Don't Feed The Pixies

Yippee Ki Yeah Whatever

2012-02-20T04:49:00.001-08:00

An old cowboy went riding out, upon his bike one day

He found he had a puncture, and then he lost his way

When all at once a mighty sound of ringing he did hear

A hundred ghostly bicycles, were slowly growing near

He sheltered by a telephone and watched those bikes ride by

And as they swept on by him, he thought he heard one cry

"Oh Cowboy, don't you wait for help or here it is you'll stay

Besides, there's a repair shop, yonder down the way"

Yippee ki oh

Yippee ki yeah

Bike riders in the sky

visit Magpie Tales to take part

Your Family And Other Animals

2012-02-16T00:08:00.001-08:00

Well I have to report that as of recent my head seems to be rather empty of imagination.

It's not that I haven't been trying, you understand: oh no indeed. Every day Mr Brain has been going to the Ideas Factory on the bus, trawling down the isles with his shopping trolley (complete with wonky wheel), but sadly he has been returning home empty handed.

So to give him some much needed rest I thought that instead of something new I would bring you something old that was, to all intents and purposes, new.

As you know by now one of the many things that I do is write songs, lyrics and poems: well, some years ago when I first moved into my current home I sat down to write and record my first set of songs at that house. Somewhere along the way I came up with the below idea.

It's original genesis was the idea to write something that might easily have come from one of the early solo albums of (former frontman of The Smiths) Stephen Morrissey.

Morrissey, who is ubiquitously known by his surname and by his happy, smiling approach to life (erm...well, maybe not the latter) has an occasional flirtation with songs that are a combination of social commentary and wry northern humour (note that humour is deliberately spelt the British way just to annoy the spell checker)

So the below was an attempt on my part to write a song that was describing the most awful party you could imagine and to place at that party a family of utter wierdos - every family has at least one nutter, but the below seems to have more than its fair share.

Anyway, enjoy. Oh, and by the way - a Tory Back-bencher is a member of the Conservative Party who has a seat in Parliament, but not a very important one.

Your Family And Other Animals

Amorous Auntie
At the family party
Oh she is trying to make amends
For making love with your best friend
She's had more than a skin full
Tell me isn't it sinful
Oh yes, it's a sad disgrace
To still be shagging at her age
And your Glamorous Grandma
Squeezes into her wonderbra
With her blue rinse and dentures
Seducing Tory back-benchers
And your Marvelous Mother
Is cleaning the cutlery knives
She's making light of the fact that
She's a pin-up in Reader's Wives

And here's your Flatulent Father
Well we know what he's after
Oh yes his pension won't go far
He swills it down at the local bar
And your Belligerent Brother
Well you can't stand one another
He's got a wife, but he hits her
Oh God, he's much worse than Hitler
And your Marvelous Mother
Tells you, you do not love her
Oh yes it's you she's accusing
For your Father's gay cruising
And your Suffering Sister
Has yet to make her appearance
Well she's making the most of
The Tesco's seasonal clearance

Glamorous Grandma
Belligerent Brother
Flatulent Father
Amorous Auntie
Marvelous Mother
Suffering Sister
And you

How Does Bob Marley Like His Doughnuts?

2012-02-03T02:33:00.000-08:00

As anyone who survived the 1970s and 80s will tell you - the answer to the above question is - wi' jam-in

The Wailers, for anyone who is interested, like jam-in too - and also hope that we like jam-in too

Sadly Bob, wherever you may be, I have to report that I don't

Not, I should clarify, the very popular and highly enjoyable song from which the rather terrible joke derives - anything by Bob Marley is top notch and well worth a listen to on a sunny summers eve (note for Herself - Marley is not the one who sang Blowin' In The Wind and sounds like he has been gargling concrete for a week - that was a different Bob)

Anyway - as some of you may remember I started learning to play the Saxophone about 2 years ago.

The saxophone is different to most of the instruments I have previously learned - in as much as if you hit the right key at the right time on a piano or guitar or bass then the liklihood is that the right note will come out. Where the Saxophone varies is that in addition to this you have to have the right Embouchure (lip pattern), or else a high pitched squeak will emit instead of an actual note. This is likely to send even the bravest of felines scurrying for cover and can be most readily likened to the sound of a Gnat breaking wind (not something that Gnat fanciers particularly like to listen to of an evening, and certainly not something that music lovers around the globe aspire to)

But even though I have made some progress in the world of High Pitched Squeaking (the complaints from local airlines finding their guidance systems interfered with have at least stopped) I still find the improvisational sections of my practice depressing to say the least.

Improvisation is a vital way of learning ones scales and as a result of which learning fluidity of play. The saxophone was also largely designed by its creators (despite what it says on Wikipedia I still like to tell people that it was designed by two Irish gentlemen called John Sax and Padraig O'Phone after a particularly nasty accident with a tuba) to be an improvisational instrument and was largely responsible for Jazz (for which sin it will no doubt never be fully forgiven)

But I just can't do it - I can't improvise. Yes, ok - I can muck about with the scales and play notes that no one else has written for me - but its all depressingly linear and unimaginative and, frankly, a bit dull. And the fact that I am clearly unable to think outside of this particular box depresses me to the point where I keep postponing any improvisation as part of my practice.

For those of you wondering at this point - i should probably mention that i specifically went to a local hardware shop recently and bought myself a box so that i would always know which particular box i was thinking outside of - one step ahead of the game so to speak (this is not true, although i do think it should just to see what people say)

Perhaps, via response, y'all would be able to suggest ways in which you were able to re-shape your thinking and to work on these skills - or just suggest a good place to buy a box to think outside of?

Oh No!!!! It Isn't?? (The Revenge Of The Killer Panto)

2012-01-27T00:21:00.000-08:00

I'll be honest and say that the last time our speakers club did a Panto I really though, "Oh God, I hope we never do one of those again!"

I'd pretty much given up my brief career as an amateur thespian some years before meeting Herself (much to the relief of the theatre going public) and was bemused to have found myself volunteered for a part in the pantomime.

For those of you that are unfamiliar with British culture a pantomime is a very peculiar type of theatre production that traditionally occurs between November - January. It is usually based loosely on a fairy tale, such as Cinderella, Babes In The Wood, Puss In Boots - or else stories like Dick Whittington (thrice Mayor of London and never once introduced a congestion charge, or bid to hold the Olympic Games)

The main characters are usually:
Principal Boy - we'll take the story of Ali Ba-Ba and the Forty Thieves (which is a Panto staple as well). The Principal Boy (in this case Ali Ba-Ba) is always played by a woman

Principal Girl - the main love interest. As wet as a flannel left in an overflowing sink. Also played by a girl

Adding to this rampant tale of lesbianism (although for the purposes of the play we all take for granted that the woman playing the principal boy is a boy - don't ask) we have:

The Villain - usually a wicked step father or uncle, sometimes a wicked witch. The key thing for any actor playing the baddie is to start with hamming it up, work from there to dangerously over the top and keep going until you have achieved the type of villain last seen tying damsels to train lines in silent movies - and then take it one step further. The first time I was in a panto it was as Chief Weasel in Wind In The Willows - a performance that was so over the top that i had trouble staying on the stage

A Man In Drag - usually the Panto Dame. Sometimes this is the mother of the hero, sometimes the Ugly Sisters dependent on the story

There's usually a lot of slapstick humour for the kids, a few minor celebrities, innuendo for the adults, outrageous costumes and a hell of a lot of shouting "Oh No It Isn't" - or "It's Behind You!"

But yet again the hand of fate reached out and slapped my jowels as my long term friend and partner in musical crime Argent decided that it would be fun to revive the Speakers Club Panto and that she was going to write it.

This changed the situation from "Ye gods, no!" to, "Hmmm, now that could be fun..."

She came up with the idea of Ali Blah Blah And The Forty Thieves (which eventually became The Forty-ish Thieves, due to keeping numbers involved in the panto to achievable figures - and explained in the story as being due to the thieves being outsourced to another country)

About half-way through the plot Argent found herself a bit stuck, so I chipped in with some jokes quietly inspired by Monty Python's Flying Circus (four years training in the sound effects centre in Barrow In Furness...just for a sodding door bell) and about rival speaker clubs in the area (I bet they can afford proper nuts at their club - they've got plenty of nuts from what i hear) - and added a few songs (mostly re-worked famous songs). Argent set about making it all make sense and suddenly we had a very funny and very well written story

Also, and due largely to a concert that both Argent and I had attended in December, we also had two more advantages than the last Panto - two Ukelele's

We had given ourselves the roles of Thief #1 and Thief #2 (my only regret being that I couldn't think of an easy way to get T-shirts with this on, a la 1960s Batman) and In-house musicians - IE the most fun parts in the show

Also - in order to save anyone the pain of actually learning lines we decided to do it as a Radio Show - ie to pretend that we were all radio actors recording in front of a live studio audience - I even built a couple of pretend mikes and covered them in silver foil

And rather amazingly - it all worked really, really well. Our President, as the constantly complaining Sound Effects Technician was suitably enthusiastic, our villain had clearly turned her amplifier not just to 11 but to 12 (see Spinal Tap if you don't get the reference), and the undisputed star of the show was our "man in drag" as Tinkerbell - with his high-pitched voice that kept (deliberately) breaking into a low baritone

No one threw anything, no one lost any limbs and no one died - all vital signs of a successful show and people laughed in most of the right places - plus everyone seemed to enjoy the Ukeleles - so a good evening in all.

Odd Sock Blues - The GPS Solution

2012-01-22T02:13:00.000-08:00

If Sir Issac Newton had turned his attention to socks instead of towards inventing gravity and the cat flap (although disappointingly he merely named Gravity, as people had been discovering it on a daily basis for millions of years before, and had no connection with the cat flaps despite the legend to the contrary) then I feel sure that his first law would have read as follows:

Newton's First Law Of Socks
#1: No matter how many one has, one can never find a pair

And that his second would have read as follows
#2: Socks will always find a way to de-couple.

Take me for an example. This year, as is always the way, I got plenty of new socks for Christmas. I needed these for two reasons: firstly because I tend to wear holes in them quite quickly and secondly because we have a sock monster that lives under the bed and devours socks. Not pairs of socks, you understand, just half a pair.

The existence of Sock Monsters has long been postulated by scientists and researchers into the paranormal, but to date there have, much like the Loch Ness Monster, been no clear sightings that couldn't be attributed to a bit too much to drink of a Saturday night or, in the case of the Sock Monster, a cat suffering from a sudden bout of Mad Cats Disease (anyone who has ever owned a cat will be familiar with MCD, sometimes known as Cracker-Cat - where they suddenly howl around the house chasing after something invisible for no apparent reason)

The existence of such a creature as the Sock Monster can, however, be the only explanation for the steadily growing pile of odd socks by the bedside for which a partner has never been found. That or Alien Abduction (don't discount it guys, there's probably a whole shed load of life on a pair of socks for aliens to come along and probe)

I used to know someone who got so tired of having the same old argument about not being able to find matching socks at 5am that he took to deliberately wearing clashing socks of different colours. This would never work in our house, mind you, where Herself cannot quite understand how I am able to cope all day wearing a sock that is merely turned inside out (whereas until it was pointed out I was entirely oblivious to the fact she usually has to go for a bit of a lie down to recover (JOKE))

So it seems to me that we urgently need a solution to the problem: one that suits our technical age and, after applying literally minutes of thought to the problem I came up with Global Positioning for your socks.

The basic idea is:
1) buy a pair of socks
2) by some technical means scan your new socks into your i-phone or android phone app
3) when, inevitably, one of the socks goes missing you re-scan the other one, activating the GPS signal
4) your phone then guides you to the missing sock

I checked out the internet whilst writing this post to see if anyone was actually marketing such a product and the closest I came was to a cat named Socks here that had been fitted with a GPS collar, so I feel my invention is relatively safe thus far - now all I need to do is find the solution to point 2

2) Technical means to find missing sock

My initial thought was that a barcode could be stitched into the pattern of the sock, thus enabling you to scan the barcode. This would certainly help with any instance where you had to go to a communal changing room and accidentally put on the wrong pair of socks - but wouldn't help with the actual capacity for tracking down a missing sock as per the requirement

My next idea, a low background level of radiation for the socks, had it's own drawbacks - in so much as whilst it would be relatively easy to find the sock it would become increasingly difficult to find the actual foot.

Especially after it was hacked off to save the rest of the leg.

Obviously we could move into the realm of washable shoes, however this would drastically increase the space requirement for storage.

This only leaves us with one viable solution: some form of microchip sewn into the side of the sock and encased in a waterproof plastic to stop water damage. Said chip would need to be at a place where
a) It would be unlikely to rub or cause discomfort
b) be unlikely to easily dislodge or come lose

However, I feel that the cost of production of such a small chip, required plastic coating and development of applicable software would be of such a high level that the price to the consumer would be at a level where it was infinitely cheaper and easier to simply wait until the next Christmas and/or birthday when the inevitable present of new socks arrives.

The solution then would seem to be to find some new use for all the uneaten socks of the world - but I fear that the world would never be the same if we were to suddenly find that the Sock Puppets of the world had gone on strike and were giving humans the boot.

GPS for socks - you heard it here first folks

IT'S ONLY BLOODY JANUARY!!!!!!

2012-01-17T07:37:00.000-08:00

I haven't seen either film, but already The Descendents (with George Clooney) and The Iron Lady have managed to raise my hackles.

Let's face it The Iron Lady was always going to raise an emotional reaction for those of us that survived the Thatcher years with any remote shreds of sanity left (what was the deal with her and Regan anyway?) - would they portray her the way we, the long suffering people of England, remembered her (IE selling off our industries, breaking the unions, the Poll tax), or would the Hollywood effect romanticize everything as usual (answer: I still haven't seen it, so can't comment)

But come on guys, advertising it the "Film of 2012" whilst we were still in December 2011

And now George, usually so loveable and roguish, has taken time out of his busy schedule advertising expensive coffee machines to irritate me with a film that, in January mind you, is being advertised as "the best film of the year"

I mean - really?

Is this all we can look forward to cinematically for the year? - a couple of half-decent films at the very start of the year and then bugger all until the Mayan calendar runs out and we're all swallowed my the mutant star goat that's been following us ever since our ancestors left Golgafrincham (see Hitch Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy if you don't get the joke)

I know you guys are desperate to get bums on seats, what with the advent of digital TV showing the same films three times in as many days barely six months after they're off the big screen, the general feeling that 3-D is just a gimmick to rip us off yet again with a new gadget - but COME ON

It's in the same league as advertising Christmas as soon as the schools go back in September, or putting Creme Eggs for Easter on the shelves as soon as the Christmas decorations go down or...

erm...

Well, yes they already do both of those, but would it really - I mean really - hurt them just to let us relax and let us live a bit of the year before they start telling us how much of the rest of the year is going to be rubbish in comparison?

