LEAVING BLOGGER

Hi peeps,

As much fun as blogger is, I just can't be dealing with the constant errors, random shutdowns, not being able to post comments and other weird and wonderful problems that it throughs up on a regular basis.  Therefore I am moving my blog to Wordpress. 

Alot of the bloggers I follow have said nothing but good things about Wordpress, so I have gone over to the dark side.

& Here it is:  

http://www.tanrockstar.wordpress.com/

I shall be posting all my new rants on the wordpress blog from now on. 

So please check it out and do follow follow follow.  Thank you to all those who followed me and I hope you continue to read my posts :)

Peace Love Happiness :-)

TanRockstar

Babysitting

Over the last couple of weeks due to family emergencies, I was entrusted with looking after my 2 year old niece and 3 year old nephew for a whole day.  It got me thinking of how my life would be if I ever had children.  Or maybe even one day having a knock on the front door and a long lost son I never knew about appeared before me, looked into my eyes and uttered the words “Daddy”.  I can 100% categorically state, that if this scenario was ever to come to fruition, it would result in an instant heart attack for yours truly.

Now, back to reality and my babysitting, I’d looked after the kids for an hour here and there, but never for an actual whole day.  How did it go I hear you ask? Well, to be brutally honest, I made a complete hash of it. Quite frankly I’d have been better off doing underwater knitting, or explaining astrophysics to Paris Hilton.

When the kids parents turned up in the evening, way past their bedtime I might add, one child had started a 20 a day smoking habit and the other was stuck in an apple tree after getting carried away on the trampoline.  (I exaggerate slightly)

Things started to go wrong about lunchtime, well they may have gone wrong before that but I was locked on to my iPad looking for advice on how to best occupy a 3 year old while he had his head in the washing machine.  Even the fabulous Deepa Rai on the radio who is normally my saviour on an afternoon had nothing for me.  I can only assume she was busy playing bollywood tunes and dreaming of John Abraham feeding her nandos.  Memo to self:  tweet Deepa to have a babysitting section on her show, or at the very least play the teletubbies song on request.

So once it got to lunchtime and a quick scan of the fridge showed nothing apart from left over lasagne from the night before and a muller yoghurt, I decided it was best to go shopping for the kid’s lunch.  Yes shopping, on my own, with 2 children. What could possibly go wrong?

The drive to Tesco was fine, as we listened to some Lionel Richie and Bob Marley on the way.  I’m sure the kids were enjoying it; I mean who doesn’t love a bit of Lionel? I even parked in the wider parent child bays reserved normally for royalty.  Go Uncle Tan I thought.  However once we were inside the supermarket, it was a totally different story.  My sweet cute nephew suddenly became allergic to anything that was on the shelf whilst my niece decided it was a good time fill up her pampers.  As Janice from Friends would say “OH MY GAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWD”   

It was time to make a quick exit, but my nephew didn’t want to play ball and decided he would make a dash for it to the fruit & veg section.  Tescos may as well have played Benny Hill music over the tannoy, as I pushed a trolley around the aisles chasing after him.  I emerged out of the supermarket some 20 minutes later feeling all hot and sweaty, with a packet of smarties, and a bag of monster munch.  McDonald’s happy meals it was going to be then.

Now I know I’m not the only guy with a phobia of changing nappies.  It isn’t that I won’t.  I can’t.  In the same way I can’t turn back time, or I can’t explain why Gavin Henson resembles a cheesy wotsit.  So on my way back home I stopped off at my friend’s house; little did she know she would be wiping a baby’s bottom within minutes of opening the front door whilst I hid in a bush at the bottom of the garden.  The rest of the afternoon involved tears, tantrums, and generally falling over a lot and that was just me for starters. 

I was so glad I could give the kids back, and at the end of the day I realised why we need, and when I say we, I mean all fathers, and if I was a father and had kids, why we need the mother.  Blokes are good at the fun stuff, taking the kids out for an hour or so to the park and it’s a job well done when you come back with the same number you left with that morning. 

The mum however, is the responsible one, and there is the magic word “RESPONSIBLE”.  Fathers maybe able to read a chapter of Harry Potter to the kids at night, but the mother  would make sure the kids would be in their pyjamas, washed, scrubbed, and with their homework all done.  Not to mention the playroom would be gleaming like a pathology lab.  I'm sure there are doting dads out there who can do all those things and more too.

But in the main, to the fathers, kids are fun, to mothers, they’re a responsibility.  That is why it is so important to have both.

Peace Love & Happiness

TanRockstar

Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds Album Review

After an 18 year rollercoaster with one of the most defining rock & roll bands the UK has ever produced, Noel Gallagher is on the verge of releasing his debut solo record “Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds”.  

In August of 2009, Oasis finally imploded during a furious row between Noel Gallagher and his younger front-man brother, Liam, backstage at France's Rock en Seine festival.  Liam wasted little time as he rushed out a sort of oasis mk II group called Beady Eye, with the critics and fans lukewarm at best in praise for the younger Gallagher’s bands first album.

