Monday, 26 April 2010

The Madness of Bootle Indoor Market

April Ain't The Cruelest Month

Tonite I will be locking up a new bike with a Miche Primato chain ring.

Thieves like me and you belong to morbid days in Bootle.

Pistachio Party.

Jonty's Hut - KEEP OUT.


Friday, 23 April 2010

Hi Jim

Hi Jim,

This all sounds great. However, something has come up. Please call me urgently.



Thursday, 22 April 2010

Jim Demitriou

Googlemail is a mess. I get emails for 300 Paul Raffertys that aren't me every 30 seconds or some shit. Love this uptight dude attempting to organise a relaxing golf trip with his mate Raffo. I suspect he'd like the army more than having a laugh:

From: jim demitriou []
Sent: 22 April 2010 17:28
To: Paul Rafferty
Subject: Golf on Monday

The Shire London Golf Club. EN5 4RE

If we go M1 1hr 30mins

If we go A14 – A1 2hrs but less traffic

Pick me up 7.15-7.30 I guess.

Arrive 9.30-10

Bacon Rolls & Tea 10am

Start 11.30 finish 4.30

4.30-6 drinks and awards

6-7.30 Dinner

Trousers and collared shirts for golf

Smart casual in the club house, smart jeans allowed.

I live in broughton Astley.


Station Road

LE9 ---


Jim Demitriou

Head of Sales

Church of LA

Guildan had better do this colour of shirt, otherwise they're DEAD.

The Stag's Head

Most of my friends tend to be reasonable people which is perhaps why I have never had the opportunity to lay my eyes on an image like the above. I have a few married friends, but I can guarantee that none of their stag party invites looked anything like this. The invite, sent via email, was coupled with a bastardization of a Rudyard Kipling poem which makes next to no sense, much like the image. Apparently a man who works in a bank made it. He has reached abstraction.

My favourite bits:

Writing "BOSS WOZ ERE" in Comic Sans on a girl's bottom. The crude replacement of the stag's head for a woman's left breast. The use of the term "lucky neegs" and the addition of a complex arrow (when a simple straight diagonal one would suffice) pointing at a black man chatting with a group of attractive women. The addition of an extendable pink tongue protruding from the stag's mouth and entering into a woman's anus.

Thanks so much, Joe. Can't wait to muse on 'Liam's Blog'.

Early Doors Variations

My friend Chris in Edinburgh gets people to go to a club to listen to him play records! He has the best flat in the whole of the UK. Seriously, his flat made me not have a nervous breakdown once. I like designing for Chris. He's like "I NEED THIS FOR THE END OF THE WEEK!" but not in capitals because he is too nice for that, and I'm all like "OK!"

Continuous variations on the Wolf Party identity I did earlier this year.

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

The New Navigationaries

And this will be what the new thing might look like when the thing we made goes live, live live. I'm in the process of trying to make this type into a font that you can type out with your fingers for free-as-fuck download but I don't know how to do that yet. I'm learning and learning is fun. Sometimes learning is long and sometimes longing is boring.

Monday, 19 April 2010

Get High, Stay Low

Get high.
Stay low.
Leave a dumb note for some folks you know:
"I've left to join the Wild Boys and when you read this I'll be far from home"
where the beach meets the tide and the water is black with dull desire
and the pylons hum a secret hymn for the kids in need of quiet time.
The motorway is not as free as the freeways in the films we see
where no-one learns to live alone and choose friendly roads that take them home.
1. There's tails.
2. There's legs.
Insert the first between the next.
Get in late and sleep to death:
There's sanctity in single beds.

Corporate Identathon.

Whilst redesigning some navigation for a new simplistic Hot Club web existence, I fell upon/into some type inspired by some ancient stenciling on an iron door at the Liver Grease factory off Jamaica Street.

Sunday, 18 April 2010

Burn Down The Disco

I love it when a business burns down and the uninvolved spastics simply assume it's an insurance job. "Insurance job do you reckon?" they say.

"Yeah, deffo."

The worst was the celebratory Facefuck status commentaries as though all those people we know (who actually do good work there) will crawl away from the disaster financially unscathed. Heartless cunts.

A text joke darted about Liverpool yesterday in the wake of Korova's demise:

"Gig tonight at Korova. The Little Flames supported by Hot Club."

Got a giggle out of me.

Anyway. Long live the Korova days, I guess. A small but fun chapter in Liverpool's musical history.

