BEYOND THE IMPLODE 3 - BRITISH AIRWAYS 0

Before we blast out of Hell with the other three platters, here's a few things I missed from the last post. Forgot to mention that one of the blokes from Bathory ended up becoming a video director - he's responsible for the Prodigy's Smack My Bitch Up and Lady Gaga's Telephone vids. The latter has SERIOUSLY upset some ageing crusties, due to the fact that the chanteuse appears in a studded leather jacket sporting the logos of the bands Icons Of Filth, Doom and GISM. Oh no, their underground culture's been co-opted by the mainstream!

Some goon with too much time on his/her hands has even set up a Facebook group called Sakevi/GISM should flamethrower Lady Gaga for her "Telephone" video . Basically, GISM are Japanese 'punk-metallers' led by a complete dickwit called Sakevi who's supposedly terrifying violent ((but definitely hopeless at making interesting music)). His stunts include chasing members of the audience around with a flamethrower. This isn't exactly real 'hard man' stuff; I'm pretty sure that if PETE THE EAGLE, the notoriously not-scary Crystal Palace FC mascot, turned up brandishing a flamethrower, I'd be one of the first sprinting in the opposite direction. That's not hard, it's just reckless. Still, nice to know Stuart Christie's call to prise open the floodgates of anarchy somehow led us to a utopia where activists want to set young women alight for inappropriate attire. Anarchists or Taliban?

I honestly don't understand how it's so inconceivable that the likes of Gaga, David Beckham, Liz Hurley and Angelina Jolie might happen to like Crass. After all, the Crass catalogue has been continually re-pressed and kept in circulation by Southern Records throughout the '80s/'90s/'00s, they've been featured in books and on TV, and they're hardly anyone's best kept secret, especially not in the internet age. Why, it wasn't even difficult to track down the original vinyl, back in the early '90s. Ultimately, they're just a band and hardly worth getting steamed up about. As for Icons Of Filth, their Onward Christian SoldiersLP is a brilliant slice of A-Punk, albeit with the odd WTF? lyric, and well recommended by yours truly. Doom I haven't really had any urge to listen to since the days when John Peel used to cane 'em on his show.

So, with that out of the way... back to METAL (by the way, I've changed this list to 'records' instead of 'albums')

5) KAZJUROL - "MESSENGERS OF DEATH" EP

In 1991, Channel 4 broadcast a documentary called Punks In Prague and, like many bored teenagers ((all three of us)), I tuned in to see what our Czech punk brethren were getting up to, two years on from the fall of their communist government. Y'see, back then, we knew relatively little about youth in Europe; we just assumed the ones in the commie countries were all wearing flares and grey V-necks, and shuffling around to Army of Lovers records in underground car parks. So it was great to finally catch up with the PUNX! Prague was dirt cheap, so maybe we could move over there and join them in their squats!

Unfortunately, four things became obvious while watching the doc:

1) Years of furtively swapping bootlegs behind the authorities' backs had led to one almighty, inbred, cross-genre mess. Hence, all the punk bands on the show actually played speed metal.

2) This cross-fertilisation of previously banned musical styles also affected the subculture's clobber. Leather jackets and, er, baggy shorts? Iron Maiden shirts? Beards and long hair? MULLETS? Damn it, I wasn't moving to Prague after all.

3) All of the punks in the programme were from wealthy backgrounds. Seeing some guy sitting talking about punk, while his mum poured him tea in a plush living room, wasn't exactly my idea of 'anarchy in action'. One of the film makers also revealed that he had to take a waiter job to keep his parents happy.

4) The only remotely punky music came from the neo-nazi skinhead bands Orlik and Branik. It's interesting to note that that wholesome company EMI actually put out Orlik's records (through its Monitor subsidiary), which became immensely popular at one point. It's as if Skrewdriver had signed to Sony, and you'd had Bruno Brookes on 'Top of the Pops', babbling, And "I Should Be So Lucky" falls two places, to number 4...and in at number 3, it's "Smash the Reds" by No Remorse...

Messengers of Death by Kazjurol is the only Czech heavy metal 7" I have ever owned, and that's only 'cos they hoodwinked me into thinking they were a punk band. Man, this has to be one of the worst records I ever wasted £1 on, but it also made me crease up laughing, so it gets an honorary mention. The record featured a snap of a mohican with a MOUSTACHE, a crude cartoon of a bishop's head impaled on a cross ((and a goat's head on an inverted cross)), and "WE TEACH YOU A LESSON IN LOVE" in gothic lettering. It also came with a lyric sheet, which was just as well.

Anyway, the only really great tune on this thrash EP is Stagedive to Hell, quite possibly the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. It goes like this:

DUNN DUNNA DUNNNNANNANANANANANANNANANANANANAN
I BROKE MY FUCKING FUCKING NECK
I BROKEN ALL MY BONES
WHEN I DIVE DIVE TO HELL
TO THE METAL CLONES
DUNNN DUNNNANANANNANNANANANAN
IT'S A STAGEDIVE
((((KA-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!))))
STAGEDIVE TO HELL!

Fucking hell, what were they on? They weren't even mucking about. I didn't like this enough to keep it, but I wouldn't mind giving it one last spin before I die. I mean, if Lady Gaga ever turns up with KAZJUROL sprayed across the back of her cowhide, THAT'D be cause for an uproar. How dare she leach off the name of brave, proud Czechs who were actually willing to get on stage and fling themselves into the Abyss for all eternity? The only other thing I recall about this EP was the band's 'shout out' list where they thank a bunch of bands, including one called Homo Picnic. When I played it to the Bathory fan, he declared it to be "shit". He got out of metal shortly after.

