tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83717760998339206162024-03-14T01:34:09.925-07:00The Victorian Gentlemans clubSome men see things as they are and ask why. Others dream things that never were and ask why not.
~George Bernard ShawVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-1904353160724457212010-01-08T05:49:00.000-08:002010-01-12T09:48:12.531-08:00Happy New Year ladies and GentsI <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">thought</span> I'd start the new <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">year</span> with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">short one</span> seeing as we all feel a little overdone and don't need to much to take in. Enclosed the opening sequence to the new Sherlock Holmes movie. An old technique that has been used before in opening sequences, but quite nicely executed in this one. Watch this space.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Toodle</span> - pip<br /><br />Lord Monty<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy5_9gz6mB8ZB_Fi4gcpq_PZ4gICPIVVfRTNJuci2AC3ObJMjr4Y4eD-h6JpD45kkLnF6G5f3G3qlJvvP2_lA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-79395751015736331892009-12-03T08:51:00.000-08:002009-12-03T09:01:01.796-08:00A silent Sci-Fi classic<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzP72xTZlUrMeUopaIJKGWAndg2b8iFSS6vlGNiyfjxFgP7G_a_oUs3QAI8BsuVsYerSnjp4cypshe_4aZyVQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Discovered in the archives of the BBC, the original Star Wars directed by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cecil_B._DeMille" id="results_results__ctl0_title" class="title"><b>Cecil B</b>. <b>DeMille</b></a>, that cad George Lucas has been passing it as one of his own for years, well the cats out of the bag now.<br />I'm sure this will go down in history as one of the great movies of the silver screen, and incredibly the whole film is actually 01.15 seconds. Just how it should be.<br /><br />Turn down the lights and enjoy,<br /><br />Roll film,<br /><br />Lord Monty.<br /><br /><div><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0001124/" id="results_results__ctl1_title" class="title"><b><br /></b><b></b></a></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-44676578473391518892009-10-26T02:56:00.000-07:002009-11-19T07:34:39.525-08:00Moon over Oxford Street<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2EITezZHSElL32a6YsUH1ftb_x90tcmmcdxxKa1tfPdqv7YbIbp78fG3p3DM8e3qRTh4EOfJoVUNyiuEXDsTPz1QD7nMGnvFoFfUSJjLg6rj6gyrJIkyct-AIk8pn22FsNzHFqB1RFU/s1600-h/wolfman3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 229px; height: 131px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz2EITezZHSElL32a6YsUH1ftb_x90tcmmcdxxKa1tfPdqv7YbIbp78fG3p3DM8e3qRTh4EOfJoVUNyiuEXDsTPz1QD7nMGnvFoFfUSJjLg6rj6gyrJIkyct-AIk8pn22FsNzHFqB1RFU/s200/wolfman3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396847056574974034" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">So the clocks go back and the nights grow colder over the ancient cobbled lanes of Spitelfields. Its during this time that London draws itself together and its true persona emerges. This time of the year brings back fond childhood memories of watching old films showing London under a dark winter sky on a portable black and white TV set. My home town of Sheffield felt like a million miles away from the streets of London, and on my first visit to 'The Smoke' I half expected to see horse drawn carriages and pick pockets on every corner. I was right about the pick pockets.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">This back drop has always been a breeding ground for tales of horror and with Halloween around the corner ( <span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">I wrote this bit a few weeks back sorry</span>) we will once again be able to see the city portrayed on the silver screen in a re-make of the 1941 Lon Chaney, Jr classic The wolf man. This time set in Victorian England rather than Wales. London is painstakingly re-made as was in Sweeney Todd and From Hell. I hope this time the lovely street ladies look slightly grubbier, they always seem to get this wrong , its as if our soft dispositions would be offended by a pair of wooden teeth.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The funny thing is that this film is also set in my home town of Sheffield. Well not exactly Sheffield ( where hairy snarling ripped shirt fellows are common sight on a Saturday night ) but Chatsworth house, a stately home set in the peak district outside of Sheffield. A place I hold fondly in my heart, as it was the location of the first film I made as a young man. Well 'film' is not the correct word more like home video. Shot on a High 8 camera and involving a bunch of friends, some in drag. We re-enacted the battle of Agincourt, but instead what was created was more like a small disturbance involving men in dresses . We scared the tourist and was asked to leave the grounds. An award winning film it was not. Be we did have the for-sight to see the benefits of the location long before the likes of Benicio Del Toro and Anthony Hopkins did for the wolfman.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I digress.</span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Of course this is not the first time that London and the wolfman have howled under the same night skies. How can w</span><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 233px; height: 130px; font-family: georgia;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMOWpTI7_0LmtS3rOWyuyQl2jv3ELB296joSEOOk4v3N3-EMGLqq84WQaeD2gsezcbJ-z6Wvw63uKtDn63abnVL8HHqboeILaN-4tl1aEixaCUijN7ydgIcgaLzwChKRH_pJ_QZJFObI/s200/large_american_werewolf_london_blu-ray_11.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396993867447958210" border="0" /><span style="font-family:georgia;">e forget the wonderful “An American Werewolf in London” Directed by John Landis with the brilliant brightly lit transformation sequence and the carnage that occurs in Piccadilly circus. Since watching this film I've never felt quite as safe catching the last train on the Northern line to High Barnet, but now rather than fearing the hound of hell I fear the blight of Amy Winehouse should she be prowling the platform at Camden Town post last orders. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">London has always been a hunting ground for many a man-beasts. Take the wonderfully named 'Spring heeled jack' said to have existed during the </span></span><span style="text-decoration: underline;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Victorian era</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> and able to jump extraordinarily high. The first accounts of Spring Heeled Jack were made in London in 1837 and the last reported sighting is said to have been made in Liverpool in 1904, that was one hell of a leap.</span><br /></span><p style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Spring Heeled Jack was described by people claiming to have seen him as having a terrifying and frightful appearance, with diabolical <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physiognomy" title="Physiognomy">physiognomy</a>, clawed hands, and eyes that "resembled red balls of fire". One report claimed that, beneath a black cloak, he wore a helmet and a tight-fitting white garment like an "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oilskin" title="Oilskin">oilskin</a>". Many stories also mention a "Devil-like" aspect. Spring Heeled Jack was said to be tall and thin, with the appearance of a </span><span style="text-decoration: underline;font-size:100%;" >gentlemen</span><span style="font-size:100%;">, and capable of making great leaps. Several reports mention that he could breathe out blue and white flames and that he wore sharp metallic claws at his fingertips. At least two people claimed that he was able to speak comprehensible English.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTrvH7yh0zs9jqYFwJSxISr0wYc-40flgh0ypkWFH5Ea82W2V229tjI-TUsSgbfyJI-c0iLjkYUPvMtjrro8CngyG9Wpf2InLpbxrRVaiVmhlwe4QPK_b7-YkAj2W0DU7rqubtgEP71c/s1600/Springheel_Jack.png"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZTrvH7yh0zs9jqYFwJSxISr0wYc-40flgh0ypkWFH5Ea82W2V229tjI-TUsSgbfyJI-c0iLjkYUPvMtjrro8CngyG9Wpf2InLpbxrRVaiVmhlwe4QPK_b7-YkAj2W0DU7rqubtgEP71c/s200/Springheel_Jack.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405783782238316834" border="0" /></a> In October 1837, a girl by the name of Mary Stevens was walking to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lavender_Hill" title="Lavender Hill">Lavender Hill</a>, where she was working as a servant, after visiting her parents in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battersea" title="Battersea">Battersea</a>. On her way through <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clapham_Common" title="Clapham Common">Clapham Common</a>, according to her later statements, a strange figure leapt at her from a dark alley. After immobilising her with a tight grip of his arms, he began to kiss her face, while ripping her clothes and touching her flesh with his claws, which were, according to her deposition, <i>"cold and clammy as those of a corpse"</i>. In panic, the girl screamed, making the attacker quickly flee from the scene. The commotion brought several residents who immediately launched a search for the aggressor, who could not be found. The swine.<br /></span></p><p style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></p><p style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">I should like to shed more light on Mr Spring Heeled Jack in a future blog as he has always been a favorite London villain of mine. In the mean time I leave you with the trailer for the forth-coming move 'The wolfman'</span></p><p style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Rap up worm ,Toodle-pip</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Lord Monty</span></span><br /></p><div><div><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzf3jzc8OoF1Uh5nD5udfScSgv0W3HSHQuyEpQHPMNLF0QACB0uSbXBuOt7YUa632zLz26TnHmx1CDGs7QS' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-35246187316484765462009-08-04T03:02:00.000-07:002009-08-11T05:15:14.293-07:00Holmes is that you ?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGWnGYr3Yh7Neq6ozw0Fuzi3ZDd736DVmmJy8kOnPO1T-A9JKF5IMNqsBvJx2gTsjju7kKp7aT5vGKcW_1yQy4505pk20HlD4n5AnRBABqLKMGL8DvO2I4F_61obQOGvyY2TdbnsgEkvM/s1600-h/sherlockholmes_l200906221453.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 149px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGWnGYr3Yh7Neq6ozw0Fuzi3ZDd736DVmmJy8kOnPO1T-A9JKF5IMNqsBvJx2gTsjju7kKp7aT5vGKcW_1yQy4505pk20HlD4n5AnRBABqLKMGL8DvO2I4F_61obQOGvyY2TdbnsgEkvM/s200/sherlockholmes_l200906221453.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366051325276202130" border="0" /></a>Holmes is once again to be brought to the screen. Its been quite a while since we have seen this London hero portrayed on film, but this time we see the darker side of Holmes ego. Gone is the deer stalker and cape, though the pipe remains we are left wondering what he is smoking. Plus the new film is supposed to explore Holmes homoerotic undertones. In the original books we find that Holmes has a disdain for woman, he perceives them to be weak of mind.The only woman who impressed Holmes was Irene Adler, who was always referred to by Holmes as "<i>The</i> Woman".To Holmes the only joy he gets from their company (woman) is the problems they bring to him to solve. Again in <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Sign_of_Four" title="The Sign of Four" class="mw-redirect">The Sign of Four</a></i>, Watson quotes Holmes as saying, "I would not tell them too much. Women are never to be entirely trusted, -- not the best of them."<br /><br />Maybe this homoerotic theory comes from the meeting of Arthur Conan Doyle and Oscar Wilde in August 1889. The two met for dinner at the Langham Hotel ( Lovely hotel opposite BBC broadcasting house) at the invitation of American publisher J M Stoddart, who wanted them both to write for him murder mysteries. He commissioned from Arthur Conan Doyle what became the second Sherlock Holmes story, <em>The Sign of Four</em>, and he commissioned from Oscar what became <em>The Picture of Dorian Gray</em>. Allegedly Arthur became good friends with Oscar.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioELEkhqQDm12pfEvR2cvHuMYHz6LtHLH7r_tSxywlnYQXMODPdCMjir3k7RhrshEPeOVpdTxhC2djE8IJbJH0XH6UZCU9CdKlMD1Bm_YTEM6bKCn2mfnp2GkZfpS_pL-qTUN3SYfNglk/s1600-h/wp-on-travel-langham-hotel-london.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 172px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioELEkhqQDm12pfEvR2cvHuMYHz6LtHLH7r_tSxywlnYQXMODPdCMjir3k7RhrshEPeOVpdTxhC2djE8IJbJH0XH6UZCU9CdKlMD1Bm_YTEM6bKCn2mfnp2GkZfpS_pL-qTUN3SYfNglk/s200/wp-on-travel-langham-hotel-london.