Pitch & Putt

JohnnyCeed

I want to focus this month's dispatch on the idea of the 'club'. It's not everybody's cup of tea to give their free time to a club or society. For some the idea of weekly gatherings, in-jokes, and sometimes bizarre ritual is repugnant. However, for others special interest is an
important diversion from the stresses of everyday existence.

Personally I revel in the decay that is London, and I can't bear to hear people bemoaning the grime and misery of this great city. We have a colour here. It's a sort of grimy brown. In fact (and I will digress here for a moment) there is always that worry about 'brown in town', - some say it can only be done at weekends. I remember seeing Howard Hughes striding down St James' St W1, in a three-piece fawn cavalry twill suit sometime in the late seventies. An inspirational moment for me, and I think it was a Thursday.

A club is perhaps wrongly seen as a very English endeavour. I'm not widely travelled and I can't think of any exotic examples to disabuse anybody of that idea. Let us say 'yes, the club is a very English pastime' and revel in such unity.

My own society is a secret one, and I can divulge little of what we get up to. In fact I'm not exactly sure what it is we do myself. I know that it involves assembling in my friend Sir Nicholas Blackthorn's garage, drinking Gatorade and wearing black (Society motto - NO HORSE NO WIFE NO MOUSTACHE). But darn the detail. It's that feeling I get when I'm on one
elbow propped on the chaise-lounge contemplating the society gatherings. I know I belong somewhere. In the past my 'clubs' haven't been so good.

Let me explain. Sometime back in the late Nineties I was looking for a reason. I found only beautiful women, electoral success and deep deep psychological happiness everywhere I went. This wasn't for me. I needed more torture in my life.

So, in some desperation, I decided to form a revolutionary political
party. This is a difficult pursuit. Made perilous by the interest of the secret-police, and I couldn't use a telephone or the internet to
attract potential members for fear of capture and incarceration. I advertised the Party in the local press under the classic assumed name of 'The Palmers Green Workers Gymnastics Club'. It would be necessary to carry this tag right throughout our campaign and probably to the precipice of government.

Palmers Green is a quietly uncoiling rattlesnake of revolution. Behind the twitching nets of N13 is a hotbed of unrest and deep suburban dissatisfaction. Having nothing to complain about is an unutterably crass cross to bear, and the people of this postcode are perpetually in a state of near-uprising. They needed a leader. As a community we needed more suffering. This would be at the top of the Party's platform for change.

The two inaugural members were Kirsty*, an expert on the Horse and our first Secretary for Culture, Media and Sport; and Dirk - a man of many talents. Dirk* was a confidence coach and mystic. He would be our Spokesman on Home affairs. He was a tall man from Hertfordshire (the same as me, oh! How we would talk long into the night of the flat hills of our homeland). I fell in love with Dirk. I have absolutely no intention of revealing the innermost trauma of our affair. Suffice to say that a lasting and rewarding relationship cannot be played out against a background of burgeoning revolution and social change.

I can remember Dirk's first word to me. "Why?"

Kirsty was a similar lost cause when she arrived on my doorstep. "I'm just so comfortable. I have absolutely nothing to worry about. Do you have any mats?" It's currently impossible for me to tell you any more about the Party because of the sub judice laws. Hopefully, when the court case is all done and dusted I'll be able to fill in the gaps.

It is my intention to lift the Harbinger Dispatch from a mere
journalistic endeavour in to the realms of Reportage. I'll try again next month with a report from the south-west of England and my new hobby, crop-circling. Right now I must stop, I crave the solace that George Bernard Shaw speaks of when he says 'God is alone'.

*name changed to protect the participant's identity.

JohnnyCeed

I`ts been a long time coming but here it is the column from me, Jim Doc (the one that gets paid zero dollar for retrieving the balls from the water Hazard after you dirty hackers have bruk up the fairways!)

A lot has happened since we said goodbye to 2003 and welcomed in 2004! Once hangovers had cleared and noses were blown or picked up off the floor, our sights were set on a certain date!

Friday 30th january 2004 will forever be remembered as one of, if not, the most important day in the history of British entertainment because this was the day "The Show" was born.
Now, in theory, as we all know, everything sounds great when you are hatching plans and bouncing ideas of each other, "it`s gonna be the best," "we`re going to the top"...

What were we thinking, i`ll talk you through it...

We hit the ground running into 2004 where upon the majority of our days were taken up with thoughts of how great "The Show" was going to be.
It was all in place, the venue hired, deposit down, bands confirmed, sound engineer booked etc, etc.
All that was left was the promotional aspect of it to deal with...simple!

Mr Burke and myself set a date, time and venue to get together and work out which avenues to take with regards to promoting our new up and coming club night.
We reached an agreement to over see everything and i mean everything!

With the help of a few friends and loved ones we would design the flyers & posters, we would target certain streets and shops around the East end of London, we would target galleries to get the art angle, we were ready to take over the East end!
We also came to a joint decision to distribute said flyers and make sure the posters would be pasted up on every wall, fence, window and any other available space we could find, for all to see.

