When There's a Will, There's a Gay

I should probably begin this blog by apologising to the lovely Emily who is letting me stay in her house whilst I fix myself a more permanent residency. I didn't mean to come across as ungrateful whilst bemoaning the lack of internet. Thanks for having me Ems! At the end of the day, y'know, when all is said and done...it gets dark.

Last weekend brought with it a tour of some of Leeds' mid-top-end drinking establishments with best buddy Michael and girlfriend Lizzy which (via some System of a Down-induced moshing) ultimately resulted in crawling out Leeds Academy in utter ruin before heading to Temple Newsam the following day for 'Party in the Park'.

It's long been a tradition of mine and my friends to attend these free open-air pop concerts, where subversive mocking, drinking and the opportunity to earn some 'lad points' have been the order of play. It also allows brother Gary to carry on his fine work in the letching department (see Bulgaria...Fuck Yeah!). Along the way, we've seen the likes of Liberty X, McFly and Beverley Knight multiple times. I hate, I HATE Beverley Knight. She's absolutely bab and makes me want to punch her in the armpit really hard.

Highlights included Example (nice jacket), Frankie from The Saturdays (woof!), Professor Green (who I'm quite interested to see what happens without his sampling - I like his voice), Vanessa Amorosi (who sang 'Absolutely Everybody' in 2000...no?) and Basshunter ("Leeds! Let's fucking paaaarty!", he exclaimed before getting 50,000 children to bounce with him. Fair play to him, the mad Swede/German/Fin/Dane). Without doubt though, Craig David was the star of the show - he was absolutely cosmic! Having ripped up 7 Days, Fill Me In and Walking Away, he launched into 2 explosive minutes of freestyle (well, rehearsed) spitting and genuinely pulled it off. I was all like, "no way!" and Craig David was all like, "yeah - check me out. Peas!".

Craig David - Fill Me In (www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdcmM9T8vD4&feature=avmsc2)

Despite the fun, even the bottle of vodka that I smuggled in via my skinny chords (!) wasn't quite enough to help us power through acts like The Script, Tinchy Stryder and a Blue reunion (of sorts - that tit 'Lee' and the fat one were on stage together) which prompted brother Gary to claim it was they who sang 'Blue-Da-Ba-Dee' (www.youtube.com/watch?v=68ugkg9RePc). What a spaz.

After seeing 'Frankie and The Saturdays', it was time to make like Michael Jackson and beat it (Watts, A., 2010) before Dizzee Rascal entered the fray (as in he came on stage - not as in raping the whiney, sappy piano-'rocking' band - that I would pay to see).

My week also saw me sporting a handlebar moustache that could have meant the end for Motorhead's Lemmy, although I decided it was best kept between me and the bathroom for now. I'm not sure the world is ready for it just yet, especially with Lemmy and Motorhead about to embark on another UK tour.

The best news of the week came from America, where Kings of Leon were forced offstage during a gig in St Louis due to pigeons making poos on them. This made me giggle. Although I was extremely jealous of the pigeons in question, they did a pretty good job and nearly landed a bullseye in the drummer's mouth. Call it comeuppance for just about everything after Leeds/Reading '07.

I really hope the Followhills find their way back to awesomeness and lose the singing lessons and sleigh-bells that have frankly made them look a bit silly. They blatantly just need their handlebar moustaches and facial hair back, along with a sprinkling of a gentle S.T.I. each. If that doesn't help, it's blatantly Jesus' fault.

Whilst I was in the biggest queue I've ever been in at a cinema, I was starting to feel a bit nervy about seeing Toy Story 3. I kept seeing people's statuses about it Facebook and how it was immensely sad and how they had sat cradling themselves in the corner wondering, "what's the point of it all?". My scepticism increased when an inconsolable 8-year-old was being comforted by his mother outside the cinema doors...

As it turned out, I really loved the film and was well worth the wait. There were certainly emotional scenes towards the film's conclusion but nothing to make me boo like the end of 'Big Fish' does. The additional new characters were just lovely and fitted in perfectly (yey), whilst Mr Potato Head had me absolutely creased with additional cheek-cramp during the part where...erm...best not.

