The Black Keys - Birmingham Carling Academy

I've been to a The Black Keys gig before, and like seeing The White Stripes the first thing you think when they start belting out their mix of lo-fi rock/ blues is,

'Wow! They make a lot of noise for just two of them'

Funny thing is, like last time I wasn't really looking forward to the gig, but once you're half a song in they totally grab you with their sheer passion for the music. And that is the essential element for these two remarkably ordinary looking guys from Akron, Ohia, they absolutely positively look like they're doing it for nothing more than the love of the music. 

Dan (guitar, vocals) and Patrick (drums) blasted though choice cuts from each of their five albums pausing only briefly for Patrick to get his breath before piling back into another riot of percussion and wailing cords. 

The lack of pretense with these two is so refreshing, that's not to say pretense in music is a bad thing, it most certainly is not, but the absence of any here just leaves the tunes to speak for themselves, and they speak real nice.

So, if you're in the mood for some real rock/ blues to blast out on a sunday morning, or when you're driving through Tesco's carpark, these are the boys. I'd suggest you start with Rubber Factory.

After the gig I hooned it down from Birmingham (actually Droitwich where my chum lives) to Brighton in 2hrs, which was perfect as I managed to get in 3 Black Keys albums. When I pulled up at 1am my head was ringing. Oh well. 

Brighton is STACK FULL of these bastards!

Ugly, boring, thick, pale cunts-a-plenty

Had a stroll down the seafront to get a 99 with a flake from the most disgruntled and dirty ice-cream pusher in Brighton; I didn't think about how filthy his hands were until after I'd finished the 99. Thank fuck I'm full of vaccinations, I'd probably be nursing a healthy dose of Hep A if not.

Rant

Feeling really misanthropic, probably a result of all the wankers that invade Brighton every fucking bank holiday weekend. Honest to christ, what is wrong with everyone now, why are all these bastards so fucking noisy?  This must be the defining feature of our culture, the amount of noise everyone makes. If it's not the worst lowest common-dominator dance music booming from every druggie tossers top floor flat it's scream selfish semi-retarded kids, squealing fake tan addicted women and their bellowing beer-gutted topless football tattooed Gary boyfriends laughing like the morons they are at every vaguely amusing thing as if they're constantly being filmed by a furtive Channel 4 crew for another of their pseudo-documentaries about the legion of disgusting people with absolute no self awareness but a ridiculously disproportionate sense of their own worth; which make you think maybe these people that want to destroy western society have a point.

Think Sniffy is on the same wavelength this afternoon.

Or maybe it's just my low blood sugar and all I need is a sandwich and a cup of tea.

Live in da now!

Better still, just watching The Dog Whisperer with Cesar Millan. Seriously, this man is a fucking genius, and he is one of the only 'celebrity' self helpers that doesn't talk absolute shite; this is probably why when Trey Parker and Matt Stone had an episode which featured Cesar they were unusually respectful of his techniques, and like everyone else that watches the show realised that his training methods would work perfectly on problem children (also known as 'children').

"Calm, assertive energy".

Yes, Mr Millan, feeling calmer now.

Brighton is full of these bastards.

And they're big cunts as well; hocked up on left over Mr Whippy and sugar filled crap dropped thoughtlessly by the tattooed plebs and their fat ugly noisy kids that infest Brighton everytime the sun comes out for a nano second.

Look at him, I was literally seconds from getting a peck off this wanker... fortunately just after taking this photo I was able to distract him by throwing a small passing child at him.

At least with a pigeon you stand a fighting chance, these mothers are about twice the size. 

I had one land on my window ledge yesterday, when the window was open... it might even have been this shitter, who can tell, they're like hooded teenagers, they all look malevolently the same.

It smells like summer

Undertook an epic journey today as I walked from the heart of Kemptown to farthest Hove (almost into Shoreham). Took an hour of super-fast left-home-too-late walking to get there, and then a delightful two hour stroll back along the seafront.

