Ken's Dirty Dives

 I found myself looking longingly at a pint of Norrlands Guld on a perfect summers day, somehow in Malmö bloody Sweden. The condensation ran down the outside of the glass as if it was an advert on the tele, and for a brief moment, in a room full of people, I blocked out the noise, and asked myself “how the fuck did I find myself here?!” .  I took a sip of victory juice in one of the most unusual venues or bars I’ve ever seen, let alone played in. It can only be described as Tony Hawks wet dream,  (the cool one, not the author). There’s a giant Pistonhead skull, and a half pipe. Lampshades that in a former life were missiles. Pentagrams made out of rebar. A headless mannequin in my dressing room, and for the first time on this world tour, shortbreads in the green room. I’m a simple man, I don’t ask for much on the road but a cuppa tea and a few shortbreads are the simplest of pleasures. This pint felt like a little bit of a personal celebration for me, because as of 2:38p...

  Why has driving in the UK become such a miserable experience? For reasons unknown to me, it took well over six and a half hours for us to drive from Glasgow to Leeds. A mere 224 miles. The British army used to walk that in less time, then, like a caravanist, set up in a muddy field and do all the things that armies do. From what I can make of the misery that is driving from A to B in the UK, is that the Greta Thunberg’s of the universe have made it their sole purpose in life to ensure the motor enthusiasts of the world can’t enjoy such simple pleasures.  I fear in years to come, us rev heads will be relegated to the doldrums of some boarded up gymnasium in an abandoned school. What that is to say, is that the world’s gotten it in its head that we all need to be driving EV’s because a few polar bears might go hungry. But EV’s aren’t exciting. They’re microwaves on wheels with a radio, designed by a committee of do gooders. Whereas a 1957 Caddy was designed by a bloke named Bo...

Ozzy Osbourne died a few days ago. This news brought a deep and profound sense of sadness to me, as I'm sure it did to millions of others around the world. I even shed an actual tear singing “Mama, I’m Coming Home” as I drove down Dufferin St. The bat eating madman, whom I'm sure kept a nice diary, was truly one of a kind. Between him and a few other notable industry troubadours, he’s directly responsible for birthing Heavy Metal as we know it. Black Sabbath is without question, Genesis. Imagine living in Birmingham in 1970 and seeing Sabbath at The Crown Pub? It would be like witnessing the birth of a new galaxy. Brian Cox eat your heart out (the astrophysicist, not the actor) . When people like Ozzy pass on, the world quickly floods the newspapers and socials with memorials and memories, telling stories and sharing jokes, and for a brief moment, the world is united. I'm certain that when it's my turn to fall off the perch I'll be forgotten by the time the pot of t...