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commonpeople1There's an exhibition currently at Viktor Wynd's Little Shop Of Horrors (11 Mare Street) of prints gathered (drawn?) by Zoe Beloff on Albert Grass, a guy who worked in Coney Island's amusement park in the 30s and filled notebooks with his dreams in the anachronistic style of Lynchian comics. His real dream was to one day convert Coney Island into a giant Freudian amusement park but Depression-era America and its people were not ready for a libido pavillion that featured a naked 50-foot pre-pubescent girl.
We dropped by the Little Shop of Horrors yesterday with our friends/landlords and enjoyed the exhibition very much - so much in fact that our hard-earned cash stayed behind in place of books and prints. Then we parted ways and went to see Metropolis's re-issue at the Barbican - with brand new footage found in Argentina last year which hasn't been seen by any audiences until now, together with the original score. A total thing of beauty. I got so excited in the cinema when the lights went down that I spilled beer all over my jeans.
Afterwards, we dropped by our landlords/friends because they had a lot of left over chicken and ham that they wanted to share. They made a roast dinner for us which we accompanied with three bottles of rosé and Tangier-scented conversations. Somebody mentioned that there was a guided walk happening in Islington that was on the playwright Joe Orton.
'Do you know Joe Orton?' M asked me.
Nope, never heard of him. Of his imprisonment after tampering with library books. Of his meeting with the Beatles to write a screenplay for them. Of his famous plays. Or of his openly gay relationship with his obessive and ultimately murderous boyfriend. Today, during my lunch break, I cruised an used bookshop by Tottenham Court Road and found Joe's diaries in hardback, originally published in the 80s. £3.50. I snapped it on the spot then read its introduction in a blissfully empty bus home. (Blissfully empty because today starts a Tube strike in London and my experience of these has always been crowds, pushing and shoving to get into buses.)
We dropped by the Little Shop of Horrors yesterday with our friends/landlords and enjoyed the exhibition very much - so much in fact that our hard-earned cash stayed behind in place of books and prints. Then we parted ways and went to see Metropolis's re-issue at the Barbican - with brand new footage found in Argentina last year which hasn't been seen by any audiences until now, together with the original score. A total thing of beauty. I got so excited in the cinema when the lights went down that I spilled beer all over my jeans.
Afterwards, we dropped by our landlords/friends because they had a lot of left over chicken and ham that they wanted to share. They made a roast dinner for us which we accompanied with three bottles of rosé and Tangier-scented conversations. Somebody mentioned that there was a guided walk happening in Islington that was on the playwright Joe Orton.
'Do you know Joe Orton?' M asked me.
Nope, never heard of him. Of his imprisonment after tampering with library books. Of his meeting with the Beatles to write a screenplay for them. Of his famous plays. Or of his openly gay relationship with his obessive and ultimately murderous boyfriend. Today, during my lunch break, I cruised an used bookshop by Tottenham Court Road and found Joe's diaries in hardback, originally published in the 80s. £3.50. I snapped it on the spot then read its introduction in a blissfully empty bus home. (Blissfully empty because today starts a Tube strike in London and my experience of these has always been crowds, pushing and shoving to get into buses.)
