Movin' Out - the Billy Joel musical

L'il Garders shows the way to go

It all seemed so simple. It's Daniel's birthday. He likes Billy Joel. There's a new Billy Joel musical in town, featuring 24 (count 'em!) of his biggest hits. Let's book the tickets right here! Surely it'll be just like Mamma Mia or We Will Rock You - a romp through all your favourite classic hits, with some "plot" loosely linking them together, right?

Wrong. A few days later, Beccy, who knows about these things, says "you do know who Twyla Tharp is, don't you? This will be Billy Joel expressed through the medium of contemporary dance." And with that, our faces fell, and we saw the price of a dozen lagers wandering off into the pockets of Ticketmaster.


The birthday boy looks forward excitedly to the show in The Cardinal, Victoria

And so, last Thursday, we were at the Apollo Victoria for Movin' Out. And it's difficult to know where to start. The last time I saw anything like this, it was at the University of Essex theatre. And for every moment where it felt like a pretentious piece of student angst, there was one where it felt like we were on a cruise ship watching the Ents team putting together a "Seaside Special" review. Add in some U-S-A, U-S-A flag-waving, and you get the picture.

I'll confess to owning a Billy Joel Greatest Hits compilation (though it does have a "not for re-sale" sticker still on it) but the even the piano man's best work can't save this, as any subtlety gets lost in the bombastic arrangements. And this is before I've even got on to the bizarre S&M bondage scene somewhere in the middle where a Mother and young son walked out...

The audience - if not our group - were divided. The people behind us whooped and hollared for more - and probably hated the row of cynical meejah hacks in front of them who made sarcastic comments throughout and burst out laughing at several points. Some walked out at the interval; we went back for more - perhaps just to check we had actually seen in the first half what we thought we had.

For Joel fans, just getting drunk and dancing around the front room to Greatest Hits will provide a better experience. Maybe this was all just too American for the English palate: the campaign for a UK singer-songwriter show "Up The Junction - The Squeeze Musical" starts today...


TCMJ and Beccy recreate some of the moves from the show

For goodness' sakes

(Which I believe is the correct grammar. But I may be wrong.)

do I have to do it all myself?

Here is a story about a man at work - which I'm now wary of mentioning thanks to the email below. Let's just say it could be any man at any work. But it wasn't it was a man at my work.

He is around 55-ish, and the putative boss. not my boss, but the boss of a few people in the "deskspace" area close to me.

The other day he rather loudly asked anyone listening if they'd read the lyrics to Fitter, Happier off Radiohead's OK Computer album. No one answered, so he said "They go like this..."

and proceeded to read them off his computer screen. Most people know this as a short track. Not when its being read in its entirety to an otherwise silent room, who don't want to hear it. Shall we remind ourselves...?

"Fitter, happier, more productive,
comfortable,
not drinking too much,
regular exercise at the gym
(3 days a week),
getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries ,
at ease,
eating well
(no more microwave dinners and saturated fats),
a patient better driver,
a safer car
(baby smiling in back seat),
sleeping well
(no bad dreams),
no paranoia,
careful to all animals
(never washing spiders down the plughole),
keep in contact with old friends
(enjoy a drink now and then),
will frequently check credit at
(moral) bank (hole in the wall),
favors for favors,
fond but not in love,
charity standing orders,
on Sundays ring road supermarket
(no killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants),
car wash
(also on Sundays),
no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows
nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate,
nothing so childish - at a better pace,
slower and more calculated,
no chance of escape,
now self-employed,
concerned (but powerless),
an empowered and informed member of society
(pragmatism not idealism),
will not cry in public,
less chance of illness,
tires that grip in the wet
(shot of baby strapped in back seat),
a good memory,
still cries at a good film,
still kisses with saliva,
no longer empty and frantic
like a cat
tied to a stick,
that's driven into
frozen winter shit
(the ability to laugh at needless harm),
calm,
fitter,
healthier and more productive
A Pig
In a cage
On antibiotics."

At first people started to laugh, then say, uncomfortably, "Er, not familiar with that one." and towards the end, very pissed off... "Oh shut up, will you"

He read it through, loudly, to the end, before continuing... "It's the first track on the second side of the album. I usually skip through it when I listen to it, but it's brilliant for decorating."

