Exactly as I predicted, last week, Lee Dewyze was crowned American Idol 2010, beating Crystal Bowersox into second place.
For me, this year's AI "season" was notable for two things: the paucity of talent in the "top 12" (despite the judges repeating over and over how this was one of their "strongest years ever" it so clearly wasn't true), and how obvious it was from a long way out that the final would be - not quite a repeat exactly; more an echo - of last year's, with a mediocre but popular guy (last year it was Kris... er... what was his name again?) with a so-so voice winning out over a true, unique artist (Adam Lambert).
I don't think the similarities will end with the final. In the same way that Lambert has gone on to have a multi-platinum first album and a sell-out world tour, I predict Crystal's career will go from strength to strength on the back of "losing" one of the biggest talent shows in the world, whereas Dewyze will soon become as forgotten outside the US as whatsisname.
Why is that? Well anyone who watched the final show shouldn't need telling. Lee failed to really deliver on any one of his three songs - even the one that will become his first single now that he's won - appearing nervous and confused for most of his performances which ended up being as dull as ditchwater. Crystal on the other hand nailed every single one of her songs, received raved reviews from the judges (including a standing ovation from Ellen), and lit up the auditorium with some great performances. Still true to herself after all these months, she was an artist when she entered the competition and an artist she will remain.
So why didn't she win? Because the final is not a singing contest, it's a popularity contest. And most of the votes come from tweenie girls. They didn't get behind Adam Lambert last year (even though, even more than Crystal, he was so far ahead of his rival he may as well have been on a different planet) because he's gay, and they didn't get behind Crystal because she's a woman. Listen back to the opening of the Finale show when Ryan Seacrest asks the audience "who's here for Crystal, and who's here for Lee?" The cheers after each question make it sound like Lee fans outnumbered Crystal fans at least 2 to 1. Crazy, but there you go.
There is another, more Machiavellian, explanation that I've been known to proffer on occasion. It depends whether or not you believe the voting is rigged (or ignored). And that is that the producers long ago worked out that having a strong artist come second, and a weaker one winning, means they make more money. The stronger artist will have a career whether they win or not. The weaker NEEDS to be the winner to have a career at all. Simple, albeit cynical, mathematics. And cynicism or not this is now such a well-established pattern as to be as credible as any other explanation.
I should perhaps add one more thing that this year's Idol is notable for. The last appearance by Simon Cowell. I totally agree with the prediction by another blogger I read this week: that his leaving is certain death for American Idol. It will limp on for one more season, shedding its audience throughout the series as they realise the show has lost its edge without Cowell, and the tenth Idol will be the last.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Tech Rehearsal
Having only previously involved in shows as a kitchen helper (which involves turning up on the night to sell drinks or food), box office assistant (turn up on the night and relieve punters of their money), or production photographer (turn up the night before the night - i.e. dress rehearsal - and take photos while trying not to disturb the performance), I've never attended a Tech Rehearsal before.
The Sunday before show week involves a complete run-through to allow the sound and light technicians to practice their cues, set their levels and adjust their flare. Or something. It's also the first chance the cast have to move about the "real" stage, so props and furniture have to be moved into their optimum positions. All this obviously takes much longer than a regular performance, so Tech is a long-winded affair. Apparently this particular example was unusual, as it featured the total absence of any scripts that had been marked up for sound or light cues.
Hotpot is, I suspect, always a little more difficult in this respect as - being essentially a sketch show - there are many more scripts to contend with. Still... NONE? Not very good that, is it? And that highlights the crux of a long-standing tension - probably true for many am-dram groups all over the world - between the fundamental raison d'être of the group (to put on a show) and the almost equally important principle of having a good time. I mean, that's the "am" in am-dram, isn't it? The fact that having a good time is paramount and may even, for many, overtake the show in its importance.
The slight drawback with this approach - which is fine for most of the year - is that there are a some occasions when it results in even more pressure on a few key individuals essential for any show's success. As often happens, these may be people returning to the desk after many years' absence, grappling with changes in equipment that have occurred during their interregnum, or they may be new to the job altogether. Today we had one of each, and they did a fine job of winging it without any cues whatsoever. Inevitably though, this slowed down what was already a pretty slow process to begin with and in the end it took us two hours to get through a first half that, according to script timings, should only last an hour.
Perhaps the most surprising (not to say incredible) thing is that everything does always come together in time for curtain up on first night. Frayed tempers, worries, last minute-itis, late nights, are all forgotten as the show goes on. Maybe it would be better - more professional - if it all ran like a well-oiled machine, but for some people at least, I think the seemingly more haphazard meanderings of cast and crew in the general direction of first night is all part of the fun.
(At least our bit was OK!)
The Sunday before show week involves a complete run-through to allow the sound and light technicians to practice their cues, set their levels and adjust their flare. Or something. It's also the first chance the cast have to move about the "real" stage, so props and furniture have to be moved into their optimum positions. All this obviously takes much longer than a regular performance, so Tech is a long-winded affair. Apparently this particular example was unusual, as it featured the total absence of any scripts that had been marked up for sound or light cues.
Hotpot is, I suspect, always a little more difficult in this respect as - being essentially a sketch show - there are many more scripts to contend with. Still... NONE? Not very good that, is it? And that highlights the crux of a long-standing tension - probably true for many am-dram groups all over the world - between the fundamental raison d'être of the group (to put on a show) and the almost equally important principle of having a good time. I mean, that's the "am" in am-dram, isn't it? The fact that having a good time is paramount and may even, for many, overtake the show in its importance.
The slight drawback with this approach - which is fine for most of the year - is that there are a some occasions when it results in even more pressure on a few key individuals essential for any show's success. As often happens, these may be people returning to the desk after many years' absence, grappling with changes in equipment that have occurred during their interregnum, or they may be new to the job altogether. Today we had one of each, and they did a fine job of winging it without any cues whatsoever. Inevitably though, this slowed down what was already a pretty slow process to begin with and in the end it took us two hours to get through a first half that, according to script timings, should only last an hour.
Perhaps the most surprising (not to say incredible) thing is that everything does always come together in time for curtain up on first night. Frayed tempers, worries, last minute-itis, late nights, are all forgotten as the show goes on. Maybe it would be better - more professional - if it all ran like a well-oiled machine, but for some people at least, I think the seemingly more haphazard meanderings of cast and crew in the general direction of first night is all part of the fun.
(At least our bit was OK!)
Saturday, May 29, 2010
First BBQ of the season
We drove all ni-i-i-ight to get to you. Well, maybe not ALL night. We got an early pass and set off shortly after 4pm. We were there just after 6. And maybe not to YOU. Unless you're one of those we were barbecuing with on Friday night...
On the available evidence, of two days, we'd chosen by far the better of the bank holiday evenings for dinner al fresco. Perfect fluffy clouds slowly giving way to crystal blue sky as we sat sipping our various beverages on the patio, cordially greeting each new arrival, sharing the latest craic and the pre-dinner nibbles before moving on to the more serious business of burgers, sausages, chicken (piri-piri, honeyed and on the bone), prawns, shashlik and kebabs. Salad, buns, french stick. Roulade, raspberry tart, chocolate fudge pudding and barbecued bananas with choc chip surprise.
And a 1am finish. Superb.
The expansive hospitality of our guests didn't end there though. Full cooked breakfast and more excellent banter before doing the farewells, a quick dip of the toe in the cold waters of Mummy before high-tailing it off to MacArthur Glen in search of an elusive tea-pot, dinner on the road at the Ol' Mustard Pot and home in time for Eurovision. Just call us masters of timing!
