More From Askew's Blog...

More From Askew's Blog...

Cracks me up this bloke, Legend!

,,,,,

Haha, like a modern day Dr Hunter S. Thompson I rekon like!

& MORE.... HILARIOUS!

Too many words
Before we begin - I must thank you for the wonderfully kind feedback I have been receiving on the back of writing this journal. I must warn you however that flattery will get you everywhere.

As well as the positive feedback a few of you have even taken the time to send mails with "constructive criticism" - the most common theme among these being that I should make each chapter slightly shorter to enable you to have a little time in the week to eat, sleep, go to work and watch East Enders. One mail said, and I quote, "you should maybe cut back on the long irrelevant rambles". Unbelievable.

I have replied to each of these lovely people with my own thoughts on their thoughts. And so here she is ladies and gentlemen - standing proud in all her glory - just how you horrible sluts like it - nice and short with no red herrings.

When I lived in London one of my closest friends introduced me to a gentleman's hairdresser whom he had nicknamed "One Cut Tony". I hate getting my haircut, viewing it as tedious as visiting the dentist or doctor, so I was excited to hear about a place where the guy didn't mess around and just got on and cut your hair - without wanting to chat about your day or the bloody X Factor results. My mate explained that while the nickname One Cut Tony was completely justified on the grounds of his inability to do anything other than a short back and sides if there was nobody ahead of you you could be in and out in under ten minutes. Perfect. Oh Joy.

One thing my mate didn't explain is that Tony hates his customers. Literally. He never goes verbal with his views but by Christ watching him literally boil in his very skin speaks volumes. Every time someone has the nerve to come in to his barbers expecting a haircut - he adopts the cold icy stare of a serial killer. He actually resents customers - for making him get out of his chair. He looks at you with a Vinnie Jones snarl before snatching up a pair of razor sharp scissors and then pointing towards the empty chair where your fate awaits you.

Like I said, my mate didn't give me the full picture - so the first time I went to see Tony I walked in and sat down next to another guy who was reading the Sun newspaper. I waited patiently for Tony to appear while studying the worryingly large number of black and white photos of Frank Bruno that dominated every wall. I'm talking restraining order. After about 20 minutes I was starting to get a little irritated and was about to walk out when the man next to me took his feet off the coffee table, slugged the last mouthful of his tea, put down the paper and stood up with a depressed sigh. He walked over to the table from where he reached for the clippers, turned on his heels and gestured for me to be seated.

Well fuck me sideways with a rag man's trumpet - He was Tony!

I'd sat there for 20 minutes while he finished reading his paper - completely ignoring my presence. As if that wasn't extraordinary enough - he then just started cutting. Not a single word had been said since I entered the building and here he was cutting away without even knowing what I wanted done. Then I remembered - One Cut Tony - of course. I was too terrified to question him and instead tried to focus on avoiding eye contact in the mirror in front of us.

So you can picture the scene, Tony is a slim and what I imagine most women would consider handsome Italian gentleman (the tall dark handsome cliché personified). At a guess I'd say he was in his late 30's. He always dressed well his hair was obviously immaculately shaped - funnily enough the same style as me and my mate. One Cut Tony! He had a dangerously long finger nail on the little finger of his right hand. I've worked through the options and concluded that he either plays flamenco guitar, has a passion for picking his nose or uses it as a tool for shovelling cocaine into his rounded nose which sits directly above his perfectly cropped goatie and tash. Both the hair on his head and chin had flecks of grey.

Anyway - when he needed me to tilt my head he would simply apply pressure to my temple with his outrageous finger nail (was I being attacked? Should I call the police? was this really happening?). When finished he would tear the sheet from around my neck like an arrogant bull fighter whipping the red cape away from the charging bull, brush the hairs off my collar and smooth (hard to explain but he didn't walk he just smoothed from one area of the room to the next) over to the till. With the point of his scissors he'd tap the blackboard where the prices where clearly laid out in coloured chalk. 8 pounds for men. I'd give him a tenner and tell him to keep the change. He would respond with the meanest of faces (think Tony Soprano on crack) but pocket the two quid without even a hint of gratitude.

And yet for some reason I kept going back. For about 3 and a half years! Always paying 8 pounds to be insulted, assaulted (the nail) and intimidated (Vinnie Jones). Well why did you go back then you stupid twat? Because despite the danger, the unpredictable volatility and the bizarre shrine to Frank Bruno here was a man who took serious pride in his work. The cut was always perfect. If I'm honest I was in awe of the man. His shockingly rude reception was almost admirable. While every other outlet in London had staff bending over backwards to brownnose customers into making a purchase of their goods or services here was a lone crusader pioneering a truly unique theory on customer relations in retail. And that theory was - go fuck yourself if you think I want you spending money in my shop!

