The ALL NEW…Fatmail Monthly Deposit

Keep your finger on the pulse of the blue-veined trend truncheon with 800 words of utter dog-do from some of the music industry’s most discredited throwbacks.

Just when you thought it was safe to open your inbox, the Fatmail returns from an extended period of creative distemper and semi-impotency.

Once a thinly veiled-marketing directive based on boredom, breakbeat and hatred, the brains behind the industry’s favourite monthly mailout – The Fatmail, are now making a bid to re-live the great days when literally dozens of people would dread opening their inboxes on a Friday. But in the time since we last darkened your psyches, the Chew The Fat! club night has gone from flogging the world’s most weary ‘breakbeat’ within an inch of its putrified life, into a ball-clenchingly hip repository for some of the most idiotic haircuts in East London.

In other words, if you’re young, good-looking and slightly vacuous then – much like child prostitution – Chew The Fat! is where it’s at. And to prove it, the ALL NEW Fatmail Monthly Deposit will bring you monthly announcements from the very cutting edge of popular twuntdom, gathering all that is trendy into an irritating monthly pile of words and throwing it spitefully in your spoilt little faces. Here goes…

GOING OUT: Chew The Fat! @ The Arches

If you have a habit of regularly shitting the bed, then you may be looking for ways to stay out of your house for as long as possible this weekend to avoid censure by cleanliness-obsessed housemates or parents. Brother and sisters, help is at hand. This weekend Chew The Fat! is once again spreading its musical buttcheeks and inviting you to insert your fist of fun into the chocolate rave starfish of joy at yet another circlejerk of self-regarding fools in dayglo trainers dancing out of time to rehashed 90s garage. Now that’s progress. It’s a mere £13 to get in and you can shit wherever you like, as long as you’re wearing cool trainers.

Featuring Foamo, Herve, Loefah, A1 Bassline, Duke Dumont, Hey Joe, Jesse Tittsworth, Johnny Tittshitter, Jimmy Titfucker, Jerry Kiddyfiddler plus residents, live percussion and a rogue troupe of horny shirehorses rutting fiercely at your ankles throughout the night.

MUSIC MAKER: Foamo

Rumour has it that the name Foamo comes from a famous Italian sex-pest, El Foamo, who had a penchant for ejaculating into his victims’ cappucinos. But when you come from High Wycombe, anything’s possible. Growing up in a society where wooden toys are considered a luxury and most people still think the Earth is flat can lead to some strange experiences, so it’s no surprise that Foamo’s ended up being famous for doing a remix of a remix (by dubstepping Croydon casual Skream).

SCENE: South London

Much maligned for its crackhouses, teenage mothers and shit football teams, South London is often looked down on by your average toffee-arsed East London cockjockey jostling for a four square feet stake in a Hackney shithouse to make them feel smug about their place on the property ladder. But beware, my hipster cousins, because south is back now, bitches, and you’ll be regretting those overpriced flats in Bethnal Green once the great and the good start frequenting gastro-brothels in Mitcham and you’ll be stranded 15 miles away on the wrong side of town, weeping and pissing into your skinny jeans. It starts with the numerous new clubs of London Bridge – an area that’s literally a projectile vomit away from being in North London but South, nevertheless. How the worm turns.

Details: South London, various locations below the rest of London, forever.

BAR: Nine Bar

Standing in a small room, unable to move or hear a word your friends are saying whilst drinking warm lager at £4.50 a bottle is once again en vogue in 2009. So forget the crunch and get your arses down to Nine Bar. You’ll soon discover that London Bridge isn’t such a bad place, once you’ve tiptoed around the toothless crackwhores, vomiting Dickensian drunks and piles of discarded rectal swabs from Guy’s Hospital.

Details: 146 Tanner Street, London, SE1. 020 7394 5554. Free vodka suppositories B4 9pm.

RESTAURANT: Rarebait

Following the recent home-furnishing fad of taxidermised rareties from around the globe, this East London eatery brings some of the rarest sweet meats from around the world all into one cosy settings. Relax in luxury ivory chairs with the great and good of Shoreditch and tuck into savoury delights like arctic fox broulade, naked mole-rat kebabs and chimp burgers. For the more indulgent connoiseur, the £350 per plate woolly mammoth steak, preserved in ice for 2500 years and tenderly sauteed for contemporary diners, is a ‘rare’ pleasure.

Details: Rarebait, 9 Nesbitt Street, EC1, 020 7456 8987.

CELEBRITY: RESPOND OR DIE

If like me you were riveted by the high-profile demise of Jade Goody, you may now be wishing that other celebrities would khak it in an entertaining way. Richard Hammond came close, Noel Edmonds almost did it to one of his contestants, and Jimmy Saville is surely only a matter of time. So what next? Gordon Ramsay’s wrinkled bum-face accidentally slashed off by a retarded trainee chef on Kitchen Nightmares?

Trinny and Susanna boiled alive in catsuits made of razor wire on I’m A Celebrity…?

We’d like your suggestions of entertaining celebrity deaths that you’d like broadcast on national TV. Comments below please.

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