Recent notes

incredible slice of life footage of punters @ Brockwell lido, 1995

recent cursed objects podcast episode on wild swimming was wicked and adjacent

any excuse

don’t let the political and media class mug you off again. don’t let them rot your soul. cherish human life

Sending love and praying for peace. Very sick people are out here playing very sick games. Very normal people pay with their lives for the wickedness. Ramadan Mubarak

Having sanctioned genocide, mass killings and deliberate destruction of medical facilities and staff, the mass murder of children, as well as the kidnapping and murder of Heads of State, it is hard now to imagine almost any atrocity which the Western powers are in any moral position to condemn.

Had an interesting chat with the in-laws today about dyeing hair and growing old. It was a conversation that had a tragic, insurmountable paradox at the heart of it. My perhaps naive argument against dyeing hair (as a response to ageing) centred on:

• growing old is a blessing and I want to embrace it (gags)
• getting adjusted to greys slowly over time seems much less earth-shattering than a whole head full of them overnight
• I want people who would treat me differently for being (and looking) older to stay far away from me anyway so I can protect my energy
• can’t be fucked

The elders in this conversation had a different perspective. Sadly, I can’t know for sure if I’ll feel this way in ten, twenty years. I have to go through the fire and see what I actually do. I might come back to this and have a good laugh.

The front garden for the flats has been in a bit of a state for the last week, so this morning I reached for the gardening gloves and did my bit for the community. The biggest offenders were a loaf of kingsmill that featured more shades of green than white, a blue corner shop bag of bananas and eggs, and a drink carton from the Asian supermarket that had become home for some Bloodborne-looking critters. The most common piece was your chicken shop box, which is collateral damage from living opposite a secondary school that I’ve made my peace with. As I was psyching myself up for the bread, my next door neighbour came past and fetched his litter picker for me. I got into a flow state and ended up doing his front garden as well.

Had a potter about Spitalfields and Brick Lane w Dad, Chris and Nadine. Got the classic from Humble Crumble. I usually get the one with just custard and crumble top like a low-level psychopath, but I feel too guilty with that ratio when I’m about halfway in. Can confirm that including the actual crumble is better all round. Dad got a Chromebook recently and was finding it difficult to understand why all the apps on his phone weren’t on there and why he had to visit “websites”. This man has owned PCs before and quite enjoys fiddling about with new bits of tech. I was a bit surprised how quaint he was making web browsers seem, as if the device was a general downgrade. In retrospect, there is probably a grain of truth to that if all you want is a bigger screen.

Got up at 7 again. Feeling myself.

Found myself pre-occupied with this Epstein business, today. In the last Side Missions episode I sampled Peter Mandelson on the blower, gleefully trying to polish the turd that was the Millenium Dome. It was taken from Shifty, Adam Curtis’ singular forensic expose of the hollowness at the core of post-Thatcher Britain up to New Labour. I can’t recommend watching it enough, if you haven’t already. It adds so much texture to this time. I think I might go back into it after all this.

I deeped it that I’ve still never voted for a winning party and it wasn’t any better before I came of age, either. This country’s establishment political/media class are the equivalent of the kid in the group work project that does fuck all while everyone else grafts for them, because they were too busy railing gear. Party, and bullshit. It feels like there is only the pretence of public service these days, that it’s something to be performed and carefully choreographed so that the power brokers can get on with the dealings and noshings out of sight. I think most normal people can smell out a social climber, someone who would sell their nan down the river for a leg up, and steer well clear. That kind of person finds their tribe and the backscratching and backstabbing goes hand in hand, all the way to the top. Farage is fucking inevitable, at this point.

Still loving Death Stranding 2. I didn’t really get all the way into the side deliveries in the first game but everything’s clicking, this time. I usually play for 45 mins before bed, do a delivery or two. I reckon that’s the sweet spot.

Got up at 7 today. That’s the sweet spot, for me. I enjoy my mornings more when I have time to do bits and pieces before work. If I snooze a bit then the morning feels off-key and I counter-intuitively snooze more the next day. I lost my rhythm a bit in the christmas/ny shuffle but it’s all good, we move (and rise). Here’s a vow to myself that I maintain this pattern.

