Wednesday, 17 June 2009

Feckers

I just need to get some things off my chest. Sorry.

1. What is it with the constant stream of people coming and going throughout a gig? I know it's about the 2 Ps. Piss - well if you need to go, go before the concert starts. I was taught that when I was still a babe in arms. Pint - if you need to drink beer at a gig, buy it at the bar before the start and make it last. In both cases you've paid forty squids for your ticket, which is a complete waste if you spend half the time not actually listening to the band. These are surely the same people that can't get through a couple of hours at the cinema without munching their way through a ton of sweets and crisps and a lake of cola. Or get on a European flight without a three course meal, crisps, nuts and beer, wine and and and.

2. To the man standing next to me last night checking the e-mails on his Crackberry. Get a life you fecker

3. If you go to a gig, don't leave ten minutes before the end so you miss the rush for the tube afterwards. That's like not reading the last ten pages of a novel. Feckers the lot of them

Right. Sorted.

Oh yes, Kings of Leon? Brilliant.

Travelled down the river from London Bridge to the O2.



My apologies to Glasvegas who were the support. I love your music, it was everyone else's fault that we only caught the last song in your set. It was a very good song.

And when KoL came on everyone, even in the seated area, stood and danced from beginning to end.



Hope they're playing again soon.

Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Old as old could be

Old age has a nasty habit of creeping up on you unexpectedly. Whilst still feeling like a teenager in the head, you gradually realise that your skin is wrinkled and saggy, you have more aches and pains than before, you can no longer consume a skin-full of booze and get up easily the next morning, policemen (and traffic wardens) start looking younger and you prefer Magic FM to Radio 1. You realise that all those hopes and ambitions...the ideas of conquering the world (or saving it...) have long gone, and all you want to do is sit in the rocking chair with a mug of cocoa watching an episode of your favourite soap.

The boy found his first grey hair today

Monday, 15 June 2009

Fullsome Friday

Friday was a busy day. I disturbed the boy at crack of sparrow by firing up the MLC just underneath his bedroom window for a quick jaunt down to the seaside. Arriving there, the man from the gas board took delight in telling me yes I could move the meter and no I didn't need to ask him. Any Corgi could do it. So a 160 mile round trip was for not much really.

However, my mind was elsewhere.

My friend in the North (well it's north to me) was asking for positive thoughts as she winged her way through a job interview for which she didn't feel qualified. As my motto is never to let the facts get in the way of a good story, I couldn't see the problem. As she was offered the job later the same day, I hope it was something to do with my motivational thinking.

In the opposite direction....many thousands of miles away...I was also thinking positive thoughts. My friend's teenage son (and his friend) had been killed by a drugged-up drunk driver some eighteen months ago. Friday was the day of sentencing. The driver was given a long sentence without the possibility of parole for eight years. Whilst you can't feel pleased about this, it does seem that for once the justice system has delivered as best it could. And of that I'm glad.

Connecting with the people you serve

GPs 'may not work amid pandemic'

And in the same vein (sic):

soldiers will not work if they're being shot at
police will not work if there's criminals on the street
firemen will not go near a burning house
ambulance drivers will not pick you up if you might die in the back
the RNLI won't come out in case they sink
Formula 1 drivers will not drive if everyone else is going too fast
...and politicians will not go to the ballot box if they think they'll lose

Friday, 12 June 2009

All quiet on the western front (2)

I'm annoyed. Really annoyed. The boy has really p*ssed me off.

We went to a school meeting this week - planning for the school's sports tours for the next three years - anyone for cricket in Namibia? Rugby in Malaysia? Netball in Australia? We bumped into the Deputy Head. Mr Bromfield to the boy. Jeremy to me. When I was at the school he was my history teacher and boarding house master. We all thought he was ancient...turns out he was just half a dozen years older than us. He still looks the same.

Jeremy said to me, "He's taller than you now."

How dare he. The boy, not the teacher. How dare he. I've told him time and time again that he will never be taller than me. Even if he reaches the height of 6', my 178cm will always tower over him. Always. My little boy will always be my little boy.

P.S. Four days to the Kings of Leon

Wednesday, 10 June 2009

All is quiet on the western front

The boy has been quite low profile in recent posts. And in just the same way as the newspapers never report good news, so it is here.

