Of all the dumb-ass ideas I've ever had on Troubled Diva (and lemme tell ya, there's been a few), this is unquestionably the dumbest. In fact, I can feel my brain steadily atrophying with every successive instalment.

Can you believe that I used to nurse literary aspirations for this site? Has it really come to this? Can you see the smile fading from my lips? Shall I just cheat, and throw the contest?

No, no, no. I could never compromise my integrity like that. I said I'd wear them all, so wear them all I shall, with grim determination.

This Ted Baker shirt was yet another purchase in the Great Pre-Vietnam Shopping Panic Of Summer 2002. It photographs rather better than it looks, actually. Not a particular favourite, and its delicate pastel shades now look completely wrong for this time of year. I shall now be mothballing it until the spring.

So, Sarah. A couple of weeks ago, I was told in my comments box that this was a collection of "Lesbian Shirts". Which perplexed me, I have to say. However, if this is true, then who could be better than your good self to emerge victorious from all of this?

Sadly, this is not to be. Good luck with the impending move to Edinburgh, Sarah - but at least there will be one less item for you to pack. You are now...Off The Project. Bon voyage, hinny!
Des, you've got a good long run now. If I reach my last shirt between now and next Tuesday, then you're the winner. Best of luck.

Update: I accidentally deleted this posting and had to reconstruct it. So, to access the original comments - all 10 of them - go here.

Another ancient link for you: an article about a satirical Canadian TV programme called This Hour Has 22 Minutes, in which US citizens are booby-trapped into displaying a hilarious ignorance of anything to do wth Canada. It's corn (as they say on Popbitch), but it's top grade corn all the same.

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Five minutes of bloody good entertainment for a Friday: Billy Joel's We Didn't Start The Fire, fully illustrated in Flash. Dymbel and I do love songs with lists in them. In fact, I'm even prepared to overcome my usual aversion to all things Joel with this one. Although My Life was pretty good in its own way. And I always had a soft spot for It's Still Rock & Roll To Me. And Uptown Girl has saved my skin when DJ-ing at shit discos.

Do you know of any other songs which basically consist of lists? If so, please leave a comment. I'll start you off with REM's It's The End Of The World As We Know It, Lemon Jelly's Ramblin Man, and Feel Good Hit Of The Summer by Queens Of The Stone Age.

Oh, sorry. The link! Well, as I nicked it from Linkmachinego, I'm going to link to Darren's posting rather than directly to the site, as Darren has also provided some useful supporting documentation (as we IT people are wont to say).

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The referrals are still rolling in for that Celebrity Big Brother contestant and that Scottish comedienne - even though I've removed all text-based links to them from the site. I had to think this one through quite carefully. While I am as partial as the next person to a tasty bit of Sleb Goss, I quickly started to feel rather queasy about being the world's leading source of info for the private relationship between two total strangers, be they famous or not. It didn't sit easily with me at all. In the end, I had to apply the same ethics that I try to apply to anything which I post on here concerning others. The fame thing should make no difference at all, unless the story is already in wide public circulation. And this story doesn't appear to be.

Late at night a couple of days ago, I got quite angry about this incessant desire for intrusion on other people's personal lives. In fact, I nearly posted a rant. Except I was a bit pissed, and I didn't altogether trust myself. So I slept on it, and calmed down again. But what still bugs me is this: there is now an almost universally unchallenged assumption that if you do anything which puts you in the public eye, then you have implicitly signed away any rights you may have to privacy in your personal life. Which seems to me like a massive deterrent for talented and capable people to strive for success in their given field - be it arts, entertainment, sport, politics or whatever. So who is that going to leave? People with a dysfunctional craving for fame for its own sake, that's who. I find this a depressing development.

So, if you're still looking for the juice on her and her, or on that footballer and that pop singer, ask yourself this. Why do you need to know? How would the information benefit you? And do we have any legitimate right to know this stuff?

Hypocritical? Oh yes. Self-righteous? Guilty as charged. But...well...I'm just saying. That's all.

