The Outlandish World of Greg Goode Part VI There’s dancing and chanting and donkeys on skates Strange flaming robes and young girls spinning plates An odd little boy with a bright red balloon And a pack of wild dogs howling up at the moon They’re all pointing at me, I just want to run A knot in my stomach says this won’t be fun “Dance!” boomed a voice from on high… A low whirling kicked up from the floor in front of me and a wave of dust edged me further back into my seat. The low grey hum gave way to grinding gears and clanking metal as a huge platform rose up from the ground and towered over us. My palms began to sweat as six ghost-like figures lined up on the edge of the raised plinth and took turns lighting their hand held torches one by one. Gently they began to sway from side to side, getting faster and more erratic, then darting in between each other like a collective of dervishes, careering round the tiny platform at an alarming rate… before leaping from the … [Read more...]

The Outlandish World of Greg Goode Part V I’ve been reading manifestos, looking to find a cause Elections are looming, though I don’t have a vote Still I haven’t seemed to find a voice that echoes with my own But I know we need integrity … not awful racist blokes. There is something odd and faintly offensive about the Rev J W Simpson cocktail bar in Fitzrovia. This is the former home of the eponymous ecclesiastical gentleman who, according to the mock blue plaque outside, lived here between 1963 and 1987. Today it blends spanking new sofas with peeling wallpaper and crumbling plaster, whilst the layout retains all its original design. The draw for me, of course, was the mead. Whilst cocktails are on no level my thing, I read that the Rev J W Simpson offered the mead variety. Upon receiving this knowledge my heart started to palpitate, my hands started to sweat … and I knew the ‘Mead Feast’ must be sampled.  Now, I don’t want to come across as some crazily-chuntering … [Read more...]

The Outlandish World of Greg Goode Part IV I’m in the Agora waiting my turn, The sun’s bearing down and it’s starting to burn, I cast my vote straight into an urn: Chucking him out is the way that he’ll learn! The summit of the Acropolis seems like it is level with the endless blue sky. The heat is so strong it feels as if my skin might decide to simply fizzle up into flame any second. The whole Agora is fit to bursting as I push my way through the worst of the crowds outside the rope barrier of the voting area. There are thousands of us, both inside the cordon and beyond – all swarming like bees – and here for one reason alone: to choose who will be thrown out of the city. I have scratched my name on a broken piece of pottery and handed it in. I have cast my vote to decide who will be evicted… and as I mop my sweaty brow and survey the summit of this great, noble Athens, a grin erupts across my face. I’m beaming so hard my cheeks are starting to ache. Now, against my will, … [Read more...]

The Outlandish World of Greg Goode – Pt 3 They chanted for freedom, I didn’t know why, Whirling around me their placards raised high. I only stepped out for a walk in the sun, When half-baked rebellion squashed all my fun. “Death to the fat cats!” rang out their decree. “Good golly!” I stammered… they may well mean me. The scampering behind me grew louder and the low murmured chanting became clear. I quickened my pace, but the steps grew closer and disembodied slogans boomed out to deliver messages of doom to the rich, powerful and oppressive. There was no escaping it, they were coming for me. As I slipped into top gear, old legs pumping as fast as they would go, the throng of noise and revolution enveloped me and I stared into the face of Guy Fawkes… hundreds of them. … [Read more...]

The Outlandish World of Greg Goode – Pt 2 He spoke of the future and who they oppose Of battling all evil, defeating vile foes He pledged up their 'Freedom' to raucous applause And Partisans gave themselves to his epic cause Then as he paid tribute to those who he led I slipped away quietly, scratching my head His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edges of the lectern and coaxed it into life, swaying it from side to side like a giant metronome preparing to set the beat for what was coming next. As the rhythm of his lurch quickened pace, the air in the hall became hot and a low hum raised itself around the room. Without warning the speaker burst forth, spraying the waiting pew-dwellers with a million words a minute and causing the entire room to move in time with the small wooden podium. As the fervour grew, men, women and children jumped to their feet, whooping approval in a chorus that built to a deafening crescendo inside the small church. … [Read more...]

This month our favourite singer, Stella, booked her yearly cheese constitutional in France. She goes for the Reblochon – fresh, seeping and stinking; the Saint-Maure de Touraine – clean and flavoursome, with a gum-tingling rind… and of course the Brie – aged, oozing and reeking. Unfortunately, for the fifth year running, her husband – a cheese dunce by all accounts – will not be going with her. This latest refusal has made Stella reach for the guitar… and as usual, we’re happy she did.   … [Read more...]

The Outlandish World of Greg Goode - Pt 1 I'm a capitalist, yank, damn baby boomer Labelled in the past as a zealot consumer But I will not pray in a church made of greed It's more like-minded people of which I have need Partisans, comrades, Searchlight's optioned my voice I hope you'll listen as I hunt for a choice Partisans, my name is Greg Goode and I am an evil capitalist billionaire recently moved to Britain from the US via central France. My first business was oil. My second art. On the continent I tried – and failed – to build an agrarian paradise in the grounds of my 18th century chateau. Now my wife Victoria and I are settled in London and life has never been better. Dual citizenship with this fine country and my own looms pleasantly in the distance and a number of people are telling me that I should be looking to slow down. But I can't. I find myself restless, unfulfilled and desperate to find some higher purpose. So as you can imagine, I was extremely pleased … [Read more...]

Thursday 19th December Italian Off the Menu for the Foreseeable Future Another awful week in the press for poor old Nigella Lawson. We’re not trying to kick her whilst she’s down or anything… we just like writing silly songs. … [Read more...]

Monday 9th December Baby Boomers: Living the High Life, Causing Maximum Seethe... and Loving It Record numbers of Baby Boomers are being hospitalized for recreational drug use, whilst a growing percentage are pootling off on ‘adult gap years’. As the Baby Boomers get to act like teenagers again, many people are at last coming to terms with the fact that their twilight years will not be quite as easy going… and they know just who's to blame. … [Read more...]

Sunday 1st December Bob Dylan, His Spot Welder & a Pit Full of Iron Ore On 18th November Bob Dylan opened an exhibition of his iron gates entitled Mood Swings. This came as a surprise to many, but not to those who knew all about the singer’s early days and the industrial heartland from which he hails… Robert Zimmerman was raised in Hibbing, Minnesota... a grand old town in Saint Louis County. At the edge of the town sits the largest open pit iron mine known to man, and this pit provided the raw materials for America's industrial revolution. The town was also home to some of the most skilled metal workers in the world. The locals called them... 'The Railing Men'. Bob Dylan forges Iron Gates Stare inside the frames you'll see his fate In the place of bars, Are scrap metal parts And even one with a nice small bronze guitar He's seeing clearly now Bob sings just like a singer, yes he does He plays tunes just like a singer, yes he does And he paints just like … [Read more...]