Jah Lush

Blimey a pig with an ASBO. Not a bracelet, a tag.

Oh I'd like to think so but I rather doubt it. It does beggar belief though where on earth they find the money to pay the rents when all they are selling is worthless tat. Give me a new record/music shop any day PLEASE.

Quite right Louisa and especially with the competition of the other gift shops on the Strip.

"There's a little ditty they're singing in the city especially when they've been on the gin or the beer If you've got the patience your own imaginations'll tell you exactly what you want to hear."

*Pops head in the door" "Oh! Keef, bad day at the office mate?" *Sparks up spliff and shoves it in Keef's mouth before he can reply* *Starts mixing Black Cherry style Zombies* *Thinks these may help* *Anymore for anymore?*

Back to Top Ten Heroes Keith Richards Ronnie Wood Jeff Beck Jimi Hendrix John Lydon Peter Cook Bill Hicks Vivian Stanshall Muhammed Ali Nelson Mandela

Hmmm..reminds me of an old girlfriend of mine who used to carry a cosh in her handbag.

That's true Mockney, Joberg is the murder city of the world but Brendan, being South African, was only saying it in jest.

Yeah! Thanks Muttley...*groans, not more pointless bloody gift shops.*

Hmmm...you sure gotta pretty mouth...squeal like a hog boy.

Some decent barbie weather has finally turned up...anyone find this pig I'm gonna spit roast it in honey. All welcome.

Marvellous to have you back DM, hope you had a good break.

Good to have you back. Now, Peckham Rye Station being revamped...about bloody time too.

Oh! Asset dear, do keep up. You been away luv? Have missed your witty postings.

Hmmm...you Gooners. the Emirates Cup won by a team sponsored by the Emirates and played at the Emirates Stadium.

Could be a doppelganger.

Well, the stickers certainly haven't worked and they obviously weren't very visible as I can't ever remember seeing one. I think it would take a lot more than that to get people to stop playing music from their mobile phones and eating/drinking/ littering. Just ban it.

That was no pig, that was my wife...boom boom. (Sorry, old and very sexist joke).

Good point there James. I am also surprised that Ken Livingstone, as someone who regularly uses public transport hasn't done the same.

Brendan, banning the eating of food on buses like the smoking ban is probably the only way you can enforce it.

I use buses all the time but one thing I'd definitely like to help improve my journey is the banning of eating food/takeaways. I get fed up with the rotten stink of KFC/Burgers/chips and other food stuffs and the constant flow of litter on the floor where the rotten corpses of chicken bones and spare ribs lie in their half eaten heaps among a debris of bottles and cans, oh and while your at it playing music on telephones/get some earphones sonny so I can read my book in peace. Rant over.

Where the new flats are next to the school. I remember going there as a kid in the sixties, in the early 70s it was turned over to a religious sect and called the Palace of Peace. The so-called guru turned out to be a charlatan (No surprise there), spending money on women and Rolls Royces etc etc, after that it was offices for a while before being demolished at an estimated guess about 8 to ten years ago.

Aah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha>:D

Back to lyrics then.... Salt Of The Earth By The Rolling Stones, written by Jagger/Richards Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the lowly of birth Raise your glass to the good and the evil Let's drink to the salt of the earth Say a prayer for the common foot soldier Spare a thought for his back breaking work Say a prayer for his wife and children Who burn the fires and who still till the earth And when I search the faceless crowd A swirling mass of gray and black and white They don't look real to me In fact, they look so strange Raise your glass to the hard working people Let's drink to the uncounted heads Let's think of the wavering millions Who need leaders but get gamblers instead Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter His empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows And a parade of grey suited grafters A choice of cancer or polio And when I look in the faceless crowd A swirling mass of greys and black and white They don't look real to me Oh don't they look so strange Let's drink to the hard working people Let's think of the lowly of birth Spare a thought for the ragtaggy people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's drink to the hard working people Let's drink to the salt of the earth Let's drink to the two thousand million Let's drink to the humble of birth Let's drink to the salt of the earth. Masters of War by Bob Dylan Come you masters of war You that build the big guns You that build the death planes You that build the big bombs You that hide behind walls You that hide behind desks I just want you to know I can see through your masks You that never done nothing But build to destroy You play with my world Like it's you little toy You put a gun in my hand And you hide from my eyes And you turn and run faster When the fast bullets fly Like Judas of old You lie and deceive A world war can be won You want me to believe But I see through your eyes And I see through your brain Like I see through the water That runs down my drain You fasten the triggers For the others to fire Then you sit back and watch When the death count gets higher You hide in your mansion As young people's blood Flows out of their bodies And is buried in the mud You've thrown the worst fear That can never be hurled Fear to bring children Into the world For threatening my baby Unborn and unnamed You ain't worth the blood That runs in your veins How much do I know To talk out of turn You might say that I'm young You might say I'm unlearned But there's one thing I know Though I'm younger than you Even Jesus would never Forgive what you do Let me ask you one question Is your money that good? Will it buy you forgiveness Do you thing that it could I think you will find When your death takes its toll All the money you made Will never buy back your soul And I hope that you die And your death'll come soon I will follow you casket In the pale afternoon And I'll watch while you're lowered Down to your deathbed and I'll stand o'er your grave Till I'm sure that you're dead. Every Grain Of Sand By Bob Dylan In the time of my confession, in the hour of my deepest need When the pool of tears beneath my feet flood every newborn seed There's a dyin' voice within me reaching out somewhere Toiling in the danger and in the morals of despair Don't have the inclination to look back on any mistake Like Cain, I now behold this chain of events that I must break I the fury of the moment I can see the Master's hand In every leaf that trembles, in every grain of sand Oh, the flowers of indulgence and weeds of yesteryear Like criminals they have choked the breath of conscience and good cheer The sun beat down upon the steps of time to light the way To ease the pain of idleness and the memory of decay I gaze into a doorway of temptation's angry flame And every time I pass that way I always hear my name Then onward in my journey I come to understand That every hair is numbered like every grain of sand I have gone from rags to riches in the sorrow of the night In the violence of a summer's dream in the chill of a wintry light In the bitter dance of loneliness fading into space In the broke mirror of innocence on each forgotten face I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea Sometmes I turn, there's someone there, other times it's only me I'm hanging in the balance of the reality of man Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand I'm Waiting For the Man By The Velvet Underground Lyrics Lou Reed I'm waiting for my man Twenty-six dollars in my hand Up to Lexinton 125 Feeling sick and dirty, more dead than alive I'm waiting for my man Hey white boy, what you doing uptown? Hey white boy, you chasing our women around? Oh pardon me sir, it's furthest from my mind I'm just looking for a dear, dear friend of mine I'm waiting for my man Here he comes, he's all dressed in black PR shoes and a big straw hat He's never early, he's always late First thing you learn is you always gotta wait I'm waiting for my man Up to a brownstone, up three flights of stairs Everybody's pinned you, but nobody cares He's got the works, gives you sweet taste Ah then you gotta split because you got no time to waste I'm waiting for my man Baby don't you holler, darlin' don't you ball and shout I'm feeling good, you know I'm gonna work it on out I'm feeling good, I'm feeling so fine Until tomorrow, but that's just another time I'm waiting for my man Blimey! that's only four, six to go. Will post 'em another time.

He lives nearby but... Oh! I can just see Dulwich Mum now loading her Chanel handbag with a housebrick and marching off with a very determined stride towards the Lido.