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366138837518869538" border="0" /></a>So will we see the cocaine addicted, self centered, cruel, lonely anti-social character of the book. A man who actually hates the human race for being nothing more than street rats, or the sophisticated charismatic character that he is normally portrayed as. The trailer feels like it a bit of both,but he’s also darker. This Holmes can plausibly be imagined as his own Moriarty. He’s a reminder of that other late-Victorian creation who continues to flourish as a popular archetype: Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPRVYt9QIqAxw90IoMzJ0_ylr__H_Gxe47hrpfQSCZV-2qwl-kkUfRXWssxKnRS336zlpcOArIko3aS1TrUMAcUR-DnFdW8ialRZmwIET9PA7Ss5ao5qWKvVbvgu0AMh2pNail-tc_fs/s1600-h/sherlock-holmes-dvd-1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 105px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZPRVYt9QIqAxw90IoMzJ0_ylr__H_Gxe47hrpfQSCZV-2qwl-kkUfRXWssxKnRS336zlpcOArIko3aS1TrUMAcUR-DnFdW8ialRZmwIET9PA7Ss5ao5qWKvVbvgu0AMh2pNail-tc_fs/s200/sherlock-holmes-dvd-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366141703058159906" border="0" /></a>Holmes has been played by many actors all in their own way , the best for me being <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Basil_Rathbone" title="Basil Rathbone">Basil Rathbone</a> alongside <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nigel_Bruce" title="Nigel Bruce">Nigel Bruce</a> as Dr Watson, in fourteen films from 1939-1946, as well as a number of radio plays. But for true Holmes fans <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Brett" title="Jeremy Brett">Jeremy Brett</a> is generally considered the definitive Holmes of recent times, having played the role in four series of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Adventures_of_Sherlock_Holmes_%28TV_series%29" title="The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes (TV series)"><i>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</i></a>, for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Granada_Television" title="Granada Television">Granada Television</a>. An interesting version of Londons favorite detective can be seen is <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000697/" onclick="(new Image()).src='/rg/directorlist/position-1/images/b.gif?link=name/nm0000697/';">Billy Wilder</a>'s The private life of Sherlock Holmes (1970), as the title suggests, the film is rather more concerned with characterisation than plot, which although entertaining and original, is hardly an adequate stage to show off Holmes' exceptional talents. Instead, Wilder and Diamond start with the premise that "Watson's" stories for Strand Magazine were a little more lurid than the "reality" and use it to develop a more subtle characterisation t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-z4nNjb0cXzuPLXPIsSRVMsjcH58xnL3OspMqjkGMkpOs2Nz68Q2bM2uJ74qrmOr-zPIjdTw_7Thw5yAhq1e0UGpzFFV7Ow17lJk35miOXnyNp-jDQ3ZiKfdmBqBhgdgdx1VXTMV1-k/s1600-h/A70-5620.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 135px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6-z4nNjb0cXzuPLXPIsSRVMsjcH58xnL3OspMqjkGMkpOs2Nz68Q2bM2uJ74qrmOr-zPIjdTw_7Thw5yAhq1e0UGpzFFV7Ow17lJk35miOXnyNp-jDQ3ZiKfdmBqBhgdgdx1VXTMV1-k/s200/A70-5620.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366431424000120930" border="0" /></a>han the "thinking machine" of the literary Holmes. The film was originally going to be 3 hours long but was cut down by the studios to 2.Even with an hour hacked out by the studio, this film has it all: the last of the great Wilder/Diamond collaborations, terrific acting, beautiful location filming, and one of the most haunting movie soundtracks ever, featuring Miklos Rozsa's Violin Concerto. Not merely a nudge-nudge-wink-wink pastiche, this melancholy film pays homage to the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle source material while taking it to even greater emotional depths. And if that rip-out-your-heart-and-tramp-on-it ending doesn't get to you, nothing ever will. This is one of the great forgotten films of the 1970's, a perfect mixture of mood, character, and wit.<br /><br /><br />The strangest has to go to Peter Cook's portrayal, with Dudley Moore as Watson in a 1978 version of “Hound of the Baskervilles’’. Highlights include Holmes putting out a help wanted ad for a "runner of errands" and getting only a one-legged man to apply;and Dudley Moor<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K7wnqxBPRJ5OqaQVWZPAHoOQi7-9cS9OCl75TVnOr91sQ6Y6QyuK_Lf1iJG0OGIuVRVw8f-tMOnJy0Mw4VC37N60t5RIU__gxTr-0pJFTPdFXc8HocLrRaEgEFambAJyPHtxL2FUxJQ/s1600-h/holmes7.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 99px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K7wnqxBPRJ5OqaQVWZPAHoOQi7-9cS9OCl75TVnOr91sQ6Y6QyuK_Lf1iJG0OGIuVRVw8f-tMOnJy0Mw4VC37N60t5RIU__gxTr-0pJFTPdFXc8HocLrRaEgEFambAJyPHtxL2FUxJQ/s200/holmes7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366159634855913122" border="0" /></a>es interpretation of Wastson as a high pitched Welshman.To be honest the film is terrible but no worse than Micheal Caines interpretation, can someone please tell me if that man has ever made a descent film. He has to be the most overrated actor in the world after Tom cruise. In this version he of course plays himself. I half expect him to say to Watson, ' I only told you to blow the bloody doors off '<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">A short History of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and London: </span><br /><br />Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was born in Edinburgh in 1859. After leaving school, Doyle studied at medical school in Edinburgh and Plymouth and also undertook exciting voyages to the Arctic and West Africa as a ship's doctor.Whereas Holmes had a distinct mistrust of women and remained a lifelong bachelor, Conan Doyle was always something of a womanizer. In 1885 he married Louise Hawkins, the sister of one of his early patients who would give him two children.<br /><br />In the early 1890s Doyle and his wife moved to London the city he described in one of his stories as "the great cesspool into which the loungers and the idlers are irresistibly drained" - and immediately set up practice as an ophthalmologist. His first home was in Montague Place, just around the corner from the British Museum, and not by coincidence Holmes' first rooms in London were described as being on nearby Montague Street. Today Montague Street is still a quiet street of whitewashed Georgian terraced houses and small hotels. A delightful pub, the Museum Tavern, which features in one of Doyle's stories <em>The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle</em> still stands across the street from the main entrance to the museum.<br /><br />One of his earliest written efforts was written for a Christmas annual and became known as "A Study in Scarlet" the first Holmes story. The character of Sherlock Homes was supposedly based on Dr. Joseph Bell, a surgeon at one of the hospitals in Edinburgh, who was famous for his powers of observation. The name Holmes was probably inspired by the author Oliver Wendell Holmes; the name Sherlock supposedly from a boy who Doyle played cricket with at school.<br /><br />Throughout his career he frequently complained that Holmes had taken over his life to the extent that his other achievements were overlooked. Doyle became so fed up with Holmes that he killed his character off in one of his stories called "The Final Problem." However, public outcry over the death of Holmes was so great even Queen Victoria was reputedly disappointed that Conan Doyle was forced to resurrect the detective and then plausibly explain himself. His other achievements were impressive indeed he fought in the Boer War, was a staunch advocate of spiritualism and wrote many excellent historical novels.<br /><br />Sir Arthur Conan Doyle died from a heart attack in 1930 and was buried alongside his second wife in Minstead churchyard in Hampshire, some 80 miles from London, the city that gave him so much inspiration. The inscription on his grave describes him as a patriot, physician and man of letters. And what of Sherlock Holmes' grave? To thousands of people around the world, Holmes is a historical figure, rather than just a fictional character. Although if Holmes was a real person, the whereabouts of his grave is certainly a mystery equivalent to any he solved.<br /><br /><br />Forever Yours<br /><br />Lord Monty<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyisCW8ZYTrE3CD8RCBvBKO1EMzLJ91rRJy2LfkAEvGE1us2vjUmFE4ArIc4d2rD6gNlgrhfPszV6ZBiX9mIg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-6731373330715087952009-04-23T05:46:00.000-07:002009-04-23T06:17:55.998-07:00Bartitsu: The Martial Art of Gentlemen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipETAZl4jS_oaO0fnZJ1sJukntgca9oRETCnlxPzbgZOO24UMH773bOr3dbI6T_desmkIvhqwLqwDaXvJOjWAPK79AMfrVMFMZrOKpSwyWtbB548SNr2Cc6WIAhcrXARVdWHlq82xCezM/s1600-h/combat_siecle_small.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 157px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipETAZl4jS_oaO0fnZJ1sJukntgca9oRETCnlxPzbgZOO24UMH773bOr3dbI6T_desmkIvhqwLqwDaXvJOjWAPK79AMfrVMFMZrOKpSwyWtbB548SNr2Cc6WIAhcrXARVdWHlq82xCezM/s200/combat_siecle_small.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327870148730840770" border="0" /></a>Its been a funny old year, as the pound in a pocket slowly turns too fluff, we await the rest of the year with anticipation. All around us the world seems to be falling apart, not even the second coming of Christ in the form of Obama can save the day. More people loose their jobs and it looks like we are on the brink of a revolution in the way we think of capitalism. Some where in Highgate cemetery late at night I'm sure that you can here the ghostly voice of Karl Marx saying I told you so.<br />With the rise of unemployment comes crime, so what better way to introduce you to a long forgotten martial arts that every gentlemen should be proficient in.<br /><p>Before <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randy_Couture">Randy Couture</a> and the Ultimate Fighting Championship, there was Edward William Barton-Wright and bartitsu. Bartitsu was probably the first instance of what we know today as mixed martial arts. Mr. Barton combined elements of boxing, jujitsu, cane fighting, and french kick boxing in order to create a self defense system that could be used by discerning gentlemen on the mean streets of Edwardian London. It grew to such popularity that even Sherlock Holmes was practicing bartitsu in his mysterious adventures.</p> <p>While bartitsu died in the early 20th Century, E.W. Barton left a legacy in the field of martial arts. What follows is a brief history of bartitsu as well as a guide to get you started on learning the martial art of gentlemen.</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4KdQW1ct3UqHVYDHqMRzbabbImWipIMfiQeZaMMmLrjPEj7_UY1QauiCeFfpT2C2ehAB9DDhqOjPZLmj9a5r5amxBa3qjzlb6zcuqZ1k35h7qui2nBSqWvBElM0PTvQxewOZpa4J9TA/s1600-h/bwportrait.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 168px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4KdQW1ct3UqHVYDHqMRzbabbImWipIMfiQeZaMMmLrjPEj7_UY1QauiCeFfpT2C2ehAB9DDhqOjPZLmj9a5r5amxBa3qjzlb6zcuqZ1k35h7qui2nBSqWvBElM0PTvQxewOZpa4J9TA/s200/bwportrait.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327869273420175778" border="0" /></a></p>Bartitsu was created by William Barton-Wright, an English railroad engineer. Barton’s work as an engineer took him to Japan for three years where he was introduced to jujitsu. He studied the art at the school of Jigoro Kano. Barton must have been excited about what he learned. When he returned to England, he quit his career in engineering and opened up a martial arts school where he taught jujitsu. <p>In 1899, Barton wrote an article in the London based publication, Pearson’s Magazine, entitled “A New Art of Self Defense.” In it he set out his system of self defense that he called “bartitsu,” an obvious melding of his name and jujitsu. While bartitsu was based mainly on jujitsu, Barton explained in his article that the system included boxing, kickboxing, and stick fighting.</p> <p>Barton opened a school called the Bartitsu Club. He brought in some of the best martial arts teachers from around the world to teach at his new school. Among these were Japanese instructors K. Tani, S. Yamamoto, and Yukio Tani as well as Pierre Vigny and Armand Cherpillod. One journalist described the Bartitsu Club as “… a huge subterranean hall, all glittering, white-tiled walls, and electric light, with ‘champions’ prowling around it like tigers.”</p> <p>The popularity of bartitsu in England was widespread. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle even had Sherlock Holmes practicing “baritsu” (a misspelling of bartitsu) in <em>The Adventure of the Empty House</em>. Because Conan Doyle misspelled bartitsu, scholars of Sherlock Holmes were confused for years by the reference. (Note: <a href="http://www.bartitsu.org/index.php/2008/09/baritsu-to-feature-in-new-sherlock-holmes-movie/">Robert Downey, Jr. will be showing off his bartitsu chops in an upcoming Sherlock Holmes film</a>. )</p><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZloeJlD8I89pQRm0sfcvluzuZROC1bNfFjo8I323ddLhMmOwEnqV737AkyijWbuSne_6tI1e72k4nygVlEgChCwVia4dUc1kKWm2hJddyYIy16jx4Hy7aO5bZ0KrCqTG4anB2wzsdc0/s1600-h/sherlockdowney.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 245px; height: 122px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguZloeJlD8I89pQRm0sfcvluzuZROC1bNfFjo8I323ddLhMmOwEnqV737AkyijWbuSne_6tI1e72k4nygVlEgChCwVia4dUc1kKWm2hJddyYIy16jx4Hy7aO5bZ0KrCqTG4anB2wzsdc0/s200/sherlockdowney.