As I sit here, six brave/foolish young women are scaling The Shard to protest against Shell drilling for oil in the Arctic. If you're quick, you may just catch it here
If you missed it, not to worry, it's all over the news.
The Cat's Mother has a new car, and she's very excited about it. A little Toyota Yaris (in fact it's a standard size Yaris, which is a little car). I've yet to get in it, but I know it's full of gadgets...sat nav, connect you phone through bluetooth, etc, etc so obviously it's good. Best of all is the glass roof, which almost makes it a civilised cabriolet....almost.
Anyway, on the day she got it, The Cat was out with the 'old' Yaris which is now being shared between her and The Boy. Whether it happened when she was carefully maneuvering in the car park, of whether it was swiped by someone else, I don't know, but there is now a rather large scratch and dent down the side. On a new car, it would be a tragedy. On a car driven by teenagers, it's to be expected and won't be fixed.
The Boy has gone off with some mates for an end-of-school holiday. He's packed the sun tan lotion and some Euros, and not much else. They're off to Magaluf. I'm nervous as hell, and we've both given him a stern talking to. It'll have fallen on deaf ears no doubt. And providing he comes back in one piece I'll be happy. I hope he does at least send me one text a day. Anyway, for the next week I will not be watching this film
Thursday, 11 July 2013
Wednesday, 10 July 2013
It's grim up north
My running is getting better at the moment. There's only another 12 days until I have to do five miles around the Olympic Park, so I think I've done well to get it up to nearly 5km. I continue to loathe the idea of running, although having realised that I can listen to music on my phone helps enormously. If only the damned headphones didn't keep popping out; I may have to resort to doing what we did in the Ceremony...taping them in. Anyway, I'm quietly confident that I will actually make it.
Poor UP remains stuck in the hospital. It's always nice to be relaxing when the weather's nice, but I suspect this may not be his idea of fun. I popped in for a quick visit yesterday and realised that he was doing well to keep his spirits up. It's one thing to be practically comatose through illness, where being in bed all day doesn't really matter, but when you're awake and fully functional, it must be tedious in extremis.
Up was supposed to come with The Queen and The Cat's Mother and I to Manchester this weekend, but his injuries prevented this...another reason he will be feeling low. We went up there to see some friends...and to see Kenneth Brannagh perform MacBeth.
The Scottish play was being performed in an abandoned church in Manchester's North Quarter. This is one of those areas that is full of satanic mills which are gradually being turned into hyper-trendy shops, offices and apartments. Bravo I say...it is a tragedy to see these places being ripped down, when with a bit of imagination they can be turned into fantastically attractive areas. There is a slight however: at the moment I would guess there isn't the economy to support the development... I'm talking partially blind here, so may just be talking nonsense, but it certainly felt as though much of the property stock was empty, and the area still had a feeling of desolation. This provoked a discussion on the way home about how our experience was at least in our experience of the accountancy field and the creative sector, there is not a strong enough underlying economy outside of London to support the level of business the country needs to support its urban societies. In fact after a gin and tonic or two, we speculated on the impact not of Scotland seceding from the Union, but what would happen if everything inside the M25 broke free? Anyway, that's soft southerners talking a load of old drunken nonsense really.
Back to Kenneth...performed in a deconsecrated church with the audience of an aisle filled with mud, this was a MacBeth that will be talked about for a long time. At the start, water pours as rain from above to confirm this is the bleak highlands. THroughout, the actors have to wade knee deep through the mud as they move from one end to the other...they must have been exhausted especially wearing such heavy costumes in hot weather. We were in the front row which meant that we had to keep ducking as heavy metal swords clashed just inches from our heads....you could smell the sweat. It was earthy indeed. Poor Banquo came to his very sticky end right in front of our noses, spraying mud and blood everywhere - no wonder the organisers said don't wear your best frock. The weird sisters were extremely weird, keeping an eye on things with their sinister machinations throughout the performance. Kenneth played his part well...very well, as did Alex Kingston as the mad and bad Lady MacBeth, MacDuff was superb. Anyway, although tickets have long sold out, you can still get to see it as a cinema near you on 20th July through National Theatre Live. I don't quite know how they will convey the atmosphere created in the church, but if they can you will be in for an absolute treat...really I do recommend you don't miss it.
Yes, that is blood splattered all over my t-shirt...a MacBeth souvenir from the Globe that caused much comment and appreciation...even from the actors themselves
Poor UP remains stuck in the hospital. It's always nice to be relaxing when the weather's nice, but I suspect this may not be his idea of fun. I popped in for a quick visit yesterday and realised that he was doing well to keep his spirits up. It's one thing to be practically comatose through illness, where being in bed all day doesn't really matter, but when you're awake and fully functional, it must be tedious in extremis.
Up was supposed to come with The Queen and The Cat's Mother and I to Manchester this weekend, but his injuries prevented this...another reason he will be feeling low. We went up there to see some friends...and to see Kenneth Brannagh perform MacBeth.
The Scottish play was being performed in an abandoned church in Manchester's North Quarter. This is one of those areas that is full of satanic mills which are gradually being turned into hyper-trendy shops, offices and apartments. Bravo I say...it is a tragedy to see these places being ripped down, when with a bit of imagination they can be turned into fantastically attractive areas. There is a slight however: at the moment I would guess there isn't the economy to support the development... I'm talking partially blind here, so may just be talking nonsense, but it certainly felt as though much of the property stock was empty, and the area still had a feeling of desolation. This provoked a discussion on the way home about how our experience was at least in our experience of the accountancy field and the creative sector, there is not a strong enough underlying economy outside of London to support the level of business the country needs to support its urban societies. In fact after a gin and tonic or two, we speculated on the impact not of Scotland seceding from the Union, but what would happen if everything inside the M25 broke free? Anyway, that's soft southerners talking a load of old drunken nonsense really.
