A conversation with a drunk…

Dear Lovers,

The other night, I was walking back along the Strand.

What I didn’t expect to see was a utterly smashed man ‘suited and booted’ standing pretty much in the middle of street urinating. As I approached I decided that this behavior was just ungentlemanly and I won’t tolerate it, especially since I was holding it in until I got to Oscar Wilde’s portable toilet.

So I gave him a rollicking “That’s disgusting, your disgusting”. Obviously at distance from being sprayed. He muttered some threatening grumbles about how he was going to fight me, as he fought to try and not urinate on his own heavily polished soon to spoiled ‘smart’ shoes.

I then advised him of the portable toilet near the Oscar Wilde monument and he preceded to take one step forward and one step back.

I received a thumbs up from a passerby and some friendly people started taunting the unlucky drunk chap. Not noticing a friendly woman filming me and him, I started to give him a lecture on responsible drinking and responsible weeing, as he started to hug a homeless woman in a wheel chair who was having non of it and set her uber-passive dog on him. It was all a very British-like.

It reminded me that in Japan, it’s actually legal for businessmen to urinate in public. I think we should stand up more against this ‘suit and booted’ aggression on our streets! Then this afternoon, a pleasant weekend stroll to a city centre cafe and a walker crashes into the back of me, huffs and tuts and then continues to storm around the corner. ( Hey, I’m walking ereeeeeee)

So I shouted out I did;

“Hey, you walked into me….!”
Walker turns and looks behind at me, while continuing to walk at speed..
“Yeah but I didn’t say anything”
How fun it would have been if he crashed into the Scientologist standing in front of him at that point!
“Yeah exactly, you walked into me and tutted buddy. Have a nice day”

This aggression will not stand!



Sea by Roosevelt (The song that saved my summer)

Roosevelt’s Sea is the song of my summer. It will forever remind me of the sunny season — creeping into a groove that could accompany any spontaneous road-trip to the seaside.

Son of German city Cologne, Roosevelt takes you on a magical journey with innocently placed reverbed lyrics, dance orientated synths and unashamedly funk guitars all layered over the strongest of grooves. He plugs into the very reasons why I love music. Sea transports you to a beach where you dance under hazy purple skies — far from the reality of the cramped Camden boozer he has just delighted.

Roosevelt pulls all the strings to make even the most awkward amongst us dance, forgetting all social inhibitions and reminding us that life is good. The secrets of a perfect summer day have never been so obvious.


Mondays are rubbish!

May or may not have sent this to HR by mistake….


I would like to complain about the boy that sits next to me ?????? ??????.

This afternoon, when I was having a rest from the screen after working the whole day. He decided to take the date stamp and stamp my wrist. I now have today’s date stamped on my wrist in red ink.

I think that not only will it stay for a couple of days, and be out of date. It is also a waste of company resources.

I knew that he had done it on purpose as he smiled afterwards and didn’t apologise.

Yours Sincerely,


A Quincy.

True Story.

I was recently reminded of a fascinating tale involving Quincy Jones, the legendary record producer. The story starts with Quincy attending a high society dinner party. It reached the time in the evening where he had to excuse himself to use the host’s lavatory. After some time had passed — without a word to the host or any other guests — Quincy left the lavatory and walked straight out of the front door and down the driveway.

Taking the 'Quincy'

Five or ten minutes later the doorbell rang and the host opened the door to find Quincy’s butler standing in front of him with a toilet plunger in one hand. The butler introduced himself and explained that he had arrived to unblock the toilet. He made his way to the lavatory and went about his business before leaving the party. Neither the butler nor Quincy were to return.

From this day onwards, when you block a toilet with a huge poo, please be informed that this is called a ‘Quincy’. I recently did a ‘Quincy’ myself. I really wish I had a butler with a plunger though.

Much Love,



The stupid-crazy-awesome-big 'live' room on Bloomsbury Square

Followers of the Brethren. Just a quick update to keep you abreast of what us sons of bitches are up to — because you deserve that much.

This month started with an interview with the great Tom Robinson of BBC 6music. Tom graciously invited us to talk about our 2010 release, our upcoming EP and how, despite our un-media trained mouths, we write pretty damn well together — in our own humble opinion. Mr. Robinson was a cool guy and  a true gentleman getting us played with his mate downstairs, Steve Lamacq, and even forgiving my faux-pas of ‘umming’ like a confused goat when answering a question. He also was kind enough to edit out Sanch’s frankly terrible description of our new EP as being ‘a lot more honest’ a comment which prompted a scowl from our frontman Kenny. In spite of this though, ‘These Canvas Shoes’ sounded fat and we clearly came away with egos the size of houses. Not really. But it was good bonding time with my two wingmen (cracking Top Gun reference).

Hanging with aristocrat Tom Robinson

We’ve also started recording our second EP, with which have risen four songs that might just be the strongest and most stylish — but not ‘honest’ — we have ever written together. We hired a massive old 19th Century city mansion with a 40 ft ceiling to record the drums, bass and guitar. The sound was absolutely huge. Expect slight reverb. All thanks goes to Ben at Got Mics (www.gotmics.com). Shameless plug.

Lastly, we shall be playing our first show in a wee while on 25th March at The Old Blue Last. You may flirt with the idea of joining us.

See you soon fluffers,

Much Love, T x

Here’s the full interview from 6music: 

Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain.

“Faster, Thom, faster!!” shouted the girl on the back of my bike.

We were 14 years old and she had a summer dress and sunglasses on. Quite the summer picture. In her case anyway. I on the other hand was on the verge of a stroke, face the colour of a lobster and embarrassingly sporting the best part of an erection due to breasts being intermittently pressed against my youthful chubby back.

That evening we sat by the river in the moonlight listening to Nirvana’s In Utero.

This being Mr. Cobain’s birthday, I thought I’d share this moment as it was poignant for two reasons.

Firstly, it was a beautiful moment. Second, it was the night I realized I was killer on a rope swing.

Had I spent more time wooing my inamorata and less time shouting “and this move is called the super schlub! Hello? Hello?! At least leave the hobnobs!” then I might have gotten that handjob I had been praying for to the good Lord above since puberty. Ah, youth.

Happy Birthday Kurt Cobain.

Much Love

T x