Puttin' on the smile

Remember

2011-11-09T18:15:00.010Z

On August 26th 1914, 3 weeks after Britain had declared war on Germany, my Granddad ,Jim Burns, went to Ulverston and joined his local regiment. Whether he did this through patriotism, a sense of adventure, or just saw the army as an escape from the grim tenement’s of Barrow is unknown,but people believed the war would be over pretty quickly, “by Christmas” was a common thought. So Jim initially signed up for a years service in the Kings Own Royal Lancaster regiment.He wouldn’t get back home for the best (or worst)part of four years. The regiment spent the winter of 1914-15 in Southern England, arriving in the French port of Boulogne on the 3rd May 1915. It didn’t take long for the regiment to become involved in the fighting. On the 20th May the Kings Own joined up with the 3rd Canadian brigade to relieve the 2nd division around the village of Festubert. After a week of heavy fighting, Festubert was taken, but at the cost of 16,500 allied lives. Soon after Jim was promoted to the rank of Corporal, and the Kings own were incorporated into the 55th (West Lancashire) division. In early 1916 they moved on to the Hallencourt area. Compared to other periods of the war the records describe this as a relatively quite time. Jim was promoted again, on the 23rd January he became a Sergeant. A war of attrition began with ‘tit for tat’ trench raids being a constant threat to both sides. Although this was considered a relatively quiet period, the first few months of 1916 saw 1100 West Lancs men either killed ,wounded, or listed as missing in action. Among the wounded was Jim Burns, shot in the leg on the 24th of June. It’s quite odd to consider a gunshot wound as being lucky, but for Jim it proved to be. As a result of his injury Sgt Burns avoided the wars most infamous battle. The Kings own joined the battle of The Somme in early August, this began a period of sustained fighting right through until the end of September during which the regiment sustained heavy casualties.

The regiment were given orders to move on towards Ypres, where they remained until early in 1917. Meanwhile Sgt Burns rejoined his men on the 28th of February 1917. The tail end of July, saw the Kings own engaged in some of the most savage fighting of the war. The battle of Passchendaele had begun and The West Lancs division joined in the attack on Pilckem ridge. Eyewitness reports bear witness to the brutality of the struggle for the ridge. The British veteran Harry Patch of the Duke of Cornwall’s light infantry had this to say "I can see the bewilderment and fear on the men's faces as we went over the top. We crawled because if you stood up, you'd be killed. All over the battlefield the wounded were lying there, English and German, all crying for help, but we weren't like the Good Samaritan in the Bible, we were the robbers who passed by and left them. You couldn't stop to help them. I came across a Cornishman who was ripped from his shoulder to his waist with shrapnel, his stomach on the ground beside him. As I got to him he said, 'Shoot me.' Before I could draw my revolver he gasped one word, 'Mother'."

As a Sergeant, Jim would have had to have shown an example to his men. Accounts of the time describe Sergeants standing on the parapet of trenches urging their lads on. It must have been absolutely terrifying. In four days of fighting, the West Lancashire division lost 3552 men,wounded killed or missing. A horrendous loss, intolerable by today’s standards. Many of the men were lost not to enemy action, but to the simple result of slipping off the wooden duckboards that criss crossed the battlefield. Weighed down by his heavy kit a man could sink beneath the seemingly bottomless mud of Ypres in seconds.The regiment was relieved on the 7th of August, and was moved to the rear to recuperate and refit. The rest didn’t last long, on the 20th the Kings own moved on to the next phase of the Passchendaele offensive, as part of the British 5th Army the Kings own engaged the Germans at Menin road ridge, in 3 days of fierce and bloody fighting the West Lancashire division lost 2730 men, figures that are well beyond my comprehension. According to the records this would appear to be Jim Burns’ last battle. He left the frontline on the 28th of September. As he isn’t listed as having been wounded again, we can only assume that he was withdrawn as a result of his earlier wound. Sgt James Frederick Burns was discharged from the British Army on 12th of February 1918, declared unfit for military service under Kings regulations. Granddad Jim passed away in 1960.

I only found all this out in the past few days. My eldest son was doing a project on the great war and I asked my Mum if we could take a look at her Dad’s campaign medals. She told me that her Dad seldom spoke of the past, and as a result she knew absolutely nothing about his experience in the war. Taking the information off the medals (Name, rank, serial number) I combed genealogical and Regimental websites and gradually pieced together a snapshot of one mans war. It’s not a story of great heroism and gallantry awards, but I would imagine Jim Burns’ experience is similar to 1000’s of other men. The men who went to war in the early stages were volunteers, they didn’t have to go. They weren’t super humans, just ordinary men who ended up doing extraordinary things. Granddad’s medals have sat in a drawer for years. Not forgotten, regarded with pride, just put away like countless other things end up being put away. As a result the medals had lost their glow as well as their ribbons. As a tribute to my Granddad we’ve restored his medals to their former glory. We’ve polished them up and added new ribbons and they look tremendous. I never knew Jim Burns, he died 9 years before I was born. All I knew of him (apart from that he was my Granddad) was that he was from Barrow in Furness, was a soldier during the great war and that he supported Blackburn Rovers. His medals now sit,shining and beribboned, in a frame, testament to a young Northern lads courage. Remembrance Sunday is coming up, please buy a poppy to remember all those who ,unlike Jim, never made it home.

Crate digging

2011-10-11T13:01:00.001+01:00

Judging by the dusty crates in Britain’s charity shops, Frankie Laine was undoubtedly the worlds biggest selling musician. He’s closely followed by Leo Sayer,, Kenneth McKellar,and Showaddywaddy. For all the terrible dross that they will undoubtedly contain, the crates of vinyl have an enticing allure. I can’t resist digging through them, no matter how crummy looking the shop,or its location. You tell yourself that you’ll come up with some treasure, and nine times out of ten you’ll be mistaken. The rack may only contain gems such as…

…but you have to check through every last box. If you don’t you’ll be haunted by the thought that behind that copy of ‘No Parlez’ by Paul Young was a mint copy of ‘Bryter Layter’ by Nick Drake. In reality it’ll be yet another ‘Introduction to the wonderful world of stereo’ or ‘’Lennon and McCartney go mariachi’ which sad to say is not by John and Paul or even real Mexicans. Other records frequently flicked through include various cover versions by Geoff Love and his orchestra, invariably on the Music for Pleasure label. This album of War themes seemed to be one of only two non classical records owned by my next door neighbour in the 70’s. (The other was the wonderful ‘I close my eyes and count to ten’ by Dusty Springfield.Which possibly ended up as a frisbee in their back garden)

And this ‘treat’ from Mrs Mills also on MFP

If Studio 54 was the hottest party spot in 1970’s New York, in England it must have been Mrs Mills’ house.Throughout the 60’s and 70’s so many of her album titles finished in the word ‘Party’ poor old Gladys must have been knackered. Incidentally Mrs Mills and Geoff Love, the two titans of the dusty vinyl crate, once recorded an album together. The charity shop equivalent of Elvis recording with the Beatles.

Of course our European neighbours had their own party king. The pride of Bremen, James Last.

According to the ever reliable Wikipedia Mr Last has sold an incredible 70 million albums, most of which now reside in plastic boxes on the floor beside old Soda Streams and Bullworkers in charity shops all over Europe.

The Holy grail of charity shop record hunting is the mythical shop run by old dears with a crate of worthwhile vinyl labelled with a notice reading ‘all records 20p’. I’ve never found it, but occasionally you come close.This little lot for instance, all in one crate in a charity shop in Hemel Hempstead which came to a grand total of £6.50.

Tomorrow night in St Albans, the Oxfam bookshop in Catherine street is holding a music collectors event from 4 until 8. Last year saw me pick up a copy of ‘Revolver’ for a fiver. If the last event is anything to go by it will be well worth a visit, a chance to grab a bargain and help a fantastic charity as well.

National Poetry Day

2011-10-06T16:32:00.001+01:00

A poem always sounds better when read by it's author. An actor may have a better reading voice, but to hear a poet read his own work is to find the soul of a piece of work. The former poet Laureate Andrew Motion believes this too, and has set about creating an archive of poets reading from their own work. Motion was on the radio the other day discussing the archive, which to be honest I didn't know even existed until I heard him talk about it. He chose as an example from the archive, a beautiful poem by Charles Causley (pictured above) entitled 'Eden Rock'. The poem, (poignant enough,with it's lovely evocation of the past), is made even more affecting by the fact that a couple of weeks after it was recorded Causley sadly passed away. Causley knew he was dying at the time of the recording of this and other poems. According to Andrew Motion, he was quite emotional after reading each piece, realising perhaps that he would never read these pieces aloud again. Today is National Poetry day, and it's well worth a couple of minutes of your time to read this lovely example of Charles Causley's work for yourself, and then hear the poet read it himself ,one last time.

Eden Rock

They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden
Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.

My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.

She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight
From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.

The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins
A stone along the water. Leisurely,
They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, 'See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.'

I had not thought that it would be like this.

Taken from Charles Causley Collected Poems 1951-2000

Jake

2011-09-22T15:40:00.001+01:00

I was listening to the always excellent ‘Bob Dylan’s Theme time radio hour’ a while ago, and he was talking about a bootleggers drink called ‘Jake’ that was popular during prohibition in the USA. The reason Bob was talking about booze was that not only was ‘Jake’ pretty lethal it actually inspired a whole lot of songs. ‘Jake’ was actually Jamaican Ginger extract, which had an alcohol content of around 70%. It was sold as a medicinal tonic to get round the law against booze. Cheaper than illicit whisky, ‘Jake’ became extremely popular. When the US government got wise to this, bootleggers attempted to mask the levels of alcohol from testers by mixing it with a substance named called Tricresyl Phosphate, an industrial chemical which was initially believed to be non toxic. Sadly this proved to be untrue, Tricresyl was actually a neurotoxin that attacked the nervous system and in particular the spinal cord. People who drank it became crippled, some permanently. Sadly it is thought that over 50,000 people were affected by this batch of adulterated booze. A minority of drinkers regained mobility after time, but due to a lack of proper muscle control they now had an unusual high stepping walk, which became known as The Jake walk. Medical records of the illness are patchy. It mainly affected the black community, and 1920’s segregated Southern states didn’t consider the outbreak worthy of full documentation,so the full extent of ‘Jake’s’ ravages will never truly be known. The best indication of ‘Jake’s’ effect upon the poor black community is in the number of blues songs it inspired such as this song by the Allen brothers from 1930.

I love a bit of overlooked history.

The end of the Middle East

2011-09-18T14:32:00.001+01:00

Don’t you just hate it when a band you’ve only recently stumbled across go and split up before you’ve had a chance to see them? The Middle East are (were) an Australian band that I discovered thanks to various shows on 6music. The band released a statement at the beginning of August explaining the decision to call it a day it reads

To Whom it may concern

writing to inform you that we're ceasing. i'm not sure if we'll make more music later on or not.

we don't feel like playing anymore for a whole lot of reasons that i won't list here and i'm afraid if we continued any longer it would just be a moneygrab. i'd rather go hungry. thank you to all those who came to shows.

we had fun.

t.s elliot wrote 'you are the music while the music lasts', but he also wrote that confusing little book about cats so don't put too much stock in his quotes.

i'm very tired. until next time.

sincerely yours,

the middle east.

So that appears to be that. A great pity, they may not have produced great quantities of music (1 Ep and an Album) but they were always worth listening to.

So long summer

2011-09-05T14:17:00.001+01:00

The flip flops that have lain in wait on the mat for just the perfect trip up a grown up moment,are back at the bottom of the shoe pile. The patio door is closed more often than not. Summer flexible time has ceased and been replaced with autumnal rigidity.Bedtime is now back to being set in stone, as are dinner times. The house is quiet, feet don’t thunder down the stairs at all hours. God I hate the end of the school holidays, can’t the kids stay home for good?

The Genius of Danny Kaye

2011-08-30T19:10:00.001+01:00

A dull afternoon, that’s the best time to watch a Danny Kaye film. Today was such a day so on went ‘The Court Jester’. I often think that Danny Kaye is often (unfairly) overlooked when discussing movie greats. Singing,dancing and countless inventive tongue twisting routines, Kaye had far more to offer than many of his more celebrated contemporaries. Danny Kaye was one of the most entertaining men alive. Perhaps his most famous role is as Danish fairy tale author Hans Christian Andersen in the film of the same name, (as a kid it always seemed to be on during the school holidays). For me though it’s ‘The Court Jester’ that shows off Danny’s skills to best effect.

Then there’s the wordplay, and probably Kaye’s most famous routine…

Go straight to Amazon (other shops are available) and buy ‘The Court Jester’, keep it in reserve. Wait for the next dull gloomy day ‘Hey presto!’ instant sunshine. Danny Kaye I salute you!

Secret agent Van

2011-08-21T13:57:00.001+01:00

There's a fascinating new exhibition of photographs that's recently opened in Berlin, It features photographs from the East German secret police files. Some show Stasi agents in various disguises which to be honest have more in common with Groucho rather than Karl Marx. These photos could be viewed purely as absurd 70’s kitsch, however due to the nature of the organisation that compiled them, they take on a slightly sinister air. By the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Stasi employed 97,000 people, alongside this they also had an army of 173,000 informers scattered within the population. In the GDR there was one Stasi agent for every 67 citizens, by comparison in Nazi Germany there was only one Gestapo agent for every 2000 people, and in the Soviet Union, one KGB agent for every 5830 people. On a lighter note though one intriguing aspect of the files is the identity of the main Stasi model. Could it be that Van Morrison, Northern Ireland's most popular sourpuss, was in the pay of the Warsaw pact? We need to know.

