Saturday, 21 July 2012
Olympic heroes
I've got the morning off....first time for months it feels like. I was hoping for a lie-in, and disconnected the land-line phone to make sure early riser friends didn't call us to disturb mu slumbers. Inevitably, then, it was The Boy who rang on the mobile at 8.00am...to the minute I think. As we haven;t been able to speak with him all week, it was a great way to start the day...and a fortunate one, because it turns out that he didn't have the passport he needs to jet off to Iceland on the next school trip this afternoon.
We're into the last furlong and last night I got to see a goodly portion of the whole Olympic Ceremony. It's all very, very exciting indeed. Yesterday we rehearsed in our costumes for the first time. It suddenly seems to have come round very quickly...after months and months of thinking it would never happen, we are but a few days away from the big night.
It's been quite a journey...and I've already begun reflecting on the experience. There are nothing but positives. There is one thing that I'm very conscious of...being part of a team. I've always tended to be quite 'individualistic', so big organisations have never been my thing. So blending in, making friends, just being part of a crowd has been a brilliant experience...if it helps me in the future I will be grateful. There's only one person I've taken a strong disliking to...someone who is a show off, self-centred and selfish. And only one out of a thousand is not bad. There's a few good friends I've made and expect to remain closely in touch with afterwards. And there is one person who is something of a hero...he embodies everything that the Olympics should be about, and I'm very pleased to have met him. This is an extract from an e-mail he sent when we were trying to organise our own post event celebrations and I don't think he would mind me sharing:
"I'd love to join you at the pub afterwards, but I'm not clear about how long it will take us to get back to change (if that is what is really happening) and then walk to the pub.
I see it may take 30 minutes to walk there. With my limp, it might take me an hour - I'm in the early stages of motor neurone disease - I wasn't diagnosed when I got through the audition. But this has been a real life-affirming opportunity for me.
If anyone has any bright ideas or knows more of about what is happening on next Friday night, I'd love to hear from you."
We're into the last furlong and last night I got to see a goodly portion of the whole Olympic Ceremony. It's all very, very exciting indeed. Yesterday we rehearsed in our costumes for the first time. It suddenly seems to have come round very quickly...after months and months of thinking it would never happen, we are but a few days away from the big night.
It's been quite a journey...and I've already begun reflecting on the experience. There are nothing but positives. There is one thing that I'm very conscious of...being part of a team. I've always tended to be quite 'individualistic', so big organisations have never been my thing. So blending in, making friends, just being part of a crowd has been a brilliant experience...if it helps me in the future I will be grateful. There's only one person I've taken a strong disliking to...someone who is a show off, self-centred and selfish. And only one out of a thousand is not bad. There's a few good friends I've made and expect to remain closely in touch with afterwards. And there is one person who is something of a hero...he embodies everything that the Olympics should be about, and I'm very pleased to have met him. This is an extract from an e-mail he sent when we were trying to organise our own post event celebrations and I don't think he would mind me sharing:
"I'd love to join you at the pub afterwards, but I'm not clear about how long it will take us to get back to change (if that is what is really happening) and then walk to the pub.
I see it may take 30 minutes to walk there. With my limp, it might take me an hour - I'm in the early stages of motor neurone disease - I wasn't diagnosed when I got through the audition. But this has been a real life-affirming opportunity for me.
If anyone has any bright ideas or knows more of about what is happening on next Friday night, I'd love to hear from you."
Friday, 20 July 2012
Picture daily 62
And now...a sneak preview of the Olympic Park...tyre tracks in the gravel just felt they needed to be pictured before they are lost for ever
Thursday, 19 July 2012
Picture daily 61
Wednesday, 18 July 2012
Tuesday, 17 July 2012
There is a greater power...
Some things are not meant to be, and you have to believe that it is for a good reason.
A few weeks ago we discovered that the Olympic Torch was going to pass right by our front door in Brighton. When I say right past, I mean we .would be able to lean out of our sitting room window and touch. Or at least get burnt by it
I exploded with excitement. Unreasonable as that may seem, it was the case. I don't know why, but it was just the best thing since sliced bread. The Cat's Mother was swept along as well, and in true Cat's Mother fashion, she had soon organised for the world to come down with us to see the Grail pass before us.
From that point onwards it went down, down, down. First Mrs Muffin couldn't make it, then after a while Mr Muffin and the Muffin offspring couldn't make it, and then UP felt unable to travel to see it. I in the meantime, had foregone the pleasure of paying some £25 each on e-bay for seven 'limited edition' Brighton and Hove Torch relay badges by buying them directly from the 2012 shop for just £7. Still The Cat's Mother and I could wear one each and give the others to our neighbours.
That was until Friday night when The Cat's Mother went down with some sickening illness. She was in a very poorly state through Saturday and Sunday and into Monday. She suggested I travelled by myself, but in a moment of solidarity I declined.
Not to worry, we could watch it live on the BBC stream.