After a brief pause he said: "Wordsworth. If Wordsworth were alive today he'd be writing stuff like that. It's genius."

Very weird.

I don't actually have anything interesting to post

but given no one's contributed for two weeks now, I feel I ought to put something up to stop the blog dying of apathy.

By the way, I'm very proud of that headline. It could be the default headline for every blog post ever generated, and in most cases, wouldn't need to be changed.

We got a very strange email the other day from someone at work. A boss. This is what it said:

"Hello there…

Do you blog or talk about your life on 'my space' ?

Here is some important information for you, please read, and if in any doubt ask myself or xxxx.

When a blogger clearly identifies themselves as a xxxxxx person and/or discusses their work, xxxxxx expects them to behave well when blogging, and in ways that are consistent with xxxxxx's xxxxxx policies.

If your blog makes it clear that you work for the xxxxxx, it should include a simple and visible disclaimer such as 'these are my personal views and not those of xxxxxx'.

Many bloggers, particularly in xxxxxx areas, use their personal blogs to discuss their xxxxxx work in ways that benefit xxxxxx , and add to the 'industry conversation'. These guidelines are not intended to restrict this, as long as confidential information is not revealed.

If you already have a personal blog or website which indicates in any way that you work at xxxxxx you should tell your manager.

If you want to start blogging, and your blog/website will say that you work for xxxxxx you should tell your manager.

Unless there are specific concerns about the nature of your job, you are free to talk about xxxxxx on your blog. Consult your manager if in any doubt.

Don't reveal confidential information. This might include aspects of xxxxxx policy or details of internal xxxxxx discussions. Again, consult your manager if you are unclear about what might be confidential.

You should not use your blogs to attack or abuse colleagues. You should respect the privacy and the feelings of others. Remember that if you break the law on your blog (for example by posting something defamatory), you will be personally responsible.

If you think something on your blog or website gives rise to concerns about a conflict of interest and in particular concerns about impartiality or confidentiality this must be discussed with your manager.

If someone from the media or press contacts you about posts on your blog that relate to xxxxxx you should talk to your manager before responding. The relevant xxxxxx press office must be consulted.

You are allowed to update your personal blog from a xxxxxx computer at work, under xxxxxx's Acceptable Use Policy."

Bearing in mind the paragraph I have highlighted, I thought I need to cover myself here as I may have insinuated once or twice that I work at xxxxxx. So I told my boss I contribute to this blog and the world famous Will's Pub Guide.

He pronounced himself "not too worried". Not too worried!? I suppose it's bettwe than "not remotely worried", but, really...

For the record, I, too, am "not too worried". Paranoid, nuts, drunk, scabrous and vaguely ticklish, but not too worried.

I really can't be bothered any more.

And Matt saw this...

marginally more intellectual link (but don't let that put you off!), and thought of us:

Beer as in journalism

Ian Gardner goes to Bangkok...

...could be the opening line of well over 1000 jokes. But instead, it's the opportunity to post two pictures that Ian's sent me. The first is claimed to be a big pint, but cheats (see the rules, Garders) by using a very big pint rather than perspective. Although admittedly, that is the biggest pint I've seen. Actually, I'm feeling rather thirsty...



The second is clearly inviting a caption competition... look what Garders has pulled in a bar this time! Well, those elephants always love a sleight of hand magic trick. And how come the one with the tusks has got better taste in shirts?



Use the comments form to suggest your own captions or mail me!

I Am Scooterman

Not the fellow who advertises to drunk businessmen in upmarket toilets, but I have bought me a scooter to effect the commute between my new temporary home of Weybridge and town.

It looks like this:



Except, mine is silver. Oh yes.

And I have bought a silver helmet and some black protective clothing with silver trim. I am the Silver Flash.

Now, this has terrible implications for my drinking, in that it's unlikely to happen in central London any more without complex planning.

Thankfully, however, Weybridge's pubs are several cuts above Willesden's.

I will publish the results of my investigations on our sister site in due course.

