skankdelvar

When the egregiously drab Carol Anne Duffy handed in her badge I had high hopes for the next incumbent of the office of Poet Laureate. Of course, we ended up with Simon Armitage, a specimen of extreme loathesomeness whose poetic output is limited to a meagre few published collections, these propped up by occasional dribs and drabs of semi-literate doggerel condescendingly lobbed at his fawning adulants rather as a chimpanzee might hurl his fecal matter at a coach party of mouth breathing schoolchildren. That Mr Armitage has stooped to write librettos for modern opera merely compounds rather than alleviates the crushing ennui that befalls me when I hear his name or - worse - his ghastly, nasal voice droning away on Radio Four about inclusion, compassion and his (feigned) affinity for the North of England, a bleak and charmless locale where no fashionable gentleman would venture even on a bet. The repellent Armitage will probably remain in post for some time and it will be with the greatest difficulty that I shall suppress my feverish anticipation for the day when his inglorious tenancy comes to an ignominious and preferably painful end, and the talented Mr Skinnyman takes his rightful place as our national poetaster. Sic transit Gloria Gaynor, as my old pal and drinking buddy Alf Tennyson was wont to say. He knew whereof he spoke.

The things you see when you don't have your gun.

Your encomium is welcome and appreciated. But let's not derail the thread too far. Fundamentally, Teebs is toying with the notion of a hat. What we need is a poll.

Well, yes it should. But David's been through a lot recently and I didn't want spoil his fun.

My good friend Mr Van Day tells me that he has recently purchased a Ford Transit with the intention of converting it to a pleasure vehicle. 'I'm going to name it after myself so people will say "Look, there goes David Van Day's day van 'David'. It'll be a motorised palindrome, basically'.

I don't own one of these, sadly. I just got the image off a Google image search. There's various Stingray related stuff on eBay so I assume the tin fish toy probably comes up for sale every so often. But I bet it costs a packet.

The great danger with wearing a hat is that one may be mistaken for Greatest Living Shakespearean Actor and 24 carat wänker Sir Mark Rylance

No, really. I just found a bit of it on an old external drive and honestly it's so awful I'd want to re-write it before anyone saw it and I'm not going to. So there (stamps foot). Frankly, I'd rather wear a hat at a gig than re-visit the Hitler thing.

Oh, please don't...

Did that when BC had a blog site a few years ago. It was about 10,000 words in 6 instalments and entitled 'I Was Hitler's Bassist'. It was a bit sh!t, actually

I'm glad you asked. Musicians have for thousands of years worn hats. Thucydides remarks in book IV of his 'Pantechnicon': "Οι μουσικοί όλοι φορούσαν φρυγικά καπάκια. Θεώρησαν ότι τους έκανε να φαίνονται έξυπνοι, αλλά μοιάζουν με Smurfs" (trans: The musicians were all wearing Phrygian caps. They thought it made them look smart but they just looked like Smurfs) Lyrist and Flautist in Phrygian caps serenade man with stick The practice persisted down through the ages but the most influential manifestation of the musical hat came to pass when jazz musician Lester 'Prez' Young saw a wide-brimmed pork pie hat in a shop window and thought 'That would be a nice change from my customary straw boater which is looking a bit past it if I'm really honest'. That night Young wore his new hat to a jam session at the house of his friend Dexter 'Moondog' Van Buren*. Young's hat excited widespread approval, Van Buren observing: 'Ah mo gits me a hat like ol' Prez hyah, mebbe gits me sum jelly-roll too, Dad'. Lester 'Prez' Young with hat Young's hat became such a trademark that Frank Sinatra bought one and upon Young's death Charles Mingus composed the song 'Goodbye Pork Pie Hat' ** Subject to a certain narrowing of the brim the pork pie hat has remained pre-eminent among jazz head wear, outlasting trends such as the beret, the turban and the snap-brim fedora. The pork pie's high visibility among musicians noted for their technical prowess has made it an obvious choice for ageing pop and rock musicians no longer able to trade on their fading good looks or bodily tautness. The pork pie hat says to the audience: 'I may be a wrinkly old geezer who can't get it up but by Christ you will respect my chops and say stuff like "He's playing better than ever. It's called maturity, y'see" ' For older bass players the pork pie is not simply optional; it is essential. Nobody cares about bass players anyway and the older bass player is in the worst place of all: a non-entity with one foot in the grave. A pork pie hat adds a tiny hint of zing where none existed hithertofore. That is why bass players wear hats. Possibly / no / no / yes / possibly You do not need to acquire a hat. In fact, I would counsel a contrarian stance and advise you not to acquire a hat. But if you must get a hat either commit yourself 100% to the pork pie hat or seek out exotica such as a Native American War Bonnet or a U-Boat Commander's Sou'Wester with Kriegsmarine insignia You're entirely welcome. * Dexter Van Buren was an emigre middle class college lecturer from Croydon, England and given to affecting jazz patois. ** Mingus composition story is true.

