Bollocks.

Thwarted by asbestos.

Have been scouting out this abandoned pub in Silvertown for a while, as a little warm up before I try to get into Millennium Mills. Access to the site itself is fairly easy, but getting inside is another matter altogether. Everything is boarded up tight, and I'm not one to go from trespassing to breaking&entering. Didn't actually remember to pack any breathing apparatus either, and getting fucked up by asbestos doesn't sound especially fun.

You can faintly make out the name on the old sign - The Graving Dock Tavern

There's something about the abandoned parts of old industrial Silvertown that's just mesmerizing. This pub and George's Diner next door are directly opposite a new megalith of apartments being built, but its a world apart from that shiny and pre-fabricated 'paradise'. Getting off the road and behind the fences, the sound of cars on the road suddenly fades away, and the only noise really prevalent is the sound of broken fences flapping in the wind. Well, actually, considering the fact that there were fresh bowls of dog biscuits around, I shat myself at the thought that the sound might be a dog's chain.

Something about these sites though, forgotten and shoved away in a corner. All the rubble and the broken wood, nettles poking through the gaps, are a bit of peace. On that point, actually, the writers hadn't bothered too much with this site, which made it that little bit more quiet. It's sad to think that this place was once the place to be for the workers at the nearby docks, that it once saw conversations, friendships, entire lives. I'd like to have gotten inside and taken a look at it all, but I'll settle for the outside.

Pesky asbestos.

And something else I took ages ago.

A Red Death

And death, and decay, and the red death held illimitable dominion over all.
Poe is best when there's sunlight, and royals broadcast across the nation. Bunting threads the streets and we pretend to be unified by Jack.
It's always good to reflect on the macabre when barbecue scents the air.
Tara.
Grey skies and blustery winds, Britain is being Britain again! Royal weddings have never been more British.
So yes, a brilliant day for reading 19th century horror out loud. As always, of course. An atmosphere of decay and terror is good for the constitution.
Kevin.
There'll be time, much time,
come summer, to stage a baroque celebration.
Glitter, masks and intoxication.
Tara.
We're so hip.
Kevin.

Halcyon Thunderstorms.

Yes, I know that a single drop of water on a window doesn't amount to a thunderstorm, but its the only damn photo of rain I could find on my hard drive.

On to the topic at hand though, thunderstorms. The British weather, in all its glory, has had enough of pretending to be nice, and finally opened up the floodgates today. I can't actually say I'm too sad about it; lightning and the sound of electricity tearing through the atmosphere provided quite a nice soundtrack for today.

One of my pet peeves is spitting rain, or as I like to call it, pissing rain. It's the absolutely most ridiculous form of precipitation to exist, middling in between not raining at all and lightly drizzling. This is the sort of rain that you don't bother to open your umbrella for, yet manages to get you absolutely soaked through by the time you get indoors again. Thank goodness the rains of today were nothing like that.

I'm too tired to write more, so this post is getting cut short. Full post soon enough.

"Don't let your mouth write a cheque that your ass can't cash"

(This is not a film review)
Right, lets get it out straight away - Sucker Punch is not a good film, but I loved it. The plot is ridiculously predictable, the characters are all 2D, and it fulfils almost every single film cliché, but I loved it.

Let's get another thing straight - I didn't love it only because of the scantily clad girls (although they may have played a slight part). I loved it because of the how over-the-top the whole damn thing was. The beginning of the movie felt like a music video, specifically a music video that I probably would have watched when I was 14 or so, and hating the world. It took me back to a time when Evanescence were the coolest band ever, and gothic architecture was the best thing in the world. In fact, the entire film is probably the ultimate fantasy of any pubescent boy.

Without spoiling too much, the main part of the film comes in the guise of a few 'dances' by Babydoll, the main protagonist. Sadly, we never actually get to see these dances; instead we see the action sequences acted out in Babydoll's mind. These sequences are essentially boss levels from video games. Just as an aside, Steampunk Nazi Zombies are the best idea ever, and whoever designed the ones seen in the first sequence deserves a medal. In between the action sequences, we get plenty of shots of half naked ladies at a brothel. Alongside this, there're several scenes were girl-on-girl action is painfully close, but nothing happens. Literally, Tara and I were on the edge of our seats, willing their faces to get closer. Overall, then, Sucker Punch is very much a guy's film. Or a boy's wet dream.

Yes, Sucker Punch goes against everything Tara stands for, but she loved it just as much as I did. There's a particularly entertaining scene involving a cigar which pretty much sums up the entire film: an innuendo-laden male fantasy. Discussing it afterwards at Big Moe's Diner was an experience in itself. Chips and milkshakes are the best accompaniment to discussions about gender roles and stereotypes. What would I do if I were a woman for a day? Be hipster and have coffee in an independent bookshop. We also had some Ferrero Rocher ice cream for the chips, in memory of the unfortunate passing of the chairman. 50's dining at its best.

The colours aren't too good in the photo, but I promise, it was better!

And its always odd that the journey to some places is sometimes just as interesting as the destination itself. The wasteland around Showcase Cinema is a curiously beautiful place at sunset. The forgotten roads and plants lend the area a certain melancholy feel, like it's been left behind by people whilst nature slowly creeps back. The blood orange sun probably did a lot for that mood too.

The journey back was another adventure and a half. After walking a full circuit around the cinema, we finally saw the bus stop, and indeed a bus! We discovered later that it was the wrong bus. Ending up in a deserted part of Barking/Redbridge/wherever the hell, it was an interesting way to end the night.

Spot the Tara.

Oh, and my favourite "Sucker Punch-er" would probably be Rocket.