However, Noel took the long term approach in developing the solo album that millions of oasis fans have been waiting for.  Ever since the giddy heights of Knebworth and playing to 250,000 people over 2 nights in 1996, the rumour mill surrounding a potential solo record has been ongoing.  Fast forward to 2011 and it’s finally here. 

Having listened to the 10 album tracks continuously over the past couple of days, one can be fogiven for asking if Noel had stockpiled his best songs for a solo project since 1997, or if he is going through a creative purple patch after years of artistic stagnation.  I personally think it’s a bit of both as we know there are at least 2 songs that have been mentioned over the years that make an appearance on this record.  The rest of the album gives the sense that Noel has picked up where he left off around the mid-Nineties, when tracks like The Masterplan and Talk Tonight indicated a musical ambition greater than just rocking stadiums.

So, was it worth the wait? Here is my track by track review:

1.Everbody’s On The Run

A grand arrangement with soaring background vocals and heart-tugging strings make this a great first track with Noel singing like an impassioned soul - "Hang in there love/ you gotta hold on/ 'cause everybody's on the run," as he pleads in the chorus.

2. Dream On

Trumpets and horns with a pounding beat alongside brisk acoustic guitar make Dream On feel like a throw back to New Orleans rock. Expect this to be a live gig favourite with the “La –la – la” chorus sing-along.

3. If I Had A Gun

Die hard oasis fans, of which I'm not ashamed to admit I am,  will have heard a leaked sound check demo of this song on the internet many moons ago and wondered if it would ever see the light of day.  We need not wait any longer, with piano and acoustic guitar guiding him, Noel delicately starts... "If I had a gun, I'd shoot a hole into the sun/ and love would burn this city down for you". 

Haunting background vocals create a stirring effect  with electric guitars, heading right into the first chorus in which Noel sings...  'Scuse me if I spoke too soon/ my eyes have always followed you around the room/ 'cause you're the only God I will ever need/ I'm holding on and waiting for you to find me."

Poetic songwriting resulting in one of the finest songs Noel has produced.

4. The Death Of You And Me

Now who saw this coming? A gentle tap on the door rather than breaking in with a sledge hammer.  The first single off the album and something of a whisper and a high falsetto that takes you back to the era of the Kinks inspired pop as a melancholy Noel sings, not ironically,... "High time, summer in the city/ kids are looking pretty/ but isn't it a pity in the sunshine." 

5. (I Wanna Live In A Dream In My) Record Machine

True to rock & roll form, this song has everything, from a slow acoustic guitar start, to bass and electrics taking over with Noel singing from the top of his lungs as chorus kicks in with strings. A gentle break follows but not for long as the end heads towards a grand finale.

6. AKA... What A Life                                                                          

What A Life takes Noel out of his traditional comfort zone and into a disco arena helped on with Piano heavy rock as he sings in a cynical way...  "Some say you might find your hero/ some say you might lose your mind."   Piercing guitars give it an edge and an unexpected solo too breaks out that is just spine tingling.

7. Soldier Boys & Jesus Freaks

Desolate guitars and a moving bass line during which Noel sings what are perhaps his most meaningful political lyrics.  Horns and cymbal heavy chorus pay homage to 1960s UK fashion that reminds you a little of Sgt. Peppers.

8. AKA... Broken Arrow

Sparkling mix of drums and acoustics with Noel’s voice rising and falling effortlessly as he sings... "Fallen angel/ a broken arrow/ she comforts me and eases my troubled mind/ she shines a light out into the shadows/ all the world that we will leave behind."  An oasis throwback sound the listeners will recognize and appreciate.

9. (Stranded On) The Wrong Beach

Possibly the weakest link in the album, but only because the standard set is so high.  Nevertheless a thumping old school rock tune with a glowing bass pattern as Noel sings in a pensive voice.

10. Stop The Clocks

Originally intended to be included on 2004's Don't Believe The Truth, Stop The Clocks has achieved something of a mythic status amongst Oasis fans, with studio and live versions leaking onto the internet over the years. I must say the final version that Noel has created makes good on all past promises.

 "Stop the clocks and turn the world around/ let your love lay me down," ... Noel sings in the opening verse, displaying his full emotion and heart.  A full on dramatic song with a furious build up and a monstrous lead guitar, it’s a star turn for sure, and the fit and proper way to sign the album off on the highest of highs.   

Overall, High Flying Birds has some super catchy songs mixed with slight elements of experimentation, subtle dance grooves and gravelly blues alongside the expected guitar anthems, and it makes for one of the finest solo records of this generation.

It’s an album full of hope and quietly placed optimism that is presented to us by a fresh and re-invigorated Noel Gallagher.  Noel may not have wanted to go solo, but it gave him an opportunity to push himself and the result is a truly wonderful record that will no doubt take Noel to a level alongside the likes of Neil Young and Bob Dylan.  

Whisper it quietly or shout it from the roof tops, the Chief is back with an absolute classic.

Rating:  9/10

Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds is available now to download or buy from all good record stores.

www.noelgallagher.com

Peace love & happiness.

TanRockstar

Girls Playing Hard To Get

Let’s make one thing clear, blokes are good at playing games like football, or monopoly, and some of us even like a bit of chess as it means we can dress up in a smoking jacket and have a cigar,  but playing hard to get is one game that really does elude the male species.