Back to Kenneth...performed in a deconsecrated church with the audience of an aisle filled with mud, this was a MacBeth that will be talked about for a long time. At the start, water pours as rain from above to confirm this is the bleak highlands. THroughout, the actors have to wade knee deep through the mud as they move from one end to the other...they must have been exhausted especially wearing such heavy costumes in hot weather. We were in the front row which meant that we had to keep ducking as heavy metal swords clashed just inches from our heads....you could smell the sweat. It was earthy indeed. Poor Banquo came to his very sticky end right in front of our noses, spraying mud and blood everywhere - no wonder the organisers said don't wear your best frock. The weird sisters were extremely weird, keeping an eye on things with their sinister machinations throughout the performance. Kenneth played his part well...very well, as did Alex Kingston as the mad and bad Lady MacBeth, MacDuff was superb. Anyway, although tickets have long sold out, you can still get to see it as a cinema near you on 20th July through National Theatre Live. I don't quite know how they will convey the atmosphere created in the church, but if they can you will be in for an absolute treat...really I do recommend you don't miss it.
Yes, that is blood splattered all over my t-shirt...a MacBeth souvenir from the Globe that caused much comment and appreciation...even from the actors themselves
Monday, 8 July 2013
Norfolk'n'Good at maths
In case you were wondering, UP spent the weekend in hospital. The Cat's Mother took him off to A&E, and they sternly advised against going anywhere. His heel is broken in several places...and the swelling has been so bad he's blistered badly. As usual, in my ever helpful way, I've offered him this to help him get better:
Rog wrote last week about a new 'app' that identifies each 3sq metre spot on the earth in just three words...this being easier than trying to memorise 14 digit digital codes. He did the maths to show that it was more than possible even though there are nearly 57 trillion squares around the globe. It was a sunny Friday afternoon when I read it, my brain was a bit slow, and it's a long time since I did maths (you should see the monthly invoices I send out...invariably wrong!), so not surprisingly I couldn't quite follow his workings. That does not make him a bad teacher, but it may make me a bad pupil. It's worth a read here
They say you can't judge a book by its cover, which is, in my book, nonsense.
Many, many years ago I went on a holiday to Turkey...and our flight home was delayed. I headed to the bookshop which was quite sparsely populated with books strangely. My usual technique for choosing a book is to open it at a random page, and if I like what's on that page I'll buy it. I may have done it on this occasion, but I'm not sure. I was certainly more drawn to the cover...a dirty, sandy yellow, with the dark shadow of a hound across it. It bellowed MENACE. As we waited for our flight, I settled in to the book. I was so engrossed, so hooked, that I managed to read it before the flight was finally called. It was a dark and indeed menacing tale by an author who, at the time I had never heard of - Ian McEwan and was called Black Dogs. I then went on to buy all his books and read them avidly. Some have been made into films or TV programmes, and they are lapped up as well. I wouldn't like to say whether I prefer Atonement or The Comfort of Strangers - they were both excellent on the screen. I'm still an absolute fan and look forward to every novel. As he has aged, the core of 'fear and menace' that inhabits his books has declined, and both his most recent books - Solar and Sweet Tooth pretty much avoid it altogether. But I still enjoy his work very much indeed.
We were fortunate enough last week to be able to listen to the man himself talk about Sweet Tooth at an event staged by the Guardian Book club. This is not the first time I've heard him talk about his work - I went to a similar discussion some years ago. It was most illuminating...not least because of the way an author can debunk some of the nonsense written about his own works...what do people's names mean? Nothing - he tries to keep them completely neutral, although by some remarkable coincidence, the 'hero' of Sweet Tooth nearly shared his name with a real lecturer at Sussex University that had the same interests. Why was the address of one location so precise? Because it came up on Google Maps. Etc, etc. He's a witty, interesting and clearly very clever man indeed...I shall return to Sweet Tooth and have a re-read. It was a great evening...especially for me, although The Cat's Mother hasn't actually read the book...ooops.
One of the topics of discussion at the evening was the 'Monty Hall Problem'...it's something that makes an interesting appearance in the book. The scenario is that you can select one out of three doors and behind one of the three is a prize; behind the others, nothing. Once you have chosen (the door remains closed at this stage), Monty Hall will open one of the other doors revealing that it does not contain the prize. You are then give the opportunity to switch your choice to the other box or stay with your original choice. The question is...does it matter if you switch?. Most people get it wrong...but do you know the right answer? Problem better explained, and answer given here
And a brief description of how the problem is mis-told in McEwans book (thank you Significance Magazine)
Haley re-imagines the problem as a tale of suspected cuckoldry, in which, after some development, a jealous husband finds himself before three hotel room doors (401, 402, and 403) and knows that his wife is behind one of the doors with another man. He has one chance to break down a door and catch her in the act of betrayal. But which door to choose? Haley's protagonist settles on 403 just as an Indian couple with several small children leave room 401. Convinced that he now has a two-thirds chance of catching her if he switches his initial choice: "He makes his run, he leaps, the door of 402 smashes open and there are the couple, naked in bed, just getting going". Haley titles the story "Probable Adultery".
Haley's work, as Serena well recognizes, is a disappointment logically and artistically. Misguided by rash enthusiasm, he has tried to house a betrayal plot within the shaky walls of a mathematical conundrum, missing the critical point that Monty does not choose a door at random and the larger point that, either way, no reader of fiction is likely to care. What will be of interest to readers is the way, through Frome's reaction to the story, McEwan masterfully turns Haley's creative failure into his own success. By unjustly blaming herself for Haley's mistake--a mistake minds as brilliant as Paul Erdös didn't need a gorgeous blonde to help them make--Serena adds to a pattern of self-condemnation in romantic relationships that has dictated the course of her young life. As with the heterosexual experiments of Jeremy Mott and the dirtied blouse left in Tony Canning's hamper, Serena is simply incapable of telling a man that he has had a silly idea. So, rather than confront Haley with her misgivings, she sheepishly rewrites the details of his hotel scene to make the story, if not artistically interesting, at least logically correct. In this way, the Monty Hall Problem becomes a surprising backdrop to the early romantic frustrations of a female spy and lover of novels.
McEwan's decision to give the most famous of probability problems such prominence in his novel suggests more than a passing interest. The structure of Monty's game, in fact, resurfaces later in the story, when a piece in the Guardian exposing MI5's backing of Haley forces Serena to make a critical and final decision--maintain the lie about her role or confess and risk losing everything. Like so many of the game show contestants that have stood before Monty's two unopened doors, Serena does not turn to a mathematical law or logical rule to get out of her predicament. She relies, instead, on intuition, which proves, in this instance, a less disastrous guide in love than it is probability.
Saturday, 6 July 2013
A bit crowded
Crowd-sourcing is a big thing at the moment.
