One of the wonderful perks about my job is I get to see amazing acts all over Kent.

So imagine the fury of going to see the great John Cooper Clarke, only to not be able to see or hear him because of inconsiderate others.

Of course, as is often the case when I am a little bit cross, I exaggerate a little. The headline act at Rochester's Royal Function Rooms, who could easily be described as the five Ps - perfect punk performance poet pioneer - John Cooper Clarke was absolutely class.

I would have enjoyed hearing his unsurpassed grasp of the English language more on Friday, November 23, if my view had not been obstructed by various boozed-up, non-spacially-aware punters.

Arriving at the gig reasonably early, I managed to bag a decent table to watch JCC and his supports, Chatham poet Wolf Howard and Mancunian Mike Garry. 

Perhaps I'm uninitiated in the etiquette of poetry gigs but I couldn't help feeling narked when boozers filed out of the bar and stood directly in front of my table, without so much as a look of apology. Their rear-ends were literally touching the front end of my table and they just looked directly at the stage, as if I wasn't there.

Not wanting to cause a scene, I decided to crick my neck and look round these impetuous loafers. As one act finished, they waddled back to the bar, only to take up their concealing position when the next arrived, as oblivious as before.

Then, just as I settled into my uncomfortable posture, came the drunken cat calls of a group of women standing behind me, equidistant to my view-blocking compadres.

"Give me strength," I thought as they woooooooooooo-ed less than a foot from my right ear at the end of every poem, muttering "exactly" and "yeah" at each of JCC's comical assertions in what he called "the adverts" in between readings.

Then, imagine the emotional contradiction I felt when the oblivious lump in front of me spontaneously developed recognition of other human beings aside from the one on stage, looking round at the tipsy plonker behind me to deliver a scowl which thankfully shut her up and put the rest of us out of our misery. 

Perhaps I am being a bit of a stiff on account of being the designated driver for the night. JCC poetry readings are not debates on late-Rennaissance verse by any stretch. The night was raucous and all the better for it.

All I ask is that people don't enjoy a show at the expense of others. Don't be the unobservant view-blocking butterball or the loud, tiddly dipstick. 

Otherwise someone will end up tainting your night in the same way one day in the future.

You wait for ages to see a good act from Kent and then two come along at once.

Granted, the 220 people in Canterbury’s Marlowe Theatre Studio on Friday, September 28 were already well-versed in the hip-hop infused folk of headliners Coco and the Butterfields.

It made for a sensational atmosphere at the launch of the five-piece’s debut EP Fip Fok, named after their self-styled pioneering brand of banjo, double bass and guitar music, laced with beatbox drum kicks.

Yet the crowd had already been stirred up a treat by a sterling supporting bill of Tener Duende, Eric Ness and Funke and the Two Tone Baby, pictured below.

It was the latter who impressed the most, from the moment he lifted his hat and addressed the crowd: “Ladies and gentleman of the Marlowe Theatre, I am Funky and the Two Tone Baby.”

A one-man-band from Rochester, he goes by the name of Daniel Turnball when he is not rasping his gravelly Dylan-esque vocals. Yet his stage presence is much like that of Jack White.

By contrast his audience banter makes him appear like a dandy version of the Hitcher from the Mighty Boosh, in a good way.

“I had a dream last night that a lady in the audience wanted to be tamborinist in a one-man-band,” he joked as he tossed his instrument at a girl in the crowd.

“She caught it ladies and gentleman. I also had a dream that everybody in the Marlowe Theatre wanted be part of one big drum machine,” he added, as he got the crowd clapping and stomping to the tambourine, to which he performed a frantic harmonica solo.

Even Coco and the Butterfields frontman Tom Twyman could be seen jumping about to the trilby-wearing singer-songwriter’s set.

“Sorry for jumping around earlier – we have been very excited about today,” said dreadlocked Tom after the headliner’s dramatic opener.

A folk-pop cover of R Kelly’s Ignition Remix followed, showing why the Canterbury band won Live and Unsigned at the O2, the country’s biggest unsigned talent competition.

