Cinema V Theatre - the cost war!

Back in the day, you used to be able to say, well, I’ll just pop down to the pictures and grab a popcorn and coke and be back home with the change from a fiver, whereas sit in uncomfortable seats watching some dreary checkov and you wouldn’t get much back from a fifty. Well, folks, times they are a-changing. Nowadays, go to the cinema of an evening and try to get a ticket with some popcorn and a drink, and you pretty much have to march in waving a twenty, whereas head to the national theatre and watch a show in the Travelex season, and you’re ten quid all in.

Not only is theatre competitive for price, but it has the potential to be so much more alive than the cinema. Something about watching live theatre makes the audience need to sit and listen, whilst try to get those crisp-munching kids behind you to pipe down during a coen-brothers flick and you’re lucky to escape with an ear-bashing. And the attentiveness, coupled with watching live performers telling you a story as you sit there, means now that the cost is down, the theatre wins hands down in every category.

Skate London

Santa’s in town. And what does Santa like to do on a day off? Well, it’s obvious isn’t it? He likes to don a pair of skates, find a frozen lake, and go rounud and rounud in circles trying not to bump into children.

At least, I assume that’s what he does, for why else would our national monuments (Somerset House, the Tower of London, Natural History Museum, Hampton Court Palace) be turned into ice rinks every Christmas?

I usually get dragged along, and this year was no different, so again I found myself shakily mimicking a young deer at somerset house, whilst thirteen year old boys shot past doing somersaults and wowing the crowds. Why is it that once a year being able to ice-skate becomes cool? What do the ice-skaters do for the other 11 months? Practice? Dream about last year and plan their exploits for the coming season? And anyway, when you’re shoved in like sardines and have middle-aged women on their backs there ain’t much room for show-boating.

I have to admit, though, that there is a certain sense of wonder and seasonal joy about the skating in London. Somerset house is a beautiful surrounding to partake, and the aching shins and bruises seem somehow earnt. Although I must say, that for this year at least, it’s over. And I’m glad.

Mulled Wine versus Spiced Cider

Ah yes, the time of year has come again for people to start drinking alcohol hot. An odd custom, but one of which I personally am an enormous fan.

What better to come home to on a cold winter’s night than a warm glass of mulled wine, or to turn up at the pub to be served a steaming mug of spiced cider. And here, lies the dilemma: which is the better warm booze treat. The red wine, sweet, unctious and fruity, or the sharp cider, clove-infused with a cinnamon stick to stir?

Personally, I’m a mulled wine fan – there’s something so traditional and wonderfully retro about it that I take enormous pleasure in. However, I must say that there definitely comes a point when a warm cider has to win. Especially when you’ve drunk too much wine the night before. And maybe, finally, this is why cider will take over. Because ultimately, wine is better drunk from the bottle, unadulterated, whilst cider is usually undrinkable without something to spice it up!

Hyde Park Winter Wonderland

The other night I decided to do something different, so me and my girlfriend went to the Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park. Standing at the top of Kensington High Street (my suggestion) and staring hopefully into the dark sprawling mass that is Hyde Park, we quickly realised that either a) we’d got the dates wrong or b) I’d brought us to the wrong tube stop. We quickly settled on b).

Half an hour later, stuck in traffic on a bus to Hyde Park Corner, the other half getting crosser by the minute, I was beginning to regret my high and lofty ideas of ringing the changes. We should have stayed in, I thought.

However, as the bus pulled around the next corner, a wondrous land of bright wintry lights twinkling in trees and the merry sound of laughter ringing out from laughing families made all the travelling seem worth it. We’d found nirvana. Well, we’d reached Hyde Park Corner at least.

This place is a great alternative idea for an evening out this festive season. Serving delicious cups of mulled wine (£4 a pop) Bratwurst and sauerkraut and candyfloss and organic steak burgers and Germanic and Austrian craftwork and sweets . . . I could go on. Amongst all this, of course, is the fair: A huge big wheel (although at £7 quid each a little steep) haunted house, rollercoaster, whirling rides, carousel and an ice rink – I mean, what more could you want from a winter night out?

One word of advice – make sure you get off at the wrong tube stop and trek across London for an hour – it makes it SO much more exciting!

Credit crunch - on a carrot stick - eating through the misery!

So it’s official, we can no longer afford the life of luxury we’ve been used to. Those extravagant Christmas feasts with capons coming out of your ears are long gone, so what do we do now? Sure, we can still eat Turkey rather than nut roast on Christmas day, but how do we survive the economic downturn and still feed the family after this?

Here are some ideas:

Don’t eat too much meat. Simple, I know, but meat and fish are expensive treats and in a climate like this, rather than munch on economy chicken pumped full of water and chemicals, why not substitute mushrooms, or tofu or quorn. Much cheaper, much healthier and not full of junk. Instead of beef mince, try using lentils and borlotti beans, and if you can’t live without hummus (like me) dip carrot sticks rather than bread sticks. And for heaven’s sake buy your fruit and veg from a market (hildreth in Balham has daily fruit and veg stands) – you save money and don’t get produce stuffed full of chemicals.

What's my name?

Not John Lewis. Not in any way is this John Lewis. I mean, it’s called Peter Jones. Different first name, different surname. So . . . but hang on a minute. Why does it sell exactly the same things as John Lewis, and why are the logos the same . . wait a sec . . . it IS John Lewis.