On the available evidence, of two days, we'd chosen by far the better of the bank holiday evenings for dinner al fresco. Perfect fluffy clouds slowly giving way to crystal blue sky as we sat sipping our various beverages on the patio, cordially greeting each new arrival, sharing the latest craic and the pre-dinner nibbles before moving on to the more serious business of burgers, sausages, chicken (piri-piri, honeyed and on the bone), prawns, shashlik and kebabs. Salad, buns, french stick. Roulade, raspberry tart, chocolate fudge pudding and barbecued bananas with choc chip surprise.
And a 1am finish. Superb.
The expansive hospitality of our guests didn't end there though. Full cooked breakfast and more excellent banter before doing the farewells, a quick dip of the toe in the cold waters of Mummy before high-tailing it off to MacArthur Glen in search of an elusive tea-pot, dinner on the road at the Ol' Mustard Pot and home in time for Eurovision. Just call us masters of timing!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Targeting targets
I listen to the Today programme on a regular basis - with one ear when I'm in the car taking Nikki to work and, after I've dropped her off and I'm on my way back home (or occasionally into the office) with both ears. And occasionally I hear something that makes my metaphorical jaw drop. Today was one such interview - some guy talking about the problems they were having with the process of getting people back to work off long-term sick leave.
They'd been set a target for this, after putting the people through the process, of 50%. That's half the people they interview have to give up their benefits and find a job. But hang on a minute. Surely people are either sick, or they're not? I mean, it's not hard to understand the concept that maybe - just maybe - there are people claim incapacity benefit when they're actually fit for work. But how can you have a TARGET that predetermines how many people that will be? I'd have thought the right approach was to decide in advance exactly HOW sick someone needs to be to qualify for benefit, taking into account what it is that's wrong with them (e.g. people with back trouble might not be able to do building work, but they can sit at a desk, or a till, or other light duties) and then run the process and accept the outcome. There's no place for targets here.
As if that wasn't silly enough, the guy actually went on to say their biggest problem was that they were actually getting 68% of people back to work, and that was TOO MANY! Hahaha. You couldn't make it up. Quite a few people who were forced back to work lodged an appeal, and 70% of the appeals were being successful (so a lot of money being wasted there for one thing, but even more importantly...) but the main problem was that appeals can take up to six months, during which time these poor folk get no benefit (so a lot of personal misery, heartache and pain being caused there then).
No wonder the system's in a mess. Another disaster left behind by the NuLab tossers.
They'd been set a target for this, after putting the people through the process, of 50%. That's half the people they interview have to give up their benefits and find a job. But hang on a minute. Surely people are either sick, or they're not? I mean, it's not hard to understand the concept that maybe - just maybe - there are people claim incapacity benefit when they're actually fit for work. But how can you have a TARGET that predetermines how many people that will be? I'd have thought the right approach was to decide in advance exactly HOW sick someone needs to be to qualify for benefit, taking into account what it is that's wrong with them (e.g. people with back trouble might not be able to do building work, but they can sit at a desk, or a till, or other light duties) and then run the process and accept the outcome. There's no place for targets here.
As if that wasn't silly enough, the guy actually went on to say their biggest problem was that they were actually getting 68% of people back to work, and that was TOO MANY! Hahaha. You couldn't make it up. Quite a few people who were forced back to work lodged an appeal, and 70% of the appeals were being successful (so a lot of money being wasted there for one thing, but even more importantly...) but the main problem was that appeals can take up to six months, during which time these poor folk get no benefit (so a lot of personal misery, heartache and pain being caused there then).
No wonder the system's in a mess. Another disaster left behind by the NuLab tossers.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Oil spillage
No, I'm not going to add to the thousands of blogwords written about the accident in the Gulf. We're talking spillage on a much smaller scale here - the oil that's been leaking out of my car since it was about a year old, the sad revelation that you can't even trust the tradespeople you think you can trust, and the unlooked for benefits that can accompany an enforced change of tradesperson.
When I first noticed I was having to top up the oil quite frequently, I mentioned it to my mechanic on my next service visit. I forgot to ask him about it when I picked the car up, and it was a couple of months before it became obvious that it was still using oil. Even so, the loss rate wasn't enough to nudge me into making a special visit to the garage so it was another year before I had the opportunity to mention it to him again. And this time, I remembered to check with him whether he'd fixed it.
"You don't have a leak," he insisted. "Modern engines do burn oil, you just need to keep it topped up."
Being among the 99% of the population who don't understand the first thing about "modern engines" I didn't question this, but carried on adding a pint of oil every 8-10 weeks from that day - probably around the start of 2006 - until earlier this year when the closure of my regular garage forced me to move to another mechanic. Closer, but slightly more expensive.
And it's only about a week ago that it occurred to me I haven't had to top up the oil since. That service was back in February and ordinarily I'd have gone through at least two pints of oil by now. So yesterday, I dipped my stick out of curiosity. The oil level was only one notch below full. In other words, there HAD been a leak after all, my original guy couldn't be arsed to fix it, but the new guy spotted it and put it right without even mentioning it to me, or charging me any extra.
A study in false economy. That first garage may have appeared cheaper, but over the years he cost me around 300 quid in replacement oil that I could easily have avoided.
When I first noticed I was having to top up the oil quite frequently, I mentioned it to my mechanic on my next service visit. I forgot to ask him about it when I picked the car up, and it was a couple of months before it became obvious that it was still using oil. Even so, the loss rate wasn't enough to nudge me into making a special visit to the garage so it was another year before I had the opportunity to mention it to him again. And this time, I remembered to check with him whether he'd fixed it.
"You don't have a leak," he insisted. "Modern engines do burn oil, you just need to keep it topped up."
Being among the 99% of the population who don't understand the first thing about "modern engines" I didn't question this, but carried on adding a pint of oil every 8-10 weeks from that day - probably around the start of 2006 - until earlier this year when the closure of my regular garage forced me to move to another mechanic. Closer, but slightly more expensive.
And it's only about a week ago that it occurred to me I haven't had to top up the oil since. That service was back in February and ordinarily I'd have gone through at least two pints of oil by now. So yesterday, I dipped my stick out of curiosity. The oil level was only one notch below full. In other words, there HAD been a leak after all, my original guy couldn't be arsed to fix it, but the new guy spotted it and put it right without even mentioning it to me, or charging me any extra.
A study in false economy. That first garage may have appeared cheaper, but over the years he cost me around 300 quid in replacement oil that I could easily have avoided.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Google and Pac-Man
Google's "doodles" - the changes to their logo they make every so often to celebrate some national or international event, holiday, or hot news topic - have quickly become legendary. In fact one of the only complaints I have with the iGoogle home page is that we never see any indication that there's a new doodle to enjoy.
Last weekend, two legends collided. It was the 30th anniversary of Pac-Man, widely regarded as "the game that started it all" (even though, being first released in 1980, it trailed Space Invaders by two years), and in celebration Google installed its first fully interactive doodle - a working copy of Pac-Man with the maze spelling out "Google" and whose gameplay faithfully reproduced the original, including ghost behaviours, fruits, and even the original bug that corrupts the screen on the 256th level.
Media coverage suggests that the game didn't start playing unless you pressed the Insert Coin button (which temporarily replaced the usual "I'm Feeling Lucky"), but this certainly wasn't true for me. Maybe it's different on Chrome, but the game started right up after a short delay and I reached instinctively for the arrow keys (I was a huge Pac-Man fan) and began playing immediately. I reached the fifth level, which I was pretty pleased about given that I haven't played for, like, 20 years. Some things never leave you.