Their track Astronaut had the crowd singing back the chorus.

The band seem like great friends on stage, with violinist and vocalist Dulcima joking “diva” as Tom asked the sound engineers to turn up his mic. The crowd laughed as she said to her bandmate: “you are very sweaty – disgusting.”

Perhaps the most jaw-dropping moment was the band’s cover of Whitney Houston’s I Will Always Love You. So often done badly and very hard not to sound clichéd, Dulcima easily coped with the vocals as the band performed an inspired and tender folk accompaniment.

Covers of Timberland’s The Way I Are and Flo-Rida’s Low were also impressive as well as great sing-a-longs. As the gig went on it became more and more clear that their strength lies in Tom’s charisma, while Dulcima’s soaring vocals adds a polished touch to their rough beatbox and hearty folk edges.

They returned for an encore of their track Hip Hop Song and they could have stayed for another half hour if they had the material.

Both Funke and the Two Tone Baby and Coco and the Butterfields are planning on releasing their debut albums next year. The latter have even scheduled in their launch night already, once again at the Marlowe on May 5.

Judging by their live sets on Friday and promising sounding EPs, next year could be a very good year for Kent music.

I may have mentioned, once or twice, that my parents have a penchant for rescuing waifs and strays. This week I have received a constant stream of hysterical text messages from my mother. You see, she decided, this time, to rescue a dog from a group of ex pats out in Spain who have been lovingly rescuing and nurturing some very sad cases of animal cruelty and neglect. This dog hadn’t been neutered and, despite only being a baby herself, had gotten caught out and ended up with a litter of mouths to feed. My Mum took pity on this little being and decided she should come and live with us.

Bonita – means “pretty little one” in Spanish.

Text message received after Bonita’s first night in her new home:

She’s following me everywhere like a lamb. Poppy [my dog] hates her. She has chased the cats out of the house and won’t let them back in the garden. She won’t listen when I tell her to stop

Text message returned:

She doesn’t speak English, what do you expect?

Text message to Mum the next day:

How are you today, much sleep? Still hysterical and a silly English woman getting between a dog and her toys?

Reply:

No. Yes. She’s been on the roof.

My response:

HAHAHAHAHA. You mean the house roof don’t you? How did she get there?

Reply:

Yes. Landing window was open.

Text message back:

Senorita Bonita thinks she can fly. Nuhnuhnuhnunnuh BAT DOG!

That evening, to calm my Mum’s hysterics about having this loony puppy that doesn’t speak English climbing on the roof, we went out for a walk. Surprisingly, the expected arch enemy, Poppy, actually rather likes bat dog now and they walk along side by side like the best of friends.

 However, our nice, peaceful walk was interrupted when they both tried to give chase to a pair of wild bunnies lolloping merrily across the golf course. And then.

SQUIRREL

SQUIRREL.SQUIRREL.SQUIRREL.

Turns out our little Spanish one is quite fond of a squirrel. Sees them everywhere in fact. If you have ever seen the film UP you will understand what I mean when I say that she is every inch Dug the Dog.

 I have also been obliged to point out that it’s very much a “dogs and their owners” thing as she displays “squirrel” tendencies on occasion: breaking off midway through a conversation and interjecting with an entirely unrelated topic. Anyone who has read my post “My Boyfriend Has Renamed Me Jim” will understand exactly what I’m talking about here.

SQUIRREL

There, undoubtedly, will be more to follow on the adventures of the dog that doesn’t speak English so stay tuned, lovely readers :)

The nature of the English Language is such that it is very easy to interpret multiple meanings in something that has been said. There is a broad generalisation applied to women that they always choose the most offensive meaning to a gentleman’s words. In order to prolong the existence of the human race I have compiled a list of things men say that prove no value for their own lives.

