If I'm telling tales about the Folks, I can hardly omit my one and only performance on stage at the Folks (I mean my one and only musical performance on stage; I'll discuss that other performance in my next entry). It was Christmas Eve eve, and the last Folks of 2001. And what says Christmas more than a musical tribute to Johnny Cash, featuring London's best Johnny Cash tribute act The Folsom Four (featuring Morrisey's guitarist Boz Boorer) with "special guests"? As usual anyone was welcome to perform a couple of songs beforehand, and on this occasion the suggestion was made that floorspot performances should really be Johnny Cash related.

What better occasion, then, for me to make my performance debut? The Autocrat and I had gotten together a couple of nights beforehand and ran through a couple of appropriate songs (No Depression in Heaven, Daddy Sang Bass) until I was able to manage to get everything mostly right, or at least close enough. We were on first and I'd never seen so many people crowded into the Golden Lion. Fortified with a sip or two of the dark stuff I was ready to take the stage (or as ready as I'd ever be). I don't recall much at all about the performance, other than that the songs were really short, that my (brief) solos were pretty much disastrous, and worst of all that I didn't sing the "Daddy sang bass" line particularly low, which ruins the whole effect (thank goodness the Autocrat was able to provide a quality falsetto for the "tenor" part, as well as being an excellent player despite my hacking performance). We did, however, receive a roaring ovation when we finished (perhaps out of pity, but it doesn't matter, I'll take it) and it was such a relief to be finished that I can't exactly remember what happened immediately thereafter.

Eventually the Folsom Four came on stage and ran through the whole range of Cash material (they played pretty much everything you'd expect), but the best was yet to come as the special guests started to appear, each one backed by the Folsom Four. First up was one of the guys from psychobilly band The Meteors (at least, I think that's who it was. If not, well you'll have to blame my unfamiliarity with the world of psychobilly [or anything-billy for that matter]). Following him was UK comedian Mark Lamarr, radio personality and host of the music/comedy TV program "Never Mind the Buzzcocks" (a favorite in the Dunce house). Surprisingly enough he was quite good as a musical performer as well (follow this link if you'd like to book him for your event. Fee bracket £11k - £15k) although I can't recall any details of his performance. Because of my shock and awe at seeing the next performer...

At first I thought it was just another drunk crazy guy off the street, a common occurrence at the Golden Lion. But then he was introduced... as Adam Ant! He was wearing a cowboy hat, a dark jacket and some heavy sunglasses, loads of rings and camouflage trousers. When he took off the hat it was clear why he was wearing it: a mohican doesn't look so good when the front half has been devastated due to baldness. In honor of the Johnny Cash tribute theme he began by complaining that Elvis Presley is underappreciated, and therefore he'd treat us to a few Elvis songs. Very strange to hear an aging, crazed Adam Ant singing "In the Ghetto", that's for sure (not to mention "Bang a Gong [Get it on]" which was also part of his performance according to my records). Once he'd staggered through the Elvis songs it was time for some Eighties classics (Cleopatra, Young Parisians, Prince Charming among others). I think his performance was rubbish but by that point it didn't matter, everyone was crowded toward the front, standing/dancing on every available horizontal surface (and some not-quite horizontal surfaces). Eventually it was over and Adam Ant eventually staggered off into the Camden night. What a memorable night it was... the night I opened for Adam Ant.


Epilogue: Only a couple of weeks later, Mr. Ant (real name Stuart Goddard) got into a bit of trouble around Camden Town. The NME headline says it all, really: "ADAM ANT IN MENTAL WARD", while the BBC was a bit more sensitive "Adam Ant detained in hospital". According to follow-up reports (BBC source), "The singer was charged earlier this year after the incident in January at the Prince of Wales pub in Kentish Town, north London. He returned to the pub after regular drinkers there laughed at his "cowboy" clothes. He was said to have smashed the pub's windows - injuring musician Plato Contostavlos - and waved a starting pistol at customers who ran after him. It appeared he was furious that customers had mockingly sung the theme from The Good, The Bad And The Ugly when he walked in.". Fortunately it seems that things have improved for Mr. Ant, according to gigwise his autobiography is on the way: "The book, entitled, ‘Stand and Deliver’ will chart the singer’s dysfunctional childhood and his rise to fame and his decline into manic depression. Ant has kept in-depth diaries of his life since the 1970’s and has signed a lucrative deal to spill the beans on his crazy life."

