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
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Smoke From The Water
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.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Back In The Saddle
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.
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.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love And Understanding?
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'.
Tunes: Dinosaur Jr: Beyond
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
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Isn't It A Little Late To Be Trimming The Verge?
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
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
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