Actually, I think that Peter Jones is the original, but can anybody tell me why one store has two names? Would Mcdonalds suddenly open up stores called McHoolihans? I mean, I understand refranchising – Jif becomes Cif (actually what was that about?), but why have two names for one store. I just don’t get it. And never will.

go to http://www.qype.co.uk/place/33688-Peter-Jones-London?lang=en to see my review of the big Pete J!

Jingle Bells, Woollies Sells!

So, who’d have thought it. That beacon of cheap quality, the haven where you can buy a kettle a year safe in the knowledge that next January you’ll need a new one and it’ll only cost a fiver, that bastion of pick’n’mix and childrem’s toys has gone under.

Of course, I’m talking about Woolworths. How upsetting that even the good value stores are having to shut down as consumer confidence and lack of money destroys our economy once again. Will we never learn?

Of course, what it does mean, is that there’s an excellent sale on at the moment, and well worth the trip. However, when I sashayed down on Saturday morning to buy some ringbinders (furiously out there purchases, I know!), the queue to pay stretched around most of the store. I don’t know how long you would wait for 50 pence of a couple of ringbinders, but I decided to cough up and go to smiths. Oh, the high life . . .

Movember - are beards back in?

Now all around me for the past month I’ve seen friends and acquaintances strolling around as if everything’s normal, seemingly unaware that they have what can only be described as a faint suggestion of a slug on their upper lip.

Yes, moveber has come and gone, and with it many differing styles of facial experimentation. And it does beg the question: are beards and moustaches coming back into fashion. After scoffing for a few days, I began to envy these facial adornments, sorry that I myself had not one. And I have to say, when the time came to shave, they all looked like naked, un-manly specimens.

I think beards are cool, I don’t care who knows it, and I think 2009 should be the year of the beard, with everyone growing their hair to warm them up and thus save on heating bills. Maybe next November we can all shave for a month. Nudember? It’s got interesting possibilities . . .

Quorn in a barn!

I’ve recently been persuaded by my partner to substitute my chicken and beef for quorn. When first suggested to me, this seemed like a horrific sacrifice, and I vaguely remembered the terrors of tofu as a younger man.

However, being confronted by a quorn stir-fry one evening, I was amazed to discover that this micro-protein meat substitute is pretty darn tasty. And very similar to meat itself. Also, it’s low-fat and cheap as chips. The new credit-crunch foodstuff perchance? Methinks so. Sainsbury’s Balham even have there own make which is even cheaper. Touche.

I would be really interested to know, though, how good it is to eat reconstructed stuff that’s made to taste like chicken and beef. I mean, there must be a lot of flavourings and additives getting bunged in. Will it be a health scare on the scale of mad cow in a couple of years. Who knows. Anything’s possible. But for now, I’ll save the pennies and the waistline and cook the quorn.

Imagine this v Oliver (New musical or revival?)

I recently went to see a new musical about the Warsaw Ghetto called Imagine This, playing at the New London theatre on Drury Lane.

Sitting in curious abandonment before curtain up, I was admiring the set and quaffing my vin rouge. As the show began, I was impressed by the stylish simplicity of the staging and the intriguing beginning, gently leading us into a horrific holocaust story of real heart.

The problem really lies in the parallel story of Masada, an ancient race of Jews who fought the Romans, and in the repetitive music and patchy plot (the female lover runs on attempting to kill the Roman centurion, only seconds later to start singing a love song. Where’s the stuff in-between?) So is it a triumph of a new musical? No not really. And will it encourage joe public to go to the theatre? I doubt it.

Playing down the road, is something that will definitely put bums on seats, and is already sold out for a good year, Oliver starring Rowan Atkinson and one of the Nancy contestants from telly. So, I wonder, is this better for theatre? No, not really. And will it encourage joe public to go to the theatre? Well, unfortunately, yes. And if that’s what we need to rejuvenate theatre in this country, then so be it. Although I have to say, why oh why can’t all this hype be put into a new musical rather than a tired revival of a sure-fire hit? I don’t know, but the scared producers of London Town certainly have some stuff to answer for. Would the real Cameron Macintosh please stand up?

Office bonding (yes, that's bonding!)

In my work-place there is no communal area. No café. No lounge to relax during break times and chat. No kitchen to bond over cups of tea. All we have is a cupboard with a sink, a kettle and a microwave. Needless to say, I work for the government. They treat us well.

Now, my theory runs as follows: the management believe that we work harder when we don’t chat too much. The best way of getting us to not chat is to provide us with no communal space. And therefore we focus and work non-stop.

My repost is this: without sufficient quality breaks during a day of work, the brain stops functioning properly and the work falls off at a rapid rate. If we were given decent options for tea breaks, I am sure the work-rate would improve. The management, obviously, have been unresponsive to my pleas.

Not only that, but there are still people whose names I don’t know. That, my friends, is not just my forgetfulness, but the deepset difficulty of bonding without a kitchenette. Bring on the Googleplex!

The Bills, the bills . . .

I live in Balham and I’ve just randomly been switched from edf energy to British gas. Now, I was perfectly happy with edf energy, my showers were hot, my telly switched on, and I paid a set amount each month.

But, apparently, edf energy weren’t supplying my gas. Shock, horror, the utilities companies have screwed it once more. So here I am, a couple of weeks later, with a big phone bill for the tiresome admin, same hot showers, same telly switching on, yet with a different company billing me. Curious.