In the meantime, wish me luck with the move. I am certainly going to need it.

Cartoon life

A couple of days ago, I saw a man slip on a banana skin.
This has made my entire week, and could only have been bettered by an anvil falling on him.
The event in more detail: on Dowgate Hill, next to Cannon Street station, the man stepped off the pavement, slipped on something in the road, then regained his balance in that "nothing to see here" sort of way that you do. When I looked down, it was a very old (brown) banana skin! Fried Gold.
Has anyone else witnessed any cartoon-related hilarity?


A cheap excuse for a monkey picture, Cannon Street, yesterday

Inter-class war!

Not sure I agree with the conclusion, but the content should be painfully familiar to all of us.

PS This is copyright the Sunday Times which is a great paper and very much worth reading largely because of items like this and if I've broken any laws by re-posting this then I apologise unreservedly, will take it down immediately and suggest you sue Will, who runs this thing.

The great divide
From The Sunday Times - 05/02/2006 (1266 words)
Features

The middle class is now divided into the haves and have-nots -which is fine for those who get to go skiing and drive flash cars, but infuriating for the rest of us, says James Delingpole.

City bonuses are expected to reach near-record levels this year; the waiting list for the new Aston Martin has increased from one year to three; the luxury-goods market is on the up and up, even as the high street plummets; and the market for old vicarages and Pounds 4m-plus town houses is booming. And as I shiver in my hovel in the middle of a south London crack zone, struggling to digest these noisome statistics, I'm reminded of Uncle Monty's great speech from Withnail & I on the subject of failed ambition: "It is the most shattering speech of a young man's life, when one morning he awakes, and quite reasonably says to himself, 'I will never play the Dane.'"

Not, you understand, that I've ever nurtured a burning desire to play Hamlet. I'm talking figuratively here: about the country pad, the swimming pool, the annual skiing holiday, the private education for my kids, the pension plan, the reasonably comfortable retirement and all those other expectations that seemed so perfectly realistic in my youth, but which I'm now slowly being forced to recognise were no more than the hopeless pipe dreams of a crazed romantic.

Where did it all go wrong? And, more to the point, who are all these rich people with money to burn on second homes and third holidays when I have scarcely enough dosh to service my mortgage? Are they really so much cleverer, nicer, funnier, more charming, better read and generally more deserving than me? Or is it just, perhaps, further proof that we live in a terrible, evil, godless world where there is no justice?

Until I started talking to my fellow non-rich friends about this, I thought it was just a me problem, possibly brought on by innate peevishness and a ludicrously inflated sense of entitlement. But, no.

It turns out that this despair and disappointment are almost universal.

Of course, there has always been a bit of an income gap between those involved in the "interesting" professions (teaching, journalism, marine biology) and those involved in boring, no-life ones such as law, banking, IT and accountancy. What has changed out of all proportion, though, is the sheer disparity between the two groups' earning powers. There was a time, I remember, when it didn't matter so much that my banking friends got big bonuses because, hey, I got to hang out with movie stars and go to gigs for free. But I'm afraid to say that job satisfaction consolation just doesn't wash any more. Not when Goldman Sachs's 22,000 employees got their greedy hands on earnings worth a total of $9 billion last year and will be renting estates in Umbria with four live-in staff and a cellar full of Super Tuscan wines for the whole of August, while I might just scrape a wet fortnight in Newquay.

Perhaps it wouldn't matter so much, this ghastly yawning gulf between the middle-class haves and have-nots, if the haves were a little more gracious about their good fortune. I'm sure I wouldn't resent my loaded friends nearly so much if they made free with their chalets or their yachts or their grouse moors or their strings of hunters. But in my experience -I make exception here for those delightful chums who are inviting me to play on their 30-square-mile estate in Scotland this August -the rich only feel comfortable extending generosity to their fellow rich. As another Withnail adage so aptly has it, "free to those who can afford it, very expensive to those that can't".

