Ken's Dirty Dives

Since we talked at great length about Lemmy’s in Iceland in my last blurb, I figured we should dive over to The Rainbow in LA which was basically the great man’s home away from home. The bloke lived here when he wasn’t on the road. Give him a Jack n’ Coke, the slot machine, a lit Marlboro Red and he would be set for a month of Sundays. Los Angeles, California. The city of fallen angels, where the ocean meets the sand. I gotta say, love your weather, love the sites, wouldn’t mind packing a tent and staying in Santa Monica forever. Now you have to remember one thing before we get into this, I was born in London, England. Growing up my parents’ musical tastes couldn’t have been more opposite. Mum was partial to Springsteen, Bowie, T-Rex, Thin Lizzy, Queen and the like. Dad was more into old school country western, guys like Don Williams, Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton etc. so I had a fairly eclectic musical upbringing. My musical awakening took place when I had just sta...

Norseman landed on these fiery shores in roughly 870AD, set up some tents and called Reykjavik their capital and from east to west, I absolutely adore this country. It’s like Australia in some ways, a nice harmonic blend of being kind of European, kind of North American, with a little bit of a twist. The twist being, it’s only the bits of those places they want and nothing more. For example, the EU doesn’t allow whaling, but the Icelandic’s are keen for the occasional Whale & Chips for dinner so while they have socialized health care and drive Skoda’s, they don’t want to follow all the rules those pesky Europeans have. Whaling aside, the people are truly wonderful everywhere you go, very calm and laid back. Unlike yours truly here, which makes sense when you think about it, they grow up in a staggeringly beautiful country, live among nature and have a culture to embrace. Sadly for me, Bromley General Hospital in London didn’t gift such scenery, nor did the council houses in Courtne...

I’ve wanted to scoot over to these shores for as long as I can remember, and because I am so sick of flying into Gatwick or Heathrow (and because travel in Europe is so easy) I said, “bugger that” and flew into the land of the Irish. First of, I know Dublin is known for being a musician city, muso's busking, folk music being played almost 24/7 in pubs etc. but not only that, Dublin turned out to be as gorgeous as a postcard. Honestly not a spot I thought a misfit such as myself would find a dive, but we’ll get to that hangover in a moment. Much like Paris, Dublin is a fantastic walking city, so a word from the wise here, lace up some broken inn Docs or you’ll be cooked by lunchtime. My self guided tour started at Ha’penny Bridge. I headed east, I think, finding all the usual spots along the way, Brazen Head, Temple Bar, Molly Malone’s statue, Bruxelles, and of course, the one I’d been dying to see for bloody years; Phil Lynott’s statue! Huge moment for my inner 12 year old! To th...

Frankie's by the Slice, Sydney, Australia! FINALLY. I cannot describe to you the enormous amount joy I felt touching down in the land down under for the first time. I have wanted to come here for at least 30 years and on Dec 2 nd , 2022, I landed at Sydney Intl. Ever since I was 5 years old, watching the tele back in the old country and seeing the late, great Aussie National Treasure, Steve Irwin do his Crocodile Hunter show, I was fixed on being an Aussie at heart. He is still to this day an absolute icon, and represents what blokes should be in this world; kind, caring, altruistic etc.   A great mate of mine (and now bandmate) spent one Canada Day getting flushed at The Bovine in Toronto watching Crocodile Hunter and listening to Tina Turner, utterly fantastic night, followed by a crippling hangover but I woke up with flashbacks of being young and hearing the great man himself saying “CRIKEY” as he cheated death on a regular basis. Unfortunately for everyone, Frankie's...

Paris. Ah, oui, Paris. “The City of Love”, and you know what? I did love it. Lets take a moment to note, I speak zero French, and I mean, ZERO French, even though I live in Canada (another story for another day), and we’re supposed to be a bilingual country; we’re not. Unless Alberta considers “redneck” as their language then sure, at a push you could say we’re bilingual. But back to Paris, honestly, gorgeous. I know full well it has a terrible reputation for people being rude and for the most part, they were. But that’s ok because 1) I speak literally nothing of their language and frankly, that’s just rude of me, but 2) I was happy to see them living up to their reputation. I landed at Charles De Gaulle Intl. hopped on a train and made my why to Notre Damn mostly because that’s the only place on the menu I sort of knew, everything else was literally French to me. Before getting too lost in this saga, I had previously messaged a French glam revival band call BlackRain (deadly good, ch...

By no means do I consider myself to be a world traveler as such. I’ve got a few stamps in my passport & I’ve voyaged across the Atlantic Ocean about 100 times but compared to the likes of Bill Bryson or Sir David Attenborough, I feel like I’ve hardly left my hometown! People consider my life to be reasonably hectic at times, I’ve spent many years going from one gig to the next, and much like the stamps in my passport would suggest (or lack thereof these days, when I was a kid, travelling was such a hassle, a que at every turn, but these days, the boarding pass is on your smart phone and checking in doesn’t require you to show your ID or talk to anyone for that matter, but I digress) , I’m always on the move, whether it’s to a aforementioned gigs, or just a long weekend away somewhere. Most recently to Colombia (more on that chaos later) , but when I roll my eyes because I just paid 6 quid for a bottle of water at London’s Stansted airport, I remember the chaos in my life is margi...