Art is in the eye of the beholder

I think I've woken with a hangover (again) and am a fair bit grumpy. Fortunately The Boy's demand for £15 for a new rugby shirt didn't seem to unreasonable in my haze first thing.

Last night The Cat's Mum and I went to the British Art Fair at the Royal College of Arts. We went last year, but the difference this time was that we returned home together.

At the show, the stands were manned by the largest gathering of Ruperts and Mirandas to date. Slack jawed, floppy-haired trustafrians rah rah rahhing...you can tell it drives me to distraction. I'm sure they are perfectly nice people, but the air of elitism is impenetrable to me. The art ranged from well-established names like Lowry through to complete unknowns to me - a person who 'knows what they like'. In general my steely inexpert eye would say that most of it was uninspiring and inartistic. But that doesn't stop them charging a fortune for these works...was there anything there for less than £1000? I couldn't find it. And on one stand, the average price was well over a quarter of a million fine English pounds. I'm sure it was a prime target for any art thieves, but there didn't appear to be any security of note. I stand in awe at this. I can only assume that the market for expensive art is self-perpetuating with one Rupert selling to the next and so on...or perhaps I just wish I had the money to join in the merry-go-round?

Out on the street yesterday was a gathering of a different kind. The street which runs in front of the headquarters of the London Fire Brigade was full of firemen, and had been blocked off by riot police. I doubt there was a Rupert among them, but plenty of Robs, Petes and Andys. They had gathered to hear calls to fight impending cut backs. They were animated and passionate...although a few had sneaked off round the corner for a crafty pint...and I can't help but feel this is a sign of things to come. This may well be The Boys first winter of discontent.

That was the week that was

So last week was all about Back to School. You couldn't turn a corner without seeing something about it.

At home, lost school books had to be found and uniforms that should have been hung up, but were screwed up in the back of the wardrobe, had to be washed and ironed. Faintly remembered routines have been revitalised - alarm calls at 6.45, shower, tea, breakfast and off in the car - remarkably, because it's still fresh, it's been an early start every day so far. It won't last. School timetables have to be learnt and after school activities organised and diarised. In the evening, the return of the rabble, homework to be done (one is far quicker at doing this than the other...it's a cause of some friction), dinner cooked, eaten and the dishes piled into the dishwasher. It's the rhythm of life.

This week, it's all about the onset of autumn. Last night the central heating was switched on for the first time. Radiators had to be turned on...and my task will be to bleed the ones that are boiling at the base and freezing at the top. On the motorbike, I need to wear my winter gloves, and will change from wearing my Kevlar reinforced jeans to full motorcycle over trousers 'designed to stop muscle stripping'. The trees in the garden are just beginning to turn yellow, orange, brown and soon the leaves will fall and there'll be a pocket money task of sweeping them up. It's still light in the morning, but definitely darkening as I ride home...but I remain hopeful that there will be a last burst of sun this year. In the office we've started talking about Christmas arrangements...

A celebration...Tara's gallery

I won't pretend this is the greatest picture I've ever taken....but that doesn't stop it having a good story behind it....and this one worthy of any John leCarre novel.

The balloon indicates a celebration...I just wonder if you can guess what for? If you look closely at the signs behind Queen Anne, you will see they are written in Russian. And I can tell you that getting a helium balloon in St Petersburg in no easy task. Fortunately that labour of love didn't fall to me, rather to our American travelling companions....and , of course, they are rather good at that sort of thing. They asked at the hotel that we were staying at where they could get one. No Clintons in Russia you know. They were given a number...in my head this was hurriedly scribbled on a piece of paper and surreptitiously passed to them by a rebellious receptionist in a dark corner of the hotel lobby. That may not have been the actual case. The Americans then made various phone calls to people who did not speak English. Perhaps they were waiting for the right password. Eventually they found the person who could supply them with this secret merchandise and were directed to a door in a back street of suburban St Petes. It wasn't a high street. In fact there were no shops at all. Just a big wooden door. They knocked. I'm sure it was a rhythmic three knocks followed by silence and then a further two brisk bangs. The door opened slowly, and they were ushered inside. Money was exchanged. The deal was done. The only challenge was to get it back without being seen, so they walked side by side with the balloon hidden behind them. They side stepped quickly into the hotel and made for the dining room where it was secured to a chair. The victim was, shortly afterwards, brought in to the room....and utterly charmed by it. Queen Anne's balloon accompanied us all for the remainder of our holiday, but sadly was unable to arrange an exit visa, or manage an escape over the border, so remained trapped in enemy territory.