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327874884849827890" border="0" /></a></p> <p>Bartitsu declined in popularity as rapidly as it had ascended. By 1903, the Bartitsu Club closed and most of its instructors established their own self defense schools in London. Barton continued to develop and teach bartitsu until the 1920s. Because of the lack of interest in his martial art, Barton spent the rest of his career as a physical therapist. He died in 1951 at the age of 90.</p> <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tC5O7HV_KY&feature=channel_page">Bartitsu documentary</a><br /><br />Like to thank The art of manliness website where most of the information regarding this long lost art was found. I'm sure they are happy that I'm trying to spread the word of such a manly art form.<br /><br />Keep Calm<br />Lord Monty<br /><p style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxchdD6-zrS9g6hDK6karuJl9-Y03PfShd2vLFF-xyg7G-Tl_CEmx5kspQev_h4F16I-7xC7F6ypxdjxTlEwpc-nyttedMbKKqevwfIgSEMuD9PoRSx2j4NfEc-EdI0A0Cyj7AvNdD9Ro/s1600-h/barton-wright17.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 146px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxchdD6-zrS9g6hDK6karuJl9-Y03PfShd2vLFF-xyg7G-Tl_CEmx5kspQev_h4F16I-7xC7F6ypxdjxTlEwpc-nyttedMbKKqevwfIgSEMuD9PoRSx2j4NfEc-EdI0A0Cyj7AvNdD9Ro/s200/barton-wright17.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327873779767042546" border="0" /></a></p>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-33317288223747784492008-07-06T09:08:00.000-07:002008-07-06T10:44:15.883-07:00We will rock you this ain't<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGj0x42bqVEfpdSUJmcicYBdhSc019ssFHTfFaihObMxFLmzh3NOMLUYsknQ_WX46kKSkoxB8D77E7NMZ0VuFllmvikiyigZGUOKPTvRiR4MVABEomcEHOeIjXHQMzfNrFTsVdzwdwCw/s1600-h/red_death.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGj0x42bqVEfpdSUJmcicYBdhSc019ssFHTfFaihObMxFLmzh3NOMLUYsknQ_WX46kKSkoxB8D77E7NMZ0VuFllmvikiyigZGUOKPTvRiR4MVABEomcEHOeIjXHQMzfNrFTsVdzwdwCw/s200/red_death.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219948592435246786" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div>The first six months of this year has once again seen the theatres and galleries of London spoilt for choice for quality entertainment. But many of the real gems are the ones that pass the everyday radar of what is associated with main steam entertainment, and hide in the dark alley ways of London town. In a time when most theatre is based on the songs of an old band put together to a weak plot line written by a two faced old commie, its refreshing to find some brilliant shows.<br /><br /><div> </div><div>At the beginning of this year we were graced with another fine show by the Punch drunk company which deservedly won a Critics' Circle Award last year for Faust, a stunning performance-art piece that took place across five floors of an abandoned document depository in darkest Wapping – this year they were back to reveal yet more of their twisted dramatic imagination.<br /><br />They took over Edward Mountford's spookily labyrinthine 1891 municipal building, more recently an arts centre (BAC in Battersea) and turned the whole place into a thrilling, chilling celebration of the tormented genius of Edgar Allan Poe.<br /><br />On arrival (in evening dress, preferably), you are issued with a carnival mask and a coin with which you will later be able to buy a cloak. You are then advised to set off, alone and masked, to explore.<br />There are no guides to tell you where to go, no way of knowing what you will find, see, touch, smell, hear or taste. journeys through dark corridors, and up and down steep back staircases, pushing nervously<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpQZNt-1YrkfMFZ7up_pRlld0WeIRP2YfAizs18ol5kA8Uk6fZicP6iwJbu3N0qTVM31fqlGNZfjuxNvSXIvdAWRmoC2ziLltIvDgiQkCsuQ8L1MaWgMumlTUUkMP_Z9vRAiVvgs_5cg/s1600-h/masquewolfblog460.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 224px; height: 145px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzpQZNt-1YrkfMFZ7up_pRlld0WeIRP2YfAizs18ol5kA8Uk6fZicP6iwJbu3N0qTVM31fqlGNZfjuxNvSXIvdAWRmoC2ziLltIvDgiQkCsuQ8L1MaWgMumlTUUkMP_Z9vRAiVvgs_5cg/s200/masquewolfblog460.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219948073093834882" border="0" /></a> at doors to discover where they will lead. Sometimes you encounter an empty room, designed in meticulously detailed 19th-century style, perhaps with a coal fire burning, or a recently rumpled bed.<br /><br />The whole of the BAC is transformed. Not just the rooms you'd recognise if you're familiar with the centre but all of it. You go up stairs, into basements and into really scary attics. You won't recognise any of this space. There is action in most of the rooms, be it a dressing room of a theatre, or a coffin hidden in a basement .Even when there isn't anything going on, you'll find yourself wondering around looking at all of the amazing props. Every inch of every room is covered.<br /><br />At other moments you find yourself plunged right into the heart of some vivid drama of perverse infatuation or overwhelming despair.<br /><br />Throughout the promenade, you discover splintered fragments of Poe's dark short stories – a heart being removed from a horribly frail old man as he sleeps, a desperate bridal night that turns into one of the most disturbing erotic ballets I have ever seen, a dinner party populated only by the insane.<br /><br />Because you are masked, you feel as though you have been granted a Harry Potter cloak of invisibility. There's no embarrassment about getting up close to the performers, or of following them to wherever they lead you next.The silence is sometimes eerie, as is having no interaction with the other audience members. You're totally on your own.<br />At one stage, I suddenly found myself standing in the wings of a music hall, but it took me another half-hour to find the actual entrance to the red-velvet palace of varieties, where one is allowed to remove one's mask, have a drink of Absinthe and watch Victorian vaudeville acts of mind readers and dance hall ditties, before venturing off for further horrors of immurement, murder and marital strife.Among the highlights of my trip were a fabulously sinister opium den and an encounter with an exceedingly alluring female pharmacist who drew me to her and whispered intimately in my ear: "Only the saved pass through these doors; this is for your protection," as she pressed crushed herbs into the palm of my hand.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEflNQpG2gknjOIxM4zXsteSUD2xwDPXfZTQT2zl5FFVzJAU1PGQNJBW1loFHu3pHtEYJHX0i13FFzAhyphenhyphen4TG8HSErBjITwEOZAXHBsitd7BPu-JBU-xzkuVD_oMkCDwCB-Cd21jnFY01c/s1600-h/Red600.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 135px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEflNQpG2gknjOIxM4zXsteSUD2xwDPXfZTQT2zl5FFVzJAU1PGQNJBW1loFHu3pHtEYJHX0i13FFzAhyphenhyphen4TG8HSErBjITwEOZAXHBsitd7BPu-JBU-xzkuVD_oMkCDwCB-Cd21jnFY01c/s200/Red600.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5219936902761966162" border="0" /></a>For over two hours time had stopped and I had been transported into a different era where the buzz of modern Leicester square is a million miles away.The disturbing finale perfectly timed brings everyone into the ballroom,you feel like you have been dropped into the ball scene of Eyes Wide Shut, crossed with the chaotic finally of Lord of the flies.<br /><br />Move over Ben Elton you hypocritical twat, for true genius.<br /><br />For those that missed out, when they have their next production ...Go Go Go.<br /><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzW8URerIuBFizXuzak6H8iRTqueRtlTjUybGDqWOB0Ipqm4YQKK1dwI9o5bJ_PfGIK5Y1565NnLyBV_nkskQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-64968442586929702192008-05-24T07:27:00.000-07:002008-05-24T08:09:48.713-07:00And a pale horse rode in .......<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9NAvgLPJr7xuh-ksg28aflkWVEObZri7vYoBMqSZV8wiPyRDTvw7hx0B5tROAgnC6_nkCXnFflOLV2NnNW0VPq24-5PuriQ5XdpfQp7d4vr-kuONhRAzWvD3iffUz1nUw0GDI_AJlnQ/s1600-h/boris_johnson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 179px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW9NAvgLPJr7xuh-ksg28aflkWVEObZri7vYoBMqSZV8wiPyRDTvw7hx0B5tROAgnC6_nkCXnFflOLV2NnNW0VPq24-5PuriQ5XdpfQp7d4vr-kuONhRAzWvD3iffUz1nUw0GDI_AJlnQ/s200/boris_johnson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203956841190683106" border="0" /></a>As April, May and June mixed into one month of work,rain,work,rain. We look forward and hope to another glorious summer in this great city of ours. As housing prices drop, and the pound in our pocket slowly terns into a Euro, we great the coming of summer with a human sacrifice to the gods, as the slowly decomposing body of Ken Livingstone is dragged off the steps of city hall, we herald in the dawning of a new age, the coming of a golden child,as prophesied on the back of men's toilet walls at Charring Cross Station. A time when a large child like man with locks of gold will bring happiness and prosperity to the land, and tern the whole of London into a giant theme park for himself. Of course that man is Boris Johnson, I didn't vote for him, but my vote does not count in the democratic system we have in place. Only the chosen ones have a voice in London, these being the London bus drivers,white van men and the ancient order of the black cab. As people voted with their personal wants rather than their minds, we hope and pray that B.J. will answer our every needs. We look forward to the return of the Route Master, this time with its own MacDonald counter inside to satisfy the hunger of the late night revellers. The scraping of the congestion charge, and the construction of the new M25 V.2, straight through Piccadilly. 4 x 4's will become compulsory and every child in London at the age of 5 will be given there own. St Patricks day and the Notinghill Carnival will be scrapped for Toffs day, where all School tie boys will have flout of their own, starting from Eaton and finishing off at Henley. Urban foxing hunting will become the new craze ( too many of the fuckers if you ask me) and be added into the 2012 Olympics, which will be moved from the East End to Chelsea, as its a ghastly place.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGn593REulFyTBw-bOWb4Yq5VuSwA0YjxIbrF0cbQB8Ovi1gTDkE7H4RcWr7G709lWfSbQ7QlwbfKwkLdWhLxLTC5aBxwB-TPybi1Yny696lnhWwgr6hFxH29jZ0lVojldi9HaJEQWzw/s1600-h/BorisEcoSt2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 173px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiGn593REulFyTBw-bOWb4Yq5VuSwA0YjxIbrF0cbQB8Ovi1gTDkE7H4RcWr7G709lWfSbQ7QlwbfKwkLdWhLxLTC5aBxwB-TPybi1Yny696lnhWwgr6hFxH29jZ0lVojldi9HaJEQWzw/s200/BorisEcoSt2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203959589969752562" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />I mean it can't be a bad thing can it, America has had an idiot in power for 8 years and it hasn't done them any harm. At least Boris can speak.<br /><br /><br /><br />So goodbye the red flag and hello blue skies. We've seen it all before and been here a million times, the rich will get richer and the poor will always have Sky sports, so who cares.<br /><br />On another subject I will be running a London half marathon ( not for mayor..too late, maybe next time ) on behalf of Tress for London, so please sponsor me. Tress for London believe that if the quota of trees to people becomes lower, then one street thug should be replaced with a tree, his/her body is then used as fertilizer for the tree and everyone is happy.<br /><br />If you want to sponsor me link below and think safer and greener streets.Full Blog very soon.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.justgiving.com/victormartinez" target="_blank" rel="nofollow"><span>http://www.justgiving.com/</span><wbr>victormartinez</a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZnciWJxgH-5IfNyXYsuIVLxOlKevGiEiZOn_JbuTL1QK0FC0Yll7bvhvdWW57xdXZUNW4PjNNYBMfKNGt4Pmt5e8izWk8ppxu5bkb849JO_bQvGDMTc77X5kvnqSbVDGENgZ89K8US0/s1600-h/trees_logo.gif"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZnciWJxgH-5IfNyXYsuIVLxOlKevGiEiZOn_JbuTL1QK0FC0Yll7bvhvdWW57xdXZUNW4PjNNYBMfKNGt4Pmt5e8izWk8ppxu5bkb849JO_bQvGDMTc77X5kvnqSbVDGENgZ89K8US0/s200/trees_logo.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203960384538702338" border="0" /></a>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-67981058417221021032008-03-20T08:21:00.000-07:002008-03-20T09:21:57.106-07:00let me introduce you to Mr Hudson who is in the Library<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57M-3fD83rMCHn8VZf5nBwwwUrDBEvcXwT7zouD5sTY__EorjfcrEYJNU4xbEqXjsQqJNwMPCnxrR1_PtFR-c_mvukIk5V2lidJWT4DhmD_4GCJ78qqOChPHG6fzo0hFh2kdo6Hi4F2w/s1600-h/godwin_hudsonandlibrary3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 317px; height: 163px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh57M-3fD83rMCHn8VZf5nBwwwUrDBEvcXwT7zouD5sTY__EorjfcrEYJNU4xbEqXjsQqJNwMPCnxrR1_PtFR-c_mvukIk5V2lidJWT4DhmD_4GCJ78qqOChPHG6fzo0hFh2kdo6Hi4F2w/s320/godwin_hudsonandlibrary3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179849118652482242" border="0" /></a>Let me introduce you to these fine chaps, saw them at Glastonbury last year. Originally from Birmingham, but now based in the smoke. They have been seen in the Kentish town area, plus the other day I noticed some graffiti that was based around the band near the bottom end of Kentish Town. Whats interesting about these guys is their fusion of acoustic with hip/hop - ska and dreamic melodies. They remind me of a contemporary version Of The Specials. A fusion is created when urban sounds mix with classic London dance hall music. Other great bands that achieved this where The kinks, The Small Faces, Blur and even Madness. All perfectly epitomise the different cultural influences that make London. You can't just say London sound is indie, hip-hop or drum and bass , its a mixture of all these things and sometimes none depending on where you live and what background you come from. Now and again some bands cross fertilise these genres and create a sound that is unique, but not always instantly likable. More recently bands like Frank Ferdinand, The Libertines and the Kaiser Chiefs have taken this Victorian style theatrics and converted them into modern ditties all creating musical vignettes that put you right into the soul of London.