BandwagonRaps

"Light 'em up!" - Glastonbury 2009 moments

2009-06-30T16:38:00.003Z

The Boss
Has to be top of the list. A 3 hour set! (He went over the agreed curfew but Michael Eavis is apparently happy to pay the £3,000 fine from his own pocket, so much did he enjoy it).

Boss: "Hey Stevie - if it's not curfew time, what time is it?"
Little Stevie: "It's Boss time!"

Lots of people whinged about the fact that they didn't play Born in the USA. Um, so? They played Thunder Road. They played Glory Days. They played Born to Run. They played No Surrender. They played Dancing in the Dark. They played The Ghost of Tom Joad. They played Working on a Dream. They played Radio Nowhere. They played Hard Times. They played Because the Night. They played Badlands. They played The Rising. (I cried). And loads more. The set was a set for fans, and the whingers were clearly not fans; when the band struck up Glory Days, some mudwig next to me shouted "Come on, give us something we know." If you're not even fan enough to know Glory Days, what are you doing taking up space at the very front of the audience?

Bruce was off the stage (down in the crowd) as much as he was on it. He gathered up all the fans' song request signs and held them up to show which song the band was about to play. It was touching how genuinely excited he was to be at "Glaston-berry". He kept shouting to the stage crew to "light 'em up!" i.e. put on the big old lights so he could see the audience better. And he can still rock it like he's back in 1970s Asbury Park. Legend.

Rod Laver
From the sublime to the ridiculous. I rounded up all my Geoffs down in Cabaret on Saturday afternoon; I convinced them all it was worth the effort to see the excellent Welsh comedian Rod Laver. We got there only to find his spot had been rescheduled for an hour later. Never mind; we set up camp in the humidity and heat, and then settled ourselves down in the auditorium and waited for him to come out. It was at that moment I realised the excellent Welsh comedian is called Rod .. something else. Rod Laver is - I shit you not - a man who juggles ping pong balls with his mouth. It was quite a long way from what we were expecting. But actually, it was bloody good. The old Big G fates at it again.

Geoffing hell
In an effort to put something back this year, seven of us wore capes with a single character on the back of each one, spelling "G E O F F ' S". Geoff's capes. Geddit? Lots of people did, although not the young 'uns. (The future of our country is in the hands of people who've never heard of Geoff Capes!) On the first night, with great excitement, we wore our capes out to the Park. Sitting around drinking tea, a man approached us. "Are you Santa's elves or what?" he asked. No, we said, we're Geoff. Geoff Capes. We showed him our appliqued letters. "Oh-ho!" he said. "My name's Jeff!" and proceed to turn around to show that (freakish Glastonbury coincidence) - he had "J E F F" appliqued on to *his* back. Seriously - 90,000 people on site already, and within 5 minutes we've found someone else with J E F F appliqued on his back. So much for originality. And it got weirder - during the hilarity that ensued another two Geoffs turned up. We only found about 5 Geoffs all weekend - but so many in the first 10 minutes.

He wears a red bandana...
Lovely Paolo Nutini did a lovely set in lovely Croissant Neuf on Friday afternoon. We got to lie in the sun eating Fayre's Fare cakes and listening to his beautiful bluesy crooning. And he did a fab cover of "Down in Mexico". Niiice. And at the other end of the spectrum, we done ourselves a bit of a Quo - got to do my 'Rocking all over the world' dance all over again (having done it with John Fogerty in 2007). I like it, I like it, I like it, I like it, I li-li-li-like it ...

Sightings
Didn't do too bad on the celebrity front this year: Beth Rowley queuing for the Ribbon Tower. Marcus Brigstocke making his way into the thick of it for Bruce Springsteen (he went right past me but I did not have the presence of mind to compliment him on his actually-quite-impressive beatboxing with Shlomo and his Mouth Orchestra!) The bloke who played Thomas Tallis in the Tudors stuck his tongue out at me at JazzWorld. And I think Lil Chris walked past me in Greenpeace. Pete thinks Naomi Campbell was just behind him during the E-Street Band .....

On the non-celeb front, I love all the street performers or just other amateur dress-up punters - Glastonbury is just one big magical spectacle. This year I think my favourite was the imaginary bowls players. Genuinely middle-aged people all dressed up in bowls whites and bowling imaginary balls. And shouting warnings to people - "Mind that [imaginary] ball!" - much befuddlement ensued; brilliant. Also liked the two County Show commentators who just sat in a corner of the Circus field and commentated on whatever went past. God bless you all.

Everything else
will follow when I've recovered some additional memories. Expect stories of late night rainpours, one way systems, lightning, good food, bad food, various types of cider, socks, bandstands, toilets, posh teenagers and maybe the one about the magic tape.

I captcha the castle

2008-05-01T09:37:00.004Z

Recently, I've been getting a bit fed-up with the captcha on the Connotea site. Unlike various grouchos, I am quite happy with the Connotea interface and functionality in general. But I find their captchas particularly hard to read, and it frequently takes me multiple attempts (5, in the worse case so far) to guess, for example, whether a character is a "1", an "l", an "i" or a "j".

Upon whingeing about this to colleagues, I heard about a captcha test requiring the user to assess whether a drawing was of a dog or a cat.

Where will it end?

Before we upload your posting/bookmark/comment, please confirm that you are not a computer by telling us: Is this elephant fulfilled, or is he yearning for more in life?

Shaggy Blog Stories, or, easy ways to avoid wearing a red nose whilst nonetheless assuaging your conscience

2007-03-13T17:21:00.000Z

Choosparp alerted me to Troubled Diva's rather marvellous idea for celebrating Comic Relief this coming Friday, whereby British bloggers are invited to "select one post from their archives" and submit it for publication in Shaggy Blog Stories: a collection of amusing tales from the UK blogosphere, "a paperback anthology of blog writing" to be published on Friday in aid of Comic Relief.

Seizing this opportunity to support the cause without donning the silly appendages, I submitted this old favourite of mine. My hair may be too close to my face, lady, but at least I don't have a red nose.

Copies of the book should be on sale on Friday at lulu.com I believe. Will have to check then whether I've made the (hair) cut!

The final instalment. Finally.

2007-01-19T19:18:00.000Z

Of the holiday stories, that is, not the whole blog...

So, I last updated you from Te Anau where we were looking forward to celebrating NYE 13 hours ahead of our friends and families back home. We went out for a grand meal and then headed to Te Anau's Fiordland cinema to see Ata Whenua, a simply amazing piece of cinema showcasing the very beautiful Fiordland region of South Island (part of which we had spent the previous day sailing). It is such an incredible part of the world, and the film really does do it justice.

Unfortunately, I then went down with a stomach bug and didn't even last till midnight, which was a miserable disappointment :( The bug lasted for the next few days, which was (not) fun given the amount of travelling we had lined up....

I will gloss over our last night in NZ, since I was ill and my dear father-in-law had booked us into the scuzziest hotel I've ever been unfortunate enough to stay in. Whatever you do, folks, avoid the Glenorchy Hotel in Glenorchy (unless you are in search of the world's smallest en suite, have a surplus of lightshades which you need to offload, or enjoy it when people throw parties outside your window). The good news is that we were only there for one night; the bad news is that when we left it was to begin a 27 hour journey, involving 5 airports, 4 planes, and a whole lot of grumbling on my part.

Things definitely looked up when we finally reached our next stop, the glorious, delightful, luxurious Palm Cliffs House Inn near Hilo, on Hawaii's Big Island. This was quite the antithesis of our previous accommodation; a whopper of our room, with its own lanai (veranda-type-thing), jacuzzi, blessedly comfortable king size, DVD player and extensive dvd library, and roar of the ocean right under our window. Ahhh, we were set for many days of rest and recuperation.

Nonetheless we did manage to haul ourselves out of bed each day to head out and discover a bit of Hawaii (the "Big Island", after which the state was named by Big Island-born King Kamehameha). It has a quite different character to the other, more touristy/resorty islands, and certainly the east and north sides that we explored were very unspoiled and still redolent of Hawaii's plantation heritage. We came across some wonderful scenery and some lovely old buildings (and yes, you've guessed it, the pictures are all on Flickr - here's one of my favourites, from somewhere up in the Kohala mountains:)

And here's one that probably looks a bit more like you'd imagine Hawaii:

All in all, it was a lovely, chilled few days and a fitting end to a great trip. Happily, our month away felt like just the right amount of time for me and I was actually looking forward to getting home by the end. And 10 days on, it feels like we never went away .....