And in that spirit, we segue straight to the sadly inevitable.

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Melinda, Les or Mark, then? Mark by a whisker, I reckon.

Favourite moments? S**'s exit interview. Anne Diamond sitting forlornly on the sofa in a stupid wig during the "Eighties Party", looking bleakly into the middle distance while Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart blares tinnily into the Big Brother House. And Mel's video message to S**: "Look, I'm wearing tweed for you! I look like Vita Sackville-West!"

Other than that, it's all been more than a bit shite. They're all far too nice, for starters. And if I hear one more person say "But it's only a game, remember?", in tones which are intended to convey Deep Wisdom, as the camera pans to the others nodding sagely in agreement, then I'll...I'll...well, I don't know what I'll do. But it won't be pretty.

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Remember - songs with lists in them, please. If I get enough, then I feel a CD compilation coming on...

Don't Carharrt make lovely clothes? Soft and easy. Comfortable yet practical. Classic yet effortlessly contemporary. I should have been a copywriter, you know.

Peter - darling - it's been a long and crazy journey, but now we must part. Before we do though, can I just issue a reminder that voting commences very shortly on Naked Blog for the Great Gay Britons poll. In the meantime, why not gaze in awe and wonderment at the vast shortlist.

Peter - darling - you are now...Off The Project. Ta-ta the noo.Sarah, please stand by. It could be you. Oh yes it could.

This article might well have been around since the year dot, but I've never come across it before, and I can't find any other links to it - and anyway, it's fascinating. An affectionate first-hand history of the Coleherne and the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, written by a guy who actually grew up in them. Literally, as his dad used to be the manager of both places, and his family lived above the shop. Rather heartwarming, I think you'll find.

36. Pitcher & Piano
Unitarian Church, High Pavement, Lace Market, NG1 1HN
(link 1) (link 2)

Yes, I know. It’s a national chain. And in this city, I prefer to avoid national chains wherever possible. Especially since there are so many fine independent operations round here. We are lucky to have them, and I like to support them whenever possible. Which is actually one of the reasons why I’m running this series. Every bit of promotion helps, however small.

However, this particular Pitcher & Piano is just…extraordinary. It demands to be seen. Particularly on a quiet, sunny afternoon, when the sun comes in through the vast stained glass window at the back of the building. For this particular Pitcher & Piano is sited within the huge former Unitarian church on High Pavement, and the conversion is remarkable. The venue manages to feel like an utterly contemporary bar/café, and yet the original ecclesiastical architecture has not been irrevocably tampered with. In many ways, it still feels like a church. To be honest, it’s a bit of a head-f***k. There are people drinking in here! And smoking! And swearing! Maybe I haven’t completely divested myself of my Anglican roots after all.

The place is best avoided after 9pm, especially at weekends, unless you have superb hearing and a voice like a foghorn. Bloody efficient bar staff, mind you – true masters of multi-tasking. They should give lessons to the rest of the city.

37. Playhouse Bar
Wellington Square, NG1 5AF
(official site for theatre)

In the very early 1980s, the bar attached to the side of Nottingham Playhouse was the rather unlikely official meeting place for the city’s wannabe Blitz kids – the original New Romantics, in all their knickerbockered glory. Ten years later, it had become more than a little gay round the edges, and enjoyed a short spell as one of the main “unofficial” meeting places for the more discerning fagerati.

(This was an era when the “official” scene had become so dire that other non-gay pubs would become de facto haunts for a few months at a time. The old Lord Roberts – the Peacock – the Newmarket – the County Tavern – Broadway – the Carter Club – the old Jaceys – and this place. They all took their turn.)

After a dramatic regime change, during which the queens deserted the place in droves, the Playhouse bar was next taken over by the excellent local Tynemill group. It changed its name to the Limelight, and started taking its beers a whole lot more seriously. It became the lunchtime and after-work bar of choice for the many legal firms that are clustered around Wellington Square, and also became the venue for our office’s regular Friday night “early doors” sessions. In fact, it remains so to this day.

