That's How It Happened

I rushed out to see Harry Potter: TPOA. Although the ushers were armed with nightscopes (to prevent secret videoing), this failed to distract me from an enjoyablish film. As ever the sets, costumes, effects, art direction and cinematography are excellent. The adult cast put in strong performances, and the children are mostly cringeworthy. The scripting and plotting is so mechanical that the movie is stuck as a kids film for kids, as opposed to School of Rock, which is good for adults too. Mostly entertaining, with a few genuinely creepy moments, it doesn't really live up to the hype as a more mature HP flick. Worth seeing though for the best bits: Emma Thompson as Professor Trelauney, Hagrid and the Hypogriff, the end credits in the style of the Maurauder's Map.

Divercity FM (link broken) will be broadcasting across North/East London from tomorrow on 101.4fm. Highlights are sure to include DJ Charlie Beez, daily at 7pm, and apparently a live session from Alice and the Enemies.

A nice illustration of a two handed speedy shoe lace knot. The eponymous author shouldn't be laying claim to this knot, which is favoured by all flash surgeons showing off to their students, but the pictures are excellent.

How to eat sushi, including challenging ikura nigiri. My favourite, Pham Sushi, has blasted into the bigtime this week with citations in Time Out Cheap Eats, and the Times London Top 20 sushi restaurants.

Explanation of the physiology (should that be pathology?) behind the ninja death touch.

Lastly the internet classic that is Cooking with Christopher Walken.

Yesterday was finally the day when my brother and I were called to Windsor to collect our consignment of bees. We had been pre-warned by the bee-nerd in the shop that the bees would arrive "in a bee carrying case". That's six frames of honey, wax, and larvae, sealed in a small wooden box with 15,000 angry bees. We drove them to our parent's house with some trepidation, well aware that a crash smashing open the hive would result in death for us both from anaphylaxis.
At home we donned our gloves and veils and removed the hive stopper. It was stunning watching the bees pour out to explore their new home. A quick flick through "Bee-keeping For Dummies", suggested that gloves were amateurish. Feeling brave I rejected mine, and was instantly stung. More in depth scrutiny of the text suggested that wearing dark wool was certain to provoke stings, because of one's resemblence to a bear. Lesson very firmly learned.
After allowing the bees 24 hours to navigate round the garden we then had to trick them into their new permanent hive. We did this by smoking them into submission, then swapping the main hive into the exact spot where the carrying case had stood. Cracking open the mini-hive we were enveloped in an insane buzzing swarm. My brother was miserably hung-over, but he managed to spot the precious queen on the fourth frame. Very gently we transferred all the frames, and filled the extra space with freshly wired new frames.
15 minutes later everything had settled down. Foragers were soon returning to the hive laden with pollen, and most of the dislodged bees seemed to have found their way home. Unfortunately my parents will also be finding their way home tomorrow. Their garden is a lot less habitable now, but so much more fertile and productive. The next bee update is due in a fortnight when we have to go back for the first inspection.

Avenue D are some slutty NYC girls who rap about sex. The're like a really dirty version of the Wee Papa Girl Rappers. Their website has snippets of all their potty mouthed songs, otherwise (via a free sign up) visit Soundclick for a whole MP3.

There's a word you see a lot around the sneaker forums and discussion boards: "grail". Your "grail" is the pair of shoes you aspire to so much, that were you ever to pick up a pair, you might die of enlightened happiness. This hTM Air Woven (Dark Mocha/Medium Curry-Beach) was featured on Bill Murray's feet in Lost In Translation. It has become vanishingly rare ever since. I can't claim it's actually my grail, because the colourway is so awful, but it is the sixth and final hTM Woven in my collection.

I don't approve of Abu Hamza and his crazy terrorist ways, but it's wack that Jack Straw is happy to have him extradited to face the death penalty, when it's Jack who has to get on the phone to Bankok to save the life of some hippy from the home counties who gets busted with 3kg of heroin.