Happy New Year!

2006-12-31T01:46:00.000Z

So much to add despite having only posted yesterday ... where to start ...

1. The NZ photo set is finally all sorted and labelled. You can view the whole set here; here's a couple of sneak previews:

Just landed, and about to hike on, the Franz Josef Glacier

Driftwood in Bark Bay, Abel Tasman National Park - about to tramp the track down to Torrent

Portage, where we spent a couple of happy, chilled days at the beginning of the trip

2. We're now in Te Anau, where we will celebrate New Year's Eve later with the sort of knees-up that entails food, drink and fireworks. It's strange to realise how close we are to leaving (we shall be Hawaii-bound on 2nd Jan).

3. We spent last night on a boat in Doubtful Sound. What a perfect excursion. The biggest operator of this type of tour is "Real Journeys", but their boat (whilst quite visually fetching) is huge and sleeps about 70. We went with Fiordland Cruises, a much smaller enterprise whose vessel the MV Waverley sleeps only 12 including 2 crew. Our party consisted of a British family of 4, an American family of 3 and the 2 of us - which made us a feel a little at a disadvantage, until we turned that into an advantage by befriending the crew. Skipper Dave and First Mate Chris were a fine pair of good ol' NZ boys and we felt honoured to be in "their gang" (e.g. we got to eat at the "captain's table"; we got first dibs on a freshly-roasted crispy leg of lamb, going spare while Chris cooked dinner; they even shared their private wine and whisky supplies with us when we ran dry - which I have to note is because I had shared around the 2 bottles of wine we took with our companions, giving away I guess 5 glasses in total, and we got a measly half glass in return! Tsk!) The Waverley took us right out to sea and then back in via various coves and detours along different arms of the Sound (which is actually a fjord, misnamed by British or Dutch sailors who had never seen a fjord before! - the doubtful bit comes from Captain Cook, who did not enter the Sound because - due to the direction of the prevailing winds and the angle of the Sound's entrance - he doubted he would be able to get out again without rowing, which he didn't fancy). Anyway - Pete did a bit of kayaking off the stern, I took lots of photographs (of rata trees in bloom, of blowsy waterfalls, of soaring forested hills on either side, of birds and water and sun and moon and so on ... might be able to add these to Flickr before we get back). We enjoyed a fabulous meal cooked on board by Chris, including delicious NZ lamb and - for those who like this sort of thing - fresh blue cod caught by Dave during the trip. We stayed up late listening to yarns about (amongst other things) the legendary heli-hunters of the 1970s, who used to shoot deer from helicopters, to claim their bounty from the Department of Conservation - deer being an introduced pest (effectively) in NZ. Sounded like a thrilling but dangerous job - the heli-hunters might find themselves being shot at by hunters on the ground, who were p*ssed off that the heli-hunters were swooping in to take deer that ground hunters might have spent hours stalking. Later, when the deer ran low and some bright spark decided to capitalise on the strong market by beginning deer farming, hunters were paid even more to take female deer alive (NZ$3000 each). Tranquillisers being useless (because you couldn't adequately gauge the size of the prey), hunters initially used to *jump* from helicopters to land on the deer and wrestle it to the ground - many died in so doing. Later a net gun was invented, but this carried its own disadvantages - a hefty kickback which was enough to dent the metal casing of a helicopter! And so on.. lots of great stories. My favourite quote of the evening could be this one from Chris, on aging: "When I was younger, I used to shoot a deer in the bush and carry it out on my back for 2-3 hours. I can't do that now ... I've gotta shoot 'em on the edge of the bush these days." What a great euphemism for getting old - "shooting on the edge of the bush".

Well, could probably keep rabbitting on with stories of a great day/evening/morning (early start when Dave started the engines at 7am!) but had probably better get on with today's adventures (a nap, a "cinematic experience of Fiordland", and some NYE festivating) rather than writing endlessly about yesterday's. Might manage another update before we leave NZ, but if not, it'll be Aloha from Hawaii next time!

Manapouri ... where the web runs slow

2006-12-29T00:38:00.000Z

We've just arrived in Manapouri, where they seem to be on Web 0.2.3 (well, it's really just that this must be the world's ooooldest crappest computer - and they charge me $2 for 10 mins of web access, which just about gives you time to load a page. Cheeky beggars.) Tomorrow we will leave here on a boat which will take us cruising in Doubtful Sound, which is very exciting. We have arrived here from Riverton, which was an enjoyable little town and gave us a fab dinner at the Beach House Cafe. Prior to that we spent a night in Curio Bay, which was wonderful - a perfect beach front studio, with the wild ocean crashing onto the beach just outside the windows. And we finally saw some penguins! very exciting.

Before that we had Christmas in Dunedin which was almost traditional - midnight mass in St Paul's Cathedral with a full chamber orchestra and a very good choir. Then a great Christmas lunch at Jeff and Gail's (Jeff is P's da's research partner) - chicken, ham, roast potatoes, stuffing, broccoli and asparagus, followed by cheesecake and pavlova (which the New Zealanders claim to have invented). On Boxing Day we went on a boat trip out along the Otago Peninsula and saw albatrosses and dolphins, seals, sealions, a very black thing that I've forgotten what it's called (a big bird), shags, ummm and lots more wildlife. I was most excited by the dolphins and managed to get a couple of good snaps, which will appear on Flickr whenever we next get to a place we can upload from.

On which note - we've not been proceeding very speedily with the labelling of photos, as the bandwidth at P's da's was struggling to deliver all our giiant pics to Peachjuice, and didn't have much left for flicking through Flickr. So apologies for that - and for the fact that they're all out of order - will be rectified sooner or later! (There just has to be some good bandwidth and a post-2002 machine somewhere in this country!)

There must be plenty more to say but time is ticking and P is clearly itching to have a go - so over and out for now.

Places I have forgotten to mention so far

2006-12-23T10:49:00.000Z

This week, we have been also visiting:

Kaikoura. We stopped for lunch here en route from Christchurch to Portage. Notable in my enrhumed state for its Sudafed-stocked pharmacy. I'm told there are other good things about Kaikoura, e.g. the ability to go whale-watching with Maori whose tribes have been working the waters in this area for many a century. Unfortunately, we hadn't scheduled in enough time for this, so med-shopping and lunch at the Adelphi had to suffice :(

Blenheim. We backtracked a little on leaving Portage to do some tasting at various Blenheim wineries. We started at Hunter's, where the late Ernie Hunter supposedly put Marlborough wines on the map in the '70s. They were actually a little disappointing, but I did leave with a very aromatic (think parma violets) Gewurztraminer which would, said the lady, go very nicely with a curry. Suffice to say it's still rolling around in the boot of the car. Onwards to Allan Scott, the highlight of the trip - some very tasty wines and fancied themselves much less than Hunter's. I was unexpectedly won over by a Chardonnay from their "finest"-type range; still only a tenner a bottle (GBP) and hugely tasty (biscuits! mmmmn!) Left with a bottle of that, and on to Cloudy Bay - another place with a big name but a surprisingly uninteresting selection. I did get tempted by their NV though so, ahem, another bottle into the boot. Then onto Fromm's, because we had thoroughly enjoyed a bottle of their 2004 Malbec Merlot at dinner a couple of nights' previously. I was starting to feel a bit squiffy by this point (because of the stinky cold, honest) so left P to do the tasting ... more fool me, as he went and bought 6. Lord knows how we shall get them all home (admittedly, 2 have been drunk already). By the time we got to Waipara I had entirely had enough, and skulked in the corner eating cheese souffle while P's da did all the tasting. He came away with a dessert wine. Despite the poor ending on my part, it was a great morning and the wines were really something. Just a shame that production is so low that they are only picked up the smaller, more discerning UK distributors.

Takaka Hill. I know it's Takaka, not Tanaka, but nonetheless it makes me hear Sean Connery schlurring "If you're Takaka, how do you feel about me?" (to which the correct answer, of course, is "I ... ruv you.") We followed the tortuous twists and turns up Takaka Hill after we left Abel Tasman, in search of our second set of elusive, never-t0-be-found caves. The view from Hawkes' Lookout back over towards Motueka was pretty fine, but still, the caves would have been better. Where do they hide them? (We had tried and failed to find the ones near Kaikouri as well. Hmmn).

