The female perspective from Lioness…

I’ve started writing this before I even know the competition. That’s because there is none.  Nothing Williamson can throw at me will be even be in Ryan Gosling’s league.

I’ve detailed a few reasons below.

Ryan will pick you up in the rain and pash you like you’re getting punched in the lips in a good way.  He will carry you up the stairs, and pull your wet stockings off your legs whilst clad in knee length boxer shorts.  This may have been Ryan as the role of Noah Calhoun, but I like to draw parallels to his actual real life personality…

He owns a restaurant in Beverly Hills called Tagine.  He oversees the menu with his chef buddy.  Read – you’ll get fed and watered. Probably for free.

He carries his dog up the escalator.

He has the motherfuckingsexiest voice of all time.  He has said that as a kid he didn’t reckon the Canadian accent sounded tough – he thought guys should sound like Marlon Brando.  Would you argue with that?

Don’t for a second thing that Gosling is vain – he self-deprecatingly admitted the accent was a phony that is no longer phony. He loves his mum and sister – and attributes them raising him to his ‘thinking like a girl’. Not to be crass – but you can draw your own conclusions from this. He broke up a street fight and rescued a girl from getting hit by a taxi.  He’s actually a true blue bloody hero.

IN CONCLUSION: he is 100% more charming, charismatic and funny than you will ever be. PS:  I’ll leave you with a selection of Gos pics and the editor’s fav, a somecard pic.

The male perspective from Sonny Bill Williamson…

I’m not blind, “The Gos” is a tasty piece of meat. He really is. But is he the hottest thing we’ve seen?
Is he as sizzling as a young Robert Redford?

Maybe.

But is he as hot as that sexy food-loving Brit Nigella Lawson? Wouldn’t you want to come home from work and find this breasty woman waiting to feed you?

Yes you would. But you’d probably still prefer Mr Gosling waiting for you wouldn’t you?

Perhaps a French icon could ooze more sex and hotness than the young Canadian? Weird-eared Serge Gainsbourg is a contender, his music alone could get you in the mood…

Maybe you’ve gone black so you won’t go back? Naomi has always made me look twice…

But no one, not even a supermodel dressed as a bunny or Ryan Gosling can compete with the hottest piece of ass to ever walk this earth – a young Pamella Anderson. That’s right. Forget her drunken ways of the past few years, forget her taste in men, forget that shocking film ‘Barbwire’, and focus on the young lady who turned heads like no other, Pam.

Look at that hair, look at those eyes, look at that smile, look at that tan, look at those tits, look at those shorts!!! Have you even noticed the man carrying a stroller or the two dudes driving a rubbish container yet? Of course not!!! This right here is what sexy is. It is hot. It is so fucking hot I can hardly finish this sentence for the need to go relieve myself! For all that is good about Gosling, nothing he has or ever will do will compare to this. And I’ve only needed to describe one photo of this young super-babe. I rest my case.

Now, I feel that I ought to point out that I do not in any way endorse the concept of substituting spiciness for taste. Your curry can be hot, but if it doesn’t compliment this with a fair flavour, then you are essentially the culinary equivalent of all trash and no substance (ie: John Terry). This is merely a technicality with regards to this narrative. But I feel it’s important to distance myself from the potential perception that I tried this curry in the hope that I thought it would taste good.

With these formalities taken care of, time to move on to the main course. Upon entering the premises, we immediately took note of the abnormal proportion of stag do’s present among the customers. There were the usual kilt-sporting highlander wannabes, a lazy (but effective) fake afro/moustache combo crew, and of course, a spattering of civilian-dressed douchebags escorting their haplessly cross-dressed groom-to-be around town. It was in this refined and classy environment that we were escorted to our table, and the ordering didn’t take long. “One Curry Hell, waiter, and I hope it comes with naans. I don’t want to be hungry once I’m done”. The waiter looked at me with a mix of contempt and malice; “ooh and one more thing, garcon. I hope you honour your promise of a free meal once I lick my plate clean!”. This was enough for our friend Ramesh. In a bizarre mix of Indian and Geordie dialect, he muttered “you won’t be finishing it mate, hope you brought cash”. Clearly, the gauntlet had been laid, and the pre dinner Cobra lagers had further empowered me with the conviction of a man possessed.

