Sounds I can hear from my bedroom window in order of volume

tone deaf man singing an unrecognisable pop song, with gusto. He has a thick indian accent and i can make out he is repeating the words "If that's what it takes.. "

clattering but wholly coherent piano solo.

tonking of the steel drums. Some blokes at the end of the road are making the instruments and the thwacking is to tune them up. still they sound peaceful and tropical.

quiet churning motors and screech of steel on steel from the passing trains.

constant wobbly roar of planes landing 25 miles away in Heathrow.

sirens in the distance, so far away they could be ghost alarms.

Tipi

Time to construct a tipi in the garden.

Having never built any kind of dwelling, I have been asking friends for tips and advice;

At first, Tim Richardson and I decided to try building a sweat lodge. These are Native American ceremonial saunas used to bring on heightened states of consciousness and sweat visions. Then another Tim I know, remembered how, when producing a film about Native Americans in South Dakota, he was invited to sit inside their sweat lodge. Poor Tim, already dehydrated from a hangover and no sweat lodge veteran was soon overcome by being left in the heat for too long. He exited the lodge with numb limbs and a horrible feeling of impending death. One trip to the hospital and an IV drip later, he was right as rain. But this cautionary tale added to the warnings of exploding hot rocks has put me off the idea of a homemade sweat lodge for now.

Benders seem to be less risky and probably a more pleasant place to cotch daily, I spoke to Siobhan about building one and found out she learned to make them aged 10, in France. Feeling a little behind on my tent building skills I read up on where Benders originated. Apparently Romani gypsies built Benders and brought their nomadic houses to Wales in the 1500s. By the 1800s many English and Irish gypsies quit Bending and adopted the classic Vardo caravans to travel around in, however because the Welsh Roads were so atrocious the caravans couldn't ride on them and so the Welsh gypsies stuck to Bender making instead and the tradition has continued.



Siobhan and I wondered where we could get the suitably bendy branches for the construction - we both thought of Abney Cemetery, a beautiful and haunting overgrown park in Stoke Newington speckled throughout with ancient gravestones and crumbling tombs. Siobhan described how there is a collection of 2500 trees and shrubs planted alphabetically in a spiral through the park. Ash, Birch, Chestnut etc.

It struck me that unexpected alphabetisation of the plants is only one of the many many weird features of Abney. One such kook is the black hollowed out shell of a 150 year old chapel standing in the centre of the park. Part gothic romance, part crackhead chamber, the graffiti on the crinkled bricks claims territory and the right to vitriol. Through the barred window cavities the interior of the chapel looks like a coven, scorched floors remember bonfires, sticks and stones are arranged under huge wicca letters written in soot. The other longtime unusual resident of the park takes the form of East London's cottaging population. Sitting cross legged on rusty benches, camp men wink to one another and bother ramblers with tricky doublentendres; They are the anti-gothic movement, injecting colour into the cemetery by decorating crucifixes and trees with bright ribbons that advertise the pathways to sodomy. Deep between the shrubs they celebrate life by scattering neon condom wrappers across the floor like confetti.
I concluded Abney Park is certainly the place to find the best bender material. Then yesterday I spotted 8 long poles in amongst the foliage of the back garden. I had to take this as an invitation to Tipi! And this as inspiration;

Kitsune

summer holidays are breaking in London
where heat seeking light seeps though a crack in the frame
by midday the house is drenched
looming over
Crispy sweltered animals languishing on the lawn
And at night, through windows pushed wide open
I hear ten foxes sloping
bounding and scrapping
like hearing lovers rustling sheets and smiling in the next room

Hit List

This Friday I'm going to be attending the very first wedding to be held at Warwick Castle aka 'Britain's ULTIMATE castle'. Given my family's hyperbolic approach to weddings (my sister's marriage involved shipping 150 family and friends to Italy to live in a Tuscan village for a week) it is no surprise that the couple to be joined in holy matrimony are my lovely cousin Laura and her equally lovely fiancee Paul. They won this fairytale event in a Heart FM radio station competition.. This feels like the stuff of Hollywood don't it?

The castle was built by William the Conqueror in 1068, so it is bare old. This old chap Fulke Greville is said to mince around haunting the place because his manservant shanked him. Boy oh boy I love ghosts. I'll attempt to catch this one in a jar for future pranks.

Anyway, I'm super happy for Laura and Paulo, with that here are my hopes and aspirations for the wedding;

That Laura and Paul have the most wonderful day and live happily ever after.

That someone brings along Henry the eighth.

That Joe Rigby gets plastered and falls in the moat.

That the reception DJ is a suit of armour.

That some sort of seminal battle takes place.

That I snog the ghost of William the Conquorer at the reception.

The Rules of K

One day I plan to write the rules of K.

To explain how 4 people in a room can seem like there so many more people here! like, at least 16.

Ammonia

Bodyspacemotionthings

The Turbine Hall at Tate Modern has been conquered again. Robert Morris's installation Bodyspacemotionthings is putting punters on simpering tiptoe and shuffling backside.

The cavernous room is full of all manner of overblown play things - giant toilet roll barrels are guided by sandbags, great thick lengths of rope dangle from the ceiling, inflated ping pong balls stand big enough to tower over my tallest friends. It looks like fun fun fun. Bringing back memories of the city-centre creche Nanny left me at in as she went whizzing round the bullring shopping centre on a Saturday afternoon.

Those were the days. And it seems I'm not the only one to think so. When the work was originally shown in the Duveen Galleries of what is now Tate Britain it had to be closed post haste due to crowd over-excitement. According to the 1971 Times the Tate staff 'were not able to cope with the frantic means of emotional release that the exhibition became. An orderly pandemonium was expected, but pandemonium broke out,'

I hope that with the inevitable government reshuffle we end up with a playground minister who, realising how much people love playing on big stuff, commissions some gnarly playgrounds without delay. Until then, I'll be at Bodyspacemotionthings pink cheeked and sweaty browed with a pandapop in hand.

nb : Ragley Hall is a stately home not too far away, with a grown up playground and 3d maze within the grounds. Shmett, Champagne, Picnic Blankets. Let English Summertime Commence!