After some challenging moments through the spring, he's turned the corner. Every day I get a text shortly before I leave work to say what he's been doing after school, and what homework needs to be done/is being worked on.

Domestic chores are being completed without chasing....well nearly without chasing. Almost.

And generally all is well.

On the one hand, that's just fantastic. But on the other I hope the teenagerness has not been too tamed. And teenage years are the time for rebellion, and character formation. I hope he will continue to challenge and push the boundaries...he'll need to do that when he's older, so he needs to get the practice in now.

But I have to say it's a nice calm atmosphere around the house which I'll enjoy whilst I can....

Vive la revolution (2)

On the other hand, I've just come back from a speech by Lord Digby Jones. Who made more sense than anyone I've heard for a long time. On just about all the issues that get me going. He gets my vote. Except as a Lord he doesn't need it.

It may have something to do with him being Lord Digby Jones of Birmingham. A place not known for its airs and graces.

So I can cancel the boy's application to the Socialist Workers Revolutionary Party (I wonder if I should have told him that I sent it in).

As for the previous Lord, a letter to David Cameron has resulted in a call from 'Dave's' office...hopefully there'll be a result in this peasents revolution.

Monday, 8 June 2009

Vive la revolution

Time to re-introduce the guillotine and storm the Bastille.

We had a call from someone purporting to be Lord Tim Cavendish today.

He was demanding some information we didn't have.

Poor Clementine who answered the phone was verbally abused. Anyone called Clementine who works for a company called Mandarin should never be abused.

I took over, deciding to call him firstly Tim, then Mr Cavendish and then Mr Cavendish again.

He bellowed "Fuck off you little oick".

I know where he lives. I know where he works. He'll be one of the first lined up against the wall when the revolution comes.

Saturday, 6 June 2009

Another night on the town

Friday night was Shakespeare night. And in responsible parenting mode, the boy was left home alone with the usual box of matches, sharp knife, drugs, cigarettes and porn. This week he allowed to bring a friend, so there was an expectation of twice the mayhem.

They decided to cook themselves supper...and did a fine job of grilling bacon and 'soss' and heating Heinz finest. I know they did because the evidence left behind wouldn't have troubled the CSI team too much. Nothing that a couple of days scrubbing won't fix.

I love the teen mindset. I never switch the mobile off, 'just in case', but it does go onto silent and vibrate mode. So the texts sent during Act 2 went unanswered. After all I'm not sure that Denmark would appreciate me fiddling with my Nokia whilst one death follows another. It was a simple request...could he go and stay at his friend's house. And when I didn't reply, another text 'Dad?' And then another. He's been known to do this when he knows I'm riding the motorbike too. As we tripped out of the foyer, I replied in the affirmative.

By contrast to last week's little jaunt, I was with some of the parents from the boy's school...including his maths teacher. They're a very sociable lot. But it did curtail my 'fecking and blinding'. We started off at a 'pop up' bar designed by Tom Dixon that would probably look fab after dark, but in early evening light looked more like sonething thrown together by the pre-school group. We trundled off to Wydham's theatre to see Jude Law prove he can act (I quite liked him in Mr Ripley and Sky Captain and the world of tomorrow, but I don't think he often troubles the Oscar jury). And I'm delighted to report back that it was fine performance and a beautiful production. Ido have to confess though that sitting in a warm theatre at the end of a hard week after a couple of gin and tonics made for a keeping awake challenge. I can also report that Mr Law has very big hands.

Celebrity spotting was de rigeur in our group. I contributed by offering to get a copy of Hello and poiting to the man on the stage. It seemed the best I could manage.

No eating in the street for us, but a trip to Sheeky's for oysters and fish stew at the bar. And lots of carefully selected Sauvingon Blanc. Very nice, very civilised. And the taxi dropped us all home around about the time that I should have been long asleep.

So no love-lorn Celts jumping tube barriers, no fights at the show, and no touts hanging around trying to flog tickets to Himlat and no new T-shirt. But a nice way to spend a Friday night (given the choice of Hamlet or Jonathan Ross) and a boost to my cunning plan to build a better social life now I'm not quite so tied to being at home with the boy all the time.

