Nick's Blog
Blog and Slippers
31/7/2006 @ 16:21
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First of all, I want to say I'm not having a mid life crisis.
I've just come back from a week's holiday in Devon, which is why I and this site have been quiet recently. There's nothing like a trip to one of the sunniest parts of Britain during the worst heatwave since 1911 to really relax the mind, body and soul.
I managed to climb Yes Tor, the highest point in Southern England and the inspiration for the classic 1978 Yes album, Tormato.
And for your information, an interest in classic prog rock does not mean a mid life crisis.
Mind you, a trip around Dartmoor in the scorching heat really builds up a thirst for good beer...and there's plenty of wonderful real ales, conditioned in the cask according to traditional recipies, in the region to slake any thirst. Not only that, there are so many quality pubs filled with friendly locals all serving good, English pub food as well.
Look, anyone of any age can enjoy a nice traditional ale, OK?...It's not a 'Dad' drink by any means.
Also, we visited Croyde beach a number of times for a swim in the sea. The water was fantastic, not too cold and very clear for a British beach. I even took up surfing which was a novel experience for me. My hair's growing a bit now as well and I think I might let it grow a bit more so I can have a ponytail...a manly one, mind you. At Croyde, I checked out some really powerful motorbikes and I might go for my cycle driver's licence this autumn; got to get some leather pants and a jacket as well if I'm going to go biking. Maybe I'll start up a rock band as well...you know, play some classic 70's and 80's covers plus some new material I've written now that I've taken up poetry.
LOOK, FOR THE LAST TIME, I'M NOT HAVING A MID LIFE CRISIS! I JUST HAD A PLEASANT HOLIDAY, THAT'S ALL! You know, you're never too old to take up a new extreme sport or make new, younger friends.
Blog Relief
21/7/2006 @ 16:48
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Have you noticed how the BBC keeps on trying to get the whole country working on some charity stunt?
First, it was children in need. Fine, great charity, does a lot of good work....particularly getting those little brats to shut up. I'm joking, of course. Anyway that led on to Comic Relief where at first they wanted everyone in the country to wear a red nose, then a brown one, then a squeaky one, then strap one to the front of your car and then one that lights up and farts the national anthem.
But that wasn't the end of it. No, the Beeb in their infinite charitable mood wanted all of us to run one mile for charity in the form of "Sport Relief". Why should the comics have all the charity fun? Run a mile, you miserable bastards! One lousy mile! You wouldn't begrudge that! Look at this starving child...LOOK AT HIM, or her or...it's hard to tell sometimes. Even Jonathan Ross got on the telly to cajole every single person in the country to run a mile for charity by running and handing over your £1 to the person running on your left.
After buying a cuddly bear toy with a patch over one eye, doing something "whacky" for Comic Relief and running a mile in the biggest heatwave to hit the country since 1911 the BBC now want me to dance for charity. Yes, it's "Dance Relief" now and to illustrate it a load of synchronised swimmers will be in the Trafalgar Square fountain (and to think it was built to celebrate our greatest victory at sea) and dancers and celebrities will be up and down the country arm twisting the population into boogeying for 2 hours to raise more money.
My dark mind got to thinking: What if all this charity stuff is a dare between BBC bosses? "I bet you £10 that I can get the entire population to dance"..."You're on!" Where will it all end? "I bet you £10 I can get the entire country to sing 'I Will Survive' at the same time...we'll call it Karaoke Relief". "What about if we got everyone in the country to jump off a soapbox at the same time and call it 'Flood Denmark Relief'".
Look, I'll just write the BBC a cheque...they can even deduct it from my wages...just don't get me to run, swim, dance, sing or be "whacky" in the name of a good cause!
Test Match Blog
19/7/2006 @ 10:28
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
One of the websites I visit regularly is Cricinfo, the home of Cricket statistics and the a paid up member of "We love Indian cricket" international. There was a review on it yesterday about songs involving cricket and here is my all time favourite: "F***ing Hell, It's Fred Titmus!" by Half Man-Half Biscuit. The review of this song couldn't be put better...