More galling still is the infuriating habit that rich people have of making out they are subject to the same pecuniary cares as you and me. You'll hear them grumbling about what a struggle it is to pay the school fees, and writhing over how much it costs to heat the swimming pool, or whether it's really not a little extravagant this extension they're having built, or even worrying about the cost of dinner or a cab fare. And you just know that these financial difficulties exist purely in their imagination. Never yet have I heard the rich person who admits, "You know, I'm so totally stacked, I never have to worry about money."

Always, there's this, "I'm just as poor as you really" game they have to play; perhaps out of the misguided notion that you'll feel less jealous, perhaps because, in their warped, rich person's head, it's what they really believe.

At least in the days when the country's wealth and power lay mostly in the hands of the aristocracy, you knew where you stood: money was an accident of birth. Then came a more egalitarian age, which reached its zenith in the heyday of the grammar school, when anyone bright and hard-working enough, no matter what their background, could secure the education that would lead to the trappings and comforts of the middle-class dream. But now, we seem to have returned to a more brutally divided age, only this time, the starkest division lies not between the upper and lower classes but between the rich middle class and the ordinary middle class.

What we're seeing, in other words, is the fragmentation of the middle class into two mutually antipathetic splinter groups. Where once the middle class was a unified bloc of shared values (good manners, a proper education) and lifestyle signifiers (the skiing holiday, the pension plan), it is now riven with bitterness and jealousy on the one side, incomprehension or arrogant disdain on the other.

It is still possible for the rich middle class and the ordinary middle class to be friends with one another. But maintaining those friendships becomes increasingly difficult. Where once I could talk freely with my friends about all aspects of our lives, there are now whole swathes I can't discuss with the richer ones because it's just too damned painful. We can't do education (their kids are at private school, mine aren't); we can't talk work (lest the richies let slip how much they made this week); and we definitely, definitely can't talk about where they're planning to go next on holiday.

"Why?" we poories ask ourselves. "Why them and not us?" And it's more than just chippy resentment that makes us ask, it's because we know deep down that not only are we so much better, funnier, cleverer and more interesting than these ungrateful rich people, but also that we'd spend their money so much more tastefully and wisely. Just think back to your university days, and remember how much brighter and more rounded were the types studying purely intellectual subjects such as English literature, history or classics than those doing more vocational ones such as law.

Then think of all the bores and timeservers, straights and money-grubbing creeps who went into the City, law, management consultancy and Insead, and compare them with the sparky individualists who went into publishing or journalism or television. As one of my rich lawyer friends would no doubt say: I rest my case.

(C) Times Newspapers Ltd, 2006

Neko Case's norks?!

That's a bit weird. I'm all for a bit of T&A, but Neko has one of the finest voices I've ever heard and I'm not sure she needs to be, er, forgetting her bra, for whatever reason. Or maybe I'm a reactionary old git and if a girl with a good voice wants to flaunt her shit - then go girl etc etc

But. My point is. 1) I will go out and get the Alastair recommendation, because anything that gets anyone going that much has to be worth a listen, and 2) I have a Neko Case/John Peel story.

There I was, on my own in my room in Oxford, listening to Peelie, when this beautiful, beautiful country song came on. I don't, as a rule, like country music, but the voice was so soulful and pure and strong and gentle and amazing and the song was so different and alt. country and lovely and cool, I stopped whatever I was doing (writing, I think) and soaked it all up. It was proper mmm. Of course what made it even better was that Peelie came off the back of the track saying something like "That was blah taken from the album Furnace Room Lullaby, by Neko Case and her Boyfriends and it was frankly so amazing that we're going to play it again."

Which he did. In all the history of ever, things have been played on the Peel show twice not very often at all. Certainly the number is in single figures. So to have someone who apparently knew a fair bit about popular music share the same "ooh, that's good" moment, was, obviously, nice.

I've subsequently met the record label owner who brought Neko Case to Britain and he said that moment changed the fortunes of his company overnight and to the producer who was working on the show that night, who said there was a serious debate about whether or not they should play the tune 3 times and they only decided not to at the last moment because it would mean dropping a session tune.

Obviously I bought the Furnace Room Lullaby album and it is a classic. If you ever buy a country album and don't know where to start - it is jes' brilliant.

Love the norks, love the voice. Not quite sure what she's doing, but hey. Respect to her Boyfriends.

