The answer was of course Sir Cliff. Who had no idea apparently that his song Honky Tonk Angel was referring to a prostitute until it was subtly pointed out to him after it had been released.
This week so far has been one of the most hectic ever. We’re going away in a few days time and I’m playing pre-catch up. This wasn’t helped by our servers playing rotten sods – aided by me I might add who crashed the system well after the only person with permission to reset the server was long gone. Monday was an 11 hour day and today was fairly short knowing that I’ll be up to my neck on Wednesday and Thursday.
Harry MdDowell, friend of Lynn’s family died on Monday of asbestosis – what a rotten way to go. I met him a few times, but he was hardly a mate. His funeral is on Thursday, the day before we travel of Northern Ireland with my parents and the Big Girl so thank the lord above we’ll be missing that. Given the Marno’s, it’ll be a drama fest being my capabilities. Lynn has kept her job after being job matched, and I’ve been told my boss that after being job matched meself I should be going up a grade. Oh the career rages on an express-train like pace. In 2000 years I’ll be head of ICT!
More good news. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this but Carly disposed of her mobile phone along with cash and cards on a train last Wednesday. Thank goodness for the kind station staff at Oxford station who picked it up and kept it aside for her. After they (or a passenger) raided the cash first. I was dreading paying out for a new phone and a new copy of Talks (speech software used by blind people on mobiles) which would have been around £180 – 250 smackeroonies. ]
This may be the last entry for a while as I’ll be away for a week or so, and in the meantime, have more work than I could possibly throw a large plank of wood at. I’m sort of dreading/looking forward to the holiday with my parents in NI, mainly because its their first time there, they haven’t met the crazy Marnos (who are a lovely bunch of people, especially Granny Annie (my mum in law, my two sisters in law Caron and Sandra, and Donna. But love them or hate them, they can be hard work. And let’s face it, after the last holiday I went on with my parents, to Prague, an unmitigated disaster, I swore that I should have left my last holiday with them back in my teens. It was only disaster really because some Czech fuckwits stole from them, not once but twice in a week. They aren’t the most streetwise of people, granted, and this sort of thing has never happened to either of us, but they deserved better. It’s just that you can only take so much stress on holiday. And Craigavon may have some rough edges to put it mildly (bullets fired through windows, you know, gentle stuff) but I do believe their wallet and possessions will mainly be safe.
Book: Just Metro at the moment
Sounds: TV – well ‘Bunking Off’ on BBC1 to be exact, but its only background as I type and the remote is underneath Lynn who is sleeping.
Mood: Knackered
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Meek, but not mild
A fantastic CD arrived this morning.
That CD is the best of Joe Meek. There are many things that I cold write about him, but more detailed and accurate descriptions can be found with a quick Goggle if you haven't heard of this pioneer of British pop. You should have a listen, but if you've heard Telstar, the 1962 instrumental and the largest selling instrumental of all time, and coincidentally, the first British hit to reach no. 1 in the USA then you already have.
The CD arrived after seeing the West End play 'Telstar' last Saturday. There is definitely more cheese on this album than inside the average gorgonzola warehouse, but there are a surprisingly large number of excellent tracks as well, tracks that make you wonder why only Sean Rowley plays them today. They've put me in an incredibly good mood.
See the play. Buy the CD, and send me your thanks. But most of all, go and read the history of this complex, troubled purveyor of genius and sleazy tracks. I think Lynn and me should pay homage to him at the annual RGM Appreciation society bash.
Many of his tracks were banned by the BBC over issues of taste and decency. Lynn, looking on Google for other artists' banned tracks found this fact. Only one artist has asked for his *own* track to be banned. Who was it?
Answer on next entry.
That CD is the best of Joe Meek. There are many things that I cold write about him, but more detailed and accurate descriptions can be found with a quick Goggle if you haven't heard of this pioneer of British pop. You should have a listen, but if you've heard Telstar, the 1962 instrumental and the largest selling instrumental of all time, and coincidentally, the first British hit to reach no. 1 in the USA then you already have.
The CD arrived after seeing the West End play 'Telstar' last Saturday. There is definitely more cheese on this album than inside the average gorgonzola warehouse, but there are a surprisingly large number of excellent tracks as well, tracks that make you wonder why only Sean Rowley plays them today. They've put me in an incredibly good mood.
See the play. Buy the CD, and send me your thanks. But most of all, go and read the history of this complex, troubled purveyor of genius and sleazy tracks. I think Lynn and me should pay homage to him at the annual RGM Appreciation society bash.
Many of his tracks were banned by the BBC over issues of taste and decency. Lynn, looking on Google for other artists' banned tracks found this fact. Only one artist has asked for his *own* track to be banned. Who was it?
Answer on next entry.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Low grade fear - oh joy
Another bomb yesterday.
How very depressing. Just as we thought we could get back to work, suddenly, the whole ball-game is changing to what looks like the long haul.
If I were more of a cynic than I already am, and frankly, that's cynical enough for several good men, I'd think that the whole shebang is being manipulated, not by some religious zealots, but an Orwellian minded government bent on making the population under it as frightened, powerless and as manipulable as possible. Who knows, perhaps it is.
Someone got shot at Stockwell station. Not sure if it’s one of the bombers at this moment, but I do hope it is. They deserve the mercy they would have shown my wife, Kizz and me, i.e., none.
And to think, not so long ago I was a liberal do-gooder. Now I just feel like a stressed out c**t. Why isn't the government being criticised more than it is? A nice little (three months) holiday will suit our MPs anyway, who can jet off to Tuscany and small Caribbean Islands while the rest of us sweat it out on the Northern Line.
Oddly, I am much more fazed by this attempt, even though nothing really happened, than after the first, which we all thought inevitable after New York Are we about to enter a new Beirut? Would sincerely like to think not.
