Dr Sketchy's Anti Art School

"...and clover being green is something I've never seen, 'Cause I was born to be blue."

I would never have thought of putting burlesque and cabaret performance together with sketching, but I sure am glad they did. Welcome to Dr Sketchy's Anti Art School. One part performance, one part art, one part cider - three of my favourite things. To be honest I really couldn't be sure what to expect when Bridget and I made our way over to the Royal Vauxhall Tavern. The outing was Bridge's birthday present from me. Bridget is a talented, if a little out of practice, artist, whereas everything I draw ends up looking like I did it with my feet.

And so we arrived, rather expectantly, got our drinks and got settled. Our host for the evening was a slim, elegant gent with a beautifully cut suit and enviable eye make-up named Dusty Shadows. He explained that Dr Sketchy was started in New York, where it was taken very seriously by budding artists and graphic designers. In London it tends to consist of a bunch of tipsy amateurs more there for giggly doodling than any serious artistic pursuits. This suited us fine.

Dr Sketchy has all range of models and performers that grace their stage. At this session we

were treated to the Blue Lady, styled as Vladimir Tretchikoff's 'Chinese Girl' she sang old standards about 'being blue'. Her sulky, velvet voice couldn't be taken seriously when paired with splendid blue face paint as she drawled "...and clover being green is something I've never seen, 'Cause I was born to be blue." She posed for us, but I managed somehow to draw her looking like Miss Piggy?! And while Bridge's drawing's got stronger as we went along, mine some how managed to get weaker, and by the time we move on to sketching a camp, cabaret singing cowboy called Mr Meredith, my 'art' had stopped resembling anything remotely human.

The whole evening was a different experience, a stand out event in my week. While I became more aware that my artistic skills are somewhat lacking, I realised that I still very much enjoy trying to draw. And so my dear Bridget and I are looking forward to our next visit, and hopefully soon I will do something that is at least passable enough to post!

Isle of Wight 2010

Sorry about the silence. There has been rather a lot of work related drama over here, and this has caused my creative endeavours to take a bit of a back seat, not a good thing when the catharsis of writing is what keeps one sane! Anyway, since we last 'spoke' I have had a rather large adventure, my favourite type of adventure in fact. A weekend of song, sun and silly outfits all round at the Isle of Wight festival.

I have long wanted to go to this particular festival as it is the godfather of the English festival. It is the setting of one of the greatest Rock 'n Roll moments of all time. In 1970 Jimi Hendrix played to 600 000 people on the Isle of Wight, in his last major performance. Jimi came on round midnight to give everything he has left to give. Within three weeks he would be dead. Opening with a distorted version 'of ‘God Save The Queen’, he looks troubled, but sung and played with what has been described by some as a savage grace'. Someone sets the stage on fire after his set, like a wake for the 1960s. After Jimi's performance, and the havoc wreaked on the Island by its 600 000 hippie guests, the Isle of Wight would not host a festival for another 32 years.

The festival is now pretty corporate with its Marlboro only cigarette booths, ITV sponsorship and exclusive sale of Carling, however the energy of the crowd is reminiscent of its optimistic hippie ancestors. An older audience means less surly, stand offish teens, and more ridiculous twenty something eager to learn from the free spirited community left in their parent's generation. There were many a tie dyed sexagenarian floating around in a Debbie Harry bubble of euphoria as Blondie blasted the crowd with hits that don't seem to have aged at all, and ladies in their fifties were launched onto the shoulders of graduates as we all bemoaned our Hearts of Glass. Paternal types disseminated baby wipes to grossed out twenty five year olds as we all waited in the queues for lavatory facilities that at best could be described as short long drops (ick). Everywhere I looked were society's escapees, doused in glitter, sucked into Lycra, be-wellied and ready to rock out to anything from The Strokes to Crowded House. I bought a flower garland to wear in my hair, and was only too charmed when a spaced out lady wearing a hemp dress asked me if I had found Robin Hood yet, because I looked just like Maid Marion.

Maid Marion??