Even when I'd moved miles away to Clapham I would still make the journey back to Tooting and can you believe it - the fucker never uttered a single word to me. Not one. I only knew he have a voice at all because I once heard him having a massive argument with his missus (and by argument I mean him shouting and her silently cowering in the corner) who had been foolish enough to say something derogatory about Frank during the week of his very peculiar and very public mental breakdown. As I walked in the door in the middle of this verbal thrashing he ushered me to the chair, sat me down and while gripping my shoulders with his bony fingers, he looked at me in the mirror with his cold grey eyes and said "he-is-not-crazy - ok". It was a statement. Not a question. He wasn't asking for a debate.

"Of course he's not." I said with a smile while considering the four walls around me literally covered in Bruno's life and boxing career. "He's a bloody British institution!" I added smartly as the point of the scissors brushed past my ear.

No offence John but we're tired, its been a long day at work and here we are onto the second page of this bloody essay and all you've managed to achieve is a pretty dull rendition of an incident with an silly Italian hairdresser. Would you mind taking it up a notch mate before I fall a-fucking-sleep?

Yes yes yes…now where did we leave off last time……

So the walk I was doing had to be postponed to next year. Mat - my good mate who I was walking with injured his back pretty badly so we had to call it off after just one day. Both of us were absolutely gutted. It was especially gutting because we made this heart crushing decision when we were sat facing the most stunning view of the Lake District mountains - at the waters edge at Ennerdale Bridge - literally sat with a beer looking at this - http://www.grough.co.uk/images/stories/coasttocoast-2.jpg)

Still, onwards and upwards - Mat's back got better after a few months of treatment and so we're rescheduled to give it another go in October 2010. So until then - lets hear no more of it.

So the South American Music Conference in Argentina. What can I say? It was incredible - as my trips to Argentina always are. I've started a love affair with that country. The people, the food, the wine and of course the incredible shows. If you missed my set you can find it along with a bunch of other live sets dating back to 1998 at this address: http://www.mediafire.com/?sharekey=4a7f6eb71db96956ab1eab3e9fa335ca6c1826f09f8b2568

SAMC was not only cool because of the event itself but also because there were a bunch of other dj friends over so we had time to hang out (Tyas, O'Bir, 00 Fleming, Sugar, Morph). We had a blast at the festival and the weekend ended with a ludicrously nice meal with my mate Roger, his wife and son and friends. I was just sad that my visit was so short and even sadder that my set at SAMC was only an hour and fifteen minutes. I hate short sets. :0( Lilly Allen and her band were on the same flight as me back to the UK from Buenos Aries. Not much to say about her except for the fact she seemed very disappointed that nobody recognised her at Heathrow. One of her sherpa slaves was busy offloading a good few cases of wine from the carrousel onto her trolley (who can blame her, Argentinian red can be exquisite) while she did her bestest "I'm so down with the kids that I even drink Strongbow cider on stage at my gigs" cockney accent at an intolerable volume down her mobile phone - desperate for someone to notice that this was none other than Lilly-fucking-Allen. Yes Lilly - well done - your screaming "daan tha phown" worked - everyone in Terminal 5 was alerted to your presence - but they choose not to pay you any attention because you're shit and so is your music. Simples.

Next up was Digital Society - which was mental as usual. It was the launch party for the new mix album and it was the first time I had seen a finished copy (Rav dropped in a box of them to my hotel). The night was rocking. I loved playing as I always do in that venue. Andy Moor and John O'Callaghan were exceptional as was Daniel Kandi. If you haven' bought my new album yet then shame on you. You can redeem yourself by buying a copy immediately with the money you've made in the last few weeks selling shit Christmas presents you didn't want on ebay.

http://www.enhancedrecordings.co.uk/index.php?page=releases-view&lid=324&rid=6971

Speaking of Christmas I have to tell you this little story. It was the day before Christmas eve and I was in the supermarket approaching the till to pay for my shopping when a larger than life lady came marching back to the till with a net of satsumas in one hand and a crying child in the other. To cut a long story short she wanted to complain to the manager because her daughter (the gushing little toe-rag at her side) had nearly choked on a pip that was inside a Satsuma - which she had just bought. I didn't hear the full argument but I think the net of Satsumas must have said "seedless" or "pip-less" on it and so here she was kicking off making a right stink. The word "unacceptable" was aired in the same sentence as a few other equally ripe gems and I just couldn't help myself.