6) MOTORHEAD - "ORGASMATRON"

I know Bomber and City Kids are classic tunes and all, but this is my favourite Motorhead LP, mainly 'cos of the filthy guitar sound. Were they pouring Castrol GTX into the amps, or something? Like The Ramones, you always knew where you stood with Motorhead - you weren't gonna accidentally pick up a 2LP attempt at jazz fusion - and Lemmy's lyrical concerns are pretty consistent; war, loose women, being into rock and roll and not giving a damn, etc.

Anyway, most of the tunes from this are on Youtube though, believe it, they don't sound anything as loud as the actual vinyl version, especially Nothing Up My Sleeve and Riding With The Driver. I suspect Motorhead preferred Harleys to Hondas, which doesn't really help, but they were the ultimate biker metal band, weren't they? Who else comes close? The title track used to be on the jukebox at the now defunct 150 Bar in Old Street. All drinks £1.50! They even had photocopies of a Mirror article all over the walls, listing Britain's cheapest pubs. When they changed their name to 160 Bar, a short while later, somebody actually went around all the photocopies, changing the '5' to a '6' with a black biro.

The bar staff comprised a Scottish hunchback in a Motorhead hoodie and two stroppy skeletal barmaids who looked about 15, with black rings around their eyes. There was sawdust all over the floor and a machine selling porn DVDs in the toilet. The clientele was basically me and a mate, old Irish and Polish guys who were digging up City Road and a bunch of reprobates who'd come and go throughout the day, including Steve and Martin, two gay skinheads who'd get wrecked beyond coherence on a regular basis. Steve was about 6 ft 3, Martin about 5 ft 5, and they wore matching bomber jackets with faded Union Jack patches and badges. I think it was a bit of a violent relationship, they were always splitting up and having fist fights, before making up and returning to the 150 to drink themselves into comas.

Steve considered himself a stand-up, and would lurch around the bar, approaching various drinkers, slurring, "'ERE, MATE...NOT VERY POLITICALLY CORRECT THIS ONE...WHAT CHEW CALL A WOMAN WITH NO LEGSHH? DIRTY CUNT, AH HAH HA HAH HAH" That meant he was in a good mood. He once asked me to accompany him into the toilet, arguing, "NAH, YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS, IT'S FUCKING BRILLIANT!" He'd scrawled over the Durex machine, "FOR REFUND INSERT BABY IN SLOT". He then wandered around the rest of the pub, nagging drinkers to go and check out his joke.

Incidentally, I saw Martin years later, in the Wetherspoon's off Old Street ((the Masque Haunt?)), and he told me Steve had died in a house fire.

The 150 also used to serve 'pub lunch' - the dreaded £1.50 hot dog. In all my time there, I only saw one person mad enough to order this. "Y'WANT ONIONS?" the hunchback snarled at the hungry Hoxton hipster, as he shuffled over to a gas hob behind the bar. For months, we'd seen a saucepan sitting idle on the hob. The hunchback simply turned the gas on, stirred a fork around inside the pan and fished out several strings of congealed, black onion. Fuck knows how long the saveloy had been lying around.

But, if you wanted a place for cheap booze, narky jukebox music and pool (and DVDs entitled Best of Latvian Cum Buckets), the 150/160 was the place to be. Even the piss-soaked toilet floor didn't put us off. Amazingly, the only time I ever saw trouble in there was when an argument erupted about Gary Glitter; some drunk was arguing that arsenal fans all liked Bowie in the '70s, whereas Spurs fans allegedly all dug the Glitter Band, which proved Spurs were nonces. Some guy pushed the gooner soak off his stool, but he was too drunk to get back up on his feet and start a fight for real. It was pretty surreal entertainment, especially as Cradle Of Filth were on the jukebox at the time.

The staff didn't give a damn about anything or anyone and ran the place like it was their own private shebeen in a garage, and so it wasn't massively surprising when a "fire" shut the place down. It later re-opened as Bar Ria, and doesn't look remotely like it used to. Luckily, I just have to stick on Orgasmatron and I can see the lice-infested dump now. It was great. A classy way to waste away your life.

I'll do the 7th entry later, I gotta scram, bye-eeeee....

To be honest, metal's one of those genres- like jazz, R'n'B, hard house, pygmy nose flute, American Oi! and Japanese power electronics - that's left me pretty cold over the years. It's hard to identify the stumbling block, given that I can happily fuck up my eardrums with aggressive, discordant punk 'til the cowpats come home. Maybe it's the fact I find guitar solos boring, or it could just be that lyrics about summoning up demons / riding down Sunset Strip on a Harley, with a bottle of JD, ((bleeuccch on both counts, though Sunset Strip sounds like it could be a sleazy laugh)) don't float my liferaft. Plus there's the fact that long hair makes me look exactly like my sister ((I don't know who gets the worse deal in this scenario)). I only ever managed a Bobby Sands length barnet once, and that was only cos I was too skint to afford a haircut for months. Or, more accurately, I was spending my money down the pub a lot.

When I was a nipper, there was a graffito in Burnt Oak that read "NF - KKK - IRON MAIDEN", and that's pretty much how I remember that group, fairly or not; a sort of beer band for racist hooligans. Suffice to say, I was staggered when the group ended up colonising every Athena poster store in late '80s Britain. That beefy Chippendale holding the baby, Bart Simpson or a zombie waving a Union Flag - take your pick! I was especially gobsmacked as I consider Iron Maiden's music to be utterly irritating, tuneless drivel, but that's another argument for another day.