Long Way Down

A few years ago, Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman decided to head off round the world on their motorbikes, turning the adventure into an excellent TV programme. At the same sort of time, a film was released, The Motorcycle Diaries. Naturally I got confused and didn't realise that this was about Che Guevara's formative years...how he developed from an aspiring doctor into an iconic revolutionary figure. The Motorcycle Diaries is superb, and I've lost count of the number of times we've watched it.

Together these two visual feasts have encouraged The Boy into an interest in motorcycles...something I regard as less than healthy, and have done my utmost to discourage him from. Fortunately, he appears to be heeding my plea that he doesn't learn until he's 35. I hope he sticks to that.

It has also very positively stimulated an interest in the outdoors, travel and adventure. All to the good.

The Long Way Round (I'll let you guess in which direction they encircled the globe) was followed by The Long Way Down. You guessed it, in this follow-up, they went North to South. It wasn't quite as captivating, as the format was just the same as the first series, and somewhat devalued by the presence of newbie biker McGregor's wife (if she could do it, so could anyone...and I thought this was supposed to be a boys' adventure)...but quite entertaining none the less.

For Charlie Boorman, it was this start of a new career..as an autograph signer and adventurer....which was fortunate as his acting career was not quite as stellar as his travelling companion's. The Boy was lucky enough to meet him at The Motorcycle Show and get the autograph he so wanted.



McGregor has gone from strength to strength...although personally I've never been a fan. Not sure why, his films just don't appeal.

For both Long Way Round and Long Way Down, the boys raised money for UNICEF, visiting some of the charity's facilities on their journeys - and that interest clearly still remains. So I'm very happy to have been asked to post the following video to help raise money for Pakistan's children whose lives have been devastated by the floods.

The Battle of the iPods

What I meant to say, as we reached the three quarter point of Avatar (3D) that we had eventually got round to seeing this weekend, to the man sitting behind us in the swanky West End cinema was "Would you mind awfully not repeatedly knocking the back of my chair please as its quite distracting."

What I actually said was, "Can you stop kicking the back of my......

......

.....

fucking seat"

Before realising it was his friend sitting next to him that was doing it. So I quickly turned forty five degrees and added,

"Yes you...it's you...I can see your foot"

I'm so glad I didn't go into the diplomatic corps...

It was during the big battle near the end of the film, so the adrenaline was pumping...its an excuse of sorts...

Does anyone know why Apple insists on updating iTunes so frequently that I regularly haven't installed a new version before an even newer version needs to be downloaded. I spend more time downloading than listening, which seems somewhat perverse.

Having not been married for a decade, I'd forgotten about the little tiffs and squabbles that can populate family life.

This weekend we toddled off to see some friends on the other side of the M25. A journey long enough to require music. Of course radio is not good enough, so three of us decided to bring our iPods. In an act of uncommon charity on my part, I suggested we listened to songs from The Cat's collection. The Cat is, of course, a teenage girl. Which was fine until The Cat's Mum insisted on taking control, and further still insisted on playing the sort of music that no self-respecting teenage boy, and his father, could tolerate. Britney Spears, Avril Lavine and Bryn Terfel among them. After much lively discussion, I tried awarding points out of 10 to each played song as a gentle hint. The Cat's Mum was hitting a lowly 3 before I resorted to switching to the radio, switching to the CD, and disconnecting the iPod. It all seemed quite fun as we tried to avoid the enormous queue on the M25 which was sending stress levels dangerous near the 'heart attack' point.