Dear Ricky There I was, blamelessly pressing wildflowers in my commonplace book when the computing device made that 'bloont' noise which signals that someone is doing something on BassChat. Setting carefully to one side my Hall & Ball miniature pruning snips I clicked on the 'Alert' to discover a not entirely ill-founded but nevertheless unsubstantiated speculation that in the event of the Russian Navy having determined one of their nuclear submarines to be surplus to requirements and offering the vessel for open purchase I might have expended a portion of my not inconsiderable treasure upon said submarine for such purposes as shall remain entirely private but may become clear at such time as certain of my plans come to fruition. At one time I might have responded to a public disquisition of a frankly impudent nature by picking up the telephone and placing a call to my close personal friend the noted (and - it may be said - much-feared) legal counsel Mr Wolf J Flywheel, this with the express purpose of instructing The Great White Wolf (as he is known to friend and foe alike) to commence legal proceedings against whomsoever might be bruiting rumour in respect of my activities. Somewhere between learning that Wolf's attention is currently 120% taken up by his class suit against Universal Music Group in the matter of the destruction by fire of 500,000 master tapes (including a priceless and unreleased 1936 recording of the child star Miss Shirley Temple singing Swanee River, a performance which in these fragile times might be accounted both 'offensive' and culturally appropriative yet still be of interest to students of problematic cultural tropes) and discovering that my daisies had begun to wilt I came to the conclusion that faced with a range of mostly unpalatable options I should observe the maxim μὴ χεῖρον βέλτιστον (trans: "The least bad [choice] is the best." ) and proceed along the following lines: * Stay my retribution * Divert the topic elsewhere * Deploy a 1960's TV reference * Throw in some gags * Deny everything and blame someone else * Sit back and await developments I hope this clarifies matters. Yours Del Var

I don't like to point the finger of blame but it's all @Ricky 4000's fault. As Mr Billy Joel once observed: "I am an innocent man. Oh yes I am."

Exactamundo! Not remotely terrifying. For the purposes of clarification: Titan = Despotic marionette ruler of vast undersea realm, his reign enforced by '000's of spiky headed goons in 'terrifying' mechanical fish; also former master of Marina, slave, mute hottie and Lt. Atlanta Shore's rival for affections of Capt. Troy Tempest Triton = 1. A Greek god, the messenger of the sea, offspring of Poseidon. Often confused with Titan (see above). 2. Popular brand of electric shower appliance Aquaphibians Aquaphibian 1: "Troy Tempest! You're f*cking nicked, me old beauty"

In the event that I elect to pursue The Life Aquatic I shall instruct my people to build a full-size version of this above, an Aquapibian Terror Fish as deployed by His Majesty King Titan out of the TV documentary series Stingray. Obviously I shall demand that my vessel be considerably more terrifying than the model above which exudes - rather - an air of cheerful gormlessness.

Formby: Ee! It's turned out nice again!

It's not just band noise in urban areas that incomers abhor. After more than a decade in tiny rural villages I have seen newbies register official complaints about: * Sheep baa-ing loudly in a nearby field * Cow poop on the road * Absence of streetlights (response from Parish Council chairman: 'Buy a torch. They sell them in shops')

I was wondering who'd be the first to spot that.

Flash! Ah-ah Saviour of the universe! Flash! Ah-ah He'll save everyone of us!

LIkewise the basis of most British acoustic guitar singer songwriter music is whinging about feeling fragile and broken and hurt and terrified. The reason for this widespread spinelessness is not that the artistes in question are feeling fragile and broken and hurt and terrified. Not a bit of it. Exactly like their pop forerunners the stars of today are bathing in cash, driving expensive cars, snorking cocaine by the kilo and slipping the brisket to anything with a pulse. The difference is that their fans are not bathing in cash, driving expensive cars, snorking cocaine by the kilo or slipping the brisket to anything with a pulse. Their fans feel fragile and broken and hurt and terrified and are buying music to reflect their mood. Do these fans feel fragile and broken and hurt and terrified because they are not driving expensive cars, snorking cocaine by the kilo and slipping the brisket to anything with a pulse? Or is it because they are genuinely fragile and broken and hurt and terrified? And if the fans of British acoustic guitar singer songwriter music genuinely are fragile and broken and hurt and terrified is it because they have been taught to feel this way by a generation of howling pinko social workers, commie educators and loathsome 'journalists'? Or are they fragile and broken and hurt and terrified because they are in a sense cut from shoddier cloth than those who came before. And would repeated listening to The Immigrant Song or Ace of Spades or The End put some much-needed iron in their souls? I do not know but I think we should be told.

Aren't we all.

My only deep sorrow is the unrelenting insistence of recording and motion picture companies upon purveying the most brutal, ugly, degenerate, vicious form of expression it has been my displeasure to hear—naturally I refer to the bulk of grime*. It fosters almost totally negative and destructive reactions in young people. It smells phony and false. It is sung, played and written for the most part by cretinous goons and by means of its almost imbecilic reiterations and sly, lewd—in plain fact dirty—lyrics, and as I said before, it manages to be the martial music of every sideburned delinquent on the face of the earth. *(changed from rock 'n' roll as it appeared in the original Frank Sinatra disquisition upon the evils of Elvis and his co-conspirators)

My sources lead me to believe that Sir Nicholas is no fan of Mr Johnson and therefore unlikely to have passed along any helpful tips on how to engage with the fairer sex

Not so fat these days but still the chap about whom a woman once observed: "Nick Soames' approach to seduction is like having a wardrobe fall on you with the key sticking out".