I was finally welcomed into 2010 by getting myself on Spotify (thanks again Jenny Mitchell). I was initially a bit frustrated with its inconsistent behaviour in picking and choosing which music I was able to upload (it wouldn't let me upload any Cribs or Queens of the Stone Age, which I'm sure you'll agree is grossly unfair) but I'm am now enjoying the fruits of my labour. I've not felt this satisfied since the last night of Glastonbury when I finally managed to make use of my duct tape by strapping Andy up in his sleeping bag. That was a good night.

My user name is 'newyorkshire', a phrase the NME thought it created following an explosion of Yorkshire-based bands in the mid-noughties. They didn't. So there. So what now? Do we all swap playlists like a massive e-musical orgy? I do hope so.

One last thing. Music plays such a huge part of our lives these days. It was Madonna who said that "music makes the people come together (yeah)". Richard Ashcroft said that "music is power" and it was CSS who said that "music is my hot, hot sex".

With this in mind, I would like to dedicate this blog to a very special friend of ours - bigger than Jesus and the saviour of music - Andrew WK (www.youtube.com/watch?v=WccfbPQNMbg&feature=avmsc2).

Hyde Park Squatting

Having been synonymous with the internet since like, forever, the lack of it over the last few weeks whilst squatting alone at my friend Emily's new gaff has been most frustrating. Despite the obvious disablement of social networking which might have aided my sanity, being out in the internet wilderness came at a time when, after an intense yet joyous 36 hours of musical discussion with friends Luke and Andy, all I wanted to do was unearth some new music. I've also been wanting to buy a ticket to see Cancer Bats at the Cockpit in Leeds, as well as keeping tabs on the line-ups for Manchester's Warehouse Project (BOYS NOIZE) and the latest transfer gossip (I had no idea Joe Cole had signed for Liverpool until Andy brought it up casually before accusing the man of greed). I kept forgetting I didn't have the internet and often felt like the widowed trapeze artist with Alzheimer's featured in the Cleveland Show ('LOL').

Cancer Bats - Pneumonia Hawk (www.youtube.com/watch?v=ba4NiGoYjFw)

Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros - Home (www.youtube.com/watch?v=4306i99LMXo)

I could have also done with researching a new haircut and having found nothing in Vice (as if), NME or Rolling Stone, I concluded that I'm a bit disillusioned with the state of men's hair at the moment. Best just get a tidy-up before I re-sign working for 'the man' come August 31st (I'm embarking on a year-long placement as a 'Student Project Manager' at uni and won't lie - I'm dreading it).

I could have always stayed at my parents' new house somewhere within what's known as the 'Cleck-Hudders-Fax' triangle. But, that would not have worked out very well. I obviously love my parents but as I'm sure many of you can appreciate, spending too much time together can be detrimental to a relationship. With Nige now retired, Christine off school for the summer and no real place for me to retreat, it might well have come to me trying to drown myself in the well in the cellar, which I'm not really into.

I do love a good list and it's becoming increasingly apparent that I can't really operate my own life without one. Thanks to my constantly revised 'List of Life', I've been keeping busy...ish. Emily's garden is looking much tidier after taking advantage of the randomly stationed spade and sweeping brush, whilst I banked a 7 month old cheque from my Cyprus-based Grandma (who is coming over to stay for a whole month).

I've been watching a lot of 'Absolutely Fabulous' which has kept me giggling throughout the past fortnight or so. I was only little when it was on the telly-box and was something I really wouldn't have 'got'. The writing is like, well good and the mannerisms and facial expressions of Edwina (Jennifer Saunders, whom I definitely fancy) and particularly Patsy (Joanna Lumley, who has killer legs) are genius. Since seeing the episode where they get coked-up in a French cottage, I've had an overwhelming desire to play ping-pong.

With having one of the best part-time jobs in the world at the Leeds O2 Academy, I had the honour of experiencing some more genius in the form of Regina Spektor on Wednesday night. Having felt more than a bit ropey from the previous days' debaucherous shenanigans, she made everything okay with her beautiful yet quirky (and often blunt) lyrics, hitting every note perfectly with her piano, keyboard, guitar and particularly her voice. Oh my wow.

