Monthly Archives: December 2013

The Damo Has Landed

The New Office
The New Office

This is gonna be my last blog for awhile, as I’ve just arrived at my wee, well-warm poetic paradise where I’m gonna kick back for the next six weeks or so. Seven years back I spent December & January avoiding Scotland’s winter on the Sicilian island of Marettimo. This time round it’s the island-like Kerim, at the northernmost tip of Goa, one side of which faces a river estuary, one side the Arabian Sea, & the other side is a long, wall-like hill which paragliders chuick themselves off thro the day. There’s only one road in – by the river – or it is possible to walk along the hazardous, overgrown coastal paths up to Arambol. Otherwise its an 8k scooter ride.

aaa coast

Arambol is a cool place, 80 percent Russian & very hippy, its a drug-filled, fun-heavy constantly running festival of a place, where each sunset everyone congregates round a drum circle to watch the gorgeous pinkness of the sun setting into the sea. We got there last Sunday, after finally unpeeling ourselves from Patnem, & got a room in Arambol for a couple of nights. Sunday night saw a jam session earning us a gig at a venue called the Surf Club, while Monday so much mandiness & me dj-ing wildly at Sporting Heroes venue, which won enough respect to have free beers there all week!

aaa dance

Inbetween, I got chatting to a guy in a restaurant, who by some quirk of fate mentioned there was a place for rent near his house in Keri. Cue me walking there over the coast, & finding the house he was talking about was one I looked at 3 years ago & said to myself, ‘that would be a nice place to spend a couple of months writing.‘ Tis nothing but wish-fulfillment at its very Saraswathi-induced best.

Keri - quite a rural village
Keri – quite a rural village

So to the house. Its like a four roomed bungalow divided into two, with a toilet at the back of each half. There’s a kitchen, a lovely porch where you can set up a matress, & stairs up to the roof for a sun-bathe – & my half of the house is costing only £2 a night – Vic’s in the other half. For another £2 a day I’ve got a sexy yellow pussy-wagon of a new scooter from a local. His – & I guess, now my -village is great actually; quite widely dispersed, with cheap food everywhere, a few ex-pat English gangsters avoiding cops at home & the Russian imperial venture at Arambol, a gorgeously vast & tranquil beach & a ferry that takes you across the river to the next state of Maharastra which is ripe for exploration.


I’ve just had a pretty good weekend actually. The Surf Club gig was wicked. Phil, the 60-year old owner of the club & a right old raver, who used to supply pills in 250,000 consignments to Bristol, had got us this mad Russian bird called Katia to play drums. Also on board was Dirk, a sound German who leant me his base. The practice was rough, but the gig was wicked, & we got paid in money, beautiful tandoori & a free bar – which of course I availed myself of wholeheartedly.


Next morning – the Saturday – to shake off mi hangover, I thought I’d drive the 35 k south to Anjuna, stopping every now & then to watch a bit of the Ashes. On the way back, I stopped off at the Mango Tree for a beer, & met two cut 20-odd year teachers from England, fresh off the plane from where they work in Dubai, & looking for a rave. After informing them that Arambol was wicked, they promptly said they’d come up that night. Which they did, & after scoring some quality mandy in the back room of a dodgy shop, we proceeded to have one of those classic Goan experiences; dancing to trance, partying on the beach, &etc. It was funny as, I mean they really were hot girls & I went round telling everyone they were my wives – a little bit of kudos for the new-boy in town. Come the early hours the girls were ready to go home, so I sorted them out a taxi & watched them sail off into the distance, before hopping on my scooter & driving back to Keri buzzing off mi tits!

So that’s me, then; I’ll fill my days with writing my Jesus book, editing my poetry & spinning a little songsmithery with the guitar Victor’s about to leave me – he’s off home tomorrow! Still, I wont be alone for too long, I’ve got the phone numbers of several Russian girls from the Friday night to fill my nights with, plus Dj-ing oppurtunities & in three weeks Tinky Disco’s bass player, Al Roberts, turns up, so that’s gonna be fun – I think I’ll have to get Katia in on drums – but she is a complete lunatic so we’ll see.


aaa coast 3

Goan Gold


So that’s me nicely settled into South Goa, lazing astride its luscious beaches with a bike & a huge smile on mi face. I love this part of Inda, this is my third time here & its the perfect place to assemble all the pieces of evidence appertaining to Jesus-in-India, which I have finally titled THE JESUS JIGSAW.

Our journey here began in Varkala, where after an early morning train ride we were soon on a water bus, heading through the gorgeous Keralian backwaters.



Cue exotic birdlife, waving kids, & a ten mile an hour cruise on what has to be one of the most beautiful bus-jounreys in the world. Before we set off I finally got my hands on some gin, which helps the watery swirl of a journey immenseley. It took 8 hours, broken up by a lunch break & chai break, & then we were at Aleppy, ffrom where we trundled by bus north for two more hours to Fort Cochin.


Cochin is a bit touristy, now, but is a pleasnat place where you lounge on the rooftops among the Portuguese buildings, or lazily stroll along the sea-front, admiring the Chinese water nets & checking out the catch of the day. It was all a bit twee really, & I was happy to continue our wayfaring to Calicut, where we got a room for 24 hours waiting for our train to Goa. During that time I spent a tenner on getting my laptop audio input fixed, with the prospect of DJing in Goa in mind.