Murchison. According to Mr Fodor, there is nowhere worth eating in Murchison. Well, our 2006 copy may be out of date, or he may just be too picky. The Rivers Cafe (I think that's what it was called - pretty much opposite the museum) was fab. The museum wasn't too bad, but somewhat haphazard. If the mood ever takes me, I shall get me a sabbatical and an NZ govt grant (they're good on heritage, reckon they'd deliver) and re-do the Murchison Museum. It has a great story to tell; there was an earthquake in 1924 or 1929 or thereabouts which caused landslips to completely change the form of the local landscape (a new lake; a differently-routed river) - and sadly killed a number of people too. They have loads of detail about the event, right down to really fascinating first-person histories (and some of the first people there to tell you, as well), but it's all presented in such a jumble that you have to work quite hard to figure out the story. Nothing flash, but a few models and simplified displays would make it all a lot more compelling to the passing traveller. Anyway - we had an unexpectedly enjoyably hour or so in Murchison, en route to the west coast. We followed it with a trip to the Bullock swing bridge ("NZ's longest!") which actually became a little scary about half way across, and the pioneer cemetery at Lyell (needs some love, but sobering/interesting).

Most surreal moment so far: listening to 9 Lessons and Carols from Wellington Cathedral, whilst cooking a chilli in Abel Tasman and looking out over the most glorious hot summer's evening. Made me feel very homesick, but was nice to singalong and they have an excellent choir.

Think that's everything I'd forgotten to mention so far; as noted, we're now in Dunedin (uploading pics! - here) - so hopefully a bit more internet connectivity will enable us to add a few more blog postings in the next couple of days. In case not, and in case anyone *is* reading this today/tomorrow - Happy Christmas!

Yay! Finally some photos!

2006-12-23T10:37:00.000Z

We have arrived in Dunedin - which we haven't seen much of yet, except the very tasty Cafe Nova - and due to a bit of an administrative malfunction we are *not* ensconced in the flat of P's da's PhD student; instead, we are in P's da's "granny flat" at Gail and Jeff's, while P's da is sleeping on their sofa. Which means we get to play with the iBook and the WiFi to do lots of Flickring at last - woohooo! Unfortunately, the rest of the world is now on holiday, so we've probably missed the boat in terms of anyone actually seeing these for a while, but at least we've done it at last. (P notes that I am like "one of these spoddy academics who uses IngentaConnect on Christmas Eve" ... hmmn.)

So. This being our first upload from our shiny new camera, we told the Flickr uploadr not to resize anything. Consequently it is uploading the *most* enormous versions of each picture, and after about half an hour is still wading through the relatively small Singapore set. Ooops. So it might be a while before any NZ ones appear, but as noted, by the time any of you read this, they will probably be there. As usual, view each pic individually (rather than a slideshow) to read my terribly informative notes.

Huzzah! To the pictures!

Walking on ice

2006-12-22T07:31:00.000Z

So. Last post was from Portage, where we were chilling nicely and not doing very much. From there, we headed up to Abel Tasman - a paradise of golden white beaches and sparkling blue green seas. We spent a day tramping part of the Abel Tasman track; not as much as we might have liked, but still enough to enjoy said beaches and lots of lush national parkland. It really is a spectacular spot. We took a water taxi from Marahau up to Bark Bay and then walked down to Anchorage via Torrent Bay. As ever, lots of photos will be forthcoming on Flickr .. when we find somewhere with a reliable wireless connection (grrr).

From Abel Tasman, we headed southwest to Westport. We stayed at Birds Ferry Lodge just outside town, and it was the most beautifully-appointed cottage complete with outside bath and fabulous views out to the Tasman Sea. We spent a day journeying north from there to Karamea and from there on to Oparara - many miles of unsealed road later, we arrived at the limestone arches which were probably worth the very long drive ... just about. It certainly felt off the beaten track. On the way home we headed out to Tauranga Bay where there's a seal colony, and got to see lots of relatively new pups being protected by aggressive mothers while their fathers lazed around planning their next reproductive exercise. And then had dinner at the very highly recommended Bay House Cafe, watching the surf pound the shore and the sun beginning to go down. Bliss.

Then it was on the road again, this time heading south from Westport, down to Panakaika where the Pancake Rocks are - layered ... rocks which look (at a pinch) like piles of pancakes. We were lucky enough to chance upon a high tide which produces the best blowhole action, so we hovered around enjoying that for a while (and getting pretty wet from the spray). Then it was on through Greymouth (about as exciting as it sounds) and down to glacier country. I got to take my turn at the wheel for this bit and revelled in some of the most unusual driving experiences - single track bridges where road and rail share the same track - marginally unnerving but safe in the knowledge that the trains aren't really that regular and you'd have to be quite unlucky to meet one. A few twists and turns later and we arrived at the Franz Josef Glacier, where we are currently. We're staying in the YHA (a very good one) and so today splashed out on a heli-hiking expedition. Probably the best fun ever - a helicopter takes you high up the glacier, deposits you there with your knowledgeable and amiable guide, and leaves you to hike about on the ice for a couple of hours. We strapped on our crampons and made a pretty good job of it - crawling through wormholes, squeezing through crevasses, and generally marvelling at the wonder of dense, blue, sculpted ice. The glacier moves about 5m a day at the top (if I recall correctly) so the landscape through which you are guided is constantly changing. Unlike some of our group, we were not daft/brave enough to strip off and jump into an ice pool. But once we get them up, you can see pictures of those who did. Brrrrr.

That about sums things up to this point - tomorrow we head for Dunedin via the Haast pass and (hopefully) some mirror lakes and (possibly) some interesting round rocks. Once we get there, we shall have to adapt our minds to the Christmas spirit - quite a leap from the summer holiday vibe, but hopefully some midnight mass at one of Dunedin's cathedrals should point us in the right direction. Bring it on.

BandwagonRaps is away

2006-12-16T21:24:00.000Z

We're just about to leave Portage, which has been a lovely place to chill out for a couple of days. Portage is on Kenepara Sound (or similar - not confident of my spelling) - one of the many that make up the Marlborough Sounds. It is named for its history as the place where Maoris picked up their boats and carried them over the saddle - 1 day's portage, rather than 3 days' paddling round - to reach the fishful Kenepara. It is spectacular whether it's raining or shining, although the sunshine does cause the luminous green sea to sparkle and glow most fetchingly. We've done a bit of ambling along the shore road and picnicking on the beach, but mostly just wallowed in the peace and quiet. Something about the gentle slope of the heavily-treed shores is a bit Dart-ish, so I'm feeling quite at home.

We arrived via Singapore, which was very hot and far too humid but we nonetheless managed to do a bit of sightseeing - seeking out anything more than 18 months old, which was some challenge. We had a wander in Fort Canning Park, and marvelled at the orchids in the National Botanic Gardens. And, of course, the obligatory Singapore Slings at Rapples (sic) Hotel - more tasty than I'd expected, and we stayed a little longer and drank a little more than expected. Top tips for Singapore: DON'T go to the crappy, overrated Fountain of Wealth (not sure by which metric it's the "largest fountain in the world", but it's pretty unimpressive) but DO stay at the enormously good value Furama Riverfront. We followed Geoffrey's simple advice (thanks Geoffrey) of asking for a room with a view, and boy did we get one. Once we manage to get to a decent bit of wireless access, we'll upload some photos.

Do I do Singapore an injustice by saying our three days was more than enough .. probably; I was just sorry how overly shiny and new it all was. I had hoped to see more that might have been around when my dad lived there as a child, but everything (including his house and most of his street) had been swept away and replaced by shiny air-conditioned malls. Eeep. I do not know how sooo many shops can be supported, but they all seem to thrive. Well, we were glad to move on.