For further reading on the GDR,author Anna Funder’s book ‘Stasiland’ is a tremendous and revealing insight into The Stasi and it’s effect on ordinary East Germans. I’d recommend it without hesitation.

More details on the exhibition can be found by clicking HERE

Thunderstruck

2011-08-02T19:43:00.001+01:00

Sometimes you come across a piece of music that just leaves you thunderstruck by its brilliance. I was listening to Brian Eno discussing his passion for gospel music on Jarvis Cocker’s excellent 6 music show the other day, and as an example of the sense of community in a good gospel tune he played ‘Peace be still’ by the Rev James Cleveland and the Angelic choir.Based on the Biblical story of Jesus calming a storm at sea, It builds quite slowly but when it reaches its peak it's a glorious thing to hear.It swells and swells and just when you think it’s peaked it goes just that little bit further. I remember the first time I ever saw an orchestra live, I couldn’t believe what a fantastic noise all these various instruments made when combined together. (Jarvis made a similar point himself), this recording gives me exactly the same feeling. The combination of massed human voices gives a sense of warmth and feeling lacking in so much music. You don’t have to be a believer to be enthralled by the best gospel music, you just have to have a little bit of soul.

Ringworm

2011-08-01T14:05:00.001+01:00

In 1967 Northern Ireland’s favourite curmudgeon released ‘Brown eyed girl’ on Bang records. It got to number 10 on the Billboard charts,and became one of the all time most requested songs on American radio.Unfortunately Van got into a dispute with Bang, and decided he wanted to be all mystical and Celtic for Warner Bros records instead. This was a bit tricky as he was contractually obliged to provide 31 songs within a year to his old label before he could move on. So Van sat down and knocked out all the songs on the spot. The songs subjects include Van wanting a Danish, a man named George and this little beauty all about Ringworm.

31 songs of gibberish later, the obligation was fulfilled. Van left Bang, signed for Warners and within a year had knocked out his masterpiece ‘Astral Weeks’. So just remember if it hadn’t been for Ringworm we may never have got to hear beautiful music like this.

Not so swinging London

2011-07-23T13:12:00.001+01:00

One of my favourite London films is the 1967 documentary ‘The London nobody knows’. In it James Mason wanders the streets of pre gentrification Camden and Spitalfields, and finds a Dickensian world co existing with the celebrated swinging London we are far more familiar with. Most people’s circumstances were far less bleak than those depicted in this documentary. However to ordinary Londoners who lived through this time its representation of working class London life probably has more in common with their recollections of the 1960’s than footage of Carnaby street and the Kings Road in all their pomp. For good or bad, most of the world depicted here has disappeared. This makes ‘The London nobody knows’ a valuable piece of social history that provides a different take on a decade most often seen through rose tinted spectacles. It also serves as a reminder of what a nice chap James Mason was.

The sixteenth century robot

2011-07-14T13:56:00.002+01:00

In spite of having some of the greatest radio in the world here in the UK we have absolutely nothing that comes close to Radiolab. I’ve posted about it before, but it’s so consistently brilliant and mind expanding that I’m going to plug it again. This is one of the shorter podcasts (they’re usually an hour long) and it concerns The king of Spain, his heir, God, and a robotic monk. Who’s not going to be intrigued by that?

And after listening to that, here’s a video of the monk in action

International man of mystery

2011-07-01T20:29:00.002+01:00

Whenever there’s a clip of Swinging London in the 1960’s, along with the standard shots of flower children dancing round Hyde Park there’s always a clip of a bloke on Carnaby Street trying on a Hussars jacket like he’s an extra in ‘Charge of the light brigade’. I realise that somewhere there’s a man in his late sixties who leaps up at the telly shouting ‘ That’s me!’ whenever the clip is shown, but who is he? Look around your front room, that kindly old Grandfather could once have been one of London’s ‘Faces’ back in the day. We need to know!

He crops up around the three minute mark

And then there's his often seen mate browsing Guardsmen's tunics at around ten seconds in

The forgotten foot soldiers of the swinging sixties.

We are the angry mob!!!

2011-06-25T12:58:00.001+01:00

Have you ever sat down to watch something that you know you hate? Something that winds you up so much that you want to shout from the rooftops how much it offends you? No? Well half of Twitter users appear to, going by last nights response to U2’s performance at Glastonbury. Firstly, I agree that yes Bono can be a bit of a tit, (this is not a new development he’s always been a bit preachy and full of himself) but then most band frontmen appear to be, generally I would say his heart appears to be in the right place, and at worst he deserves to be ridiculed, not vilified like some war criminal. Secondly the whole U2 don’t pay tax thing, if I was an Irish tax payer, yes I would be a bit ticked off over it. But I’m not an Irish tax payer and neither were the majority of tweeters banging on about it. It was just another stick (among many) to beat U2 with. As people used to say of Mary Whitehouse, who regularly watched programmes she disapproved of just so she could be disgusted, there are other channels and an off switch. Nobody's forcing you to watch them, if you were at Glastonbury you could have wandered off and watched something else, if you were watching on the telly you could have watched Jimmy Cliff’s performance instead. To be honest U2 and I pretty much parted company after Achtung Baby, and all the later albums kind of blur into an undistinguishable mush to me but I’ve got to say I really enjoyed last nights show. Nothing that made you go wow! but I wasn’t really expecting there to be. It was a straight forward greatest hits concert, perfect for a festival audience who were not primarily there to see them. If you can get past the ego in sunglasses, U2 still put on a good nights entertainment, a show far removed from the opinion of one tweeter who declared that this show could see the end of U2. Coldplay headline tonight. Not really my cup of tea but I’m not going to waste my Saturday night telling the world how much I dislike them.

The iPod as barometer

2011-06-23T20:52:00.003+01:00

Every morning when I get in the car the first thing I do is put the ipod on shuffle. It's become like shaking a magic 8 ball to predict your future, and about as accurate. You see I like to think that some how, and God only knows how, the couple of tunes that play during my drive to work will somehow indicate to me how my day is going to go. Usually it's about as much cop as Mystic Meg at predicting the future. Today however the bloody thing actually worked. My ideal morning car journey soundtrack is either something rocky that wil give me a jolt or something that will turn my mundane drive into a movie that exists only in my head. Two songs on the iPod this morning and both fit the bill perfectly.
First up, Nirvana

Next, Talk Talk

And today was pretty good.

From Paul Whitehouse to Thomas Tallis

2011-05-31T20:07:00.001+01:00

Of all the wonderful sketches in The Fast Show those featuring Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson as Ralph and Ted stand out for me. The blend of comedy and occasional poignancy was always a treat. A classic example of this is the scene in the graveyard after the funeral of Ted’s wife ‘Mrs Ted’. They talk of renewal and life going on and just as they are walking away from the graveside Ted’s legs buckle slightly as the grief catches up with him. Not your usual run of the mill comedy fare. It is beautifully done and the sketch ends with a soaring orchestral piece.

Back then with the internet still in it’s relative infancy it took me ages to find out what the piece was called. Soon after I heard it again, used as backing music on a documentary on the making of the film Platoon. What was it? It was only when I accidentally stumbled across it on a classical music compilation did I finally have a name for it. ‘Fantasia on a theme by Thomas Tallis’ by Ralph Vaughan Williams.

Problem solved. Once I knew what it was it appeared to be everywhere. No television shot of rolling English countryside was complete without it. It is repeatedly used on the soundtrack to the Russell Crowe film ‘Master And Commander’, and you can barely listen to half an hour of Classic FM without hearing Vaughan Williams. However my musical curiosity was pricked and I now wondered ‘who was Thomas Tallis?’. Tallis was an English composer during the Tudor period, who became a favourite of the royals, whilst managing to avoid becoming a victim of the political and religious intrigues that swirled around the Tudor court. His best known work is probably ‘Spem in Alium’ a piece of music designed to be sung by eight choirs of five voices each. It was composed around 1570. I find it amazing that we can still listen to, and enjoy, beautiful music written nearly 500 years ago. From The Fast Show to the court of Henry VIII,isn’t it amazing the journey music can take us on?

Introducing the elderly to N.W.A

2011-05-11T17:48:00.001+01:00

I usually listen to music on my iPod while I’m at work. However I’d got a new phone so I thought I’d try out the music player on it. So I loaded up some tunes and away I went on my merry way delivering the day’s post. As I start to deliver to the old peoples home NWA come on, so I walk around the corridors with my head full of ‘Straight outta Compton’ at top volume. It sounds really great, louder than I usually remember it on headphones, and then I see one of the residents coming down the corridor to talk to me. Polite chap that I am, I remove the headphones. But NWA are still there. Turns out that the headphone’s are not completely in the socket and as the phone has something my iPod classic doesn’t (a speaker) the tunes have been ringing out all morning with me totally oblivious. Two pieces of luck though. 1) The resident is still quite a way down the hallway 2) it’s an instrumental part of the song.

Obviously I’m only telling you this cautionary tale as an excuse to play not one but two versions of the song. One by NWA, the other an acoustic version by Nina Gordon. Both very different, both very potty mouthed.

Finally

2011-05-08T19:20:00.003+01:00

Back in January I was listening to the always excellent Guardian podcast 'Football weekly'. The journo's were discussing Crawley Town's progress in the FA cup and one of them said that despite them being a non league side their story was not a romantic one. He then went on to say that there was no romance in QPR's domination of the Championship either. Well I disagreed then and I disagree now. Since coming down from the Premier league 15 years ago this football club has had more than it's fair share of turbulence and grief. In these fifteen long years the club has nearly been lost forever on more than one occasion. Yes we are owned by very wealthy men, but never forget that not so long ago supporters were out in the streets collecting with buckets attempting to stave off administration and extinction. We have been relegated to the third tier, to supporters of a certain age, who remembered the slow climb to prominence, it appeared that all that had been gained since the 60's had now been lost. We almost merged with Wimbledon and moved to Milton Keynes, it was always an unlikely proposition, but it was a proposition none the less. The road back has been long. Ian Holloway,with no money, found himself having to build a team of cast off's, youngsters and journeymen. We became a laughing stock after being dumped out of the FA cup by non leaguers Vauxhall motors. Against the odds though 'Ollie' got us back not only our place in the Championship, but a renewed sense of pride in our club. The era of 'We are QPR' was born. On the field and in the stands everybody seemed to be pulling in the same direction. Behind the scenes however things were a different story. The club was still perilously close to going to the wall, and it was only the generousity of wealthy and not so wealthy supporters that kept the wolf from the door. Far worse than all of this however were the tragic deaths of two of our young players Kiyan Prince and Ray Jones. In fact while the flowers and shirts put up outside Loftus Road in memorium of Ray Jones were still present news emerged that the club had been bought by a wealthy consortium and we were now (technically) the richest club in Britain. A very bittersweet time indeed. Since then we have seen a conveyor belt of managers enter and exit Loftus Road, making us the butt of every newspapers jokes. It appeared to many that we were just rich mens playthings, everything that was bad about modern day football was apparently present at QPR. That was until Neil Warnock arrived. This season Rangers have dominated the Championship. Adel Taraabt, a player whose skills epitomise everything good we supporters believe is in the clubs DNA,has dominated the headlines, but this has been a season built on teamwork and a determination that had been sadly lacking in recent years. We now have a team that actually appears to give a shit. Sadly in the last few weeks the season has been overshadowed by a looming FA hearing looking into the clubs transfer dealings. In spite of shoddy journalists, ex pros, and ex football executives (who can't keep it in their trousers) proclaiming QPR guilty before knowing the facts. Rangers were found guilty only of technical misdemeanours and advoided the predicted apocalypse of points deductions and relegations. Grown men wept in the streets when they heard this news, we could celebrate, the title was ours. Despite the owners having incredible wealth, this is still at its heart a peoples club. Long after players and owners have moved on, we will still be here. It would have been easier to support other clubs. Clubs that would have provided us with season upon season of silverware. Yet we chose QPR. Triumph always feels better after adversity. We've had our share of adversity. Rangers are back. Not romantic? Do me a favour.

Poster girl

2011-04-19T19:21:00.004+01:00

It's been all over the news this week that Catherine Zeta Jones has had treatment for bi polar disorder. She didn't choose to reveal this fact herself, that was down to grubby tabloid The National Enquirer splashing the news all over its pages after apparently being tipped off by one of the actresses fellow patients. Now whether she likes it or not, Zeta Jones has become a poster girl for mental health issues. Anything that helps to remove the stigma attached to mental health problems is ,on the whole, a good thing, but I also wonder if anybody has actually asked her if this is what she wants? Because she's a celebrity does that mean that she's not entitled to deal with her health issues privately? Does everything have to be in the spotlight? I realise that charities have a job to do but it seems that some of them react with unseemly haste to use any celebrity with issues to highlight their chosen cause.

