Fish Pie

Sock Monkey fully intends to make fish pie tonight. In addition to the million other things I have to do tonight. I have salmon but I don't have any cod. Or prawns.

I mentioned to P that I''m sure I can just scrape the breadcrumbs off a couple of fish fingers and stick them in but she considers this a not-very-nice solution.

However I just checked Fish Pie Etiquette with my colleague and she recons she wouldn't even scrape the breadcrumbs off. She'd just shove them in unpeeled for extra crunch.

I could go and buy some cod but I haven't even got round to buying my Christmas presents yet. And have you seen the price of fish these days??

Well. Alison Moyet playing the mouth organ is something I hadn't imagined I'd ever see

Sock Monkey wasn't dragged to the Royal Festival Hall on Sunday but Sock Monkey was fairly ambivalent about the whole thing.

P had booked tickets to see Alison Moyet performing the London leg of her 25 Years Tour. I'd seen Yazoo in 1983, seen her at the Glasgow Apollo in about 1989 and saw her playing Mama Morton in 'Chicago' years ago, I think she was in the play 'Smaller' when I saw that too so I wasn't really that bothered about seeing her again.

I'm glad I did because my God she was bloody amazing! She appeared on stage literally half the size she used to be (and looking very slinky in a long black dress) but with all of the voice remaining. Her voice hasn't changed a bit, its still wonderfully deep and husky and bluesy.

Chatting in between songs she was also a very funny lady, preceeding every anecdote with 'Thankyouverymuch' and sounding a bit like a cross between Tommy Cooper and a Fish Wife then laughing at her own speaking voice.

She sang a huge selection of her back catalogue, including all of Yazoo's best-known material, her biggest solo hits and 'Windmills of Your Mind' which is one of her favourite songs. Some of the older songs were rearranged to accommodate the difference between synthesizer accompaniment and the more traditional guitar/bass guitar/drums/piano/backing singer band and they worked really well. And she wasn't afraid to highlight parts of her performance which she felt weren't up to scratch:

• "Stop. Hold it. I lost it there. Start again"
• "I was singing in a different key to the music there"
• "I can never remember the lyrics to the second verse and Annie has to mouth them to me."
• "I missed a verse out there. You paid your money, you need to get your money's worth" - then she sang the missing verse acapella.

A particular favourite moment for the audience was when Alison performed 'Weak in the Presence of Beauty'. She introduced this song with the following comments:

"I'm not going to sing 'Invisible'. I'm not being coy then say, oh ok I will sing it. It ain't gonna happen. And if I don't sing that one I can't not sing this one. I can't not sing both of them."

It was interesting to hear her basically say that she does not like two of her most successful numbers.

She then went on to tell us that the original recording featured a trumpet solo but the performer on the record wasn't here (the way she said this was if to say 'yeah, as if he would be here') and that they improvise. Either Annie (her wonderful backing singer) or her pianist play the part of the trumpet. Alison said she had been told not to do it but being told not to made her want to do it more. So in the middle of her performance of 'Weak in the Presence of Beauty' Alison Moyet, very well respected, hugely successful singer stood in the middle of the stage and made trumpet sounds in time to the music. It was a highly entertaining moment which the audience really enjoyed rewarding her with huge applause.

She interacted with the audience in a really nice way too. To the comment of "Very well done Alison" she laughed and said, "Wait till next time".
When someone asked her how she was feeling she said "I'm really enjoying myself." And she looked like she was enjoying herself too.

And the following conversation:
Person in audience: "Mwaf woof bloop"
Alison Moyet: "Pardon?"
Person in audience: "Mwaf woof bloop"
Alison Moyet: "Pardon??"
Person in audience: "Mwaf woof bloop"
Alison Moyet: "Oh I can't understand what you're saying....But I'm assuming its positive so thank you very much!"

During one of her anecdotes she told us about how her father used to come home with lots of mouth organs and that this is the only instrument she can play. She then went on to play the harmonica accompaniment to the next song. And yes she actually can play.