Yesterday, the Egyptians crowd-sourced a new President. I'm not too happy about that, but hey ho, they've probably done it better than the Syrians, or the Turks come to that.
I have mixed experience of crowd-sourcing myself.
My first experience was through the American web site Kickstarter. Essentially, you see someone's idea, cough up some money and then dadaaaa they go off and produce it. In return you get the satisfaction of helping someone with a bright idea get off the ground, and you get something back. It's not an investment...there's no profit to be made. So the first thing I spent my hard-earned cash on was Revolights
They're a great idea...and I'm a great believer in cycle safety, and they seem to take it to a new level during the winter nights. It was fun watching the project progress, and eventually after some months, my reward - a set of the lights were sent to me....they are now in full production. If I remember rightly I put $200 in, which is quite a lot for a set of bicycle lights and a T-shirt...but I don't begrudge a single penny (cent) of it. However, when they did arrive, I looked at the instruction book and realised that the fitting process was something that could only be done by an advanced brain surgeon. So eighteen months later, they sit on a shelf in the garage, awaiting my retirement and medical qualification.
My second has been through the website Unbound which gives you the opportunity to support authors looking to achieve publication. With my interest in street art, you won't be surprised that I pledged to get this book published. Six month's later, it is still only 25% funded, so I'm beginning to think it may not come to fruition. Shame...but feel free to be one of the 557 sponsors still needed. It would make me happy.
I seem to be on a winning streak though now. Also at Unbound I had the opportunity of helping out poor impoverished Jonathan Meades. From a young age I have thought of him as a clever, witty and fascinating man, so this was of great interest to me. Pidgin Snaps has more than met its targets, so alongside my copy, we will also go to the launch event (hope it's not in Marseille). Perfect.
Foolishly, I missed out on crowd-funding one of my favourite musicians. I have only been to see two artists twice in the same week. The Foo Fighters with The Boy - once for an acoustic set in Victoria, and then in Hyde Park. Lloyd Cole - once in Union Chapel Islington, and then in Brighton - with a somewhat surprised Cat's Mother. Lloyd Cole may not be the force that he used to be, but musically he is as talented as ever, and for his most recent album he asked for funds to pay for the studio to record it in. I hummed and I hahahahad, but eventually hesitated too long so didn't pay my money over. Foolish me. The new album, Standards, is now available, and it's a real hum dinger. Well worth every penny. In fact I would say one of his very finest...easily the equal of any of his Commotions albums. My favourite track is Period Place which contains the lyric 'Concrete to the left of me, flowers to my right. these were the best of times.' Rightly or wrongly it sent me scurrying to check the lyrics of Stealers Wheel's 'Stuck in the Middle'...I'm sure there's a tribute there somewhere. Anyway, enjoy the video...and then go and buy because this is brilliant stuff, and he seems a lovely man to boot.
Yesterday, the Egyptians crowd-sourced a new President. I'm not too happy about that, but hey ho, they've probably done it better than the Syrians, or the Turks come to that.
I have mixed experience of crowd-sourcing myself.
My first experience was through the American web site Kickstarter. Essentially, you see someone's idea, cough up some money and then dadaaaa they go off and produce it. In return you get the satisfaction of helping someone with a bright idea get off the ground, and you get something back. It's not an investment...there's no profit to be made. So the first thing I spent my hard-earned cash on was Revolights
They're a great idea...and I'm a great believer in cycle safety, and they seem to take it to a new level during the winter nights. It was fun watching the project progress, and eventually after some months, my reward - a set of the lights were sent to me....they are now in full production. If I remember rightly I put $200 in, which is quite a lot for a set of bicycle lights and a T-shirt...but I don't begrudge a single penny (cent) of it. However, when they did arrive, I looked at the instruction book and realised that the fitting process was something that could only be done by an advanced brain surgeon. So eighteen months later, they sit on a shelf in the garage, awaiting my retirement and medical qualification.
My second has been through the website Unbound which gives you the opportunity to support authors looking to achieve publication. With my interest in street art, you won't be surprised that I pledged to get this book published. Six month's later, it is still only 25% funded, so I'm beginning to think it may not come to fruition. Shame...but feel free to be one of the 557 sponsors still needed. It would make me happy.
I seem to be on a winning streak though now. Also at Unbound I had the opportunity of helping out poor impoverished Jonathan Meades. From a young age I have thought of him as a clever, witty and fascinating man, so this was of great interest to me. Pidgin Snaps has more than met its targets, so alongside my copy, we will also go to the launch event (hope it's not in Marseille). Perfect.
Foolishly, I missed out on crowd-funding one of my favourite musicians. I have only been to see two artists twice in the same week. The Foo Fighters with The Boy - once for an acoustic set in Victoria, and then in Hyde Park. Lloyd Cole - once in Union Chapel Islington, and then in Brighton - with a somewhat surprised Cat's Mother. Lloyd Cole may not be the force that he used to be, but musically he is as talented as ever, and for his most recent album he asked for funds to pay for the studio to record it in. I hummed and I hahahahad, but eventually hesitated too long so didn't pay my money over. Foolish me. The new album, Standards, is now available, and it's a real hum dinger. Well worth every penny. In fact I would say one of his very finest...easily the equal of any of his Commotions albums. My favourite track is Period Place which contains the lyric 'Concrete to the left of me, flowers to my right. these were the best of times.' Rightly or wrongly it sent me scurrying to check the lyrics of Stealers Wheel's 'Stuck in the Middle'...I'm sure there's a tribute there somewhere. Anyway, enjoy the video...and then go and buy because this is brilliant stuff, and he seems a lovely man to boot.
Friday, 5 July 2013
Bottom
I've aged.
It was my birthday last weekend. To celebrate last year, I handed Danny Boyle the first medal awarded in the Olympic Stadium...a gold wrapped Cadbury's chocolate one...as we rehearsed. To be honest things have never been quite the same between Danny and me since - after saying thank you he suggested I went to the other side of the stadium to see Emma whose birthday it was also. "Mind you", he said, "That's more of a treat for you than it is for her". I was hurt, so handed my seventy other chocolate medals out to the rest of my team.
Previous years have been spent seeing Kings of Leon in Hyde Park (they're rubbish live) and Foo Fighters in Milton Keynes (they're great, but The Boy and Mr Muffin were sick as dogs all day long). This year was slightly different in that we did nothing. And by nothing I mean nothing. We were down in Brighton, and relaxed for the day. It was glorious.