If you scrutinise the Ch-Check It Out Video (apparently a legit torrent) closely, you might notice that the intern on the shoot was Jose Rubin. I'm betting he's related to one Rick Rubin, who used to produce the Beasties, and who is now appearing in the awesome Jay-Z 99 Problems Video (real). Also appearing in said video is Vincent Gallo, whose ex-girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny) is gonna kick his ass when she sees this Brown Bunny OST artwork.

"Come on now, these donkeys won’t shoot themselves." Best URL evs, AND best Bush and Blair donkey execution scene evs. (from the same people who brought you Programming Language Inventor or Serial Killer).

Now summer has almost arrived, I'm spending most of my time gardening and hanging out in the sun. That hardly makes for exciting blogging. No-one could care less that my courgettes are in flower, or that the asparagus season has been a triumph. I am however engaged in a fierce and exciting pumpkin growing battle with "Bootsie" Howes and Jonky. The pumpkin weigh-in is due for Halloween, following which the pumpkins will be hollowed out and used as organic coracles. So far my results have been less than impressive.

An exhibition of rare sample sneakers and customs is coming to my 'hood.

Those nasty people at MooreWatch have suggested that the very rich Michael Moore should release Fahrenheit 911 as a BitTorrent. Though I'm equally dubious about Moore's exacting journalistic standards, this is a little unfair on him, seeing as he doesn't actually own the movie. It would be a blow to Bush to see 911 released on the internet early, but I can't imagine Bob Weinstein agreeing to it.

My uncle is obsessed with Lance Armstrong, so much so that he made us sit through hours of Tour de France footage between the courses of this years Christmas lunch. With him in mind I much enjoyed this slick Nike ad showing tough ol' Lance racing, trains, geese, buffalo, and even other cyclists.

Though I profess to loathe reality TV, last night's show "Jimmy's Farm" on BBC 2 is an absolute must watch. It documents hapless Jimmy, a 28 year old entomologist, in his feckless efforts to set up and run a rare breed pig farm. In the opening episode he blew almost the entire £55k budget before a single pig had moved in. The crowning glory of many many mishaps was an unattended bonfire, that blew out of control, closing the A14, and requiring 5 fire engines and RAF surveillance to save the railway line. The show is utterly compelling, quite overshadowing Gordon Ramsey's hapless D-listers on ITV.

Lastly CutChemist.com has a beautiful GUI to rival JKRowling.com, and a stack of awesome tracks, including a great "Concrete Schoolyard" reworking. (And incidentally the Y Tu Potter Tambien buzz that is Azkaban has my total seal of approval.)

Way back in Oct 03 when blogging was still cool, I decided never to discuss politics on these hallowed pages. Not wishing to break this moratorium, instead I give you a small picture of a gormless fool. Hoodwinked by the Iranians eh? I'm sure Pappy Bush is very proud.

I'm sad to say I failed at the Nike/Recon AFX Game. A poor browser and a picky firewall let me down. Mr Nixta however used his rudimentary map reading skillz to secure a spanking new pair of AFXs. My hat is doffed in his general direction.

Now that Belle de Jour is totally passe, I thought it might be of interest that Mystery Blogger Rance, long rumoured to be Owen Wilson, might still actually be him. "I can barely write a thank-you note" (sic) claims Wilson when questioned about it. I think he might be forgetting that he wrote four and a half entire screenplays.

And finally for today, partly because whatevs has exceeded its pervy bandwidth for the rest of the month, and mostly because I've just discovered the joys of the hspace tag (really I have no head for HTML tables), I bring you: yet another picture of Scarlett with really dire make-up choices. This isn't "Straight Eye For The Teen Starlet" or anything, but it's as if she's colour blind.

I feel underwhelmed by the internet today. There are lots of other blogs out there still hungrily snarfing up content and repackaging it for your pleasure. I quite enjoy ThighsWideShut: lots of Lohan linkage, and they even bothered to link to the irksome anti-Bush game. (Though in mitigating circumstances the annoying game does feature He-Man, as much beloved of Mr T MacRae.) Get out and enjoy other blogs for once.

