Sorry about that rant.
I am feeling that England is a very hostile place at the moment. This morning, a man who lives down the road was walking his dog. I was standing on the wall, cutting the hedge, and although the dog was on a lead, he allowed it to leap up and bite my leg. I have got scratches and a bruise. I see the man almost every day, and I feel that he must know his dog is aggressive, and should muzzle it. What if that had been a child's face?
I am an odd person out in this street because I am not dressed in beige with beige thoughts and a Daily Mail under my arm. Was he expressing his own hostility through his pet?
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Songwriting Workshop, 26th June to 28th June
Here are the details of the Songwriting Workshop
Venue: Friar's Carse Hotel, Dumfries
Tutors: Martin Stephenson, Scott MacDonald, Helen McCookerybook
Cost: £260.00 including accomodation, meals and all tuition
Call Andrew Bailey 07778 558015 to book, or go to www.myspace.com/guitarweekends
Venue: Friar's Carse Hotel, Dumfries
Tutors: Martin Stephenson, Scott MacDonald, Helen McCookerybook
Cost: £260.00 including accomodation, meals and all tuition
Call Andrew Bailey 07778 558015 to book, or go to www.myspace.com/guitarweekends
Politics
I drove through Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire on Friday, through some of the most beautiful countryside I have seen, green and tufty and lush. On the borders of the two counties were huge billboards, put up by farmers, I suspect, exhorting passing trade to 'Vote UKIP'. I didn't pay much attention to the first few, as it is a party definitely not for me so it's a waste of time reading them.
Then one really did catch my eye- 'Say no to immigration between European States'. Eh? It was almost as though whoever has put up the boards decided to slip that one in, thinking nobody would notice.
Isn't that rather BNP of UKIP? Is it the posh people's National Front?
I thought about my oldest offsprog's Maths Tutor, a proudly Jewish man whose slightly 1970s-ish photograph appeared on a pamphlet put through the door at the last General Election, declaring him to be our local UKIP candidate. If these slogans were to be believed, the Jewish people persecuted by Hitler would have had to stay put and be massacred in even greater numbers.
Come on, human race!
Just because an unacceptable number of our elected politicians have been gorging at the trough, that doesn't mean we can all let rip with the most disgusting and dirty politics possible. Is is not the time for a little personal morality? I mean, right from the politicians, who seemed to think that 'just because nobody said they shouldn't' and because 'everyone else was doing it'
(and that means you too, sanctimonious Cameron), they could exploit us, the electorate, and steal our taxes for their moats, kid's residences and other expenses that most of us can only imagine; to us, the voters, who need to remember that we are adults and not spiteful children who despise anyone who is not like us.
Conservatives? Greedy hypocrites, feathering their own nests as always. Labour? Stalled, stuck, exhausted. Liberals? trying to jump on to a bandwagon with inappropriate political baggage. I will vote at the election, but will have to think long and hard about where I pencil my grey cross.
Rant over.
Then one really did catch my eye- 'Say no to immigration between European States'. Eh? It was almost as though whoever has put up the boards decided to slip that one in, thinking nobody would notice.
Isn't that rather BNP of UKIP? Is it the posh people's National Front?
I thought about my oldest offsprog's Maths Tutor, a proudly Jewish man whose slightly 1970s-ish photograph appeared on a pamphlet put through the door at the last General Election, declaring him to be our local UKIP candidate. If these slogans were to be believed, the Jewish people persecuted by Hitler would have had to stay put and be massacred in even greater numbers.
Come on, human race!
Just because an unacceptable number of our elected politicians have been gorging at the trough, that doesn't mean we can all let rip with the most disgusting and dirty politics possible. Is is not the time for a little personal morality? I mean, right from the politicians, who seemed to think that 'just because nobody said they shouldn't' and because 'everyone else was doing it'
(and that means you too, sanctimonious Cameron), they could exploit us, the electorate, and steal our taxes for their moats, kid's residences and other expenses that most of us can only imagine; to us, the voters, who need to remember that we are adults and not spiteful children who despise anyone who is not like us.
Conservatives? Greedy hypocrites, feathering their own nests as always. Labour? Stalled, stuck, exhausted. Liberals? trying to jump on to a bandwagon with inappropriate political baggage. I will vote at the election, but will have to think long and hard about where I pencil my grey cross.
Rant over.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Dust
Harumphing and wheezing, the bin lorry inches down the road, its cluster of fluorescent men calling to each other in bin-language as they trundle the bins back and forth.
I've already been sitting on a stone in the garden with my toes in the grass, eating a bowl of cereal in the sunshine. I mowed the grass last night and it's soft and scratchy at the same time like a crew cut, with lots of bits of chopped up leaf and daisy scattered about. I raked the clippings into two huge piles but I must have missed some.