"Excuse me madam but surely you should be directing your angst towards God and not this poor girl or even the manager?"

"What??!!" (steam coming out of ears)

"Well without peeling each Satsuma and then cutting open the individual segments of every fruit which would render them unsellable (unless destined for the British classic "tinned fruit cocktail") I for one can't think of how anyone could check to see if the odd pip had managed to slip by - under the radar. But God on the other hand - I've heard it on good authority that he knows everything - so he's your man - now if you don't mind I'll pay for my shopping and be on my way."

I wish I could tell you about the massive standing ovation I received but in reality both the check out girl, the toffee nosed arachnid with child and the other people in the queue behind me all looked at me with equal contempt. Who's this cocky twat? Tail between legs I pretended I had forgotten something and made a beeline for another queue. My talent is wasted on the clientele of Sainsbury's.

Next up was God's Kitchen in Birmingham where I was headlining the second room and booked to play a 3 hour set. I drove up to Birmingham with my old mate Jan. On arrival at the club we walked into scenes of scantily dressed women and men in 70's gansta get up. We inquired what was going on and were informed that it was fancy dress this evening - the theme being Whores and Pimps. Well that's not fair! If only we'd been told we could have donned stockings and suspenders ourselves. Gutted. Saw a bunch of the crew there - Patterson, Fila, Downey and van Riel. Everyone seemed to be getting pretty on it. Sadly I was driving, but Jan gladly accepted all offers of anything and everything that was put our way. My set was really fun. I think I enjoyed playing in the Oxygen room than previous gigs in the main room. I so hope that I can do that again. There was a great vibe I there and by the time we got to the car I was buzzing. So was Jan. But for different reasons. As it turned out Jan had been given a few bags of reasons to be buzzing and so we both buzzed our way home. The conversation was heavy and deep - ranging from the musicianship and credibility being Pendulum's music to ironing out the intricate details behind our long term plan to write and direct an animated film. At home we hid in the Kitchen and drank wine to avoid waking anyone. At 7.30 people got up and we moved our performance to the sofas where our ranting continued - much to the dismay of our birds.

The next weekend I was back up north for Rong in Manchester. I think the venue was called the Music Box. Has serious potential to house a rocking night but the torrential rain meant the turn out was average. Still the Manchester atmosphere made up for the half full club. It was my birthday so I'm not going to lie to you - I got a tad tipsy. By the way - trying to find somewhere to eat in central Manchester after 11pm is impossible. I hate that about England. The deadlines. The time restrictions. Is there any bloody wonder why all Brits are binge drinkers (we are aren't we?). We drink like our lives depend on it because we're working to a bloody tight time restriction. Everywhere else in Europe families don't even go out to dinner much before 10 or 11 and yet here in the UK we don't have time to talk to eachother because we've only got a couple of hours before we're kicked out and told to go home.

In Europe - the ‘urgency' is removed and thus they don't have streets littered with puke, piss and blood to deal with every weekend. What was the point introducing 24 hour drinking licenses and then not making it compulsory for pubs to remain open round the clock? I don't know of a single pub where I can get a pint at 2am. It's a fucking disgrace and I for one will not stand for it a moment longer (oh yeah John, and what exactly do you intend to do about it? I'll write to my local MP of course! Do you honestly think they'll reply? No, no I don't. Well then, why bother. I suppose you're right - fuck it then I wont bother).

Yes so the gig in Manchester was good but not life changing. The venue and the crowd that were there were exceptional and I told the promoter he was really onto a good thing here. Afterwards I joined Activa, Mr Jordan Suckley and his crew of characters back at his hotel for a nightcap and then Rob and I taxi'd back to our hotel via Mcdonads drive through. Like I said a tad tipsy.

By the way - if you haven't already seen this check it out - this is brilliant

[ame="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pteTeKh8MZQ"]YouTube- Mr Wilkinson - Armstrong & Miller Show BBC[/ame]

The following weekend it was off to Los Angeles to play my rescheduled date at Circus (last one had to be postponed as I'd fucked my ear pretty badly). The flight was smooth and I watched the new Woody Allen movie called "Whatever Works" which was absolutely amazing. I was crying with laughter all the way through it. I insist that you go and see immediately - and yes I'll be asking questions next time to make sure that you have done your homework!