We were going to see War of the Worlds tonight, but alas, the cinema we elected to go to is not running Audio Description at all times. Oh no, that's far too complicated. To see it, we'd have to go on Tuesday afternoon - like, some of us don't actually frigging well *work* - or Sunday afternoon at 4. Well this Sunday I'm going to help out Mick with a job application.
I've read the first chapter of Chris Cleaver's book, mentioned a few articles ago. Please read, and when it comes out, buy. It’s the soundtrack to accompany the musical currently playing out in London. Its one of those reads certaion passages in which makes you shiver.
Mood: Grumpy and hacked off with knowing that the only way forward is low-grade fear (two close calls so far, so justifiable paranoia methinks)
Book: Hip Hop America
Sounds: Telly
How very depressing. Just as we thought we could get back to work, suddenly, the whole ball-game is changing to what looks like the long haul.
If I were more of a cynic than I already am, and frankly, that's cynical enough for several good men, I'd think that the whole shebang is being manipulated, not by some religious zealots, but an Orwellian minded government bent on making the population under it as frightened, powerless and as manipulable as possible. Who knows, perhaps it is.
Someone got shot at Stockwell station. Not sure if it’s one of the bombers at this moment, but I do hope it is. They deserve the mercy they would have shown my wife, Kizz and me, i.e., none.
And to think, not so long ago I was a liberal do-gooder. Now I just feel like a stressed out c**t. Why isn't the government being criticised more than it is? A nice little (three months) holiday will suit our MPs anyway, who can jet off to Tuscany and small Caribbean Islands while the rest of us sweat it out on the Northern Line.
Oddly, I am much more fazed by this attempt, even though nothing really happened, than after the first, which we all thought inevitable after New York Are we about to enter a new Beirut? Would sincerely like to think not.
We were going to see War of the Worlds tonight, but alas, the cinema we elected to go to is not running Audio Description at all times. Oh no, that's far too complicated. To see it, we'd have to go on Tuesday afternoon - like, some of us don't actually frigging well *work* - or Sunday afternoon at 4. Well this Sunday I'm going to help out Mick with a job application.
I've read the first chapter of Chris Cleaver's book, mentioned a few articles ago. Please read, and when it comes out, buy. It’s the soundtrack to accompany the musical currently playing out in London. Its one of those reads certaion passages in which makes you shiver.
Mood: Grumpy and hacked off with knowing that the only way forward is low-grade fear (two close calls so far, so justifiable paranoia methinks)
Book: Hip Hop America
Sounds: Telly
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
A is for Apple. B is buggering off
Travelled to the Apple Store in Regent Street yesterday and quite honestly, I was unimpressed. The store itself was beautifully designed, with spotlights and glass all over the place. But the actual experience left a lot to be desired. For a start, the computers on display were all being occupied by students replying to their Hotmail. This isn't what I as a potentially paying customer. There were plenty of computers - I'd come specifically to examine the laptops, particularly the iBook. The second major problem was the sheer number of people versus the number of available staff. The Genius Bar upstairs, which should have been a haven for question-asking, complete Apple no-brains, was again full queuing, rather patient looking people. I didn't have the patience, and left after five minutes of fruitless waiting.
I use a combination of PCs, mainly Dells, both at work and home. The exception is a clapped out Fujitsu-Siemens which is languishing in a corner of the bedroom-cum-office. This piece of kit should be really put outside on the nearest skip, but alas, we can't bear to part with it, our faithful RAM equipped friend.
We have a reasonably old Dell laptop, which I'm typing this on now, while half-watching "The Bill". The thing is, I want a laptop which can double up as my main desktop computer as Lynn and me both need access for our various nefarious out-of-work hobbies. My writing, and her HTLM-ing and other computer related stuff beyond my not-caring brain. So although this laptop is fine for a bit of word processing and some netta the netting, I'd like a machine with primarily more storage and more processing grunt than the average laptop.
There lies the promise of the Mac. A machine whose spec I've looked at on the Apple site and have salivated over. I like the fact that it comes with Voiceover, a magnification and speech package, as part of the operating system. I use Zoom text Xtra as a magnification tool, and would dearly love Microsoft to bite the bullet and include a mag-screen reader as part of Windows, but the won't. Their reason being that they don't wish to squash the little companies who make the various PC options - JAWS, Magic, Supernova et al. This argument is patent bollocks. Did it stop them "killing" Netscape? No. The various innovative companies the giant M has swallowed didn't seem to figure in their pathetic argument. Apple include their access tech as part of the OS-X operating system, Tiger. This is why I'm interested - a copy of Zoomtext costs £500 or so for the all-singing-all-dancing version. The cost of basic spec Mini Mac is £309. Work it out for yourself.
However, two things have put me off buying a Mac laptop, though I confess the Mini is still calling:
1) The Apple experience should have been a pleasure, and wasn't. In the end I looked at the laptop Mac in PCWorld, Stepney Green. And this leads to fundamental reason no. 2.
2) I *hate* that frigging keyboard. Flat, lifeless and utter pants. I thought the Dell keyboard I'm currently banging on was so-so, but this is a complete joy to use in comparison.
I use a combination of PCs, mainly Dells, both at work and home. The exception is a clapped out Fujitsu-Siemens which is languishing in a corner of the bedroom-cum-office. This piece of kit should be really put outside on the nearest skip, but alas, we can't bear to part with it, our faithful RAM equipped friend.
We have a reasonably old Dell laptop, which I'm typing this on now, while half-watching "The Bill". The thing is, I want a laptop which can double up as my main desktop computer as Lynn and me both need access for our various nefarious out-of-work hobbies. My writing, and her HTLM-ing and other computer related stuff beyond my not-caring brain. So although this laptop is fine for a bit of word processing and some netta the netting, I'd like a machine with primarily more storage and more processing grunt than the average laptop.