Pottered about on Substack a bit while I was having my lunch. The vibes, as they say, seem a little bit off. No Tags spoke about it a bit on their most recent podcast, focusing on the pile-on by big names (see charli xcx) and the parallels to celebrity Twitter, as well as the different world of “Notes”. I saw that they are now doing a TV app as well?? I only recently re-installed the phone app and deleted it again. Each to their own but the thing I like about Substack is the blogosphere scattiness and real writers working on the craft. Feeds and talking heads and pivot-to-video can fuck off tbh. I’m going to stick to the POSSE model for my own work and assume that all these American tech companies will eventually enshittify themselves.

Farsi lesson in the evening was a bit of alright. I’m almost certain the class is on a list. At the start of every lesson this term, my teacher makes us converse about the weekend and gleefully shoehorns in as many overt references to the Islamic Republic of Iran’s fuckery (as well as the BBC’s) as possible. I’m down for the cause so I’ll have some of that.

Nostalgia should be a tool, it should never be the whole selling point…use parts of the past in order to inform how people should see the present, or give your take on the future.

tip!

Went over to my Nan’s spot at the crematorium today. Every year we go there, then a bench by the sea and round off at the Lobster Smack for lunch. My cousin, his kids, my uncle and auntie came down for a bit as well. I really look forward to these days, traversing Canvey Island to these sites of rich memories. I’m grateful that the family has found ways to celebrate my nan’s life and reorientate after the loss of it’s longstanding glue. I thought about the shifting roles and responsibilities that we are all experiencing, how new family members are welcomed and we have to help guide them correctly as the previous generation did for us. It’s sad and beautiful at the same time, but more of the latter. I think accepting and embracing your duty of care to others is the best measuring stick of adulthood.

I overheard a lad in the pub talking to who I assume were his grandparents about his regrets on going to university. I didn’t get all the details, but he studied film and didn’t end up getting a job in the industry from what I could gather. He looked late twenties, which would put him in the “plan two” student loan category that is completely fucking over people who went to university in the 2010s. Martin Lewis et al. have been all over it this week, how the terms of the loan changing would never be allowed elsewhere. What pissed me off the most was Rachel Reeves talking about the system being fine, how it isn’t right that people who don’t go to university bear the cost. Can someone please explain to her how taxes work? You don’t decide what you put in for (or don’t), we are supposed to decide as a society what we want to pool our resources in for and then add to the kitty based on our means. I hate the subtext of trying to pit non/university educated people against each other, too. Lots of families consist of people who didn’t go to university making sacrifices so their kids could. Now those kids are still living at home into their thirties. Say want you want about the merits of mickey mouse degrees, I don’t see how it helps anyone to have swathes of each generation getting hoodwinked into crippling debt for a bold decision over their future they made at 18 years old.

Watched Newcastle get battered at Anfield in the evening. The highlight was watching Gordon almost repeat his sending off in the reverse fixture and then get the opening goal in front of the Kop. It went quickly downhill from there. Florian Wirtz is really good at football, from what I could tell. Konate scoring a late goal, coming back early to help the team out after his dad died, was life-affirming.

One of our recycling bins went missing a couple of weeks ago. I took it upon myself to order a new one and someone in the building group chat excitedly announced it had arrived that same day. The situation evolved today when ANOTHER green bin turned up at the door, this one further legitimised by a confirmation email. This immediately brought the last green bin into disrepute. Arriving on the same day? Should’ve guessed something was up. Anyhow, the flat below reckons we should just keep it. I feel a bit bad for the basement flat because I feel like the extra bin is encroaching on his doorway, just a little bit. He hasn’t said anything yet so I’m going to leave it all there.

After a long while, I came back to Limmy’s Disco Elysium streams today. He’s the only “streamer” I ever watch, mainly because he’s one of my favourite people in general and that’s just what he likes doing now (as well as a glorious diary of mundanity). Disco is one of my favourite games of all time and the crossover is magic. He’s in the church at the ‘mo, boasting about his previous life as a Flash developer to Soona, the programmer.