To NZ, which is wonderfully different - nature abounds, and there ain't much need for air-con so far (a blessed relief). P's dad picked us up from Christchurch airport and in a mercifully short amount of time we were indulging in a siesta at the delightful Orari B&B (highly recommended). Whilst in XC we managed to cover quite a lot of the Arts Centre, including Rutherford's Den, a small cloakroom beneath a lecture theatre where the great man began to get his head round those pesky atoms. He purloined this unprepossessing space for his works of genius because it was the only spot with a concrete floor, thus avoiding vibrations which might upset his experiments. A fascinating little exhibit, interactive and well-curated. We also checked out the Cathedral and were lucky enough to catch the Wizard in action outside. Most amusing. And we took a cable car up into the Port Hills, where the views were somewhat obscured by the overcast skies, and the cafe wasn't open, and the exhibition was closed for refurbishment .. but the cable car bit was fun anyway.

And then it was a winding coast road journey through ever changing landscape and weather up here to Portage. ("Four seasons in one day", says our usually-trustworthy Fodor's guidebook, "by the New Zealand band Split Enz..." - shurely shome mishtake, Mr Fodor? James?!) In a few minutes our water taxi will arrive to whisk us back to Picton, from where we shall backtrack to Blenheim to visit a few wineries, and then head on up to Abel Tasman for the next couple of days. After which it's down the west coast, some time on the glaciers (wooo!), Christmas in Dunedin, and then an overnight boat trip on Doubtful Sound (yay! - looking forward to "watching doubtful drown"...). With luck we might squeeze in a visit to the Catlins and perhaps if we're feeling flush a helicopter trip over the iceberg which has popped in for a few months down there. Hopefully will manage to post some pics on Flickr and do a bit more blogging in a few days. Till then ... <insert Maori for goodbye, which I haven't learned yet>.

Hours of Halloween fun to be had

2006-10-26T08:52:00.000Z

Yay! Carve your own pumpkin at:

http://www.coasttocoastam.com/timages/page/pumpkin_sim.html

(Sorry, Pauper Pete, there's no turnip version for you poverty-stricken Scottish types).

Bottom-right-hand corner! My work here is done.

2006-10-23T09:14:00.000Z

Yay! After all these years of writing, I've finally made the bottom-right-hand corner of the Times' letters page.

Definitely time for a new ambition. Any suggestions?

It takes a lot to get me out of the metaphorical blogging bed these days ...

2006-06-21T09:17:00.000Z

... but this story from Ted Chamberlain in the National Geographic was irresistible:

June 13, 2006—Perhaps not since the Cowardly Lion has an animal's appearance been so at odds with its attitude.

On June 4 a black bear wandered into a West Milford, New Jersey, back yard, was confronted by a 15-pound (7-kilogram) tabby cat … and fled up a neighbor's tree. Hissing at the base of the tree, Jack the clawless cat kept the bear at bay for about 15 minutes, then ran him up another tree after an attempted escape.

Finally, Jack's owner, Donna Dickey, called the cat inside, and the timorous trespasser disappeared back into the woods.

"He doesn't want anybody in his yard," Dickey said of Jack in an interview with the Newark Star Ledger.

Unlike cats, bears aren't typically territorial, roaming instead over vast areas that would be impossible to patrol for intruders. With a habitat that includes much of North America, black bears are seen fairly often in this region of New Jersey.

Full-grown black bears weigh between 200 and 600 pounds (90 and 270 kilograms) and measure as much as 6 feet (1.8 meters) long. Their diets can include fruits, honey, insects, acorns and animals as big as moose calves—a fact apparently lost on Jack.

—Ted Chamberlain

Link: http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2006/06/060613-cat-bear.html

My 9-year-old dreams come true ... nearly

2006-05-12T15:04:00.000Z

Yesterday, I attended a corporate training session in London, which included a session on (to summarise) business lessons that can be learnt from poker. Our presenter, Caspar Berry, was introduced by m'colleague as an ex-poker player who had also once been in Byker Grove. I wondered idly which character he had played, and whether he had met the subject of one of my few major childhood crushes, the rough, ready and utterly *dreamy* Gil (star of the first series in 1989, Gil took misplaced southerner Julie under his wing and nicknamed her the Duchess; I spent the next four or five years longing for a Boyfriend who'd call me Duchess).

Later that night, with Caspar and his excellent presentation relegated to the back of my mind following a Pimms or two in the hotel bar, I was strolling through Soho with another colleague en route to a Korean barbecue. "I asked that Caspar who he played in Byker Grove. He said his character was called 'Gil', and he reckoned he had women throwing themselves at him." mused said colleague, with a scepticism that was soon overcome by my gaping jaw, saucer eyes, and subsequent bemoaning of the fact that I had not even recognised my childhood idol, much less persuaded him to polish up his Geordie accent and utter the immortal endearment. Arses.

Still, later that night I did at least recognise Oliver Chris as he hobbled past us on crutches on the Tottenham Court Road, which was some consolation.

Hurrah for the Queen!

2006-05-05T13:06:00.000Z

The Queen visited Oxford today, amongst other things to officially open the restored Castle complex which is just round the corner from our office. In a wonderfully British sort of way we were encouraged to go along and wave. P and I got a bit held up due to, heaven forbid, some work – but therefore managed to leave the building just in time to meet the Queen's motorcade as she cruised past us at the pedestrian crossing outside the office. We got our own private wave (everyone else being up at the castle already) – and managed to run along the canal in time to meet her car again as it came back round the other side. Hurrah for the Queen!

ODPM spends £6,200 setting up a blog!

2006-03-29T10:11:00.000Z

Chris Armstrong's blog brought this one to my attention. David Miliband, Minister of Communities and Local Government, has set up a blog (yay).

Less yay is the fact that the "design, configuration and integration went through ODPM's web development contract at around £6,000", which is a ridiculous, crazy, rip off amount for someone to have had to spend in setting up a blog.

Obviously I'm not the first person to make that point, and several (including Chris Armstrong) have made the point in the blog's comments. What really gets my goat (and I know one should *never* read blog comments, because they will invariably cause Stressed Eric levels of frustration) are the people then counter-commenting to defend this amount of *public cash* being blown dressing up a blog, viz.

"The same people who complain about politicians being out of touch also complain about the cost of keeping in touch. Do they expect politicians to communicate via telepathy?"
No, that would be very scary (imagine suddenly hearing William Hague's voice in your head). But how about Blogger? Or some other *free* service to which you can apply your own branding.

"To get it integrated correctly and to make sure it doesn't fall over does actually cost money. I think £6k is reasonable."
In which case, the joke's on you, dude.

Oxford Literary Festival: old ladies swearing

2006-03-28T16:24:00.000Z

It's been around for years, apparently, but we've only just noticed it (thanks to Porkpie). This week we attended our first three Oxford Literary Festival events. Saturday was the lovely, excellent Tim Mowl, who is as compelling and enjoyable a speaker today as he was when I studied under him at University. Bless him for just about remembering who I am, after all these years, and bless me for buying his ridiculously overpriced book (I am sure the content will be high quality and good value, but £25 is, I feel, a discouragement to people who might otherwise have purchased a book about a relatively niche interest C18th architect/designer).
Gripe 1: it would have been nice if the on-site Blackwells concession offered ... concessions to attendees; the Sunday Times ("title sponsor" of the festival) is offering readers a £7 discount on Tim's book, but it was full price at the festival store.

Anyway, yesterday we spent a happy hour in the slightly odd setting of Christchurch dining hall being regaled by Christopher Meyer (it felt like an after dinner speech without the dinner). Pete took copious notes and will no doubt be blogging the event soon). Most interesting point for me was Meyer's assertion that Israel, Ireland and ... Taiwan have more influence with the White House than Britain (and he has never liked use of the term "special relationship"). Oh, and Meyer also told us that George W. Bush n'est pas un cretin. Meyer was referred to as "Sir Christopher" by the chap who introduced him, and "Chris" by seemingly everybody else. He covered the issue of the furore over the publication of his memoirs by pointing out that he had followed due process by submitting his book to the Cabinet office (or whatever it's called), which duly passed it fit for publication. It's thus their lookout, we inferred, if they now feel too much was exposed.
Gripe 2: I wish the volunteer stewards (who were generally doing a splendid job) had applied themselves just a little more thoroughly to the task in hand by fully shutting the door between the dining hall and the adjacent kitchen. Acoustics in the hall made it hard enough at times to hear Meyer, without the added cacophany of teacups being stacked up ready for tomorrow's breakfast.