That is not to say we did nothing to celebrate. On Friday night we went to see The Tempest at Shakespeare's Globe. I don't know how well you know The Tempest, but you may in any case be interested to know this was played as a comedy. And very, very good it was too. The key character of Prospero I always think is one of Shakespeare's most difficult to play, so it is rarely done well. But Roger Allam did extraordinarily well once he had warmed up...the humour of the part is something I'd never really thought about before, but it was an excellent turn. The performance was dominated by Caliban...the fearsome monster...and he was extraordinary, although I do feel sorry for the man in the audience who had his bald head slapped a couple of times...James Garnon played the part with energy, enthusiasm and aplomb...I hope he wins an award. I absolutely loved his rendition of the speech given by Kenneth Brannagh at the opening of the Olympics:
And Colin Morgan was as Ariel was equally outstanding...and remarkably athletic as he danced and swung around the stage. And just in case you thought I couldn't work the Olympics into this again, try this (it's called Caliban's Dream):
Anyway, enough of the Olympics...we spent Saturday at lunch with friends and family...including The Muffins. We started at Formans, which just happens to be the nearest restaurant to the Olympic Stadium...ooops. Then we moved on to see a new film that I have to tell you has been very eagerly anticipated in our house for over six months now. We were seriously over excited, and it was a really birthday treat for me.
Which only goes to prove how wrong Grandma in Cyprus is. I am not 'grown up but act like a teenager'...I am grown up and act like an eight year old, maybe. :-)
It was a shame that we were out when my brother decided to drop in unexpectedly to deliver my birthday present of whisky... :-( So sorry 'bruv', but the whisky is delicious, and the thought was extremely touching...
It was my birthday last weekend. To celebrate last year, I handed Danny Boyle the first medal awarded in the Olympic Stadium...a gold wrapped Cadbury's chocolate one...as we rehearsed. To be honest things have never been quite the same between Danny and me since - after saying thank you he suggested I went to the other side of the stadium to see Emma whose birthday it was also. "Mind you", he said, "That's more of a treat for you than it is for her". I was hurt, so handed my seventy other chocolate medals out to the rest of my team.
Previous years have been spent seeing Kings of Leon in Hyde Park (they're rubbish live) and Foo Fighters in Milton Keynes (they're great, but The Boy and Mr Muffin were sick as dogs all day long). This year was slightly different in that we did nothing. And by nothing I mean nothing. We were down in Brighton, and relaxed for the day. It was glorious.
That is not to say we did nothing to celebrate. On Friday night we went to see The Tempest at Shakespeare's Globe. I don't know how well you know The Tempest, but you may in any case be interested to know this was played as a comedy. And very, very good it was too. The key character of Prospero I always think is one of Shakespeare's most difficult to play, so it is rarely done well. But Roger Allam did extraordinarily well once he had warmed up...the humour of the part is something I'd never really thought about before, but it was an excellent turn. The performance was dominated by Caliban...the fearsome monster...and he was extraordinary, although I do feel sorry for the man in the audience who had his bald head slapped a couple of times...James Garnon played the part with energy, enthusiasm and aplomb...I hope he wins an award. I absolutely loved his rendition of the speech given by Kenneth Brannagh at the opening of the Olympics:
And Colin Morgan was as Ariel was equally outstanding...and remarkably athletic as he danced and swung around the stage. And just in case you thought I couldn't work the Olympics into this again, try this (it's called Caliban's Dream):
Anyway, enough of the Olympics...we spent Saturday at lunch with friends and family...including The Muffins. We started at Formans, which just happens to be the nearest restaurant to the Olympic Stadium...ooops. Then we moved on to see a new film that I have to tell you has been very eagerly anticipated in our house for over six months now. We were seriously over excited, and it was a really birthday treat for me.
Which only goes to prove how wrong Grandma in Cyprus is. I am not 'grown up but act like a teenager'...I am grown up and act like an eight year old, maybe. :-)
It was a shame that we were out when my brother decided to drop in unexpectedly to deliver my birthday present of whisky... :-( So sorry 'bruv', but the whisky is delicious, and the thought was extremely touching...
Thursday, 4 July 2013
UP is down
To achieve this, UP used an interesting combination of gaffer tape, wasps nest and step ladder.
Now you know as much as me.
Now you know as much as me.
Wednesday, 3 July 2013
Monkey business
When I was a budding Richard Branson, two fellow school chums and I got together to buy albums, record them using our stereo systems, and then sell the records...each one played only three times. There were some downsides to our approach, not least of which was trying to select which albums to buy. I think I put the final nail in the coffin when I decided we 'had' to have the Rezillos. Evidently I was the only person in all of Essex who liked them. Oh dear. We could all agree, though, on bands like Brand X (a superb Phil Collins vehicle that even our music teacher liked), Weather Report and The Alan Parsons Project.
Alan Parsons is not desperately well remembered by many, except for this rather amusing sketch from Austin Powers
His albums were not ones that I chose to re-buy when I moved from vinyl to CD, but in a moment of sentimentality, probably prompted by the end of school days, I searched them out on play.com, and found I could buy them for about £4 a piece. So I have. I have a feeling that listening to them may not be quite as pleasurable as I hope, but I am looking forward to their arrival....after all 'concept albums' are so 1970s, and I don't wear flares, heals and long hair anymore.
And no, that monkey doesn't belong to Justin Bieber
Alan Parsons is not desperately well remembered by many, except for this rather amusing sketch from Austin Powers
His albums were not ones that I chose to re-buy when I moved from vinyl to CD, but in a moment of sentimentality, probably prompted by the end of school days, I searched them out on play.com, and found I could buy them for about £4 a piece. So I have. I have a feeling that listening to them may not be quite as pleasurable as I hope, but I am looking forward to their arrival....after all 'concept albums' are so 1970s, and I don't wear flares, heals and long hair anymore.
And no, that monkey doesn't belong to Justin Bieber
Tuesday, 2 July 2013
Babies are useless aren't they?