"Once described as the "most authentic British band since The Clash", Half Man, Half Biscuit was a sharp-witted four-piece rock band from Birkenhead, in the Wirral. A by-product of Thatcher's Britain, the band announced itself in 1986 with the album "Back in the DHSS", which was recorded for just 30 pounds and yet sold more than 200,000 copies. According to Nigel Blackwell, the lead singer, guitarist and surreally talented writer, "one of my fantasies was to have a load of folk shouting something ridiculous like 'F**king Hell, it's Fred Titmus!' back at the stage as a counterblast to all those rock acts whose audience would hold their lighters aloft during some Godforsaken dross concerning 'a girl no longer with us due to flagrant disregard of the speed limit by persons unknown'. Much more fun thought I to have 'em shouting the name of a Middlesex spin bowler. Certainly more believable anyway, I think." Other songs by HMHB included "Hedley Verity-esque," and "Christian Rock Concert", which included a reference to Wendy Wimbush, the legendary former Test Match Special scorer ... playing on a spacehopper ... "
Wow, already I've lost my American audience here. Nevermind, they're all in bed as I type so it's hello all you Central Asians! Top of the morning to you!
Communist Blog
17/7/2006 @ 09:19
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
July 16th 1937, 3 ships set off from Murmansk in the Baltic Sea; their official mission is to deliver agricultural machinery to Halifax, Nova Scotia. The real reason for this voyage is known only by 3 men, one of them Josef Stalin, dictator of the Soviet Union. The ships' holds contain crates of industrial scrap iron wrapped in straw; they will pass a cursury examination if the convoy is stopped and challenged. The real cargo is contained in a small box in ship no. 2, the S.S. Wozny Crispus.
In that box are 6 reels of a recently made feature film called "Nothing Lasts Forever"; a romantic musical comedy of the kind that was popular in the 1930's. The film would never receive a public screening and would only be seen by less than 30 people. There's nothing remarkable about the film for the most part; it's a lightweight piece about a farm worker and a girl working in the Yakolev factory who fall in love. The only thing of note in the movie occurs 10 minutes into the third reel. The young man, Trofimov, tells Ludmilla, his lover, that he must travel to the great folk dancing contest in Lodz and that he must leave her to follow his dream. What caught the attention of the film makers, and eventually Stalin himself, was an image inscribed on one of the set walls in the background. It was a diagram plus some inscriptions placed on what should have been the huge roller doors in the factory set. The diagram was not supposed to have been there; the set designs did not contain it on any of the drawings and when the Director of the film plus representatives of the NKVD quizzed the art director, he had no recollection of the diagram ever being placed there, only that a trainee set dresser who was hired at the last minute had put it up just before the cameras rolled. The dresser had then vanished from the set and no one could find him. A search of records found that no one of that name and description actually existed, his work papers were all forged and his identity a complete mystery. Photographic experts examined the film footage, and of the scene in particular and found that if you reversed the image and enlarged it, the diagram revealed itself to be plans for an advanced electronic device based on electromagnetic sound and light transmission. The text along the side not only contained a description of the machine's components, but also plans for the German "Case Yellow" strategy for the invasion of the Low Countries and France.
The film was ordered to be boxed, and shipped with this convoy to an island owned by the Soviet Union in the North Atlantic; co-ordinates Longitude 45 degrees North, Latitude 22 degrees West. Don't look for it, it's not recorded on any maps. When the convoy arrived at the island, the ships were all ordered to be scuttled and the crew were instructed to burn their uniforms. Then, travelling under forged travel papers the crews took circuitous routes back to Russia, travelling in groups of no more than 3. Back in Russia, Stalin had the entire film crew and its director purged, with the exception of the 2 lead actors who were brainwashed and given new identities: The young man would later go on to be the Hollywood actor, Yul Brynner.
