Afraid Of Ducks

Mark's Mini Movie Review - The Artist

2012-02-01T21:03:00.000Z

"

" 7/10

Getting Here From There

2011-12-20T23:32:00.000Z

It started with Metallica, and has often been the case, it was all Dan's fault. He had an interview disc and Lars was talking about 'some weird folk band' that James had been listening to: R.E.M. So Dan went out and bought the first thing of theirs that was out - Document, and The One I love, and End of the World on the car stereo were my introductions, sometime in '87 I guess.

It didn't take. Not immediately. There was another year before then, one afternoon late in '88, painting skirting boards for a guy I was working for. Orange Crush on Radio 1. That blew my mind.

'89 was all about Green being played on South African Radio 5. Sitting in our breeze block house at Uzumba Secondary School (Murewa, Zimbabwe) on a Saturday, tuning in on Anna's tiny FM radio, listening out for Stand, Pop Song '89, World Leader Pretend, Get Up. When I got back to the UK in September the Green tour was over. So until Out of Time came out I would frequent the Wednesday record fair picking up the back catalogue on vinyl.

Of all those records, it was hearing Life's Rich Pageant on tape in Canada, staying with my old childhood friend Chris, that lingers longest. To this day it's my favourite album, Hyena still my all time favourite R.E.M. song.

Since Out of Time I've gone on to buy every album on the day of release, and most of the singles too, especially when they were on vinyl. That's one of the things I'll miss the most; the excitement of a new R.E.M. song. Hearing the new songs for the first time. I still remember Jo Whiley playing ...Kenneth late one Friday night in my bedroom in Tooting, hearing Daysleeper whilst working at the Print Shop in Tooting, The Great Beyond on a promo Ant brought back from the record store, Bouncing all over the office when that first clip of Living Well popped up on the 'net.

Not every album has been a classic, but I love each and every one for different reasons, different memories, different places and different people. And with only one exception (Around The Sun) they were all still really good. Really really good.

It's not all been wine and roses. Up was an album that bookmarked a bad patch and for some reason a lot of ironing. Leaving New York kept me going when a good friend was in hospital.

I didn't get to see the band live until the day before my 25th birthday, the Monster tour at Milton Keynes Bowl. They sucked. No matter how much I want to remember the show as a blazing baptism of brilliance, I can't. Since then I've seen them a further 8 times (Glastonbury twice, Isle of Wight festival, Hyde Park, St James's Church, the Royal Albert Hall, Twickenham Stadium, The Hammersmith Odeon) and they never ever disappointed me again.

Once they undertook the Greatest Hits tour, dusted off the classics, they seemed to ease up as a band and became the whirling dervish of a live act that I saw all those times. Whether in front of 200 or 20000 they remained one of the most intense, fun and interesting live bands I've ever seen (and I've seen more than my and your share). For all those who detracted them, on stage they were peerless; changing the set lists regularly, playing around with the songs. Those stand out moments so many: bouncing across the Isle of White to These Days with my god-daughter on my shoulders, Patti Smith turning in a jaw dropping E-Bow at Hyde Park, Thom Yorke doing the same in a small church in Picadilly, Man on the Moon at Glastonbury, Perfect Circle at Twickenham. And with the exception of Hyena, I think I've seen them play most of my favourite songs live. I'm not sure I can forgive them for that omission though : )

It's that I'll never see them live again that hurts the most. My one regret, perhaps.The greatest loss.

And beyond the music, beyond the shows, beyond the words and beyond the flack, I'm left with these last thoughts on a band I've spent almost 24 years listening to, over half my life, my favourite band of all time:

They were funny. Check out Furry Happy Monsters if you don't believe me.

They were innovative in interacting with their fans and friends over the net, especially around the last two records. They gave back, they didn't hoard our memories of their work. Even when re-releasing old albums or compilations, the liner notes and extras gave the dust-off an added bonus for those looking to add a third or fourth copy of the record to our collections.

And damn, I was an idiot to let my fan-club subscription lapse, but I'll cherish those three Christmas packages.

Being able to interview Bertis Downs when I used to blog with Londonist was a high point in my brief foray into serious blogging - the man was a true gent.

And I got that interview through one event that really blew me away. Sitting on my boat in the summer of 2004, recently redundant, paid off, enjoying a new life and, at the time, quite stoned, my mobile phone rang. It was Dave from the fan-club. I'd won two tickets in a raffle for a fan-club show at St James's Church in Picadilly to be recorded for radio. My old email had bounced, they hadn't been able to tell me I'd won. But they didn't let it go and move on to the next guy, they checked my details, pulled my phone number and rang me. All the way from Athens. Ant and I floated home from that show, let me tell you. God bless you Dave; and for returning my call a year later when I tried to blag an interview with the band. And for putting Bertis on, you didn't have to do any of that. But it epitomises to me what the band were and all that was around them.

I wasn't surprised when I heard the news. I wasn't upset. We'd played a pretty good version of Man on the Moon in the band that evening. It just kinda seemed to be.

It ended in the HMV in Victoria Station on a Monday morning on the way to a meeting. Buying my last R.E.M. record on its day of release. 24 years later; over half my life - spanning three continents, tape to vinyl to CD and DVD, more memories than could ever be collected in a few words, more memories sounds thoughts feelings than anyone should ever be able to leave behind on a total stranger.

My box would be full of Micronauts

2011-09-19T22:52:00.002+01:00

A couple of weeks ago Patrick sent me this video from the Onion AV Club with the heading - You will never be as happy as this man and his box of toys (to which I think there's a somewhat sad truth):

Anyways, it sparked a ponderings of what would be in our respective boxes, Action Man, Transformers? Well mine would be Micronauts. A big box of all the original Micronauts toys, and if I were to be granted complete ecstasy, the comics too.

I remember seeing Micronauts toys for the first time at the home of friends of my parents. There was this cool looking giant robot and a run of track and bubble domes that just blew what I guess must have been my six year old mind. There were all sorts of connectable bits and pieces that riffed on the build yourselves worlds of mechano and lego but with these strange translucent figures and all sorts of space vehicles. It spoke of an fully formed universe, of invention, of imagination (ok - I'm putting thoughts into that six year old mind) and it had an awesome logo.

That's how I knew what they were, the kid had kept the boxes.

A little later something awesome happened. My next door neighbour and best mate (as is the way when you're six and still have a coal bunker to climb over the fence on) got what to my mind might still be one of the best presents ever. Baron Karza, Force Commander and their respective steeds Andromeda and Oberon. These guys looked cool. They still look cool and they looked cool way before Darth and his Stormtroopers looked cool like they looked like BK and the FC cool. And Darth and the others never had horses that could be made into centaurs through the power of magnetic joints. And they fired rockets from their chests, and they fired their fists. We're talking massively awesome now. Did toys ever get better than this? NO. It took years before Star Wars figures ever had that kind of mobility. In all honesty SW figures sucked, and continue to do so against how much more you could do with the Micronauts.

Oh yeah, there was probably an Acroyear or two there, and who knows what else. But on that day I first set my eyes on them, I also set my heart on this quartet of interchangeable amazingness and it's never left. Not really.

I got my first Micronaut in a toy shop in Nottingham whilst on holiday with my grandparents. I got a Time Traveler that I still have (go me!) and Microtron who never made it through the moves, or the rough and tumble of childhood. I don't know why it was Microtron, it may have been all they had in the shop at the time. I seem also to remember that Star Wars had come out by then and I was also dreaming of the Millenium Falcon, but more of that maybe another time.

I don't remember exactly when I got Baron Karza, possibly also visiting granny and grandpa. That was a moment. And I don't remember when I lost him. Somewhere down the line in Canada I also picked up a Pharoid and Repto. The former survived, the latter didn't (unless of course, they're hiding in my parents' loft waiting for my squeals of delighted discovery). So FC and the horses never made it but my door is always open should they wish to show themselves.

Editor's note - I did pick up another Baron Karza at school, swapping him for a Scorpozoid which makes that one of the better deals I've pulled off. Baron 2 has been very carefully looked after since then!

So even though that makes five toys out of a stunning range of many - you count 'em - I never lost hope that one day I'd have 'em all. Even as they disappeared from my life, I never stopped loving them. Perhaps it was just a few early memories infused with childlike potential and amazement that have lingered on, imbuing the name with a contented Pavlovian response.

Or perhaps it was because years later they came to life again in the Marvel comics series, which I avidly collected over my teenage years, picking up all the back issues until I had both series complete. Or maybe I loved the comics because I'd loved the toys. Anyway, it had the most devastating ending that just brought me to my knees. And years later in a pique of poverty, I sold them all at a pittance to be able to pay for presents or sort out a bill. I'd prefer the latter given the choice. So perhaps I can't separate them from some quasi-romantic sense of loss that you get when you're spending way too much time being some geeky shy kid instead of getting out there and talking to women. That's the nightmares of bad poetry and emo bands and I'm happy to report I came through on that one. At least I think I did!

Or perhaps it was because they were genuinely an incredible toy range, providing scope to build cities, fight space battles or have good and evil clash in some manga infused cyberpunk Greek myth mash up. And no matter how clunky some of them look to 21st Century eyes, they maintain a wonderful sense of a toy that could both be a joy in creation and exploration as much as in acting out youthful games of destruction.

Or to put it another way, perhaps it was just because the ROCKED.

And to this day I still hope that this mythical box of Micronauts will one day appear on my doorstep.

Campsite Envy

2011-08-10T23:02:00.002+01:00

Conversation heard on my birthday whilst lying in my portable hammock:

Man: I must get me one of those
Woman: You're really into your camping gadgets aren't you
Man: That's not a gadget

I've had my first taste of enjoying someone else's campsite envy - insert appropriate smiley here.

Oh, it's been a while. I've made some changes.

Don't play with your food unless you've eaten all your toys already

2010-01-23T14:38:00.003Z

So I'm taking 100 days to make myself a better person! I can't remember where I saw mention of Josie Long's project but took a peek yesterday and joined up. As part of the London Word Festival she and various friends and artists decided to do something every day for 100 days that will make them a better person. And now they have 863 people signed up, including myself. It's day 53 for the project but latecomers are welcome, so my 100 days starts today.

My pledge is to take a photo of what's around me, and put it up on Flickr with a few words. I'm not sure I'll be able to put the picture up every day, there will be a few days I know I'll be away from the net. But I will take the picture every day and put it up as soon as possible. There's a Flickr group for the project which I'll also add to.

The discipline of doing something for 100 days is no bad thing. Making the effort, not breaking a promise and being related to a bunch of unrelated folks for no other reason than an idea that looked like fun. That's betterment in itself surely. And I don't take enough pictures in general, and I certainly don't focus enough on grabbing those odd moments. So this is an excuse to do that a little more.

When I started using Flickr all those years ago I never really expected that anyone other than friends and contacts would bother looking at my shots. So it's always a pleasant surprise when an unknown comment appears or I get a spike in the view stats with some more band pics. Of course there's a touch of pleased ego thinking they're my pics! But over and above that I'm fascinated by being able to share a moment with a bunch of complete strangers and bring back a memory of a great show or just a provide an image that pleases. That's the beauty of the old internet, a bunch of connections making a connection.

I hadn't looked at my page since last year and so decided to pop in last night. Which is when I caught a bizarre spike in views around Christmas. All on a shot of a snow dalek that was built down by the bridge moorings in last February's snow. Then I noticed that it's had over twenty four thousand views in total. Outstanding! I've made sure the guys who built it know that their efforts have raised a little smile or a chuckle to a whole bunch of folks theyll never know. It's like that little Japanese girl with the pizza. It's kinda cool really.

Halfway through series 4 of The Wire

White on top of white

2010-01-12T19:53:00.003Z

I can't remember the name of my 3c English teacher. I do remember his face. That makes him no different to most folks I encounter these days. However he did have a resounding impact on me which was to bury an aversion to bad spelling and dodgy grammar deep inside; although some might argue that I'm still fighting the latter to this day.

Most times it doesn't worry me too much in the day to day but I'm exceptionally unforgiving when it comes to people who should know better: managers and anyone in any official capacity whatsoever.

An email appeared in work the other day that caused some amusement. It's for a training course at Disneyland Paris and you can read all about it at this location. The email offered an exciting opportunity for edutainment and imagineering! I'd like to offer those that wrote this drivel an opportunity to swim in the undertow. But wait, its a money can't buy offer for a truly amazing price (495 + VAT). Perhaps it's 495 worth of potatoes then. Plus VAT of course. These people must have taken all the mirrors down in their homes.

If you take a glance at the website, and you don't have to really, then it offers you the chance to LEARN a number of things. Some of these are things you can learn, like Leadership Management, some things that you can pretend to learn like Business Magic and some are really things that you experience, or would want to at 495 + VAT, like Thrilling Rides, Fine Dining and Complimentary VIP Access to the Park. But NOT FUCKING LEARN YOU CRETINS.

Listening to the Jarvis Cocker show on 6 Music

All bands secretly wish they were metal bands

2010-01-01T13:37:00.003Z

The title comes from Dan. I think it says all that needs to be said about music. So all the music journalists can go home now and do something useful. Thank you.

I am a geek.

Here are the lists:

My 10 favourite films of 2009 in no discernible order have been:
The Wrestler
Gran Torino
Not Quite Hollywood
Star Trek
Crank 2
The Hangover
Let The Right One In
Zombieland
The Hurt Locker
Moon

My 10 favourite albums of 2009 in no discernible order have been:
Crippled Black Phoenix - 200 Tons of Bad Luck
Walkenhorst and Porter - No Abandon
Lightning Dust - Infinite Light
The Low Anthem - Oh My God, Charlie Darwin
Pearl Jam - Backspacer
The Yellow Moon Band - Travels Into Several Remote Nations Of The World
Kiss - Sonic Boom
R.E.M. - Live At The Olympia
Willard Grant Conspiracy - Paper Covers Stone
Hush Arbors - Yankee Reality

My 10 favourite gigs of 2009 in no discernible order have been:
Metallica - Nottingham Ice Rink
Faith No More - Reading Festival
The Low Anthem - The Tabernacle
ZZ Top - Wolverhampton City Hall
Massive Atack - Brixton Academy
Blur - Hyde Park
Snuff - Reading Festival
Radiohead - Reading Festival
Okkervil River - The Scala
Neil Young - Hyde Park

There's no such thing as rock stars there's just people who play music

2009-12-22T19:47:00.012Z

...and some of them are just like us and some of them are dicks.

Since I said I'd put some sleeve notes up for this year's comp I suppose I should. This is my third attempt. Which is useless by the way.

It's late enough now for those who may have looked to have given up. Probably late enough for me to not bother at all without anyone noticing. But after having gone to the trouble of getting the covers printed, cutting them all out by hand, folding them, putting them in the slip cases and burning the CDs, not to mention putting them in the cases too, then I should probably make some kind of an effort. For you.

So here we go, in order of appearance.

1) Desolation Row - My Chemical Romance (Watchmen soundtrack): Cover versions are a real guilty pleasure of mine and this is a classic. MCR cover a Sex Pistols covers band covering Dylan. It goes dagga dagga dagga dagga gnnnnrrrr and is therefore genius. Like the next one. It's also probably the most original thing about the Watchmen movie (which I really quite enjoyed for what it was).

2) Got Some - Pearl Jam (Backspacer): Some what? Do I need to go back and read the lyrics? I think this is what Pearl Jam sound like when they're having fun jamming in the basement with no one about. It also feels like it's an identical bpm to the preceding track so there's obviously something about that time signature that pushes the right buttons. Or perhaps it's because it goes dagga dagga dagga gnnnnrrrr. I picked Backspacer up in the HMV above Birmingham New Street on my way to a conference.

3) Pieces - Dinosaur Jr (Farm): This is just VERY LOUD pop music.

4) Ticket Taker - The Low Anthem (Oh My God, Charlie Darwin): I could have picked any track off this album. I almost did. What sealed it was when I realised this was a kind of post apocalyptic love song, which in my mind became a narrative that blended I Am Legend, Apocalypse Now and John Hughes. My imagination worries other people sometimes, I think it's quite sweet.

5) The Ghost of the Girl in the Well - Willard Grant Conspiracy (Paper Covers Stone): I love this song, I love their original version, I love the wooah ohhhh ohhhh bits that send shivers down my spine. This should really be used to soundtrack The Lovely Bones but probably won't. It's a stupid world sometimes.

6) Overland Hill - Walkenhorst and Porter (No Abandon): For those who don't know this next bit listen up, it's important. The Rainmakers are one of my all time favourite bands. We're talking top three here. At least. It's good to hear anything new by Bob and this is about as close to the Rainmakers sound he's got since the band split. Apart from the fiddles, they're new.

7) The Times - Lightning Dust (Infinite Light): Sometimes all I really want to say is that I just really like this song, and the only reason for adding any notes is so you can see what album it's on in case you like it too and want to track it down. And this is one of those times. Tell you what though, this is going to pop up in my top ten albums of the year I reckon. If and when I get around to writing them.

8) For While You Slept - Hush Arbors (Yankee Reality): You've not heard of them, I'd never heard of them, and once I had I couldn't stop playing them. There's always a bit: a hook, a line, a harmony, a whatever, like the woah ohh ohhhs from the Willard Grant tune. This has the widdly diddly bit that's repeated throughout until it gets a bit mental. That's the bit. Outstanding!

9) Try This At Home - Frank Turner (Poetry of the Deed): Bless you Frank for being cool on the train home from Reading, for having a very attractive girlfriend, for writing a very funny song, for providing the title to this piece and for sounding like The Levellers and yet still being seen as cool by the indie fraternity on the basis that you actually do wear skinny jeans but you don't have dreadlocks or smell bad.

10) When Lightning Strikes - Kiss (Sonic Boom): Appreciating Kiss is like appreciating good wine or good cheese. But even if you don't / can't then more importantly this has some grade a MOTHERFUCKING COWBELL... And if that's not enough for you then quite frankly I'm not sure why you've even bothered reading this far. Sonic Boom is an excellent album title.