Saturday, 17 April 2010

Hercules in Manchester

Luke bought a Hercules and finally 'gets the bike thing'. Great news for me. I forsee some Barcelona bicycle times in a summer coming soon. Luke found out about his new bike and found a lovely monument to Hercules along the way:

I just remembered how funny Hercules in New York is.

Friday, 16 April 2010

Sleep Is Death

I just bought my copy of Sleep Is Death. Waiting for the download code. Not been excited about a computer game since forever. I have a feeling that this game is going to be slightly mega for generating words for songs and other pursuits.

Thursday, 15 April 2010

Dock Road Bridge Happenings/Sexual Justice

Listening to a new Hot Club recording on XFM. Their compressors are fucking RELENTLESS. Sounds like a distorted stereo taking a turn on a twatted-in trampoline. John Kennedy just said "Paul Rafferty on Thunderbroom", which eases the pain a little.

Thursday night ride was PITIFUL.

They've closed down the footpaths either side of the battered-off bridge and erected a plywood tunnel through a usually bollarded middle. A terrified man sat on a mountain bike on the north side was peering down the tunnel and as we passed, muttered "Where does that lead?" in a shaky baritone as though he'd found himself at the gates of some kind of Fuck-Hell. Later, a man (who I expect is a total tit) was pulling wheelies on some souped-up motorcycle whilst his mate stood on the pavement listening to Rhianna out-loud on his phone. I have no idea why these dudes were not balls deep in a gang of decent sluts. There really is no sexual justice.

FAO Dombey Street Dog Owners

One of you has a dog that has been howling like an AIDS-ridden wolf for over an hour in your stupid piss-pot of a back yard. Let him in the house you fuck-plank.

Cycling Was His Life

Reading my friend's copy of Tommy Simpson's autobiography Cycling Is My Life. I didn't realise that he'd inscribed in the front "Dear Paul, our bikes could be your life." Sort of means I can't loan it to anyone ever just in case I never get it back. It's pretty inspiring to read of the Yorkshire man struggling on through the uncharted culture of the amateur cycling world of mainland Europe in the mid 50's. A catalogue of misunderstanding, he shrugs his shoulders time again and exclaims "I felt like a right nit! Anyway, the next day I caught a train to Belgium..." Also a good insight into the birth of darkness in a shadowy sport; He died at 29 of drugging-related complications halfway up a mountain with his hands wrapped around his handlebars.

Tuesday, 13 April 2010


He's calling a sex chat line.

Telephones Times 2

Easter is creepy
(in TK MAXX)

Deviant gay men have OK handwriting.

Get your bike to the beach
(Liverpool to Formby)

Sad pringle.
(RIP Christian's Square).

This guy is just stoked to be here.
(Cains Brewery Tap)

Telephone Times 1

Chorely and Cheshire hit Bootle and wait a while for Canada's company.

Upper Parliament can-bang.

Rob Whitely looks the spit of Earl Grey.

THE most tatty Garfield I have EVER seen. I fucking love him.

Saturday, 10 April 2010

Kicks above the skatepark and everyone I have ever lived with

The entries for Lost Art's Fluff Book comp are looking smashing and daft in equal measure. Liverpool summed up with skateboards, tramps, theives and sunsets. One of my favourites was this guy above by Adam McAleavey. Discarded Vans above New Bird skatepark. I see them every day on blurry rides to work.

I lost my tooth to a sandwich the other day. Feel old enough to write a list of everyone I have ever lived with:

Eric Rafferty
Anne Rafferty
Stephen Rafferty
Ricky Morrow
Stavros Louizu
Kieran ?
Andrew Bennett
Clara Hazleton
Tots Baber
Tim Ellis
Matthew Dolan
Duncan Ingram
Emily Austin
Claire Bussey
Natasha Jordan
Matthew Critchley
Jim Robinson
Faye Wagstaffe
Christopher Smith
Sean Grieves
Robert Whiteley
Matthew Smith
Alasdair Smith


Thursday, 8 April 2010

Tunic Rock

And we all know the kids want to look like they're as ace at communism as the Great Leader.

Monday, 5 April 2010

6 years of seduction

Remember when this was at the end of all your mixtapes?

Rodney Alcala

Huntington Beach Police have released some personal photographs of the serial killer Rodney James Alcala. He was quite the photographer and now Police are looking to find the people he pointed his camera at. The full set is on the LA Times site. Via Reference Library. Totally not nice.