A short post just to get something off my chest.
The Boy's computer - an Apple MacBook has gone wrong for the second time in three months.
The last time they replaced the hard drive, and it has the same problem again. The first time it died, I bought him a back-up drive because nothing had been backed-up...only to discover that he had one already but had just never used it. This time there is still no back up, and the computer contains his 'A' Level course work as well as the video from our last skiing holiday. The Boy is an idiot. I had told him that he MUST back everything up. As a teenager, I can only guess whether he;s just too lazy or thinks he knows best.
But that is not the point of my little venting of spleen. When I took the computer to the Apple shop, they did agree to replace the disk. They have to, it's still under warranty. They even offered to let me have the broken hard-drive back. But they refused to recover the information on it. That'll be the 'A' level course work. They say it's not their responsibility. I say they have both a legal responsibility because it's consequential damage, they deny it. When I say 'they', I mean the shop manager 'Elissa' and her hidden bosses. Worse still, they refuse to repair the machine at all because I won't sign their terms and conditions which specifically exclude data recovery. I may be on my high horse, but I think they are legally required to repair the computer and I'm not obliged to sign onerous T&Cs. They promised to e-mail me with a way forward. They haven't. The cost of recovering data I'm told could be anywhere between £300 and £3000. That's a lot.
I can't say I've ever been a fan of Apple...I've never bought one of their products for myself. I like the way they look, but have always had a feeling there's something quite Big Brother about the company and the way they operate. I'm not anti...just not bothered one way or another.
And I can't help feel that their 'fanboys' are blind devotees of a cult. Cults are never a good thing.
In this case, they clearly don't care about a customer, or that their product is faulty.
So what do I do?
Do I take them to court?
Or do I bow down, remove my trousers and let them shaft me from behind?
Friday, 22 March 2013
Wednesday, 20 March 2013
Completely Bent
I've reached that time of life (you may notice that is a bit of a theme at the moment) when many of my male friends and acquaintances have abandoned their wives of many years standing and taken up with a young filly. Many is a bit of an exaggeration A few is an understatement. Some doesn't do the numbers justice. Of these rather too obvious middle-aged men, a number have chosen to procreate, thus creating yet more overly-complicated family relationships that typify modern western democracies. I don't entirely blame the men as I remember when I was single at the wrong age, I kept meeting attractive young ladies who were clearly on a mission to start a family. None the less I cannot avoid feeling that the men are the dumb ones. Who at an age when you want a decent nights sleep chooses to have a baby? I've held this view for many years, as I remember when The Boy was a smiling, giggling, round-faced baby often spending my days in a semi-comatose state due to over-tiredness.
This morning those memories were brought back into sharp focus. The Boy was ill last night, and he was puking up every house. I felt it appropriate for me to get up and sympathise everytime he wretched, so whilst I don't have the screamingly painful stomach he has, I can barely keep my eyes open, can't focus on the task in hand and feel curiously detached from the world. Which is not good when I've got a ton of work to plough through. So absolutely no more babies for me. Ever. The Cat's Mother will be pleased.
Before I got home for my very disturbed night, I has been in Windsor, specifically at The Firestation Theatre with two more characters... Hereford Man and Ski Girl. I met them when The Boy was just tiny and we've been good if not close friends. He has two daughters who are at Exeter University, and she has a decade old daughter. I'd been invited to see the new show by Lee Nelson. I'd never heard of him, but took up the offer, on the basis that once before I'd invited Hereford Man to the Foo Fighters only for him to announce at the end of the show that he'd never heard of them. Wow. There's an odd logic there somewhere.
I arrived a little early and sat quietly playing on my phone in the bar whilst supping a Guinness. That is until a woman decided to strike up a conversation with me. I can tell you she came from Milton Keynes, has been trawling the internet for interesting things to do and that she was staying in a bed and breakfast round the corner. She could tell you precisely nothing about me. Eventually my friends arrived, and rescued me. That didn't stop them ribbing me for pulling. Milton Keynes woman didn't quite disappear out of my life though as she was one of those audience members that enjoyed participating in the show by shouting out at regular intervals. Eventually, during the second half, she moved down to the front row to get closer to Mr Nelson. I can't tell you how nervous he suddenly became. It's a very small theatre with the audience and performer separated by about a metre or may be two. The words 'stalker' and 'bunny boiler' came to mind. Anyway he was quite funny...although the photos of a man having sex with a horse and infected genitals were not to everyone's taste. Including mine. With a degree of inevitability I was picked on (yep it happens too much for comfort), but I survived quite well, unlike the lad after me who had his testicles squeezed. Comedians are an odd bunch these days. This one had evidently been arrested at a football match the other day in his guise as 'Jason Bent footballer'.
This morning those memories were brought back into sharp focus. The Boy was ill last night, and he was puking up every house. I felt it appropriate for me to get up and sympathise everytime he wretched, so whilst I don't have the screamingly painful stomach he has, I can barely keep my eyes open, can't focus on the task in hand and feel curiously detached from the world. Which is not good when I've got a ton of work to plough through. So absolutely no more babies for me. Ever. The Cat's Mother will be pleased.
Before I got home for my very disturbed night, I has been in Windsor, specifically at The Firestation Theatre with two more characters... Hereford Man and Ski Girl. I met them when The Boy was just tiny and we've been good if not close friends. He has two daughters who are at Exeter University, and she has a decade old daughter. I'd been invited to see the new show by Lee Nelson. I'd never heard of him, but took up the offer, on the basis that once before I'd invited Hereford Man to the Foo Fighters only for him to announce at the end of the show that he'd never heard of them. Wow. There's an odd logic there somewhere.
I arrived a little early and sat quietly playing on my phone in the bar whilst supping a Guinness. That is until a woman decided to strike up a conversation with me. I can tell you she came from Milton Keynes, has been trawling the internet for interesting things to do and that she was staying in a bed and breakfast round the corner. She could tell you precisely nothing about me. Eventually my friends arrived, and rescued me. That didn't stop them ribbing me for pulling. Milton Keynes woman didn't quite disappear out of my life though as she was one of those audience members that enjoyed participating in the show by shouting out at regular intervals. Eventually, during the second half, she moved down to the front row to get closer to Mr Nelson. I can't tell you how nervous he suddenly became. It's a very small theatre with the audience and performer separated by about a metre or may be two. The words 'stalker' and 'bunny boiler' came to mind. Anyway he was quite funny...although the photos of a man having sex with a horse and infected genitals were not to everyone's taste. Including mine. With a degree of inevitability I was picked on (yep it happens too much for comfort), but I survived quite well, unlike the lad after me who had his testicles squeezed. Comedians are an odd bunch these days. This one had evidently been arrested at a football match the other day in his guise as 'Jason Bent footballer'.
Tuesday, 19 March 2013
St Patricks Day
Whilst I regularly hear cries of 'Bugger Blogger', I rarely hear 'Darned Disqus', but that may be the cri de coeur this week.