<br /><br />Monty<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw6QRssqwK2WeLj1JqBhaMhmBZTzj8TgpiJBWLn6PUPxS-72i92Z3f0ArmXTtav5DGyBuKFyExtwtzxb1x0yw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-49380472448396953832008-02-22T09:47:00.001-08:002008-03-20T08:20:30.981-07:00A tale of Two cities.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnafuV_yP3eyLF32UT_1Lw-7LqxR8GtiyslS2TyopQ95Loh5_E-O0wzOZy5hzhBOOygFks4by65CFvTpx9N1OtZa7Y8rZrxQAEeRUP6XXsYVzFsQcabenhfWm7DQ3F-fD5zvpCtLo1v6w/s1600-h/barking6.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnafuV_yP3eyLF32UT_1Lw-7LqxR8GtiyslS2TyopQ95Loh5_E-O0wzOZy5hzhBOOygFks4by65CFvTpx9N1OtZa7Y8rZrxQAEeRUP6XXsYVzFsQcabenhfWm7DQ3F-fD5zvpCtLo1v6w/s320/barking6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169866644115103714" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Just added a link to a blog, which you could say is The Victorian Gentlemans sister blog. Run by a bunch of creative guys who work in the fashion industry and based in New York. Whats interesting about these guys is they base all their designs on late 1800s early 1900s styles but with a modern twist.Their website and blog also has some interesting bits about New York. For those interested the label is called Barking Irons. I raise my hat to you fine fellows, and wish a hand of friendship and a glass of port from across the pond so to speak.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.barkingirons.com/lucky7/"><span style="text-decoration: underline;">http://www.barkingirons.com/lucky7/</span></a><br /><a href="http://themulberrybend.blogspot.com/">http://themulberrybend.blogspot.com/</a><br /><br />Cherrio<br />Lord MontyVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-79819260945908960652008-02-17T06:14:00.000-08:002008-02-17T07:07:21.666-08:00Bleeding hearts ...!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMXpruYFLx7FecoRBVvYMvFRnEDTW_iVEqC5IV42kdaFoW3pe5dq7GC-X7pFfdyZ8v669ZG8pqS03ryZ75Qw5FNioHDH_VfWIDDRZTeR3NpCEn2sPF8zo1J1D5cZShWgcC_gg-S5h4zw/s1600-h/bleedingheart.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 294px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkMXpruYFLx7FecoRBVvYMvFRnEDTW_iVEqC5IV42kdaFoW3pe5dq7GC-X7pFfdyZ8v669ZG8pqS03ryZ75Qw5FNioHDH_VfWIDDRZTeR3NpCEn2sPF8zo1J1D5cZShWgcC_gg-S5h4zw/s400/bleedingheart.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167964703747416002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Valentines day has been and gone and once again the true winner in this despicable of days is Hallmarks, who invented the day in the first place, so after the rush of pink Cava and and red roses, I decided to dedicate the blog to a location in London which is also associated with the heart. But in a far more gruesome way. The place in question is the cobbled courtyard Bleeding Heart Yard, Hatton Garden, near Farringdon.<br /><br />The story does share something with Valentines day as both end up with someone being bled dry of everything they have including any self dignity, the difference is that every year it is mainly men that are the victim of this crime while the legend of Bleeding heart yard has a woman having to pay the final price, now that what i call equality.<br /><br />Legend has it that the courtyard's name commemorates the murder of Lady Elizabeth Hatton, second wife of Sir William Hatton, whose family used to own the area. It is said that her body was found here on January 27, 1626, torn limb from limb, but with her heart still pumping blood. Trey Philpotts of the University of Delaware writes that the courtyard is, in fact, named after a sign dating back to the Reformation that was diplayed on a pub called the Bleeding Heart in nearby Charles Street. The sign showed the heart of the Virgin Mary pierced by five swords. Thus making the Bleeding Heart story one of Londons earliest urban legends<br /><br />A French restaurant called The Bleeding Heart now occupies a number of the buildings in the courtyard. Which by the way serves great food and I recommend to anybody who is visiting London.<br /><br /> Taken from the shady old ladys guide to london - Lady Elizabeth Hatton was the toast of 17th Century London society. The widowed daughter-in-law of the famous merchant Sir Christopher Hatton (one-time consort of Queen Elizabeth 1), Lady Elizabeth was young, beautiful and very wealthy. Her suitors were many and varied, and included a leading London Bishop and a prominent European Ambassador. Invitations to her soirees in Hatton Garden were much sought after.<br /><br />Her Annual Winter Ball, on January 26, 1662, was one of the highlights of the London social season. Halfway through the evening's festivities, the doors to Lady Hatton's grand ballroom were flung open. In strode a swarthy gentleman, slightly hunched of shoulder, with a clawed right hand. He took her by the hand, danced her once around the room and out through the double doors into the garden. A buzz of gossip arose. Would Lady Elizabeth and the European Ambassador (for it was he) kiss and make up, or would she return alone? Neither was to be. The next morning her body was found in the cobblestone courtyard torn limb from limb, with her heart still pumping blood onto the cobblestones. And from thenceforth the yard was to be known as The Bleeding Heart Yard.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr20ahaMtfb-qpbG7cUJbPB7e1knSG3bPLx8GDEAVsck7ESKb6MVaWnBp1Z8UDY-W6w4ZK_CMrn7TSZ_M-xBMReynrsylDIZPxw0hLzFtzdrACZ0Ln8nFvct81CbiPtk0jA3U51MDxStg/s1600-h/Bleeding-Heart-Yard.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr20ahaMtfb-qpbG7cUJbPB7e1knSG3bPLx8GDEAVsck7ESKb6MVaWnBp1Z8UDY-W6w4ZK_CMrn7TSZ_M-xBMReynrsylDIZPxw0hLzFtzdrACZ0Ln8nFvct81CbiPtk0jA3U51MDxStg/s320/Bleeding-Heart-Yard.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5167965008690094034" border="0" /></a><br />Charles Dickens knew Bleeding Heart well. In Little Dorritt, the Plornish family lived in a house in Bleeding Heart Yard. The more practical of the Yards inmates abided by the tradition of the murder.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">[It was] a place much changed in feature and in fortune, yet with some relish of ancient greatness about it. Two or three mighty stacks of chimneys, and a few large dark rooms which had escaped being walled and subdivided out of the recognition of their old proportions, gave the Yard a character. It was inhabited by poor people, who set up their rest among its faded glories, as Arabs of the desert pitch their tents among the fallen stones of the Pyramids; but there was a family sentimental feeling prevalent in the Yard, that it had a character.</span><br /><br />But he went on to document another Bleeding Heart story: The gentler and more imaginative inhabitants, including the whole of the tender sex, were loyal to the legend of a young lady imprisoned in her own chamber by a cruel father for remaining true to her own true lover but it was objected to by the murderous party that this was the invention of a spinster and romantic, still lodging in the Yard.<br /><br /><p>Before Dickens, the courtyard was best known for its appearance in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Harris_Barham" title="Richard Harris Barham">R.H. Barham</a>'s <i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Ingoldsby_Legends" title="The Ingoldsby Legends">The Ingoldsby Legends</a></i>, a collection of poems and stories first published in <i>Bentley's Miscellany</i> beginning in 1837.</p> <p>In one of the stories, <i>The House-Warming: A Legend Of Bleeding-Heart Yard</i>, Lady Hatton, wife of Sir <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christopher_Hatton" title="Christopher Hatton">Christopher Hatton</a>, makes a pact with the devil to secure wealth, position, and a mansion in <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holburn" title="Holburn">Holburn</a>. During the housewarming of the mansion, the devil dances with her, then tears out her heart, which is found, still beating, in the courtyard the next morning.<sup id="_ref-Philpotts172_1" class="reference"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bleeding_Heart_Yard#_note-Philpotts172" title="">[1]</a></sup> It is from this legend, together with a case of mistaken identity, that the myth of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lady_Elizabeth_Hatton" title="Lady Elizabeth Hatton">Lady Elizabeth Hatton</a>'s murder — wife, not of Christopher, but of William Hatton — was born.</p><p><b><b>Of poor Lady Hatton, it's needless to say,<br />No traces have ever been found to this day,<br />Or the terrible dancer who whisk'd her away;<br />But out in the court-yard -- and just in that part<br />Where the pump stands -- lay bleeding a LARGE HUMAN HEART!<br />And sundry large stains<br />Of blood and of brains,<br />Which had not been wash'd off notwithstanding the rains,<br />Appear'd on the wood, and the handle, and chains,<br />As if somebody's head with a very hard thump,<br />Had been recently knock'd on the top of the pump.<br />That pump is no more!-- that of which you've just read,--<br />But they've put a new iron one up in its stead,<br />And still, it is said,<br />At that 'small hour' so dread,<br />When all sober people are cosey in bed,<br />There may sometimes be seen on a moonshiny night,<br />Standing close by the new pump, a Lady in White,<br />Who keeps pumping away with, 'twould seem, all her might,<br />Though never a drop comes her pains to requite!<br />And hence many passengers now are debarr'd<br />From proceeding at nightfall through Bleeding Heart Yard!</b></b></p><p>Happy Valentines day ...</p><p>Lord Monty<br /></p>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-89345109690828869682008-02-05T12:48:00.000-08:002008-02-05T16:29:50.938-08:00Members Only...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3nBYFSydf9tqjMEBZaJ0MHEqBGHs86hl-_2kFpT0QLW0vw0P3-0dnPFrIfCswj7b8H19HBChmJCGScciU2EkfjR0kbFUs_pFOj7ijm2Gz_kTVDaz9Dm_dd7EYnwmWedOe15nqUqycow/s1600-h/Gentlemens-Club-Print-C10201402.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3nBYFSydf9tqjMEBZaJ0MHEqBGHs86hl-_2kFpT0QLW0vw0P3-0dnPFrIfCswj7b8H19HBChmJCGScciU2EkfjR0kbFUs_pFOj7ijm2Gz_kTVDaz9Dm_dd7EYnwmWedOe15nqUqycow/s400/Gentlemens-Club-Print-C10201402.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163650062324372178" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />When I first started my blog page my two main objectives was to show a different side to this great capital of ours and to make a virtual gentleman's club (where of course ladies are allowed to join), in which one can feel that they are part of a club where one can have a fine glass of brandy and talk crap.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I would like to bring up a point that the term gentlemen's club is now unfortunately used to describe a place where young ladies who can only buy clothes which are too big for them visit: These ladies then commence to dance, sometimes around a rather polished metallic pole. The XL sized garments do not hang in the proper manner that is accustomed to these ladies and after a few seconds of the Charleston they find their clothes slip off and fall to the floor. These clubs are frequented by gentlemen whom feeling pity for these fair dames, offer money so they can buy themselves more proper attire, unfortunately for these unfortunate creatures the only place to put this money is in their garters. The men go home in floods of tears, wishing there was more they could have done.<br /></div><br /><br />The gentleman's clubs I speak of are not such places.<br /><br />Ever since I came to London over 12 years ago now, I always had an interest in these ancient hidden members clubs and what lay behind the door policy. I was lucky enough to have visited quite a few and be a member of some. What always interested me was the way that each club would attract a different kind of person, it was like being in adult gang with people that are interested in the same things you are, also a great place for networking and being on the pulse of your industry. Many historic moments have occurred in our cities london clubs,it may be remembered that Lord Queens-berry s incriminating note accusing Wilde of "posing as a somdomite[sic.]" was left for him at the Albermarle Club. While Phileas Fogg started his journey from the Reform Club, went around the world and returned to the same club in 80 days.