But celebrating Pac-Man's 30th birthday, and Google's inventiveness and sense of fun, is only part of the reason for this post. And it's the "sense of fun" angle that I'd like to concentrate on first, because to me that's what it was all about. It was a weekend, Google's doodles are a fine tradition that always raise a smile in our house, and this particular doodle gave Google's users the chance - briefly - to relive a much-loved time in their youth when it was OK to while away a few hours chasing an animated cartoon mouth around a maze.
So it was with a dawning sense of OMG that I read some of the 571 comments posted on the news article I found on the subject. Many of them mirrored my own reaction ("wow" "cool" "brings back memories" etc) but fully half of them were complaints about the noise, about the intrusion into their browser space, about the waste of time and money, and any other possible thing you could think of to complain about and even some that would never occur to most people I know. Incredible.
These comments drew stinging reactions from the supporters of Google's efforts, as you'd expect, with people pointing out variously that Google (and all its services) is free, that doodles are only ever up for a day (or two at most), that all computers are equipped with a "mute" function, and that in the end if they weren't happy, why didn't these people just close their browsers or navigate to another page? But all of that common sense couldn't hide the fact that there are vast numbers of people out there who have utterly lost their sense of humour, of fun, and of celebration. And what's worse, they're not even prepared to sit quietly while those of us who haven't lost those things get on with it.
It gets worse.
Someone who must recently have had a humourectomy has now calculated the world-wide LOSS OF PRODUCTIVITY that the Pac-Man doodle caused. Yep. Five million man hours, apparently, giving a total monetary value - based on a low-to-average U.S. salary - of $120 million. A figure arrived at using some broadly-drawn assumptions on the amount of time usually spent on the Google home page versus the amount of time spent there when the Pac-Man doodle was active.
Oh dear. Oh woe is me. For a few extra seconds, all over the world, people weren't making money. Strike us all down with a bolt of lightning. Good grief. One of the saddest aspects of "this modern world" which has crept up on us during those thirty years since Pac-Man arrived, is that too many people have forgotten there is more to life than making money. Lift your heads up from those desks, people. Take your noses from the grindstone for a few precious minutes and have some fun ffs.
Last weekend, two legends collided. It was the 30th anniversary of Pac-Man, widely regarded as "the game that started it all" (even though, being first released in 1980, it trailed Space Invaders by two years), and in celebration Google installed its first fully interactive doodle - a working copy of Pac-Man with the maze spelling out "Google" and whose gameplay faithfully reproduced the original, including ghost behaviours, fruits, and even the original bug that corrupts the screen on the 256th level.
But celebrating Pac-Man's 30th birthday, and Google's inventiveness and sense of fun, is only part of the reason for this post. And it's the "sense of fun" angle that I'd like to concentrate on first, because to me that's what it was all about. It was a weekend, Google's doodles are a fine tradition that always raise a smile in our house, and this particular doodle gave Google's users the chance - briefly - to relive a much-loved time in their youth when it was OK to while away a few hours chasing an animated cartoon mouth around a maze.
So it was with a dawning sense of OMG that I read some of the 571 comments posted on the news article I found on the subject. Many of them mirrored my own reaction ("wow" "cool" "brings back memories" etc) but fully half of them were complaints about the noise, about the intrusion into their browser space, about the waste of time and money, and any other possible thing you could think of to complain about and even some that would never occur to most people I know. Incredible.
These comments drew stinging reactions from the supporters of Google's efforts, as you'd expect, with people pointing out variously that Google (and all its services) is free, that doodles are only ever up for a day (or two at most), that all computers are equipped with a "mute" function, and that in the end if they weren't happy, why didn't these people just close their browsers or navigate to another page? But all of that common sense couldn't hide the fact that there are vast numbers of people out there who have utterly lost their sense of humour, of fun, and of celebration. And what's worse, they're not even prepared to sit quietly while those of us who haven't lost those things get on with it.
It gets worse.
Someone who must recently have had a humourectomy has now calculated the world-wide LOSS OF PRODUCTIVITY that the Pac-Man doodle caused. Yep. Five million man hours, apparently, giving a total monetary value - based on a low-to-average U.S. salary - of $120 million. A figure arrived at using some broadly-drawn assumptions on the amount of time usually spent on the Google home page versus the amount of time spent there when the Pac-Man doodle was active.
Oh dear. Oh woe is me. For a few extra seconds, all over the world, people weren't making money. Strike us all down with a bolt of lightning. Good grief. One of the saddest aspects of "this modern world" which has crept up on us during those thirty years since Pac-Man arrived, is that too many people have forgotten there is more to life than making money. Lift your heads up from those desks, people. Take your noses from the grindstone for a few precious minutes and have some fun ffs.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
What was that about killing the radio star?
I better keep an eye out for that video, because last night at 6pm for a little over half an hour I, along with my partner-in-crime (well, songwriting) Annie, became a radio star.
We'd been invited in to Chorlton Arts Radio - an Internet-only, temporary radio station set up in an empty shop in the precinct to promote Chorlton Arts Festival - to do a bit of an interview and play a few tracks on Mike Bulfield's "The Festival" programme.
We had no idea before we arrived what form the slot would take, so we'd sat down together on Saturday and come up with a simple schedule of enough tracks and what we wanted to say about them to fill just over 30 minutes. We'd have been quite happy to fill the half-hour ourselves but as it turned out Mike had also prepared a few questions, and did an expert job of dovetailing his questions with what we wanted to say, giving us time to plug the website, and our forthcoming live gig at the Hotpot. During one of our off-air chats while our music was playing he congratulated us on being the most well-prepared interviewees he'd ever worked with.
Sorry if you missed it. No idea if they repeated the show at all (they were a bit short of content at one stage), but the entire radio station will be gone by the end of the week anyway. I'm told we'll have access to a recording of the show in due course, so I'm sure it'll end up being featured on one or more of our websites eventually :o)
We had no idea before we arrived what form the slot would take, so we'd sat down together on Saturday and come up with a simple schedule of enough tracks and what we wanted to say about them to fill just over 30 minutes. We'd have been quite happy to fill the half-hour ourselves but as it turned out Mike had also prepared a few questions, and did an expert job of dovetailing his questions with what we wanted to say, giving us time to plug the website, and our forthcoming live gig at the Hotpot. During one of our off-air chats while our music was playing he congratulated us on being the most well-prepared interviewees he'd ever worked with.
Sorry if you missed it. No idea if they repeated the show at all (they were a bit short of content at one stage), but the entire radio station will be gone by the end of the week anyway. I'm told we'll have access to a recording of the show in due course, so I'm sure it'll end up being featured on one or more of our websites eventually :o)
Monday, May 24, 2010
Peachy
The Red Pearl cocktail from our recent Celebrity Night proved very popular with the family so I deployed the cocktail shaker again on Saturday night to use up the left over ingredients - peach vodka (not the "proper" kind according to the recipe but a good compromise as it turned out I couldn't find any red pomegranate vodka over here), peach liqueur, cranberry juice and pineapple juice, topped with a splash of champagne.
The result was slightly heavy on the champagne (we had an entire bottle left over) but still very tasty.
Even better, we took a break from gardening on Sunday afternoon to enjoy a glass of peach-flavoured iced tea that Nikki had knocked up with the short measure of peach liqueur left over from cocktail making. This was only a small glimpse of the life we'd *like* to lead in the garden - one of total indolence and relaxation - which is still some years of undergrowth-hacking, deck-building, and shrub-planting in the future!
The result was slightly heavy on the champagne (we had an entire bottle left over) but still very tasty.
