Interview with Steve Jones about being a Sex Pistol and his autobiography Lonely Boy

Sex Pistol co-founder and guitarist Steve Jones has brought out his candid and entertaining autobiography called Lonely Boy and I interviewed him for work about it.

He spoke to me for about half an hour on the phone from his home in LA and there wasn’t space to include everything he said so here’s the full transcript.

It covers writing the book, the good times, the bad times, Donald Trump, Prince Harry and the so-called Brex Pistols. Continue reading “Interview with Steve Jones about being a Sex Pistol and his autobiography Lonely Boy”

Interview with Steve Jones about being a Sex Pistol and his autobiography Lonely Boy

Closing Time, Thames Barrier

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The gates of the Thames Barrier are called Alpha to Foxtrot. This is Alpha, on the south side, which closes first with Echo and Foxtrot on the north side. The bigger ones in the middle then close one at a time

UPDATED with new new pictures, taken by Deon. It’s easy to tell which are his. There’s more of his stuff here

Because they only carry out a routine closure of the Thames Barrier six times a year, it is treated, in a small-scale, very English kind of way, as something of an event.

There are already a handful of spectators when we arrive at just after half eight on a Sunday morning – middle-aged couples in the main and some young families, cameras ready. Continue reading “Closing Time, Thames Barrier”

Closing Time, Thames Barrier

The Prophet Of West Wycombe Hill – the most cheerful man alive

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The Dashwood Mausoleum, West Wycombe Hill

Let’s call him Bill Franklin. We meet him on West Wycombe Hill, by the huge, walled mausoleum to Sir Francis Dashwood (1708-1781), who founded the Hellfire Club and hosted its meetings in chalk caves he had excavated some 100m below our feet.

Continue reading “The Prophet Of West Wycombe Hill – the most cheerful man alive”

The Prophet Of West Wycombe Hill – the most cheerful man alive

Glad and ruins on the Thames

Me and The Goff walked the Thames from Woolwich to Rotherhithe on a sunny Sunday. It’s a stretch of the river neither of us have much cause to visit and it’s fascinating, not least because so unlike the London of our everyday lives.

There’s still industry here from an age of rust and clank sitting besides new flats that by comparison seem more modern than they already are.

It’s a place of dead and ruin, of abiding and of the future. Perhaps appropriately it crosses the Meridian Line.

And the river is wide, spanned at the east by the Thames Barrier, which shines beautiful in the sun, keeping greater ruin at bay.

Continue reading “Glad and ruins on the Thames”

Glad and ruins on the Thames