Nuclear wasteland photography

Drifting slightly off the English vibe for once, but highly recommend this photographic study of the ruins of Chernobyl, and the nearby town, Pripyat. Incredible shots, courtesy of high-end terrace menswear dons Clerk & Teller. Particularly feeling this one (above) of the ruined fairground.

Q. Why shouldn't you wear Russian underpants?
A. Because Chernobyl fall out.

That one doesn't really work written down.

The ITV Comedy Awards

I was there on Wednesday night. Here are some thoughts...

1. Being in ITV Centre really is like being in an episode of Filthy, Rich & Catflap. All the framed photos of the c-listers really brings out one's inner 'desperate out of work actor'.
2. The food was fucking awful, consisting solely of crudites, houmous that had been out for so long it had a crust, and crisps. Oh, and some Bombay Mix. I know times are hard and everyone in the media's screwed, but it was a v. poor show.
3. Chris Langham jokes are not well received by the light entertainment industry.
4. Jonathan Ross died on his arse. Which is strange, given how much of this stuff he does.
5. Fern Britton cracked one of the few good jokes of the night, when she referred to Mark Wallinger's bear as 'Muhammad'.
6. JK Rowling and Simon Pegg were both very polite to us.
7. That bloke who now hosts Soccer AM - and is like a 'broken biscuits' Tim Lovejoy – has a very loud, attention-seeking voice when you're stuck in a lift with him.

Little Harvey is not to be mocked

Much hand-wringing in the world of gossip magazines, after Heat gave away a sticker poking fun at Jordan's son, Little Harv The Legend last week. Word of their callous behaviour spread around the internets in seconds - mainly thanks to the women at mumsweb and their ilk - and Heat were fucked.

All of which talk of the little fella reminds me of a piece I wrote in The Guardian last year, where I managed to crack a joke about Harv playing the kettle drums and compare his vile mother to keen amateur pilot/repressed homosexual Mohammad Atta and didn't get any complaints. Which just goes to show that if you use a few long words, you can basically get away with anything.

Still, I stand by what I've always said about Harv - that whatever his disabilities, on the family's TV show he seems to function as a particularly harsh Greek chorus to his idiot parents' lives. Whether putting his fingers in his ears while being paraded up the red carpet at some crappy premiere, or telling Peter to 'fuck off' when he's going into some pompous tirade, Harv's the only one to emerge from the programme with a shred of dignity. Fair play to him.

Cheap pop promos

In a band? Skint? Need a video making?

If so, then contact Mrs EFTE via this site. She's a veritable one-woman filming-&-editing machine, and here's the video she made for Canadian madwoman Dandi Wind last time she was in East London. Hell of a mover.

The Young Ones: 25 years on

So, the 25th anniversary of The Young Ones is upon us. Was it actually any good with hindsight? And did it 'change comedy forever' as is sometimes claimed? 'Kind of' and 'no' are the short answers. For the longer answers, check my article in last Saturday's Guardian…

The best cafe in London?

First in a semi-regular series of updates addressing the important subject of 'places you can get some peace and quiet, read the paper and wolf down a sandwich'. Setting the bar particularly high is Paul Rothe & Son at 34 Marylebone Lane, W1. This original 1940s cafe/grocer has been pretty much untouched since it first opened and scores particularly highly for the following: Sixties fold-down padded vinyl seats; tea in proper Wedgewood china; shelves packed with a vast selection of chutney, marmalade etc; staff in proper old-school white coats; general buttoned-down austerity vibe; brie and cranberry sauce sandwiches.
Overall, highly recommended.

Once a tone-deaf yuppie prick, always a tone-deaf yuppie prick

Just seen this month's GQ magazine, which is even more conformist and self-congratulatory than usual. For some reason there's a piece on Duran Duran who almost look as bad as they sound these days. Anyway, all this hatred of Simon Le Bon reminded me of a piece I wrote for the Guardian a few years back reassessing the original Live Aid.

Scott King destroys Vogue

Furious online debate over at the Creative Review's blog where they are showcasing Scott King's recent series of spoof 'covers' from his 'How I'd Sink American Vogue' series. His defenders seem to be leading the detractors by about 2:1 at the time of writing, but it's not over yet…

Acid House expose

Cutting edge journalism from the good old days when a load of munted teenagers were the biggest threat to Britain's wellbeing. This vintage clip is from 'A Trip Round Acid House', a Thames TV episode of World In Action from 1988 and was from one of the few weeks when the show wasn't doing the IRA, the Birmingham Pub Bombings or the BNP. Top performances from the back-combed rave girls; "It's different when you walk in… it isn't straight."

The suburbs are out of control: Part II

After the previous post on racist pub decor, more horror from the suburbs. Farmers feeding cows their own balls has finally had the predictable outcome, and even the deer of Bushy Park are no longer safe. Nice early Eighties vibe to this sign, though.