There lies the promise of the Mac. A machine whose spec I've looked at on the Apple site and have salivated over. I like the fact that it comes with Voiceover, a magnification and speech package, as part of the operating system. I use Zoom text Xtra as a magnification tool, and would dearly love Microsoft to bite the bullet and include a mag-screen reader as part of Windows, but the won't. Their reason being that they don't wish to squash the little companies who make the various PC options - JAWS, Magic, Supernova et al. This argument is patent bollocks. Did it stop them "killing" Netscape? No. The various innovative companies the giant M has swallowed didn't seem to figure in their pathetic argument. Apple include their access tech as part of the OS-X operating system, Tiger. This is why I'm interested - a copy of Zoomtext costs £500 or so for the all-singing-all-dancing version. The cost of basic spec Mini Mac is £309. Work it out for yourself.
However, two things have put me off buying a Mac laptop, though I confess the Mini is still calling:
1) The Apple experience should have been a pleasure, and wasn't. In the end I looked at the laptop Mac in PCWorld, Stepney Green. And this leads to fundamental reason no. 2.
2) I *hate* that frigging keyboard. Flat, lifeless and utter pants. I thought the Dell keyboard I'm currently banging on was so-so, but this is a complete joy to use in comparison.
Monday, July 18, 2005
Quick one
Just a quick one.
Lynn is doing her second level counselling exam tonight.
Good luck babes.
We’ll enjoy the French fodder afterwards however well it went.
(Postscript - the French place was in fact closed. So we had a very average Indian instead).
Lynn is doing her second level counselling exam tonight.
Good luck babes.
We’ll enjoy the French fodder afterwards however well it went.
(Postscript - the French place was in fact closed. So we had a very average Indian instead).
The unluckiest man in publishing?
Chris Cleave must be the unluckiest author of 2005.
First of all, he writes a book. Topical, stimulating, questioning. Its about a bomb going off in London.
Only thing, on the day of publication, 7 July, a bomb really does go off in London. Now that's tough deal.
The moral question he and his publishers have to face is, of course, should he publish? I've written a little bit myself and know that completing a story is a birthing process. I'm sure he can't believe the poor timing of the bomb, and Im sure there's a selfish, secret part of him that wants to let it loose on to a cynical world, and be damned. His labour, his time, his earnings. But he's a decent sort of chap it seems, and has a website where he asks his potential readers whether he should publish or not. Immediately one might think "no! - the poor taste of it..." etc. On the other hand, I'm going to work as normal and London seems to be pretty normal. As one commentator quoted in the New York Times said "should we not print stories about the second world war which might offend war veterans?"
I think he'll be cursed if he publishes by the politically correct mindfuckmonkeys in the media. But I reckon his publishers should go ahead anyway. Sure, the bombs were traumatizing, and many, including my dearly beloved, have not slept well as a result since. This is to be human. Its an inevitable symptom of a violent, but more importantly, uncommon event. It was truly frightening, especially for Lynn who had a near miss at Aldgate. Perhaps it took her back to radically, 1972. But Londoners, like the majority of Northern Irelanders of the 70s, are sturdy creatures and almost nothing can stop us from rocking on. Careful, intelligent analysis of the causes is a good thing. But if we are bitter and angry, and if we retrench too far into our little lives, only connecting with family and close friends as some Americans appear to have done after 9/11, the bastards win. We are not *better* than Americans - God knows how freaking awful it must have been for Americans, New Yorkers especially, but its not been a British tradition over the centuries to get anal and self-absorbed after these kinds of event. Just ask old timers who survived the Blitz.
So give it a decent pause, then publish. London carries on motoring, including its book publishing business.
Go to www.chriscleaver.com to leave your own opinion.
Mood: Bit bored
Book: Hip Hop America by Nelson...oh shit can't be bothered to check
Noise: Tubes and C2C trains going by
First of all, he writes a book. Topical, stimulating, questioning. Its about a bomb going off in London.
Only thing, on the day of publication, 7 July, a bomb really does go off in London. Now that's tough deal.
The moral question he and his publishers have to face is, of course, should he publish? I've written a little bit myself and know that completing a story is a birthing process. I'm sure he can't believe the poor timing of the bomb, and Im sure there's a selfish, secret part of him that wants to let it loose on to a cynical world, and be damned. His labour, his time, his earnings. But he's a decent sort of chap it seems, and has a website where he asks his potential readers whether he should publish or not. Immediately one might think "no! - the poor taste of it..." etc. On the other hand, I'm going to work as normal and London seems to be pretty normal. As one commentator quoted in the New York Times said "should we not print stories about the second world war which might offend war veterans?"
I think he'll be cursed if he publishes by the politically correct mindfuckmonkeys in the media. But I reckon his publishers should go ahead anyway. Sure, the bombs were traumatizing, and many, including my dearly beloved, have not slept well as a result since. This is to be human. Its an inevitable symptom of a violent, but more importantly, uncommon event. It was truly frightening, especially for Lynn who had a near miss at Aldgate. Perhaps it took her back to radically, 1972. But Londoners, like the majority of Northern Irelanders of the 70s, are sturdy creatures and almost nothing can stop us from rocking on. Careful, intelligent analysis of the causes is a good thing. But if we are bitter and angry, and if we retrench too far into our little lives, only connecting with family and close friends as some Americans appear to have done after 9/11, the bastards win. We are not *better* than Americans - God knows how freaking awful it must have been for Americans, New Yorkers especially, but its not been a British tradition over the centuries to get anal and self-absorbed after these kinds of event. Just ask old timers who survived the Blitz.
So give it a decent pause, then publish. London carries on motoring, including its book publishing business.