Mr Burke and myself have spent many a day laughing at the misfortune of Max & Paddy (doormen of the legendary club in Peter Kaye`s Phoenix Nights).
The mention of these two guy`s leads me on to how i witnessed Paul and myself slowly turning into them!
Admittedly, too much drink and too much herb is bad preparation for walking around London with a bucket of paste and hundreds of posters but this was the only way we could build up the courage to do the job in hand.

We burst it! Out we went at 1am on a cold Sunday morning, prepared for all the drunken piss pots walking the streets, prepared because we were probably the most munted people in town.
We were on the streets for hours and were happy with what we had achieved, all except for the paste running out with still a few posters to put up.
The reason for this became apparent at about 4am when i realised i couldn't`t move anymore due to being paralysed by a complete head to toe covering of paste.
Future tip...try and put more paste on the walls and less on one`s self!

By now you will hopefully be aware of what a runaway success "The Show" has been, attendance is good, the bands are good and the atmosphere is one that you would find hard to match anywhere in the country.
The hard work that goes into making it a top night is so worthwhile mainly due to the people working hard behind the scenes and to the willing punters who make it to "The Show" and wig out.

At this point i would usually supply you with a little set list but every tune has been an absolute winner so i`ll mention a few just to whet your appetite.

So you wanna be a boxer--Bugsy Malone Soundtrack, wow! All we need is the splat guns to make this tune go down better than it already is.
The KLF--3am Eternal, a huge blast from the past, pulled out of the bag on the completion of myself reading Bill Drummonds 45, a top read.
The Stray Cats--Sexy+17, pre rock `n roll, post rock `n roll fucking rock `n roll.
The Knack--My Sharona, a pure punk pest of the highest order.
Bonzo Dog Band--Humanoid Boogie, leaves me speechless...massive tune.

I could go on but surely now the ball is in your court, keep being receptive and i`ll keep being held responsible for making your world a better place to be!

Lot`s of love and luck.

Jim (awaiting the summer) Doc. x

JohnnyCeed

I first went to Amsterdam in 1999, before I had moved to London and whilst I was still living in Blackpool. At the time Amsterdam made a big impression on me. I was amazed at the possibilities, mainly hedonistic that were available at a price. To me, the fact that I was in my twenties and living in a seaside provincial town I was suitably impressed.

I recently returned to Amsterdam, some 5 years later all of which had been spent in my adopted home of London. Unfortunately this time I wasn't as impressed. I found, and like everything on this site this is just one persons opinion, it rather small for a capital.

The main area flocked to by tourists I suppose is the small section that makes up the red light district. This consists of three main parallel streets with all the charm of Kings Cross filled by tourists staring blankly like rabbits in the headlights into windows offering various forms of human and animal degradation either in the form of DVD or in a far more real sense.

Unfortunately the shock value of seeing women selling themselves behind small windows in narrow streets lit by the red lights is only fleeting. Having seen it all before it unfortunately is now the norm, or at least to be more fair, it's certainly not the norm in most places, but the expected for this area. Unlike The Reapeerbahn in Hamburg the area doesn't exude the same feel of naughtiness mixed with a general element of fear. It certainly seems a lot safer than the average night out in Blackpool.

The other main selling point for most people going to Amsterdam is soft drugs and their free availability. Ok, this is good if you want this, but if you do you are probably as likely to be able to enjoy the same thing where ever you live, although not legally. Whilst the availability and the choice may not be anywhere as large the fact that you can sit somewhere and actually listen to something that you would want to, musically, has to be a huge bonus. At least for me.

It seems unfortunately that the music played in the coffee shops and bars of Amsterdam leaves a lot to be desired, mainly made up of pseudo hippy white boy smoking weed music and some bad European rock, this very quickly begins to grate. I would like to say as well to be fair we tried for two days to find an exception to the rule but failed miserably. The best areas that we found were when we got out of the red light district and walked further into town and enjoyed some of the more scenic areas where you could sit in a bar by a canal and watch the world go by, far more cultural.

Maybe that's just me getting old or my looking at it through a twatty London arrogance, your town' not as good as mine etc. But that's my opinion. If you want tat and chavs you'll love it, if you want to be scared a bit by the night out and want a form of excitement and adventure try Hamburg. If you want a great European city there are a lot more to choose from. In fact in terms of culture offering a sex museum, is anyone really interested unless in some ways it involves them? Or a hemp museum? See earlier point and even Anne Franks house was hard to find. Amsterdam - must try harder.
On the upside though there was a man walking down the street in yellow clogs and the availability to buy a ball of cheese bigger than your head, or in fact cheese clogs: - not sure if these are for eating or wearing, maybe for both if it involves long journeys, maybe on the UK train networks. But this is certainly not to be overlooked.

Apologies to Heidi and also The Harbinger for use of italics.

Patrick Kagoul Rocktober 2004

Pitch & Putt

More Here

The Show April 2004

The Harbinger part 2

Kid Kordial's Kompilations 2

Doc's Domain April 2004

Patrick K 'Does' Amsterdam