The most annoying thing, actually, is that it will now work out as more expensive for me to be supplied with gas and electricity, because I negotiated a good deal six months ago. And in the current economic climate coupled with the current deep freeze settling over England, I wonder how I’m going to cope over the winter months. Big jumpers, methinks.

Does coffee make you feel better?

Right. So. I have a theory. When you wake up in the morning wondering how on earth you’re going to function, how you could possibly drag yourself out of bed for a second, and you think all you need is a coffee and you’ll be fine, then think again.

Because my theory goes like this: Although coffee give you an immediate burst of energy and awareness, after half an hour or so, you feel worse than before. Don’t believe me? Well, listen.

I was in a local Balham coffee shop, Bertie and Boos, and feeling a bit of morning grog. I ordered a double shot cappuccino and settled down to read the morning paper, safe in the knowledge that I’d be fine to face the day. I drank the coffee, felt great for twenty minutes, and then a little while later found myself asleep in the frothed milk, wondering what had happened. Yes, I admit I was tires, but from then on I felt dreadful for the whole day, and have resolved to go for the herbal teas in future.

Cold of Wandsworth

I'm currently working in an office in Wandsworth and found to my dismay that the heating is turned off over the weekends. This means that first thing monday morning it is so cold that everybody is wrapped up in scarfs and hats and writing in the air with their breath. Tapping away at their frozen keyboards with ice-picks.

Okay, maybe not that bit. But it is cold. And I don't blame the office for saving energy over the weekend. Maybe just pop it on a bit earlier. Or redo the system. Because on top of that, at the moment when I pop out for a coffee, I literally can't feel my hands by the time i'm caressing my capuccino. It's that cold. It's like The Day after Tomorrow. But worse. And if it doesn't warm up soon, Wandsworth Common will freeze over and the ducks in the pond will need skates.

In search of the perfect curry . . .

I'm a big fan of curry. And I think that the perfect curry is a difficult beast to tame. Everyone wants something different, but for me, it has to be excellent quality of ingredients (no grisly chicken thanks), the right balance of spice to taste, and neither swimming in sauce or bone dry. Not too tricky, you think. But let me tell you so many places get it wrong.

Recently I've been lucky enough to savour a few different Indian restaurants in different cities in England. First off, I did the up-market Bombay Bicycle Club in Wandsworth down the Nightingale Lane (http://www.qype.co.uk/place/254217-The-Bombay-Bicycle-Club-London). Amazing. And in the right ways. It had a great quality of ingredient, perfect spice and was just darn good. A bit on the pricey side, but then again, it is London. Next up was Akbars in Leeds (http://www.qype.co.uk/place/54752-Akbars-Restaurant-Leeds). Again, a fearsome contender, although my Chicken Tikka Masala was seriously spicy. Too spicy, in fact. Which was a slight shame. But the rest of it made up. And it was more reasonably priced.

Last of all, I tried Blue Mango in Birmingham. Again, this started well enough, with excellent bhajis, and sumptuos lamb tikka, but fell away a bit with the slightly bland main dishes and over-priced beers. Nonetheless, it was still a really top meal. I left realising that in fact, for me, a good curry may well be a state of mind. And that maybe I still haven't found the perfect curry. If you have, please let me know.

The Death of Theatre

Unfortunatley, I think that theatre in the provinces of England is dying a slow, painful death.

This is due not to the quality of work being produced but the audiences not willing to part with their money to see theatre unless it has a famous face in it or somebody from one of these tv talent shows. Because of this, theatres are becoming stretched and struggling to fund themselves.

Take for example, one of the shining lights of regional theatre, the West Yorkshire Playhouse (http://www.qype.co.uk/place/196720-West-Yorkshire-Playhouse-Leeds). The current season has been challenging and exciting and of great quality, yet where were the audiences? I went to see a cracking production of Privates on Parade, yet the auditorium was half empty. So what is the solution? I'll tell you, I've figured it out.

The next reality tv show that the BBC, our national broadcasting agency, funds, should be finding a new talent for our repertory theatres, and taking a show from theatre to theatre with this familiar face and familiar project, thus filling our theatres with the new audiences. Not just lining the pockets of Lloyd Weber and Cameron Mackintosh!!

5-a-day

Okay. Who’s with me on this one? When it comes to healthy eating, the same people trot out the same lines time and time again. ‘Five a day’. Just eat five portions of fruit and veg a day and you’ll be fine.

But who actually manages to do this? I for one find it difficult to do three a day, let alone five. I cut up a banana into my cereal, have an apple for lunch and some green veg in the evening with my meal. Seriously, is that still not enough? It certainly feels like it should be!

i-phone?

Who wants the i-phone? It’s expensive, it will almost definitely be stolen, and you have to join O2 to get one. I mean, five years ago I was running away from O2 due to their poor customer service and rubbish talk plans. So who actually wants an i-phone?

Well, me actually. And, by the look of it, most of us. They’re by a healthy mile the coolest phone on the planet, you can browse the internet and feel like you’re on a mac, and the women love it. Well .. . that may be a stretch. . . but that internet stuff . . that’s all true. Any they’re beautiful. Like everything Apple make, it’s a sleek, cool little bundle of gorgeousness. And I want one. NOW!!

Outdoor Heaters?