1.       “You shouldn’t eat cake for breakfast, you know” she will inevitably jump to the immediate conclusion that you are inferring that she is, in fact, a little more than “festively plump”. You will also be asked if you are in fact the CAKE POLICE. Gents, don’t attempt to be a wise guy here, step away from the bomb and tell her no, you are not the cake police and you have no place attempting to perform such a role. Following this scenario you may also find on your way around the supermarket that she is inclined to, VERY LOUDLY, point out all of the products labelled breakfast cake bar or breakfast biscuit. SHAME ON YOU.

Other variants of this you’re secretly saying I’m fat are:

“Should you be eating that at this time of day?”

“Do you know what’s in that?”

“Oh...You’re hungry today aren’t you?”

2.       “You look like you’ve had a bit of a lazy day” as any comment about a woman’s appearance that doesn’t sound something along the lines of her being the most beautiful and radiant creature that you will ever see (note: don’t say have ever seen, this may also lead to conflict as she may presume you are hoping to find out if she is actually the most beautiful creature that ever walked the earth) is likely to lead to a very miserable and painful death by ear bleeding.  A lady may presume that you are saying she may frighten children and old people with her appearance: what’s wrong with going out bare faced and in lounge wear? HMMMM? HHMMMMMMM!!??? DANGER ALERT

3.       The inevitably disastrous: “Oh, is it that time of the month then?” Erm, Uh oh, BIG TROUBLE – she may be bleeding without any say in the matter – when you start bleeding she’ll have had plenty of say in the matter. Do. Not. Ever. EVER. Mention a ladies menstrual cycle. Not unless you really and truly have.a.death.wish.

Best Possible outcomes of these scenarios:

1.       Death :

 She kills you quickly and pretty much painlessly in a fit of pure rage.

2.       Serious sleep deprivation and ear bleeding:

She asks you EVERY single time she leaves the house if you think what she is wearing is acceptable enough to you – she is especially keen to hear your expert opinion when you are asleep.

3.       Malnourishment:

You manage to fend off starvation when she goes on strike by living on the food she puts down for the cats/dogs/birds.

Ladies and Gents please do feel free to add any faux pas' or apt punishments in the comment box below; that's what it's there for!

Once again, thanks for reading :)

You know that feeling, you’ve been back living under your parent’s roof for longer than you all would like to admit and you parents are starting to give you the oh so subtle nudge towards the door. If you’re having difficulty picking up on their signals I have kindly listed below the signs that your parent s think you should fly the coop:

1.       Your Mum asks you repeatedly when you will be moving in with your BF/GF

2.       Your Dad persistently complains about how your red hair dye (insert other rage inducing messes caused by you here if this is not applicable) staining the tiles in the bathroom. You say you won’t stop dyeing your hair...there’s a significant pause while he waits for you to catch the drift...

3.       Your Dad starts referring to your beau’s place as your home e.g. “You can take that with you when you go home”...time to go then I think

4.       Your dog is getting cranky living with two other blind dogs; you comment that she would prefer to be an only dog, your parents cannot agree more. Pause. Silence. Penny drops.

5.       They tell you repeatedly how they can’t get over just how quiet the house is when you’re not in it. And how they are really enjoying the peace and quiet.

6.       The dog starts trying to tell you something Lassie style: “What’s that girl? What are you trying to tell me? Go...Home?” Oh.

7.       Your Mum has forgotten about your dietary requirements since you last ate with them. She poisons you. Hint. Hint.

8.       A whispered conversation between your parents ceases when you enter the room. You have caught snippets of a “swatches” and “paint charts” debate. They already decorated every other room of the house. Just yours then.

9.       Leaflets suggesting you engage the services of “first class” local removal services keep mysteriously appearing under your bedroom door.

10.   Your stuff starts migrating out of your bedroom. Into boxes. Into the hallway. Down the stairs. Out the front door. MOVING DAY.

And if you are more of a visual learner I have included below a video of a current advert that illustrates many of the above points nicely.

