Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Argy-bargy

Yesterday we went to Liverpool for the day.

Quite frankly it wouldn't bother me overmuch if I never saw that drab, uninteresting place ever again. I'm not one for "city breaks" at the best of times, and Liverpool has the added disadvantage of being populated by Liverpudlians who in my experience are all weighed down by enormous chips on their shoulders, but Paul wanted to see it, and I didn't have anything better to do, so off we went.

At least the day started well. I didn't have to drive. We took the train, which gave us the opportunity to breakfast on bagels from The Bagel Factory. It was around then that things took a turn for the worse though, as I hit the wrong button on the ticket machine (by millimetres) and bought us three SINGLE tickets to Lime Street. Which, as it turned out, was only ten PENCE cheaper per ticket than three returns, thereby costing us an extra thirty quid. An expensive mistake which didn't do much for my mood, especially bearing in mind the destination.

Arriving at Lime Street around 11am, we trudged off to visit Paddy's wig-wam, and from there went down to the Albert Dock to mooch disconsolately around the rusting hulks and newly refurbished visitors centre selling the same tired old tat you always get at these places, along with the usual assortment of coffees and fast food.

From there we hiked the five hundred and eighty miles to the St John Centre, a stunningly original shopping centre with no roof and an array of shops never before seen like Gap, M&S, William Hill's, Dolcis and Waterstones. You begin to get a flavour of why I think visiting cities is largely pointless. Even a late lunch in Wetherspoons did little to alleviate my feelings of impending doom. Mainly because we revisited The Richard John Blackler, which has just about the worst online reviews of any Wetherspoons I've ever visited, and lived up to its poor reputation for dirty tables, late food and disinterested staff.

Somewhere along the line we also wandered past the Cavern Club, and took the concrete steps down into its dingy interior. The air was redolent of years of sweaty bodies packed into what is effectively an underground toilet, the acid rock stage reminiscent of my student days when we would hump such a construction from one end of the student union to another to accommodate some random event or other, and every available surface is covered with graffiti from those strange people who think it's important to record the fact that they've visited a place like this. In that respect, maybe this blog is like a slightly more sophisticated form of graffiti. The differences being that I'm not really bothered whether anyone knows I've been there or not - it was just another stop - and, of course, that this graffiti is here, rather than there. Anyway, it's a dump. Famous only because one of the world's most recognised bands played there a few times, still living on that reflected glory fifty years later, and now hosting bands that just want to be able to tick the box that says "we played the Cavern Club." Sad.

The highlight of the day proved to be a visit to the Apple store, which unusually for us turned into much more than a quick wander round and a drool. For once we did talk to one of the demo guys and learned quite a lot about what you can do with an iMac, what's in the box, etc. They're still expensive for what you get, but they're bloody fast, almost virus-free and beautiful to look at. I know that description will sound a lot like Linux to at least one of you (apart from the expensive bit), but it was an interesting hour for all that.

Today Nikki & Paul headed off for a walk around the Salford Quays/Castlefield canals, so I took the opportunity to stay at home and do not very much. Our day was rounded off with another evening meal at Wetherspoons followed by some TV. Perfect.

Monday, March 30, 2009

I must go down to the sea again...

Everyone has their own favourite places to hang out on the net. I think I'm more conservative (with a small c) than most, and certainly not as widely travelled (surfed?) as my brother-in-law, who's well known for finding the weirdest (and funniest) shit in existence. But wherever you go, sooner or later, you're going to come across an interesting snippet or two.

For instance today, while I was reading an article about the reporting bias (or otherwise) of the BBC, I came across this comment from another reader:
"When it comes to bien pensant issues such as Climate Change, I would definitely NOT trust the BBC. The International Commission on Sea Level Change (INQUA) has just dismissed as scare mongering the IPCCs claim that sea levels are rising. No study in the real world confirms their rigged and speculative computer models. For 35 years the INQUA has been using every known scientific method to study sea levels all over the globe and their results show that it has not risen at all in recent decades. As for tiny island nations such as the Maldives and Tuvalu which such scientific luminaries as Prince Charles and the Archbishop of Canterbury tell us due to vanish, repeated surveys by the INQUA confirm that sea levels have not risen in half a century. Do not expect to see news of this report on the BBC!!"