<br /><br />Before I go any further let me give you a brief history of the 'gentleman's club'.<br /><br />A BRIEF HISTORY<br /><br />The Clubs had their orig<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEija9K7akx4drrc3XinpT7490Z7juTB2VYP5pd46GW_mj1QkH9hfON4abO6inXDj3asGamH-QtYkk1H-V5SHLaEg0sK7ILZcfSe03fkR5huh1UAq2UdgixsSgvw5nV0_lSdmQX9YnBiXog/s1600-h/Reform_Club._Upper_level_of_the_saloon._From_London_Interiors_(1841).jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEija9K7akx4drrc3XinpT7490Z7juTB2VYP5pd46GW_mj1QkH9hfON4abO6inXDj3asGamH-QtYkk1H-V5SHLaEg0sK7ILZcfSe03fkR5huh1UAq2UdgixsSgvw5nV0_lSdmQX9YnBiXog/s400/Reform_Club._Upper_level_of_the_saloon._From_London_Interiors_(1841).jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163655280709636914" border="0" /></a>in in the old Coffee Houses which came into existence as a result of the introduction of coffee into England from Turkey, by David Saunders, in the year 1652. So rapid was the success of the new beverage, so universally was it found to lend itself to social gatherings, to promote conversation, and alas to afford opportunities for gambling, that by the middle of Queen Anne's reign the number of Coffee Houses in London and Westminster had grown to several hundreds, some imaginative estimates putting the figure at 2,000. Hence arose the clubs in our modern sense; houses for the chosen few, where men of common tastes and of one class might meet together. In the fashionable neighborhoods the indiscriminate type of Coffee Houses almost disappeared, giving place to houses which adopted a political or party colour of their own. The nineteenth century was the age of clubs, each with its own building resembling a stately mansion where gentlemen smoked, drank, ate, read (in libraries or news rooms), gambled, played billiards, and socialized among their peers. Members were elected (or not--that is, blackballed) and clubs members often had common political or recreational interests. Among the political clubs in the Victorian period were the Reform Club, an institution of the Liberals with a name relating to the famous Reform Act of 1832, the Conservative, and the Carlton founded by the Duke of Wellington in 1832. Others clubs were for members of the universities (The Oxford and Cambridge University Clubs), for automobile fanciers (The Royal Automobile Club), for mountaineers, for members of the Army and Navy (The Army and Navy Club), for travelers who had been more than 500 miles from London (The Traveler's Club), and for artists, writers, and scientists and their patrons (Athenaeum Club). It was not uncommon for a gentleman to have membership in more than one club. Women were of course not admitted, although by the end of the nineteenth century there were some clubs for women. Waiting lists were long, even for males. These large clubs were most often designed in the classical style, even though much Victorian architecture was inspired by Gothic precedents. Most had a number of large rooms: library, lounge, dining room, smoking room, billiard room, and card room. In the second half of the century some provided bedrooms for members who lived outside the city and preferred to stay in the club rather than a commercial hotel. Many had outstanding libraries. The clubs were generally furnished in an austere "bachelor" style, foregoing the "feminine" clutter of the typical Victorian house. Its worth pointing out that many of these clubs didn't judge you by the colour of your skin, but more so on your up bringing. It was quite common to see an Asian or Black gentlemen frequenting the halls of these establishment. But woman 'No'.<br /><br /><br />Many of these clubs still exis<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fKX4Ksc0Dgj9Q8ZoJ6GBaLMTcL4Hp8av1_LEJOEMXqQIY-2hM1KcdqD5fywKqRgP8R4aHhyTW2Cad5xOOghkT98OEBu5RdAxJ7v1q1pV7jz8euWhp6EJOILo4s9b5gZTBUpH2_dcFxo/s1600-h/3427855.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 227px; height: 166px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0fKX4Ksc0Dgj9Q8ZoJ6GBaLMTcL4Hp8av1_LEJOEMXqQIY-2hM1KcdqD5fywKqRgP8R4aHhyTW2Cad5xOOghkT98OEBu5RdAxJ7v1q1pV7jz8euWhp6EJOILo4s9b5gZTBUpH2_dcFxo/s400/3427855.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163654572040033042" border="0" /></a>t with the same house rules that date back over 250 years ago. But in the eighties at the peak of Thatcherite consumer Britain a new wave of private members clubs opened. These clubs still had the impossibly strict membership rules, but with the difference that they were not solely for men of the upper classes. One such club was the Groucho Club on Dean Street which opened in 1985 as "the antidote to the traditional club." In this spirit, the club was named for Groucho Marx because of his famous remark that he would not wish to join any club that would have him as a member.<br /><br />Membership is difficult to obtain and its members are mostly drawn from the media, entertainment, arts and fashion industries. The club is known as a haunt of Young British Artists, including Damien Hirst, whose behavior caused him to be banned several times from the club. I used to have a friend that was a member of the Groucho Club, and visited quite a few times during the time of the so called Brit Pop sensation, I was there the night that The Gallagher brothers decided to throw snooker balls at each other, they were also banned...for a while anyway, as it was great bit of historic mythology for the club.<br /><br />And thats what many of these clubs live on and make them interesting, also in the 90s I was a member of a club called Tatty Bogles (The bogle is also a creature that loves to vex humans until they go insane) off Kingly street, legend has it that the club was owned by the guy that played Flash Gordon in the old black and white TV series, I don't know what truth lies in this, but one thing for sure it was the strangest, darkest little place you could have imagined. It looked like it was stuck in 1973 with staff that looked in their 70s too. But thats what made it so endearing, it felt like your own private secret den, where the fake and over priced glitz of modern london were banned. Of course this same understatement attracted a post ironic crowd, who started to make the club more popular. Even Kate Moss could be seen frequenting its dark corridors, it was then that you knew the place had lost its original feel. Recently it has been closed down for a complete refurbishment, I'm not sure what it will be like but I'm sure it will loose a lot of its charm.<br />Another one of my favorite clubs is The Phoenix Artists Club just off the Charring Cross Road. Again a basement bar ( my favorite type - I believe all good drinking places are closer too hell than heaven), is located in the original dressing and rehearsal rooms of the Phoenix Theatre where Laurence Olivier made his debut on stage in the thirties in "Private Lives" with Noel Coward and Gertrude Lawrence. A large cellar like space with worn wooden tables and theatrical memorabilia. As you'd expect, the Phoenix Artist Club serves an arty looking clientele, from the usual old soaks to Topshop girlies. Members-only apparently, but they don't always check for a card. The Phoenix Artist Club is pleasantly dark and nicotine stained; more a wine and pint place than for cocktails love it.<br /><br />But the club I've always wanted to be a member of, but I know will never have me is The Colony Rooms (also known as Muriel's) at 41 Dean Street, Soho, London. The Colony Room is an intimidating cubby hole which, over the past 60 years, has seen everyone from Francis Bacon to Kate Moss hold court.<br />There’s a buzzer hidden down a filthy corridor on Dean Street that you probably shouldn’t ever press if you’re moderately prudish or offended by sentences where the clauses, conjunctions and adverbs are made up entirely of swear words. There’s a clue to what you can expect in the name next to the bell. Written in thick marker pen is the pithy ‘Cunty’.<br />The room at the top of the narrow stairs is about the size of the front half of a caravan. It’s warm, verging on stuffy, and everything is painted a crepuscular shade of green.<br />The Museum of London website says of the Colony Room, "The Colony Room was one of many drinking clubs in Soho. The autocratic and temperamental owner Muriel Belcher created an ambiance which suited those who thought of themselves as misfits or outsiders."<br />Belcher,bucolic, alcoholic, lesbian heroine lover, had previously run a club called the Music-box in Leicester Square during World War II. She managed to secure a 3PM-to-11PM drinking license for the Colony <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP9X5FUrvaSn3YoxanbYoBlj3G9WqyWT1nc4PSAKcpt1bW1scGkxmCH4q4OlIRnm8wtkhWfANfpQcWQ9lBHV7T8IQM4mRuDrIt7RHFdkei8RBGj15k14iMevhyTClqwIS42PhzNQSUmI/s1600-h/60belcherphoto1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 203px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoP9X5FUrvaSn3YoxanbYoBlj3G9WqyWT1nc4PSAKcpt1bW1scGkxmCH4q4OlIRnm8wtkhWfANfpQcWQ9lBHV7T8IQM4mRuDrIt7RHFdkei8RBGj15k14iMevhyTClqwIS42PhzNQSUmI/s400/60belcherphoto1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5163655628601987906" border="0" /></a>Room bar as a private members club, whereas public houses had to close at 2:30PM. Francis Bacon was a founding member, walking in the day after it opened in 1948. He was "adopted" by Belcher as a "daughter" and allowed free drinks and £10 a week to bring in friends and rich patrons.<br />After Belcher's death, the club continued under the stewardship of her long-term barman Ian Board, known as Ida, until his death in 1994. In turn, it then passed to his veteran barman Michael Wojas, who recently celebrated his silver jubilee at the club. Board and Wojas have ensured that the Colony Room today is as popular as ever with artists of all types, and in particular of late, those who have come to be known as Young British Artists (YBAs), including Damien Hirst, Sarah Lucas and Tracy Emin. It is the pulse of Soho, the thermometer of London. Why of course it’s the Finest of Wines, the most exclusive club in the Grandest of Cities, though its label may be a little tatty, ‘it’s history is beyond salubrious,’<br />Some might disagree with the rare beauty of the scummy entrance in Dean Street, but then they’d go to the Soho House, and quite frankly, they are the type of person you wouldn’t want or expect to meet there. I would be surprised to meet Paris Hilton there, but not surprised to bump into Amy Winehouse, I could imagine Britney Spears in her current state, like Princess Margaret or Sarah Lucas, collapsed drunkenly on the floor.<br />There are rules, unspoken of course, when you enter the Colony, disrobe your prejudice and join the party. Of course you will remain unique enough to be allowed in, to mix and mingle with the celebrities and miscreants, writers, artists, East-end boys and West-end girls, pop stars, drunks, actors, art dealers, poets, performers and plumbers; occasionally even the odd, and I mean really odd, lawyer, and prosecuting council might stand you a drink. But don’t be fooled by the roll call, this isn’t the Groucho Club, (now known as ‘Soho’s Wetherspoon’s’ by some). They’ll be a Lady this, or a Lord that, but not a sniff of an IT girl or footballer — whatever they are. Being rich or famous is not enough to be a member of this august establishment, and the waiting list is as long, and as short as it is for a Birkin bag; and that certainly wouldn’t help. Just remember you cannot enter and lie back on your laurels, you’re walking in the footsteps of sacred monsters and mythical beasts — Brendan Behan, Lucien Freud, Dylan Thomas, William Blake (shurelysomemishtake Mr Daniel Farson? Ed), Elizabeth Smart, John Deacon, Joe Strummer, William Burroughs, Jeffrey Bernard, George Melly, Colquhoun & MacBride, Colin MacInnes, Julian MaLaren-Ross, Patrick Hamilton, Nina Hamnett, Jean Muir, Lord Snowdon, Craigie Aitchinson, Terry Frost, Jeff Nuttal. The still living dignitaries include Damien Hirst, Big Twiggie, Sebastian Horsley, Brunton, Suggs and Chas, Clare & Lawrence the Plumber, John Moore, Wilma, Frances the transsexual, The Magic Numbers, Kate Moss and Stella McCartney, Amanda Harris, Pete Doherty, Vanessa Fenton, Alabama 3, Polly Morgan, Sean Bean, Simon Hopkinson, James Birch, Salena Godden, Barry Humphries, Sienna Miller & Rhys Ifans, John Maybury, Michael Smith, Fergus Henderson, Jude Law — dearie me, any more for the roll call?<br /><br />However modern and trendy the cliental get, you cannot forget the history of this extraordinary establishment, where dreams have turned into the usual piss and biscuits at the bottom of the baby buggy by morning, but they have also become priceless art, music, books, films, poems, museum currency and saleroom extravaganza. More importantly it is the refuge and enticement for finishing that piece of work, though it has been known to stop you from doing your tax returns.<br /><br />This little green room with its attached single toilet and cloakroom, has launched, introduced and buried some of the greatest art this past century has known, let alone what the future might produce.<br /><br />The Colony Room might be small, but it’s like a beautiful tended and well-watered allotment, full of the vain and glorious.