titch juicy

Robert Poste's Child Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Bob Dylan. Tuneless droning. Stop it

El Pibe Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Random list of stuff. > > Dirty Projectors, Bright Eyes, LCD Soundsystem, > Kanye West, Hot Chip, Sleigh Bells, PJ Harvey, > John Lennon (solo), Wavves, Laura Marling > > I should add that i like some of that stuff and > loathe some of it, see previous (superior) thread > for definition of overrated. You can have Kanye, LCD soundsystem, Hot Chip and John Lennon. But PJ Harvey? Even if only for Rid of Me, Stories from.... and Let England Shake. 3 completely different albums but all equally brilliant. Laura Marling's a strange one- I thought her debut was terrific, and I don't think she's made a bad album but i rarely bother listening to her. I saw her play Scala on the back of the first album and it was mesmerising. I didn't think anyone other than me rated Dirty Projector's that highly. I think they're one of the most interesting bands around. Beautiful, unusual harmonies from the girls, great guitar work from Dave Longstreth and some good songwriting to boot. Sometimes the hooks are hidden so deep it takes listen after listen after listen to catch them and that some people don't have the patience for that but that's a big part of the joy of music for me- songs/bands that really creep up on you tend to be the ones that have more longevity. I find that's the case with the National, especially their earlier stuff (in particular Sad Songs....). I loved the second Wavves album, King of The Beach and thought the first wasn't bad. Not got round to the two since though. I think Kings of Leon are the most overrated band of recent times. Their first album wasn't bad- a fun southern rock album thick with hooks and no pretensions but they went down hill very quickly after that. I also think Bright Eyes were great, although I'm not so taken with his solo stuff. He's a fantastic performer too.

Upstairs at the Old Nun's Head?

Spend some money on some decent tea, perhaps a decent chinese or japanese tea. Then buy a pipe and some opium. You won't miss drinking at all.

Boris? Why?

4 Quarters Bar on Rye Lane Lerryns Cafe on Rye Lane Peckham Bazaar on Consort Road Blackbird Bakery at Queens Road Station Beer Rebellion Bar on Queens Road

Am i right in thinking the picturehouse will be opening at a similar time? Great if so- will save going to Brixton for our pizza and pictures nights.

Have to agree with those that say people help more often than not- so much so that it surprises me how often I see it. Always brings a smile and i'll also always help if seeing someone that needs it.

I used Yee Wah once and it was truly awful. The only half decent delivery place i've found in the area is Mr Liu.

Went to see Before I Go To Sleep last week- it was dreadful

El Pibe Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > I'm guessing 20,000 Days is vgrant hell, akin to > sitting afixed, clockwork orange stylee, in an > imax cinema showing endless youtube videos of cute > cats. I went to the Barbican showing last night (with Q&A and live performance) and frankly, everything about it was perfect.

God forbid anyone in London would show off.

The missus is away for most of October rendering this challenge impossible. Might try November though- makes more sense pre-party season.

El Pibe Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > I don't suppose there's an exact definition, the > wikipedia entry is incredibly ambiguous. > > I tend to think of it as a pub that does good food > as it's primary purpose, and depending on > implementation, the pub element is really just a > setting rather than an a cultural lifeblood to > which it remains committed. > > For me the engineer is a proper pub that has a > proper foodie bit in another room. > > How long is piece of string (or a chinaman as my > casually racist father liked to say) I guess, but > I'm obviously in the negative bit regards the > aspirational use of the term. How long is a piece of chinaman?

edcam Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > El Pibe Wrote: > -------------------------------------------------- > ----- > > and? > > So are the north of england and the south of > > england. > > You are rather missing the point. If a website > about London doesn't get the distinction it's a > curious state of affairs. Be a rubbish poll if it was only about Dulwich Village

....and it's official.....kind of http://londonist.com/2014/08/the-best-pubs-in-dulwich.php

Rhinestone Cowboy Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Relegation - Burnley, Sunderland Palace... If Arsenal buy decent defenders: 1. Chelsea 2. City 3. Man Utd 4. Arsenal 5. Liverpool 6. Tottenham If Arsenal don't buy decent defenders 1. Chelsea 2. City 3. United 4. Liverpool 5. Arsenal 6. Tottenham

LadyDeliah Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > 'Sit on my face' sometimes works on some of the > women I know, but only if the guy is hot snyway. > > 'Are you into squirters?' tends to work for me > when I'm out hunting, not sure this is a line > though, more investigative enquiries. Norris McSquirter? I was with a squirter once- scared the living bejeezus out of me first time- but after that it was quite a thing.

Incidentally; that blog was written by a lady called Tania Kindersley and tweeted by Stephen Fry with the note, "So excquisitely painfully true".

Robert Poste's Child Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Not everyone who commits suicide is depressed. Of course. But Robin Williams, by all accounts (mainly from his family), was.