In Luton, even if you considered yourself the biggest bollocks anarchist going, you had to form a bond with 'alternatives' of every shade and hue. Sure, Slash was a twat who couldn't handle real whisky, and Crass were the only honest band ever, but you had to get on with G'n'R fans. After all, there were hundreds of kids out there in shell suits and flat top haircuts who hated your guts and would happily bash you for being a freak, so we needed to form alliances wherever we could, and to hell with The Ungovernable Force pissing all over Appetite for Destruction ((or vice versa)). I suppose this period was mainly up until 1992. Somehow, after that year, everyone became a lot more tolerant and less tribal. Except for the Babes In Toyland and Brutal Attack fans, but that's been covered elsewhere on this chickenpox-ridden URL.

One of my friends was a massive metal fan - I suppose you'd call it 'black' or 'death' metal now ((I don't have a clue)) but back then it was pretty much "thrash". The subcultural style seemed to be armless denim jackets festooned with band patches, studded armbands, ripped jeans, bullet belts and those big chunky basketball boots that were all the rage back then. He was especially fond of a band called Bathory, apparently a one-man unit from Sweden, who was rumoured to be a necrophiliac Satanist who lived in a bat shit-mottled castle and drank groupies' blood, or something. He also had dozens of LPs by other bands who seemed to relish posing in graveyards and producing record covers depicting some cartoon act of decapitation ((usually involving monsters or ghouls - and, occasionally, a guest appearance by His Satanic Majesty himself)). I can't really scoff; after all, I owned a copy of Why by Discharge, which had archive photos of Belsen corpses and Soviet Belarus child victims strewn across the front cover - no doubt to emphasise the fact that the band were NOT PART OF THE FUCKING MUSIC BIZ CIRCUS...and in no way to persuade curious teenage vinyl-buyers to hand over their dosh, in the belief that this must be the HARDEST MUSIC EVER MADE ((Why did come close, to be fair)).

Meanwhile, my brother in law ((and his sister)) was into what you'd probably call 'hard rock' - Whitesnake, Def Leppard, Judas Priest and similar bands who specialised in videos featuring blondes with perms and big breasts writhing around in front of a wind machine, or high speed bike chases, or whatever. I thought they all looked stupid ((ZZ Top were particularly horrific, though I suppose their brainless, 'Benny Hill goes redneck' MTV vids are now considered suitably 'post-ironic')). At least my sister's husband managed to subvert the usual popist argument that heavy metal's the preserve of privileged white males.

Anyway...I decided to work out which metal albums I could live with, and I came up with this cluster. I make no apologies for pissing off REAL metal fans, this is entirely subjective ((and remember, I listen to disco acts called Gay Cat Park)). I've excluded Thin Lizzy, because I don't think they really slot into the 'Metal' category, and no fucking way are you lot claiming Jimi Hendrix either. No Black Sabbath or Led Zep, cos, apart from Paranoid and Immigrant Song, I thought they were absolutely diabolical. Also, there's hardly any hair metal in this list, but I did find that Decline of Western Civilization 2 film quite amusing. Even though my mum forced me to turn it off before the end. Best comment box abuser wins a Bolt Thrower badge.

1) ZODIAC MINDWARP - "HIGH PRIEST OF LOVE"

As trashed as early-'90s Camden High Street at 4am. Fuck irony, this is a brilliant LP; OK, the chart hits were on Tattooed Beat Messiah, but I reckon this one wins outright, just for the title track, Hymn of the Speed Kings, Dangerous and Wild Child. I'd also highly recommend Mark Manning's autobiography Crucify Me Again, which is packed with debauched brags about consuming live rodents, albino kung-fu masters, a totally unhinged journalist girlfriend ((she slagged off a certain transgendered industrial superstar in an issue of 'New Humanist', if you're wondering)), firing crossbows at each other on tour, dropping UXO off the top of a tower block, getting a pierced willy with Marc Almond...oh, and possibly the most hilariously OTT account of the 1981 Chapeltown riots ever committed to paper.

See, this is what it's about: "I STORM THE GATES OF HEAVEN / ON WHEELS MADE IN HELLL!" One of my former flatmates actually yakked up from laughing at the VHS they put out, though we had been drinking since midday. But there was nothing remotely kitsch about Zod - this album's the sound of a man confronting his inner beast, and finding a werewolf driving a Panzer tank over a field of weeping Keane fans. Fucking ace.


2) THE CULT - "ELECTRIC"

Some old goths reckon that this band was pretty much toast after its Southern Death Cult / Death Cult incarnations, but I think that's rubbish. OK, I could live without the cover of Born To Be Wild, but the rest of this platter is total class. I remember the evening that the Wild Flower video popped on TV ((can't recall which show)), and my mum took one look at Ian Astbury, and said, "She's pretty". Oh hang on, that might have been Motley Crue...OK, I don't really remember it. But that piss-simple riff burned its way into my brain and I became a Cult fanatic overnight. When I picked up Electric on cassette, the year I started secondary school, I caned it so much I had to buy a replacement copy a few months later. In my tiny mind, The Cult soon emerged as the biggest rivals to The Pogues, causing me much gleefully pointless self-introspection.

The Cult were the nomad outlaws of the M1. While other boys my age dreamed of raiding Kim Basinger's laundry basket, Electric was busy comparing raven-haired, biker-jacketed, sultry vixens with flowers and devils. It was as if Yorkshire had decided to re-write beatnik history, with Astbury ((an ex-Crass fan)) selling his soul to Old Nick at Junction 31, and rock'n'roll clambering out of a nicotine-stained curry house at dawn, gasping for a B&H. Maybe I was just a hopeless sucker for lines like Mayhem children take no lip, Fallen angel, out of time!, I'm a wolf child baby, howlin' for you, B-52 baby, way up in the sky, She came on with a cyclone kiss, etc.