Extremely good indeed, I might even say the best Shakespeare play for a long time, though I'm sure not a patch on the Kings of Leon I'm off to see in a couple of weeks. Did I mention the Kings of Leon? I'm very excited indeed.

Sunday, 31 May 2009

A night on the town

Friday night was gig night. And in responsible parenting mode, the boy was left home alone with the usual box of matches, sharp knife, drugs, cigarettes and porn.

Auntie Gwen and I travelled to Camden by tube (evidently sitting in my car is too much for her) to see the Manic Street Preachers. Well that was who we thought we were going to hear, but the ticket tout outside was trying to sell tickets for the Maniacs, so perhaps we were mistaken. Anyways, who ever we did see were very good...playing firstly their new album, then popping off for a cup of tea before returning to strum a string of greatest hits. Extremely good indeed, I might even say the best gig for a long time, though I'm sure not a patch on the Kings of Leon I'm off to see in a couple of weeks. Did I mention the Kings of Leon? I'm very excited indeed.

Walking down Camden High Street we grabbed a fajita from a street vendor and scoffed it as we strolled along, some of it went in our mouths, some on to the pavement; fortunately none on my T-shirt. We stopped off to get a drink, and managed to get served, drink our drink (mine a slow-pour Guinness) and leave before the girl who was standing at the bar waiting for her receipt. For a diet coke. On a Friday night. In a busy bar in Camden.

Heading home, and AG met her true love. Well he was a fellow Celt, in a fetching green and white stripey Celtic football shirt that apeared to have lost its sleeves. He was entranced enough by her beauty to leap the ticket barrier and hold her hand all the way down to the platform declaring undying love and shouting loud enough that the whole station was fully aware of her beauty. In chivalrous fashion I knew my place and hid behind her skirts. Eventually we felt it an act of kindness to point out he was heading in the wrong direction. It took a moment or two for him to realise that this was ideed the case at which point he abandoned his lady love and staggered off in the direction from which he came.

Not sure how AG managed to drive all the way back to deepest darkest middle England afterwards, or retain her cheery smile through the evening, having been travelling from sun-drenched Turkey since three in the morning. But she did. So thank you. And thank you for the new T Shirt.





Sorry about the sound quality, and sorry but we could only afford the cheap tickets so had to watch in black and white

Thursday, 28 May 2009

1984? 1944?

We (as in the office) had a visit yesterday from the Enviro-crime police yesterday. Yes really. Evidently some of our rubbish had been found somewhere that it shouldn't. Which is strange as we always put it in the bin where it's supposed to go - it's just by the front door, so easy to do on the way out. However, they had the photographic evidence to prove the errors of our ways.

However I'm pleased to report that "As you have displayed the right attitude, we're not going to issue you with a fine."

The boy thinks it sounds a bit "Nazi"

Wednesday, 27 May 2009

If you look back you'll turn to stone (2)

One of the happiest periods of my life was the months I spent between school and University. At the time it was unusual to take a year off...although certainly not unheard of.

The first few months were not quite so great, as I decided to use the time to see if I would like to become an accountant when I grew up. I can tell you that beautiful as it was to be based in the city of Oxford, I soon discovered that my achievemnet of a Grade A maths at 'O' level in no way related to my ability to understand figures in the outside world. It was a complete mental blank for me, and my greatest achievement was was to work out how to use the coffee machine. So my apologies to my cousin who had arranged for me to go there, and it must have been of considerable embarassment to her when I decided to leave.

Breaking up with my first true love made for an unhappy time outside the office as well as in it. And the distraction she had been meant that I flunked my application to the University. I hope that's a lesson to all that follow.

Even in those days I thought life outside the confines of this island nation might be more interesting, and I applied for jobs in various French hotels (I could mumble the lingo so it seemed like a good idea), but they all trned me down and I ended up going to a village in Bavaria called Oberjoch. I travelled by train and bus, and managing to get a snog from a Belgian girl on the way seemed to prove that the world was a place full of adventure. My previous experience of the Austrian and German Alps were family holidays combined with my father's business trips to look at oversized printing presses.