Nadine and I went out for dinner at Pahlavan in Brockley, an Iranian spot. Both looked like drowned rats by the time we got there. It was one of those places that has a few businesses on the premises in different sections. We both had koobideh, mine a vegan edition and hers a lamb. Plus some kashk budemjan. Wasn’t too bad. I’ve been coaching Nadine through Red Dead Redemption 2 for what must be getting on for a year, now, and managed to get into part two of the epilogue when we got home. She likes the horse riding and animal spotting the most.

Didn’t write anything yesterday so here’s a BOGOF.

Wednesday

Cooked with Jerusalem artichokes for the first time. Got a bunch from Roz @ the allotments on Sunday. A big concern in the household was how to combat the violent flatulence that they bring on. Now, I didn’t know about this, but I soon would. Nadine read that soaking them in lemony water for an hour fixes the problem, so I dunked them for about half an hour and figured that would prevent the worst of it. They were pretty tasty to be fair, I didn’t know they were like potato basically. By nighttime, they roared back into effect. The less said about that, the better.

Yesterday

I’ve been reading Malcom X’s autobiography before bed over the last few weeks. Today was a great chapter. He basically went on a multi-day bender in Boston while in a feud with an OG hustler, culminating in passing out while trying to deliver a hundred joints to some prostitutes and them helping him to bed. I don’t read many autobiographies but this is the good stuff. It’s so important that punches aren’t pulled and the subject is an open book for them to be worthwhile. Proper into it.

I’ve got fuck all to share from today, apart from one thing. When I went on a run this evening, I got snuck up on by a fox. I was just catching breath and saw a shadow. Turned around and there they were, nonchalantly following me. I jumped a bit, felt a bit embarrassed. Did they notice? The foxes in my ends are moving mad. I think I’m petting one by the time the year’s out. That’s my 2026 prediction.

I had to go into the cafe this morning and take my medicine from bossman who was ready to remind me when he told me Villa would beat Newcastle on the weekend. I accepted my fate willingly after pretending I couldn’t speak English. I got irritated when the inevitable ‘sack the manager?’ discourse got brought up. In my mind, this fan jitteriness is a post social media phenomenon. I lived through the Mike Ashley + Pardew era, mate. I was born in the darkness, moulded by it. Playing some good football and being in with a sniff of silverware is all I need.

Went to my Farsi lesson after work. It was OK, I sort of learnt how to talk about what I did at the weekend. “Yesterday, I went to the cinema with my wife and saw the film Hamnet”, that sort of patter. Still trying to traverse from talking like a prick to sounding like a normal person. That must be a good feeling, I’ve never moved beyond GCSE in another language so I haven’t done it before. That’s the north star, just try and chat regular.

Got a food waste bin from the council. Was a right palava trying to find the right spot for it in the kitchen. Just put it on the floor next to the main bin, for now. I don’t love it. Watch this space.

In the morning, Nadine took me to Grow Lewisham’s allotment site down near Beckenham on Oldstead Road. They had taken a delivery of trees and we helped plant an orchard. There were all kinds of trees - fig, apple, plum, pear, peach, cherry - we planted an apple and I helped out with a fig, then we did a little currant bush as well. It was decent craic, there’s something primal about digging holes. You hit some rock and are met by the immovable earth, or so it seems. You get a fork and graft and further down you go, to who knows where? Two brothers came down with their three little boys and they were all getting right stuck in. I chatted to one about how he was tearing his hair out trying to teach them about patience, and that growing food was the lightbulb moment. We finished up with cups of tea and a veggie curry someone cooked up using all ingredients from their own garden plot. I felt like I was overdosing on wholesomeness.

On the 153 over there, someone was playing Bangarang by Skrillex on repeat. I could hear it from the top deck and was lightly losing my rag. I easily blocked it out with headphones but that’s not the point. I didn’t see who it was but thought about how 20 years ago it was almost guaranteed to be a spotty 15-year old. Nowadays, you might hear some shite on a phone loudspeaker, turn around and see a middle-aged father-of-three. I get second-hand embarrassment, tut and wonder if this is a symptom of getting old or rightful observation of public decency disintegrating. Deep down, I know I’m right.

Thankfully, we got a lift home and I treated myself to a bath with all the salts and watched the second half of the Newcastle game. It was the relaxation equivalent of taking uppers and downers to try and level out. Waste of time.