On the return journey, The Boy was given the chance to plug in his iPod...and all seemed to be going well, as The Cat was given the chance to play a couple of tracks. but then it all went horribly wrong. it may have been The Verve. It may have been Radiohead, but suddenly The Boy was on a roll, and refused to allow anyone near the music. We tried to mediate, we tried to reason, we tried the application of commonsense. We even tried humour. But to no avail. The Boy disconnected the iPod from the car stereo and put on his headphones. With jaws dropped, the rest of us were left in momentary musical absence. The CD player was then switched on, and we sat in silence apart from the thumping out of Bachman Turner Overdrive...

To be or not to be....

"I think I'm putting lard on the cat's boils that night. He's an arse..." was the response to my text asking a friend if he was going to be watching TV on Thursday night. What I was really asking was whether he'd be watching Alan Davies' Teenage Revolution. AD was at Bancrofts, where The Boy goes following in my footsteps, and has built a career slagging off the place. I don't know why the school lets him back, but they do, so we have to endure his nonsense time and time again. Last night, he spoke in a contemptuous way about it being 'posh'. Well compared to many schools it is, but then if you're brought up in a prosperous middle-class area, living in a house that is worth (today's prices) in the region of £800,000 by a successful chartered accountant father (and mum who wasn't mentioned) you're really quite posh yourself aren't you? His key act of rebellion seemed to be riding his bicycle on his neighbours drive and putting posters on his bedroom wall. Wow. Over the last decade or two Bancroft's has been one of, if not the, the top mixed schools in the country, and manages to churn out people who generally avoid the elitism of many Public Schools. I'm so glad that Lucy Mangan in The Guardian described it as "an extremely tedious hour"

One performance I will miss though is The Boy in Twelfth Night as he has decided not to audition for the Senior Play this year. His reasons are complex and it's a great sadness after he stunned everyone with his genius performance in the Middle School play earlier this year...but he says his evenings are full, so I'm not going to insist...as if I could anyway!

And back on the professional stage Deathwatch with Simon Russell Beale (by reputation our greatest living stage actor) is getting rave reviews, which I don't understand as the play itself is cheesy nonsense and the man's performance is not all that it could be. Just shows that you can't trust the critics...not that I did anyway.

I feel I need to lie down...

Oh it's back to school...Tara's Gallery

Me: "I've forgotten to get Brandon Flowers"
The Boy "Well there's two florists in Loughton"

Hopefully that's not a sign that the last five year's education has been wasted. The Boy is a great lover of music - he has quite a talent, and picked up playing the guitar very easily....I'd like to think that it was because he was exposed to recorded music from the earliest days, and live music from when he was knee high to a grasshoppper. Of course we all have off days...

For this week's gallery I chose this shot. Taken just before he started at his then new school five years ago. He was moving from a very right-on school in Finsbury Park, where poverty hung around every corner and there were notices in the school playground telling parents it was harmful to take their children out of school to Bangladesh for three months, to a posh Public School - interestingly it manages to churn out some very well rounded kids without the elitist attitudes of many of its ilk. Perhaps it's because some parents sacrifice a lot to be able to pay the fees for Bancrofts.

He's standing on the balcony of the flat we lived in on Borough High Street. The poor lad had a very long commute because our plans to move close to the school had taken longer than expected. We finally moved in October, and he was then able to walk in five minutes.

Yesterday, he returned to school after the long break as a Fifth former. It's one of the few year's that has a name that most people would recognise - he's been a Third (first year), Remove (second), Lower Fourth and Upper Fourth. I still don't understand the modern way of doing it...is he Year 11?

Fifth form seems to be the beginning of the end...a year of GCSEs, two of 'A' Levels and then away to University. If I remember rightly, the year is accompanied by feelings of being grown up, but without the wisdom and maturity to be gained in the sixth form.

He's looking forward to it. I'm sure it will be another successful year. I hope.

Bang goes September

So it's barely got going and....:

1. Grandad in Cyprus has landed up in hospital with pneumonia and pleurisy. This is, of course, number one crisis, and will cause sleepless nights in Loughton, whilst in Cyprus Grandma in Cyprus runs around in ever decreasing circles and wears herself out. Naturally we have absolute faith that this will work out fine.