On arrival at LAX I had the usual third degree at immigration. The stern looking policeman beckoned me forward with a nod of his pumpkin shaped head.

"Good Morning and how are you today" I said.

He ignored my ridiculous attempt at being polite and extending an incredibly hairy ape like hand - for my papers. After leafing through the pages of my passport he looked up and said

"you're a dj?"

"Yes that's correct"

"You're here to work"

"Yes"

"You can't come in without a work visa".

"Ah yes, my mistake I do have a work visa but its n my other passport - let me just find it now". He rolled his eyes and exhaled a long sigh as I rummaged through my hand luggage - here was an English twat coming on all polite on his watch. I gave the paperwork to the man (or primate? Hard to tell how far along the evolutionary cycle this one had come) and directed his search the relevant page where he was clearly disappointed to find that I had the correct permissions to enter.

I watched his eyes scanned over the words….

"Her Britannic Majesty's Secretary of State requests and requires in the Name of Her Majesty all those whom it may concern to allow the bearer to pass freely without hindrance and to afford the bearer such assistance and protection as may be necessary. Failure to do so will result in her majesty deploying the SAS to kick your fucking back door in."

That's right you miserable bastard - hand them back and I'll be on my way.

Out the front I was approached by a man dressed in white from head to toe.

"Hello sir and where have you travelled from today?" (here we go - I'm about to be kidnapped and sold into the sex trafficking world as a slave to a gay oil tycoon)

and then I saw the bible in his hand...

Religion is clearly big business in the US (hang on John - do you really want to be bringing religion into this blog - is that wise? Seriously mate - tread very carefully here). There are literally hundreds of cable channels on TV with hundreds of big companies behind them trading under the banner of "Christianity" each with dedicated phone lines on the bottom of the screens where the masses can donate money direct to God himself. Personally I bet God cringes when he sees these channels (does God have cable?). I don't think he ever intended for us to make religion into such a commercial venture. Anyway - I pretended to be foreign and he soon the bible handler redirected his tirade towards a group of hip hop types (still can't get my head round the concept of wearing jeans below the buttocks when you have a perfectly good belt to keep the buggers up round the waist).

Are you religious John? Not really, but I'm not against the idea yet. I guess when I reach my twilight years and have a shit loads of repenting to do…….

My old buddy Lance picked me up out the front and we headed back to his place in Long Beach. We hung out with his daughter and drank a few beers. It was a really nice evening and a joy to catch up with an old friend. Eventually I passed out and slept like a log through till morning.

We got up, showered and headed out into LA for breakfast. I can't remember the name of the place where we ate but I guess is fair to say it had a Mexican theme and the food was simply delicious. With Lance and I both nursing a slightly sore head from the previous night we decided to have one hair of the dog to take the edge of it. By the time the bill came we were reckless on Bloody Mary's.

I was pleasantly surprised at the gig. It was wicked. Really very good indeed. A good solid crowd who were really up for it and responsive to all the music I played. Oh joy! It was also a great pleasure to hang out with the legend that is Thomas Bronzwaer. The only disappointment was the fact that my scheduled 4 hour set turned out to be just two hours. Some sort of confusion between promoter and agent I guess - but still every minute of the set was a lot of fun and I can't wait to come back. I gave out a bunch of albums and some of my new John Askew keyring torches (what?? You have John Askew torches??!! Haaaaaa - you cock!) which were well received although you then face a bunch of red lights being shone in your eyes for the rest of the night. A girl who said she was a dedicated reader of this blog came up and gave me 5 or 6 packs of American chewing gum on the back of a comment I made in a previous episode. If you're reading this I must thank you for your kind gesture - it was most thoughtful. If anyone else is feeling thoughtful might I suggest a pair of True Religion Jeans or perhaps a Saab Viggen Fighter Jet?

After the gig I was driven back to the hotel by one of the club staff who told me about the problems he was having with his girlfriend. The poor guy was only 21 and clearly heartbroken so I gave him the best advice an Englishman could to a man of his age. Delete her number and get out there to give the rest of LA's female population a proper seeing to. 21 years old is not at age to be settling down. You have one life etc etc. (again if you're reading this mate - ignore everything I said. I know nothing).

In LAX airport I found myself in the exec lounge quaffing Pinot Noir while watching the original "Inglorious Bastards" on my Laptop. I bought it (that's right kids bought - not illegally downloaded) thinking it was the Tarantino remake but was actually pleased to see that it was the original 1978 war epic. Amazing film. I'm sure Fred Williamson is me in another life (how's that possible John when he's still alive you bell-end).

