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!
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Book Review: Fatal Revenant
Way back in October 2008 I reported finding the first two books of Stephen Donaldson's Last Chronicles of Thomas Covenant. I read book 1 on our Lakes week last October and since then I've been waiting for a chance to pick up book 2. This week has provided that chance and I've been devouring Fatal Revenant's 856 pages since Sunday morning.
I don't want to give too much away, but I will say I found this every bit as riveting as the first book. It's true that you have to be prepared to do battle with Donaldson's style when he's writing about the Land. The constant repetition of his heroes' fear, anguish, trepidation, suffering, loss and uncertainty which was such a signature feature of the first two trilogies is here once again, in spades, and it can get very wearing.
But overwhelmingly, this is a monumental success. Not only does Donaldson pick up the threads of every story, race and being that has gone before, and weave them into a narrative that fits as comfortably as an old cardigan, but he then skilfully embroiders that cardigan with a host of new characters, races and situations that are so cleverly explained and so thoroughly well thought-out that you can't tell the embroidery was never part of the original cardigan.
Moreover Donaldson's skill as a story teller, already epic at the time he wrote the first Chronicles, has achieved a hitherto undreamt of level of mastery. The complexity of this tale, as Linden Avery confronts a host of opponents some of whom endure bitter rivalries of their own and hence can occasionally appear to be her allies, others who are virtually their own hero and foe simultaneously, and continues to journey with a rare admixture of characters each of whom has a mystery to solve or at least one hidden aspect, is breathtaking. One of the most satisfying and rewarding reads I can remember for many years.
I don't want to give too much away, but I will say I found this every bit as riveting as the first book. It's true that you have to be prepared to do battle with Donaldson's style when he's writing about the Land. The constant repetition of his heroes' fear, anguish, trepidation, suffering, loss and uncertainty which was such a signature feature of the first two trilogies is here once again, in spades, and it can get very wearing.But overwhelmingly, this is a monumental success. Not only does Donaldson pick up the threads of every story, race and being that has gone before, and weave them into a narrative that fits as comfortably as an old cardigan, but he then skilfully embroiders that cardigan with a host of new characters, races and situations that are so cleverly explained and so thoroughly well thought-out that you can't tell the embroidery was never part of the original cardigan.
Moreover Donaldson's skill as a story teller, already epic at the time he wrote the first Chronicles, has achieved a hitherto undreamt of level of mastery. The complexity of this tale, as Linden Avery confronts a host of opponents some of whom endure bitter rivalries of their own and hence can occasionally appear to be her allies, others who are virtually their own hero and foe simultaneously, and continues to journey with a rare admixture of characters each of whom has a mystery to solve or at least one hidden aspect, is breathtaking. One of the most satisfying and rewarding reads I can remember for many years.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I can't really get the hang of this blogging lark
I always seem to be two weeks behind with this. I watched Steve Davis finish his first round match against Mark King in the 2010 World Snooker championships last week and wanted to put something in writing about how impressed I'd been, not just with his performance - still managing to win matches at this level at the age of 52 and on his 30th appearance at the Crucible; still committed enough to put in the hours of practice he must need to counteract the loss of visual acuity and muscle tone that the ticking clock must bring - but with the reaction of the crowd. The standing ovations as he entered the arena were really very moving. The entire audience recognising his achievements not only on the table but as an ambassador for snooker in particular and sportsmanship in general, in a way I can't imagine them doing for any other player.
But despite starting that post last week, I never got around to finishing it. A few days passed, Steve won his second round match and made it to the quarters. A fantastic achievement that energised the whole competition. There were reports of people stopping him in the street to congratulate him, and somehow the lights over the baize seemed to shine brighter and the balls on the table were more colourful in the reflected glory of his success.
The dream stopped at the quarter finals, where he was beaten by the guy who would eventually go on to win - Australian Neil Robertson. Throughout all that drama I either couldn't summon up the enthusiasm to put finger to keyboard, or I was in the Lakes, away from the computer.
You may have spotted that I couldn't possibly have known that Neil Robertson won on the date this post was made. It didn't happen until the Bank Holiday Monday after we returned from the Lakes. I'm writing this up on the 7th of May, and that's what I mean by being two weeks behind. This has turned (or has always been) more of a retrospective record of events than a blog, and it's beginning to do my head in.
Trouble is, whenever I enjoy a spurt (of writing activity I mean) and catch up, this will inevitably be followed by a period where there's nothing to write about, or a total dearth of enthusiasm. Back the pendulum swings and I'm two weeks behind again. >sigh< I guess there are more important things to worry about :-\
But despite starting that post last week, I never got around to finishing it. A few days passed, Steve won his second round match and made it to the quarters. A fantastic achievement that energised the whole competition. There were reports of people stopping him in the street to congratulate him, and somehow the lights over the baize seemed to shine brighter and the balls on the table were more colourful in the reflected glory of his success.
The dream stopped at the quarter finals, where he was beaten by the guy who would eventually go on to win - Australian Neil Robertson. Throughout all that drama I either couldn't summon up the enthusiasm to put finger to keyboard, or I was in the Lakes, away from the computer.
You may have spotted that I couldn't possibly have known that Neil Robertson won on the date this post was made. It didn't happen until the Bank Holiday Monday after we returned from the Lakes. I'm writing this up on the 7th of May, and that's what I mean by being two weeks behind. This has turned (or has always been) more of a retrospective record of events than a blog, and it's beginning to do my head in.
Trouble is, whenever I enjoy a spurt (of writing activity I mean) and catch up, this will inevitably be followed by a period where there's nothing to write about, or a total dearth of enthusiasm. Back the pendulum swings and I'm two weeks behind again. >sigh< I guess there are more important things to worry about :-\
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Someone's idea of hell
...is another's heaven.
We're spending a week in the Lakes this week. Same place we stayed last time (and the time before) only it's just us this time so we've rented the cottage rather than the entire farmhouse.
Whenever we come away with mates we do tag along on the walks. The less physically demanding ones at least. All of them have been great fun, wonderful views, sights you wouldn't see unless you were walking, and we always get back from a walk feeling glad that we've done it. But left to our own devices we're considerably less energised. Yesterday afternoon we went for a walk on the beach at Seascale, but that'll be the one and only walk of the week and it doesn't really qualify as "a walk" - there and back again and no longer than an hour.
Still, this was never intended to be a walking holiday. It's a chance to get away from work, the computers and pretty much the rest of the world, and please ourselves. To spend hours over coffee at the start of each day, just reading a book. Which is something we always struggle to find time for in "normal life." And then, since this is the final week of the World Snooker Championship, to spend most of the rest of the day watching the BBC's excellent coverage.
