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michael rowlands

Fascist Fiestas and Criminal Communists

Spain resembles the Civil War period with fascists in the streets and Communists arrested for their views. By Michael Rowlands Just over a week after my article on why Spain isn’t the Utopia that James Rhodes propagandises for, Spain has delivered plenty of evidence to prove me right (unfortunately). With fascists in the streets and communists arrested for their beliefs, the ghost of Franco is still spooking around España, possessing and regressing the country back to the 1930s. So, what the fuck has been going on in Spain?  We begin with the ‘notorious Pablo Hasél finally being captured by officers

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The New Citizenship & Book of James Rhodes

Un Camino Fácil para Rhodes (An Easy Road for Rhodes) With the final draft completed, the release of James Rhodes’ (not the alter ego of WarMachine of the same name, but the English concert pianist and expat living in Spain) newest book is imminent.  It will come as no surprise to anyone that follows any of his social media accounts or has seen him in the news, that the subject is España. If you don’t know him, Rhodes is Spain’s wingman into whooing the world on their humble behalf.  One of the few things I think James and I share

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The Holly Jolly Fascist

Santa Claus, the authoritarian leader of Christmas. With his face branded, moulded, and printed onto literally any object possible, he is the winter poster child. Christmas would cease to exist if we ever lost Santa Claus at the hands of the inevitable brutal heart attack that awaits him.

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Cañas, Camareros & Cunts

The customer isn’t always right, but they’re often the problem. España, a country that gets very little respect from tourists and elitist immigrants; or ‘expats’ as they prefered to be named.  I fucking love Spain. I have hope that I can transform into a traditional Spanish Señor in time for my golden years. Accompanied by all the classics: the buttoned-down shirt that reveals a loose gold chain on a hairy, silver chest, the sun tarred skin, the unnecessary walking stick used to point rather than walk, and a perpetually burning cigar in the corner of my mouth. The siesta dream. 

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The Martyred Magic Bus

The life and death, highs and lows of the 142 bus abandoned on the Alaskan Stampede Trail by Michael Rowlands   A happy little helicopter rescuing his beaten friend the bus. The tear jerking climax of yet another Pixar film that breaks all our hearts and makes us change forever how we treat automobiles and other transportation vehicles in our everyday life? Sadly not, but I’ll start on the script for that.  (Note to self – Set up pitch with Pixar for Gus Bus & Helen Helicopter: The Musical)   In a year that is still snowballing down a hill of madness,

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The awkward lessons learnt from reading ‘The awkward lessons of my luxury lockdown in Kensington’.

Michael Rowlands The awkward lessons of my luxury lockdown in Kensington, an article in the Financial Times by Shruti Advani detailing what most wouldn’t even have the chance to regard as problems. The article was a sickening mix of self pity and blatant gloating. But I’m sure the Financial Times isn’t just interested in giving a platform to the wealthy Londoners during these mad times, they will be just as dedicated in giving their readers an insight into the life of Michael Rowlands under lockdown.  The mad old lessons of my SmartPrice lockdown in Wallsend.  Shruti immediately decided to get

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A guiri’s guide to Madrid bars

words by Michael Rowlands. Photography by Inés van Berkel. Over Christmas whilst in Brussels, drinking every sort of beer available in Delirium Village, Inés and I discussed the uselessness of Channel 4’s programme Travel Man. Although it finds a way to be comical with Richard Ayoade’s odd parody of himself, the show is based on the idea of showing what can be done during a quick 48h holiday in famous European cities. While the idea itself does no harm, the catch is that there’s no real chance of mimicking his adventures unless you manage to get Channel 4 to fund

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We Are Scientists – Review

Quick vermouth at a random bar round the corner before going in, pricey and no lemon. I then head to the venue soured already, and descend into what seems to be the set of an 80’s B-movie Tron porn parody. Blackened mirrors help create the illusion of a busier venue, but causes everyone to bump into each other and reflections of themselves, as everyone is dressed in hipster primark chique.

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