A long way from home

2011-04-16T17:39:00.001+01:00

A few years ago, soon after arriving in Florida for the first time, I found myself alone in a deserted airport parking lot. Mrs M, the boys, and my in laws were all in the terminal building trying to get assistance from the tour reps (a story far too long and involved for this blog) and I was guarding the Ford van. I was leaning back on the bonnet gazing up at the moon when all of a sudden it dawned on me that apart from the people in the terminal I knew nobody else on this continent. Not a soul. I had never been so far away from home.

I had forgotten all about this until this morning. I was listening to the iPod when the Tom Waits song ‘Shore leave’ came on. With it’s lyrics about looking at the moon and being a long way from home, it immediately took me back to a car park on the outskirts of Orlando. It’s amazing what music can do.

The things we've lost

2011-04-16T14:34:00.006+01:00

It's record store day today, according to an article I read online it's the one day the major record labels take off from screwing the small record shops. Anyhow we were going to go to Rough trade East (near Brick Lane) but I felt like crap this morning (Cold) so we didn't bother. Earlier in the week though I'd checked to see where was our nearest participating shop. Turns out it's in Letchworth, which is about 11 miles away and is by a long long way the dullest town in Hertfordshire. The next nearest was in Muswell Hill, a mere 13 miles away. No independent record shops in the whole of South West Herts. As a teenager Saturday afternoon was spent either at football or in the record shop. The only independent shop that I remember was The Record room in Chequer street. The record room as I remember it occupied the top floor of the shop, downstairs was a greeting cards store. On the counter of the shop was the Holy grail the huge catalogue from which you could potentially order anything you'd ever heard.In pre internet days can you imagine the thrill of that! The picture accompanying this piece is of Mark Greene ,owner of the Record Room, busy at work behind the counter. Sadly he passed away in January of this year aged 86.
As well as his independent outlet we had Our Price, Boots, Woolworths, WH Smiths and at least 2 market stalls selling records.Later they were joined by an independent store tucked away in Heritage close. A dark poky place run by a joyless man whos only pleasure seemed to be from telling you that your 'rare' vinyl was worth precisely sod all.
Today, St Albans has an HMV, which seems to push music further and further back into the rear of the shop. I used to spend a fortune in there, now I go in and usually come out empty handed. I just can't see anything I want to buy and if I do it's usually at too high a price. If it's not in the charts, it's not in our racks, should be the company motto. A few months ago the excellent Oxfam bookshop in Catherine street had a vinyl collectors evening, predictably full of nostalgic blokes like myself rummaging through crates. I came away with a couple of treasures (Revolver by The Beatles and Kraftwerk's The Man Machine) it was like an oasis in the desert. It's a crying shame though that the only place in a city the size of St Albans you can buy interesting music is a charity shop.

Alela Diane

2011-04-13T17:56:00.001+01:00

In spite of having a name that made them sound like a Japanese comic book, Headless Heroes made some beautiful music. I posted one of their tracks, a cover of Jackson C Frank’s ‘Blues run the game’, in my last post (the one about me not being a happy bunny), The album Silence of love came out in 2008 and was my first introduction to the wonderful voice of Alela Diane. As much as I loved ‘Blues run the game’ in my opinion the standout track was a cover of the Daniel Johnston song ‘True love will find you in the end’ a real showcase for her wonderful voice.

Alela’s got a new album out.It’s called Alela Diane & Wild Devine and although I’ve only heard it a couple of times I think it’s one of the best things I’ve heard this year. Here’s a clip taken from a recent performance in New York

She’s playing a couple of shows in the UK next month, you can find the dates here.

Puttin’ on the smile

2011-04-11T19:27:00.001+01:00

This blog took it’s name from a Peter Sellers song, I can’t say it’s one of my favourite Sellers songs, I just thought the title would on occasions be quite fitting. This is one of those occasions I have started to do something I always said I wouldn’t do,bring worktime blues home with me. At work I act as if I haven’t a care in the world, telling people that I’m not bothered by the current turmoil, an act pure and simple. I don’t want to appear that the job has finally ground me down, I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. So every day I go in with my put on smile, and every day I come out under a proverbial black cloud. I’m prone to bouts of introspection and brooding, I don’t like to label it depression as that cheapens the anguish that real sufferers go through. I know it’s just a spell, and I know that shortly it will pass. It has before and it will again. What saves me from plunging headlong into turmoil are my wonderful family and friends, and I don’t think I can ever thank them enough.

The sound of the suburbs

2011-03-29T19:59:00.001+01:00

I was too young for punk. In 1977 I was too busy winning first prize in the silver Jubilee street party fancy dress competition, I still have the prize,a mug the colour of a Dairy milk inner wrapper with the royal coat of arms on it. I made a clay commemorative plate at school as well. So as you can see with my various Jubilee themed activities combined with the fact that I was only eight years old I really had little time for the alternative music scene. As a result I’ve always felt slightly disconnected from Punk.I understand it’s importance but it was a generation before mine, good as they were, to me The Pistols and The Clash are just bands ,excellent bands but not part of a revolution that changed my life.To someone who was a teenager during the period, Joe Strummer was a leader pulling his people away from the dull overblown mainstream.. People of a certain age get a far away look in their eyes when talking about the Clash, The same thing happens to certain people of my generation when talking about The Smiths and The Specials. Back in the seventies the ‘enemy’ was the Rock aristocracy with their nice estates in Surrey, cocaine lifestyles and overblown pompous music. The ‘enemy’ in the early 80’s the happy shiny people like Duran Duran living out Thatcherite dreams on yachts in the Caribbean. Like them or loathe them The Smiths represented an escape route from the mainstream for my generation. The greatest thing that came out of Punk was the fact that people realised that you didn’t have to be a virtuoso like Eric Clapton to be in a band, you could get of your arse and have a go yourself. If you fancied yourself as a writer but couldn’t get published, put out your own fanzine ( writing a blog is just a progression from this).

This DIY ethos really came across strongly in the current exhibition at the St Albans museum. Documenting the outburst of creativity in the city following the Art school gig by The Sex Pistols it’s an eye opener for a youngster like me (41). I’d read about the effect of Punk on the towns surrounding London, and how it spawned bands such as Siouxsie and the Banshees, so it was very interesting to see it’s influence on my own hometown. The Clash, The Sex Pistols and The Damned all played gigs in the city, indie record labels and fanzines were set up promoting local acts such as Clive Pig, The Tea set, The Bodies and others. Nobody became massive, the pinnacle being a session on the blessed John Peel’s radio show. Inspiring stuff, proving that the citadel of Radio one could be broken into by some Herberts from leafy Herts.If none of the groups ever really sprang to national prominence some of the members found fame later on, such as Tracey Thorn of the Stern Bops who went on to gain success with Everything but the girl and later as a solo performer. Seeing punk in the context of familiar surroundings bought home to me just how much the music and its surrounding scene means to people. For some it provided a sense of freedom,and for some it was just a bloody good time, Sadly the exhibition closes on Saturday, so if you’re at a loose end over the next couple of days, I urge you to go, and travel back to a time when people actually got up and did something for themselves rather than wait for it to be spoon fed to them.

NOW GO AND FORM A BAND!

And a recent one from Tracey Thorn’s last album (Not punk but absolutely fantastic)

Certainly uncertain

2011-03-27T12:40:00.001+01:00

Census time, and I’ve got a problem. I was brought up a Catholic and if asked for my religion would still say that I am, although lapsed, still Catholic. However on the Census alongside Islam,Judaism,Hinduism and the rest it says Christian. By ticking this box I’m lumped in with people who feel Homosexuals should be outcasts, feel that women shouldn’t have rights over birth control and abortion, and blame things like the recent awful Tsunami in Japan on Godless heathens. I suppose I’m agnostic. Nobody has proved God exists, but on the other hand nobody has proved that he doesn’t. The other year when atheist groups took out adverts on the side of buses saying “Relax, God probably doesn’t exist” it was the word PROBABLY that leapt out at me, not DEFINITELY doesn’t exist, but PROBABLY doesn’t exist. It’s this possibility of existence, however small, that still makes me tick the box marked Christian and not the one marked no religion. What I need is a box marked wishy washy Catholic. Who picks the bits he likes (treat all people as equals, turn the other cheek etc etc) and discards the contradictory bits he doesn’t ( anti abortion, anti gay, no birth control etc etc).

My feelings on religion are probably best summed up by a fictional character. In the West Wing Martin Sheen plays devout Catholic President Josiah Bartlett. Yet devout as he is, he still finds time to knock ten tons of proverbial out of a right wing religious talk radio host

So you can still believe (however loosely) in a higher power, and not turn into a raving bigoted fanatic. And that ladies and gentlemen, however wishy washy it may be, is roughly what I believe in.

St Albans I love you, but you’re bringing me down.

2011-02-19T15:03:00.002Z

I love my home city, it’s just the people I can’t stand. Not all the people you understand, just the vocal minority who seem to want to preserve St Albans as this Disney-esque middle class enclave that has no place for anybody earning under £350000 a year. The letters pages of the local newspaper The Herts Advertiser are full of these people. The other year the focus of their collective ire seemed to be that the library was too full of undesirables (Children, Students, vagrants and general riff raff) who didn’t know how to behave in these hallowed halls of learning. When instead they should actually be praising the fact that kids were in the library at all, instead of being out on the streets mugging old ladies and drinking alcopops or whatever it is young people do nowadays.
Recently St Albans has suffered an atrocity, an event so horrific that people will recall the day it happened for years to come. Well that’s what you’d believe if you read the letters page of the Herts Ad this week. In the space of a couple of months we have gained not one but TWO budget superstores. Obviously this is a sign that we are entering the last days of civilization, we’re all doomed and the whole city is up in arms about this blight on our magnificent City Centre shopping street, which up till quite recently made The Champs Elysees look like a shabby side street in Luton. Yes the whole city is in uproar. Which must explain why both stores are always really busy. They must be full of people protesting that “we don’t need your sort of establishment in our esteemed City, why don’t you go somewhere where poor people live?” either that or word has got round that St Albans has a pound shop and now we’re being inundated with people from outside our paradise snapping up bargain multi packs of Pot Noodle, Monster Munch and other such poor peoples food.
One of the letter writers helpfully pointed out that the average wage in St Albans was £35000, so why do we need a poor persons shop anyway? I would suggest that in a city that contains more than it’s fair share of millionaires, including half the Arsenal team, that the average wage figure may be somewhat skewed. When I was a boy I remember seeing Benny Hill asking a man in his audience where he was from ,‘St Albans’ said the man. ‘ Oh!’ said Benny ‘That’s where they carry their fish and chips in a briefcase!’ Obviously implying that all of us lucky enough to be born in this City were fabulously wealthy. I was mystified by this. I lived on a large council estate in the south of the city (I still do), and I can’t really say that my family (or my friends families )felt particularly wealthy. Not poor, just not particularly rich either. In fact I’d say that the majority of people in this city earn far less than the quoted £35000 a year. The sort of people who rather than seeing a pound shop as a dreadful eyesore think that actually they’re quite handy.
I blame it on the broadsheets. Hardly a week goes by without one of these papers property sections touting prosperous St Albans as some sort of idyll nestling in the Hertfordshire countryside, a million miles from that horrid London down the road. How many of our letter writers have moved here on the back of articles like this? I was born in St Albans 41 years ago. I love living here and feel lucky that I do so, but I hate the fact that a lot of people would like to see the preservation of a St Albans that in my lifetime has never really existed, a middle class fantasy of boutiques, coffee shops and delicatessens, all of which would be lovely to look at but would ultimately and sadly fail through lack of custom and crippling rates. Yes there are some lovely areas in the city, but I’m afraid the top end of St Peters street, home to the hellish wretched pound stores, has never been one of them, and to pretend otherwise is just stupid.

Title of the post was inspired by this

Goodbye John Barry 1933 – 2011

2011-01-31T12:16:00.001Z

Sadly John Barry passed away today aged 77. My childhood (and adulthood) is full of Barry’s music. Playing at being James Bond, while the glorious brassy theme tune echoed through my imagination. Bank holidays being allowed to stay up late to watch a Bond film on ITV, Car journeys with ‘On days like these’ from the Italian Job playing on the stereo, were transformed from boring suburban drives into a trip to the sun drenched Italian Riviera. Apart from Sergio Leone, I can think of no other soundtrack composer who so successfully took you out of your surroundings and into the worlds his music created. From Harry Palmer’s bachelor pad in the ‘Ipcress file’, the last stand at Rorkes drift in ‘Zulu’, to the wild sweeping landscapes of the American west in ‘Dances with wolves’ I’ve visited them all, without leaving the comfort of my sofa. Thank you Mr Barry.

Lost in translation

2011-01-21T19:51:00.001Z

France has for a long time been waging a war to prevent the country’s language from being swamped by all things Anglo Saxon. As the trickle of US imports on French TV became a flood in the 70’s and 80’s, French television bosses hit upon a great way to give American shows a Gallic flavour. As well as dubbing the programmes into French, the theme tunes(most of which were instrumental) were re-written and given lyrics en français. Mesdames et messieurs I present two pieces of French Gold.

First up is Dallas.Apparently the lyrics translate as

“Dallas, your pitiless universe,

Dallas, glorifie the law of the strongest, Dallas, and under your sun relentless,

Dallas, you fear only death...

Dallas, fatherland of dollar, oil,

Dallas, you do not know pity...”

Next we have ‘Starsky et Hutch’

Au Revoir.