Like I said, we know that would be the very definition of hell for a lot of people. But we're loving every minute of it.
We're spending a week in the Lakes this week. Same place we stayed last time (and the time before) only it's just us this time so we've rented the cottage rather than the entire farmhouse.
Whenever we come away with mates we do tag along on the walks. The less physically demanding ones at least. All of them have been great fun, wonderful views, sights you wouldn't see unless you were walking, and we always get back from a walk feeling glad that we've done it. But left to our own devices we're considerably less energised. Yesterday afternoon we went for a walk on the beach at Seascale, but that'll be the one and only walk of the week and it doesn't really qualify as "a walk" - there and back again and no longer than an hour.
Still, this was never intended to be a walking holiday. It's a chance to get away from work, the computers and pretty much the rest of the world, and please ourselves. To spend hours over coffee at the start of each day, just reading a book. Which is something we always struggle to find time for in "normal life." And then, since this is the final week of the World Snooker Championship, to spend most of the rest of the day watching the BBC's excellent coverage.
Like I said, we know that would be the very definition of hell for a lot of people. But we're loving every minute of it.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Chocolate heaven since... er... 1657
One of the unique, clever and impeccably thoughtful gifts I received from Nikki last Christmas (her gifts always fall into at least two of those categories and more often than not all three. I don't know how she does it) was a voucher for a two-person "taste experience." A choice of any one of about two dozen venues dotted around the UK where we could turn up together and be treated to something foodie.
Options included cheese tasting, wine tasting and gourmet dining, but the only one with the combined benefits of most attractive nosh and proximity was the Famous 1657 Chocolate House at Kendal.
Normally of course this wouldn't tick the proximity box but as we set off this morning for a week in the Lakes Kendal was only a tiny diversion on the way to Wasdale. We arrived with plenty of time to spare. After a short riverside walk to kill that time we climbed the worn stone steps (which presumably have been trodden every day since 1657) and, not really knowing what to expect, crossed the threshold.
The current proprietor greeted us, ushered us to our reserved table in the window and introduced our own personal serving wench. She then ran through the details of exactly what our taste experience would entail.
We began with a mug of hot chocolate from a bewildering choice of flavours (we both selected the spicy "Aztec" option) accompanied by a slice of chocolate cake from an even larger list. Most of these are made in-house from traditional recipes developed by the original owner, although a small number (three on our menu for today, as far as I remember) are bought-in from local cake shops to swell the variety on offer.
Both were delicious.
After a short pause and a glass of water to refresh the palate, the wench returned bearing a plate of cut fruit and four small pots of pure melted chocolate - one each of dark and milk - in which to dip the fruit.
Heaven on a plate, and surprisingly filling. Once the fruit had been consumed we climbed the tiny spiral staircase to a comfy lounge to watch a short film on the growing, harvesting and production of the cocoa bean, after which we were invited into the emporium's basement shop to select 100g each from their handmade chocolate selection.
All told we were there just over an hour, and left well sated with our 100g bags (it worked out at 7-8 choccies each) tucked away for later. What a brilliant Christmas treat. Thanks babe!
Options included cheese tasting, wine tasting and gourmet dining, but the only one with the combined benefits of most attractive nosh and proximity was the Famous 1657 Chocolate House at Kendal.
The current proprietor greeted us, ushered us to our reserved table in the window and introduced our own personal serving wench. She then ran through the details of exactly what our taste experience would entail.
Both were delicious.
After a short pause and a glass of water to refresh the palate, the wench returned bearing a plate of cut fruit and four small pots of pure melted chocolate - one each of dark and milk - in which to dip the fruit.
All told we were there just over an hour, and left well sated with our 100g bags (it worked out at 7-8 choccies each) tucked away for later. What a brilliant Christmas treat. Thanks babe!
Friday, April 23, 2010
Cleaning cars
I don't clean my car.
It's always been a kind of "grudge purchase" - or grudge activity I suppose - with me. I never saw the point of washing something that was going to get dirty again more or less immediately. It's not like a freshly-laundered shirt, where you can avoid dropping your dinner down it. At least for a day or so. Usually. No, with a car, you can't avoid the rain, the mud, the fumes, the dust and - most recently - the volcanic ash. Cars get dirty no matter how "careful" you are.
So I don't bother. Unless it's a special occasion. Like the arrival of the outlaws. Which means it might get a wash once a year, if it's lucky. I drive past one of those "best hand job in Manchester" places every day after dropping Nikki at work, but I even begrudge the six quid it would cost me for the minor detour (it's right there on the main road, so only a swerve or two will do it) to let someone else wash it for me.
Don't get me wrong, I understand the attraction of owning and driving a gleaming polished machine. I just can't be arsed.
But I had to smile at the guy I saw pull in there this morning in his soft-top Merc. I mean, to my mind, the damn thing was ALREADY CLEAN.
It's always been a kind of "grudge purchase" - or grudge activity I suppose - with me. I never saw the point of washing something that was going to get dirty again more or less immediately. It's not like a freshly-laundered shirt, where you can avoid dropping your dinner down it. At least for a day or so. Usually. No, with a car, you can't avoid the rain, the mud, the fumes, the dust and - most recently - the volcanic ash. Cars get dirty no matter how "careful" you are.
So I don't bother. Unless it's a special occasion. Like the arrival of the outlaws. Which means it might get a wash once a year, if it's lucky. I drive past one of those "best hand job in Manchester" places every day after dropping Nikki at work, but I even begrudge the six quid it would cost me for the minor detour (it's right there on the main road, so only a swerve or two will do it) to let someone else wash it for me.
Don't get me wrong, I understand the attraction of owning and driving a gleaming polished machine. I just can't be arsed.
But I had to smile at the guy I saw pull in there this morning in his soft-top Merc. I mean, to my mind, the damn thing was ALREADY CLEAN.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
A bolt of lightning
Storm the Charts has been on hiatus since Thursday night. The first two rounds of the first week of polling had completed amid accusations of vote rigging, and some pretty heated sniping between rival bands. Despite claims that they "managed to rally the fans at the last minute" it looked pretty suss for two bands in the same poll to have both quintupled their votes in round two compared with the support they drew in the first round.
So the organiser has decided to pull the plug temporarily while he works on a way to make things fairer and less prone to multiple votes. This will undoubtedly not go down well with some factions, but will hopefully be greeted warmly and with encouragement by the majority, who apart from their obvious personal desire to find fame and fortune through their music, mostly also have the altruistic and selfless aim to promote indie music in general in the face of the suits.