Listening too long - to one song

I'm sure I sent most of our regular readers an email announcing my new radio show on Resonance FM, and some of you have even listened in (audition, 9.30pm on Sunday nights, listen again facility soon to be available at our website). Those of you who did tune in (and/or any of you who've ever heard my Toshi Nakamura CDs) will have bemoaned the lack of tunes and may even have wondered whether I like this stuff out of spite and perhaps have something against harmony and melody.

Au contraire. I love proper pop songs too, it's just that I find little in the current scene that interests me. But I'm raving about my latest discovery.

If you read Pitchfork or Stylus (or for all I know, Mojo) you'll probably be familiar with them, but The New Pornographers hit me like a bolt from the blue. Or more precisely, the towering pop genius of "Sing Me Spanish Techno", a track from their latest album, "Twin Cinema", did. It is the catchiest thing I've heard in years. I heard it by accident, as I happened upon Liz Kershaw's show on BBC7 one bored Saturday . I downloaded an MP3 of it onto my pc and had it looping on my RealPlayer over and over and over. It stuck in my head for days. I found myself singing "Listening too long - to one song!" in the weirdest places. And yet I still haven't "listened too long" to it.

My order for the album is in at Amazon. And you can hear the track in question in full by clicking on the title in the paragraph above. MP3 blogging comes to The Lock In!

This is the band, a Canadian super group no less:

And here's a picture of singer Neko Case in her underwear.

It's been beautiful

So that was 2005 - happy new year y'all. What a truly wonderful twelve months - great people, great blog - tactless references to wedding of the year notwithstanding.

My highlights were:

Meeting Alastair's girlfriend.
Finally getting a free drink at the Met Bar.
Getting felt up by Leee John, off of Imagination.
Meeting Alastair's girlfriend.
Spending more than three hundred quid on a pair of lower front wishbones for the Peugeot.
Meeting Alastair's girlfriend.

I think that's it.



I think...

Happy New Year

Looks like I'm the first to post either here or at big brother blog Will's Pub Guide in 2006, so a happy new year to all our readers.

It's the time for looking back over the past year and thinking about the future. 2005 was a good year for me, after a series of pretty awful ones. I spent the first few months recovering from a serious operation which (touch wood) has sorted my back problems out once and for all. OK, so I broke a couple of fingers in the summer, but otherwise I'm as healthy as I've been for a long time. I promoted my first concert in May, have recorded my first CD, and will be starting a radio show on Resonance FM very shortly. I travelled to New York and to Dublin, and of course York for the wedding of the year. I've been blessed with some fantastic friends, some of the best of which are contributors to this blog.

And I met the lovely Louise. Looking forward to 2006.

That groom's speech in full...

You may notice some similarities to the Wallis speech. They are entirely intentional...


Well, the future Mrs Jackson is now just Mrs Jackson! That will take some getting used to - it's a tough job, but I hope I'm the man to do it...

I did have a great speech worked out for you today, but as we’re now married, Helen has told me what to say instead.

So, here goes - first in a long list of thank yous from, (COUGH) MY WIFE AND I is to you ALL for coming today, and for the incredibly generous gifts you’ve given us. It means a great deal to us that a lot of people - many of whom think Hampstead is the far north - have come to join us for our big day.

Thank you also to Harry for the kind words and best wishes, and to both him and Susan for the considerable help they've given us with today. I still don't know what they make of this southern media jessie that Helen brought home for the first time almost seven years ago. I don't even claim to understand the offside rule or what a double accumulator each-way is, but they've both been extremely kind to me - not least allowing me to marry their daughter! It’s frightening how trusting people can be! There are flowers for Susan, and a crate of beer is on its way to Hartlepool.
(Flowers for Susan)

As some of you will know, Helen's grandad passed away last week, and we’re obviously disappointed he isn't around to share this day with us, as I'm sure he would have been enormously proud at how beautiful his grand-daughter looked today. Both Bill and Evelyn have been so welcoming that they are like my own adopted grandparents, and I am eternally grateful for that. They were married over sixty years ago – which has given us something to aim for; I’ll be very pleased if we are as happy as they’ve been together after all that time. My own Nan, who was from NewCASTle, died a few years back, but I know that in turn she would be very happy that I've chosen a canny North Eastern lass like Helen.