Pretty sure imminent bankruptcy wasn't the sole reason- perhaps the straw that broke the camel's back? And picking up on the mis-quote is a little pedantic no?- the sentiment remains. But otherwise, yes, it's about personal taste. I've certainly got no problem with it being sentimental. I Didn't read it as a piece to be critiqued; emotionally it ran pretty true.

read a nice blog on this last night: "Tuesday, 12 August 2014 Never send to know. It?s quite an odd thing, to cry for a stranger. One may feel sadness and melancholy and regret for so many deaths: the ones in the newspapers which run into horrifying statistics, almost beyond the ability of the brain to process, like the Yazidis or the Syrians or the Gazans, or those closer to home, the teenage car crashes or fire fatalities reported in the local press. John Donne?s lines live always with me: Any man's death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind, And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; It tolls for thee. But still, to find oneself weeping blindly in an ordinary kitchen, making an ordinary cup of coffee, on an ordinary, rainy Scottish morning, because of the death of a famous person, as if that person were a best beloved ? that is quite strange. And yet, perhaps it is entirely explicable. Many other people seem to have had the same reaction to the shocking loss of Robin Williams. I sat with a friend in the field in the rain, as the red mare listened, and tried to work it all out. It was not just the straight sadness of a bright spirit snuffed out too soon. It was not only the thought of the family and friends left bereft. It was, we thought, the terrible poignancy of a man who gave so much joy, who lifted up so many hearts, being unable to stop himself from sinking. We came back to the same line: if Robin Williams could not make it, who could? Perhaps too there was the contemplation of the power of those demons, which robbed him of hope. If they could overcome such a dazzling, inventive mind, such a good heart, such a glittering talent, they must have been almost supernatural in their agency. The thought of the long fight he must have waged with them was one of unimaginable terror. Depression is a bastard, and it is a thief. It is random and it does not discriminate. It takes the brilliant and the beautiful, the kind and the good, the funny and the clever. It does not give a shit how much you are adored or how much joy you give or how many prizes you win. It is no respecter of money or class or fame. As the affection and grief roll round the internet, my friend and I say, as one: if only he knew how much he was loved. There is the silent, melancholy rider: it would have made no difference. Depression does not count blessings. Blessings, ironically, may make the sufferer feel even worse. How dare I be afflicted when I have all this? Out in the open prairies of the web, where so often the craziness of crowds lives, comes the wisdom of crowds. People are shining lights into those dark corners where debilitation and shame live. It?s a condition, they are saying, as real and painful as a broken leg. You can?t fix a shattered limb by the power of thought or will; you can?t say to someone with a smashed femur, cheer up, butch up, man up. Don?t be afraid to ask, people are saying; stretch out your hand for help. There is help, there are people who love you, you are not alone. Ordinary people, touched by this extraordinary man, are remembering Captain, my Captain, and wanting to stand on their desks and be remarkable. I met Robin Williams once. I was a waitress in a tiny caf? in a valley in Scotland, and I went over to a table and asked the new arrivals what they would like, and stared straight into that familiar, smiling, open face. I have an odd benchmark of character: I judge people very much on how they treat waiters. Williams was enchanting. He was gracious and polite and regular; he had no sense at all of the Big I Am. He was gentle and quiet, with no trace of that wild, manic, public persona. The other lovely thing, in that small highland village, was that everyone left him alone. Nobody pointed or stared or asked for his autograph. They gave him the courtesy of allowing him to be an ordinary man, just for one day. I have a fantasy in my mind that he ordered the special lentil soup that I had made that morning. It was a long time ago. I think he probably did not have the soup. I think he just had a cup of coffee. I prided myself on my barista skills, newly learnt, and I made the hell out of that cup of coffee. I don?t expect you can really judge someone on one brief transactional meeting, but I was left with the impression of a very, very nice man. A gentle goodness shone out of him like starlight. Perhaps that is why so many people, from the humblest waitress to the most storied Hollywood star, are so sad. He did not belong to us. I think of the heartbreaking moment in Out of Africa, where Meryl Streep looks down bleakly on a mound of dry earth and says: ?Now take back the soul of Denys Finch-Hatton, whom you have shared with us. He brought us joy, and we loved him well. He was not ours, he was not mine.? And yet, so many of my generation feel as if Robin Williams was stitched into the fabric of our lives, from Mork and Mindy in our youth, through Good Morning Vietnam and Dead Poets? Society in our formative years, to the later, darker films of our middle age. He was so reliably present that perhaps many of us thought he would always be there. There is something tragically democratic in his loss. Perhaps that too is what speaks to every bruised heart. He might have seemed to live up on that higher plane, where coruscating invention and wild talent and universal fame exist, in the troposphere where ordinary mortals may not go. Yet this kind, funny, haunted man was no more immune from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune than the most workaday amongst us. I very rarely use the universal we. I don?t like to speak for anyone else. But I?m not sure I have seen such an agreement on anything, in the rushing new age of the internet. There are no dissenting voices, no snide remarks, no cheap jokes. There is a collective sense of love and sadness, in their most authentic, unifying form. In the end, there is not much point in trying to understand or dissect the extraordinary reaction to the death of one brilliant man. In the end, it is what it is. It is a shining light gone out, a brave soul lost, a fighting heart broken. He gave us joy, and we loved him well. Go free, now."

Used to be the case for me but beer has improved no end in recent years.

rahrahrah Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Clarkshaws brewery had an open day at the weekend > too. It's London Beer City Week. I think there's events all over town all week :-)

Horsebox Wrote: ------------------------------------------------------- > Quilmes is probably one of their more pedestrian > offerings. > > I can recommend trying any beer from one of the > newish London breweries: > > Kernel, Brixton, Beavertown (owned by Robert > Plant's son). Beavertown's Gamma ray IPA OR the > Black Betty black IPA are particularly good. > > Otherwise, just try every bottle on offer until > you find your favourites :) I went to the Beavertown open day on Saturday. Their Gamma Ray is indeed great. It was ?2.50 for 2/3 pints, ?2.50 for all bottles and ?2.50 for all cans. I think I met the boss there on Saturday, which I guess must've been Plant Jnr. it was rather a good day out; decent grub, excellent beer and the Rough Trade DJs.