Go to www.chriscleaver.com to leave your own opinion.
Mood: Bit bored
Book: Hip Hop America by Nelson...oh shit can't be bothered to check
Noise: Tubes and C2C trains going by
Friday, July 15, 2005
Addy Pooter and the Half-Baked Blog
The new Harry Potter book comes out tonight, "The Half-Blood Prince".
And the radio is full of snobby articles about adults reading kids books on the tube, and how low-brow this is. "They should be reading literature", cry the pundits, rubbing their hands in self-righteous frustration.
What's wrong with adults reading Harry Potter, asks I?
Why are we so keen to ram our own heads up our backsides in the name of book snobbery? Let me set my cards out here. I have read three Harry Potter books, and I'm 36. Did I like them? Yes. Would I read one on the tube? Yes. Am I nuts about them? No. Do they have faults? Definitely.
From the fantasy genre, the authors I've most enjoyed since childhood are CS Lewis - but of course, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett. I like to do two Pratchetts a year.
I've just read Christopher Fowler's "Water Room" which is in its own way, fantasy, though its more of a whodunit. Now, Fowler is one of my heroes. Not only does he write stories which I can identify with, being a lover of the horror/mystery genre, but his knowledge of London makes Robert Elms's pale into insignificance. He writes armed with the full Peter Ackroyd arsenal it seems. But however much I love Christpher Fowler, and I've recommended his work to enough people, I won't kid myself or you that it is literature. I won't also describe myself as a towering genius, but I do enjoy classic literature as well. So, the critical few have really got to ask themselves, just because they prefer to mystery of art house films, but would watching Star Wars episode six do irevcoverable damage to their rarefied brains? Of course not.
Potter then: I think the Potter books I've read are examples of competent writing, and more importantly, writing that connects with children. The Potter books have minted JK Rowling a fortune, she's the richest woman in the UK. And partly this is down to marketing. But the first book's infamy was spread by and large by word of mouth. And it was children spreading the word.
Now to the point (at last! at last!). If ever you've dealt with children, in a parenting capacity or merely by babysitting two year old Miranda for your stay-at-home mates, you'll know that children are critical. Really critical. Not in the sniping way adults can be, but critical in that they spot immediately when something is dishonest. Just try telling a well-loved fairy story to a kid and making up a new ending. Unless you have toll the child that you are going to be creative in advance, a child will tell you in no uncertain terms that what you've done is neither fair or accurate. My dad used to do this all the time, and it was great fun hearing about Nose White and Nose Red. It was my dad's way and worked because we knew that dad didn't mean any harm by following his muse. But there is no way he could have palmed us off with his leftfield variations without giving us permission to do so first. It would have been perversion of the lowest order. Kids love certainty. When asked, Oliver Postgate, co-creator of Bagpuss, explained that each episode has long and repetitive headers and footers, not because kids are brainless and need the message drummed home, as some American programme makers seem to think, but because kids love *certainty*.
So back to the Harry P tales. Kids see through the bullshit where adults choose not to, even if its staring them int he face. And JK Rowling has connected with that need for honesty and craving for certainty.
More than this, the fact that children tell children about it must mean that they have discovered authenticity, and better still, authenticity contained within a ripping good yarn, which not only entertains, but enthralls, raises questions about the occult (and its brother, religion, hence the palaver which is produced every time a new books is released....zzzzzzz) . It is a school story, a magical romp (albeit a carefully orchestrated one) into the unknown. It is horror, and kids love horror. Anything can happen in Hogwarts, but JK's loving hand will always make sure you know that Harry will conquer, even if he travels way outside his, or the reader's comfort zone.
Will I be buying the new HP? No, but I shan't be scornfully turning up my nose when I spot those shy adults who have re-discovered their inner kid at la District Line.
And the radio is full of snobby articles about adults reading kids books on the tube, and how low-brow this is. "They should be reading literature", cry the pundits, rubbing their hands in self-righteous frustration.
What's wrong with adults reading Harry Potter, asks I?
Why are we so keen to ram our own heads up our backsides in the name of book snobbery? Let me set my cards out here. I have read three Harry Potter books, and I'm 36. Did I like them? Yes. Would I read one on the tube? Yes. Am I nuts about them? No. Do they have faults? Definitely.
From the fantasy genre, the authors I've most enjoyed since childhood are CS Lewis - but of course, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett. I like to do two Pratchetts a year.
I've just read Christopher Fowler's "Water Room" which is in its own way, fantasy, though its more of a whodunit. Now, Fowler is one of my heroes. Not only does he write stories which I can identify with, being a lover of the horror/mystery genre, but his knowledge of London makes Robert Elms's pale into insignificance. He writes armed with the full Peter Ackroyd arsenal it seems. But however much I love Christpher Fowler, and I've recommended his work to enough people, I won't kid myself or you that it is literature. I won't also describe myself as a towering genius, but I do enjoy classic literature as well. So, the critical few have really got to ask themselves, just because they prefer to mystery of art house films, but would watching Star Wars episode six do irevcoverable damage to their rarefied brains? Of course not.
Potter then: I think the Potter books I've read are examples of competent writing, and more importantly, writing that connects with children. The Potter books have minted JK Rowling a fortune, she's the richest woman in the UK. And partly this is down to marketing. But the first book's infamy was spread by and large by word of mouth. And it was children spreading the word.