Diana Ross sings Leonard Cohen

2011-01-08T18:12:00.001Z

Diana Ross and Leonard Cohen sounds an unlikely combination, but on her 1987 album ‘Red hot rhythm & blues’ she sings the Cohen composition ‘ Summertime’ and it’s beautiful. Most of Diana Ross’ 80’s output doesn’t really do it for me, but this song of longing for the warmth of summer (especially at the moment in the depths of winter) is a hidden gem.

Cee Lo Green

2011-01-03T13:06:00.001Z

I like Cee Lo, not love, just like. Am I missing something? The music press has been falling over itself to deify him and ‘Forget you’ (or ‘Fuck you’ to give it it’s unsanitized title) has regularly been named as single of 2010. It’s a good record, but to call it one of the great soul records is pushing it a bit. Motown and Stax were knocking out two or three superior records every month in the late 60’s and early ‘70’s. Is it just that the current charts are so insipid that a moderately good record get’s hailed as a classic? As I said before I like Cee Lo, but I’m sure he would be the first to admit that he’s not up there with Marvin Gaye,Otis Redding and Curtis Mayfield. More of an Edwin Starr in my book, which to be honest is still pretty high praise.

And one of the all time classic’s

The Pogues are for life, not just for Christmas

2010-12-21T11:00:00.001Z

How come you only ever hear the Pogues at Christmas? Once a year they come back on the nations collective radar.Yet they definitely deserve more. Shane MacGowan is routinely mocked for his dental hygiene (or lack of) and his fondness for the bottle, but in my opinion he’s the closest thing these Isle’s have to Tom Waits. Tales of love and life in backstreet London, mixed with accounts of Irelands past .A proper genius. The boozy hell raising image seems to have blinded the public to this fact. Musicians are often described as poets, but Shane genuinely fits the role. MacGowan is 53 on Christmas day, an age few imagined he’d reach. Happy birthday and Christmas Shane.

And of course

Merry Christmas everybody.

Trying to explain cricket (badly)

2010-12-05T14:31:00.001Z

A knock on the back door. I put my coffee down and go to investigate. In the back garden is an elderly man. My next door neighbour is from Brazil, and standing before me is her Father, here in England on a month’s holiday. He explains that he is locked out and could he use our telephone to get in touch with his daughter? No problem I say, inviting him in. We make contact with my neighbour, but she’s still an hour away from home, so we sit in the front room and wait. The Ashes are on ( this is a couple of years ago) and my guest sits and watches. “ So who’s winning?” he asks. A simple question, but quite hard to explain. “England….at the moment, but it’s only just started really”, “When does it finish?”, “Er…five days time”. He is quiet for a minute. “Which team is England?” ,”The batting team”, “But they are wearing the same kit!”, my turn to go quiet. “How do you score” I give a concise but ultimately confusing explanation…”How does a batsman get out?” I start to explain…mercifully the cricket breaks for tea. “They are stopping for a cup of tea?” my guest enquires…”Shall we watch something else?” I say. The Tour De France is on “Who’s winning?”,he asks “The bloke in the yellow shirt”, I say.

I spy my neighbour coming up the pathway.

Górecki

2010-11-14T14:34:00.001Z

I was sorry to read in the paper that the Polish composer Henryk Gorecki has died at the age of 76. His symphony No.3, the symphony of sorrowful songs, is the largest selling classical recording of all time. As well as this, in my humble opinion, the first two movements are the most beautiful and moving pieces of music I have ever heard. The first movement, which lasts for a little over 27 minutes, is based around an old Polish lament ‘Mary mother of Jesus’ which dates from the 15th century. The orchestra builds slowly, reaching a crescendo, and then slowly fades back to silence. The second movement is probably the more famous. Based on a prayer found scratched into a cell wall in the Gestapo headquarters in the polish town of Zakopane which read “No,Mother do not weep, most chaste queen of heaven help me always. Hail Mary”, I first came across the piece when the BBC used it to great effect in the documentary series ‘Auschwitz – The Nazi’s and the final solution’'. It never fails to move me, no matter how many times I hear it. On this remembrance Sunday, take some time out of your day to listen to this beautiful piece,and consider that from such horror and desolation beauty can still emerge.

The following video is taken from a performance of the second movement that took place in the former concentration camp at Auschwitz. It was filmed as part of the concert ‘HOLOCAUST - A Music Memorial Film from Auschwitz’, the first time since the camps liberation that music had been allowed to be performed at the site.

Orson Welles is not happy

2010-10-25T18:03:00.001+01:00

I really cannot imagine a tougher job than having to tell one of the greatest actors and directors in cinema history that he’s not doing his job properly. So pity the poor director of this Findus commercial who has to do just that.

Monsieur Aznavour

2010-10-19T22:54:00.002+01:00

Unbelievably Charles Aznavour is 86 years old. Sadly in the UK Aznavour is only really known for two 1970’s hits, ‘Dance in the old fashioned way', and that staple of oldies radio ‘She’. I say sadly, because both songs are hardly representative of the man Bob Dylan amongst others has called ‘The French Sinatra’. Both of his hits have lumped him in the suave balladeers category, but a host of his songs are gritty (such as ‘I drink’) and as much fun as anything Dino or Sammy Davis Jr did during the Rat Pack years ( For me Formidable). Mr Aznavour I salute you.

Attention

2010-10-12T21:23:00.002+01:00

I was trying to read the paper. The television was on in the background, the tea things had been put away, and I was attempting to read the paper. The television had other ideas however. On Sky Arts was a repeat of a South Bank show from a few years ago profiling Alan Bennett, I’d seen it before, at the time a new volume of Bennett’s diaries had just been released. It was quite big news at the time. Bennett had been seriously ill, and believing that he wouldn’t be around to see the diaries published, had been slightly more candid in print than usual. Fortunately for us, Alan made a full recovery, which made for an engrossing interview with Melvyn Bragg. Alan Bennett is such an engaging speaker that I just had to put down the paper and give him my full attention, his description of a visit he and his father made to visit his mother in a Lancashire mental hospital was heartbreaking. When I was younger I’d always assumed that Bennett was a bit twee, stories of tea rooms in the North, and plays with Thora Hird. Thora Hird! she was in Last of the Summer wine for Christ’s sake. However that was before I’d actually read any of his work, which I immediately loved.

On the subject of paying attention,a track came on the iPod the other day that actually made me stop what I was doing and listen. I mean listen properly, the way you did back when your record collection consisted of a handful of singles, and you memorised every crackle and pop contained in the vinyl grooves. The iPod is a fantastic invention, but it does encourage skimming. Occasionally however a song will come on when the player’s on shuffle that just grabs you and fits the moment perfectly. I’d heard of ‘Joan as Policewoman’ before, but thinking that the name was rather stupid, had foolishly believed that it wouldn’t be my cup of tea. Yet again I was proved wrong. I first heard this song on Guy Garvey’s radio show. It was pleasant enough, so I downloaded it. Next time I heard it, it just felt like a classic that I’d known for years. Absolutely beautiful.

Can you guess what it is yet?

2010-10-05T19:58:00.001+01:00

Adam Ant was always very keen to talk about the exotic influences on his music. From the Burundi drummers of Africa to the dances and rhythms of Native American tribes. However he was slightly less willing to talk about the influence of Britain’s favourite Antipodean entertainer on his work.

First up….. Mr Ant

Next up…..Mr Harris

According to Rolf, Adam settled out of court after musicologists found the songs to be musically identical.

James Douglas Morrison

2010-10-03T13:50:00.001+01:00

I’ve been listening to The Doors for the first time in ages. I first got into them back in my early twenties. Morrison is the perfect embodiment of everything a young man wants a rock star to be, full on sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll, everything you, in your nine to five life, cannot be. As you get a bit older, settle down and become responsible(ish) the idea of Jim Morrison becomes faintly ridiculous. The music however, (aside from a few self indulgent moments from Morrison, and Ray Manzarek’s tendency towards keyboard noodling) remains terrific.

Jim may not actually have been a Shaman possessed by the spirit of a deceased Native American ( a bit like a Rock ‘n’ Roll Derek Acorah) but he did have a keen sense of the future, and in particular the way that recorded music was heading. (6.45 Into the interview, although the rest is pretty interesting as well)

The 80 year old little girl

2010-09-29T12:11:00.001+01:00

Imagine being able to see the past, people and places long gone that live now only in memories. In 2009, to celebrate the 80th birthday of a lady called Mary Davidson, a neighbour of hers put together a short film made up of footage shot by her family in the 1930’s.Harry Nilsson’s music compliments the images beautifully . I first came across the film on the excellent How to be a retronaut website

A short while ago we were looking through some home video’s and came across footage of my youngest son’s first birthday party. It’s the usual stuff, candles get blown out and presents get opened. All the time we can hear the voices of people attending the celebration in the background. One of the voices belongs to my Auntie Gen, who sadly is no longer with us. The camera was playing up that day, something to do with the light levels,so some of the video is very dark and hazy. Unfortunately this dark haziness coincided with the time I decided to film the guests at the party, subsequently the only film we have of Auntie Gen is a dark shadow. A few years later she would be gone. Now I’m not saying that the dark haze was an omen or anything ridiculous like that, all I’m wishing with the benefit of hindsight is that I’d spent a little more time filming the rest of my family. For those of us who grew up in a period where home movies were the preserve of the wealthy, or the keen hobbyist. Who wouldn’t love to have film to look back on as beautiful as the footage of a 1930’s summer.

On a budget!

2010-09-27T21:51:00.001+01:00

I’ve always had a bit of a problem with style magazines and broadsheet fashion pages. Dressing on a budget the headline will say and then the article will describe a t shirt for £50. While I appreciate that there are some people that actually do consider a £50 t shirt a bargain, I’m sure there are a lot more that certainly don’t.

According to The Times a couple of weeks ago a Cashmere lounge suit for nearly 200 quid is considered a bargain. Apparently because we’re all tightening our belts, and spending more time at home you should spoil yourself while you’re sat on your arse on the sofa eating Pringles from a can. Can’t have you looking a slob now can we? LOUNGE SUIT! they’re bloody pyjamas, and you can get some at M&S for about an eighth of that price.

OK, although I regularly read The Times and occasionally GQ and Esquire, a quick glance through the adverts in the publications shows that I’m certainly not their target audience. Surely I can’t be alone though, not every Times reader earns over £100,000 a year. Where are the articles aimed at the man who likes clothes but also has a family to feed?

Derelict memories

2010-09-12T18:56:00.001+01:00

Today was Heritage open day in St Albans, we paid a visit to the decaying shell of the old St Albans Odeon. Thankfully ,due to the credit crunch, plans to turn the place into over priced flats has failed, and the cinema has been taken over by James Hannaway, proprietor and restorer of The Rex in Berkhamstead. Odeon cinemas saw fit to close their St Albans branch when they opened their new multiplex in Hemel Hempstead, and for fifteen long years the Odeon has sat, a rotting hulk of a building, on London Road. So many good memories are tied in to this building, and you could feel the love for the place from the visitors, sharing their memories in huddled groups. In two years time the new cinema, The Odyssey, will hopefuly open its doors. Thanks Mr Hannaway.

Rooney baiting

2010-09-10T14:26:00.001+01:00

It seems that the popular pastime of Rooney baiting isn’t just reserved for the terraces and the tabloids. Yesterdays Times ran an interview with the Everton and England defender Phil Jagielka yesterday that was spun out of all proportion. Jagielka was asked for his view on Rooney’s off field situation and said quite reasonably that “It’s not for me to comment on the situation,I’m not exactly best friends with Wayne”. Journalist Matt Hughes (who I usually enjoy reading) took this as meaning that Jagielka had little time for Rooney, and strangely put this down to the fact that the Everton man was once managed by old school straight talker (and lately QPR’s new messiah) Neil Warnock. Jagielka then went on to praise Rooney’s ability as a player and hoped he’d get the better of him when Everton play United this weekend. All I took from the piece was that Jagielka was reluctant to comment on the sex life of a bloke he hardly knows, but knows that he’ll have a tough game against him. All in all a piss poor attempt by Hughes to add a little bit more edge to a game that Rooney as an ex Evertonian is always well up for anyway. Rooney’'s been a fool, but really what’s that got to do with football?

A dearth of diversity

2010-09-05T16:33:00.001+01:00

Still on the subject of music and memories, ‘Black Betty’ by Ram Jam was on the radio the other day. Straight away it got me thinking of my underage drinking days at The Blacksmiths arms in St Albans. ‘Black Betty’ was a favourite on the jukebox at that time in the side bar of the pub, which in those days tended to be frequented by Goths nursing a pint of Cider and Black in fingerless gloved hands, and heavy metallers slumped in dark corners and around pinball tables.Some of the people may have looked a little intimidating, but I can’t ever remember any trouble kicking off.

The Blacksmiths is now, and has been for a long time, a regular identikit pub. Not a bad place,nice beer, just very samey. A glance through the window on a Saturday night, if you can get past the bouncers, reveals exactly the same type of people that inhabit every other pub in the town. Not a Hawkwind patch or an elaborate piece of backcombing to be seen. Where have all the freaks gone?

