Possible names/quotes for independent gardening business

Evenin’ All,

Thinking of setting up my own gardening business (see post title i mean really do i have to spell it out for you folks? Ed. – Erm well yes actually Phil that’s the idea with blogging). Need a pun-derful company slogan that is original & witty without scaring off my primary custom…Hmmm this could be a looooong night. Brainwaves thus far:

Everyday cringe-inducing slogans seen aside those white ‘zippy rascal’ vans
Attractive birds are rarer nowadays but Phil the Gardener’s at the beak of his career!
Don’t leaf litter lying about – allow your garden to sprout!
Don’t get sluggish – enhance wildlife without any rubbish
Titchmarsh’s seeds are infertile compared to these…(liable for potential legal action)
What grows around has sprung abound (lamest pun by far & no musical attachment)

Rock & Roll lyrical puns (my possible Unique Selling Point)
All weeds are splaying so why not Give Trees A Chance? Bedding hard to dislodge
Hey Spade! Take a (garden) walk on the wild side – (Lou) Reed clearance as standard
If there’s a bushel in your hedgerow, don’t be alarmed now (Led Zep reference – Rockery fans welcome)
Get Yer Rocks On…& take off your plants (continuing on the landscaping theme)
Have you fought the lawn & the lawn won? My prices don’t CLASH!
Do you want your garden to be as green as your envious neighbour’s prying faces? (Perhaps a little too overly descriptive as a simile – poetically alienating. Could be possibly mistaken for some type of ‘Mood Goblin’ service)

And for the more urban ‘streetwise’ clientele at the exclusion of the elderly  
Dr. Greenthumb* – weedkiller puffin up on dat sensemilia
Mow down some suckers wit ma ride-on motor
BUSHES & HOES: eco-gardening’s got the styles dat grows

*a variant of the widely used (Green)fingers title taking cues from Cypress Hill. Alas when it comes to living plants using them as your inspiration model namesake is probably not the best thought-out idea

Any other ideas/sense of target market (p)references wholly appreciated as always…

P’s out

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Funkiest Music Vids (Part One)

HEADS UP! Here we go again my funky-fried monkey brethren. As promised with this ongoing musical saga of obsessive list-o-mania compiling that mags like Q & Classic Rock have helped themselves stay in print from (well, that & an aging readership). I hope to have gathered at least another half dozen superbad muthas for Part Two following soon.

Grand Central Station (Larry Graham) – POW! Live on Soul Train

Frankly this bass is what’s officially known as ‘off the motherfreakin’ chain’ right up there with Fishbone’s Bonin’ In The Boneyard which coincidentally I couldn’t find an accompanying video for. Not one which does justice anyroad.

Tower of Power – Only so much Oil in the Ground (Live @ Montreux Jazzfest 07/12/06)

Yup indeedy folks! Alternate sources of power really must be found! Environmental pleas never sounded more gospel backed by mad Hammond skillz.

Funkadelic – Cosmic Slop (Live in NYC 1973)

Fullblown freakflags flyin’ in an all-out sensory assault with Godfather movie billboard in the background – how these acidhounds weren’t banged up the moment they hit the streets I’ll never know! When seeking out Clinton & Co. gold its always quite hard to find live videos which are a sensible length for upload.

Cameo – Talkin’ Out The Side of your Neck (Official music vid)

Politically charged funk from their She’s Strange LP with the ultimate brass break & guest starring those bank robbers from Point Break.

The Bar Kays – Holy Ghost (Live on Soul Train)

Hot damn! This really does feel like being born a second time – the kinda church I can testify, dig?

Kings Go Forth – One Day

Signed to David Byrnes’ Luaka Bop label & touring with Hot 8 should win them a place alone but no favouritism is required for the greatest backing band Curtis Mayfield never had (although Black Wolf had recorded in his studio with The Essentials).

