Now that Boris is in, times they are a changing. Our lovely alcoholics -surely a British institution - can't drink on public transport anymore without being hassled by staff doing their jobs; he wants to prevent our beautiful street gangs from killing children who were probably asking for it anyway; he wants to phase out bendy buses just because they are vehicular death traps and most shocking of all he wants to introduce low emission zones to improve the air quality of our junk filled lungs. What is the world coming to when we have people in power who actually know what they are talking about? If Boris really wants to get down with the kids he should ask advice from a  man who knows. A man who practically invented Youth Culture, a man who has had more hits than Winehouse and certainly more scandal. Step forward Jonathan King, who in the last week has released his new project onto our world. If you liked that song he wrote about Harold Shipman then you will love this. Its called 'Vile Pervert: The Musical' and its 21 songs written and performed by Jonathan King mostly about the judicial system and the media. The Judicial system the media and doing bad things with boys. Audiojunkies decided to start a new season of the ever popular 'Shepherd's Pi' interviews (9 music questions and a maths one) on a man who will no doubt offend quite a few people. Because we couldn't get Ricky from the Kaiser chiefs we got JK instead.

The male and the female? A harmonious blend of the ying and the yang, or polar opposites, from different planets, diametrically opposed in every way? Or is it all a myth in order to sell books about woman being from Venus and men being obsessed with Uranus? Are we really that dissimilar? Where do we differ? Or is the real truth that men are just annoying t*ts? Let’s look at the evidence. When I first co-habited I was shocked to find that upon putting my shirts into the laundry basket they had not magically transported themselves into my wardrobe, washed and freshly pressed a day or two later. This confused me, I panicked, “Arrrgh! What do I wear for work? I’ll have to take the day off and buy new ones!”… When I broached the subject…I was told in no uncertain terms, “I’m not your bloody slave, do your own washing and ironing!!” Was she serious?? How could I possibly do that? I had the next level of “Tomb Raider” to complete, and a rather pressing appointment with the couch from which I’d been looking forward to watching “The Great Escape “on TV again, I had memorised over 80% of the dialogue and intended to spend the afternoon committing the remaining 20% to memory. Alas I was unceremoniously frogmarched by my ear into the kitchen and after being formally introduced to something called “the washing machine” was given a reality check with regard to laundry and household tasks in general.

Londoners are famous for having a good old knees up around the “old Joanna” (piano) with their “china plates” (mates). In fact if you were to believe the portrayal of Londoners as painted by “comedic” screenwriter Richard Curtis you’d probably expect to walk into a London pub and be accosted by the local market traders dressed up as pearly kings and queens desperate to sing songs about “Mother Brown” or “Any Old Iron.” Meanwhile hoards of cheeky chimney sweeps would be tap dancing their way across the capitals roof tops waving happily to the local childminders in Regents park “ Gawd Bless ya Marror-ie Poirpains.” Lumme guv, look lively, it’s the local coppers, thumbs hooked jauntily behind their lapels as they give passers-by a sparkling rendition of “The Lambeth Walk”, whilst merrily cuffing mucky cheeked young mischief-makers about the head. Hark! Is that the refuse collectors noisily singing about one of their number getting married in the morning, as they go about their business with stoic good natured cheer whilst musically detailing the grooms worries about arriving at the church a little late ? Oh look there’s the Prime Minister Of Scotland, England, Hugh Grant and a nightingale appears to be singing in Berkley Square (as I live and breathe).

Luckily not many people actually believe the sort of ludicrous stereotyping that Richard Curtis oft employs in order to sell his dreadful “whimsical” fare to America and beyond (Love Actually, erm no mate, Shit Actually). Thankfully not everybody from London who spots a piano is immediately filled with an urge to start bashing out “Oh What A Lovely War” ala Mrs Mills. The reality is Londoners can produce some marvellous music if you allow them to tinkle the ivories, look at Kate Bush for example, and more recently Kate Nash. Another artist from London that’s been attracting a fair bit of attention and has access to a piano is 17-year-old Jose Vanders. ( not pronounced “Jose” as in Jose Mourinho , think more like short for Josephine) Compared by some to the Kate Nash/Lilly Allen school of music, (whatever that means) she’s been steadily gaining a reputation as a prodigious talent and a fine songwriter. Last year saw her self release a debut EP “Transitional Language” which sold out within days, camp as Christmas gossip monger extraordinaire Perez Hilton tipped her for the top and in between she’s even managed to get a job with BBC 3 whilst doing her schoolwork. Phew! Puts you to shame doesn’t it ! We had a chat with her and were somewhat relieved she didn’t confuse us simple northern types with talk of “apples and pies” “mince pears” and “plates of braising steak”

“There’s no such thing as courage. There’s only fear, the fear of getting hurt and the fear of dying. That’s why human beings live so long…..”

In a pawnshop doorway of a dimly lit street the faint form of a shadowy figure could be discerned. He wore an overcoat with the collar turned up and the rim of his fedora was pulled down over his eyes. Under his pencil thin moustache lurked a sardonic smirk. He was evidently waiting for somebody, but who and more to the point why? In a city like this there were plenty of old scores to be settled and debts to be paid. Was he waiting for the dame who’d torn out his heart and sliced it up into tiny pieces, the dame who’d then pummelled it into a fine pâté, which she had then served up as canapés to her high society friends accompanied by her famous “screw you” salad…. Was it the matter of the 50 gees she’d made off with which was owed to Fingers O’Rourke? Nobody stayed breathing too long if they owed Fingers cash, his henchmen shot first and asked questions later… The stranger slipped his hand in his pocket and felt the cold hard steel of the object concealed within his overcoat. He smiled…everything was in place. …. 100 yards from where this shadowy figure was concealed, the doors of the jazz club opened spilling out revellers as the sound of Duke Ellington broke the stillness of the night. Moments later a couple emerged from the club into the cold night air, a female, tall, elegant, entrancing, followed by a male, a guy who looked like he’d been through the mill and had lived to tell the tale. Out of habit he scanned the street, his eyes looking for something, anything, that might spell danger, something didn’t seem right “Scarlet, wait!!” he shouted. She threw back her head and laughed and walked on “Come on Mr Jones” she whispered “let’s get the hell outta here” …The sound of stilettos on the hard concrete of the sidewalk alerted the stranger in the doorway to the fact that finally the moment he’d been waiting for was imminent ..Their paths were about to cross. It was something he had been planning for a long time, something that had filled his every waking hour, some may have called it obsession, he called it dedication…and now…at last…….. In one swift movement he stepped out of the shadows blocking the path of the female, “So” he drawled, “we meet at last”. “Indeed we do” she replied coolly, hands on hips. “And what exactly is it that you want?” she said as a playful smile danced across her lips. “I think you know exactly what I want” he replied meeting her gaze. Her eyes widened as the stranger quickly reached inside his overcoat and produced a….huge.. microphone !… “I want an interview Miss Scarlet, an interview for Audiojunkies , and I want it now! ” …”I think we can work something out” she replied smiling as she lit a cigarette and slowly exhaled, blowing smoke into his face….“Now just wait a second Scarlet” said the guy she’d referred to as Mr Jones “You know when you start talkin’ it opens the doors to a whole world of trouble” . Mr Jones took a step forward towards the stranger “You got something to say mister, you talk to me….”