It's a beautiful day by the sea today, and as I walked past Brunswick Square I got a waft from the cut grass on the squares communal lawn. Being a bit of a country boy originally this particular aroma really fires my 'scent association' to 'summer time'.   After getting a lung full the next association kicked in; fucking hay-fever. 

I wonder, will I get hay-fever in SE:Asia?

Jabbed in Hove

The reason I was in Hove was to get some more jabs at the travel clinic. Although my local GP is just round the corner you can't get everything there; Japanese Encephalitis and my Malaria tabs are dished out by the travel clinic and are not NHS sanctioned.

So,  had a second round of jabs; I am now 1/3 inoculated against Japanese Encephalitis. Joy. 

I just know I'll get all my jabs done, get to SE:Asia feeling invincible and get hit by a bus. 

The travel clinic staff were incredibly friendly and helpful and then I realised that it was a private clinic, which totally explained why the service was so good. Hmm... funny how not dealing with smack heads but paying customers can improve your disposition. 

Malaria

There appears to be two options for my malaria tabs;

1. Doxycycline 

Doxycycline is an antibiotic that prevents the development of parasites in the blood that cause malaria. You need to take it 1 or 2 days before you enter the malaria zones (for me this is Laos, Cambodia, Vietnam and border areas with China) everyday you are there and then 4 weeks after you leave. The 4 weeks is paramount. It has a few side effects, mostly making you feel a bit rough and that. 

This costs circa 29 quid for 50 tabs

2. Malarone

Malarone is a better drug, a combination medication that stops the development of parasites in the blood that cause malaria. It has no really unpleasant side effects (in comparison to Doxycycline) and you only need to take it a couple of days before you enter the malaria hot zone, every day you are there and a couple of days after. 

However, it costs circa 40 quid for 12 tabs!!!

Now, my problem is I don't know exactly how long we'll be in the malaria areas, it could possibly be anywhere up to a few months which means if I take Malarone (which everyone has recommended) it'll cost a fortune. 

I think the thing is, most people that have recommended Malarone only stayed in malaria hotspots for a few days or a couple of weeks, in which case 100 quid on meds doesn't seem too bad.

Loulou reckons the Bermondsey Mission is dishing them out to her free. Hmm... 

How much?

This travelling lark ain't cheap. It's already starting to cost a fortune; I know once I get there everything is dirt cheap, but getting there may skint me out.

What kind of food do you suppose they serve here?

A gem of a restaurant I walked past this morning in Hove...

I immediately snapped the place with my phone and sent it to my Frenchie flat mate, who previously had been asking me about decent places to eat in town. 

Obviously I was being well cheeky... 

Her reply?

'I hear it's quite good'...

To recap...

Just what have I done in the last 12 months that has kept me from writing anything longer than my address?

Well…

I sold my house (just before all the selling house issues started).

Drove a Ford Mustang from the west coast to the east coast of America including spending a week in Death Valley during the summer where the temperature was circa 50 degrees C  (makes the weather this week seem mild).

Moved to lovely lovely Dog Poo, erm... I mean Brighton.

Went to Paris for a bit (très bien).

Went to the US again, this time to work in Pittsburgh (PA) for a bit.

Quit my job (about the 3^rd time in 2 years).

Visited Dublin – was okay.

Got the worst flu ever at Christmas (the 4^th or 5^th time in recent memory that I’ve had flu at Christmas - no turk or stuffing for me).

Went to a bunch of gigs (including the Breeders – Pod, Trump - Pod).

Sat next to Gillian Anderson during a performance of Glengarry Glen Ross in London.

Stood next to Harold Pinter in the lobby of an Anthony Gormley exhibition (actually I stood, Pinter was sitting in his wheelchair, lazy bastard) - actually that's something I hadn't noticed before, where's my avatar thingy gone?

Went to South Africa for a bit (Cape Town lovely, Johannesburg a bit scary -  stayed at a guesthouse in Johannesburg which had a smooth miniature dachshund running about.

Completed more videogames than a man of my age should have any right to do (not going to list them, frankly it would shameful).