New baby made his third trip to the office today, and to be perfectly honest, if he doesn't shape up, he'll have to ship out. It was his second (month) birthday, and in he trundled, not in his birthday suit, but in fact in his designer babywear. He didn't do much. To be honest, he simply smiled and gurgled at the women, and then went off to sleep. They were distracted, so their productivity levels were hopeless. He didn't even make the tea, nor even offer to wash up. Time to pull his socks up...if he had any....
Thursday, 27 June 2013
Spend, spend, spend
How stupid are our politicians? I don't suppose that ours are any worse than any others, but that doesn't excuse them. Tonight I'm at the House of Commons for a drinks reception...I feel like I'm walking into the lions den.
George (henceforth known as Jeffrey) Osborne tweeted out a picture of him eating a burger whilst getting the Spending Statement ready. Nothing wrong with that, except it was a bit of contrived nonsense to show he was 'with the people' by eating a burger. Worse still, it was a £10 burger from Byron. Very nice I can tell you...I've had one. But I don't claim to understand what it's like trying to feed five kids on benefits because I'm an unmarried mother who's not had a job for a decade. I would never, ever pretend to be something I'm not but our politicos can't help themselves. They'd be much better off coming out and saying, "Yes I've had a privileged upbringing, I've been very fortunate in life and I shall use the experience I've gained to help people less fortunate than me." Who knows, they might even be able to say it in a less patronising way. Anyway Jeffrey, enjoy the burger, hope you don't choke on it.
In case you think there may be some political bias here. This is a quote from scandal rag Popbitch,
"While Chancellor George Osborne ate his mid-market Byron burger last night, Shadow Chancellor Ed Balls was sat in Rotary Bar, Shoreditch, enjoying a nice pack of crisps. And, as befits a politician sitting by Silicon Roundabout, it wasn't a packet of Frazzles. He was tucking into Leighton Brown sweet potato, cheese and jalapeno crisps. Like to see him burnish his man- of-the-people cred on Twitter with that."
George (henceforth known as Jeffrey) Osborne tweeted out a picture of him eating a burger whilst getting the Spending Statement ready. Nothing wrong with that, except it was a bit of contrived nonsense to show he was 'with the people' by eating a burger. Worse still, it was a £10 burger from Byron. Very nice I can tell you...I've had one. But I don't claim to understand what it's like trying to feed five kids on benefits because I'm an unmarried mother who's not had a job for a decade. I would never, ever pretend to be something I'm not but our politicos can't help themselves. They'd be much better off coming out and saying, "Yes I've had a privileged upbringing, I've been very fortunate in life and I shall use the experience I've gained to help people less fortunate than me." Who knows, they might even be able to say it in a less patronising way. Anyway Jeffrey, enjoy the burger, hope you don't choke on it.
In case you think there may be some political bias here. This is a quote from scandal rag Popbitch,
"While Chancellor George Osborne ate his mid-market Byron burger last night, Shadow Chancellor Ed Balls was sat in Rotary Bar, Shoreditch, enjoying a nice pack of crisps. And, as befits a politician sitting by Silicon Roundabout, it wasn't a packet of Frazzles. He was tucking into Leighton Brown sweet potato, cheese and jalapeno crisps. Like to see him burnish his man- of-the-people cred on Twitter with that."
When gas and oil were found in the North Sea, the Norwegians did something very clever. They put some of their new found wealth into a fund. It's something that your granny might have taught you to do....save for a rainy day. The result is that Norway is a wealthy country with a large social resource. What happened in the UK? We spent it. We didn't save a penny of it. There was no grand plan. The treasury took what they could in tax revenues and spent it. Some would say not very wisely. I couldn't possibly comment. I know that's a somewhat simplistic way of looking at it, but it's true enough.
The question today is, now that UK shale gas reserves are thought to be double the size previously thought, will the government tuck the extra revenue away for a future generation? After Jeffrey has a plan to ensure our nation's finances are balanced, so extra revenue isn't something we need to spend is it?
Answers on the back of a postcard please.
Tuesday, 25 June 2013
Amen
There was a story that the Beckham's first born was called Brooklyn because that is where he was conceived. At the time many eyebrows were raised because it all seemed a bit tacky, so in her biography, Mrs Beckham explained she liked the name Brooke and it made her think of Brooklyn. All a bit far fetched if you ask me. In Loughton, where we live, David's sister runs a hairdressing salon. This is situated in Brooklyn Court. Poirot has suggested this is more likely the true origins of the lad's name. Just thought you'd like to know.
Last week we went off to see The Amen Corner at The National, a three-act play wit singing (of course) about Sister Margaret and her Harlem Church. Except, Rufus Norris has turned it into a two-act play...which for me at least, meant a very long first half. As ever with The National, the production was beyond compare...great staging that certainly helped enliven a tale of hypocrisy, betrayal and change. It was well-acted, with a particularly strong performance by Marianne Jean-Baptiste and Lucian Msamati as her wayward husband. I wasn't quite as spellbound as our companions, or as the reviews would have me believe I should have been, but it is an excellent show....and provides a platform for a slightly broader audience make up than you normally see at The National.
I enjoy a good Martini...it's always my aperitif of choice when given the chance, and we have them regularly enough at home to keep the vodka industry profitable. Mr and Mrs Muffin had invited us out to Dukes Bar and Hotel in Mayfair on Saturday night...the choice of venue being dictated by it being Ian Fleming's cocktail bar of choice, and by rumour where the phrase 'shaken no stirred' came into being. They have a long list of Martinis to try, and I selected a 'Vesper'. Not only does it include vermouth, it also incorporates both gin and vodka as well as a dash of Angostura bitters and some orange oil which may itself have contained alcohol. It may have been a mistake. It was certainly delicious. And no matter how much I poured it down my throat, there always seemed to be more in my glass. We staggered downstairs to the restaurant where I believe I had a more than passable meal. I believe we entertained everyone as we were the only people talking above a whisper. In fact we may have been typically Essex. Sorry. I was reminded on Sunday that I'd finished off with a cognac. In actuality I got up Sunday morning, not early, and realised I was not hung over. I was in fact still drunk. Not tipsy. Not a little the worse for wear. I was completely inebriated. I had to return to bed to sleep it off. Anyway, thank you Mr and Mrs Muffin, I had a lovely night
There is no more school. Friday was prize day, and the Boy and the Cat waltzed off with their share.