Whether I wanted it or not, Disqus decided last week to 'upgrade' me to the latest version....I was afreared of problems, so not entirely surprised when Hippo said he could no longer comment. I seem to remember that was a problem once before, and the only solution was to turn the damned thing off. As I mentioned in the past, I only included Disqus by mistake in the first place, so it's no big deal, except that I will lose all the comments that have been published...and that's a bigger deal. But needs must. Just as soon as I've worked out how to do it. It will also mean that I lose the brand new 'whats on around the web' feature which they kindly included as a gesture of unfathomable kindness and generosity.
I'm looking a little bedraggled at the moment. As I get older, my sleep gets more and more disturbed...so high on my list of things I would wish from a genie would be a good nights sleep.
The four of us went off to the totally incredible Wiltons Music Hall on Friday night. It is the most remarkable place, and you do get to step back in history when you go in, so if you're in London make a detour and pay it a visit. And do donate because it's still short of funds. We were there to see a musical re-working of The Great Gatsby. It's a book I've never read, but the offspring have studied at school. I've only see the film about thirty years ago I would guess and had forgotten the story line. Anyway a play that's full of deeply unpleasant characters. Apart from Nick who's a lovely fellow. In the play if not in the book. Not only was the thing belted out with aplomb, but there was also much audience participation ..the actors mingled before the performance and during the interval...we all got to have a great sing along around the piano, and then returned to the auditorium where we got to dance on the stage.....
Saturday was bucket game night...names of the famous and not so famous are dropped into a bucket and the rest have to guess who it is. This time there were three rounds...first the general guessing game, then a sort of charades version, then you could only say one word to describe the character. It's a game the Cat's Mother and her friends have played all their lives. I'm a recent introduction to it. They love it, I loathe it. A good time was had by all, and in the tradition of the game, the boys team beat the girl's team...as they always do.
And Sunday was St Patrick's Day. This is a day when I recognise my Irish Grandfather and can also mention that I've been to St Patrick's grave. That gives me all the cred I need to participate in the celebrations. As usual in London, there's a big parade, and the Olympic volunteers were there in force. This time we had a roll of grass to carry as well. It was a jolly day and even the rain couldn't take the shine off it.
Whether I wanted it or not, Disqus decided last week to 'upgrade' me to the latest version....I was afreared of problems, so not entirely surprised when Hippo said he could no longer comment. I seem to remember that was a problem once before, and the only solution was to turn the damned thing off. As I mentioned in the past, I only included Disqus by mistake in the first place, so it's no big deal, except that I will lose all the comments that have been published...and that's a bigger deal. But needs must. Just as soon as I've worked out how to do it. It will also mean that I lose the brand new 'whats on around the web' feature which they kindly included as a gesture of unfathomable kindness and generosity.
I'm looking a little bedraggled at the moment. As I get older, my sleep gets more and more disturbed...so high on my list of things I would wish from a genie would be a good nights sleep.
The four of us went off to the totally incredible Wiltons Music Hall on Friday night. It is the most remarkable place, and you do get to step back in history when you go in, so if you're in London make a detour and pay it a visit. And do donate because it's still short of funds. We were there to see a musical re-working of The Great Gatsby. It's a book I've never read, but the offspring have studied at school. I've only see the film about thirty years ago I would guess and had forgotten the story line. Anyway a play that's full of deeply unpleasant characters. Apart from Nick who's a lovely fellow. In the play if not in the book. Not only was the thing belted out with aplomb, but there was also much audience participation ..the actors mingled before the performance and during the interval...we all got to have a great sing along around the piano, and then returned to the auditorium where we got to dance on the stage.....
Saturday was bucket game night...names of the famous and not so famous are dropped into a bucket and the rest have to guess who it is. This time there were three rounds...first the general guessing game, then a sort of charades version, then you could only say one word to describe the character. It's a game the Cat's Mother and her friends have played all their lives. I'm a recent introduction to it. They love it, I loathe it. A good time was had by all, and in the tradition of the game, the boys team beat the girl's team...as they always do.
And Sunday was St Patrick's Day. This is a day when I recognise my Irish Grandfather and can also mention that I've been to St Patrick's grave. That gives me all the cred I need to participate in the celebrations. As usual in London, there's a big parade, and the Olympic volunteers were there in force. This time we had a roll of grass to carry as well. It was a jolly day and even the rain couldn't take the shine off it.
Monday, 18 March 2013
Stealing from the poor to pay the rich
This is a year of great change at home.
The two offspring will disappear from home during the summer. The Cat will go off to a university, yet to be decided. The Boy is having a 'gap yah', some of which at least will be spent partying and instructing in the ski resort.
The Cat's Mother and I will be empty nesters. It's a big house, we'll rattle around.
Oddly, I have been pigeon-hold as a 'Daddy Blogger' by various media lists, but as it is The Boy's 18th birthday in May, my days as a Daddy Blogger are numbered. I never really understood how or why I was on those lists...after all I've never given a parenting tip in my life. Well not a decent one anyway. So I wonder how I will be re-categorised. Perhaps I won't. I don't much mind.
At the same time I've decided to give up membership of my professional body...yes after 25 years of being a Certified PR man, I will just be a consultant. I was hoping I would get fireworks and a gold watch, but I've not even had a response to my not of resignation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, I've never been that comfortable with people who bend the truth to earn their crust because almost to a man and woman they are shallow, unthinking and uncaring. I thought I might do a top ten worst PRs, but really the worst are so hideous I can't bear to type their names....and by naming only ten I would be missing the hundreds that are guilty of distorting the truth day in day out A special mention should go to Alistair Campbell whose manipulations Beelzebub would be proud of...he was being featured on a repeat of Top Gear last week, and I just had to walk out the room.
There is one PR man I like though
The news that Cyprus is being bailed out should be good news, but in fact it has sent shock waves around the world. I'm sure you've read about it.
The principle that individuals that have deposited money in banks should not be penalised has become well established since the start of the financial crisis. This has been an important principle in helping restore confidence.
But in the case of Cyprus, a tiny little country with a tiny little economy, the jack-booted financial institutions have decided that it is the people who must pay for the follies of the banking sector. We've all suffered from the reckless negligence of the bankers, but in this case the knife has been stuck in and twisted and twisted. There's no real reason for this deal to have been done like this other than the suggestion that it will secure some Russian money which has been illegally salted away in Cyprus. In truth there's a big question as to whether that money is there anyway. And anyway that won't stop many, many not very well off people getting hit hard. There is a large ex-pat British crowd out there..Grandma and Grandpa in Cyprus are amongst them. In my experience these are not wealthy people who have salted away their millions, but rather hard working, often working class people, who have saved hard to be able to retire to the sun. They've suffered badly in the last few years as interest rates have plummeted, and as the value of sterling has collapsed causing their pensions to be worth less. Or do I mean worthless? The maths is simple. Imagine you've got £100,000 tucked away...that's a lot. But with today's interest rates, you'd be lucky to earn £3000 a year. Have you ever tried to live on that much? So, many of the ex-pats have taken up working in one way or another, but wages out there are not what they are here....not even close. So whilst they and the Cypriots get hammered, the sweet talking bankers continue to sun themselves on their yachts in the Mediterranean Nice. if you've got no conscience or moral fibre.