Submarine

(This is not a film review.)
Finally broken my film famine with Submarine. We'll cut to the chase: I like it. Very much so. It's been a long time since I've had some proper laughs watching a film, and Submarine delivers in buckets. The film is brilliantly awkward, full of odd silences and ridiculous bedroom scenes, but has a great narrative behind it as well. Though I hate to use the phrase, it's a "coming-of-age" drama, but a really damn well done one at that. Set in Wales at some time, every single character fits into their role perfectly, and the set design is just perfect. Well, completely hipster, but brilliantly done. Without spoiling too much, boy meets girl, things happen, some more things happen. I'm not normally a fan of happy endings, but the ending of Submarine is a pleasant suprise. All in all, a film I definitely recommend.

The setting I watched it in probably had a little effect on me as well. The Greenwich Picture House looks normal enough, but the basement screen is one of the nicest cinemas I have ever been to. Really comfortable seats, which, truthfully were more like armchairs. I had a little trouble with the backrest being a bit short, but Tara didn't have much problem with that. It's refreshing to see a film on a small screen too, as pretty much any seat guaranteed a good view. The tiny room has nice acoustics too, and thats not just talking about the sounds from the screen. I've always found it quite unnerving sitting in a big cinema, with voices all around you in the dark, but in a small cinema, its somewhat comforting to know that there are other people enjoying the same film as you. It's not to say that I necessarily make any contact with other cinema-goers, but its nice to know that the people around you would rather stay quiet and watch the film, the same way as you.
I like small cinemas.

Photo dump time!

I really can't be bothered to write a lot about these photos, other than to say that they were all from the student protests against tuition fees on the 29th of January, 2011. Out of order and whatever, but I'm just shoving these off of my memory card.

"Ah fook!"

I always wanted to be an astronaut when I was younger. The picture of the Blue Marble probably affected me more than I thought, but I remember being in awe of the vastness of space. Floating around in space looked bad ass, and the influence of Star Wars probably helped too. Now that I think about it though, its really quite odd that I had such a burning desire to be in space, seeing as nothing really happened in the 90s. Apart from the MIR station being decommissioned, I actually don't remember any key event that had anything to do with me wanting to be a spaceman.

The dream of being an astronaut sort of faded away with age, though. As I began to learn about the actual practicalities of space exploration, it seemed a lot less fun. Heck, all I wanted to do was blast off and look down at the little ants on Earth, not be a botanist studying how plants react to micro-gravity. It'd probably be a predictable thing to say that I lost all hope in being a pretty cool guy, and this blog post is a reaction to how sad I am after watching Wonders of the Solar System. But nah, I never really lost my Wonder of the Solar System (see what I did there?).

I'm probably never going to make it into space as a serious scientist, considering the fact that I'm absolutely hopeless at Physics, but I'm still waiting for the day when commercial space travel becomes a feasible possibility. It's incredible how all of our thinking, all of our civilization, every single human being on this earth, is just living on a floating rock orbiting around a nuclear explosion. We are nothing but the culmination of a series of random events, living life in a single coincidence. I don't want to turn this post into a whole Evolutionist vs Creationist thing, but its this existence that makes life worth living in my opinion. Its a beautiful thought that there is nothing more to life than what you make of it.

But fuck it, here's me favourite spoof of Brian Cox.

Why I write

Lets not pull any punches here: this blog is selfish. I'm not writing for any higher agenda, other than to let off steam and have fun. Remember that anything I write is extremely opinionated, likely to be obnoxious, stubborn, and, my own self speaking.

I might post the odd political post every now and again. I might write about the odd personal event every now and again. I'll also be trying to stick one of my photos with every new post too.

Be warned, all - here be rantings! 

The Clubhouse.

He doesn't give a damn either. The 1/3rd off sale on maps and travelling doesn't concern him.
If only the spirit of rebellion was still alive, he's thinking. If only I didn't have to be here. Or is he?

We won't ever know what's behind that spiky jacket. It will always be his own private world, his own circle of thought. Everyone has this exclusive club, and no one can enter anyone else's. We can get a guest pass every now and again, but that's the furthest it ever goes. No one can take over the clubhouse, no grubby capitalist, no grubby squatters, no one.

Its who we give tickets and guest passes to who matter. "This is most definitely not the regular way of doing things sir, but you are very welcome."

Scooters and Winter

For the scooter-kids of today, roads and bridges are just another adventure. This girl just wants to see what's out there on that great big patch of water. Her mother watches her, not quite able to join in with the fun. Its a sad state of affairs when one can no longer look at the world with that sense of awe and wonder. Detached, she's an observer to her daughter's world, not a participant.

The morning was indeed cold, and everyone was wrapped up in layers upon layers. These scooter kids don't really care though. The girl in red surveying the Thames for imaginary pirates, the boy in blue powering through the race track bridge. These kids know how to have fun.

One Man and his Baguette.

This man is enjoying a baguette whilst sitting on the Southbank. He doesn't give a damn about anything going on around him, because he has his baguette. In this single moment, the baguette is his life. Nothing around him matters; no one else exists to him. He his eating his baguette.

To the observer, its a strange sight. An entire baguette, with no filling?! Unheard of! He may have been on a bicycle only moments before, he may have simply walked to where he is now. But he's not sitting on a bench or a chair. This man is sitting on the pavement, with his back to the River Thames. He doesn't give a damn about his setting, because he has a baguette.

In his moment of hunger, this man is sticking it to The Man. Who is this 'Man'? The Man is a different entity for every individual. For some, The Man might be the State, the governing authority which taxes and controls your everyday life. For others, The Man is society itself, the society which constantly observes and pressures you into conforming. For this man, The Man is all around him. Taking a seat on the tourist thoroughfare that is the Southbank, and turning his back towards one of the most famous rivers in the world, this man doesn't give a damn. He has a baguette.