We live a fast-paced enough life as it is - so why not let us slow down a bit

Besides - the mutant star goat has waited this long, hasn't it?

Can't Get Cover?

2012-01-13T05:43:00.000-08:00

Call Centre (CC): Welcome to Faceless Insurance International, how may I help you today?

Customer (CU): Hi, yes I need to get insurance for my vehicle

CC: Certainly madam, can I take your name please?

CU: Yes, it's Cinderella

CC: How do you spell that?

CU: C-I-N-D-E-R-E-L-L-A

CC: And your surname?

CU: I don't have one

CC: (PAUSE) I'm sorry madam, did you say that you don't have one?

CU: Not that I'm aware of, no. Sometimes people call me Cinders, does that count?

CC: Cinderella Cinders? OK madam, and your address?

CU: I live in the kitchens at my mother's house (gives address)

CC: O-kay. And what type of vehicle are you looking to insure today?

CU: It's a Pumpkin, a giant Pumpkin.

(SLIGHT PAUSE)

CC: I'm not finding any vehicle type of Pumpkin on my systems - what type of engine does it have?

CU: It's actually powered by two enchanted mice

(LONGER PAUSE)

CC: Mice?

CU: Yes, my Fairy Godmother turned a giant pumpkin and some mice into horses - and now I need to get to the ball so I can marry a Prince

(EVEN LONGER PAUSE)

CC: I'm sorry madam, but I don't think we cover enchanted vehicles, Pumpkins or otherwise.

CU: Oh, ok - I'll try somewhere else then - thank you

PHONE CUTS OUT - THEN CONNECTS TO THE NEXT CALLER

CC: Welcome to Faceless Insurance International, how may I help you today?

CU2: Yeah, hi - my name's Aladdin - can you tell me if you insure flying carpets?

Five of the best

2012-01-08T02:31:00.000-08:00

Well, as those of you who know me will know I am liable, from time to time, to share a list of five things that I like with you - my unsuspecting and regular audience.

This time, and further to a conversation with Argent, I am sharing a list of five songs that if I were ever to compile a list of favourite songs would certainly be towards the higher end of that list

Some may look at the list and wonder how it is possible to like wildly differing types of music and to those people I say well, why not?

A-ha - I've Been Losing You
So immediately there will be cries from music lovers around the globe that A-Ha represent the worst of Boy-band Bubblegum pop. Disposable nonsense with pretty boys and plinky-plonky keyboards. To these people I say: stuff and nonsence

Yes it is true that when they first came to fame they had an immensely high number of impressionable female followers and as a result of attending one of those early concerts I still suffer from occasional bouts of tinnitus brought on by two hours of 50,000 teenage girls screaming hysterically - but I think that they're reputation for being disposable nonsense is unfair and unfounded. Scratch beneath the surface and you find a series of well crafted and intricately arranged pop classics and a vocalist with one of the most amazingly versatile voices in pop.

I've Been Losing You, taken from their second album, is a remarkably dark tale about someone who - it can only be assumed from the lyrics - has just shot someone. Indeed the whole of Scoundrel Days (the album) themes around crime and punishment (although the lyric "maybe it was over/when you chucked me out the Rover" remains one of my favourite unintentionally funny lyrics of all time)

What sells it to me every time on this song is that bass line, the little chick-a-chick of the guitar and then, right at the end, that bit where the song stops - and then the drums come back in for the finale.

Ray Charles - Georgia On My Mind
What can I really say about this song - one of the most beautifully played and vocalised songs of all time. From the wistful strings at the start, to Ray Charles's tones and that sentiment of longing... give me a cup of coffee, a Best Of Ray Charles and a blank sheet of canvas to paint on and I'm set for the day.

Joy Division - No Love Lost
It's weird how the legend of Joy Division has grown. When I first got into them it was via New Order (the band they became after singer Ian Curtis's death) and they were still something of an underground legend. Now it seems to be universally acknowledged that they were one of the most important and influential bands of the punk movement

OK -so the lyrics are dark and depressing, but listen to the musicianship on this song - you won't find any other band in the world that has so much going on musically, and certainly no other punk band came close. The video appears to be clips from Anton Corbjin's excellent biopic "Control"

Manic Street Preachers - Motorcycle Emptiness
Just to prove that I didn't entirely stop listening to music in the 1980s here's a song from the 90s. The Manics, with their daft politics and youthful enthusiasm wrote some amazing songs and have continued to write good, if less daftly political songs since their rise to fame and fortune. I actually heard this when it was first released and loved the guitar line - although the clip on The Chart Show was so brief that, at that time, I had no idea who was performing the song.

The Sugarcubes - Coldsweat
I can only assume that, in some corner of the world, the eyes of Bjork Goddmundsdottr and Kate Bush must be avidly glued to their respective TVs to see who has won this year's Annual Mrs Madman award.

Well Kate - it was a good effort with the song about the washing machine and hiring Stephen Fry to recide 50 made up words for snow - but I'm sorry to say that Bjork wins it hands down.

I first heard The Sugarcubes (of whom Bjork was the lead singer before solo success) on a Saturday morning pop show called The Chart Show - where they would play independent videos as well as mainstream stuff. She was wailing away in icelandic - but even then there was something about her voice that just sparked a shiver - both innocent and wildly sexual at the same time.

Since then Bjork has had much competition in the loopy stakes (Lady Ga-Ga's meat dress anyone?) but I think the album where she used nothing but throat singing for backing and the seven minute recording of some tibetian bloke banging a stick and yelling "Ye-o-o-o-o-o-op" will take some beating.

Still, if you think she's bonkers you should check out Einar Orn, the backing vocalist in The Sugarcubes in this deeply disturbing video. Cold Sweat remains one of my favourite songs of all time - the immensely dark lyrics, pounding drums and bass - and Bjork's primal rage...

Talking Heads - (Nothing But) Flowers
I couldn't leave you without a clip of my all time favourite band, and possibly (if i were forced to chose one) my all time favourite song.

No matter how miserable I may be if I were to put this song on I would be unable to stop myself from singing and dancing along - it's that catchy.

I mean, come on, how can you not like a song about someone who has gone back to nature and then realizes that he missed technology?

And one for Herself...

Not so long ago, on a particularly special day, I gave a surprise present to Herself - it was a CD of Cliff Richard's greatest hits. It came with the message that I loved her as she was - naff taste in music included.

Music lovers everywhere should turn away now - or else try and find the Shed 7 cover version - which somehow turns it into a really, really good song

Not-so, Na-So, Song Writing In A Month

2012-01-03T11:17:00.000-08:00

At the end of November, having written 50,108 words of drivel I thought - what next?

So, knowing that I would be likely to find a com padre in my usual creative friend argent I suggested a month of trying to write songs - preferably 10 to 12 songs, or enough for an album.

The idea was to try and record the songs and make the album, using newly aquired technology on my computer.

This plan quickly ran into problems of a technical nature, as surely I must have done something to annoy whichever god or deity looks after computer technology - first of all I couldn't get my tech to work, and then my existing tech also crashed - meaning that all my attempts at musical masterpieces or malformations were scuppered.

I have to admit that it was at this point that I lost some of my motivation and this probably resulted in me not even closely approaching the target of 10-12 songs. However, I did manage seven of variable nature.

As my computer is still playing up and I don't know why I'm unable to present recordings of the best ones to you as hoped, but below I hope you will find and enjoy the lyrics to the two best efforts:

The first is called "Think It Over" - I don't really remember the inspiration for the song, I think it came from a slow and gentle strum I was playing with and that set the mood.

Think It Over

Think it over, take your time

You might miss me, way down the line

Think it over, baby please

Stay with me

There could be dark clouds, in our way

Who needs those dark clouds, let come what may

Think it over, honey please

Just stay with me

Bridge

Sometimes you seem to wander

From restless dream to dream

As the years you pass you wonder

Just what the hell did it all mean?

Think it over, take your time

You might miss me, way down the line

Think it over, baby please

Stay with me

The second set of lyrics I'm presenting here are from "Motion Capture Technology" - at this point in the month I had come up with the idea of providing some generic titles that I could use and would influence the style of the song I was going to write. It should be mentioned that at the time of writing it I was listening to a lot of Manic Street Preachers - so the song was definitely influenced by them. I've edited out most of the final verse as I'm not happy with it and have edited verse 2 - but I think the previous lyrics are sufficiently interesting

Motion Capture Technology

Vs1

I wish my life was a movie

Motion capture technology

Then I wouldn’t feel my pain

It would all be so easy

Living life in a movie

Never feeling any shame

You don’t have to be a bit part actor

You can really be a star

When you think that it’s all over

You can really still go far

Vs2

My life’s never been Disney

Motion capture technology

It would make it all worthwhile

If this were on the silver screen

To see my whole life story
That would really make me smile

Vs3

I wish my life were a movie

Motion capture technology

Silent Running

2011-12-30T02:24:00.000-08:00

Not for the first time in my week away from work I wake and think: Shall I try and start jogging today? Nah.

From about March/April to September/October I cycle a lot - often on a Sunday morning or as a less stressful way of getting to and from work than public transport - but once the nights draw in it becomes far to dangerous: most car drivers will happily kill a cyclist to shave thirty seconds off their journey as it is, so the danger of the darkness is just too much for this frail Pixie to risk.

I try and walk at lunch times, or sometimes I walk the three miles or so from my house to the minibus for work - but the truth is that it's during the winter that I miss Gym membership the most. The grim feeling of wanting to be anywhere else when you go in slowly being replaced by a feeling of achievement, the regularity of exercise, the amusement of not being able to get on a machine during January-February whilst the New Years Resolutioners slowly fade away: the whole man thing of never, under any circumstances, meeting the eyes of anyone else in there (in much the same way as we would never start a conversation at a urinal)

And yet every morning I have woken and thought "nope, not today" when it comes to running - and the only reason I can give you is the embarrassment factor.

The truth is that I'm just too self conscious to run in public. In the gym there are lots of other flabby blokes desperately trying to persuade themselves that an hour in the gym once a week will miraculously rid them of their food baby. Out in public - well, that's a different thing.

For one thing: anyone who has ever run on a treadmill and then run on the street will be able to tell you that it is an entirely different thing - the impact of the street is much harder for one.

Secondly there is the issue of the local wildlife: the Greater Spotted Pillock (latin name Moronicus Stupidicus), known to all runners by its mating call of "Oi mate, don't have a heart attack" - that person who has never done a day's exercise in their life and yet still feels able to comment on your fatigue when you return from a forty mile bike rid covered in sweat. As anyone will know it is completely impossible to stop running in front of one of these creatures, and equally one will always manage to appear at the moment where you most need to stop for fear of puking up your lower intestine (IE forty yards outside your front door in my case)

Running in a group or with someone else might be a solution - but the only person I know that might be interested lives too far away to be practical and then there comes the problem of what happens when they are able to keep up running and you are not.

Also my experience of cycling with others has not enamoured me towards group participation. Some years ago I joined a group that I still affectionately refer to as The Nutters - who would think of nothing more than cycling a round trip of sixty miles every Sunday morning to a grim tea shop that served scum laced hot beverages before cycling back at a steady pace just faster than most people find comfortable. Don't get me wrong: it was good training and I got very fit as a result, but it wasn't my idea of fun.

So I guess my options are to get over my feeling of self-awareness or take up some other kind of exercise where I am able to feel less self aware.

Rock climbing anyone?

Pixie Christmas Message

2011-12-25T00:47:00.000-08:00

Well as those of you who read my blog will know it's traditional for us Pixies to try and outdo Her Majesty in the putting people to sleep stakes.

Yes it's true - every Christmas around Britain Men (And Women) Of A Certain Age insist that we MUST watch our monarch's Christmas greeting to her nation at 3pm and then promptly fall asleep for the entire duration - unless someone tries to change channel when they instantly wake and say "Oi! I was watching that!!"

This year many of my attempts at Christmas Mesi (surely a better plural than messages?) have been scuppered by unduly complicated technology - I had hoped to record my version of Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow - however the little gremlins inside my computer have been dead set against it.

So what can I do instead? Well there are several other traditions around Christmas

1) The groan-worthy joke.

I say, i say, i say - what's round and angry
I don't know - what is round and angry?
A vicious circle

2) The pointless but nevertheless fascinating fact
Santa's Reindeer are all girls. We know this because male reindeer shed their antlers in winter, and yet all of Santa's, including Rudolph, have theirs

3) The sudden glow of kindness towards others
Merry Christmas all my readers - and especially to those blogs that I wouldn't miss for the world

Christmas Tunes: A Saxophone Experience

2011-12-22T01:38:00.000-08:00

I have to admit that, as of recent, I've been growing rather weary of my public speaking club.

Too much content, too much focussing on goals and rushing everything through has begun to take its toll on this basically quite laid back Pixie.

The main thing for me, however, has been the quick turn around: I'm in the office every Wednesday and it's a busy day for me. When I finish it takes me nearly an hour to get home and eat and then straight back out to set up the room - so if the evening is equally frenetic (as it has been) I often find myself thinking about just staying home instead.

Last night, however, we went to visit our sister club - one that myself and Herself have been supporting for some time as they struggle towards becoming a fully fledged club of their own. This one is even further away, so an even quicker turn around - but I had another reason for being slightly stressed on this occasion.

For those of you who don't already know I have been playing alto saxophone for nearly two years now and despite struggling with high notes (which have been to attract passing bats with their atonality), notes suddenly being called different things in the same piece of music (It's either c sharp or d flat - make your bloody mind up Mozart!) and rapid finger movements there have been some signs of improvement.

And so, with the festive season upon us, i decided to offer my services as saxophonist during the half-time break and had been practicing several christmas tunes to this effect.

Not being traditional these were not carols - but were:
Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas (one of my favourites),
Winter Wonderland (mostly quite easy until the very, very difficult bit)
Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow (another of my favourites and also from one of my favourite Christmas films (see point 1 at the end))
Santa Baby (quite difficult, but fun to try playing)

This was to be my second public appearance, not counting long suffering friends and family. There had been some discussion about doing this at my own club, but for various reasons I never quite got around to organising it.

So we ate quickly, loaded up the car and drove up the quite heavily congested motorway, fully expecting for no one to be at the meeting - what with Christmas, seasonal illnesses and confirmed absenteeism.

We couldn't have been more wrong - we arrived to find a room full of first time visitors. So now I was not only speaking at the evening (on the Science of Santa (see point 2 for a few of the fascinating facts)), not only was i organising the impromptu speaking session in the second half (on the theme of that Festive Favourite - The Sound Of Music (shown in the UK every alternate Christmas and Easter since 300BC) - but I was playing my saxophone not to a room of people who knew me and would forgive the odd terminal mistake (IE where i killed a note entirely), but to a room of total strangers.