I mean, Li'l Devil basically has Ian Astbury playing Jesus, re-enacting the Big Yin's 40-day desert fast in some one-horse backwater, with a gothed-up scorpion child completely shattering his attempts to meditate - can you get any more fucking post-Byronic?

A-Punk and Industrial might have completely derailed me years later, but that bit in the album closer Memphis Hip Shake, where Astbury's crooning You'll never get back hoommme! at least vandalised some of the train tracks. And, 23 years on, I still never get sick of listening to this.

Sadly, after this album, Astbury developed an ego the size of China and Sonic Temple was a lame follow-up. The Pogues also came crashing down in due course, and I recall feeling totally cheated and inexplicably saddened by 95% of Hell's Ditch.

3) TYGERS OF PAN TANG - "WILD CAT"

Eight true, unbelievable facts:

1) The singer's name was Jesse and the drummer was called Big Dick.

2) Wild Cat sounds like the bastard offspring of AC/DC and Thin Lizzy, with a bit of Motorhead thrown in. And a sliver of Cockney Rejects, every now and then.

3) The lyrics to Euthanasia ((Come into the chamber / It's really clean / You won't catch any diseases / Hey gran, we're not that mean)) could have been culled from a punk 7".

4) Jesse was apparently kicked out of the band after this debut LP, and the Tygers became a 5-piece with a real singer ((who did more than just rasp in a transatlantic accent)). From thereon in, they sucked.

5) Money is about as heavy metal as a grim reaper tattoo and a crash helmet with viking horns.

6) Wild Catz sounds like a gang of bikers heading off to chase soul boys around a car park, and Jesse pronounces "cycle" as "sickel", which Phil Lynott also did once. I don't know why I find this so endearing.

7) My brother in law gave me his copy, because I thought the front cover looked great. He also gave me a copy of Spellbound, which was total shit ((see 4)).

8) Their name's filched from a Michael Moorcock novel, or something.


4) BATHORY - "BATHORY"

I could never bring myself to check out Venom, 'cos their singer looked like an old woman, and Metallica were so physically repulsive ((and had such a stupid name)) they were also off the cards. As for Slayer, fuck that pro-Pinochet dickhead. Megadeth couldn't spell and all I remember about Anthrax was they did some godawful 7" with Public Enemy, which wasn't a patch on the Beastie Boys, and were always being mentioned in '2000AD' comic. Anyway, this aforementioned mate was nuts about Bathory, and why not - named after a Hungarian aristocrat who used to butcher virgin peasant girls and bathe in their blood ((B..but...they said it would help my complexion!)), and with lyrics dedicated to popular topics such as Satan, Satan, Satan, Satan, Satan, Satan and Satan. Oh, and Satan.

While I can't pretend to have given Bathory ((not sure how you pronounce it, my mate went for 'Barfory')) much thought since my voice broke, I did download this off Mediafire recently, and have to admit - the opening salvo of Hades, Reaper and Necromansy ((sic)) actually sounds great at full blast! Kind of like a cross between GBH and early Motorhead when they were still speed-freaking their way across Ladbroke Grove, though the vocals remind me of a joke somebody once made about Ian Curtis going shopping ((I can't do it here, you need the vocal effect)).

To be honest, I stopped listening to this at the point where Necromansy descends into solo wanking, and popped Black Is Soul - The Pama Singles Collection onto my playlist instead, but Bathory does bring back a funny memory of the time we had a school trip to York Castle and our teacher went ballistic after the attendants asked us to leave. I think some kid called Patrick nearly knocked a suit of armour over, but I was busy howling and running up and down the stairs with two other idiots, to the other visitors' disgust. My Bathory-digging mate played this album on repeat on the coach journey there and back. We got in trouble for running around in a service station too. I have no idea why our school trips all ended in detentions or reprimands. I doubt this Scandi ever drank anyone's blood and I'm bloody glad I had Conflict instead, but I wouldn't mind if somebody wanted to stick this on the turntable. Wholesome, mindless fun.

This is ace...just substitute 'German' for 'neo-folk fans' and 'Germany' for 'Slimelight' ((and hordes of bearded 19-year old virgins called 'Lord Drakknok', who actually take Heidegger seriously and produce sub-retarded fanzines about the resurgence of the Odinist tradition)) and you can join in the fun at home...

By the way, did you know that the Chelsea Headhunters ((infamous racist UK football firm, for all you bloody foreigners)) once turned down an invite from a German neo-nazi group to attack a group of Turks...on the grounds that their so-called racial comrades were fuckin' Germans, and therefore the ETERNAL ENEMY? This brilliant piece of tat explains why:



Any similarity to current foreign policy is purely coincidental.

Ha ha ha! Happy now, you snivelling, Lib Dem-voting wimps? See that little battle plan worked as well as that time the Trojans dropped their spears and gawped Ooh, nice horse, mate. OK, Rage Against The Machine fans 1, Moderate Left 0.