And at lunchtime today we went off to see the fabulously entertaining AA "a very, very nice man" Gill. The funniest moment for me, though, was not one of AA's many giggle-worthy anecdotes, but rather a response to one of his comic observations by two twin-set-and-pearlsy old dears in front of us. As the wind-battered marquee is filled with the audience's laughter:
Creaky old dear 1: "What did he say?"
Creaky old dear 2: "'AS Byatt'."
Creaky old dear 1: "No, after that."
Creaky old dear 2: "'Fuck off then'."
We also enjoyed our brief conversation with AA (note that I don't yet feel we are intimate enough for me to call him Adrian) over the ensuing book signing. He seemed very pleased to hear that we had managed to purchase a copy of the hard-to-come-by (no pun intended) film "Hot House Tales" which he directed (and which stars Ron Jeremy, to clue you in on its content).

I'd like to know what the creaky old dears would make of that.

No further gripes.

My proudest moment ... take 2

2006-02-15T13:56:00.000Z

From time to time, someone asks you what in your life you are most proud of. And since November 2004, I've said "getting a letter published in the Times".

Well, woo and yay, I guess this makes me doubly proud.

And my new ambitions are:
a) to be the *first* letter for once
b) to be the letter in the bottom-right-hand corner
c) to think of a worthier ambition; I've only ever written 3 letters to the Times, and 2 have been published. It's obviously easier than it used to be...

... and there's more

2005-11-21T14:41:00.000Z

So. I got home good and drunk on Friday night to discover a letter from the passport office telling me that they were rejecting my photographs because ... my head is slightly tilted. They included a helpful letter telling me to have more photographs taken which conformed to the instructions which they were enclosing. These were the same instructions they had included previously, and indeed the same instructions which are plastered all over the photo booth itself -- and which, being of adequate intelligence, I followed to the letter. *Nowhere on them does it say anything about the angle of the head*! Grrrr.

So I went off with another hard-earned £3.50, this time to the nearer-by photo booth at the station. It appeared to be the same as the one I had previously used at Boots; it had the same Photo-Me branding, and the same excessive passport photo instructions pasted all over it. So I dunked my coins in and waited for the slightly alarming disembodied lady to begin shouting her instructions at me.

Unfortunately, despite giving every appearance of being identical to the last Photo-Me booth I had used, it turned out that this was in fact a really old, non-digital one. So just as I bent down to check that my coins had registered, there was a flash. And just as I figured that that was my only chance, and opened my mouth to say "oh no!", it turned out to be an even older photo booth than I thought -- and flashed again. I did at least manage to stay still for the next two flashes, but in all the excitement I ended up with the wild-eyed, confused and not a little terrified appearance of someone slowly realising they are being caught in the middle of a criminal act. And if I look like that when I walk through passport control, then I don't fancy my chances much by the time I reach customs.

Damn it.

Don't know who I blame most, the passport office for their refusal to give you all the instructions before you spend your first £3.50, or myself for forgetting about the existence of old-school non-digital photo machines. They're nonces and I'm a spaz.

"your hair's too close to your face"

2005-11-14T14:21:00.000Z

I went to renew my passport today, having got married recently. Well, not that recently as it goes, but I've been a bit slow off the mark. (Incidentally, you can blame my lack of blogging for, er, almost a year on (a) the wedding and (b) the fact that I've had to work REALLY HARD for ages and damn it, haven't had time to blog at work.)

Anyway. So there I am at the post office, queueing for half an hour and paying £7 on top of all the other ridiculous passport fees, just so that I can benefit from the following conversation:

Mrs Counter 9: "Ooh. They're not going to accept these photos."
Me (genuinely astonished; I thought I had followed the instructions sent to me with the passport application forms, and pasted all over the photo booth, to the visual letter): "Really? Why not?"
Mrs Counter 9 (slightly jobsworthly, I'm afraid to say): "Your hair's too close to your face."
Me (reeling slightly and wondering whether to giggle): "Guh?" (I know. Eloquent in my stupefaction).
Mrs Counter 9: "And you're smiling."
Me: "Am I?!"
Mrs Counter 9 (suspiciously): "Did you get the instructions?"
Me: "Yes. I thought I'd..."
Mrs Counter 9: "I'll ask my colleague." (shuffle, shuffle). "Is she smiling?"
Mrs Counter 8: "Ooh. Well. Hmmn. Actually, her mouth is in a straight line. She's just got a smiley sort of face."
Mrs Counter 9 (peering at me and the photos alternately): "Hmmn. Yes, perhaps."
Mrs Counter 8: "I wish I had a smiley sort of face. Me, I'm just grumpy." (demonstrates a comically grumpy face, causing much merriment amongst all counter staff).
Mrs Counter 9: "Ooh yes, me too. Grumpy. Ha ha."
Mrs Counter 8: "When's she travelling?"
Mrs Counter 9: "When you travelling?"
Me: "January."
Mrs Counter 9: "January."
Mrs Counter 8 (pensively): "January..."
Mrs Counter 9: "You'll probably be all right."

How not travelling till January could resolve the fact that I appeared to be smiling (the very thought!) I'm not sure. In all the excitement they seemed to forget all together about the fact that my hair's too close to my face. Therefore, I'm now nervously awaiting an envelope from the passport office which could well contain a voided application form with the memorable judgement that my "hair's too close to [my] face" scrawled on it. If so, I may have to invest in one of those horrible weird sort of comb-band things so that, for my next photos, I can scrape my hair as far as possible from my face. Which, let's face it (no pun intended, haw haw), isn't very far, being as my hair is actually attached to the edge of ... my face.

I'd probably just end up with Mr Counter 2 telling my forehead's too big anyway.

Final thought on the subject: an additional grumble about the lengths I have to go to renew my passport, having been born outside the UK. Apparently, just sending in my current passport (granted by them) is not enough to prove my Britishness. They also need my parent's names, dates of birth, places of birth, date of marriage, passport numbers and date of issue. And my birth certificate. For which I then need to pay an extra £3 for them to return securely.

I might just have been able to get over it, had I not had to spend an additional few minutes explaining it gently to Mrs Counter 9, to whom I was in the process of paying £7 for her expertise.

21st Century Aphorisms ... #1

2005-01-25T10:07:00.000Z

The Revel is in the Retail

Expresses the same sentiment(s) as "retail therapy", but more ... poetically.

It's OK, they're sorry

2004-11-10T11:49:00.000Z

Who took my frog?

2004-11-08T11:27:00.000Z

A little boy lost his frog and made a flyer.
Photoshoppers took over the hunt.
*So* cute.

Gay marriage -- not actually the end of society as we know it

2004-11-08T11:04:00.000Z

Steve Silberman has written a cerebral but touchingly personal description of his gay marriage, in response to Election-inspired recidivistic homophobia.

_{BandwagonRaps :: seeking out the *good things* of America™}

For a limited period only ...

2004-11-03T15:19:00.000Z

you can read my words of flippancy before they disappear behind access control ...

... and then in a while you'll be able to read my words of wisdom when they become free of access control.

How eminent I feel today.

Only in North Oxford ... #3

2004-10-31T23:35:00.000Z

... do people give Ferrero Rocher to trick or treaters.

_{Well, I forgot to buy anything more suitable.}

Nuns Don't Thrill People, Rapples Do

2004-10-21T01:06:00.000Z

"I seen it in a documentary on BBC2"

I am liking Mouldy Looking Stain's *bling* logo :: "like the trainer, comfortable, hard-wearing and looks good in a fight"

... points to those bizarre boys for such a chav-tastically stylish site, and quadruple points for the Speak'n'Spell picture.

In fact, all the points in the world for getting Bristol Zoo, B&Q, Zammo ("just say no") and BBC2 documentaries into one lyric. Woo Woo Woo.