So break came and due to the immense heat in the room my saxophone reed was completely dry and needed some effort to warm up before it would even make a sound. Finally I launched into Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas and immediately went wrong. Starting again I just about made it through with only a tiny error and received some polite applause from two of the guests. Deciding not to risk life and limb any further than necessary I switched books and tried Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow - for which the timing of some of the notes can best be described as "imaginitive", but I think I got away with.

Deciding to quit whilst I was behind I packed up my saxophone and returned to my seat with no further recognition of my efforts - other than a brief conversation with another newcomer who, as it turns out, is currently learning the soprano sax.

Still - any performance that you can walk away from with all limbs still intact is generally considered a success. Only my parents to go now...

1) My favourite Christmas film - Die Hard (it's set at a Christmas party people!!)
2) Fascinating Facts about Santa:
Santa has approximately 378 million children (approx 3.5 per household) to visit - dependent on naughty/nice quotient

If Santa started delivering gifts at 10pm on Tonga and finished at 6am in the Samoa Islands he would have 36 hours to complete his journey due to the International Date Line - that's still 822.6 visits per second

Santa could potentially use Ion Shielding, as per Star Trek, to prevent his Reindeer from being vaporised by the immense pressure. Dr Ruth Bamford of the Rutherford Appleton Laborotory in Oxfordshire has been quoted as saying:

“We now have actual measurements that show a ‘hole’ in the solar wind could be created in which a spacecraft could sit, affording some protection from ‘ion storms’, as they would call them on Star Trek.”

•http://www.universetoday.com/12593/scientists-design-ion-shield-to-protect-astronauts-from-solar-wind-radiation/

IPAPIASM: With Apologies To Noddy Holder

2011-12-17T11:20:00.000-08:00

Sometimes an opportunity is too good to miss, so when I saw that a lot of my fellow bloggers were taking part in something called International Put A Poem In A Shop Month I knew it was something that I had to be a part of, and I knew exactly the right poem.

It's very much in the ethos of the Punk movement to take one of your poems and randomly put it in a shop on display. To be honest I felt quite criminal doing it, but I thought it would be worth the effort.

I originally wanted to put this on display along with the seasonal CDs, but there were too many shoppers and too many staff pricing things, so it ended up in the Bargain Bin of DVDs next to a widescreen TV and a boxset of the Star Wars series.

For those of you that can't read it the poem is published below.

Some of the joke of the poem may be lost on the transatlantic audience, unless dodgy seventies rockers are suddenly the in thing in the USA, so just in case I've put the link below to the original.

One of the better Christmas songs - just a shame that it's played so often...

Santa SLADE The Reindeer

(With Apologies To Noddy Holder)

Are you camping out in Tesco’s every night?

Are you watching all your money wave bye bye?

Are you sick and tired of adverts, telling you to shop?

Are you wondering “will the madness ever stop?”

Was it only just September yesterday?

Will the credit card man take your house away?

Are you sick of Christmas music, is there nothing on TV?

Except The Sound Of Music and Jaws 3

So here it is, bloody Christmas and the shopping’s never done

Wishing it was over, but it’s only just beg-u-un

So here it is, bloody Christmas, guess you’ve heard this one before

Lost sight of Jesus, what the hell is it all fo-o-or?

A Little Bit Funny?

2011-12-08T01:17:00.000-08:00

A man gets on board a bus carrying a cello. One of the passengers shouts, 'Hey mate, bet you wish you'd learned the piccolo instead!"

As in life and in music, and despite what people tell you, size really does matter.

There are, in the pantheon of musical instruments, those instruments that are considered "cool" (the drums, the electric guitar), "uncool" (the bass, the xylophone and the triangle)

There are also instruments that, when placed in the wrong hands, can only be considered to be the weapons of Satan - for instance if I am ever swept to power then one of my first rules will be the banning of Recorders and Violins to the under-6 age group (one of my favourite moments of all time was when a local news reporter cut back to the studio from a school recorder band with the comment, "Hmmm, sounds like my pet cat singing". He later had to apologize, but I'm still laughing over 15 years later)

And then there are the sadly maligned. The instruments that have never, in their entire lives, done so much of an iota's worth of harm to their fellow man. Never have their squeaks caused winces amongst the collected parents of Class 2B, never have they been used by the local Scout Group to blow your ear drums into the next street - and yet they find themselves the instrument (groan) of mirth.

Like the aforementioned cello player on the bus - or the harpist (how the hell do you transfer one of those from place to place? I'll tell you how: with great bloody difficulty - I've seen it done. Those women may look thin and angelic, but I'd fancy their chances in the boxing ring with those sorts of muscles)

And then there's the Ukelele - the shrunken Hawaiian guitar. Best known in the UK thanks to wartime movie star George Formby (although technically what Formby played was a Banjolele, but that's another story)

For some reason it has aquired an air of comedy. Why is this? Is it a size issue? Well, the piccolo is very small and not generally considered laughable (other than in reference to as a preference to carrying a cello on the bus)

Is it as a legacy from George himself, known for his innuendo-filled lyrics and cheeky character? It's hard to imagine now that a gawky lad from Lancashire whose catchphrase was "He he, it turned out nice again" could have single-handedly swayed the course of the Second World War (sorry USA, you guys helped a bit it's true - but it was George that did it. Just watch the films if you don't believe me (see end explanation))

Is it the sound? Well actually, it makes quite a nice sound - assuming you can get your suddenly huge fingers squeezed into the tiny frets.

Maybe that's what it is then - it's the fact that the Uke is played by people who are disproportionately large in representation to the tininess of the instrument?

Well, whatever the reason, I recently found myself in a local musical instrument shop and, being of an inquisitive nature, I succumbed to temptation and bought myself a little Uke. Aside from the small (pun not intended) problem of squeezing my fingers into place I have to say that it's making some nice noises and as I already play the guitar it was relatively easy to start pushing out some simple tunes fairly quickly.

Well, what else can I say? He he - it turned out nice again!

George Formby Films:
A general plot of a George Formby, and indeed Norman Wisdom film was that George, or Norman, would end up somewhere dressed in army uniform (despite being a civilian - something that would actually have got them shot) and would, through a series of humerous vignettes, end up behind enemy lines, sing a few happy songs and change the course of the war

This is an over exaggeration of his film plots, but not by much.

NaNoWriMo - What I Learned This Time

2011-12-01T01:08:00.000-08:00

It's very hard to explain to someone who is not a writer why on earth you would want to put yourself through something like NaNoWriMo.

For those of you that don't already know NaNoWriMo is NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth, a yearly event that challenges writers around the globe to sign up from the 1st to the 30th November to write a minimum of 50,000 words (1,666.6r, or 3-4 A4 pages per day) during that time. The novel doesn't have to be Shakespeare when finished, nor does it have to be finished during that time. The only rules are that you can't start writing the novel until the 1st November (although you are allowed to do planning if you so wish) and you have to write 50,000 words and submit your word count by the end of November.

I first took part in this two years ago, during November 2009. At the time I had just finished a project that had taken 4-5 years to finish and was still stuck in endless re-writes for another two (one of which is still stuck in endless re-writes after 8 years). I was becoming very frustrated with the whole process of writing: I was struggling a lot to get the story out partially because I was more than aware that there would be no one who was particularly interested in reading it when finished.

Anyone creative who is part of a loving but not especially creative family and circle of friends will appreciate the frustration of working for months on months on something only to pass it to a beloved person and for them to either a) not understand it or b) be unable to extend their comments beyond minor punctuation issues.

So when I heard about NatNo - I think via Blogland - I decided that it might be just the thing I needed.

It has, after all, been said by more than one writer that the one thing that a writer is unlikely to do when left alone is to do any writing.

And a funny thing happened: by sitting there every day, often with no idea what I was going to write that day, I found the ideas coming a lot easier, I found myself thinking in ways that I might not usually have done and, most importantly, I found myself freed of the endless issues that had dogged my stories - if you get stuck in a plot or character problem and you are up against a deadline to reach a certain amount of words then you have no time for going back and starting again, or for getting bogged down: you keep writing through it. This was a great catharsis and allowed me to re-discover a love of writing that had got lost somewhere along the way.

What resulted was a fast paced, rather violent Sci-Fi romp, but it also freed me up to go back to one of the longer projects with new energy and finally finish it (this became my longest and best work to date)

Of course all of this was two years ago when I was going through a period where I had a lot of free time on my hand. This year when I came to do it again I found that the main times I had free for writing were weekends and two evenings per week. That meant a lot of sitting in front of the computer for long periods, just plugging away. At times I will admit that this became something of a chore, but it is a worthwhile exercise - inspiration cannot always be relied on, but exercising those brain muscles increases the chances that it will arrive sooner than later.

It also helped to know that my friend Argent was also doing the challenge - we constantly exchanged word counts and comments about problems we were facing: the fact that I knew someone out there who was rapidly catching up with my word count kept me going through some of the more difficult stages.

If I'm brutally honest about the work I did this year I would have to admit that there is a lot of running-about in search of a plot - but what did I learn this time?

Plot - when I went into NatNo last time I hadn't done any preparation, but I had a very clear idea of what my story was and what it was trying to achieve right from the start - I think that was missing this time. I had a great start: but I hadn't completely worked out where that start led to.

NatNo forced me to keep going and be quite inventive - split the story into two parts for a while, think about the way I used language: could I expand my language? My writing style tends to be quite focused on getting the story told and I sometimes forget to describe where we are or talk about other stuff like emotional reactions, character development etc - so although I think that was missing from this I am more aware of it now

Characters - I had a lot of what can only be "cardboard cut-out" people in my story - characters that I didn't know the first thing about and were only there to add to the body count. Only two of the main characters, maybe as many as three or four, actually had a personality after that - so my advice to myself for next time is that your main characters in a story should always go on a personal journey and change during the story and that you should decide one or two things about your secondary characters that roughly define how they will act

Empty space - pretty much each day I was thinking "how am i going to expand this load of nonsense to be 50,000 words" - and yet I made the target with two days to spare. I think one of the things that has often held me back as a writer is that concern that I won't be able to write something that is long enough to be called a novel, so I think that this has reminded me not to be afraid of that space on the screen that is sitting empty and flashing at you.

Finally I am glad that I did it because now I finally feel able to go back one final time to my 8-year old project. Writing in such a focused manner for a month has left me with a few thoughts around the characters in that and their reactions that I'm hoping will be enough for me to get it back on track.

It will take me longer than a month to do this - the last long project I wrote (after my previous NatNo) took twelve months to finish the first draft, but only 3-4 for the second - and I know that if I hadn't done the project two years ago then I would never have been able to finish it.

So what next? Well, I'm thinking NatSoWriMo, or NatAlWriMo - these are my own invention - to write as many SOngs, or an ALbum in a month

Who knows what might come out of that?

BTW - final word count: 50,108

Lovecats

2011-11-27T01:52:00.000-08:00

Friday night and we're sat in front of the TV. From my vantage point at the end of the sofa I can see Giles in the hallway, sitting in one of his familiar places: just by the door.

Currently he has a number of favourite places, not least of which is on a mat by the radiator: but he keeps returning to the door.

Just to see what will happen I call him and he comes, stretching slowly and padding towards me with a tiny miow. I pick him up, marvelling again at how heavy he is. I put him on my lap. Today he is in a relaxed mood and seems happy to take the attention, beginning to purr as I stroke him. Herself gets a piece of the action too as he briefly takes a stroll over to her side of the sofa and puts his face into hers.

Then he returns and flops down into my arms, lying on his back with big catty eyes staring adoringly into my face. It is possibly the cutest thing I have ever seen.

Myself and Herself have The Conversation again, the one that always begins "remember when..."

And we do - we remember when he first invited himself into the house just over 12 months ago and would scarper if you came within a few feet of him. We remember how sad and bedraggled he looked, we remeber that neither of us had ever heard him purr at that point.

We remember how he spent the first few weeks just hiding under the sofa, only coming out to eat, the first time we caught him sitting on the bed and the moment when he finally started to decide we were ok.

Niether of us can quite believe that a little bit of patience and kindness have changed the cat that once sank his claws deep into Herself's arm and tried to scramble out of a high window to escape us into creature before us. OK so yes, he still tries to pounce on our toes sometimes, but now its just in play and although he will always be an outdoors cat he always comes when you call him.

Maybe one day we will get over the change, maybe we will be able to look at him without that constant surprise and endless "do you remember when..." conversation, but I hope that day doesn't come too soon.

Giles, meanwhile, tired of all this soppiness, rolls over and jumps off, proceeds to the kitchen where he demolishes the contents of his bowl and then demolishes the litter tray.

Somethings never change

The Only Way Is Ethics

2011-11-20T01:41:00.000-08:00

Sometimes it's the little things that stay with you as much as the big.

Like a few years ago there was a small news item on our local news: it couldn't have been more than five minutes long, and yet I can't quite shake it from my memory.

The story was about a six year old boy who'd been banned from his local school because of his constant disruptive behavior. The act that had finally got him barred was when he had lashed out at and hit a teacher.

And so the news cameras had gone around to the parent's house to interview the parents. There was no sign of a father figure and the mother was sitting in the front of the shot, smoking and clearly wanting to get back to whichever soap opera she had been watching. The six year old kid was sat in the background laughing and playing on his playstation: clearly as happy as Larry that he no longer had to go to school.

The journalist asked the mother, "Why do you think he behaves this way?"

She shrugged, 'It's not my fault if he's evil, is it?'

So there it is: a single, highly depressing moment of Television reminding us that a hell of a lot of parents out there just don't seem to be aware of the impact of their actions on their kids.

It was a comment by Michael of Always Going, Going, Going On Beyond that reminded me again of this news item. He was talking about his own fears that the school his child was going to were not necessarily evaluating his children's progress sufficiently to help them prepare for the world outside and, in a response to a comment, he said "we need a new subject: morals and ethics. They could talk about all the religions and have debates about tricky decisions (e.g., should the government support smoking -- by allowing it to be sold -- while at the same time encouraging us to avoid it). It's clear the many parents are not offering this knowledge to their children."

Children are not born into this world with an instinctive knowledge of right and wrong. They are empty vessels waiting to be filled with knowledge and experience and it is no single factor that defines this, but a series of experiences. Although parents cannot be the sole source of information for a child they can at least be the steady thermometer against which they measure the temperature of how to act. A parent who is unable to distinguish right from wrong is unlikely to teach their child the same.

So perhaps it is time that we involve parents more in the process of their child's education. Perhaps we should teach morals and ethics, not only in school but in classes involving the parents? We as adults are no more born knowing how to be a good parent than we are born knowing how to be a good person. Any person can, providing they can find a willing sexual partner, go out and have kids and raise them pretty much any way they want to. Would interfering with this to enable parents to teach their kids right from wrong lead to complaints of a "nanny state", or is this something that we all need to learn?

For my own part I was recently asked "If you were able to perform a single act and have no consequences: what would you do?"