Creating future musical memories

2010-09-02T20:35:00.001+01:00

The drive up to Norfolk (two and a half hours or so) provided me with an opportunity to unleash a few freshly burned compilations on the family. Mainly newly purchased stuff, the songs went down surprisingly well. The little people in the back seat were firm fans of Vampire weekends ‘Holiday’, which provoked cheers on the way up, and teary eyes on the journey home, as they were reminded of the two rainy but magical weeks that had just passed. Other winners (in the front of the car) were CW Stoneking’s ‘The love me or die’, which sounds like it was conjured up years ago by a grizzled voodoo priest in New Orleans, but was actually created recently by a young un-grizzled Australian bloke, ‘I can change’ by LCD soundsystem, ‘The merchant banker’ by the Divine comedy, and ‘Zebra’ by Beach house.

Vampire Weekend came on the iPod the other morning, during a particularly grim morning at work, and I was transported straight away back to a sun dappled journey up to the coast, laughing children in the back of the car,smiling wife sat next to me up front. I smiled. What an amazing thing music is.

This blog is not at home

2010-08-06T13:44:00.001+01:00

Just like Pagliacci did

2010-08-02T15:42:00.001+01:00

‘Tears of a clown’ came on the radio at work this morning. It stood out like a diamond in the usual mediocrity of the Gold breakfast show. Smokey Robinson surely must be one of the greatest lyricist’s of all time. You really can’t imagine the R n B stars of today coming up with a lyric like “Just like Pagliacci did, I try to keep my sadness hid”, The music of Motown is designed to leap from the speakers of crappy transistor radios. Before a song was released it was played back through cheap radios to hear how it would sound to the majority of it’s listeners. 40 odd years on, nothing sounds as good as a slice of Detroit’s finest music through a transistor.

And as a bonus, a performance from the opera Pagliacci

Carlo takes a beating

2010-07-28T15:56:00.001+01:00

Two things I love about this clip from The Godfather. 1) On a hot summers day don’t you wish we had fire hydrants in the UK like the ones in New York. 2) You don’t see many beatings in mob movies that involve biting.

Steamy – Movies for a muggy day

2010-07-27T15:09:00.001+01:00

As I write this, the sky is the colour of a tupperware box. The white grey clouds cover South East England, there’s no breath of wind and the temperature is in the high 70’s. Perfect weather for switching on the fan, lying on the sofa and watching a movie or two.Hot weather movies fall into two camps, the dry heat of the deserts in film such as'’ The flight of the Phoenix’, ‘Ice cold in Alex’ and ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, and the muggy steamy kind. The sort of films featuring fat blokes mopping their necks with a handkerchief, while overhead a fan slowly turns.

This is what I want to watch when the steam is rising from the pavements, and, in no particular order, here’s a few of my personal favourites.

TWELVE ANGRY MEN

A jury gathers to thrash out a verdict, in a sweatbox room. Henry Fonda retains his cool, Lee J Cobb doesn’t.

INHERIT THE WIND

Another court based drama, a teacher is accused of teaching creationism in a deep south town. Spencer Tracy is the Chicago lawyer sent to defend him.

DO THE RIGHT THING

A New York City heat wave helps bring tensions to a head in Brooklyn. Spike Lee’s best film by a country mile, and the best screen representation of an oppressively hot day in the city.

APOCALYPSE NOW

I could have chosen any Vietnam film, but Apocalypse now wins purely for the fantastic opening scenes of Martin Sheen going slowly mental in a roasting Saigon hotel room, while waiting for a mission.

IN THE HEAT OF THE NIGHT

Oppressive heat and oppressive attitudes in this deep south thriller. Redneck sheriff Rod Steiger, and Philadelphia detective Sidney Poitier are forced to work together after Poitier is falsely accused of a murder. Coming a year before the death of Martin Luther King and in the midst of the bitter civil rights struggle, a timely piece of film making.

TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD

Another court room drama, possibly the greatest evocation of childhood innocence lost, and an examination of attitudes to Race in the southern USA. A classic novel and a classic film.

The Acorn

2010-07-26T21:40:00.001+01:00

I think that The Acorn may very well be my new favourite band. I first became aware of them when they supported Elbow on tour last year. I saw them in Southend, and grabbed their album the next day. The first album ‘Glory hope mountain’ was glorious, and to be honest I thought that they would struggle to match or top it, but the new one ‘No ghost’ is a belter. I like them, Guy Garvey likes them, and you should to.

From ‘Glory Hope Mountain’

From ‘No Ghost’

The tranquil sounds of Jarvis Cocker

2010-07-21T14:27:00.001+01:00

Jarvis Cocker may very well be my favourite British musician. Pulp were always an interesting band, and his solo work has been adventurous and terrific. His latest venture, aside from his excellent 6music Sunday afternoon show, is a compilation for The National Trust. No music, just sounds recorded at various Trust maintained properties around the UK. Jarvis says that the album is “a holiday for the ears” not designed for listening to intently, but simply something nice to have on in the background to aid relaxation and contemplation. Best of all if you click here it’s available to download for free from The National Trust. I must say that I find the idea of Jarvis touring the country recording nature a very pleasing thing indeed.

The Sexy man

2010-07-18T13:29:00.001+01:00

Recently youngest son came home from school and told us that at playtime he played a game where he had to chase all the girls around the playground. “Was it called Kiss chase?” we asked him. “ No” he said “it’s called Sexy man”. Intrigued, and with a little bit of trepidation, we asked him how do you play ‘Sexy man’. He then explained that one boy in the class was chosen to be ‘The sexy man’ and he had to run around the playground chasing the girls. “so what happens when you catch them?” we foolishly asked. “You grab them and do this…” he then proceeded to thrust his pelvis back and forward like Tom Jones in his 70’s Vegas pomp. School’s changed a bit hasn’t it?

Who do you think you are?

2010-07-16T16:39:00.001+01:00

I finally caught up with BBC4’s film ‘Lennon Naked’ the other evening. To be honest it wasn’t bad, it didn’t really grab me but it passed an hour and a half pleasantly enough. My main problem with it was Christopher Eccleston. At no point did I really buy into the idea that he was John Lennon.It was a good performance, all the Lennon mannerisms were present and correct,but I didn’t believe in it.I just couldn’t separate the actor from the role he was playing. When ‘John’ and ‘Yoko’ were photographing themselves for the naked ‘two Virgins’ cover, all I could think of was “You can see Dr. Who’s dick”. As I say it was a good performance, it’s too easy for a role like this to turn into an impression, but Eccleston didn’t fall into that trap. At least the film didn’t do the usual Hollywood ham fisted method of introducing well know people in bio pics. The usual method is, and lets imagine a Beatles movie for a moment, a young man is playing a guitar “Who’s that?” says John to Paul “Oh that’s George Harrison” says Paul to John “Does he want to join the band?” says John to Paul, and so on. .

I have seen films though were I have totally bought into the fact that the actor is the person he is portraying. Anthony Hopkins’ portrayal of Richard Nixon in the Oliver Stone picture ‘Nixon’ is absolutely mesmerising. On the surface Hopkins looks nothing like Nixon, but for that movies long duration, I totally believed that Hopkins was the disgraced former President.

A Pub in my garage

2010-07-06T22:09:00.001+01:00

I was in Costco the other day, and was just about to queue up to pay for an industrial sized vat of peanut butter, when I saw what could well be may favourite innovation of 2010. A ten pint keg of Carling that you simply put in the fridge for a day and pour out into a glass. No fancy equipment needed either. I must say it all sounded to good to be true. Like the time I bought a decorating system to paint the walls in no time at all, and ended up with a burst plastic bag of paint and a few hours of tidying up. So it was with some trepidation that I pulled my first pint, and I’ve got to be honest I can’t say I was impressed. The glass filled up with froth and flat lager. “Not another dud invention!” I thought. Still I persisted,and the next pull was slightly better. Balls to this I thought, and cracked open a can. Earlier this evening though I thought I’d have another crack at it. The World Cup semi was on, so I thought a pint would be the perfect accompaniment.So out I went to the fridge in the garage, glass in hand and….pulled a pint as good as any I’ve had in the pub. Fantastic.

Can’t see it lasting very long though, now all I’ve got to do is persuade Mrs M that trying the Grolsch and Coors barrels would be a good investment.

The psychic television

2010-06-24T15:36:00.001+01:00

So there we were in the pub,a great seat right in front of the widescreen telly, four pint pitchers for £7, sun is blazing down outside, England were playing well and all is well with the world. Except we could do with a goal. Milner gets the ball out wide and from the back of the crowded pub comes a deafening cheer. Two seconds later we see what they have seen. The Telly’s are out of synch! one’s on cable and one’s on terrestrial. I actually found it quite comforting later on when Slovenia were attacking and there was no groaning or cursing from the back,that would have signified an equaliser. '”Defoe’s coming off”, “who’s coming on?” From the rear of the pub…” Bollocks!”…..”Emile Heskey!” we all said. The psychic TV had struck again.

Fathers Day

2010-06-20T00:04:00.003+01:00

If I can be half the Dad you are to me I'll be doing a good job. Cheers Dad.

Call yourselves experts?

2010-06-18T13:24:00.001+01:00

Way back in that mystical era known as the 1970’s we saw the introduction of an innovation in football punditry, the expert panel. They usually consisted of a couple of recently retired pro’s and a couple of current managers. No change from now I hear you say, well the difference is massive. Back then pundits such as Brian Clough, Paddy Crerand and Malcolm Allison actually knew what they were talking about and had a personality to go with it. They actually said what they thought, which would be a novelty at this world cup. The punditry so far (and on both channels) has been abysmal. On the BBC it’s the usual old boys club atmosphere, Shearer in particular wears his ignorance like a badge of honour. The so called smaller nations are dismissed with comments such as ‘ well I don’t know anything about them’, which surely begs the question ‘so why are you here?’. It’s a breath of fresh air when a player such as the former Dutch international Clarence Seedorf offers opinions that are a) sensible and add something to the game and b) not always about English based players. Hansen occasionally makes a good point about the game, but these are becoming increasingly rare and he seems content to find fault with everything, like a curmudgeonly Uncle at a wedding where everybody else is a having a rare old time. Lee Dixon originally seemed to be ploughing his own interesting furrow, but of late seems to be getting sucked into the usual fug of dullness that infects the BBC pundit box. As for Gary Lineker the best you can say is that he’s pretty inoffensive, and that’s all. There seems to be a general fear of upsetting anyone with honest comments, in case they bump into them at a charity golf day. And as for those idiots in the double decker bus, roaming around South Africa annoying people. What exactly do they add to the World Cup? The BBC commentary isn’t actually too bad. Jonathan Pierce may be a little over the top for some, but you can’t deny he’s a genuine enthusiast. Where the Beeb falls down is in it’s choice of co commentators. Mark Lawrenson sounds permanently bored, and mistakes snide remarks for wit. Mick McCarthy drones on and on, criticising the smaller teams for not showing enough adventure and attempting to win games against the big guns. Remember this is a man who fielded a weakened side against Man United at Old Trafford, he’s also the man that didn’t realise that the Juan Sebastian Veron in Argentina’s midfield was the same Veron who played for United a few seasons ago. And we pay for this?

ITV don’t fare that much better, although for once I don’t actually find their coverage completely unbearable. Adrian Chiles is a vast improvement as anchorman than the bland Steve Ryder. The trouble is who does he turn to for analysis? Andy Townsend, sitting there like a dummy in an increasingly weird range of shirts. Gareth Southgate, who says nothing remotely controversial or come to think of it interesting. Edgar Davids, who sees every conversation as a chance for a confrontation, and obviously has a very low opinion of Chiles. Kevin Keegan? words fail me.

At the last few World Cups we had insight from the likes of Martin O’Neal and Gordon Strachan, who along with personality actually had something to say about the game. They seem to have been sidelined in favour of blandness,and ignorance. Blandness is vaguely forgivable, ignorance in this internet age isn’t. It would take Shearer and co a few minutes to read up about the game they’re watching. I’m not asking for endless dry analysis of Algerian tactics, but a little interest in the teams outside the top seeds would be nice.

It’s not all bad though. The best pundit at the World Cup by far is David Moyes. On Radio 5 live he offers insight and enthusiasm, both in short supply on the TV.

STOP PRESS

Since I wrote this the BBC have introduced Roy Hodgson into the pundits box. Hodgson and Seedorf spoke a lot of sense about the France v Mexico game, which made a refreshing change. I used to think Hodgson sounded like Ron Moody’s portrayal of Fagin in the musical ‘Oliver’, however I’ve now decided he sounds far more like Danny the Dealer from ‘Withnail and I’. Maybe a Camberwell Carrot may be just the thing to create a bit of interest.