And it's true. You can check it out for yourself on the INQUA website. I've seen a lot of footage recently of melting glaciers - with torrents of fresh water gushing their way to the sea - and heard a lot of debate about exactly how much sea level is going to rise, and by when. Seems it's not actually happening after all. At least, not yet.

That's not to say there isn't a problem. Just that it's a different problem than the one being reported. For instance, that much fresh, ice-cold water being dumped into the oceans at the poles could well disturb, or even stop, the Great Atlantic Conveyor (or "thermohaline circulation") with dire consequences for all marine, and eventually terrestrial, life. Still... look on the bright side, eh? At least Tuvalu - along with all its clever .tv Internet domains - is safe for the time being.

Sunday, March 29, 2009

African Night

Amazingly it's been more than a year since our last "safari" night on the street - Bollywood night - but there are good reasons for that. Anyway, despite agreeing to organise the next one, and originally saying it would be Greek night, we decided in the end that there would be more room for culinary manoeuvre if we chose the entire African continent as a theme, and so African Night was born.

Even though there are umpteen African countries to choose from, costumes displayed a marked lack of imagination, with pith helmets and khakis being the norm for the chaps while a variety of animal attire (zebras and large cats mainly) seemed de rigeur for the chapesses. One or two enterprising souls had gone for some kind of colourful tent, but there was nothing approaching the splendour of the Indian garb from last time.

We began our safari across the road with some delicious piri-piri chicken, falafel, some kind of cured meat, and a huge pile of tuna samosas, along with "Safari" cider. Back to our side but further down for a selection of mezzes and a delicious orangey drink concoction whose name escapes me, before moving on to ours for bobotie and African Violets. As soon as we decided the theme for tonight, I knew I'd be cooking bobotie. I haven't had it for 25+ years but back then it was an old favourite. I had thought it originated in Kenya, but that's just where the person who introduced ME to it came from. A quick Google for the recipe revealed it to be a traditional South African dish (and before that, Dutch), which gave me a brief pause as one of our neighbours hails from SA and I knew I'd be feeding it to an expert.

In the end, I found three recipes, so I based the dish on this one, but added in little somethings from the other two as well as putting my own slant on it. I also made it with Quorn mince rather than beef, as we have at least two vegetarians on the street. The end result looked exactly as I remember it, and was greeted with much praise, especially from Keith, who declared it to be "just right." For me though, the highlight of our stop was the African Violet.

It's becoming something of a tradition on safari nights to have cocktails at our place, so I was delighted to find this recipe for a stunning-looking shot, comprising layered white crème de cacao liqueur, blue curaçao, and whisky. A little tricky to make - I cocked the first one up royally and just had to dispose of it in the only way possible - but once I'd had a bit of practice and steadied my hand, the layering turned out just right. I'd slipped home half-an-hour before the guests were due to give me chance to add the eggy topping to the bobotie and prepare a dozen African Violets, which went down really well. I ended up making another dozen!

Then it was on to #19, where the lads had made a variety of deliciously spicy stuffings for some traditional deep-fried dumplings, #16 where we were treated to dessert - a choice of tropical fruits, or bananas with toffee crunch sauce, or marvel cake (or something) which was spongy, treacly goodness in a small package. Fab! By this time, of course, we were all creaking at the seams, so we were glad our organisation had decided to have food at only 5 houses. The last stop was for drinks only, but we did end up staying until 4am!

Friday, March 27, 2009

Down day

We had nothing planned for today barring the inevitable patching up of those areas of paint that hadn't *quite* managed to remain solid with a single coat. No matter how hard I try I can never completely cover an area on the first attempt, except for that one abortive attempt to use 'Once' - or whatever that paint is called that is supposedly able to cover in one coat - paint so thick that you can hardly drag it out of the tin and with which the brush strokes dry in place to taunt you forever. Never again.

So I picked Nat up early from her place, set to with the roller and brush, and had everything finished early, leaving us time for a tasty visit to The Bar for a late lunch and pint, after which we headed Yorkshirewards to collect Blythe. Nat and Paul came with me, which made for a more interesting trip, with the time passing more quickly than usual owing to the excellent company.