Went to Tempo’s first “Move and Mix” session of the year in the morning. Little 3k run up to the Rye, warm up and warm down, then a DJ and cotch for a couple hours. Was wicked to catch up with people and listen to some tunes in the Carpet Shop. Fit in a little b2b2b at the end, played an old Boofy tune called More or Less that warranted a run out on a good system. Had a couple of DMCs about siblings and social development, and the lost art of Playing Out. Also shared my first ever car, the legendary ‘01 1.0l electric blue Corsa, via Google streetview from 2008.

Was back in Peckham in the evening to catch the early-ish showing of Hamnet with Nadine. Arms full with the usual combo of a medium sweet popcorn and barely smuggled beer (plus a couple of unnecessary emergency bananas). She got a peppermint tea and pick n mix. I have a hard time deciding if I liked the film. On one hand, the acting is consistently great and it looks lovely. On the other hand, the invisible hand of Big Hollywood has it’s mitts all over the (rightly) emotional centrepiece scenes. Noticed Spielberg and Sam Mendes were producers and it shows. Knew I recognised that emotional banger. In spite of that, you don’t need to throw the baby out with the bathwater innit. It’s nice to have a good cry, even if you can feel the emotional manipulation operating on you.

I usually go for a good walk every morning, after showering and eating brekkie. I didn’t go this morning because I read an email from NHS blood donation telling me about a Channel 4.0 show called Love is in the blood, where people have a blind date while giving blood. So, instead of the great outdoors, I got royally sucked in to this slop. Was it worth it? Almost certainly not, but I did laugh out loud at the end when one fella decided he didn’t want to see his date’s face. That probably makes me sound like a prick but go and watch it, first. I guess I’ve ruined the surprise anyway.

We had someone round to do an estimate for double-glazing and draught-proofing our windows. They’re sash windows which are lovely, but fucking hopeless at keeping the flat warm in winter or cool in summer. I reckon we’ll do it, the thought of having reasonable temperature control is actually exciting. You just get used to something being shit, don’t you? Then you push through and make something better and look back at your former self in pure disgust. Human adaptation is a double-edged sword.

Nadine wanted to get Nando’s for dinner, so that was that. I rode my bike to Peckham to pick it up in rush hour. Hadn’t rode during that time for a while and that stretch of New Cross road by the bus garage is always a bit of a madness. They got my burger order wrong so I had to wait about for a bit. I saw a gaggle of young lads going up to order, they must’ve been about 16. I tried to remember the feeling of going out to eat with your boys for the first time, without the mums. The levels of grown and sexy, never to be topped. I squished the order into my bag and got back to base.

Had a fun chat with Dad after lunch. I figured out how to give him access to my Plex server, which he’s all over. Last night he watched One Battle After Another and we recapped the car chase. Because these are all films that I have curated and offered up, you get a nice feeling that’s a bit like when you lend someone an actual book or DVD. Added bonus that they can’t steal it from you forever and create resentment. I know there’s renewed hype around physical media, but I reckon reclaiming digital libraries is a lost art that needs bringing back. We cycled through the other cornerstone topics of football, politics and life.

When I was on the 453 going up Old Kent, I saw a Fiat 500 with the number plate BI EN0. I immediately thought that Brian Eno must be driving the car. The next thought I had was that if he is indeed driving the car with that plate, what would it mean? He stunts like a newly-minted footballer on his first big contract? The bus was stopped diagonally behind the car for a good 30 seconds for me to mull this over. Then, we overtook the vehicle and this inane bubble was burst. No Eno.

Got into a bit of Death Stranding 2 in the evening. Did a short hike and was rewarded with a soothing Caroline Polachek needle drop. Liking it all so far, the thing is just so beautiful and it plays smooth as anything. Met the cat with wings and the stop-motion doll bloke. The Kojima vibes are locking in, letting it wash over and savouring it.

We trialled a new alarm system this morning. Nadine just had the one iPhone alarm set with the nine-minute snooze. I had two alarms set, half hour apart with ten-minute snoozes. The earliest alarms were synchronised so I didn’t snooze the first one, got it straight off. You might ask, why not just set one shared, initial alarm? I don’t have a great answer but it just feels like a lot of pressure on one person, to be in charge of the household arising. Something about the phone is private, cordoned off, so it’s not generally a site of shared responsibility. Also, giving up all control over your wake-up is weird. I’m coming round to getting an actual alarm clock, it’s a neutral and shared thing that had this figured out yonks ago.

