to hold hands then the guy running the thing told us that we were trying to get in touch with a woman called Marie. It wasn't a real seance! It was a sort of performance thing. I had TWO disappointments in the same evening. First the fake two headed baby then a fake seance! Pfff. If you want to see real two headed babies or pickled Siamese twins you need to go to the Royal College of Surgeons' museum. They have the real McCoy there.

We went to a gig at the Jazz Cafe called The Next Big Thing. Its held every year (I think its sponsored by NME or the BBC or something) and they showcase the latest up and coming recording artists. I wanted to go because I wanted to see Cate Le Bon who I saw at Latitude Festival a couple of years ago. She was OK but the find of the evening was Lissie. When she performed this I knew I had to get hold of a copy of her EP the next day (she hadn't released an album yet). She is fantastic! And in the last year has toured the UK extensively, been on the radio loads and has even been on Jools Holland's Later.

I also saw Noisettes at the Roundhouse and Grace Jones at the Royal Abert Hall. Noisettes were great and Grace Jones wasn't half as mental as when David and I saw her the previous year. I doubt they stand for any nonsense at the RAH.

We also saw Elegies for Angels, Punks and Raging Queens at the Shaw Theatre. It was a show about various characters who had died of AIDS and they were telling their individual stories. I didn't really like it very much. It was a good idea but it really felt like something which had been written 20 years ago when people were a lot less informed. There had been a couple of stories added to bring bring it up to date (like the escort who became infected by people he met on the internet) but I thought that the play hadn't aged well.

Much more fun was seeing Hairspray at the LLGFF. I haven't seen anything at the film festival for a couple of years but when I saw that not only were they screening this, the original and best John Waters version they were also having Actionettes! perform before the screening (they shook their Tail Feathers) tickets were purr-chased. Well you couldn't not go! I've never seen Hairspray at the cinema. The LLGFF has such a good atmosphere and the when Divine appeared on screen for the first time the whole audience cheered and whistled. And we all sang along with the songs.

We were actually supposed to go to Actionettes! Decade a Go-Go at the 100 Club but P was ill, I couldn't think of anyone else who I wanted to go with and I was on the verge of going on my own but in the end I couldn't be arsed schlepping to the West End on a Saturday night.

We also didn't bother going to Big Brother's Eviction Night because:
a) Boreham Wood is miles away and b) there was no eviction that week.

Also non-attendance occurred at the Natalie Merchant concert. We have now decided that there is no point whatsoever in buying tickets for anything that is on on a Saturday night because we end up saying. "can you be bothered going out tonight?" and staying in.

VERY annoyingly there was something I wanted to go to but couldn't go to. Marc Almond was at the (horrible) Shepherd's Bush Empire in December but it snowed. Non-London people, when it snows here the entire place comes to a pathetic, grinding halt for days. However on a happier note this means that I get two free days off work every year.

Didn't go to Friday Night Freakshow at Udderbelly but there was a good reason for that. I was made redundant the previous day and my friends from work took me to the pub and funneled beer and wine down my throat so the very idea of going out the next night really did not appeal to me as much as going straight home and lying on the sofa.

Yes, Udderbelly is a theatre inside giant, purple upside down cow. What else would it be?

However we did see Tina C at Udderbelly which of course was an evening of wonderful songs, "I Validate You" and ended with the audience line dancing.




The Docklands Museum shows films every month and in honour of it being a full moon they screened An American Warewolf in London. They had appropriately named drinks, hotdogs, popcorn and 1970's childrens' sweets. Before the film started you could wander around the museum where they had some of the curators telling you all about various exhibits.

I also saw a very good Japanese film called Still Walking. Synopsis: 'Still Walking is a family drama about grown children visiting their elderly parents, which unfolds over one summer day. The aging parents have lived in the family home for decades. Their son and daughter return for a rare family reunion, bringing their own families with them. They have gathered to commemorate the tragic death of the eldest son, who drowned in an accident fifteen years ago. Although the roomy house is as comforting and unchanging as the mother's homemade feast, everyone in the family has subtly changed'. And I saw Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll which was wasn't that good.

We also went to see some ballet. Les Ballets De Trockadero de Monte Carlo at the Peacock Theatre were, as they always are, most amusing. And of course they performed the Dying Swan.


Over at the Barbican I saw Ursula Martinez in her new show, "My Stories Your Emails" in which she tells stories about herself and also reads out some quite bizarre emails people have sent her over the years. And at the end she treats us to a performance of her infamous act 'Hanky Panky'

Duchess Theatre brought us The Secret of Sherlock Holmes which just wasn't good enough. Thats another one I'm glad only cost us 2 quid. Also I'm only 5 foot 4 and there was nowhere near enough legroom even for me.

Cirque de Soleil performed Varekai at the Royal Albert Hall. That was good even if it was pretty spendy.

For non-London people you may not know that there is a tradition of old boozers having theatres in them so with that in mind and killing two birds with one stone we saw the following plays in a pub:

The Roses of Whitechapel was on at the Lion and Unicorn in Kentish Town. This was about Jack the Ripper's Victims told through their words. That was another 2 quid ticket and it was quite good. The play was more about the women and their lives rather than a whodunnit? and all of the actresses were extremely good. I did like the last bit where each of the actresses stepped forward individually and said the name of the victim they played eg, "My name is Polly Nichols" etc. When they had all finished they turned to the actor playing Jack the Ripper and said, "Who are you?" That pub is a bit of a dump though with flea-bitten dogs lying all over the chairs.

Showing at The New Red Lion on City Road was a play which is in my top 2 favourites of 2010. This is a genius play. So intelligently written and wonderfully performed. It is the story of Scaramouche Jones, a 99 year old clown who, following his last ever performance on New Year's Eve 1999 (which is also the eve of his 100th birthday) tells the incredible story of his life which includes being orphaned, kidnapped, taken all over the Middle East, being sold to a snake charmer, imprisoned in a concentration camp and finally ending up working as a clown at the circus. This was also a one man show with the actor onstage for about 2 hours reciting a monologue whilst imitating every character's voice and mannerisms.

And finally...we spent a lovely day at Wimbledon. I was allocated tickets for Court No. 2 on the first Thursday of the championships. P had never been before so she was v excited. We saw Tsonga, and Serana Williams play, watched Murray on the Big Screen whilst having a picnic and sipping champagne. Then we had a Pimms-fest. We met Richard Williams, applauded Mahut & Isner as they crawled off court, saw John McEnroe, Andrew Castle, Clare Balding, Virginia Wade, Heather Watson and Laura Robson signed my programme. And the Queen was there.

Its only 14 February and so far I have been to see 2 films, 3 theatre shows, 2 drag shows, one exhibition and tonight I'm off to another drag show. Life is a cabaret.