Dinner was Thai noodles cooked by Blythe in her food tech class, and most excellent they were too. Even though at first sight I was convinced there wasn't enough for five people, the portion sizes proved to be spot on - those noodles with peanut sauce were very filling!

All in all, for a day in which nothing much really happened, I ended up feeling very relaxed, positive and happy, which after all is what holidays are all about innit?

Thursday, March 26, 2009

A coat of single colour

After our first couple of experiences of decorating in this house, we'd normally be waiting until a room had been skimmed before painting, but this is a special case. Not only has the bricked-up-doorway-and-replacement-window area already been plastered, but it's likely to be a while before the rest of the room gets the same treatment and before then we have a fireplace to rearchitect, so painting was called for. Not to mention the fact that we chose and bought the paint about two years ago, and wanted to use it before it dried up in the tin.

It was a close call. As it was the colour had settled into a 2-inch thick gloopy layer on the bottom of the tins (we bought two), requiring a good 20 minutes stirring to restore the emulsion to its rightful appley greenness.

After that, we were off. Cutting in and rollering for all we were worth. And trying, against the odds, to get enough coverage from a single coat to avoid having to do any more painting tomorrow. It almost worked.

Knowing that tomorrow would bring only a relatively small amount of repainting, we repaired to the Marble beer house for a well-earned pint or two. Ever noticed how beer tastes funny when you've the smell of emulsion up your nostrils?

Midsummer Night's Dream


Another full day's painting - second coat of white undercoat - left us with just enough time to grab a bite to eat before heading off to the local church hall to take the photos for Chorlton Players' latest production A Midsummer Night's Dream.

I'm not a huge fan of Shakespeare and much of the first scene left me cold, but once we moved onto the fairy scenes I began to appreciate the narrative a little more but also to revel in the wonderful costumes and makeup that the group had devised. This was a dream for a photographer and I think Paul had a lot of fun too, judging by how many shots he took.

A relatively early finish (around 10pm) was followed by the usual long session of winnowing out the best pix, correcting any errors and assembling posters to be stuck up around the entrance to the show tomorrow night. All this after a long day's painting means I am really ready to collapse into bed.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

A different kind of painter

Having spent a couple of days at the coast, we were used to seeing painters. The nautical kind. Today I turned back into a painter myself as we began day one of kitchen painting - the first coat of white on the new plaster, and across all of the old flame-effect rag rolling that is (was) a consistent theme around the whole house when we moved in.

We decided, with African Night coming up, it would be nice to have the kitchen restructuring looking as if it belonged to the rest of the room and not sticking out like a sore thumb. Moving furniture, cutting in, and rollering the whole room (sub-picture rail) took the entire day.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Wales - day 3

The Tudor Lodge operate a do-it-yourself continental breakfast scheme in their well-appointed basement dining room, which we took full advantage of before departing to head back to Manchester. In view of the incoming weather, we had planned only a couple of stops, the first of which was Betws-y-coed - another place I haven't visited for many years.

It now glories in having its own visitor centre and a wealth of touristy shops, but in the heavy rain nowhere looks at its best, and our desultory trudging was soon curtailed by a wish to retreat to the relative dryness of the car. We headed for Conw(a)y, where thankfully the rain left us alone for an hour or so as we parked, enjoyed a pint, walked along the seafront for a short distance and then happened across a brace of fish & chip restaurants.

With little to choose - apparently - between them, we took the advice of a local shopkeeper who happened to be loitering on his doorstep, and plumped for the one on the corner. His recommendation proved to be sound and we soon found ourselves on the outside of three plates of battered cod, chips and mushy peas. While we were eating the rain started up again, but once again fortune smiled on us and gave us another respite as we walked back to the car.

The last time I had a slow leak, I'd run the tyre for several months before getting it fixed. Determined not to make the same mistake again, we called in at National Tyre on the way home. A familiar concerned expression crossed the face of the tyre repair man and I thought "oh no, here we go again. Surely I can't have left it too late this time - it's only been going down for a couple of days."

But no, it wasn't too late. He was able to plug the rear tyre. No problem. That was the good news. The bad news? BOTH front tyres were severely worn on the inside - one exposing cords - and required immediate replacement, and the tracking adjusted.

Cost of the repair to the rear tyre: £8.81.
Total cost of the visit, including two new tyres, valves, balancing, tracking and disposal: £159.69.