Are they ethical? It’s a good question. And one I’m not at all qualified to answer really. Outdoor heaters are probably not very good for the environment, but my word do they keep you warm on a chilly summer’s night when you’re having a drink outside.

They have one of these things at the freemasons arms in Wandsworth, and I’m always grateful for it when I pop out for a smoke, which I have to do outside nowadays, so for now, until they become illegal, I say enjoy!!

Cricket Season

Ah, the cricket season is upon us. We search under our beds for our pads and boxes, and take to the fields of central London to attempt to hit that elusive six and take that wonder catch. And also, we watch people doing it properly on the telly.

But somehow, doing it yourself is so much better. Yes, it hurts when you take the first catch of the season, and it’s terrifying when a pace bowler is steaming in at you trying to knock your block off, but when you do connect with the sweet spot, or when you deliver an unplayable ball which the bat knicks behind for a wicket, there’s nothing quite like it. So brush off your whites and head down to Wandsworth Common, where the cricket’s flowing.

Cycle London

I recently had a party, and a mate of mine left his bike round my flat. As he lives in North London, and I live South, he decided he couldn’t be bothered to pick it up for a while, so I decided to ride it around instead of my Vespa for a bit. Why not, I thought? Get in shape for summer.

My god is it tiring. The first ride I did I had to sit down for about half an hour afterwards to recover. But slowly, ever so slowly, it got easier. And now, when I ride somewhere, I actually feel energised rather than dead. Which is better, I think. Also, I’ve discovered the joys of Wandsworth cycle routes and being able to ride in the bus lanes. And yes, I do feel fitter. A bit, anyway.

Beach Bodies

Summer’s here. (Isn’t it?). And the annual beach holiday looms closer. I say looms, for me it comes sailing on the winds of time, a cloud of relaxing days, the sea lapping at my toes and the sun beating down on my loose muscles, reading the trash books you never get to read day to day.

For me that is. That’s because I don’t really care that much about my appearance. In so much as I’m happy throwing on some swim shorts and leaping into the ocean, aware that I’m never going to have the physique of Brad Pitt in Fight Club, nor Jack Black in any of his movies. I’m a happy middle ground. And I’ve come to terms with that.

For my partner it’s a different matter. Apparently everybody on the beach will be scrutinising the finer details of her body, obsessed with that mole on her leg of scoffing at her not-at-all-fat fat arms. Rubbish. People don’t care. We should celebrate our bodies as they are, and leap into that sea with relish!

Red Meat

When I was younger I noticed that a friend of mine wasn’t eating red meat. He ate fish, chicken, and lots of vegetables, but never red meat. So I confronted him with his oddity, and he came back with: ‘red meat rots the brain’. I scoffed. Science for the insane. Red meat tastes good buddy, hop on the burger train.

However, reminded of this later in life, I am beginning to wonder if he wasn’t on to something. I certainly notice when I’ve had a sausage or a burger that I feel much more sluggish than normal, and when I eat fresh fruit and veg I feel more alert and energised. So I’ve decided to give this theory a go, and see if my rotting brain comes back to life.

Kung Fu Panda

I went to see this panda-hero animated film the other day, on the back of some rave reviews in the paper, and I must say, it was pretty good. It had a lot of good gags in it, mainly to do with how fat the panda was, a great hero voiced by the loveable Jack Black, and a sexy tigress (Angelina of course). Add to this a genuinely scary bad guy, a wise yoda-esque turtle sage and some great fight sequences, and you’re left with a thoroughly enjoyable film.

However, spending almost ten pounds to watch and hour and a half’s worth of a cartoon, no matter how good, seems to me something of a con. I mean, I get family guy on every night and don’t have to pay for it, and that’s a lot funnier than this. I suppose I feel that if it’s worth going to the cinema, you should see something which really needs to be seen at the cinema. A surround sound special effects epic, or a film so steeped in political intrigue that the focus a cinema viewing brings is necessary. But for a cartoon . . . not sure.

To vest or not to vest . . . . .

Ahh. Summer’s here, the sun’s out (for a few days) and the great british public take to the parks of London, baring flesh that hasn’t seen the kiss of a ravishing ray in months if not years. Pasty, freckly, podgy, tanned and toned, all of our compatriots are willing to show the rest of us what they’ve been hiding these past winter months. The women amongst us have agonising decisions to make. Dress or skirt? Shorts or three-quarters? Sandals or flip-flops?

And for the men, it’s vest or t-shirt. Simple as that, really. Vest or t. I for one will plump for the vest, I think. It guarantees a nice bit of bony shoulder burn, and has the girls sniggering into their sun block, but if us guys can’t flaunt it now, then when can we?

Hayfever!!!!!!!!!

No. Not the Noel Coward play, the irritating spring disease which afflicts all of us sensitive types at this time of year, and can render the most beautiful days of the year tiresome and painful. Why is it that even taking tablets doesn’t make much of a difference? I don’t know.

I even teamed the tablets with the nasal spray the other day, as I was busy playing cricket in the most beautiful ground in the country (stonor park outside Henley, if you’ve never been, go) and noticed a slight improvement, but still had sore eyes most of the day. Maybe the answer lies in taking the tabs before the attacks, just in case. Answers on a postcard.

Karl Pilkington

I’ve recently revisited the legendary Ricky Gervais podcasts, and realised what an absolute genius Karl Pilkington is. The comedy wonders of this man lie in his exceptional ability to sound endlessly bored and disinterested in everything, whilst at the same time spouting forth some of the most wonderful nonsense I’ve ever heard.