So the organiser has decided to pull the plug temporarily while he works on a way to make things fairer and less prone to multiple votes. This will undoubtedly not go down well with some factions, but will hopefully be greeted warmly and with encouragement by the majority, who apart from their obvious personal desire to find fame and fortune through their music, mostly also have the altruistic and selfless aim to promote indie music in general in the face of the suits.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Maybe I'll be a musician
I've always wanted to play a musical instrument. You'll notice I said play, rather than learn. A deliberate choice of words, because it's the learning that's always put me off. Not having the time for it, partly, but also knowing myself well enough to admit, reluctantly, that I almost certainly wouldn't have the patience or determination for it either.
Recent musical activities in the shape of Beresford & Wallace have rekindled my interest in playing, and by a strange coincidence Natalie's keyboard has been lying on the study floor gathering dust for more than a year, silently nagging me to plug it in and run my fingers along its smooth white loveliness. With occasional smooth black loveliness thrown in, in the usual way of keyboards.
We popped in to Waterstones over Easter weekend for an OS map or two in preparation for our forthcoming jaunt to the Lakes, and while Nikki was trying to find the holiday reading she was after, my browsing led me to a book entitled Learn to Play Keyboards (with a free CD!). I was tempted. Skimming the first few pages was enough to convince me to buy it.
But owning the means to learn - a keyboard, a computer, and a book of lessons - and actually doing the learning are still quite widely separate things. Nevertheless the actual learning took a step closer yesterday when Annie called around to fix me up with a new soundcard and a music editing suite. In a trice the keyboard was connected up and working, and I was having a play with my very own soundbank. Yes flutes, oboes, grand pianos, church organs and many more are all now mine for the trying.
Lesson 1...
Recent musical activities in the shape of Beresford & Wallace have rekindled my interest in playing, and by a strange coincidence Natalie's keyboard has been lying on the study floor gathering dust for more than a year, silently nagging me to plug it in and run my fingers along its smooth white loveliness. With occasional smooth black loveliness thrown in, in the usual way of keyboards.
We popped in to Waterstones over Easter weekend for an OS map or two in preparation for our forthcoming jaunt to the Lakes, and while Nikki was trying to find the holiday reading she was after, my browsing led me to a book entitled Learn to Play Keyboards (with a free CD!). I was tempted. Skimming the first few pages was enough to convince me to buy it.
But owning the means to learn - a keyboard, a computer, and a book of lessons - and actually doing the learning are still quite widely separate things. Nevertheless the actual learning took a step closer yesterday when Annie called around to fix me up with a new soundcard and a music editing suite. In a trice the keyboard was connected up and working, and I was having a play with my very own soundbank. Yes flutes, oboes, grand pianos, church organs and many more are all now mine for the trying.
Lesson 1...
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Small fry
I haven't blogged much about our fish recently (let's be honest, I haven't blogged much about anything recently), but they've been doing fine. I'm being so diligent about doing their water tests once a week, and water changes at the same time, that I hardly recognise myself. If those poor creatures who lived in my cold water aquarium during the mid-eighties could see me, they'd stare in awe at the reformed character who does more than clean the tank once every six months.
Anyway that was then, and this is now, and I'm pleased to say our six cherry barbs have settled in very well and aren't exhibiting any of the shyness that barbs are renowned for. They all huddle at the front of the tank every time anyone walks into the room, expecting to be fed, and beyond that they pretty much look after themselves and don't do anything more remarkable than chase each other about a bit from time to time.
Until last night, when I happened to glance over while we were watching TV, and spotted a small piece of floating debris near the top of the tank. The filter usually does a pretty good job of removing anything like this, so I was surprised to see it, and even more surprised when I noticed it was moving. Against the current. Swimming, even. Scarcely able to believe my eyes I rushed over to the tank for a closer look. A tiny fish! Our barbs have spawned!
The little guy is barely half a centimetre long, but appears to be a strong swimmer. He (or she - we won't be able to tell for a few months) keeps his distance from the adults. A sensible strategy, because they tend to eat their fry when nobody's looking. He's done pretty well to survive this long under his own steam, because we've done nothing special to promote breeding in the tank, and not provided any of the recommended feeding material (like "infusoria" - whatever that is) for fry, but the fact that he's grown big enough to be seen free swimming without a black background means he must already be a few weeks old.
Which also means he's somehow managed to survive a filter change. I'll have to be even more careful from now on. We've called him Kevin. Well, you know, "Stephen" was a bit too obvious.
Until last night, when I happened to glance over while we were watching TV, and spotted a small piece of floating debris near the top of the tank. The filter usually does a pretty good job of removing anything like this, so I was surprised to see it, and even more surprised when I noticed it was moving. Against the current. Swimming, even. Scarcely able to believe my eyes I rushed over to the tank for a closer look. A tiny fish! Our barbs have spawned!
The little guy is barely half a centimetre long, but appears to be a strong swimmer. He (or she - we won't be able to tell for a few months) keeps his distance from the adults. A sensible strategy, because they tend to eat their fry when nobody's looking. He's done pretty well to survive this long under his own steam, because we've done nothing special to promote breeding in the tank, and not provided any of the recommended feeding material (like "infusoria" - whatever that is) for fry, but the fact that he's grown big enough to be seen free swimming without a black background means he must already be a few weeks old.
Which also means he's somehow managed to survive a filter change. I'll have to be even more careful from now on. We've called him Kevin. Well, you know, "Stephen" was a bit too obvious.
Friday, April 09, 2010
Anticipation
There's a definite warmth to the air this afternoon. A suggestion of incipient summer. A cursory check of the weekend weather forecast suggests it will hold nice all day Saturday and most of Sunday, so maybe we'll get our asses in gear and start the serious gardening of 2010, after last weekend's brief sojourn outside to complete The First Cut of the Year, and trim back the rampant hedge which had once again spent the winter encroaching on the path.
It's been a quiet week mainly, apart from Wednesday when I hauled myself off to the Spread to attend auditions for this year's Chorlton Players "hotpot." Normally a sketch show, this year they're having a vaudeville theme, so I thought I'd chuck my name into the hat for the position of MC.
In the seven or eight years we've been helping out with the Players I've never felt the urge to tread the boards, but I do have a track record (well, to be accurate, one previous outing) as MC in the style of Leonard Sachs, so I thought "why not?"
We're also up for singing a couple of tracks off Weird & Wonderful during the show, which should be a laugh. If I can stop shaking, that is.
It's been a quiet week mainly, apart from Wednesday when I hauled myself off to the Spread to attend auditions for this year's Chorlton Players "hotpot." Normally a sketch show, this year they're having a vaudeville theme, so I thought I'd chuck my name into the hat for the position of MC.
In the seven or eight years we've been helping out with the Players I've never felt the urge to tread the boards, but I do have a track record (well, to be accurate, one previous outing) as MC in the style of Leonard Sachs, so I thought "why not?"