What is it with me and tyres?

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Wales - day 2

After a traditional full breakfast it was time to set off back up the coast, albeit at a more leisurely pace than yesterday. Our first stop was Barmouth. I have to admit it's a place that has been the butt of a family joke for close to 40 years. Holidaying with my parents in the late 60s, we had made Dolgellau our base of operations for a week touring the hotspots of North West Wales. Trouble was, in those days, everything closed down at 6pm. Every night for a week, following the evening meal, we'd sit morosely in the guest house lounge and ask the question: "where shall we go this evening, then?" And every night for a week, the answer was: Barmouth. There simply wasn't anywhere else with anything happening.

It's a fairly interesting front as seaside towns go, made even more interesting by this clever dolphin fountain. It comes equipped with a wind sensor, so when the air speed rises above a preset point the fountain shuts off to avoid splashing the passersby. Ain't technology wonderful?

As we wandered around the town staring into the closed shop windows (40 years on and still, to a large extent, Wales is closed on a Sunday) we came across another example of shop sign shenanigans.

Fortunately (this time) the "Arousal" cafe was also closed, so as that underlined the slimness of the chances of any further arousal in Barmouth we returned to the car and headed for Portmeirion.

Internet resources describing the Italianate folly village are rife, so I won't waste your time with a potted précis here. Look it up for yourselves. This was my third or fourth visit and in the intervening 20 or so years the only real change I could detect was a distinct lack of any Prisoner memorabilia. Maybe we simply didn't take the right turning, but it certainly wasn't as prolific as on my last visit, when you couldn't turn round without tripping over a penny-farthing.

Maybe the sad but simple explanation is that the Prisoner has a greatly reduced profile compared with twenty years ago, and perhaps the village felt it was faintly ridiculous to keep trading on the fading cachet of a 40-year-old TV series, no matter how iconic.

After Portmeirion we drove to Porthmadog where we were staying. Once again after the childhood weeks spent on Black Rock Sands, I hadn't been back for many years. The most obvious change was to the name of the famous narrow-gauge railway. No longer the Blaenau Ffestiniog railway but now the Rheilffordd Ffestiniog Railway and - an even more obvious mark of the passage of time - it has its own website. Last time I visited the train only ran as far as Dduallt, and the enthusiasts' dream of reopening the line all the way to Blaenau Ffestiniog was just that: a dream. According to Wikipedia that dream was finally realised in 1982 - ironically not that long after my last visit - but unfortunately as the line is only open for a couple of days a week at this time of year, we were unable to experience it.

After a brief walk around Porthmadog, another stop to pump up the left rear tyre, which had developed a slow leak before leaving home, and a swift pint, we checked in to our residence for the night - the Tudor Lodge - and asked the proprietor for details of preferred local eateries. Sadly the most highly recommended was still closed, but we were delighted to hear of a very good Indian only a few minutes walk away, so we set off for A Passage to India where we enjoyed an excellent curry before retiring to our (much more comfortable) beds.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Wales - day 1

This is Paul's third trip to the UK to see us (he's also slipped one in between, but that's another story) and in one respect the most ill-prepared. Although we have a vague list of options, we don't have anything resembling an itinerary or a plan. Except we knew we wanted to spend a few days in Wales this time around, and having kept an eye on the weather, this weekend looked the best bet.

In a strange echo of a recent news story about a man almost following his sat-nav directions off the edge of a cliff, we programmed the device for Aberdovey and were only halfway there when it announced "you have reached your destination." So much for technology. We ended up taking the coast road we had intended to enjoy tomorrow, and fetched up in Aberdovey mid-afternoon after a short detour to take in the delights of Oswestry.

Before long we were tucked away in the bar of the small but perfectly formed Dovey Hotel, enjoying the first of many pints of Brains. In some strange way a perfect alternative to our usual pints of Boddies.

After the light refreshment and having checked in and checked out the rooms which were also small but perfectly formed, we decided to take advantage of the remaining light and amble around the town for a while to see the sights.

I don't know what it is about travelling with Paul, but we always seem to come across unusual signs. Last year it was the Gunt. This time we found Pusi. What can I say? This wasn't the only "enhanced" sign we saw during this three-day jaunt to Wales. It seems to have become something of a sport in the area, to perform amusing alterations.