Look, I'm going to post this now as the family has just arrived and we're about to have Christmas dinner. So I'll get back and fill in the rest later.

OK, later...

11) With a Girl Like You - Condo Fucks (Fuckbook): I like the original by The Troggs more.

12) Film Noir - The Gaslight Anthem (The 59 Sound): Technically this album came out last year making it invalid for this year's cd. But I only bought it this year. And I love this song. I like the line about less right than wrong, that's the bit again. I like the grng grng grng grng bit too. That's another bit. And then they re-released the album this year so it was all good for me to put it on the disc. Also they didn't play this one at Reading. Bastards.

13) Burnt Reynolds - Crippled Black Phoenix (200 Tons of Bad Luck): This is all Dan's fault so ask him.

14) Go - Marillion (Less is More): There's a previous post in which lies the roots of an explanation as to why this song retains a certain resonance for me. Anyway, I think it reminds me of Talk Talk, especially Steve Hogarth's voice. I wonder if he still has that cool glove that plays keyboards in the air?

15) Barter Blues - J. Tillman (Vacilliano Territory Blues): I don't like Fleet Foxes, live or on disc, or in photographs or text. I'm not that keen on their drummer's solo effort although it's way better than the band thing. But I like this one a lot. Especially the bit when it fades back in all grungy. That' the bit. Although you do have to wait a while to get to it. Sometimes a little wait is worthwhile. This wait is nothing compared to sitting through the Fleet Foxes album. Or any of the Twilight movies.

16) Everything's Coming Undone - Michael Stipe (Ciao My Shining Star): This is an album of covers of Mark Mulcahy and Miracle Legion songs. I have the original on the only solo Mulcahy album I own (and I know nothing of Miracle Legion) and it sounds nothing like this version. I'm not even sure any of the words are the same. Anyway, the album's also a tribute to Mulcahy's wife who died earlier this year. Listen to it again with that fact in mind.

17) Mazel Tov Cocktail - The Wildhearts (Chutzpah): Of all the bands that go dagga dagga dagga dagga gnnnnrrrr and grng grng grng grng and occasionally kersprrroing, The Wildhearts are the second best. Soul Asylum are the best. This also has the second best song title of the year after Burnt Reynolds. It would be silver all round for Ginger and the lads but this isn't the second best album of the year. That's someone else.

18) The Wrestler - Bruce Springsteen (Working On A Dream): The Wrestler is one of the best films I've seen this year. This is a beautiful song. It's the only one on this thing that makes me feel in any way melancholy. It reminds me of earlier.

19 Castaway - Shearwater (The Golden Archipelago): The Golden Archipelago doesn't come out till next year but this is a pre-release download with a proper cover and everything so it counts and YOU WILL listen to a new Shearwater song when there is one. Happy happy joy joy for me. Expect more next year.

Oh wow, that's me done.

In that case.

Merry Christmas xxxx

Watching Season 2 of The Wire

Rule number one: no drinking during the gospel songs. Rule number two: no gospel songs

2009-11-09T21:51:00.003Z

I want to look this cool when I'm 60.

Got some if you need it

2009-11-01T13:34:00.013Z

Here are a few of my favourite web-comics (click on the images to see them big):

Alien Loves Predator:

Abstruse Goose:

Bunny:

Questionable Content:

XKCD:

Dilbert:

Schlock Mercenary:

Listening to Pearl Jam's Backspacer

Wide awake on the edge of the world

2009-10-20T19:47:00.003+01:00

This is my grandparent's gravestone in Waithaga, a small village in Kenya. It's close to the site of the church where they were married. After granny passed Mum and my aunt and uncle took their ashes out and left them in the place that meant so much to them.

My youngest sister laid the flowers on Saturday.

Listening to Marillion's Less is More

Oh how the times do change

2009-09-28T23:37:00.002+01:00

One of those days that has ripples.

Listening to Infinite Light by Lightning Dust

It's always funny until someone gets hurt... and then it's just hilarious...

2009-09-03T20:56:00.008+01:00

Finally, my A to Z of the Reading Festival 2009 (abridged)

A is for alcohol: The best way for any self-respecting tweenie to celebrate their spectacular exam results (see P) is to consume enough shite booze to kill a trailer-trash redneck alcoholic. No listening to the young folks grinding away at each other at night; no, far more fun to listen to them discuss loudly how they'd managed to puke in the tent every morning. This year's special guest appearance - Tuborg Pear Cider. Yummy.

B is for butscratcher: This year's funny funny funny phrase to be shouted at any available passers by at any available opportunity. And trust me, there's shit loads of both. If Seth MacFarlane had walked past (and had I known what he looks like) I would have popped his eyeballs out and skull-fucked him with the sweating pepparami we found under the flysheet on Sunday morning.

C is for comedy: Yup, Reading isn't just about shit bands and drunk kids, it also has a comedy stage. Tim Minchin was funny. Had I not found the Faith No More line I would have titled this piece using his line "we're all just monkeys in shoes." Even if that is unfair to both monkeys and shoes.

D is for ...DaveDaveDaveDaveDave... : That's Mr David Grohl to you sunshine. The patron godfather of Reading and cheered uproariously every time his grinning face appeared on the screens as he watched stage-side. Figuring out where the 'secret' appearance of Them Crooked Vultures was, was tough. "Why's there a big gap on the NME stage line up on Saturday? Dunno. OK, perhaps there's someone shit on the main stage instead."

E is for emergency evac: This is what you have to do on Sunday night after the incredible transformation of the Reading crowd from High School Musical into Lord of the Flies and the fires grow bigger and the crowd dancing around them turns feral and aerosol cannisters start getting thrown on, then any nearby tents, then anything that's going to cause a cloud of toxic fumes to hang low over the Reading camp site like some fucked up version of the egg scene in Alien and you realise that your lovely new tent is next in line for the Wicker Kids, or at the very least to be crushed to death by the drunken hordes of tweenies singing the National Anthem. Thank you to the super speedy removal team.

F is for flesh: Acres of it. If it could be legally displayed, it was out there. Most of it aged between 16 and 18 and that can get a little disturbing after a while (especially if you're a teacher - see N). The smurfs challenged me to get a picture of an exposed arse hanging out the back of a micro skirt or somesuch. Took a 2.1 days to get the shot. Took about 2.1 seconds before the first one passed by. Damn they move fast.

G is for ghosts: OK, so I know I hadn't slept, was 'somewhat' under the influence and wired to the max post emergency evac (see E), but... Look, just but, it was fucking weird ok!

H is for Holy Fuck!: The expression that must have been on my face when the giant catapault launched water bomb came heading straight towards me. I moved with the speed of a spitting cobra and the grace of Oliver Reed on After Dark (you can look that one up yourself if you don't know what I'm talking about).

I is for I never want to camp at Reading again: Something I last said in '95. I'll listen to me better next time.

K is for Kumbya: When Bob set off to start a cult. Dont ask (see R)

L is for lineup: Not one of Reading's best.

N is for neighbours: Everybody needs good ones. We had some diamonds. So to Ross, Ross, Ross's buddy Mike/Carl/?, the Cornwall couple, Ed the homophobe and his gay tent mate, thank you for the laughs both intentional and otherwise.

O is for the other bands I saw (see T): Gaslight Anthem, Gossip, Glasvegas, Maximo Park, Deftones, Eagles of Death Metal, Them Crooked Vultures, The Prodigy, Rival Schools. Have I missed anyone?

P is for passes: Everyone passed, be it GCSE or A-Level. Well everyone bar the one guy who didn't. I reckon 80% of the audience had just taken an exam of some kind. The other 20% were wandering about thinking: "Great, shame there's no fucking jobs a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha..."

R is for requests: As is "Does anyone have any requests?" A question asked at 7.30 on Friday morning by our over eager guitar playing companion leading to the best come back of the weekend: "Yeah, shut the fuck up!" I laughed and went back to sleep.

S is for smurfs: I would festival with the smurfs again. Just not at Reading.

T is for the top ten bands of the weekend: So in order it's:

Faith No More: brutal and brilliant, ferocious and funny, far and away the best and heaviest band of the weekend by a few miles. A bonus extra three places for dropping in the Eastenders theme. We sang, we danced, we jumped up and down, we shouted, we wondered why the tent was a third empty and laughed at all the idiots complaining about how Kings of Leon threw a strop. Was it worth the 20 year wait? Fuck yeah!
Radiohead: mellowed out hits heavy set even if you couldn't hear it for the noise of the grass growing - see V.
Gallows: Climb tent pole. Dive into crowd. Throw yourselves around the place. Be thoroughly entertaining. Arctic Monkeys take note - having clever words doesn't make you worth watching when you're fucking boring.
Snuff: Arsehole, Soul Limbo, Sunny Places, Nick Motown, see W. "Oi Oi". 15 years I've waited to see 'em again, bless their lovely socks of undefined fabric and trombone.
Jamie T and Friendly Fires equal: never heard anything by either of you before but damn you were entertaining.
Leftover Crack: not jut a great name.
Crystal Castles: you scared me and I didn't know what was happening and couldn't talk or dance or anything but I think you might have been excellent even though I'm not sure.

U is for, actually you know what, I'm not going there. But for the record smokey smurf I have the pictures.

V is for volume: There have been many complaints about the volume on the Reading main stage. Put it this way. If you were standing between more than two feet from the crowd barier and the mid-field speakers, the sound disappeared if someone farted on stage. This is why it's better to see bands in one of the tents. That and you don't have to suffer Placebo or Kaiser Chiefs.

W is for Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads: The theme from. Just might have been the moment of the weekend.

Come back unchanged your demons all tamed

2009-08-18T20:50:00.002+01:00

I'm not sure if the doctor would have specified south west Cornwall, but it did the trick.

I hadn't realised how bad I'd been until I realised how relaxed I'd become.

So a week's camping was to be had, Friday to Saturday at a very pleasant site in St. Hilary, north east of Penzance. Larger urban environments were avoided as were over-crowded beaches. Instead cliff paths and rugged coastline was followed, staircases cut into rocks climbed, dilapidated farmhouses clambered over and an afternoon was spent getting sunburned watching The Crucible at the most excellent Minack theatre. Rowena Cade, we salute you.

Local fish was eaten, battered, with chips, and breakfasts were cooked on the camping stove. And I was roundly thrashed 4 sets to 1 at backgammon. But it was a hard fought victory. No dishonour there...

And at least on one night I was able to lie looking up at the stars and listen to what's fast becoming my favourite album of the year: The Low Anthem's Oh My God Charlie Darwin. I think I recognised scorpio. Unfortunately the regular cloud cover kept the meteor show hidden from view.

It was a little sad to finally retire the old silver space tent after 20 years, 2 continents, 5 countries and 10 festivals but the new one was a veritable mansion in whatever they make tents out of these days.

Anyway, photographs are here.

It's fun being back on the bike again.

Whisky, weed and Warren Zevon, it's the little things in life

2009-07-29T21:07:00.002+01:00

I have no fucking idea where July's gone. Or most of June for that matter.

Nothing to do with the above recipe, that's a line from Californication, a gentle and touching tale of a guy who loves girl and their daughter, graphic sex, nudity, drug taking, drinking, S&M, blasphemy, great music and squirting. Life's a bit gooey from time to time but any show that beats in time to the tunes of Warren Zevon has to have a good heart.

So I've definitely been way busier than usual and somewhat internet phobic. I'd blame work for the latter but I suspect it's proably more to do with American TV.

I am aware that no matter how much shit I have missed (argh, sorry), I have managed to catch up with a lot of friends I haven't seen in far too long. And despite a worryingly and annoying distinct lack of festival camping this summer, some of it was outdoors with too much sun and pear cider and the gentle tones of Neil Young and Blur drowning out the foreground and the central London Heathrow flightpath in the background.

One side effect of such a state was the purchase of Florence and the Machine's album which was a good thing. On the other hand I also think that the best film I've seen of late has been Crank 2. That means either I've watched a lot of shit, or I can't remember what I've seen, or the logic I use to determine that Crank 2's utter genius is based around the fact that it's all done in such gleefully knowing bad taste, is deeply fucking disturbed. History will judge me fairly I'm sure.

Actually, that's a lie. The best film I've seen in ages has been The Story of Anvil in which two hairy Canadians deliver more of a message on the beauty of friendship and humanity than any politician or religious leader in the past 190 billion years. Of course, I still haven't seen the Iron Maiden movie so that may change. But seriously you tiny select group of reader(s) out there. Go see it. NOW. It'll make you a better human being.

Crank 2 was the second best until my memory returns.

Unfortunately our current lack of promised heatwave has kept Chuffy unpainted. On the other hand I have learned a little more about electricity. There's an intentional lack of context in the last statement for no particular reason. I've also learned that riding a bike is just like what they say about riding a bike. And I love my new bike. Very much. I'm a muddy little two wheel speed freak. The image that just brought to mind made me cringe.

And just to gloat, even though I know you don't care and if you do then you shouldn't - don't put up with my petulant glee at proving my head is full of absurd knowledge - I've been on two winning pub quiz teams, grand total of winnings in hand at the end of the night: £40 and all drinks paid for.

I will endeavour to blog more in my 39th year.

Me my thoughts are flower strewn

2009-07-01T20:15:00.004+01:00

It's been seven weeks since I woke up with my foot inflated like some giant baby, all stubby toes and puffy. Amazing what a hairline crack, invisible to x-ray can do.

The first three weeks were spent as immobile as possible, watching perspective disappear over the horizon as cabin fever took hold. Since then it's been a slow crawl to the six week bone healed mark.

It'll be another three weeks at least before I consider running again.

Note to self, need to buy new running shoes.

Listening to R.E.M.'s Find The River

I said ah welcome to the show!

2009-06-30T21:28:00.005+01:00

I may not have been at Glastonbury this year, but I was very happy everywhere I was.

This afternoon I watched fledgling swifts loop through the air above me. It'll be another three to four years before they touch land again. Below them a pachyderm parade of Canada Geese followed their Colonel Hathi down the river whilst a grebe gargled at them and the coots shifted themselves out of the way. They look to be down to three squeakies now.

Listening to Def Leppard's remastered Pyromania

When you meet a stranger

2009-04-07T19:45:00.002+01:00

The best advice I've ever been given came from a white Zimbabwean. After letting us out at our destination, having bought us lunch, drinks and keeping us in stitches for the entire journey, he left us with these sound words:

"Don't get too drunk, don't fall out of your tree and NEVER take your clothes off in public."

I've failed in all 3 at some point or another.

Today delivered some new wisdom:

"Go to the pub. And buy something pretty."

And why not.

Listening to Bat for Lashes

bitter hands broken glass

2009-04-06T20:40:00.003+01:00

It's good to be in April. March has not been one of my finest months of late. For most of it I've been a bear with a bad head. Which I tend to keep down when I'm feeling like that. I'm not great company. Not very talkative.

52 Mondays ago I sat at my desk at The Archives for the first time. Doesn't feel like a year. The work-life-balance-ometer might be swinging a little too far in the wrong direction right now but I still love what I do. And if you're going to wander in to work on a Saturday, then it's much more pleasant to trickle down to Kew than trek up to Tottenham Court Road.

Spring: the chance to wash the coal dust out of my life for another 7 months, finches stopping ever so briefly, sky filled with birdsong, mallards gang-raping each other, and the gradual increase in the numbers of lumpen-headed-pointless-fuckwits (determined to get from one end of the river to another as fast as possible without pause to realise that they're oxygen wasting morons) going by my window. The kind of folks who should be spending time in an environment more suited. Like Jupiter.

I'm listening to a lot of Pearl Jam. The remastered Ten is wonderful, the additional disk of remixes almost better. Beautiful, hopeful and angry. Suited the mood.

And the men who hold high places must be the ones to start...

2009-03-15T18:01:00.003Z

I must do something about the lack of Rush in my music collection.

So to recap.

It's been a busy old year so far.

I've added to the list of things I'd never expected to do at work: drawing all over meeting room walls. Which has been fun. I spent six weeks immersed in some risk analysis work which somehow managed to span 11 000 words, more post-it notes than I care to remember and two meeting room walls. It kinda took over for a while, which I thoroughly enjoyed, and I hope I managed to sit back and let the rest of the team slice it all up with good grace. I'm looking at a couple more tough weeks and then.

More busy I suspect.

Which'll be fun too.

I've had the requisite bouts of flu and sickness, the consequences of which were mainly missing an old friend's birthday party, apparently with naked dancing. Now I've never been at a party with naked dancing in before (and I'm hoping it was naked female dancing, but that's probably just me), and I suspect opportunities for such are rapidly diminishing. I must get up to Cabbage again soon.

I did manage to make it up to Nottingham to see the best show I've ever seen Metallica play. Funny to think it's been 22 years and 6 shows since Dan and I first saw them together. An auspicious start to the gig year, with The Broken Family Band, Blur and Neil Young to follow. So far.

I haven't looked at my Facebook page in almost three months now, but have managed to catch up with a few of my fellow 6+ billion inhabitants on our spinning rock.

And I finished a Monopoly game that's taken over a year to complete. Damn it, Darth won.

I watched Watchmen. Which was about as good I suppose as any of us had reason to expect. Beautiful looking, focused, brutal, occasionally a teensy bit boring. And utterly pointless since it brings nothing new to what lies on the pages of the book, other than successfully illustrating why Alan Moore doesn't believe his work should be filmed. Still, I can't wait for someone to have a bash at Lost Girls. The Wrestler, Gran Torino and Man on Wire have all been movie highlights. Twilight, on the other hand, might possibly the worst film I've ever seen. I'm all ranted out on how bad it was but since we're here. For the record I'd rather smear chipotle sauce under my eyelids and slice my ears off with toenail clippings than have to watch that tedious stench of teen angst tedium again.

I've had a Kingfisher fly past my face, all streaky electric blue and orange and I've felt elated watching the morning sun bounce of the gold leaf as I've run past Hampton Court with Hans Zimmer's soundtrack to The Thin Red Line poddied into my ears.