Desert Island Discs

2010-06-16T15:56:00.001+01:00

In my opinion being invited to be a guest on ‘Desert Island Discs’ is one of the greatest honours a British person can have. The format hasn’t changed since 1942, you get eight records to choose, one luxury, and ,in addition to the Bible and the complete Shakespeare, one book. The programme often reveals things that a conventional interview overlooks. The presenter Kirsty Young is fantastic at making guests comfortable, this is no Paxman style interrogation, they feel that Kirsty is not out to get them and this seems to make them open up a bit more. In recent weeks I’ve learned that despite winning Oscars for writing and Acting, Emma Thompson considers herself an underachiever. Duncan Bannatyne came across as a much nicer chap than he does on TV, revealing to Kirsty that he came near to suicide when his first marriage broke down. Bannatyne undid all the sympathy I had for him however with his musical choices. His eight records included such delights as ‘I am the one and only’ by Chesney Hawkes, ‘Love changes everything’ by Michael Ball and ‘Tie a yellow ribbon round the old oak tree’ by Tony Orlando. Truly dreadful. The musical choices are sometimes surprising,for instance who would have though that Sir Stuart Rose, head of Marks and Spencer’s, would include ‘Heaven knows I’m miserable now’ by The Smiths? Clive Woodward the former England rugby coach started off well with tracks by The Jam, Bob Dylan and Eminem. Then ruined it by picking the execrable ‘Two Hearts’ by Phil Collins. When I was a kid I used to hate reading an interview with a pop star I didn’t like in ‘Smash Hits’ . This was based on the fact that they may very well come across as a thoroughly nice decent person, and I would feel guilty about my dislike.I still read the article though. I feel a little like this about Desert Island discs, no matter who the guest is I feel compelled to listen. I think I must have wasted hours making up my list for the inevitable day I’m invited on. Sadly I’m yet to receive the call,but at this moment in time if I was invited on my choices would be…( although by the time I’ve finished this blog it will probably have changed)

If I only could take one of the above records it would have to be Sam Cooke, proper soul singing from the heart. The book I would take is ‘The amazing adventures of Kavalier and Clay’ by Michael Chabon. An amazing story dealing with the early days of superhero comics and much more.

The luxury item would have to be a large telescope, imagine the dark skies that the lack of street lighting would bring.

So what would your choice be?

Very British

2010-06-09T14:46:00.001+01:00

I was watching the Exile on Main street documentary the other afternoon, when it occurred to me that in terms of first names, the Stones have to be the most British band of all time. Not for them flashy American sounding names like Rick. Take the original line up, Mick,Keith,Charlie,Bill and Brian. This sounds less like the worlds greatest rock n roll band, and more like a gang about to do a bank job in an Ealing comedy. When Brian died, they didn’t replace him with some exotically named guitarist, no they plumped for a bloke called Mick. When Mick Taylor left they replaced him with Ron. They never replaced Bill when he upped and left, maybe there weren’t any bass players called Cyril.

Argentina ‘78

2010-06-07T22:11:00.001+01:00

The first World Cup I can clearly remember was Argentina ‘78. As an adult I can see that all was not well behind the facade of the worlds football family get together. The military Junta was busy imprisoning hundreds of dissidents, and results were suspiciously good for the home nation.This Included the occasion that they needed to beat Peru by four goals, and magically scored them. Oh yes the Peru goalkeeper was actually born in Argentina…nothing dodgy there then. However as an 9 year old none of this mattered, I was completely entranced. The commentators with their old school microphones, all crackles and time delays, sounded like they were broadcasting from the moon. The ticker tape exuberant greeting for Argentina at every game was in complete contrast to the English games I’d seen on Match of the Day. In short it was the most exotic thing I’d seen on TV since the bank holiday James Bond film. We’d re-enact the previous days games on the school playground, 9 year old boys trying to be Mario Kempes, or strangely Archie Gemmill.

It never occurred to me that it was odd that England hadn’t made the finals. I can’t say that I, or my classmates, gave it much thought. There was a British presence in the form of Scotland, and I was allowed to stay up and watch them.Which was good enough for me. Despite telling the world that ‘We’ll really shake them up when we win the World Cup’ Scotland made the usual early exit.Losing to Peru ( who in my opinion had the best kit to ever grace the finals) and drawing with that mighty football titan Iran. However they did manage one extraordinary game. On a Sunday evening I sat in my Pyjamas eating toast, watching Scotland play Holland. I witnessed a goal that still sends Scots into raptures. Archie Gemmill certainly doesn’t look like the modern idea of a footballer, but he weaved his way round three Dutch defenders before slotting the ball past the keeper. I can still see it in my head, but that’s no good to you, so here it is on Youtube.

So Scotland went home, but the playground re-enactment’s continued. Kempes was fantastic during the tournament, finishing as top scorer. He was ‘the man’ to us kids. We couldn’t quite match the flair and skill of Mario, but we could match the rolled down sock look he favoured. Clarks commando shoes with grey school socks pulled down low was de rigueur in St Adrian’s school playground.

Argentina went on to play Holland in the final. In the playground you had to pick a side. I was firmly in the Argentina camp. If I was a bit older I probably would have favoured the Dutch, as I would have had memories of Johan Cruyff, total football and the unlucky world cup ‘74 runners up. We walked around the playground shouting ‘AR-GEN-TINA!’ while the others tried to drown us out with cries of ‘HOLL-AND!’. It all culminated on the Friday lunch time with our own World cup final which Holland won. I really don’t remember a great deal about the real final. Strangely though the thing I do remember is that the changing rooms were underground, with the teams emerging from what appeared to be a bunker onto the pitch. Argentina went on to win, Kempes was the top scorer, and I went to school on Monday with bragging rights.

A special bonus. The 1978 BBC World cup theme was composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, and despite this setback it was fantastic.

Who are you?

2010-06-02T22:03:00.001+01:00

I listen to the Radiolab podcast from New York radio station WNYC on a regular basis. It’s always informative and on many occasions it actually stops you in your tracks with a startling revelation. Anyway I heard this edition whilst at work today. The usual episodes are about an hour long but this one is only seven minutes, it deals with memory and recognition,and it’s startlingly good.

Machete is coming

2010-06-01T16:31:00.001+01:00

Not out until September, Robert Rodriguez’s new film Machete is based on one of the fake grindhouse trailers Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino created the other year for the Planet terror/ Death proof project. Yes it’s trashy, but personally I can’t wait.

Dennis Hopper

2010-05-31T17:44:00.001+01:00

It’s always a great shame when a man with such a varied career as Dennis Hopper has his life reduced down to a few movies. All the newspapers reporting on Dennis’ sad passing said something along the lines of ‘Easy Rider’ star Dennis Hopper, or ‘Blue Velvet’ star Dennis Hopper. Most totally ignored his parallel life as an artist and photographer, preferring instead to go along the far easier route of describing him as a drug crazed hellraiser. So here, as a small tribute, I present some of Mr Hopper’s photographs(including the title photo, a self portrait taken in front of a porno book stall in 1962) Rest in peace Dennis.

All images copyright Dennis Hopper, and available in the book ‘Photographs 1961 –1967’ published by Taschen

Paul Newman 1964

Jane Fonda 1965 Malibu

Biker couple 1961

Ike and Tina Turner

And you can’t do a tribute to Dennis Hopper without an example of how great an actor he was.

Buying Pants

2010-05-24T14:56:00.003+01:00

This is the second time Lyndon B Johnson has cropped up in this blog in recent months. I used his photo to illustrate the piece on the excellent 'Don't hang up' radio show, and now this. The Whitehouse records all the phone calls from the Oval office, which are then archived. Mainly they are pretty mundane, some are historically significant, and some are...well...a bit odd. On the ninth of August 1964, at 1.17pm LBJ made a call to the Haggar clothing company, and this is the result.

The scars of history

2010-05-23T22:41:00.004+01:00

London is one of the worlds great cities. History is everywhere. You’ve got the obvious places such as the Tower of London, and St Pauls Cathedral, and then there’s the smaller tucked away places. The Magdala pub in Hampstead is one such place. On the 10th April 1955 Soho nightclub hostess Ruth Ellis shot her lover David Blakely as he emerged from the pub. Blakely was an ex public schoolboy, who raced cars and unfortunately had a taste for the booze. Ellis and Blakely lived together on and off for two years but it was a turbulent relationship, marked by infidelity and jealousy on both sides. Both liked a drink, and they frequently fought.During one of these fights Blakely is said to have punched Ellis in the stomach, causing her to have a miscarriage. Over the Easter weekend despite promising that he would see her, Blakely deliberately avoided Ellis, preferring the company of his racing driver friends.On Good Friday Ellis caused a disturbance outside an apartment in Hampstead were Blakely was staying. Blakely refused to acknowledge her frequent phone calls, and Ellis only left when the Police were called. Ellis became obssessed with the idea that Blakely was having another affair. On the night of the 10th, Easter Sunday, Ellis saw Blakely's car parked outside the Magdala tavern.Full of jealousy, and with a gun in her pocket, she waited outside for him. On seeing Blakely she called to him, when he ignored her she shouted again. While Blakely attempted to get into his car, Ellis fired multiple shots at him, hitting him at least 4 times. The first shot missed, causing Blakely to run off. The second shot struck home and while Blakely lay on the pavement Ellis fired more shots into him at close range. Apparently in a state of shock she then fired the sixth and final shot which ricocheted off the pub wall and injured a passer by in the hand.She made no attempt to flee the scene, and an off duty policeman who happened to be in the area arrested her, putting the smoking gun into his pocket. Ellis was tried at the Old Bailey on 20th June 1955, when asked by the prosecution what her intention was when she fired the gun at Blakely she replied “It's obvious when I shot him I intended to kill him”. These words effectively sealed her fate. The jury only needed to retire for 13 minutes before finding her guilty, and Ellis was sentenced to death. Despite a huge public outcry over the sentence, and a rejection by the home office of pleas to consider the killing as a crime of passion rather than murder. Ellis was hanged on the 13th July 1955, and became the last woman to be executed in Britain.

The Magdala is still a pub, one of those stripped wood and fancy food type places. The pub may have a modern look, but history has a way of making it’s presence felt.It’s a pretty unremarkable place, and probably most people take very little notice of it. However If you look under one of the windows you’ll notice a couple of holes in the tiles. The scars left by a desperate woman and her revolver.

If you want to have a look yourself, the pub is over the road from Hampstead Heath overground station on the corner of South Hill Park NW3 2SB.

Song of the day
Tom Waits - I hope I don't fall in love with you

Glamour, air travel, and Uncle Fred

2010-04-20T20:10:00.001+01:00

I’ve always been fascinated by planes and airports. I still look up at vapour trails in the sky and wish I was in the plane that created them. It doesn’t matter where they’re bound, I just want to be on board. As a boy we’d sometimes go to Heathrow. Just seeing the exotic names on the arrivals and departures boards gave me a thrill. Denver Colorado may (for all I know) be one of Americas dullest cities, but due to the fact you have to fly there it has, by default, an air of glamour.Even in these days of bargain bucket flights, air travel still feels glamorous to me. Obviously if you had to go to work there day in day out any airport would lose some of it’s lustre but to me, a less than frequent flyer, they still have a fascination.

I didn’t fly till I was 16. Two weeks in Magaluf with a gang of school mates, is hardly living the jet set life. But I still remember that going to the airport, not as a visitor but as someone going to fly, felt impossibly cool. The boarding pass gave you access behind the magic curtain, and into the departure lounge.

Until then for me flying was for the glamorous people. Taylor and Burton, Frank Sinatra, The Beatles…and my Uncle Fred.

To my pre teen self, Uncle Fred was exceptionally glamorous. He looked like a stereotype of an English cad (he wasn’t one, just looked like one), he had the moustache for a start, a kind of cross between Errol Flynn and Peter Bowles. He had an exotic wife Ilona, OK she was from Germany but to me anywhere outside Hertfordshire was exotic.When I was younger they lived in a block of flats on the outskirts of Hemel Hempstead. My memory is probably wrong but I remember the flat as full of white shag pile carpets.I loved the view from the balcony, especially at night. I know it wasn’t quite Los Angeles but to me, coming from a boring old house, a high rise view of the lights of Hemel was enthralling.To put the seal on their glamour, Uncle Fred and Auntie Illona holidayed, not on the windswept Norfolk coast like most of my compatriots, but on the Spanish Costa’s. They were the only people I knew who flew, part of the elite. Alright Sinatra probably didn’t return from overseas jaunts with a straw donkey called Pedro under his arm, but what the hell! Sadly Uncle Fred and Auntie Illona are no longer with us. I never really got to know my Uncle, I was 12 when he died. Probably some of my memories of the man are wrong but I think I like it that way.

I’ve flown a few times now. It still has an allure, the airport still seems like another world. It doesn’t matter where I’m going, in my head I’m Cary Grant, I’m Sinatra escorting Ava Gardner down the BOAC steps at Heathrow, most of all I’m Uncle Fred.

Time travel

2010-03-28T18:02:00.000+01:00

Time travel is easy. Just think of the times your mind wanders back to a certain event, you close your eyes and in a flash you’re back there. Sometimes it can be a pleasant experience, a certain comfort in spending a few moments in a place you know but can never go back to. Sometimes it brings back things you may not be quite so keen on seeing.

The prosperous Berlin suburb of Grunewald has long been a place where moneyed Berliners spend weekends away from the city. It’s a pleasant enough place, like a German Hampstead. Nice houses nestling on the edge of the forest. The best way to get there from central Berlin is on the train. All of the signs for platforms have information on where the trains are heading, except for platform 17. No trains leave from platform 17, no trains have left for a long time.

Platform 17 is next a goods yard, a gateway leads to a ramp that leads to the platform. It’s a pretty non descript sort of place, very green like much of the surrounding area, and a bit ramshackle.

Sadly like a lot of places in Berlin it has a very dark past.From October 1941 to February1945, Platform 17 was one of the major distribution points for Berlin’ Jews. Thousands left from this platform, herded onto cattle trucks bound for the hellish ghettos and camps of Poland. You don’t have to close your eyes to conjure up the past here. Michelle held the boys a little bit closer, and later said that she had been thinking of all the Mothers that were separated from their children on this spot.