Work on building the prototype machine and the analysis of the film footage continued on the island. But the work was of such a dangerous nature, 15 technicians were killed over the ensuing 18 months and 3 went permanently insane. The device proved extremely unstable and many of the research team requested to be sent home; most of them were in turn purged. Things came to a head when one of the researchers, Zbgniew Karnalov, stole the 3rd reel of "Nothing Lasts Forever" and escaped the island, rendezvousing with an Argentinian cargo ship. Karnalov was taken to Paramaribo in the then Dutch Guyana, whereapon he made his way up along Central America before arriving in Austin, Texas. The search for him and the film was abandoned because the Russians had embroiled themselves in the Finnish-Soviet Winter War of 1939.
In America, Karnalov began a new life as Bruce Devereaux and got a job with the food company, Nabisco, then struggling against the industry leader, Kellogs. Devereaux rose rapidly through the ranks of the company, and many a market analyst were perplexed at Nabisco's meteroric rise to rival Kellogs and Heinz. They could now produce and distribute food in a manner hitherto unknown, their refrigeration and packaging methods revolutionised the food industry forever. But little did the public know that Nabisco branched out into other areas; for example, they were the 3rd biggest subcontractor for Project Apollo, NASA's moon mission. A lot of this work went un-noticed but disaster almost struck the company when part of the mysterious device, first discovered in a roll of film from nearly 25 years previously, turned up in the lining of the chair Bobby Fischer used in his challenge to win the 1972 World Chess Championship. Fischer famously complained of headaches and stomach troubles during the tournament, but the chair went missing for 12 hours, and when it returned, nothing amiss could be found in it.
Karnalov, now as Bruce Devereaux, defected to Kellogs in 1988, after the near collapse of Nabisco due to bad financial planning. A couple of years later, Pop Tarts were invented.
Devil in a Blue Blog
14/7/2006 @ 17:35
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Three things converged at a single point of space and time together. Separately, they are all mildly irritating, together they represent pure undiluted evil.
When I look back on what happened this lunchtime at Brent Cross Shopping Centre car park, I can imagine Peter Cook's Devil standing off to one side with his cape and square sunglasses saying to his companion "See Stanley, I'm going to bring three little bits of evil together to make one great big evil and annoy that man over there".
The first component was a Chelsea mum in her SUV. OK, they get some bad press and some people actually like SUV's, so that's not evil in itself. Oh who am I kidding, we ALL know SUV's in a crowded car park in North London is EXTREMELY irritating.
The second component was that she failed to stop at a pedestrian crossing I and another pedestrian was on at the time necessitating a big leap back on to the kerb by me. It's not like I was wearing any form of camoflage and the teenager just behind me looked like a walking Dulux colour chart.
But the third component, the bit that brings it all together, was that she was speaking on her mobile phone at the same time as ignoring pedestrians and driving her Panzer over all obstacles. Because if you ever needed a stereotypical selfish Chelsea mum for Catherine Tate to imitate on her show, this lady was it. To violate two sections of the highway code at the same time (and don't tell me she doesn't know it's illegal to drive and use a phone at the same time) takes a special type of person.
I love blogs. I just love the way they bring out the crusty old git in me. Nyaaaaaaa turn that bloody music down! Where's me cocoa! I died in the war for the likes of you!"
Let It Blog
12/7/2006 @ 14:59
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I really hate lazy journalism.....
I mean the style of reporting, mainly in TV news, where the reporter just relies on cliches, stereotypes and whatever he or she can glean from a press handout instead of actually researching or reporting a story.
Classic example, an entertainment reporter will do a piece on the new series of Dr. Who and, inevitably they will say the biggest cliche of all: "Of course, despite the bigger effects budget, The Doctor can still escape his old enemies the Daleks...by running up the stairs. This is Connor McNob for London Tonight"
It's now firmly established that Daleks can hover and fly...and that's not a new concept, it was first done in a Sylvester McCoy episode from 1988. However the reporter will always say the "can't go upstairs" line as if they invented it, that no one BUT NO ONE in the entire world had worked that one out over 40 years of Dr. Who being shown. "I've just reguritated a hoary old cliche, now watch me smile to camera smugly. Back to you in the Studio".
