Ska Sunday

Sundays are my SkaDays. Missing Words by The Selectors. Under the radar but a sone cold classic. It went well with a Bloody Mary, side bacon sandwich and packet of Silk Cuts -- Purple or yellow depending on the size of hangover.

"How We Used to Live"

"Whenever you go down the roads in Britain, you travel not in three dimensions but in four.  The fourth dimension is the past.  And as we move to and fro in this fourth dimension,  we see not only landscape, but the economic, political and social forces at work behind the landscape…shaping it…forever changing it, but leaving, here and there, the record and the mark.

The interesting thing about the use of images is that they're often drawn up of something in the past.  Some experience which stimulates a strong emotional response.  There's life everywhere and the tracks we make are shared and crossed by the paths of others…who know this world better than we do." 

From,  "How We Used To Live." A documentary by the band Saint Etienne and film maker Paul Kelly.  It premiered last October in London but haven't seen it available in the UK, much less the US.  It's a beautiful trailer that speaks to those who came before us and how they are still with us... in that fourth dimension.

It's in the Music...

One Summer night in 1990, I was offered Ecstasy at the Roof Gardens in London. I turned it down insisting Becks took care of me just fine. I watch this video with more than a little regret.

Sucker in London

I Don't Need This Pressure On...

Spandau Ballet



Before True...




I don't need this pressure on...

Passport Photo 1989

The Roof Gardens. Friday night. Chatting and chatted up while a white swan swims by. Champers. B&H Golds. Take the tie off while Totty Tay dances off. "You got a Corrado, mate?" Strobe lights on a bump friendly dance floor. More like grind friendly. What does legover mean? Hmmph? And then she told me. Three o'clock in the morning. Stand in line for coats. Lights are turned on. Outside feeble cold chills sweaty hair and I know... I'll never. Forget.


I hope they don't either.

Trad GB

Fred Perry Classic White Shirt, BC (Before China)

It's great to see GB running third in medals. God love 'em. I always have. In college, I had this obsession for Fred Perry(BC). Mostly 'cause it was so hard to get. I considered myself lucky to have a couple Fred Perry wood racquets and a pair of wreath embossed tennis shoes. But shirts were expensive and hard to find in the states while the Fred Perry (BC) Holy Grail, a V neck sweater, was non-existent. A college friend lived in a suburb of London close to a Perry outlet. She'd take orders during Christmas and Summer breaks but I guess my Fiat was in the shop.

The wreath logo comes from the All England Club. Fred wanted a tobacco pipe but a wreath was suggested by his partner since he didn't think a pipe would be too popular with the ladies. Good call, that. You can read more at the Heritage section of the Perry site here.

My personal heritage with Perry goes back to 1980 when I first heard The Specials. "More Specials" was an album that seemed to come from outer space as much as the UK. Everything U.S. grown that year seemed so, Daryl Hall, John Oats, Billy Joel, Eddie Money...Not just white but Ohio white.





Not white, say like a Fred Perry shirt. Or better, that V neck sweater. As I sit here in my wheel chair, with a Hudson Bay blanket on my lap, dictating this to my Summer intern, I remember a college dorm room with Fred, The Specials and Rhoda Dakar. I'll cue the Thoren's turntable, crank up, 'I Can't Stand It' and blow off my Survey of English Lit class as I crawl back into bed. And this time, I won't have any guilt.

Contradian London: Shoe Porn & Touching Myself

Ten years ago, John Carnera of George Cleverley gave me a tour and an hour of his shop's time knowing full well I couldn't afford his shoes. It was obvious John was proud of his shop, it's history and that they were still making a shoe in London and not India like so many in Northampt... Never mind. Lets keep it positive today.

I have a pair of Cleverely designed side gusseted shoes from Poulsen and Skone. Hands down the most comfortable and attractive shoes I've ever owned save those Monk Chukkas by French Shriner in 9th grade. For me, the Cleverley last is far more attractive than the stubby John Lobb and lighter as well.

John shows me a book of GC archival images. I suggest they publish something for poor guys. Like me, in love with the company but too poor to foot the tab. I call it shoe porn. John, having never heard the expression before, laughs and shakes his head. He hands me this catalog (click images to enlarge), "Well, here's some shoe porn for you." I thank John and ask if he has a loo. He tells me it's not for the public. I tell John what I have to do isn't public either.