Even better, we took a break from gardening on Sunday afternoon to enjoy a glass of peach-flavoured iced tea that Nikki had knocked up with the short measure of peach liqueur left over from cocktail making. This was only a small glimpse of the life we'd *like* to lead in the garden - one of total indolence and relaxation - which is still some years of undergrowth-hacking, deck-building, and shrub-planting in the future!
Thursday, May 20, 2010
More Than's ALIVE!
(Just in case you were wondering, the title is intended to be a - rather weak, admittedly - pun on the famous line from Flash Gordon uttered by the inimitable Brian Blessed: Gordon's alive!)
Things are shaping up for our live set at this year's Chorlton Players "hotpot" show. This year it's been badged "Pimp My Hotpot" on account of one of the sketches - a hilarious adult take on The Cat in the Hat written by one of the Players, entitled The Pimp in the Hat. We're rehearsing every Monday and Wednesday, and yesterday our rehearsal was graced by a young lady who has volunteered to play a live flute accompaniment to one of my numbers - More Than Just Your Face. Annie has transcribed the piano intro and the oboe sections for flute and the result, which we heard for the first time last night, sounds totally fab.
Can't wait to sing live with that haunting flute as a backdrop!
Things are shaping up for our live set at this year's Chorlton Players "hotpot" show. This year it's been badged "Pimp My Hotpot" on account of one of the sketches - a hilarious adult take on The Cat in the Hat written by one of the Players, entitled The Pimp in the Hat. We're rehearsing every Monday and Wednesday, and yesterday our rehearsal was graced by a young lady who has volunteered to play a live flute accompaniment to one of my numbers - More Than Just Your Face. Annie has transcribed the piano intro and the oboe sections for flute and the result, which we heard for the first time last night, sounds totally fab.
Can't wait to sing live with that haunting flute as a backdrop!
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Vinyl: Camel
Artist: Camel
Owned on digital media: No
Want to replace: Yes
I've been a huge fan of Camel for many years and as you'll see in later posts have already started replacing my small but perfectly formed collection of their work.
So it's pure bad luck that I haven't yet happened across a copy of their first album on CD and that it therefore still occupies one of the top slots on my want list. It's lack is somewhat ameliorated by the fact that some of better tracks (Never Let Go and Mystic Queen) appear as bonus tracks on the CDs I *do* have.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The unkindest cut
News of US TV's autumn schedule reached these shores yesterday, bringing with it the now inevitable stories of the "canning" of two series we've been following.
Heroes had its share of problems over four series, but the most recent outing seemed to us to be back on track, having solved the issues with way too many characters and yawnorama powers, and introduced a credible villain with an interesting goal to rival Sylar. We'd started to enjoy it again just in time to see it disappear forever.
FlashForward, on the other hand, has never been anything but intriguing. It didn't have a duff series, or a doldrums period, it has a wealth of subplot, well-drawn characters, and good writing. But it too failed to fire the US public's imagination in sufficient numbers for the network to consider keeping it going.
So these two highlights of our viewing hours join the swelling ranks of good sci-fi that has ended before its time. Firefly, The 4400, Farscape, Stargate: Atlantis, Invasion, Surface. A swift Google is all that's needed to find other similar stories, and forums stuffed with legions of fans bemoaning their loss and asking why. Those last two on my list are another example of series that were paired in our house - we watched them in parallel and we saw them die in parallel, killed off in the same season a few years back. We never even had chance to get into Firefly on broadcast media before it was killed off, discovering it on DVD long after the dust had settled on one of the most inventive,original and widely-missed series ever.
So how long can US TV remain broken like this? Time after time creating and then pissing off multiple fan-bases that stretch all across the world? Would it really be so hard to solve a problem that arises solely from the intersection between the short-termism of the producers and commissioning editors, and the relatively recent attempt by writers to introduce multi-series story arcs (Lost the most obvious example) without being able to fill them with TV compelling enough to command audience figures that will satisfy the networks? At the very least let's have some degree of completion at the end of each series (to hedge our bets against the "rest of the story" never being made) or a commitment to always allow a one-off "special" to be made to tie up any loose ends.
It may be too much to ask that US TV networks wake up to the notion that it may not even be possible to sustain audience figures when there are so many other avenues of entertainment open. Even the most popular UK TV shows have seen audiences dwindle in recent years. If our TV was produced along US lines we'd have seen the end of many of our longest-running shows long before now.
Heroes had its share of problems over four series, but the most recent outing seemed to us to be back on track, having solved the issues with way too many characters and yawnorama powers, and introduced a credible villain with an interesting goal to rival Sylar. We'd started to enjoy it again just in time to see it disappear forever.
FlashForward, on the other hand, has never been anything but intriguing. It didn't have a duff series, or a doldrums period, it has a wealth of subplot, well-drawn characters, and good writing. But it too failed to fire the US public's imagination in sufficient numbers for the network to consider keeping it going.
So these two highlights of our viewing hours join the swelling ranks of good sci-fi that has ended before its time. Firefly, The 4400, Farscape, Stargate: Atlantis, Invasion, Surface. A swift Google is all that's needed to find other similar stories, and forums stuffed with legions of fans bemoaning their loss and asking why. Those last two on my list are another example of series that were paired in our house - we watched them in parallel and we saw them die in parallel, killed off in the same season a few years back. We never even had chance to get into Firefly on broadcast media before it was killed off, discovering it on DVD long after the dust had settled on one of the most inventive,original and widely-missed series ever.
So how long can US TV remain broken like this? Time after time creating and then pissing off multiple fan-bases that stretch all across the world? Would it really be so hard to solve a problem that arises solely from the intersection between the short-termism of the producers and commissioning editors, and the relatively recent attempt by writers to introduce multi-series story arcs (Lost the most obvious example) without being able to fill them with TV compelling enough to command audience figures that will satisfy the networks? At the very least let's have some degree of completion at the end of each series (to hedge our bets against the "rest of the story" never being made) or a commitment to always allow a one-off "special" to be made to tie up any loose ends.
It may be too much to ask that US TV networks wake up to the notion that it may not even be possible to sustain audience figures when there are so many other avenues of entertainment open. Even the most popular UK TV shows have seen audiences dwindle in recent years. If our TV was produced along US lines we'd have seen the end of many of our longest-running shows long before now.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Vinyl: Boston
Artist: Boston
Owned on digital media: No
Want to replace: Yes
My initial decision on replacing this was a "no" but on reflection this is a seminal album comprising almost entirely strong tracks (three of them top 40 hits according to Wikipedia) and although it's not the kind of music I like to listen to very often, there are definitely times when what you need more than anything is a quick blast of More Than A Feeling, or Smokin'.
Tracks like that would certainly feature on any "drive time" playlist I could assemble, so after careful consideration this goes back on my want list. Just not at the top.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Three Kevins!
This is getting beyond a joke. Kevin and Marina have now been joined by little Neptune, bringing the total complement of fish in the tank to 9. Our original calculations suggested it could hold a maximum of 12, so any more of this spawning business and we'll have to start thinking of ways to reduce the population. That's one problem we didn't expect to have!
They don't half grow quickly too. I reckon Kevin - who from "his" colouring is almost certainly female - is now almost the same size as the first fish we brought home back in November, and he and Marina have become braver over the last day or so and started feeding with the adults. I still find it quite strange to think that our little tank is the only home they've ever known.
They don't half grow quickly too. I reckon Kevin - who from "his" colouring is almost certainly female - is now almost the same size as the first fish we brought home back in November, and he and Marina have become braver over the last day or so and started feeding with the adults. I still find it quite strange to think that our little tank is the only home they've ever known.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Location, Location, Location
This could have been a poignant event for us, as it's (obviously) ten years since the celebrations for the 40th anniversary, which we had a large hand in organising, and - whisper it quietly - 5 years since the 45th anniversary, for which we also did some organising but which turned out to be an event on a much smaller scale, but the general mood was upbeat rather than reflective.
