Kicky

”Here they come with their make-up on
as lovely as the clouds, come and see them,
Boys and girls and their mums and their words
and their romances and jobs and their sons,
Barking mad kids, lonely dads
who drug it up to give it some meaning,
From the raves to the council estates
they're reminding us there's things to be done.

But you and me, all we want to be is lazy,
you and me, so lazy...

Here they come gone 7am
getting satellite and Sky getting cable,
Bills and Bens and their mums and their friends
who just really, really want to be loved,
Uncle Teds and their legendary vests
helping out around the disabled,
From the flats and the maisonettes
they're reminding us there's things to be done.”


Ah, good old Suede - that’s my Easter song. Their prettiest melody and, in my book, Brett’s best ever lyric. ”Uncle Teds and their legendary vests, helping out around the disabled” - right there and nailed, a multitude of English weekends, simple and small. It’s my Easter song because it’s the time of year I feel most like that - and the 'you and me' who want to be so "laaaaaayzy" is me and Fints. There’s just this ocean of gratis time – you get a day off, then a weekend, then another day off - so like millions of others at this time of year,I potter and pub and gorge myself on sleep and TV. Never go to Ikea, though: haven’t been in one of those for a decade or more. On TV right now it’s Wainwright’s Walks - I could watch that till the cows come home – and Fints is in the kitchen making falafel. He’s a genius – it’s exactly what I fancy. Lazy.

Let’s do it backwards, Time’s Arrow style. Woke up this morning with the comfortingly familiar Easter sensation of ”Yippee! Yet another day off!” and just fannied about on iTunes until Fints got up, Captain Hook as ever padding right behind him. That cat won’t leave the bedroom to even eat till he’s up – we totally should have named him Old Shep. Not a trace of a hangover for me either – remarkable considering the lager / rum / lager / champagne / lager infusion I put away with Jelly up at Rebel Rebel’s glam rock party in Islington last night.

Met up at The Retro first, anticipating a quiet bar with maybe a smattering of regulars. Fat chance. The place was full of out-of-towners, blown off The Strand’s weary tourist trail. Not the remotest possibility of even a bar stool, let alone a lonely corner where we could plan our DJ set but Wendy, bless her, not only gave us a couple of Dr. Who Easter eggs, she also opened up the top bar and locked us in there. So we had the place completely to ourselves, including access to the fire escape’s handy smoking facilities. Just a brilliant chat with Jelly, ruminating mostly on the genius of Princess Julia but many other hot topics, too. Three pints in our aerie sanctuary and then down below for last orders where it had by then thinned out a little and where Amy’s sister Sarah, in town from New Jersey for a week, had indeed bagged a table and some bar Nacho’s with melted cheese which she was sharing with her adorable pen friend Mikey from Manchester. I can’t eat them though – the smell really turns my stomach. Ooh, and we saw Liverpool Eyeliner Stuart sitting with that genius pop blogger Phil a.k.a Worrapalava (http://worrapolava.blogspot.com/) - had no idea they knew each other. On the way out Jelly described Sarah as ‘kicky’ – a word he got from a David Sedaris book. I thought that was just genius. There’s nothing like a good new word and I intend to use it now at every opportunity.

Oh them Rebel boys had pulled out all the stops when we arrived at the venue, hidden away in a corner somewhere of that shopping centre in the Angel. Lots of pretty kids, all totally skinny and in their twenties, dripping with glitter and eyeliner, in bum-hugging ‘70s suits and feather boas. What I'm convinced Heaven will be like, if I make it in. Tony looked the spit of Human Menagerie-era Steve Harley and there were Bowie clones and Bolan clones and even a Roy Wood in the form of a wonderful bearded man mountain called Johnny Blue Eyes. We became instant friends – a really interesting person and (as they would have said at the time) a true free spirit. He pirouetted around the stage, half-naked and lip-synching to Cosmic Dancer, channelling the spirit of Hibiscus Cockette. Kicky. Turns out he knows a lot of the same people as me because he sort of fell into styling the Scissor Sisters for their first album. Now he’s doing Beth Ditto whom, he pledged, he would bring down to the club because she would really love it and I think she would too – you get the impression she’s totally knockabout.

Angus and Clive were there, too, bopping about to Slade – it was wonderful to see them. We played Iggy and Lou and The Sweet and Roxy and there were exciting firework pyrotechnics and glitter-filled giant balloons and champagne corks popping – I felt like Les Gray doing Rocket on Supersonic. We had a bit of a boogie after we came off and then, in the cab home, agreed that we were really pleased we’d agreed to do the night. We don’t often (hardly ever these days) say yes to one-offs but glam rock was so obviously the greatest artistic achievement of all time – the pinnacle of western civilization no less – and we love Fletch and Dan and have wanted to do something with them for a while. But there’s a greater principle in that you can stay at home, can’t you, and have a night in and nothing much will happen. Or you can head out and have a shot at the unknown. What is known is you’re much more likely to remember the latter in years to come. Came home happy and impressed upon Fints the urgency of hearing The Human Menagerie, Dandy In The Underworld and the first Roxy LP and so that’s what we did before blissful zzzzzzzzzz.

The weather’s been odd all weekend – sudden showers of rain and hail like bullets, gorgeous sunshine, big flakes of snow this morning - and full moons always make me feel like somebody, everybody, is watching me when it’s only just a big blind eye in the sky. Got caught in one of the hail storms on the way round to Jez’s on Saturday afternoon – ouch! – but we had a good time catching up with Jez with whom we have had no QT since February. Ridiculous. Curry at The Coriander before the club – hot, sour chicken and sweet coconut rice was exactly what the doctor ordered...

Ah, the falafel is here. I’ve still got the birthday to do (thanks for all the LJ birthday messages down there!) and Bad Friday drinks in Soho but, like they used to say in Kenny Everett before the commercials… ”Now it is time for a break… So let’s break!”