But best of all.

I've seen light in what have been dark places.

Up to speed again. Don't leave it so long next time huh!

This terrible drone is the sound of a thousand machines

2009-02-18T21:36:00.003Z

I'm watching the Brits.

Thoughts:

I now dislike the new U2 single eve more than before. Which is saying something.

I want to see more of The Hoff stalking the polka dot wearing hyena attempting to be amusing whilst barking at the award winners between segments. It's the funniest thing so far.

There are unsurprisingly few surprises.

Robbie didn't join Take That on stage, even though they were in a Dave Lee Roth cast-off spaceship.

Paul Weller didn't turn up.

Duffy keeps winning stuff.

No one's actually very funny.

I do like the way they put a little sign up to tell you when they've blanked the sound. Just in case I thought my reception was going again.

Are Kings Of Leon just a teensy weensy bit FUCKING BORING?

The set looks like a cheap Dairylea commercial.

Iron Maiden win best British Live Act. Fucking justice at last, c'mon the Irons!

Elbow win best British group, Coldplay look disappointed. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha... etc

Girls Aloud look even more pissed off when they don't win something. Keep the camera on grumpy Ashley Cole please, I want to watch him squirm.

They're very gracious when they do win something though.

Only kidding, they're not.

And their fan dance was rubbish.

Coldplay win nothing. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha etc. They do put on a good show earlier though. Still a rubbish song off their most average album yet.

Brandon Flowers is wearing roadkill. I think he's actually 12 years old.

Neil Tennent's hat is too big for him. That's probably on purpose though.

I think Lady GaGa is actually one of those 2D cut out paper dolls my sisters used to clip cut out paper clothes on to when they were young come to life.

Thank fuck it's over.

No it's not. Duffy's on the ads. Not any more, I've committed an act of personal censorship and turned the telly off.

**UPDATE**

What the hell was Kanye West talking about in his acceptance speech?

Why did BBC breakfast not mention the Maiden win?

So ridiculously great and primally stupid it might have been assembled by cavemen

2008-12-31T11:26:00.004Z

Year end is a good time for the witty, waggish, wry, warm, wasted, wonky, weird, worthy, wondrous, wealthy or wise wordsmiths of the world to neatly wrap it all up in the boxes we've come to know and love as the top ten list. Or a variation on the theme of.

Something I'm partial to myself.

Traditionally I've compiled my ten favourite movies, albums and gigs.

And I see no reason for changing.

Nor can I be arsed to.

So here they are. I may add some 'liner notes' in order to clarify any worries you may still have that I'm losing it big time. I reserve the right to change my mind at any time, or to have got these lists badly wrong.

I'll start with movies since that's a long standing conversation with an old school buddy that took place yesterday.

1) Doomsday. Just in case you thought I had any sense left Neil Marshall's homage to the early films of Romero, Miller and Carpenter entertained me no end endlessly.

2) Lars And The Real Girl. Funny. Very funny. Very very funny. And human.

3) The Dark Knight. Those who didn't think The Joker was a tour de force were wrong. Just wrong. Totally, utterly and unequivocally wrong. Wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong. Wrong.

4) Hellboy 2. Imagination at work.

5) Juno. For the Argento.

6) The Mist. Bleak, dark, twisted, fucked up fantastic.

7) Burn After Reading. Like I said, favourite, not best.

8) Persepolis. Even though it's 20 minutes too long.

9) Indiana Jones and the very long title. Not because of LeBeef, Lucas, Spielberg, the CGI or that stupid fucking monkey chase. Actually I don't even know why but it was fun.

10) Before The Devil Knows You're Dead. There's nothing like watching a movie where everything starts off going south and then gets worse.

Honourable mentions should go to No Country For Old Men, The Wackness, Gone Baby Gone, Southland Tales, Iron Man and the first 45 minutes of Wall E. Honourable mentions also for The Mummy 3, The Nines, The Strangers, The Invasion, The Rocker, Wanted, Colverfield, Sweeney Todd and that Shyamalan movie about the trees for being the most Godforsaken turgid vomit-ridden wank I've been unfortunate enough to bother sitting through. Utter fucking garbage each and every one, with all those involved deserving a good waterboarding. Please don't do it again.

As far as gigs go it would be best to assume, even though I avoid that word as often as possible holding to the dictum that assumption is the mother of all fuck ups, it would be good to assume that placing in listing is dependent on quality of sound, performance, set list, and entertainment value (in no particular order). Maybe you were there, maybe you weren't.

1) Okkervil River @ The Scala (February)
2) R.E.M. @ Twickenham (August)
3) Shearwater @ St Giles-in-the-Fields (November)
4) Elbow @ Porchester Hall (March)
5) Iron Maiden @ Twickenham (July)
6) Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds @ Hammersmith (May)
7) Okkervil River @ Shepherd's Bush (November)
8) Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds @ HMV (March)
9) Radiohead @ Victoria Park (June)
10) R.E.M @ The Royal Albert Hall (March)

And as for the albums? How about a one word description, just for the hell of it? That way I don't have to make any seeming sense at all, and I can publish this post and get off to buy some food for the beastie.

1) R.E.M. - Accelerate. Return
2) Shearwater - Rooks. Finally
3) AC/DC - Black Ice. Different
4) Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid. Curtains
5) The Wildhearts - Stop Us If You've Heard This One before Vol 1. Remembering
6) Imperfect - Tales From The Caravan Of Experience. Learning
7) Death Cab For Cutie - Narow Stairs. Random
8) The Hold Steady - Stay Positive. Springsteen
9) The Duke Spirit - Neptune. Boots
10) Okkervil River - The Stand Ins. YouTube

Done. See ya.

As she laughed and danced through the field of graves

2008-12-23T13:01:00.006Z

It's been eight years now since I started compiling my top tunes of the year as a substitute for a Christmas Card. Production values have improved somewhat, but the rules remain the same. All albums have to have been released in that year, and no more than one track per album, one album per band.

I think the idea originally came from Cameron Crowe, in an interview around the time Almost Famous came out, who said that he used to make mix tapes for each year so he could always remember what he had listened to.

That and the idea that some songs do 'soundtrack' salient moments in your life, whilst others just sit around and keep you company on your travels.

A quick scan of what's on offer will reveal that this year it's been mainly rock music or melodic indie Americana. And whilst I've listened to a great deal of 2008's musical offerings, with each passing year I'm less and less tempted by what's out there. Little of what I hear grabs me enough to warrant a second listen, most times I know if something's for me within the first few minutes. I no longer have the patience or desire to spend time with music I don't connect with (maybe better choice of phrase than like or dislike), and consequently what I have bought this year has been much more selective than in the past.

I tend to find that about 50% of the time, I hear a track and know it'll end up on the CD. And 50% of the time (for the statisticians amongst you), I don't. Some days I know where it'll sit in the order, or what it needs to sit next to. The flow seems to come easier each year.

Usually I add some brief sleeve notes, but not this year: a consequence of not having Photoshop to play with. So perhaps, now everything's in the post, it's time to reflect on my choices in as far as I can. So for 2008 these are the songs I liked most, this is the music I stop and listen to.

1) Bon Iver - Re: Stacks (from the album For Emma, Forever Ago). I'd been hearing about the Bon Iver album for months before I finally heard anything by him. When I did it was on Okkervil River's Stand Ins YouTube channel playing Blue Tulip, a track that will reappear later. I'm not a huge fan of For Emma..., even though I rushed out to buy it after watching the video, but I do love this song. It's the last track on the album and I had to chop about 45 seconds of footsteps off the end to make it work as the first track. So essentially it's an edit.

2) R.E.M. - Living Well Is The Best Revenge (from the album Accelerate). After a well documented run of decreasingly decent records I was well psyched when I heard Supernatural Superserious (or Supercilious as the Evening Standard so spectacularly called it, congratulating the band on getting supercilious into a song title). When I say psyched I mean jumping up and down in my chair, playing it to everyone who wandered by and playing it over and over and over again. I have a thing about new R.E.M. singles that I may have spoken about once.

When I first heard Living, a short clip off their website, it practically blew me off my chair. By the time the album came out I'd heard everything on it and seen them at the Royal Albert Hall. Rolling Stone said there were two post Bill Berry R.E.M.s. The touring version and the recording version and that Accelerate was the first album released by the touring band. I concur.

The Albert Hall show was good, not great, a warm up. By the time they rolled into Twickenham in August they were on fire, a whirlwind of staccato energy with a light show to match. Country Feedback, Perfect Circle, These Days, Orange Crush, End Of The World, hard to think anyone could have complained about the set list; except for the couple on the station platform complaining that they only knew two tracks?

The title is a quote from George Herbert (1593 - 1633), a poet, orator and priest (c./o Wikipedia). From what little I know he sounded like a decent human being. Accelerate came out whilst I was on holiday in Cyprus with my friend Annie. Cyprus was a much needed holiday, my first in years, and one of the high points of the year. It fell between me finally leaving publishing and three fairly soul destroying years in my previous haunt behind (a high point), and joining The National Archives, another high point! If I was feeling less than charitable I'd dedicate this to those in my previous life who so kindly reminded me on far too regular a basis that my project was considered less than important in the great scheme of things. But quite frankly they don't deserve the credit.

So yeah, this is one of the soundtrack songs, a memory of pivotal moments, new directions and swimming pools in the sun.

3) Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds - Albert Goes West (from the album Dig, Lazurus Dig!!!). No one does "na na na naaas" better than Nick Cave, and this world needs more of them. I saw him twice this year and he didn't play this at either show. Still, it was fun queuing up in the cold outside HMV to get to see him at an instore, along with grabbing myself a signed copy of the disc, and his Hammersmith show was stunning. This song cheers me up no end.

4) AC/DC - Rock 'n' Roll Train (from the album Black Ice). There are only two words that can describe this song: genius. Black Ice was a rare thing this year, a big release that didn't disappoint. The Angus and Malcolm Young guitar sound is one perhaps the most distinctive in rock music, and something that's led critics to snipe that AC/DC have been simply writing the same album every year since dot, a typically example of lazy condescending music-journo snobbery, or maybe just me being a fan. Still, knocking AC/DC for what they do is a bit like knocking banks for being greedy. Far better to accept that to not like this song is intensley pointless, and to bask in its wondrousnessness instead.

5) Death Cab For Cutie - Grapevine Fires (from the album Narrow Stairs). I'm not a massive DCFC fan but there are always a couple of tracks on each album I totally fall in love with. Narrow Stairs came out early in the year whilst I was still high on changing jobs and full of positivity for the road ahead. I remember someone (I'm not saying who) saying to me they thought that last year's CD was a bit depressing, and at the time I genuinely thought that this year it was going to be different, uplifting. So the refrain "everything is going to be alright" fit right in.

6) Okkervil River - Blue Tulip (from the album The Stand Ins). So, here's Blue Tulip again. Essentially part 2 of last year's The Stage Names, this has to be my least favourite Okkervil River album, and it took it's own sweet time for me to fall for it. It still ended up being a tough call between this and Calling And Not Calling My Ex as to which one would see it through the knock out stage of compilation. Blue Tulip won through after a stunning rendition at Shepherd's Bush.

They remain one of the best live bands I've ever seen, again, twice this year. Their Scala show back in January was up there with the best I've ever seen, despite my gig-buddy suffering from extended jet-lag. Along with Shearwater they're about all I've played for the last two months.

7) Mogwai - Scotland's Shame (from the album The Hawk Is Howling). Nothing to do with the behaviour at last year's Glastonbury. The more Mogwai go space rock, the more I like 'em.

8) Sigur Ros - Góðan Daginn (from the album Með Suð Í Eyrum Við Spilum Endalaust). Some days there's nothing sweeter than the sounds of high pitched pixies ooooooohing in Icelandic.

9) Shearwater - Lost Boys (from the album Rooks). I found Okkervil River through Shearwater, and I found Shearwater by mistake. Both bands became instant favourites, and in their respective ways deliver what I love most about music. 2008 was the year I finally got to see Shearwater live and happily blew me away being everything I wanted them to be and more. Even though this track wasn't on the set list.

Rooks managed to slip out without me noticing, unsurprisingly. I should join a mailing list or something.

10) Kings X - Alright (from the album XV). The return of some old friends I've been away from since University, nine albums ago. They were the first band I saw at the Astoria and this is one of those songs that sat in the 'happy' frame.

11) Howlin' Rain - Lord Have Mercy (from the album Magnificent Fiend). They apparently do make 'em like this anymore.

12) The Gutter Twins - Idle Hands (from the album Saturnalia). I always thought that this would make a great soundtrack to the zombie apocalypse.

When it comes.

I'll be ready.

Or at least I'll have some great music to play.

13) Willard Grant Conspiracy - Phoebe (from the album Pilgrim Road). I'm not sure if this a happy song or not. But it is beautiful. I was going to make a gag about always finding space for WGC but I'm not sure how many of you would get it.

14) The Duke Spirit - Into The Fold (from the album Neptune's Call). Pretty much always a live favourite, even if this year's show didn't quite cut the mustard. I'd managed to avoid listening to this album to any great degree until I came to rebuild the kitchen and then it got some serious air time whilst I happily went insane trying to lift a washing machine two feet into the air on my own. Another one of those tracks I didn't get to hear live!

15) The Hold Steady - Lord, I'm Discouraged (from the album Stay Positive). You could say that the key points of the year so far had been leaving BMC, going on holiday, starting at TNA (sorry Natalie), and doing the kitchen. All brought great change for me. There were three more things waiting around the corner for me that would define 2008.

Despite being a miserable song, this was musically my favourite track on the album. Until we were sitting in the pub having lunch after seeing Mum in hospital for the first time and it came on the radio. The line about "sutures and bruises" suddenly grew a horrible visual relevance and I couldn't get it out of my head.

It was the first of the three occasions and it would come back to haunt me each time. The second was when Ed died, and the third when Annie's partner Martyn died; all within a month of each other. The end of the year has been an emotional clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I dedicated this collection to Ed and Martyn, although I spelled Martyn's name wrong, a mistake I've constantly made over the years. It's the second time I've dedicated one of these compilations to someone no longer here, and was nearly the third. I wonder if I should have really dedicated it to Amanda and Annie. In truth it's for those who've gone and those they've left behind. And to all those who've given me counsel these past few months - they have been many and their words and ears have been appreciated far beyond a batch of songs, no matter what they mean to me.

I should say that this slot was almost going to be one of the extra tracks, Two Handed Handshake, which would have been a much more positive ending. However the three extra tracks were all grouped as one which pissed me off no end and I couldn't be arsed splitting them all. And by then everything else had happened.

16) Elbow - One Day Like This (from the album The Seldom Seen Kid). This may seem like a cliche now, but when I heard it for the first time at Porchester Hall, ahead of the album release (cheers for the tickets Ken), it was another pivotal Elbow live moment, a communal sing-a-long, a huge shit eating grin, a warm musical hug, a smiley face, a lover's tender kiss on the cheek. A small moment turned into an epic sweep. If you haven't experienced Elbow in a large room full of people you'll have no idea what I'm talking about. If you have and you disagree then I don't want to talk to you anymore.

Elbow brought me light in dark times, tears when they were ready to fall, and a smile when needed.

17) The Wildhearts - Carmelita (from the album Stop Us If You've Heard This One Before Vol 1). You can't have enough Wildhearts in your life. You can't have enough Warren Zevon in your life. So what better way to round off than this?

So that's it. There were a couple of songs that fell off the end because of timing, principally Goldfrapp's Little Bird, Last Of The Outlaw Truckers from The Dandy Warhols, Black Mountain's Tyrants and Imperfect's S.O.S. Maybe one year I'll do an extended MP3 version so I can fit everything in. And by the way, the cover image is of mountains in Germany taken from the plane on the way back from Cyprus.

I haven't mentioned the friends I saw the gigs with, or played the tunes to at various times. But they're all in there somewhere.

And I know that not everyone likes the CDs, but then again, I don't like the pictures on every Christmas card I get. But I guess if one person buys a record off this, I'm happy.

So that's me almost done for Christmas. That's about all I'm going to say on what's happened this year now. I suspect I'll have my top tens up in a week or so, and then it's on with the nine.

Happy fucking Christmas everyone.

One hundred and eighty!

2008-12-03T21:52:00.002Z

I've not been feeling much like writing recently, so here's Shearwater from a couple of weeks ago.

Come tomorrow, maybe a soldier

2008-11-19T20:38:00.003Z

I seem to have given evidence against myself, prior to being shot for desertion.

It reminds me that I was sitting on the crapper when the announcement for the two minute silence on Armistice Day echoed through the building. 120 seconds later there was a chorus of flushing.

No matter how earth shattering (at least if not literally) an event, all around the globe folks will be talking, walking, arguing, discussing, fucking, eating, sleeping, reading, watching, listening, pondering, pissing and shitting as normal.

Life goes on.

There's plenty of light still left in your eyes

2008-11-17T19:15:00.005Z

When I got home on Tuesday after the Okkervil River show, the almost full moon was casting an ethereal lavender glow across the stillness of the land.

Okkervil River are one of only two bands I've seen in living memory when during the quiet bits you can't hear some fucking idiot loudly proclaiming their irrelevance on this planet.

I feel the ocean

2008-11-09T17:37:00.002Z

Iona was right, it really was the TGV.

I have a text message on my phone from a close friend I'd just spent the day with on Thursday, 48 hours after she'd been told her boyfriend of 9 years had died, also aged 38. It is full of questions that have no answers, requests that can not be fulfilled. It is a primal scream of grief, and the waves of immediate unfettered loss pour out of it.

It broke my heart.

Of all the emotions I've been through these past few weeks, it's the helplessness that's been the worst.

Listening to Shearwater's Winged Life

When you tip your head to the side does it sound like rain stick?

2008-11-02T20:52:00.006Z

Autumn sounds like screeching gulls and smells of woodsmoke.