Secondly, unfortunately my Mum isn't well enough to be here tonight, and my Dad has chosen to stay at home and get under her feet. This has at least saved us from him requesting "Agadoo" in the disco later. Again, they love Helen dearly and we have to thank them for helping us with today's event. There are beer and flowers (I hope those arrive the right way round) on their way to Seaford. My Uncle Stuart and Auntie Janet are doing a great job of representing them here today and here's some flowers to say thanks again...
(Flowers for Stuart & Janet)

Whilst we're on the subject of flowers, there are some beautiful displays on the top of the pillars here. We can't leave them in the hall, so if you'd like to take one home with you, please feel free - it'll save Nick Wallis having to clear them up at the end of the night. Also, there is a picture frame – you may be wondering what that’s for – we’d love you to sign it, and we’ll use it to frame one of our photos of today.

People have asked about our courtship… our first date was to the bear-pit that is the midnight show at the Comedy Store; that went well, so I decided to try Helen’s culinary tastes, and being the class act that I am, took her to the fish and chip shop in Covent Garden that’s called “The Rock and Sole Plaice” (geddit?). When she liked that, I thought, perhaps this is the one for me?

The reading you heard from Nick Wallis about Waterloo Bridge was chosen because I thought I’d try taking her there to see the romantic view of the London skyline at night. Unfortunately, I bottled it - so our first kiss was at the slightly less glamorous location of Embankment tube station!

Many of you will know that I used to produce a breakfast show, with Steve Hyland, who I still love like a brother, and is here today. Well, in true breakfast show style – no, I haven’t cut a few funny stories out of the paper - but I did manage to look up that radio favourite – what happened on this day in history! One stood out as particularly appropriate. On 10th December, in 1883, that rarest of rare things – a blue moon occurred. Well, ladies and gentlemen, someone like Helen only comes along once in a blue moon, and that’s why I wanted to make her my wife.

Look-alike, radio travel news presenter, voiceover, TV producer, karaoke singer extraordinaire, character actress... and now beautiful bride - most people might be lucky enough to marry one of these… in Helen I have them all. I’m not quite sure what she’s doing with me - I can only assume perhaps she’s not as bright as she looks.
More thank yous need to go to the Best Man, Antony, of whom more in a minute, and the Ushers, Ian, Alastair and Adam, for stopping me from spending all afternoon in the pub. Spoilsports! Despite this, they still get some presents...
(Ushers' tankards)
I'm holding Antony's back until I've heard the speech.

Also to the others who have given their time to help us out - the other Will for videoing the ceremony so my parents can watch me sweating down the front of the hall, Nick Ratclifte for agreeing to DJ when he could be enjoying it with the rest of us, Nick Wallis for speaking and providing a substantial part of this speech as well as general moral support, and Nicola for also providing a wonderful reading. I think that's everyone called Nick.

Thank you to Diana Naish, Sophie and all of her catering staff, who have done a great job today, and will have to deal with your thirsts behind the bar later on. Also to Wayne, The Chocolate Guy, responsible for the fountain. And before the first dance, we have a piece of audio that’s been specially produced by James Stodd. I have no idea what’s on it, but please give it your full attention!

Also a huge thank you to Charlesworth and Hunt Theatrical Costumiers for making all the dresses - they've never done wedding dresses before, but I'm sure you'll agree all that everyone looks fabulous, dahling! If anyone is staging a musical in the next few months they've brought some business cards...

And last but not at all least, the bridesmaids, Wai, Viv, Nic, Louise and Holly - the second-best looking women in the room, after my wife - oh, and of course the Mother in Law. We also can't forget our pageboy Sam - we have gifts for you all:
(Bridesmaids' necklaces & pageboy's tankard)
So ladies and gentlemen, please charge your glasses and be upstanding for… THE BRIDESMAIDS!