As always any suggestions for Part Two would be most welcome…

Nottingham’s Robin Hood Beerfest ’11, Liquid History (local dialect: Istreh) & Castle/CAMRA Notions of Tradition

Greetings & Salutations once again my loyal subjects,

Nottingham has a long tradition of conflict situations long before sensationalist demon media started over-publicising and scrutinising the city’s increasingly rare gun-related violent crime. Nowhere is this more apparent than around the castle grounds (not an actual castle but the country’s first municipal art gallery) with the raising of Standard Hill during Charles’ uprising (his standards had always been high & even by their era’s hygiene levels the peasants were revolting A-hor-hor etc).

Down the hill built into Castle Rock (still not a real castle but the name of Nottingham’s largest brewery based across the canal from the fake castle) is Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem which claims to date back roughly as far as Bruce Forsyth’s tap-dancing routine; to 1189 which also happens to be the year of Richard I: The Lionheart’s ascension to the throne. He’s that fella who returns to a jubilant homecoming at the end of every Robin Hood film portrayed by Sean Connery or an actual Lion (“And that’s what really happened folks!” according to Disney). Neither Connery nor Richie could even speak English but for different reasons – only the lion incredibly. Looking down from the castle ground walls to me it resembled a little glowing hobbit cottage carved out of nougat albeit one packed out with tourists and students every weekend.

I always suspected dusting was bad for you but here it's fatal

This was allegedly where knights drank before leaving to fight the Crusades but they probably didn’t have to choose from Greene King’s 30 gourmet bastard burger menu. Nowadays they’d set off with less of a lion’s heart & more of an artery-clogged heart so the real heroes would be their horses.

But seriously, how can an 822 year old establishment (which stands as one of 20 of the oldest surviving foundations of medieval freehouses – too many of’s) be owned & run by a brewery company (GK) which behaves nothing like a brewery & everything like a profit-maximising business expansion? Greedy King also owns the Hungry Horse & Loch Fyne restaurant chains & became the main shirt sponsor for Mansfield Town FC in June this year despite previously buying out Nottingham brewery Hardy & Hanson’s (not them of ‘Mmmbop’ fame although it did all seem to happen that fast) & moving production down to Bury St. Edmonds. The aforementioned & original ‘Green King’ Dickey Cholesterol-Ticker & his knights would be pre-hysterical.

It Takes Two Baby: After All It's UterUS not UterYOU

I dare’s ya to visit anywhere around Kimberley/Eastwood or the wider ex-H&H pubs heartland & not weep at the state of the average fallout of retaining no flagship local brew. Drinking Castle Rock’s Harvest Pale in the few pubs that are allowed it by GK must feel like swapping religion AND sleeping with your wife’s best friend. Miner’s Welfare Club members can’t even get a decent homebrew to float their liquid pensions in lamenting the passing of their only known craft 30 years ago. Mind you, if ex-miners never noticed the lack of flavour then it’s because either their discerning taste buds have been slowly dying at the same rate or Hardy’s always tasted like frothy donkey piss from the beginning.       

Peasants, Crusades, guns & buy-outs

NOTTINGHAM BEER FESTIVAL, Thurs 13th-Sat 15th October 2011

Upon meeting our friend this Friday eve at the largest CASK ale festival (over 900 this year) anywhere in the known galaxy, we were triumphantly defending the scaled-down mock castle in the adventure playground just outside the main beer tent. This had 2 accompanying though permanently fixed miniaturised steeds with nodding springback facility for rocking. Ironically this structure lays greater claim to being a true castle as it’s castle shape & to scale, made from reliable timber, provides ample visibility in all directions and thus quite impenetrable (except to slovenly beer thieves). Although a fireman’s pole & slide does limit authenticity. 

