The South Circular

I've been hanging out with some folk from South London recently and they love it - South London that is. Never quite seen it myself...probably on account of the fact that I've not really seen it. Students of geography note: the impact of big rivers on human discourse...I've lived in London 13 years and probably visited south of the river....about 13 times. Which is quite shameful. Almost as bad as my 20 years of childhood in South Yorkshire, in which time I only ever visited Barnsley - err once.

Come to think of it, I did date someone who lived in Stoneleigh, for about a year. But her flat was about two miles inside the Surrey border, so I'm figuring that doesn't really count.

But there is something deeper
I had a fabulous evening in Crystal Palace in August. But with this notable exception, generally speaking bad things happen to me when I head South. My two previous trips across the water involved: a) me driving into the back of a 4x4 causing £3750 worth of damage to my motor (and not a scratch on the 4x4...tax the fuckers); b) me returning North to find my flat burgled (vigilante death squads anyone?) So it was with trepidation that J, D and I set off on the South Circ for my sister's surprise house warming in Beckenham (who'd have thought it?). True to form, the South Circular was utterly ghastly....a 14 mile journey took 2 hours....but the party was great. Sisters new boyfriend is a legend. A prime example of how the nice guy can win through. He loves her, so is nice to her. A simple concept - lost on many.

So one way or another, CJD will find excuses to learn more about our southern brothers and sisters. But we will do so avoiding the South Circular. It has to be the shitest, doom ridden, randomly signed excuse for a road in the history of shite, doom ridden, randomly signed excuses for roads eva. Love and kisses CJD

OK

CJD think we're ready to launch this blog. Here goes nothing

Sausage Shop Shocker

We saw this on the way back from my sisters this morning. The mind boggles.

Cafe De Paris

I've had a bit of a funny week. So last night - to cheer myself up - I went on a solo mission to Cafe De Paris. Cool. Every Friday they host Cafe Rocks a showcase for new bands and talent.
Headlining were a band called The Nites......but oh dear, oh dear, oh dear... they were shocking. So bad, in fact, I thought they were taking the piss. The lead singer clearly thought he was the son of Jim Morrison....when he so wasn't. In short, an uninspiring noise of heard it all before tosh.
In stark contrast were Tale of Two Halves...bascially a guy on a piano singing, and a dude bashing along on a drum kit. They were fantastic, loads of energy - they completely brought the house down. Quite geeky too. CJD WILL be seeing them again.

Zac Goldsmith: we should listen to what he says-he speaks from personal experience

Material wealth is not the secret to happiness: so say the Tories in their latest policy ramble (well it is a ramble at 549 pages..).

Speaking from personal experience the multi-multi-multi millionaire report author Zac Goldsmith writes....."...beyond a certain point - a point which the UK reached some time ago - ever increasing material gain can become not a gift but a burden". Really Zac? well done you for a) pointing out the fucking obvious and b) forbeing party to one of the most un self aware political publications of all time...

Mr D Cameron really needs to get his act together. If they carry on like this then the Tories are fucked.

POST SCRIPT: check out Zac's Wikipedia entry. One word.....crushing.

Normal just took a nose dive

Missing Madeleine: If anyone took and harmed J or D - I would want to find them and then kill them. No calm press conferences, media strategies, little chats on Woman's Hour about how I was feeling about it - nope, it would be animal and horrible. Or at least that's how I think I'd react. Who knows? Lets hope to God I never find out. But it does make you think...

...which is why the mystery of missing Maddie is turning into THE human interest story of the moment/year/decade(?) So many dimensions: it's "every parent's nightmare"; the bizarre twisting plot of her parents; and the ebb and flow of our faith and trust in pretty much everything - the media, our reaction to the media, the police, foreigners, yummy mummy's (come on...its being talked about..) catholics, forensic science, men who live with their mothers (and clean their drives...you gotta watch um), parents, those nice GPs...normal people.

J&D and I are normal, well normalish (divorced and stuff...but that's normal yeh?). But if the whole world were dissecting the intimacy of our family life, then I'm guessing people would figure that aspects of our lives are a bit weird. Enter stage the left the McCanns. They are seemingly so normal it hurts, but then they leave their kids when they go out for their dinner. Do other people do this sort of stuff? After the fact there's the whole media management thing. They want to find their kid, so anything goes....including on stage and being interviewed at the Edinburgh Fringe...??? The whole hanging about in Portugal.....visiting the Pope, clutching the teddy, continuing to keep a diary. Feels pretty weird to me...but then I'm not the one with the missing kid....

This week, we get the real kick in the guts....The notion of the predatory stranger seizing Madeleine was terrifying but 'normal' - not weird - not unexpected, we have the psychological space to compute etc. With the naming of the parents themselves as suspects - well - we're suddenly all over the place. Forget shaking the kaleidoscope - its smashed in bits on the floor. So now they're either normal/a bit weird and the victims of a really, really horrible smear....or...they're cold, psychotic killers responsible for the death of their own child...Heavy stuff.

Lets hope its the former and that the little girl gets found (and if so, then we're gonna feel real guilty about the shit we've been gossiping and bitching about - me included)....If its the latter, then we're in for one huge collective psychological head fuck. A whole new depth to how weird and fucked up the most normal of normals can seem, but not be.

North Wales: Hogs for Trogs

So a couple of weeks ago J&D climbed their first mountain. J without attention to risk and D mindful of how wet his trousers were getting (and not liking it - a lot). D lost the plot about half the way down - not a good look for a future boxer. A point lost on him. J rubbed it in. Later that evening we attended a Church related Hog Roast via Grandma. We sold some Mayonnaise and a home made Chutney in aid of a Dentist practice in Gazza....A collective mass charming of Grannies occurred. D told his "crab with only one eye story". I reflected on how utterly ugly everyone was in this particular part of the world. The beautiful clearly escape. Accordingly we returned to London the very next day.