2. The Cat's Mum's birthday. Friday night we all headed out after I made some Vodka Martinis. We came home some hours later after one of our number disgraced herself in the taxi. Not seen behaviour like that for 20 years.

3. The Cat managed to break the hubble bubble pipe. I'm pleased, the Cat's Mum's pleased as it will save any future discussions

4. Friday afternoon and the office above decided to redo their plumbing. I don't think the idea was to send all their waste water through the ceiling. But it may have been.

5. I can't find any of the photos I've taken on the new phone...they're supposed to be on the computer somewhere, but they are elusive, so that'll mean no photo post this month

6. The Boy is having a clear out of clothes too small to wear. Without even rummaging through the bag, I can see plenty of things that are still too big for him

7. Potential new client has moved meeting to the time when I'm supposed to be getting food for The Cat's Mum's birthday meal tonight. I can't refuse. I will suffer later

8. The new Simon Russell Beale play (Deathwatch) is erm risible...and one of our group was so scared in one part, she screamed loud enough to bring the roof down. The whole theatre turned and looked. I slunk down

9. I still haven't caught up with all the blogs I like to read, so I shall end up getting further and further behind...

10. I'm supposed to be organising the OB's dinner...but the OB's haven't yet got the website working so that people can book tickets. It's happening 15th October. Or not.

11. School starts tomorrow. I wonder which bits of uniform need replacing?

Technology defeats us all...

I was looking back over the blog from year or so ago, and discovered that when I switched from the Blogger comment system to Disqus, all the previous comments disappeared. I'm rather sad about that, especially as I hadn't meant to move to Disqus...hey ho as Henry Ford never said, "History is bunk".

I've also been given a new HTC phone by T-Mobile because my Nokia was so awful. In fact my relationship with The Cat's Mum may well come to an end now because we'll have nothing to talk about. The thing about the new phone is that it has an app for social media, and what I now find is that when I post on Facebook, that post also comes up on my RTFM Twitter feed. So magically, the real me is revealed to the hidden me. I'm not sure that's good, but anyway, keeping secrets was never a strong point. I may yet have to reveal my real name.

Whilst we were away in Icyland, GCSE results were published. The Cat and The Boy were awaiting results which contribute to their final grade for three subjects. They were cool as cucumber about it. And naturally I appeared to be. As we arrived back, The Cat ripped open her results to get a very impressive 2 A*s and an A. The Boy's results were back in the old home...his initial comment that he could wait, changed and he nearly bit my hand off when I offered to drive him over there to get them. 15 minutes later he had his results. 3A*s including two which were 100%. I'm pleased. The Cat's Mum's pleased and The Cat and The Boy are both off to a flying start as they begin their GCSE year on Tuesday....

First Friday Photos

I'm onto my third month now....and I've a varied selection today...it seems to have been a busy month again


Icelandic church in the evening rain


Love this sculpture


More northern scenery...how fab are the ice blocks on that black sand?


It's all about the colour


Geese...or swans?


Cafe Life


Pretty church in Husvik


Rescue hut in the mountains


Give us a drink!


NOT Banksy...even in the most desolate areas



I designed this breakfast bar...


The flower faded to the same colour as the wall...


I love the reflections of the old building in the new


Shutters in Bermondsey St


More Bermondsey St

One day in August - Tara's Gallery

Tara chose to make August 29th her 'one day' to take a picture. That was the last day of our holiday - see here. The previous day had been bright and sunny, but Sunday was cold wet and damp in Reykjavik...a suitable way to finish a holiday. I took this photo as we waited for the coach to take us across the lava fields, past the Blue Lagoon to Keflavik airport. We'd had a brilliant, but exhausting week...and it probably shows...



But as we headed towards Britain, the flight forty minutes ahead of schedule, the clouds cleared enabling us to see the islands off the coast of Scotland...most seemed to have just one or two buildings on them...what a different life to the one we lead in London - and how much must they appreciate the sun when it comes.