But the funniest thing about these podcasts is that Ricky finds everything Karl says hysterical, and takes the micky out of him relentlessly.

‘What are those things in Gremlins called?’ Genius. Pure genius.

The smells of summer

As I was jogging along around Clapham common (fear not, this is a bi-annual event, I am staunchly lazy as a rule) the other week, I was suddenly transported to my youth. No, I didn’t come across young boys, muddy-kneed and being yelled at by a sweaty gym master, nor did I feel once again the pain of that first rejection by a member of the opposite sex, dejected and alone at the local youth centre disco, shoe shuffling to my own miserable rhythms whilst the love of my life esther noble snogged my best mate mike sawyer.

No. Nonononono. This particular transportation was a smell-e-portation. And it wasn’t borgonvilia cascading down a trellis fence, or fresh rosemary rising from a freshly milled border. It was that acrid, vinegary-sweet smell that I’ve never identified, but read about once in Michael Frayn’s Spies. It is horrible, it makes me feel sick, and always did when I walked past it on the way to school. And there I was, a wave of nausea rushing over me, and I was a ten-year-old boy again, gagging and trying to hold my breath.

Hair Scares

Does hair grow quicker in hot weather?

I’ve heard this bandied around before, but never really paid it much attention. However, recently I’ve noticed a rapid amount of hair growth (on my head) and was reminded of this crackpot theory. Could it have legs?

Now, I went to the hairdresser (Chaps, in Balham – which sounds a bit like a dog food but beware not, it doesn’t smell of preserved meat jelly) about three weeks ago, and had a lot of my mane de-maned. Yet a mere three weeks later, here I am again with too much hair to know what to do with. Maybe I should invest in some clippers and have done with it? I dunno, but something needs to be done, and fast. I’m scaring people.

Chef Rampage

I was reading about this chef who went on a knife wielding rampage the other day and threatened to kill himself or somebody else if the cordon bleu cookery school didn’t let him retake his exams. Now, I’m no chef trainer, but I think if I were, I’d probably allow retakes. Or if I didn’t, I’d definitely hide the knives!

But what really struck me about this case, was how desperate this guy must have been to go to such measures just to pass an exam. How much must have been riding on his getting a job as a chef. And how we seem to over-react about everything and anything nowadays. It’s worrying, and I think we all could get some perspective.

What to do!

My generation seem all seem to have one thing in common: Indecision. Why can we not decide any more what to do with our lives?

Whether it’s our career, our relationships or what to eat for dinner and whether there’s anything nicer that’s been reduced, the decisions we face in day to day life seem often to be too big for us to cope with.

Why is this? Have we been given too many options, told that we can do anything and be anything? Or are we simply the lost generation, told what to think and then given free rein to do nothing, de-politicised, afraid of failure and excited by change? I’m not sure, but it is a real problem and one that nobody seems to accept or want to deal with. It’s no coincidence that nobody votes any more. Nobody votes because nobody cares. The right has moved left and the left no longer have any values, even politics is watered down and politically correct, tamely trying to please everybody. Maybe we need a global kick up the arse? 

Now I wonder whether I should have cheese and pickle or tuna mayonnaise?

Working through the summer

Why does work become less and less bearable the sunnier and hotter it gets? I mean, I don’t exactly work in the googleplex, but even so, I can’t imagine anyone sits in an air-conditioned office and feels glad that they can’t be frolicking around outside. Yes, that’s right, frolicking.

I happen to work a stones throw from Wandsworth common, and found myself wandering around it on a lunch hour last week. Not the posh area near the Bellevue road, but the slightly scummier one near southside shopping centre, purveyor of endless junk.

However, to my wonderful surprise, this park is lovely, and there’s even a bowling lawn for those who like that sort of thing. Ponds, benches, picnic areas. I found a little oasis in the grime of central Wandsworth. Check it out.

The Wedding Planner

Oh God, help me in your infinite wisdom. It's upon us. Wedding season. And how, o Lord, am I supposed to afford to attend the many stags, weddings and presents lying in wait?

Actually, there's nothing like a good wedding, but am I right in saying that if you organise a stag weekend that insists upon flying away to a remote spot then paying for endless expensive experiences, you're effectively saying to your mates 'pay up, or you don't like me'. So we have a choice. Swallow our pride, put our hands in our pockets, and go and enjoy, or stick two fingers up to our conjugally-excited buddies. The choice is yours.

When I get married, I'll do a london stag, probably all in Balham so I can crash in my own bed and get a kebab from the marmaris. I'll let you know.

estate agent rant

Right, I'm going to rant about my estate agents, who have been irritating the hell out of me for the past few weeks.

I warn you, this will sound petty, but bear with it.

A month ago, I moved into a new flat in Balham, and because there was only one set of keys, and two of us moving in, I offered to get the keys cut, and be reimbursed by the agents. Was I reimbursed? Was I "$£%! Emails, phone calls, tears, threats, pleas - all to no avail.

It's now a month later, and the money is still to be paid back - Atkinson Mcleod, you know who you are - and I have decided to take action for the good people of renting-ville. We shan't be taken for granted any more. We will stand up for our rights. And I will get my 24.53 back! I am going in. Wish me luck.