That’s because it’s not really a guy thing.   When it comes to girls, if we are interested, we will usually follow up a date with a phone call or a text pretty much straight away and show our hand. However, if we don’t reply for a few days, then it’s because we're not really interested. There is no grand courting master plan behind it; it's pretty much black and white.

As a guy doing the chasing though, I for one enjoy the challenge when a girl plays hard to get, obviously not in the same manner as Benny Hill running after girls in a barn stacked of hay, but still, it can be a highly enjoyable and rewarding pursuit if you take it for what it is.

In a crude but simple way to look at it, what’s more attractive? A girl that is all flirty, texting and emailing you 36 times a day to ask how you are or interrogating each ingredient inside your lunchbox (pardon the pun)?  Or a girl who is quite mysterious, and comes across as cool and suave, and will reply to your messages, but with a bit of intrigue?

Speaking from personal experience, I have been on dates, where uber flirtation and communication has led me to being a bit complacent and not really interested as there is no excitement for a chase.  I have sat opposite a girl at a restaurant and hid behind the menu thinking ‘Should I just order dessert and forget the mains’.  I even sat there one time thinking of elaborate excuses to make as a quick getaway.  My favourite one was ‘I’m sorry but I have to go, I think I left a quiche in the oven’.  

However, I can honestly say a girl playing hard to get has made me raise my game, and I don't mean going from Jenga to Scrabble.  What I do mean is when I went out; I took a keen interest in my date. I was interested in what she had to say, there was more interaction, conversations were more engaging because I didn’t take her for granted and there was a possibility I may not see her again.  

The banter and affection running through the times we spent together at the early stages of going out meant I was genuinely attracted and wanted to find out more. The wait in between dates made me even more excited to see her. So I was confident and persistent that it would be worth it in the end.

However on one occasion, she did risk playing with fire when she told me a guy from work had asked her out.  Well, I can tell you, in the playing hard to get stakes; nothing motivates someone quite like jealousy.  Although harmless, it put me on a quest, to crush the opposition and I was more determined to 'win' the game. So what did I do? Why, I turned the courting up a notch of course.  So my next act in the pursuit of happiness and bliss included flowers and a gift delivered to her workplace. 

‘Ha, in your face work colleague’ Oh I can just see his face, peering over the desk eating his digestive biscuit while she smiles and smells the flowers.  Queue phone calls and texts from one delighted ecstatic lady and the much enjoyable pursuit was at an end. The hard to get girl had been got.

Maybe I’m old fashioned in the sense that I enjoy the chase, it’s the exciting nerves you feel when you think you have made the breakthrough, and all the time and energy you have put in combined with strange sense of patience, and persistence, finally pays off. 

The relationship had a certain spark and chemistry that was built on her playing hard to get.  I will admit guys do need to be strong willed and confident in this game, but they also need to be quite laid back. The girl too needs to know her limits, as there is playing hard to get, and then there is disappearing off the radar as if you have emigrated to the high mountains of Nepal.

Peace love & happiness.

TanRockstar

Just another day in the office....

I don’t know about you, but my work meetings normally involve middle aged men sitting around an architectural plan of new by-pass road or a roundabout design whilst munching on chocolate digestives, drinking Nescafe gold blend and saying “Hmmm” quite a lot.  So I was expecting more of the same in a meeting I had today, minus the biscuits and coffee of course (observing month of Ramadan) when I met a new consultancy firm.

Now for those of you who don’t know, I work in the highways engineering sector here in the West Midlands where the demographic is probably 90% white male, with an average age of 50.

I won’t bore you with the details of the meeting but it was about traffic signals.  I can see some of you moving the mouse cursor to the X at the top right hand of your screen but stay with me, it gets better, I promise.

So I was settling down for the meeting when the guests started to arrive, the first one through the door was a young 30 something asian lady called Sanj.  We had spoken on the phone once, where she thought my name was Tom.

Before she had even been introduced to the rest of my team, I could sense her piercing eyes on me. Something about Asians being automatically drawn to other Asians in a room full of white people, it’s like radar we have.  I think it was pretty much the same radar that the terminator had when looking for John Connor.

Sanj couldn’t come over quick enough. I must say she was dressed impeccable, in her high powered business suit straight out of an Asiana magazine photo shoot. 

As I introduced myself, her first response was ..”Oh my god you’re Asian, I never realised”  I had to look at my hand to double check the colour of my skin, yes, yes, she was right, a fine observation.  A vigorous handshake followed that seemed like a warm up for an arm wrestling match, I swear she was shaking it for at least a minute, my hand that is, as she introduced herself.

As the rest of the delegates arrived for the meeting, Sanj stood by my side, we must have come across as husband and wife.  As I sat down at the table, Sanj grabbed the chair next to me that my colleague had been eyeing up.  You see my colleague Neil always sits next to me in meetings with external clients, and it’s a kind of assurance policy where we can double team clients that are being a bit arsey.