3 weeks in the life

2004-10-08T11:58:00.000Z

It's been a while. One day in the future I might look at this 3 week gap and ponder (probably without much commitment), hmmn, what was I up to? Well, aside from counting all the holes in Blackburn, Lancashire I've mostly been:
o go-karting. For the first time ever, fortunately with a very amiable set of folks who didn't laugh too hard at my fiercely competitive but ineffective karting efforts. I came second to last and ended up with a whopper of a bruise. Acey pacey.
o to Scotland. We spent many hours in a car with a sticky throttle. Have you ever had an accelerator cable start to unravel? How many times should one just clip off the unravelled wire? At what point does it all just stop working? Are the only people who can answer these questions dead from nasty accidents caused by overly frayed accelerator cables? (Anyway, it's all fixed now, thanks). More to the point, we went all the way to the Applecross peninsula which was wonderfully remote but still had feta cheese and caramelised onions. We stayed with a stalker (of stags, not ex-girlfriends). What a way of life. The weather was so wild and wet and windy that the people in Invergarry didn't think we'd make it (yah boo sucks to them. maybe they knew about the dodgy throttle). We spent lots of time on B-roads for fun and drank up all the scenery we'd never noticed whilst hurtling around on A-roads. And we saw family, friends and new babies and generally had a fine old time.
o experiencing a few hours of mum being on a canal boat and having a birthday. Spectacular.
o decadent. Morph got a bit older and we spent a whole weekend observing the passing of another year with as much gusto as we could muster (turns out, we can still muster quite a lot when we try). Muchos fun was had by all. I mostly remember a never-ending circle of drinking, eating, laughing, cooking, cleaning up ready for the next bout, and being gleefully irreverent to people i don't like much. Yay. Morph smiled a lot which warms the old heart.
o not going to the Frankfurt book fair, and feeling a bit odd as a result. Suffering from schnitzel abstinence. Will be hoping to attend relatively local german pub for my own birthday celebrations (perhaps) in order to eat my fill of Wienerschnitzel, Pommes and hopefully a green salad with some of that very special dressing.
o going to my uncle's funeral. My Uncle Peter was a member of the 1966 University Challenge champion team, Oriel College Oxford. I believe he answered the winning question (about cricket?) and had some sort of set-to with Bamber Gascoigne in the process. A shy man of towering intellect, whom I never really felt I knew. With his untimely death (he was 60), this man for whom so many others had so much respect is now effectively closed to me. Afterwards, Morph and I retraced our route along the M25 and discussed family relationships in the 21st century; family life is no longer what it was, ideologically, geographically, so forth, yet we have not adapted our expectations of it - nor of ourselves - accordingly. Thus I feel a sense of guilt for not fully knowing an uncle whom I rarely saw and then for minimal amounts of time. Families are no longer close, figuratively or geographically. We replace their role in our lives with friends. There has to be a limit to the number of people we can know well; we don't have the hours in the day or the mental capacity to be close to an infinite circle. I shouldn't chastise myself, but funerals bring on regrets. The sandwiches were good, though, and I ate the last mini-scotch-egg.

Awww...

2004-09-15T15:10:00.000Z

that Zak McFlimby, he's a wonder, he is.

© Zak McFlimby, 2004.

See more lovely things by Zak

_{(I hope he doesn't mind)}

Luckiness defined

2004-09-15T14:54:00.000Z

God bless SD, the queen of making me laugh till I cry, for describing herself thus:
"as lucky as Lord Fortunate, who graduated with a 1st Class Honours Degree in
Serendipity from the University of Providence on St. Jammy Git's Day."

Californication :: no gays, no corpses ... in that order

2004-09-13T13:54:00.000Z

So, we were in the kitchen making "cwaffee" and having a xenophobic discussion (drenched in irony, but with a kernel of sincerity at the bottom -- *some* Americans *can* be annoyingly introspective from time to time, no?).

Becks came in to tell us that Arnold Schwarzenegger had outlawed necrophilia in California -- ah well, said I, that's all right then, I take back everything I've ever said about annoying, ignorant Americans, they're obviously addressing the root problem so everything's OK.

Addressing it from the ground up, said Becks. Or from six feet under the ground, she continued to much guffawing.

We went on to recall that top of Arnie's to-do list when he *became* governor was to re-outlaw gay marriages. Which we thought was a great shame, and wondered why he would do such a thing (other than to fawn to America's frightening far right). Could he, we wondered, be nervous that a member of his reportedly large gay following would sidle up and marry him without so much as a by-your-leave? Best outlaw the whole business just in case.

Und now that I have, thought Arnie, scratching his head absent-mindedly, is there anything else I was going to sort out? -Uh, doing it with dead people is kind of a hot potato, Governor. Ach, ja. Make illegal also.

Arnold Schwarzenegger :: a man more repulsed by gay marriage than by necrophilia?

A new one for the Stretford End

2004-09-10T02:52:00.000Z

I feel an urge to take a wander up Bolton way this weekend to try it out: in a sea of grown men, every one of them a stranger, I would stand up proudly and holler loudly ...

Me: A Wop Bop A Loo Lop
Strange men (hesitantly): A Lop Bam Boo?
Me (encouragingly): Tutti Frutti! Wayne Rooney!
Men (with wonder at my genius): Tutti frutti! Wayne Rooney!
All (increasingly rhythmically; *with feeling*): Tutti frutti! Wayne Rooney! Tutti frutti! Wayne Rooney! A Wop Bop A Loo Lop A Lop Bam Boo!

Imagine being the *creator* of a brilliant, new, widely-adopted terrace anthem. Wow.

Unfortunately for me that honour would go to Dave Sant for actually coming up with the idea. But I think I'd probably still get some points for picking it up and running with it? (yes, I know, wrong ball game).

Unexpected product hybrids ... #2

2004-09-08T16:39:00.000Z

this was the first one...

"Officers admit they are at a loss to know who built or used one of Paris's most intriguing recent discoveries."

2004-09-08T13:28:00.000Z

This is the story of an underground cinema recently discovered in part of the enormous tunnel—cave network under Paris.

Since the web article is likely to disappear (or effectively disappear behind access control)¹ here are some of the highlights which intrigued me:

Police in Paris have discovered a fully equipped cinema-cum-restaurant in a large and previously uncharted cavern underneath the capital's chic 16th arrondissement.
Officers admit they are at a loss to know who built or used one of Paris's most intriguing recent discoveries.

"We have no idea whatsoever," a police spokesman said.

"There were two swastikas painted on the ceiling, but also celtic crosses and several stars of David, so we don't think it's extremists. Some sect or secret society, maybe. There are any number of possibilities."

The police were on a training exercise and came across the carefully-guarded entrance to the cinema. The projection and bar equipment, along with the functioning electricity supply, phone lines and cous-cous steamer², would suggest that the site was far from abandoned.

Three days later, when the police returned accompanied by experts from the French electricity board to see where the power was coming from, the phone and electricity lines had been cut and a note was lying in the middle of the floor: "Do not," it said, "try to find us."

...

Patrick Alk, a photographer who has published a book on the urban underground exploration movement and claims to be close to the group, told RTL radio the cavern's discovery was "a shame, but not the end of the world". There were "a dozen more where that one came from," he said.

"You guys have no idea what's down there."

Ooooh.

¹ You know, there are whole companies making a living out of that sort of malarkey -- making money out of crosswords and archival newspaper content. I ask you ...
² All French cinemas are required to make cous-cous preparation facilities available to all customers.

mephators ... #2

2004-09-06T16:00:00.000Z

Beggars can't be thicker than water

Sure they can't. Winners every time.

mephators ... #1

2004-09-06T13:38:00.000Z

meph·a·tor
n.
1. A mixed metaphor, as in

A Rolling Stone spoils the broth

I've discovered I have an ancestral seat

2004-09-01T13:15:00.000Z

My mother tells me I've inherited my grandmother's arse.

Only in North Oxford ... #2

2004-09-01T13:13:00.000Z

...does the complaints book in the Co-Op include this mortifyingly bourgeois entry:

"No courgettes!
No aubergines!
No chickpeas!
This is unacceptable"

My heart bleeds. Fortunately, *staple* foods are still in plentiful supply -- along with ridiculous quantities of organic pulses -- so I *think* we're going to survive the winter.

Just chillin'

2004-08-06T10:07:00.000Z

One for the Banbury Wood Massive

So bedraggled the tramps took me for one of their own

2004-08-06T08:30:00.000Z

It was raining when I walked home last night. I had to adopt a Python-esque walk to avoid losing my flip flops (slip slops might be more accurate). I would have gone barefoot but the rains had caused flash floods which were filling the streets with scum. Woe is me.