Boris

Here we go - an era of tory mayorship, and only the poor to suffer. Oh no, that's not fair. Brown's ingenous 10p rate fiasco has ensured that whatever side of the wing we fly, us low income chaps are sure to get stung.

Actually, I've amazingly found blustery boris quite impact driven in the last couple of weeks - no booze on public transport, for instance - great idea, just nobody's listening because nobody's checking. I'm happy to give him a chance, but please, Bozza, think of us in our under-heated flats whilst you hike up the price of everything in reach, and have a heart.

The Sirens of Balham

Is it just me, or are there an unbelievable number of police cars driving down balham high road on a day (Ironically, one's just gone past)? I don't know whether it's a crime hot-spot, but it doesn't feel like one, or whether there's just a police station within easy reach stuffed full of waiting police vehicles.

Either way, coppers, do you think you could find a way of turning the volume down on your sirens when you drive down the high road? It really gets in the way of late night family guy!

sunbathing on clapham common

Now, I surely can't be alone in thinking how peculiar it is, that at the first sign of summer, all the attractive girls appear in bikinis and spread themselves around clapham common. And all their boyfriends become obsessed with their six packs and try to tan their torsos.

But why do we do this. We know that in a week the rain will be back, our tans will fade, and we will all be miserable again. Why do we buy into the illusion that England has a good climate? And why oh why do we all sunbathe on the common? I don't know, but it's great, and it makes me proud to be british.

south west voyeur

is it me, or are the lives of people living opposite fascinating to all? I happen to live on a busy main road in balham, and opposite are hundreds of flats, all with their own lives going on. Much like fat naked guy from friends, I am beginning to invent whole stories for my neighbours. The lesbian students who sunbathe on the roof, the guy who never leaves, probably a psychopath, and the family who never seem to sit still. It's extraordinary how many lives go on around you, and how little you know about any of it.

dog cred

why is it that local gangs insist on walking around flanked by pitbulls and rottweilers? Do they not realise that they are quite menacing enough without needing the extra threat of a violent dog? I was chilling in greenwich park the other day, and noticed a group of about ten young guys in bling walking in a row, each lead by a ferocious looking dog. It's like a new definition of resevoir dogs isn't it? Anyway, I'm still here to tell the story, so I guess those dogs weren't after a pound of my flesh. But seriously, guys, we're all scared enough, maybe pick up a few yorkies or a poodle or two eh?

late night eating

can somebody explain to me why so many good takeaway joints shut early when the pubs are staying open later and later? I often arrive home at around midnight a little peckish and find my only food options are an all night mcdonalds, southern fried chicken or a kebab Why aren't those great indian and chinese takeout's open just that little bit later. Go on, give it a go, and you might find it's not just me that wants to munch down on a bhaji at midnight!

macho macho man

I'm not weak. I mean, I'm not known for being weak. I am lucky enough to have a fast metabolism, and play enough sport to keep in average shape.

However, entering my local gym in Balham last week, I was suddenly aware of my total lack of strength. Surrounded by large men with large muscles, I found myself worrying that I had some body issue. I mean, if they were so strong, I must be odd. A freak. I mean, where were my bulging triceps? Why did I have to move the weight down by twenty notches each time?

But then I realised. It's no longer cool to be tough. Weak is the new strong. And by god, by those rules, I'm in line for Mr Universe!

Telly Vision

My mate's a tv producer. He makes documentaries. At least, he wanted to make documentaries. He's now doing what I guess is called trash tv.

Starting off his televisual life as a bona-fide documentary enthusiast, he has slowly slid into making programmes following gap-year students around their binge-drinking travels, filming cars falling off cliffs, and men pleasuring themselves all in the name of entertainment. 

But I don't blame him. He's just going where the work is. What's happened to us as a society that we're no longer interested in wildlife or history or world politics, but would much rather watch endless repeats of 'a place in the sun'. Let's stop making food and property programmes, and get back to real entertainment and interesting tv.

Mayor mayor

Who's going to take the coveted crown of London Mayor?

Will it be Bonkers Boris or Kanny Ken? I would be astonished if the gibbering Tory buffoon is voted in by the eclectic London population. In fact, the only way I can see it happening is if Ken's supporters just assume he's going to take it and don't bother voting. I mean, unless you hate Livingstone, surely no sane person would want a prejudiced right winger muddling his way through the next four years leaving confusion and misery in his wake.

After the travesty of the 10p rate fiasco, from our very own lefties (haha!) surely we can't slide further and further into an elitist society that Boris Johnson would represent! Can we?

Global Warming

Is it me, or is global warming a misnomer? I was talking to a friend the other day about the fact that the weather is mental at the moment, and the deluge of rain is far-east-esque, and he shrugged and went 'global warming mate'.

How is rain part of global warming, shouldn't it be called global soaking? It is however, a real worry for all of us if this is a sign of things to come. If the weather keeps up these extremes, and gets worse, where does it end? A tsunami racing through clapham common? A typhoon sucking up a branch of foxtons? Hmmm, actually that sounds pretty good. 

And why do we still not get a proper summer? I thought at least we'd get that finally!

un-common fitness

Who's tried the new craze for military fitness? You'd know about it if you have. I tried this craze a few weeks ago and loved it. But then I thought, I could do this myself. Why pay 50 quid a month for jogging. And I live over the road from Clapham Common. It's so easy!

