Things wot I like: food (I honestly couldn't live without it); music and going to gigs; Primavera Sound; riding my bike; Scootercaffe in Waterloo; Trisha's in Soho; opening scene of Manhattan; good red wine; the radio; improving my Spanish; Marina Hyde; Larry David; New York City; Anthony Quinn film reviews *shakes fist at the Independent's bean-counters*; Billingsgate market at six a.m (an extraordinary place); eating pintxos in San Sebastian; San Sebastian.
Things wot I don't like: bigotry; petty small-mindedness; the phrase "my bad"; Clarkson (Jeremy); Liddle (Rod); The modern-day ubiquity of assorted "Keep Calm And Carry On..." signs/ t-shirts/ cups/ whateverthefuck. Everyone in the photo below - troika of hate. http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2011/9/15/1316103329634/Alex-James-looks-on-as-Je-007.jpg
I like London, where I'm from. It never really gets boring. I like Brixton - where I used to live - especially. I like a bloody good old laugh. Because at the end of the day, it gets dark.
Girding my loins. At least, I think that's what I'm doing.
Finding quiet routes to cycle through London.
Eschewing an ascetic lifestyle.
Concealing my alabaster Celtic skin from harsh sunlight.
Laughing in the face of it all.
The ankle security tag (not for much longer, though).
Who the hell knows?
Films: The Third Man; Big Lebowski; Withnail and I; Sweet Smell of Success; Millers Crossing; Trees Lounge; Living In Oblivion; Twelve Angry Men; On The Waterfront; Serpico; Harold And Maude; Ken Loach.
TV: Curb Your Enthusiasm; Newsnight; Porridge; Cheers; Auf Wiedersehen Pet; Have I Got News For You.
Music: Pavement; PJ Harvey; Mogwai, Rolling Stones; Deerhunter; Eleanor Friedberger; Bowie; Johnny Cash; Talking Heads; the Pogues; the Feelies; Joanna Newsom; Four Tet; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBi-irlCOzE; the Supremes; Scott Walker; Yo La Tengo; the National etc etc.
All in all, I much prefer the radio to the television; Six Music and Radio Four. I quite like waking up to John Humphrys rowing with someone (let it breathe, John, let it breathe), and falling asleep to the shipping forecast (which annoys the crew on my fishing trawler big time). I think Jarvis Cocker is the best thing in British broadcasting. Aural ambrosia. Cerys Matthews' mellifluous Welsh tones are soothing my Sundays in his absence.
My next gig.
The death of Stuart Lubbock?
Joke!!!The below isn't, though...
Woke up stark bollock naked in a toilet of a hotel I was staying at at a music festival in New York. No idea where I was or how I got there. Faced with the prospect of a highly embarrassing stroll through the corridors of the hotel, I fell back on my Macgyver-esque powers of resourcefulness and fashioned a rather fetching pair of toilet paper pants. Striding boldly forth from the toilet, I then set out to locate my room. Which took quite a while, sadly. Lots of people still awake saw this loin-clothed goon and, unfortunately, it was the first night of a small festival. So I kept bumping into them for the duration of the weekend. Fully clothed, this time.
I also can't use chopsticks :(