Category: Music & Dance

Penny for the Guy

After an excessive Guy Fawkes Night with a wheelbarrow bonfire, fireworks to blow your hands off and the drunken Gümbet Gals Chorus (ladies, you know who you are), I’m suffering from mental paralysis. I have neither the inclination nor the energy to write anything remotely interesting, amusing or informative. It’s just as well that it’s Kurban Bayram across the entire Moslem world, a time where men are men and sheep are nervous. To celebrate the occasion, I am releasing a tiny snippet from Perking the Pansies the Book which tells of our first bloody encounter with the Feast of Sacrifice.

Liam answered a knock at the door. It was Tariq’s daughter. Selma was a pretty little thing, a fourteen year old girl with fathomless dark eyes and long brown hair, perfectly parted at the middle. Our contact had been minimal but we had exchanged half smiles and several hundred empty wine bottles: she occasionally helped Tariq with the rubbish disposal.  Selma handed Liam a bag of bloodied bones.

‘For you,’ she said. ‘Iyi bayramlar.’

‘Why… thank you. Teşekkürler.’

Selma smiled nervously and wandered off into the night. Sheep’s blood dripped through the bag and splashed onto Liam’s feet.

‘What the fuck?’

‘Who was at the door?’

‘Selma and a bag of blood.’

‘Fantastic. Anyone for spare ribs?’

‘You’re excited by a bag of bones?’

It was Kurban Bayram, The Feast of Sacrifice commemorating an Old Testament myth. God rather unreasonably commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son. Thankfully, Abraham proved his devotion and God provided a sacrificial ram instead. I had never read the book but had seen the Hollywood movie several times.

Liam was unmoved. ‘So hapless sheep across the entire Moslem World are being butchered as we speak? Revolting.’

‘And the flesh is distributed among family, friends and the deserving poor.’

‘So we only get the bones. What does that make us?’

‘Accepted.’

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X Factor Ads

It’s Sod’s Law. Just as I posted about gorgeous autumn weather in Bodrum it started to rain. And, Christ, did it rain. We’ve spent a couple of drizzly evenings watching the first two live episodes of the X Factor (that’s the British version of American Idol to those across the pond) through the internet using a VPN (virtual private network). I know, I know, it’s shallow, exploitative nonsense but it is entertaining. We plugged the laptop into the TV. It’s not the greatest picture but beggars as they say. We hear unconfirmed rumours that VPNs/proxy servers will be illegal when the Turkish Government eventually introduces its new internet controls and we’re beaten down by the heavy hand of the censorious State. If this is the case they’ll be no more British TV for us. And they’ll be no more British adverts either.

I’ve often thought that commercials are more entertaining than the programmes they rudely interrupt. Yeo Valley, purveyors of all things dairy have commissioned a costly class act for the X Factor. It’s bubble gum fun. The men aren’t bad either.

It’s not a new idea, of course. I remember the 70s Coca Cola ad that spawned the worldwide hit single I’d Like to Teach the World to Sing for the squeaky clean New Seekers (not a patch on the old Seekers).

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To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

My Anatolian dreams are frequent and intense, bordering on the nightmarish at times. This was not the case in Blighty. I wonder why? Was it something put in the water or something left out? Or perhaps I used to be too tired to dream, preoccupied with kiss-my-arse bosses and keeping the wolves from the door. My sleep pattern has radically altered since our exodus. Before, I’d be lucky to catch six hours. Nowadays it’s closer to nine, occasionally supplemented by a catnap after playing hide the sausage. The chances are I used to suffer from long-term, low-level sleep deprivation. Now my cycle is longer and shallower, and my dreams are richer and more vivid. This seems to be a common phenomenon. Liam says the same. Most people forget their dreams soon after waking. I wrote mine down as soon as got up this morning. It went like this:

I was introduced to a young Danish1 woman who composed Christmas carols for a living. Lovely, I thought and did my usual exploratory banter to show a bit of interest. I mentioned that Liam had won a Christmas carol competition way back in the eighties and had appeared on local television2. I also mentioned that he’d written various pieces that were sung by well-known choirs in Wales. Our Danish visitor seemed utterly disinterested and completely dismissive. She told me she was a devout Catholic and that we would burn in Hell. I launched into an anti-religious rant telling her that she’d been conned by ancient fairy tales and followed a faith that practiced witchcraft and cannibalism every Sunday (well, how can else could you describe the Catholic rite of transubstantiation – the actual turning of bread and water into the blood and flesh of Christ?).