So the Bishop of Lewes has suggested that the ol' credit crunch is 'God's punishment' for our materialistic over-indulgences. OK, fine by me; who am I to argue against a higher power?

But I do have a couple of questions.

Firstly, if we're all being punished, why are there still going to be so many big banking bonuses again this year? I mean, surely that's a reward for being very good at excessive materialistic consumption, not punishment.

Second, considering the wonderful litany of murder, war, destruction, oppression, murder, slavery, exploitation, our general concession to all this, not to mention the ongoing devastation of this lovely rock God has designed for us, and more; how come it was a bunch of over-suited bipeds that pushed Him / Her over the edge into action?

It's been a good week for the clergy in the news. After all, what better word(s) could precede the headline "...hospitalised with potato up his bum" than 'Vicar'. Other than 'Russell Brand'. And talking of Amy Winehouse's evil twin, have you wondered how differently things would have worked out if they'd only called Jeremy Clarkson instead?

I wonder if anyone checked to see if this fella wasn't some kind of Trojan Horse, full of tiny Lego figures waiting to spill out and take over the country.

I hope so.

Anyway, a belated Happy Halloween to y'all

So the lesson is not to draw artificial lines in the sand when there is a hurricane blowing

2008-10-26T18:04:00.002Z

This violates the axiom of transitivity

2008-10-25T15:40:00.005+01:00

So it was going to be like this:

Not last Sunday, but the one before I was going to post on how I'd achieved an ambition of sorts, of how I'd played guitar in a band, with an audience. How after two rehearsals a disparate bunch of musicians (bass, guitar, drums, keys, 2 singers, melodian and me) played Green Onions, Brown Eyed Girl, Surfin' USA, Daytripper and Summer of '69 to an appreciative (and hopefully forgiving and forgetful) group of colleagues at The National Archive's band Night.

At best I hope we were like the band when first mentioned here. I still make no claims to be able to do anything other than bang out a few chords but it was an absolute fuckin' hoot, and if we ever get the video I'll post it up.

Then on Saturday with my arm halfway down my chimney, my Dad calls to tell me Mum's been rushed into hospital for an emergency operation and that she's going to be in intensive care and that no-one quite knows exactly how serious it is. She's home now, almost a week, and watching her recover so quickly has been a tonic in a week when tonics were going to be much required.

Because it wasn't going to be the first time that week I was going to be spending a day in an ICU. It's tough beyond belief seeing your Mum blurry on morphine, needles piercing her wrists and neck, tubes criss-crossing her, bruised and battered and in pain. Thankfully with each passing visit the tubes disappeared, the clarity returned and the pain receded. We'll still be having a very quiet Christmas.

Back in work on Tuesday I get a call to tell me one of my friends from the mooring has fallen whilst with his boat, which was out getting her hull scraped. On Tuesday night he was apparently woozy, but conscious and aware. We were waiting for the bandages to return and much jovial finger waving and laughing.

Ed's actually far more than just a friend form the mooring. I've known him since we were 9, explored Dungeons and battled Dragons together, got pissed on two continents together, I tried to sleep in an airport baggage cart at his wedding and he's responsible for two significant turning points in my life: first dragging me up to Tooting from Brighton, and second, dragging me out of Tooting and on to the mooring by convincing me to buy Chuffy when she came up for sale. He's also scraped me off the wall in dark days more times that I can remember.

Life delivered one of it's unforseen gut-punches when his wife rang me on Wednesday morning to tell me something had gone wrong over night and that the doctors didn't think he was going to make it. We waited all day, as machines pumped his heart for him, for the consultants to confirm that whatever it was that made Ed, Ed, it was never ever going to return. Ed as I knew him ceased to be that morning, and the rising and falling of his chest was merely an optical illusion of science rather than life.

He's gone. I walked beside his coffin into the crematorium yesterday morning. But it's hard to fathom that I'll never again see him ambling by. And it makes me so sad that he'll not see his son grow up, that his son will never know his father, and that his wife has lost her soulmate, his mother her son. I don't believe in any God whose judgement I can either question or find solace in (and quite frankly, if you can give me some omnipotent reason why Ed's gone and Dick Cheney's still allowed to walk this earth free from crippling daily torment then that's a God who needs a serious fucking kick in the teeth). Whatever forces govern this rock have no words for good or evil, beauty or ugliness, truth or lies, have no sense of judgement or morality. They merely dictate that with life comes death.

And no more.

What happened was a shitty, fucked-up, tragic accident. I wish it hadn't happened but it has. Those of us who cared about him will each find our own ways of coming to terms with what happened. That is what we do.

There seem to be so many people involved in the practicalities and beauraucracies of death: doctors, nurses, ministers, funeral directors, and all, throughout these past ten days, that I have met with have been exceptional human beings. Their sensitivity and understanding on a daily basis really marks them out amongst us.

And there are those who simply by association get dragged into the proceedings. I've always thought that when you're told someone's died and you have to give friends or family your condolences, that it sounds so empty, trite. But of course, you still have to. A friend expressed this same sentiment to me a few days ago whilst doing just that. Now on the receiving end, I've learned that the words really don't matter - quite simply there are no words to alleviate the kind of hell you're going through. But knowing that someone's thinking of you, and there for you (whether you'll ever need to take them up on it or not) means everything. I'll not worry next time I'm on the delivering side.

The love and support my friends have given me has been overwhelming, has bowled me over.

To say thank you would sound, well, trite.

Thank You.

So in the immortal words of Ringo Starr: please stop sending me all your shit.

Sorry, I mean: Peace and Love x

Ed 30/04/70 - 15/10/08

I won't be held responsible, for my actions

2008-10-06T20:27:00.003+01:00

Being that this whole global economic collapse is really beginning to bum people out, I thought I'd pass on this explanation of how it all came about.

Stick figures and swearing make the horrible truth so much more palatable.

I also want to give you this:

because I love you all, and I care about your spiritual well-being.

Listening to Afraid of Christmas 2008 October Mix

Now I have a tongue tattoo

2008-10-05T20:23:00.005+01:00

The Duke Spirit are one of those bands where I don't listen to their CDs a great deal, where I don't know what half their songs are called, I have no idea what the names of the band are without looking them up (except for Leila of course and I usually end up spelling her surname wrong) but I've seen them live 7 times (3 support, 4 headlining). I've also taken a few snaps of them along the way.

I think they're genuinely one of the better live acts out there at the moment, so it was good to trot down to The Astoria on Tuesday (hopefully not for the last time) to catch up with Ms Moss and the boys. Can't say it was the best show I've seen them do (I think that may have been this one), although it was still a fine night out. Took a couple of songs to kick in, and every once in a while it felt like they just slipped out of gear for a while.

After some pondering I've come to the conclusion that what they needed was more smoke.

Anyway, we left a couple of songs early because I have to be a responsible working person these days and I figure I have a few tunes in credit with them.

Still, I greatly enjoyed listening to a woman loudly and at length complaining about how annoying it is when people talk through gigs. Bugs the shit out of me too.

It was good to be back in The Astoria again; reminded me what a great little venue it is. Hope it sticks around for a little longer.

In other news, I dropped a drill on my foot rehanging some curtains on Saturday, which I'm sure you'll all agree was a really stupid thing to do.

Fire's on.

The hawk is howling

2008-09-28T20:11:00.004+01:00

I would have spent the weekend listening to the new Mogwai if I hadn't found the new Lambchop.

Oh well.

Apparently we've run out of natural resources this week. Which is ironic I suppose because we've also run out of money too.

It was definitely curtains for me. Lots of new curtains. Where the doors should have been. And very smart they look too. Good to see the folks too.

This is a top idea. So why do I have a nasty feeling inside that some might see the opportunity for a game of human Weebles too much to resist. Maybe it's just me.

Autumn's here, hooray. The gulls are circling and New Labour's just become Old Labour. I'm off to see the Duke Spirit again next week. If you're really really lucky I might just tell you what it was like.

R.I.P. Paul Newman, damn fine actor and top salad topping man

Tragic croutons floating in a bowl of poo soup

2008-09-20T13:23:00.004+01:00

I bet the banking industry is currently wishing the world had ended last week when the boffins turned on their inter-dimensional transmogrifier. It's a shame the banks forgot to read their own small print. Y'know, all that stuff about if you can't pay back what you borrow then they're going to take all your shit away. Still, as a concerned citizen and tax payer, I'm glad to be helping out with the democratic ideal that the sins of the few shall be visited upon (and paid for by) the many. I hate to think of all those highly bonused executives left struggling after the weight of such responsibility. I mean, what else can we do? Take them out and beat them to death with their own wallets live on tv?

Of course not.

I've also been amused as to how the potential VP of Disneyland thought it was a good idea to compare hard-working women to a species best known for being bred for mindless violence by feckless fascist fuckwits. Is that better or worse though than not being able to distinguish the difference between a Pit Bull and a Pig? Regardless, I'm definitely not going round theirs for Sunday lunch. At least she's not a technophobe, unlike her boss, although she may want to read our very own Data Handling Review for some useful tips and pointers. That the old timer doesn't use email is probably a good idea, however, as it's one less thing for the White House to lose if the 'Publicans do get in again.

Equally amusing, but with less global impact was the Madonna Wembley gig. Apparently the Madonna crew refused to hook up the sound to Wembley's own top tier PA, so no wonder no-one could hear. Her spokesperson shrugged it off with a wonderfully modern take on the Koan: "I was at the gig and the sound was fine." In other words, if your fans are having a shit time and can't hear, and you can't tell (because you're in the good seats), are your fans really having a shit time and unable to hear anything? This 'spokesperson' is quite clearly an imbecile of astronomic proportions. Their excuse for the late running of the show was just as good, "stage times are only guidelines". Reminds me of the Zimbabwean train timetable we found that stated the departure times were the times before which the train may not leave. Oh, that was back in '89 btw. So although I'm sooooooooooooo pleased that Madge has adopted London as her physical home - hey neighbour, cup of sugar? - quite clearly someone has forgotten to tell her about our transport system, buses, trains, tubes etc, engineering works, no way out of Wembley after sunset. Never mind.

Perhaps she should hire Mark Owen-Lloyd as her spokesperson, whose only crime was to tell it like it is. Which is of course a bug fucking mistake in these enlightened times. I'll gladly add my name to all those official figures who labelled his comments as "inapproprate", because I truly feel that the potential suffering and possible deaths to some suffering from the rising cost of energy bills is indeed, inappropriate.

Reading: Charlie Brooker's Screenburn

Send lawyers guns and money

2008-09-07T21:16:00.003+01:00

Fuck
Almost 2 months to the day since I last posted
That's bad
The days were once long and drifted by
But it's easy to get distracted
And that thing I was going to do tomorrow is now a month ago
Or maybe two

I remember watching house martins pissing about outside the office window
And coots chasing their young from the nest
(thinking mother nature must look like Anne Robinson)
And the days when Bonnie and Clyde brought the kids round
I remember bbqs on the mooring
And one on top of a boat
I've sat in the sun on Chuffy's roof
And gone a little mad working on the kitchen
(Note to self, I go a little more crazy every time I work on the boat)
But I can wash my clothes again
2 weeks off work well spent
And work's been fun
Busy
Very busy at times
But it's hitting all the buttons I wanted it too
They're a damn fine crew (just in case they ever read this!)
I've caught up with some old friends
But not all
Spent some time with my beautiful monsters
But not all
I've seen some great movies
Some I enjoyed when I didn't think I would
And some class-A putrid stinking piles of time-wasting effluent bollocks
I've picked up some fine new tunes
And rediscovered Warren Zevon
I've seen some great shows
And I'm looking forward to this one
I learned a new chord
And forgot it (but it's something to do with F)

There's probably more
And no matter how much time I may have wasted
I didn't waste one fucking second of it watching Big Brother

All is not lost

Normal service may resume, if I ever figure out what normal is.

Too much time on my hands

2008-07-06T18:10:00.007+01:00

Spring has turned to summer, we've had the longest day, we're over halfway through the year and the Yard arm has passed the mizzenhead. Or something like that. I should be spending a weekend in a field listening to music and drinking tequila for breakfast.

But I'm not. Not this year. This year might have been my 9th Glastonbury ( and 10 years since my first). But it wasn't. It's certainly the first year I've ever put my work before getting communally muddy. It's also good to have a rest.

So instead I enjoyed the dubious "Jay-Z controversy" and laughed at all the idiots proclaiming Glastonbury to be a 'guitar or rock' festival. They've obviously never made it to the Jazz World stage, or the green fields, or the circus area or wandered around the hybrid city that surrounds the pyramid stage. Perhaps they'd forgotten about the crowds who gather at the Sunday afternoon 'oldies' slot, giving the most rapturous reception to the likes of Dame Shirley Bassey, The Revd Al Green, Rolf Harris or Jimmy Cliff. Perhaps they'd forgotten that Rod Stewart once headlined.

What really made my day was that Noel Gallagher was one of the most vocal opponents of Eavis's plan to hippety up the G-Bury. The man who's band played possibly the worst show I've ever seen at Glastonbury and certainly one of the worst out of all of them. Keeping it real for da kids eh Noel?

There's no doubt that Glastonbury is changing, and that for some the direction is not a popular one. But Glastonbury is always changing, and yet it retains the small town sized muddle of madness drug addled open to all boot camp atmosphere that makes it unique and special amongst festivals. The detractors can rant and rave to their hearts content while they completely miss the point that Glasto is what it is for everyone who wants it to be.

From what little I saw on the tv, it looked like Jay-Z played a blinder.

Anyway. I did manage to spend an evening in the open air watching Radiohead at Victoria Park and enjoyed the mini-festival proceedings for a few hours. For many years Radiohead were a band who sounded better the bigger and more open stage they were on. I can't help feeling though, that with their focus now on the post Kid A years, the music requires a few walls to contain their new darker, urbanised, sound. Still a good show though, and a perfect sound, probably the best I've heard at an outdoor event.

Not so for Iron Maiden's Twickenham show last night where the winds blew guitars all over the place, like Eddie personified as some malevolent force of nature. Much as I hate Twickenham as a venue and its crappy sound, it's good to be able to nip round the corner for a gig and be home by 11 without having to leave early.

I can't imagine there was a great reason to have missed the Powerslave tour first time round. But it was about as magnificent as heavy metal theatre has ever been. Live After Death is one of the few live albums that's worth listening to more than once, as is the concert video (now DVD). The chance to finally get to see a 20 foot zombie mummy Eddie burst through that giant sarcophagus above Nicko's drum riser was to good to miss.

And so here they are, doing the greatest hits of the greatest hits, dusting off some of the old furniture. To the casual observer, participation in Maiden show might look to be somewhat ridiculous. Everyone standing up the moment the PA kicks in, shouting, punching the air, singing along really badly and realising you're only ever going to hit the high notes in Run To The Hills if you let an enraged gibbon work out its frustration on your balls with a pair of pliers and an eagle-eye Action Man. I felt a little out of place just being in the 1% of the crowd who hadn't bought a t-shirt.

But being at a Maiden show, and I have been to my fair share, is not about carefully studying anything other than your neighbour's beer stained armpit. The rules of cool don't apply here, so don't worry; throw them devil horns, and relish in the sheer beauty that so many are still so devoted to taking being silly so seriously. Bruce bounces around the stage like an eccentric English Tigger on a tea high, seemingly physically oblivious to the fact he first played some of these songs over 25 years ago. The rest of the band fulfill all those great rock cliches like throwing shapes, being really good at what they do, playing as hard as they can and making a show of it. They all seem like genuinely decent human beings who have earned their status by playing shit loads of shows, writing shit loads of great tunes, and never really letting it get to their heads.

Backdrops change, lighting rigs drop and tilt, Bruce plays the parts, and Eddie still stalks the stage thank God. It's everything you want from a Maiden show, and it is as marvelously fucking entertaining as it at times absurd. It's not Powerslave 2, more a joyful indulgence that celebrates the good old days without recourse to posthumous navel gazing. It's going to net them huge new bank vaults of wonga, and yet you never feel totally exploited watching those worms drop from Eddie's finger tips, because that's exactly what we came for and how can you be ripped off when they're delivering in spades? Although about that £50 ticket price and shitty sound...

As a species we're fundementally insane

2008-06-18T21:46:00.002+01:00

I noticed this afternoon that The London Paper offset the news of the first female British soldier to be killed in Afghanistan with a large picture of Kate Moss in a near see through dress.

Obviously London's commuter traffic hasn't seen enough of Ms Moss's tits yet.

When the wind picked up, the fire spread

2008-06-16T20:49:00.003+01:00

I finally heard the new Coldplay album yesterday. Most folks I know are driven into a near apoplectic rage at the mere mention of the C word, but me and the boys go back a ways, we even have mutual friends, so I'm always willing to give them a chance.

My first contact was about 3 in the Saturday afternoon on the Glastonbury second stage. It would be a surly fucker indeed who would deny that the energy and determination with which they tore the place apart made them one of the highlights of that sunny weekend. Later that year, once Parachutes had installed itself in the collective British psyche like a harmonic ebola virus, I saw them again at their Christmas show in Shepherd's Bush which was so dull I think I left early. Their end of tour performance at V was a dreary shambolic mess and best forgotten.

Now Coldplay do have a knack for writing big stadium pop anthems, like Yellow. Unfortunately Darwin's theory of cool states that those who don't like such anthemery are genetically disposed to want to kill all those who do. And for a while all people seemed to play was Parachutes to the point where I'll gladly dynamite into oblivion the sorry lives of the next fucker who dares put it on whilst I'm within listening distance.

On the other hand, I still think Rush Of Blood's a corker. And I still love Clocks. Coldplay's Glastonbury main stage debut was on of the best headline performances I've seen on those hallowed boards, unlike their X&Y follow up which was merely good enough. The step up to the superspaciousurroundsound of number 2 probably saved them from being mid-term acoustic whingers and sewed the seeds of their own destruction all at the same time. It might have been different if X&Y hadn't been another step in the same direction and I'll freely admit with hindsight that I might have been over-kind at the time. Great show at Koko though. That's 3 good, one ok and two stinkers.