We're also up for singing a couple of tracks off Weird & Wonderful during the show, which should be a laugh. If I can stop shaking, that is.
Thursday, April 08, 2010
The absentee landlord
Three and a half years we've lived in this house, and in all that time we haven't had a single leaflet through our door from the incumbent MP. Regular news of what the Lib Dems are doing to brighten up the neighbourhood, revamp the parks, improve safety and discourage yobbishness in the parish, but from our high profile Labour MP? Nothing. Not a sausage.
Well, it's been a day or so since Gordo let slip the news about the election (which everyone had been predicting since before Christmas) and what's this I see on my doormat? A red-top leaflet prominently featuring a photograph of a smiling Gerald, a few pathetic sentences about his recent good deeds, and a plea for my vote.
Ha!
I made up my mind many, many years ago that it would take more than election-time canvassing to secure my loyalties. I don't know where Gerald has been since the last election but there's not been a single sighting in this neck of the woods since we moved in. Too late, mate. Way too late.
PS: PVR clock display on powering down after tonight's telly? 23:33. Nice.
Well, it's been a day or so since Gordo let slip the news about the election (which everyone had been predicting since before Christmas) and what's this I see on my doormat? A red-top leaflet prominently featuring a photograph of a smiling Gerald, a few pathetic sentences about his recent good deeds, and a plea for my vote.
Ha!
I made up my mind many, many years ago that it would take more than election-time canvassing to secure my loyalties. I don't know where Gerald has been since the last election but there's not been a single sighting in this neck of the woods since we moved in. Too late, mate. Way too late.
PS: PVR clock display on powering down after tonight's telly? 23:33. Nice.
Friday, April 02, 2010
22:22
I've been meaning to post on this for a while, but tonight brought further impetus to the subject as the PVR went into standby and switched over from displaying the channel to telling the time.
22:22
If I was a statistician, or even moderately masterful at mathematics, I could probably (see what I did there?) work out the chances of one of these "significant" time patterns being visible for any given time you glance at a clock. But that would take all the magic out of it.
Fact is, it feels like it happens to me more often than simple statistics would suggest. I regularly get up in the night (no prizes for guessing why) to greet the bedroom clock showing what I'd call a notable time. 1:01. 2:34. A little while ago - the events that originally prompted me to write on the subject - I woke one morning at 1:11, the following morning at 2:22 and the day after that at 4:44. Don't ask me where 3:33 went. I felt like I'd skipped a day.
22:22
If I was a statistician, or even moderately masterful at mathematics, I could probably (see what I did there?) work out the chances of one of these "significant" time patterns being visible for any given time you glance at a clock. But that would take all the magic out of it.
Fact is, it feels like it happens to me more often than simple statistics would suggest. I regularly get up in the night (no prizes for guessing why) to greet the bedroom clock showing what I'd call a notable time. 1:01. 2:34. A little while ago - the events that originally prompted me to write on the subject - I woke one morning at 1:11, the following morning at 2:22 and the day after that at 4:44. Don't ask me where 3:33 went. I felt like I'd skipped a day.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Book Review: The Secret History
"Haunting, compelling and brilliant," gushes the Times critic on the front cover. I'd give him (or her) one out of three at best. Brilliant it may be, but I found it neither haunting nor compelling.
It's a good enough read, don't get me wrong. In parts it fairly zips along, verging in places almost on the gripping. But then it begins to meander, losing its way in the minutiae of student life and recording the passage of time with infinite care and detail when a simple paragraph starting "The following Spring..." would suffice. One of the club members, with classical Greek learning in her background, suggested that Tartt was attempting to mirror a Greek tragedy (throughout the book and not only in the part where the group attempt to recreate a bacchanal). If true then it's a clever idea, as an intellectual challenge, but slightly pointless in the knowledge that it will bypass 99.9% of your audience. Still, don't let me be accused of supporting dumbing down.
Much of the writing is excellent but in places it loses any pretensions to grandeur and becomes almost clunky. I was left with the impression that Tartt had dashed off a draft in her own style and then spent several years going over the text, overlaying it with clever and artful prose in an effort to - well - polish it as I mentioned above, and that she'd simply missed a bit here and there.
The real downfall of the piece though, is the assembly of unbelievable characters. Dark and moody Henry, stoically battling his demons (or alternatively just being a boring snob); coquettish Camilla who can't quite manage on her own (not very 20th century that is it? But very classical Greek, apparently); charming and well-connected Julian who despite having travelled the world and met just about every famous person you ever heard of, is now content to hide away in an academic backwater teaching a handful of drugged-up ne'er-do-wells and getting up the nose of the college board.
So in the end my impression is that it's a load of old tosh. Readable, well-written (for the most part) tosh, but tosh all the same.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Vinyl: The Red Album
And, while we're at it, the Blue Album.
Artist: The Beatles
Owned on digital media: No
Want to replace: No
OK, Amazon, you are taking the piss. £15.48 for this? The music on it is almost 50 years old. Two of the artists are dead, and the other two don't really need any more money than they already have. I mean, Paul. Even after his expensive divorce he's still only down to his last 600 million.
So no. No thanks. This music may well have been part of my childhood (it was), formed the audio backdrop to many of my most treasured memories (it did) and maybe I would enjoy hearing most of the tracks again (I would), but most of the 50-year-old music I'm familiar with turns up for free on give-away CDs in Sunday papers.
The fact that the remaining Beatles, or their record company, or the estate of the late Michael Jackson, or whoever the hell owns the rights to these tracks nowadays, is STILL trying to squeeze the last scuffed penny out of the music-buying public all these years later is nothing short of a national scandal.
A fiver maybe. For the pair. But thirty quid? You're 'aving a larrrrf.
Owned on digital media: No
Want to replace: No
OK, Amazon, you are taking the piss. £15.48 for this? The music on it is almost 50 years old. Two of the artists are dead, and the other two don't really need any more money than they already have. I mean, Paul. Even after his expensive divorce he's still only down to his last 600 million.
So no. No thanks. This music may well have been part of my childhood (it was), formed the audio backdrop to many of my most treasured memories (it did) and maybe I would enjoy hearing most of the tracks again (I would), but most of the 50-year-old music I'm familiar with turns up for free on give-away CDs in Sunday papers.
A fiver maybe. For the pair. But thirty quid? You're 'aving a larrrrf.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Talent Week
One of the... advantages... of working for a large corporate is that occasionally you have the chance to pitch in with one of the corporate initiatives. The one in question today is Impact On Society (IOS), where the company get to feel good about themselves by "giving something back" to the local community.