Regina Spektor - Samson (www.youtube.com/watch?v=p62rfWxs6a8&feature=avmsc2)

Post-Regina, it was home via my beloved Crispy takeaway for my 3rd £2.50 pizza of the week and into bed with Peep Show and my 'List of Life'. Upon examining the list, I was excited to see that I was due at the Cockpit the following night to see 'Time of Hibu' in a Futuresound competition where they were vying for a place at the Reading and Leeds Festivals.

Headlining the night, they gave a passionate, high-energy, performance and were as 'toyt' as Tupperware; I really bummed it. I couldn't help but stare at frontman Luke, who has a very unique style about him and a lovely face. The crowd around us were very receptive to each of their songs and hope the judges shared our enjoyment. Check out 'Go My Way' on their website (www.timeofhibu.comToH/Time_of_Hibu.html).

Simon.

Bulgaria...Fuck Yeah!

The defining lynchpin behind the blog came during my week-long trip to Bulgaria. My brother (Gary, 26, cack at song lyrics and rhythm) and I flew out on an aeroplane to meet our good friend Dan (25, fan of old school hip hop and fine dining) in Sunny Bay, a Bulgarian tourist hotspot. The combination of not having a camera (or any other instrument to log our activities and indeed recall ANYTHING we did) along with reading Gordon Smart's Sun articles were all the motivation I needed to start writing. Jeez Louise, Gordon Smart is a prick. "Snoop Dogg saved Glastonbury", he writes. Snoop the Loop was an undeniable success but insinuating that the rest of the festival was a "flop" made him look like a prize pump-head. Maybe if he'd have gotten out of the press tent...

According to my Lonely Planet, Bulgaria is very different to what it was 10 years ago. Even on the popular tourist strip, there is evidence of its past, present and future (hello, cranes). Being locked behind the Iron Curtain for 40 years or whatevs is going to take its toll in a whole heap of ways. You could see in the old people's eyes how much they have seen in their lifetime - far more than any of us could probably imagine; especially the posh A-Level kids we met whose idea of 'bad times' was comprehensive education. However, I could sense an air of contentment amongst the older folk and I dug that. The rest of the Black Sea Coast appeared to be full of misery and is predominantly made up of phenomenally attractive (but miserable) women and the line up from the 'World's Strongest Man 1997' (the saddened losers of the contest, that is). It was just ridiculous.

Aside from the 'phenomenally attractive women', Bulgaria is not too dissimilar to Scotland (my beautiful friend Holly Andrews being an exception - a direct descendent of William Wordsworth no less). For starters, there's the greasy food. The chef at one quiet inland restaurant we found (who dropped some VERY LOUD GERMAN TECHNO for the waitress to deliver a sizzling hot plate to one confused customer) found it appropriate to batter my £15 swordfish. Then of course there was the language barrier, the wind and the misery. Also in regard to their EU membership, you get the impression that both countries are just 'happy to be there'.

Having been to Poland with Dan a couple of years back, I had expected to pay a small amount of 'Scoobies' (the currency of any country outside the UK in mine, Dan's and now Gary's head) for beer and the like, with everything else coming in relation and proportion. Despite the disgustingly wonderful price of beer (90p for a pint of premium lager as well as the £1.20 for 20 cigarettes), it was a bit of a shock when you quickly realise the bulk of Bulgaria's mafia-run economy is heavily reliant on taxi fares and the human requirement to do a wee-wee. In one taxi we got in at Nessebar (a 9,000 year old town where artistes flock to sell their sculptures, paintings and AK-47's), the meter was doing a cracking impersonation of a stopwatch. As for the paying-to-urinate scandal, the free use of the bar toilet was becoming a deal breaker with the promo peeps. "I give you free shot?", they'd say. "Throw in a free wee and it's a deal".