I love myself
I want you to love me
When I'm feelin' down
I want you above me
I search myself
I want you to find me
I forget myself
I want you to remind me

I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no

You're the one who makes me come running
You're the sun who makes me shine
When you're around I'm always laughing
I want to make you mine
I close my eyes
And see you before me
Think I would die
If you were to ignore me
A fool could see
Just how much I adore you
I get down on my knees
I'd do anything for you

I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no

I love myself
I want you to love me
When I'm feelin' down
I want you above me
I search myself
I want you to find me
I forget myself
I want you to remind me

I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
I don't want anybody else
Oh no, oh no, oh no

I want you
I don't want anybody else
And when I think about you
I touch myself
Ooh, oooh, oo-oooh, aaaaaah

I don't want anybody else
When I think about you
I touch myself
I don't want anybody else
When I think about you I touch myself
I touch myself, I touch myself, I touch myself,
I touch myself, I touch myself, I touch myself,
I touch myself, I honestly do, I touch myself...
Christina Amphlett & Divinyls (1991)

Can I get myself in trouble if I touch myself without protection?

Contradian London: Fried Up

I've flown first, business and coach and always arrive in London feeling the same way. Like nails on a chalk board.



At 32, I was picked by the company president to handle the servicing and sales of London business. In large part, I believe, because of my off-the-menu dessert request for vanilla ice milk and Twinkees at Aunt Fanny's Cabin outside Atlanta during a business dinner with 20 insurance buying Catholic priests. The lead underwriter from Lloyd's termed their liability policy, "The Buggering Bishop's Program" just before adding an intentional acts exclusion.



The president was loaded with tips what with 30 years of international travel under his surcingle. He advised me to resist all temptation to sleep when arriving, as early in the morning as possible, and to stay up as late as possible, at least until 9 or 10 PM. Exhausted, you sleep through the first night without interruption and are thrown into a sleep pattern consistent with the GMT time zone for the rest of your stay. It really works. It's also really hard to do.

I spent countless nights wide awake in bed. Frustrated, I walked the streets around St James Place at 3 AM peering into windows of John Lobb, Harvie & Hudson, New & Lingwood, Davidoff... I walked by stone walls 300 years old, ran my hand along the shell and lime only to be distracted by drunks leaving a private club and piling into black cabs with their engine valve echos ticking away down the empty street.


It took a while before I had the discipline to avoid bed at 9 AM and walk the streets in the light of day. An incentive was the perfect fry up, Full Monty or the Full English breakfast as it's known. Fried eggs, back bacon, blood sausages, a grilled tomato, fried mushrooms and, "...you want the beans, yeah?" "No, I'll skip the beans." I say as I pull a purple Silk Cut from a freshly opened packet of 15. "You don't want the beans?" the waiter says adding, "Have you tried them?"

I light my first cigarette in four months and notice my hand shaking. "Uh, yeah...I'll pass." I take a drag along with some sulfur from a Swan and inhale deep. The chalk board scratching intensifies as my head seems to roll off my shoulders. I flick an ash into the orange plastic ashtray and wonder why I'm smoking. All those smoke free days in the states down the toilet -- which is what they call it here instead of a bathroom. "Is there a bath in the room, mate?" "No, I guess not." "Well then don't call it a bathroom. It's a bloody toilet."

In London less than two hours and I'm lighting up, greasing up and frying up. These early morning Saturday patrols for a Caff are usually hit and miss. I've had some amazing fry ups but my favorite will include white toast fried in back bacon grease. A good Caff is tiny joint with a handful of tables and while a very good fry up at Blake's Hotel will set you back twenty pounds or more - - A Caff or the Fox and Anchor will get the job done under ten quid.


Still, the memories I recall with the crystal vividness of a Mezcal buzz are those wandering the streets at oh-dark-thirty. Alone and wide awake to the noises and smells as shoe heels tap out my steps against cobble stones. One night, I actually wished I could die and be buried in London... just so I could be a permanent resident -- Thanks, in part, to all those fry ups.