Pub decor, suburban style…

Just back from a short holiday, and was pleased to note on my travels that there is a corner of a high street in Surrey where comedy models of 'laughing minstrel guitarists' are still considered suitable pub decor. Jesus christ - the suburbs are just out of control.

Hardcore British folk

Following on from the earlier post about John Martyn, I've been exploring more from the golden age of psychedelic British folk. Best so far has been this beautiful performance of A Heart Needs A Home, by Richard & Linda Thompson on The Old Grey Whistle Test in '75. This version is better than either of the two cuts of it that are on the remastered Hokey Pokey album, mainly as Linda's voice sounds a bit freer on this recording. A beautiful song, made all the more poignant by the fact that, from what I understand, they split a few years later after an American tour which must have been an absolute barrel of laughs for all concerned…

I particularly like the way that even though they're indoors, Richard's all muffled up against the cold. Were the electric workers on strike again that month or something?

Golden age of avant-rock comes to Camden

Saw Sonic Youth on Friday night at The Roundhouse, playing Daydream Nation in its entirety as part of the Don't Look Back series of shows. Pretty great stuff,and a reminder of when indie was all about experimentation, noise, the avant garde and rejecting the mainstream.

Dropped into the Hawley Arms afterwards to be swiftly reminded that indie's now almost entirely about shittily-dressed sub-Alex Zane types, dismal guitar pop and Top Shop women on the hunt for famous people.

My article about the gig, and the general idea of putting alt legends on the nostalgia circuit is in today's Guardian

Declaring war on ugly marketing

This Thursday night Neil Boorman will be appearing at the ICA to talk about the ethics of advertising, alongside documentary genius Adam Curtis (The Trap, The Power of Nightmares etc) and some guy from the Mother creative agency. It's all in aid of Boorman's new book Bonfire of The Brands, which sees him burn a load of designer goods, and then live without them.

Believe me, this was no mean feat for him; I've known Neil a long time, and he was mad as a devil for anything with a label. Peace to the Westwood perforated leather jacket and Nikes with all flames up the side, a'ight?

Smooth 80s soul jam of the day

Princess' Say I'm Your Number 1 got to number seven in the UK charts in 1985. Bit of lightweight pop from EFTE's childhood which, with hindsight, sounds like a note-perfect electrosoul jam that Joyce Sims would have been proud of. Great video with Princess (aka Desiree Heslop) throwing down with her bra out around The British Museum, Hyde Park, an open-top bus and the BMX-infested Westway. Love him or hate him, Peter Waterman was on top of his game for this one.

Essex: Where they do things a little differently

Spent last weekend down in Mersea Island (above), a partially connected island off the Thames Estuary, about ten miles from Colchester. Beautiful, rugged coast, plus some weird geological condition where everything seems to grow to insane heights very quickly. My friend's vegetable gardening was giving up four-foot high rhubarb, more spinach than you could handle and the world's shiniest onions. Seriously, it's like Dig For Victory crossed with Day of The effin' Triffids down there. The place seems to have some kind of microclimate, and sustains a large vineyard; it also plays host to a large scooter/skinhead rally every autumn.

Here's me and Mrs EFTE enjoying the bleak English seaside with our friend's son. Knackered old boats, grey skies and some strange vegetation; does it get any more traditional?

Dogs win prizes

A nice bit of found photography from Mrs EFTE. All we know is that the dog was called Lady Jane, she's looking in a celebratory mood after claiming the cup, and that she's sitting on some properly nasty 1970s carpet.

CRACKIN' SKULLZ THIS SATURDAY NIGHT

London's finest hip-hop, 80s soul and ignorant bass night takes over The Legion on Old St tomorrow. 8pm-2am, free.

The God-like genius of Andrew Neil

Like right-wing media types with fuzzy hair and a taste for the good life? Then check my piece for The Guardian on modern day legend Andrew Neil. He's on his summer break from The Week at the moment – somewhere vulgar like Monaco I like to imagine – but the show returns in September.Judging by the 'comments' below the article I'm not the only one with a sneaking soft spot for Brillo…

Power electronics v Psychedelic folk

Excellent new issue of Wire featuring a lengthy interview with creepy old industrialists Whitehouse (pictured above, onstage, looking really happy to be deafening a load of angry men), and a superb primer on British psychedelic folk featuring everyone from Steeleye Span to Comus. The Whitehouse piece is by David Keenan, whose book England's Hidden Reverse is considered a nigh-on indispensable guide to the whole Death In June/Current 93/magick scene. Whitehouse are definitely one of those bands who are a lot more interesting to read about than listen to: I saw them play at The Garage in 1996 at Live Action 69, and I can honestly say I've never seen such a pack of repressed homos in one room in my life.

The Folk article also includes John Martyn. Here he is tearing The Old Grey Whistle Test a new one with just his acoustic guitar and a massive Echoplex unit.