I think now would be a good time to give my recent single "Bad Apple" a plug to encourage those of you who haven't bought it to go and buy it. And for those of you who have illegally downloaded it to delete that copy and pay for another. Go on you bastards - you know you want to.

https://www.beatport.com/en-us/html/content/release/detail/201120/Bad Apple

Next was Amplified in Derby. Very funny night. Met James at the hotel for a couple of jars and then headed down to the venue where the Amplified crew were in full swing. Ottaviani live PA was sensational as usual. A few technical problems (headphone socket on the mixer completely broken) hindered the first ten minutes of my set till a replacement mixer was wired in. By then I'd kind of lost my mojo if you know what I mean so I can't say that my set was any good. In fact I want to apologise now to the clubbers of Derby - it was a dull unimaginative set from a stroppy dj having a sulk. You deserved better and I deserved a smacked bottom. Had a slight catastrophe after the set with a Russian Roulette incident back stage. Long story but basically I chose the wrong drink. Was really cool to meet Adam Foley and his missus. Lovely people. He's going to be massive ladies and gents. Mark my words.

Next up was my weekend tour in Australia and New Zealand. 48 hours of flying in 5 days. And that doesn't include time in airports. Not ideal.

I decided the only way to tackle this mutha was to not touch a drop of alcohol. Be healthy and get as much sleep as you can and drink only water - because this weekend is going to fucking kill you.

24 hours later I landed in Sydney (Thursday night) and was picked up by the lovely guys from Sublime. Good chat in the car to the hotel. On arrival to the room tried to watch that 1920's gangster movie with Johnny Depp on pay per view but the flight had drained me and I ended up passing out for several hours - waking fully clothed on top of the bed linen the following morning at 3am. Wide awake I rose, showered, ordered breakfast (fruit, coffee, toast)…………….yeah right, who are you trying to fool fatty - you had a full English as well and I saw you shovel it into your fat face with my own eyes!!

Speaking of eyes - I think I might go and get my eyes tested. I don't think there's anything wrong with them but I think I've reached the stage in my life where I might want to start wearing glasses. What?

Have you seen that advert of TV for Specsavers with Postman Pat fucking everything up because he's not got his glasses on. Its my favourite ad - check it out

[nomedia]www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfulfbqt04u[/nomedia]

Or you could try

[nomedia]www.youtube.com/watch?v=wdugtbumqsc[/nomedia]

Met up with all my mates including a few chums who have relocated from the UK. Had a few beers in the harbour (still with every intention of those beers remaining at "a few" and not expanding into "a shit load"). At the club we were each issued with "free booze all night wristbands". Exqueeze me? Baking powder? I tried being good but the drinks kept being delivered to the decks and so in the end I had to drink them to simply make room for the next round. Can I use that as an excuse? Met some comp winners (Tom and his mate) who were pretty cool. We shared a few laughs and a few drinks.

The gig was ok. Not amazing - just ok. I think this was mostly down to me being the wrong dj for that room/crowd? The room was busy when we arrived but I could tell immediately there may be a compatibility problem between what I wanted to play and what they wanted to hear. (my god you're fussy tonight John). I think the crowd that were there wanted to hear realy uplifting trance with big vocals and lots of sing along stuff? I might be wrong but I've been around the block a few times and can usually tell.

I don't know - I think maybe my music works better in a dark seedy shit hole with a sound system of arena proportions and a crowd that are properly off their trousers on bad things. The glass room at Home was so grand and beautiful. Too classy for a tramp like me. The panoramic views of the harbour that I could see all around me made me want to play big house anthems and take my shirt off.

Think hard techno being played on The Terrace at Space - not pretty. So there I stood slowly clearing the room of all the drinkers (including my mates who all think my music is gash). Still there was a diehard of Discover fans who lapped up the non-stop showcasing of future releases on the label. It was a lot of fun and the hospitality was incredible but sorry guys I have to be honest and say I don't think I was the right dj for that venue/room/crowd - and I take full responsibility for it not going down in history as a classic Sublime party - sorry! Shame really because the last time I played at Sublime in the downstairs clubroom it was insane.

After the club there was lot of big talk of an afterparty session that I had no option of getting out of. Despite the barrage of booze forced on me during the night I was feeling reasonably together and therefore, knowing I had a 10am flight to New Zealand I agreed to go to the carry on but at the first set of traffic lights I leapt from the car and ran in the opposite direction. You don't know my mates - it was the only choice.