A London institution is to be no more. I've already been scooped by Sarmoung who gives a brief report here (if reporting on a publically-circulated email can be called a scoop) about the imminent demise of the weekly music club "Come Down and Meet the Folks" (website still to be found here at least for a while). According to the Folks History page it's been a regular event since 1996, held every Sunday early evening (supposedly ending in the vicinity of 8pm which, in theory, allowed a full musical experience without excessive suffering come Monday morning [I said "in theory"])This Sunday will be the last Folks (at least as a weekly event, and contrary to what the "forthcoming events" listing on their website may suggest), and as it was an important part of my London experience I thought I should mention a few of my Folks highlights.

My first Folks experience was at the end of April 2001, definitely a time of transition for me as a couple good friends had packed up and left London earlier that day. Casting about for something to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon I picked up a copy of Time Out and noticed two important words, neither of which I had formerly associated with London: "free" and "bluegrass". How could I resist? The event calendar said 4-8pm so I thought I'd wander in a little after the starting time. At the time the Folks was held at the Golden Lion in Camden Town (rated 4.5/10 on b.i.t.e. with this quite-accurate user comment "...It's one of those inner London locals with little in the way of redeeming features. The pool table is tiny and seems to be monopolised by 10-year olds. It has an air of loneliness. It sounds very patronising, but you come out feeling sorry for the place."). Little did I know that the Folks didn't really start going until 6:30 or so, so there I was in a rather down-at-heel pub where I found myself in conversation with a couple of drunken, lairy locals. One of the "highlights" of this conversation (besides the predictable piss-taking of all things American) was a wacky practical joke I would urge you to play on all your friends as it's quite hilarious!!

1. Put your finger in your bottom.
2. Wipe it under your friend's nose.
3. Hilarity ensues!!

Fortunately I was neither a putter nor a wiper (I got over this fad about the age of five or so), yet somehow this delightful frivolity did not drive me out of the pub (to somewhere I could lie in the fetal position, no doubt). Eventually a less "local" crowd started to gather, some in Midwest/Southwest lowlife costumes (think "truckstop chicken", "gas station attendant", "leering guy who sits on his porch with beer and a gun", etc. And not a nice truckstop, gas station or porch either), others in full-on rockabilly costume, others who looked like they were trying to be the early Rolling Stones, and everything in between (or so it seemed).

By the time the music started, I was sold. I don't remember who all played (there has been a long-standing custom that pretty much anyone who wants to play can stand up and do a couple of songs). The main act was Foghorn Leghorn, a north London bluegrass band perhaps best known for their cover tunes (Motorhead's Ace of Spades being the one I remember from that day [and many others]). I think they're still around although it's been a while and their website doesn't appear to be in action at the moment. I don't think I met any of the "Folks" themselves (there was always a bit of tension between the Folks and the Locals, about which more later) but I decided I'd start attending regularly. Which was good indeed for me...

This weekend the Dunces were guests at the wedding of our friends (two lovely people who met at our wedding reception) at the historic and scenic Trafalgar Tavern (famous for its whitebait suppers and apparently the setting for the wedding breakfast in Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens).


Although we were suffering from some undetermined illness (sore throat, light-headedness, coughing and runny noses) so were unable to fully enjoy the event, we still had a really good time. The food was good (unfortunately it did not include whitebait, possibly at the bride's request) and we met a lot of interesting people, as well as catching up with some old friends and the usual gang.

Here are a few photos; please forgive their low quality which should all be blamed upon the photographer. How could I not start with a photo of the couple themselves just after the ceremony. We are in the process of being received by them and I am blocking the receiving line in order to take a picture.


The happy couple then wandered outside for some family photos along the Thames. In this one they are posing with Uncle Horatio (I'm not sure which side of the family he comes from, but he was rather standoffish and didn't say a word to anyone the whole day).


Here are the Dunces in our wedding finery. I am sorry to say we got no pictures that show more detail of Mrs. Dunce's outfit (mine is nothing special as I wear it for every single court appearance and other similar occasion).


Mrs. Dunce and one of her oldest London friends, a Mr. R_______. When I say "oldest" I am not referring to the number of years Mr. R_______ has spent on this earth (although recently he has rather impressively cast off the shackles of 35 and joined many of us in the freedom that 36 can offer) but the duration of friendship (uninterrupted, I should also note):


The wedding was not without its intrusion by paparazzi trying to capture the moment and then cynically sell it off to the highest bidder. Fortunately equipment malfunctions prevented this particular pap from capturing any unauthorized images.