This year, ownership of the bar changed hands again, with the Scruffys group taking over from Tynemill, and the Limelight title being dropped. The plan is now to develop the underused restaurant part of the premises. The gruff and curmudgeonly – yet strangely loveable – “real ale” bar staff have now been replaced by sweetly smiling “customer friendly” types – who, it has to be said, have yet to learn some of the finer points of consistently delivering the perfect pint. Now that they’re gone, we rather miss the gruff and curmudgeonly lot.

In the summer, the large courtyard outside the bar is one of the best places in the city for alfresco boozing. This is also the site of Anish Kapoor’s huge Sky Mirror installation, which was unveiled last year amidst much controversy, and rumours that the reflection of the sun’s rays from the giant concave mirror would instantly incinerate passing pigeons. It’s an undeniably impressive structure, although as a Kapoor fan, I don’t think it’s one of his strongest pieces. Best viewed at dusk, as the lights come on underneath the structure and the whole effect of the piece alters.

38. Pretty Orchid
12 Pepper Street, Bridlesmith Gate, NG1 2GH

There are three Thai restaurants in town, and this is our clear favourite. Proper, authentic stuff, cooked by proper, authentic Thai chefs. Top tip: forget the boring old set menus, and dive straight into the a la carte. Welcoming atmosphere; friendly, jolly service.

39. Rob’s Record Mart
Hurts Yard, NG1 6JD

Like all the best second-hand record shops, Rob’s is a complete mess. In fact, the mess seems to get worse with each passing year, as ever increasing quantities of musty old vinyl get squeezed into the groaning racks and boxes. Soon, you’ll scarcely be able to move in there.

A vinyl junkie’s paradise, in other words. When I needed to assemble a decent collection of soul/funk/disco singles for DJ-ing purposes, Rob’s delivered in spades. Every single I wanted seemed to pop up there at some time or other, usually for around 50p a pop. I have spent many happy hours in that place – although my visits are much less frequent these days. Nice to know it’s still there, though.

40. Rock City
8 Talbot Street, NG1 5GG
(official site)

I’ve been going to gigs at Rock City ever since the opening night in autumn 1980 (The Undertones, supported by Orange Juice). As a live music venue for middle-ranking acts, it has always delivered. There’s just something about the place which works, despite the sticky carpets and the scrums at the bar (although you do need to establish a good regular vantage point – I have mine, but I’m not sharing that particular piece of knowledge with the world at large).

Now, after a worrying period in which the booking policy veered far too heavily towards Rock-With-A-Capital-R, Rock City is firmly back on the circuit for all the acts which I’m interested in. I was there last week for Richard Ashcroft, and I’ll be back next week for Groove Armada and for Badly Drawn Boy. And it’s less than 15 minutes’ walk from our front door. I am truly blessed.

Jump to next section.

Labels: mynottingham

I didn't go into Ted Baker for years and years and years - until one afternoon this summer, when I found myself in urgent need of as many short sleeved "holiday shirts" as I could get my hands on. Because - of course! - it was an absolute imperative that I went away to Vietnam with a suitcase stuffed full of brand new short sleeved shirts. We addicts can always come up with suitable justifications when the occasion demands.

I had always thought that Ted Baker shops would be full of over-priced, pseudo-trendy tat which would fall apart after six months. Actually, I was wrong. Some of their stock is actually quite serviceable - like this dinky little number, for instance. It sports a slightly curious design, in that there's a button-down collar which buttons down invisibly, on the inside of the collar, by means of a tiny little loop of fabric. Sweet, really.

Peter, it's you next. Could this shirt be yours? Come back tomorrow to find out.