Now to the point (at last! at last!). If ever you've dealt with children, in a parenting capacity or merely by babysitting two year old Miranda for your stay-at-home mates, you'll know that children are critical. Really critical. Not in the sniping way adults can be, but critical in that they spot immediately when something is dishonest. Just try telling a well-loved fairy story to a kid and making up a new ending. Unless you have toll the child that you are going to be creative in advance, a child will tell you in no uncertain terms that what you've done is neither fair or accurate. My dad used to do this all the time, and it was great fun hearing about Nose White and Nose Red. It was my dad's way and worked because we knew that dad didn't mean any harm by following his muse. But there is no way he could have palmed us off with his leftfield variations without giving us permission to do so first. It would have been perversion of the lowest order. Kids love certainty. When asked, Oliver Postgate, co-creator of Bagpuss, explained that each episode has long and repetitive headers and footers, not because kids are brainless and need the message drummed home, as some American programme makers seem to think, but because kids love *certainty*.
So back to the Harry P tales. Kids see through the bullshit where adults choose not to, even if its staring them int he face. And JK Rowling has connected with that need for honesty and craving for certainty.
More than this, the fact that children tell children about it must mean that they have discovered authenticity, and better still, authenticity contained within a ripping good yarn, which not only entertains, but enthralls, raises questions about the occult (and its brother, religion, hence the palaver which is produced every time a new books is released....zzzzzzz) . It is a school story, a magical romp (albeit a carefully orchestrated one) into the unknown. It is horror, and kids love horror. Anything can happen in Hogwarts, but JK's loving hand will always make sure you know that Harry will conquer, even if he travels way outside his, or the reader's comfort zone.
Will I be buying the new HP? No, but I shan't be scornfully turning up my nose when I spot those shy adults who have re-discovered their inner kid at la District Line.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Too darn hot/bomb
Blow summer. I want winter back. No, not really, I love the lighter evenings and being able to sit in the garden eating al fresco. But I'm back to where I am with sleeping as last summer, in fact, for the past seven or eight summers I've not been able to kip.
What we lack in Britain is basic aircon. The Americans may have got some fundamental areas wrong,eg, building cities, but this is one area where I envy the average US Joe who can sit in their refrigerated house and enjoy the heat of the summer when it suits them, and retreat into an environment destroying but chilled environment. Stuff the planet - I want a human sized coolbox to call home.
It looks like the Met have the IDs of the London bombers, who were home grown, from Leeds in fact. Good on them. There has been reports of tension amongst non-Muslims and Muslims, but my own observations indicate that overall we've been fairly calm and understanding towards the Muslim population in London, most of whom, like everyone else, just want to be left to get on with their lives. The bombers are not Muslim extremists, just cold blooded murderers. The fact one of those trains would have passed through Upton Park, Muslim capital of London, tells me a lot about their stupid, unplanned bloodymindedness.
Music: REM
Mood: Uncomfortably warm
Work: (-10 to +10) 0
What we lack in Britain is basic aircon. The Americans may have got some fundamental areas wrong,eg, building cities, but this is one area where I envy the average US Joe who can sit in their refrigerated house and enjoy the heat of the summer when it suits them, and retreat into an environment destroying but chilled environment. Stuff the planet - I want a human sized coolbox to call home.
It looks like the Met have the IDs of the London bombers, who were home grown, from Leeds in fact. Good on them. There has been reports of tension amongst non-Muslims and Muslims, but my own observations indicate that overall we've been fairly calm and understanding towards the Muslim population in London, most of whom, like everyone else, just want to be left to get on with their lives. The bombers are not Muslim extremists, just cold blooded murderers. The fact one of those trains would have passed through Upton Park, Muslim capital of London, tells me a lot about their stupid, unplanned bloodymindedness.
Music: REM
Mood: Uncomfortably warm
Work: (-10 to +10) 0
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
The White Working Class - Channel 4
At last, a program on TV which didin't try to analyse the British class system with the simple assumption that the white working class are just scum. White Trash as our American friends would say. This is such a refreshing change!
"The British Working Class" on Channel 4 looked at it from the view that instead of being the racist, stupid bigots my class is commonly portrayed as being, we are in fact the new forgotten underclass. For years, since Mayhew in fact, examined the social and working condiitons in the East End, the British white working class have been considered worthy of examination, rather like zoo chimps. Then, after mass immigration to the UK, not only were we forgotten about at best, put in ghetto housing, and told how wonderful things were for us at worst, but in some cases actively blamed for the ensuing violence which occurred in Britain during the late 70s and early 80s (Skinheads/neo-Nazis).
Under the microscope of the chattering classes were these newly arrived immigrants. The programme, introduced by a guy I've never heard of called Michael Collins - not *that* one obviously! - argued that after the killing of Stephen Lawrence, the media took the line that because it was performed by several white working class boys, there was a festering tide of racism in the satelite suburbs. Suburbs those in the meeja don't live in by and large. Places like Eltham and Dagenham.
The facts don't bare this out however. The BNP in Dagenham hasn't got a hope in hell of getting elected. I grew up near Southall and from a very young age, lived with Sikh Indians, and having gone to school in Shepherds Bush, black kids too. During the Southall riots, about 500 yards from my home, there were as many whites protesting at the killing of Blair Peach by neo-nazis, as Indians. The white working class is *not* inherently racist, despite what you might believe by listening to the crap pumped out by the press and TV. Growing up with minorities wasn't a big deal for the vast majority of us whites in the crappy suburbs and industrial towns of the UK.
I'm digressing a little.
What made this programme interesting for me was the fact that it had been made at all. The content is debatable, sure, but I'm so glad that someone has tried to set the record straight here. I have felt, whenever I hear tales of white racists in Burnley and saaaaarf London, that there is a big chunk of truth missing from the simplistic assumption that we are all unworthy to participate in the great debate because we are all racists *just because we are*. The stupid arseholes who preach political correctlness at people like me should really examine their own back yard, and their own guilt attached to it. If there is any racism, and don't get me wrong, of course there is, then the question that is constantly not asked is *why?* While a pissed off kid in Burnley might sock a muslim taxi driver and his family for the impression he's being favoured over his family by the council, is it not worse that the muslim taxi driver (who might be well-educated) is forced to drive taxis in the first place?