We elected this time to be participants rather than organisers. For one thing Corrie fandom doesn't figure so large in our lives any longer, but the main point is we figured we'd done our bit and it was time to hand over the reins to someone else.
So it was nice to spend a relaxed day in the company of friends old and new, and join in with an organised tour of some of the many locations in and around Manchester and Salford which are used for filming. Our host, who as well as leading around 60 such tours each year also travels the world in the company of Corrie stars past and present, interviewing them and giving talks on production, history and trivia, is a wealth of information and a very entertaining tour guide. The rain held off for the most part, we enjoyed lunch near Ashton marketplace and visited some of the more hidden parts of Manchester - like the one pictured above - which we ordinarily wouldn't get to see.
The tour finished at 4pm, but that felt way too early to call it a day, so we whiled away a couple of hours in the Ox (another memory-filled venue) chatting over a few pints, and later five of us repaired to Dimitri's for a delicious Greek meal before heading home. Chalk up another great day!
Friday, May 14, 2010
Book Launch
I was invited to a launch party last night in town, for the debut novel of someone who used to be on the team with me when I wrote for TV Scoop. Although I'd never met the lady in question, she's the kind of person whose online persona makes it easy to think you've known them all your life. Someone with whom you feel an instant rapport that marks them out as "your kind of person."
Which made my quandary even worse. I wanted to go. Not only for the chance to finally meet her, and to avoid appearing rude, but also to offer a crumb of moral support to a fellow writer and maybe even swop rejection stories.
But I didn't want to go. I'm not good at doing small talk with a bunch of people I don’t know, and I can't stand the air-kissing "and what do YOU do?" luvvieness that the dark side of my imagination had already populated the room with before I even walked in. It was clear from the outset that the debutante authoress would be fully occupied with mingling, and wouldn't have a lot of time with anyone in particular, so I fully expected to be left propping up the bar, avoiding eye contact with all those strangers and clutching a pint protectively to my chest while trying to look unobtrusive and wondering how soon I could bail without looking frightfully impolite.
Regular readers may recall another aborted attempt at socialising with strangers when I attended the Alfred Bradley Bursary Awards ceremony at the Beeb last year (crikey, that's almost a year ago!). Well this event proved all too similar, except with marginally fewer luvvies. It did, however, have one redeeming feature which tipped the balance. We were expecting another ex-Scoop writer to be there, and I figured what the heck - at least there'll be one other person there I'll know, who isn't fully occupied with actually running the thing. So I went. He wasn't there. I chugged a pint of lime and soda and left. The end.
Except it's not quite the end, because Lady Authoress spotted me in the middle of my quick getaway and headed me off by the door. I honestly hadn't intended leaving without saying goodbye, but as the last of the lime and soda drained away she'd been engrossed in conversation and I didn't want to interrupt. So then I had chance to feel bad because SHE felt bad that she'd not been able to talk with me for very long. Great! I never could *quite* get the hang of new people. Maybe I should open a small shop in Royston Vasey.
Which made my quandary even worse. I wanted to go. Not only for the chance to finally meet her, and to avoid appearing rude, but also to offer a crumb of moral support to a fellow writer and maybe even swop rejection stories.
But I didn't want to go. I'm not good at doing small talk with a bunch of people I don’t know, and I can't stand the air-kissing "and what do YOU do?" luvvieness that the dark side of my imagination had already populated the room with before I even walked in. It was clear from the outset that the debutante authoress would be fully occupied with mingling, and wouldn't have a lot of time with anyone in particular, so I fully expected to be left propping up the bar, avoiding eye contact with all those strangers and clutching a pint protectively to my chest while trying to look unobtrusive and wondering how soon I could bail without looking frightfully impolite.
Regular readers may recall another aborted attempt at socialising with strangers when I attended the Alfred Bradley Bursary Awards ceremony at the Beeb last year (crikey, that's almost a year ago!). Well this event proved all too similar, except with marginally fewer luvvies. It did, however, have one redeeming feature which tipped the balance. We were expecting another ex-Scoop writer to be there, and I figured what the heck - at least there'll be one other person there I'll know, who isn't fully occupied with actually running the thing. So I went. He wasn't there. I chugged a pint of lime and soda and left. The end.
Except it's not quite the end, because Lady Authoress spotted me in the middle of my quick getaway and headed me off by the door. I honestly hadn't intended leaving without saying goodbye, but as the last of the lime and soda drained away she'd been engrossed in conversation and I didn't want to interrupt. So then I had chance to feel bad because SHE felt bad that she'd not been able to talk with me for very long. Great! I never could *quite* get the hang of new people. Maybe I should open a small shop in Royston Vasey.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Redeeming features
I couldn't tell you how long I've been a member of YouGov, but I was definitely filling in their little surveys before we moved to this house, so it's more than three-and-a-half years.
Being the sort of person who likes to share his opinion (*cough* - well, come on, no-one writes a blog if they don't have something to share), I couldn't resist the opportunity to register my thoughts on brands (good and bad), product likes and dislikes, exactly which areas of society I think are going to the dogs, and suchlike.
The fact that most of the surveys accrue points, and these points can be exchanged for financial recompense, was never forefront either in my mind, or in my incentives to register these many-faceted and firmly held opinions. But even so, the knowledge that I would be on the receiving end of a cheque for fifty quid once I'd racked up a tally of 5,000 points was, shall we say, ever-present. Even if progress, at 50 points per survey (except those "prize draw" surveys which offered immediate cash, but only for the lucky few), did verge on the glacial.
Well, even glaciers reach the sea eventually, and today my tally rolled over the 5,000 point mark, and the "redeem your points" button was finally enabled. Suitable spending suggestions for the £50 which will shortly arrive on the mat may be made in the usual way. The proprietor reserves the right to ignore any or all of them, and blow the lot on a romantic meal for two :o)
Being the sort of person who likes to share his opinion (*cough* - well, come on, no-one writes a blog if they don't have something to share), I couldn't resist the opportunity to register my thoughts on brands (good and bad), product likes and dislikes, exactly which areas of society I think are going to the dogs, and suchlike.
The fact that most of the surveys accrue points, and these points can be exchanged for financial recompense, was never forefront either in my mind, or in my incentives to register these many-faceted and firmly held opinions. But even so, the knowledge that I would be on the receiving end of a cheque for fifty quid once I'd racked up a tally of 5,000 points was, shall we say, ever-present. Even if progress, at 50 points per survey (except those "prize draw" surveys which offered immediate cash, but only for the lucky few), did verge on the glacial.
Well, even glaciers reach the sea eventually, and today my tally rolled over the 5,000 point mark, and the "redeem your points" button was finally enabled. Suitable spending suggestions for the £50 which will shortly arrive on the mat may be made in the usual way. The proprietor reserves the right to ignore any or all of them, and blow the lot on a romantic meal for two :o)
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Farewell to the Bottler
True "statesmanlike" behaviour is seen when the right thing is done without pause, and because it's the right thing to do, not when it's delayed until it is the only option left and comes after a period of unseemly scrabbling to hang on to the reins of power at any cost.
Whenever Gordon Brown said he would do something for the good of the country, you knew that he really meant "for the good of Gordon Brown." Well, now he's gone and good riddance. His party had fired the starting pistol on their race to elect a new leader days before he'd even resigned. A more apt metaphor may be the opening of sluice gates to let flow the pent-up vitriol, repressed indignation and hidden ambition that has been building up ever since his unopposed "coronation" as leader. Unopposed, yes. But also unelected. And that's how he will now remain.