This year, that takes the shape of contributing to Business in the Community's Talent Week initiative. For several weeks, young people up and down the country have been logging on to a website to create their "talent bricks" - a brick-shaped doodle containing art of their choice, and a statement about what they think is their best talent and what they'd like to do with it when they leave school. Some of us had already spent a day in a local school talking to the kids and helping them with that part and now, in Talent Week itself, a selection of those bricks have been stuck up on a wall in the Arndale Centre, and there's a week-long programme of activities, demonstrations and stalls designed to connect the kids with the world of work.
And I got to spend the day on the Fujitsu stand.
We had a few banners, some information about the skills we use (obviously there's more to the company than just IT - like many companies we need managers, finance people, graphic designers, good communicators, sales and marketing, etc), and a taped-off rectangle of floor where we were going to play games.
Land the plane
A bunch of blindfolded passersby (the aeroplanes), instructed using only the words Forward, Back, Left, Right and Stop, by a smaller bunch of passersby (the air traffic controllers) in an effort to get them from one side of the rectangle to the other while avoiding the groups of cones (representing storms, pylons, etc) that we distributed around the play area once the blindfolds were on.
Clearly this game is all about communication skills, and realising that some people will interpret instructions differently from how you intended them. And... it's a lot of fun.
Rafting game
Small group (say 3-7) of people, same number of floor tiles, move from one side of the rectangle to the other stepping only on the floor tiles. The tiles can have a maximum of two feet and one hand on them at any one time. Any more and the tile is removed (it has "sunk"). Any tile left unoccupied for more than 5 seconds is removed (it has "floated away").
Again this is about communication, but also about teamwork and problem solving. The only way x people can stand on x-1 tiles (so that the one at the back can be passed to the person at the front) is by sharing tiles and/or standing on one leg, so you're going to end up hanging on to a total stranger. And... it's a lot of fun.
Lego building
Two boxes containing the same assortment (number and colour) of Lego bricks (well, Duplo if we're being entirely accurate). Only one box has instructions to build a tower. Three players. Player A builds the tower using the instructions. Player B watches, and relays the method to Player C (who cannot see Player A) so that s/he can build the same tower from the bricks in the second box. There is only one right way of building it, proven by being able to lift it up at the end when holding only the top layer of bricks.
This might have been a lot of fun, but no-one wanted to play it (although we did have a go between ourselves at lunch time).
So, you know, this isn't the kind of thing we do for a day job, and that was obvious from the design of our stand. BitC had done their bit by including something like "be Top Gun, learn how to land a plane" on the section of their banners devoted to Monday, but whoever designed our stand had somehow forgotten to include this important piece of information. There was absolutely nothing on any of our banners or posters that talked about landing a plane. We had "skills" and a list of customers, and the company logo. And a rectangle made of red and blue plastic tape. And... er... that's it.
If it hadn't been for the good offices of the compère, (the excellent Terence from BBC Your Game), I don't think we'd have had a single player all day. As it was, we handed out almost 100 raffle tickets during the day (play a game, get a ticket, win a laptop bag), and we got to see several demos by local cheerleaders, Olly the ball kid (Youngest Freestyle football World Champion - see him on YouTube - who knew keepy-uppy could be a life choice?) and a couple of boxing coaches who teach non-contact boxing as a keep fit regime. And we drank a lot of Starbucks.
Did we feel good about ourselves at the end of the day. You bet. Although my legs were aching a bit. And I could have done without the strange conversation with the gentleman who claimed to be "Amber Level."
This year, that takes the shape of contributing to Business in the Community's Talent Week initiative. For several weeks, young people up and down the country have been logging on to a website to create their "talent bricks" - a brick-shaped doodle containing art of their choice, and a statement about what they think is their best talent and what they'd like to do with it when they leave school. Some of us had already spent a day in a local school talking to the kids and helping them with that part and now, in Talent Week itself, a selection of those bricks have been stuck up on a wall in the Arndale Centre, and there's a week-long programme of activities, demonstrations and stalls designed to connect the kids with the world of work.
And I got to spend the day on the Fujitsu stand.
We had a few banners, some information about the skills we use (obviously there's more to the company than just IT - like many companies we need managers, finance people, graphic designers, good communicators, sales and marketing, etc), and a taped-off rectangle of floor where we were going to play games.
Land the plane
A bunch of blindfolded passersby (the aeroplanes), instructed using only the words Forward, Back, Left, Right and Stop, by a smaller bunch of passersby (the air traffic controllers) in an effort to get them from one side of the rectangle to the other while avoiding the groups of cones (representing storms, pylons, etc) that we distributed around the play area once the blindfolds were on.
Clearly this game is all about communication skills, and realising that some people will interpret instructions differently from how you intended them. And... it's a lot of fun.
Rafting game
Small group (say 3-7) of people, same number of floor tiles, move from one side of the rectangle to the other stepping only on the floor tiles. The tiles can have a maximum of two feet and one hand on them at any one time. Any more and the tile is removed (it has "sunk"). Any tile left unoccupied for more than 5 seconds is removed (it has "floated away").
Again this is about communication, but also about teamwork and problem solving. The only way x people can stand on x-1 tiles (so that the one at the back can be passed to the person at the front) is by sharing tiles and/or standing on one leg, so you're going to end up hanging on to a total stranger. And... it's a lot of fun.
Lego building
Two boxes containing the same assortment (number and colour) of Lego bricks (well, Duplo if we're being entirely accurate). Only one box has instructions to build a tower. Three players. Player A builds the tower using the instructions. Player B watches, and relays the method to Player C (who cannot see Player A) so that s/he can build the same tower from the bricks in the second box. There is only one right way of building it, proven by being able to lift it up at the end when holding only the top layer of bricks.
This might have been a lot of fun, but no-one wanted to play it (although we did have a go between ourselves at lunch time).
So, you know, this isn't the kind of thing we do for a day job, and that was obvious from the design of our stand. BitC had done their bit by including something like "be Top Gun, learn how to land a plane" on the section of their banners devoted to Monday, but whoever designed our stand had somehow forgotten to include this important piece of information. There was absolutely nothing on any of our banners or posters that talked about landing a plane. We had "skills" and a list of customers, and the company logo. And a rectangle made of red and blue plastic tape. And... er... that's it.
If it hadn't been for the good offices of the compère, (the excellent Terence from BBC Your Game), I don't think we'd have had a single player all day. As it was, we handed out almost 100 raffle tickets during the day (play a game, get a ticket, win a laptop bag), and we got to see several demos by local cheerleaders, Olly the ball kid (Youngest Freestyle football World Champion - see him on YouTube - who knew keepy-uppy could be a life choice?) and a couple of boxing coaches who teach non-contact boxing as a keep fit regime. And we drank a lot of Starbucks.