On top of all those mobile waving singalong chart toppers, there is of course, the earnestness that feels a little like they're trying too hard, which is a shame because I do think they mean it. And Chris Martin's limelight stealing fractured by self-doubt schtick does in many, hit the same emotional frequency that, as a sound makes dogs shit themselves. Although I still love the (alleged?) story that he lost his virginity to the members of female punk band, Bellatrix - Almost Famous style, back in the pub toilet days.

To some degree Viva La Vida's their most interesting effort yet. An attempt to eschew the big hits for an album that reaches into new territories whilst still maintaining a grip on the globe's MORodomes. Much of this is done through Brian Eno's Unforgettable Fire like production. Unlike the songs which veer more into How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb territory, i.e. really quite dull. It's not terrible by any means, but I have no desire to ever hear it again, bar a couple of decent tracks, none of which are as good as the new Death Cab for Cutie album which I'm listening to now.

Death Cab For Cutie's Narrow Stairs

Every time I kiss you girl, you taste like pork and beans

2008-06-03T18:41:00.003+01:00

My last post sparked a couple of comments, to which I'll say that the answer to Dan's first question is, err, kinda. I don't particularly feel that the chapters of my life are in anyway fluid, or overlap. If I look back in a strictly chronological manner, I find, like Hazel, simple convenient blocks that stack up individually and I don't feel that these blocks have shifted at all over the years.

But then again, that's less a set of memories and more a timeline. Within each block are multiple unique memories at which point I'd agree with the comment that: "memories are not something we have, so much as remembering being something we do; it's an active process." As I see it, the way we experience each moment in our lives is determined by where and who we are, an ever changing process, interdependent on all other experiences; as diverse as the sum total of all our knowledge to date to how much we had to drink the night before. Each moment we recall is then in itself, written by not only those events around it, but a myriad of other factors that may be vastly different from those we experienced when we were in the moment itself. The ultimate truth of our recall is inevitably utterly unique and unquestionably questionable.

It's illustrated quite nicely by a scene in a Robin Williams movie I watched recently. The basic premise for The Final Cut, is that at some point in the future we'll be able to graft organic cameras to our retinas that record our every experience. When we die, 'cutters' (Robin Williams) go through the tapes, cutting together a montage for family and friends to be played at a remembering ceremony (essentially the funeral). After one such screening, the deceased's brother questions a boat they used to play in thinking that it was a different colour from the one he saw. Where the images may reveal the ultimate truth of the event, they can't recreate the experience, devoid of the emotions behind the eyes. It's not a bad movie, flawed, but worth a look.

I spent the weekend away with the family and so missed the last night of drinking on the tube. Thankfully. Sounded like the party pretty much played in to the hands of the naysayers, no matter how badly organised the mechanics of the ban may have been. Never let it be said that we don't have the propensity to turn ourselves into a bunch of useless fuckwits given half an opportunity.

Talking of useless fuckwits, whoever decided to use graphic images of violence to deter young kids from stabbing each other somehow managed to miss the point that images of violence and bloodshed are often quite appealing to teenagers (boys especially), be it Friday 13th or GTA 4.

Anyway, here's a picture of chicken

Sampling the music of Old Crow Medicine Show

And I was thinking I'll never get older

2008-05-27T21:40:00.002+01:00

My parents celebrated their 40th wedding anniversary on Sunday; coincidentally, the fourth anniversary of my moving on to Chuffy. Not that the two are related in any way other than without the one, there would not have been the other. It was a good day.

I can't yet imagine 40 years on the planet, let alone 40 years of marriage. It's been 20 years since I left school, so I multiply that and it still seems a way off. The population of the earth has maybe doubled during this short time.

Whilst home, I found myself flicking through some old photo albums, inspired perhaps, by a photograph my aunt had of my Mum holding me as a small baby. I was struck by how pretty she was and how happy she looked, holding this small fleshy creature that turned into me.

I don't think back much to my earlier days, I'm content with my place in the world, an whatever paths I took to get here. What did strike me was how broken up my past feels, as if each section is a separate chapter, each one a new story in its own right, and somehow not much flow between them. Is it like that for everyone?

The rapid pace of change in the last 37 years has no doubt rent asunder whatever specific hopes and dreams my Mum may have had for me on that day as the sun shone down on her smile. Other than perhaps to live a good life and be happy. I'm willing to argue the meaning of 'good' in this case...

Someone once old me that there was no real secret to bringing a child into the world: "love them unconditionally and let them be who they're meant to be". I wonder if these thoughts will ever be shared by the man mentioned in an email I was sent today.

"oh Jesus I'm so depressed - there's a guy on our teleconference who's wife had a baby a couple of hours ago and he's apologising for not being able to connect his laptop and view the powerpoint from the hospital!!!"

Listening to XV by Kings X

I have a bad feeling about this

2008-05-18T19:30:00.003+01:00

This had me in stitches

Good morning, good afternoon

2008-04-22T22:36:00.004+01:00

I'm told I don't blog enough these days.

Yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the death of Sandy Denny, once a citizen of these parts, and, in my humble opinion, one of the greatest, if not the greatest female singers this country has ever produced.

I didn't come to her music until last year, although unknowingly, I'd first heard her voice in my early teens on Led Zeppelin's The Battle of Evermore, and her songs covered by others. I blame Dan, who sent me a copy of Fairport Convention's Liege and Lief, for a rapid spending spree on her four solo albums, two Fairport albums, and the very beautiful Live at the BBC boxed set.

Since then, they've been on near constant repetition, the good and the not so good, spread out amongst them, some of the loveliest music I've heard. And although who Knows Where The Time Goes is considered to be her best tune, Like An Old Fashioned Waltz is the song that melts me every single time.

There's been a recent batch of retrospectives, and Bob Harris' Radio2 documentary I'm listening to at the moment, remembering her career. Wikipedia sketches out the basics of her fairly tumultuous and ultimately tragic life.

But you'd be better off just listening to her songs instead.

The good life...

2008-04-09T19:23:00.006+01:00

...is surely not measured by its length in years, but by the intensity of the joy and good consequences of existence.

James Lovelock

I'm a fond believer in the idea that our lives are stories briefly scratched in time. Most chapters are merely ebbs and flows in the storyline, with only occasional plot twists that change your very direction both inside and out. If this is the case then one chapter has ended, another begun, and in between has been one of those inter-chapter bits usually written in italics.

What follows is the italics bit, written from the balcony of our room at the Hotel Kapetanios, Limassol, Cyprus on Saturday 6th April, although I've edited my notes to clean them up slightly.

I left BMC the way I guess most people leave jobs like mine; in a final flurry of trying to do everything, and in the end settling for whatever you've done being enough. After having had two months to think about my leaving speech, I managed to miss most of what I wanted to say. Not a bad metaphor for the weeks of (no doubt self-induced) stress that consumed me in the run up to day 0. And then, like that, it was done. The door closed, the chapter ended, the final full stop was placed.

I stand by my assertions that as a species, we're mainly solar powered. So a week in the sun seemed like a great idea to fill in the gap between chapters. Not least to recharge a few batteries. I have one of my oldest, dearest and best of friends and travelling companion to thank for that. That and a list of numbers off Teletext and a couple of hours on the phone.

The 3 hour delay leaving Gatwick was annoying at the time, but paltry compared to the Hellmouth unleashed upon travellers by BA that has been named Terminal 5. It was 6am when we finally climbed in to our room, and at 7 we were woken by thunder, lightning and torrential rain. 5 hours later when we woke again, there wasn't a cloud to be seen.

The hotel is situated off the main coast road, at the far end of Limassol's tourist drag of 4 and 5* chains that litter the grey sandy beaches, and close to the old town. Perfect for the slow, ambling walks we took in either direction. It would be a churlish fellow indeed, who might complain about our neat and tidy compound, where the 3*s on the box were raised an extra point by the staff and service.

Other than the aforementioned walks, our days have consisted of sitting in the sunshine, a cooling breeze keeping the clouds at bay, reading, sleeping and taking the occasional lunch in a local cafe where the free glasses of wine may have been taken as an apology for the hair in the food. For my part, I've tried to spend as much time as I can immersed in water: the bath, the sea, or dutifully plowing up and down the hotel swimming pool for an hour or so each day in the shadow of the palm trees.

The evenings are spent in conversation, sipping cocktails and playing backgammon at the bar, watching the dining room slowly fill up with the steady flow of new arrivals we otherwise never see.

Cyprus has been a welcoming host this past week, the people friendly, the weather perfect, finches, martins and sparrows chattering over the almost continuous hum of traffic along the coast road, whilst splashes of colour litter the trees and hedgerows. Whatever the doctor may have ordered, this has been perfect. I certainly never needed the hot stone massage I treated myself to, although I enjoyed it nonetheless.

Since that time we suffered at the hands of the April snow, adding 5 hours to the journey. With tiredness and frustration boiling over, looking back it was but another annoyance (funny how they all happen UK side), and from some of the stories I heard, we got of lightly.

It was more frustrating trying to get my pictures up on flickr.

I was asked before I left my old job, if anything would bring me back. After 3 days at TNA, I would say that I'd need to royally fuck things up to want to leave there for anywhere else right now. I haven't yet started work proper, we're in an intensive week of introductions, inductions and training, but it's like a dream come true...

Reading: Richard Morgan's Altered Carbon
Rajiv Chandrasekaran's Life In The Emerald City
James Lovelock's The Revenge Of Gaia
Stephen King's Duma Key

This song happens on the highway

2008-03-09T16:23:00.009Z

I caught Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds at an HMV in-store last week. The next day I put the few pictures we took up on Flickr, and by the next morning had over 50 views.

I was quite surprised by this.

A number of things resulted:

I started following the increasing views like the last minutes of a desperate eBay bid
I bought myself a new camera
I came up with the probably unoriginal idea of the Flickr band popularity rating

I have quite a few band pics up on Flickr; I enjoy taking shots at gigs, especially when I get one that's either good or in focus. Part of the new camera thing was to have something decent when I go to see R.E.M. in a couple of weeks. That and the refund from Orange I'm getting that'll cover most of the cost.

So I decided to work out how popular each band is based on how they fare on Flickr. The simple, and no doubt highly mathematically suspect equation for this is to take the number of views per band and divide them by the number of pictures. All figures are accurate as of about an hour ago.

I have 184 shots of 28 bands with 1288 views so far (the views don't include my own, or there's no way Kasabian would be up there at 3). The most shots I have is for Elbow at 35, and the highest number of views is Nick Cave at 257 and rising. But apply the maths and it's a very strange story indeed. So without further ado, on with the results. And the winner is:

Band / Shots / Views / Rating
1. Eels 1 / 34 / 34
2. The Mooney Suzuki 1 / 27 / 27
3. Kasabian 1 / 26 / 26
4. R.E.M. 6 / 143 / 23.8
5. Nick Cave 12 / 257 / 21.4
6. Weird War 1 / 11 / 11
7. Part Chimp 2 / 17 / 8.5
8. The Who 10 / 81 / 8.1
9. Okkervil River 22 / 162 / 7.3
10= Four Day Hombre 2 / 14 / 7
10= The Marshalls 1 / 7 / 7
12. Broken Family Band 3 / 19 / 6.3
13. Shirley Bassey 1 / 6 / 6
14. The Duke Spirit 27 / 146 / 5.4
15= Sun O))) 3 / 16 / 5.3
15= Earth 3 / 16 / 5.3
17. Elbow 35 / 161 / 4.6
18= Tinariwen 2 / 8 / 4
18= Ordinary Boys 2 / 8 / 4
18= Secret Machines 1 / 4 / 4
18= Mycodenamis:milo 1 / 4 / 4
18= Arcade Fire 1 / 4 / 4
18= Air 1 / 4 / 4
24. Maximo Park 16 / 53 / 3.3
25. Iced Earth 4 / 12 / 3
26= Lamb Of God 4 / 9 / 2.25
26= Super Furry Animals 4 / 9 / 2.25
27. Heaven & Hell 17 / 30 / 1.7

And yeah, I know I could have built a nice little HTML table to line everything up.

Anyway, that was fun. For me. Maybe this will take off. Maybe someone will develop a nice little Flickr tool to do the analysis using complex algorithms (or should it be algorhythms...) rather than a calculator.

My new camera should have arrived yesterday. It didn't.

Listening to: Neil Young's Greendale

Living well's the best revenge

2008-03-02T10:28:00.002Z

Friday was a tough one.

My final clearance arrived last Saturday, and on Tuesday I agreed a start date for my new job with the National Archive. I've been sitting on this for the last month, waiting for the clearances to go through, and it's not always been easy carrying on like nothing was happening, making plans that won't ever be realised, at least not by me.

It took a couple more days for the stars to fall in to alignment, at least, for my manager to be back in the office, and then the deed could be done. I handed my notice in. After 8 years in STM publishing (science-technical-medical), and 3 and a half at BMC (give or take a sabatical), I'm off and out in to the rest of the really real world.

It's a great job, great prospects, a huge challenge. It's not so much a step out of my comfort zone, more taking it apart with a Polaris missile. And yet I know this is the right move because at no time have I ever experienced any hesitation about taking it on. I have more trouble deciding what pants to wear in the morning.

None of which made telling either my team, or my friends there any easier. Judging from the looks on their faces, this was not expected. I've been on the flip side too many times not to know the score, smiley congratulations on the outside, feeling righteously pissed off on the in. Still, as Bryan said, there's never a good time to leave, but at least this is the least bad time. I still felt a little guilty though.

OR has been my baby. I may not have been there at conception, but I carried it, gave birth to it, nurtured it, and watched it grow. I was there when it took its first steps, when it said its first words, and watched it blossom into something none of us ever expected, beautiful and amazing.

But now, I'm afraid, mummy and daddy don't love each other any more, even though we still love the children. We'll remember Christmas and birthdays and we'll still talk, we just won't be seeing each other as much.

And if that duck outside keeps on quacking like it's doing, it's going to end up in a fucking sandwich.

I like it here

2008-02-28T22:30:00.003Z

I've managed to catch up with quite a few old friends so far this year, which is more than I can say for my blogging. Anyway, it's been good to be out and about a little more than usual, traversing the country from Norwich to Cambridge, down to Finsbury Park and on onwards through Streatham to Crawley.

The only thing wrong with being both a non-driver and catching up with old friends is that you're subject to Sunday public transport. Or more accurately, traversing through the gaps in the schedules left by the various bouts of engineering works that currently blight my life like the thirteenth plague.

Getting home often involves a squirrel-like ingenuity combined with a level of strategic planning that's rarely applied to major global conflicts. It's not simply a case of things not running, it's all those shifting timetables you've missed seeing, and the often varied interpretations of what exactly is meant by every half an hour.

The great wildcard is, of course, the rail replacement bus. When will it leave? How often do they run? How long will the journey take? Of course, it only stops at the main stops. But that often seems to mean it takes the worst routes. So what if I take this tube to here, or an overland to there? Then I grab the other bus. But what if I miss the connection? Am I going to spend the best part of my day just trying to get somewhere, even anywhere? And is it really worth worrying about? Or should I just sit my arse down for however long it takes, plugged in to poddy, with the copy of 'Kevin Smith Speaks' that Gaz lent me? But then again, I don't want to spend any more time standing in front of Clapham Junction than I unavoidably have to.

Once I would wait patiently for hours on the side of a road, trying to thumb a lift.

Listening to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds' Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!

And I feel myself slipping away

2008-02-14T22:18:00.002Z

Apparently I am:

37.55 years or
451 months or
95928 weeks or
13704 days or
328896 hours or
19733785 minutes or
1184027076 seconds or
118402707612 milliseconds old.

As of today.

I'm not sure about the minutes bit.

Listening to The Rainmakers' Skin

One day a year like this should do me fine

2008-02-13T20:01:00.005Z

And so the festival of Saint Valentine is upon us once again: a beautiful celebration of love between two (or more) people, or a hideously over-commercialised rampage through the flower beds of the world. If you've ever seen the roaring trade in icons in and around the Vatican, you'd think the Catholic Church would be happy to endorse the latter.

I'm still uncertain as to the level of my ambivalence towards this day. On the one hand I think it's good to indulge in a little over-indulgence with your partner, all cynicism aside. On the other, if you're having to cram that in to just one day a year, then I suggest you take a long hard look at the state of your life and DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. But if there's money to be made and a song and dance to be had, then we're there.

So now the media can't give you enough ways to please your lover this February 14, to avoid that hideous predicament of the crushing blow of mis-managed expectations. Because get it wrong and the only people laying pipe round your way for some time to come will be the water board. No pressure folks, we're only hinting that your future happiness lies in how you fulfill your duties on this most auspicious of days, we don't really mean it. No wonder so many seem to think that switching off is the only safety net you have, and rightly so. Unfortunately, the anti-Valentines market seems to be an equally pointless kick in the other direction, and as someone wise once said: surely you should fight fire with water.

Now if you are single, well how's that for a comment on your sad, stinking, lonely, and very possibly grotesquely ugly existence? But that's ok, because there's a columnist out there waiting to jump to your defence with another 2000 words on how you're really comfortable with who you are, which is why you'll be renting SS Experiment Camp and eating cold pizza from your arse with some friend you really fucking hate, explaining to everyone you know how you're really comfortable with who you are, because you can't tell them that you'd rather be sitting at home sharpening knives, one for each member of the opposite sex that has done you wrong.

As usual, there's nothing more likely to make you feel different, than having it made VERY CLEAR to you that you're really not different at all.

Bitter? Not me. Love's about the only thing that really is better than sex. I'm waaaaaaay behind that one. But right now it feels like everyone's on the defensive, singles and couples. We're fighting a losing battle to meet the unholy expectations (and profit margins) of Messrs Hallmark, Thortons and InterFlora, not to mention their buddies in the luxury hotel market. Some days these fuckers tell more lies and cause more misery than Philip Morris.