Drawbridges were a lot more metallic and uneven in them days

Volunteering at these events is always a gamble as it’s usually a safe bet most CAMRA members (other than balancing the top half of a pint upon their heads if you believe the photos) are going to be:

a) Over 40

b) Socially crippled at conversing with anyone under 40

b) Physically quite out of shape

c) Tight with money

To the exclusion of all others. Outdoor rambling gear & open-top sandles UBER ALLES! Or should that be UBER-(REAL) ALES? Alas the middle-class, middle-aged, middle-of-the-road classic rock lovers from middle England are a powerful marketing force indeed. I am anything but the lager-swilling lout who taunts their absolute rejection of anything approaching street cred. Its their obsession and preoccupation with heritage and tradition over more daring innovative artisan brewing methods which begin to rile (but I’d rather not get into their faults as I didn’t start a blog to specialise in opinionated thinkcrimes – Dacre & Murdoch knows there’s enough printed press which has me beat for experience & immorality already).

After witnessing several Robert Wyatt lookalikes in both the restricted mobility and wispy headed departments – faces like some half-chewed rusty penny dabbed around the sides with candy floss, they were hospitable and mild-mannered. Portakabin Gents toilets didn’t always cater for the more generous waistline with some mock-oak paintwork requiring considerable girth control not to become scratched after being called up for single file cubicle enlistment with urinals closer together than Aled Jones’ boyhood testes. Any closer & your pissing companion would share the same DNA (I’m growing uncomfortable with the amount of piss-based anecdotes developing on this blog).

To navigate this castle path after revellers & night descend is to earn liquid reward. Not sure what Hamburglar's doing on the far right

In what must’ve been a desperate plea to join CAMRA’s ranks I ordered my friend Matt who’s also my lovely lady’s friend to overrule her by letting himself fork out 60p to buy me a pickled ‘chilli’ egg. In my defence, there are good reasons for those inverted commas that were not apparent at the time of purchase. After unravelling the serviette which concealed my grotesque fate, I noticed specks of red chilli on an otherwise BROWN surface as if with the shell still on after boiling. I simply put this down to an extended sentence within the spicy vinegar of its glass tomb. Alas, upon a first bite, both yolk and white flesh alike revealed PINK INNARDS like an embryonic sack of horror. That’s when I de-cider-d my ciders had to become more potent in order to wipe the image of a tender pink egg centre entirely from my memory. Call it heavily delayed birth-trauma.

Valhalla on Earth: Whatever they're feeding those monkeys it's working

Peace 2 all true hopheads out there!

The most incomprehensibly appalling pop lyrics derided & where possible decoded

Afternoon Everybooty (by which i mean myself and my sister-in-law who subscribe)

I plan on publishing (i.e. clicking on a blue button) a series of musical posts over the next few weeks to celebrate some funkybad and just darn fonkay-baaad garoooves – extra vowels mean more funk ya dig? This will hopefully conclude with some of my favourite & therefore (being that I am the sole moderator of this blog) automatically the Best Halloween Lyrics as a cunning counterbalance to this post’s theme – as you’ll see, these are unintentionally shocking.

Obviously people have always had different tastes in what is considered acceptable tunage and subsequently overlooked or just plain somehow tolerated some surefire absolutely chuff lyrics. This is something I often contemplate so a few of these ideas have been mercilessly plagarised from another site before I adapted and expanded upon their thread. 5 easily deducible categories to be made would include:

I Nonsensical lyrics of the sho-be-do type
II Lyrics that are full of cheap rhymes, repeats, cliches, hideous metaphors
III Lyrics totally wanting of meaning
IV Rap
V Any combination of the above.

I think this is too straightforward a view on what makes lyrics bad. Especially in pop music, the qualities mentioned above or the lack thereof can surely contribute towards a very adequate song. It’s not literature, remember. Cheap lyrics, repeats, clichés and hideous metaphors can even give a song that imperceptible, as French people would say in French: ‘i-don’t-know-what’ that makes it just right. Consider for example these lines by The Smiths, found in the web search previously mentioned.