Shortly after busting out of McHaz's most excellent roof party on Friday, (and no it wasn't me that threw a case of champagne bottles into the street), I chanced upon some rather poorly applied yellow lines. The rubberised paint had spontaneously peeled off the street in the hot weather. Thirty seconds of evil-doing later, and a previously innocuous resident's bay was transformed into a target for the clampers. To the driver of the pictured Kangoo; my only excuse is that it seemed the right thing to do after a few too many glasses of "Crazy Monkey."

Lemmings Online is as sweet as it was back in 1996.

Excellent guide to building your own Hold'em Table.

Via Dani Mac, who always has her finger on the pulse of NYC fashion: The sneaker with free-spinning rims.

I may have linked to this before, but SuperFuture continues to have the most astonishing eye catching interactive city maps.

Alice and the Enemies played in the inauspicious surroundings of Needles Wine Bar on Friday. Unexpectedly the venue was transformed from vinophile's speak easy, into a veritable hipster paradise. There were other bands on the line up, but I forget which, because they clearly lack the captivating stage presence of Alice and the Enemies. I might have mentioned it before but Alice is truly a costume chameleon. Dressed in an ensemble that might have been poached from the nice shop assistants at Agent Provocateur, she was setting hearts a-racing before the first strident chords were even strummed. The overall live sound is something like The Strokes fronted by (glorious mid-nineties) Courtney Love. Instead of tormenting you with pointless descriptions of what a gob-smackingly great gig it was, I give you an unauthorised track: touching boys (in supermarkets)(2.8Mb AAC)(I have it on good authority that this track, and others equally excellent will shortly be available on the official site anyway.) Suffice to say, AatE are challenging for the coveted top spot on my list of favourite bands.

In other linkage:

The Ultimate War Sim. A demand for a more realistic real time strategy game: "I want fat, left-wing documentarians carefully editing the only the most incriminating footage, countered only by low-IQ country music singers crooning my praises while in American Flag-colored cowboy hats."

Mojo The Monkey wasn't a work of fiction. He and his helper monkey kind have been selflessly aiding the quadriplegic since 1979. And now Sklansky's methods are so simple yet effective, that the bonobos are winning at texas hold'em too. (Does this undermine Rob's poker success?)

If your idea of kicks is groping unsuspecting motorists, then you might as well get a badge that says: "Miami Vice Pussy Inspector (69)".

Tent City(9Mb Mpeg trailer) looks like an awesome old school super-8 skate movie. The rest of the site is littered with cool clips too.

There's a very good reason why you shouldn't ride rollercoasters butt nekkid.

And finally the Nike Vs Recon Game drops in London on the 26th. I'm not sure I'm prepared to spend three days busting my ass all over town for a pair of sneaks that only cost $100, but the idea is sweet.

The unfathomable mystery of Japanese shirt folding has been conquered, not just by Mrs Nixta (AKA Dani Mac), but now even by Jonky. At first I was disbelieving, until this incredible video (MPEG 540k) was presented as evidence. I can only conclude my limited motor skills are insufficient for t-shirt origami.

Dropping 28K in a single night of lap-dancing? Piffling compared to Jonky's stag.

Seann William Scott ought to sue for this supposedly "blind" scurrilous gossip.

"Donnie does not shoot first - I'm not pulling a Greedo", Richard Kelly explains all, about the new Donnie Darko Directors Cut. (And in other Empire Mag buzz, they've dropped yesterday's claim that Episode III is entitled "Birth of the Empire", either they was wrong, or Lucas has been especially swift with the Cease and Desist).

The hiatus is back off: "the album explodes, front-loaded with eye-rolling puns, throwback vocab, messages about peace and humanity and an overall sound that reveres hip-hop’s golden era". More Beastie goodness, here, here, and (awesome beat boxing sushi and edamame promo) here.