Today their books have been returned. It is the end...and very sad too. There is now a period of uncertainty and contemplation. Exam results are awaited. The Cat was due to head off to uni in September, but has the possible opportunity of a dream internship, so we're not quite sure; The Boy is due to head off for a ski season, but that won't be confirmed until September. And for the parents there's the uncertainty of whether we will start our time as empty-nesters or remain as the people who nag, moan, prod and prompt.
Last week we went off to see The Amen Corner at The National, a three-act play wit singing (of course) about Sister Margaret and her Harlem Church. Except, Rufus Norris has turned it into a two-act play...which for me at least, meant a very long first half. As ever with The National, the production was beyond compare...great staging that certainly helped enliven a tale of hypocrisy, betrayal and change. It was well-acted, with a particularly strong performance by Marianne Jean-Baptiste and Lucian Msamati as her wayward husband. I wasn't quite as spellbound as our companions, or as the reviews would have me believe I should have been, but it is an excellent show....and provides a platform for a slightly broader audience make up than you normally see at The National.
I enjoy a good Martini...it's always my aperitif of choice when given the chance, and we have them regularly enough at home to keep the vodka industry profitable. Mr and Mrs Muffin had invited us out to Dukes Bar and Hotel in Mayfair on Saturday night...the choice of venue being dictated by it being Ian Fleming's cocktail bar of choice, and by rumour where the phrase 'shaken no stirred' came into being. They have a long list of Martinis to try, and I selected a 'Vesper'. Not only does it include vermouth, it also incorporates both gin and vodka as well as a dash of Angostura bitters and some orange oil which may itself have contained alcohol. It may have been a mistake. It was certainly delicious. And no matter how much I poured it down my throat, there always seemed to be more in my glass. We staggered downstairs to the restaurant where I believe I had a more than passable meal. I believe we entertained everyone as we were the only people talking above a whisper. In fact we may have been typically Essex. Sorry. I was reminded on Sunday that I'd finished off with a cognac. In actuality I got up Sunday morning, not early, and realised I was not hung over. I was in fact still drunk. Not tipsy. Not a little the worse for wear. I was completely inebriated. I had to return to bed to sleep it off. Anyway, thank you Mr and Mrs Muffin, I had a lovely night
There is no more school. Friday was prize day, and the Boy and the Cat waltzed off with their share.
Today their books have been returned. It is the end...and very sad too. There is now a period of uncertainty and contemplation. Exam results are awaited. The Cat was due to head off to uni in September, but has the possible opportunity of a dream internship, so we're not quite sure; The Boy is due to head off for a ski season, but that won't be confirmed until September. And for the parents there's the uncertainty of whether we will start our time as empty-nesters or remain as the people who nag, moan, prod and prompt.
Friday, 21 June 2013
Magic moments
I remember when The Boy was young and we had gone skiing in Austria. We had a bit of an argument, over what I can't remember. Obviously it was soon forgotten about. But as I packed at the end of our trip, I found a note that he had written in the heat of the moment; it went:
Dear Dad,
I hate you. I have decided to leave and find my fortune as a street magician
Lots of Love
The Boy x
I kept the note for years as it touched me deeply, and was quite sad it got lost when we moved.
Last night we went to a magic show. Yes, our cultural adventures are nothing but, well, adventurous. The conjurer in question is in fact an old friend of one of ours....he trained in accountancy before deciding that a different sort of life beckoned. The tricks were good, and his particular patter is about the tricks that Charles Dickens performed whilst performing as a magician and conjurer. Now you're probably thinking that Charles Dickens is an author without compare, a daring hero who came to people's aid during a terrible rail accident, and 201 years old. That is indeed true, but he was known to turn a trick too. No I don't mean that. He did perform magical tricks in front of an audience, and thought himself as very accomplished. So Ian Keable has taken this little known part of Dickens' life and turned it into an evening of entertainment. Magic with a bit of comedy as well. All very pleasant it was too, especially after we dined at a pub I hadn't been too for twenty or so years. Magic may not be the popular entertainment it was in the days of Tommy Cooper, but it makes for an innocent and fun evening.
Remarkably we solved our insurance dilemma in a way that was totally unexpected. Having rung round more insurance companies than we knew existed, we went to The Cat's Mother's insurance company, and simply asked if we could add The Boy to the insurance. "Yes" they said. "How much we said?". "Nothing they said". We nearly bit their arm off...and in fact thought they'd made a mistake, so we waited until the documentation arrived. The Cat's Mother remains the main driver...it's her car, and she needs it to buzz around the neighbourhood, and she's not insured to drive mine (she says she has no desire to drive something that's bigger than a Chieftan tank) so that's totally legitimate, I'm a named driver as I use it occasionally and the teenagers are also named drivers. It seems too good to be true, but we're completely above board with everything so it must be a all OK Result.
Of course, that meant I went out for a drive with The Boy. Naturally the first trip was down to the local kebab shop...well there's more than one way to die. I was surprisingly relaxed, even with a slight deviation onto the wrong side of the road and stopping at a green traffic light...anyway, practice will make perfect. The Cat is improving too. They both are commenting how many dreadful, aggressive drivers there are out there...and I'm waiting for the "I've never had an accident, but I've seen plenty" comments to come rolling in.
I regularly have to remind The Cat's Mother that many thousands of hours were spent designing the air conditioning system on her little Toyota Yaris. It's incredibly sophisticated, unlike the one on my Jeep that was knocked together by a couple of rednecks whilst shooting rattlesnakes. On the Yaris, you dial the temperature and press the auto button. That means in the winter it quickly warms you up by blowing hot air, and in the summer, it cools you down by blowing out cold air. Once set you never need to touch it again. But nobody listens to me (not just on this, but on many, many other matters too). If it's a hot day, the air conditioning gets turned on full blast until you sit there with your teeth chattering, and on a cold day, the heating gets turned up so far that I have to strip down to my bikini. I've been nice about this, I've been calm, I've been patient. And I've ranted and I've raved, but all to no avail. Of course, The Cat's Mother is not alone is determinedly not wanting to grasp the essentials of a car's heating system. How many times do I see cars being driven along completely steamed up because, the owners haven't turned the fan on, or don't understand how the thing works...a steady throughput of air keeps the car fresh, and the driver awake, and the windows clear of condensation....and at the right temperature. Small rant, but really it's this sort of thing that keeps my mind sharp and active.