At the start of her encore she said, "So you can plan your getaway: you are getting two songs. So don't waste the skin on your palms. The first one is a bit Boo Hoo then a happier one." She introduced 'Je ne quitte pas' by telling us that her mother phoned her after a previous date on this tour to inform her that she had mispronounced two words in the song. This, Alison said, had made her feel so nervous for the next gig that she mispronounced another seven words trying to concentrate too hard. And that anyway, 'How many people speak French in Grimsby?"

Two hours after she walked on stage, she left to a well deserved standing ovation from some very, very happy punters.

One of the best performances I have seen this year.

If you want to go anywhere in a hurry London Underground can be relied on to FUCK it up for you

Bastards.

Southern-shitty-bastards-Trains were late this morning as bloody usual. To add insult to injury I had to sit across from Ugly Man. He looks like one of The Proclaimers' less attractive brothers who has the added extra of having a gob which hangs open in a particularly gormless manner.

I averted my eyes and looked out of the window at the dinosaurs, like I do every morning. I like to look at them every morning as I sit with my newspaper and my flask of tea. One of them has a fiberglass head. A bomb blew its concrete head off during the Second World War.

So then two ugly people got on the train at the next stop and proceeded to slobber over each other for the rest of the journey. I hope they don't breed as the results would be horrendous.

Then the bloody overpriced-ram packed-shite-tube was buggered as usual and I got into work 20 minutes late. The arseholes.

I was looking forward to going to an organised walk around Crystal Palace tonight. Its the anniversary of when the Crystal Palace burned down and we had to convene at the Parade with a torch before our wander around the park. Here we would be told all about that night and hopefully also about the ghost who inhabits the train tunnel. She was one of the people killed in the train crash. She was on the little toy train which shuttled people from the station to the Crystal Palace. Story goes that they didn't bother getting the bodies out - they just filled up each end of the tunnel and left them entombed there.

Because it has been raining non-stop for about 3 days I wore my wellies to work. I wasn't the only one I can assure you. Linda wore hers and spent the day in little pumps, Lisa wore hers and spent the day wearing what I appeared to be Christmas socks and I wore the old birkenstocks that I wear around the house. My wellies are pretty special though. I think they look like SuperHero boots, P thinks they look like Spaceman boots and Ruth at work said they looked like I would be able to walk through radioactive matter in them. See:

So in order to get to this evening all about one of my Special Interests I left work BANG on time (even though I arrived late) and what do you know the Jubilee Line was fucked. It took 30 minutes to get onto the platform. They (London Underground) can't manage to design a station which is only about 10 years and specifically has to deal with thousands of people every day. Idiots. Its more congested than the crumbling old stations which are a hundred years old and only had 3 passengers a year. So I missed my train. Which meant I wouldn't have time to go home, drop my bag off (which contained my swizzy new digital SLR which arrived at work today and I wasn't going to take to the park with me), put on my thermal socks and grab my torch. In fact I wouldn't have even had time to have gone straight there. The later train I did manage to get had two more ugly people slobbering all over each other and I was also subjected to a conversation of complete drivel carried out two dweebs.

AND getting out of Crystal Palace Train Station in the evening is a nightmare. The train empties its bowels onto the platform and everyone has to walk UP 40 stairs, ALONG a walkway, DOWN 40 stairs, ALONG another walkway and UP 70 stairs (or something like that). Then there are only 2 turnstiles for a hundred people to exit from. The sooner they knock the station down the better Grade-2-Listed-or-not. The toy train station at Chigley is bigger. You know the one that goes from The Hall to the Biscuit Factory. I always found it really quite odd that the Biscuit Factory workers have a barn dance after work each night and was very disappointed when I found real life isn't like that. Although you do get a Christmas Party once a year.

