Poetry please

Having succeeded in escaping from his Desert Island, Ian McMillan, The Bard of Barnsley, has put out a disc of his own - Homing In. It's the second album he's recorded with his fabulous orchestra and combines McMillan's unique verse with some dazzling roots music for accompaniment. You can read my review here.

Along with James Mason, Bill Nighy and Kevin McCloud, McMillan has a timbre to his voice that would bring the phone book to life; I guess the modern day equivalent is being asked to do a Sat-Nav voice-over; well, if Brian Blessed can do it...

Here's a taster:

The Ian McMillan Orchestra: Ten Forgotten Moments From History

Mint

These days the (not so) little box in the corner of the room is very rarely used to watch live television; along with much of the populus I'm a box set addict - 24, Sopranos, Lost, Deadwood - and so it goes. But every now and again the BBC will put out a series that demands my attention. That means watching it once week and then waiting seven whole days to watch the next installment; virtually impossible when getting up close and personal with Jack Bauer during one of his bad days.

The Boat That Guy Built is the antithesis of your average HBO blockbuster. No one gets clipped, everybody keeps their kit on and the nearest you get to a profanity is a 'by heck.' TBTGB is fronted by TT Racer and tea junkie Guy Martin. On the inside he's 50% Jack Hargreaves, 50 % Fred Dibnah. And to look at him he could moonlight in a Mungo Jerry tribute band, such are the dimensions of his mutton chops. What about the plot? Well, it's a man on a narrow boat. Drinking tea and calling everyone 'chief'. Drinking more tea and referring to everything as 'mint'. Join the dots and it goes something like this: 'Any chance of a brew chief? Mint!' Did I say that it's narrated by Liza Tarbuck? I'm hooked.

I'm on Twitter

Er, that's it really. So, if you follow this blog and would like more of the same (well, 140 characters - so it's actually less), you can find me @JohnnyMedd

Smoke and mirrors

Don't worry, I'm not getting bent out of shape over this; but when Kate Moss lit up a Benson & Hedges on the cat walk last week (on National No Smoking Day) it started a chain of events, the aftershock of which will be felt by the medical profession for years to come: in the same way her throwaway comment 'nothing tastes like skinny feels' encouraged gullible young models to starve themselves so they can fit into size zero frocks, so the take up of impressionable girls starting the habit seems set to rise.

As the above photo demonstrates, Moss is already taking on board the smokers 'long paper round' look. It won't be long 'til she looks in the mirror and sees this staring back at her. Pretty scary, huh?

I prefer to remember Bardot this way

Dapper Dans

Prompted by Pete Paphides, aka Mr. Caitlin Moran, I've dug out these examples of sartorial elegance from the back pages of Melody Maker. It's from January 20, 1973 (priced at 8 new pence, or 50 cents if, per chance, you were buying it in the USA) and has Eric Clapton on the cover pictured at his comeback gig at London's Rainbow Theatre the previous Saturday.

Looking rather fetching in his white suit, a look also favoured by Messrs. Presley, Lennon and Hopkirk, Clapton would have been looking out at a crowd not sporting Cream or Blind Faith tee shirts (back then rock and roll merchandising was still in short trousers) and nor would his disciples have been wearing anything with a designer label. No, what Clapton would have seen was three thousand guys and gals dressed in garments like these:


Or, more likely, these (note the subliminal cigarette advertising):


Just as well the term fashion victim hadn't been coined back then; there are two pages full of embroidered loons, velvet loon jackets, Danish clogs, male clogs, brushed denim dungarees, genuine RAF overcoats, shaggy pile jackets, cavalry boots, velvet caps, square neck vests...I could go on, but I think you get the picture. As Paphides says, these are historical documents. If you want to know what was going on (or to see what the natives used to wear) during a particular time frame, look no further than back issues of the British music press.