Did we feel good about ourselves at the end of the day. You bet. Although my legs were aching a bit. And I could have done without the strange conversation with the gentleman who claimed to be "Amber Level."
Friday, March 26, 2010
There's a storm brewing
So the entry to Storm the Charts closed on Tuesday night, but Wes (the organiser) had a late flurry of entries - something of the order of 200 I believe - which obviously need to be processed before voting can start.
It was always going to be a bit of a tall order starting the voting the day after entries closed, but procrastination must be playing a huge part in this. Acts leaving it until the very last minute before submitting their details. It's undoubtedly also true that it's taken a while for news of the competition to get around, and maybe some of the latecomers were busy recording their best, new material so that they can stream it as required by the rules of entry.
As an arch procrastinator I can hardly complain at the latecomers, and their lateness doesn't affect me directly. It's not me who has to trawl through a pile of emails linking all the streaming sites and making sure the playlists are up-to-date. Wes is doing a stonking job. Can't wait to start voting though. I've been keeping up with the listening and there's some ace acts in that journal, which is now over 400 long.
For Beresford & Wallace, things are progressing nicely. As you'll have seen below the album is now available to buy online. Other retailers will come on stream soon, and we've applied for registration with the PPL Repertoire to make sure our tracks are eligible for the UK charts. It doesn't take long to organise this, and we still have more than two full months before the Storm. Plenty of time to get all our ducks in a row.
It was always going to be a bit of a tall order starting the voting the day after entries closed, but procrastination must be playing a huge part in this. Acts leaving it until the very last minute before submitting their details. It's undoubtedly also true that it's taken a while for news of the competition to get around, and maybe some of the latecomers were busy recording their best, new material so that they can stream it as required by the rules of entry.
As an arch procrastinator I can hardly complain at the latecomers, and their lateness doesn't affect me directly. It's not me who has to trawl through a pile of emails linking all the streaming sites and making sure the playlists are up-to-date. Wes is doing a stonking job. Can't wait to start voting though. I've been keeping up with the listening and there's some ace acts in that journal, which is now over 400 long.
For Beresford & Wallace, things are progressing nicely. As you'll have seen below the album is now available to buy online. Other retailers will come on stream soon, and we've applied for registration with the PPL Repertoire to make sure our tracks are eligible for the UK charts. It doesn't take long to organise this, and we still have more than two full months before the Storm. Plenty of time to get all our ducks in a row.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
I don't listen to the words
Spent last Saturday evening with mates, being royally entertained with wine, beer, chilli and excellent conversation as always.
During the course of the evening I happened to mention to Ritchie that I'd been listening to a couple of albums by one of his current favourite bands that he'd burnt for me last time we'd seen him, and that while I liked the music I thought their lyrics veered just the wrong side of pompous for me, being quite overblown and flowery. Trying too hard to be meaningful, if you know what I mean. His response?
"Oh, I don't listen to the words. I'm only interested in the music."
To my further astonishment, almost immediately, Ian agreed.
As someone who not only has had an abiding interest in the words to songs from a very early age (I still vividly remember singing "24 Hours from Tulsa" on my way to school, aged 8, and by that time I already had several years of lyric learning under my belt) but also now writes lyrics himself, I found this more than passing strange. Actually a more accurate term would be incomprehensible. It had literally never occurred to me before that anyone could listen to a song and not be interested in the words. Instrumental pieces, sure. Orchestral pieces, naturally. But the defining part of a song, for me, has always been the lyrics.
Just goes to show how even people you think you know really well can still surprise you.
During the course of the evening I happened to mention to Ritchie that I'd been listening to a couple of albums by one of his current favourite bands that he'd burnt for me last time we'd seen him, and that while I liked the music I thought their lyrics veered just the wrong side of pompous for me, being quite overblown and flowery. Trying too hard to be meaningful, if you know what I mean. His response?
"Oh, I don't listen to the words. I'm only interested in the music."
To my further astonishment, almost immediately, Ian agreed.
As someone who not only has had an abiding interest in the words to songs from a very early age (I still vividly remember singing "24 Hours from Tulsa" on my way to school, aged 8, and by that time I already had several years of lyric learning under my belt) but also now writes lyrics himself, I found this more than passing strange. Actually a more accurate term would be incomprehensible. It had literally never occurred to me before that anyone could listen to a song and not be interested in the words. Instrumental pieces, sure. Orchestral pieces, naturally. But the defining part of a song, for me, has always been the lyrics.
Just goes to show how even people you think you know really well can still surprise you.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Weird & Wonderful available to buy
We've just received confirmation from our digital distribution partner cdbaby that our album is available for download. How exciting is that? You have to go direct to them at the moment, but iTunes, Amazon, and other digital retailers will have it available in a few weeks.
Anyone in the UK reading this and wanting to download it PLEASE wait until we know whether or not we're going to be selected as one of the 40 acts taking part in Storm the Charts. If we make the final 40 we'll need as many downloads as possible in June.
But if you're outside the UK and you'd like to buy it, be our guest! :o)
Anyone in the UK reading this and wanting to download it PLEASE wait until we know whether or not we're going to be selected as one of the 40 acts taking part in Storm the Charts. If we make the final 40 we'll need as many downloads as possible in June.
But if you're outside the UK and you'd like to buy it, be our guest! :o)
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Malcolm X's brother
Is alive and well and living in the Slough area.
At least that's the conclusion I came to after noticing another personalised plate this morning on my journey to our (extremely salubrious and well-appointed) offices in Slough. Naturally I expect to see more such plates whenever I travel Darn Sarf, as they are so much posher (not to mention richer) than us up here in Flat Cap and Whippet Land, but even so it's still a pleasant experience when I happen across one as well done as RU55 ELX. It adorned a black, sporty-looking number, and was spaced out to spell RUSSEL X. So nice one, Russell.
By contrast I suffered a dearth of personalised plates on the journey home, but my addled brain (I'd spent six hours in a meeting examining the 3,500 option settings for Microsoft Office 2007. It was a wonder I was still awake at all) did spot AR51 LMA, which I interpreted as "ARSEY LLAMA" - entirely appropriate I thought, given llamas' reputation for being, well, arsey.
At least that's the conclusion I came to after noticing another personalised plate this morning on my journey to our (extremely salubrious and well-appointed) offices in Slough. Naturally I expect to see more such plates whenever I travel Darn Sarf, as they are so much posher (not to mention richer) than us up here in Flat Cap and Whippet Land, but even so it's still a pleasant experience when I happen across one as well done as RU55 ELX. It adorned a black, sporty-looking number, and was spaced out to spell RUSSEL X. So nice one, Russell.