[youtube=f7qMGVH8]

As I may have mentioned before my boyfriend has a penchant for staring at another man’s lycra clad behind. Last weekend, like many other weekends was rudely interrupted by the pair of them spending Sunday at a cycling event. Do hold your “where’s the harm in that? What an unreasonable girlfriend” until I’ve explained my issue with this. My main concern is not that I don’t get to see him or that I’m concerned by the love of a man’s lycra clad bottom: no I’m more concerned with the fact that this morning I was roused from a rather lovely Saturday night – don’t have to be up in the morning snooze. At six. A.M. Yes that’s correct: SIX A.M on a SUNDAY. For those of you that know me well you will understand what this means. I am a snarly, fire breathing dragon when awoken from my beauty sleep. His cycling buddy made the error of saying something about my looking less than impressed to be awake. I believe my mumbled “good morning” (social niceties, pah!) quite possibly came out more like the guttural snarl one would expect from a very.Hacked. Off. animal.

I didn’t run off to my own bed for further slumber though dear readers because what I saw next had to be observed until the bitter end. Two lycra clad men (I think they think they are ninjas/power rangers) both scratching their heads and detaching various parts of bike turning them every which direction and both trying to be the most expert “NO, I’ve done this before you know, I know what I’m doing”. Nothing like a bit of a Chuckle Brothers re-enactment to make loss of sleep bearable: “to me…to you” between the boot and the back seat, I was desperately hoping one would let go and fall flat on their lycra clad behind.  Eventually they were off after a good deal of pushing and shoving.

So now, would you like to play guess the number of puncture readers?

I have created a Lego Monster, dear readers. This is only made worse by the realisation that my blog category “Lego” and “Addictions” is only getting bigger by the day. As those of you who have read “My Boyfriend is Addicted to Lego Shopping” will know, his new found obsession with Lego started off as a well meaning attempt to put some of the child like sparkle back into Christmas for him. Unfortunately I didn’t really foresee the long term effects of this: not only have I caused my twenty six year old boyfriend to regress back to playing with Lego, but I’ve caused his twenty three and twenty one year old brothers to go the same way. Now I wish to make it clear that I never intended for the two of them to be similarly affected.

Last night, following the incident of the Altercation with the Dustbin, the boyfriend kindly picked me up from work and presented me with a carrier bag full of lovely posh chocolate. My immediate response was to proclaim this to be a reward for being ridiculous and I should continue driving my car as if it were a bumper car at the funfair. Shortly after this I surmised it was in fact a (very well aimed) ruse. A deflection if you will, from what the three had been up to all day. I knew there had been some talk about going shopping while I was at work and visiting the Lego Shop (a.k.a Mecca – not to be confused with Meccano which, apparently, is “TOTALLY different from Legos, duh”).

The three, grown men, had gone and whiled away the hours at the Lego shop. They managed to frighten away any child that so much as glanced at their coveted treasures and, after maiming several children, left the shop with six different Lego sets between them. Yes, SIX. My boyfriend had desired one of these sets for quite some time (having researched all the other possible sets he could add to his ever expanding Lego Collection: “But I am just getting next month’s Lego allowance early”?!?!) and had chosen the biggest one they had in the store: “NO, there are other bigger ones….”

My Dad pointed out to me earlier that it would actually be fairly easy to maintain order in a relationship where my partner had regressed so far as all I needed to do was threaten to take his toys away if he didn’t do as he was told. This was especially appropriate as I had already done this the previous evening when the conversation steered back towards the incident of the Altercation with the Dustbin and I threatened to take away and hide a vital component of his new Lego if he persisted. His response: “Oh no! Don’t take away the battery pack!” Sorry did you just say “battery pack”? Apparently his amazing super duper wow new Lego has a battery pack included: “It doesn’t drive or anything but the windows and doors open”.

As I sighed and looked around for a sane person in the room I found that all had gone silent. It was, in fact, the quietest the house had ever been when they were all in before which seemed eerie. Then I realised that the silence was that perfect silence of concentration. The boys were all sat on the floor with little piles of different coloured Lego all around them trying to construct theirs the fastest.

What have I done?