Went for a little bike ride in proper incessant drizzle and lashing winds. Nadine is a pretty slow rider, so I have to sort of dawdle and remind myself to slow down. Got a free doughnut from Greggs using my weekly Monzo perk allowance, which made me think of the brainwashing food they dish out in They Cloned Tyrone. I don’t think Greggs are brainwashing me, but I’m slyly convinced I’m not the one thats winning in this scheme. Are there secretly shit doughnuts and sausage rolls that are siphoned off for the QR code wankers? Call me Mario Winans, ‘cos I don’t want to know.

Went for a run in comparatively pathetic drizzle before watching the Traitors. This lot are so wet, man. Faraaz is out on his own. The editing definitely plays into the self-seriousness and I’m sure they are all constantly told to add sauce on everything, but my guy clearly doesn’t think it’s that deep (it isn’t). I was so gassed when he put it on Rachel at the end. The audacity when she “revealed” her FBI e-learning course with a straight face. Harriet seppuku’d herself! The collective amnesia since then is mad. I was dipping in and out of it the last couple weeks but I guess the shambles has hooked me.

Went to the skip today with the sad, broken toilet seat. Managed to find some MDF skirting board offcuts and lightbulbs to justify the ride over and to compensate for my insecurity about not having sufficient reason to enter the facilities without a van full of bits. The bloke at the gate asked, “what have you got?” with his usual gruff and I was given the nod to go and dispense my shit. Always fascinating to climb the stairs next to a fuck off skip and look down at the bin bag mounds. If there’s room and your rubbish is weighty enough, you can launch it into the open space and get a satisfying, reverberating clatter. Not this time. I just placed my bits on top of someone else’s bits and simply enjoyed the view. Went and got a Mediterranean brekkie from the cafe over the road, pure triumphant. I tried to tip on the card machine but I couldn’t work out how. Why do card machines keep changing? Also, not feeling this creep of tipping culture. When are we going to get out from under America’s thumb, for fuck’s sake. Slowly but surely, the tentacles of their payment systems are in every transaction, bringing with it their tipping suggestions. No one asked you, mate.

Listened to the double/triple/whatever lost in dreams album by irini (FKA Traumprinz) this afternoon. Maybe the king of undeniable emotional bangers? Got a feeling this one will be on heavy rotation in the cups for the foreseeable. The one with the “what did you give me?” vox was today’s percy.

Booked tix for the next Lucky Cloud sound system party on Valentines. Really looking forward to this one, haven’t been before. I think about Cosmic Slop all the time, how special the nights I had there were and how much I wish I could remember more of them. Getting out of your box is great but my memory is shite at the best of times. I’ve got a good feeling about this, I want to go to dances that sit outside of the RA DJ industrial complex. Proper lost my mojo in that world this last year. At that age where a good amount of mates have hung up their boots, club-wise. I want to try and reorient myself towards grown, “community”, inter-generational and intentional good times. That too much to ask?

This morning I reignited a short-running feud with the wife about acceptable alarm snooze durations.

Here’s an example of where I’m coming from:

• person A alarm 1 @ 7am, 10 mins snooze
• person A alarm 2 @ 7.30am, 10 mins snooze
• person B alarm 1 @ 7am, 9 mins snooze
• person B alarm 2 @ 7.10am, 9 mins snooze

If person A snoozes through to 7.30 am, four alarms will go off in half an hour at ten minute intervals. If person B snoozes through to 7.30am, seven alarms will go off at irregular intervals. On top of that, the alarms will clash with each other. Apparently old iPhones alarms snooze time is fixed to 9 minutes as well. Why did they choose violence like that? This isn’t how to enter the day with grace. We’re going to try and remedy it at the weekend, maybe get an actual alarm to share? Seems like a major commitment but watch this space.

Had a good AFCON recap with the Algerians down the cafe this morning. Sounded like everyone was happy about how things turned out and there were full celebrations going on back home and in Egypt as far as they knew. The consensus seems to be that Morocco’s football establishment have been on fuckery all tournament and perceived justice was dished out. Fair fucking play.

