Postcode Wars

There was a small misdemeanor in the back row of the cinema, that went unheard.
She fell to her knees and was willing to please, that unruly bird.
Well known to customers, young boys and middle aged married men,
She sold us her dignity for silver coins, you only need ten.

There was a hell of a melee, round lower Leyton way,
Where a group of pimps took the streets and the lives of two crackhead guys.
They paid the penalty, for mouthing off to the wrong fellas,
Shouting all foreign and supping on Stellas.

There was an unsightly ruckus at the back of the bus, down Chingford Mount.
Four hooded boys, having a brawl, a dirty free for all, with too many lead pipes to count.
Straight from Hall Estate, it was very dark and late,
While one unlucky chap fell to his fate.

There was a hell of a scrap across the London tube map, with all in anarchy and innocents needing to flee.
The place looks bare, nothing to see, just scared faces and an empty scene.

The Tramp's A Doll.

You've got some nerve, make me live on a curve,
Over the hill again finding the light,
Push me to the floor and say that I'm shite.
Ignore all my messages, making it hard,
Look through my shadow and give me a yard.
Won't touch me at night, won't leave me in the day,
Just grab on my coat tails and get in my way.
You've got some nerve, make me sing the blues,
But when I speak the truth you ain't got a clue.
Ignore all my messages, reading them twice.
Making it impossible just to live my life.
But when it's all said and done,
And you think it's a laugh,
You'll be left cast aside, the only one.
Left in the wilderness, wanting a friend,
While I'm riding high and I'm on the mend.

SE Scallywag

Why pull on my heartstrings? Why tug at my soul?
You know you're a liar from a South London shithole.
You put on your war paint and get ready to fight,
Jumping through hoops, but try as you might,
You fall asleep on the N55, after a night with Charles at some East London dive.

You'll never fit in with the cool guys in the band,
Eyes so wide with a cigarette in hand.
But why pull at my heartstrings? Why tug at my soul?
You're a dirty liar from a South London shithole.

As you back comb your hair and pull up your tights,
You look like a hooker under a Dutch red light.
You play with love like an old violin, missing the notes and failing to sing.

You're a dirty liar with an SE postcode, looking for lovers to ruin and throw,
Throw into the drink from the Southwark bridge,
Looking for lovers to push from the ledge.

You're a two bob cunt, acts like a spiv, with nothing to offer, nothing to give.
You're a jumped up loser that bleeds us all dry, looking all lost with that glint in your eye.
So pull on your high heels and tug off that man, you're losing your mind, messing up your plans.

You've lost your mind and you have no plan.

Never Say Goodbye.

God knows I miss her, like a fallen dove,
She watched me grow from the corner, only disapproving love.
She remains prim and proper out to the faraway sea, gliding through the wind, coming home to he.

Sipping from a coffee cup, another drag to the bone,
A head full of grey thoughts, a head full of home.
Homeward bound, to the one she loves, the one she craves for, hasn't see or hasn't hugged.

Don't pray for her now as she closes those weary eyes, rests her aching body and takes her last sigh.
You may have to remember all of those happy times, but I'll just say hello and never a faint goodbye.

A change of scenery for Yard Life.

It was looking as dodgy as a Derek Trotter promise, but back from the flames, Jen Lloyd has discovered a stunning new venue that could even be better than the last. Don't worry, it's nowhere near the Nelson Mandela Estate, Peckham, but at the breathtaking scenery of St John at Hackney Church on Lower Clapton Road.

It may have been pushed back a week to the fifth of May, but that gets us past the April showers and into a bank holiday weekend where we have a Monday to rest our aching heads.

Yard Life has been moved from the Hackney Downs Studios due to behind the scenes shenanigans that aren't worth getting into, but don't cry into your computer screens, the news is good and the festival is still on!



The artists are still twiddling their brushes, Judy's Affordable Vintage Fair has packed their best tweed and lace for your pickings, the cakes are being iced, the tea brewed, the incredible musicians are stringing their guitars, and perhaps most importantly, Mr Peter Doherty has booked his seat on the Eurostar. We've heard he's even having an early night on the Friday just for you lucky ticket holders.

Doors open at 11am, and believe me, you won't have to pray for an action filled day. Come and stroll around the gardens and the concept stores. Ladies, and the long haired pretty boys in the band, get your faces put on in the powder room.