Became a Pro at bowling, boxing AND tennis on Wii Sports.

Bought a MacBook – Yes, a MacBook.

Read a stack of J G Ballard - Crash, pure filth.

Visited Cambridge, Oxford, Cardiff, Manchester, Birmingham, Reading and others.

Spent a small fortune on hotels, am now a Malmaison expert. 

Went to a lot of restaurants - the best was in Manchester.

Think that’s about it. 

I’ll go into more detail on some of the places I been during the past 12 months later, obviously makes sense now that this is a *cough* travel blog. 

Brighton

You can never go back, that’s what they say. You can never go back.

Well, I did go back and of course it’s true, although the clichéd sentiment should be changed to ‘you can never go back because it’ll be a lot shitter than you remember it and caked with dog poo’ just to clear up any misunderstanding.

Dog poo

In fact, dog poo is my overwhelming impression of Brighton. It seems that as a nation of dog lovers, the British have decided, quite without my input, to turn Brighton into the country’s dog toilet, like one of those inconveniently placed bins you get on country walks, which seem to be always placed at least a mile from where your dog actually drops a load – not that my dog ‘does it’s business’ on a walk, very much like it’s owner the dog prefers to go on home turf, which did raise my neighbours’ eyebrows, me squatting on the lawn, shaking like an old man trying to explain to a teenager why everything was better in his day.

History (sort of)

When I lived in Brighton a decade ago I don’t remember it being so chock full of K9 doo doo. It does however seems to have the same number of pretentious alternative lifestyle wankers who have hung around after they finished their degrees and decided that they will drop out of the mainstream by claiming benefits from the government and smoking stacks of dope.

Brighton appears to also have the same amount of dope dealers, and gay folk (being the gay capital of England, or Europe or something). There are far more foreign workers in Brighton now, but frankly it’s a relief to have these hard-workers replace all the fucking Aussies that dominated all the bars, restaurants and pubs, with their cheery ‘everything about Britian is shit, mate’ attitudes – nah, they’ve all pissed off elsewhere I assume, maybe Bognor, who knows?

Toffs

Brighton also has more toffs, which I believe is a result of the terrific improvements in public transport between London and Brighton (yeah right!) and the fact that a few D-grade celebs lived here once – anyone remember Zoe Balls? But then again Britain generally has more toffs now doesn’t it?  Or is it simply that for some horrific reason they’re no longer ashamed of their privileged interbred heritage.

Kemptown

Area of Brighton in which I live, Kemptown, is probably the most gay part of this increasingly popular seaside town. Kemptown has stacks to offer the visitor, a couple of crappy shops, a half decent pub, some shingled beach, mr whippy dog poo by the arseload and a church which is also a venue for gigs. As for what it has to offer the gay visitor, I really don’t know. My ‘live-in’ eligible lesbian seems to like it, but then she did live in Birmingham previously so anywhere would be an improvement. Maybe not Dagenham.

Dangers

They say that Brighton is an artsy town, stack full of artists, writers, musicians, thinkers, lazy bastards, smelly bastards, drunken violent bastards and old Scottish gentlemen who frequently sit on the bench opposite Brighton Pavilion growling at passersby and occasionally standing to either relieve themselves or to inexplicably shake one another’s free hand, the other hand clenched with a teenage masturbators grip around a can of whatever will get them the most blind. 

Booze appears to be the main pastime of the average visitor to Brighton, along with gay-love of course. The two top the chart of the main reasons for visits to the casualty department, conveniently located in Kemptown (convenient to Kemptowners but not convenient to anyone else as the town centre is a good 20 minute walk). Alcohol related incidents and over use of ‘poppers’ for loosening up see many folk enjoying a 4 or 5 hour wait for treatment or an overnight stay if you’ve really pushed the boat out.

Places to eat 

I dunno, you can get a pizza or go to McDonalds. I like Thai food if it’s my choice.

Must visit

London, yeah, I’d suggest getting the train to London. Only 50 minutes from Brighton station to London Bridge, which in fact will be the part basis for my next thrilling travel blog.