So there we were, one more ride from paradise, & we’d taken an AC carriage on the train – which is essentially a normal sleeper with curtains & blankets, & unbroken by chai-sellers & touts etc. A coupel of units along were a bunch of American exchange students, who we ended up entertaining with guitar songs. Then, at 4.30 AM, we pulled into Canacona train station & walked towards Palolem. I knew that Cleopatras bar was open 24 hours, & on arriving we caught the tail-end of a Silent Disco that had been held there – the first of the season – full of comedy characters & cheap bear – & we had well & truly arrived in the party.

Palolem Beach
Palolem Beach

Later that morning I got mates rates on beach huts at the same place where a mate of mine, Jimmy Van De Mer, was doing his Magic Cinema a few years back. We had also arrived on the same day as an open mic night only two hundred yards from where we were staying – Micvkey’s Bar – & that night Victor unleashed his wildness on the unsuspecting Patnem public, which literally brought the house down. Great fun! I also got talking to Mickey, the reult of which is me organising, & getting paid for, two parties for him at Christmas & New Year – an echo of last years double Kijijis over the festive season.


Also on that first night, Saraswathi parachuted me in a wee muse to help me in my work. She is a cute 30 year old journalist from Ireland, & a woman of infinite patience. We got free beers for playing, & lets say I was pretty steaming. That didn’t put her off though, & she kindly escorted me back to her 2000 rupee a night posh hut…. Anyway, come morning I blinked myself awake to be met by, ‘Do you remember what happened last night?’
‘No,’ I replied sheepishly.
“Well, Damo, I woke up to you pissing in my suitcase, after which you knocked the window pane out of my door.”
There was a certain karmic irony to this, as back in the Spring I’d got all high n mighty on mi drummer, Jonny, after he’d smashed a similar pane of glass in Cagliari.

St Anthony's Church - Cabo de Rama
St Anthony’s Church – Cabo de Rama

Anyhow, the rest of the day was quite Mills n Boon & made up for my earlier nonsense. Dinesh, my landlord, had dropped off two bikes for me & Victor, & so I took m’lady out for a spin. First port of call was Kola beach, a lovely spot at the end of a terrible road, with wild waves & a freshwater lagoon to paddle in. After this we continued north to Cabo de Rama, an old Portuguese fort with splendid views of a miraculous bay, at the other side of which we observed a restaurant clinging to the cliffs.



Driving out there, we passed a mad Russian flying a three-wheeler wheelchair-paraglider, & then walking along a practically deserted beach to reach the restaurant just as the red sun was dipping below the clouds. Cue fresh fish & lovely sensations at a place called appropriately called ‘Mi Amore.’



We drove back a good hour through the night, through moody junglerie, accompanied by the constant chorus of chirping insects. Then back at Patnem we drank wine on the beach, ending a perfect day in a tired but happy glow.


The other day I took Victor on the roads for the first time (he survived) to Galgebag beach, where Sea-turtles had just lain their eggs, protected now by fencing. Theres a cluster of restaurants there, one of which comes reccomened by Gordon Ramsey, while the one next door is reccomended by Jamie Oliver. Whether this is true or not, the oysters were great & the beaches are lush…Happy Days indeed!


After m’lady departed for other shores, it seems she had left me with a revitalised mojo. First to pick up on it was a nurse from Hastings on Tuesday night. Me & Vic had got out for a few beers, playing pool in beach bars & stuff, which all led into a riotous rave at a headphone party where we had our first proper session in months. Cue some wild driving & an all night party, plus morning frolic in the waves with the aforementioned nurse.


At some point along the road Vic managed to total the front of his scooter, which I quickly sorted out the next day for him – it was only £35 to repair & we both managed to survive the seratonin surge.



Yesterday was also a classic. Three years ago I met this very well respected & successful woman in the film industry… & well, lets say we had a blast. Anyhow, lo & behold, she was led on a sunbed on my beach. Its funny, last year she was in this hotel in Scotland & invited me over – but I couldnt taint my blank canvas of a relationship, so stayed put. To which she replied something along the lines of, ‘here i am watching porn in my hotel room in the sexiest knickers you will never see.’

So she turns up at Mickey’s Bar where me & Vic were playing some rapturously recieved tunes, after which we got chatting, & I’m like, ‘do you know those knickers you mentioned in your emai?’ & she’s like, ‘I’m wearing em now…’

So this morning, all full of sun & beer & poetry, driving around South Goa listening to mi tunes, I composed this little gem of a sonnet, entitled…


To all the girls I’ve ever nailed
There’s only time I kinda failed
I had just been debirding In India
When a few fumbles after getting it together
She’s agate ‘STOP!’ but, y’know, I weren’t that bothered
Trust me, mi mojo promptly recovered
& I found that the girls were all digging mi chat
I mean… A poet from Burnley in a right dapper hat!

So… deep down I know some were better in bed
But I’ve loved every minute, girls, pathways we tread
All glittering gold thro your slipped off bikinis
In trust’s lamburghinis, up lust’s kundalinis
We surf’d the exotic… frantic… tantric… calm
All aboard mine art’s duties thy beauties to charm.


The New Office...
The New Office…