By contrast I suffered a dearth of personalised plates on the journey home, but my addled brain (I'd spent six hours in a meeting examining the 3,500 option settings for Microsoft Office 2007. It was a wonder I was still awake at all) did spot AR51 LMA, which I interpreted as "ARSEY LLAMA" - entirely appropriate I thought, given llamas' reputation for being, well, arsey.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Spooky Facebook is watching
Arriving at my puter this morning, cup of steaming Java in hand, I was intrigued by one of the suggested names at the top right-hand corner of my Facebook homepage.
Facebook users will be familiar with this part of the page, where seemingly random but occasionally appropriate people are suggested as friends. It's usually people who are already friends with your other friends, or belong to similar groups, which normally accounts for the random ones (Facebook can choose any of the thousands of people who give "Manchester" as their location, of which I only know a few dozen at most).
But this was different. A guy with a name so unusual that I have only ever met one other person with the same name, and that was the bloke who used to run the karaoke and other entertainment evenings and daily poolside events at our favourite Greek island resort on Rhodes. I never knew his last name. He was universally known by his adopted first name. The unusual one. So I followed the guy's link to see if I could find out more about who it was.
And...
It IS the bloke who used to run the karaoke at our favourite Greek island resort on Rhodes!!
How spooky is that? We haven't even been there since 2005, and as far as I can tell there is no connection that Facebook could possibly have known about to come up with him as a suggested friend. He only has two other friends so clearly hasn't been on it long. Just weird.
Facebook users will be familiar with this part of the page, where seemingly random but occasionally appropriate people are suggested as friends. It's usually people who are already friends with your other friends, or belong to similar groups, which normally accounts for the random ones (Facebook can choose any of the thousands of people who give "Manchester" as their location, of which I only know a few dozen at most).
But this was different. A guy with a name so unusual that I have only ever met one other person with the same name, and that was the bloke who used to run the karaoke and other entertainment evenings and daily poolside events at our favourite Greek island resort on Rhodes. I never knew his last name. He was universally known by his adopted first name. The unusual one. So I followed the guy's link to see if I could find out more about who it was.
And...
It IS the bloke who used to run the karaoke at our favourite Greek island resort on Rhodes!!
How spooky is that? We haven't even been there since 2005, and as far as I can tell there is no connection that Facebook could possibly have known about to come up with him as a suggested friend. He only has two other friends so clearly hasn't been on it long. Just weird.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Good verses evil
I just received one of those endless advertising emails from Amazon, attempting to persuade me to buy another game for my PS3. I bought a game, once, so naturally their marketing droids assume I'm going to be interested in any game they care to throw my way.
I noticed this one was billed as the ultimate fight of "good verses evil."
That'll be good versus evil then, you illiterate morons.
I noticed this one was billed as the ultimate fight of "good verses evil."
That'll be good versus evil then, you illiterate morons.
Saturday, March 20, 2010
Ears burning
I've been neglecting this blog for the last fortnight or so (hence the flurry of updates this morning), but I have an excuse. It is, of course, Storm the Charts, which I admit has been occupying most of my (non-work) attention while I apply, wait to be listed, listen to all the other acts' music (over 300 acts signed up now, and the Facebook group tipped over the 17,000 member mark earlier this morning), and email all my friends - yes, actually. All of them.
So I know I'm responsible for a good couple of dozen members of the group (I saw them sign up after the emails went out) and may even have introduced a few people to the whole idea of Facebook. Not sure that's such a good thing ;o)
It is now indisputable that if every member of the group downloads the same track in the target week, that track will enter the top ten. How cool is that? Of course we're still hoping to do a lot better than that. Not everyone will be able to afford the £40 it would cost them to download ALL 40 tracks, but we should be able to do better than 1.
So I know I'm responsible for a good couple of dozen members of the group (I saw them sign up after the emails went out) and may even have introduced a few people to the whole idea of Facebook. Not sure that's such a good thing ;o)
It is now indisputable that if every member of the group downloads the same track in the target week, that track will enter the top ten. How cool is that? Of course we're still hoping to do a lot better than that. Not everyone will be able to afford the £40 it would cost them to download ALL 40 tracks, but we should be able to do better than 1.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
We're up!
After a trepidatious few days between me sending off the "for your consideration" email, and said email rising to the top of Wes's (probably absolutely overflowing) inbox, Beresford & Wallace finally made an appearance on the Storm the Charts Livejournal list of artists. At number 215.
That just means we're the 215th to apply. It's not a rank.
You can see the whole list here: http://stormthecharts.livejournal.com/
I plan to listen to every track posted. I'm not naive enough to expect everyone will do the same - I guess most bands will only be in it to promote their own work - but if only a small fraction of the thousands of group members plays Spin Doctor we'll have reached many more ears than we ever expected.
That just means we're the 215th to apply. It's not a rank.
You can see the whole list here: http://stormthecharts.livejournal.com/
I plan to listen to every track posted. I'm not naive enough to expect everyone will do the same - I guess most bands will only be in it to promote their own work - but if only a small fraction of the thousands of group members plays Spin Doctor we'll have reached many more ears than we ever expected.
Friday, March 12, 2010
That photo
We reconvened the photo shoot yesterday evening, with Nikki behind the camera this time to save the lawn, and this - after a bit of work with the GIMP - is the result as it will appear on the inside front cover of the album.
The sepia tint, soft focus and background colour are all chosen to match the livery of the album's existing cover art (front and back). The airbrushing of the bags under our eyes was entirely Annie's idea and I should make it clear that I abhor doctored photos in all their guises (*cough*). I mean, who do I think I am? A flippin' rock star or something? I'll be on the cover of Heat magazine next, and talking about my liposuction.
I don't think.
I don't think.
Tuesday, March 09, 2010
Storm force
Storm the Charts - we're on again, thanks to Wes and the gang changing the rules to mean we don't have to be downloadable by the application deadline (March 23), only the download deadline (June 5).
Still no guarantee of being chosen, of course, but hey - at least we're in the game. And the boost to our online profile can't hurt either. At the time of writing the Facebook group has 12,000+ members and there are 130 bands/artists registered. You've got to believe that a fair proportion of the group members - who all get to vote on which songs make the shortlist for the top 40 attempt - will listen to as many tracks as they can before they make up their minds - and at least some of them might like the music even if we don't make the shortlist.
Still no guarantee of being chosen, of course, but hey - at least we're in the game. And the boost to our online profile can't hurt either. At the time of writing the Facebook group has 12,000+ members and there are 130 bands/artists registered. You've got to believe that a fair proportion of the group members - who all get to vote on which songs make the shortlist for the top 40 attempt - will listen to as many tracks as they can before they make up their minds - and at least some of them might like the music even if we don't make the shortlist.