In the meantime, it looks as the deal may unwind and with it all the efforts that have been taken to prop up the European economy over the last several years. After all don't think that the snatching of private savers money will stop in Cyprus. The Greeks, the Spanish, the Irish, the Portuguese and the Italians will all be quaking in their boots today. And don't think that Britain is too far off either.
The conspiracy between the political and financial elite continues
The two offspring will disappear from home during the summer. The Cat will go off to a university, yet to be decided. The Boy is having a 'gap yah', some of which at least will be spent partying and instructing in the ski resort.
The Cat's Mother and I will be empty nesters. It's a big house, we'll rattle around.
Oddly, I have been pigeon-hold as a 'Daddy Blogger' by various media lists, but as it is The Boy's 18th birthday in May, my days as a Daddy Blogger are numbered. I never really understood how or why I was on those lists...after all I've never given a parenting tip in my life. Well not a decent one anyway. So I wonder how I will be re-categorised. Perhaps I won't. I don't much mind.
At the same time I've decided to give up membership of my professional body...yes after 25 years of being a Certified PR man, I will just be a consultant. I was hoping I would get fireworks and a gold watch, but I've not even had a response to my not of resignation. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, I've never been that comfortable with people who bend the truth to earn their crust because almost to a man and woman they are shallow, unthinking and uncaring. I thought I might do a top ten worst PRs, but really the worst are so hideous I can't bear to type their names....and by naming only ten I would be missing the hundreds that are guilty of distorting the truth day in day out A special mention should go to Alistair Campbell whose manipulations Beelzebub would be proud of...he was being featured on a repeat of Top Gear last week, and I just had to walk out the room.
There is one PR man I like though
The news that Cyprus is being bailed out should be good news, but in fact it has sent shock waves around the world. I'm sure you've read about it.
The principle that individuals that have deposited money in banks should not be penalised has become well established since the start of the financial crisis. This has been an important principle in helping restore confidence.
But in the case of Cyprus, a tiny little country with a tiny little economy, the jack-booted financial institutions have decided that it is the people who must pay for the follies of the banking sector. We've all suffered from the reckless negligence of the bankers, but in this case the knife has been stuck in and twisted and twisted. There's no real reason for this deal to have been done like this other than the suggestion that it will secure some Russian money which has been illegally salted away in Cyprus. In truth there's a big question as to whether that money is there anyway. And anyway that won't stop many, many not very well off people getting hit hard. There is a large ex-pat British crowd out there..Grandma and Grandpa in Cyprus are amongst them. In my experience these are not wealthy people who have salted away their millions, but rather hard working, often working class people, who have saved hard to be able to retire to the sun. They've suffered badly in the last few years as interest rates have plummeted, and as the value of sterling has collapsed causing their pensions to be worth less. Or do I mean worthless? The maths is simple. Imagine you've got £100,000 tucked away...that's a lot. But with today's interest rates, you'd be lucky to earn £3000 a year. Have you ever tried to live on that much? So, many of the ex-pats have taken up working in one way or another, but wages out there are not what they are here....not even close. So whilst they and the Cypriots get hammered, the sweet talking bankers continue to sun themselves on their yachts in the Mediterranean Nice. if you've got no conscience or moral fibre.
In the meantime, it looks as the deal may unwind and with it all the efforts that have been taken to prop up the European economy over the last several years. After all don't think that the snatching of private savers money will stop in Cyprus. The Greeks, the Spanish, the Irish, the Portuguese and the Italians will all be quaking in their boots today. And don't think that Britain is too far off either.
The conspiracy between the political and financial elite continues
Friday, 15 March 2013
It's all a bit fishy
I'm delighted to see royalty following in our footsteps. Well done Charles and Camilla...let me know if you want any more travel tips. Last year we headed off to Jordan, and prior to heading to Petra and The Dead Sea, we went to the fabulous Roman city of Jerash. The middle east is such a fascinating place to travel to...human history, from its beginnings can be found there. It is a shame that so much of it is unstable, and there is an overwhelming feeling that western governments are anxious to keep it that way - well done William Hague for arming rebels here there and everywhere; Al Qaeda was armed by the west and look what happened there.
Jerash is overwhelming - it is vast, and so much is still standing that you can almost feel and smell life as it used to be. Walking down the high street you can still see the multi-levelled shops, now empty of course. Much like our own high streets. I posted about Jordan here, and the first three shots were taken in Jerash. And here are some more:
Cameron is becoming more and more of a Conservative as he goes on. After God only knows how many hours and how much money was spent on the Leveson enquiry into press conduct, he has effectively dumped the whole report in the bin, told the Ed Miller Band to f*ck off, and put Cleggers back in his kennel. There will be a street party the length of Fleet Street tonight, and no doubt Murdoch and his minions will be piling up the cash for David's pay off. With Osborne unable to formulate any economic policy that in any way hurt his city paymasters, I'm anticipating a hot summer of riots.
In the meantime, I've been helping the economy by buying a new lens for my camera. Admittedly it wasn't actually made in the UK, but you can't have everything. I'll need a bit of practice to get the best out of it - a fisheye lens - but I quite like these...hoping to have some fun with it in the coming weeks!
Jerash is overwhelming - it is vast, and so much is still standing that you can almost feel and smell life as it used to be. Walking down the high street you can still see the multi-levelled shops, now empty of course. Much like our own high streets. I posted about Jordan here, and the first three shots were taken in Jerash. And here are some more:
Cameron is becoming more and more of a Conservative as he goes on. After God only knows how many hours and how much money was spent on the Leveson enquiry into press conduct, he has effectively dumped the whole report in the bin, told the Ed Miller Band to f*ck off, and put Cleggers back in his kennel. There will be a street party the length of Fleet Street tonight, and no doubt Murdoch and his minions will be piling up the cash for David's pay off. With Osborne unable to formulate any economic policy that in any way hurt his city paymasters, I'm anticipating a hot summer of riots.
In the meantime, I've been helping the economy by buying a new lens for my camera. Admittedly it wasn't actually made in the UK, but you can't have everything. I'll need a bit of practice to get the best out of it - a fisheye lens - but I quite like these...hoping to have some fun with it in the coming weeks!
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Nuts
Last night before we dined with Mr Walliams we went to a 'Promenade Performance' at Somerset House. The performance was 'In the beginning was the end'. Essentially, this is immersive and interactive theatre in the basement corridors of the building. It's the sort of conceptial theatrical bullshit that I love, and The CAt's Mother tolerates.