============

I first met my best man in Flat Eleven of Bertrand Russell Tower at Essex University where we were both Freshers. We quickly became friends - I introduced him to radio, we shared an adopted home of the University Top Bar, and he gave me a temporary Brummie accent which horrified my parents when I came home for Christmas. Little has changed since - he still inexpicably drinks pints of cider, has maybe less hair, but we still get on famously.

After Essex, Antony worked at Haymarket publications where he met a beautiful Irish girl, Gillian, and I was privileged to be asked to be his Best Man. Ant and Gill didn't make me go through the ordeal that a Best Man's speech can be - but frankly, he's not getting out of it tonight!

Antony moved over to Ireland a few years back - and so I must thank him and Gill for coming so far to be here with us tonight. It remains to be seen whether I'll still be thanking him in a few minutes time. But we are all the more fortunate for his presence here with us today.

Put simply, the man is an inspirational public speaker. I can guarantee this day will stay with you for the rest of your lives. Like other life-changing events, you will remember exactly where you were. Your children will look up at you and say: "Daddy - tell us again about the day you heard Antony Whittall speak".

When Antony opens his mouth, the room falls silent, drinks go undrunk, cigarettes go unsmoked. DJs hush their records. Time stands still.

Antony can speak for hours, without notes, yet it seems like seconds. He can evoke laughter and tears - audiences are putty in his hands, and cling to his every word. The magic and charisma drip from every sentence, and transcend mere sounds. To use a radio phrase, this is "theatre of the mind" at its finest - I've never yet seen an audience he hasn't left whooping and hollering and on their feet begging for more.

We are therefore all privileged to be in the presence of such once-in-a-lifetime greatness. World leaders request audiences with this man, global stars fall over themselves for moments in his presence. People pay tens of thousands of pounds, and travel across continents to hear this man speak - he's yours tonight for the price of a return ticket on GNER! I am both humbled and honoured to introduce the single best - Best Man's speech that you will ever hear in your lives... Ladies and Gentlemen: Antony Whittall!

====

The best man, Antony Whittall. I think the build-up was justified by that. I was best man for Nick Wallis a few months ago and he did that to me, so it’s only fair to do it to someone else. To say sorry, we have another gift for Antony, plus there's a crate of cider on the way too...
(BM's tankard)

Well, how do we follow that? With one of the best DJs around - except we couldn't afford him, so I've got a mate in instead. I had the delight of producing him at Mercury FM; he's the man behind such legendary features as, er, Ratcliffe's Riddle. He's played for princesses and Robbie Williams (manager) - now he's here tonight. Don’t forget to sign the picture frame, but in the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, the caterers need to do the washing up, so please head downstairs for The Nick Ratcliffe Disco Roadshow!

The Greatest Wedding Of The Century

Well - with apologies to everyone whose wedding I've been to - if I don't think it was TGWOTC, then who will?!

I can only repeat what I said in my speech (see above!) - thank you to everyone who made it to York, and for the great gifts. You will get a thank you card (if TCMJs spreadsheet has worked correctly), but not until we're back from honeymoon here.

Will Kinder is now working on the DVD for the Spring release of a three disc collectors edition box set (TBC). I can exclusively reveal that the out-takes reel will include Helen knocking back a glass of mulled wine in one, and me checking my watch during Antony's speech. Despite what it looks like, I wasn't bored HONEST, just worried that I'd gone on too long. Curse those cameras that see EVERYTHING!

In the meantime, if you can't wait and would like to hear the excellent promo that James Stodd and Will Kinder produced (yes, those are the Capital newsreaders, thanks Matthew and Tony!) then TCMJ has worked out that the best way to do this is to put the audio on our wedding homepage. There, you'll see a link marked "wedding promo". Click on that and 6'24" of glorious production (7.3MB download - so may take a while!) should arrive for your listening pleasure. For some reason we're not entirely sure of, you may need to add the .mp3 extension to the file name for it to work.

Whilst you're downloading that, here's my lovely WIFE and I:



And some other hangers on:


Start as you mean to go on: The Queens Hotel Bar, 0030, Saturday

I don't believe Al was as drunk as he looks here, haranguing passers-by

Never ones to miss an opportunity to play to the camera...