As far as the location, the review on Fancyapint.com says "Anybody who's ever been to Greenwich knows the Trafalgar. It's a huge, handsome pub, well in keeping with its grand and historic surroundings. It's right on the river with views to the north and as a result, is incredibly popular. We usually visit this pub when we're meeting people who are new to the area and then we have to move on. It's not the pub's fault, but the tourist crowds, seemingly packed floor to ceiling, cause us to repair to other establishments, should we require quiet conversation - you'd do the same same in any tourist haunt in any city."

Comments on beerintheevening.com are largely negative (the pub itself earns a passable 5.2/10 rating), but mainly related to the crowds of tourists and the poor state of the toilets. As far as the former goes, hard to say from our perspective as the wedding party had the entire upstairs area (including a small bar, a large dining room/dance floor, and another room which served mainly as the location for the gift table). The toilets, however, were not the best I've seen (nor even "average for a pub"). Quotes from beerintheevening give a good indication of the situation. "There is no excuse for the state they are often in." "The toilets are the filthiest I have seen in a pub for ages." "Never have I been to a pub where the toilets are consistently in such a disgusting state." and so on. My own toilet experience at the Trafalgar Tavern went beyond mere filth; I found myself in what can only be described as my own Fortunato moment. I went into one of the stalls and shut the door. Although it had no latch it seemed to close fairly securely, so I went about my business prepared to shout out if someone else started to enter. Fortunately no such interruption occurred so once my needs had been seen to, I prepared to make my exit (and grand return to the wedding party). But the lack of a latch which had led to my own dismay at the possibility of being interrupted now caused equal dismay as there seemed to be no surface on which my fingers could gain purchase to open the door. For hours I waited for someone else to enter, all the time working at the door, shredding my fingertips to the bone, breaking my spectacles and twisting them into a hook, sharpening my belt buckle on the floor tiles in order to dig out the hinges, then eventually writing messages to loved ones in the filth on the wall before expiring. Or else I opened the door by gaining purchase on its underside with my fingers (despite the caked filth which I spent the next few minutes feverishly washing off my hands).

Um, perhaps this is a bad way to make the transition into giving the bride and groom all my best wishes for the future. But now I have no choice. "To the bride and groom: Best wishes for the future, and may your marriage be like a clean toilet cubicle whose door opens and closes as it is meant to do." Errrr, maybe these wishes should not be thematically related to my own toilet experience. "To the bride and groom: Best wishes for the future; never mind the toilet comments."

Last night I went to a small, low-key bachelor party for a friend of mine who's getting married tomorrow. And all manner of hilarity ensued. Here are just a few of the things that happened.*

... The bride and her friends dressed up like prostitutes in order to spy on the groom, but accidentally found themselves in a room full of Japanese businessmen, with predictable consequences.

... A donkey died from a drug overdose. What's funnier than that?

... A naked man fell out of a hotel window and fell through the roof of a car, right between a couple who were just about to kiss. Whoops!

... Someone with a gun was trying to shoot the guests.

... The groom ended up fighting with the bride's ex in a movie theater. But as the film was being shown in 3d, the audience thought it was just part of the show.

... A nerd fell in love with a transvestite; much hilarity ensued when he discovered the secret.

*When I say "happened", I mean "happened in the 1984 film "Bachelor Party" (starring Tom Hanks, Tawny Kitaen and, errr, Adrian Zmed)", and not in last night's bachelor party which would surely not make a rollicking, good-time movie that stands the test of time. It is a travesty that "Amadeus" received the 1984 Best Picture Oscar, and that "Bachelor Party" was not even nominated. Did "Killing Fields" have any donkey overdoses? Did "A Passage to India" have any fights in movie theaters?! Did "A Soldier's Story" have any characters named "Nick the Dick"? And don't even get me started about "Places in the Heart" and its lack of comedy scenes involving prostitution.

As a blogger who hasn't been at it for so long (110 entries and not quite 9 months), eventually I must come to the time when I express amusement and befuddlement about the search terms that bring visitors to my site (perhaps in part as a not-so-subtle announcement that the blog is being read by more than just my parents, siblings, spouse and relatives-in-law [insert obligatory in-law joke here]). Now is that time; sorry about that. I've already mentioned the frequent visits by referral spammers (here) but now I'd prefer to discuss real visits by real people. Most of my regular visitors seem to come from bookmarks or (one of a few) blogrolls, and occasional visitors follow links from other blogs (thanks for linking me!). And then there are those who reach me by web searches. Especially Google's fairly recently-launched blog search. As it turns out, here are the top 5 search terms in the past month or so:

1. Inzest: (German translation of "incest". Who would have thought my post about the Inzest-Baby would be so popular. Yes, I do come from Indiana. Yes, my parents do live in Kentucky. That doesn't mean anything in this day and age! Anyway, I suspect (hope?) most of these visitors are leaving entirely unsatisfied.