You don't get the programme until the end, so you have to work out what it's all about. We decided it was about the greed and cynicism of multinational corporations...a popular theme with me. But as it turns out, the concept came from Da Vinci who thought that mankind was obsessed with machinery. Which is odd, because I thought that was exactly what he was obsessed with. And somehow we missed John the Baptist. If you go you can make your own mind up. We were warned before we started our journey that there was male and female nudity. Hurrah, it's about time we didn't see something that was just todgers all over the place. And there were more naked women than men. But boohoo. Strangers nudity is fine when it's twenty metres away on the stage, but rather less comfortable when these folk pass within touching distance. Not that we did. Anyway, an experience, but perhaps it was all concept and no execution or artistry.
I'm always fascinated by the nuances of language.
Today, I had a problem because a package that should have been delivered hadn't arrived. When I called the supplier to find out what was going on they told me that it was because of the way I filled in the form. I explained quite politely that I could only fill in the form the way it was presented on my computer screen, so I couldn't accept any implication that I had done anything wrong. Indeed I was right the man admitted, the fault lay with their software and what was on screen hadn't translated into the right address label.
At the weekend The Cat managed to clip the curb with the car. She's been driving a short while and these things happen. I was told when I started riding a motorbike that it was inevitable that I would have an accident within six months. Indeed I did. So if this is The Cat's equivalent we have all been let off very lightly and should all be grateful. She was with El Bastardo*, but they were unable to put the spare on as they couldn't get the wheel nuts undone. The AA man came and (apparently) explained the wheel was rusted to the hub caps, and the only way to remove them was with a copper hammer because a normal one would shatter the bolts.
Now here comes the language thing again. The Cat's Mother got a text from El Bastardo saying with great authority that all the wheels should be checked because they were rusted in place, the nuts were seized and the only way to loosen them was with a copper hammer. No mention of the AA man. Written in a tone of great knowledge and authority. EB is a very, very, very successful man. And I think I understand why. Because he acquired the knowledge about the wheel, and now dispenses it as if it's his own.
If I had been in the same situation, I would have said, "The AA man told me that....." You can take it from that I am not very, very, very successful, but just as knowledgeable.
*I didn't include her father in my list of characters. This has to be said in a very heavy accent, and with a degree of humour. We bare no grudges.
On Saturday, I went on photographic course...hence the pictures this week. The best part was listening to two hours of our (French) tutor explaining the techniques of famous photographers. The worst part was the gut who kept answering his phone during those two hours. I don't know if it will do me any good, but it was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday, and a good way to make me go out on to the streets and take some pictures.
This is what's known in our house as a 'tosser photo'
None of us on the course could really get this right...but it was fascinating to see this old pub being renovated whilst the ugly modern buildings tried to crowd it out
And I just liked the contrast between the cheap booze and the church
You don't get the programme until the end, so you have to work out what it's all about. We decided it was about the greed and cynicism of multinational corporations...a popular theme with me. But as it turns out, the concept came from Da Vinci who thought that mankind was obsessed with machinery. Which is odd, because I thought that was exactly what he was obsessed with. And somehow we missed John the Baptist. If you go you can make your own mind up. We were warned before we started our journey that there was male and female nudity. Hurrah, it's about time we didn't see something that was just todgers all over the place. And there were more naked women than men. But boohoo. Strangers nudity is fine when it's twenty metres away on the stage, but rather less comfortable when these folk pass within touching distance. Not that we did. Anyway, an experience, but perhaps it was all concept and no execution or artistry.
I'm always fascinated by the nuances of language.
Today, I had a problem because a package that should have been delivered hadn't arrived. When I called the supplier to find out what was going on they told me that it was because of the way I filled in the form. I explained quite politely that I could only fill in the form the way it was presented on my computer screen, so I couldn't accept any implication that I had done anything wrong. Indeed I was right the man admitted, the fault lay with their software and what was on screen hadn't translated into the right address label.
At the weekend The Cat managed to clip the curb with the car. She's been driving a short while and these things happen. I was told when I started riding a motorbike that it was inevitable that I would have an accident within six months. Indeed I did. So if this is The Cat's equivalent we have all been let off very lightly and should all be grateful. She was with El Bastardo*, but they were unable to put the spare on as they couldn't get the wheel nuts undone. The AA man came and (apparently) explained the wheel was rusted to the hub caps, and the only way to remove them was with a copper hammer because a normal one would shatter the bolts.
Now here comes the language thing again. The Cat's Mother got a text from El Bastardo saying with great authority that all the wheels should be checked because they were rusted in place, the nuts were seized and the only way to loosen them was with a copper hammer. No mention of the AA man. Written in a tone of great knowledge and authority. EB is a very, very, very successful man. And I think I understand why. Because he acquired the knowledge about the wheel, and now dispenses it as if it's his own.
If I had been in the same situation, I would have said, "The AA man told me that....." You can take it from that I am not very, very, very successful, but just as knowledgeable.
*I didn't include her father in my list of characters. This has to be said in a very heavy accent, and with a degree of humour. We bare no grudges.
On Saturday, I went on photographic course...hence the pictures this week. The best part was listening to two hours of our (French) tutor explaining the techniques of famous photographers. The worst part was the gut who kept answering his phone during those two hours. I don't know if it will do me any good, but it was an enjoyable way to spend a Saturday, and a good way to make me go out on to the streets and take some pictures.
This is what's known in our house as a 'tosser photo'
None of us on the course could really get this right...but it was fascinating to see this old pub being renovated whilst the ugly modern buildings tried to crowd it out
And I just liked the contrast between the cheap booze and the church
Wednesday, 13 March 2013
Some Mothers Do Have 'em
Well OK, he was on the table behind us. And I can tell you four things as a result. He's a very big man. His wife is very pregnant. He's very earnest. He knows a lot of people....he was meeting and greeting constantly.
Sunday was Mothers Day, of course.
Mothers Day is a tricky one for us.
Since The Boy's Mother died, it's been a date The Boy and I have studiously avoided.
That's hard on Grandma in Cyprus because she doesn't get the bunch of flowers she deserves...although she does at least get a telephone call and in my heart a big thanks for having tolerated her youngest son all this time....
However, these days we can't avoid it all together. The Cat gets tipped out of bed about three hours before she would like to deliver flowers and a little gift. A breakfast of marmite toast was brought....although obviously, even though I was still in bed with The Cat's Mother, there wasn't even a crumb for me. The Cat's Mother had in fact leapt out of bed earlier to make tea whilst I was still asleep so at least I had a hot drink. The Boy remained steadfastly in bed, heals dug in on the basis that this was The Cat's event and she didn't want him treading on her toes. Mmmm. Methinks something was not quite right.