After watching some outward bounders chucking themselves off the pier, and climbing up and around the backstreets of Aberdovey for an hour or so, we returned in time to take pole position in the sports bar to watch the Six Nations match between Wales and Ireland. I wouldn't normally be interested in the rugby, but you can't beat the atmosphere watching a national team in a national pub, and it was actually a cracking game, during which we consumed an evening meal and several pints.

The day was finished off with a swift game of pool before we retired to spend the night in what must be the most uncomfortable beds any of us had ever slept in.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Kitchen refurb - phase 1 - day 3

An early start for our favourite builder saw the plastering start around 9am and all was finished and tidied up by 1pm.

It never fails to amaze me what a difference it makes when a room (or part of a room in this case) is professionally plastered. There's something very soothing about the smooth cool surface, and naturally it looks miles better than bare brick and thermalite block.

Couple of days' drying time and it'll be ready for a coat of paint, which we may even be able to find time for this holiday. We still have two tins of the apple green we were intending to slap on a year or so ago to relieve the eye strain of the acres of flame orange we inherited when we moved in.

Phase 2 of the project will probably involve taking the chimney breast up to accommodate a five-burner hob and separate oven. After consulting with our builder we've been persuaded that taking the chimney breast out altogether is a bad idea and we'd be better off building around it.

From the outside the new window looks the business, and Nikki's very pleased that she now has a "proper" windowsill to hold some well-chosen knick-knacks, not to mention it being several degrees warmer in the kitchen now.

A short project, but a very significant and satisfying one (mainly because, so far, it hasn't involved me doing any work!)

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Holiday!

What a fabulous start to the first holiday of the year. A beautiful sunny day, nothing much on the schedule, a very lazy start - coffee over the puters, leisurely breakfast, a bit of planning for our trip to Wales, then Nikki took Paul for a walk to Chorlton while I busied myself with a web site project that's been waiting for spare time for a few months.

Got a phone call from Nikki around 3pm to enquire whether I'd had any lunch and since the answer was no, we repaired to the Metropolitan for a very decadent late lunch and a couple of pints. I had the Tuscan bean and vegetable pie with home-made chips and peas. Delicious.

Home again for another session on the puters before setting off at 7.30pm to visit the Buzz Club. Chorlton's famous comedy club, which closed in 2004, had recently reopened and once we learned it was on while Paul was here, a visit was a must. Good job we went tonight as it turned out, because the club is closing again and once more tonight was "the last night at the Buzz club." It's been said before but I think the organiser has been disappointed with the turnout this time round, so I think it might really be the final curtain.

We were treated to eight comedy turns. They were a bit of a mixed bag to be honest but overall it was a good night. By a mile the best act of the night was Lovdev Barpaga from Birmingham. His deadpan delivery nailed every single line of his original and funny material, even when he forgot some of it and had to read from his notes! Great stuff. I hope he goes far.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Second Novel Syndrome

Today's Writers' Guild blog has an interesting piece about writing your second novel. It quotes Luke Leitch, writing in The Times:

First novels, goes the orthodoxy, are the fruits of years of thought shaped into words at the writer's leisure.

Stephen Fry explained this when presenting the Encore Award - a £10,000 biannual literary prize for second novels.

He said: "The problem with a second novel is that it takes almost no time to write compared with a first novel. If I write my first novel in a month at the age of 23, and my second novel takes me two years, which have I written more quickly? The second of course. The first took 23 years, and contains all the experience, pain, stored-up artistry, anger, love, hope, comic invention and despair of that lifetime. The second is an act of professional writing. That is why it is so much more difficult."

Tell me about it. :-\

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Kitchen refurb - phase 1 - day 2

After a little bit more banging and crashing, and a LOT more dust, the interior block work is complete and the new window installed, glazed, and sealed. It was all over by lunchtime. Here's the result:

After clarification with the contractor it turns out we won't be plastered up until Friday. He claims he explained this when he told me work would start yesterday, but I have no recollection. Makes sense when you think about it though - everything has to dry out and become stable before it can be plastered.