Sunday, March 07, 2010
Mystery solved
Even after all these years dealing with Microsoft technologies, there are still wrinkles to learn. And more often than not, you can read "bug" where I've written "wrinkle."
A few days ago, shortly after the release of Weird and Wonderful, I changed my standard email sig to include a line directing people to the Beresford & Wallace website. As you'd expect, this worked fine when composing a new email message, but from time to time I decide to include my sig in a reply, and the first time I did this I noticed the extra line was missing.
Huh?
I checked the new sig. Yep, all fine. So where was this copy of the old version coming from? I thought maybe Outlook had cached it somewhere, so I restarted it. Made no difference. I rebooted the whole PC. Nope. So I resorted to a search of my whole disk for "Signatures."
Lo and behold, the default Signature folder had three copies of my standard sig, only one of which had the new date on it (and the new addition in it). I noticed the new one was an RTF file and of the unchanged ones, one was an HTML file and the other a text file. I had no recollection of creating these, but it was clearly no coincidence that the "problem" only occurred when replying to an email, and the two format options for replies are... HTML or text.
With a small light flickering into life in my head, I deleted the rogue files, returned to Outlook, fired up an email reply and inserted a signature. Whaddaya know... Outlook creates the other versions for you. How handy is that? Well... not very handy at all actually, seein' as it's not intelligent enough to spot when the original sig changes, and copy those changes over for you too.
Like I said. A bug.
A few days ago, shortly after the release of Weird and Wonderful, I changed my standard email sig to include a line directing people to the Beresford & Wallace website. As you'd expect, this worked fine when composing a new email message, but from time to time I decide to include my sig in a reply, and the first time I did this I noticed the extra line was missing.
Huh?
I checked the new sig. Yep, all fine. So where was this copy of the old version coming from? I thought maybe Outlook had cached it somewhere, so I restarted it. Made no difference. I rebooted the whole PC. Nope. So I resorted to a search of my whole disk for "Signatures."
Lo and behold, the default Signature folder had three copies of my standard sig, only one of which had the new date on it (and the new addition in it). I noticed the new one was an RTF file and of the unchanged ones, one was an HTML file and the other a text file. I had no recollection of creating these, but it was clearly no coincidence that the "problem" only occurred when replying to an email, and the two format options for replies are... HTML or text.
With a small light flickering into life in my head, I deleted the rogue files, returned to Outlook, fired up an email reply and inserted a signature. Whaddaya know... Outlook creates the other versions for you. How handy is that? Well... not very handy at all actually, seein' as it's not intelligent enough to spot when the original sig changes, and copy those changes over for you too.
Like I said. A bug.
Friday, March 05, 2010
DIY photo shoot
After a brief discussion about what should appear on the inside front cover of the album, Annie and I deployed our stunning originality to come up with the idea of: a photo of us.
I know. Don't.
After an extended period of dull weather, the sun shone on us yesterday - literally - so we decided to snatch a few moments at lunchtime and take said photo. Only there was just the two of us around. Time to deploy the tripod. Naturally this meant I had to plod up and down the garden, lining up the photo, hurrying back to be in it, trekking back again to check the result, adjusting the angle, trying another pose. I won't need to bother with the first lawn cutting of the season: I've worn it all out.
We took five in all, and as far as either of us could tell from the small screen on my camera, two of them were OK. It was only when they were displayed full-size on our PCs that the truth became apparent. The sunshine, lovely as it was, had caused severe squinting. As in, our eyes appeared to have gone into hiding. Sunken into the depths of our brains.
Another photo shoot will be required, on a marginally less effulgent day. David Bailey never has this problem.
I know. Don't.
After an extended period of dull weather, the sun shone on us yesterday - literally - so we decided to snatch a few moments at lunchtime and take said photo. Only there was just the two of us around. Time to deploy the tripod. Naturally this meant I had to plod up and down the garden, lining up the photo, hurrying back to be in it, trekking back again to check the result, adjusting the angle, trying another pose. I won't need to bother with the first lawn cutting of the season: I've worn it all out.
We took five in all, and as far as either of us could tell from the small screen on my camera, two of them were OK. It was only when they were displayed full-size on our PCs that the truth became apparent. The sunshine, lovely as it was, had caused severe squinting. As in, our eyes appeared to have gone into hiding. Sunken into the depths of our brains.
Another photo shoot will be required, on a marginally less effulgent day. David Bailey never has this problem.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Making do with instant
Major and ongoing disturbance to sleep patterns has its advantages. For a long time now, one or other of us has been waking up between 5 and 5.30 - occasionally even earlier - and not being able to get back to sleep. Not having to leave until 7.30 to take Nikki to work, such an early rise time translates into a 2-hour morning stint at the puter and - the real bonus - enough time to enjoy a pot of real coffee.
The downside is flaking out in front of the TV by 8.30, the consequent early bedtime, and an inevitable early wake-up again. It's a vicious circle, I tell you!
But guess what? Something even more vicious? The one day in - what? 20? 30? - that we do manage to stay asleep until the alarm kicks in at 6.30, means there's only time for one cup of (instant) coffee. And when you've been used to savouring two mugs of delicious Java fresh from the cafetière, that really bites.
The downside is flaking out in front of the TV by 8.30, the consequent early bedtime, and an inevitable early wake-up again. It's a vicious circle, I tell you!
But guess what? Something even more vicious? The one day in - what? 20? 30? - that we do manage to stay asleep until the alarm kicks in at 6.30, means there's only time for one cup of (instant) coffee. And when you've been used to savouring two mugs of delicious Java fresh from the cafetière, that really bites.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Strangely quiet in the studio
After the rush (both temporal and emotional) we went through getting Weird and Wonderful out into the public domain, this week has been strangely anticlimactic.
I've likened it to an exciting train ride - a magical mystery trip if you like.
The train barrels into the station... and there's no-one there to meet you. You step down, the train pulls out with a blast of its whistle, and you're left standing on the platform. Suddenly there's no noise, or movement, or excitement. Just silence, emptiness, and a still, small feeling of expectation.
This could be the start of something. Or it could be another deserted whistle stop cafe in the long journey of life. Either way, I think it'll be a while before we can tell the difference.
I've likened it to an exciting train ride - a magical mystery trip if you like.
The train barrels into the station... and there's no-one there to meet you. You step down, the train pulls out with a blast of its whistle, and you're left standing on the platform. Suddenly there's no noise, or movement, or excitement. Just silence, emptiness, and a still, small feeling of expectation.
This could be the start of something. Or it could be another deserted whistle stop cafe in the long journey of life. Either way, I think it'll be a while before we can tell the difference.
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