However, The Cat's Mother has a mother too, so along with the rest of the family we went on a trip...a round trip across the Thames on the cable car, so that The Cat's Mother's Mother could see the Tate and Lyle factory that she used to work at...I think that was the story anyway. The Boy and I spotted this...and really want to get one...we think it would be a lotta, lotta fun
We then disembarked for a pub lunch. Very delicious....but in all honesty, I missed quite a bit because The Boy and I were being frantically distracted by the England vs Italy rugby game which was looking a bit iffy.
And here is the third photo in the series that I took on Saturday. I have another one where the girl is staring daggers at me, but this one captured the moment
Sunday was Mothers Day, of course.
Mothers Day is a tricky one for us.
Since The Boy's Mother died, it's been a date The Boy and I have studiously avoided.
That's hard on Grandma in Cyprus because she doesn't get the bunch of flowers she deserves...although she does at least get a telephone call and in my heart a big thanks for having tolerated her youngest son all this time....
However, these days we can't avoid it all together. The Cat gets tipped out of bed about three hours before she would like to deliver flowers and a little gift. A breakfast of marmite toast was brought....although obviously, even though I was still in bed with The Cat's Mother, there wasn't even a crumb for me. The Cat's Mother had in fact leapt out of bed earlier to make tea whilst I was still asleep so at least I had a hot drink. The Boy remained steadfastly in bed, heals dug in on the basis that this was The Cat's event and she didn't want him treading on her toes. Mmmm. Methinks something was not quite right.
However, The Cat's Mother has a mother too, so along with the rest of the family we went on a trip...a round trip across the Thames on the cable car, so that The Cat's Mother's Mother could see the Tate and Lyle factory that she used to work at...I think that was the story anyway. The Boy and I spotted this...and really want to get one...we think it would be a lotta, lotta fun
We then disembarked for a pub lunch. Very delicious....but in all honesty, I missed quite a bit because The Boy and I were being frantically distracted by the England vs Italy rugby game which was looking a bit iffy.
And here is the third photo in the series that I took on Saturday. I have another one where the girl is staring daggers at me, but this one captured the moment
Tuesday, 12 March 2013
Get stuffed
They (whoever they are) say you shouldn't drink red wine with fish. Utter nonsense of course, and well proven when last night I was eating my fish pie whilst seated watching something rubbish on TV. Somehow I up-ended my glass of red wine and the entire contents (except for those that stained the carpet and the sofa) into my dinner plate. It took long enough to clear up the mess that the pie had to be re-zapped in the microwave, but it was still delicious.
I must admit that I don't much enjoy eating dinner in front of the TV, and it is something we would never do in the past. But somehow, the regime of our evening life has slackened and instead of sitting round the dining table putting the world to rights, we increasingly find ourselves setting up iPlayer before we dine.
Yesterday, 'Being Human' came to an end after five series...if you've watched it you'll know it's about a ghost, a werewolf and a vampire who share a house. The Boy started watching it, and managed to entice The Cat and The Cat's Mother into watching it as well. Whilst it's probably true that it sagged in the middle, by the time it reached its climaz yesterday it was on an absolute high. Music, humour and horror all rolled into one delicious programme. We shall miss it desperately.
As ever, the weekend was a busy one.
I'm not a great fan of Steve Coogan (I know I'm in the minority there)...in fact I have never found him funny. I've tried hard, but Alan Partridge just didn't do it for me. But then about 18 months ago he teamed up with Rob Brydon for a gentle drive around the lake district visiting some of the best restaurants in the area. The genius of the series was that you could never be quite sure what was scripted and what was 'for real'. the chemistry between the two of them was superb, and we were all engrossed. One of the chefs whose food they enjoyed was Simon Rogan, and he has opened a 'pop up' in London... if you can call anything that lasts for two years a pop up. On Friday night we went along...there were seven of us all enjoying a ten course meal. Scrummy and delicious. But then it should be. There were some oddities...such as the oil which had been soaked in charcoal, and truthfully tasted as though it had just come out of the Jeep's engine. Anyway, they were very enthusiastic, we were very enthusiastic, and came away well stuffed.
This was a picture I took on Saturday....what was going on?
I must admit that I don't much enjoy eating dinner in front of the TV, and it is something we would never do in the past. But somehow, the regime of our evening life has slackened and instead of sitting round the dining table putting the world to rights, we increasingly find ourselves setting up iPlayer before we dine.
Yesterday, 'Being Human' came to an end after five series...if you've watched it you'll know it's about a ghost, a werewolf and a vampire who share a house. The Boy started watching it, and managed to entice The Cat and The Cat's Mother into watching it as well. Whilst it's probably true that it sagged in the middle, by the time it reached its climaz yesterday it was on an absolute high. Music, humour and horror all rolled into one delicious programme. We shall miss it desperately.
As ever, the weekend was a busy one.
I'm not a great fan of Steve Coogan (I know I'm in the minority there)...in fact I have never found him funny. I've tried hard, but Alan Partridge just didn't do it for me. But then about 18 months ago he teamed up with Rob Brydon for a gentle drive around the lake district visiting some of the best restaurants in the area. The genius of the series was that you could never be quite sure what was scripted and what was 'for real'. the chemistry between the two of them was superb, and we were all engrossed. One of the chefs whose food they enjoyed was Simon Rogan, and he has opened a 'pop up' in London... if you can call anything that lasts for two years a pop up. On Friday night we went along...there were seven of us all enjoying a ten course meal. Scrummy and delicious. But then it should be. There were some oddities...such as the oil which had been soaked in charcoal, and truthfully tasted as though it had just come out of the Jeep's engine. Anyway, they were very enthusiastic, we were very enthusiastic, and came away well stuffed.
This was a picture I took on Saturday....what was going on?
Monday, 11 March 2013
Justified Ancients of Mumu...or Boddingtons
I took this picture yesterday....the question is does it remind you of beer or Tammy Wynette's finest moment?
Beer?
Tammy?
Thursday, 7 March 2013
Sermon
I'm glad I didn't have to pay for my University education. If I had, i would have asked for my money back. I usually refer to my degree BA Hons 2.1 from Exeter University as Economics and Politics. That's technically mis-representation. It was @Economic and Political development since 1800'. It was my way of doing modern history...all the modern history degrees started in about 1500. Not very modern, even in 1980.
One of the topics I studied was politics in the Soviet Union. We used to indulge in that popular past time of Kremlin watching...when the Politburo came out on the balcony to wave the massed ranks of the army past on May Day, we would decide the pecking order on where people stood...and where they had stood the previous year. It was nonsense of course, although every Soviet watcher did the same. The truth is, it was pretty chilly on the balcony, so any one with any common sense would linger at the back, and away from the side the wind was blowing... not long after I left, the Soviet Union collapsed and three years of hard graft in the student union was wasted.