So I am not going out tonight. I am gong to eat steak, drink beer and watch the tv. And if that bastard upstairs doesn't turn his tv down I am going to go up there and turn the volume down for him with the aid of my 2lb mallet I bought for the express purpose of smashing down the hideous fitted wardrobes which used to be in my bedroom.

HAA-rrrrrruph!

Birthdays Come But Once a Year

And Sock Monkey's birthday was yesterday!

In honour of the momentous occasion Sock Monkey and P took the day off work (so it wouldn't be ruined) and went out for the afternoon.

After the present presentation we went into town and had Tapas for lunch (where I managed to throw my glass of not-even-sipped-at beer all over the floor in an incident involving bread - don't ask) then we visited Sacred Made Real at the National Gallery. This is is an exhibition of Spanish painting and Sculpture from 1600-1700. Sock Monkey is very fond of religious art. And the creepier the better, that's what I say.

My favourites were the statues rather then the paintings although I did like this (points right) mainly because she reminded me of the lady at the start of a Columbia Pictures film.

I was interested to discover that the statues are actually several planks of wood which are joined together rather than one piece of solid wood. The head and hands tend to be solid and the rest is hollowed-out to make them easier to carry when they are being paraded through the town during religious festivals. The correct term for them is 'Polychrome Sculpture'. And another intriguing fact is that whilst the scultpor carved them he was absolutely forbidden to colour them in and so a painter was then brought in to finish them off so to speak. This was called 'Encarnation' which literally means 'bringing to life'.

Here are more of my favourites:

Ecce Homo by Gregorio Fernandez before 1621

(this is about as tall as me)

Dead Christ also by Gregorio Fernandez about 1625-30

(world famous and on some of those lists of Things You Must See)

Christ as the Man of Sorrows by Pedro de Mena 1673

After this we had a little bimble around the National which, I discovered, is stuffed with Religious Icon Art. This Pleased Sock Monkey as I love Icons (I have two at home) and I've only ever seen dismal old Dutch Masters in the National. A return trip is planned.

After our Religious experience we went for a steam, sauna and swim. We were therefore cleansed inside and out. Not for long though because as soon as we left the gym we had a cigarette and decided to avoid rush hour by having ONE drink then going home.

P decided that we should go to a very ornately decorated cocktail bar in Piccadilly Circus (as we happened to be walking past). Here she presented me with champagne cocktail to celebrate me being even older than I was the day before.

After we finished our champagne we decided that it was still a bit busy outside so would stay out longer but go elsewhere. So we trundelled along to Freedom Bar for more cocktails. This is where we started off that night we ended up singing karaoke in the O Bar...

So about 16 gallons of margarita later (P stuck to various champagne cocktails) we moved on to G-A-Y Bar. God knows why - we are about 25 years older than everyone else. Aren't young people ('yooths') skinny?

At approximately 10pm P announced that she absolutely had to have something to eat so we went to Balans. Sock Monkey ordered an all day breakfast but had a lot of difficulty eating it because it was making me feel a bit ikky (it wasn't the tequila or the Smirnoff Ice you understand) and so after nibbling at a bit of bacon and sampling the sausage I basically turned it into just beans on toast. I did however become most fascinated by a mushroom which looked like a piece of steak. As I was dissecting it I managed to propel my toast across the room. So that was two bread incidents in one day.

We then sat outside to enjoy the charm of Old Compton Street where we got talking to a young boy at the next table who P insisted was a Rent Boy.

Then we got a taxi home. Arrived back at Sock Monkey Mansions at midnight. When I got up this morning I didn't look like I had had a steam/sauna/swim. I appeared to have rabbit's eyes.

Tonight I'd quite like to go to bed early but I'm meeting a load of friends for dinner. Told P I was going to have a starter, a sip of water and be in bed by 8. She said "lol ok that's what you think."

A most satisfactory birthday indeed!

I Have Turned into my Mother!

So my Mum knew everyone who worked in every shop within a 2 thousand mile radius of our house.

Sock Monkey has lived in Crystal Palace for 3 years, really likes it and is friendly to all the local shopkeepers. It may have gone a bit far now though.