After some thought I replied that there are always consequences: the main one being that you, as a person, still have to be able to live with your actions, to be able to look yourself in the mirror. I quoted Shakespeare, "to thine own self be true" and thought about the words of Ghandi when he said "Be the change you want to see in the world"

I wonder what the mother of that kid would have said?

The Defining Moment

2011-11-11T14:16:00.000-08:00

I don't think I've ever had that defining moment - the moment where, all of a sudden, everything just clicks and you go "ah..."

I've always kinda fallen into things whilst stumbling about through life, wondering what it was all about and where it was all going. If one were to look at the chain of events that led me to meet Herself, for instance, there would be very little logical path to follow: no single choice, but a series of small steps (ones which it is worth mentioning i am very greatful i took).

I certainly never had such a moment when it comes to work anyway. If I were to nip back in time and tell my 10 year old self that I was not going to become a bus driver (bus driver's get lots of tea breaks) but would end up working in some hard-to-explain IT Support role he would probably blink at me before going back to playing on his latest video game.

When I left school I wanted to be a photographer: pretty much because it was the only thing that I had, at that point, shown much aptitude for - but it soon became clear that actually there was no career to be had in this and so I learned how to type and us a computer pretty much on the grounds that most jobs were seeming to need computer skills. From there I pretty much have gone where the wind would take me, taking extra experience and responsibilities as and when they were offered with no particular end game in mind.

Even now I flit from interest to interest, like a moth drawn towards a light bulb, trying to experience it all and never settling on a single one. I'm not sure that I could if I wanted to: creativity is a funny thing and it can bounce off in all sorts of wonderful directions, but sometimes I do wish that I could concentrate on something long enough to get good at it.

So I couldn't help but wonder the last time I went to the Dentist about those paths and the choices we all make and the little steps that define who we are.

And I couldn't help but ask - what was it? What was that defining moment? At what point in their lives did that person stop in the middle of the street with a little lightbulb over their head and think, "I know what I want to do every day for the rest of my life! Look at other people's teeth!"

Oh to have such clarity.

The First Time I Had The Blues

2011-11-09T06:17:00.000-08:00

I guess you could say that we grew up in something of a musical vaccuum.

Don't get me wrong: my parents aren't the puritanical rock-n-roll is evil types...they just weren't into music that much.

We had one of those old wooden boxes with a heavy lid that could play 33 1/3"rds or 45" inch vinyl. It was supposed to be able to hold two or three records and let one drop down after another, but the truth was that most times it would let them all drop, or the sound would just come out warped after the second or third long player had fallen.

My parents had a small collection of vinyl, of which I remember:

1x Elvis Presley Twenty Golden Greats (side two scratched)

1x Cliff Richard 40 Golden Greats (not sure if it was the Elvis or the Cliff that was "Golden Greats" or both)

1x New Seekers compilation (warped)

1x Sound Of Music soundrack

2x albums of Dutch Barrel Organ Music

2x Muppett Show albums (which were mostly for us kids and which i wish we still had if only for Scooter's infamous "Hey Mr Bassman" which may be the funkiest song of all time - see below)

This, along with the bands on Top Of The Pops was my sole introduction to the music world until I became old enough and rich enough to start my own collection.

I guess I started with the music that was popular in the charts or that I took a liking to and then slowly, as I became influenced by new sets of friends I expanded my musical vocabularly

I guess I was already vaguely aware of the Blues but hadn't really been exposed to it until I came to work at a local theatre for nine months. I was part of the lighting and sound department (LX) and there were often hurried periods of activity spent mostly suspended from extremely high places.

To be honest the run of shows that year wasn't the best and one of the worst of the series was The Asylum, a play about some patients in an asylum threatened with closure set against the backdrop of a pop video being filmed there. It starred someone who had once been in an episode of Fawlty Towers and a once nearly-famous actress more famous for drinking her own urine than actually being an actress

It was, quite simply, awful. The only thing that stopped it from being the worst play of the run (the dubious honour of which falls to a touring production of Wuthering Heights in which the actor playing Heathcliff just shouted on the spot for two non-stop hours) was the interval music

For whatever reason the director of the show, who must have realised how appallingly dreadful the thing was, had chosen Robert Cray for the interval music - having made a compilation of his first and second albums and put it onto a big spool that would play as the audience came in, during the break and again as they left.

Every day for a week I heard this amazing voice and superb guitar: I was hooked and for many years I continued to own a copy of that interval music on a cassette (I bet if I looked for it now it would still be somewhere...)

But it was only recently that I thought to check out the internet and see if I could replace my dusty viynl copy of "False Accusations" with a clean and immaculate CD

In the intervening years I've always tried to challenge myself about my pre-conceptions of music: don't like synth-pop eh? well what about this group? Don't like hip-hop? Well have you tried so-and-so? Don't like Jazz eh... well...I'm still not sold on that one, but you never know.

But in the end it's always the Blues that I come back to: for whatever reason it's that soulful guitar, the haunting voices and the tales of misguided love that bring me back time and again. Since then I've discovered the wonders of BB King, recently found Muddy Waters and decided that Eric Clapton's From The Cradle album may be the finest album in my blues catalogue

But a special place should always be reserved for Robert Cray: for introducing me to the blues.

For as the wise man once said: there ain't no other colours without the blues

A Bit Of A Bill Oddie

2011-10-31T02:56:00.000-07:00

I never thought I'd say it but it seems that me and Bill Oddie have something in common.

Now I realise that for much of my intercontinental audience the name of Mr Oddie may be a new one so I guess that first, before I start, it's about time for some history.

Back in the 1970s there was a TV comedy show. It was much in the same vein as Monty Python - quite anarchic with ideas that were often off the wall: the main difference being that there were only three stars of the show and that each episode told a single story: such stories encompassing such things as London being attacked by a giant cat.

Our hero's of each story were The Goodies (also the title of the show), as portrayed by Graeme Garden, Tim Brook-Taylor and the short beardy one Bill Oddie.

The programme is generally fondly remembered but seldom repeated. Garden, a qualified Doctor is still very much a writer and performer on panel shows, Brook-Taylor still turns up from time to time and Oddie...well...

Bill got into birdwatching and then that got him into regular work on Springwatch (live nature watch during the spring), Autumnwatch (similar during the autumn) and a variety of other shows.

But the reason that I mention that he and I have something in common is for a show a couple of years ago where various celebrities learned to play an instrument in a short period of time.

Child star and TV presenter Aled Jones learned the drums, comedian Frank Skinner learned the banjo and Bill....

Well Bill had always wanted to be a musician - and had spurred his fellow Goodies onto several chart toppers - but right from the start his teacher on the programme encountered problems, because our Bill wasn't prepared to put the work in to get his chords sounding how they should sound.

Not because he was lazy or couldn't be bothered, but because he felt that he had reached a level where he could achieve the sound that was sufficient for what he wanted to do. Yes the chords were a bit muddy, no he was not suddenly Dave Gilmore - not even Dave's long lost milk float driving brother Roger - but it was enough for him to get a tune out and for the average listener not to know the difference.

And the reason I feel that I am akin to Mr Oddie is related to my saxophone. OK - I know that my high notes still need a lot of work and I'm prepared to do that - also my fingerwork could do with some excercise - but the thing that I'm struggling to give a jot about is playing a piece of music exactly how it is written.

For a start written music only tells me so much - I don't understand it sufficiently to know instinctively when there is an accent or a short or long note and if I play against the pre-recorded saxophone line its immediately obvious that my notes are too long, short, soon, late - whatever.

But half the time I feel - so what?

I can still keep to time with the beat without being precisely to what is written and have no real intention of playing with an orchestra where it would be important to play exactly what is written - i'd rather take the piece of music and be able to a) play the music in a way that is pleasing to me and b) just good enough to fool the average listener.

If, in the privacy of my own spare bedroom, my notes are not precicely how they are written then does it matter? Is it more important to put a bit of feeling and personalisation into a piece than to be a mindless automaton just doing what is put in front of me?

True - given 8 hours free time a day to practice I could probably get notes exactly how they are supposed to be played, but no amount of practice is going to make me Courtney Pine (1)

If I ever were to play my saxophone to a live audience then it would, most likely, be part of a blues band and I'm guessing, that much like the guitar solo, I would probably be able to get away with a few overly short, long or non-specifically played notes without too much maiming of the ears.

Still - I guess that whether I want to be the next Courtney Pine, John Coltraine, Charlie Parker or, as the case may be, not - I do need to go through the pain of playing it how it's written if I want to be good enough to be happy when playing a piece.

In the end I guess it's the same as txt spk - yes it's ok to break the rules, but I think it's important that you should understand what they are first before you do so.

(1) I'm not a great lover of jazz music so shall have to interject a reference that applies more to my kind of music. 100s of guitarists practice for 8 hours a day and, no doubt, 100s of them are very, very good - but only one in a million can be Eric Clapton levels of good no matter how much you practice.

Is The &*^% Working Now? (Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps)

2011-10-25T00:45:00.000-07:00

So a few weeks ago my good friend Argent was kind enough to let me have the use of one of her old computers for recording purposes. This was excellent timing as I had recently got rid of all my old machines to make space for said activity, only to find out that my only remaining computer was not powerful enough to do the job.

But of course nothing ever runs smoothly, particularly where computers are involved. Yes they may be the future of mankind, but if that is so then the future of mankind is going to be mostly spent with us talking to one another whilst lit by an unhealthy glow whether it be from a mobile phone, pad or pc and swearing profusely at the surely deliberately awkward way of getting the damn things to do anything that you couldn't do in half the time if only you had been taught stuff like adding up and spelling at school rather than just being told to ask the sodding computer in the first place.

OK, OK, breathe slowly...

So - the first problem was finding the software for the plug in that would allow me to connect to the internet. This was not where it should have been - ie with all the other software. Most of my stuff is currently in boxes whilst it takes a slow but steady trip to charity shops. This is the same battle that we all face with entropy on an ongoing basis - no matter how much junk we clear away we still find our houses and lives full of yet more stuff.

After two days of trawling through boxes I eventually remembered that I had put all my old mobile phones into a box ready to be destroyed or re-sold and looked in there on the off chance - lo and behold...

So - the second problem was anti-virus. I spent a good half an hour talking on the internet to some chap in India explaining that yes, I was aware that my copy of the anti-virus was already on two machines but that I felt strongly that this fact was negated by the equally persuasive fact that both machines were now in bits at the local tip. Finally he agreed to give me a 30 day trial period of grace that would take me up to when the AV was due to be renewed anyway.

Next issue - no sound. Easily solved this one, and an excuse to pop around to Argent's and have a practice whilst the drivers loaded.

And then there was the issue of the package itself - now for those that don't know there are now a myriad of ways to record oneself at home if one so wishes. No longer do you have to sit with two seperate tape players playing back your first recording loudly whilst singing along to the next (as my father was wont to do when I was a kid - to the point where there would be a whole choir of fathers claiming tunefully that Lloyd George knew their father)

Nor does one need to invest hundreds of pounds in microphones and big spooling tape machines, or decks of recording paraphernalia (although clearly when I win the lottery...)

Packages like Q-Base (a professional standard PC based recorder) can be bought in truncated form for £50, the i-pad comes with a small version of Garage Band on it (which has been famously used by several musicians of late for entire albums) - and, for those of us on a budget - there is Audacity.

Audacity isn't really designed for music recording - it's more aimed at people making jingles, or radio shows, so it lacks some of the mixing finesse of the other packages, but it does have one major advantage - it's totally free, and quite frankly its facilities are more than sufficient for the likes of me.

The first problem I encountered was that there was a significant delay between playing the sound and hearing the sound on Audacity. Also some sounds seemed to be slowing down as I went - which meant that when it came to adding tracks and then additional tracks it was almost impossible. After yet more trawling around the internet and a brief trip to Unhelpful Music (Unhelpful Music are our only local music shop - unless you are a guitarist and have a guitar related question they are less use than a chocolate Tea-pot on the grounds that at least you can still eat some of the melted chocolate afterwards) I established that what I needed was a low latency sound card (whatever one of those may be)

As the price of this was more than the current value of the computer I decided that a viable alternative was just to switch off the "playback as you record" option, provided i could find a way to hear the sound through the PC as i went.

This immediately solved one problem and caused another - i could hear myself perfectly when i plugged in the microphone, but not when i plugged the guitar into exactly the same slot. I went to the shop and bought a new adapter - no difference. Eventually, and quite by accident, i discovered that plugging the instrument half-way into the slot solved the problem, indicating the slot itself might be faulty (why it works perfectly well with the microphone but nothing else remains a mystery)

Having solved this I then ran into one final problem - converting the Audacity file into MP3 format. No matter how many times I downloaded the converter from the directed link it refused to work. i uninstalled the converter, uninstalled Audacity and went back to a previous version - no effect. Eventually, and after yet more trawling of FAQs I found someone who had downloaded exactly the same decoder, only via a different link and then moved the files to a different folder

And lo and behold, we have music...

Only things left to do now are to try re-installing the more up to date version of Audacity and see if it will run with my working coder and secondly, and more importantly, find a way of recording my saxophone so that it doesn't sound like a constipated Gnat.

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps by Don't Feed The Pixies

Get This Party Started (Willow Manor Ball)

2011-10-12T00:00:00.000-07:00

So it seems that over at Willow Manor they’re having something of an Ocktoberfest and are inviting everyone who wants to participate to throw their own individual party, all on Wednesday 12th October, or thereabouts.

And despite the fact that you will always recognize me at parties by the fact that I’m the one sitting in a corner constantly checking their watch, I’ve decided to present an invite and some ideas of what will be happening at MY idea of a party (with tongue ever so slightly in cheek) – along with a pome I’ve previously published on this blog.

DRESS CODE
Casual - None of this Smart-Casual nonsense: no one really knows what that means anyway. Jeans, trainers, t-shirt – or whatever you feel comfortable in. Prize for best costume will be that you will be locked in one of the cells until you are prepared to dress normally.

FOOD
Cheese, Sausage, Pineapple – served on cocktail sticks (has to be done)
Crudite – no idea what one is or how you cook it, but it looks impressive on a menu (joke – I was once attacked by a particularly large Crudite)
Quiche (see brackets for Cheese on stick)
Sausage Rolls (slightly singed)
Lobster Thermidore in a mornet sauce
Spam, Spam, Spam, Baked Beans and Spam

Buffet menu from favourite Indian Restaurant (yum, yum, yum and indeed yum)

Served 80% vegetarian to placate the Celery Crunchers and ensure that the Meat eaters don’t eat all the meat plus all the veggie food

MUSIC

IN THE BLUE ROOM

BB King and his all star band Ft Eric Clapton, Roy Orbison, Bruce Springsteen
Elvis Presley will attend later, time permitting
Batman and Robin will be dancing the Batusi

Maybe they’ll let me join in with the band – I’d settle for rhythm guitar, maybe a solo somewhere – or to join in on saxophone

IN THE DISCO ROOM
NO Dexy’s Midnight Runners, no ABBA, no Grease megamix and DEFINITELY no Macarena

Persons found sitting in a line on the dance floor and pretending to row to “oops, upside your head” will be forcibly ejected

IN THE MAIN LOBBY
Entertainment from Mr Saxman, my music teacher. Quite frankly I’d be quite happy spending the evening listening to him play – damn, but he’s good.