However on this occasion Sanj was there first, as quick as a flash and at this point, the professionalism just went right out the window.  “Oh I’ll sit next to you” she said in an excited manner, as she squeezed my knee under the table. I was just completely lost for words. An uncomfortable laugh was all I could let out, followed by looking around the room to see if anyone else had seen it, but no they were oblivious to what was going on.  Too bloody busy prizing open the chocolate digestives. 

I must have imagined it.  After all it was Ramadan, it was day 17, a lack of food and sleep can make anyone hallucinate.  Was I dreaming? I was feeling pretty tired.  No one else noticed anything, so I ignored the blatant grope, and asked her about her journey and if she got lost as most visitors do when visiting. 

I adjusted my seat to give me more space, Sanj countered by adjusting her seat and moving closer. My active imagination started to wander.  What if Sanj didn’t  let up and started to stalk me? My own personal stalker.  How cool would that be? Sure would make coming into work a tad more interesting.  I could walk into the office one day and have lots of cool gifts waiting at my desk!

Wait a minute, that is the profile of a dream stalker. What about the nightmare scenario stalker? I started to think Michael Douglas, Glen Close and Fatal Attraction. I’ve never owned a pet rabbit but I do have Mango, my little goldfish.  Oh what if Sanj refuses to take rejection and breaks in one night, takes poor Mango and makes a Thai styled steamed fish dinner. Oh dear god please no. 

Anyway back to reality, and I catch Sanj staring at the pen I was holding, or so I thought that’s what she was looking at.  Her next response left me thinking she would not go quietly.... “Oh I see you’re not wearing a wedding ring, you do look too young to be married tho” as she moved in, invading my personal space.  Cue nervous laugh and hesitant response on my part..  “No, the bachelor life is too good to turn my back on for now”

At this point, the wry smile and the gleam in her eyes, said it all, it was like a scene out of Twilight when the teenage Bella sees the Vampire Edward for the first time and starts to lust like a nymphomaniac on death row.

It could so easily have been one of those David Attenborough wildlife programmes where the hunter sizes up the prey before striking. However in this instance, I not only had a full 3D HD view of it without the silly specs, I was actually the prey, like a poor zebra or a deer, minding their own business at the lake, and then there is Sanj, the tigress behind the bushes, lurking with intent, all but ready to pounce.

I can honestly say I’ve never been so glad to start a meeting on traffic signal design in all my life.  An hour and a half later, with the meeting over and everyone in a rush to get home, I’m glad there was no standing around networking and schmoozing.  However there was one final parting shot by Sanj, as she found time to thrust her business card in my hand and say “Look forward to seeing you again”.  Who said the life of an Engineer is boring?

Peace love & happiness.

TanRockstar

Once upon a time in Akbars

In days gone by Leed’s favourite son would have been a fine actor like Peter O’Toole or a legendary footballer such as Billy Bremner.  However lately it’s been pretty slim pickings, the crown could go to Mel B of Spice Girls fame, or Chris Moyles the Radio 1 DJ.  However would you really want to associate your city with a loud mouth ex pop star who just wants to tell you what she wants, what she really really wants? or disc jockey with a face for radio? My point exactly, so who could take on the mantle of Leeds favourite son?

Step forward Mr Shabir Hussain, the man behind Akbars Restaurant. 

Now if you haven’t heard of Akbars, you soon will, as it is fast becoming the highest profile indian restaurant chain in the country. Originally opened in Leeds in 1995 with a simple 28 seat restaurant it fast became the hottest ticket in town for fine indian cusine in the north of England renowned for its fabulous food and atmosphere. 

It has become such a success that it has branched out across the country with seven restaurants opening in as many years and there are now plans to open in London and as far as Milan.   Birmingham was one of the cities chosen by Shabir Hussain for a new Akbars restaurant and it opened its doors on the busy Hagley Road in the summer of 2009.  Taking a prime spot of what was formerly the Liberty’s nightclub, once one of Birmingham’s most popular nightlife venues. 

Today, other than the imposing grand entrance, there is no reminder or evidence of its hedonistic past. Rumours of a £2million makeover transformed the old sticky, beer sodden floors and tired seating into a sumptuous banqueting hall, decked out with rich, luxurious imported furnishings that ooze decadence.

A nice chill out bar allows you to have a drink first, before taking the long ramp to the dining area that seats at least 300 people with a private function area for a further 200.  Red chandeliers and shimmering glass light fittings hover over tables, while glittery curtains of glass sparkle at one side of the room. Flock wallpaper and cream leather benches dominate the surroundings.

Now since its opening, I must admit that I have been a frequent visitor, and have dined half a dozen times or so either as a couple or as part of a group.  I can tell you that Akbars is not a place for a quiet candlelit dinner for two on the weekend.  Friday and Saturday night dining can see you wait up to 45mins for a table, and being a 300 seat restaurant it can get pretty loud with lots of group parties.

The menu sees a large selection of traditional, vegetarian and seafood starters, then an even more detailed list of original baltis, veggie dishes and chef’s specialities. There’s also a variety of desi-apna delights, which are all cooked in traditional Punjabi style, in a thick rich dry sauce using green chillies, spices, lemon and fresh coriander.