Update: Apropos Mr. Baker, Nigel R (a regular reader) has very kindly sent me this, with the following comment:

31. Needs Furniture Workshop
3-5 Hockley, NG1 1FH
(link)

Custom-made furniture for kitchens and bathrooms, which tends towards the traditional, but with a contemporary twist. We used this place quite heavily a couple of years ago (when we were kitting out the cottage kitchen) and were mightily impressed. Glowing customer testimonials can be supplied on demand…

32. NG1
76-80 Lower Parliament Street, NG1 1EH
(official site) (link #2)

Nottingham’s largest gay club in nearly 20 years, the likes of which haven’t been seen round here since the demise of the legendary Part Two. Two dancefloors at weekends: one commercial ‘n cheesy, the other dead ‘ard, like. Brings them flocking in from miles around, and has helped put Nottingham back on the map, otpotss-wise. Also very popular on Wednesdays, with a noticeably younger crowd. But beware of the podiums. I’m sure they’re gonna getcha, yeah.

NG1 also hosts wildly popular Poptastic nights on the last Friday of each month, and is now starting to run regular School Disco nights as well.

33. Obi
King Johns Arcade, Bridlesmith Gate, NG1 2GR

What should all well-meaning fly-mos buy for their friends’ kids? Why, gorgeous designer kiddie-togs, of course! Because you’re never too young to look groovy. We love shopping here.

34. Paul Smith
10 Byard Lane, NG1 2GJ
(official site)

The original Paul Smith shop, which has stood at this address for over thirty years. These days, there’s less of the smart formal stuff in the shop, and more of the casual jeansy stuff (although you can find a lot of the smart formal stuff in Flannels, Limeys and House Of Fraser). Paul Smith is a bit of a local hero, and his clothes still cut the mustard. Classics-with-a-twist? Bring ‘em on!

35. The Peacock
11 Mansfield Road, NG1 3FB

A fine old institution of a pub, which has consistently maintained its high standards for as long as I can remember. Beautiful etched glass windows. Tasteful Victorian interiors. Warm, comfortable and cosy. The sort of place you can go to for long conversations with friends who don’t like going to city centre pubs much anymore. Attracts a relatively academic, intellectual crowd, especially in the quiet bar (complete with bells on the walls for service). Well, a Guardian-reading crowd, at any rate. Also slightly gay-ish round the edges. Or maybe that’s just when we’re there.

Jump to next section.

Labels: mynottingham

Take a look at this, from today's Guardian. Click on the quote for the full article, then scroll down to the section headed Sense and sexuality.Hmm. So what does that make people in Lancashire, then? And does that turn the rest of the population into otpotos (orientation towards people of the opposite sex)? Apart from bisexualists, who become otpoes (orientation towards people of either sex)?

The article then goes on to list all sorts of hip homo expressions which I've never heard of before. Faux-mo? Mo-town? Slow-mo? Fly-mo? Someone's having a laugh, right?

I'm already finding it difficult enough to accept the ludicrous soubriquet mox (plural: moxen), which the, ahem, fly-mos at Attitude magazine have been trying to foist upon the Queer Nation for many a long month.

I guess that just makes me a status-quo-mo.

Item 65. Josef K - Sorry For Laughing (1981)
Item 66. Orange Juice - Poor Old Soul (1981)
Item 67. Fire Engines - Get Up And Use Me (1980)

Inspired by a recent online chat with Dave Spellcnut about Postcard Records, and then by his subsequent piece on post-punk, it suddenly felt like the right time for some prime examples of nervy, scratchy jingly-jangliness from the very early 1980s.

The Josef K track first appeared in the UK as a Belgian import single from Les Disques Du Crepuscule, and was subsquently covered by Propaganda. The Orange Juice track was the band's fourth and last single for Postcard Records, before they signed to Polydor and started gently nudging the bottom end of the charts. The Fire Engines track was their first and only single on the Codex Communications label. It was way, way ahead of its time - so much so that I couldn't really get my head round it back then, preferring instead their subsequent, relatively poppier releases. It is only listening to it now, after a gap of many years, that I can grasp just how groundbreaking and influential it turned out to be.

In fact, I couldn't believe how fresh all three of these singles sounded when I stuck them on the gramophone tonight. They were a breath of fresh air then, and they're still a breath of fresh air now.