Of course, there are loads and loads and loads and loads of folks who will just get on with their lives, unflustered by the blog posts, clippings and social instructions. I'm more than happy to get home tomorrow, stick a movie on, cook some food, ignore my email and go to bed. Although, I may cook first, then watch the movie, unless of course there's something good on the telly. I may or may not feel a twinge of sadness that there won't be (or at least is very highly unlikely to be) a naked body climbing in to bed next to me that I haven't procured Burke and Hare style. But perhaps no more than any other random day. To all those brandishing their trophy bouquets of undying and unrequited love, I wish you well, I truly do.

It is of course, far too much to ask that next year, we just let everyone get on with it, possibly only massive global nuclear devastation will sort that one. I'd like to think that we have the capacity to realise that if we stopped chasing someone else's idea of how we should be happy, we might just get on and be happy. But then again, I also own a copy of Poison's Greatest Hits.

Watching Elbow at Porchester Hall

Everybody here comes from somewhere

2008-02-10T15:57:00.002Z

Seems to have been a very musical start to the year for me. I've picked up Sandy Denny's 4 studio albums, Okkervil River's Black Sheep Boy and the new Black Mountain, and I've listened to more. I've seen Thistletown in a folk club in Euston, The Broken Family Band at the Cambridge Barfly, Okkervil River at the Scala, Dropkick Murphys in Norwich (don't ask) and hopefully Elbow this Tuesday in Queensway (cheers Ken). Okkervil may have laid down the benchmark, a stunning show, as passionate as Neil Young leaning into Old Black, but the sight of a stage full of student girls dancing up with the Murphys will keep me smiling for a while!

But somehow, I can't stop listening to the new R.E.M. single.

Listening to R.E.M.'s Supernatural Superserious

An epiphanic vomiting of blood

2008-02-02T09:54:00.000Z

I've just seen one of the funniest song titles I've come across in some time. It's off an album by some dirge-like noisemongers called Gnaw Their Tongues. The song's called: My body Is Not a Vessel, Nor a Temple. It's a Repulsive Pile of Sickness

Genius.

Next year - there will be - many flowers

2008-01-30T23:36:00.000Z

I was bored, browsing my phone on a homeward bound commute last week when I found this note. It doesn't say when it was written or how drunk* I was when I wrote it:

Iron maiden new york new job londonist wood boat ducks swans sleep madness music love

If this is some kind of todo list, then I'm not doing too badly so far.

* I know I must have been drunk because there's no punctuation.

Listening to: Sandy Denny: Northstar Grassman and the Ravens

Crying out again as my bones break

2008-01-20T21:52:00.000Z

There's no better way to ruin a perfectly good holiday than to go back to work and I've been humming a bad case of the back-to-work blues of late.

At least we haven't flooded. Mother Thames has been running high and heavy, hard and fast. The water somersaulting around my head at night has been simultaneously keeping me awake before driving me to the deepest of sleeps. We'll see what rain the week brings, perhaps I'll be able to call work to say I can't come in as I'm stranded.

I'm less inclined to laugh at the rising tide after watching When The Levees Broke, Spike Lee's moving documentary on the events and aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. I'm left thinking yet again how nature Is. The mark of any natural disaster then, surely is not the force of the destruction, but our reaction to it. If only there were a God, for how else will the 'righteous souls' in the Federal Government be adequately punished for their actions; or rather lack of them. What was it the guy said again about planks and eyes?

Daisy Scissorpaws, once resident of these parts.

Listening to Feeder: Yesterday went too soon

The last man on earth is not alone

2008-01-14T20:26:00.000Z

No, he's got a fucking dog with him.

If it wasn't for the girls in marketing, we'd have to get blow jobs off our wives

2007-12-30T23:32:00.000Z

So that's almost that for 2007 then. Looking back I'd say there have been a number of highs, a number of lows and a fair amount of stuff in-between. My prediction for 2008 is that it will be much the same. However, I will endeavour to maximise the highs and minimise the lows and make better use of the fair amount of stuff in-between. I will be making one New Year's resolution, the same two word resolution I've made every year for a good few years now*.

I like end of year lists. The favourite this, the most despised that. It's fun to see what others think when with shared interests. I'd add a disclaimer to "I like end of year lists". I have no interest in the top ten amusing Amy Winehouse stories or Eastenders quotes, they have to be lists that interest me, others are for others. So if you have no interest in my top ten movies, gigs and albums, then cheers for reading this far, happy New Year, please pop in again soon. For those that do, then cheers for reading on past this bit, happy New Year, please pop in again soon.

I'm not going to give reasons for my choices, omissions or placings. This is partly because many of my reasons are far from sound, and partly because I couldn't do so without gesticulating like an amphetamine crazed gibbon.

Top 10 Movies:
1) Letters From Iwo Jima
2) Joe Strummer - The Future Is Unwritten
3) Cashback (US release only)
4) Mr Brooks
5) 3.10 To Yuma
6) Stardust
7) American Gangster
8) This Is England
9) Die Hard 4
10) Sunshine

Top 10 Gigs:
1) The Who (Glastonbury)
2) The Broken Family Band (Glastonbury)
3) Okkervil River (The Lumiere)
4) The Raveonettes (Cambridge Barfly)
5) Maximo Park (Glastonbury)
6) The Shins (The Astoria)
7) The Duke Spirit (The 229 Club)
8) The National (Shepherd's Bush Empire)
9) Aimee Man (Indig0)
10) Adam Green (Union Chapel)

Top 10 Albums:
1) Sandy Denny - Live At The BBC
2) Okkervil River - The Stage Names
3) The Broken Family Band - Hello Love
4) Maximo Park - Our Earthly Pleasures
5) The Shins - Wincing The Night Away
6) Dinosaur Jr - Beyond
7) Bright Eyes - Cassadaga
8) Neil Young - Chrome Dreams 2
9) Bruce Springsteen - Magic
10) Radiohead - In Rainbows

*It' not 'more sex' although I would consider trading it.

Listening to an old compilation CD Smudge gave me

When i walk beside Her, i am the Better Man

2007-12-23T14:43:00.001Z

Listening to Music from the motion picture Into The Wild by Eddie Vedder

A Little Japanese Girl That I'll Never Know

2007-12-22T17:48:00.000Z

It's time to play the iTunes Oracle. As I reached home on Monday, after my last day in the office this year, poddy pulled off one of those lovely shuffle moments where two songs mix beautifully into each other. In this case it was the Joe Strummer soundbite: Without People You're Nothing and Luna's Tiger Lily. Try it, it works. I don't know why this sublime little combination reminded me of the Oracle, it just did.

I first read about the Oracle on Pat Tomek's blog. Pat Tomek was the drummer in The Rainmakers, arguably one of the greatest bands ever to have come out of the US. You can try arguing the toss with me about that one but I'll only have to come over and burn your house down. That I once passed up an opportunity to see them live, will shame me till the day I croak.

The Oracle can be played on any digital media player with a shuffle. It's like a stupidly fun blend of the IChing, a magic eight ball and whatever's on your iTunes (or other digital media player). So what you do is this: set your player on shuffle and then ask each of the following questions in turn. As you've asked the question, hit next and the song that plays is your answer.

So here we go:

(Oh, before we start, I should say that my iTunes library currently holds only 998 songs, a small selection of what I hold on silvery disc, but that's all we have to work with today.)

Q) How does the world see you?
A) Listened On / Lightning Dust (something most people have never heard of, but some might quite like if they did?)

Q) Will I have a happy life?
A) Abel / The National (great tune, but it's kinda about losing control. Oh dear...)

Q) What do my friends really think of me?
A) Oxford Town / Bob Dylan (Maybe they all think I'm smart? Or a hippy. Hmm... Actually, this song's about racial divide in the US, so maybe everyone thinks I'm a humanitarian and hopefully not a racist!)

Q) Do people secretly lust after me?
A) They Can't Buy The Sunshine / Turin Brakes (Yeah, lust away, but I'm on to you and I can't be bought. Which is probably so far from the truth!)

Q) How can I make myself happy?
A) Just Because / Jane's Addiction (Heroin, rockin' out? I think this song means just be yourself.)

Q) What should I do with my life?
A) Evil Walks / AC/DC (Find myself someone with a flying broomstick?)

Q) Will I ever have children?
A) A Million Miles Away / The Rainmakers (Not for a while then, looks like broomstick girl has other plans.)

Q) What is some good advice for me?
A) Girls In Their Summer Clothes / Bruce Springsteen (Now that's more like it.)

Q) How will I be remembered?
A) Pink Bullets / The Shins (from SongMeanings: "i guess its about finding someone that changes you because they are so different, in the best way, from everyone else. its about being affected by someone so strongly, that when you lose them and nothing in your life seems to make sense, you still wouldnt want to forget them". I'll settle for that.)

Q) What is my signature song?
A) Blizzard of '77 / Nada Surf (No matter how long it's been, I never forget those who've touched my life, even when they are no longer in it. Sometimes you get a chance to make peace with your past.)

Q) What do I think my current theme song is?
A) Everywhere I Go / The Black Keys (This is one of the horniest pieces of music I've ever heard. One of my fantasies is to have the woman in my life slowly strip to it. I even know what I want her to be wearing! I know how cheesy that sounds, but once you've heard it you'll get it. I have the tune, so that's a start.)

Q) What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
A) Can't Get There From Here / R.E.M. (This is one of my favourite R.E.M. songs, Fables is one of my favourite R.E.M. albums, and that's as far as I can go with this one.)

Q) What song will play at my funeral?
A) P.S You Rock My World / Eels (A song about funeral's, love, hope, and embracing the future. I love this song, it's a beautiful track and I'd be honoured if someone wanted to play it at my funeral.)

Q) What type of men/women do I like?
A) Mrs Rita / Gin Blossoms (This is far closer to the bone than I'd care to admit.)

Q) What is my day going to be like?
A) Simple Man / Lynyrd Skynyrd (It wasn't this morning, I had to head into the smoke to do some final Christmess shopping, but it will be for the rest of the evening.)

Try it. Have some fun. Feel free to post your own results in the comments.

Watching: Battlestar Galactica Season 1 (new version)

Kindness is a card game

2007-12-16T16:37:00.000Z

When I first moved to Tooting, I'd just returned from working on this horrendous no-budget movie shoot in Brighton, where, by the end, everyone involved had somehow managed to hurl themselves wholeheartedly into the deep end of the insanity pool.

The art of stair-surfing pre-dates Mainline Run by a few months, but it wasn't until Tooting that it developed into an art-form. The original idea was to see if we could get down the stairs on an ironing board. The answer to that is no. What tends to happen is that the front end gets caught in a stair and the 'surfer' hits the bottom without hitting a single stair on the way down. I don't remember too much about the details; you have to be fairly steamed to try such a stupid idea out in the first place.

In Waterloo Street we built upon the concept of bumping down stairs on your arse by adding more alcohol, in-journey drinking, water weapons, lying down, going backwards and eventually a combination of all together. That, I don't recommend as it could incur some serious and permanent damage. It was a hoot.

I thought stair-surfing had pretty much died out until the other day when this guy came sailing towards me down the escalator at Waterloo. Backwards. A couple of us managed to prevent him from carrying on to the bottom, for which he seemed to be reasonably grateful.

Watching: Eastern Promises
Listening to: Steve Earle and the Bluegrass Dukes

Profiteers on dream street

2007-12-10T19:03:00.000Z

Every year since 2001, I've dispensed with the idea of Christmas cards and put together a compilation CD of my favourite songs, from albums released that year.

Afraid of Christmas 2007 is ready.

There are a couple of tracks that have sneaked in from 2006 but for good reasons. You get to feel smug if you can spot 'em.

Love Your Man, Love Your Woman: The Broken Family Band, from Hello Love
Surrender: Dropkick Murphys, from The Meanest Of Times
Gypsy Biker: Bruce Springsteen, from Magic
Bushes and Briars: Sandy Denny, from Live At The BBC
Plus Ones: Okkervil River, from The Stage Names
House of Cards: Radiohead, from In Rainbows
Grace Kelly: Mika, from Life In Cartoon Motion
No One Would Riot For Less: Bright Eyes, from Cassadaga
White Chalk: PJ Harvey, from White Chalk
Russian Literature: Maxïmo Park, from Our Earthly Pleasures
Plywood Superman: Jim White, from Transnormal Skiperoo
When You Go: Lightning Dust, from Lightning Dust
Aly Walk With Me: The Raveonettes), from Lust Lust Lust
Turn On Me: The Shins, from Wincing The Night Away
Baby Fratelli: The Fratellis, from Costello Music
What If I Knew: Dinosaur Jr, from Beyond
Without People You're Nothing: Joe Strummer, from the OST to The Future Is Unwritten

The cover image is of New York at night.

All is well in hell, wish you were here

2007-12-09T17:42:00.000Z

Last week, I woke up after a work leaving party, with the reigning champion of no food bourbon and champagne hangovers. I tenderly crawled off to work, brain pounding, backs of the eyes screaming through my pre-flight checks: wallet, oyster card, money, phone, iPod... It was that moment that I was able to answer the question: 'what had I been up to on the way home the night before'?

I had been playing AC/DC at full volume.

Listening to: Afraid of Christmas 2007

You guys had me at blood and semen

2007-12-02T21:03:00.000Z

Now all this is over, I can hopefully get back to some more of this.

It's been a tough month. The culmination of a year of work and the most ambitious and complex thing we've done since I started. And in the end it was all good. But none of the considerably deserved excitement could compare to that of getting Iron Maiden tickets. I suppose you could call that work-life balance.

Your time has come

2007-11-25T14:36:00.000Z

I'm just about to sit down to do some work. It's been many a year since I brought work home for the weekend but we're two days from launch and needs must. I won't begrudge a chunk of my weekend for the satisfaction of getting this release out.

Prior to starting, I spent a few moments browsing some old bookmarks.

I found a stream of a new Black Mountain song on Pitchfork.

I urge you to click the link and listen to this song as loudly as humanly possible.

Off to work now.

Listening to Black Mountain's Tyrants

One two three four five SIX SIX SIX

2007-11-21T13:13:00.000Z

I read yesterday that they're organising a massive Big Brother reunion party. Apparently there have been something like 112 contestants over the years and they're trying to get as many of the old house mites in as possible.

So I guess all we have to do is phone up a 'friendly' airforce and tell them there's some insurgents about 5 blocks away.

Kindness is a card game

2007-11-19T22:26:00.000Z

I have a confession to make.

I'm quite partial, as they say, to the Pret a Manger Christmas sandwich. It's a pleasant enough run in to that orgiastic celebration of spending that commemorates the birth of a dude who wasn't really all that materialistic as I understand it. But then again, he probably never had a John Lewis nearby. Still, hey, that'll teach 'em for hijacking the all the good Pagan festivals. Oh and for those of you currently shaking your heads at my Revelations, I also like Adam Sandler movies, Poison, and live on a boat, so anyone wanting to question my judgement, I'm right up there behind you.

Anyway, sandwiches.

Turkey breast, pork and herb stuffing, fresh leaf spinach, crispy onions, cranberry sauce and mayo on malted wholegrain bread. It's not bad really. OK, so you pay a bit extra, retails at a lunchingly bodacious £3.25, 30 to 40p over the average, but I'm not terribly badly paid so I can afford one if the mood takes me. I'm not entirely sure which of those ingredients drives the price up; suppose it must cost a little extra to crisp those onions. I do love crispyonionmess time though.

But that's all ok because 10p from each one sold goes to homeless charities. And that's a good thing. And they also give all their unsold sandwiches to homeless shelters at the end of each day which is a damn sight better than chucking them.

Now, I'm also partial (as they say) to an Innocent smoothie. And I'm particularly happy that the old honey, lemon and ginger is back because it's ace. Now Innocent also like to give a little to charity at this time of year. And to prove it they knit these little bobble hats for the tops of their bottles which are about as much use as genital warts on your wedding night but they are cute. They also give 50p from each one sold to Age Concern. And the price of the drink stays the same.

So I wonder who's really doing the giving.

Listening to Bright Eyes: Cassadega

Lust

2007-11-18T23:14:00.000Z

After one of the worst days at work in living memory last Thursday, I set out to catch up with some good good people and to listen me poddy on numerous trains as well as catching some top gigs.

Kicking off at the newly refurbished St Pancras gave me the chance to see the statue of the lovers embracing. They were meant to be kissing, but apparently the organisers / self-important arse grinders and annihilators of all that is good and holy (delete as you think applicable) thought it would be too risque. Since when did we live in a world where the thought of two lovers sharing a kiss as they meet or part is a problem? Doesn't stop their live counterparts on the platform so why aren't the Pancras politburo chasing them off with a damp towel? Should Rodin have lived in such unenlightened times.

Gary Larson (creator of The Far Side) once said he thought the reason some people found some of his cartoons offensive was that they were stuck in time, forever in that one moment, that there was never a resolution. And that's how we've damned these giant bronze frustratees. I like to think that in the early hours of the morning when everyone's gone they get to indulge in some lustful lip locking.

Dan lent me Zodiac Mindwarp's 'autobiography', which I started reading between Nottingham and Cambridge. It's clear to me that reading a book so vividly and clearly entitled Fucked By Rock won't make you attractive to members of the opposite sex. If it does then you should probably avoid them like an about to burst bubonic boil. I don't know whether this book makes me want to laugh, cry or puke my ring. This may indeed be the point. It makes Motley Crue's The Dirt read like a Ladybird preschooler.

It is a great title though.

Somewhere amongst the onanastic smacked by bitch up junk soaked white line feverish coprophiliac cardiac grinning tales of under-age sodomy and anal torture I found the following passage:

"The people of Western countries live their lives beneath frail illusion that are different yet fundementaly the same.
Culture, Language, and Religion are merely different shades of the same dream.
The one we call civilization.
And it is as fragile as a sparrow's bones.
True war, as Claus von Clausewitz, the military theorist tells us, is the only thing that shows us as we really are.
Beasts.
And this is why we need these illusions.
Illusions that have evolved over the years, with laws and enforcers of laws to sustain them.
Governments, armies, judges, police officers.
Not so long ago, Westerners believed that certain human beings were animals and bought and sold them to work in cotton fields and sugar plantations.
In a society like this, it is hard for people of a sensitive and intelligent nature to stay sane. Surrounded on all flanks by the contented and the delude, who sunbathe beneath satellites of cynical lies and twisted half truths concocted by the rich and powerful."

