Hoxton Night Out (lots of poetry and a new name)

Shit… my head…! (not ‘shit on my head’, that’s what we do to you – fucking funny when we get it right). Bit of a late one in the end. Hit Hoxton last night as planned for an Indian throwaway – we scored! Back of the net! Best Madras I’ve had for a long time.

Tried to persuade Martin that it was all going to be a bit dull and probably suck quite alot, but he came anyway. Made him promise not to bring any of his art.

For those of you who don’t know what I’m on about… Hoxton is the dog’s bollox – full of loads of shops with the best grub, big candles and the nuts furniture (trendy silver shiny shit, big round lamps, orange plastic chairs – you know the kind of stuff).

It’s got a market called Spitalfields (not what it used to be but there ya go). A gang of us used to hang out there (when it was cool).

Got some pics and will dig ’em out when I get a min.

Anyways, as it IS the art centre of the world, the pigeons who hang there tend to be painters, poets, musicians, writers and, I fucking love it. Multo culturalo!

Obviously I have never told ’em I come from Hayes! ‘Er, Hampstead Garden Suburbs’ I answered when Wordsworth asked me once (Wordsworth is a bit of a twat to be honest – no one really likes him, named himself after the poet – bit up his own arse).
In fact, they’ve all named themselves after poets and writers and artists and musicians – hilarious when you see some of ’em and the names they’ve gone for! The bongo playing pigeon who calls himself ‘Dylan’ after you know you, and all he plays are the bongos. Fucking funny! I don’t think Bob Dylan even liked the bongos. How many Dylan tracks have got bongos in them? None (if you know different, do let me know in the comments!). Then there’s Frida – a right poncy old bird who fancies herself a bit of a Frida Kahlo type. She’s even gone for the mono brow look by gelling her over eye feathers (clearly, this looks shit).

Bottom line is it’s a top place to hang out – doing a spot of window looking, love the take away huts with loads of throwaway potential. Plus got some some cool mates there. Nuts fun when we start talking art, poetry and stuff (so long as Wordsworth doesn’t start to wang on). Ignoring my Hayes background (as I try to!), I love a bit of culture!

Like I say – pics of the gang to follow (reckoned it would’ve been way uncool for Martin to bring his cam so I told him to leave it at home).
Anyway, me and Mart got talking to Eliot.

Eliot introduced me to the scene in the first place (another story for another time – fucking funny though – bumped into each other diving for the same piece of what turned out to be dog turd. Missed it by an inch. Pissed ourselves). Elliot used to be called TS after (ovbiously) TS Eliot – had to stop with the TS though coz noone could pronouce it and it ended up sounding too much like ‘TITS’, so he changed it to Eliot – wise move!

He reckoned me and Mart should change our names. Get in! Top idea. So… as writing is my game I figured a poet would be the way to go.
So I went for Brian! Perfect. Brian after Brian Patten. What a dude.
Martin went for Wendy after Wendy Cope – I pointed out that a girl’s name might sound a little but gay – plus, photography is his thing. Suggested he stick with Martin after Martin Parr (cool bloke who took loads of shots of the seaside).

He liked it and wasn’t bothered it wasn’t exactly a name change… In fact, I think he got to thinking that’s why he was called Martin in the first place!
Here’s a Brian Patten poem I quite like:

I Caught A Train That Passed The Town Where You Lived

I caught a train that passed the town where you lived.
On the journey I thought of you.
One evening when the park was soaking
You hid beneath the trees and all around you dimmed itself
as if the earth were lit by gaslight.
We had faith that love would last forever.

I caught a train that passed the town where you lived.

by Brian Patten
Fucking lovely eh (I managed to remember this one and told it to Eliot – he liked it too). There’s a bit of a story behind this. Reminds me of a bird I met once in Birmingham sitting under a bush. Sadly it never worked out.

Eliot told everyone that I was now called Brian – from now on. Ye ha.

Think I might move to Hoxton. Hmmm. Food for thought.
Off to Slough later to check out Ali’s place. My current Cyber Caff is becoming a pain in the arse and they’re getting a bit pissy when I drop the odd feather. Fuck ’em. Ali – if you’re there – catch ya later, mate!

February 18, 2006. Uncategorized.


  1. Pigeon Blog - Tomorrow Night - Free Pancakes Alert replied:

    […] Already been in touch with the boys – well, to be honest, I told Mart to fly over – and looks like we’re all gonna be there apart from Wordsworth who reckons it might be a bit pikey – fucking snob. […]

  2. Marcel replied:

    Been in the country for a bit and wrote some poetry of my own. Poor fucks round there are pretty depressed. My verse expresses the superiority of our city dwellings.

  3. pigeonblog replied:

    Marcel: Love to read some… can you send it to me?
    Your pal
    Brian P

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