Incidentally, anyone else see that thing in the news about the guy sentenced to prison, because he had a pic on his PC of a man shoving his genitalia up a dead squid's orifice? Look, I'm hardly the most liberal cat out here on the 'blog scene', and I think most people agree that buggering a zebra is bang out of order ((oh, and crack out the tear gas at Middlesex Uni! Has anyone considered how this occupation's affecting the fashion students???))...but, is owning a JPG portraying an act of cephalopod necrophilia REALLY all that bad? The guy could've been saving it for the front cover of a power electronics cassette release, for all we know.*

Shit, is it just me, or did four religious nutters blow themselves up in London in July 2005 and plunge us back into the Victorian dark age? You can't do anything these days, even writing a rap tune about beheading 'kaffirs' gets you hauled up in front of the BEAK. I'm not advocating sexual freedom to the extent that Dutch hotel staff have to spend their mornings picking blue 4-year old corpses out of wardrobes, just so some puke-inducing old filthbag can flog his scabby log to a repulsive, grainy 'Moppet' VHS... but say a woman was relaxing, naked, in the privacy of her own flat, and her pet budgie decided to fly down between her legs and peck'n'nibble at her nether regions...and say it was strictly consensual between both parties...I mean, who actually gives a toss what they get up to? I defy the RSPCA to argue to the contrary. Why, I knew a goth girl who used to french kiss the tail-less Scotch Terrier she'd adopted (and named 'Mrs Fiend'), and both woman and mutt seemed perfectly content with this lesbo-zoophile arrangement. She's now vice president of a moderately successful budget airline (probably); the bitch was put down after it headbutted a milk float; and I've never listened to The Cult's Brother Wolf, Sister Moon in the same way since.

And who bears the brunt of this backlash? The Furries, gentle, kind souls that they are.

Ah, the 'national interest'...that turgid, phantom trashcan within which our economic superiors secrete their ghastliest crimes! A kakistocracy of embezzlers and quacks; that's what we're under, boys. As Byron once put it: Accursed be the city where the laws would stifle nature's! Then again, that smackhead probably never had a seagull swoop down and snatch a fresh Cornish pastie from his mitts. Cull the fuckers, that's what I say.

In these troubled times, we have but one recourse: to listen to music, sweet music that uplifts the heart and soul. So here's something recorded under the last Tory government, back when society needed to condemn a little more, and understand a little less; conservative guardians of public morals were being discovered trussed up in frilly French maid outfits, gobs full of orange segments, victims of rather pointless kinky sex games gone wrong; and dotty divorcee pagans were slumming it in caravans, doing MDMA with fire-breathers, analysing crop circles and wittering on about the "rainbow tribe". Pull that NafNaf jacket and those bullet-hole jeans out of the wardrobe and get cracking:


ENERGY ZONE - "JUNGLE WARRIOR"

*- actually, he had worse than just that on his hard drive, so fuck him.

Clearly, none of you can be trusted with democracy, so I'm going to take it away from you.

Best politician name - Andy Slaughter. Sounds like some Kerrang! hack who once took out Wolfsbane with a bottle of piss. At the, er, Tractors of Fury festival. In Broxtowe.

And this is, by far, the most fucking stupid thing I have ever done in my life.

Right, Finchley/Golders Green's still Tory, and another 700-and-something dickheads pushed the Greens into last place. UKIP were second last (who are these people?) Down the road, Hampstead and Kilburn are having to do a recount, arf arf.

Does anyone remember Coppit?

I don't like Clegg, he looks like a prefect and a grass.

Was the Lib Dem campaign dripping with "optimism and hope"? I thought Clegg came across like a stiff during the one debate I caught, which was only for about 20 minutes because Alastair Stewart was gurning like a constipated potato.

I know how all you polling station rejects feel, it's like when I missed out on the draw for tickets for the England - Holland game in 1996.

Dimbleby's been griping about this contest being a bit dull, now it's apparently "fascinating" and "extraordinary".

Please, not more footage of the woman in the polling station saying she feels "scandalized"

98 seats to go, and still not a bugger of a peep from Finchley.

Now, this is what I don't get - unless they had a shave at 9.55 last night, why aren't any of the studio presenters sporting stubble?

I haven't really mentioned Lib Dem at all, because...come on, they're a total joke. They're like the Wedding Present of politics, a band too boring to hate.

I spent a day in Barking, it was worse than Houghton Regis.

In the old days, we used to have a clear winner. We'd head down to Trafalgar Square, jump around in the fountains and beat a jellied eel vendor to death with a carthorse.

Like Andreas Baader visiting Sartre in prison, or summat.

Quick query - are those Middlesex Uni protestors staging the sit-in at the campus in Hendon? Next to Hendon Town Hall and Library? I might pop along and say hello, it's only two tube stops away.

Ha, BNP bombed in Barking. Radio Red White and Blue'll be playing War Requiem now.

What the hell's going on in Finchley? Is there an old man with one arm slowly picking through the ballots and losing count after he hits 'ten'?

Greens won Brighton Pavilion. Hippies.

If the Finchley/Golders Green results show that the Greens got one vote, they are fucking well taking me out to the restaurant of my choice.

Peter Mandelson, dancing his dances - Dimbleby looks back at the '97 Labour piss-up with a rheumy eye.

Come on Paxman, rip into Hazel Blears. Someone's gotta die this morning.

Didn't some lads' mag project Jo Guest's arse onto Big Ben about 10 years ago, or am I imagining that as well?

Jason McCartney, Tory MP: "It's been a very long day, and a very long night before." Very long day? It's only 5.19, you thick cunt.

Emma Spice Girl supports Spurs. So does Bruce Forsythe.

English Democrats - "putting England first" - is Garry Bushell's party. Oi! Oi! British bacon for the British workers! Nah, leave it out, just havin' a laugh and havin' a say! Oi! Oi! Down the Bridge House, real rock'n'roll, football and pride in yer class. Hoxton Tom - sharp an' 'ard. We didn't start on the immigrants in Southall, they came after us, we was only playin' street rock'n'roll! Millwall Roi Pearce - not like that manufactured X Factor pap! English Democrats are doing piss-poor tonight.

Bill Wyman fucked Mandy Smith when she was 13, didn't he? Mandy Smith supports Spurs, I saw her talking about them on a TV programme once. So does Trevor McDonald.

Jacqui Smith's been concussed by a copy of Shaven Ravers. Back to Big Ben - "I think our projection will still cut through the dawn", Dimbleby getting all poetic. Cheer up - we haven't lost the massive economic crisis.