Giant Gabonian rats detect landmines in exchange for bananas.

Berlin Pet Store entirely for budding ant keepers. You know ants are the chic pet du jour.

Supposedly Andy Kaufman has returned, 20 years after "faking" his death, and he has a blog. There's been one mainstream news article confirming that it really is Kaufman. The blog has borrowed pictures of Bob Zmuda appearing as the odious Tony Clifton at the Bunny Ranch. I remain entirely unconvinced, the blog is strikingly unfunny, and faintly offensive to Andy's memory in its inability to re-create his dadaist genius. If you want to make up your own mind I recommend "I'm from Hollywood". It is ostensibly a documentary of Andy's attempt to become World Trans-Gender Wrestling Champion in the run up to his tragic death. Elsewhere on the web, in what might have been my first ever contribution to the internut, I wrote that the movie "deconstruct(s) the wrestling myth as a paradigm of the American dream". Brilliant. (Update: Snopes has really comprehensively trashed the blog as a transparent pathetic attempt to cash in on the Kaufman myth)

Last night I was invited to a ritzy soiree of Polish food and board games with Hollywood stars. I'm no stranger to friendly competion with the famous, having previously enjoyed tough Boggle battles with Mary McCormack. However I was a little intimidated having to play Articulate with Amelia Warner and Adam Garcia. They both turned out to be even more thoroughly lovely than I might have expected, so much so that I feel bad about divulging the details of the evening. It's not as though the Chatham House Rule was in effect, but I did learn some hush-hush backstage goss from the troubled set of the upcoming live action Thunderbirds movie. I'm pleased to report that despite a highly competitive game the Cartwright/Garcia/MacRae team triumphed.
Shamefully though when I learned of Adam's appearance in Lohan vehicle, "Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen", I felt compelled, in light of recent interest (almost SFW), to probe his insider knowledge. I am delighted to announce, that despite the unfounded rumours and much speculation, I have Mr Garcia's assurances that Miss Lohan is entirely natural.
Anyway that's more than enough teen queen revelations for one post. (Though I do feel relieved that Johansson may have ditched Del Toro for Leto).

"The first thing I seen is O.J. Simpson, and I remember thinking to myself 'wow, that's O.J. Simpson, he has a big fucking head, man". Charlie Murphy, on first walking into Studio 54.

The nice people from City Hospital were trying to film a live segment from our Labour Ward today. For the first time I ran into Nadia Sawalha, sister of the more famous Julia. She looks like she does on the telly, except she has a "big fucking head". This is not the first craniomegalic celeb I have encountered. Quentin Tarantino (as seen at the Kill Bill Vol 1 premiere) has a pretty big conk, and Leonardo Di Caprio (seen at the The Beach premiere) has an absolutely disproportionately ginormous head. I propose three theories for the relative tendency of the famous to have giant noggins:
1. It's just an illusion brought on by being star struck. They have normal sized heads, but swooning in their presence causes selective visual disturbance.
2. Their big heads caused them to be bullied as kids, and this spurred them to pursue fame avidly.
3. Their outsize egos cannot be contained in a normal cranium, so their skulls have swelled.

Secret Beastie Boys Gig Review!
In great works of literature the pivotal events in life are often marked by cruel ironies. Sometimes these fictional turning points are tragicomic, sometimes bittersweet. In real life though deeply stressful life altering events are usually notably unironic in their simple harshness.
Last week's Reader Appeal for tickets to the secret Beastie Boys gig met with no success. They were in London to promote their new single Ch-Check It Out (Real Video link), playing for just 200 invited fans and press in the intimate surrounds of the ICA. By a gift from the goddess of generosity herself Annie Morris, I was placed under an alias for two spots on the guest list. Unfortunately though I was due to spend the afternoon in Eastbourne, 75 miles from central London. I was unavoidably forced to attend a work related course. When I discovered the gig was at 7pm I knew I would have a struggle on my hands to drive back into town in time. The devastatingly sad truth is, that I missed the gig entirely while stuck in traffic in Streatham. No words can convey my dejection at failing to attend my most anticipated gig of all time. Now three days later I have finally come to terms with my loss. In some small compensation though, I listened to the entire gig live via the mobile phones of Miss Morris and the GF. Thus I present, possibly as a world first, The Beastie Boys live, reviewed via mobile phone.