Within minutes the evil brew made its entrance, and I suddenly found myself face to face with the beast. Although rather unassuming at first sight, the discerning observer would soon note that the sauce, sporting a dark red hue, was in fact holding within its rich texture hundreds of chilli seeds. An encouraging sign, I thought. Maybe Mr Ramsey was onto something.

In unison, my companions and I all spooned out a piece of chicken from our respective cauldrons, and downed the first portion with cavalier abandon. For three of the four members present, that would be the last Curry Hell to touch their lips for the night.

The first sensation which I can recall, as I masticated on the dead animal which had been unfortunate enough to end up in this odious swamp of a meal, was a burning sensation perhaps akin to trying to suck the fire out of a flame thrower. During the minute of agonising silence which followed around the table, I came to realise that sweat not only poured from my brow and tears from my eyes, but that rivers of bodily fluid suddenly manifested themselves out from my ears and nostrils. This was quickly forgotten however, when I noticed that I was openly dribbling from my mouth, but didn’t mind because of the cooling effect my saliva had on my blistered lips.

Then as the substance made its way down my esophagus, the real agony began. The hellfire dancing within my jaws took a backseat to a sensation which is difficult to explain… Physically, the best way to describe it was like getting fisted by Edward Scissorhands. Before long, the walls of my stomach were wasting away, confronted by the acidic goo which had just blitzkrieged its once peaceful vales. Through my head, Ramsay’s maniacal laugh rang mercilessly.

Nevertheless, still determined to claim my free meal, I took on another few bites. Naively, I thought that engorging multiple morsels in quick succession, with minimal chewing, would stunt the fire’s overall impact. Within minutes, the obvious gravity of my error was eclipsed only by the laughter which was now emanating from around us, as the other patrons took pleasure in our now very public pain. After four mouthfuls, self preservation finally got the better of me, and the towel was thrown in.

With my senses beginning to fade, one of my companions presented a final spoonful of the steaming brew, throwing in a £20 note sweetener if I were to re-enter the fray. I’ll do pretty much anything for a tenner, so my rising to the challenge was more instinctive  than brave… This was the final, ill-advised and inevitable step towards oblivion. As I stumbled up from my chair, the crowds around me screaming for blood, I stumbled as the dying gladiator towards the safety of the gateway, which in this case was the dimly lit and questionably hygienic bathroom stalls. After a half hour within the cubicle walls, pressing my weight against the thin boarded walls, I knew that I had to get out.

As I stumbled into the street, disoriented and alone, my consciousness departed to a better place. Recollections of the next few hours are hazy, but dried up evidence found on my clothes would indicate bile exiting my mouth, and of course more fiery agony. I was beaten. Curry Hell had won.

(this is Prince Harry)

Awards:

Best in the sun: Metronomy really are the perfect summer band. How on earth are they from Britain?

Best to dance to: I found the overalls crowds in America very, very tame. Only during  a few shows over the whole weekend did people dance and/or mosh – The Rapture easily being the best for it.

Refused also get an honourable mention in the latter camp.

Biggest Miss: Azealia Banks. Too early in the day so I missed it by 15 mins. I have no doubt ‘212’ would’ve been one of the bigger tunes of the festival.

Honourable mentions: Araabmuzik, Death Grips, Andrew Bird, Beirut.

The ‘how are they still playing main stage in a decent timeslot’ award: A tie between Kaiser Chiefs and The Hives. It’s 2012 not 2006.

Most iconic site: The Ferris Wheel. It really does look amazing both during the day and during the night and it is the first thing I think of when I think Coachella.

Honourable mention: The Palm Trees – nothing screams Cali more.