The Norwich South Central returning officer can't even be arsed to read out the candidates' parties. Everyone's cheering, fuck knows who won.

Con 213, Lab 159.

Let's try a psychic experiment. I will Kid Shirt to have a dream about managing a mermaid pop group. He's on tour with them in Atlantis, and one of them develops a smack habit, so he persuades the others to record a hard house version of Stimmung. If Kid Shirt reads this post tomorrow, and he really did dream about it, we'll know its possible to gatecrash peoples' heads while they're asleep.

I think this is starting to do my head in now, I nearly thought the guy read out "Khizar Iqbal - British National Party...". Well, looks like the Tories are gonna win. I'll catch up on all the scathing morning blog posts when I wake up at midday. Oh, I'm still sitting this out to the bitter end, don't worry.

It didn't.

Well, all you're missing is "unprecedented", "scratching our heads", "so much for the exit poll", "don't know", "hung parliament". Paxman's getting into sleep withdrawal / narky mode with Jack Straw. I think it might kick off...hang on...

BNP beat the Workers' Revolutionary Party in Luton South, but it's still Labour. Yawn.

"Fist fights in Hackney", according to some political animal who appeared on The Apprentice.

Camera's switched back to Big Ben. Very smart, Dimbleby's enthused. I just wish there were crowds, cheering. David, the crowds are trudging back from the polling stations. They're not in the mood to celebrate your pissy little light show.

Bloggers are poring over the results as they come in, says the BBC site. Thanks for the non-mention, fuck-os.

Con 150, Lab 121. Wyman's pissed his bag.

Ooh, Lewisham allowed people to vote up until 10.30pm. Very naughty - but more 'first world' than the rest of the nation.

This is meant to be a first world country! - Dimbleby. Back on the polling stations.

You're all in bed now, ensconced in tranquil dreams, so you're just gonna have to take my word for it that Nick Clegg's wife's throwing up everywhere. Completely pissed.

Can't they just give all those wasted UKIP votes to the Greens? Call it 'wanker tax'.

See, old MOJO farts visualise the Stones as rugged rock'n'roll survivors; the drug-scarred children of the blitz who conquered America. My generation just remembers the wrinkly cunts wearing electric blue suits with shoulderpads, stuffing cake into their senile gobs and hanging out with ugly models at Koo Stark's birthday party in the Sunday Mirror's gossip column.

Remind me to never, ever vote for some dead horse party, on a whim, ever again. Or to sit up just to watch that rotting ghoul Bill Wyman sitting on a boat on the Thames, saying he hopes the Tories win.

Ha ha, Dimbleby making bitchy comments about the endless shots of cars.

Con 103, Lab 100

"It's 20 past three in the morning - can we just have a straight answer?" is the best Paxman's come up with so far.

"There's no sense of real drama!" Dimbleby's just squeaked. He's not wrong. I'm sure there was a punch-up last time, at least. I guess the fact we're all going to Hell in a handbasket might have deterred the usual '£500 for a punt' buffoons but, for God's sake, can't we get ANY interesting independents outside of Hackney North?

Lab 76, Con 75

Witney's thrown up some wacky candidates: a 'Wessex regionalist' and a guy dressed as Jesus...oh, it's that Aaron Barschak penis. Cameron's doing his victory speech, the Labour guy has a face like a spanked bloodhound.

F.A for the Greens, Tories within spitting distance of Labour, and I think something's wrong with my telly, everyone seems to have purple blotches on their faces.

Recount at Birmingham. I don't know, it only takes ONE student to drift off and start thinking about hauntology while totting up totals...

Imagine a ragga MC called Paxman.

Now they're blaming the lock-outs on 'high voter turnout'. You couldn't make it up (but they could).

Estimated Finchley/Golders Green announcement time: 4.50am!

Still nowt for Finchley/Golders Green. No Green wins yet, unless the BBC site's slow on the updates.

Somebody's fucked it up at Broxtowe, so they're having to do a recount, and this is the first time I've ever heard of 'Broxtowe'.

Mild booing for the BNP guy at Glasgow East. Come on, give us a bit of passion. Why haven't the token ANGRY NERDS showed up, to scream "NAR-SEE SCUM, OFF OUR STREETS!"??

Hang on, hang on: 1) when I was a student, I didn't know ANYONE on the electoral register - TV Licensing would have tracked us down within days 2) the BBC spent hard-earned taxpayers' money on projecting their shitty exit polls onto Big Ben - and they've only shown it once. Bastards.

Ah, 'students turned up at the polling stations without their voting cards' is becoming the official line for blame now. What, did they all descend in one big flock, simultaneously paralysing the national polling station network?

Tooting Labour supporters chanting Yes we Khan!, ah, larks...

Bet you £20 I look away and miss the Finchley/Golders Green result. By the way, I'm now on word verification for each post, as I've made "a large number of posts in a single day". Blogspot thinks I'm a CasinoBot.

Whoever put Brown's make-up on should be shot! They've left big purpley pools around his eyes. Or maybe it's just my TV.

Ooh, Dimbleby's getting a bit crabby in his old age: "I wish they'd get on with it." He's gonna go into 'Terry Wogan at Eurovision' mode in a couple of hours.

Second worst anarcho-punk lyric I ever wrote, for a song called Move Heaven and Earth to Defend the Life of Chairman Gonzalo: "See the beard, see the glasses / Hero of the working classes. You seldom see that graffiti around Kilburn anymore.

How great would it be if Paxman blurted out, "OH, GET TO FUCK"?

I miss the days when you used to get 10 candidates in the hall, and one was a Sikh chemist who wanted to outlaw Islam in Telford, and the cops would have to be called in to eject a gang of drunk Maoists.

