Album of the Day: Moby - Play
Bailed after three tracks. Bland as fuck
⭐
I had a ticket for the Mary Chain and Primal Scream gig at Crystal Palace for later in the evening. I say ticket, it was a digital version, natch.
No worries. It’s the way of the world.
But blimey. Friday was full of endless faffs with emails and text being bombarded my way by stupid Ticketmaster leading up to the gig.
I was reminded how to access the site. Erm, yeah. It’s CP Bowl, innit. I was told what I can and can’t take in. No fireworks? You’re CHUFFING joking.
And then an email telling me to update the Ticketmaster app, just in case.
A piece of paper would have been the simpler option.
I tried to chase tickets elsewhere. The Heritage Open Weekend is coming up again back in Sunny Colch. The Willy Wonka Golden Ticket is for a trip up Jumbo.
It was already fully booked by the time I managed to get through on the phone line. I have entered a random Facebook competition to try and pick up a couple of tickets.
Sirens were to be heard early morning along South Lambeth Road. It’s the sound of S Ldn, innit.
I headed outside for a run around the Common. The sirens chased me - all the way as far as Clap’ham South, where they then continued. Something was kicking off Balham way.
A mother with a primary school aged son passed me running twice. That was an encouraging site to see. I didn’t envy the Friday morning bootcamp crowd being SHOUTED at.
Claph’ham North had the sight of a wedding Routemaster en route to the ceremony. It looked splendid, buffered up and decked with a white ribbon.
I actually had a conversation with a fellow SW9 staff member towards the end of term about Routemasters. I’d age him as between 25 to 28. He hadn’t heard of or seen Routemasters.
The run continued. Having clocked half a dozen new shop fronts along Clap’ham High Street yesterday, I can report that the Socialist Party of GB is still standing.
Epoch defining, etc.
It fascinates me how this manages to remain in a highly gentrified district. I suspect the Comrades have the freehold. Private property is the final and most complete expression of the system of producing and appropriating product, etc.
Handsome building, all the same.
I made it back down to Sunny Stockwell. Brenda was on her stall outside the tube station; Brenda has always been on her stall outside the tube station ever since we first moved in here back in 2000.
The Flute Man of SW8 has been AWOL of late though.
Back at base and a very laid back fox was sun bathing in the back garden. I headed out to the front to tackle the hedge with my electric clippers.
I always get a smile from the randoms walking by whenever I take on the hedge. Folk do take pride about the appearance and upkeep of South Lambeth Road. This makes me happy.
I was reminded of the STUPID Co-op Council principles put forward by the now MP for Croydon North, some 13 years ago. He claimed that the Co-op model might include a Council Tax discount if you swept the road outside your front door.
Still waiting on that one, Comrade.
Knob.
The garden itself was damp. Usually at this time of the year the main growing patch has been reduced to dust. It still hasn’t recovered since I hacked out all the lavender a couple of years ago.
Garden job complete, time for some online nonsense. I made the full switch from Evernote to Obsidian. The more I play around with Obsidian, the more I like it. The bookmarks and search parameters are very smart.
It was simple to import over almost 3,000 notes. I’m tempted to delete my Evernote account. I don’t trust the new owners. Much of my content is encrypted. But still.
To Crystal Palace! For JAMC and Primal Scream! With a digital ticket!
I hopped on the No 3 bus and headed up the big hill. Brockwell Park had all the strays leaving the BONKERS Pokemon Go event. Hundreds of zombie folk were walking around with their eyes still glued to their phones.
Free Coca Cola was being handed out by the entrance to CP Bowl. This made me chuckle. Thirty two years ago [GOSH] it was free Pepsi for the Pixies gig.
Times were a little different then. A small crowd had kicked off, asking wtf a corporate brand was doing being associated with a Pixies gig.
I snaffled my free can this evening, gave it one slurp, and thought fuck that. That shit is seriously bad for your teeth.
JAMC were bloody ACE. Some geezer standing behind was actually louder than JAMC with his inane chat. I moved after the first song.
The older the Reid brothers get, the more melodic they become. Plus they’re the best pair of brothers associated with Creation. No contest, pal.
After almost an hour and a half, they exited the stage with the trademark feedback left to linger around the Bowl. There was no riot, as was the case almost 40 years ago.
I wasn’t too fussed about the Scream tbh. I was here for JAMC. Bobby G took to the stage and launched straight into Movin’ On Up with a gospel choir. It was quite a moment.
Once again I was stuck with some arsehole in the crowd. There was a long haired hippie twat who didn’t half fancy himself. He was thrusting himself onto random women. They seemed to enjoy his advances.
He had a man bag.
Tosser.
I moved once again.
The set went a little flat, before kicking off again with more from Screamadelica.
The bootleggers selling Scream tat outside are now accepting cards these days. Like I’m ever going to swipe my details over to them.
I exited CP four hours after arriving, and caught the bus back to Brixton.
A decent day.