For starters I went for the tried and trusted lamb chops and for the main course I chose the chicken and keema karahi.

The lamb chop starter was delicate and juicy, completely delicious and what was a nice touch was the side salad that accompanied it. No limp lettuce here – it was a fine mix of tomatoes, peppers, onion and olives in a tangy dressing.  The rest of the gang enjoyed masala fish and chicken tikka, both of which were beautifully presented and came with the same delightfully presented salad.

Along with the main, we ordered a plain naan, and what we had delivered to our table was the largest single piece of bread I’ve ever seen, and not only that, it was displayed on a huge stand that when placed on the table, shielding me from my friends sitting opposite.  I must add that it was more than enough for the four of us and the bread was fresh and soft.

The chicken and keema balti was cooked in a rich masala sauce, the right side of spicy and absolutely delightful. It wasn’t too heavy, and was wonderfully fresh.  My friends dined on chicken karahi, lamb balti and chana and paneer balti – chick peas and Indian cheese – and all agreed it was a fantastic fare. In a restaurant of this size it could be easy to let standards slip but the care and attention that went into the preparation of our meals meant it felt like we were the only people dining.

Now Akbars is not your ordinary indian restaurant, not content with singing happy birthday to any guest who was celebrating, their waiter/singer actually takes requests and puts even my own karaoke repertoire to shame.  Umar will sing any song from Shah Rukh Khan bollywood classics to Celine Dion’s titanic I kid you not. 

It really has to be seen and heard to be believed.  One minute you’re sampling the delight of a finely cooked shish kebab and the next you and 50 other guests are singing the chorus to George Michael’s Careless Whisper in a mass sing along.  It is truly astonishing entertainment in the most unlikely of settings, but all part of the experience.

I’­m pleased to say that Akbar’s Birmingham is a great night out that provides high quality cuisine and a vibrant atmosphere. 2 years on since first sampling the food, the question my friends still ask me every Saturday is “fancy going for an Akbar’s?”  I think that says it all. 


TanRockStar

ADDRESS
Akbar’s

181 Hagley Road, Edgbaston B16 9NY

Phone: 0121 452 1862

Fairy Haircut

    FROM THIS            TO                   THIS!

I walked into my regular hairdressers couple of weeks ago as I needed an urgent trim; my hair was a bit of a mess.  I had to attend a wedding later in the afternoon and didn’t really want to turn up and have my picture taken with the bride and groom looking like Lenny Kravitz’s long lost brother.

As I entered the reception area, I realised there was no Sandra, my regular hairdresser, quite possibly the one and only person I actually trust to touch my poor excuse for an afro.  Uh oh...  maybe she was on a break.  In the immortal words of Kylie Minogue, I should be so lucky.  As it turns out Sandra had left to go back to Italy and set up her own beauty shop. 

Oh how I wish I had a private jet to fly me to Florence for one last haircut by Sandra because who did I have here waiting to cut my hair, none other than Mike.   Mike and his manboobs to be more precise.  Oh the dread, the fear, I so should have walked out as soon as I knew my beloved Sandra was there no more. But I was powerless, already being hypnotised by his manboobs, being directed to the chair like I was about to have root canal treatment at the dentist.

All I wanted was the usual, but what did Mike know about my usual, he normally just winks at me and licks his lips as Sandra used to cut my hair.  So I explained to him that I just wanted a trim all over, nothing fancy, no colours, no tips, no experimenting.  Only a simple request to not cut my hair too short, ideally just a nice neat cut as I’m off to a wedding in the afternoon.

As Mike set to work, my fear became reality; I could feel his huge meatloafs being pressed against the back of my head on a regular basis.  At this point I would say he made the hair on the back of my neck stand up, but I don’t think even my neck hair was brave enough to contemplate being molested by Mikes giant man nipples.  As he worked his way round to the front, a sense of fear took over as I imagined he would cut the top of my hair up close and I would practically be breast feeding. So I panicked and closed my eyes and tried to make conversation, oh and it had to be a manly conversation as anything short of this would not suffice. 

So the conversation ranged from my rip off BMW car service to England winning the 6 Nations Rugby.  Good strong bloke talk, this was more like it, I was now beginning to feel at ease, I mean we could have just been any 2 regular chaps chatting in the pub or down the local Indian having a chicken tikka masala.  Or so I thought, because at this point Mike chuckled and piped up that he fancied taking up rugby, especially the scrum part.  I had no comeback, I could only remain silent. 

It had been a good few minutes since I had closed my eyes so decided to have a quick peak, now I only opened my right eye for a quick blink and I'm pretty sure that Mike also had his eyes closed as he fingered my hair in what seemed very much like slow motion.  Right about now I needed Lee Harvey Oswald on a rooftop opposite to just take me out of my misery.

A full twenty five minutes later, Mike and his man boobs had finished.  As I opened my eyes to take a look, I was left stunned.  My eyes nearly filled up, my jaw dropped and a deep sigh was all I could manage.  I think a full minute passed before I could compose myself to say a word. Mike and his giant manboobs had decided to cut my hair with all the subtlety of a lumberjack with a chainsaw let loose in the Amazon rainforest.  I certainly don’t remember asking for a hair cut that would make me look like I was about to go join the navy (even if I do like the uniforms... oops thats for another post).