We'll need a new row of tiles at the back of the sink too. The plaster there was in such bad shape the whole thing fell off while they were putting the window in. We'll grab a box of gash white tiles from B&Q to waterproof the area until the final refit is done.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Kitchen refurb - phase 1 - day 1

When real builders get going, things start happening very quickly. With a great deal of crashing and banging, the step was removed and pretty soon the brickies were asking for the key so they could open the door.

Ah. Problem. We'd thought of this yesterday and realised we hadn't seen the key since we "put it somewhere safe" after last year's burglary attempt. A couple of hours' searching failed to uncover it, the upshot of which was they had to abandon plans to skin up the outside first and then take the door out. It had to be ripped out right away.

By the time they stopped for lunch, a third of the doorway was bricked and blocked, and when they finished for the day, we were (almost) secure.

The only slightly insecure aspect of the job at this stage was the broken light at the top of the window, and the presence of the scaffolding platform on a level with the window. Being a pair of worrywarts that was enough to give us a restless night even though I realised, intellectually, that the scaffold probably wasn't visible from the road. Secure or not, it was flippin' cold with the wind howling through the kitchen.

From the outside, at least from the road, the job appeared already complete. It's not immediately obvious there's a gap down the left-hand side of the window, and the new brickwork looks bazzin. Even if it is, as expected, a different colour.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

Kitchen refurb - phase 1

Our house has undergone some transformations in its 100-year history, and in common with many houses of the period one of the most popular was the amalgamation of the original (tiny!) scullery kitchen with the morning room to make a single large kitchen space.

The previous occupiers had also added patio doors at the far end, leaving the original scullery door on the side of the house intact. As you can see, this greatly reduces the usability of the space especially if, like us, you never use the side entrance. Phase 1 of our kitchen refurb (and selected not just because it is the simplest and easiest first step, but also because it's the cheapest) is therefore to brick up this unused door and take the opportunity also to replace the original window with a warmer and less draughty double-glazed unit.

Outside, the step will be removed and the bricks matched as closely to the original as possible. Our builder already told us he'd been unable to find enough reclaimed brick for the job, so they won't be a very good colour match to start with, but at least they're the same type, so over time they will gradually acquire the same hue, and apart from that they're the correct style and size, so we're OK from a building regs/aesthetic point of view.

The plan is to brick up the outer skin first before the door is removed, so the house will remain secure at all times, and work starts tomorrow! Yay!

We've already prepped the inside as far as possible - removing everything from the vicinity of the door, knick-knacks from the sill, and other kitcheny type things. It's amazing how bare the kitchen looks with just these few things moved away (and how much bigger!). Gives us an early idea how much more usable space there will be when the cooker is eventually moved and the whole corner is installed with cupboards and worktop. Luxury!

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Watchmen

So much has been written about this - both the book and the film already, even though it's only been out a week - that I almost hesitate to go into print with my own view. Is there anything new I can say? Does that even matter?

I read the book over Christmas, at Blythe's suggestion, and wasn't overly impressed. Even though I devoured comic books as a teen, the graphic novel has never interested me. The story was good, and the art work uniformly excellent but nothing more than I'd come to expect from that kind of work. I didn't see much to rave over.

I'd read so many reviews of the film, with such widely varying reactions, that the only conclusion worth coming to was that I should approach the film with no expectations at all. Good or bad. And it was in that frame of mind that I took my seat along with both daughters in the middle of the first row of "premier seating" for today's first showing of Watchmen at the Manchester IMAX.

It's no exaggeration to say that, from the very first frame, I was blown away. I have never seen a film with such incredible... texture. I don't know how else to describe it. The cinematography was an order of magnitude better than anything I have ever seen. The images leapt out of the screen, fabulous close-ups with a wealth of detail, wonderful composition and imagery (the raindrops on the polished coffin lid is an image that keeps coming back to me, but there were dozens of others - gnarled faces with each hoary whisker almost deliberately positioned; rain-drenched streets; faultless costumes) and stunning iconography.

If you've seen 300 or Sin City or any of the other graphic novels that have been brought to the screen before this, you'll be familiar with the usual kind of "comic" images that a director plays with. What made Watchmen so incredible, so compelling, was that these images were uniformly made of real people. No silhouettes, no extreme contrast, no apparent visual trickery of any kind. It was the comic, made flesh. Made real. Incredible. And the sound stage? Awesome. A great sound track, crisp foley work, none of the muddy dialogue that plagues so many modern movies. Sharp from beginning to end, and - unlike some reviewers - for me none of the music grated.