TIME
From 8:30pm until 11:30pm – bearing in mind it’s a school night.

Or maybe I’d just go to whichever party these guys wrote that song about… (scroll down past the video for the poem)

Get This Party Started

At the end of the world disco party
The crowd splits to two different rooms
The believers in one quietly praying
Whilst Satan keeps all the best tunes

With the Judgement day finally over
They wait for the main star to appear
From the back of his private stretch limo
And finally make his plan clear

The lights dim, the music starts playing
The smoke machine belches a haze
And in white suit and medallion God enters
Still moving in mysterious ways

- we couldn't finish a post about parties without mentioning possibly the second worst song of all time. Worst being "Stop The Cavalry" by the same artist -

Coffee Culture

2011-10-10T02:48:00.000-07:00

Let’s face it: if you ever actually met any of the characters from Friends you’d probably hate their guts.

Only in Sit-Com land can you meet characters who are so totally self-obsessed, contribute less to society and whose problems are so insignificant that they can be solved in half an hour.

Just take a look at them: Rachel - A Prom Queen who adapted to life without Daddy’s credit card by getting a high flying job in fashion (with no qualifications, training or experience mind you), Monica – a cleanliness obsessed chef in a fancy restaurant where a starter costs a weeks wages, Phoebe – an occasional masseuse and not-so-great musician, Joey – a permanently out of work actor, Ross – a not-so-popular with his students lecturer and Chandler – a whatever the hell it is that Chandler does.

And to be fair a) I have probably watched every episode of Friends at least twice and would have to admit under torture to quite liking it and b) the problem is generic across the whole of the genre and not purely limited to Friends: even the greats like Fawlty Towers rely on a set of characters that would, in reality, soon be consigned to some form of institution for the socially inept.

However the reason I picked Friends for special attention was because of what they represented. Perhaps more than any other sit-com of the last few years the cast of Friends are reflective of our obsession with social climbing.

This is one of the reasons that places like Starbuck’s, Costa and the like are so successful. Let’s face it: before the coffee house came along we were all happy to go to our local Greasy Spoon Café and pay 40 pence or so for a cup of tea with bits of limescale floating in the top (for added flavour you understand) and half the contents served in the saucer.

Then the big coffee houses came along and realised that what they were selling was not actually coffee, but aspirations: and that with the right setting they could easily charge three pounds for a cup of hot coffee flavoured milk.

People wanted to go somewhere where they could talk quietly to their friends and not be drowned out by music, or to read the newspaper before going to work – they wanted the big apartments, no real problems and easy lifestyle of the people they saw on TV – people like they saw in Sitcoms and on dramas.

Which is why, in turn, the cast of Friends – bent on selling us this ideal for life – spent so much time hogging the sofa at Central Perk. We aspired to be there in their easy lives, never seeming to actually have to go to work, never having any real problems – able to suddenly drop everything and go to the Bahamas

The trend for this new way of living has become so successful that I can immediately think of 6 Starbuck’s and 4-5 Costas all based within a 10 mile radius. Even that old bastion of social gathering, the Public House, has had to resort to trying to sell coffee (albeit on beer soaked tables) to get us back.

Why do I spend so much of my life regretting that I am unable to live this life? Well, actually I don’t really – but I am certainly aware that such a lifestyle exists, just outside of my financial range. Let’s face it, and as Douglas Adams once said, many of this planet’s problems are caused by the movement of small pieces of paper (or, increasingly, plastic cards). Wouldn’t it be better to forget these aspirations and be happy with our lot? Is such a thing even possible today? We as a society have somehow bought into the idea that this way of life is somehow our right and allowed ourselves to become miserable and disgruntled due to our lack of ability to claim it.

Still, I can’t help that feel that even with all of this the coffee shops are missing out on a trick: one that Friends showed us on almost a weekly basis.

Just once, when I walk into a coffee shop I would like to see a corner cleared of tables and a little stage erected. On that stage I would like to see someone sitting with an acoustic guitar, singing gentle songs.

If one of them is “Smelly Cat” that would definitely be a bonus

Cheese Rap

2011-10-04T01:29:00.000-07:00

I tried to write a rap - and since I am in no way shape or form built to perform Rap (I'm not so much Street as Cul-de-sac) I tried to think of a subject as un-Gangsta as I could...

(NB if you're a Beastie Boys fan try shouting the last word of each line for added effect)

I was sitting on my own, flicking on the TV
But something from the fridge kept a callin me
Da Red Leicester block just kept calling me back
If i couldn't get my cheese i'd have to turn to crack

So I tried to lay it down for fermented milk
Maybe just Gruyere, or something of that ilk
Full flavor in da house, for that i still yearn
maybe with a rind or fresh from the churn

Gimme cheese, give me what i need, white lightning, cheese gimme cheese, gimme what i need
Gimme cheese, give me what i need, white lightning, cheese gimme cheese, gimme what i need

Still i tried to turn away, but it was way too near
All that tempting Danish Blue and fragrant Paneer
Leerdamer is my weakness and the Edam's makes me whinny
But nothing can replace the Dorset Blue Vinney

Yes there is no place right now that i would rather be
than sat here with a drink and a slice of Brie
Yes a lack of calcium can leave me way too pale
If i cant get my cranberries stuffed into Wensleydale

So listen to tha' rhymes that'll leave you illin
Till i get my slice of cheese there will be no chillin'
You can get it from the dairy at the corner shop
So come and join along with some Hereford Hop
Hop, h-h-h-op, Hereford Hop
Hop, h-h-h-op, Hereford Hop

If I Had To Be Trapped In A Lift With Any Of Them, I'd Pick James May

2011-09-23T01:20:00.000-07:00

The woman sitting opposite me in the pub rolls her eyes at the news and groans, 'I might have known you'd pick him' she says, 'he's soooooooo boring'

The fact that this conversation is now coming up to two years old should tell you something about the capacity my brain has to niggle over things long since said, particularly things that irk me or that I wish I could have said more eloquently.

But let us go back slightly and explain for the benefit of those reading this who may be wondering whether the Hungry Pixie hasn't finally lost what few marbles he had.

Back in the 1980s, and even as recently as the 1990's Britain had a motor industry. In fact there was even a time when we were the leaders of the world when it came to car production. Back in those halycon days there was a BBC programme by the name of Top Gear.

This programme should not be confused with any current programme of the same name - because they bear about as much relationship towards one another as...well...two entirely disparate things. The Top Gear of the 80's/90's was a serious motoring programme that actually served as a guide to buying a good car.

Then the British motor trade collapsed, or rather self-imploded spectacularly in the style of an ego-centric Rock star: forever demanding more of a cut of the profits, refusing to record a new single or to tour and finally overdosing in a hotel room after being found in bed with a young pretender.

And as such Top Gear had to change. In came a new presenting team and a new feel. Out went fact and in came crazy challenges, controversy and humour.

Three presenters were chosen. Former journalist and opiniated oaf Jeremy Clarkson, former DJ and all round short angry person Richard Hammond...and finally, the classically educated Degree in music holding James May.

Don't get me wrong - I actually quite enjoy the new-look Top Gear. It's knockabout humour and endless daft antics of the presenters make for good entertainment, however for various reasons I am unable to watch either of the other two for any length of time when they present programmes alone. Clarkson takes a certain amount of pride in his boorish and occasionally rude behaviour, Hammond is just a bit too aware of his looks and thus comes over as slightly false.

But what irks me most about the programme, and thus is the reason for me picking May as the one I would chose to be trapped in a lift with: is the way that the programme, and lots of others on TV nowadays, seems to wear its ignorance on its sleeve as something to be proud of.

Whenever May, nicknamed Captain Slow due to his rather cautious and careful driving style, starts spouting facts the camera inevitably pans away and a comment is made about how dull it all is. When faced with a glorious view of some ancient edifice the crew of the show are only ever able to comment on how fast their cars can go and can find nothing to say of the history or current state of the place they are in.

Exactly when, I would like to know, did it become embarrasing and boring to know things and to be interested in learning new things? Why are we so keen to encourage ignorance over advancement? Why are we so afraid that if we show anything on TV that requires the use of our brains - people will immediately switch off.

This is, of course, no new phenomena - since the dawn of time anyone with half a brain has been ridiculed in entertainment. Science students are shown as being "dorks" hiding behind their glasses, incapable of social intteraction - whilst the dumb quarterback unable to construct a coherent sentence gets all the girls.

It seems then that we, as a society, are forever cautious of people who take the time to learn and be interested in things and would rather ridicule those that have aquired knowledge than take the time and effort to acquire knowledge ourselves.

And meanwhile our TVs and our instant-fame cultures seems to promote that its ok to be an idiot - talent shows like The X Factor tell us every week that you can be a neanderthal throwback with all the intelligence of a can of peas and it doesn't matter - because being famous for being thick and useless is just as good as being famous for achieving something.

Surely it is time to re-evaluate this? Personally I have a great many friends who have interests in all sorts of things and can quote chapter and verse on aircraft engines, IT protocols - hell even Toastmaster rules and regulations.

I may not always understand their knowledge or passion for their subject - but I hope that I will, at least, always be able to appreciate their drive to advance - to take the time and effort to learn something new...and that maybe, and by association, I may be able to learn something new too.

Music To Paint By

2011-09-20T02:25:00.000-07:00

And here we go again with one of my never-popular List-o-fives.

This is one that I was thinking about when doing my most recent painting. Yet again I had promised myself that this time I would definately do the painting in oils, and then did it in acrylics - mainly because the joy of acrylics is that you don't have to wait two weeks for everything to dry, or else end up with a muddy mess.

As such my impatience won again and acrylics were the weapon of choice. Don't get me wrong - acrylics produce a nice effect, but I do think that there is a certain something about the texture and look of oil paints that has never been matched by any other medium (not even Mystic Meg)

But a major factor in painting is chosing the right music as a backdrop to help you achieve the right mood: ie slightly unaware of the passing of time around you. Sometimes this can be dependent on what you are trying to achieve - for instance if you are painting a storm scene it might not be a good idea to listen to Barry Manilow and equally if you are painting a nice summers day then Megadeath may be a no-no. Recently I did a painting of Jimi Hendrix, for which I mostly listened to the man himself for inspiration - but this is not always a good idea - so here is my list of any-occasion music to paint by in receding order of preference.

#1: The Blues
You can never really go wrong listening to the blues - it's the music that I always come back to and can always be relied on. Recently I had a whole spate of listening to blues whilst painting and can thoroughly recommend:
BB King - my compilation of BB is never far away
Muddy Waters - recently discovered MW and not entirely sure how I survived this far in life without knowing about him
Eric Clapton - his "recorded as live" "From The Cradle" cd is a masterpiece
Robert Cray - i need more RC in my collection

#2: Swing
Big band - it never quite goes away, does it? Sunday mornings, listening to Sinatra...well, ok so he was a less than perfect individual, but if you stopped listening to every singer who had a few personality issues....well, you'd have no one left, would you?

#3: World music
This tends to mean "anything sung in a different language". For a while back in the 80s and 90s it looked like WM was going to be the next big thing, but it has remained something of a sideline. However, that is not to say that it is not enjoyable - you can hear sounds and invention that you just don't hear in the pop charts and the world of Simon Cowell and his ilk. Some top listens:
Ladysmith Black Mambazo - who first came to fame through their involvement in Paul Simon's classic "Graceland" album
Staff Benda Bilili - congolese street musicians
Youssou N''Dour
And, oddly, Bollywood soundtracks - my "Best of Bollywood" often gets an airing when I'm painting. There's just something about Bhangra...

And of course, the Wedding Present's infamous Ukranian Folk Songs album - which only I seem to realise is a work of genius.

#4: Easy Listening
Some years ago when our local newspaper wrote a review of Phil Collins calling his music "easy listening" he wrote an angry letter back about all the hard work and effort that went into creating songs that people enjoyed. Personally I don't see the problem with being referred to as easy listening or middle of the road - you have to have a middle so you can know where the edges are, and besides - as a listener i don't want my ears to be phonically challenged all the time. I want something i can sing along to. So Phil, I'm sorry if you're reading this and object to being referred to as Easy Listening - but your CD and many others of its ilk are favourites when i want some background music that will softly draw me in.

#5: Hip Hop
OK -so this one is a bit of an outsider, and I really have to be in the mood - and even so we're talking Old Skool bands like De La Soul and Beastie Boys, not this modern RnB rubbish, or Gangsta Bling. I think it works for the same reason as Bhangra - that quite stylised beat and tempo - but its not a regular choice

And of course, a few that really don't work - particularly:

#6: Iron Maiden
I recently tried listening to Meat Loaf whilst painting and it really didn't work - it was far too distracting. I can't imagine Van Gough trying to paint his sunflowers whilst enjoying "Bring Your Daughter To The Slaughter" - although quite possibly he would at least have been able to hear it - even with just the one ear.

Pixie's Special Theory Of Relativity

2011-09-15T00:19:00.000-07:00

And let's get started immediately by saying that when I use the word "Relativity" I'm not talking about family members.

Oh no: this is my very special thesis on the development and actuation of Time Travel, as developed at great length and hardship during a five minute fresh-air break from the office yesterday.

Time Travel has long been the dream of scientists the world over who will, no doubt even now, be rubbing their heads and wondering how a simple chap like me can have cracked it. Well: the answer is simple - boredom.

Einstein famously theorized that E=MC2, which, at an extremely basic level, means that the faster you travel the more energy you need to sustain the speed and that as you approach the speed of light it becomes possible to move in time.

We already have proof that things can move at different times - if you take two atomic clocks and set them to the exact same time and then fly one around the world in a plane you get two results. Firstly the clock in the plane gets a nice trip, a sub-standard meal and the inflight movie of its choice and secondly, and more importantly, when you compare the clocks at the other end the clock that was flying will be a few miliseconds ahead of the one that was stationary.

Stephen Hawking, and other notable brains, have postulated that if one were to open a black hole and step through it you wouldn't find a rather poor 1970s Disney movie, but that potentially we could use a hole at the other end to move in time

One other popular theory remains that the reason we don't have people popping back for a quick weekend in the drought of 1977 is a) frankly June 1977 was rubbish aside from the Queen's Jubilee and the Sex Pistols and b) time travel only becomes possible from the point at which it is invented.

So as I have now invented time travel yesterday I can travel forward in time from any point after 4pm yesterday and indeed back to that time, but not to a time before.