It goes on a bit longer but you get the gist.

So this morning the Doctor and I were returning from breakfast when some wanker in a flashy BMW took an illegal right turn off Kingston Bridge and almost ran us over. The Doctor, nearly correctly, called him a tosser. Car stops. 'Man' gets out and informs us that he has two ten year olds in the back and they don't need to hear words like tosser. I think the irony of him repeating the word tosser in front of two ten year olds who don't need to hear the word tosser may have been lost on him. As is his getting out and shouting at two grizzled veterans of the war on sanity.

Only buses and taxis can make that turn. A ha, he tells us, we don't realise his car is a licenced taxi. Yeah, right. Because an overpaid baboon like you would ever let a stranger in his mechanised cock replacement. I should have asked him if he'd take us back across the bridge or if the kids in the back were going to tip, but he was too busy pretending he had his documents in his wallet. That and the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, Lord Lucan and Madeleine McCann. Ape-boy's just using the taxi loophole so he doesn't have to pay the congestion charge. Should have got his number. This ladies and gentlemen is the future, the bastard offspring of Thatcher's demonic coiffure and her grinning toy-boy, Tony, and all his evil minions. There is a word for retards like this and it ain't tosser.

2 less letters.

Begins with a c.

I digress. It was great to get out of town, to get away from work, to sit up late drinking drinks and talking tunes. It felt like a holiday, a rest, a revitalisation, a charge for the old carbon batteries.

To Mr H, Ms C and their collective cats and co, thank you for your hospitality and for your company. And for not waking me up early.

And as they say somewhere east of here: thank you for the music.

Reading Mark Manning's Fucked By Rock
Listening to The Raveonettes' Lust Lust Lust

It was over in seconds

2007-11-12T20:57:00.000Z

Something horrible happened to me this morning. My little poddy froze on me just as I was leaving for work. No time to stop to reset it as I was determined to be on time for once; on time for a train that was first delayed and then cancelled.

The trauma of losing poddy for the day meant that I had to face the hour and a half or so it takes me to get from play door to work door without being cushioned from the inanity of my commute by some pleasant tunes. I'll say now that I'm not a great commuting reader unless I'm on a long journey. I do pick up the Metro on the way in and the London Paper on the way out but only for the Sudokus and the rest of the paper I can pretty much finish within three station stops. Reading the free papers in the evening isn't really a great idea because they tend to suck the intelligence from you, especially the London Lite which is the literary equivalent of used toilet paper, although they proudly proclaim that the shit doesn't come off in your hands.

Commuting is one of those things many of us have to do. Dictionary.com defines the word commute as "to travel regularly over some distance, as from a suburb into a city and back". As far as I'm concerned the word commute simply means getting to work. If you have a job that's not at home then you commute, even if it's next door. You're just lucky you don't have far to go.

I don't mind commuting particularly. I get a train, a tube and then walk. It's some time to rest before work, more so if I can mostly cut the world out and listen to some Neil Young. Yeah, the trains are packed, yeah the tubes are packed, yeah the streets are filled with people. That's life in the big city folks, can't go anywhere these days for people. And you pay handsomly for the pleasure. I'm a pretty chilled out human being for the most part and I see no reason why commuting needs to be any more painful or tedious than the travel companies already make it.

And yet somehow, large groups of over-dressed simians manage to rile me pretty much most days, even with the anaesthetizing effects of poddy. So here are my top ten commuting tips to make life better for everyone around you.

1) Escalators are divided with an invisible line neatly down the middle, walkers on the left, standing folks on the right. DO NOT FUCKING STAND ON THE LEFT OF AN ESCALATOR. EVER. If you do, then don't look so surprised when someone tries to elbow past you. Or when one day they push you down the stairs into the wheelchair that'll be waiting for your paraplegic form. This extends to bags. If you have a giant bag, turn it sideways, stand behind it, in front of it; NOT BESIDE IT.

2) If you have managed to walk up or down that magical left hand side of the moving staircase of idiocy, when you get to the end. DONT FUCKING STOP. Really, keep walking right off the end and on to wherever you're going next. If you stop the person behind you stops. And the person behind them and them and them etc etc until everything grinds to a standstill and doesn't start again till after rush hour has finished.

3) After exiting any escalator, trainbustube door, station entrance / exit, remember that you still have somewhere to go unless you're collecting tickets. Stopping in this precise location will block the way for the people behind you. Step neatly to one side, fine a space with a little room to breath that's not in a noticeably public thoroughfare and then pull your map / mobile phone out. If you persist in obstructing the flow of progress one day you will be stamped on in a most righteous manner.

4) Whilst moving across any surface, look where you are going. That way you'll avoid bumping into people or getting run over by a bus even though you probably richly deserve it.

5) Keep your poddy or alternatively branded MP3 player to a level where if I'm sitting three seats behind you I can't actually hear the song lyrics. Especially if you're playing the kind of music that even a Capital Radio DJ would deem to be cheesy shite.

6) If you're travelling on public transport at certain times of day it's likely to be busy. It's like that every day, don't be surprised. Don't pull faces, don't make snide comments, no one cares, and no one wants to be reminded that animals on the way to a slaughter house are treated better.

7) If you're on a tube or train and it's busy, remember that the bits down the middle, between the rows of seats are often devoid of life and therefore make for additional room to stand and breathe. If you continue to cram into the gap opposite the doors and don't move down the carriage it gets really busy and it's pretty hard to get in or out easily. I promise you you won't miss your stop. I often stand in the corridor, often by myself and I've never missed a stop yet.

8) An extension of 7 is that if you do have enough brains to move down the corridor, don't stop after one step, keep those synapses flowing. Stopping so soon doesn't help. It blocks the rest of the way. And when you're there, try to minimize the amount of space you're taking up. Stand side on, everyone wants to get home and making room for one more will make someone else a little happier that they don't have to wait another ten minutes for the next every three minutes Northern line train.

9) The driver of your vehicle wants an easy a life as you and 99.99 recurring % of any delays or problems are unlikely to be their fault. Do not take your anger out on them, that's extremely pathetic and not a little cowardly. It'll also slow down yours and our journey. If you're really that pissed off with the way things are then write to your MP, the Queen, the Pope, God, Satan, Ken Livingstone, take to the streets, organise a mass stay-at-home or find out where the MD of the bus / train company lives and throw paint at their windows. Do something useful.

10) You are a complex piece or organic engineering, surrounded by many other complex pieces of organic engineering. Some of them may be broken, there's not much you can do about that, try and avoid at all possible costs. Chances are the rest just want to get to work and home again as comfortably as possible. Remember that. Do unto them as you would have done to you. Show a little respect. Smile gently. Be nice. Chill the fuck out. Be human. THINK.

Poddy's fixed now.

Watching (and crying from) Channel 4's The Not Dead

Get out here while you still can

2007-11-09T23:36:00.000Z

They say you should never complain about anything you can do something about so all's good folks. Thanks for asking.

It's been a funny old week. I've gone from head in the sink, losing my beans, to being down the front at the Shepherd's Bush Empire, staring into the voluminous cleavage of some 18 year old National fan, wishing I was twenty years younger.

I'm consistently surprised by the inability of some of my colleagues to not piss all over the floor.

I love the new KFC bargain bucket ad where the mum cancels their restaurant appointment to feed her brood my favourite processed chicken dinner. It says to me: eat KFC because you're too fucking lazy to teach your kids some decent social interaction and you have no desire to put yourself through the hell you used to put your parents through when they took you to restaurants. Who says we're not getting smarter.

Listening to Neil Young: Chrome Dreams 2
Watching Black Christmas

Remember, remember, the 5th of November

2007-11-05T20:12:00.000Z

Watching: V For Vendetta

It takes every day to be surviving in the city

2007-11-04T21:26:00.000Z

Yesterday was one of those perfect, still autumn days: blue skies and hazy sun, crispy fresh, fire on with windows open, a final tender kiss of warmth as mother nature slips on her autumn colours. I took a few crafty pics in the changing room.

Then later that night a nice old man just down the river puts on a few fireworks for his grand-daughter.

Baby flack jackets on the merry-go-round

2007-11-03T18:02:00.000Z

Patrick asked me to keep him up to date of all the movies I've been watching, as well as my blog posts, since his access to the latest Hollywood blockbusters and various points of call on the old interwebare going to be somewhat limited for a while. Of course, as yet, I haven't.

So here's a stone and a couple of feathered flying things:

Of the numerous flicks I've sat through recently there are 5 that have lodged themselves between the holes that is the colander of my memory: Letters From Iwo Jima, Cashback, United 93, Joe Strummer - The Future Is Unwritten and Mr Brooks.

For me, the pivotal scene in Letters is the moment when one of the Japanese commanders translates a letter, found on a dying American prisoner, to his men. The letter is from the soldier's mother: details of home, how much she misses him. It is no different from the letters from their own mothers, read by the Japanese soldiers abandoned by a war machine indifferent to their suffering. War is a horror created by monsters and fought by men, some of whom become monsters themselves, but most of whom just don't want to die, no matter what side they're on. Letters portrays each one individual, unique, battered down to a number, a figure, a statistic; it's a sad and beautiful meditation on that theme.

The Cashback flashback (I had to) where the au pair walks up the stairs has branded itself in my brain as giving us one of the most beautiful naked female bodies ever committed to celluloid. And I'd like to think I'm reasonably qualified to pass that judgement. Cashback is one of those rare beasts: a romantic comedy that's both genuinely, but not saccharine, romantic and funny. At times screamingly funny. It's a British movie that doesn't suck, it's quirky in a good way, intelligent, original, joyful, playful, sexy. It doesn't yet have a UK release date, which goes to prove, as far as I'm concerned, that most of the people who make decisions in the film industry, rather than movies, are imbeciles.

I wasn't sure about watching United 93. I wasn't sure if I wanted to put myself through that particular ride. one of the things I wasn't expecting was that the flight itself takes up only the last third of the film. The rest crosses between pre-flight routine and the air traffic control towers gradually realising they're losing planes and then one of them flies into the World Trade Center. With the outcome seared into the collective consciousness of the twenty first century, the film avoids subjectivity as much as possible, instead focusing on ordinary people reacting to one of the most fucked up situations you could ever imagine being in. You could call it a testament to the strength of the human spirit (on both sides) whilst the mechanisms designed to protect failed so dramatically around them. That the families of those who died provided the stories, and that some of those who stood in the control towers that day re-took their places is testament enough.

I wondered afterwards if those who took the planes that day were to know how many would die as a result of their actions, not in the towers but the eventual response, the ignition of a spark of hatred across the globe, the mass slaughter of innocents of all religions, would they still have done it.

What frightens me most is the fear that they would.

Of these five movies, all but Mr Brooks, I would say, have a strong human heart beating at their centre. That's something that comes pouring out of The Future Is Unwritten. That and the fact that Joe Strummer could also be a bit of a shit sometimes. Just like us all, heh? Perhaps all we are is the way others remember us, and Strummer, both good and bad, is remembered with warmth by those who tells his story around the camp fire. A simple story of a man who loved music, who believed in the human spirit, who failed as he succeeded, who stuck to his beliefs and who's band wrote themselves into the history books for almost all the right reasons.

Kevin Costner as the family man serial killer, Mr Brooks, with William Hurt as his evil conscience incarnate, dark and intelligent movie, blackly funny, a few nice stings in an original tale, Demi Moore so good, I thought she was Jennifer Connelly. So of course it seemed to disappear without trace in the British cinemas. Go figure.

Of the rest well:

Grandma's Boy from Adam Sandler's production company is a very funny movie about geeks and weed. That's all you need to know.

Disturbia is Rear Window for MySpace.

Vacancy was twenty great minutes stretched beyond endurance.

Fast Food Nation was all the ideas in the book somewhat unsuccessfully fictionalised. It is not an Avril Lavigne break-out movie.

Control was good but not as good as it's been made out to have been. If they ever make a movie about Sandy Denny then Samantha Morton is the shoe in for the lead.

Britannia Hospital is as accurate today as it was back then, maybe more so.

Knocked Up is weirdly funny and painfully truthful at times.

Ratatouille is sweet but not as funny as The Incredibles.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre - The Beginning is basically a remake of the remake of the original and about as pointless an exercise in bland time-wasting mediocrity as ever there was. And that's with a finger on the fast-forward.

So there you have it.

I really quite like the two grey badger stripes that grow either side of my chin when I haven't shaved for a few days. I pretend I'm becoming distinguished...

Listening to Joe Strummer & The Mescaleros: Streetcore

You can never give, the finger to the blind

2007-10-28T18:16:00.000Z

It's been over a week now since I returned from Rome. Outside the rain mists the windows, and rustles like tissue paper on my roof.

DSpace meetings are made all the more enjoyable by the unusually high availability of good people to talk to. And the locations so far haven't hurt: Cambridge, Bergen, San Antonio, Rome (I'll reserve judgement for next year' s Southampton meeting...). They're the kinds of meetings where you'll meet someone who goes out on tequila nights with your colleagues and who was at the same University as you at the same time, even at some of the same gigs. As Steven Wright once said: it's a small world, but I wouldn't want to paint it. They also fill me with renewed enthusiasm for what I do until I return to my desk with the crashing realisation that reality is exactly that, and not some terrible dream I've yet to wake from.

I liked Rome very much. It has a vibrant madness to it that somehow complements the space and landscape littered with ancient monuments and ruins. I think most of all I enjoyed being away for a few days. I took some pictures.

There's been so much movement this year. Pat's now working in China, Neil moved to Winchester, Evil walked ("behind me"), Jules went home to Australia, Hazel's the other side of town, Grace and Jono are missed at the office and sister no 1 is off to Washington soon for 3 years.
I made myself a Halloween jack o' lantern yesterday.

Listening to: The Best of Luna

'It'll be all right,'

2007-10-21T01:11:00.000+01:00

Julia's gentleness makes it worse, 'in the end, Jace.'
'It doesn't feel very all right.'
'That's because it's not the end.'

Reading: David Mitchell - Black Swan Green

I'm A Cactus Trying To Be A Canoe

2007-10-20T19:36:00.000+01:00

Scribbled on the way home from Rome, Friday 19th October 2007:

According to the drop-down screen above me, I'm currently 142km from London and it's -40 degrees outside. Somewhere to my left the English coast is frosted with an orange glow, like some bad cocktail in an even worse cocktail bar. There are people I know, or at least used to know down there in the haze. This is as close as I get to wondering what they're up to. The moon has become one of those orange jellied fruit segments that occasionally accompanied a guest to one of Mum and Dad's dinner parties, giving me a taste for over-priced fruit pastilles.

The flight skips straight up to Heathrow past Gatwick. I do wonder if Annie might have glanced up at some distant lights in the sky, that from the ground represent my and my fellow passenger's existence at this moment in time.

My first words off the plane are: "Bollocks, it's cold." I suppose I'm in Terminal 2 but I'm not 100% sure. For the second time this year a customs officer tells me off for standing in the wrong place at passport control. Note to self: front of desk, not side. I just want out now so I can search for a non-existent working beverage dispensing unit. I have a craving for a well known brand of sugary carbonated caffeine drink. No luck.

Back in baggage reclaim there's a no photography sign immediately above an upturned blue suitcase lying dormant on a dead conveyor. It would have made a great photograph. But I suspect that even this late there are too many eyes watching even the deadest of spaces. That's probably what'll be left after whatever apocalypse claims us. A lone suitcase in an airport and yet still the unwatched blinking red eye of a thousand CCTV cameras, just waiting till the tape finally runs out.

Some prick spends 5 minutes holding up the bus as he struggles to find his pockets, let alone the change that isn't in them. I can smell the rancid booze he oozes from the back of the bus. Apparently it's not just the illegal drugs that are bad for us now. I turn to catch a Dolce and Gabbana poster at the stop. I last saw it 8 hours ago overlooking the Trevi Fountain.

Suddenly I don't think I'm ready to be home just yet.

Listening: R.E.M. - Live
Watching: Californication

Thistles And Thorns

2007-09-30T21:06:00.000+01:00

I spent part of this afternoon uploading the photos off my phone and on to the mac. Here's a few:

Tunes: Sandy Denny: Live At The BBC

The Party's Done, The Cake's All Gone, The Plates Are Clean

2007-09-23T16:29:00.000+01:00

I did something last night I haven't done for a very long time; no, not that, nor that, or that.

Last night I went to sleep knowing that when I woke it would be to a clean and tidy boat with no signs of ongoing building work and with all this year's work tasks ticked.

It's been a long and often painful summer. And for all the parties I've missed, the folks I haven't seen, the moments of madness I've messed with and the emails I haven't read, let alone responded to, I'm chuffed as nuts for what I've achieved. When I first moved on I had an image of what I thought Chuffy could look like. And as close as is humanly possible I've brought that picture to life.

OK, so rebuilding the sofa had to happen, and I really didn't want to have to rebuild the underbed storage at the back of the boat but both gave me the opportunity to make things work as I wanted them to. But it was completing the skylight that really tied the room together.

Of course if I'd known when I moved on what I know now I would have taken two months to gut Chuffy and do all this work before I even considered bringing a wash bag over. Working inside the boat, especially in this summer's ongoing downpour necessitates turning all available space into either a workshop or a storage area leaving little for living. Ironically I don't find it easy existing in the chaos I need to create to do this work. For almost three months now I've been immersed in a manic desperation to finish before my sanity truly gave out ( and it was too close for comfort).