Update: Sorry - you weren't quick enough. These MP3s are no longer on my server. I generally make them available for a week or so (sometimes less) before substituting them for new ones. Better luck next time!

I have decided. This isn't a place for celebrity tittle tattle. Bog off, the lot of you.

God, but that feels liberating. Now, where was I?

Fifty bloody shirts, and still counting. Okay, I'm finally feeling embarrassed about this now. But onwards we must plough, as we now work our way through The Ironing Pile.

Of course, when I say "Ironing Pile", I don't mean to suggest that I'll be modelling unironed shirts from now on. Oh dear me, no. That would never do. I think I'd actually rather flash my privates than appear in public in creased clothing. Not that I'm about to do either, mind you.

Instead, I'll be ironing the shirts before wearing them. Which is possibly the best motivation I've ever had for reducing the size of the pile. Which is enormous. Truly enormous.

So. This is actually one of my absolute favourites - a Paul Smith shirt which I bought in the spring of this year. Now, to the untrained eye, this might look just like half the shirts I've worn already. But oh no - this one is different. It's special. When I wear it, I feel good. In fact, I feel more than good - I feel lucky.

The current R**** & S*** fad aside, the top search request leading to this site has been consistently the same for several months now: electroclash. Which is as good a reason as any for linking to this lengthy, erudite and informed article on the subject by Simon Reynolds: ELECTROCLASH, interred in a sarcophagus of faint praise….

An established and well respected music writer, Simon Reynolds also has a home page here, and a new-ish blog here (via Nigel). All good meaty fodder for the musically obsessed - but probably of limited interest to anyone else.

Cackle. Having comprehensively freaked the University Challenge guy who I used to spot at gigs, I now turn my attention to his mate Ben, who still appears to live in Nottingham. Reading through his stuff, I now discover that I'm not the only person who has been blogging certain events in this fine city of ours. No indeed. Ben has also been there all along, blogging away. He might even have been standing next to me, for all I know.

Compare and contrast the following, then.

The Bellrays & The D4 at Rock City. Ben's version. My version.
Once Upon A Time In The Midlands at Broadway. Ben's version. My version.
J Mascis & Chris Brokaw at The Social. Ben's version. My version.

Also, Ben has rather usefully been to some of the gigs I wanted to see, but missed. Here are his reviews of:
Queens Of The Stone Age / Black Rebel Motorcycle Club @ Rock City.
The Vines / The Libertines @ Rock City.
Fugazi @ The Boat Club.

I wonder if Ben will be there at Groove Armada, Badly Drawn Boy, The Thrills, The Faint/Radio 4/Schneider TM, Manic Street Preachers/Ian Brown, The Music, The Datsuns/Polyphonic Spree/Interpol, or The Flaming Lips? If so, expect more parallel Nottingham gig-blogging. I am no longer alone.

Following Winston Churchill's success on the BBC "Great Britons" poll over the weekend, Peter of Naked Blog will shortly be running a poll to discover his readers' 100 greatest gay Britons. To help him come up with his nominations, you are currently invited to leave your suggestions in his comment box.

Categories will include: genius, visibility, campness, drama and legacy. Note also the following: "Heterosexuality is not a barrier to consideration, provided the person made a significant contribution to the welfare of British gay people."

A triple-decker catch-up, then.

Saturday: The other Jaeger shirt that my dear mother gave me for my birthday a couple of years ago. Jonathan falls by the wayside, as London Mark steps hopefully forwards.

Sunday: Back to the Ben Shermans we go. London Mark sighs with disappointment and sidles back into the shadows.

Monday: A milestone: the last of the Ben Shermans! And also the only one that isn't checked. Incidentally, the painting you see behind me was the one we bought in Hanoi over the summer.

So. The Ben Shermans have all gone, and the cottage closet has now been cleared. Tomorrow, we move to Phase Three of the project - the ironing pile. How much longer can the madness continue?