Going out in the evening was fuuuun. With very few English people around, we gave the line "are you English?" a good run out. Let's face it - it doesn't work so well back home. On the first night, having been thrust into a club called 'Iceberg', we came across a group of three English girls. I say they were English, they were definitely from Wrexham which I'm convinced makes them Welsh. Dan and Gary quickly bonded with two of the girls (well, Dan and 'Georgie bonded. Not even God knows what Gary did) whilst I was lampooned with the boring, tee-total girl with a boyfriend who, after a pleasant conversation about ducks, decided to take the 'let's-talk-about-the-time-I-saw-someone-on-my-farm-get-crushed-to-death' conversational road. Pffft. I longed for Kelly the Australian promo-girl who had got us in the club. Ahhhh...lovely Kelly. Having quickly established some common ground with our big love for Justice, we continued to chat over a drink and soon found that we shared even bigger mutual loves for Krafty Kuts, as well as Aussie artists such as The Bloody Beetroots, Cut Copy and The Presets. Alas, it wasn't until my last evening until we saw each other again. Flip!

Over the remaining nights, we experienced a washed-up Artful Dodger, coincidence (where it transpired that I was talking to Ellis, a lad who my friend Sarah, Dan and myself had taken on a day trip to Bridlington when he was 11, as well as meeting a delightful girl called Alice who knew cousin's brother, Stavros), radical international relations (where Gary went from being pick-pocketed by gypsy prostitutes to being worshipped by a clearly naive Bulgarian babe) and soggy grinding (in which I shan't go into detail).

On our 'quiet night', we took an evening stroll down to the mafia-run marina to eat some fine mafia-cooked fish with the mafia-ruled locals. The aim of a post-meal drink was quickly hampered when 3 girls from the Midlands sat next to us. With the girls being between 27-29, twinned with Dan's line of work and our hometown of Halifax, mortgages quickly became the topic of conversation with Dan bearing the brunt of some gentle-medium abuse. Luckily, the retro 80's tunes were enough to distract me from the conversational mire and soon got my groove on - much to the delight of the Katie Price-wannabe who, with her hair slicked all the way back to the early 1960's, was clearly enchanted by my moves (ZING). Before we knew it, it was 4am and back to the shop for more beer and on to their apartment for possible romance and iPod-breaking. It was good to know that the 'quiet nights' can escalate Balkan-style just as well as back home. If only Gary had read the 'Wing-man' textbook...

Music-wise, the nightlife's offerings reflected much of Sunny Beach; tacky and very repetitive but easy to get caught up in it all. Aside from my freaking brilliant rendition of Limp Bizkit's 'Break Stuff' at the karaoke bar, the (what seemed like) 8 song loop was impossible to escape and as such, most of it was bizarrely embraced as if it were a warped form of Stockholm Syndrome. The tracks that David Guetta wasn't involved in included:

Stromae - Alors en Danse (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pKrVB5f2W0)

There's no getting round it - this track is absolute dog shit. But for some reason, we just didn't hate it after 3 days.

Yolanda Be Cool & DCUP - We No Speak Americano (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3jrXw97egoM)

For days, I was convinced that this was the commercial breakthrough for French electro-swing outfit Caravan Palace. It's safe to say that this is the definitive summer dance track and to be fair brought with it some belting dance choreography that the world had being crying out for since the Whigfield/Macarena era.

Luckily, we had Justin Beiber and some new MTV friends to fall back on at the apartment. Dan and I were particularly impressed with EVERYTHING about Selena Gomez (and The Scene - but enough about them). According to my sources, Selena is a ma-hassive mega star in America and is another in a long line of Disney Channel products. She played her first ever UK show in April and I for one would like to be on her.

Selena Gomez & The Scene - Round & Round (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UfcvO2t8Ntg)

The trip to Bulgaira has brought to an end a pretty redonkulous few months for me. Incorporating an amazing birthday party, academic and professional triumphs, incredible live music (Rage, Parklife, Glastonbury...) and comedy (Flight of the Conchords, Peter Kay, Adam Watts...), a successful house move and everything in between. I'd even even put it out ther and suggest that these have been some of the bestest times of my life (ahhhhhhhh).

Simon.

N.B. Deck shoes make for a high standard of skidding on airport floors.