The gig was in the main theatre space at the ICA, more used to performance art than hip-hop excellence. The 'Boys were dressed in plain clothes, just the usual jeans and sub-ironic t-shirts. They played just 11 songs, in 40 minutes, including three from the forthcoming album "To The 5 Boroughs". (Right Right Now Now, Triple Trouble, and Ch-Check It Out). As always on the older material (Root Down, Sure Shot) the 'Boys take centre stage, however increasingly as in the classic "Three MCs and One DJ" Mixmaster Mike is the star. Gone are the days of clumsy live instruments. Now the two magic turntables of the 'Master serve as an orchestra of loops and beats. The stand out tracks for me were "So What'Cha Want" and the encore of "Intergalactic". As ever there was some half-assed banter about taking a tea break, probably repeated with nation specific modifications all across the European secret gigs. I can't help but feel that had I actually made it to the audience, instead of being trapped in my car, this would have been the gig of a lifetime.
In the meantime I will have to satisfy myself by re-listening to the gig on Radio 1 on Tuesday, and enjoying this new interview with Tim Westwood. I'm sorely tempted by the Live 105 BFD gig later this summer. It has the most incredible line up, though San Francisco is a long way to go.

Kidz With Toyz have some sweet bootlegs, and great navigation. Luddite chic.

The Tupac Scale of Fake Thuggery rates your favourite faux-gangstas

Cremating fat people is hazardous, and I thought we had difficulties operating on the tubby

Blogger got some new interface and design shizzle goin down. I played around with the features and as far as I can see they are mostly a disaster. I often have trouble with my existing commenting system, but the new Blogger in-house system was painfully cumbersome. If you are having prohibitive difficulties with my commenting, tell me about it and I'll trial an alternative system. However the new features have inspired me to make a direct steal from Nick Catchdubs; the main body of each post will continue look like this, e.g. plain text paragraphs, but the mini links are now going to be bullet pointed. See that starts here:

Good to see my Alma Mater involved in an internet sex scandal. (via Grauni Sam)

I haven't got a birthday coming up for 10 months, but when it does roll around I want a Robo Sapien.

The Earth Impacts Effects Simulator lets you explore in nerdy non-graphical glory the devastation that would be wreaked by various sizes of meteor and comet blasting through our atmosphere. A 10m wide asteroid crashing in Hoxton would make a 1500ft crater and smash every window within 6km. This happens somewhere on earth every 12 years! This is the stuff the internet was born for.

Taquitos.net are way way too into potato snacks, but they get mad props for their byline: "The web just got less useful."

Rumour has it that Gabriel Coxhead's nekkid ass was splashed across Channel 4 last night. I missed it, 'cos I was busy delivering babies, but if you Tivoed it, you just know my gmail account is itching for a chunky file like that.

Being truly famous means having an eight page interview on Channel 4 Teletext. Turn to page 479 to learn more about Tom McRae.

Things That Were Unexpectedly Excellent About Mexico (The 4th And Possibly Final Part)


Mexicans are really astonishingly porky. Perhaps that's due to the constant diet of fried pig and melted cheese, or it might be due to this kick-ass vehicle at the airport. It's like a single decker bus on hydraulic jacks. You walk onto it directly out of the plane door, and it delivers you to the gate, adjusting to the appropriate height as it goes. It saves a bunch of calories compared to trundling down the sloping corridor thing or trucking up the stupid mobile stairs.

Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville is the gaudiest theme restaurant in all Cancun. The waitresses wear coconut shell bikinis, the waiters force you to wear balloon sculpture hats, and there's a giant volcano that erupts periodically with a fountain of margarita. It's actually completely awful in so many ways that you can't help but have a great time. It also makes a good excuse to host the Tenacious D reworking of the eponymous song: Marijuanaville. (Note to the RIAA lawyers. As far as I know this is a bootleg live recording of a classic yet unreleased track, and no copyrights have been infringed in the posting. Possibly the downloaders are stealing intellectual property, but what the heck. Anyhoo, basically I'm a wussy MP3 poster and I'll be ceasing and desisting my own ass at the merest sniff of a attorney's letter.)

The Sunday Times recently claimed that QT had eschewed his previous favourite movie, Rio Bravo, in favour of Lost In Translation. This had me baffled, where's the movie nerd credibilty in LIT? And then I chanced on this photo of QT hitting on the newly single Sofia at Cannes. Mystery explained.

PacManhattan has been getting the press inches, but I'm backing Operation6453 (which starts in like 5 hours) as the cult street racing game of the summer. On other blogs it has been suggested that competitive celebrity stalking would make an ideal scavenger hunt. I should like to propose Boris Johnson as our first target. He's easy game, travelling as he does by bicycle.

Bad Scrabble Hands is a loving tribute to disasterous tile selections.

Via Nixta Snr via Nixta Jnr: Why you should never put your picture on the internet.

I always have trouble folding my t-shirts the regular way, and now some Japanese genius has taken shirt folding to the Nth dimension. I've watched this video 18 times, and I still can't see the sleight of hand. Prepare to be mind-boggled

5 Reviews In 20 Words Or Less
Store: Slamming Kicks is London's newest sneaker boutique. The interior is drab, and the stock only marginally exciting. Not worth the journey.

Exhibition: Design-A-Qee Expo 2004 almost caused me to breech my moratorium on Japanese toys. It's a really wonderful exhibition of customised Qees.

Television: Chappelle's Show Ep 17 (Torrent URL) featuring Charlie Murphy's stories about Rick James is completely hilarious, and worth the download.

Gig: Damon Albarn DJing the Legion Bar last night, was unexpectedly stumbled upon. He's quite weedy looking. Music was OK though.

Album: A Grand Don't Come For Free has had insanely good reviews. It's half decent, a sort of mockney Lloyd Webber musical.

Reader Appeal
It is not often that I fall upon the mercy of my many readers, but today I face an entertainment crisis. I desperately need a ticket for the secret Beastie Boys gig on Saturday. You can only win tickets by entering the Radio 1 Quiz. Unfortunately the quiz is too hard for mere mortals like you, so to save you the trouble, I've finished it for you. In exchange for this help with the fiendish Beastie questions, please can you all enter immediately using all your many aliases. All I ask is that should you win, you must promise to take me with you. You have until Friday lunchtime to be a winner.

Things That Were Unexpectedly Excellent About Mexico (Part 3)


Dudes in awesome tracksuit combos. This is like my version of Vice Do's and Dont's. This dude was hanging out at the airport in his slick travel-wear. He wasn't actually catching a flight, just impressing passing gringos with his incredible accessorizing of this lurid tracksuit. The photo lacks detail due to the extreme stealth needed to shoot it. What you can't see is the aviators slung from the v-neck, the blinding brilliant whiteness of the sneaks, and best of all the white Baby-G on his wrist. I would dress like this too, if I was 58 and was hoping to pick up an air hostess.
I caught another awesome tracksuit lounging by the baggage carousel. He had gone to town with a giant blinging cross necklace, and a watch bezel suitable for 50-Cent. Tracksuits are really comfortable, maybe we'll all look like this for Spring/Summer 05 or something.



On a totally different track, all the Del Toro revelations have really put me off. It is the new official stance of That's How It Happened that Lindsay Lohan is the new Scarlett Johannson. (Giant delicious photo not entirely safe for prudish work).