So - how, I hear you ask, is all of this achieved? Well - it's simple.

Remember the last time you were really bored? How did you feel as you stared at the clock on the wall, just waiting for the day to be over? Did you feel that time was dragging?

And what about the last time you had some really fun friends around for a laugh and a sing-song? Did the evening fly by?

This is because the passage of time depends heavily on our reaction to and perception of it.

So - theoretically if you could get two people into the same room: one of whom was bored to within an inch of bashing their brains out on the wall and one who was having the time of their lives and then infinitesimally tweak their individual perceptions of the passing of time then they would begin to pull in opposite directions of time. So - if you offered the bored person a can of paint to watch dry he would slip further in time behind the person with a nice book to read and start to travel into the past - whereas if you were to offer the happy person a box of chocolates their new inspired state of deliriousness would react against the negativity of the bored person and send them shooting off into the future.

Clearly there is still some work to be done on testing this theory and there would be serious side-effects of sending someone seriously depressed into the past: for a start they wouldn't enjoy it once they got there.

Answers or comments on the above at the usual place :)

What's So Funny?

2011-09-13T02:31:00.000-07:00

My family don't have a family motto. No emblem of two crossed Pixies on a hill for our family crest.

If, however, I were to instigate one it would definately be "Never Volunteer For Anything"

Sound advice for a happy life I think you will all agree: for as we know - once you have volunteered to do something once it suddenly becomes expected every time.

For those of you wondering where all of the above is going, and for those long term readers of the Pixie Pages you may care to refer back to a post in January 2010 which involved myself and Argent unexpectedly finding ourselves heavily involved in Pantomime despite veherement attempts to avoid parading on stage in funny costumes.

Let's face it - actors are a funny bunch - chosing to dress in costumes and pretend to be someone else for a living suggests a certain attitude to the world outside that surely cannot be 100% healthy. However, our main involvement with said event was to write and perform some humerous songs - which we did with a due degree of amusement and fun.

However, the problem with this is that now, all of a sudden - if there is any kind of special occasion thoughts turn unexpectedly towards myself and Argent with a "Hey - you guys write amusing songs, don't you?"

Don't get me wrong - aside from the vague fear of becoming percieved as a one-trick pony I quite enjoy writing funny songs, and any kind of musical interaction with my long-term friend and co-conspiritor Argent is always worthy of a Sunday afternoon or two - but writing an amusing song is not as easy as you might think - so here, for those of you thinking of writing and performing in public, are a few tips.

#1: It's not sufficient just to nick someone else's tune
If you are intending to do a humerous re-write of a popular tune it's no good just stealing the chords and hoping that people will get the joke. Ideally you need to pick a song that has similar sentiments to what you are trying to say. Additionally if you can use parts of the lyrics or scansion to help the audience realise that you are doing a skit song people will realise what is going on. As with my posts "The Long And Boring Song" and "Chartered Accountant" - both use elements or ideas from the original - meaning that you get the payoff of the audience already on your side.

#2: It has to be funny
This is much harder than it sounds. The jokes shouldn't be too clever or obscure, just a quick silly line to make people smile - if you can squeeze something in about the person or thing being celebrated then all the better. Anyone can write new lyrics to a few chords - you could pretty much put this paragraph to any popular song if you tried hard enough, but that wouldn't make it funny or clever.

#3: You have to practice
Contrary to popular belief two people can't just turn up together with guitars and play expecting it to sound any good. Programmes like Fame and now Glee have led entire generations to believe that you can just all stand up enmasse and harmonize - not true. Even starting and stopping at the same time requires practice, let alone complex things like singing the right lyrics, harmonizing, changing to the right chord etc.

#4: Know your audience
There's no point stealing some obscure Leonard Cohen B-side if you're playing to an audience of twelve year olds - the song has to be popular enough that most of the people in the room will get the joke

#5: Be extremely musically talented
Of course the real experts can go much further than all of the above. Proper musicians, like comedian and presenter Neil Innes can, if given a brand of music that is sufficiently well known, parody on a much wider scale - taking general themes from a band rather than individual songs and still producing something funny and recognisable and yet also unique

Pictures Of Matchstick Men

2011-09-09T05:28:00.000-07:00

About four o'clock in the afternoon I look up from my computer to the same view that's faced me all day. Just your standard office: arranged in rows of desks facing back to back, low partitions between each just begging to have Table Tennis played between them. The same Call Centre employee that has been sitting in front of me all day looks up and realises that yes, yet again, I am staring vacantly in his direction without realising what I'm doing...

What am I doing?

My body feels tense from sitting in one position, my eyes have been aching for some time and there's the slight sense of nausia that can arise from too much time infront of the computer. Nowadays I almost feel like I should carry around a small glow light that can reflect on my face so that my friends can recognise me sans computer screen.

I decide that I've had enough and, even though its not break time, I step out of the building and into the world beyond the high metal fence. Out here are the broken echoes of the old factories, their machinery still singing their stacatto songs amongst the broken bricks.

As a kid we used to come up here for the works Christmas party - over a thousand kids crammed into a room with a cinema set up - food, drinks and presents all on the company. Hard to imagine any corporation today doing that.

I can feel the heavy weight of my mobile phone in my pocket From this tiny screen I can go anywhere in the world: text or email anyone. Hard to believe that when I started my last job mobile phones were only for execs. How many of us can now imagine a world without them?

I take one last look at the world around me, taking in the smell of petrol from the main road, listening to the sound of the traffic.

I ask myself: why do we spend so much of our lives shutting ourselves off from all of this...

15 Top Names For A Drag Queen

2011-09-04T14:18:00.000-07:00

This post started life after we found a documentary on the telly, and led to an amusing few days of discussion. Some require more thought than others...

#1 Ophelia Buttocks
#2 Helen Highwater
#3 Quanita Stannd
#4 Candie Barr (actually did exist)
#5 Tiffany Boxx
#6 Rita Way
#7 Amanda Ryder
#8 Brittney Ferry
#9 Sheila Biteya
#10 Chastity Locke
#11 Tanya Bottoms
#12 Helen Back
#13 Vanity Case
#14 Ophelia Smalls
#15 Yolanda Matitz

Any further suggestions welcome as ever :)

Re-write, anybody?

2011-08-31T07:54:00.000-07:00

I hate writing second drafts.

No doubt there are people out there who can look at a piece they have written and with no more than a flick of a computer key delete, add or amend their near perfect prose. These people are, no doubt, called Professional Writers.

The likes of us mere mortals, aka me, need a bit more notice. We can't just sit there with a pen and calmly cross through and add willy nilly. Oh no, that would be far too easy.

For whatever reason my brain needs time to warm up, to get into the story so to speak. This inevitably means printing out my first draft and starting from scratch, typing up what is showing on the paper until such time as Mr Brain kicks in and starts telling me what needs expanding or re-wording.

I think this may be linked to my approach to writing. One of the things you constantly hear from writers and writer groups is that it's all about using the strongest word at the appropriate time. Weak words must be illiminated at all costs as this shows weak writing.

And to be fair, to an extent i agree - using the right word or an interesting phrase can raise writing above the crowd and make it come alive, but it can also scream to the reader "look at me, i'm being clever at you"

For me personally writing is more about the rhythmn and flow. Really good writing should be like a background piece of set - you know it is there, it helps to set the scene and makes you feel that the place you are at is real - but if its a really good set then you probably shouldn't notice it in the first place because it's done its job of getting you there.

And in order to achieve that flow - well, you can't just jump in can you? You have to be there, in the scenery and feeling what the characters are saying to you.

I guess life is the same in many ways: you don't have much right to comment until you've been there yourself I guess...

Please Raise Your Hands For The Templeton Three

2011-08-25T01:29:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

Flash Fiction 55

They travelled from state to state, John, Maggie and little Emily, singing gospel songs. Sometimes it was hard on John being the only man, but as he was like to say, “Someone gotta look after my sisters”

Years later the three of them would gather and sing for pleasure, laughing about the good old days

Halfway Up The Stairs

2011-08-12T02:49:00.000-07:00

If there is one sure fire way to upset an English person it is to sit in their seat.

Anyone who has ever been on a course, to a place of work or to a regular pub in the UK will know that there are certain seats and centres of location that are out of bounds. This is why the trend of hot desking at work doesn’t fit well with us – we like to know where we are going, who we are going to be sitting with and, most importantly, how we fit into the wider group. There are some people in the work place who after forty years of the same view have been known to break down into tears at the relocation of little more than a few inches.

If you want to annoy someone in the UK there is no better way to do it than to enrol on an evening course, wait for 3 to 5 weeks and then suddenly sit somewhere else. Frankly – if you come out alive you’ll have done well.

In fact one night a few months ago, in a fit of wild abandonment, Herself and I decided to swap sides of the bed to see what happened. It lasted all of five minutes – and confused the cats no end.

I was thinking about this today at work when a phone failure led to me sitting at a different hot desk to the one I have grown accustomed to. As I sat there: nervously watching my back and feeling twitchy because of the move of twelve whole feet down the same corridor, I found myself asking what my choice of seating says about my personality.

Given the choice of location at any meeting, club or social occasion most people, including myself, will try not to sit at the front. Often fisticuffs will break out in the jostle of bodies to remain central. No one likes to be exposed, or so it seems, unless they are Ultra Confident and absolutely love being the centre of attention (or else has a role at the meeting that means they have no choice but to be at the front) – Most dictators probably started going wrong in life by continually insisting on sitting at the front where people could adore them

My personal preference is somewhere towards the back and in the middle. Not right at the back, you understand, but sufficiently central that when John Smith arrives half way through the meeting I won’t have to grudgingly stand up and let him through.

I’d say that this probably says something about my desire to hide myself away and possibly hints at a lack of confidence. The same has been said of all my extroverted sides – my guitar, sax, paintings…are all something to hide behind.

So maybe I should make myself sit at the front for a change, put myself out there for all to see and find out how it feels? Life sometimes forces us into those situations: where we have to stand up for the things we believe in, or have to stand up for the way our job should be run. We don’t always like doing it: but sometimes…

But I think, on the whole, I like it where I am.

In the middle

Hiding away

Laughing uproariously at the absurdities of those on the front line

Say It Loud

2011-08-02T08:41:00.003-07:00

You know I dont even care

It's a cheesy video, there's that bit at the end with the choir, it's camper than Butlins, Pontins and Maplins put together - but if you don't get a tingle down your spine listening to Paul Carrack on this song - there's something deeply wrong with you. But seriously guys, can't you just here the echo of Phil Collins shouting "why didn't you write this one for Genesis?"!

Say it loud...

Every generation, blames the one before
And all of their frustrations, come beating on your door
I know that I'm a prisoner. To all my father held so dear
I know that I'm a hostage to all his hopes and fears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years

No crumpled bits of paper
Filled with imperfect thoughts
Stilted conversations, I'm afraid that's all we've got
You say you just don't see it, he says its perfect sense
You just can't get agreement, in this present tense
We all talk a different language, talking in defence

Say it loud (say it loud)
Say it clear (oh say it clear)
You can listen as well as you hear (as well as you hear)
It?s too late (its too late)
When we die (ooh when we die)
To admit we don?t see eye to eye (we don?t see eye to eye)

So we open up a quarrel
Between the present and the past
We only sacrifice the future
And it's the bitterness that lasts
So don't yield to the fortunes
Sometimes see is fate
It may have a new perspective on a different date
And if you don't give up and don't give in you may just be ok

I wasn't there that morning
When my father passed away
I didn't get to tell him all the things I had to say
I think I caught his spirit later that same year
I'm sure I heard his echo in my baby's newborn tears
I just, wish I could have told him in the living years

Le Romantique?

2011-07-28T08:23:00.000-07:00

allo, bonjour moi pettit poit, eye em, ow you say, goiiing tu seduce your parderner...

The french exchange student didn't actually say any of the above as he arrived at Toastmasters last night, especially not the bit about small peas, but there was something about his casual manliness that, had I been in any way unsure of my relationship with Herself, might have left me feeling slightly anxious.

There was a certain set to that partly shaven face, rugged good looks and toussled hair, a smooth confidence in that lilting French accent that I knew would turn the knees of many a British woman to jelly. Indeed, as the night progressed it was clear that Jaques (not his actual name) was indeed raising the blood pressure of many of the female attendees - and maybe a few of the men as well. Even the inscrutable Herself did admit that the rakish accent stirred some deep feeling.

Which made me wonder what it is about certain accents and countries that makes people appear sexually attractive? French, Spanish, Italians and even Greeks have reputations as great lovers, but Germans with their clipped tones, and us Brits, do not.

And what of Americans? Are they sexy, with their confidence? Do their accents lead the men and the women of the world to collapse into a quivering wreck, or do they leave us running for the shower?

Other interesting accents include the Australian accent, where every sentence seems to end on an up note, as if asking a question - so a simple "I fancy a cup of tea" is transformed into "I fancy a cup of teA?"

Sadly the most unsexy accents I could think of were all British:

1) The Lahndahn (London) accent - or Britticus Cockney-Bowbellius - the cor blimey guvnors, as infamously portrayed by that most rare of species: the lesser spotted DickvanDykeius (co-species Marycus Poppinsus)

2) The Am-yam Buuuurmingum accent - or Midlandium Flatticus-prononcicus, so called because of the habit, in some areas of Birmingham, by starting a sentance "Am-yam ooolroit?" (are you alright)

3) The Liviirpewl aCCent - the McCartneyus Beatalicus - to be fair Paul McCartney et al had the flatter Liverpool accent and not the one that sounds permanently vexed and on the point of aperplexy

Our accent where I live is no better either - its very flat and we tend to drop "t"'s -so the word "City" transforms into "ci-iy". Hard to imagine Casanova doing that, now isn't it?

NB: apologies for the Latin. Scholars of the language should probably note that merely adding "us" onto the end of an existing word does not actually transform it in any shape of form

Any examples of accents, sexy or otherwise, muchly appreciated

The Long And Boring Song (with apologies to Paul McCartney

2011-07-21T08:43:00.000-07:00

The long and boring song

Tha-a-t just goes on and on

And never seems to end

Just goes on and on

It keeps on going on

A-and on, that boring song

That never seems to end

It just goes on and on

Many times, you thought that I

Had nearly reached the end

Then you reach another bit

To drive you round the bend

And still it's going on

Tha-a-at long, and boring song

It never changes pace

Nor varies in the least

It's not our greatest song

Tha-a-t long, and boring song

It's kinda obvious

We'd run out of ideas

And yet another bit

To the long, and boring song

Tha-a-t never seems to end

It just goes on and on

The Wisdom Of Others (Next Blog >)

2011-07-15T10:05:00.000-07:00

Today I want to offer you the wisdom of others in a number of ways.