So much for the technical aspects. What of the story? As I've said, I'm not a dyed-in-the-wool fanboy of the novel, and I think this helped. Much of what irritated me about the book had been pared away. This was the central story of Watchmen. That is complex and detailed enough, without any of the frippery. Nor did I come to the theatre expecting a run-of-the-mill, all-action "superhero" flick. Many commenters have said Watchmen is "boring" or "slow." Come on - they have 30 years of backstory to get through, as well as a whole bag of complex interpersonal emotions to pack in to what never felt like two-and-a-half hours. All I can say is, it held my interest from start to finish. I never felt any itchiness at the pace (like I *definitely* did halfway through The Dark Knight, where I actually fell asleep at one point it was soooo sloooow). There was always something to hold my interest, be it action, dialogue, imagery, music, whatever.

The set pieces - fight scenes; Mars; Ozymandias' palace; the bombs - were note-perfect, and several of the scenes gave an understated but poignant reminder that this was an alternate reality, and set in 1985. So the irony of having a huge hole blown in the middle of New York, while in the background you can still see the Twin Towers, was very powerful. Being a graphic novel, some of the violence is *very* graphic. I know both my daughters had to turn away at some point, but that comes back to what I said about it being a comic made real. Snyder didn't flinch from representing faithfully what was on the page, even though when it's being enacted by real people the impact is increased a thousandfold. It makes for a totally visceral cinema experience and puts Watchmen very firmly in my top ten movies of all time.

Just don't ask me what has to drop out to make room for it.

Sunday, March 08, 2009

Welcome to St Petersburg

When Nikki and I got together with 10 strangers to start the Chorlton Chapters book club on March 16, 2006, the group always said we wanted it to be about more than just books. That we wanted, maybe, to do book-related social activities like visiting Brontë country, or some writer's birthplace, but also to do regular non-bookish socialising like meals out.

Since then, various members of the group have held house parties, and the club has gone from strength to strength, recently welcoming its 80th member, but we've never had that formal, traditional night out. Until last night.

Meeting in the Lass O' Gowrie from 6.30pm, nineteen of us made our way eventually to the St. Petersburg restaurant on Sackville Street - literally across the road from my old seat of learning, UMIST. We'd booked for the Boyar's Banquet, and although the cold appetisers were not, actually, on the table when we arrived they did follow shortly afterwards.

As did the floor show. A girl with a very short skirt and very sturdy legs, who proceeded to throw herself about on a pair of poles and later, replace them with a pair of small platforms and bend herself double, backwards, to pluck a rose from the stage with her teeth. Damned flexible those Russians.

It's hard to pick out anything from that menu for special praise because it was all delicious. If pressed I'd have to say I particularly enjoyed the potato salad; the "Cold Water Prawns Served In A Fresh Orange & Topped With Special Cognac Cream Dressing" which really did come in a scooped-out orange, was deliciously cold and extremely tasty; and finally the Gribnaya which although it doesn't sound especially appetising when you read about it ("sliced mushrooms sautéed with fresh cream and onion & crowned with cheese"), and neither does it look much, just sitting there all small and alone in the cold white porcelain desert of its own large plate, is actually delicious.

The evening was a riot of excellent conversation, superb food, interesting entertainment and fine wine. At Richard (the organiser)'s suggestion, we topped the meal off with one of St Petersburg's massive collection of flavoured vodkas. This provoked a deal of head scratching and angst, as the menu is considerably larger and more varied than the stock (the barmaid pointed out a tiny disclaimer to this effect at the top of the menu) resulting in several people having to make more than one choice before they found one that was, in fact, available.

Nevertheless the resulting tray of shots did look impressively varied and colourful, and we just had time to down ours before the disco kicked in and we beat a hasty retreat from the establishment, not wishing to embarrass ourselves with a display of "Dad" (and maybe even "Mum") dancing in the presence of the young 'uns.

After such a stimulating evening we were wired, and ended up staying up until 1am after we got home. Maybe we should have stayed for the dancing after all.