Whenever Gordon Brown said he would do something for the good of the country, you knew that he really meant "for the good of Gordon Brown." Well, now he's gone and good riddance. His party had fired the starting pistol on their race to elect a new leader days before he'd even resigned. A more apt metaphor may be the opening of sluice gates to let flow the pent-up vitriol, repressed indignation and hidden ambition that has been building up ever since his unopposed "coronation" as leader. Unopposed, yes. But also unelected. And that's how he will now remain.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Traditional remedies
Went to the doc's yesterday and he's signed me off sick for the rest of this week. I'm severely congested, and he's prescribed a course of antibiotics as a precaution against the congestion becoming infected which could be dangerous.
But I was surprised at his other recommendations, which sounded decidedly archaic. To relieve the congestion: steam inhalation. Yep, boil a kettle, pour it into a bowl, stick a towel over your head and breathe deeply. Something I remember both my Mum and my Gran doing when I was a kid, occasionally with the addition of a dollop of Vicks in the water, thereby filling the house with strong menthol vapours.
And for the sore throat? Gargle with salt water. Yuck. I had enough of that as a small boy (I had a lot of sore throats back then), stood at the kitchen sink for hours gargling and spitting, while trying to avoid the gargling turning into gagging.
I'm wondering now if this is a deliberate policy - returning to time-honoured "old wives'" remedies in place of decreasingly effective modern treatments in an effort to curb the ballooning NHS drug budgets.
But I was surprised at his other recommendations, which sounded decidedly archaic. To relieve the congestion: steam inhalation. Yep, boil a kettle, pour it into a bowl, stick a towel over your head and breathe deeply. Something I remember both my Mum and my Gran doing when I was a kid, occasionally with the addition of a dollop of Vicks in the water, thereby filling the house with strong menthol vapours.
And for the sore throat? Gargle with salt water. Yuck. I had enough of that as a small boy (I had a lot of sore throats back then), stood at the kitchen sink for hours gargling and spitting, while trying to avoid the gargling turning into gagging.
I'm wondering now if this is a deliberate policy - returning to time-honoured "old wives'" remedies in place of decreasingly effective modern treatments in an effort to curb the ballooning NHS drug budgets.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Celebrity Night
The last street safari night we attended was African Night, back in March 2009, which is a long interval. There has been one other in the interim - Cowboy Night - which by all accounts was a great success but which we had to miss on account of being elsewhere. Can't remember now exactly which else. Two of the neighbours took advantage of our absence to make up a cowboy-style "wanted" poster of us, which we thought was pretty cool.
The latest theme under which we intended to trail from house to house stuffing our faces with good food and various alcoholic beverages was Celebrity Night. We didn't have an awful lot of notice for this, or a really clear idea of what it meant, so with that feeble excuse most of us didn't make much of an effort. In a cop-out reminiscent of our very first safari outing (Mexican Night) I decided to be Jarvis Cocker on account of him normally wearing jeans and a tee, and me normally wearing jeans and a tee. Natalie cradled a bottle of port on one arm, hung onto me with the other arm and thus went as Natalie Port-Man, and Nikki didn't bother adopting a persona at all. Only Blythe gave it any thought and cobbled together a passable impression of Michael Jackson (he's dead you know), which almost saved our credibility in the face of some really good costumes from the rest of the neighbours.
We had Ozzy, Amy, Cheryl (and Ashley), Wally (as in, where's Wally?), Gaga, James Bond, Winnie (Churchill, not the Pooh), Mrs Q and Posh, Brian May and Minnie Mouse.
Celebrity food gave everyone pause. We opted for Sausage Surprise (from EastEnders) and I made a Red Pearl cocktail. We also enjoyed some excellent tapas, pâté & dips, lasagne, a chocolate fountain and an excellent cheeseboard. Most of the others went for some form of sparkling wine as the celebrity drink du jour.
Not such a late night as has been the norm, but all in all another successful safari to add to the archives.
The latest theme under which we intended to trail from house to house stuffing our faces with good food and various alcoholic beverages was Celebrity Night. We didn't have an awful lot of notice for this, or a really clear idea of what it meant, so with that feeble excuse most of us didn't make much of an effort. In a cop-out reminiscent of our very first safari outing (Mexican Night) I decided to be Jarvis Cocker on account of him normally wearing jeans and a tee, and me normally wearing jeans and a tee. Natalie cradled a bottle of port on one arm, hung onto me with the other arm and thus went as Natalie Port-Man, and Nikki didn't bother adopting a persona at all. Only Blythe gave it any thought and cobbled together a passable impression of Michael Jackson (he's dead you know), which almost saved our credibility in the face of some really good costumes from the rest of the neighbours.
We had Ozzy, Amy, Cheryl (and Ashley), Wally (as in, where's Wally?), Gaga, James Bond, Winnie (Churchill, not the Pooh), Mrs Q and Posh, Brian May and Minnie Mouse.
Celebrity food gave everyone pause. We opted for Sausage Surprise (from EastEnders) and I made a Red Pearl cocktail. We also enjoyed some excellent tapas, pâté & dips, lasagne, a chocolate fountain and an excellent cheeseboard. Most of the others went for some form of sparkling wine as the celebrity drink du jour.
Not such a late night as has been the norm, but all in all another successful safari to add to the archives.
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Stags and Dens, and self-determination
It's a fair few years since I went to a stag do (probably not thirty, but not that far off), but as our mates Jamie and Lise are getting hitched immediately prior to setting sail for a new life in Spain, and therefore opportunities to socialise with either or both of them will shortly be severely curtailed, when I learnt that one of the Players was organising a surprise stag do for him at the Frog and Bucket the decision to attend was a no-brainer (even though it clashed with a "girls' weekend").
We were due to meet at the Dry Bar at 7pm, where Jamie would arrive on the pretext of having a quick drink before catching a train for a quiet night watching DVDs at a mate's house, to find around 20 of his friends waiting to drag him off for a completely different sort of night. I'd never been to the Dry Bar so I hopped a taxi. The driver, who gave every appearance of never having heard of the Dry Bar, dropped me off on Oldham Street outside an anonymous building. Armed with the knowledge that said bar was #28 on the street, and noticing the shop opposite was #51, I headed off confidently in the direction of Piccadilly, looking for an even numbered door on my side to give me some new bearings. When I reached #14 I backtracked, counting doorways, and found myself back where I started. Maybe the cabbie was more clued up than I'd imagined.
One friendly face was visible behind the double doors (Hi Bon!) so I grabbed a pint and settled in to await further arrivals. Those of the male members of the Players who could make it drifted in by ones and twos until we received a text message that Jamie was on his way. The ruse worked perfectly, his normally bemused look giving way to total surprise as he rounded to corner to cheers and applause. After another quick lemonade we set off for the Frog and Bucket.
I'm not normally one to criticise (*cough*) so I should probably just say the comedy was appalling. Luckily that's not why we went - at least not for the sort on stage. The craic among the group was way funnier. The first of three acts seemed to think all he had to do was say "nobhead" a few times, interspersed with other colourful language, and we'd all fall about laughing. Halfway through his act I glanced around our group. Almost to a man we were all sat there with our arms folded, staring him down and daring him to make us laugh. I was glad it wasn't just me. He didn't raise a single chuckle during his entire act, even though a group of young ladies on a hen night, or birthday party, seemed to think it all pant-wettingly funny, and literally fell about in their seats screaming and giggling fit to bust. Maybe it was all much funnier if you were pissed. Or an airhead.