Londoners who would normally be found shouting at an overzealous commuter gave up on charging their iPhones (myself included), and instead of recording every moment on their cameras gave in to the experience and chatted to the person next to them as they queued for cider or basic sanitation. The sun shone for us, and by the time Paul McCartney took up the stage on Sunday it didn't matter that the heavens opened. In fact it was a blessing, as it served to wash away the wee that some ingrate had found it necessary to hurl into the crowd. My companions on this adventure, Tiff and Lara, were rather revoltingly splattered, but god bless the healing (and cleansing powers) of a Beatle, for after being severely anti-bacterialed, they continued to bop, and get their Hey Jude on.

Happy kids, even post the pee incident...

Sir McCartney was unbelievable. He showed himself to be every bit the Rock/Pop veteran as he charmed the crowd. I wept as he sang Here Today a tribute to John Lennon, and I felt my heart would burst forth from my chest as 45 000 people beseeched Jude not to make it bad. I am still a bit awed that I saw a Beatle, and floated for the rest of the night on that thought. After Paul left us with Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, we danced in the rain in ridiculous disposable ponchos and I couldn't think how it was possible to be any happier at that moment. Despite my dose of Year 2000 cynicism, and my inability to go an hour without sarcasm, I can't help but feel like those hippies were onto something with all their Peace and Love and Rock 'n Roll.

Viva Bafana Viva Africa

Double patriotism - representing all residents :)

The flags are fluttering out the windows in Isis Street. We are rolling out the patriotism for the world cup. Holding thumbs and flying flags is pretty much all we can do being so far away from home.

While the foreigners flood into SA I am envious of the immersion in our wonderful country, their experiencing of our culture, and friendliness and food. Having the world's spotlight focussed on us for a month makes me come over all patriotic, because at the moment I am seeing South Africa once more through fresh eyes. Adverts show our amazing landscapes, our sublime range of animals, our mixing pot of different ethnicities, and I find myself explaining the intricacies and anomalies of our culture to anyone who will listen.

And so tomorrow I will watch our proud, under dog team step onto an African pitch to the roar of thousands of bafana bafana fans. I will watch it on a little island in the English Channel, before attending an international music festival. And yet I know that there will have been few times when I have felt more patriotic, and indeed more South African.

"Let them bring their Mexican wave - we will bring vuvuzelas!"

The Only Boss I Listen to is Springsteen

Bruce Tote by Communitea on Etsy - Awesome!

Bruce Springsteen has been in my family since before I was born. My blessed aunt has loved him since she first heard his voice, and I so grew up Dancing in the Dark, feeling like I had been Born in the USA, and looking forward to my Glory Days. As my mind developed I felt like I was hearing the songs for the first time, the meaning of the lyrics sinking in, until I realised that I too at night felt the blood in my veins, just as black and whispery as the rain.

So last year I finally got to see The Boss in action!

I think this may have been the event I has been waiting for my entire life I swear to god! As I said I was singing Dancing in the Dark and watching him pull Courtney Cox up on stage at the age of 4...it’s been 20 years coming and by God it was worth the wait! Playing the Hard Rock Calling festival in Hyde Park, he opened with London Calling, and didn't once slow the pace. His talent for live shows (all three hours of it) was quite incredible. I always get scared before I see one of my greatest perform because if it sucks its such a blow, but there was no need to worry! He is so down to Earth, and you can tell he just loves to perform, so much so that he came on stage and played guitar with Brian Fallon during Gaslight Anthem's set (Bruce is Brian's hero - must have felt to him like being blessed by the pope). He is a born performer and after all those years knows just how to get the best out of a crowd - every show he talks to the crowd and asks them for their signs that request songs, and because people know that he does that they all bring them. They pass them over to him and he holds them up to the band so they know what they are playing next, then he props it up at the front of the stage and plays that request. They have such an enormous back catalogue and such a long set that they are pretty much able to play any song that he and the E Street band have ever written.

And so my plan now is to ensure that the world attends a Bruce concert every week and then the overwhelming awesome high of Bruce-ness would prevent war and anger and violence. That's a bit of pressure on Brucey, but I reckon what with him being a demi god he could handle it.

And so when I saw that tote going for sale on Etsy I had to have it. I'm sure you can imagine.