Firstly as an experiment over the last few days I've been trying the "next blog>" link in an attempt to find someone who was brand new to blogging and offer them much needed support. I didn't find anyone who hadn't been posting for at least a couple of years, but what was more saddening was the amount of unique voices who now seem to be silent.

Still - amongst the religious propaganda, blogs about families, blogs trying to sell me things and blogs that had been deleted there were a few gems and I'd like to start by offering you a link to two that caught my eye:

1:

http://linea32.blogspot.com/?expref=next-blog

Whos wonderfully obscure fascination with the Number 32 bus routes of the world amused me on several levels

http://fati-smsjohorkluang.blogspot.com/

Who may be in a language I don't understand, but surely have the best family photo of all time?

Doing this was an interesting experience for me - there were countries on there that I never imagined blogging and it made me slightly ashamed I had never taken the time to learn about their language so I could interract

The other way I want to offer the wisdom of other is in that the other week, for various reasons, I bought a headset/microphone for my computer and suddenly found myself wondering if it would make a good recording mike.

So to find out, and in the spirit of the fact that this song pretty much sums up how I've been feeling recently, here's a recording. Some of you might recognise it

Working class hero by Don't Feed The Pixies

Lest We Forget

2011-07-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

I can't believe that I've known y'all for all this time without introducing you to my constant friend and companion.

What is it now: 3, 4 years? Doesn't time when you're having fun?

Still, you'd've thought I would have mentioned my Super Hero Double Identity by now - even in passing and yet here we are...

I'm not suggesting, of course, that of an evening I dress in tights, put my underpants over my clothes and go thwarting ner-do-wells - my superhero ability is a slightly unusual one at best and, over the years, I have come to refer to this secret identity as Captain Paranoia.

Many of you will already be familiar with the Captain and feel that you too are visited by his late night whispers in your ear that tell you to go and check the front door that one final time just to be absoultely sure that you did indeed lock it.

Extreme sufferers from his presence, those for whom he has set up a comfy chair between their eyes and watches everything they do, suffer from OCD - but every one of us have a small room marked VACANT in our brains that always has a bed prepared for the Captain - just in case he should arive with his megaphone and start yelling "YOU DIDN'T LOCK YOUR DOOR" just five minutes after you got into the one-way system contraflow that will take you half an hour to get out of, go back and discover that yes, you did indeed lock the door - only to find that Captain Paranoia has vacated the building to avoid the forthcoming knuckle sandwich

Worse still, however, are the occasions upon which the Captain choses to stay silent - like today, for instance, when a healthy bout of "Did you remember to pick up your works pass today?" would have saved the resultant half an hour of waiting in reception whilst the Security Guard sorted out a visitor pass, then the rigmarole of getting a temporary payment card so I could get a coffee

Or come to that Mr so-called Captain Paranoia where were you the day I cycled seven miles to work, got to the changing room/shower and had to come out and make an apologetic call to Herself to bring me the pair of trousers that were still lying waiting at home?

Didn't have much to say for yourself that day, did you?

Minor Earth, Major Sky

2011-07-04T00:22:00.000-07:00

So a while ago I decided I was going to try and do a self portrait. I'd already done one from a photo of myself playing the guitar and it had turned out vaguely human - so I thought: let's go for it, only this time playing the Saxophone.

The end result of the painting was like a 2 dimensional version of those Morlocks from The Time Machine - and the less said about the Saxophone the better.

So eventually I decided I would paint over it and tried to do a seascape from a Bob Ross DVD with some new Acrylic paints - designed to mix like oil paints. Only the designer had failed to mention that although they had tried to make them mix like oil paints they had totally failed and what I ended up with was something not dissimilar to the sky in "The Scream"

And then I saw a photo taken from a plane of Mount Hood, posted by Writerquake and thought that it looked like an interesting subject.

So there it is, reproduced in Acrylics on canvas. Hardly Van Gough (hey, I'd settle for Van Driver) but probably the best I'll get from this canvas as it's now been used three times.

The only problem now is what to do with it. I have totally run out of wallspace and these days usually only do a painting if I know I can give it away as a present. Mostly the response to which is a slightly strained smile and a "thank you" between gritted teeth, but then Van Gough never sold any either :)

New Light Through Old Windows

2011-06-24T12:12:00.000-07:00

Some years ago, longer ago than I care to remember, me and my friend were on a photography course.

We were out taking photos, looking for the shadows: the things that other people might not notice when we came upon the remains of an old factory. Little more than a few bricks that marked the passing of a few hundred working lives: lost forever now.

And as we were taking pictures of brick piled onto brick a man approached us and tried to sell us on God, saying that it was the work of Satan that we were focussing so much on destruction and that if we followed this path then surely there could be no salvation for our souls. The only solution? Come to his church meeting next Sunday.

Now, even as a kid, I knew that this man was talking from where the sun don't shine, but I guess that I was still to young to really tell him why. So, my friend: if you're still out there - here's why.

In every abandoned brick there are a thousand grains of sand. Tiny atoms of creation that have come together in this place. In every piece of destruction there is the hope of resurrection: the birth of something new. Every abandoned building, no matter how decrepit, has a story to tell. What lives were lived in this place? What happened for the building to get into this state? If God did indeed create then surely it is equally magnificent that he can destroy.

To look on all that wonder and only see evil? Now that's what I call the loss of a soul

What Is Buckingham Palace For?

2011-06-13T00:12:00.000-07:00

The Royal Family: titular heads of the nation since time immemorial. Despite being mostly germanic these days Queen Elizabeth can trace her ancesty all the way back to the first Queen Liz and probably even before that.

But boy do they have a lot of houses. Queen Elizabeth herself chooses to live mostly at Windsor Castle and Balmorral - which rather begs the question: what is that big house in London Town doing to earn its keep? No actual royals live there, it's only open at certain times of year to the public - what does it DO???

So, in an unusual twist on my List O' Fives postings I'm going to bring you a list of five things that Buckingham Palace could be used for, probably should be used for and almost definately isn't used for.

Please feel free to join in the fun by suggesting your own...

#1: The Cornflake Testing Room
As you may or may not know any produce used within the Royal household is allowed to carry the Royal crest. This is, at the end of the day, a slightly subliminal method of advertising. The Queen uses it: so you should as well. Kellogg's Cornflakes are amongst said approved produce.

However, as the head of the Empire (which once spanned the world encorporating the Americas and India and currently consists of two bemused sheep in Devonshire both called Simon) I'd like to think that QE2 applies her exacting standards and frequently checks that said items are still up to her approval. This is where the Cornflake Testing Room comes in - where she, or a minor royal, are required to spend one day a month sampling jams, breakfast cerials, toasters and the like.

#2: The Conveyor Belt Room
For various reasons I was looking on line at the list of Queen's Birthday Honours - and boy, that's a hell of a lot of sword wielding the poor woman gets through. Obviously it's not just the Queen that does it. Prince Charles also takes his turn and therefore presumably some of the minor royals as well (You'd probably feel a bit cheated if you turned up to get your Knighthood and it was Eugene or that one that does the showjumping that gave you your badge)

So to cut down on time and effort for Her Majesty the Royal household recently installed one of those revolving luggage racks that they have at airports and installed a throne at one point. The various dignitaries pile into the room in groups of fifty or sixty, line up along the conveyor belt and then the Queen trundles through on her moving throne passing out the awards with a polite, but frankly slightly strained smile.

#3: The Anti National Anthem Lounge (Or A.N.A.L. for short)
Let's face it: at some point in every musician's career you will hear them complain about being sick and tired of "that song" that made them famous and they have to play at every single concert. For Elton John it's probably Your Song, for Barry Mannilow it might be Mandy and so forth. Being Queen for fifty plus years must be a strange lifestyle: wherever you go everything is clean, everyone is extraordinarily happy to see you and they always play you the same piece of music.

Let's face it "God Save The Queen" is a dirge and there must have been times where the Queen has had to fight the urge to shout "if one hears that piece of music again..."

So, and in kindness to other world leaders, she had the A.N.A.L. room set up as a refuge to Kings, Queens, Prime Ministers and yes, Presidents, to go as the one room in the entire world where it is 100% guaranteed that they will NEVER have to hear that music

#4: The Embarrassing Relative Room (aka The Prince Philip Suite)
Aside from the recent Royal wedding when was the last time you saw Prince Edward in public? That's because the Queen is still making him live in the Embarrassing room as a punishment for his involvment in theatre and specifically for organising It's A Royal Knockout (a misguided attempt to make the Royal family look "hip" and "down with da kids" by involving them in a TV game show)

Since the Queen is no longer allowed to lock people in the Tower of London she keeps the Embarrassing Relative Room for all the times when Philip says something embarrassing (about once or twice a day)

#5: The Royal Robot Room
It's a little known fact that in the twilight of her years the Queen Mother was often not up to the task of public apperances and was frequently replaced by a robot. Hence you never saw her speak in public. The same is true for all the Royals who, lets face it, have a hectic schedule and can't be everywhere. So for all those embarrassing moments when Prince Charles is supposed to be picking up the kids from training academy but has double-booked himself with opening a new factory somewhere they have a room where they keep robot duplicates. Sometimes this is also used as a changing room for Lookey-likeys (people who bear close physical resemblance to a royal), all of whom have signed the official secrets act.

#6: The Wave Practising Room
With all that polite waving she does its a small wonder that the Queen doesn't suffer from Repetitive Strain Injury - and the reason for this can only be that she has a special wave practising room stuffed full of mirrors where she can go and practise waving as well as lift weights designed to strengthen her wrist as well as receive a relaxing hand massage

NB: We were going to add a seventh room: where all the photos for the stamps and the money are taken - but we rather suspect that one actually does exist.

Any further suggestions are welcome as always

Tears In The Rain (Magpie Tales)

2011-06-08T00:21:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

"I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate. All those ... moments will be lost in time, like tears...in rain."

It took me a long time to really "get" Blade Runner. The first couple of times I saw it I found it slow and a wee bit pompous - all those long, lingering shots of the city, that sound track by Vangelis...

But at some time along the way I realised that there was a certain visual poetry going on - and when I saw this prompt I immediately thought of the scene where Roy goes in search of his creator and, in the streets of a futuristic china town, finds the man who made his eyes.

One of the things that I love about cycling is that it gives you the time to stop and really enjoy the scenery - to take it in for one moment. Most of our lives are spent whizzing from place to place, urgently running around on whatever mission we may be on.

Take the time. Enjoy that moment.

Ant Music

2011-05-30T12:46:00.000-07:00

The Climb

You Don't Bring Me Flowers

Is The Writing On The Wall For Writing?

2011-05-20T22:56:00.000-07:00

At the age of 11 I realied that almost everything I had learned so far in life was wrong.

I'd already learned by then that I was stupid: this fact had been repeated to me again and again by every teacher (these days we have things like positive encouragement, but back then you were just constantly belitled), but now I found myself arriving at a new school I had to add to my stupidity the fact that what little I had learned was utterly, totally wrong.

This mainly related to my handwriting: at junior school (ages 7-11) we had been tought an extremely stylised form of writing - cursive script, single letters, mostly italics. Looking at my few remaining school books from that time is like looking at the scratchings of someone marking the days going by on a prison cell wall.

This was at a school where the desks still had inkwells (albiet redundant ones) and we had to write with messy cartridge pens and blot our writing because ballpoints were considered too common (resulting in many a blue stain on my school clothes)

But upon arriving at my senior school I was told that my writing was illegible, that I had an extremely odd style and forced to re-learn entirely how to write. I spent an entire year in special lessons with a ruler under my chin to get the right distance from the desk: because handwriting was important.

People could tell what kind of a Decent Chap you were from your writing, it would come in useful in every walk of life. You have great ideas, I was told, but if only we could read them...

Now, we're not talking about the middle ages here - old as I may be. We had typewriters, oh yes - and some computers as well (Mr Babbage for Maths? Not quite, but close) - but it wasn't the Done Thing to give a child a machine to do his thinking - and so my handwriting had to improve.

Of course it never did. The main problem has always been that my hand can't keep up with my brain. Learning to type properly was a total release for me - finally I could start to keep up with the flow of my thought and not be dragged down. My handwriting still looks like a bag of ferrets have escaped and done some serious damage

But then whilst I was thinking about this last night I suddenly asked myself how long it had been since I had actually sat down and done some serious writing by hand. I'm not just talking notes to myself during meetings here, I did that on Friday: i'm talking about actually writing a letter or message to another person.

How long, come to that, since I actually wrote someone a letter and sent it through the post - whether by pen or by typed? It could be as long as 15-20 years ago. It's all email and SMS TXT these days - and most likely by direct brain transplant of thought at some point in the next few.

Not that there's anything wrong with email, or text - although there is. Emails are a very impersonal way of communicating and can often be mis-read or mis-interpreted. Text, whilst very handy, tends to result in a shortening of language. Ys I txt spk, btw - but I do worry that in order to break the rules of sentence, grammar and structure you first should understand at least the rudiments (and be able to use words like "rudiments" in anger and understand them!) of the rules - and that from what I see on facebook the Kids Of Today don't (be fair here - people of my generation don't either)

So what I wanted to do here today was to try and encourage y'all that read this to sit down at a desk with a pen and paper and write someone a letter - it doesn't have to be anything particularly revelatory or personal. You can write to the Queen's Lady In Waiting if you so wish (the Queen gets enough letters, and its always the Lady In Waiting that replies - so take pity on the poor, unloved soul)

And you don't even have to send it afterwards (although that would be good too) - just sit down, write it, and come back and tell me how wierd it felt. Like something you might read by Charles Dickens

Double-0 Heaven?

2011-05-11T01:30:00.000-07:00

Here we are again, time for another list o'things

This time we're going to talk about one of the longest running film series - James Bond movies. As you long suffering readers will know what usually happens with these posts is I pick five examples of something I like and then ramble on about why I like them in the hope of persuading you likewise. However, with this particular list it would seem churlish to miss out any of the actors who have played 007 and so I'm going to talk briefly about each and tell you which of their films is my favourite from each actor - however, we're only counting official movie Bond's so I'm afraid that legendary Blockbusters' host Bob Holness is omitted.