Once upon a time this blog was a happy place of spontaneous extemporising and zany links. Then it degenerated into a dull travelogue, and the readers were saddened. Rejoice, rejoice! For the first time in a fortnight, I've bothered to bring you fresh linkage:

One Man, One Air Rifle, 54 (to date) Dead Rats. Die rat bastards die! (Kinda spooky zeitgeisty resemblence to Iraqi torture photos too).

Is it OK to pick a movie you are actually in as your favourite? No Paris, it's not.

The Top 25 Weirdest Items You Can Purchase From Amazon. Incidentally my ant farm is ruling. The little blighters have never looked happier, or more numerous.

Who would win? Trained youth, (with 6 to 8" blade) or bear?.

Ricky Jay's infamous book Cards As Weapons may be unavailable for less than $345, but now you can learn deadly card throwing online.

Things That Were Unexpectedly Excellent About Mexico. Part 2 (of several)

Lemon flavoured crisps. Sabor limon, isn't going to displace salt and vinegar anytime soon as Britain's favourite potato snack. It is however a startling blend of a regular crisp with lemon sherbert. Mesmerising, and yet decidedly odd.

Taxis with surf racks. Puerto Escondido is a town so geared to surfing that the town logo is of a dude getting tubed. The taxis mostly have surf racks so you can get about to the different breaks. That doesn't mean the taxi guys are very competent to use them. One evening a beautiful Anderson longboard I had hired, flipped off the roof rack when the taxi guy decided to try dangerous overtaking manoeuvres on the highway. In ordinary circumstances I would have totally freaked out at the sight of this wonderful hand shaped masterpiece of hydrodynamics sliding down hundreds of metres of concrete. However Puerto is a relaxed sort of place: the rental dude barely blinked when I returned his board scratched from head to toe, and the ding repairs cost me a paltry £4.

Things That Were Unexpectedly Excellent About Mexico. Part 1 (of several)

Original size coke bottles. In Mexican pharmacies they still sell 237ml glass bottles of coke. I hadn't seen one of these since the mid-eighties. Coke tastes a bazillion percent better from a glass bottle, and these tiny bottles are so freaking cool that it makes you want to drink seven in a row. They cost only 4 pesos each, which is like 1/2 a pence or something, so you can afford to knock them back. The neck is significantly smaller than on a current ginormous uk bottle so its actually impossible to down it in one, more of a sipping drink. In case you were wondering, with the small neck you can still do that cool thing where you suck all the air out, then wedge your tongue into the bottle, so it can hang from your tongue.

Mexico City from the air. Mexicans don't call Mexico City Mexico City, they call it just Mexico. That's quite confusing, so sometimes they call it DF, which stands for District Federale. Anyway Mexico City has at least 20 million residents, so it's massive. Unlike New York or Tokyo they don't live in high rises, but in one or two storey buildings. Flying over it you get this totally unnerving view of city spreading to the horizon on all sides. Urban sprawl gone insane. I found it both horribly beautiful, and compellingly wonderful.

My final post, I should think, before Rufus returns and coincidentally Dani arrives from good old New York.

Well, those lovely people at Asylum didn't have my umbrella. It seems that someone thought they'd get an upgrade, and good for them, for there were lost umbrellas aplenty (a common occurrence in London, I was told), but all of them shoddy and none of them mine. If anyone sees someone with an ENORMOUS black storm-umbrella with a Mercedes logo on it around London, accost them at once and confiscate the umbrella as stolen goods. It was a one-off, so any protestations must be ignored.

So much for the talk of rain to ease the doctor back into English life, let's make the transition easier. Research shows that watching Mexican television can be bad for you. Maybe being drunk is the reason for this creative piece of architecture. OK, so it's not Mexico, nor New Mexico, but almost New Mexico. Near as damn it. I've been there and a more hospitable little village of New Mexicans one could not hope to find. How can I forget (although I have until just now) sitting in the sun outside the church wherein my best friends were being married, a bagpipe player in a kilt helping me watch real cowboys on horseback chasing a raging bull through disintegrating fences a hundred yards away? You can't invent that sort of stuff.

