Ms Minnelli advises:

"What good is sitting alone in your room?
Come, hear the music play.
Life is a cabaret, old chum.
Come to the cabaret.
Put down the knitting, the book and the broom…"

She is mistaken.

Brooms aside, it is in fact entirely possible to have a cabaret with both knitting and books.

I was at one last Sunday.

<a href="http://www.barket.info/">"Barket"</a> is a knitting and sewing-heavy craft fair, with readings, DJs (of which I was one), and alcohol. It was effectively a market in a bar, hence the name.

You'd have thought that these criteria would make the event unusual enough, but on top of that the bar in question was Public Life, a converted underground public convenience in Spitalfields. Despite this, it was far less of a toilet than most of the other new bars in this most achingly fashionable district of London (bars which, the more unkind and uncouth might add, are already full of shit and frequented by wankers as it is).

The area will be familiar to students of Jack The Ripper, as the bar is located halfway between the site of the Mary Kelly murder (the one in the bedsit) and the Ten Bells pub, where you can buy <a href="http://homepages.tesco.net/~Richard.Tarrant/jtr/ten.htm">Jack The Ripper keyrings</a>.

I neglected to ask if the Barket venue's former incarnation had been for Ladies or for Gentlemen, but would love to think it was the latter. In an area steeped in ghosts of Ladies Of The Night suffering violent deaths at the hands of an anonymous and far from Gentle Man, it seemed fitting that those very female-associated activities, sewing and knitting, should reclaim some prime anonymous male territory. Stitch that, Mr Ripper.

Some of my readers would rather I comment on the impending Men's War, than by rattling on about Some Women's Knitting Event. I'd have thought nothing could be more anti-male violence and pro-peace than knitting and sewing en masse in the heart of an area made famous by that iconic architect of modern male brutality.

What on earth do you think the women at Greenham Common were doing to pass the time? Talking about cars and football and what a great film Goodfellas is?

I realise that war isn't entirely a male preserve, and Mrs Thatcher and now Ms Rice of the White House spring immediately to mind as examples of exceptions to the rule, but I don't think I'm going out on too much of a limb to suggest that the perpetuation of war and terrorism, and of the mass killing of innocents in general, is predominantly the fault of those in possession of Y chromosomes. Stop the presses, I don't think.

I'm also aware that it's possible, if unlikely, that Jack The Ripper was a woman too. Though perhaps not in the manner suggested by one of my favourite 70s Hammer Horror films, "Doctor Jekyll And Sister Hyde". In which Mr Ralph Bates of TV's "Dear John" fame changes into a woman and commits the infamous Whitechapel attacks in order to extricate female hormones, with which to sustain his transformation. This silly film concludes with an inevitable mob-chasing-the-monster scene, and Mr Bates falls to his death because Sister Hyde decides to make her appearance while he is clinging precariously to a high window ledge. "Don't – you'll kill us both!" he screams as the change takes hold, but it is too late. He ends up a hermaphroditic corpse on the street below. The implied moral of the film is that women can be murderous too, but the poor dears are rubbish at holding onto window ledges. Suffice it to say, I don't think it's one of Ms Germaine Greer's favourite ever films.

Still, it's no less a plausible theory than the one promoted by Ms Patricia Cornwell in her recent book. Ms Cornwell was so convinced that The Ripper was the painter Walter Sickert, she even spent millions buying whole Sickert masterpieces, purely in order to tear them up for forensic examination. Despite still not uncovering one scrap of conclusive evidence that the painter and the Ripper were one and the same, she remains "100% convinced" that he was. She, like Mr Michael Jackson, demonstrate that once you become rich beyond the dreams of avarice, you can always move onto buying infinite shares in Denial.

But I digress. My point is that the Barket event was anti-war <i>de facto</i>. But if this STILL wasn't clear enough, there was also an enormous Stop The War banner on the wall behind me while I was DJ-ing. And I turned the music down so people could hold civilised conversations. I'm a DJ who doesn't like loud music.

So, I've just DJ-d quietly at a knitting event full of women, in a front of a big Stop The War sign. How much more peace-loving do you want me to be? Yet I'm still being chastised for declining to attend the approaching Stop The War demo.

Believe it or not, I am against Bad Things. I think Bad Things are… what's the word? Bad. I'll happily sign petitions, but I refuse to go on ANY marches or demonstrations. That's personal policy. There is danger in numbers. I have a fear of crowds as it is, but I especially resent following other people quite so wantonly. Being at the sheep-like mercy of others, whether they are leaders of a march, or the police out for a spot of protestor-bashing that day, I am still at their mercy. And that's what I mainly resent. My whole philosophy is based around NOT following the herd, however well-meaning.

There's also the fact that the Stop The War stance has rather become the <i>cause celebre de nos jours</i>. War is sexy, whether pro or anti. When Mr Blair was heckled about Iraq by a student on TV recently, the student did so at a conference on education. Mr Blair retorted, rightfully, that the heckle was out of context and that, believe it or not, there are other, less sexy issues to discuss aside from war with Iraq. Like education.

But the student is forgiven. Students and anti-war demos have a long history together, after all. It's the additional celebrity endorsements that have proved especially irksome, making Stop The War the new Red Ribbon. The Mirror newspaper is running a campaign where they get celebrities to sign their cut-out-and-throw-away Stop The War forms, which are admittedly a work of triple-marketing genius. They manage to promote the anti-war cause AND the celebrities-uber-alles cause (they've got to sell newspapers after all), AND the Mirror brand itself all at the same time. One recent front cover reported that they'd managed to get, separately, the signatures of both Zoe Ball AND her estranged husband Fatboy Slim, as if they'd somehow reunited for the cause. Maybe if they'd actually physically gotten together and posed for a photo, that would at least have been a little bit more impressive. But no. Zoe and Norman want to stop the war, but not THAT much.