And so we did as it travelled across Sussex in the wind and the rain. Very moving it was too. And the excitement grew and grew as it approached our beloved home. Until just around the corner, the live feed went dead. The picture showing vast crowds clapping and cheering and waving was as black as a black thing can be. There was no more live stream the BBC nearly apologised. The torch passed by our home and I'll never know who was there and what it looked like.
I was unreasonably upset and disappointed. The Cat's Mother was distraught. I woke up this morning with a feeling of injustice and unfairness.
How could that be? Who knows, but there must be a reason. I wish I knew what it was.
A few weeks ago we discovered that the Olympic Torch was going to pass right by our front door in Brighton. When I say right past, I mean we .would be able to lean out of our sitting room window and touch. Or at least get burnt by it
I exploded with excitement. Unreasonable as that may seem, it was the case. I don't know why, but it was just the best thing since sliced bread. The Cat's Mother was swept along as well, and in true Cat's Mother fashion, she had soon organised for the world to come down with us to see the Grail pass before us.
From that point onwards it went down, down, down. First Mrs Muffin couldn't make it, then after a while Mr Muffin and the Muffin offspring couldn't make it, and then UP felt unable to travel to see it. I in the meantime, had foregone the pleasure of paying some £25 each on e-bay for seven 'limited edition' Brighton and Hove Torch relay badges by buying them directly from the 2012 shop for just £7. Still The Cat's Mother and I could wear one each and give the others to our neighbours.
That was until Friday night when The Cat's Mother went down with some sickening illness. She was in a very poorly state through Saturday and Sunday and into Monday. She suggested I travelled by myself, but in a moment of solidarity I declined.
Not to worry, we could watch it live on the BBC stream.
And so we did as it travelled across Sussex in the wind and the rain. Very moving it was too. And the excitement grew and grew as it approached our beloved home. Until just around the corner, the live feed went dead. The picture showing vast crowds clapping and cheering and waving was as black as a black thing can be. There was no more live stream the BBC nearly apologised. The torch passed by our home and I'll never know who was there and what it looked like.
I was unreasonably upset and disappointed. The Cat's Mother was distraught. I woke up this morning with a feeling of injustice and unfairness.
How could that be? Who knows, but there must be a reason. I wish I knew what it was.
Monday, 16 July 2012
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The budgie smuggler
There are some upsides to the dreadful weather we've been having this summer.
Something that causes much discussion, debate and animation in our household is my choice of swim wear.
When I was a young, fit man and would every possible waking minute sunning myself on the beach at Brighton, I would wear what could only be described as Budgie Smugglers. Minimum cover, maximum tan. Why would I wear anything else?
However, as the years have progressed, so has the length of my trunks...from hi-cut, to stretch down to the top of my thighs, and most recently to some that are half way down. From colourful to modest black. But not everything has changed. they're still made of lycra and fit....well, cosily....
For me, they are perfect, in them I am a God amongst men. An Olympian amongst mere mortals. I could spend hours strutting my stuff and admiring myself in the mirror. But, but, but. All are not of one opinion. The Cat covers here eyes and screeches that I am obscene; The Boy is even more embarrassed than usual, and The Cat's Mother, thinks it's time I grew up and wore clothes age appropriate. What do they know?
It may have been a coincidence, it may have been that they have conspired against me, but a couple of weeks ago I was approached by SimplySwim, who said tat for a mention of their name, they would send me a new pair from their extensive selection here. This has made everyone happy. Eventually. Because everyone wanted a say in which ones I got. Obviously it was of critical importance to The Cat and The Cat's Mother because they spent hours pouring over the photos of finely honed young men in swim shorts. They must have been considering all aspects of the soon to be acquired swim shorts because I kept hearing the words 'fit' and 'enormous'...I assume they were referring to the vast range available with the last comment. Various utterances of 'I'd have that one' I assume meant that they liked quite a lot of the shorts. I appreciate their sacrifice. I know they did it all for me. The Boy tended to side with me in selecting a pair, safe in the knowledge that the words 'tight' and 'figure-hugging' would not be in the description of my acquisition. Eventually we arrived at a democratic decision - I had four votes, and a pair were requested, duly arriving the next day.
And very nice they are too. We're all pretty much agreed about that. All we need now is some sun and a holiday. The local budgie population can rest easily once more
Something that causes much discussion, debate and animation in our household is my choice of swim wear.
When I was a young, fit man and would every possible waking minute sunning myself on the beach at Brighton, I would wear what could only be described as Budgie Smugglers. Minimum cover, maximum tan. Why would I wear anything else?
However, as the years have progressed, so has the length of my trunks...from hi-cut, to stretch down to the top of my thighs, and most recently to some that are half way down. From colourful to modest black. But not everything has changed. they're still made of lycra and fit....well, cosily....
For me, they are perfect, in them I am a God amongst men. An Olympian amongst mere mortals. I could spend hours strutting my stuff and admiring myself in the mirror. But, but, but. All are not of one opinion. The Cat covers here eyes and screeches that I am obscene; The Boy is even more embarrassed than usual, and The Cat's Mother, thinks it's time I grew up and wore clothes age appropriate. What do they know?