Compare the above architecture (reminiscent of a Gaudi masterpiece combined with fairy tale castles and too much LSD or altitude) with this monstrous offering from the man who brought you dancing legs on cinemas. Welcome back to Blighty, old bean. Maybe just get on the next plane to... oooh... say Russia, where the news is always much more interesting (if curiously worded).

Greetings from Puerto Escondido. I've finally arrived at the little piece of heaven known as the Mexican Pipeline. There seem to be webcams here and here to help you understand why this is such a surfing mecca. The main beach sports a huge sandbar that produces a vicious curling spitting barrel, surfable only by those born with a board on their feet. On the day we arrived it was thundering in at double to triple overhead (e.g. 12 or 15 feet), and it has settled down slightly to 6 to 8 feet. However that still leaves only a handfull of fearless locals tackling the main break. Us Norte Americanos are left squabbling with pint sized school kids at one of a couple of fantastic fast point breaks either side of the town. I don't ever really want to leave this happy place. It has everything perfect: great waves, melon daiquiris, even a cult eponymous movie (i.e. utter hippie dreck). Sadly I shall be back on Blighty's dreary shores on Sunday. Requests for charming artesenias, nauseating mezcal, or bundles of primo weed can be addressed to rufusdotcartwrightatgmaildotcom.

Unable to find anything in the hectic life of Nixta to fill these pages, and tortured with guilt at not keeping them up-to-date, not to mention that I feel I need to provide a link to the lovely people at Asylum (who didn't find my umbrella, but were nonetheless extraordinarily helpful and distraught in the effort) please note the comments to my previous missive:

in roo's absence
is to link to the flyer for the 50th ever Bastard
This Thursday. Asylum. All the regulars. All the gin.

jo x

Whatever that might mean. Jo? Perhaps this?

My apologies to Dr. Rufus and his suffering readership for the lack of a post yesterday (and my gratitude to the aforementioned medical practitioner for filling the void of Saturday), but in honour of Mexico's predominantly Roman Catholic populace, I though we'd observe a day of rest. It was just Easter after all.

Last night was an odd vibe at a good chum's 30th. I think it must have been justice meted to me for not bringing him a present.

• Women in tears: 3


• Injuries: 2 (including one head-upside-whupping)


• Revolting cocktail involving tequila, Ribena and soda water: 1 (drunk completely and to ill effect)


• Early snogs for residents: 1 (out of a possible 2)


• Men in tears: 1


• People introduced to Bear's Blood: 72


• People that asked for more: 2 (including me)

Perhaps I should explain that Bear's Blood is a Slovenian home-distilled berry-based delicacy of the heart-cockle-warming variety. On the way through it will also warm your tongue, throat, and teeth and can be used to fuel model aeroplanes (and *still* be drunk afterwards just as effectively). One of the few pages that Google returns actually mentions the restaurant where we bought it. I also have a bottle of much less palatable Perla (distilled by Jaka, the culinary genius of a proprietor, using traditional techniques and a herb unique to Slovenia added one imagines for flavour (of which this has none that is pleasant)). One sip and you're plastered. Perla fuels real aeroplanes.

I'm back with another miserable Mexico story. Having enjoyed the many splendours of Palenque the GF and I finally got sick last night. No appalling diarrhoea, just endless waves of nausea and crippling abdo pain. We ought to have sat tight at our cosy little hotel, but instead, fixated on a plan known only as "Itinerary 1" we decided to brave a 5 hour coach journey. Little could we guess that the roads would be tiny mountain passes through the rainforest, with hairpin turns, and curdling drops to swirl our precious stomachs. We took turns battling the g-forces in the surprisingly well appointed on-board sanitario. See, travel isn´t all fun and high-jinks.