Do you want to know what Mike had done? well Jimi Hendrix to Kojak in 25 minutes, that’s what he had done.  I mean I could literally feel my scalp; you could so easily use my head to sand down some patio furniture before varnishing it to get it ready for the summer.

He then showed me a mirror to see the back of my head.  Yes, thank you Mike, the backs just as shit as the front.  Thank you for chopping off my curly locks and making me look like a prison inmate from Strangeways.  Definetley the look I wanted for the summer.

All I could think of and pray was that my hair would grow back.  You see at my age you don’t really want a haircut where the sun can bounce off your head and blind your partner unless she is wearing sunglasses.

I should mention that when I walked back into house, my 7 month old niece started crying as she didn't recognise me, I nearly broke down too.  Oh how I wish I tweaked Mike’s giant manboob nipples before leaving, though something tells me he may have enjoyed that.

Thankfully my hair has grown back and all is well again, well, until the next time of course.

Peace Love & Happiness 

TanRockStar

Making Relationships Work

I recently attended a wedding where the bride and groom were introduced through family involvement or maybe interference, whichever way you like to look at it.  The bride was originally from Birmingham but now living in Glasgow and the groom from the ghetto’s of Stoke.  Perfect match? I thought so too. 

Oh how cute they looked, the bling teethed groom in his bullet proof teflon vest alongside the radiant bride covered in gold that would I’m pretty sure account for more than Bolivia’s GDP.  If you really want to know where Gordon Brown sold the UKs gold reserves, look no further, as the bride from Glasgow was wearing it…. All of it!

Anyhow, it got me thinking how did they get to know each other with being so far away? It’s not as if you could just meet up after work over a hazelnut latte and pretend how busy your day was.  Similarly weekends can be booked up with visits to Ikea to purchase that much sought after mood lamp that will just make your living room resemble a car boot sale or worse a brothel.  This doesn’t leave you much time for romance.

Maybe you could take a couple of days off work to visit your potential future partner? however you do have to be careful though so early in a “relationship” to do this, especially if you have only got 3 days annual leave left until Christmas and you want to go away to Amsterdam with your mates.  

Well, there is the telephone of course to stay in touch and get to know each other. Ah the good old dog and bone, talk for hours making endless conversation of hopes and dreams that you may one day share with your future loved one. Only for reality to hit 3 months after your married when you realise that the height of your partner’s ambition is to have pie & chips every thursday watching some high pitched orange wag shouting “Shaaatuupp”.  Sorry, my bad, let’s not look that far ahead just yet.

Back to the phone we go, ah yes there’s only really so much you can actually talk about over the phone, before one of you decides to nod off and snore down the line.

As you can imagine there’s nothing quite like hearing your future partner make sounds of a wombat through her nostrils.  Just think if you play your cards right, you could hear that noise every night….. for the rest of your life! Sexy times indeed.

But technology has moved on of course, you can stay in contact through web cam I hear you say? Ah a wise option, or is it?  Sure you can see each other every night, you both smile and giggle, you make a comment about not wearing any make up, and she makes a comment that u look amazing without it, oh wait, that should be the other way round.  Good times.

But let’s not cloud over the issue for even one minute though. I mean really what your thinking is jeez this guy’s nose hair is blocking the full laptop screen and that he should really put some pants on.  Where as the guy is thinking when is she going to show some cleavage or at least have the decency to turn the bloody web cam off so he can start streaming some of the good stuff all the way from Japan.

Which leads me to believe the best way or only way to maintain a long distance relationship is face to face and by meeting up on a regular basis.

To prove my point, let me introduce you to a friend of mine called Imran, an old school friend who I recently got back in touch with.  Imran is a 30 something high profile investment banker in London who is absolutely desperate to settle down.  One failed relationship after another have started to take their toll on the poor fella, and is so broken and lost I’m pretty sure he would marry a goat if it meant he could go down on one knee just so he could keep up with his married friends.

About 4 months ago, through the inter-tweb thingy and the world of fartbook, Imran met Alandra, a half Colombian half American college student from New Orleans.  Think J-Lo’s figure with Beyonce’s looks and you would be about half way there.

They have been talking regularly through Skype, facebook, webcam, msn and any other means of communication and Imran has now flown out 3 times in the last 3 months to see her. Very keen indeed.

Now every time he goes out to the U.S he buys her a handbag, some Tiffany's jewellery, puts her up in a fancy hotel, and pays for dinner etc like a gentleman would.  When they are meeting up and are together he tells me it’s great.

The flip side to that is when he is back in the UK, Alandra tends to go missing for days on end with rumours of an ex on the scene and poor Imran doesn’t quite know what to do, so he plays dumb and pretends everything is swell.  One time Imran was feeling brave and he did raise the issue of settling down, Alandra didn’t speak to him for nearly 2 weeks after that.

