Morning all,
And a very Merry New Year to you all. trust you have enjoyed a little break from the drudgery of working life and have returned therein with a renewed sense of impending doom, pain and misery.

Hurrah!

I myself have had a noisy festive season. All my own fault of course...actually no, the real blame should fall at the feet of Lady C, who in an altruistic gestured gave me a rather splendid trombone for Christmas, so I have been rather testing the patience of the Eaton manor residents Association ever since. I can assure you though dear friends that I shall not flinch from the responsibility that I have now been given to add a little brass flava to my recitals for you in the coming months. Just as soon as I've learnt to get a note out of the blighter!

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(apologies for my rather ragged appearance, I'd been up all night with the blasted thing, what with that and the constant banging on the wall from my neighbours I'd barely had a wink of sleep. What on earth could they have been up to?)

Anyhoo, 2008 ended with a couple of splendid jaunts to Gay Paris, the last of which being a most splendidly debauched evening at Club NME in Pigalle.

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Alongside my new chum Kid Acne we represented both the poor north and the opulent south of our great country to an amazed and bemused and indeed rather large crowd of young frenchies and most enjoyable it was too i must say. Yours truly was even photographed and interviewed for an allegedly reputable style rag by a gaggle of young fillies who found it necessary to line up and in turn have a stroke of my facial apparatus. Confusing and erotic at the same time.

Just the way i like it!

So here we are in 2009. I predict thet the year will be just those aforementioned things- confusing and erotic.



Splendid!

Now, don't forget to double check your diaries for forthcoming Mr.B shows. The 100 club on 24th Jan should be terrible fun. I shall be playing alongside Kristen Schaal (Mel from 'Flight of the Conchords'), so should have myself another stalker with any luck.

Pip-pip

B x

Pip-pip all,
Been a frightfully yet joyfully busy end to a summer rich in Chap-Hop but poor in weather.
Late September found me once again at the velvet doors of the Soho revue Bar for another splendid Wam Bam Club. All went well until I discovered after I had finished my recital and been hounded by a gaggle of screaming harridans who couldn't seem to grasp the fact that my moustache was real and ran off shouting such platitudes as 'I'm gonne wet myself!' and the like, that Lady C, having travelled back early from Paris to see me had been turned away at the very same velvet door at which I had previously found myself. I registered my disgust with the staff and joined her hastily at the hostilery to which she had resigned herself.
I was joined by my erstwhile posse at said public house only to find out that not only had another old chum been turned away, but he'd also been told by the plebian, burton-attired doorman to 'make an effort next time'.
The ruddy barefaced cheek of it!

Anyhoo, The following evening I played in ipswich, the scene of a post-recital riot during my previous visit. This time was just a little more gentile. By 2am myself and my trusty aide Wing Commander Doling enjoyed a lock-in at the venue with 'none other than' Jim someone-or-other, the manager of Ipswich town association Football club and some of his chums, whom I entertained with renditions of Level 42 numbers on my banjolele (that was the only way to keep these football types from starting another riot thought I).

Another recital, another working class pursuit. I have no idea how these things happen, but there you go. Harlow Dog Track (!) for Chloe's 25th birthday party was a splendid evening with some splendid young people. Like these here.

I say!




In other business, the album 'Flattery Not included' is all ready to go now and being manufactured as we speak, so do keep your eyes and ears peeled and I shall let you all know when it's available to buy.



Keep your peckers up and remember kids, do keep them sheathed to avoid the old Crinkums. Don't learn the hard way like i've had to!

Salut!

B x

Greetings one and all. It's been nigh on a year since I started all this tomfoolery so I thought it about time I kept you all up to date with my dealings, my musings, my feelings (although not too many of them mind you!) and my boozings.

The past year has been a veritable whirlwind of recitals and adventures, from the humble beginnings of Frogstock (No offence Frog old chap, but you did appear to be powering an entire music and arts festival from a single domestic plug socket in your mother's cottage!) to last weekend's Innocent Village Fete in Regent's park. It's all been rather marvellous so far I must say.

This past weekend saw me perform at a boat party on the Thames for numerous music business luminaries and thoroughly important types and I may be mistaken, but I did seem to notice a few nods of recognition when I sang my little song about the merits of crack cocaine. Can't imagine why.

Then yesterday I trudged, a little the worse for wear to Regen't Park in the splendid English Summer rain to perform a recital at the Innocent Marketing Junket…..sorry, I mean Village Fete. I was playing in the Village Disco tent with the splendid Correspondents, who amazed with their swing, savvy and energy . I myself arrived on stage 45 minutes later than 'billed' (although there was little or no mention of my playing I the programme, but there you go) after a troupe of Innocent Smoothie types spent a little too long (one second being more than long enough for my delicate ears) banging drums and the like to the Motown hits of numerous denim commercials of yesteryear. Any road up, I played and hopefully entertained the audience of young people and their prams. Apparently, like the music business types of the previous evening, toddlers seem to be rather fond of the Crack Song.



After the show, we explored the delights of the fete, Lady C was most understanding when I had to carry out my solemn duty of having my photograph taken with numerous young ladies and the day was only sullied by the news that my dear but wayward brother Dickie had stolen a coconut from the coconut shy. I did have to agree with him though when he told me he'd only done to teach the carnie a lesson that one should not spend all day on one's mobile telephone when there are coconuts to be watched. We should have taken the lot of them. The fool never would have noticed.



Pip-pip!

B x

Mr.B's word of the day:

NYMPHOLEPSY- To be prone to erotic daydreaming.