Alas, today is housework day and the sun will be shining to itself this morning while I mop the floors and roar round with the hoover. It's dastardly beams will illuminate all the dust I'm missing and all the circles of sticky cup-traces, and drifts of cat fur on the wooden floor (how come she can lose so much fur and still be so furry?).
This house is like a living being that excretes massive quantities of dust.
What does it eat to make this happen?
I've been checking my extremities and I'm still complete.
I can only think that a dust-spreader comes in through the cat flap at night and scatters handfuls of stodgy grey stuff in the corners, flinging handfuls of the tiny glittery stuff into the air at dawn.
I've already been sitting on a stone in the garden with my toes in the grass, eating a bowl of cereal in the sunshine. I mowed the grass last night and it's soft and scratchy at the same time like a crew cut, with lots of bits of chopped up leaf and daisy scattered about. I raked the clippings into two huge piles but I must have missed some.
Alas, today is housework day and the sun will be shining to itself this morning while I mop the floors and roar round with the hoover. It's dastardly beams will illuminate all the dust I'm missing and all the circles of sticky cup-traces, and drifts of cat fur on the wooden floor (how come she can lose so much fur and still be so furry?).
This house is like a living being that excretes massive quantities of dust.
What does it eat to make this happen?
I've been checking my extremities and I'm still complete.
I can only think that a dust-spreader comes in through the cat flap at night and scatters handfuls of stodgy grey stuff in the corners, flinging handfuls of the tiny glittery stuff into the air at dawn.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Blue Violin
A visit to TK Maxx did wonders for my toothache today. I shall spend the evening drawing, and listening to the birds singing in the garden, before another onslaught of marking tomorrow. Even though there is double the amount that I had to do last year, it is somehow simpler as my home life is simpler.
It is a bit like suddenly wearing a very clear pair of reading glasses after peering through fog and being surrounded by wasps!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
The Island Records 50th Birthday Party
My Champagne Friend was coming to tea so I'd loaded up on Millionaire's Shortbread and scones, but I'd got wind of some tickets to the ISland Birthday Concert in the Shepherd's Bush Empire, and sure enough they were there when I picked up my next load of marking from the University of the West.
We tubed it down there, being confidently directed to the new West somethingorother shopping centre by the tube assistant who didn't listen and assumed we were going shopping, and hung around as the crowds gathered, having got there massively early as we're not used to going to Big Things. A nice girl gave us tags to hang round our necks to get in to the after-party, and told me my ear-rings were Tanzanian. Adrian Sherwood was playing some interesting music, surrounded at the front of the stage by a clutch of Sherwood-a-likes.
we knew that Kid Creole was playing, and Sly and Robbie, and much later on, Grace Jones. We also knew there was no way we would be able to stay till then, so we would take whatever came and see what it was.
An MC with an uncanny resemblance to Mr Burns strode on and whipped up the crowd, and on bounced Kid Creole and the Coconuts, colourful, happy and busy. August Darnell is a consummate entertainer (although I've never liked his songs, which are not a patch on those by his brother Stoney Browder Junior who ran Dr Buzzard's Original Savannah Band). Kid Creole and the Coconuts released a clutch of duff singles in the 1980s, with thin, hard production that did nothing for the fantastic variety of instruments and musicians in the group, with not even Darnell himself sounding any good.
Live, though, they are great, almost like a holiday camp band with an emphasis on the camp, and a bit too smutty for the children! The jokes about cocnuts wore thin, but Darnell was wearing a fantastic bright purple Zoot Suit and flirted with the audience, all dimples and smiles, and showed what an influence on Prince he had been. The Coconuts were dour and tarty, never smiling, looking like a bunch of shop asissistants from Manchester; that's probably what they were supposed to look like, I think. There was a great horn section, and the energy coming from the stage was powerful, positive and dancey.
they came back for an encore, with a cute girl singing My Boy Lollipop, and then vanished back to Sweden in a puff of charisma.
Mykaell Riley, who had got us the tickets, turned up fresh from a rehearsal with Steel Pulse, who are playing there tonight. He was buzzing and excited, zooming about to see all the people he'd got tickets for.
The Rasta grandpappys started gathering, huge, huge hats with a lifetime's dreadlocks tucked into them, and serious grey beards. The smell of ganja permeated the area, though no smoke was visible. It was time for Sly and Robbie!
What they lacked in visual impact they more than made up for with the power of their music- it was crisp, deep, even, you name it, the bassiest bass, the clickiest snare, and with a guest trombone player with the richest, fattest tone, you've ever heard. I love Sly and Robbie and they didn't disappoint. None of their grooves were self indulgent, which is what makes them so great- economy and musical wisdom. What a fantastic thing to get to hear!
