Something for the Weekend



It’s the 4th of July here tomorrow — actually, it’s that date everywhere but it’s also Independence Day in America. Sadly we won’t be getting an England-USA game this weekend for a chance for us to rewrite history and teach those colonials a lesson. As I’m sure you know, England broke our hearts again, going out of a World Cup in a way that was even more gutting than a penalty shoot-out. Now we have to play the bloody Germans again. That never goes well either.

I Heart New York


I just got back from a long weekend in New York City with the family. It was the first time the kids have been so we did a lot of touristy stuff I hadn’t done in years — Empire State Building, Central Park, Staten Island Ferry — which reminded me what a wonderful, exhilarating city it can be.

I haven’t counted them or anything but I’m pretty sure more songs have been written about The Big Apple than any other city in the world. A lot of them are great too, but if I had to pick one it would be this beauty from 1977.

Download: Native New Yorker (12″ version) – Odyssey (mp3)

An Expat Thanksgiving


It’s Thanksgiving here in American today. It took me years to get used to having a festive roast turkey dinner in November instead of December but now I like having the extra holiday which makes up for the fact that most Americans only get one day off for Christmas.

I will, however, never get used to the fact that they have their big holiday meal with mashed potatoes instead of roast. I love mash but I always associate it with after-school tea when I was a kid (usually with sausages or fish fingers), and it just doesn’t seem special enough to serve with a roast bird, stuffing, gravy etc. Times like this I think I will always be a stranger in this country no matter how long I live here.

Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers. Why not give roast potatoes a try this year?

I posted this song before many years ago but it’s great enough for a repeat.

Download: Thank You – Pale Fountains (mp3)

Image: Freedom From Want by Norman Rockwell.

Something for the Weekend



I know Bruce isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but there might be something wrong with you if this record doesn’t make you want to tear your clothes off and sing along at the top of your lungs — preferably while standing under a corner street light at night in the rain.

Posted in honour of the USA qualifying from the Group of Death to make the next round of the World Cup. There’s something wrong with the natural order of the universe when America is better at football than England.

Happy Birthday, America


One doesn’t have to be a nationalistic, flag-waving yobbo to be proud of where you come from and I do think St. George’s Day should be a holiday in England.

Other countries get a patriotic day to celebrate who they are in their own special way: Americans eat burgers and hot dogs on the Fourth, the Irish throw up on St. Paddy’s (at least the “Irish” do here in Boston), and I’m sure the French act very Gallic on Bastille Day — though being in Paris on that day once it seemed to mostly involve having a massive rave on the banks of the Seine. So I think the English should have St. George’s Day to celebrate themselves by, er…drinking a lot of tea and colonizing a foreign country?

Or spend the day making gloomy post-punk records. We were good at that.

Download: Independence Day – Comsat Angels (mp3)

Under Siege


I live in Watertown, Massachusetts which, as you may have heard, was the centre of a rather big story on Friday. It’s a nice town to live in, not as expensive as (and more working class than) neighbouring Cambridge and Belmont, but close enough to Boston to not feel too much like you’re out in the suburbs.

Very early Friday morning we were woken by the sound of sirens, gunfire, and explosions (actually, my wife was woken up and she woke me) and, putting the news on, realized that some serious shit was happening just a few blocks south of our road and that we weren’t getting back to sleep. Even if we’d wanted to, the helicopter flying overhead and the thought of a fugitive terrorist in the neighbourhood would’ve kept us awake.

By the time the sun came up we also knew that we weren’t going anywhere that day as we’d been told to stay indoors (“shelter in place” was the rather cozy phrase they used) while the police carried out a house-to-house search in a zone around where the second suspect escaped the gunfight.

Luckily we live on the outside edge of that zone so we never had the pleasure of an armoured, quasi-military SWAT team entering our house to search it, but we did see about half a dozen cops carrying assault rifles and wearing bulletproof vests sweep our street — checking cars, back yards, and basement doors. It was very surreal to see something like that through your living room window, from my side of the glass the swiftly efficient way they split up around each house and then regrouped before moving on to the next one was like watching some silent, eerie modern ballet. Being a Brit I’m uneasy seeing a policeman with any sort of gun and to see these guys in our front yard carrying the kind of weaponry they had was entering I’m-in-a-Hollywood-movie territory. Though they were only a few feet away I didn’t take any photos because I didn’t want to find out how itchy their trigger fingers were.


I’d been down to our basement earlier in the day (armed with only a Maglite torch) to check if the fugitive was down there. It seemed highly unlikely, but a lot of things were highly unlikely that day so I thought it better to be safe than sorry no matter how nervous it made me.

The other tricky thing I had to do that day was tell my daughter what was going on. It was easy enough to bullshit her little brother, but there really isn’t a convincing lie when a 6-year-old keeps asking why she can’t go outside to play and why we keep telling her to get away from the windows. We stressed that the bad man was nowhere near us and she was perfectly safe and thankfully she took it in her stride so we didn’t have to deal with freaked-out kids on top of everything else — letting them watch cartoons all day helped a lot.

By early evening they still hadn’t caught him and the lifting of the stay-at-home order was an admission they didn’t think they were going to either. That’s when I started to feel a little anxious at the thought of putting the kids to bed and going to sleep myself knowing that this nutcase could still be out there somewhere. I also didn’t relish the idea of our streets being patrolled by heavily-armed police all weekend — this is Watertown, not Baghdad.


But then, happy at least to be allowed outside, we were on the street chatting with our neighbours when we heard a lot of sirens in the distance and the helicopter overhead getting lower and louder, making tighter and tighter circles. We guessed something was happening but didn’t know where so we told the kids to come back inside with us right away, that was the only time my daughter got a little panicky. Sure enough they’d found the guy and caught him — outside the search zone just like we were, guess it wasn’t that highly unlikely after all. We heard those gunshots too. “Yay! They got him!” my daughter said when we told her. Our very, very, very long day was over.

Friday had been a lovely sunny spring day and we couldn’t wait to take the kids to the playground after they’d spent the day cooped up inside. Typically it was pouring with bloody rain Saturday morning.

Download: Life During Wartime (Alternate Version) – Talking Heads (mp3)

Thanks, America

Americans, do your duty



And do it for Barry O, please.

This has been a party political broadcast by the Deee-Lite Party.

What’s it all about?

The sentimental musings of an ageing expat in words, music, and pictures. Mp3 files are up for a limited time so drink them while they're hot. Contact me: lee at londonlee dot com

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