Mr Collins, I felt, had crossed that bridge between being part of class I too have belonged to, and at the same time can look at that class from a middle class perspective. Despite pretensions of social mobility, this ability of his is a rare one. I open my mouth and as soon as someone hears a glottal stop or flattened vowel, 1000 stereotypes have been created for and of me. And those working class kids who cross that bridge do have a habit of going into some kind of class denial. Not me, and apprently not Monsieur Collins. Several people I know have deliberately abandoned or softened their Geordie or Manchester accents. Why would this be if that accent was a source of an identity they wished to keep? Who knows, maybe I only keep mine because its one that so many middle class people want to acquire - but generally fail to sound authentic in doing so!
This bit of telly tried to correct the imbalance of accepted opinion, thought it did veer towards sentimentality. A tiny bit.
But nice one trying Michael.
Mood: Too hot and correspondingly tetchy
Book: The Water Room
Music: Radio 6
"The British Working Class" on Channel 4 looked at it from the view that instead of being the racist, stupid bigots my class is commonly portrayed as being, we are in fact the new forgotten underclass. For years, since Mayhew in fact, examined the social and working condiitons in the East End, the British white working class have been considered worthy of examination, rather like zoo chimps. Then, after mass immigration to the UK, not only were we forgotten about at best, put in ghetto housing, and told how wonderful things were for us at worst, but in some cases actively blamed for the ensuing violence which occurred in Britain during the late 70s and early 80s (Skinheads/neo-Nazis).
Under the microscope of the chattering classes were these newly arrived immigrants. The programme, introduced by a guy I've never heard of called Michael Collins - not *that* one obviously! - argued that after the killing of Stephen Lawrence, the media took the line that because it was performed by several white working class boys, there was a festering tide of racism in the satelite suburbs. Suburbs those in the meeja don't live in by and large. Places like Eltham and Dagenham.
The facts don't bare this out however. The BNP in Dagenham hasn't got a hope in hell of getting elected. I grew up near Southall and from a very young age, lived with Sikh Indians, and having gone to school in Shepherds Bush, black kids too. During the Southall riots, about 500 yards from my home, there were as many whites protesting at the killing of Blair Peach by neo-nazis, as Indians. The white working class is *not* inherently racist, despite what you might believe by listening to the crap pumped out by the press and TV. Growing up with minorities wasn't a big deal for the vast majority of us whites in the crappy suburbs and industrial towns of the UK.
I'm digressing a little.
What made this programme interesting for me was the fact that it had been made at all. The content is debatable, sure, but I'm so glad that someone has tried to set the record straight here. I have felt, whenever I hear tales of white racists in Burnley and saaaaarf London, that there is a big chunk of truth missing from the simplistic assumption that we are all unworthy to participate in the great debate because we are all racists *just because we are*. The stupid arseholes who preach political correctlness at people like me should really examine their own back yard, and their own guilt attached to it. If there is any racism, and don't get me wrong, of course there is, then the question that is constantly not asked is *why?* While a pissed off kid in Burnley might sock a muslim taxi driver and his family for the impression he's being favoured over his family by the council, is it not worse that the muslim taxi driver (who might be well-educated) is forced to drive taxis in the first place?
Mr Collins, I felt, had crossed that bridge between being part of class I too have belonged to, and at the same time can look at that class from a middle class perspective. Despite pretensions of social mobility, this ability of his is a rare one. I open my mouth and as soon as someone hears a glottal stop or flattened vowel, 1000 stereotypes have been created for and of me. And those working class kids who cross that bridge do have a habit of going into some kind of class denial. Not me, and apprently not Monsieur Collins. Several people I know have deliberately abandoned or softened their Geordie or Manchester accents. Why would this be if that accent was a source of an identity they wished to keep? Who knows, maybe I only keep mine because its one that so many middle class people want to acquire - but generally fail to sound authentic in doing so!
This bit of telly tried to correct the imbalance of accepted opinion, thought it did veer towards sentimentality. A tiny bit.
But nice one trying Michael.
Mood: Too hot and correspondingly tetchy
Book: The Water Room
Music: Radio 6
Sunday, July 10, 2005
London terror - that 'Monday' feeling
Its weird. All my London friends have a 'well lets get on with it' attitude. Whereas my out of London friends and family are more frightened for us than we are.
This includes Lynn's mum. Lynn spent much of her early life in the Shankhill Road area of Belfast, and her mum would put her to bed in the back room of the house to avoid stray bullets from hitting her. The flats opposite there's used to be quite a popular venue for gun target practice apparently!
I was talking to Lynn about this phenomena this morning, and she reminded me how nervous I was during my first trip to Northern Ireland. Its true that if you are living in the thick of things, and lets face it, it's quite likely that this is merely Terrorist Attack numero uno, you have a, if not blase, then at least the attitude that errs on the side of having to pay your mortgage, visit friends on the other side of London and otherwise carry on living.
I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of going to work tomorrow, but the little bastards won't be stopping me or Lynn from doing just that. I'd much rather be sitting on Bondai Beach with a cocktail in my hand, or perhaps walking through a Swedish forest. But London will have to do for now.
So when you read that London is 'burning with terror' as some al-Queada site was quoted as saying then quite honestly, its total shit.
The Blitz Spirit is an oft quoted cliche used to described how it feels in London right now. It is hackneyed. But its true as well.
This includes Lynn's mum. Lynn spent much of her early life in the Shankhill Road area of Belfast, and her mum would put her to bed in the back room of the house to avoid stray bullets from hitting her. The flats opposite there's used to be quite a popular venue for gun target practice apparently!