All Hail The Earl of Pies

Or the little lady of course. Congratulations and HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Sorry I'm 15 minutes late. How did you celebrate? Next year it'll be take out pizza and a cuddle from your nipper.

Well done mate. Get down to the SRA awards now - it's your last chance for the next 18 years. Please pass on my best to Mrs Lord.

N

You realise I don't have to talk to you anymore

I just have to sweep by with a regal wave now I've had a package on Radio 4's Today programme introduced by James Naughtie and back anno'd by John Humphrys. It was like being in the middle of the ultimate aural sandwich.

I notice none of you commoners heard it. It almost matches the moment I treasure above all others (and which takes pride of place on my demo) - John Peel introducing me to read the news during his programme - the temptation to just scream "I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!" to the nation instead of a headline was almost overwhelming. but, you know, I managed.

Of the people who did text me after this seminal event (the Radio 4 one), there was a public school history teacher from Norwich, the managing director of a stock market listed company and someone who works at Buckingham Palace. It's a very downmarket programme.

If I had the werewithall I'd post it up. But I'd rather tell you all about my wonderful daughter. As the only parent who posts on this site, consider me warned. I'm sorry if my droning worship of the young lady that takes up a good deal of my time somehow finds its way into polite company. I'll try and stay on message in future.

And the message is...

I still don't go to pubs. Well I do, but so infrequently I have nothing constructive to say about them other than Thank God They Still Exist. I was with Ally (our Marylebone Correspondent - total postings: 0) at the Yorkshire Grey in W1 (scene of the Radio Showbiz Reporters 2004 Christmas Drink - more injuries than my stag do - and frankly some better quality gossip) the other lunchtime shortly after he showed me round the All New Western House, and...

The Yorkshire Grey is a Sam Smith pub, which must be, as far as I can make out, the state brewer. Where else can you get huge pubs, cheap beer, depressing atmosphere, central locations, historic buildings and the exact opposite of everything that Wetherspoons stands for?

Actually I've got a better analogy - Wetherspoons is ITV and Sam Smith is BBC. Both serve the same purpose but in very different ways.

Anyway, everyone knows what a Sam Smith's pubs is like, but the thought that came out of it was "Are there more good pubs in Soho, Noho and Mayfair than the rest of the country put together?" Discuss. And I'm not counting those perfect country pubs, that on closer inspection turn out to be restaurants.

Er right. This was meant to be a review of Theakston's Old Peculier, Bombadier and the first one, whose name I can't remember, but it's now more of a sorry warning about their effects. Which can't be all bad.

I'm off to look for houses in Kingston tomorrow, which on first sight has a lot of decent pubs, so I'm reasonably intrigued.

Love you all very much.

Nx

More on life south of the river...

If the South London Press isn't already the most unremittingly grim read, now they've found this, in our very own back gardens. Are we sure Chris Morris isn't now writing for the SLP?

NATURE lovers fear that squirrels could become hooked on crack cocaine plundered from addicts' hidden stashes...
Squirrels on crack

Parents - read this!

I think that Charlie Brooker is psychic. He has been looking in my head and writing down what he finds for his excellent column in The Guardian. This sums up my position on children - especially as we too live in bloody "Nappy Valley" - nicely...

I hate kids. Hate them all without exception. Even yours. Especially yours. Especially if it's a boy and you named it Jake. And if you've ever written a chummy diary article about Jake for a Sunday supplement, I wish nothing short of death upon you. Death by wasps and bombs and razorwire. In a thunderstorm. While Jake looks on in horror. Because I hate parents too...
Supposing... we had annoying child distress flares.

You know who you look like?

Making a pleasant change from me being asked that question, I'd like to propose a looky-likey of my own.

This afternoon, comedian Rhod Gilbert popped in Paramount Towers to be briefed on his new exciting new role with the channel. I'll be working very closely with this nice young man. During my conversation with him, something about him struck me as familiar.

Can you see who it is yet?

You loved the beer...

...now let's buy St Peter's Brewery!

Independent brewery put up for sale

Any suggestions for where we can find £20M? Do have a look down the back of your sofa. We'd get the Jerusalem Tavern in Clerkenwell too...

Here's my review of the brewery; and here's the pub review.