Since 1991, it has been a memorial to those deported. Along the edge of the platform, in cast iron, are plates telling you the date a transport left, how many were on board and chillingly the final destination.

We walked the length of the platform, the plates went on and on, transports leaving nearly every day.A few people on one train, a few hundred on another. Not just numbers, but lives, all important to someone,except for those herding them onto the train.

We left on the next train for Berlin’s lakes, holding the children’s hands maybe a little too tight, and thinking of the people who never had the luxury of choosing their final destination.

Don't hang up

2010-03-14T15:34:00.006Z

I haven't posted a radio documentary for a while.I got this from the excellent Speechification website This was first broadcast on Radio 4, Alan Dein rings various telephone boxes worldwide and tries to engage whoever answers in conversation. The results are quite a listen, nothing dramatic just random slices of human life, and well worth a slice of yours.

Wow!

2010-03-08T14:28:00.004Z

When you think about buying a telescope,the thing you really want to look at (apart from the moon) is Saturn. Even the crappiest toy shop telescope has pictures of it on the box. When kids draw a planet nine times out of ten it's Saturn. The idea of a planet with a big ring around it just seems so alien to us that it's a must see. The other night, about nine months after getting a scope, I finally saw it. It appeared very bright, and very small in the eyepiece, and best of all it looked just like a primary school kids idea of a planet.

So many objects that are supposed 'must see' have left me a little underwhelmed. Astronomers tell me " It's not what you can see,it's what you are looking at", and I can see that,up to a point. The smudge of faint light you can see from the garden may very well look fantastic through the Hubble space telescope, but to the kids it's just a not very interesting faint smudge of light. Saturn though is something else, an object that lives up to its billing and that causes you,no matter how many times you see it, to involuntarily exclaim "wow!"

The Swedish Detective

2010-03-07T16:21:00.002Z

'Wallander'is far and away the best detective show on TV. That is all.

On Friendship

2010-03-07T16:08:00.007Z

I watched the Deer hunter the other day. I hadn’t seen it for ages, and while I’ve always loved it as a war film, as I’ve got older It means more to me as a study of realistic male friendship.
Most criticism of the movie centres on the films length, in particular the Russian wedding scene that dominates the opening hour. In my view though, this sets up the relationships between the main characters, and makes the later scenes more powerful as a result.
The men work, drink and hunt together. Nobody seems to reveal much about themselves and (as in real life) feelings are mainly left unsaid. The only exception is when De Niro’s character, Michael, promises Christopher Walken’s Nick, that whatever happens he won’t leave him behind in Vietnam.
And this is what resonates with me. If you’re lucky enough to have a close group of friends that you’ve known for years, you’ll know that there is always an unspoken promise that whatever happens in your life, no matter how bad, someone will always help, or try to help, you get through.
This scene sums up the friendship angle
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V95cSlAu2l8

And of course the famous theme tune

Runaway Train

2009-11-30T14:45:00.008Z

I listened to a fantastic Radio Documentary this morning. It concerns a train crash in Canada, and only lasts 15 minutes.For the bulk of that quarter of an hour it felt like I was holding my breath.

Vanishing London

2009-11-24T20:43:00.002Z

I haven't been into the West End for a few months, well certainly not the Tottenham Court Road end of Oxford street. So although I was aware that work on cross rail had started I was still taken aback. The whole landscape is different, no more Astoria and no more Chip shop on the corner. The chip shop had recently re-opened as well after a fire. It wasn't the nicest corner of London, it never has been. Peter Ackroyd's 'London' reveals that this area was once 'The Rookeries' London's worst slum a real den of iniquity. The area where Centre Point now stands has always been associated with dodgy activities and still is. It's funny how an area can still retain a scent of the past, however murky that past may be.
Still it's all gone now, and soon we'll have a nice shiny new station. Aren't we the lucky ones!

A few words in defense of Nick Knowles.

2009-11-03T15:59:00.003Z

If there was a bloke who lived in your neighbourhood, who always seemed cheerful,helped others around him and never did anything personally to hurt or offend you, would you hate him? Probably not. So why do I find it so easy to take a dislike to a variety of television personalities who have done absolutely nothing to me?
I had a bit of an epiphany the other night. D.I.Y S.O.S was on TV, and up popped its genial host Nick Knowles. Now in the past I have really really disliked Knowles.....why? Who knows, but dislike him I did. I even poured scorn on the fella when the papers reported that he'd rescued someone in a motor accident “probably something minor that's been blown out of proportion” I thought. So there I was watching Knowles, and a thought entered my head,”Why do I hate this man?” and do you know what ? I haven't got a clue. Sure I'm not a fan of the kind of TV he makes, but hate? I know nothing about him. He comes across as a pretty nice guy.
I've been wasting energy on this sort of thing for years. A night in front of the TV usually consists of me on a sofa spouting off about various,generally amiable, people in a sub Charlie Brooker type way. In fact it was Brooker who helped me see the error of my ways. In a piece in the Guardian Charlie described how various people send him all sorts of hateful stuff about celebrities, as they labour under the misapprehension that he hates everyone and everything. The article stemmed from the level of nastiness being aimed at Kerry Katona and her now infamous appearance on 'This Morning'. The gist of the piece was what was the point of having a go at her? Essentially she's pretty harmless plus there's a real possibility that the woman is genuinely mentally ill. The piece stayed with me, and I think I've finally taken it on board. It really is not worth getting worked up about frothy essentially harmless television personalities....hate for hate's sake like those idiots with that 'Is it just me or is everything shit?' book. Start thinking like that and the next step's a Daily Mail subscription.
From now on I'm going to save my wrath for people who deserve it. Jeremy Kyle he's a *~#!

Song of the day

For no reason other than that I love it

Elvis and I (Part 1)

2009-10-02T14:15:00.004+01:00

We didn't listen to Elvis much in our house when I was a kid. My Dad seldom seemed to listen to music, I can't ever recall him ever just sitting down in the front room and putting a record on. In the cupboard with the sliding door was my parents record collection. The singles, all in a wire unit resembling a toast rack, and the albums standing next to them. Apart from 'Bert Weedon's 20 golden guitar greats' and the best of The Shadows, the records were exclusively the property of my Mum. There was the usual Mum stuff, Streisand,Diamond,Manilow and Mathis. A smattering of Motown ,a couple of classical things,and a soundtrack or two. Strangely there was as far as I can remember only one Beatles single in the rack, Eleanor Rigby, perhaps the reference to Father Mackenzie in the lyrics appealed. The King also had one entry in the toast rack singles chart, the maudlin 'Crying in the chapel'.

The only other time Elvis was heard was during Jimmy Savile's old record club, a Sunday lunchtime radio 1 show, which Mum listened too while getting the Sunday roast ready. The windows would be clouded with condensation from boiling pots containing cabbage or spuds, and Sir Jimmy would be saying in the background “Get two points if you said ,open brackets Marie's the name, close brackets, of his latest flame, only a point if you just said His latest flame” Did Sir Jimmy really believe the nation was keeping score? And if so, who was winning?
So as you can see I wasn't really all that aware of Elvis as a singer. You see when I was a kid I was far more aware of Elvis the actor.

Every other Christmas we would stop over at Auntie Gen's house. Christmas was always spent at either our house, or my Auntie's. It was an unwritten rota. Christmas day was spent at one house, and Boxing day was held at the other. Boxing day morning would,until about 11ish ,be an adult free zone. The grown ups would be laying in,sleeping off the excesses of the night before, and me and my sister would sit pyjama clad and watch TV. Enter Elvis,often in a double bill. It never struck me as odd that in one film he would play a 'red Indian', and in the other a race driver or a helicopter pilot. It didn't even matter that the films, with a couple of exceptions, were invariably terrible. Elvis would burst into song, I would eat my toast and everything was great. Boxing day to me still means Elvis.
One August day in 1977, whilst on holiday in Norfolk (me that is not Elvis) we heard on the car radio that the King was dead. 'Way Down' seemed to be on a permanent loop,the news was full of scenes of mourners outside Graceland.

Ever since then all somebody has to do is pad out a rhinestone jumpsuit, put a dumb wig on and hey presto cheap laughs a plenty. The man who changed music forever has become a joke, and not a very funny one.

Part two will follow

Emotional astronomy

2009-09-27T13:11:00.004+01:00

The other night found me standing in my back garden, Ipod on, looking at an object 25000 light years away. Commonly known as the great globular cluster in Hercules, it's a collection of over 1,000,000 stars which from our point of view looks like a ball of light. Through my reasonably small telescope (114mm) it looks like a smudge, a round blob, a fingerprint. You cannot pick out individual stars, in fact if you were just scanning the sky, with no prior knowledge of it's existence, you could easily think it was a puff of cloud and skip past.
So how come when I was looking at it, I felt a lump in my throat and almost a tear in my eye? I've found this quite a common occurence with me. A quick view of Jupiter or the craters of the moon, and off I go. Looking through the eyepiece of a telescope is a very singular experience. It gives you a sense of being alone with whatever is in your field of view. Everyone else is watching TV, while you are staring at things that ancient eyes once viewed,live and in real time. No matter how bad your day has been,take a quick scan of the Universe and for a while all problems seem to disappear. I think it's the sense of permanence. The phrase 'This too will pass' springs to mind, your problem is put into perspective, at least temporarily. It's just a tiny blip in something so vast you can't really comprehend it no matter how much you read on the subject. As a mood enhancer it should be on the NHS.
Incidentally this is what was on my Ipod as I was looking at the cluster

The Books of summer

2009-09-09T19:30:00.002+01:00

My summer reading this year has stretched from 'The Great Gatsby' on a beach in Camber, to 'A rumor of War' in a Hertfordshire back garden. Books have been read on Beaches in Sussex and Dorset,parks in London and Herts and on Overground and underground trains. I have read of Roman Generals,Irish cyclists,Swedish Vampires,Assassins,Stalinist pigs,Sci Fi heroes,Football managers,soldiers,playboys and Rock stars. All in all in spite of the weather, I enjoyed summer.

Song of the day
September song - Frank Sinatra

Jeff Koons

2009-08-20T00:43:00.005+01:00

All I really knew about Jeff Koons before today was that he took an awful lot of nude photo's of his wife. Sure she was pretty, but it always seemed to be closer to porn than art. Where was the skill? Today however I have had a complete change of mind. Whilst strolling through Kensington Gardens we decided to stop at the Sepentine gallery. Koons' latest exhibition 'Popeye' is currently on there and it is great. We all walked around the exhibits, mainly kids paddling pool inflatables perched on ladders or dangling from chains. Ho hum I thought, I could do this, get a rubber ring and hang it from...oh I dont't know...the shed and voila! art! I was on my way out when I read one of the exhibits descriptions. In the description of what appears to be a chain of inflatable monkeys holding a straw weave chair and dangling from the ceiling, is a list of materials used. The list consisted of wood and straw (the chair) and aluminium. Aluminium.....the inflatables aren't inflatables at all but brilliant replicas cast in aluminium. We went back round and had another look, all the time on tenterhooks as Small and Smaller came perilously close to knocking into Christ knows how many Dollars worth of art. It was like seeing it with new eyes, I could now appreciate the skill involved.
I'm not a great modern art fan, although I never dismiss it completely out of hand, but I recommend a visit to the Serpentine in the next few weeks.

Song of the day
Art For Arts Sake- 10CC

Borders

2009-07-20T14:58:00.004+01:00

I realise that in theory having a local Borders is not as good has having an independent local bookshop, but I've always liked it. A store that has everything I ever buy in one place, well what's not to like. Last thursday Mrs M came home and informed me that the London Colney Borders was closing at the end of the month, and everything was 50% off. 50% off! I was halfway out the door and on my way, when I was reminded that it was Small's School play, and my spending would have to wait 24 hours.
Friday evening, and we are standing in what appears to be the worlds busiest bookstore. A man at the head of a very long queue for the till, has just spent £95 on what appears to be not much at all. Bookmarks, booklights, little books of calm all sorts of crap.
We ventured in, sale fever had taken hold. People wandered around with huge piles of books under their chins. All the baskets had gone,had they been sold? There was still plenty of stuff worth buying. I'd presumed that all the good stuff would have been sent out to other stores, but no most of it was still there. CD's and DVD's were looking a little thin but the book department seemed fine. An announcement came over the tannoy informing us that the store was closing at 7.30. A quick glance at the watch,7.05, and the queue was massive.In my haste I only picked up two books,'E' from Eels autobiography, and an account of various attempts on Hitlers life. Never mind I'll come back over the weekend.
Well for one reason or another I didn't make it. So I popped in today. A plague of locusts had been in and stripped most of the shelves bare. I found a novel, "Let the right one in" by John Ajvide Lindquist (£4), and a Woody Allen DVD (Bananas if you're interested, for £2.50). Now sale fever had gripped me. I grabbed a huge road map of the USA...£5 do I really need it? Answer...no.I pulled myself together and put it back. So much to see, and my mind did it's usual trick of going completely blank. Whenever I'm in a record or book shop it's always a case of "Who wrote that book?" "what was that track I really loved on 6 music?", It really was quite overwhelming.
The store closes on August 9th, at the rate things are selling who knows what will be on the shelves by then? There is still some good stuff in there, but you'll have to be quick.