It may have been a coincidence, it may have been that they have conspired against me, but a couple of weeks ago I was approached by SimplySwim, who said tat for a mention of their name, they would send me a new pair from their extensive selection here. This has made everyone happy. Eventually. Because everyone wanted a say in which ones I got. Obviously it was of critical importance to The Cat and The Cat's Mother because they spent hours pouring over the photos of finely honed young men in swim shorts. They must have been considering all aspects of the soon to be acquired swim shorts because I kept hearing the words 'fit' and 'enormous'...I assume they were referring to the vast range available with the last comment. Various utterances of 'I'd have that one' I assume meant that they liked quite a lot of the shorts. I appreciate their sacrifice. I know they did it all for me. The Boy tended to side with me in selecting a pair, safe in the knowledge that the words 'tight' and 'figure-hugging' would not be in the description of my acquisition. Eventually we arrived at a democratic decision - I had four votes, and a pair were requested, duly arriving the next day.
And very nice they are too. We're all pretty much agreed about that. All we need now is some sun and a holiday. The local budgie population can rest easily once more
Sunday, 15 July 2012
Saturday, 14 July 2012
Picture daily 56
You could argue that this picture is out of focus, but I can assure you that having both an in-focus and out-of-focus shot, this one is by far the most interesting
Friday, 13 July 2012
Picture daily 55
I've been struggling to think of how to photograph the building that dominates my life at the moment...and today as I walked down Bermondsey Street I saw its reflection in a puddle. The original shot had a cigarette butt floating in it which made an interesting contrast between the bright shiny glass and concrete monolith and the realities of street life...but actually this version seemed to work better.
I'm quite pleased with it...cropped to frame the building itself
I'm quite pleased with it...cropped to frame the building itself
Extremely loud and incredibly close
The second film that Warners sent me to review is the Tom Hanks 9/11 based drama 'Extremely loud and incredibly close'. Now I have to say, this presented me with two dilemmas - I'm so busy at the moment that I couldn't think of how I would get to watch this any time before October, and secondly I can't stand Tom Hanks. Sorry Tom, I'm sure you're a lovely person, and you are a good actor, but I can't think of a film of yours I actually like. So instead of the elation that should have accompanied the large box that arrived with the Triple Play (DVD, Blu-Ray and Digital), my heart sank. I must confess though the inclusion of Sandra Bullock raised my spirits somewhat.
Thank heavens for Lady Luck then. One of our very favourite family friends has just got himself a 2:1 in Media with Film and Television at Nottingham Trent University, so really was the ideal person to take a look. His considered and unadulterated opinion is:
"Hollywood’s attempts at tackling the topic of 9/11 have been understandably divisive from the viewpoint of both audience and critics. But when Paul Greengrass and Oliver Stone each tried to address the tragedy, what the pair’s respective films both had in abundance was respect towards the subject matter. And it is this which many question is present in the correct capacity in the case of Extreme Loud and Incredibly Close.
The story follows Oskar (Horn); a boy who loses his father (Hanks) in the World Trade Centre attacks and happens upon a mysterious key. He sets out on a journey to discover what it opens while struggling to connect with his similarly grieving mother (Bullock). The immediate question is would the film have been greatly affected had the boy’s father died in a road accident for example as opposed to 9/11? The answer is no, which does immediately provoke accusations that the film is using the tragedy to guarantee an emotional response from the audience.
Director Stephen Daldry knows from his experience on Billy Elliot how to stage a film around young boy struggling to bond with a parent so he seemed a safe pair of hands to bring Jonathan Safran Foer’s novel to the screen but sadly for audiences he fails to turn Oskar’s journey into an adventure; nothing happens for too much of the time and patience levels will be pushed. As they will be with Oskar himself, it’s frustratingly never specified if he is afflicted with Asperger’s so his radical behaviour will make him a difficult protagonist for many to really root for.
As for the cast, Tom Hanks does his best-dad-in-the-world routine to good effect and his presence is missed when not on screen. Meanwhile, Sandra Bullock continues to lend her talents to projects not deserving of her by accepting a hugely underwritten role. As for Oskar, the role in an enormously difficult one and sadly for all his efforts, newcomer Thomas Horn will inevitably irritate more than he endears which is down to the character as much as it is his performance. Ironically for a film with the word “loud” in the title it’s the mute Max Von Sydow who steals the show and he was rightfully awarded with an Academy Award nomination for his touching performance, and frankly it’s nice to have someone to really care about. Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close was an ambitious project from the outset and sadly the execution doesn’t match the ambition. It boasts moments of excellence but these are too few and far between throughout the overlong running time, but for those who can ignore the over sentimentality and unanswered questions, the ending is sure to tug hard on the heartstrings."
So it seems like a good choice for a rainy, cold summers afternoon when there's nothing else to do but laze in front of the TV screen with a hot cup of tea and a fruit bun.
Thursday, 12 July 2012
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