Dear Dad,
I hate you. I have decided to leave and find my fortune as a street magician
Lots of Love
The Boy x
I kept the note for years as it touched me deeply, and was quite sad it got lost when we moved.
Last night we went to a magic show. Yes, our cultural adventures are nothing but, well, adventurous. The conjurer in question is in fact an old friend of one of ours....he trained in accountancy before deciding that a different sort of life beckoned. The tricks were good, and his particular patter is about the tricks that Charles Dickens performed whilst performing as a magician and conjurer. Now you're probably thinking that Charles Dickens is an author without compare, a daring hero who came to people's aid during a terrible rail accident, and 201 years old. That is indeed true, but he was known to turn a trick too. No I don't mean that. He did perform magical tricks in front of an audience, and thought himself as very accomplished. So Ian Keable has taken this little known part of Dickens' life and turned it into an evening of entertainment. Magic with a bit of comedy as well. All very pleasant it was too, especially after we dined at a pub I hadn't been too for twenty or so years. Magic may not be the popular entertainment it was in the days of Tommy Cooper, but it makes for an innocent and fun evening.
Remarkably we solved our insurance dilemma in a way that was totally unexpected. Having rung round more insurance companies than we knew existed, we went to The Cat's Mother's insurance company, and simply asked if we could add The Boy to the insurance. "Yes" they said. "How much we said?". "Nothing they said". We nearly bit their arm off...and in fact thought they'd made a mistake, so we waited until the documentation arrived. The Cat's Mother remains the main driver...it's her car, and she needs it to buzz around the neighbourhood, and she's not insured to drive mine (she says she has no desire to drive something that's bigger than a Chieftan tank) so that's totally legitimate, I'm a named driver as I use it occasionally and the teenagers are also named drivers. It seems too good to be true, but we're completely above board with everything so it must be a all OK Result.
Of course, that meant I went out for a drive with The Boy. Naturally the first trip was down to the local kebab shop...well there's more than one way to die. I was surprisingly relaxed, even with a slight deviation onto the wrong side of the road and stopping at a green traffic light...anyway, practice will make perfect. The Cat is improving too. They both are commenting how many dreadful, aggressive drivers there are out there...and I'm waiting for the "I've never had an accident, but I've seen plenty" comments to come rolling in.
I regularly have to remind The Cat's Mother that many thousands of hours were spent designing the air conditioning system on her little Toyota Yaris. It's incredibly sophisticated, unlike the one on my Jeep that was knocked together by a couple of rednecks whilst shooting rattlesnakes. On the Yaris, you dial the temperature and press the auto button. That means in the winter it quickly warms you up by blowing hot air, and in the summer, it cools you down by blowing out cold air. Once set you never need to touch it again. But nobody listens to me (not just on this, but on many, many other matters too). If it's a hot day, the air conditioning gets turned on full blast until you sit there with your teeth chattering, and on a cold day, the heating gets turned up so far that I have to strip down to my bikini. I've been nice about this, I've been calm, I've been patient. And I've ranted and I've raved, but all to no avail. Of course, The Cat's Mother is not alone is determinedly not wanting to grasp the essentials of a car's heating system. How many times do I see cars being driven along completely steamed up because, the owners haven't turned the fan on, or don't understand how the thing works...a steady throughput of air keeps the car fresh, and the driver awake, and the windows clear of condensation....and at the right temperature. Small rant, but really it's this sort of thing that keeps my mind sharp and active.
Wednesday, 19 June 2013
Rubbish/not rubbish
Are you old enough to remember the miseries of the three day week...power cuts just when you wanted to watch the next episode of Crossroads, rubbish piling up and up and up, and the mortuaries so full that bodies were left here there and everywhere, like some zombie movie. Obviously I'm too young to remember that, but you might.
Down in Brighton, it's a bit like that now. Apart from the power cuts and the mortuaries. Although there are zombies...remarkably having been associated with the city for a quarter of a century, I hadn't known until recently that every year there is a zombie gathering - the annual Beach of the Dead walk. Watch out for the zombie banana in the video below...about nineteen minutes 50 seconds in.
Something else that seems to be an annual problem in Brighton is rubbish collection. I swear they have more strikes than the rest of the country put together. The unions are claiming the council is cutting the pay of the rubbish men by 40%. If that's true, it's rubbish...who (apart from a banker) could afford to take a 40% cut? You've got to feel sorry for the town's traders who have two successive poor summers, and now have this to drive the tourists away. Anyway, courtesy of the BBC, here's a picture of the rubbish piling up.
Only the seagulls will be happy...they're pretty aggressive these days, and tend to peck the rubbish bags open to provide themselves with a gourmet meal.
Any way Ted has told me not to come and visit because the city is a tip. Ted is the ever so nice photographer who took a picture of The Cat's Mother and I during the Open House during May. We were so pleased with it that we bought two copies - one for the house in Loughton and one for the flat in Brighton. He's been kind enough to send us a copy for the digital photo frame too. Anyway, by way of recommendation, if you would like a splendid portrait, or indeed, any other good photography,Ted's your man. You can find him here And you can find our picture here:
Down in Brighton, it's a bit like that now. Apart from the power cuts and the mortuaries. Although there are zombies...remarkably having been associated with the city for a quarter of a century, I hadn't known until recently that every year there is a zombie gathering - the annual Beach of the Dead walk. Watch out for the zombie banana in the video below...about nineteen minutes 50 seconds in.
Something else that seems to be an annual problem in Brighton is rubbish collection. I swear they have more strikes than the rest of the country put together. The unions are claiming the council is cutting the pay of the rubbish men by 40%. If that's true, it's rubbish...who (apart from a banker) could afford to take a 40% cut? You've got to feel sorry for the town's traders who have two successive poor summers, and now have this to drive the tourists away. Anyway, courtesy of the BBC, here's a picture of the rubbish piling up.
Only the seagulls will be happy...they're pretty aggressive these days, and tend to peck the rubbish bags open to provide themselves with a gourmet meal.