Don't get me wrong, the first couple of months were great: I love crafting my home. There's little more satisfying than standing back and looking at a good job well done; knowing that it was my own graft, my own blood, sweat and occasionally tears that made it happen. All that male-romantic guff about building things, especially boats, out of wood is so true. I'd do this for a living if I could (although I'm not sure my skills are quite up to scratch yet and I still need a good band-saw to get those perfect finishes).

As the sun came and threatened to go, as all the promised entertaining vanished and as every non-working hour was hoovered up with work, my patience started wearing rice-paper thin. I've been in a relatively bad mood since the beginning of the month as all I've wanted is my home back. And I've been absolutely knackered since about mid-July.

But now it's done. Today is the first day (after spending all day yesterday cleaning up) that I've been able to enjoy the fruit of my labours. Chuffy's been transformed and I feel as if I can finally emerge butterfly-like from this cocoon of cross-head screws and silicon sealant.

At the final count I've spent probably well over a grand on tools and parts, amassed an incredible collection of screw drivers, gone through three tins of varnish, three or four of paint, about twenty paintbrushes and no end of bruises, cuts, scrapes and aching body parts. Along the way the professor, sisters 1 & 2 and evil M have all contributed in some way and their assistance does not go unappreciated; thank you.

As far as I'm concerned it was worth it.

Tunes: Okkervil River: The Stage Names

Snack Attack

2007-08-22T21:21:00.000+01:00

Boy Is Accused Of Sausage Assault has to be one of my favourite headlines in recent (or only) memory. As a counterpoint to the news about Philip Lawrence's killer it's both bizarre and depressing and yet it's also a wonderfully absurd low in the reporting of the ever declining state of Britain's youth. The darker half of my brain can't get over the image of a world where 'deviant hoodies' roam the streets with handfuls of pork snacks.

It's not exactly the Blade Runner boxed set but I'm looking forward to this:

Tunes: James Taylor: James Taylor

I Made This

2007-08-19T20:27:00.000+01:00

Once upon a different life ago I held on to a deluded dream of being a film maker. I only say deluded because I wasn't close to being the kind of person I would have needed to be to get through. I enjoyed the time I spent dabbling, it was fun making the films we did make and of all of them I'm most proud of a promo we did for the band Snuff.

We'd been in touch with them about using some songs of theirs and they needed a video for their cover of The Four Tops' Standing In The Shadows Of Love. They gave us £500. £100 went on lights and tape, £300 on hiring an AVID suite and we walked of with the last £100. £25 each for three days work. I managed to blag some digitisation off an old Uni buddy I'd luckily bumped into a few weeks before. Probably the only good bit of producing I ever did.

We shot on Super-VHS, a day at a rehearsal studio and an evening at the Dublin Castle, a gate-crash gig they put on for us to get more footage. Then 2 days editing. We'd been in contact with an editor who had a friend with an AVID at home who was away for the weekend which is why it was so cheap. I think she was working for nothing.

I would have liked to have become an editor.

The band were great guys, the experience was a hoot and seeing 30 seconds of the video on The Chart Show was the highlight of everything we'd done. Hollywood might have been beckoning but the bank manager was waving harder.

I wasn't expecting to find it. I was looking to see if there was any live footage of the band. But there it was.

There's a cracking version of Soul Limbo on the EP.

Tunes: Iron Maiden: A Matter Of Life And Death

Some Time Later

2007-08-16T12:12:00.000+01:00

Remember that pic of the sofa I posted a while back.

It now looks like this:

Tunes: Tom Petty: Damn The Torpedos

Another Coincidental Coincidence

2007-08-10T14:26:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I was reading an article about how many public clocks in the country are no longer maintained. It included the quote about how even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Yesterday evening I caught the end of a movie that quoted the same line.

It's all getting far too spooky.

Tunes: Broken Social Scene: You Forgot It In People

Six Degrees of Baloney

2007-08-06T13:53:00.001+01:00

Since I share my birthday with Jean Reno, I decide to watch Leon again last week. I was discussing it with Mike as we walked into Kingston on Sunday and who should be staring out at us from an advertising board in the window of John Lewis but...

You've guessed it, Jean Reno. Leon also stars a young Nathalie Portman whose character, Mathilda, watches Transformers a fair bit. The day before I watched Leon I went to see...

You've guessed it, Transformers. Before the movie we were discussing some of the inconsistencies in the plot arc between the first and last three instalments of the Star Wars trilogy, one of which was how Luke and Leia remember their mother played by...

You've guessed it, Nathalie Portman. In Leon Nathalie Portman's family are wiped out by bad cop Stansfield played by Gary Oldman, who (co-incidentally) shared a screen with Harrison Ford in Airforce One. Harrison Ford also plays Han Solo in the last three Star Wars movies and ends up with maternally challenged Leia in Episode 6. Oldman also appears in the Harry Potter movies, the latest of which, The Order Of The Phoenix, I went to see in Amsterdam as my birthday movie.

A birthday I share with...

You've guessed it, Jean Reno.

As an afterthought and for the sake of the maths which could still be wrong it's worth noting that Leon was directed by Luc Besson who also made a movie about Joan of Arc who was also the subject of George Bernard Shaw's play, Saint Joan, which we went to see at the National for my Mum's birthday. Joan is played by Ann-Marie Duff who found fame with the tv show Shameless alongside James McAvoy who escapes Idi Amin's clutches in the Last King Of Scotland during the siege of Entebbe which is where my Mum used to live.

Spooky huh!

Try it out for yourself and see what baloney you can come up with.

Tunes: Snuff: Six Of One, Half A Dozen Of The Other

Run To The Hills

2007-08-03T17:22:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I walked past a guy with a bad limp and a walking stick wearing one of those clever 'bomb squad - if you see me running try to keep up t-shirts'.

Happy New Year

2007-07-31T13:10:00.000+01:00

According to Wikipedia I share my birthday with Kate Bush, Jean Reno, Richard Linklater and Emily Bronte. Also with Arnie and the drummer from the Manics but let's leave those two for a moment. Joe Shuster, the artist who helped create Superman died on 30th July 1992. Other birthdeaths include Otto Von Bismarck, Claudette Colbert, Ingmar Bergman and potentially Jimmy Hoffa who disappeared on the day, 1975.

I'm the same age as Christopher Nolan, the director of Memento and Batman Begins. I wonder if he enjoyed the day as much as I did.

I've learnt that I have an adverbial disorder, it's not serious, it's quite silly really. Apparently the only cure involves being pointed and laughed at. Life's harsh sometimes.

People say that Amsterdam is full of beautiful houseboats. That's not entirely true. There are some really crappy ones out there.

Good festivals have the best organisers...

Tunes: Maximo Park: Our Earthly Pleasures

I Call This Bridge And Boat Under Moon (Although I Don't Know Why)

2007-07-31T12:18:00.000+01:00

Tunes: Fairport Convention: Liege And Lief

Your Insides Will Glow

2007-07-02T21:11:00.000+01:00

I know I should have added some more Glastonbury news, but somewhere along the way this happened.

My Glastonbury pics are up here though. More on everything once I get over being back at work.

Tunes: The Broken Family band: Hello Love

We're All Fucked Up On The Booze And the Drugs

2007-06-26T09:28:00.000+01:00

Everything hurts, I have a cold, an allergy to movement, I've slept for a day, I think I still have mud under my eyelids and even simple tasks are taking a monumental effort. Guess I'm back from Glastonbury then. More to follow...

Tunes: The Broken Family Band: Balls

Land Of Hope and Glory

2007-06-17T22:23:00.000+01:00

Mike was in full political flow, charting the decline of western civilisation and portending a none too happy future when Ian Dury's Fucking Aida came on. It's very hard to take anything seriously when one of England's greatest poets and his Blockheads are shouting "Fucking Aida" repeatedly over a drunken music hall stomp. Sometimes laughter is the only sense there is.

I had this wonderful image of the country sinking into the sea, the last bowler hatted English gentleman standing stiffly to attention, briefcase, umbrella and rolled up copy of the times gradually disappearing from view (Cap'n Jack Sparrow style) whilst Fucking Aida plays in the background.

Tunes: Ian Dury And The Blockheads: Sex And Drugs And Rock And Roll

I Wish I Was Bulletproof

2007-06-16T15:06:00.000+01:00

A couple of fragments of conversation from last night.

Franklin was wrong. The only thing that's certain in life is death. Not everyone gets to pay tax. If, as they say, you see your life flash before you as you die then shouldn't it be the best movie you've ever seen. Something you'd want to sit through one last time. Ups and downs, thrills and spills, love and laughter, sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll. Wouldn't it just suck if it turned out to be some terrible Ingmar Bergman movie.

In a world of shrinking inhabitable land mass and rapidly increasing population with all the necessary output to look after them, will the world one day just fill up. It would be like someone turns a corner and that'll be it. Population gridlock. Everyone will just be stuck where they are, unable to move. Neither Starfleet nor Dr Who will be able to come and save us. There'll be a big sign up in space saying "Sorry, this planet is now full, please use another planet."

Tunes: Radiohead: The Bends

Is There One Last Untamed Untouched Part

2007-06-13T22:36:00.000+01:00

It's funny what finally breaks people. Not that long ago, half an hour or so as it happens, I was sitting on Mike's boat pretty much enjoying the self-conscious quirkiness of 'A Cock And Bull Story' when this sound broke our concentration. And the movie does take a little concentration. It took a few moments to figure out that this was whom we shall call Neighbour L. Now I know she was singing. In her world at least. In truth my toes started curling and I began to feel my tuna avocado dinner return somewhat unwanted. Certainly what notes were appearing haven't been invented yet. No words, just a semi-lupine outpouring at top volume. Think of a cat trying to yowl opera whilst being put through a barbed wire mangle.

Suddenly from the other side, he whom shall be referred to as Neighbour S, was taken to an uncharacteristic bout of vocal abuse. Something along the lines of: "Just shut the fuck up will you..." repeated until the noise abated. Neighbour S is one of those folks for whom the phrase 'wouldn't say boo to a goose' might have been invented (although I don't know anyone who's ever said boo to a goose. I've had plenty of opportunities and never once even thought of it). Apparently the vocal callisthenics added just a touch too much atmosphere to the horror movie he was watching and he, for want of a better word, snapped.

I've been listening to a LOT of The Rainmakers recently. A few minutes surfing this lunchtime revealed a bunch of their videos and some live performances on You Tube. This is one of my favourite tunes from their penultimate, and sadly only fourth, studio album. It's not exactly "I wish I cared but I don't know how" but I guess even Bob had to fall in love eventually. Damn they made some shitty videos!

Tunes: The Rainmakers: Flirting With The Universe

Smoke From The Water

2007-06-10T21:05:00.000+01:00

Trying out my new camera, a nice deal on eBay. That is until I saw a better camera for less in the PC World sale this morning. Oh well. Looks ok so far. See if stands the test of the Glastonbury fields.

Back In The Saddle

2007-06-05T13:01:00.000+01:00

I've just added my fourth blog to my roster, somewhat worrying considering I've been so poor at updating this one of late. A couple of weeks ago I dipped my toe back into Londonist waters and now I have my very own work blog so you can keep up to date with all the fun things I do here at the office. "Woo hoo" I hear you all scream. Remember to set all your bookmarks or RSS feeds if you're more of a web 2.0 kinda reader.

Added to 'Ducks and my somewhat poorly maintained music blog, Hyena, that's a lot of writing to keep up with. Londonist I'm going to continue to dip into for the moment to see how thing's progress. The OR blog at least I can do at work. Ducks and Hyena I'm going to try to concentrate on a little more from now on. I might even get around to putting some more of my pictures up on flickr, especially now I've replaced my malfunctioning digital camera.

What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love And Understanding?

2007-05-19T14:07:00.000+01:00

The American fundementalist preacher, the Rev Jerry Falwell died this week. To many this was a good thing. I'll leave my thoughts on the matter to two quotes. The first were words spoken by Falwell about the attacks on the World Trade Center, a few days after the event. The second quote is attributed to some guy called Jesus.

The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays, and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU [American Civil Liberties Union], People for the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularise America - I point the finger in their face and say: 'You helped this happen'.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are they who mourn,
for they shall be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they shall possess the earth.
Blessed are they who hunger and thirst for justice,
for they shall be satisfied.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they shall obtain mercy.
Blessed are the pure of heart,
for they shall see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they shall be called sons of God.
Blessed are they who suffer persecution for justice sake,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Tunes: Dinosaur Jr: Beyond

Isn't It A Little Late To Be Trimming The Verge?

2007-04-10T23:05:00.000+01:00

I'm pretty much knackered by the time I hit Kingston bridge. That means I've been running for about three minutes now. I pass a couple of runners going the other way, bounding along like two legged antelopes, sleek and shiny in their body-hugging jogging suits and hardly a breath to be heard. I'm in an old Gap top and my swimming shorts, I sound like a dying Rhino.

No comments from the misery of emo-kids huddled at the end of Canbury Gardens, that's a good thing. I'm more stumbling than running at this point, my legs hurt like hell and I'm seriously regretting doing this tonight. Somewhere along the river path the background hum of human noise drops away, I lose all feeling in my legs and I hit my pace. It's not particularly fast but it's steady and I don't get too upset when those athletalopes goes springing past. The river reflects a peach and purple shimmer.

I realise I'm just about keeping pace with a small boat. To compensate for the bends in the path I speed up. I don't want to. It's neck and neck and I wonder whether I'd be impressed if I knew just how slowly it's going. We reach the foot bridge together; I'm going way too fast, there's still a mile and three quarters to go.

I try to slow down when I hit the pavement. Doesn't work. I almost fall over. I've forgotten whether I'm breathing or not. I cannot think of a single good reason as to why I put myself through this. And then there's nothing but keeping my legs moving. My head clears. All the unaswerable questions part in a Moses like trance. This is what I love most about running.

Passing the school reminds me I'm on the last stretch and I decide to stretch my legs. This is my second stupid idea of the evening. I'm keeping the same pace with a longer stride. This is not fun. I want to slow down, I'd rather stop.

Every time I see the railway bridge I get one of those extending corridor movie moments. I think no matter how far I run it will remain the same. Those last few hundred yards are the bitch of the bunch.

One last turn into the yard and drop into a walk. Three and a half miles of exertion career straight into the back of me like a car in a traffic safety commercial. I have a serious adrenaline hit and scare the shit out of Denise as she gets back from the allotment. My face burns with blood, my back is soaking, I can hardly breathe. I have three blisters, each on top of the other and I reek. I'm grinning like the idiot I am. I'll be doing it all again tomorrow morning.

Tunes: Brett Anderson: Brett Anderson

I Closed My Eyes And I Slipped Away

2007-03-18T23:15:00.000Z

Anyone who's spent more than about five seconds in my company will know that I think Boston's More Than A feeling is possibly the greatest song ever written. To be honest I don't know much about the band, I only own the one album and I didn't even know Brad Delp was the singer (since I never read the liner notes) until I read of his suicide last week. From what I've read he suffered from depression and extremely low self esteem and yet was obviously considered by pretty much everyone who knew or worked with him to be a really nice guy.

That really fucking sucks.

So here's a reminder of why the song is so damn good and what a great vocalist Delp was.

Tunes: Kings X: Gretchen Goes To Nebraska

Pulling Teeth

2007-03-13T22:09:00.000Z

I had a tooth pulled yesterday. One of the rear left molars on the top. Not one I'm going to miss. Three anesthetics meant there was no pain and everything seems to be healing nicely, thank you for asking. But it's a horrible experience. If I didn't hate dentists so much I probably wouldn't have had to be there but there you go. Lesson learned.

The moment that did it for me was when he snapped the tooth to be able to pull it out, breaking the roots at the tip. It's not the feeling of pressure that's being exerted within your jaw that makes the toes curl but that sharp, crunching sound that echoes around inside your head. You don't feel a thing but you know damn well what it would have felt like had the nice dentist not pumped your jaw full of drugs so you can spend the next few hours drooling out the side of your mouth like a constipated muppet. I didn't mind so much when I could feel him pulling bits of root out but every time he tried to gain some leverage using the rest of my jaw as a pivot all I could think of was to hope that he didn't slip and take a few more out in the process.

It was a good excuse to spend the morning sitting out in the sunshine on Chuffy's nose. Something I haven't done since October of last year. It reminded me after almost getting squashed last week that there are some very good things about living on boats and they're all just about to roll back in. The warm weather's on its way, the geese are getting frisky - never a good thing unless you get off on constant honking - and my tulips (from Amsterdam) are coming through.

Tunes: Rush: Rush In Rio

More From Yesterday

2007-03-08T21:38:00.000Z

Breaking News - Holy Shit!

2007-03-07T17:58:00.000Z

High tide...

Rubbish Photo Of The Lunar Eclipse

2007-03-07T15:33:00.000Z

I hereby stake my right as a blogger to clog up the www with rubbish photos of Saturday's lunar eclipse. It looked a lot better in the flesh.

I'm wondering if it has anything to do with the pancake inducing effects of the river at the moment.

Getting Squashed

2007-03-06T21:37:00.000Z

It's fucking hairy out there tonight. There's a shitload of water coming down the Thames and we're rocking about all over the place. You don't often see waves rolling past your bedroom window but tonight's one of those nights when you wish you hadn't seen Titanic. If just for that nauseous song.

Simon's boat Rhiannon has been pushing up against me and crushing me up against the pontoon. Wayne, Mo and I were out tonight trying to retie her guy ropes to pull her away. Mo and I could hardly push the two boats apart the current's so strong.

Hopefully another dry day tomorrow will ease things up a bit. Ah the joys of boat living ladies and gentlemen. Some days I envy you all and your sturdy living environments.

Stare Into The Eyes of Vengeance

2007-02-21T23:58:00.000Z

I used to love Ghost Rider

So why do they have to turn a comic into a comic book movie?

I'm going to be sooooooo disappointed.

Another Blog, Another Snow Pic

2007-02-08T21:20:00.000Z

More here

Icy On The Inside

2007-02-07T08:18:00.000Z