Iceland

Not many people seem to know the size of Iceland. When The Boy and I went there a decade ago, I'd guessed it at around about the same area as the Isle of Wight..and many of our current friends seem to think that's about right. In fact it's just slightly smaller than England. We spent three days driving east from Reykjavik at about 200 miles a day.

Some things we didn't see:

THAT volcano...well we sort of did, but it wasn't smoking so it was difficult to work out which peak it was. The ash was every where though.

Puffins...they took flight a week before we arrived, much to our disappointment. We were reassured the two things were not related.

Wales. I mean Whales...we'd done this the last time we went, and everyone on the boat spent the whole time being or trying to throw up. The Cat and The Cat's Mum refused point blank. They were right, and we shall wait for one to swim up the Thames again.

Northern Lights. I guess some one hadn't paid the electricity bill.

Things we did see:

Big skies. Yes, the there were big skies...difficult to explain, but the sky seemed bigger...perhaps it was the wide open spaces...




Glaciers. Yep all over the place...and one of our number managed to mistake one for the sea, even though it had a curve on top...I shan't mention who that was, but it wasn't me or the teenagers




Glacial lake...we got to go on an amphibious truck to see icebergs on the lake...spectacular





Black sand...even more beautiful when decorated with little icebergs glistening in the sun






Bouncy land...not sure we were supposed to be bouncing on it...but an amazing landscape which we tripped over...



Seriously amazing waterfalls...and two daft Norwegians who thought it a good idea to shower underneath one of them




Land so desolate that you can understand why they used it to train for the first moon landings




A Penis Museum. Yep. Ummm.



We hated:

Shark meat...it must have been drowned in ammonia we think

There's an epidemic amongst the horse population, so we didn't get a ride

Icelandic maps...no wonder the Vikings came to Britain, they were probably just following an Icelandic map, and ended up several hundred miles adrift...our guide book maps sometimes had north at the top, sometimes south, sometimes east and sometimes west. We had a 25% chance of getting it right...

We loved:

The warm, friendly, welcoming nature of the Icelanders...everywhere we went. And they have a great sense of humour too - when I said I felt guilty about claiming back the tax on some purchase, the woman said, not to worry...it was our money anyway...

The coffee...not sure why, but they make a great cup of coffee

The Grey Cat cafe...great for breakfast

Hotel 101...so trendy it hurts...

The fact that the language means that a place name will be spelled one way on the map, another in the guide book, and yet another when you get there

The sheer beauty of the place...mostly awe-inspiring, never dull, always unexpected...

We loved our week. The Boy and I are glad to have gone back, The Cat and The Cat's Mum delighted to have gone somewhere they would never have otherwise made the journey to...and so the sun set on our holiday:

Lost in Iceland

...is a big brand over here. We didn't get lost on our long trek...and have spent the last day or so luxuriating in the Hotel 101 in Reykyavik...back tomorrow...

Kerry Katona's favourite place

So Sunday is Iceland day...we're going to reclaim our investments and take back some of the fish they've half-inched, meanwhile reminding them that once upon a time the island was completely forested, but they cut down all the trees and single-handedly created global warming.

Try as I might I've not been able to find out whether their volcano is still smoking, or whether it's given up for an extended Lent. And are the Northern Lights still switched on after some unusual sun activity? No one's telling us. We've plotted our route on Google maps...but what we don't know is how long it takes to drive from point A to point B to point C to point D to point E to point F to point G..so we'll take marmite sandwhiches just in case...we don't want any of that dodgy smoked shark they proffer.

In the office I have handed over all the things I should have done this week instead of flouncing off to Brighton for a couple of days And anything I've forgotten to pass over will doubtless crawl out of the woodwork and create havoc which had better be sorted by the time I'm back or else.

The Boy has laid out all his clothes on the floor ready for packing. Come to think of it, they're always laid out on the floor. The Cat and The Cat's Mum are still sunning themselves in Italy so they'll have a mountain of washing up to do when they arrive back tomorrow.

I'd like to try and post some pics of our Northern Adventure whilst I'm away, but am afeared that data charges will mean I'll need to take out yet another mortgage...and to be honest I have more than enough of those already....