The woman who was on second raised the bar a little, but you still wouldn't have been able to limbo under it. Her delivery was good (an Irish accent always helps) but her material weak and predictable at best. I saw her best gag coming several minutes before she finally got to the punchline.
After all that we had great expectations of the "headline act," but he proved to be almost a rerun of the first guy only with more charisma. The compère was funny though. Or at least it seemed funny at the time. Thinking back over what he said (wondering whether to repeat the intercourse here and deciding against it) it wasn't especially funny, but at the time I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. I've read that most comedy arises when one group of people is made to feel superior to another, and that was certainly true of this situation, as Jamie had the piss ripped mercilessly from him. Maybe the fact that each of us in Jamie's vicinity knew at some gut level we were only a glance away from being subjected to some of the same, which could have given it more of an edge. All in all, it epitomised the phrase: "you had to be there."
Sometime between the first and second act, the Stag Night Organiser came around with a tray of shots. Now I'm not the biggest fan of shots at the best of times, but the truth is, I've been feeling like shit for the last three days and have been off work with it. Sore throat, congestion, cough, splitting headache, fever and a general lack of energy. It was an act of monumental selflessness to attend the stag do in the first place (*cough*) and I certainly didn't intend to make things worse by getting off my face.
So I selected the smallest shot available, and when the toast was made I touched the glass to my lips and set it down on the table, out of sight among the menus. After the second act one of my table-mates (names omitted to protect self-esteem) noticed the unconsumed shot.
TM: Hey! You didn't drink your shot!
Me: I know. I didn't want it in the first place.
TM: Well I didn't want mine, but I drank it.
I looked pityingly at him as he bemoaned his lack of... whatever it was that allowed me to ignore the shot and the herd behaviour that surrounded it.
Sometime later I heard the Organiser ask the bloke next to him to go around and collect fivers from everyone for another round of shots. TM reached into his wallet immediately and produced a crisp fiver.
Bloke: John?
Me: No thanks.
Bloke: (with theatrical inflection) I don't think it's optional!
Me: Isn't it?
I locked eyes with the bloke until he moved away to the next Stagger.
TM: You've done it again! How do you do that? I didn't want another shot...
What made it worse for the guy was the shot, when it arrived, was a double scotch. Only from the smell of it, it had been distilled from kerosene rather than the more usual substrate. But I'm not smug. Well, not very.
We were due to meet at the Dry Bar at 7pm, where Jamie would arrive on the pretext of having a quick drink before catching a train for a quiet night watching DVDs at a mate's house, to find around 20 of his friends waiting to drag him off for a completely different sort of night. I'd never been to the Dry Bar so I hopped a taxi. The driver, who gave every appearance of never having heard of the Dry Bar, dropped me off on Oldham Street outside an anonymous building. Armed with the knowledge that said bar was #28 on the street, and noticing the shop opposite was #51, I headed off confidently in the direction of Piccadilly, looking for an even numbered door on my side to give me some new bearings. When I reached #14 I backtracked, counting doorways, and found myself back where I started. Maybe the cabbie was more clued up than I'd imagined.
One friendly face was visible behind the double doors (Hi Bon!) so I grabbed a pint and settled in to await further arrivals. Those of the male members of the Players who could make it drifted in by ones and twos until we received a text message that Jamie was on his way. The ruse worked perfectly, his normally bemused look giving way to total surprise as he rounded to corner to cheers and applause. After another quick lemonade we set off for the Frog and Bucket.
I'm not normally one to criticise (*cough*) so I should probably just say the comedy was appalling. Luckily that's not why we went - at least not for the sort on stage. The craic among the group was way funnier. The first of three acts seemed to think all he had to do was say "nobhead" a few times, interspersed with other colourful language, and we'd all fall about laughing. Halfway through his act I glanced around our group. Almost to a man we were all sat there with our arms folded, staring him down and daring him to make us laugh. I was glad it wasn't just me. He didn't raise a single chuckle during his entire act, even though a group of young ladies on a hen night, or birthday party, seemed to think it all pant-wettingly funny, and literally fell about in their seats screaming and giggling fit to bust. Maybe it was all much funnier if you were pissed. Or an airhead.
The woman who was on second raised the bar a little, but you still wouldn't have been able to limbo under it. Her delivery was good (an Irish accent always helps) but her material weak and predictable at best. I saw her best gag coming several minutes before she finally got to the punchline.
After all that we had great expectations of the "headline act," but he proved to be almost a rerun of the first guy only with more charisma. The compère was funny though. Or at least it seemed funny at the time. Thinking back over what he said (wondering whether to repeat the intercourse here and deciding against it) it wasn't especially funny, but at the time I laughed until tears rolled down my cheeks. I've read that most comedy arises when one group of people is made to feel superior to another, and that was certainly true of this situation, as Jamie had the piss ripped mercilessly from him. Maybe the fact that each of us in Jamie's vicinity knew at some gut level we were only a glance away from being subjected to some of the same, which could have given it more of an edge. All in all, it epitomised the phrase: "you had to be there."
Sometime between the first and second act, the Stag Night Organiser came around with a tray of shots. Now I'm not the biggest fan of shots at the best of times, but the truth is, I've been feeling like shit for the last three days and have been off work with it. Sore throat, congestion, cough, splitting headache, fever and a general lack of energy. It was an act of monumental selflessness to attend the stag do in the first place (*cough*) and I certainly didn't intend to make things worse by getting off my face.
So I selected the smallest shot available, and when the toast was made I touched the glass to my lips and set it down on the table, out of sight among the menus. After the second act one of my table-mates (names omitted to protect self-esteem) noticed the unconsumed shot.
TM: Hey! You didn't drink your shot!
Me: I know. I didn't want it in the first place.
TM: Well I didn't want mine, but I drank it.
I looked pityingly at him as he bemoaned his lack of... whatever it was that allowed me to ignore the shot and the herd behaviour that surrounded it.
Sometime later I heard the Organiser ask the bloke next to him to go around and collect fivers from everyone for another round of shots. TM reached into his wallet immediately and produced a crisp fiver.
Bloke: John?
Me: No thanks.
Bloke: (with theatrical inflection) I don't think it's optional!
Me: Isn't it?
I locked eyes with the bloke until he moved away to the next Stagger.
TM: You've done it again! How do you do that? I didn't want another shot...
What made it worse for the guy was the shot, when it arrived, was a double scotch. Only from the smell of it, it had been distilled from kerosene rather than the more usual substrate. But I'm not smug. Well, not very.
Friday, May 07, 2010
Suddenly everyone's a fan of PR
I'm finding the sight of so many ministers tripping over themselves to declare themselves lifelong supporters of electoral reform and proportional representation in the wake of yesterday's poll quite sickening. Realising their only hope of clinging to power lies with a resurrected Lib-Lab pact, and the price of that will be a referendum on PR, they are all busy wooing Nick Clegg.
An extended Today programme on Radio 4 included an interview with Neil Kinnock, who said something along the lines of time being up for a system where a massive Commons majority could be gained for only 40% of the vote. Evan Davis gleefully pointed out that Kinnochio had never been heard to complain about this state of affairs when his own party were the beneficiaries. This prompted the indignant response that Kinnock had been a long-term supporter of electoral reform but "knew he couldn't promote it in those days because the papers would have made a meal of the implicit admission that Labour couldn't win on their own." (I paraphrase).