She will however suddenly reappear with the “when are you coming over I miss you, p.s can you pick up a Gucci handbag from duty free on your way”  sweet talk. Imran goes all mushy like a tin of peas and logs on to British Airways for his plane ticket.  On his last visit, Imran told me things are going excellent and he is in the process of buying her a vespa to ride around college in and will be inviting her over to London for the summer as she called him tight and not spending his money on her. I know what you're thinking.

Imran sees it as a small price to pay for some "luvin" as he so eloquently puts it, and the ball is firmly in his court. Personally I think there isn't even a ball or a court, hell it ain't even the same sport, but they do say love is blind.

The point is, Imran's "relationship" with Alandra works when they see each other, and not so much to put it mildly when they are on opposite sides of the pond.  So it's safe to assume, the more you see each other during the early days of courting, the better the odds of sustaining a healthy relationship in the long run, even if it means taking a hefty hit on your wallet like poor Imran. 

Peace, Love & Happiness 

TanRockStar

Charity, Loads of Contacts & the King of Pop

A couple of Sundays a month I do my good deed and volunteer for the charity Save The Children.  Yes, not just a pretty face I hear you say.  The work mostly involves setting up fundraising events at a local level, and helping with merchandising and stock at the local charity shop. 

Yesterday at the shop, it was like any other normal day, full of shoppers looking for a bargain and of course those who like to haggle over a copy of Alan Titmarsh’s autobiography.  Who can blame them, I mean paying £1.25 to read about how the green fingered Titmarsh rose to fame is simply extortionate.   I’d rather buy a bag of compost and just bury my head in it, or better still, Titmarsh’s head, and while we’re at it, might as well put Charlie “I don’t own a bra” Dimmock and Tommy “I’ll open an envelope if you pay me” Walsh in there too.  UK Gold, you have been warned, please do not repeat Ground Force, EVER.

Anyway, a couple of hours had gone by when in walked Jason, I knew my day was about to take a turn for the worse.  Now for those of you who are unfamiliar with Jason, let me introduce you.  Mr Jason Getts is a regular in the charity shop,  he never actually buys anything but thinks of himself as the second coming of Del Boy, a bit of a wheeler dealer.  Whatever you want, Jason Getts.  Get it? Impressed? I was too.

Unfortunately for Jason that’s where the similarity ends, as the concept of charity has been somehow erased from his mind.  Wearing his usual tea cosy hat, and green shell suit, Jason looks like the lost 4th member of N-Dubz.  In all my time I’ve known him, I have yet to see him without the tea cosy.

Now Jason can get you anything, and I mean anything, at a price of course.  He always knows a guy with “loads of contacts”.  You want the latest designer clothes? who needs Selfridges, talk to Jason.  Jewellery just like France’s First Lady Carla Bruni wears? no problem, talk to Jason.  Hey, you want a thai mail order bride? forget the internet, talk to Jason.

So in he had walked with a bag full of items that he had got off one of his many “contacts” and was looking to do a deal.  The fact that we were a charity shop that only accepted donations, was lost to him. 

Before we got to the rehearsed and polished sales patter, he said he was on the lookout for a passport, and he offered to sell mine to a Ukrainian he knew of course who had loads of contacts and that he could get me a good price.  Why on earth I’d actually want to sell my passport, Jason couldn’t quite comprehend.

So once that topic of conversation was over, it was time to see what he had in his bag of goodies.

Item number 1 he pulled out of the bag like some street magician from Covent Garden was a 10inch porcelain figure of David Gower.  Now this was either unfinished or someone had taken a severe disliking to the cover drive David was playing and decided to break his cricket bat.  Now normally they retail at £100, but since we were a charity he would let me have it for £20. Now a sane response from me would just be blocked out by his tea cosy hat.  So I told him I support Pakistan, and unless he can pick up a porcelain figure of Imran Khan playing a reverse sweep, I wasn’t interested.

Back into the rucksack Jason went and item number 2 he pulled out was a black and decker cordless drill.  Not bad I thought, and tried to give it a whirl.  Straight away there was a problem, the battery was flat and Jason didn't have the charger. Retailing at £125 he would do a deal at £30 due to the minor default, but he did have a contact at B&Q who would do me a good price on a charger.  I had to just roll my eyes and respectfully decline. 

Item number 3 was a real gem, the final and the best of the lot, a signed copy of Michael Jackson’s masterpiece album - Thriller.  Yes a SIGNED copy.  I couldn’t believe it, all my birthdays, Christmases, Eids, and anything else I fancied celebrating had all come at once I thought.  I nearly fell off my stool.  Michael Jackson’s signed Thriller album on the counter in front of me. All I could say in my highest pitched voice was “he-heeeeeeee”, I wanted to moonwalk across the shop floor.

Jason not missing a beat started his sales pitch in his deep black country accent.  “Obviously I had to go through one of my trusted contacts in America for this and as you know Michael Jackson is dead so its worth a fortune”.. Really? Noooo? I wish somebody had told me, I thought he was living in Venezuela picking out coffee beans for Nescafe.  Anyway, the price Jason wanted.... £100.  Now money was no object at this point as I picked up the CD for a closer inspection. 