Get a cup of rosy, buy a vintage posy, have a nosy at the fine art, and then chill, drink until the music starts.

Yard Life is dedicated to making as much money as it can for an incredibly worthy charity close to its heart. It's not all about egos, backstage passes, VIPs posing in their Hunter wellies and the battle of the RayBans. It's about passion, a love for music and most importantly having a good time.

The line up is worth its weight in gold. Up and coming artists, musicians who are no stranger to the London scene playing for kicks and beer, but musicians who are worth paying to see, the Yard Life DJs spinning 50s Rock and Roll, Electro and party classics, and of course, the original Libertine, Billy Bilo.

Guys, the venue may have changed, the date may have changed, but the message hasn't.

'London Loves Yard Life'

Check out all the latest news at yardlifefestival.co.uk

The Lauriston Loves Yard Life

A string of warm up gigs that get the mouth watering,

Talented musicians that get the ears ringing,

Tireless DJs spinning timeless classics that get the crowd singing.

It's Spring 2012, it's Hackney E9, but it feels like the 60s, and a fun loving time.

Tight jeans, tuned guitars, and loud amps in a packed East London bar.

The Cockney trendset spend their hard earned cash,

On hard earned spritzers at this free music bash.

Yard Life at the Lauriston fuses music and dance,

Up and coming artists looking for a chance,

A chance to prove their worth and their unrivalled passion,

To mix catchy tunes in a vibrant London fashion.

The lights are dim and the eye shadow dark,

Long haired lovers and musicians trying to make their mark,

On a crowd of faces, on a music loving room,

As the red lipped girls listen and the young lads swoon,

At the boys in the band, with G and T in hand,

As they tap their feet to the beat, those Yard Life bands,

Eliza, Pablo, and the NCG, plug in their guitars for a glimpse of what will be,

On April 28th, down in Hackney Town, where it's not about the money,

But about discovering new sounds.

Acoustic songs, a folk inspired drone, an Indie feeling with a Rock overtone.

I watched from the rafters like some sheepskin tearaway,

Took off my hat to hear the acts play,

To hear them sing, to watch them sway.

Taken back to a decade of pioneers,

When young guitarists were loved and always cheered,

Wherever they roamed, wherever they played,

And it seemed at the Lauriston this wouldn't fade.

It was a night to let the music do the talking, let the DJs do their work,

Let the records keep on coming, and let the bands flirt,

With the 1960s, with the dawn of Rock and Roll,

When London Town was swinging, and music was in our soul.

So with a tilt of the hat to Dylan, Hendrix and the Stones,

We check our emails daily, we check our 21st century phones,

For a ticket from Yard Life;

So just sit, wait, and smoke your cigarette to the bone.

An invite should be coming to the fresh new music event of the year

And I heard that a certain Peter Doherty might be there...........

So Let's hope for a warm and gentle summer breeze, and hopefully,

You'll meet me in London Town for music and tea.

Check out all the latest news on this brand new festival coming to Hackney Downs Studios on April 28th, at yardlifefestival.co.uk

Photographs by Kate Ford

Drowning men catch at straws

I may seem cold and pretend I'm not there, but when your head is turned I sit and stare;
at your smile that could melt me away, so many words but not sure how to say,
that I need you here and without your love I would jump and drown.
I'm not sure I can swim but my heart is too heavy and the worries are with me, there are far too many.
So stick by my side like my gold plated cane and talk me to sleep or I might go insane;
sick of the world, sick of the darkness, tired of the staring, cursed by the ghouls; old and luckless.

I may seem cold and pretend to be distant, but I promise one thing, without your kiss I'm gone in an instant.

I can't move my toes and my strides aren't as tight and I struggle to juggle or climb on my bike.
My head got messed up like that lorry's back wheel;
It's full of bad dreams, concrete and steel.
I can't catch that bus and I can't catch a break,
I can't see a future, like that trucker saw me late.
They dragged me to the court like I was dragged down the road,
I'm edgy and neurotic, I'm on defence mode.
But I can't see it getting better, I can't see the light, but I'm ready for the marathon and always up for the fight.

I'm gonna turn back the clock to relive my youth, to forget about the accident and to forget the truth.