That single sentence crystallised for me everything that is amiss with politics. What Kinnock was effectively saying is that he couldn't support what he truly believed in because he was afraid of how the media would spin it. Are we supposed to believe him? Or are we led to the conclusion that this is yet another example of him - along with all the rest of them - saying what he thinks we want to hear rather than what he truly believes. One thing is certain. Either he is lying now, or he was lying then. And if he was lying then, why should we trust him now? Trust - or the lack of it - is the single biggest reason for the public's disillusion with politics and politicians. None of them say what they really mean, or mean what they say. No conviction, no leadership, no honesty, no integrity and no long-term thinking which we need to solve long-term problems like transport, education, health and pensions.
No wonder the country can't make up its mind.
An extended Today programme on Radio 4 included an interview with Neil Kinnock, who said something along the lines of time being up for a system where a massive Commons majority could be gained for only 40% of the vote. Evan Davis gleefully pointed out that Kinnochio had never been heard to complain about this state of affairs when his own party were the beneficiaries. This prompted the indignant response that Kinnock had been a long-term supporter of electoral reform but "knew he couldn't promote it in those days because the papers would have made a meal of the implicit admission that Labour couldn't win on their own." (I paraphrase).
That single sentence crystallised for me everything that is amiss with politics. What Kinnock was effectively saying is that he couldn't support what he truly believed in because he was afraid of how the media would spin it. Are we supposed to believe him? Or are we led to the conclusion that this is yet another example of him - along with all the rest of them - saying what he thinks we want to hear rather than what he truly believes. One thing is certain. Either he is lying now, or he was lying then. And if he was lying then, why should we trust him now? Trust - or the lack of it - is the single biggest reason for the public's disillusion with politics and politicians. None of them say what they really mean, or mean what they say. No conviction, no leadership, no honesty, no integrity and no long-term thinking which we need to solve long-term problems like transport, education, health and pensions.
No wonder the country can't make up its mind.
Thursday, May 06, 2010
Another day, another curry
This month's curry night had a completely different flavour, and this was not only down to a change of venue. We returned to Eastern Revive, which I've only visited once before, having patronised the well-blogged Ayo Gurkhali many times in recent months. I enjoyed a monumental Chicken Tikka Nagpuri, a dish with a robust yet delicate flavour and which left a gentle but satisfying tingle on the lips.
But the real change this time round was in the extended attendee list. One of our "regulars" who actually hardly ever makes managed to carve an evening out of his busy schedule, but perhaps more significantly we enjoyed the company of two "guest" curry lovers neither of whom I've seen for several years. It was really good to catch up with them, chat over their current challenges and successes, and share mine, over a couple of pints and a pleasant meal. I hope now they've broken their duck they'll be back more regularly in the future, as the dynamic of the group was elevated several degrees by their presence and the whole evening, already something I always look forward to, was given an even keener edge with the two new perspectives, tales and opinions.
For many years, and for many reasons too numerous (and some of them too painful) to mention, I built an artificial barrier between my social life and my working life. While many of the guys I now share a monthly curry with developed strong, deep and lasting friendships with colleagues that have in some cases survived several changes of career, I was working when at work, and socialising only with people I didn't work with. Ten years ago I started tearing that barrier down, among others, and bulldozing a road to a better future. Friendships are too important - and good ones too rare - to restrict your chances of finding them, or building them, to any one part of life. They can pop up any time, in any place, and for any reason. Took me way too long to learn that lesson.
But the real change this time round was in the extended attendee list. One of our "regulars" who actually hardly ever makes managed to carve an evening out of his busy schedule, but perhaps more significantly we enjoyed the company of two "guest" curry lovers neither of whom I've seen for several years. It was really good to catch up with them, chat over their current challenges and successes, and share mine, over a couple of pints and a pleasant meal. I hope now they've broken their duck they'll be back more regularly in the future, as the dynamic of the group was elevated several degrees by their presence and the whole evening, already something I always look forward to, was given an even keener edge with the two new perspectives, tales and opinions.
For many years, and for many reasons too numerous (and some of them too painful) to mention, I built an artificial barrier between my social life and my working life. While many of the guys I now share a monthly curry with developed strong, deep and lasting friendships with colleagues that have in some cases survived several changes of career, I was working when at work, and socialising only with people I didn't work with. Ten years ago I started tearing that barrier down, among others, and bulldozing a road to a better future. Friendships are too important - and good ones too rare - to restrict your chances of finding them, or building them, to any one part of life. They can pop up any time, in any place, and for any reason. Took me way too long to learn that lesson.
Monday, May 03, 2010
Vinyl: Love Songs
Owned on digital media: No
Want to replace: No
No idea how much "they" will be asking for THIS album (compared to the Red Album, for instance), but frankly I don't care. I'm not that much of a Beatles fan if I'm honest. There's nothing quite like not hearing something for ten years to make you realise whether or not you've missed listening to it, and this lot I haven't. Checked out the track list on Wikipedia and there's some of their good stuff on there (surprising number of duplicates with the contents of the Red/Blue Albums) but also some not-so-good. All in all this is something I'm happy to catch occasionally on the radio, not something I'm overly keen to own.
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Kevin Watch
Since discovering the presence of young Kevin in our aquarium the other day, things have been a bit fraught. I'm the first to admit I know nothing about the habits of very small cherry barbs, but he does seem to spend an awful lot of his time... missing. Or hiding.
Maybe it's because he's such a small nipper he instinctively knows he needs to keep out of the way of the Big Fish in case they take a fancy to a passing morsel. These fish are known for eating their young, although I think he's past the stage where any of them would be able to take a chunk out of him. Anyway, it's not been unusual for a day or two to pass without a sighting, which leads to elevated levels of anxiety from "mum & dad" as we peer into the tank hoping for a glimpse.
This level of concern for little Kev was raised to unprecedented heights during our week away in the Lakes, since we'd left the fish to more-or-less fend for themselves with nothing more than a dissolving "vacation" food block for company. Would the block dissolve? Would they recognise it as food? Would their increased hunger lead them to focus even more keenly on their defenceless offspring? Returning from our hols yesterday morning we examined the tank closely for any sign of young life. There was none. Unable to concentrate properly on the evening's telly our attentions were continually drawn back to the glowing tube, but he never showed.
Until this morning, when the weekly partial water change must have flushed him out from his usual hiding place and suddenly there he was, racing around the tank in pursuit of small bits of detritus thrown up by the pouring water. And... what's this? Looks like he's got a little brother or sister too!! Almost half the size Kevin is now, and as far as we can remember smaller than he was the first time we spotted him. We've called "her" Marina. If this keeps up we'll be needing a second tank!
Maybe it's because he's such a small nipper he instinctively knows he needs to keep out of the way of the Big Fish in case they take a fancy to a passing morsel. These fish are known for eating their young, although I think he's past the stage where any of them would be able to take a chunk out of him. Anyway, it's not been unusual for a day or two to pass without a sighting, which leads to elevated levels of anxiety from "mum & dad" as we peer into the tank hoping for a glimpse.
This level of concern for little Kev was raised to unprecedented heights during our week away in the Lakes, since we'd left the fish to more-or-less fend for themselves with nothing more than a dissolving "vacation" food block for company. Would the block dissolve? Would they recognise it as food? Would their increased hunger lead them to focus even more keenly on their defenceless offspring? Returning from our hols yesterday morning we examined the tank closely for any sign of young life. There was none. Unable to concentrate properly on the evening's telly our attentions were continually drawn back to the glowing tube, but he never showed.
Until this morning, when the weekly partial water change must have flushed him out from his usual hiding place and suddenly there he was, racing around the tank in pursuit of small bits of detritus thrown up by the pouring water. And... what's this? Looks like he's got a little brother or sister too!! Almost half the size Kevin is now, and as far as we can remember smaller than he was the first time we spotted him. We've called "her" Marina. If this keeps up we'll be needing a second tank!
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