I hesitate to have myself thrown in with the reactionary naysayers too. Mr Tony Parsons wrote in his Mirror column about how he was put off the cause by all the self-righteous celebrity token endorsement solicited by his colleagues at the newspaper. By doing this, of course, he emerged as equally self-righteous. So please be aware that I don't think marches are pointless or that people shouldn't go on them, but they just aren't the thing for fragile fops like myself.

As far as I'm concerned, warmongers, peaceniks, celebrities, politicians, and tabloid columnists all bore me equally, whether pro or anti-war. My reaction to terrorism is to not display any signs of terror. And protest marches terrify me, I'm afraid. I'll hold the coats.

I would only go on a march if I were in charge. In which case, I would impose a dress code, banning trainers, unkempt beards, white-man dreadlocks and whistles. And I'd also ban shouting, acoustic guitars, or noise of any kind. Everyone would have to whisper. It would be a REAL peace march. In fact, it would be a "Waugh – Not War" march. Everyone would have to come dressed as a character from an Evelyn Waugh novel. THEN I'd go marching. Well, sauntering. A protest saunter.

My DJ set went well. It was my first proper solo DJ experience. I had over two hours with which to foist my listening tastes on the unsuspecting Barket traders and shoppers, and managed to not get any complaints this time. In fact, one woman took my details with a view to a possible future booking.

Her: How would you describe what you play?
Me: Um… eclectic camp pop?
Her: Oh yes, I suppose it is. What's your DJ name?
Me: I don't have one. People have said I should get a comedy DJ pseudonym, like Jon Pleased Wimmin. Perhaps I should be Dickon Displeased Wimmin. No, I'm just DJ Dickon Edwards…
Her: (laughing) "Dickon"?
Me: (sighs) Yes, I know. My given name is comedy enough.

When I handed over the DJ booth to Hannah, a DJ who wore white bunny ears, I couldn't resist ending on "The Killing Moon" by Echo And The Bunnymen.

Me: As in the theme song to Donnie Darko.
Her: Oh, I haven't seen that.
Me: Um… well, it's got a bunny theme to it.
Her: (not impressed) Right.
Woman coming up to DJ booth: Oh I get it, Donnie Darko. Bunny ears. Very good.
Me (pathetic smug expression).

My set was loosely based on a theme of "love songs for those in a marriage to themselves", as the whole event had a Valentines theme. <lj-cut text="click here for a track listing">

Here's some of what I played, not in any order:

Sparks – I Married Myself (thanks to <lj user=suicideally>)
Tatu – How Soon Is Now (which I actually prefer to the original – and I'm a Smiths fan)
Shirley Bassey – Spinning Wheel
Gloria Jones – Tainted Love
Abba – When All Is Said And Done, S.O.S
The Smiths – Ask
Mama Cass – Make Your Own Kind Of Music
Bobby Gentry – I'll Never Fall In Love Again
Take That – Could It Be Magic
The Kids From Fame – High Fidelity
Milky – Just The Way You Are
The Shangri-Las – Past, Present, Future; Give Him A Great Big Kiss
Belle and Sebastian – I Don't Love Anyone
The Crystals – He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)
The Sundays – Here's Where The Story Ends
The Supremes – Stoned Love, Nothing But Heartaches, The Composer, Come See About Me
Diana Ross – I'm Still Waiting
Altered Images – Don't Talk To Me About Love
Air – Remember
Betty Boo – Hangover
Pet Shop Boys – You Only Tell Me You Love Me When You're Drunk
The Carpenters – Goodbye To Love, Solitaire, I Need To Be In Love
Daft Punk – Digital Love
Olvia Newton-John & ELO – Xanadu
Kylie – Better The Devil You Know
Prince – Raspberry Beret
Liza Minnelli – Cabaret
The Delgados – Coming In From The Cold
Carol Williams – Love Is You
Lesley Gore – Sometimes I Wish I Were A Boy
The Avalances – Since I Left You
April March – Chick Habit (theme to "But I'm A Cheerleader")
Freda Payne – Band Of Gold
</lj-cut>

I bought a hand-made Valentines Day card at the market, to post to myself on the 13th. It says "I Love You" on the front.

I'm next DJ-ing at <a href="http://www.funcitynights.com">Fun City</a>, at the Verge, on Friday February 28th. I am also doing a set at <a href="http://www.howdoesitfeel.co.uk/">How Does It Feel</a> in March. More details for each event nearer the time.

Going back to "Cabaret", it'd be nice to be like Michael York in the film, the Englishman who gets to sleep with both Liza Minnelli and Helmut Griem, then trashes a Nazi leafletter's stall in the street. "That, sir, is what I think of your party!". Only the film then cuts to him lying in hospital. And I have enough natural facial imperfections to cover with make-up, without adding those inflicted by others. If I can at all help it. I'm not saying the Stop The War demo is at all likely to be marred by violence, but the possibility of it at any march is another factor to keep me at bay, as well as the aesthetic reasons and my general phobia of crowd situations.

Call me a vain coward if you will, because I suppose in this context, that is exactly what I am.

And besides, I'm more of a cross between Mr York and the Joel Gray character. With maybe some of Ms Minnelli thrown in. Not the coke habit.