Song of the day
Paperback writer/Rain - The Beatles

Bonus song
Everything must go - The Manic Street Preachers

Fame

2009-07-07T13:13:00.006+01:00

Neil Armstrong is one of my all time heroes. As someone born in July 1969 the Moon landing has always had a special place in my heart. By rights Neil should be the most recognisable face on Earth, after all he was the first man to walk on another world. However I reckon if Neil was to go shopping in Sainsburys very few people would recognize him.Armstrong seldom gives interviews and signs no autographs these days. After the early fuss, Armstrong stepped out of the limelight and became a professor in Ohio. To be the most famous man in the world and still have a relatively normal life. How different from today.

Song of the day
Man on the moon- REM and Bruce Springsteen

Owen

2009-07-03T18:07:00.006+01:00

I'm no Manchester United fan, far from it, and I know football supporters are seldom logical, but Liverpool fans are among the most pathetic in the world. Michael Owen leaves a club in the doldrums (Newcastle) and goes to the current Premier league champions (Man Utd) with regular Champions league football, and somehow he's a Judas. Owen last played for Liverpool 5 years ago. In the same situation who wouldn't do the same?

Song of the day
A message to you Rudy - The Specials

And as a bonus

Bojangles

2009-06-26T23:50:00.004+01:00

It's tempting to sit at your keyboard and pontificate on the sad end of Michael Jackson. I mean why not? Every other Tom Dick and Harry, and Indie nonentities live from Glastonbury, have had a say. No, today the best tribute to Jackson was payed by Danny Baker on his BBC London show. He opened the show by playing 'Mr Bojangles' by Sammy Davis Jr. At last a DJ with a handle on the fact that Jackson was ,at heart, an old time song and dance man, who was influenced as much by Sammy Davis and Fred Astaire as he was by James Brown.
His latter music may be an irrelevance, but Christ when he was good, he was very good indeed.

The Orchestra

2009-06-22T10:16:00.007+01:00

We spent a very pleasant Saturday in Watford this week. Now that's not a sentence you will usually hear. Watford conjures up visions of dragging bored children round the Harlequin centre. Whilst avoiding eye contact with the gangs of feral children who seem to be hanging around in the mall, no matter what time you go in there. No this was quite different. We went to the Watford Colliseum to see the BBC orchestra's family music day concert.
The ticket said to be at the venue for 2-45pm, so as is Mrs M's habit, we got there at about 2. To be fair there already was a queue at the door, and this was were we spent a good half hour observing the middle class families. As a general rule the kids are called Henry or Ollie and all have hair that is slightly too long. Flip flops or Crocs seem to be the order of the day, teamed up with fraying slightly grubby denim. Topped off with a T shirt advertising last years exotic holiday destination or Daleks. The Dads all have the "I'm not used to casual dressing" look of work shirt, untucked and unbuttoned. Shorts, and deck shoes. Sometimes they even remove the grey socks. The Mums all had a slightly frazzled air, Laura Ashley/Monsoon dress sense and too much ethnic jewellery.
Anyway thats enough for the character assassinations.
I realised on entering the hall, that this was my very first classical concert, and very enjoyable it was too.What struck me was that the amount of different instruments all being played together could create such a wonderful noise. Sure I'm a keen listener to classical music, and had often watched the Proms. But until then, somehow, I'd never really considered the logistics of it. Small and Smaller had a great time, as the orchestra mixed classical pieces, with TV and movie themes. We all betrayed our cultural ignorance by sniggering at the Benjamin Britten piece entitled 'Hankin Booby'.
Kirsten O'Brien was a great host for the afternoon. If you have kids you probably know her from the show "Smart!". The only downside was that Small was desperate for the toilet, and subsequently missed the Doctor Who theme, which was the piece that most 11 year old boys (including Small) wanted to hear.
Apparently Watford is now the home base for the BBC orchestra,and many performances are free. So it's always worth checking the BBC website for information on concerts. As a cheap way into the world of classical music it's fantastic.

Song of the day
Elbow with the BBC Concert orchestra - The loneliness of a tower crane driver

Summer songs Part 2

2009-06-16T20:01:00.004+01:00

Time of the season - The Zombies

Just pure summer brilliance. Strangely it wasn't much of a hit in the UK, but the Yanks loved it.The great thing about The Zombies, I've always thought, is their uncanny ability to conjure up sun drenched California, whilst coming from St Albans.
Enjoy.

Summer songs

2009-06-15T12:41:00.002+01:00

Number 1 in an occasional series (When it's sunny)

Albatross by Fleetwood Mac

Is there a better record for lounging in a deckchair, drink in hand with not a care in the world? I don't think so. It works even better if you're by the sea.

Drink

2009-06-09T13:20:00.005+01:00

We were watching 'Location,Location,Location' last night. It was from a couple of years ago and took place in Hastings. Apparently,according to Phil and Kirsty, Hastings is an up and coming place. A few years on however and some parts are more up and coming than others. The old town is delightful, a mix of antique shops,small stores and nice pubs. The main town centre is a different story. It's pretty much like 95% of British town centres, a bit shabby, groups of young men with no apparent occupation hanging round, and plenty of vacant premises. However it does have Britain's classiest drunks. We were strolling through the town, when we overheard a snippet of conversation between a group of drinking folk. One of them was on his way to Threshers, " Which do you want, Dry or Medium Dry?". Yes the alkies of Hastings are sherry connoisseurs. Of course we had to follow this gentleman into the off license,whereupon he bought a bottle, handed over a fiver and still got enough change to get himself a nice set of glasses from Poundstretcher if he'd wanted.
Stay classy Hastings!

Clip of the day
It could only be Withnail and I

Track of the day
One for my baby - Dean Martin

I hope you're proud of yourselves!

2009-06-08T15:06:00.007+01:00

Well it's happened. That fine example of the master race, BNP Fuhrer Nick Griffin, has finally got into office. His vote went down, but due to people not getting off their fat arses and voting, Britain now has far right politicians representing us in Europe. Well done Gordon! How proud he must be, to find that people are willing to consider voting fascist's into office rather than vote Labour.It's not just Brown's lot though. The whole expenses row has tainted politicians as a whole,causing indifference, and a certain amount of blood lust amongst the public. However,how piss poor do you have to be for people to think that Griffin's motley crew of thugs and bigots are a viable alternative.
Talking of the master race, how come they are all so bloody ugly! Hitler, Goebbels, Goering and Nick Griffin. Not exactly examples of Aryan supermen are they.

Song of the day
The Ku Klux Klan - Steel Pulse

Spring Holiday

2009-06-03T14:21:00.005+01:00

TEN GREAT THINGS ABOUT A WEEK ON THE SOUTH COAST

1) Just being on holiday with Mrs M and Small and Smaller
2) The weather was pretty good
3) A rainy morning trip to the Hastings Odeon to see 'Coraline'. The kids loved it and so did the parents.
4) The fantastic 'Fishermens Rolls'from a stall at the Roc in Nore in Hastings. Fresh locally caught fish fillets pan fried in extra virgin olive oil, and served in a bap. Wonderful,filling and only £2!
5) Reading 'The Great Gatsby' on the beach at Camber Sands, whilst watching the kids fly a kite.
6) The Jenny Lind pub in Hastings was very friendly,had a nice suntrap garden, serves nice Guinness, and didn't mind us bringing Small and Smaller with us.
7) The nature reserve at Rye Harbour. Great for a nice walk to the sea.
8) We saw Spike Milligan's grave in a small churchyard in Winchelsea. Mrs M and I both commented that as final resting places go it was a good one. We only found it because it was mentioned in the good pub guide, in a write up for the pub over the road. I've always been a big admirer of Spike, so it was nice to go and pay my respects. Incidentally, for the duration of our holiday Winchelsea was unofficially renamed Losechelsea. It has a much nicer ring to it.
9) The old town of Hastings. Small individual shops as opposed to the usual high street to be found in the newer part of town.
10) A drive out to Dungeness. Not the worlds most picturesque place, but it has a Nuclear power station, a lighthouse,miniture railway and the late film director Derek Jarman's famous garden. What's not to like.

Derek Jarmans garden

Song of the day
Fishermans blues - The Waterboys

I can't review

2009-05-20T14:10:00.006+01:00

I've not been at this blogging lark very long. This is my fourth go at maintaining a blog, all the others fell into rack and ruin pretty swiftly, and I do it purely out of the joy of writing. I'm not deluded enough to think people are hanging on my every thought, I really do it just for myself, and to coin a musicians cliche, if other people like what I do then that's great. I've written quite a few pieces on a variety of stuff, but one thing (among many others) I cannot do is review things.
I've tried, I've tried, but it just ends up a load of half baked, lazy soundbites. How do you describe how a record sounds, without resorting to the big book of music journalist cliche's? I can't do it. This was brought home to me the other day when I felt compelled to write a blog praising a 1970's dub album 'Super Ape' by The Upsetters. I'd only bought it a couple of weeks back, after reading a small piece on it in Mojo magazine's excellent Island records special. Since then I've listened to it a fair few times, and think it's great. Off I went to the Laptop to write a review. An hour, and several abortive attempts later, I abandoned the piece and went off to have a beer. Everything that I'd written was awful. Of course I made reference to the fact that Lee 'Scratch' Perry is a bit mad, and this was him at his most accessible . I described the music as sonic layers of heavy dark dub, and in general used every banal phrase in reggae review history. I mean who really thinks about music like this? From now on any reviews on here will be short,personal and to the point. But I'd like to say hats off to the critics who make something I personally find so hard, look like money for old rope.

Here's a great clip of Lee Perry and Jools Holland at Perry's Black Ark studios in Jamaica. Unfortunately Perry later burned it down, and ,unlikely as it seems, now lives in Switzerland.

Is not fire...is only drill

2009-05-19T15:26:00.005+01:00

We had a fire drill at work today. Nothing makes you feel like you're back at school quite like a Fire drill. All that was missing was a register.

Song of the day
Fire Brigade - The Move

The Moral Maze

2009-05-18T15:12:00.006+01:00

Back to work. It's election time so all the parties get a propaganda delivery in the post. The law says that all the parties leaflets should be treated equally. So what do you do about the BNP?
My biggest problem is that people will assume that as I'm delivering them, I must be a supporter, and as I deliver to a pretty racially mixed area this could be a problem. I mean would you like to get a leaflet from a bunch of people who want to see you shipped out of the country? No?...neither would I. However Britain is a democracy, and hopefully people will be able to see through the British jobs for British people smokescreen. When your party leaflet invokes the battle of Trafalgar (1805) as justification for a 21st century policy, you really have no right to be taken seriously.
Anyway democracy won, I delivered them, and felt shit.

Song of the day
Why? - The Specials.

Piggies

2009-05-15T09:15:00.004+01:00

I'm not a regular viewer, but the best programme on TV this week has to be last nights question time. A stage full of MP's , newspaper editors and for some reason the chairman of Mcdonalds UK. You know it's going to be entertaining when the least offensive people on the panel are the head of everybodys favourite multinational, and a newspaper journalist. The programme then became a coconut shy, with (not so) poor old Ming Campbell becoming Aunt Sally for the evening. Everybody on stage looked suitably ashamed (except Ronald Mcdonald,and the paper guy)as punters queued up to hurl vitriol at our elected representatives. Still Dimbleby looked like he enjoyed it.

Song of the day
Piggies - The Beatles

The Lark Ascending

2009-05-12T13:02:00.004+01:00

I made it out of the house!Decided to end my period of lethargy and to stretch my legs. A stroll along the River Ver, down by what my kids call 'The Secret Bridge', and onwards to the outskirts of Watford.Accompanied by an Ipod playlist suitable for the occasion ( Nick Drake, John Martyn, Grantchester meadows by The Floyd etc etc and a few classical pieces). Hardly saw a soul, apart from a few dog walkers, and a man sat on the riverbank, getting stuck into a bottle of Magners at 10 in the morning. Although only a few minutes from houses and the M25, there were places on the walk that you felt miles from anywhere.
I know you should appreciate the sounds of nature,and I do, but sometimes Humans do it so much better. Two birds,and I'm no spotter so I have no idea what variety they were, soared and dipped high in the air, to the sounds of Ralph Vaughan Wiliams playing in my headphones. A perfect moment,in a lovely morning.

Song of the day
The Lark Ascending (extract)- Ralph Vaughan Williams

Who knows where the time goes

2009-05-11T20:16:00.000+01:00

Nothing, absolutely sod all. Oh the downstairs PC was playing up again, so yet another afternoon slipped away from me whilst I endeavoured to fix it. I don’t know if it’s because I’m nearing forty, but I do seem to have become steadily more aware of the time I am wasting. It doesn’t seem to stop me though. A quick five minutes on the web soon becomes an hour ,maybe two. Sorting out Itunes and the Ipod can waste another hour or so. I need to get going, get my arse in gear. I always promise to myself not to waste a week off work, I always do however.
The weather has been good, a bit windy though. Sat on the step reading ‘The Word magazine’ listening to an album of Melanesian songs, that accompanied the soundtrack of The Thin Red Line. Very enjoyable, I only wished I’d spent more time doing it, instead of staring into the void that is the PC screen.

Track of the day
Who knows where the time goes – Fairport Convention