Wednesday mornings at 9.00 were the economics lecture. Unlike many of my colleagues, I chose to go, and rarely fell asleep, although they really were quite tedious. I always tried to sit next to Jane (I think that was her name), who had been a runner up in the Miss England contest the year before we started. When I wasn't being distracted, I learnt all about basic economics. One of the things I did learn was that it is a basic principle of capitalism that super-profits are not sustainable within a competitive capitalist market place. The reason being a simple one. If you are making super-profits (because, for example you've developed a new service or product), sooner rather than later some one else will enter the marketplace. And when they enter the market, supply will go up, driving down the price. Now I do understand that we don't operate in a perfect capitalist market, and tools such as 'branding' have enabled some businesses - such as Apple or BMW to maintain high prices for their products. But, and here is the point that I've been getting to if we look at the financial markets, they should be operating a pretty pure version of capitalism...at least that's what they themselves claim. Finance has always been profitable, but the super-profits earned since Maggie Thatcher's Big Bang should by now have died away. Some might argue they have, but when they continue to give salaries the size of a third-world country's national debt, I would dispute this. Vociferously. And whilst Georgie Porgy Osbourne has traipsed off to Europe to beg that bankers be allowed to keep their eye-watering bonuses, the rest of us should be turning round to say that simply and bluntly the system is bust. Not just cracked, but completely and absolutely, totally broken.
Perhaps the man from Eton and Oxford is not the best person to recognise that the system which has given him and his cronies so much needs to change. Radically.
Hear endeth the lesson.
P.S. Do you like this...first picture taken from one angle, and then I moved so you could see what it really looks like. Big Brother?
One of the topics I studied was politics in the Soviet Union. We used to indulge in that popular past time of Kremlin watching...when the Politburo came out on the balcony to wave the massed ranks of the army past on May Day, we would decide the pecking order on where people stood...and where they had stood the previous year. It was nonsense of course, although every Soviet watcher did the same. The truth is, it was pretty chilly on the balcony, so any one with any common sense would linger at the back, and away from the side the wind was blowing... not long after I left, the Soviet Union collapsed and three years of hard graft in the student union was wasted.
Wednesday mornings at 9.00 were the economics lecture. Unlike many of my colleagues, I chose to go, and rarely fell asleep, although they really were quite tedious. I always tried to sit next to Jane (I think that was her name), who had been a runner up in the Miss England contest the year before we started. When I wasn't being distracted, I learnt all about basic economics. One of the things I did learn was that it is a basic principle of capitalism that super-profits are not sustainable within a competitive capitalist market place. The reason being a simple one. If you are making super-profits (because, for example you've developed a new service or product), sooner rather than later some one else will enter the marketplace. And when they enter the market, supply will go up, driving down the price. Now I do understand that we don't operate in a perfect capitalist market, and tools such as 'branding' have enabled some businesses - such as Apple or BMW to maintain high prices for their products. But, and here is the point that I've been getting to if we look at the financial markets, they should be operating a pretty pure version of capitalism...at least that's what they themselves claim. Finance has always been profitable, but the super-profits earned since Maggie Thatcher's Big Bang should by now have died away. Some might argue they have, but when they continue to give salaries the size of a third-world country's national debt, I would dispute this. Vociferously. And whilst Georgie Porgy Osbourne has traipsed off to Europe to beg that bankers be allowed to keep their eye-watering bonuses, the rest of us should be turning round to say that simply and bluntly the system is bust. Not just cracked, but completely and absolutely, totally broken.
Perhaps the man from Eton and Oxford is not the best person to recognise that the system which has given him and his cronies so much needs to change. Radically.
Hear endeth the lesson.
P.S. Do you like this...first picture taken from one angle, and then I moved so you could see what it really looks like. Big Brother?
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
Can I have more, please?
An update from George:
"Last of George's tubes came out today - hurray! he's now feeding: tube-free and enjoying (yes really enjoying) eating soft, mushy food. Memory a lot better. He's still in intensive care, but should be moved to trauma this week."
Progress is a good thing.
On another matter: time to dig deep my friends...in the middle of the picture is soldier Chris...he was featured on the big screen during the Olympic Opening ceremony.
Chris is doing a sponsored ride to Paris for his chosen charity Kiterite which describes itself as the world's first charity dedicated to using kite-sports in all its formats to help, support, educate and develop people of all ages with physical, mental health or learning challenges. Anyway, Chris needs more sponsorship in order to achieve his ambition...so if you would like to sponsor him, click here or perhaps just feed the link around the interweb on Facebook or Twitter....I'd be grateful, and Chris will too!
After my watch-box extravaganza, it seems somewhat hypocritical to take another pop at the bankers...but that's never going to stop me. The Funding For Lending Scheme was launched by the Bank of England to encourage banks to lend to small businesses by offering banks cheap money. It was designed to kick start the economy. You may have read this week that bank lending is continuing to decrease. Inspite of the BoE lending some £14.5 billion, lending has fallen by £2.4 billion. My maths may not be great, but I think I can calculate that the banks are sitting on a fat profit at the tax payers expense. Again. And in this very same week, Bog-eyed Osbourne has trotted off to Brussels to plea for bankers bonuses not to be restricted. Jeez, by any standard that stinks. Really stinks. While the economy slowly sinks, the Chancellor can do no better than demand that city w*nkers be allowed to be paid more. The banks caused the crisis, and it is more than time for them to do their bit to re-invigorate the economy so I can buy more watch boxes (oops). Anyone with half an ounce must see that the system doesn't work. Fundamental change is absolutely necessary...and more savage cutbacks by the Tories and their LibDem puppies which only impact on the less-well paid isn't the way to do it.
So more MoD cutbacks. Whilst the Generals bemoan the loss of our military capability, I feel it is incumbent on me to point out that globally we remain one of the highest spending countries on military stuff. Now that the world's map is no longer half painted pink, I suggest we cut back accordingly. So an army about the size of Lichtenstein's will do very nicely thank you very much. And the savings can be spent on something rather more worthwhile. Suggestions on a postcard please.
Phew. Enough said.
"Last of George's tubes came out today - hurray! he's now feeding: tube-free and enjoying (yes really enjoying) eating soft, mushy food. Memory a lot better. He's still in intensive care, but should be moved to trauma this week."
Progress is a good thing.
On another matter: time to dig deep my friends...in the middle of the picture is soldier Chris...he was featured on the big screen during the Olympic Opening ceremony.
Chris is doing a sponsored ride to Paris for his chosen charity Kiterite which describes itself as the world's first charity dedicated to using kite-sports in all its formats to help, support, educate and develop people of all ages with physical, mental health or learning challenges. Anyway, Chris needs more sponsorship in order to achieve his ambition...so if you would like to sponsor him, click here or perhaps just feed the link around the interweb on Facebook or Twitter....I'd be grateful, and Chris will too!
