Ian Astbury, Michel Houellebecq and Roast Pheasant.

I have had a rather frenetic few days, Saturday was my birthday (no, you may not ask how old I am! How very dare you!), Sunday I worked and had my birthday meal and now on this most torpid of week days I have had a very active day. I have done various things today that I have both benefitted from and been glad to do. The former is learning to cut glass at work. A skill I doubt I will have great need of, but one just never knows. The latter is finishing the ever so short Michel Houellebecq book 'Lanzarote' in one equally brief stint.

'Lanzarote', rather predictably, is set for its brief entirety on Lanzarote (I keep emphasising the briefness because it really is so short; a grand total of 87 pages in this particular edition) and follows the adventures of a typically unnamed main character and various peripheral characters that manifest the darker and/or more explicit aspects of Houellebecq's imagination. I ought to have read it in French, but I didn't. I was being lazy. In classic Houellebecqian style, it is brief, to the point, controversial and utterly rivetting. I must read more of his stuff. One for you culture vultures circling out there.

I have decided to follow my natural instincts and next discuss food.

I am not a great one for tradition, with the obvious exception of sartorial tradition, in which case I am most definitely a stickler for it. That said, I do observe on tradition every year on the Sunday nearest my birthday; consuming the eponymous meal - Roast Pheasant. This year, the brace of very fine birds were from J.C. Rook & Son, a local butcher, whose meat I am gradually familiarising myself with and a very fine pair they were indeed (fnar fnar). Flavoured with rosemary and topped with streakey bacon, it really was a delicious meal and some of the most delicious game I have ever eaten. Polished off with sticky toffee pudding, I'm sure you'll agree it was the height of decadence, but a ritual that is only observed once a year and merits special attention.

Musically I am about to reveal my love of all things '80s rock. Guns 'N' Roses are one of my all time favourite bands (we don't talk about Chinese Democracy, it doesn't count) and I enjoy dragging out the statistic that Appetite for Destruction is still the highest selling debut album ever.
On that note, I was given today a copy of Slash's collaborations album, which I am currently part way through the second spin of and frankly, all guilt aside, I love it! It's definitely a case of hit, miss or maybe; the collaboration with Fergie is... odd, but not unpleasant, while the collaboration with Iggy Pop is disappointing, if I'm honest. That said, I was never the biggest fan of the Stooges.
I, however, continue to be pleasantly surprised by the latest outpourings from Ian Astbury (frontman of The Cult (they did She Sells Sanctuary - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8I8mWG6HlmU)) and the opening track on which he features on this album is no exception. I also recommend that you check out his EP with Boris called BXI. The rest of it, from the bluesy ballad with Adam Levine of Maroon 5 to the hugely enjoyable track with (quelle horreur!) Kid Rock! (Seriously, check it out, it's called I Hold On and is really, really good.) is really rather enjoyable. I wont say much more than that, except to say; instrumental track with Dave Grohl and Duff McKagan and a track with Lemmy called Doctor Alibi, among others.

One final, more cultural note. I have, at long last, tracked down a recording of Il Barbiere di Siviliga, which, much to my delight, I love! It is easily on a par with Cosi Fan Tutti and possibly even it's sister opera; the Marriage of Figaro, which is to my mind the finest opera ever written. I grow more and more excited about my impending trip to the Royal Opera House to see the production they are doing of said Rossini opera.

I am in a rather frantic mood (frenetic?), so I apologise for the even-more-rambling-than-usual nature of my post, but hope you will come back for more!

Joe