Any way Ted has told me not to come and visit because the city is a tip. Ted is the ever so nice photographer who took a picture of The Cat's Mother and I during the Open House during May. We were so pleased with it that we bought two copies - one for the house in Loughton and one for the flat in Brighton. He's been kind enough to send us a copy for the digital photo frame too. Anyway, by way of recommendation, if you would like a splendid portrait, or indeed, any other good photography,Ted's your man. You can find him here And you can find our picture here:
Tuesday, 18 June 2013
Last Holy Communion
It's interesting watching other people's family tensions like a fly on the wall. I remember well when my own family imploded, and I stropped off not talking to either of my parents for some years. The whole episode was a disaster for everyone, and very damaging. With nearly two decade's hind-sight I realise that everyone behaved badly, and didn't think through the consequences of their actions. It's good that it's distant history. And in a strange way, I do wonder if that explosive event ultimately proved beneficial for most of us in the long term.
I'm really interested to see the outcome of the Iranian elections...a 'moderate' has been elected President. In most western countries he would be branded anything but, but by Iranian standards, and certainly those of his colourful predecessor, President Iminadinnerjacket, he's someone 'we can do business with'. So I may well breath a sigh of relief because it at least delays, and hopefully ends the prospect of the Israelis blowing the hell out of the country and setting off an uncontrollable middle eastern conflict. Thank heavens for democracy. But I do wonder what the country would be like if we hadn't stuck our noses in during the 1950s...rather more settled and developed I would guess, and most of the radical Islamic fervour that has swept the region would have been buried before birth. There may be a lesson there.
We watched Argo at the weekend. What a terrific film. I was so disappointed to have missed it at the cinema...as it was on my list of 'must sees' last year. None the less, the video was an excellent substitute. We were on the edge of our seats from the beginning, and the tension was there right until the very end. Excellent. Afterwards though I did feel the need to find out the real Argo story, knowing the film was only loosely based on the facts. And there I found that like all good American films, this one had completely ignored many of the basic facts, and the involvement of the British, minimising the efforts of the Canadians as well. Does this matter? Well on one level absolutely not...it was a terrific piece of entertainment...but on another level yes it does matter because it distorts history...and Americans being Americans I rather suspect they tend to get their knowledge from films rather than text books (sorry, that's just my experience). Still great film.
Meanwhile over in Syria, it's all a little tricky. The Right Unhonourable Hague now says, that it's a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils, as the choices are quite unpalatable. I suggest we JUST STAY OUT of it, and let a sovereign country settle its' own internal differences. It may be difficult to watch people being slaughtered in a bloody civil war, but every time we've stuck our noses in, the long-term outcome has never been good. And if we stick our noses into this one, will we feel it necessary to get stuck in to Turkey at some stage?
There was another First Holy Communion this weekend...The Cat's Mother's nephew..son of The Maestro. There's been a lot of family gatherings recently. The church service was at 10.30, with the celebratory lunch three hours later at 1.30. The Cat's Mother left early for the service, whilst I drove down later to arrive in time for the meal...well I've never been known to turn down a free lunch. Everyone was on good form and we all had a splendid time.
Anyway, I'm off home now to half throttle The Cat's Mother...obviously it's just a playful tiff and I always find grabbing a woman round the neck and squeezing the best way of winning an argument, so don't worry too much about it....Charles Saatchi obviously doesn't
I'm really interested to see the outcome of the Iranian elections...a 'moderate' has been elected President. In most western countries he would be branded anything but, but by Iranian standards, and certainly those of his colourful predecessor, President Iminadinnerjacket, he's someone 'we can do business with'. So I may well breath a sigh of relief because it at least delays, and hopefully ends the prospect of the Israelis blowing the hell out of the country and setting off an uncontrollable middle eastern conflict. Thank heavens for democracy. But I do wonder what the country would be like if we hadn't stuck our noses in during the 1950s...rather more settled and developed I would guess, and most of the radical Islamic fervour that has swept the region would have been buried before birth. There may be a lesson there.
We watched Argo at the weekend. What a terrific film. I was so disappointed to have missed it at the cinema...as it was on my list of 'must sees' last year. None the less, the video was an excellent substitute. We were on the edge of our seats from the beginning, and the tension was there right until the very end. Excellent. Afterwards though I did feel the need to find out the real Argo story, knowing the film was only loosely based on the facts. And there I found that like all good American films, this one had completely ignored many of the basic facts, and the involvement of the British, minimising the efforts of the Canadians as well. Does this matter? Well on one level absolutely not...it was a terrific piece of entertainment...but on another level yes it does matter because it distorts history...and Americans being Americans I rather suspect they tend to get their knowledge from films rather than text books (sorry, that's just my experience). Still great film.
There was another First Holy Communion this weekend...The Cat's Mother's nephew..son of The Maestro. There's been a lot of family gatherings recently. The church service was at 10.30, with the celebratory lunch three hours later at 1.30. The Cat's Mother left early for the service, whilst I drove down later to arrive in time for the meal...well I've never been known to turn down a free lunch. Everyone was on good form and we all had a splendid time.
Anyway, I'm off home now to half throttle The Cat's Mother...obviously it's just a playful tiff and I always find grabbing a woman round the neck and squeezing the best way of winning an argument, so don't worry too much about it....Charles Saatchi obviously doesn't
Monday, 17 June 2013
Never too early for a gin and tonic
Following my little piece on the education system last week, I was interested to see this Facebook update from one of the teachers at The Boy's school: "Deplorable Edexcel C3 paper today. Usually a paper has one or two 'dodgy' questions, but this had loads. Allegedly 15 candidates in tears IN the exam room..."
The whole shambles was reported on the BBC here
Another year, another shambles it seems....any way I that may be what happens when you farm these things out to private companies...
Yesterday was Father's Day, so I was delighted to have my breakfast brought to me in bed...I don't suppose that is going to happen too much in the future...in fact this may be the last time, as he'll soon be flying the nest in one way or another. I even got gifts..a very splendid tie, and a 'Dad' mug. Anyway, back to the breakfast...it was an egg and bacon weave open toasted sandwich. I was too busy scoffing it to take a picture...but here's one he did earlier. That is indeed eight rashers of bacon interwoven and then grilled. Delicious...
In the afternoon, we went off to Three Mills...best known to me as the pace where we auditioned and rehearsed for the Olympic Opening Ceremony. There were drummers and working men and women from the Ceremony performing for everyone's entertainment, but this time I was strictly a watcher having said a big hello to all my friends. We went on a guided tour of the Mill itself which is evidently the world's largest tidal mill. More importantly, at some stage it stopped grinding wheat for bread, and started doing it for gin instead. What a marvellous idea.
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