On arrival, the owners of the hotel (which hadn't yet opened for the summer season) took me up to their apartment for lunch, which was taken in stony silence as their English was as good as my German. The only other person there was a German girl who had arrived a few weeks earlier as the chamber maid. It took a couple of days to discover that she was in fact English from Manchester and we had both assumed the other was German. She became a fabulous friend who I kept in touch for many years afterwards, but eventually we lost touch - I think Julie Cordwell went into the prison service. She called herself Esther in Germany...I don't know why.

I spent the first few days cleaning furniture (lesson in life - don't spray paint the woodwork with plastic chairs and tables underneath) before being introduced to the decrepit dishwashing machine which was to be my responsibility for the next few months. I'd only seen domestic machines before, so loaded it up and then asked what I was going to do for the next couple of hours. Five minutes or less later, I was refilling it. Again and again and again.

We were soon joined by more staff including the gorgeous Silvia Borzel who drove a less than reliable Beetle. I spent much time looking at her with puppy dog eyes and occasionally she returned the look. We spent much time together. Much fun was to be had taunting the owners, but with hindsight that was quite harsh and they were genuinely lovely people.

I could write a book on our adventures over the summer months, but that might just be of interest to me rather than anyone else. On my days off I travelled widely seeing Munich, Stuttgart, Ulm and smaller places such as Obserstdorf. When not venturing further I would climb the hills and mountains. Strangely, I now suffer from mild vertigo. Sometimes taking a rest, falling asleep to be woken by a kiss from a curious cow. Midnight naked swims in alpine lakes, beerfests aplenty, trips to night clubs that turned into strip clubs for no obvious reason and returning to midnight feasts raided from the hotel kitchens were all part of a great adventure. I even picked up some German. The rumour that one hotel still had a swastiki carved into a wall, but hidden by an oil painting was never proven, and probably the creation of a vivid student fantasy.

It seems tame now that students travel around the globe, but at the time it opened my eyes to a different life...and one that was so enticing that for a while when I went to university I thought might be the better option.

I worked abroad during all my university summers, but at different places including the Chitty Chitty Bang Bang Castle (Neuschwanstein), but never returned to Oberjoch. And that was 30 years ago.

Our planned holiday for this year had been to go to the Himalayas...something the boy and I had discussed for a very long time, even once before trying to book only to discover all the flights were sold out. However, at the last minute, the boy became reluctant, and I suspect because he doesn't want to do it as part of an organised trip. There are some parts of the world that when you're 14 you need to go in an organised group, and I'd count the Himalayas as one. It's a real shame as I think he will miss out, but perhaps his mind will change in the next year - there won't be too many more summer holidays we share together before he ventures off with friends, abandoning me to teh delights or otherwise of singledom holidays.

So instead of one mountain range we will venture to another, and together we are going to stay at the hotel I used to work at. But this time we'll fly by Sleezyjet and rent a small car. It is now run by the daughter, Manuela, I think. It still looks the same, and we will explore all the places I used to venture to. I hope it's fun for the boy...of that I'm pretty sure as we'll be able to walk and climb as well as go to things like the BMW Museum and Olympic Stadium and English Gardens in Munich. For me, I wonder how rose-tinted my spectacles have become over the passing years.



My room was one of the windows in the loft.

Saturday, 23 May 2009

If you look back you'll turn to stone (1)

When we were a proper family - you know man, wife, two children, one girl one boy (I think there was supposed to be a 0.4 child too, to keep the statistics right, Friday was take away night. Inspite of some Catholic heritage on my side (pretty lapsed, and only by dint of my father's family having allegiance to Rome)it rarely involved fish and chips. Chinese or Indian were tip top favourites, and at an early age the boy had a thing for chicken chat....although it did make him screw his nose up. Such was the tradition, that long after I departed the family home, the boy continued to enjoy Friday Night Take Away, and why not. After all there was more to go round.