<br /><br />Maybe there is something quintessentially British about being in a club, from the scouts to the street gang with their glorious hoodies. We love feeling like we are part of something exclusive. A place we can escape too and pretend to be someone else for the night.<br /><br />Your round!<br />Cherrio<br />Lord Monty<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='327' height='272' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzG2z52BAnlFOjB15r21OR3Rmjm4hoJ0rPCAI7r5AozlceFIAQ_VEUvcRm3bmeaIPLX7-OL3Jk85Ybc7PkcxA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-44031691685139447482008-01-05T05:47:00.000-08:002008-01-05T06:57:52.605-08:00A right proper New Years Knees Up!<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx6z8JfstPunR2rQ-kKyI-XlQo7PzLg968vD6BNcJ-kW5j4Q2LTN7PM97oG7q67lnOpAKAQSb-8XSXop8Mcvw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /></div><br /><br />So then. First things first: a very happy New Year to you all, even if you don't wish me one, fellow chaps and chapettes. I have lost count of the number of times I have uttered these words over the past few days, and I am amazed at how such a cheery, upbeat greeting of goodwill has more often than not been met with grunts, snorts, retching and sounds akin to someone keeling over and dying.<br /><br />"Happy New Year!" you beam to colleagues, friends and members of your family, and all they can spout back to you is "meh, pfft, gnarrr... GRR", followed by, if you are lucky, a coherent sentence of such negativity that you, too, feel like keeling over and dying.<br /><br />Let's face it: the New Year is not a happy time. It is a time of darkness, illness, obesity and self-loathing. It is a time when you look back at the year gone by, ask what you have achieved and realise that the answer is: nothing, except maybe when I changed the light bulbs back in June to eco-friendly ones, though they are now giving me migraines.<br /><br />And so you look ahead to the next 12 months, and you make New Year resolutions. The problem with resolutions is if they worked, we wouldn't have to keep making them every year.<br /><br />I chuckled for the first time this month when I saw an advertisement for a big health shop that promises to make you give up smoking/lose weight/stop drinking, and I thought: "This advert is exactly the same as the one you put out a year ago. If it worked that well, you wouldn't be running it again, would you?"<br /><br /><br />That aside I intend to see this year with a positive attitude in my every step, push aside the negative types and grab life by the scrotum and proclaim to the sky "I demand a refund".<br /><br />Cherrio and bring on Easter.<br /><br />Lord MontyVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-32598204232092383232007-12-20T16:29:00.000-08:002008-01-05T05:33:37.921-08:00The Second Coming.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSlT14EyB-_ZuEBHSPhiqXDunnMZ1ppJqU1mMXxiNaEpiuQqRP_iPy8UU8CjXDFaskUeWcJ3OxFSKSfzp0tw8yql8gA0cMe0ATC1FwV54qVnMwuIRTqfKpUhe2t0Yvk-K-Ut1Ux7nSXo/s1600-h/unknown.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 209px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQSlT14EyB-_ZuEBHSPhiqXDunnMZ1ppJqU1mMXxiNaEpiuQqRP_iPy8UU8CjXDFaskUeWcJ3OxFSKSfzp0tw8yql8gA0cMe0ATC1FwV54qVnMwuIRTqfKpUhe2t0Yvk-K-Ut1Ux7nSXo/s400/unknown.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146219856048750002" border="0" /></a><br /><br />There’s this funny word we have to describe this two-month cheeriness that’s supposed to wrap around us like a warm hug at the end of the year — Christmastime. It’s not Christmas, which is only a day and usually anticlimactic, with brunch and a movie maybe. Or Christmas Eve, which is really what Christmastime is whetting your appetite for.<br /><br />The odd thing is that it seems like department stores are largely responsible anyway for Christmastime wherever Christmastime is a real phenomenon. Here in London, it’s in full bloom. Lights are strung in the trees on Oxford Street, and department stores like Marks & Spencer are wrapped in glitter. Maybe the feeling of Christmastime itself is best described as feeling like you are wrapped from head to toe in blinking Christmas lights from November to December.<br /><br />A few weeks ago I was walking along Regent Street contemplating all this when, here and there, I began to see little white flecks fluttering down from the sky. I thought it was confetti or bits of trash. Then, as I continued walking, more white confetti, tossed by the wind. I caught a piece. It melted imperceptibly between my fingers. Seriously? London’s first snow, on Regent Street? As I’m contemplating Christmastime here? This can’t be real.<br /><br />I looked up toward the torrent of tumbling snowflakes: fake. They were shooting out from above Hamleys toy store. So London and L.A. aren’t so different, I guess.<br /><br />I continued on. It was nearing 6 p.m., and the crowds on the street were getting to be nearly impenetrable. This was the day that the Apple Store a few meters ahead was about to open its doors to an iPhone-crazed public. Guards in luminous jackets stood watch.<br /><br />The doors opened. The mob went ballistic. Passersby spilled into the curbside lane; buses, now immobile, honked in protest. Arms rose into the air, cameras in hand, snapping pictures of the commotion, like a late 80s rave in a cold field in surry. They could have been hands held up in adoration of a new religious leader, possibly the second coming had finally arrived.<br /><br />There was an uproar coming from inside the Apple store. I couldn’t tell whether it was from the employees or from customers who had just rushed in. It came in waves. How best to describe the din … maybe if John Lennon (Yoko era) had just then resurrected , long hair flowing (Jesus-like), descending the glass staircase while tossing roses to a throng of rapturous Beatles fans, the sound would have come close.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ILZzBwfKdGdRJlIeHshR1-qJJ8natIZE4l9eSpOzMWfotgIeWSXnlbbeYOf2klsw5Kl1roTMVLHXt2lZ9XcqoboE5bF34Rm5jRS_GoYzsx4MTcAju9VQp0T-E2_c4KOe1buh_2pqAHc/s1600-h/070629_iphone_vmed_4p.widec.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ILZzBwfKdGdRJlIeHshR1-qJJ8natIZE4l9eSpOzMWfotgIeWSXnlbbeYOf2klsw5Kl1roTMVLHXt2lZ9XcqoboE5bF34Rm5jRS_GoYzsx4MTcAju9VQp0T-E2_c4KOe1buh_2pqAHc/s400/070629_iphone_vmed_4p.widec.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146220083682016706" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />It was madness and materialism and a £269 phone. Fake snow was falling across the street. Yep, it’s Christmastime. and I have seen the true sign of the lord and its in the shape of a white half eaten apple. Hosanah in the highest... !<br /><br />I wish you a hopefull Christmas..<br />hallelujah Noel be it heaven or hell <br />the christmas we get we deserve.<br />Lord MontyVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-16159941678942591982007-12-20T16:08:00.000-08:002007-12-20T16:28:59.367-08:00Christmas Lynch<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">A short movie from a while ago about the limbo like state that sometimes Christmas can put you in. Based around the work of David Lynch, London at Christmas time feels merry and bright, but underneath that festive cheer lies the dark heart of solitude, by-gone memories and sadness. In this Christmas, Santas Grotto is a limbo world, where the dead are sentenced to walk around the shops for eternity trying to find the perfect gift for mum.<br /></div><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzCUaoVZmEJcAhzOvxbwG1DBXIuD1uHkMPLn4DwnN8pu_LZmYGgYKant-hibvHXdwMYXb7fyJ9hdtWJ3u9SCw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br />Merry Christmas<br />Lord Monty<br /></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-11186413639526579312007-11-17T09:34:00.000-08:002007-11-17T15:25:19.227-08:00A capital place for horror.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsBrpqFoj366dig-vLpY7CZZn57kJNGshoPE1VVQvf0neFziiO0UWPHl7fx9_dllK1RWaaaLdHu5XXBK6R1Ekiaq3GAZ8kqXBc1xICOWvbFgWo2Sc6ycu_ua2KlQ3WrTqOaEYpuQ4VwY/s1600-h/29.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 230px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIsBrpqFoj366dig-vLpY7CZZn57kJNGshoPE1VVQvf0neFziiO0UWPHl7fx9_dllK1RWaaaLdHu5XXBK6R1Ekiaq3GAZ8kqXBc1xICOWvbFgWo2Sc6ycu_ua2KlQ3WrTqOaEYpuQ4VwY/s400/29.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133888228777755586" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:100%;">Seeing as I missed the Halloween blog I've decided to make this one about the darker side </span><span style="font-size:100%;">of London, or to be precise, the portrayal of London in the world of horror films.<br />What makes London such a great location for horror films is of course its history,dark </span><span style="font-size:100%;">streets and infamous characters from Jack the ripper to Sweeney Todd .Writers like Ian Sincl</span><span style="font-size:100%;">air and Peter Ackroyd have described London as a growing breathing organic creature, with symbolic locations that seem to be metaphorical portals into the underworld ( Hawksmoor has been accused of building churches around London which show occult architecture and symbology, though I would disagree myself). Even placid Crouch End in Nort</span><span style="font-size:100%;">h London was transformed into a H.P Lovecraft hell hole by Stephen </span><span style="font-size:100%;">King in one of his short stories. But what makes London even more scary and strange than its fog filled streets illuminated gaslights, is its sheer normality.<br /></span><span style=";font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:100%;" >Nothing makes London more scary than when it suddenly stops playing by the rules, when people stop doing the commute to w</span><span style=";font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:100%;" >ork, when everyone stops what they are doing and stay at home. Think how strange London was the day of the London bombings in 2007, or on a less dramatic way when it snows or the tubes go on strike.Have you ever been up Oxford Street on Christmas day?, everyone should try this at</span><span style=";font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:100%;" > least once while they live in London. You feel like a character from a post apocalyptic movie, alone, slightly uneasy, but happy that you don't have to push through Italian tourists just to get to Oxford Circus.</span><br /><span style=";font-family:arial,helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:100%;" ><br />Many films have used this sense of the norm made strange to feed on peoples fears.But t</span><span style="font-size:100%;">here is something particularly resonant about such nightmarish phantasms when placed within uncomfortably familiar British sites, a juxtaposition which has long been exploited by purveyors of the u</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ncanny.In the 19th century, Mary Shelley and Bram Stoker established Britain as the natural home of Gothic horror - with Frankenstein being first published (anonymously) in London in 1818, and Dracula later bringing its eponymous vampire across the waters from Transylvania to darkest Whitby. When HG Wells wrote his classic tale of extraterrestrial invasion The War of the Worlds, he instinctively understood the eerie appeal of having monsters from another planet land on the outskirts of somewhere as ordinary as Woking. Tom Cruise might have b</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48smo4UBsFTA2w4iNUD0vGFWL35bmEhttrxLT-fKfVxeqlYeVw-L4kpmPB3hn-Jrh_Gn3lX_WQNnk-fSUsnGXuoNAw9yBf_ZvGBZek03R6novhXFmKmSe03WZv35pcJo53f1XJGLtk0E/s1600-h/triffids2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 277px; height: 352px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj48smo4UBsFTA2w4iNUD0vGFWL35bmEhttrxLT-fKfVxeqlYeVw-L4kpmPB3hn-Jrh_Gn3lX_WQNnk-fSUsnGXuoNAw9yBf_ZvGBZek03R6novhXFmKmSe03WZv35pcJo53f1XJGLtk0E/s400/triffids2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133947924528202754" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">attled valiantly against giant tripods reaping post-9/11 chaos in </span><span style="font-size:100%;">New York in Steven Spielberg's recent</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> blockbuster adaptation, but Wells's late Victorian novel places its first otherworldly appearance squarely in the soils of Horsell Common, a location renowned for its quaint English beauty. Somehow, these outlandish ideas seemed more credible - and disturbing - when played out against the down-to-earth backdrop of Britain</span><span style="font-size:100%;">.<br />As a fan of scary movies, I've long been aware of the appeal of horror on the home front.One of the creepiest experiences of my childhood was watching a TV rerun of Wolf Rilla's Midwich Cuckoos. Wyndham had first established himself as a master of strange English science fiction with The Day of the Triffids, famously filmed by Steve Sekely in and around a number of memorable London locations including Charing Cross and Marylebone stations, Piccadilly Circus, and Westminster Bridge.<br />According to Danny Boyle, it was the opening sequence of The Day of the Triffids, in which a man wakes up in hospital to discover that a meteor sh</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ower has blinded his fellow countrymen, which first inspired Alex Garland to write 28 Days Later.