Worst time slot (for the crowd): The Black Keys as a headliner. Does anyone love them or does everyone just kinda like them? I am not sold on them in a primetime slot.

Honourable mention: Bon Iver, I might be in the minority but I would’ve much preferred a late afternoon/early evening slot from them.

Worst time slot (for an artist): Avichii. Mega guts at having to go head-to-head with Dre + Snoop on the Sunday night.

Honourable mention: Anything on pre 2:30 (an impossible slot for the non-campers)

Favourite Accident: On Sunday I was well excited to see Araabmuzik and trotted off solo to his tent as I couldn’t by a friend to accompany me. After about 15 mins though I realised I was in the wrong one (all 3 are next door and look identical) and I was actually watching The Gaslamp Killer. But it was incredible so I ended up staying. He mixes hip hop/dubstep including his own remixes of ‘Niggas in Paris’, ‘I Wanna Be your Dog’ and the Star Wars ‘Imperial March’. Boss.

Biggest praise: To the shuttle drivers. Comfy buses, never a wait, great music AND they let you drink on them. Very tidy operation.

Biggest gripe: It has definitely fallen into Glastonbury zone of being a festival for people who aren’t really into music but just want to ‘tick it off’. So many Frat boys it may have well been called Bro-chella.

Dishonourable mention: Only being able to drink in designated areas and not by the stages.

Most enjoyable person I danced 2 metres away from: Usher during Dre + Snoop. Yeah, yeah.

Top Song: Extremely tough category but I will have to go with Radiohead ‘After the Goldrush/Everything in its Right Place’. Thom Yorke covered Neil Young exceptionally well and then blended it into the ‘Kid A’ highlight (though I basically could’ve included their whole 6 song, 40min encore).

Honourable mention: SBTRKT’s ‘Wildfire’ remix of the Drake remix. Big tune gets even bigger.

Best Act: Dre + Snoop, obviously. It is the act that has been most talked about and quite rightly so. Just an amazing set featuring cameos from Eminem, 50 Cent, Wiz Kalifa, Warren G, Kurupt, Kendrick Lamar and of course ‘2Pac’. It was a barrage of surprises each topping the last and the set list was incredible. The hologram performance definitely raises some ethical questions but to see that live was an experience I will never forget – and it will go down not only as an iconic Coachella moment but a global musical milestone. (PS set list after the jump)

Most jacked rapper: For the first 4 or 5 songs of Dre + Snoop I just couldn’t stop staring at how ripped Dre has got. I wasn’t sure if I have should be amazed or grossed out but which ever way it screams mid life crisis.

Honourable mention to MC Ride form Death Grips – that guy is a beast.

Best Sing-along: Nothing tops a festival crowd sing-along and when the instrumental for Snoop’s ‘Ain’t No Fun’ came on the whole crowd immediately knew what was required of them. And we obliged by rapping every bar of Nate Dogg’s (revolting but hilarious) verse. Incredible moment.

Weekend Winners/Losers

Winners: Holograms, Del Taco, Red Cups, Walmart, Matt + Matt, Shuttles, ESPN Deportes, Motel pools, Relative lack of lines once inside, Guest appearance, Streaming on Youtube, David Guetta jokes,

Losers: Work today, Fruit + Veg, Security searches (“this is not your package”), Walmart, Midriff (is it coming back? I hope not), $9 beers, $7 pizza slices,  Being dark at 6pm, 2nd weekend now that the surprises are spoiled, David Guetta,

Bands Seen:

Friday: Girls, Wu Lyf, The Rapture, The Black Keys, Explosions in the Sky, Refused

Saturday: Tune-Yards, Noel Gallagher, Kasabian, SBTKRT, Bon Iver, ASAP Rocky, Radiohead

Sunday: Metronomy, Santigold, Fitz and the Tantrums, Gaslamp Killer, The Weeknd, Girl Talk, At the Drive In, Dre + Snoop

Dre + Snoop Set List:

The World’s worst Breakfast TV show! Today – Breast Feeding and much more!