I went to my first Farsi class of the year in the evening, kicking off part two of level one. Idk why they didn’t call it level two, give the troops a bit of morale. I love my teacher but she does one unforgivable thing - when she talks about Iranian food, she starts image searching dishes and projecting them up front. I don’t get home for tea until quarter past eight at the earliest, so this is all happening slap bang in the middle of my peak hunger. This week some next gas works were happening from Aldwych all the way down to the Old Vic in Waterloo, meaning my bus wasn’t running to the usual station and I had to get a salivated jog on over the bridge. Still, today I learnt how to say “yesterday, I ate a sandwich” in Farsi.

Today was a bastard of a day of chores. Cleaned the oven, mopped the floor, took out the washing machine filter, changed the bedding, hoovered the stairs. Went to do the hallway outside the flat (vestibule is pushing it) but my neighbour was locked in a painfully circular debate at the front door with some local Labour councillors and I was going nowhere near that. But yeah, one of them Sundays that gets straight devoured by simply looking after the gaff. I am the type of sad cunt in my thirties that is a bit pleased with myself, grateful even, for the uplift in ambiance and lingering anti-bac odours post housework. I think a bit of this can be explained by owning my own home and not having the thought of upping sticks once a year or so lurking. Thinking “no, I will not live in a more pleasant flat ‘cos my landlord would also enjoy that” is a shambles but I reckon that was going on for me a bit.

There’s an eyesore that held me back from full domestic bliss, though. My mum bought us a new toilet seat for Christmas, this rich mahogany MDF number. I fitted it and everything, but the old plastic one is waiting to go out. It’s knackered and the joints are busted. It’s just sat by the stairs and getting shot of it is a whole thing. Technically, I think I need to take it to the recycling centre, which is ten minutes away on my bike. Last time I went there were blokes bringing vans full of stuff and I feel insecure about turning up with a single toilet seat in my backpack. I thought about that John Wilson episode where he tries to throw out some batteries and goes down that rabbit hole to the very end to question the futility of so much disposal. What the fuck is actually going to happen with my toilet seat? I need to get on my bike and get this over and done with.

I had a banging cheese and tomato toastie on this sourdough bread we got from the market yesterday morning. Christened the newly sparkling grill. Listened to the Newcastle game (what a shower of shite that was) while I packed away the records I took to play at Alex’s yesterday. I listened to the new Dry Cleaning record as well, seems like there’s something there for me I reckon. Maybe wrote off the drole vocal affect and lyrics as novelty/irony a bit soon.

Watched the AFCON final after dinner. In with a strong shout for greatest 0-0 (after 90 minutes) of all time. Brahim Diaz’s wretched panenka hit like divine intervention on crack. Had to run in on my wife’s foot bath to share the news. Football is one of the only things I regularly watch “live” any more, and it still throws up spontaneous monocultural moments like this. The group chats pinged off and I got that warm feeling of sharing an important moment in time together. Very cute.

TIL about Smiley Culture’s Cockney Translation (1985)

you can draw a line all the way through to Central Cee’s LA Leakers freestyle. a whole 40 years later mate!

made a couple of self-important sections to share and review what I’ve been playing and reading (shamelessly lifted from Tom MacWright). might add another to share records on heavy rotation.

who the fuck do I think I am?

One Battle After Another was a lovely time in the cinema but a little bit Oscar bait and not an instant classic, do not @ me !

absolute G, sumud <3

I dedicate this song to my husband Winston and to all the caregivers. You are the ones who keep the world turning.

<3

unbelievable film, fuck me. FREE PARTY: A FOLK HISTORY support this weekend !

Kibo man of the match +++

Sunday morning levitation ! “Gospel house the Detroit way.” - Honest Jon’s

FINALLY put this out. Run it up ! 8-bit, 8-bar

J.J, original vox on Masterblaster ❤️

tip! Evenings and Weekends

Never felt London shine through as a character that I know so intimately as on these pages.

tip! Party Lines: Dance Music and the Making of Modern Britain

Featuring the most sassy, surgical takedown of business techno I’ve leafed thru x

tip! RAVE​:​N, The Remixes

Bumper lunch with Mark today. Big up on the new release!! go cop ▶️