Willy Ronis

2004-08-04T17:55:00.000Z

took this picture of his son Vincent, of which I am very fond. That is all.¹

¹ Except to add that the picture is called "Le Petit Parisien", and was taken in 1952.

war's gay

2004-08-04T16:33:00.000Z

A-ha, now this is one of the things the Web does best: utterly pointless, but entirely engrossing. It's a thing which ranks the 86,000 most frequently-used English words in order of commonality. Muchos fun can be had trying to find particularly fine juxtapositions -- so I looked up "gay" (no surprise there) and discovered it is preceded by "wars". Stick in a spare apostrophe (let's face it, the world is littered with them) and you get a concise yet deep adage. Embolden the second word and you even get a nice playground overtone to it. Marvellous. Let's see what else I can come up with ...
... "bollocks" and "calorie" seem fairly well suited to one another ...
... potential band names are rife :: on TOTP tonight, the peterborough monkey treasures! ...
... there's even some new stuff for the politicians -- "Arse-Fading Bullets Directive" anyone? ...
... parents might like "Mum Aid: Completely Cash. Flat Fifty." ...
... topically, Oxford is next to Animals (closely followed by Culture) ...

Unfortunately, GayLord is not currently in the archive. For shame; the archive is calculated from the contents of the British National Corpus, "a 100 million word collection of samples of written and spoken language from a wide range of sources, designed to represent an accurate cross-section of current English usage". I don't see how an accurate cross-section of current English usage can possibly fail to incorporate the word "gaylord". Tsk.

Incidentally, the word "tsk" is included, and is happily situated next to "malingering". I feel these are just the kinds of words that are going to get on.

"Tsk" is preceded by the bizarre "squinches", from the verb "to squeeze, twist or draw together". Well I never.

And so forth ad infinitum! Go play!

Oh, to be French

2004-07-29T14:45:00.000Z

and able to coin such marvellous words as googlelisées

je suis jealous!

Talking food! Yay!

2004-07-29T12:16:00.000Z

I recommend that everyone on the planet visit the Talking Food website (one by one, though, we don't want to hammer the poor lady's bandwidth and get her taken offline).

You will get to see many more finely executed examples of lovely ideas like this:

Awwww. (Disclaimer: not all the foodstuffs featured say nice things. Some of them are frankly quite mean).

Only in North Oxford ... #1

2004-07-28T09:51:00.000Z

...do children feed ciabatta to swans.

Badverts #4

2004-07-27T18:20:00.000Z

They're coming thick and fast today (even though I didn't spend *all* of last night watching telly -- I did do a fair amount of cleaning too, as Morph would I'm sure testify if brought before a court of law).

This one wasn't even on, but bizarrely came into my head anyway, thereby doubling its Badvert score. Actually, I can't believe it's taken me this long to nominate.

My fourth nominee is ...

... anything with Linda Barker.

...you know what you can do with those scissors, Barker...

Notably Curry's and DFS; in both cases, the advert concept is *painfully* poor and has only managed to gain airtime because of the presence of the alarmingly omnipresent Barker (whom, it must be said, I used to quite like when she was just the chirpy one on Changing Rooms -- maybe, therefore, I deserve everything I get.) Brand dilution, anyone?

Happily, I came across this fact today which made me feel considerably better -- DFS have had a 6% drop in profits since Barker's been at the (advertising) helm. Yay.

(DFS are wankers anyway, no? Do they really think we fall for all that crap about once in a lifetime sales starting Sunday, everything must go? Like the futon shop opposite my office, with it's "Sale :: today only"-type signs that those of us who see the place every day realise are permanent fixtures. They take us for such fools.)

Yah, boo, sucks to...

2004-07-27T18:17:00.000Z

... being rumbled. Dear old Morph has blown my cover. I realise the repercussions of this are:

1. Can't blog during working hours any more (hallo Geoff!)
2. Can't blog rude things about people I work with (unless in code, I suppose; although I took a chance on this with my neglection posting)
3. Must generally be more polite than might otherwise be (hallo Gran!)¹

Hmmn. Might be time to become übersecretraps.

"Leessen vairy carefoolly, ah shall blerg zis ernly vunce."

¹ Clearly kidding, but the concept has just made me spit cold coffee all over my laptop.

ne·glec·tion

2004-07-27T13:25:00.000Z

n. not in common usage
1. The act or an instance of neglectioning something.
2. The state of being neglectioned.
3. Habitual lack of care (with your grammar in particular, it would seem).

[Latin neglegere, neglēct- : neg-, not; see 'ne' in Indo-European Roots + 'legere', to choose, pick up; see 'leg-' in Indo-European Roots.]

_{With thanks to Dubya Pearce.}

Badverts #3

2004-07-27T09:14:00.000Z

It pains me to do this, but frankly, Prunella and Jane should know better so I won't feel too bad about it.
The third nominee is Tesco for its more recent attempts at comedy-mother(-in-law) ads.

It was funny the first time ("it's all right, she's got a baby!"). Possibly it remained funny for a bit after that. Ten years on, it's excruciating. Happily, it seems this is a recognised truth, as Dotty is to be phased out. Sorry Pru, but it's for your own good, love.

Badverts #2

2004-07-23T17:37:00.000Z

Grrr, McDonalds' *stupid* salad one(s?) with the SATC-type ladies-who-lunch theme.

Utter pish. So much so, AIUI, that they've pulled them.

Good.

Not sure if this is serious, but if so ... Lordy. No wonder they pulled the ads. Finding a toad in your salad would, I imagine, be a little off putting.

Never mind the news that their salads contain more fat than their cheeseburgers. Blimey.

To think I use to work for them.

My conquering of the Web continues

2004-07-23T16:46:00.000Z

(albeit on a small and likely to be ineffectual scale) with my first posting to the mighty b3ta.

Look!

People even said nice things about it :o)

I miss Spicers

2004-07-23T14:30:00.000Z

There used to be a sandwich shop next to my office called Spicers.

Spicers was, I think, the best sandwich shop ever.

I should point out that I am a sandwich fiend and coinnoisseuse, so speak with some authority. (I am also quite pretentious: look at that feminine ending on connoisseur. Fortunately for Kirsty, I also know the plural of syntax. Although I choose not to use it, because it's gay¹).

Anyway, the sandwich thing. All I really wanted to say was, Spicers closed a couple of months ago and some bog-standard froggy place full of foreign² sandwichers and pre-ordained sandwich options took over.

And I really miss Spicers' smoked chicken, bacon and cheese mix, which is the most satisfyingly delicious sandwich filling in the world, and was particularly satisfying with peppers and tomatoes in either a baguette or one of their lovely big flat bappy things (granary option).

If anyone³ knows where Spicers went, *please* tell me.

I'm starving.

¹ Since this is the first time I have blogged the word gay in this context, I shall issue a disclaimer to the extent that it is not here being used in the sense of "homosexual-gay", but rather in the playground-inspired sense of "pathetic/annoying/I-haven't-got-my-own-way-and-don't-agree-gay". Bigots, please don't think I'm on your side.

² Oh dear, unfortunate to have two seemingly bigoted comments in the same post. In using the term foreign, I'm only indicating that it's a handicap for a sandwicher to be foreign and, to use a genuine example, unable to understand the word pesto⁴. Bigots (if you haven't bogged off already), I'm still not on your side.

³ Note continued referral to non-existent readership.

⁴ Just realised how pretentious that sounds. Sorry. Pesto is really nice in a sandwich, though.

And the chav sat on my window sill

2004-07-23T12:41:00.000Z

I like having a window that looks straight onto the pavement. I like to have the world busying along just behind me blinds. It reminds me of a Shirley Hughes story wherein Alfie/Annie Rose/somebody lived in a basement flat and used to watch the legs walking past (Mum, which one was it?).

What I don't like is chavs¹ sitting on my window sill. There's a faintly menacing whiff to a chav sitting on your window sill. I found it a little unsettling when, sitting on the sofa the other night, the sudden thud against the window revealed itself to have been caused by a bottom (at the top of some legs encased in Reebok² trackies) descending without ceremony onto the sill. As I peered through afore-mentioned blinds at said bottom, I found myself saying incredulously (and dangerously loudly, considering the non-double nature of our glazing):

"There's a fucking chav sitting on the window sill!"

Chav or no chav, I think most of us would feel marginally put out by someone presuming to sit on our window sill (it would be worse, I accept, if I had window boxes) (worse for them too, I'd imagine). Quite what the accepted course of action is in a chav--window sill interaction type situation, I'm not sure. I went into my well-planned emergency drill, of course -- cowering behind the blind whispering chav-related obscenities until they went away. Fully effective and minimal personal injury.