It was time to go home. And it's time for me to go to the dentist as I have the most appalling tooth ache.
One last thing that made me very happy. My Champagne Friend told me her teenage kids think Lily Allen sounds like me!
(in that order!)
Monday, May 25, 2009
Queen's Park Festival
Phew! I've just flown back from Glasgow and feel like a veritable jet-setter!
I got up stupidly early yesterday morning and was out of the house and on the road to Stansted within 20 minutes- I normally get up early and hang around for ages when I'm journeying but but decided to just get up and go.
I marvelled at how cheap it was to get from Prestwick to Glasgow and from Glasgow to Queen's Park where the festival was. It was hot in London and cold in Glasgow- and deserted too, because both Celtic and Rangers were playing.
The streets resounded to the cacophony of the day's busking bagpipers tuning up- one on every corner!
So audience at the festival was few and far between. Mary Kathleen Burke played first- she has a lovely strong country voice and a set of country flavoured songs. She's a big Richard Thompson fan, and managed to attract a crowd by inviting everyone in who peered in the flaps of the tent. There were pushchairs and dogs (I've decided to write some songs specifically to attract dogs to empty festival tents in the hope that their owners will follow!).
I was interested to watch the way she picked her guitar- this is how I learn, by watching other people; she is very versatile as a guitarist. At the end of her set she rushed off to do her radio show and it was my turn.
I was nervous because my guitar wasn't there, but it materialised just before I had to borrow Lorna's (kindly brokered by Tam Balloch, the organiser) and I too played to dogs, pushchairs, two little girls and a man in a kilt who told me he was a hippy. Actually, I loved it- I could see out through the door from the stage and I sang to a child in the distance doing cartwheels (how free, free, free!) and a few birds too. far away, the people with drums down the hill were attracting the sparse crowds; uphill (yes, that was another factor) us ladies in the acoustic tent only had our melodies and our smiles to entertain with.
We did our best; Lorna Brooks has beautiful melodies and a voice that reminds me of Rita Coolidge. She played some songs that made me wish it was me that had written them! They were like sculptures of chords and melodies, and very fluidly put together. Her mum was there, smiling along.
Martin came (he'd been minding the guitar) and we went for a cut-price curry from the Shimla Pink stall in the Glass House, a wonderful building full of plants, reptiles, amphibians and birds. I saw a mynah bird. 'That sort of bird can talk', I told Martin. A little girl over heard me, and asked her mother if the frogs could talk too. We left just as a flock of belly dancers appeared in gold-pleated costumes, bellies wobbling in anticipation.
The evening streets were flooded with Rangers fans celebrating their triumph with large flags and loud voices who had attracted a stern and bustling following of the Glasgae Polis.
This morning, I flew back from Glasgow Airport, surely the only airport in the world with a Greggs in the departure lounge!
I was browsing the underwear in La Senza, and a creepy man was bellowing to his mate in the entrance on his mobile.
'Ah sed to 'er, you can't stop all the girls from looking at me!'.
I think I was supposed to look at him at that point but I went to Greggs and bought a pasty instead.
(I didn't really, but you get the idea!)
I got up stupidly early yesterday morning and was out of the house and on the road to Stansted within 20 minutes- I normally get up early and hang around for ages when I'm journeying but but decided to just get up and go.
I marvelled at how cheap it was to get from Prestwick to Glasgow and from Glasgow to Queen's Park where the festival was. It was hot in London and cold in Glasgow- and deserted too, because both Celtic and Rangers were playing.
The streets resounded to the cacophony of the day's busking bagpipers tuning up- one on every corner!
So audience at the festival was few and far between. Mary Kathleen Burke played first- she has a lovely strong country voice and a set of country flavoured songs. She's a big Richard Thompson fan, and managed to attract a crowd by inviting everyone in who peered in the flaps of the tent. There were pushchairs and dogs (I've decided to write some songs specifically to attract dogs to empty festival tents in the hope that their owners will follow!).
I was interested to watch the way she picked her guitar- this is how I learn, by watching other people; she is very versatile as a guitarist. At the end of her set she rushed off to do her radio show and it was my turn.
I was nervous because my guitar wasn't there, but it materialised just before I had to borrow Lorna's (kindly brokered by Tam Balloch, the organiser) and I too played to dogs, pushchairs, two little girls and a man in a kilt who told me he was a hippy. Actually, I loved it- I could see out through the door from the stage and I sang to a child in the distance doing cartwheels (how free, free, free!) and a few birds too. far away, the people with drums down the hill were attracting the sparse crowds; uphill (yes, that was another factor) us ladies in the acoustic tent only had our melodies and our smiles to entertain with.