2. Zigni House: (Eritrean restaurant in north London). My review was a good one and there are not so many other reviews of this place online (undeservedly few!). I'm going there again soon, I promise.

3. Confederacy of Dunce: I'm pretty sure these are all misplaced references to the excellent novel A Confederacy of Dunces which is of course the inspiration for the name of my blog. I share perhaps a few too many characteristics with a particular character in that novel.

4. Boswelox: I was irritated at the pseudo-scientific tone of advertising (boswelox is frankincense + manganese), and I'm not the only one curious about this mysterious, amazing substance which (allegedly) helps reduce the appearance of lines caused by facial micro-contractions. Bah!

5. Sawney Beane: Lots of people are curious about this legendary cannibal about whom I wrote back in the very early days of my blog (only my seventh entry!). He's also known as "Sawney Bean", and apparently Sawney is a nickname for Alexander. No official word yet on whether he really existed, though. Here is the original post (in which I take a fairly a-sawney-ic position).

I can't leave this topic without mentioning my favorite searches of the month (none of which are actually relevant to anything I've written). Special credit is due for the MSN search: do girls fart. Although I have not written on this subject before I will officially reply with a solid "Yes". Second favorite is transporting a motorbike in an inflatable boat. Although I haven't written anything about this before either, I think I'll step forward with an equally solid "No". Finally there was gorge warshington. I'm not quite sure how this found me, but nonetheless it did (But not any more. If you google gorge warshington dunce, you get only one page [not mine]). I like this alternate spelling and may adopt it myself.

Yesterday one of my colleagues circulated an email about a future event, specifying the time as "just before the lab meeting next Thursday". It set off a whole bundle of confusion (does she mean "The next Thursday we will experience", or "Thursday of next week"?) and got me thinking about this kind of reference to time.

There are quite a few ways to express a future day of the week: my own variant of English makes a strong distinction between "This Thursday" and "Next Thursday". The former refers to the next Thursday that will be experienced, while "Next Thursday" is the Thursday that follows "This Thursday". This is in addition to the simple "Thursday" which is essentially synonymous with "This Thursday". "This" and "Next" when used with days don't seem to work the same as "This" and "Next" in other contexts (I would use "This bus" only if it can be seen, otherwise "The next bus" to refer to the bus-equivalent of "This Thursday"), and there are additional constraints. For example, if today is Wednesday (which it is not), it doesn't sound correct to say "This Thursday" when "Tomorrow" is a possibility (unless I have lost track of which day it is [sadly this is a fairly common occurrence]). So in this circumstance "This Thursday" has been replaced by "Tomorrow" while "Next Thursday" remains "Thursday of next week". And it also gets awkward once Thursday of a particular week has passed; if today is Friday, "this Thursday" used in a future tense then means "Thursday of next week" ("this Thursday" may also be used in the past tense in order to mean "The previous Thursday"; fortunately English verbs allow this ambiguity to be avoided), but "next Thursday" is much more ambiguous (it could mean "Thursday of next week", although I still typically use it to mean "the second Thursday in the future". But the use of "next" for a day 13 days in the future may be a bit much). My distinction between "This" and "Next" does not depend on the boundary between weeks; I would still use "This Monday" to refer to the upcoming Monday even if today is Thursday (which it is not), and "Next Monday" to refer to the following one.

However, other English speakers do not typically use "This Thursday" as I do (I also occasionally use "This coming Thursday" or "This past Thursday", but this kind of disambiguation is not really necessary). Hence the confusion arising from my cow-orker's email (She meant "Next Thursday" in the sense in which I use it, but other colleagues misinterpreted it as meaning "This Thursday"). This may be because British English uses "next" differently, thanks to the "week" expression. UK "Thursday week" apparently has the same meaning as my "Next Thursday", and UK "Next Thursday" has the same meaning as my "This Thursday" (one of OED's definitions of "week" is "Seven days after the day specified"). Here's an instance of someone who ran into the next/week problem (The blogger's user info suggests that this is also a US/UK translation difference); and here is a discussion related to learning English as a second language. It's unclear to me whether such expressions also apply for a day that has just passed (if today is Wednesday [which it is not], is "Tuesday week" six or 13 days in the future?). Or expressions like "Next Tuesday week" which just make my head spin.

"I would gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today" (Image no longer hotlinked, sorry about that!)