8am and I'm at Sydney airport dressed for death. Black shoes, black trousers, black t-shirt, black shades, black bags (in my hands and under my eyes). Checked in at a desk manned by a pretty young lady who was ample of bosom but not of grey mater.

Smooth flight to Auckland. I do so love Quantas. Hats off to you for service with a smile. Watched a heartbreaking documentary on the flight about Andrew McAuley who attempted to Kayak acorss the Tasmin from Australia to New Zealand. After something like 28 days - when he was in sight of the New Zealand coast and after surviving numerous capsizes and one of the worst storms of the decade - his boat capsized and part of the sleeping pod broke, filled with water and made it impossible to right. He sent an sos message but the rescue came too late and he died. They recovered the boat and a bunch of memory cards with a load of the video footage he had taken on the trip over. And so here I was watching the last 28 days of a man's life. Seeing his demise / the fear. And then on the other side you had the footage of his family in New Zealand, having just heard his last radio transmission saying he was as good as home and dry, and then seeing them collapse when the bad news comes in. Horrible. I nearly cried. If you're up for a really good cry then check this stuff out on you tube. Heartbreaking.

Picked up in Auckland by Mr Jared Knapp. Hotel. Steak and chips. Litre of water. Sleep. Alarm clock. Wake. Shower. Lift to the club. Club rocking. Really Really excited. Back stage talk of afterparties and carnage giving me the fear. Decline drinks and stick to water. Must be good. My set is being recorded for radio broadcast and I'm literally gagging to get on the decks as the crowd look primed and ready to go. I play for 3 hours and fuck me it's probably, musically, my favourite set that I have played in 2009 (except maybe my gig at Privilege in Argentina - but it was at least as good). As usual its over too quickly and I exit back to the hotel to bag 2 hours sleep before heading back to Auckland airport to begin the long journey back to London. Get to the hotel room pretty chuffed with myself. Managed to do the whole night without giving into anything bar a few customary tugs on a bottle of vodka. It is with great relief therefore that I wake 2 hours later to find myself clear headed and well hydrated (must have drunk about 2 litres of water at the gig).

Sadly I learnt later on that the recording hadn't worked. Haven't been that gutted in a while. I loved the gig in Auckland so so much. I want to go back as soon as possible. Tomorrow?

At Auckland Airport (the best airport in the world incidentally for stress free travel) I grabbed a burger and watched The All Blacks playing France in the bar by my gate. This is going to sound really bad but a bloke sat down next to me and started up a conversation and for no apparent reason I found myself adopting a cockney accent and lying about literally everything. I told him I worked as a cameraman on the series "Ice Truckers". What the fuck? I'm struggling to even explain this one myself to the point where I was debating whether to tell you about it at all. Still there I sat making up a completely new character for myself. It was quite exhilarating actually. I felt like an undercover spy. I can't say it'll be the last time that happens.

On the way home was gutted to find my Quantas flight had been merged with Shitish Airways (the world's favourite airline - according to who you fucking wankers???). No choice but to hide in a book. Martin Amis "London Fields". Sordid. Funny. Classic Amis.

Ok after 8 pages I think it might be time to bring this puppy back to the stable.

Next time I'll tell you about Ministry of Sound, Poland, and the massive NYE at Passion and Gods.

For now ladies and gentlemen I bid you farewell for a while. I am taking 3 months off from djing/travelling to be home for the arrival of mini Askew number two. So see you all on the other side.

Laters.

x

Ps: who wants to win a DVD with 4 GB of Askew stuff on it? If you do then make sure you are subscribed to my newsletter (enter your email address in the box at the top right hand corner of the home page at www.djjohnaskew.com). Winners announced in the next newsletter - in Feb.

Took ages to read but was well worth it, he's funny as fuck.

Awesome! Love that Satsuma bit

askews blog is fucking class lol

Askew's reposnse to some cunt on Matt's board calling pretentious, hilarious!!

[ame]http://matthardwick.com/forums/showpost.php?p=429618&postcount=134[/ame]

Thats awesome

Blimey..... crazy stuff. Thats the main reason i havnt signed up to that board... everyone seems to be at each others throat a bit too much

Askew's crack is hilarious like. Some of his early blogs are fucking brilliant. Should do standup

not like this board then

Dusnt seem to be as bad on here lyk. Less spite n all that.

Hardwick board is alright really...havent posted in a while mind.

HAHA. His response is quality. Sit down.