We did our best; Lorna Brooks has beautiful melodies and a voice that reminds me of Rita Coolidge. She played some songs that made me wish it was me that had written them! They were like sculptures of chords and melodies, and very fluidly put together. Her mum was there, smiling along.
Martin came (he'd been minding the guitar) and we went for a cut-price curry from the Shimla Pink stall in the Glass House, a wonderful building full of plants, reptiles, amphibians and birds. I saw a mynah bird. 'That sort of bird can talk', I told Martin. A little girl over heard me, and asked her mother if the frogs could talk too. We left just as a flock of belly dancers appeared in gold-pleated costumes, bellies wobbling in anticipation.
The evening streets were flooded with Rangers fans celebrating their triumph with large flags and loud voices who had attracted a stern and bustling following of the Glasgae Polis.
This morning, I flew back from Glasgow Airport, surely the only airport in the world with a Greggs in the departure lounge!
I was browsing the underwear in La Senza, and a creepy man was bellowing to his mate in the entrance on his mobile.
'Ah sed to 'er, you can't stop all the girls from looking at me!'.
I think I was supposed to look at him at that point but I went to Greggs and bought a pasty instead.
(I didn't really, but you get the idea!)
Friday, May 22, 2009
Southside Festival, Glasgow
This Sunday I'm returning to the land of my forebears and playing in the acoustic tent at the Southside Festival. I am really looking forward to this. The performance time will be 2.15 to 3.00 and I think it is going to be sunny and lovely.
I am hoping that many members of the McCookerybook clan turn up. We are a rare breed, seldom spotted in polite company, but surely they will turn out to support one of their own?
I am hoping that many members of the McCookerybook clan turn up. We are a rare breed, seldom spotted in polite company, but surely they will turn out to support one of their own?
Exciting!!!
What's this? National Marmite Museum? I imagined vats of black gloop, ponging of seaweed and salt.
Alas, I was mistaken.
The ad read 'National Maritime Museum'
O poo.
Alas, I was mistaken.
The ad read 'National Maritime Museum'
O poo.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Two Little Girls and Me
What a shock to find that I was
Just a woman like my Mum
Nothing special, nothing magic
Cells dividing in my tum
Les deux fillettes et moi
Les deux fillettes et moi
Deep within
The animal in me made a baby once and twice
Into daylight
Monkey faces, paper skin and tiny cries
Les deux fillettes et moi
Les deux fillettes et moi
Taller now than me
They tell me
'Never me, oh no not me!'
Will they ever take the step to make a chain through history?
Les deux fillettes et moi
I wonder if they will?
Les deux fillettes et moi
Les deux fillettes et moi
Music/song at www.myspace.com/helenmccookerybook
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Songwriting Weekend in Dumfries
There are one or two spaces still available on the Songwriting Weekend at the Friar's Carse Hotel in Dumfries on 26/27/28 June this year. It is a beautiful place, where the Guitar weekends are held. The tutors are Martin Stephenson, Scott MacDonald and myself and last year's one was huge fun.
You don't have to know anything about songwriting or singing but it does help if you have a guitar and some basic chords.
To find out more, message Andrew Bailey at www.myspace.com/guitarweekends
You don't have to know anything about songwriting or singing but it does help if you have a guitar and some basic chords.
To find out more, message Andrew Bailey at www.myspace.com/guitarweekends
A Moment of Sadness
For some strange reason this morning I remembered the moment at which I realised as a pre-teenager that I no longer wanted to play with my toys.
It was a strange, almost physical sensation matched with a feeling of loss and a feeling of confusion.
What was going to replace the centre of my life?
It was a strange, almost physical sensation matched with a feeling of loss and a feeling of confusion.
What was going to replace the centre of my life?
Monday, May 18, 2009
Blue and Pink
It's been one of those slightly blue days but there's been enough of a pink blush around the edges to prevent a trip down misery alley. I sent off a design for Hamilton Square badges- square of course!- for the launch on the 19th June. It's my drawing, treated by Kieran who did the cover design.
We have sold some advance tickets already, which is good. It's a tiny intimate venue, very sweet, and I am looking forward to that gig.
I finished another illustration yesterday too, for Martin's lyrics (above).
This evening I've been delving into a dusty basket of videos as Gina wanted the copy of the film she made for Voxpop Puella. i found it, and also a video of me and Paul in Berlin which I will get digitised. it's from 1991 when we went over to play for the celebration of Berlin's City of Culture status. i also found a funny little film made by some school children about ginger-haired people that I did music for, Actually, the whole sound track as the film maker just didn't turn up. I had to pretend to be Cilla Black- or at least make Cilla-type noises, and Michael Jackson too I think. Ha Ha! I used to like doing film soundtracks.
Roll on tomorrow, roll on sunshine!
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