Now if THIS bloke was playing the O2, I’d get front row tickets
Monthly Archives: March 2009
Go Away From My Window…
…Leave at your own chosen speed… as Bob Dylan once wrote. Pretty much how I feel about the upcoming residency of Michael Jackson for a proposed “50 night” stint at the O2 Arena. Those of us who reside in SE London have had enough unpleasantness with seeing the shocking spectacle of Charlton Athletic commit sporting hari kari on the football field every weekend, whithout everyone’s favourite babysitter pitching his tent in, well, a tent!. Yes. The Millenium Bivouac, as was, has witnessed enough disasters over the years since it’s inception but one feels you ain’t seen nothin’ yet when the Jackson entourage (and, what’s worse, his sad fans) roll up into town. 50 nights! FIFTY!! I’m starting a book on how many he’ll actually do before reports of that “throat infection” start to appear and he’s replaced by Gareth Gates. Now remember: rules of the sweepstake mean that ALL of him has to complete the concert. Any limbs or organs that drop off mid-Billie Jean make that performance null and void. Should save a fortune on makeup for Thriller, anyway.

If any of Mr Jackson’s party happen to read this, you could do worse than to book rooms at The Angerstein Hotel, a pub in Greenwich. It’s but a short limp to the O2, most of the locals need oxygen masks to keep going and the bar staff therin are gender-neutral. Rooms start at 27.50 (with sink) and a view of the Blackwall Tunnel Flyover. Advise keeping the window closed as the whiff from the molasses factory up the road get’s a bit rich. But then you don’t need a weather man to know which way the wind blows.
Now Then…
I make no apology for boring stupid again those of you who I’ve droned on to for years about Greaves’ Rules. But for the uninitiated, here are William Greaves’—scholar, journalist and right-hand opening bat— cast iron rules of how to conduct yourself in one of her majesty’s boozers.
So, with appropriate acknowledgement to Bill, and the Today newspaper (formerly of this parish) I present to you :
GREAVES’ RULES
1.When two or more enter the pub together, one – usually the first through the door – will begin proceedings with the words “Now then, what are we having?” He or she will then order and pay. This purchase is known as “the first round”.
2.This player, or “opener”, will remain “in the chair” while other friends or colleagues come through the door to join the round. He will remain in this benefactory role until either (a) his own glass sinks to beneath the half way mark or (b) another drinker finds himself almost bereft of his original refreshment and volunteers to “start a new round”.
3.In the absence of new arrivals, any player other than the opener may at any time inquire whether it is “the same again?” On receiving his instructions, he will then order and pay for “the second round”. (N.B. The second round is the last one to be specifically numbered. Beyond that point, nobody wishes to be reminded how many they have had and, anyway, no-one should be counting.)

“His Eminence” Greaves (right, in jacket) with the late, great Preston
4.The round acknowledges no discrimination. All players, regardless of sex, age or social status, are expected to “stand their corner”. (Pedants might like to note that we are talking here of the only “round” in the English language that also contains a “corner”.
5.Any new entrant, joining the session after its inception, is not expected to “buy himself in” but should be invited to join the round by whoever is in the chair (see Rule 2). If, however, he is greeted by silence he may either (a) buy a drink just for himself or (b) attempt to buy a round for all present. If (a) or, worse still, (b) is not acceptable to the congregation then the new entrant has been snubbed and should in future seek out more appreciative company. There is one important exception…
6.For reasons of haste or poverty, a new arrival may insist on buying his own with the words “Thanks, but I’m only popping in for one”. If he is then seen to buy more than three drinks, he will be deemed a skinflint, neither broke nor in a hurry to get home, and will be penalised for his duplicity by being ordered to buy the next round.
7.Although everyone in the group is normally required to buy at least one round before leaving, the advent of either drunkenness or closing time sometimes renders this ideal unattainable. In such circumstances, any non-paying participant will (a) have “got away with it” and (b) appoint himself “opener” at the next forgathering. However, any player who notices on arrival that the round has “got out of hand” and has no chance of reaching his turn before “the last bell”, may start a “breakaway round” by buying a drink for himself and all subsequent arrivals. This stratagem breaks the round in two, keeps the cost within manageable proportions and is the only acceptable alternative to Rule 5.
8.When a pressing engagement elsewhere precludes further involvement, it is wholly unacceptable for any player who has not yet been in the chair to buy a round in which he cannot himself be included. In such circumstances Rule 7 (a) and (b) therefore apply.
9.In the event of any one glass becoming empty, a new round must be called immediately. This should not necessarily be called by the owner of the empty glass, however, because this place the slower drinker at an unfair fund-saving advantage. (N.B. Whereas it is permissible for any member of the round to decrease the capacity of his individual order – “just a half for me, please” – the opposite does not hold good. A large whisky, for instance, may be offered by the chair but never demanded of it.)
10.Regional variations. In various parts of the country, a particular establishment will impose its own individual codicil. In one Yorkshire pub, for example, the landlord’s Jack Russell terrier expects to be included in every round. Where such amendments exist, and are properly advertised, they must be piously observed. We are, after all, talking about a religion.
A Wine Press
In these worrying times of the War on Alcohol, PC fascists and HR Supremos, a heartening tale from a friend who just went for an interview: It was held in a pub! He met the guy in the office’s local hostelry at 1pm and chewed the cud with his prospective employer. Four pints later my pal emerged, emboldened by a few looseners, though a tad elephants. It was one of the more encouraging demonstrations of how a new boss might see if a bloke can work under pressure, or indeed, under the influence. Time will tell if our hero passed the test with flying colours and gets the job, but the episode gives one renewed faith in modern working life.
In the early 80’s, I would roam the streets and bars of Fleet Street, seeking out photo editors to try to sell them pictures from the collection I had tucked under my arm (I worked for a photo agency). If they were not at their desks (and they usually weren’t), then they’d be in the local boozer— and each newspaper would have it’s own dedicated drinking hole.
As a kid, visiting 4 or 5 bars-a-day, getting into drinking sessions with 45 yr old hacks AND THEN staying focussed enough to know what you were selling was no mean feat. But it taught me two things: I was just as productive a worker when drunk as when sober ( a misconception I clung onto til way into my thirties); and I wanted to be a journalist in Fleet Street. And I still do.

A Slippery Slope: The Author aged 23
Town Planning
I thought I was reading a Simpsons’ script:
“Loudspeaker repair shop told to keep the noise down:
A loudspeaker repair shop has been told to keep the noise down by a council who decided to build a library next door.” yells the Daily Telegraph. What ARE these guys thinking of? “Hmmm… so, we have a grant for a library… now where shall we put it…. I KNOW !!!!!!!” Jesus wept
I suppose the Bryant and May factory is next to the Fireworks shop too?

A rare photo of the Author (no longer 23) handling solids
Send in the Clowns ?
Reports of circus performers stranded all over the world due to a British Immigration cockup conjure up (gedditt????) all sorts of wonderful images. Clowns and trapeze artists are left, passport-less, from the Ukraine to Ulan Batur because the Brits can’t process their visa applications quick enough. As one concerned circus-owner put it:
“The right hand does not know what the left hand is doing. I have got a clown who is using a flying trapeze artist as his stooge because his stooge is stranded in Mexico. It is a mess.”
Well, it could be worse. What if the Clown above had to stand in as a trapeze artist? His partner would be left swinging in the air holding a pair of large red shoes ! I’ve been searching for ages for queues of funny men in red-noses at Heathrow, squirting flowers at passport officers. Or their plane landing , 7oo clowns dismbark and immediately all the doors and wings fall off. Erm…that wasn’t one at Schiphol the other day, was it?