I asked about a certificate of authenticity,  to which Jason advised, he had a contact in Berlin who could verify Michael Jacksons autograph as he also had an original autograph that Michael personally signed on tour back in 1995. Hmmm, of course he did, why wouldn’t he?  I started to become sceptical of this too good to be true CD I was holding in my hand.

Then as I looked at the signature of the perhaps the greatest pop musician to have graced the airwaves, I noticed that it was in pristine condition and that the red ink had barely dried.  Jason advised that he carried it in an air tight container to preserve its longevity.  Again, I marvelled at his dedication to the cause. 

However, there was one final sticking point, before I decided to run to the ATM and part with some cold hard cash.  At the bottom of the thriller album sleeve note, it stated “Digitally re-mastered  2010”, that and a botched attempt at half removing a HMV price tag.

So I put it to Jason, how did he get the King of Pop to sign the album a year after he died?  Was it through a seance one of his many contacts might have had with Jacko? Or did Michael come back from the dead and launch the re-mastered albums at his local HMV shop in Dudley?

Obviously he didn’t know what had happened but would be talking to his contact for answers.

As he made a quick exit, Jason advised he would be back next week and have something that I would definitely be interested in.   I can’t wait, roll on next week.

Take care for now, peace love and happiness.

TanRockStar

P.S. Please feel free to checkout and donate on the site below, it’s all for a good cause and don’t worry, not a single penny will be going to Mr Jason Getts.

http://www.savethechildren.org.uk/

Growing Up!

I’ve always thought of writing a book or a script for a movie that will make it big one day and show all my family and so-called friends that  I indeed have more to me than just the regular 9-5 job and an overgrown afro I can barely maintain.  But before I start writing the next sopranos, I thought I should start by practicing by writing a blog.

I started to pen to paper, well fingers to keyboard and thought what on earth shall I blog about and it got me thinking.  Thinking takes time and patience of which I have an abundance of.  Lately I’ve started to question practically everything, from the meaning of life, and every relationship break down I have ever had, to why Apple can’t sort out adobe flash on the iphone and why Glenda from number 27 never shaves her legs.  As you can tell, deep thinking is my speciality.

There comes a point in a person’s life where  you look back and reminisce, think about what you have achieved, what you could have changed, or done differently if you had your time over again.  Now this is normally standard practice on ones death bed, however the thought of me turning 30 is enough to make me pale.  To say that I am a tad nervous or apprehensive about turning 30 is an understatement and it's still months away.  I can tell you, there are people on death row with more enthusiasm than me at the moment.

Now you may be thinking what the big deal about turning 30 is, and you would be right one hundred percent.  It is just a number after all, and it’s not like turning 40 where you would expect to have a mid life crisis, dye your hair blonde, buy a hairdressers Porsche convertible to relive your youth and generally act like a bit of a bandit.

The point is, 30 represents a personal landmark for me.  Why I hear you ask? Well let’s all jump in to Doc Browns Delorean time machine and go back to 2001 to a time when I was a young naive 21 year old studying at university, no not the university of life I hear you say, this was the real deal.  So as the blunt was getting passed around from one house mate to the next, we sat back to ponder where we would all be in 10 years time.  We all somehow after smoking an eighth of afghans finest, or was it Leroy’s finest from Coventry, not quite sure, memory is a bit of a blur, but anyway, we all turn into modern day philosophers and deep thinkers, it’s like the second coming of Sigmund Freud.

So as I raised my head from the bung and looked through the smoke filled sanctuary of our student quarters, I advised that I shall be the last of the gang to settle down.  Surprisingly all my friends, thought that I was high and that in fact I would be the first. Oh how little they knew me. 

I was too immature for marriage in my twenties, it was so not on my radar, I mean I didn’t even have a compass. 

Now I’ve seen my best friends married and settled down over the years, and it’s never really bothered me, Marriage although would be nice at some point,  I have always sensed that I’m here for something far more important that putting a ring on a ladies finger.  It’s a question that puzzles us all at some point, but definitely not one I should try to answer on a Saturday morning at 3.50am as I write this.

A question I can look into is do I fear growing up, by turning 30? Is it being a responsible adult that terrifies me, putting someone else first before me or is there more to it? 

Is it the fear of having a mortgage for the next 25 years, or a pension plan, reading the financial times, going to the garden centre on a bank holiday for geraniums, picking out cushions for the sofa, inviting Gill and Barry from work for dinner one night, watching French independent films on e4, ordering a hazelnut latte at Costa, repairing a dyson vacuum, cleaning the car every Sunday, planning a holiday to Cornwall, following Jamie Oliver’s cookbook for lunch, and talking about current affairs with your local MP or worse your Uncle Ali from Bradford. 

Is this what is so terrifying? Oh hang on, wait a minute, I actually do some of those already.  I may need to revaluate what constitutes being a grown up adult is, or maybe I’m on my way to becoming one, in that case it doesn’t seem so scary, let’s see where the road takes me.

How have I ended up here? I have well and truly digressed with my return to blogging, where did this all begin, ahh yes writing a novel or a script for a movie, hmm I really must put pen to paper on that sometime.

For now though, peace, love and happiness.

TanRockStar