Saturday, March 07, 2009

Drinking and driving

Popped over to Nottingham yesterday to deliver Mum's birthday presents, and used it as a good excuse for an evening at the dear old Test Match with mates.

I *had* planned to pace myself, interspersing pints of the amber nectar with equal quantities of lime and soda, but my "good friend" Phil did me the "favour" of offering us a lift down to the pub.

I should have took more notice of the sign I was given from the Universe - I only picked his offer up when I turned on my phone, and by that time we were already in the pub, having driven down. But no, on his arrival he was insistent that he could still come with me while I took my car home, and run me back, and then take us both home later. For some mad reason this seemed like a good idea at the time. It's been a while since I had a good session.

And there's a very good reason for that, which I didn't remember until this morning.

Even at 3.5% there's a limit to the amount of beer one may drink with impunity. And yes, I exceeded the limit. Doesn't help when you're surrounded by people who complain that they "can't drink like they used to" and then proceed to drink like they used to.

Still, no harm done eh? We had a marvellous time and after a couple of coffees and a few rounds of toast I was as right as rain. Although we did also succumb to an unaccountable longing for a Big Mac on the way home. Another strange side-effect of too much beer.

Thursday, March 05, 2009

A sigh of relief is heard

Probably as far away as Parksville.

The acknowledgement slip for my ABBA entry arrived in the post just now. From here on any failure to succeed is my own, rather than the Royal Mail's.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

Smart shopping

Enclosed with my weekly copy of the Radio Times this week, the usual useless shopping flyers. You know the ones - they always fall out all over the floor when you pick the magazine up from a shop rack, or you can't find the magazine you want because the rack is stuffed with thousands of the blighters that other people have extracted and left behind.

But being a gadget guy my attention was caught this week by a picture of a turntable with a built-in CD burner. Under the heading "Smart shopping" the leaflet exhorted owners of vinyl to transfer their records to CD without a PC using this clever device. Or you can use the USB cable supplied to record your vinyl direct to PC (possibly using the scratch-and-pop cleaning software supplied).

The price of this glorious technology? £349.95.

Smart shopping indeed, when you can pick up digitally remastered copies of vinyl classics at any branch of HMV or Virgin Records for between £5 and £10. So you'll need to have more than 50 albums in your collection - that you want to keep! - before this makes financial sense, and even then your recording won't be as good as the professionally remastered version.

Wonder if they'll sell many...?

Sunday, March 01, 2009

And I have to thank...

... Microsoft, Netgear and Symantec, any or all of whom have conspired to force me to waste *the entire day* today searching for a trojan infection I don't actually have.

I've been suffering blue screens (Wikipedia if you don't know what this is) for weeks now, either in the Netgear Wireless driver, or the Symantec Intrusion Detection System driver. That, coupled with appalling performance, led me to suspect some sort of infection lurking on my PC somewhere, even though it sits behind a firewalled router, also runs Norton Smart Firewall, has always had anti-virus protection, and never goes anywhere near any dodgy websites.

My suspicions were heightened by Internet research suggesting that the market leaders McAfee (which I used until January) and Norton (which I'm using now) only provide protection against 23% of the threats "out there." WHAT?? Forty quid a year to be protected against ONE IN FOUR viruses, trojans, etc?? As if that wasn't bad enough, Googling the driver name and "blue screen" came up with links to several forums suggesting the worst had happened.

Sooo... I cleaned out all the unnecessary processes that run, removed a load of unwanted software, ran a deep scan of Malwarebytes Anti-Malware (that took 3 hours and found nothing more serious than a few tracking cookies) followed by Kaspersky's online scanner (that took 30 minutes to download all its updates and a further 5 hours to scan the whole machine and found nothing more serious than the odd phishing email in an old archived copy of my PST file).

All in all, as I said above, I've done almost nothing today apart from this crap, and it found nothing. Nothing! I supposed I should be glad there wasn't any keystroke grabbing goblin lurking under my keyboard learning all my online banking passwords and wotnot, but really. What a pisser.

To cap it all I then found another solution to one of the BSODs in another forum. Verify your drivers, it said, and all will be well. So I have. And now I wait with bated breath to see if I get another blue screen. Bloody computers. I think I'll go back to more traditional pastimes. Right now knitting sounds attractive.