Comes with baggage

#11

Those of you who swing by these parts on a regular basis may or may not remember that back in 2020, when there was fuck all else not a lot to do, I documented my existence in 10 objects. I know, what was I thinking? Like I said, every day for nigh on two years was a slow news day.

Anyway, at Number 8 I threw in a twofer: that's right, the frisbee and the rucksack. Well, things have moved on since those heady days of lockdown. Let me explain. With the steady advancement of age and the ever growing list of stuff I take out of the house with me (perm any three from five - camera(s); playing cards [another lockdown legacy]; battery packs & chargers, books; glasses wipes) I've become wedded to a man bag. In fact, not just one but two. Another explanation required, I feel: put simply, I outgrew my first one - a beautiful hand stitched affair with loads of secret zipped inner compartments, from one of those brilliant leather shops on Brick Lane in London's East End (Ernie probably passes it most days on his travels.) So, I upgraded. Funnily enough it was from Totnes (the town I'd bought the rucksack from thirty odd years ago) and was sitting not inside but outside a charity shop (without a shoulder strap) feeling very unloved. And with it being sans shoulder strap it was going for a song. I liberated it, found a new strap and gave it a new home. Ladies and gentleman, My Life in 11/12 Objects. 

#12

Spring forward, fall back

Fall, 2017 - Grizzly

Spring, 2010 - Fresh

I treated myself on Tuesday. I let the train take the strain (1st. Class, obvs) and met my good friend Mondo. Bethnal Green at one o'clock we said; perfect for a spot of lunch at Pellicci's followed by a stroll down to Brick Lane.
I've said it before, but it's worth saying again anyway, without Mondo this blog would not have got off the ground; in 2008/2009 (when I first heard Mondo & Piley's Podrophenia podcast), after just a couple of emails I knew I was gonna get on with this fella. His passion for all things rock, and indeed roll, coupled with his guidance and encouragement helped me get this stuff out of my head and into the world we now call social media.

I went for the mixed grill and Mondo went for the chicken. Johnny Depp and Michael Gambon were no shows, but Dave Gorman was sitting next to us; not sure if he's already on their wall of fame.

To the Truman Gallery to see another mover and shaker, but not till we've shaken hands with half the East End - Mondo's treated like royalty in these parts. I just basked in his reflected glory.

The Pigeon Detectives

After conducting a four year Twitter relationship with Morgan Howell it was good to finally meet him on Monday. He was sharing the gallery with Chris Barton & Horace Panter, and together they were showing Cassette versus Vinyl; Morgan's Super Size record sleeves vied for wall space with mutant cassettes and gigantic 'button' badges.
I'd only ever seen his masterpieces on line and in Sunday supplements, so seeing them up close and personal was very special, to say the least. Morgan was very generous with his time and was great company. We talked about everything under the sun, including how to get rid of uninvited pigeons who fly into prestigious galleries.

Chris Barton was a nice fella too. He took the time to explain how he made the giant musicassettes and boxes. I wish the Number One Son had been with me at this point as laser cutters were thrown into the mix and I know James would have been all over him like a cheap suit.

Chris Barton carrying the Cash

Hunky, and indeed, Dory

A rather Special pigeon

Catch that pigeon

From the Truman Mondo then gave me a guided tour of Spitalfields pulling in a fair few hostelries. It transpires Mondo's old man was a contemporary of Ronnie and Reggie. He glossed over the finer details but, like Morgan, he painted a picture of a world that just doesn't exist anymore.
Glasses were charged and recharged, photos were taken of Spoons carpets and we swapped more rock and roll stories than you could shake a shitty stick at.
Around nine bells it was time to depart; to Liverpool St. - homeward bound. Until the next time.

Before I go, here's Mondo's latest squeeze. They're called Howling Black Soul. Check out their bass player.