Now we've got the biggest and laziest bit of entertainment journalism hitting our TV screens this week: Reporting on the Rolling Stones. No other topic trots out the same inanities again, and again, and again. Because on any news report on the Rolling Stones, you're will WITHOUT FAIL hear the following:
"Another big tour for the ageing rockers....."
Sorry..."ageing rockers"? Are the Rolling Stones the only rockers to undergo the ageing process? No one else in the music biz ages then? The passage of time can only be seen on the Rolling Stones unlike us non-ageing-we-laugh-in-the-face-of-temporal-physics newsreaders. Oi, anyone at home, McFly? ALL rockers age, in fact, EVERYONE ages not just the Rolling Stones. You may as well say "it's a big test for the ageing toddlers in this kindergarten".
"....the Rolling Stones, who have a combined age of 275"
This is an irrelevant statistic. The combined ages of all the chickens in my local supermarket is probably over 150 but that still doesn't detract from their juicy and tasty flavour especially whith some lemon, sage and onion stuffing a few roast pota....sorry, got distracted there. Busted have a combined age of over 80, U2 have a combined age of about 130 and if you add the ages up of residents in my street it works out at 2583. We get it...they're old, anyone can SEE that! They're old guys, they don't try to conceal it. Mick Jagger doesn't sneak into his local town hall and tippex out his birth year. Charlie Watts proudly shows off his bus pass. They don't get insulted when you call them old...they just wave their millions in your face! I sometimes think the journalist really wants to yell "MY GOD! THEY'RE OLD EVERYONE! ONLY I CAN SEE IT! ONLY ME! YOU'VE GOT TO BELIVE ME, THEY'RE OLD! STOP LISTENING TO THEM! THEY'LL MAKE YOU OLD TOO!"
And at the end of the report on them, the male newsreader will mumble "good luck to them". The Rolling Stones may be many things to many people; old, successful. noisy, legends, embarrassing, a testament to talent and endurance but one thing they no longer need is luck. They're beyond luck. Keith Richards just needs to think something and 100 flunkies will supply whatever it is he needs. They think nothing of playing in front of 30,000 people; it's like having breakfast to them. Luck? They crap on it!
Finally, the female newsreader will then blurt out "my dad likes them!" Thank you for that bit of information. She's obviously trying to distance herself from the oldies that may like the Rolling Stones. "No! I'm not a fan of them myself...I like McBusted, 50 Pence Piece, Gwen Stefonna and, oh, whoever is in the top 40 right now! Why is my palm crystal glowing red! I still have two more years! No! Don't take me to Carousel!"
Neablogitan
10/7/2006 @ 23:01
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hello! Or should I say "bonjourno"?
I am back from Naples and what a lovely time we had there. One of Wifey's friends was getting married to an Italian so it was a mixture of traditional English (hats, singing hymns) and traditional Italian (everything else).
Naples is a strange mixture of Italian architechture, mixed in with Birmingham, Cairo, ancient Rome and Torquay. I must say I didn't have my backed stolen or my bottom pinched either...we didn't stay in those kind of areas. Italian drivers confirmed all my worst stereotypes; they're just pure nuts when behind the wheel. They all think they're Nuvolari or Fangio behind the wheel when in fact they drive more like a bunch of teenagers at a go-cart track. Every other Italian car has huge dents and scratches on them; I thought you could make an absolute mint if you set up as a panel beater over there only they wear the dents, scratches and missing side mirrors as badges of honour. The only thing more scary and wild on the roads of Italy are motor scooters. Unlike in the UK, where motorcyclists rarely take passengers for fear of the social awkwardness of having to have someone put their arms around your waist, Italian bikers frequently have one or even two people hanging off the back. I think helmets are optional as well as many riders don't bother with them. And if you question the sanity or skill of a scooter rider, they reply that what's the point of having a scooter if you can't go faster than the cars?