A Contradian London Walk

Medal awarded to survivors of The Chew House defense, Germantown

WWI recruiting poster, 1915

Christmas Cards, 1885


Hindustani Musket Cavalry

Guardsman Higgins, 1830

Madras Army, 1835

Recruiting poster for Sussex Light Dragoons, 1780

Coffee Cup, 2012

15th Light Dragoons, 1780

Soldier of the Queen, 1960


Museum Tie from early '90s - No longer available

I've had a love affair with London since my job sent me there 23 years ago. Over time, I learned to beat jet lag, find dress socks that'll last 15 years and follow Benedict Arnold's funeral procession to a Pet Shop Boy's song. You might be thinking one of three ain't bad. I also discovered out of the way restaurants, hotels, museums and created my own walking tours while accumulating some of the best god damned memories ever.

London can be a stay at the Westin, a visit to the Tower and a bite at McDonald's but who would want to. How the hell do you connect with any city by staying in a Westin? I guess I'm a contrarian and love going down empty roads. Partly because, "Hell is other people" and mostly because I love to explore.

The National Army Museum is located in Chelsea and while the V&A draws the crowds, the Army Museum will assure you of loads of room, free admission and unique displays. My personal favorites are Sir Henry Clinton's red coat and the skeleton of Napoleon's horse, Marengo. There's an amazing collection of military art and most of it is tastefully reproduced for the museum's gift shop.



A four minute walk west of the museum is the restaurant, Foxtrot Oscar. I discovered FO before it was purchased by Gordon Ramsey and long before some of the food preparation was done off site. Still, it's a great bargain for a lunch of crab cakes and a Bloody not to mention a connection of sorts to the meaning of Foxtrot Oscar in the military.

Someone who had a 'Foxtrot Oscar' personality was Benedict Arnold and unknown to many is his final resting place at St Mary's church on the south bank of the Thames -- a short walk from Foxtrot Oscar. Walk west on Royal Hospital Road. Follow it until it turns into Chelsea Embankment and Cheyne Walk. Turn left on Battersea Bridge and it's here I que the Pet Shop Boys, Survivors...



Cross the windy bridge and turn right on Battersea Church Road. Follow it along the Thames for about a quarter mile until you see St Mary's Church on your right. Arnold's wife, Peggy Shippen buried Arnold here in 1801. Years later, many of the bodies in the cemetery were exhumed, Arnold among them, and were 'consolidated' without markers. However, there is a crypt in the basement of St Mary's and the church claims it holds the remains of Arnold, Peggy and their daughter.

I don't really care so much where Arnold is buried. What amazes me is the black hearse and horses I see crossing Battersea Bridge in 1801 and bringing Arnold to this place. A long way from where he was from and even further from what he was. Like I said, you're not gonna run into a lot of people out here.

Chartwell Booksellers

55 East 52nd Street - In the lobby















Writer, Churchill-expert and owner of Chartwell Booksellers (see above), Barry Singer has a new book out. 'Churchill Style' is a primer of Churchill's food, wine, cigars, women, books and good country houses. Churchill is what John Fairchild would call, "A Civilized Man." I admit to never reading Churchill but I have read a couple biographies.

Somewhere in those books... or was it a London pub? -- I heard my favorite Churchill quote: "The definition of a Greek -- is a Turk -- trying to be an Italian." Singer made my day, hell, he made my year, by confirming that attribution. But - he saddles the famous Lady Astor/ Churchill rebuff, "I may be drunk, madam, but in the morning I'll be sober and you'll still be ugly" to Sir Frederick (F.E.) Smith, a close friend of Churchill but not of his wife, Clementine, "who believed him to be a bad influence on her husband as a drinker and as a gambler. He was, however, in every sense, Winston's equal."

In appropriating a style - you could do a helluva lot worse - Joe Stalin and Mao Tse Tung come to mind. Those Commie world visions have clearly soared off course as their descendants grab capitalism like a gibbet around a neck while making JP Morgan look like a girl scout selling do-si-dos outside a grocery store.

But Churchill is still English and the English are still Churchill. Thank God.

I'll review the book tomorrow. It's perfect for Father's Day. Even if Dad has to buy it for himself. Beats the crap out of a tie -- Unless it's a navy polka dot bow tie from Turnbull & Asser. Bloody hard to go wrong with that pairing.