I woke up with a jolt. Jesus, what does it mean?

1Apart from Cnut, our ex-neighbour I’ve nothing against the Danes and spent a wonderful weekend in fabulous Copenhagen. I also know most Danes are Lutheran.

2Some of you Brits may remember the glory days when ITV was a regional network. Liam appeared on HTV Wales. Liam’s winning entry was called Bethlehem Star and you can listen to the jolly hymn  here. The recording is a bit ropey as it was transferred from an old tape recording.

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A Gleeful Homecoming

Ancient Caria

Socially sated from our trip to Blighty and La Belle France, we have returned to our sticky Carian idyll to revive our sauna diet. We pitched the fans stereofanically and, despite the tyrannical heat, have spent a couple of evenings watching the second series of Glee. Fortunately, our randomly malfunctioning DVD player didn’t play up (more of this later).

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You’re Amazing…

This warms the cockles of my liberal heart and restores my fractured faith in humanity. Our imperfect world can be a sad, mad and bad place but it can also be glad. Let’s be grateful for that.

I’m Coming Out

It’s official. yesterday Perking the Pansies smashed through the magical 100,000 barrier*. I’m genuinely amazed, incredibly flattered and truly humbled. I know 100,000 is small beer to the big boys but this little boy is thrilled. I’ve been writing since the end of October 2010 and, apart from Christmas Day and Boxing Day, I’ve posted every day. In celebration of this event Liam and I are popping a bottle of bubbly (well, cheap Turkish fizz) and coming out of the closet with a few select photographs. I expect a brick through our window any day now.

For best effect keep the music playing as you view the slideshow. Be careful not to dance around your handbag.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

*Combining my current hits with my old Google blog before it was blocked by the lazy Turkish censors.

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Second Time Around

a celebration of our civil partnership.

Health and Efficiency

Our neighbours decided on a three week trip to Ankara to visit their families for Ramazan. Apparently, Beril’s mother has been rather ill of late and that’s what all the rows have been about. Despite the heated cabaret they are engaging neighbours and nothing is too much trouble. Though, I must confess I’m rather looking forward to taking sole possession of our shared garden for a while. We celebrated last night by playing music at full volume, walking around naked and indulging in a little al fresco fun reminiscent of my youthful dalliances along Putney Tow Path.

Spain’s Got Talent

Spain’s Got Talent

News from the other end of the Med. Swiss-based multi-national engineering company, ABB recently axed 160 jobs at a plant in Bilbao despite reporting record profits. Some ex-employees decided to do a full monty to highlight their plight. Spain has suffered particularly badly during the recession and 1 in 5 of the adult population is out of work. Thank you to Staying Sane in Spain for finding this. I find it a little cheeky but readers of a nervous disposition who find semi-naked hirsute men too seductive or offensive should change channels now. There’s a serious message blended with the fun. We should heed it.

Amy Winehouse RIP

Rest in Peace

I’m off message today to commemorate Amy Winehouse who died yesterday of a suspected drugs overdose. Her meteoric rise to fame and rapid descent into Hell was tragically predictable. Her seminal album Back to Black is work of a genius with lyrics laced with sorrow and utter desperation. Brian Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain and Janis Joplin and now Amy – all died at the same age. It’s not called the 27 Club for nothing. She just couldn’t come back from the black. Let’s hope she’ll be remembered more for her art and less for her addictions.

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Whirl Like a Dervish

Whirl Like a Dervish

DervishTo celebrate our deliverance from delirium, we fancied a night on the tiles and chanced upon a small nightclub, very Turkish and surprisingly chic. Turkish pop filled the room and young trendy things revolved around the dance floor like whirling dervishes. There was one tiny sensory drawback though, prompting Liam drunkenly to declare ‘my gift to Turkey is deodorant.’ Foreigners were definitely in the minority, though we caught the eye of a couple of likely western ladies, one of whom was topped off with a curly ginger perm and who writhed around the dance-floor like orphan Annie’s grandmother. We sang The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow knowing full well that it always does in Asia Minor at this time of year. Happy and contented we made our way home in the wee small hours picking up a kebab on the way; a very distant relation to the slop that’s dished up in Walthamstow.