So, a week later, decked out in flash new trainers, tight vest and jogging bottoms, I set out to put my theory to the test. I lasted ten minutes. After shouting at myself for being lazy and slow, I decided to ignore my inner monologue and go grab a sandwich.

They charge for a reason. You just don't exercise on your own. But those sandwiches . . .

south london theatre

Now, I'm interested in the theatre, and have been thinking recently how scarce theatre is in south london. 

By which I mean producing theatre, not receiving houses. Apart from the BAC and the Orange Tree what theatres south of the river put on shows. You see old places like the clapham grand, brixton academy being great music venues, but why don't we see any theatre there any more? Basically, I'm saying let's reclaim some of these old venues, and get people back in the theatre.

Balham Clapham

Balham is the new Clapham.

I hear this a lot. But why? Balham is actually a lot cooler than it's northern neighbour, much cheaper and much more compact. I say this having been a clapham-ite for years and just being shunted down south due to high rental prices. I now have a tube and overground three minutes away, rather than being not very near either, a waitrose and a sainsbury within stones throw, rather than a tesco metro ten minutes walk, and a plethora of cool bars and eaties on my doorstep. Actually I did live near abbeville road, so that's pretty hard to beat, but Balham isn't the new clapham, it's the old tooting.

Train pain

Why can't Southwest trains be relied on? In fact, why can't any train supplier be relied on?

Is it just me, or apart from the tube, and even the tube a lot, it is so hard to rely on trains to get you anywhere? I'm actually a biker, so don't get the trains much, but it having turned into monsoon weather recently, I've been getting the train to work, and have been late half of the time. What can we do? Vote Boris? I don't think so. I suppose wrap up and get back on the bike.

Dirty Martini

Funky little underground bar/club in the heart of Covent Garden Market, this place is a great option for late night drinks in town. With good options at happy hour, the prices soar afterwards, with a beer and vodka tonic setting me back the best part of a tenner. A little overpriced. Also slightly annoying bar staff. The location is so good, though, that it makes up for much of the rest.

Is anybody else addicted?

Is it just me, or is there something about Pizza Express food that gets you hooked, like the salty coke and hard seats at Mcdonalds?

Whatever the reason, I find their pizza hard to beat, and I've been to Naples, home of the Napoletana. Sure, the pizzas are wood-fired and crispy with fresh ingredients, but pizza express ones just taste better. 

So, if anybody out there knows the secret, do tell.

Treat the kids!

Just at the bottom end of the Northcote Road, this is a top end shop for new-borns to 4-year-olds.

This place is awesome. It looks great from the outside, and when you go in it's an aladdin's cave of goodies, from an enormous selection of car-seats, high chairs and prams, to shoes and clothes including baby Dior and Levis, and an organic clothing section.

It's also got some really cool stuff like mini pianos and a hanging bouncing chair called a moffi cradle. If I was a kid, I'd want one!

Buy Local, forget Asda!

This deli has got to be one of the best places to pick up some seriously good Italian produce.

From its home-made pasta and pesto, to the selection of Italian sausage and salamis, olives and cheese, everything is top quality. Also sells the most wonderful looking bushy topped fennel and pomodorino pachino tomatos which just melt in the mouth.

Fantastic, real Italian family-run place with great fresh authentic produce. Leave the big supermarket chains alone. Fare Visita!

Eat to Opera

From the outside, “Little Bay “ looks like a cheap strip joint in blackpool, lurid purple walls adorned with painted scrawls and an oppressive amount of scaffolding seemingly holding it together at the seams. But walk in, and you are transported into a camp theatrical wonderland, set-painted opera boxes for couples to dine in reside majestically above the other diners, who are surrounded by vibrant walls and a canopy of shimmering gold.

But nothing can quite prepare you for the highlight of the evening, the live opera: a tall blonde belts out Puccini arias and Gershwin smashes, seductively wandering from table to table as you contemplate whether you’ve ever experienced anything so wonderfully bizarre over a breadstick.

The food is good and surprisingly cheap for London, with main courses between six and eight pounds. I had goat’s cheese croquettes followed by pork fillet; both were well cooked and excellent value for money.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s no Chez Bruce, but for fancy on a budget it’s well worth a shot, and if you’ve ever wondered what steak tastes like with a soprano on you lap and your dad struggling for the harmonies, there’s nowhere else to go.

Book Shop-off!

THE BOLINGBROKE BOOKSHOP

The Bolingbroke is a lovely bookstore in the heart of the Northcote Road's busy shopping area.

Entering this shop, you are immediately struck by the sense of a relaxed small-scale bookstore, with no 3 for 2 offers or heavy sells being thrust at you.

There's a sofa to relax and take in a book, and a really good range of books, from the classics to children's, and a smattering of maps thrown in. Been around for over 25 years, so worth taking a look anyway to sample Old-school Clapham.

MY BACK PAGES

Now, I feel like I’m cheating on the Boligbroke Bookshop by saying this, but My Back Pages is my favourite bookstore in London.

Local, ram-shackle, small and crammed with all the books you could hope and dream of, with the offer of ordering any they don’t have in, this place is what book-worms wet dream about.

I sometimes come in just to browse, and am always staggered at the range of weird stuff they have. Also stock old cool looking books to sex up your book-shelves.

Come Diner With Me

Am I right in thinking that Bodeans, the American inspired BBQ and rib joint all over london, is a pretty awesome thing?