</span><p><span style="font-size:100%;">And then there was Quatermass </span><span style="font-size:100%;">and the Pit, the film which convinced me that taking a trip on the underground would lead you into the very bowels of hell. Originally broadcast as a six-part BBC serial in the late Fifties, Quatermass and the Pit was remade by Hammer in 1967 with a ripping screenplay by original writer Nigel Kneale. The plot concerns a string of ominous discoveries (skulls, skeletons, spaceships) during unspecified 'Central Line extension work' at 'Hobbs End' station.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">As demonic artefacts are uncovered, a riot of vi</span><span style="font-size:100%;">olent madness erupts, climaxing in an apparition of Old Nick himself over the London skyline. The ingenious twist is that this 'devil' is actually a Martian, an intrusive extraterrestrial ancestor from whom mankind has inherited his innate propensity for violence. ('We are the Martians!' concludes our hero.)</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">According to Kneale, the inspiration for the s</span><span style="font-size:100%;">tory came from watching news footage of the Notting Hill race riots in the late Fifties. But it is the sense of the underground as some kind of portal to the underworld which haunts my memories of this creepy classic.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">Since then, umpteen movies, including 28 Weeks Later, have capitalised upon the unsettling potential of the tube, a brooding labyrinth which has come to embody the morbid subtextualgroanings of horror's repressed psy</span><span style="font-size:100%;">che. According to the tagline for Gary Sherman's 1972 oddity Death Line: 'Beneath Modern London Lives a Tribe of Once Humans. Neither Men Nor Women ... they are the Raw Meat of the Human Race!' Recently reissued on DVD, this oddly cronky tale of cups of tea and tube-dwelling cannibals has become an established cult classic, and remains (strangely enough) an inspirational favourite of Brit-art provocateurs Jake and Dinos Chapman.</span> </p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">John Landis surely had Death Line in mind when he le</span><span style="font-size:100%;">t his American werewolf in London loose at Tottenham Court Road station. It's here that an unsuspecting passenger is stalked and ravaged by the eponymous beastie, p</span><span style="font-size:100%;">roviding one of the most memorable sequences in a film which trades heavily on the frighteningly</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> funny disjunct between quaint English locations (Yorkshire pubs; West End </span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEpKLH-Nvo0uo5QqPcCGMJDver5GBbq6FUlpXui-jzKFqAL7CjUewo60Kbchc67sWZZdE53UHYWe-UYqCykihgvBJXtEVFHEbALk2uWF1vq5SGjV17bwu45gumXv2mw3uUyd1w1UtZiY/s1600-h/BWwerewolf.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 195px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggEpKLH-Nvo0uo5QqPcCGMJDver5GBbq6FUlpXui-jzKFqAL7CjUewo60Kbchc67sWZZdE53UHYWe-UYqCykihgvBJXtEVFHEbALk2uWF1vq5SGjV17bwu45gumXv2mw3uUyd1w1UtZiY/s400/BWwerewolf.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133946374045008882" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">porno cinemas; Tower Bridge; even London Zoo) and fantasy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">It's significant</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> that the long-awaited sequel An American Werewolf in Paris proved to be a total flop, mainly, I think, because once you cross th</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e English channel, who cares whether there's a monster on the prowl? Over in Europe, anything goes; it's only here in uptight Britain that the magic formula of horror and humbug really makes sense.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">This geocultural quirk perhaps goes some way to explaining the runaway success of Shaun of the Dead, the bastard offspring</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> of American Werewolf, which was described by its creators as the world's first 'zom-rom-com' (zombie romantic comedy). Humorously transposing the zombie riffs of Romero's Living Dead films from Pittsburgh to north London's leafy Crouch End, Shaun of the Dead struck a chord not only with UK audiences, but also with the American cinemagoers who had previously embraced the pictur</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e-postcard portraits of Britain peddled in international hits such as Four Weddings and Funeral, Notting Hill and Bridget Jones's Diary.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">In recent years, there has been an encouraging resurgence of dark-hearted, British-set fantasies which have acted as a cadaverous counterbalance to the endless diet of comfortably middle-class Hugh Grant staples. An adaptation of Alan Moore and David Lloyd's terrifically seditious graphic novel V for Vendetta ran into unexpected controversy when its explosive, tube-bound finale chimed too closely with the real-life horrors of the 7 July bombings. The film's rel</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ease was postponed (officially for 'other reasons'), but scenes of the Houses of Parliament being triumphantly detona</span><span style="font-size:100%;">ted from below by a heroic latterday Guy Fawkes remained intact, alongside images of anarchists merrily swarming across Trafalgar Square.</span></p><p><span style="font-size:100%;">One of the most impressive films of</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> last year was Alfonso Cuaron's Children of Men, a gripping, dystopian nightmare adapted from a novel by PD James (via the legacy of Nigel Kneale) which posits a desolate vision of a near-future world in which human reproduction has become a dying art. Beautifully filmed in battle-scarred, colour-drained hues by cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki, Cuaro</span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbZDsrJTXsFA3Qje6Q8blfhiE2lMCJWKZtodz8-85ValBA1MIdOuJSgBYXTsjStPo2bdFaO5rHhsBAjLheD2Stt39MQv2HM6l2XtY6Rme0A4_t-VKXP8yw3B0p-3aw8PVpYEWddB8CCM/s1600-h/Children-of-Men.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 358px; height: 185px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbbZDsrJTXsFA3Qje6Q8blfhiE2lMCJWKZtodz8-85ValBA1MIdOuJSgBYXTsjStPo2bdFaO5rHhsBAjLheD2Stt39MQv2HM6l2XtY6Rme0A4_t-VKXP8yw3B0p-3aw8PVpYEWddB8CCM/s400/Children-of-Men.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133944638878221282" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;">n's apocalyptic vision of this grey and unpleasant land charts a grim map of Britain which includes </span><span style="font-size:100%;">haunting fo</span><span style="font-size:100%;">otage of the once-magnificent Battersea Power Sta</span><span style="font-size:100%;">tion, and climaxes in a Hadean vision of Bexhill-on-Sea which most closely resembles wartorn Bosnia.</span></p><span style="font-size:100%;">Danny Boyle agrees that Children of Men exists within the same tradition as 28 Weeks Later, and points out that both films are significantly directed and photographed by non-British film-makers who are able to observe the strangeness of this land and its culture with the intelligent empathy of an outsider's eye.</span><p><span style="font-size:100%;">'In the end,' says Boyle, 'I think the key thing about Britain is that it's built on this deep, dark ocean of history. There are grassy, picturesque areas of London which you still can't put train tunnels through because they're actually covering plague pits. You just don't get that in America - that dark abyss of the past. And it makes Britain, as a location, very fertile ground for horror.'</span></p><p>So here is my top ten list of the best London based scary movies ,In no particular order as thy say.<br /></p><ol><li><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" >The Omen</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> -<br />(Richard Donner 1976) An American ambassador in London learns to his horror that his son is actually the literal Antichrist. As if the American embassy ain't scary enough, plus the walk to Putney Bridge never felt safe after this film, especially when the wind rises, I swear I can hea</span><span style="font-size:100%;">r the satanic choir in the background.<br /></span></li><li><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Quatermass and the Pit</b><br />(Roy Ward Baker, 1967)<br />Demonic Martian relics are uncovered in the London Underground, unleashing a wave of otherworldly madness. No wonder Paul Weller didn't want to go down into the tube at midnight.</span></p></li><li><p><span style="font-size:100%;"><b style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">28 Days Later</b><br />(Danny Boyle, 2002)<br />From the deserted streets of London to war-torn Manchester, Trainspotting director Danny Boyle and The Beach writer Alex Garland conjur</span><span style="font-size:100%;">e an apocalyptic vision of Britain ravaged by an outbreak of 'rage'. Even though the main character just looks like a late night clubber coming out at 4 in the morning..rave on!</span></p></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Peeping Tom</span></span></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXD7b4a9WJcoz5Ryvp4fYKWBKbxs4lloG90mL85bv5BZRJXCB6i5EQFaQjerz9hFww3axwoASHsv1GCjC7ziq773k_WOeBULqkXf4NQsWW6F_XMhvID1iDTGGmHLzkADdWu0iwhdh6Bh4/s1600-h/peepingtom_newman.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXD7b4a9WJcoz5Ryvp4fYKWBKbxs4lloG90mL85bv5BZRJXCB6i5EQFaQjerz9hFww3axwoASHsv1GCjC7ziq773k_WOeBULqkXf4NQsWW6F_XMhvID1iDTGGmHLzkADdWu0iwhdh6Bh4/s400/peepingtom_newman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133943307438359506" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:100%;">(Michael Powell 1960) This film was nearly banned when it first came out<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leo_Marks" title="Leo Marks"></a>. </span>Censored and cut to pieces it finished Powell's (director) career.He noted ruefully in his autobiography, "I make a film that nobody wants to see and then, thirty years later, everybody has either seen it or wants to see it." Today, the film is considered a masterpiece and one of the best British horror films.The story revolves around a young man who murders women while using a portable movie camera to record their dying expressions of terror. <span style="font-size:100%;">Shot around Goodge street, Fritzrovia area, many of the locations still exist, including the killers den.One of the more famous locations is Newman Passage, with the Newman arms at the end of it. Fancy a pint?</span><br /></div></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">An American werewolf in London</span><br />(John Landis 1981) What can I say... werewolf's,the moors, Nazi zombies, dead friends,London zoo, Piccadilly circus, sex (or blue) cinema with crap films and </span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000256/">Jenny Agutter</a><span style="font-size:100%;"> dressed as a nurse, what more could a young teenager have asked for.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Children of men</span> ( Alfonso Cuaron 2006) In 2027, in a chaotic world in which humans can no longer procreate, a former activist agrees to help transport a miraculously pregnant woman to a sanctuary at sea, where her child's birth may help scientists save the future of humankind. Amazing Film. Truly fantastic! Mindblowing. London never looked so alien yet so recognisable.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Death Line</span> (Gary Sherman 1972) Beneath Modern London Lives a Tribe of Once Humans. Neither Men Nor Women... no its not underneath the Chelsea stadium. A film that no many people have seen, but never forget, repulsive but very watchable.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Shaun of the Dead</span> </span>(Edgar Wright 2004) A man decides to turn his moribund life around by winning back his ex-girlfriend, reconciling his relationship with his mother, and dealing with an entire community that has returned from the dead to eat the living.An every day London love story. I knew that there was something strange about Crouch end.</span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">The Day of the triffids </span>(TV-Series 1981) The effects were awful, the directions not that great and the acting very wooden, but when I</span><span style="font-size:100%;"> was a kid this film really put the willies in me...sorry up me.<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">A Clockwork Orange</span> (Stanley Kubrick 1971) Nuff said dear droogs.</span></li></ol><span style="font-size:100%;"><br />Be afraid<br />Lord Monty<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJuAQ6Kqevo">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VJuAQ6Kqevo</a><br /><br /><br /></span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-19666843988908303502007-10-24T15:15:00.000-07:002007-11-29T03:46:52.759-08:00Tips for the modern man.<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzvf5cGmm-l_S8Oxr4_wkAgw7YB7gfueO5SflVbiIjvOd_krx4sVZ9qXQRWjc4f633aFQt3HkJmbLxdo6lOyg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Everyday tips that will make you a better man.