Some girls are bigger than others, some girls are bigger than others, some girls’ mothers are bigger than other girls’ mothers (..)” (but that’s ok because it just so happens that some girls’ mothers brothers are bigger than other girls’ mothers brothers cous’s and that those girls’ mothers brothers lovers are under the covers gossiping about how they’re bigger than Danny Glover’s girls’ mother who’s discovered brothers afraid of rudders…wait up who was the girl again? Isn’t Dawn French’s mum dead?)

Some other contenders which have almost definitely been regaling in decadent free flowing stanza by the dusty Keats/Joyce shelves of their private studies…

I mix your milk wit my cocoa puff,
Milky, milky cocoa,
Mix your milk with my cocoa puff,
milky, milky riiiiiiight
.” – Black Eyed Peas ‘My Humps’ (Reports in the Kellogg’s Enquirer state that Fergie suggestively says ‘I’d rather have a bowl of milky lumps probably or something only y’know…sexier’ with no mention of the inevitable brown water leftovers. She’s also awarded bonus points for contradictory line: “So I keep on taking, and no I ain’t taking.”

I’m a big big girl
In a big big world
It’s not a big big thing if u leave me
But I do do feel
That I do do will
Miss u much
Miss u much
” – Emilia ‘Big Big Girl’

(Now children I want you all to underline the abhorrent use of incorrect tense in this sentence)

Everybody’s sayin’ that the Scatman stutters
But doesn’t ever stutter when he sings.
But what you don’t know I’m gonna tell you right now
That the stutter and the scat is the same thing
.” – Scatman John ‘Scatman’

(Ski-Ba-Bop-Ba-Dop-Bop indeed. There’s that gaping contradiction again but we can let it go as he overcame the adversity of having a speech impediment and sadly died of lung cancer just before the millennium. Bloody smokey jazz clubs – wasn’t Roy Castle from Record Breakers enough for you bastards?!?) 

Mmm bop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du bop, ba duba dop
Ba du
Plant a seed, plant a flower, plant a rose
You can plant any one of those
Keep planting to find out which one grows
It’s a secret no one knows
” – Hanson ‘Mmmbop’

(Despite being named after a long-running Chinese supermarket opposite the Broadmarsh Shopping Centre in Nottingham, this band sing about, like…the deep significance of time when you’re three virgin teen brothers from Oklahoma not getting any OR if you believe their interpretation ‘the transient and unpredictable nature of friendship’. Now fully grown and no longer dreaming “Aw man I wish I had a sister”)

Dee doh da-ye, dee doh da-ye
I don’t have no time for no monkeybusiness

Be dup baby rub me rub me

Bumpy dumpy bop bo! Etc.” – Freddie Mercury ‘Living on my own’

(One of my favourites but I still can’t overlook this, the bridge is even more incomprehensible – like Mohammed Ali writing a postcard from Yemen)

Saying I love you Is not the words I want to hear from you It’s not that I want you Not to say, but if you only knew How easy it would be to show me how you feel More than words is all you have to do to make it real” – Extreme ‘More than words’ (Pissing Crikey this is ultra-lame in addition to just not even making basic literal sense. Like the half regurgitated contents of an irregular tense phrasebook for semi-mute dullards)

PAUL: “Didn’t have to keep it
Wouldn’t put ya through it
You could have swept it from you life
But you wouldn’t do it, no, you wouldn’t do it

BOTH: And you’re havin’ my baby” – Paul Anka & Odia Coates ‘(You’re) Having My Baby’

(Ah the forgotten joy of abortion before things became unnecessarily fundamental)

I used to say “I” and “me”
Now it’s “us”, now it’s “we”
Ben, most people would turn you away
I don’t listen to a word they say
They don’t see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I’m sure they’d think again
If they had a friend like Ben
(a friend) Like Ben
(like Ben) Like Ben
” – Michael Jackson ‘Ben’

(It’s about his pet rat – he really could find love in everything. Just think, MJ would’ve loved The London Underground. “No Michael, you’re not supposed to take them all home in your glimmering neglected petsack to Neverland to be nursed by magic dancing gnomes”)