Whenever I come in this place, I walk out feeling like I've tasted some of the best from over the pond. And feeling like i don't want to eat again in a year.

Don't go for the fancy stuff, stick to the simple sandwiches, ribs and burnt ends, and you, like me, will truly know the meaning of The American Dream.

Will it be around in five years?

Ah, there’s nothing like a faux-italian café on Wandsworth High Road to get me excited.

How do joints like these stay open? It can't make much money. I occasionally come to this place for a morning coffee and the folks who run it are the friendliest around. In many ways, this makes up for the slightly odd-tasting coffee.

Paninis are good, though, and the jackets are also worth a try for the hungrier luncher, and the feel of the place is relaxed and friendly. Also, there’s a noticeable dirth of good luncheries around here, so it’s pretty much a case of ‘best of a bad bunch’. And if you don’t believe me, try some of the others!

Fast Food Misery

Hmmm. I must admit, I was feeling slightly down-trodden when my feet unwittingly led me over the thresh-hold of this KFC, wondering if it was the long lost cousin of the IRA or BNP.

Who am I kidding? I eat here a lot. Well, not this one, but the chain. Who can resist a zinger burger after the pub’s shut. But this was midday on a Wednesday. That’s right. I’d done it. I was eating fast-food at lunchtime.

What made it worse was that this branch is slap bang in the middle of the Wandsworth one-way system, smells bad, looks dirty, and feels depressing. Of my (obviously) Zinger meal, the chips were cold, the burger looked like it had been assembled by a toddler, and the pepsi was – well, actually the pepsi was fine. You can’t mess up a pepsi. And the tray had ‘matter’ on it. I ate my entire meal and left. I’m not going to waste food!

One of the least enjoyable eating experiences in my recent memory. If you’re around this area, go to The Pantry on Old York Road, or even Tony’s across the street is better. Just remember people, don’t eat it - it makes you feel bad. I just keep forgetting!

Where's Wandsworth?

What's the heart of Wandsworth? Can you spot it? Could you pick it out of a line up?

I think Wandsworth is about the most fascinating and frustrating area in London. It's sprawling, compact, beautiful, ugly, up-market and down-trodden all at the same time.

Walk along the Bellevue Road and you feel as if you're in a boutique gentrified neighbourhood with Gordon Ramsay popping out for a quick pizza, but trudge up Trinity Road to the one-way system and you're in hell. Traffic, pollution, noise, filth, burnt-out bins.

Ok, it's not that bad, but Southside shopping centre isn't the best place in the world to while away a lazy afternoon, and east hill aint a place to slide down on a toboggan!

And then you stumble across Old York Road, again boasting with it's Pizza Express and chic pub culture, before slamming into the horror of the roundabout and industrial estate.

It's weird. I don't get it, but in some ways I prefer the slummy Wandsworth to the posh bit.

Mr Clutch.

Mr Clutch. ‘Mister’ Clutch. Don Clutcheone. Big C. Yep, there’s a new kid in town, and he’s pretty mean. He can enable your gears to engage at a safe and acceptable speed! Lock up your young gear-sticks mums and dads, these clutch gangs are loose and they mean business.

I absolutely love the way these guys have humanised a clutch. I mean, of all the internal parts of a car, the clutch has to be one of the least exciting, without any discernible personality. And if I wanted my clutch fixed, an animated cartoon clutch wouldn’t necessarily be my first choice. He looks too cheery with his cheeky smile, maybe he wouldn’t take the job seriously. The fan-belt maybe, or the drive-shaft would probably make a good fist of it

Actually, this place is pretty handy, being slap bang in the middle of the Wandsworth one-way system, is big and professional looking and always fairly busy. And it does do what it says on the tin. So in that sense it’s no different from Burger ‘King’ or PC ‘World’ (what a fun ‘world’ that sounds – ‘hey, apparently there’s a rave round Mr Microchip’s hard drive, bring your portable storage device and let’s interface!’). Also does exhausts, tyres and brakes. With all that work to do, I guess Mrs Clutch does the cooking!

Tesco is taking over the world!

Tesco Metro. What's the deal?

The best thing about this Tesco is that it’s open late on a Sunday. Other than that, the selection of groceries is fine but don’t expect to go in with a Jamie Oliver recipe and come away able to cook it. It’s a pretty small one.

Also I find these stores more expensive than their big counterparts, which is odd considering they’re selling exactly the same produce and are the same retailer.

There is, however, the obligatory fresh-baked donut/cookie/bread-roll aisle which is always popular, and they do stock a lot of milk. But, like I said, it only really comes into it’s own late on a sunday when the hangover is wearing off and you want to cook a roast but everywhere else is shut. Oh, and it sells Dolmades. Why not?

Clubbing at fluid, Farringdon

Looking like a japanese sushi bar with big glass windows, Fluid is a welcome change from over-crowded sweat-fests. There seems to be a trend for these places, interestingly lit far-east influenced bars with affordable drinks and funky furniture.

Downstairs there is a cellar room where you can dance the night away and get as sweaty as you like, and upstairs big leather sofa arrangements. At the risk of sounding old and grumpy, the dj-ing upstairs was a little loud - to the extent that my voice hurts a little this morning - but there is a pac-man machine in the corner so you can game away all night if you fancy a break from the shouting.

Funky affordable clubbing in a cool and quiet area of London. Have a go.