<br /></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-19782681138272021502007-10-24T10:07:00.000-07:002007-10-25T14:47:10.824-07:00A musical interlude.<div style="text-align: left;">After the last blog, I decided to lighten things up a bit.<br />Shame the summer is over.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='381' height='316' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx6vU5vDYapxKDBsuGMaxu5vfoiCXj-ZhfHtC8aszhadihRCDXXlGPg3LzMx_6B7qQdLHniBd_3ZIBizh2BVw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div>Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-40879035940825656192007-10-20T03:26:00.000-07:002007-10-24T15:11:31.474-07:00What a carry on<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF9Yem3xVC6AertT7qRl3OWc1OqKVLNq_yEABb6EAaBMElOWPiLlzFYJC0AKQoYQ7T5BIToCvHFlwSzaTEWSM6zF-nLZQtH78zgAs76Kl00V-ebniT-t7HVizo1V0yYgnwjecuHfcQTY/s1600-h/004a.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 173px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLF9Yem3xVC6AertT7qRl3OWc1OqKVLNq_yEABb6EAaBMElOWPiLlzFYJC0AKQoYQ7T5BIToCvHFlwSzaTEWSM6zF-nLZQtH78zgAs76Kl00V-ebniT-t7HVizo1V0yYgnwjecuHfcQTY/s400/004a.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123378257274016066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Everything is so shit, I really can't see the point in anything, it's all so fucking shit.<br />Kenneth williams last diary entry.<br /><br />Kenneth Williams modest small and lonely flat came tumbling down a few weeks ago. Like him, there was two sides to it, slap bang in Central London,it shouted out 'here I am', but inside it was small and timed.Like the man him self it lacked confidence and questioned its own existence, and like Kenneth it is no more.<br /><br />Comedian Kenneth Williams lived for almost 20 years in Marlborough House,he was found dead there in 1988 after an overdose of sleeping pills, possibly taken accidentally.An inquest recorded an open verdict as it was not possible to establish whether his death was the result of suicide or an accident. (Williams's mentally unstable father had committed suicide after drinking a bottle of disinfectant in 1962.)<br /><br />The building was later fitted with an English Heritage blue plaque in his honour.<br />It is certainly a shame that his last home is to go under the bulldozer, but I wonder whether Kenneth would be as worried.<br />His diaries are riddled with entries about the various flats he occupied, and the problems that drove him mad with each – noise and neighbours.<br /><br />But to be honest never has a home been such a metaphor for a mans life, and with him gone maybe there is no place for it in this new London.It will soon be replaced by a happy, expensive, load, brash high-rise residential block dubbed ‘Terry’s Tower’.<br /><br />But lets hope the ghost of Kenneth Williams walks through the corridors of new glass and chrome structure,bugging the shit out of its rich owners shouting "Infamy, infamy, they've all got it in for me"<br /><br />I leave you with his last entry of his diary,angry,bitter and sad, its as if the flat itself was was penning its last words.<br /><br />God Speed Kenneth!<br /><br />Lord Monty.<br /><br /><br />Thursday, 14 April, 1988<br />Bloody hell! My back hurts so much & every thing's shit. I bet I'm going to die soon. Wouldn't that be the way? I'll bet I die on the toilet. The indignity of some doctor trying to pull my trousers up over my shitty arse is something I am glad that I shall not be there to witness. Everything is so shit, I really can't see the point in anything, it's all so fucking shit. I'm going to put loads of pills in my mouth, sit on the toilet, and see what happens.Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-42384428848506527572007-09-26T12:29:00.000-07:002007-09-27T08:19:18.879-07:00Cathedral of cafes is no more<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCbi4k3T1lID43pD6btEHbAeDbyYvHGJd4nZx2dQQtMpWWbFcCDbK4ZHtktDSAI9vMk5VtY3g2wmGUd33opl9XIYlHJL_XG1Yl4DZhDlHn7-_iY4gQwsxDJCqhyphenhyphenKu3dk4mNYn3tWe0W0/s1600-h/pic+cafe.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwCbi4k3T1lID43pD6btEHbAeDbyYvHGJd4nZx2dQQtMpWWbFcCDbK4ZHtktDSAI9vMk5VtY3g2wmGUd33opl9XIYlHJL_XG1Yl4DZhDlHn7-_iY4gQwsxDJCqhyphenhyphenKu3dk4mNYn3tWe0W0/s320/pic+cafe.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114598997726842930" /></a><br />I had a valedictory lunch of omelette, chips and beans (with cup of tea, 50p extra) at the New Piccadilly cafe for the last time last week. The cafe closed its large antique till for the last time on the 22nd of September 2007, to make way for some godawful rent-hoovering money-grasping monstrosity, and with it goes a little corner of London. The New Piccadiliy wasn't about the food - the cod was probably frozen in 1955, and the peas were of the tinned garden variety - but the New Piccadilly had an interior that was all Formica and convenience, plus waiters in little uniforms that suggested they were moonlighting on the Love Boat. It was a democratic place, where the air conditioning battled with popular opera, and the plastic flowers never wilted. I'll miss it, and London will be a more sterile homogenous place without it.<br />It seems to me that as a populous we are slowly being brainwashed in believing that places like Starfucks and Cafe Nero are classy and stylish. We mistake convenience with quality or individual style. The multinationals drink in our pay packets every month and offer us nothing but over priced watered down coffee. In the next few blogs I will be talking about some other great London Landmarks that will be paved over to put up a parking Lot. Soon London will look like a sanatised disney land, but the city boys, the government and tourist will love it, because it safe and classy. <br />I want my London to be dirty, mysterious, unique, rebellious and dangerous. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9PpWsltVMRxTrauwA51drCpTVb8rqXjw4WSSDJSV0m-BIb-RTJ7kgq2sSDNpuBUBlP_h5Ehzfa0p_xkwgHzQDZh4yCwgoOiqhqz_murISZ8DSYYBiuSzEjx2jv3sAIyap4LLoCBTHaw/s1600-h/1414845518_b15051bc19.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB9PpWsltVMRxTrauwA51drCpTVb8rqXjw4WSSDJSV0m-BIb-RTJ7kgq2sSDNpuBUBlP_h5Ehzfa0p_xkwgHzQDZh4yCwgoOiqhqz_murISZ8DSYYBiuSzEjx2jv3sAIyap4LLoCBTHaw/s320/1414845518_b15051bc19.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114607145279803458" /></a><br /><br />My vision of London is not that of New Labour, its a giant sculpture of the Artful Dodger, wearing a hoodie over his jaunty top hat, a glint in his eyes with a stolen wallet in one hand and a greasy mug of tea from the new Piccadilly cafe in the other.<br />Viva la revolution<br /><br />Che Martinez<br />Aka Lord MontyVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-12408961100020125122007-07-23T14:41:00.000-07:002007-07-23T16:13:14.182-07:00The end of Banksy....the return of crap graffiti<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2Ml_TM3MMAdySi8eO_5IG18shlYekvm1k7my6xdSfU-RBU4Z6x36OS5ldaFoL0EbnvnFTglp0o073_yTFllkUBJY4pvCgOBeWz3dK35Wlcl9rLhJT8s9OqzcC5lctKjlQn25zjzWWiE/s1600-h/banksyhenge460.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn2Ml_TM3MMAdySi8eO_5IG18shlYekvm1k7my6xdSfU-RBU4Z6x36OS5ldaFoL0EbnvnFTglp0o073_yTFllkUBJY4pvCgOBeWz3dK35Wlcl9rLhJT8s9OqzcC5lctKjlQn25zjzWWiE/s320/banksyhenge460.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090513504299542722" /></a><br /><br />Right first things first....Glastonbury was wet, muddy and sometimes a little disappointing. But then thats Glastonbury, yes every year you say this will be your last, but then in the wee small hours while your sipping on an over priced brothers cider and watching the sun go down behind a set of porta cabins staged to look like stonehenge you think .......wait a minute that wasn't there last year...who the fuck put that there?<br /><br />Banksy thats who, or wanksy as his fellow graffiti fraternity like to call him. He himself describes this work as a pile of crap, but personally I see an artist with his finger on modern disposable culture. For a while I have felt his style of graffiti art is more remenisant of European political stencil graffiti that could be found in Italy, Spain or Germany during the 60s and 70s, usually saying 'Franco out' or "pull down the wall'. The graffiti that we are more accustomed to originates from the USA, and usually on a whole has nothing to say about socio, political problems and more about the self, and this is my problem with everyday graffiti, especially tagging or bombing. I always think that if Hitler had not become the powerful dictator that he was, and had instead followed his original path of an artist (and a crap one for that), he would have probably picked up a spray can and tagged his name all over Berlin.<br />Everytime someone tags a wall or bus shelter there is a little of that egotistical, megalomaniac and narcissistic bit of Hitler in them. Hitler of course went on to conquer Europe, and instead placed swastikas and monuments of himself in every major capital that he could get his greasy hands on thus giving us the first taste of bombing the system, and before you say there is a different between graffiti and tagging, yes I know, but when was the last time you walked past a london wall and said 'My god that chap has created a splendid example of urban experimental wall art, he should be commended for his flourish with the spray can and his use of typographical composition and colour, reward him and offer him the keys to the city'. No instead all we see is one tag after another....me,me,me.<br />Now I'm not trying to say that Banksy isn't egotistical, but a least he had something to say, sometimes something crap, but other times he raised a smile and made us think a little. Now Banksy has taken his art and placed it in art galleries, no longer does he wish to spray our streets, the council paints over what was left of his work and the graffiti fraternity can give him the finger and are glad that he is off their patch allowing them to once again spray such words of wisdom like 'toxic' or 'Mayhem'<br />I personally think its a sad day as we return to the dark ages of graffiti art and we watch with sadness and a little hope as the sun goes down behind ancient porta cabins in a field in Avalon.<br /><br />Cherrio <br />Lord MontyVictor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-10032284894463406052007-06-18T13:04:00.000-07:002007-06-18T14:39:02.185-07:00O's return To The Somme<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbqOUgXiZNLEfx_YZXt1JS9FBo7r3P1HKApwAX566GzDms_1xHCLcSKLNAeesZ0VZK-fPB7p6Zq33gj_08W5J7nhHPiFEX5dotV8sdz6FDn4g-yvUFePkAXaVX86BXl8teHDiBhHVgN0/s1600-h/banksy.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbqOUgXiZNLEfx_YZXt1JS9FBo7r3P1HKApwAX566GzDms_1xHCLcSKLNAeesZ0VZK-fPB7p6Zq33gj_08W5J7nhHPiFEX5dotV8sdz6FDn4g-yvUFePkAXaVX86BXl8teHDiBhHVgN0/s320/banksy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077519062122787474" /></a><br /><br />Ladies and Gentleman as the days grow longer and the temperature gets hotter, we raise a glass of cider to the return of another British summer. And what makes summer so unique and special in this Sceptred Isle, what makes it especially British? Is it the return of the fine English specimen that is the naked torso of our fellow building folk? Is it the angelic sound of bombastic base gently caressing ours ears? Or is it our cobbled golden streets filled with the tipper tapper of young fillies wearing the finest yet skimpy of modern attire?<br />It is all these things and more, but one event that heralds the dawning of another British summer is the ye ol festival that is known as Glastonbury to those in the know. A festival that is traditionally blessed by the ancient gods with a shower from the heavens that symbolizes the beginning of another wet yet joyful summer. Its what makes the inhabitants of this antiquarian Isle true men and women. So lets doff out hats to the pyramid stage and bow down in respect to the communal toilets. In the next blog we shall look at what a true Lady and Gent should wear when participating in a festival.<br /><br />Cheerio and happy wading<br />Lord Monty.Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371776099833920616.post-27235196907986917692007-06-17T06:15:00.000-07:002007-06-17T13:45:00.887-07:00And God created - The Blog<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NVTU5wfh_CwWWGJiVrjxmg4ujwPnGlgqObZrjDOL4m5z3wgptIeyZqSG8jmxisFFyRSeY4xWqu9DHcmYnrHfthODEfJXq92NBn-PLKUG8GKOln3FcLVcxVQa_vVqJjQHNMNVWgWTqnY/s1600-h/Adam.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5NVTU5wfh_CwWWGJiVrjxmg4ujwPnGlgqObZrjDOL4m5z3wgptIeyZqSG8jmxisFFyRSeY4xWqu9DHcmYnrHfthODEfJXq92NBn-PLKUG8GKOln3FcLVcxVQa_vVqJjQHNMNVWgWTqnY/s320/Adam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077021803694158450" /></a><br />God created the world in seven days, I have no idea how he did this, maybe he put all his other projects on hold, maybe his work load was a little low. All I know is that its going to take a little longer than 7 days to get this page up a running. In the mean time listen to some music.<br />Cherrio<br />Lord Monty.Victor Martinezhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03046999536833048123noreply@blogger.com