When the boy came to live with me permenantly, in the confusion and panic (oh what do I do, how will I manage this, etc, etc), the FNTA died a death, although it was quite fondly spoken of on a regular basis. So at the boy's suggestion, on Friday we had new FNTA. Chinese was the dish of choice. It duly arrived half an hour of ordering, and it was certainly a feast fit for a king with sweet and sour this, lemon sauce that, peking the other and black bean who knows what. In true Chinese tradition, there was enough to feed the entire street. And it seems that it was at that precise moment, when we started taking the cartons out, the romantic notion of FNTA evaporated. We both had some, but 90% lay uneaten whilst Have I Got News For You wittered away in the background. Perhaps we shouldn't have done it, perhaps the expectations were wrong, but it certainly didn't make for a great evening.

And funnily enough we were both hungry an hour later....

Friday, 22 May 2009

Brave New World

We all bring our children into the world with much excitement and joy, but then (probably) spend the rest of our lives worrying...will they fall over, will they hurt themselves, how will they do at school, will they get the right job, will they marry the right person. Will they stay fit and healthy. But at least we can feel that we know the world that we're letting them into. But it does look as though that is all changing.

The banks are one of the main pillars of society as we know it, and the collapse of the banking system could see the biggest step towards a socialist state that we've seen since the creation of the National Health Service some sixty years ago (maths never was a strong point).

The self-destruction of Parliament at the moment could equally see a vast and long-lasting impact on democracy in this country. We know now it's a rotten system and the ruling class have taken it upon themselves to make the most of it. Trust in all areas of society has been on the decline for many a year, and this can only be another nail in the coffin.

If you take the police as the front line of law and order, the many, many scandals (of which their behaviour during G20 is just one) in recent times means that many people have little faith in the fairness of the men in blue.

It certainly feels that the people who should protect us, in fact have an inbuilt loathing of the people they are meant to serve. If you look at the behaviour of many councils and their agents, that re-inforces my argument.

Traditional values and societal norms are undergoing rapid change across the UK. Change is not necessarily a bad thing, but what was once a strong framework for people to feel secure and safe is now ill-defined and for many slightly threatening...very for some people.

Around the world, we are seeing a new world order. Sixty years ago it was the decline and fall of the British Empire, now it is the US that must manage its own decline in a way that wiull not come easily to a nation so full of self-confidence - good luck Mr Obama. A world dominated by China and India will be a very different beast, and we'll all need to get used to that. And at some stage, Russia will take its place properly on the world stage.

Once upon a time if we wanted to listen to music, we pulled up a seat at the piano, or more recently switched on the radio. Now we can listen to it on FM, AM DAB, the internet, the TV our iPod. But it's rarely just about pushing a button we have to download it, stream it or re-record it. Music has moved from being a precious commodity to being disposable wallpaper. TV that was once just watched is now interacted with, it can be paused, played, rewound and fast-forwarded. We might all be couch potatoes, but we have very fit fingers.

Once the land of plenty, we find that the excesses of our generation and that of our parents means the valauable commodities such a oil which we all took for granted are running thin...even water is in short supply and predicted to be the main cause of war in the next 100 years. At least that will make a change from religion which has provoked conflict since time eternal. And the excessive use of natural resources is leading to an environmental disaster that our politicians are afraid to tackle for fear of damaging the economy.

Whilst half the world starves, the other half will die younger through obesity, particularly sad when there is enough food available to feed everyone a good meal everyday. As our lives extend, we find that the short sharp illnesses of old are replaced by chronic diseases that paralyse us either mentally or physically. Or both. So now we can play God with impunity and take our own lives at a Swiss clinic.

As the quality of our material lives has improved, the disenfranchised see more and more brutal violence as the way forward, so the rich and middle-class live in terror behind their gated estates.

I wonder what the boy's great-grandmother would make of it all. Not much I guess. She saw the birth of the motor car, once a force for good, now not. She didn't foresee computers or the internet, and thought all great things had been invented in her lifetime.

From a world of certainty, when I was born, we have moved to a world where nothing is certain. Change has got faster and faster, and it becomes a challenge even for the young to keep up, let alone those with even a single grey hair. How will this be when the boy is my age. I wish I knew. The boy is (of course) still finding delight, surprise and enchantment in this brave new world, although he can sometimes hide it behind a fog of teen angst. Me? I think it's quite exciting too...we have a great opportunity for change...and as the eternal optimist I think it can be for the better.