After my watch-box extravaganza, it seems somewhat hypocritical to take another pop at the bankers...but that's never going to stop me. The Funding For Lending Scheme was launched by the Bank of England to encourage banks to lend to small businesses by offering banks cheap money. It was designed to kick start the economy. You may have read this week that bank lending is continuing to decrease. Inspite of the BoE lending some £14.5 billion, lending has fallen by £2.4 billion. My maths may not be great, but I think I can calculate that the banks are sitting on a fat profit at the tax payers expense. Again. And in this very same week, Bog-eyed Osbourne has trotted off to Brussels to plea for bankers bonuses not to be restricted. Jeez, by any standard that stinks. Really stinks. While the economy slowly sinks, the Chancellor can do no better than demand that city w*nkers be allowed to be paid more. The banks caused the crisis, and it is more than time for them to do their bit to re-invigorate the economy so I can buy more watch boxes (oops). Anyone with half an ounce must see that the system doesn't work. Fundamental change is absolutely necessary...and more savage cutbacks by the Tories and their LibDem puppies which only impact on the less-well paid isn't the way to do it.
So more MoD cutbacks. Whilst the Generals bemoan the loss of our military capability, I feel it is incumbent on me to point out that globally we remain one of the highest spending countries on military stuff. Now that the world's map is no longer half painted pink, I suggest we cut back accordingly. So an army about the size of Lichtenstein's will do very nicely thank you very much. And the savings can be spent on something rather more worthwhile. Suggestions on a postcard please.
Phew. Enough said.
Tuesday, 5 March 2013
Watching the clock
We had a busy weekend. Friday night was quiz night.
Last year we won, and this year we were the 'swats' table, so the pressure was on. Or not in my case, because I refuse to be competitive. That's my excuse for us coming fourth. At least we helped raise £2000 for the NSPCC.
Saturday, we met with my dangerous friends in Camden. They're dangerous because without exception, they encourage an over-indulgence of drinking and behaviour. We will call them Mr and Mrs Chip. That's a reference to one evening in Brighton when Mr Chip fell into the gutter and would have been intense pain if it hadn't been for the beer anaesthetic that we had consumed all day long. A dozen years later, he still has a lump on his shoulder from the incident. I may yet devote a whole post or two to them and our exploits. On Saturday, we were more civilised than usual, and were in mid-debate about the diminution of artistry and the supremacy of concept as the defining moment in modern art when The Cat's Mother and I realised we were about to miss the last tube home so had to run away.
And on Sunday we were at The Tramshed, a restaurant that features works by Damien Hirst to celebrate a friend's daughter's 18th birthday. There was twenty-four of us, and we were really quite noisy...so apologies to the other diners.
I have said for a very long time that if the house caught fire and I had time to grab only one thing, it would be a perspex cube which contains picture of The Boy and me from when he was about eight years old. It's always been quite a treasure. Assuming I was upstairs, I would also grab the picture, not quite a family portrait, that I had done for The Cat's Mother fifteen months ago. And now I think I have one other thing...I could just about manage to carry it under my one free arm as I dashed down the stairs, flames licking at my heals, smoke choking me on the way. It's this:
It's a watch box...
I know it is the absolute height of luxury and extravagance (96' yacht, Ferrari and ski chalet in St Moritz excluded), but I absolutely love it. I have quite a few watches. Not expensive ones...in fact most are Swatch watch price, but over the years I have collected them and enjoy looking at them...sometimes even wearing them. Some I can no longer tell the time on - because they don't work, they're too complicated, or the markings on the dial are too small for my fading eyesight - but I do like them. My favourite is the one bottom left, made by Braun and inspired by the design genius Dieter Rams...it was a fiftieth birthday present from me to me. Until now, they've been shoved in a drawer, but are proudly displayed in the polished wood box above which I received on Friday. One day I will pass this on to my son....providing I'm upstairs when the house burns down.
So if your house was burning, is there one thing you would take with you?
Last year we won, and this year we were the 'swats' table, so the pressure was on. Or not in my case, because I refuse to be competitive. That's my excuse for us coming fourth. At least we helped raise £2000 for the NSPCC.
Saturday, we met with my dangerous friends in Camden. They're dangerous because without exception, they encourage an over-indulgence of drinking and behaviour. We will call them Mr and Mrs Chip. That's a reference to one evening in Brighton when Mr Chip fell into the gutter and would have been intense pain if it hadn't been for the beer anaesthetic that we had consumed all day long. A dozen years later, he still has a lump on his shoulder from the incident. I may yet devote a whole post or two to them and our exploits. On Saturday, we were more civilised than usual, and were in mid-debate about the diminution of artistry and the supremacy of concept as the defining moment in modern art when The Cat's Mother and I realised we were about to miss the last tube home so had to run away.
And on Sunday we were at The Tramshed, a restaurant that features works by Damien Hirst to celebrate a friend's daughter's 18th birthday. There was twenty-four of us, and we were really quite noisy...so apologies to the other diners.
I have said for a very long time that if the house caught fire and I had time to grab only one thing, it would be a perspex cube which contains picture of The Boy and me from when he was about eight years old. It's always been quite a treasure. Assuming I was upstairs, I would also grab the picture, not quite a family portrait, that I had done for The Cat's Mother fifteen months ago. And now I think I have one other thing...I could just about manage to carry it under my one free arm as I dashed down the stairs, flames licking at my heals, smoke choking me on the way. It's this:
It's a watch box...
I know it is the absolute height of luxury and extravagance (96' yacht, Ferrari and ski chalet in St Moritz excluded), but I absolutely love it. I have quite a few watches. Not expensive ones...in fact most are Swatch watch price, but over the years I have collected them and enjoy looking at them...sometimes even wearing them. Some I can no longer tell the time on - because they don't work, they're too complicated, or the markings on the dial are too small for my fading eyesight - but I do like them. My favourite is the one bottom left, made by Braun and inspired by the design genius Dieter Rams...it was a fiftieth birthday present from me to me. Until now, they've been shoved in a drawer, but are proudly displayed in the polished wood box above which I received on Friday. One day I will pass this on to my son....providing I'm upstairs when the house burns down.
So if your house was burning, is there one thing you would take with you?
Monday, 4 March 2013
Through the looking glass
I think I've been taking LSD.
That can be the only explanation for my life over the last four days.
I'm not objecting, it's rather fun and I hope it continues.
Before I start, I have proof-positive that lawyers are total w*nkers. I write press releases for a living (you'd never guess it from the quality of writing here I know), and last week I had to write one about a brand of biscuits. In it I described them as 'the nation's favourite biscuit brand' The press release had to be checked by their in-house lawyers. They came back and said the line had to be removed unless I could prove that it was true. The line, in fact, came from their own website.
I had an e-mail this morning from the Royal Mail headed 'News of changes to our pricing', it goes on:
"We have announced that stamp prices will remain the same for 2013.
The price of a First Class stamp will remain unchanged at 60p.
A Second Class stamp will remain unchanged at 50p.
The price of a First Class Large Letter stamp will remain at 90p and a Second Class Large Letter stamp at 69p.