I was talking to Lynn about this phenomena this morning, and she reminded me how nervous I was during my first trip to Northern Ireland. Its true that if you are living in the thick of things, and lets face it, it's quite likely that this is merely Terrorist Attack numero uno, you have a, if not blase, then at least the attitude that errs on the side of having to pay your mortgage, visit friends on the other side of London and otherwise carry on living.
I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of going to work tomorrow, but the little bastards won't be stopping me or Lynn from doing just that. I'd much rather be sitting on Bondai Beach with a cocktail in my hand, or perhaps walking through a Swedish forest. But London will have to do for now.
So when you read that London is 'burning with terror' as some al-Queada site was quoted as saying then quite honestly, its total shit.
The Blitz Spirit is an oft quoted cliche used to described how it feels in London right now. It is hackneyed. But its true as well.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Mick and Krissy
Before I forget, Mick and Krissy have finally split up for the last time. This happened two days ago but I've just thought of publishing this fabulous fact.
Well then you two, R.I.P.
It was good while it lasted. Lynn and me certainly expect to see more of you these days.
Well then you two, R.I.P.
It was good while it lasted. Lynn and me certainly expect to see more of you these days.
Normal people and terrorism
I'm shattered and want my bed after today's events. I'm sending you mine and Lynn's account of today's fun packed adventure. This I sent to an email list I'm a part of, but it gives you an idea of what went on. Suffice to say, we are safe, well and at home. It feels like being part of a dream...
Anyway, here's our stories:
At 8.10 we left for work. Lynn had risen earlier, intending to take Kizzie through the park behind our house before catching the tube. However, I slopped downstairs, had a smoke and coffee, and Lynn decided she'd delay,and instead come in as far as West Ham with me, where I'd take the Jubilee Line to Neasden. However, just as we were about to leave, I thought I might have left the back windows open, so I ran through the house, opened the back door and had a look. Fortunately I hadn't, but because I was conscious Lynn was hanging around outside the house, I got muddled, and tried to lock the front door with the back door keys which I'd stupidly kept in my hand. This delayed us for a few minutes.We then took the District Line tube. At West Ham our stories split.
Mine is sort of boring. The Jubilee Line was running a bit slow, and when it reached Westminster the driver announced that due to a power surge, it wouldn't be stopping there. We moved on to Baker Street, and the driver announced that the train would be moving slowly onwards because of a broken down train ahead. When we got to St John's Wood, we were told to evacuate the station. I was at the front of the train near the drivers cab and was listening in to the cab radio. Our driver had no more a clue than me as to what was going on. I then took a bus up to Finchely Road. Still no tubes.After half an hour I had caught up with the news of what was happening in central London
and decided that getting to work would only leave me stranded there. So instead I decided I'd try and get as far east as possible, and took the North London Line, fortunately still running as far as Hackney. At this point I knew that Lynn was safe and was being taken by a kind hearted stranger to Stepney, where Graham P would meet her. I went in to Marks and Spencer, bought us all some sandwiches and cream scones and asked the checkout woman if she'd heard any news . She told me that she'd heard none of the buses were running into town and that she was pleased because her husband was a bus driver, on his rest day. Indeed, the buses outside Marks's were all being terminated at Hackney , so I walked the couple of miles to Graham P's. There was certainly that sense of things going on as normal, rather like the second day in the War of the World book (the real story by HGW) where people carried on as if nothing had happened. Really odd.
Anyways...Lynn's story. The pre-amble, re the door key was just a way of demonstrating how bloody lucky some of us are. You see, Lynn got into Whitechapel station at about 8.45. She sat there for ten minutes and the driver announced that due to power surges the train in front had broken down. Soon after the passengers were given a rather strange announcement which sounded something like "at at at attention, please leave....at at atat tention", etc. It sounded as though some power cut had triggered a faulty automatic message. No one responded until the driver told the passengers to leave the station. Turns out that at 8.51 the train in front of hers, at Aldgate East, got blown up. I've just watched the news and the train was a District Line, and quite probably the one she would have taken had we not faffed around with keys and windows. She was then taken to Stepney where she met Graham, had a coffee, and eventually was united with me . This is the second time she's missed a head on explosion. When she was about 9 years old, she was walking through Belfast after school with herelder sister. Both of them were surprised at how quiet the street was. Both were grabbed by soldiers who asked them how they hell they'd just walked through a cordon without being stopped.
The street had on it a car bomb . A minute after the soldiers took her and her sister Sandra away, the car blew up. I too have missed a couple: me and my sis were in Oxford Street Debenhams an hour before it was bombed in 1981, I think it was. Also, I missed the Brixton nail bomb by 40 minutes. I'd been stranding outside Iceland (where the bomb was planted) at a bus stop with portable keyboard in my arms,purchased cheap from a mate round the corner. Got to Liverpool Street and found out how close I'd been.
We watched TV with Graham, then at 3-ish decided to try and make our way home. Eventually, after some farting around, we took a rather packed C2C mainline train to Barking, had a coffee, and headed home via bus. No tubes running then, none now as a I write. So there you go. Despite what you might hear on the news, for those not caught up in the bombings themselves , there wasn't a huge panic. There isn't going to be civil unrest mass hysteria. The sense of calmness is surreal really. I think we'll just get on with it. For those who were killed, R.I.P. But for everyone who made it through today, well done. We are lucky f*ckers sometimes.
Anyway, here's our stories:
At 8.10 we left for work. Lynn had risen earlier, intending to take Kizzie through the park behind our house before catching the tube. However, I slopped downstairs, had a smoke and coffee, and Lynn decided she'd delay,and instead come in as far as West Ham with me, where I'd take the Jubilee Line to Neasden. However, just as we were about to leave, I thought I might have left the back windows open, so I ran through the house, opened the back door and had a look. Fortunately I hadn't, but because I was conscious Lynn was hanging around outside the house, I got muddled, and tried to lock the front door with the back door keys which I'd stupidly kept in my hand. This delayed us for a few minutes.We then took the District Line tube. At West Ham our stories split.
