Slouching on A Saturday

As you may have guessed or not - i had a lie-in and decided to have the day off. i have been listening to my new CD finds from my excursion to Hove and so on.

I have just finished the reports from the covert shops i did and soon will be getting something for lunch.

Later on i will do a post of music selected from my finds.

In Faversham and Cibo Matto Live

I popped over to Faversham and sold some books and CD's - made twelve pounds ,so i am quite happy with that as it was stuff that i did not sell on Ebay.

I then went homeward bound, bought some food,and had a lamb burger with salad for my dinner.


Meanwhile, here is a band that having given me much joy and in one track "Sugar Water" i never seem to tire of. This is a live set from
the yearly London Meltdown festivals. The band? Cibo Matto.


Yoko Ono's Meltdown | Cibo Matto - full performance

Saturday Music Selection - Jazziness

Okay, as i intimated the other day here is a music selection from the CD's recently fund.

Joe Henderson - Johnny Come Lately

From CD - "Lush Life - The Music of Billy Strayhorn"

Joe Henderson- Tenor Saxophone
Wynton Marsalis- Trumpet
Stephen Scott- Piano
Christian Mcbride- Bass
Gregory Hutchinson- Drums


( More jazz here )

Enjoy.

Poems Of The Week

Two poems that i have enjoyed -


The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel

John Betjeman


He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer
As he gazed at the London skies
Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains
Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

To the right and before him Pont Street
Did tower in her new built red,
As hard as the morning gaslight
That shone on his unmade bed,

“I want some more hock in my seltzer,
And Robbie, please give me your hand —
Is this the end or beginning?
How can I understand?

“So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:
And Buchan has got in it now:
Approval of what is approved of
Is as false as a well-kept vow.

“More hock, Robbie — where is the seltzer?
Dear boy, pull again at the bell!
They are all little better than cretins,
Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

“One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s —
Another one’s at the Savoy:
Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,
And bring them on later, dear boy.”

A thump, and a murmur of voices —
(”Oh why must they make such a din?”)
As the door of the bedroom swung open
And TWO PLAIN CLOTHES POLICEMEN came in:

“Mr. Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew
Where felons and criminals dwell:
We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly
For this is the Cadogan Hotel.”

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.
He staggered — and, terrible-eyed,
He brushed past the plants on the staircase
And was helped to a hansom outside.




The Age Demanded

Ernest Hemingway


The age demanded that we sing
And cut away our tongue.

The age demanded that we flow
And hammered in the bung.

The age demanded that we dance
And jammed us into iron pants.

And in the end the age was handed
The sort of shit that it demanded.