Jul. 17th, 2015 09:43 pm
keresaspa: (Reiko Ike)
Is this thing still on? Only one way to find out I suppose:

London )
keresaspa: (Max Miller)

The legend claims that it is Sir Edward Carson KC MP in the top left corner but, and correct me if I'm wrong, it looks suspiciously to me like the (admittedly impossible) offspring of Benito Mussolini and Max Miller. Far be it from me to level criticism at as august and established an institution as the Ballymena company of the Ulster Volunteer Force North Antrim Brigade but they might be advised to find a new sign writer as their current man has a dodgy eye.

And come to think of it is that James Craig below him or me? If it is me (and I think I would have remembered posing for the UVF), they've accidentally put my moustache on the guy on the right hand side. New painter needed forthwith!
keresaspa: (Boycie)
That's me back from England then. I'm nursing an injured right leg for my trouble but it was a fun time as I shall now elaborate upon.

keresaspa: (Jimmy Edwards)
I bemoaned yesterday how much I have become a slave to the internet to keep me amused but on the other hand one of the benefits of having internet on tap is that it allows me to keep a close eye on certain patterns of my own behaviour. My insistence of allowing all music to which I listen to pass through last.fm means that I can see which particular artists have dominated my listening this year. For my own interests I believe I will list them here.

Little amuses the innocent and far less the fool )

Of course all of the above unadulterated self-indulgent waffle was inspired by the fact that the year 2011 is about to end apparently and were we Germans it would be ordered by law that we should watch this slice of hilarity.

I'm sure Grimsby must be proud of Freddie Frinton for that little slice of mirth which in no way went on about eight minutes longer than it should have. Well, I suppose the Germans would find a lot of what we laugh at somewhat dull too (although clearly Jimmy James' drunk act was a million miles better). Einen guten Rutsch as they say down Bergisch Gladbach way.
keresaspa: (Max Miller)
As I type this there is a thing on the supremely banal E4 listing what are apparently the 100 best stand-up comedians of all time. Leaving aside the inevitable, but ridiculous, omission of Max Miller (comedy beginning with Lenny Bruce apparently) I was struck by what a lot of old rubbish people were getting terribly excited about. Any list of the best comedians that includes auld blah-fum like Emo Philips, Jenny Eclair, Chris Addison and Jo bloody Brand must by its very nature be rejected as flawed. Meanwhile at the top bores like Dara Ó Briain and Bill Bailey were hailed as all-time greats when all they really do is grate. But obviously taste in comedy is as subjective as taste in music really so it got me wondering what everybody else thought. Thus in a rare departure I selected what I feel are the biggest wastes of stage wood to have made the top 25 and throw it open to your opinions.

[Poll #1711148]

Give me Harry Champion any day of the week.
keresaspa: (Max Miller)
People never cease to amaze. Give them long enough and anything, no matter how objectionable, will gain a following because it was the past and everything in the past was super with its polio and trenches. Benny Hill - a genius. Imperialism - civilising and benevolent. Russ Conway - a maestro (OK, I'm still waiting on that one but you get the point). It now seems that bugger all the stuff about letting people starve whilst they live it large or the Black Hundreds or taxes and wars for the sake of them the tsars are now the in-thing in Russia. It's hardly a surprise that two of the most outspoken supporters of restoration at various times have been Vladimir Zhirinovsky, a wholly repellent individual who makes Jeremy Clarkson seems like an intelligent New Man with his public boasting about fictitious affairs and his constant anti-Semitism despite being a Jew, and Aleksandr Ivanov-Sukharevsky, who found time during a failed career as a film-maker to expound at length about how Nicholas II and Hitler were the twentieth century's two greatest heroes despite both of them being ground in the dirt by communism. Tsarist Russia is well documented as hellish, a mediaeval state still ran as feudalist into the 20th century and one that had to endure a good whipping from a Japan that had itself only emerged from ancient times less than forty years before the war. Just the thing to bring Russia into the 21st century - complete dominance by men wearing too much jewellery for their own good. People, I ask you!

Still, I don't know what I'm complaining about as, after getting bored from too much work for one day I took a stroll down to a new Oxfam bookshop that's opened near here. Not much in the way of books but in amongst the records, containing the obligatory naff 80s compilations, Lionel Richie albums and copies of Golden Avatar's "A Change of Heart" (which, by law, every charity shop must have a copy of, seemingly) I only touched for three long deleted albums of Max Miller. In this day and age Maxy is hard to come by as the younger generation seem to have forgotten all about him and what is available is largely the same few performances but here I now have three complete performances for my delectation. Ah, life is sweet.

So that'll do me for today as I must go home and listen to these fine new acquisitions. And have you heard the one about the Yorkshire man who came to London and couldn't get any Yorkshire pudding? He went home and battered himself to death. I'll get me coat.
keresaspa: (Max Miller)
'Ere you'll never guess what I got. That's right, girl, only a copy of the "Max Miller Blue Book". Now there is a thing. Yes, e-bay has come up trumps again and this time delivered me a joke book from the Cheeky Chappie, himself (albeit by way of Barry Took). Even better, the thing itself cost a mere ten of the copper ones. Stonking. And speaking of Thomas Henry Sargent, I wonder what the great man would make of some little shit from Bath temporarily vandalizing his Wikipedia page? Knowing Maxy he would love it, although like me would probably shrug his shoulders in mystification trying to work out what a "fire crotch" was. And incidentally if the Max Miller you are referring to is indeed a "faggot" as you claim that proposition already infers that "he likes it in the butt", "has butsex with boys" and is "gay". Kid's today, eh? Thinking they invented dirty jokes!
keresaspa: (Julius Nyerere)
Funny old couple of days since we last spoke, comrades. E-bay problems and disappearing students looking to see me in person to explain why they haven't been to class yet (why do I get the feeling that I'm in for the waterworks from a complete stranger?) have been a bit of nuisance. On the positive and negative side I went into town yesterday and found that two of the few remaining independent music shops in Belfast are biting the dust. The Gramophone Shop is/was a largely pop and golden oldies driven place that sold Beanie Babies and associated nonsense and a result I rarely if ever visited. Still, a closing-down sale is too hard to resist so I slipped and bought all round me after discovering that everything was £1.50 a pop. You can't say 'no' to cheap cuts of Max Miller or the Business (who seemed a bit incongruous for the Gramophone Shop, really) now can you?! Slipping round to North Street I noticed somewhat more disappointingly that Hector's House, probably the only outlet for decent prog stuff in the whole city, also had the closing down sale notices out. Bit of a shitter, that one. On the plus side I did take some of his flamenco albums at a decent markdown and I will keep my ear to the ground for the final day and pick up a load of stuff for next to nowt. Still, it's another piece of what made this city different that is going to the wall. I wonder what the odds are on it becoming a Starbucks? End of era really as it was through Hector's that I picked up a number of gems down the years and it was the place where my love of Spanish guitar and both the Vertigo and Dandelion labels was born. Progress for it's own sake yet again.


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