In the 5 minute walk from the train station to my flat I interacted with the following people:

1. The girl who works in Tesco. I said hello to her in the street. She said "Hi!" back. She was on her way to work

2. The lady in the corner shop (she is married to one of the men who works there - they live upstairs). I asked her how her 5 year old son is. He was in bed because he is only little

3. I waved to the man who owns the chip shop. As usual he waved back and shouted, "Allo darlin' ow ar you?" (him and his son who also works there are Turkish hence the accent)

4. Finally I said hello to the man who owns the new Indian shop (v. good by the way - lovely Halal meat and every spice and rice you could imagine) at the corner of my road. I spoke to him on Friday night (they only opened on Monday) and asked him how business was. I can't remember what his name is but it begins with an 'S'

I am sure this is a good thing but am also a bit concerned that I have turned into the local looney!

I'm Rubbish

• Sock Monkey hasn't told you about the holiday in Dublin.
• Sock Monkey hasn't told you about the trip to Paris.
• Sock Monkey hasn't even got round to writing the report of when my sister came over from America and that was in April! (but then I only just sucked the photographs out of my camera the day before yesterday and naturally I have to illustrate my report with pictures).

Sock Monkey can however tell you about a recent night out.

So we all meet up and plan to have one drink then go for dinner. We have two drinks and decide to go for dinner but got waylaid into a cocktail bar instead. It was packed upstairs so P suggested that we sit downstairs even though we had seats upstairs. This was her sneaky way of getting us into the room where they do the karaoke.

P likes singing so off she went whilst we sat and watched. Well of course we had to look at the song menu and pick stupid songs for her to sing. Then I saw something entirely suitable for a Sock Monkey to perform!

I wrote down my song title and track number and gave it to the lady. This is where my evident psychosis and split personality obviously took a turn for the worst. The name I wrote on the slip of paper I gave the lady was 'Sock Monkey', not my real name. Sock Monkey never comes out! Sock Monkey only ever writes reports on here. Its a bit like Jekyll and Hyde - we are two completely separate personas.

Anyway, the lady said, "Now Sock Monkey is going to sing".

Sock Monkey jumped up to the microphone and started the song. Please bear in mind that Sock Monkey couldn't carry a note in a bucket and shouts, as opposed to 'sings'. I dragged P up for moral support and made her stand there like my Able Assistant. Like a magicians assistant (although I had no intention of sawing her in half).

Then I launched into my song which, frankly, I don't think people appreciated anything like as much as they ought to have done.

Its quite a difficult song and the lady said that only one other person had ever chosen it. It was really the last verse which was the killer, I was running out of breath and there was the slight possibility of passing out or throwing up afterwards as its a bit like running very, very fast. But Sock Monkey managed all of the lyrics which went as follows:

"Now if you want to take some pictures of the fascinating witches who put the scintillating stitches in the britches of the boys who put the powder on the noses on the faces of the ladies of the harem of the court of King Caractacus...

...you're too late! Because they've just... passed... by!"

I can confirm that "The Court of King Caractacus" is a bloody difficult song to sing. But 1 gin & tonic, a margarita and a bucket of sea breeze helps.

We did have dinner in the end. We got to the restaurant at 11pm.

Phew that was a bit scary for a minute

Sock Monkey had a nasty fright at lunchtime.

Sock Monkey was perusing the BBC News website and spotted the following headline:
"Boyle is 'moving closer' to Porno".

Ohmygod!ohmygod!ohmygod! Susan Boyle of 'Britain's Got Talent' fame is going to be in a porn film?????

*Runs screaming plucking at eyes*

Then I clicked on the headline and read the first sentence only to discover the story was about the film director Danny Boyle who is thinking about making a film of the Irvine Welsh novel 'Porno' as a follow on to his film of Welsh's novel 'Trainspotting'.

Thank goodness for that! The alternative was unthinkable and would have scared more than the horses.