As we weren't there for very long, we had to knock the chance of seeing Pompeii on the head as it really does take a couple of days to explore. However, we did get to Herculaneum which is a smaller scale version but very well preseved. One of the best preserved parts of Herculaneum are the many Thermoleums that dot the town. These were ancient Roman fast food joints that were very popular with the ordinary working folk. A large marble L shaped table was used to cook and serve food on, and imbedded in it were half a dozen earthenware amphoras that would contain the various foodstuffs. So you would order, say, the Roman equivalent of a burrito and they'd slop some tomatoes, onions, cheese and whatever and cook it in a flour wrap. Like I said, they're very well preserved even more so than many important houses or civic buildings which is a scary thought...think about it, what if in a few thousand years time, the best preserved buildings of our age will be Burger King and KFC? What conclusions would future archeologists draw from finding a nearly perfectly preserved Subway?
Scary thought that! But not as scary as the "Death to France" posters you could buy at the toll booths in Naples. Now we in Britain think we're pretty good at hating the French...nah, we've got NOTHING on the Italians. You'd never see "Death to France" posters being sold at Tottenham Court Road station...health and safety would have you not to mention the pro-Euro lobby. And that's what I think Naples represents; it's the total opposite of Health and Safety. The food is rich, the roads are treacherous, everyone drives like a maniac, and they live under the threat of Mount Versuvius with the evidence of what a volcanic explosion can do to a big city staring them right in their faces but do they care? Pass the vino.
Spaghetti Blogonase
05/7/2006 @ 15:04
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Man, is it pissing it down here! It's opressively hot and it's pissing it down as well. How does it happen...atmospheric pressure!
At times like these, I jet off to Naples. Only joking...the power of suggestion...Actually I am going to go off to Naples for the weekend as one of Wifey's friends is getting married there. France, Budapest, Naples, ah the jet set life I lead. Well, budget airline jet set life.
The national self-hatred is continuing with all the collective bile of the British people now aimed at Peter Crouch and all because he said he and the other England players were tired during the penalty shoot out. No doubt they were, and he shouldn't be pilloried for saying so. Some are saying he's offering poor excuses for England but if you're tired, then you're tired and why not say so? It's not an excuse, it's one part of a reason why we didn't do so well.
I really have no sympathy or time for those who write into newspapers, teletext letters pages and internet forums just to unload uninformed sound bite sized nonsense about how rubbish the English team is and why all their players should be sacked. None of them have ever played professional football, none of them ever went out on that pitch in Germany and none of them have to bear the shame and the scars of losing. Bile is a very nasty tasting substance and is best kept in a bile duct, not spewing out everywhere.
Oh by the way, usual rules apply: Whilst I'm away, don't burgle my house.
There's a Blog in my soup
03/7/2006 @ 17:21
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
First off, I'm pretty sickened by the negativity shown by our marvellous press at the England football team. You'd think Sven ate babies and Beckham is Old Father Time. We read how nasty and eeeeeeevil Wayne Rooney was, is, and forever will be and that in the world of conspiracy theories, Theo Walcott was chosen by a mysterious cabal and that Sven had never seen him before.
All this vitrolic self-loathing which our press so loves is deflecting our attention from the real issues; that is, how nasty the Portuguese team really are. Indulge me if you will...
Was "Big Phil" Scholari ever really interested in becoming England manager? You see, the guy is master of mind games so it's not inconceivable that he planned England's destruction months in advance! He lures the FA representatives out to Portugal in order to snag the England job and then sends them packing at the last minute, leaving them humiliated and his reputation as a canny thinker ever more enhanced.
Note how minutes after David Beckham left the pitch, the Portuguese started to pick on and wind up Wayne Rooney? Without Beckham to calm the lad down, they worked at getting him sent off. And the touch of Christiano Ronaldo running up going "oh please sir, send him off sir, he's so beastly sir!" was a rapier in the shoulder blades.
Speaking of the poncey footed one, Ronaldo has two facial expressions: The "Oh no sir, not me sir! I'd never do that sir!" look of innocence and the raised eyebrow look of pure malevolence when the ref's not looking.
Anyway Wifey, who is wonderful beyond description, bought me a lovely present of the Faure requiem the other day and it really is such a calming piece of music that has removed my urge to nuke Portugal and has returned it to my affections as our oldest ally.