Greens, Respect and the Christian Party yet to score.

What is the point of Toby Young? He just looks like some intense egg. Is that Maureen Lipman? She's really gone downhill since her 'Meg and Mog' days. Oh, it's that 'impressionist' cunt I can't stand. I'm gonna crack open a beer.

Do you reckon Nick Griffin's going to blame the polling station lock-outs on ZOG?

Right, polling station fiasco explained. This year's witnessed a particularly high turnout from the 'student demographic'. They've all been milling around the booths for half an hour, going, "Uhhh, how does this work?" (yes, I know I used to be a fucking student too, get over it).

Sinn Fein hold West Tyrone. In other news, Pope shits in the woods.

Here's Screaming Lord Sutch making some girls scream. About as relevant as most of the BBC coverage so far.

Caroline Lucas, leader of the Green Party, and author of an article which appeared alongside a BEYonD tHE iMPloDe rant, is on her way to the Brighton count.

Now, if you're stewing about the polling station fuck-ups, just imagine how many wacky graphic stunts and pointless interviews with TV chefs the Beeb would be churning out instead.

Joan Collins looks well.

"We apologise profusely for running out of ballot papers and only supplying two voting booths, but we can assure the public we'll have everything sorted for 2015."

"The Queen is like Heineken lager", according to some WTF? analogy. Meaning she's cheap and smells of piss.

I don't know who that guy 'Peter' is, who keeps popping up to analyse the results, but I keep thinking it's Alan Sugar.

Ah ha ha ha...British democracy falling down around our ears. Love it.

Nick Griffin's missus looks like Del Boy's wife (was it Raquel?)

Voters shut out of the polling stations across London and Sheffield - now is the time! Anarchy!

Marxists love to fantasise about the media being run as some sinister, underground coven, where right-wing Jamesons from 'Spiderman' conspire to destroy society (instead of the disorganised mess it mostly is), but what if the whole potential 'HUNG PARLIAMENT' ticket is just a load of bollocks? What if they made it all up?

And here we go again: Paxman asking, "Why isn't David Cameron doing as well as expected?" Jeremy, there are TWO RESULTS in, both from Sunderland, and it's gonna be a long night - I've stocked up on beer, fags and coffee. You're being like the kid in the back of the car who keeps whining, "Are we there yet?"

Except for the singer of a godawful and very unsuccessful indie band called The Pets.

Jeremy Vine once compered an awards ceremony I went to when I was working at a publishing company 8 years ago. He was OK, but hardly what you'd call 'life of the party'. Same company also hired Jonathan Ross for some self-congratulory piss-up in the West End (just months before they initiated the first series of redundancies) and he was the most pathetic, unfunny cunt I have ever seen on a stage.

"It's like third world politics...an absolute disgrace!" Dimbleby's spluttering, because throngs of people were shut out of the polling stations. Case closed. Just declare a state of cock-up and let's host the election next week instead.

Oh, the BNP have obviously recruited a nationalist net whizz, as their site's back up. Music lovers will be delighted to note they're launching 'Radio Red White and Blue', so you can presumably do the dishes while listening to an eclectic mix of Brutal Attack and Skullhead.

I seem to remember there was a raver party, around the '97 Election? Think they may have been based in Bristol and had an alien's head for their party logo, and they got about 30 votes. Unless I am starting to go mental, which is definitely a possibility at this stage.

Houghton & Sunderland results in, Labour win. In the old days, whenever the BNP were contesting, you'd get a load of boneheads in the hall, grunting and booing. It's all a bit civilised tonight. Actually, that Labour woman's quite foxy, in a sort of mumsy / ex-Banshees fan way.

Paxman's just asked Mandelson, "So, who's won this election?". Er, William Hill?

The only memories I have of the 2005 election are: 1) Jeremy Paxman having a go at George Galloway 2) my next door neighbour (I'd just moved into the block on Blackstock Road, N5) playing Rocking In The Free World at 1am.

You know you're getting old when you remember when Peter Mandelson used to look like Boycie.

Gordon Brown's house looks nice.

See those kids running around, frantically loading ballot boxes? And you thought flogging copies of Revolution on Saturday morning was bad.

A blizzard of white papers just wafted past my window!

Michael Gove looks like a badly-manufactured Taiwanese 'Rick Astley' doll.

I love these gimmicks the Beeb come up with. This year, they're projecting the exit poll results directly onto Big Ben. Some EDL supporter's going to mistake them for minarets and have a heart attack.

Oh, this BBC 'virtual world' shit, I remember this from 2005. Expect a load of blocky graphics with Clegg's/Brown's/Cameron's mugshots superimposed, tottering along 'virtual Downing Street'.

God, this BBC 'comedy' is about as funny as Threads. Still, just 10 minutes to go...

You can't accuse the Brits of not being self-sufficient.

Oh well, at least I socked it to Chumbawamba today.

Apparently, in 2005, this constituency made a right hash of things, with boxes being delayed, mid-transit, and polling stations running out of ballots. Encouraging.

The Tory site crashes when I try to open up their manifesto in Safari. Even my Mac hates them!

Here's the guy I voted for. Looks like he could handle himself in a scrap. “I am an ordinary bloke and parliament is stuffed full of ex-lawyers, bankers. I know many people, met many people of many different cultures and I know they enjoy living in Barnet. There's nothing wrong with this place. It's really good.” C'mon Donald, give those Tory scumbags a hiding they'll never forget.

Popping out to get some fags, or I'll never make it to 4am.

If the Greens fuck this up I'm going to leave my shower running all week.