This morning I arrived in the office to a phone call from a very posh hotel in Paris. In somewhat broken English, he explained that he had been given my number by The Ritz Madrid as the person who could help him get a better price for the deal. I didn't know which deal, nor how I could help him. I'm not a fixer. He was reluctant to let me go as he was convinced I was the man he needed. I wish I knew what it was all about.
On Friday, I received a random friend request on Facebook...normally I just delete them, but the name was familiar, so I decided to find out more. As it turns out, this person is a very well respected author...so well respected he's been listed for the Man Booker prize three times. He is so well connected, that by accepting his friend request, I am now one step removed from many of the UK's best and biggest literary and media giants. Of course, it's a massive mistake...I don't know who he thinks I am. He doesn't have masses of friends, clearly quality not quantity is his mantra. But by a remarkable turn of coincidence, over the weekend, I've been asked by to link up on LinkedIn by a literary agent and the marketing director of a top publishing firm...
Anyway, a true story from my new BFF:
"In Kabul there is still a synagogue on Flower Street. Two Rabbis who hated each other fought over it. One reported the other for sex crimes under the Taliban. This could have ended very badly. But Mullar Omar, head of the Taliban, was so fascinated by these two men's loathing for each other he let them off saying that it beat most Afghan feuds by a long way. One is now dead but the surviving Rabbi is a respected member of the local community."
I would like to apologise right here and now to my doppelgänger who is presumably missing out on all the fun...
That can be the only explanation for my life over the last four days.
I'm not objecting, it's rather fun and I hope it continues.
Before I start, I have proof-positive that lawyers are total w*nkers. I write press releases for a living (you'd never guess it from the quality of writing here I know), and last week I had to write one about a brand of biscuits. In it I described them as 'the nation's favourite biscuit brand' The press release had to be checked by their in-house lawyers. They came back and said the line had to be removed unless I could prove that it was true. The line, in fact, came from their own website.
I had an e-mail this morning from the Royal Mail headed 'News of changes to our pricing', it goes on:
"We have announced that stamp prices will remain the same for 2013.
The price of a First Class stamp will remain unchanged at 60p.
A Second Class stamp will remain unchanged at 50p.
The price of a First Class Large Letter stamp will remain at 90p and a Second Class Large Letter stamp at 69p.
This morning I arrived in the office to a phone call from a very posh hotel in Paris. In somewhat broken English, he explained that he had been given my number by The Ritz Madrid as the person who could help him get a better price for the deal. I didn't know which deal, nor how I could help him. I'm not a fixer. He was reluctant to let me go as he was convinced I was the man he needed. I wish I knew what it was all about.
On Friday, I received a random friend request on Facebook...normally I just delete them, but the name was familiar, so I decided to find out more. As it turns out, this person is a very well respected author...so well respected he's been listed for the Man Booker prize three times. He is so well connected, that by accepting his friend request, I am now one step removed from many of the UK's best and biggest literary and media giants. Of course, it's a massive mistake...I don't know who he thinks I am. He doesn't have masses of friends, clearly quality not quantity is his mantra. But by a remarkable turn of coincidence, over the weekend, I've been asked by to link up on LinkedIn by a literary agent and the marketing director of a top publishing firm...
Anyway, a true story from my new BFF:
"In Kabul there is still a synagogue on Flower Street. Two Rabbis who hated each other fought over it. One reported the other for sex crimes under the Taliban. This could have ended very badly. But Mullar Omar, head of the Taliban, was so fascinated by these two men's loathing for each other he let them off saying that it beat most Afghan feuds by a long way. One is now dead but the surviving Rabbi is a respected member of the local community."
I would like to apologise right here and now to my doppelgänger who is presumably missing out on all the fun...
Sunday, 3 March 2013
As mad as a box of frogs (fritz)
Having just got the motorbike sorted, it's a bit disappointing that it won't start again. The Cat's Mother thinks I should get rid of it. I don't disagree. But I think I should replace it, whilst she thinks the money should be spent on bus fares.....
Have you been watching Howard Goodall's Story of Music? As a school boy I was weak on foreign languages, and music was the most foreign of them all. It was just beyond my comprehension. Oddly, though, listening to music was one of my favourite past times. With this series, Mr Goodall managed to unravel many of the mysteries that had eluded me from my childhood and the series was absolutely fascinating. Actually understanding music composition remains out of my grasp...minor, major chords and all sorts of other nonsense cannot be absorbed by my brain...but the story was superb. We've still got one episode to go (thank you iPlayer), but the last one where he vented his spleen about Wagner really helped put the music in its social and political context. The clip on the link above is Stravinsky...chosen for a reason.
Last week we went to see some Pina Bausch.
If you've been daft enough to be reading this for a while, you'll know I'm a bit of a groupie having got hooked by the Wim Wnders film Pina. The two albums I listen to most on my iPod are the soundtrack to the 2012 Olympics Opening Ceremony, and the soundtrack to Pina. That's telling. As part of the Cultural Olympics we went to see a performance of some Pina by the Tanztheater Wuppertal and frankly it was pants. We left quite disillusioned even if I remember rightly, we shared the show with the rather stunning Florence Welch and and nearly stunning Lilly Cole.
So we went with no illusions and few expectations....and were surprised by just how wonderful it was. All right some of it was absolutely barking mad and wouldn't have gone amiss in a Berlin cabaret show. German humour such as it is does not translate easily into English. However, the bits that were brilliant were truly brilliant....I would highly, highly recommend you see it if you get the chance. Though not now because the run has finished already.
Have you been watching Howard Goodall's Story of Music? As a school boy I was weak on foreign languages, and music was the most foreign of them all. It was just beyond my comprehension. Oddly, though, listening to music was one of my favourite past times. With this series, Mr Goodall managed to unravel many of the mysteries that had eluded me from my childhood and the series was absolutely fascinating. Actually understanding music composition remains out of my grasp...minor, major chords and all sorts of other nonsense cannot be absorbed by my brain...but the story was superb. We've still got one episode to go (thank you iPlayer), but the last one where he vented his spleen about Wagner really helped put the music in its social and political context. The clip on the link above is Stravinsky...chosen for a reason.
Last week we went to see some Pina Bausch.
If you've been daft enough to be reading this for a while, you'll know I'm a bit of a groupie having got hooked by the Wim Wnders film Pina. The two albums I listen to most on my iPod are the soundtrack to the 2012 Olympics Opening Ceremony, and the soundtrack to Pina. That's telling. As part of the Cultural Olympics we went to see a performance of some Pina by the Tanztheater Wuppertal and frankly it was pants. We left quite disillusioned even if I remember rightly, we shared the show with the rather stunning Florence Welch and and nearly stunning Lilly Cole.
So we went with no illusions and few expectations....and were surprised by just how wonderful it was. All right some of it was absolutely barking mad and wouldn't have gone amiss in a Berlin cabaret show. German humour such as it is does not translate easily into English. However, the bits that were brilliant were truly brilliant....I would highly, highly recommend you see it if you get the chance. Though not now because the run has finished already.
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