Some of dem are a slippin ah
Some of dem begrudge me ah
So Solid vampire
See me on the telly ha
Face gettin’ popular, ha wha?
Some are chat ya nah
No disrespect when I bus in my clique ya nah
Raise up the dead an’ ah
Worship the devil
Red is my best colour
So Solid we are players, instigators
Gimme a girl I’ll make her famous
I send her back to you she gettin’ papers
21 seconds to get papers
” – So Solid Crew ’21 Seconds’

(Just about any one of these verses could be a healthy challenger with Megaman & Romeo Dunn a close joint 2nd but this is Ghostface’s rap in case you’re wondering ‘To whom would one deliver this hard-earned literary prize cheque?‘)

I’m afraid of the dark
Especially when I’m in the park
When there’s no one else around
Oh I get the shivers
I don’t wanna see a ghost
It’s the sight that I fear most
I’d rather have a piece of toast
Watch the evening news
” – Des’ree ‘Life’

(‘Nuff said y’all. It’s in all the classic opinion polls. These kind of occasions you wouldn’t want to accept any co-writing credits even if you do sound as manufactured as a sugary poodle conveyor belt)

Lucky that my breasts are small and humble
So you don’t confuse them with mountains
Lucky I have strong legs like my mother
To run for cover when I need it
” – Shakira ‘Wherever Whenever’

(This certainly puts the wowsers back in Everest’s trousers! I can read the advertisement now ‘Strong legs? humble breasts? Can you quickly run for cover? Then why not become a mountaineer today!‘ Now I’m not saying that a young Columbian Shakira had failed to quite master the English language upon being handed those lyrics…but her lips don’t hide)

I’d like to walk you through a field of wildflowers/And I’d like to check you for ticks.” – Brad Paisley ‘Ticks’

(Which woman could resist offering herself up immediately after being woo-ed by this one? I mean really, Country music alone deserves a whole separate contest in a whole separate category).

Any fool can make a rhyme country singers do it all the time” – Frank Zappa (fine last words from the quote master)

PART 2

My amigo Al then suggested the following additions:

I would like to contribute to the debate by putting forward a rather outrageous claim:

The best lyrics are written by a bunch of absolute drunken bar steward hecklers, take the following examples:

I’ve been a wild rover for many’s the year and I’ve spent all me money on whiskey and beer
and now I’m returning with gold in great store and I never will play the wild rover no more
(Traditional Irish folk song)

Darcy Darcy darlin dear you left me dying crying there in whiskey Gin and pints of beer I fell for you my darling dear (Dirty Glass, Dropkick Murphys)

Says my aul wan to your aul wan
Will ye come to the waxies dargle?
Says your aul wan to my aul wan,
Sure I havent got a farthing.
Ive just been down to monto town
To see uncle mcardle
But he didnt have half a crown
For to go to the waxies dargle.

What are ye having, will ye have a pint?
Yes, Ill have a pint with you, sir,
And if one of us doesnt order soon
Well be thrown out of the boozer (The Pogues’ Waxie’s Dargle)

Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen; she says: “You’re early, me dear”
Then he breaks down and he tells her that the pub’s got no beer!
(The Dubliner’s Pub with no Beer)

I walk in the bar and the fella’s all cheer,
They order me up a whiskey and beer.
You ask me why I’m writing this poem,
Some call it a tavern but I call it home.

Fuck you, I’m drunk
Fuck you, I’m drunk
Pour my beer down the sink I’ve got more in the trunk. (Fuck You I’m Drunk – Flogging Molly)

However sometimes you can drink too much and really start spouting gibberish, the classic Whiskey in the Jar (Trad. Arr.) illustrates this pretty well…

Musha ring dum a doo dum a da
Whack for my daddy-o
Whack for my daddy-o
There’s whiskey in the jar-o

Any further excerpts you deem worthy of an entry please do enlighten me.