Jeez, I thought I was bad. More 'analysis' from McGee: "Labour sold out Great Britain. They sold out pop culture and replaced it with X Factor banality and 15 minutes of fame." Is he an 11-year old who's just discovered Crass or something?

Actually, that '88 Kensington by-election looks like it was a right hoot. Wish these candidates were still around.

Alan McGee in today's Sun: "Now I rip up Labour leaflets when posted through my letterbox". No you don't, you just put them in the bin, you melodramatic bullshitter.

Watching Eastenders for the first time in years. When did it turn into fucking Hollyoaks? Where's Tucker Jenkins gone?

Don't like Alastair Stewart. Worst fake smile ever. Police Camera Action! was shit too.

There's some really funny Network 7 footage somewhere of Class War running for the 1988 Kensington by-election. A completely paralytic Ian Bone throws a pint of beer over a student and then goes, "WHAAAT? PEOPLE FUCKIN' STARVIN' TO DEATH, AND YOU'RE WORRIED 'BOUT HIM???". Screaming Lord Sutch is in it too.

(Actually, probably more like a speeding teenager going, "What about Clause 4?" in his face. Still bought me a Guinness, bless his soul) (probably on expenses!)

Hey!!! You know Joe Benton, Labour MP for Bootle? The one who had the tip off his finger chewed off by a dog? I had a drink and a natter with him in Camberwell once. It was in a pub called the King William IV, which used to have regular lock-ins.

BNP have an internal bitch fight, website goes down. For reasons unknown to me the leadership have chosen to force the domain from me, steal my work, data and systems and go it alone rather than paying for it.

Should've given yogic flying a go.

LMAO

Twitter is for posers.

Worst anarcho-punk lyric I ever wrote: The system kills! / The system destroys! / The system treats ya like Fisher Price toys!

I once saw Anthony Howard in Notting Hill Gate station. Kind of wanted to say hello, but what do you say? "Hey, I really liked the way you reported on the lobbying scandal"???

Dear Dad: sorry I've violated clan rules and not voted Labour, and I know this would normally result in a 10-hour rant about how you came to this country with nothing (and how wearing ripped jeans is basically informing the world "MY PARENTS ARE VAGRANTS"). But if you'd lived to see what Labour became, I don't think you'd be that narked.

OK, happy now? Martin, anarchism's so juvenile, it's your duty to vote! I've just rattled off four crosses for the Organic Almond Balm-ers in the parliamentary and locals, so shut your cakeholes. Votes destined to swirl down the plug hole of oblivion. Fuck, that was boring.

Right, popping out now to do the dirty deed. First time I've voted since I crossed the box for that Irish woman who became Labour MEP for South Beds in 1994.

By the way, when I wrote that piece for Indieoma, I didn't realise I was up against the leader of the Greens, that guy from The Others and some bloke who writes for "Morning Star"

Memories of Luton Young Conservatives, circa '93: blue shirts (top button done up, tucked in), light blue jeans, shiny white trainers. Liked U2 and Biactol.

According to Walkit.com, my designated polling station will take me a two-minute walk each way, and I'll burn a total of 16 calories.

If you haven't already seen it: Eden's hilarious lowdown on the Hackney candidates. Paul Schaer= Stewart Home - pass it on.

Our A-Level Politics teacher's take on why proportional representation would be a bad move for Britain: "We'd end up like the Italians. Utter chaos, and fist-fights in Parliament"

Best reply to that scenario: "So, who's their transport minister, and what's their stance on education? WHAT? You DON'T KNOW? So you're just voting for them because you liked the guy's hair???"

I hate it when people say "If you don't vote, you're not entitled to criticise the system". I've never hung a man, but they don't disagree when I say child molesters should get the rope.

Fuck it, just had a sudden urge to flush my anarchist principles down the bog and go and vote for the Greens. As pointless as a chocolate wok, but I feel like I'm missing out without SOMEONE to cheer on tonight.

Finchley and Golders Green electoral choices: the big three, plus Greens and UKIP. BORING.

Has anyone ever gone out with a member of the Natural Law Party? What was it like? I'm sure they give 'good tantric', and can probably wiggle their fingers round some chakra up your jacksie to make the sex better, but it's the 4-hour conversations about reiki and crystals that turn me off.

Was out drinking with John Eden last night, and the Natural Law Party came up in conversation. Remember them? "Yogic flying" indeed.

Firstly, 10 crap things about the internet:

1) That time you and your mate first went on IRC back in '97, pretending to be an 18-year old girl, and had scores of males bombarding you with lame jokes, naff chat-ups, demands for photo links, or - for those gents too busy to beat about the bush - raw anatomical data. Amazing how many folks with 11" wangers were on IRC 24/7 back then. Winding them up was amusing, especially when you later told them you were really an overweight 48-year old taxi driver called Barry, and they then hit the roof and told you they were going to kill your crappy little Amstrad with a virus...but only for the first two or three times. Thereafter, the whole ritual was just intensely depressing.

2) 'Comment is Free' commenters. Hey, I bet Bidisha feels a right twat after I pointed out that men sometimes get sexually harassed by female bosses too! Using the name 'kimphilby08'.

3) eBay. Sorry but, for all their faults, second-hand record shops were never as deathly dull as receiving vinyl through the post in cardboard stiffeners. Or having a German send you peeved emails because the Consumer Electronics box set you sold him didn't contain the original insert (which I never mentioned in the description because I didn't even know it existed). And you can't even sell 'ghosts in jars' or your skint graduate body on there anymore. Killjoys.

4) This

5) People who write "I'll revert shortly" in an email. To what, a FUCKING BABY?

6) Babelfish and other translation sites. Ten years after the popular circus of translation and of they lack means to make correct with of logic kunst grammatical being.