Dear Nessi

I finally had to confront the Tory. It was Saturday night, at the gig. Even the marquee outside the C-Town nightclub had written on it 'BUSH IS A MORON, NO WAR.'

"So do you have family in Iraq? Aren't you concerned they might be killed?" I asked the strange right-winger who like to hang around with retro 60s hipsters.

"They weren't killed in the last Gulf War. One died but not from the bombing. He was old, alcoholic and paralysed."

The Tory went on to say he wasn't in favour of mass bombing, and said it wasn't necessary, that the Americans could "just walk in and everyone would surrender." I didn't get a chance to ask what effect he thought that sort of American presence in the area would have. He said he'd been over there in 1991 (not sure if it was pre- or post- war), with his (Swiss) mom. At the time the Tory was in the ROTC (some kind of military for university students). When he returned to England he was taken to some military HQ for questioning about his holiday. Later on I was referring to him as "the Tory" to Ruby's trumpeter, who then asked if he could barred from future gigs. Co-group leader Mr Cowboy Hat is more gentle - "It's such a novelty having a Tory friend. I've never known one before."

So the gig itself. The place was packed with rockabillies and I was nervous. It was the Scuba Diver's first gig with the surf band and I wasn't sure how turning a Link Wray song into Captain Beefheart was going to go down. (Funny thing - on Monday the Scuba Diver chopped off his long curly locks in favour of a 50s quiff - any influence of Friday night perhaps?). Nor was I sure how the band's general silliness would work with the more traditional types. We trash Trashwomen songs, wear grass shirts, wigs and sunglasses, do very bad, out-of-time Shadows dance steps and sing so badly that when we once played on a housing estate in Deptford, the local children kept calling out "Do one where you don't sing!"

"Are you sure? Are you really sure?" the possibly dykey soundwoman said, looking me up and down, from fake flowers to diamante slippers. She'd been great in the sound check, made us do a whole song over again so she could coach Mary to sing louder.

I'd been told by a few people that this venue was crap, from bad sound to poor attendance. Neither of which turned out true. Maybe it was Ruby's fantastic amplifiers or the sound woman. But the bands all sounded great, from some old rockabilly guy backed by Mr Casino and Tom O'Looney, to us, to Ruby's band. Ruby played like they were going off to Australia for 5 weeks soon. Which they are.

Many friends turned up but I ended up hiding in the dressing room with Ruby's band mates. Just had to sit down and unwind. Chatting rather than dancing - though I danced enough when Ruby was on.

Disaster struck later - Ruby's van was broken into. And Mr Cowboy Hat's passport stolen. And they are going to Australia...today. What a nightmare. But why would anyone take their passport out like that? A big scar on an otherwise good night.

++++++++++++++

In other news, after working at the gallery on Friday, Henry and I went to an opening at another nearby gallery. We walked past all sorts of Lower-East-side-in-late-80s-New-York style bars, down a very London style cobbled Victorian back street, and into a stuffy, crowded room. It was the house of some poufs who hold exhibitions every once in awhile. I can't believe a major newspaper gave this place a favourable review. I have no problem with pornography in art (I love Maplethorpe) but this was just shoddy. Badly done collage, half-arsed painting, a video which seemed to have no point to it, a kinetic sculpture that didn't work, and a pile of sugar on a plinth. The place was packed with Shoreditch twats, all baggy jeans and 'ironic' mullets. After some wine Henry took a few of the punters back to his gallery.

Such a refreshing change. Not packed with idiots. Bigger, more airy. Brick walls instead of scruffy seamen white. Sofas to sit on. Despite our reputation for being crappy paintings, there was something loving and homey about the way the work was hung, like someone's living room rather than a pretentious gallery. Your sculptures sit neatly on their own platform now, far more inviting than a pile of sugar. The gallery is so different to the others in the area. One wonders what the future holds, if anything.

Mrs Parsnip-Pack

Blog stuff...

'...the concept of "preventive war" [is] highly dangerous. "If every country which feels threatened attacks first, there will be war without end on the entire planet,"' - From "the Pope is with the terrorists", referred by www.xoverboard.com/

More from Mr Pollack ... I quote because I agree. Sorry for becoming more "un-American" as I speak. But they are pissing me off more each day...

"...Will the United States please stop declaring everything said against is a 'threat to international credibility?'

"I'm being whiny here, but seriously, the logic is pathetic. The United States, a nation which in the last few years has demanded exemption from the International War Crimes Court, has demanded that the entire world follows it in lockstep or by default admits to supporting terrorism, has held a UN Security Council veto gambit allowing Israel to violate over... what is it now? 30? 40 UN resolutions?... pulled international funding for various projects, and, of course, withdrew or abstained from a few missle treaties one might have considered slightly important... is incessantly whining about how France or Germany disagreeing with them is a violation of credibility? Please.

"I mean, Jesus. NATO is 'facing a crisis of credibility.' The U.N. is "Facing a crisis of credibility." The Venezuelan government is 'facing a crisis of credibility.' Next week: Condy Rice starts calling rival nations 'poopieheads.' You know what's really killing credibility here? The U.S. throwing these little diplomatic tantrums every time someone gets this silly idea that we don't, you know, control the entire planet."