Mine is sort of boring. The Jubilee Line was running a bit slow, and when it reached Westminster the driver announced that due to a power surge, it wouldn't be stopping there. We moved on to Baker Street, and the driver announced that the train would be moving slowly onwards because of a broken down train ahead. When we got to St John's Wood, we were told to evacuate the station. I was at the front of the train near the drivers cab and was listening in to the cab radio. Our driver had no more a clue than me as to what was going on. I then took a bus up to Finchely Road. Still no tubes.After half an hour I had caught up with the news of what was happening in central London
and decided that getting to work would only leave me stranded there. So instead I decided I'd try and get as far east as possible, and took the North London Line, fortunately still running as far as Hackney. At this point I knew that Lynn was safe and was being taken by a kind hearted stranger to Stepney, where Graham P would meet her. I went in to Marks and Spencer, bought us all some sandwiches and cream scones and asked the checkout woman if she'd heard any news . She told me that she'd heard none of the buses were running into town and that she was pleased because her husband was a bus driver, on his rest day. Indeed, the buses outside Marks's were all being terminated at Hackney , so I walked the couple of miles to Graham P's. There was certainly that sense of things going on as normal, rather like the second day in the War of the World book (the real story by HGW) where people carried on as if nothing had happened. Really odd.
Anyways...Lynn's story. The pre-amble, re the door key was just a way of demonstrating how bloody lucky some of us are. You see, Lynn got into Whitechapel station at about 8.45. She sat there for ten minutes and the driver announced that due to power surges the train in front had broken down. Soon after the passengers were given a rather strange announcement which sounded something like "at at at attention, please leave....at at atat tention", etc. It sounded as though some power cut had triggered a faulty automatic message. No one responded until the driver told the passengers to leave the station. Turns out that at 8.51 the train in front of hers, at Aldgate East, got blown up. I've just watched the news and the train was a District Line, and quite probably the one she would have taken had we not faffed around with keys and windows. She was then taken to Stepney where she met Graham, had a coffee, and eventually was united with me . This is the second time she's missed a head on explosion. When she was about 9 years old, she was walking through Belfast after school with herelder sister. Both of them were surprised at how quiet the street was. Both were grabbed by soldiers who asked them how they hell they'd just walked through a cordon without being stopped.
The street had on it a car bomb . A minute after the soldiers took her and her sister Sandra away, the car blew up. I too have missed a couple: me and my sis were in Oxford Street Debenhams an hour before it was bombed in 1981, I think it was. Also, I missed the Brixton nail bomb by 40 minutes. I'd been stranding outside Iceland (where the bomb was planted) at a bus stop with portable keyboard in my arms,purchased cheap from a mate round the corner. Got to Liverpool Street and found out how close I'd been.
We watched TV with Graham, then at 3-ish decided to try and make our way home. Eventually, after some farting around, we took a rather packed C2C mainline train to Barking, had a coffee, and headed home via bus. No tubes running then, none now as a I write. So there you go. Despite what you might hear on the news, for those not caught up in the bombings themselves , there wasn't a huge panic. There isn't going to be civil unrest mass hysteria. The sense of calmness is surreal really. I think we'll just get on with it. For those who were killed, R.I.P. But for everyone who made it through today, well done. We are lucky f*ckers sometimes.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
2012 Olympics for London
Being a Londoner born and bred I’m pleased that our city has been given the chance to hold the Olympics. We could do a fantastic job. We are certainly up there with New York in terms of world importance, and as for running projects on this scale, we’ve become a lot better at it, Wembley and Picketts Lock aside – the latter being a miserable failure, and former a project which is driving the construction company towards bankruptcy.
Yet while I am proud that my home city managed to pull itself from third place (and gave the French something to think about) I do wonder about the long-term effect, and the aftermath of the so-called legacy.
If managed well, it could be a wonderful thing for Londoners. It’s just that in the past this is something we have been very poor at.
Only time will tell. I hope that in 2016 we are not looking at a load of underused or derelict stadia, swimming pools etc. But I think that’s what we’ll be seeing.
Stratford, at least the area between the station and Hackney Wick, is not an area rich in beauty. If you’ve travelled through it on the 276 you’ll know what I mean. It is one full of dirty industry – industry that employs real people and pays real wages. What will happen to the businesses currently occupying that area? Some of them are complaining that they haven’t been given full compensation, money that in my opinion they fully deserve.
Yet while I am proud that my home city managed to pull itself from third place (and gave the French something to think about) I do wonder about the long-term effect, and the aftermath of the so-called legacy.
If managed well, it could be a wonderful thing for Londoners. It’s just that in the past this is something we have been very poor at.
Only time will tell. I hope that in 2016 we are not looking at a load of underused or derelict stadia, swimming pools etc. But I think that’s what we’ll be seeing.
Stratford, at least the area between the station and Hackney Wick, is not an area rich in beauty. If you’ve travelled through it on the 276 you’ll know what I mean. It is one full of dirty industry – industry that employs real people and pays real wages. What will happen to the businesses currently occupying that area? Some of them are complaining that they haven’t been given full compensation, money that in my opinion they fully deserve.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
Live 8
The level of cynicism and apathy directed at Live 8 astounds me. Especially with regards to calls to BBC London.
Bob Geldof isn’t perfect, but for those doubting Thomases who believe that since Live Aid, nothing has changed in Africa really ought to ask themselves what the fuck they have done. Zilch mostly..
Live 8 might not make Africa a new Xanadu overnight but it has changed the way most Britons think about Africa. And hopefully it will give the push the G8 leaders need to alter the terms and conditions for trade which that continent is being offered.