Precisely the routine, I understand, to which Chris Martin refers when he famously whines "It was all ... yellow...".

¹ Mummm, what's a chav?
² or similar (not that hot on me sports branding) -- regulation Chav wear, anyway

How Morph fell in love with me over the Jaffa Cake advert

2004-07-11T23:04:00.000Z

One advert that's definitely not a badvert. The school teacher training her young charges on lunar cycles :: "full moon ... half moon ... total eclipse" :: eating a Jaffa Cake¹ each time she says it to demonstrate the shape of the moon in each phase.

Morph and I once took a random walk with a packet of Jaffa Cakes and giggled a lot as we re-enacted the advert to bemused strangers. I think it was the crumbs down my front and the marmalade on my upper lip that finally ensnared him. ("The campaign", said my boss some short while later, "had been running for about a year". Way to lose all dignity, no?)

Talking of dignity, it is equally well lost by trying to re-enact the Jaffa Cake advert with the Dutch equivalent, Pims. A word of warning for all non-UK readers who, fervently wishing to learn about lunar cycles, are running off to their local supermercato/supermarkt/supermarché to purchase full moon fodder. Lu's are well-established in the European market and it may well be Pims that you end up with. Please note that they are bigger than Jaffa Cakes. As such, full moon is fine. Half moon presents no problem. But total eclipse can be an unexpectedly messy and dignity-consuming experience.

On the art of seduction I shall say only this: do make sure you've got a Jaffa Cake not a Pim.

¹The official Jaffa Cake webpage only hints at the excitement of the British Government's indecision about whether the Jaffa *Cake* is in fact a cake or a biscuit. It matters, because (*bizarre logic alert*) cakes are perceived as staple foods in the UK and thus not subject to VAT, while biscuits (how?!) are simultaneously classed as luxury items, thus taxable. A number of theories have been advanced as to how one can class cake vs biscuit. The Irish government rules "CAKE" based on moisture content -- a simple test of this is to leave the undefined object on the draining board. After two days, biscuits will be soggy, cakes will be hard. (Jaffa Cakes go hard.) The best bit of the UK story is that the trial judge², unable to make his mind up (yeah, right) was presented with a specially made 12"-wide Jaffa Cake "which he scoffed down with a pot of tea and then ruled it was a cake"³.

²Cakes on trial! Whatever next!
³To quote Nicey at Nice Cup of Tea and a Sit Down, who provided many of the above facts.

Badverts #1

2004-07-11T22:59:00.000Z

I have coined the word Badverts to describe ... Bad adverts. (See what I did there?) My first nominee (please add yours¹) is:

The AA
for Bev and Kev

I'm not alone in casting Bev-Kev as a badvert -- look:
The Mighty Crumb agrees ...

However, *incredibly*, UNBELIEVABLY (yes, I know that's tautological, but it's intended to express my utter outrage, right?), the AA won awards for Bev and Kev! HOW can this be?! (look, it's driven me to interrobanging?! I can't stop?! I've turned into Glennda Slagg?!?!)
For shame.

My obsession with Bev and Kev now having grown somewhat alarming, I can also report the following facts:

o There is a real-life Bev and Kev. The artistic director of the ad is Kevin Bratley; Kevin is married to the lovely Beverley. Honest.

o Less of a fact than an amusing opportunity to go "duh...": Grauniad columnist Andrew Rawnsley missing most of the point by describing the second Bev and Kev as "identical twins of the first couple".

¹Non-existent studio audiences can vote on their keypads now. Non-existent digital audiences can vote by pressing the red button now. Non-existent audiences on the move can vote by texting "EH?" to 81234 now. Non-existent technophobe audiences can vote by finding some headed notepaper and writing "Dear Sir, Eh? Yours truly etc." and posting it here now.

Blog-driving ... just say "no"

2004-07-11T22:39:00.000Z

So I find that the place I come up with all me thoughts is in the car, which is not a very conducive location for blogging, what with having to focus on the road, having legs too short¹ and the like. It came to me in another one of my likely-not-to-be-original visions that what I need is a blog-a-phone. A dictaphone with voice recognition software which I just need to talk at and then it adds it all to the blog.

I thought this was a worthy idea, so stayed with it for a bit to see what else my tired but overly conversational brain would come up with.

It came up with problems, plus ça bloody change.

Does voice recognition software have good grammar? (Morph says I should check out his essay on the subject.) I'm sure it can manage commas vs. semi-colons. Can it, however, recognise just how long a pause equals ellipses? Does it understand irony?² And so on.

Then I got on to wondering whether it knows all its entity names, and whether it would be able to cope with my pretentious habit of flipping between languages. If it's in English mode, will it write "ploo sa shonge" and then tell me politely it can't find those words in the dictionary?³

In the manner of all good self-fulfilling prophecies, I can't now remember the other thoughts I had on the subject. It's possible I reached my destination and stopped thinking about it all together.

¹Whereby, I have to have the seat really far forward to reach the pedals, therefore unable to fit laptop on lap between me & the steering wheel.
²Not if it's American, I suppose. Better hope it is invented by a Brit.
³Yes, I'm aware of a number of ways in which it would get round this, I just can't be bothered to take it to that tedious extreme. It was just a passing thought. [Hope it doesn't have one of those Nokia-style dictionaries that you have to rewrite every time you change phones...] But the irony point, I think, is thus far unsettled by code.

And it went a little something like this...

2004-07-11T21:55:00.000Z

I believe we were about here when R2 in their bountiful wisdom put the needle on the record and made me say "woo" and "yay" with seminal-moment-type excitement (not literally – I mean, not in a rude way). I wish I could recreate it in words¹. It's <irony>quite well known though</irony> so hopefully enough of you² will know it to understand what I'm saying.

If I ever get round to saying it.

The eagle-eyed amongst you³ may have spotted the title of my first ever post and already computed that the song I'm referring to is "it's (only) rock and (roll) but (I) like it".⁴ In came that big fat riff and I decided that the whole raison d'être of rock and roll is encapsulated in the first, what, 5 seconds of that song. It just rocks. (And rolls, a bit).

And to hammer the point home, they only do that riff once in the whole song. As if to say, yeah, well, we came up with the best riff ever. No need to repeat. We'll just put in some weirdy words and get Mick to gyrate a bit now.

(This all sounded much better the way I wrote it in my head in the car – see a later post for my solution to *that* problem.)

So, somewhat disappointingly perhaps, that's it. That's the reason I got on the blogwagon (etc.). Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster? Bollocks. Keith Richards Got Me Blogging. *That's* news.

¹I do accept that would render an entire art form defunct so I don't wish it *much* (I have a vision of Carole Decker telling me my dreams are China in my Hand. Indeed). Anyway. It went "der Neerrr, der Ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner ner".
²You being my non-existent readers, of course. Have to keep alive the idea of this being a column with a devoted following.
³Ibid.
⁴May have got some of these pesky parentheses in the wrong places. In honour of Mr G, of course,

In the beginning, there was rock and roll.

2004-07-11T21:22:00.000Z

So, today, I have boarded the bandwagon, set sail for Blog Central, and mixed a few other metaphors along the way. A Streetcar named Blog. The Good Ship Blog. And so forth.

Why?

Because Morph has done it (more on him later).

Because I know lots of other people who have done it (well, I can think of one Lost Boy), and I like reading theirs.

And because I had a vision* today in which bloggers are the Future Feature Writers, i.e. those who've toyed with journalistic endeavours for years and quite fancy a weekly column, but who have never quite achieved this. In my case, it is for want of trying (and there's a phrase you don't often hear in the positive).

The musings that rudely thrust me through the shiny slidy doors of this train of thought (and blew the whistle quickly after, so that there was no going back) were brought on by dear old Radio 2.

(Have I just made a blog-pas? I quite like Radio 2).

And I'm going to make them a separate post all by themselves, just as The Maker intended.

Which makes this the end of my first post. Cor.

*Not strictly a vision, more of a realisation whilst driving along the A4074 (a truly inspiring road). Nor do I claim this to be a remotely original thought. I probably wouldn't put it in a blog if it were; I'd copyright and publish it in the respected "Journal of Blogging", or similar. I expect there is one (albeit with a more obfuscated title). I wonder if anyone will ever read this and let me know.