#1: Sean Connery
Arguably, and in many people's opinion, the Best Bond Sean Connery was not the original choice for the role Connery had previously worked as a milk delivery man. Connery is remarkable for having returned twice to the role (Diamonds Are Forever is after Lazenby's turn, and also Never Say Never Again)

My personal favourite: From Russia With Love because not only is it very close to the novel, but it's a cracking spy story - and You Only Live Twice

#2: George Lazenby

A tricky one to pick a "favourite" here because Lazenby famously believed that one would be enough. And ok, so there's a lot wrong with On Her Majesty's Secret Service (including the alleged fact that Lazenby had to be dubbed by another actor), but it still manages to be one of my guilty favourites of the series and contains a cracking soundtrack (Including Louis Armstrong's "We Have All The Time In The World") - again, almost an exact adaptation of the original book

#3: Roger Moore
Previously famous for playing Simon Templar in The Saint Moore is not to everyone's taste. There are many, and who can blame them, that argue that the series got too silly in the latter half of his tenure. Still, as with all things, your Bond is very much the one you first discovered - making Roger Moore very much my Bond. True he stayed on one, if not two, films too many - but there's some good ones in there

My favourite: his first, Live And Let Die - and, inevitably, the one with the underwater car (The Spy Who Loved Me)

#4: Timothy Dalton
Dalton joined the franchise at a difficult time. Firstly the format was starting to look a little old, secondly he had to follow the increasingly jokey Moore. He also suffered from a first script that was written for Moore and from a loss of rights that left the series in hiatus for several years

Favourite film: Despite all of this Licence To Kill remains one of my favourite from the series - including, as it does, a plot taken from one of Fleming's original stories (Bond going AWOL to seek revenge on the people who attack Felix Leiter)

#5: Pierce Brosnan
Rather remarkably the former Remington Steele actor seems to have managed to make himself one of the most popular incarnations of James Bond. This despite some very poor storylines (two so poor that I can't remember a thing about them). My main issue by this point is the increase of daft gadgets (specifically the invisible car), but to be fair Brosnan is the best thing in the films

Best one: Goldeneye is the only one with a half decent script. Half-way through the motorbike chase in Tomorrow Never Dies I realised that I just didn't care - and the less said about Die Another Day the better

#6: Daniel Craig
Shock horror, a blonde Bond - surely not? There were many who balked at such a thing, believe it or not. However Craig soon silenced his critics with a back to basics, heavily Bourne-Identity inspired first movie. Admittedly the plot of the second one made no sense whatsoever and it remains unclear if he will make a third (with the copyright holders in financial meltdown)

Best one - Casino Royale was half an hour too long, and clearly an attempt to capitalise on the recent success of another character with the same initials - but still a great film. Speaking of which...

#7: David Niven
Of course, technically everyone in the more miss than hit comedy spoof version of Casino Royale played James Bond including Ursula Andress, Peter Sellars and many more (but not Woody Allen - who played Jimmy Bond) - but only Niven was the "true" retired agent, Sir James Bond

Sadly the humour doesn't quite make the grade and the ending is confused, but still worth a mention

The Girl Who Wanted To Be God

2011-05-04T00:03:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

She watched from the window as the flames from the mountain came closer. The crops were smouldering now, ash falling on the ramshackle roof and sparking like fireworks.

The children were screaming, lungs already congealing from the smoke. There was still no sign of the air rescue: the radio dead now for more than half an hour, the last dying echo of a voice swallowed by the static of the erruption.

She turned towards the mountain. How many times had she climbed its surface, feeling the rock beneath her skin? Everyone had been so certain that it was dead: that it would never erupt again. They had been wrong: so, so wrong: and now they would have to pay for that mistake.

She closed her eyes, holding her hand out: wishing that she had the power to stop the oncoming storm. And in that second, had the Devil appeared unto her, she would have happily sold her soul: just to save one child

Just one...

Lyrics by Bradfield/Wire/Edwards/Moore

There are no sunsets just silence

You could see that she was true and faithless

But see through the future and forget all the lies
Black out the words for the blind have eyes

I am the girl who wanted to be God
I am the girl who wanted to be God

There are times when you feel hopeless
Just for once for no-one else we are blameless
The dawn is still breaking its heaven is so high
She told the truth, told the truth and then she lied

I am the girl who wanted to be God
I am the girl who wanted to be God

Hold me she said love me to death

I am the girl who wanted to be God
I am the girl who wanted to be God
I am the girl who wanted to be God
I am the girl who wanted to be God

Oh Bondage, Up Yours

2011-04-28T05:40:00.001-07:00

Somedays the ideas won't come. Somedays no matter how hard you stare at the keyboard the words refuse to form.

For whatever reason today I can't seem to get my brain to work, to be creative: to think of anything much to say.

I don't know how creativity works for other writers: I know that we're very cautious about talking about it - incase the ideas go away and because, quite frankly, we don't understand it either. Where do these ideas come from? The Qwik-E-Mart? Might as well be. Why do they come to us? Are some people more open to the lightning strikes of ideas that hit every brain and, in many cases, bounce off?

Sometimes these ideas seem like a waste - they don't go anywhere much, they may be unshared and, more often than not, they come to us at awkward times and are lost before they are fully formed.

But those creative ideas are what keeps us going, what makes us who we are - what makes the gaps inbetween worth the while: and in the mean time we wait - and hope the lightning strikes us again.

In the mean time this week marked the death of little known Punk rocker Poly Styrene (of The X Ray Spex) at the tender age of 53 - and I wanted to share the below with you because I think that in our current culture of fame at any cost the lyrics are perhaps more relevant than ever - and only go to show that a good, original idea, is never out of fashion

Identity
Is the crisis
Can't you see
Identity identity

When you look in the mirror
Do you see yourself
Do you see yourself
On the t.v. screen
Do you see yourself
In the magazine
When you see yourself
Does it make you scream

When you look in the mirror
Do you smash it quick
Do you take the glass
And slash your wrists
Did you do it for fame
Did you do it in a fit
Did you do it before
You read about it

And - because you can't have a Royal Wedding with aaat a coupla corkerneys cor blimey hows yer father etc etc etc here's Chas N Dave - from the last time someone royal tied the knot

New Experiments In Hi-Fi

2011-04-18T12:37:00.000-07:00

OK - so for those of you who don't already know about 12 months ago now I started learning the saxophone. One of the frustrations of which has been trying to find a way to record it. I tried the vocal mike that we've had since Time Imemorium, but frankly the sound was like a combination of 1,000 Bumble Bees farting and one of those Electronic synth sounds you used to find on Bontemi keyboards in the 1980s (work out for yourself which would be the worse sound)

However, Argent was kind enough to lend me a small microphone and, after some experimenting with locale I established that a good place for said mike was clipped to my neck strap. Then, after much shouting and swearing at Soundcloud (which apparently doesn't like my web browser) I eventually managed to upload this - which is me playing one of the trio's that we practice in our lessons. You'll have to excuse the low notes being a bit poor - but its a new mouthpiece (my excuse of the month, after the chap who serviced my Sax told me the old mouthpiece was causing "tuning issues")

Ancient Hymn
Ancient hymn by Don't Feed The Pixies

I've also been experimenting with a free recording package called Audacity. It's not really designed for recording songs, so does have limitations when it comes to mixing - but for sheer simpleness it wins over others that I've tried, so until I win the lottery and immediately buy Q-Base (industry standard recording package) it will more than do for the kind of nonsense I record.

Here then is a simple blues song I came up with recently - based around the main riff you can hear. The lyrics are just the right side of cheese I think

I Don't Need No Doctor
I Don't Need No Doctor by Don't Feed The Pixies

Everything Must Go

2011-04-13T06:14:00.000-07:00

It would be foolish to pretend that the music industry was ever anything other than precisely that: an industry.

Even in the days when rock n roll was the voice of the emerging youth, the sound of rebellion: there was someone, somewhere who was making a lot of money from it.

Even in the early days there were products especially designed as merchandise to help make even more money: just look at all the Elvis movies if you don’t believe me.

But there’s something rather sad about the latest generation of wannabe pop stars openly endorsing consumer products to help finance that difficult second album.

And it’s not like I can pretend that it’s merely the cannon fodder that are doing it. Yes: there is a high level of consumer advertising being done by former X Factor types. One Direction (sorry, who?) advertising Pokemon, Alexandra Burke with her underarm B.O. problems (or why else would she be advertising them?), JLS advertising whatever the hell it is that JLS advertise – if it were just these nearly-rans that were jumping on the bandwagon then I wouldn’t be quite so worried – but its affecting the big hitters as well.

Johnny Rotten – the epitome of Punk Rock – can now be seen advertising butter, U2 brought out their own i-pod in a sponsorship deal with Apple. Hell, even Bob Dylan has done it

You can barely turn on the telly without seeing some perfume fronted by the Beckams, the Beyonce’s or the Back-Street Boys (alright, not the latter, but you get the picture)

So what’s the next logical step? Politician’s in adverts, perhaps? Surely not, I hear you cry – so checkout the adverts for a money advisory company starring John “Two-Jags” Prescott (admittedly no longer an active Politician)

Of course – the Queen already advertises products and has done for a long time – if you count the fact that any product used in the Royal household can show the royal crest, so presumably it’s only a small step from that to a quick advert for MacDonalds next time she wants Balmorral pebble-dashing?

And now the adverts aren’t even going to wait for the advert breaks – there’s product placement with a “P” advisory that this programme that we are watching may contain sudden bouts of characters suddenly saying ‘Hmmm, Scum-Cola: refreshing”

And let’s not even get started on adverts with voice overs from “celebrity” actors – it seems that these days we can’t be persuaded to buy anything unless That Bloke From Gray’s Anatomy is either voicing or starring in it.

Even worse is the current trend for getting us to actively participate in adverts - call this number and send us your money to decide if Fictional Character A proposes to Fictional Character B, or to follow us on Facebook. I mean surely there can't be anyone out there so desperate for friends that they're willing to add a roll of toilet paper to their role of associates, no matter how quilted it may be? What would the updates be like??

There is a current feeling in those of us that still take interest in film and TV that there are no stars of the magnitude of Days Gone By. Sure we may go and see a film starring Rachel From Friends because we liked her in that and know that she’ll be pretty much the same in this, but not in the same way that Humphrey Bogart in a film could guarantee a return. Is this really because actors are not as good, or are they just spreading themselves too thin?

Back In The Day it used to be BBC policy to only use the Daleks sparingly in Dr Who – the idea being that the infrequency of their appearance would add to the impact when they turned up. In these days of multi-media and toy-sales based programming they have been in every season of the re-vamped show so far: and only to their detriment.

Perhaps then, if the stars of today were to go away for a while we might appreciate them a bit more when they returned?

Mind you: I caught something on the radio the other night where a man was saying that he’d had a phone call from someone trying to sell him something

He had asked the girl in the call centre, ‘Why are you doing this dead-end, soul-destroying sales job? Isn’t there something more fulfilling you could be doing with your life?’

To which she replied, ‘I’m not the one answering phone calls at home during the day’

Something to think about there: if nothing else.

Watching The Detectives

2011-04-05T00:20:00.000-07:00

Ah yes - we are at that point in the game where I have gathered all the usual suspects into a confined room to accuse everyone in turn of having murdered Lord Faffington-Smythe until finally revealing the identity of the real murderer.

Lets face it murder-mysteries can be so formulaic, and yet we love them and keep coming back to them: and so, to celebrate some of the more renowned here is another of my now surely infamous "list o' fives"

As usual there are rules - no police procedurals, no cop shows: so if you're a fan of CSI Bognor Regis, or TJ Hooker look away now as they won't get a mention other than just now.

No - I'm focussing on stand-out performances of famous detectives - some that have made it from paper to the small screen and some that went beyond.

#1: Jeremy Brett as Sherlock Holmes

Many actors have played a character called Sherlock Holmes: amongst the most famous versions being Basil Rathbone, Peter Cushing and, more recently, Robert Downey Jr. But only one actor has captured Arthur Conan-Doyle's Holmes and that was Jeremy Brett in the ITV series that ran from the 80s-90s

Brett became so wrapped up in the character that he made himself physically ill, a factor that probably added to his early death - but his arch performance makes his Sherlock Holmes stand head and shoulders above the pack.

#2: David Suchet as Hercule Poirot

Many people hold up the works of Agatha Christie as being the perfect murder-mysteries and talk of her profound knowledge of the motives of humans - I can't say that it's a point of view that I particularly prescribe to. If we're honest here you could probably put any of her characters as the murderer and swap her plots between books and no one would notice - but although she felt that in Hercule Poirot she had created a monster David Suchet succeeds in making the Belgian detective remarkably human. Now only five or six stories away from having made every single Poirot for TV it must be hoped that the excellent Suchet continues

#3 Peter Falk, as Columbo

I'd love to have been at the meeting where they pitched this one to the networks: hey guys, its a detective show, only we show you whodunnit at the start. But why, they must have asked, would you watch until the end if you knew whodunnit at the start?

The answer, of course, is Peter Falk. Absolutely note-perfect as the deshiveled detective who allows his suspects to trap themselves by forever adding on their story until it falls apart this is surely one of the most genius pieces of casting of all time - although, it is interesting to note that a touring version of the very first Columbo story recently came to our local theatre with Dirk "The Face"/Starbuck Bennedict as Leiutennant Frank Columbo (and yes, that was his first name. Though never used in the show it does appear on his police badge)

#4: John Thaw as Chief Inspector Morse

Thaw was already no stranger to the TV detective genre, having played Regan in 70's cop-show The Sweeney, but it was here, amidst the splendour of Oxford's universities that he truly excelled. Morse took the step of making every episode two hours long, allowing plenty of time for the viewer to get to know the characters - and for once it really worked. With his panchant for opera and expensive cars Endeavour Morse (yes, that really was his first name) was an example of UK TV at its best

#5 Angela Lansbury as JB Fletcher

OK - so before we talk about the infamous Murder, She Wrote I just want to briefly mention my REAL fifth choice - who is of course the immortal Joan Hickson as Miss Marple

Hickson played the part in a series of BBC adaptations around the same time that Jeremy Brett played Holmes, and she could match him scene for scene for believability - more than can be said for the new Agatha Christie's Marple series. I heard once that Agatha Christie had mentioned Joan Hickson as a possible actress for her second most famous character - and if she did she was spot on. Any actor that plays Holmes or Marple has to stand in the shadow of Brett and Hickson for ever more

So back to Murder, She Wrote - lets face it the stories were utter rot. Mostly Jessica would be visiting a distant relative, or working on a re-write of one of her novels, and said relative would be accused of murder. From thereon in the writers just put all the character names into one hat and a spurious murder reason into a second hat and drew lots to find out whodunnit.

But of course none of that mattered, because Angela Lansbury, like Dick Van Dyke in Diagnosis: Murder and Tony Shaloub in Monk - were just so damn watchable that the whodunnit was very much a side issue

Suggestions for any ommissions welcome as ever

Today In History, A Forgotten Heroine

2011-04-01T00:16:00.000-07:00

Most of you probably won't be aware, but today is the 150th anniversary of the birth of Emily Frying

Looking back at history you'll notice that most of the famous names are men with a few noticable exceptions: Boudicca, Cleopatra, Marie Curie - there are others, but generally there names are forgotten: largely because of the social situations at the time.

The same was true for Frying, the eldest of what would eventually be a six-child family (front row, approximately 12-15 years old in this picture). Her father, Robert Frying had drifted from job to job and is listed in the census for the time as a salesman, a butcher and finally a chef at the new Savoy kitchens

(The Royal Alex Kitchens, circa 1910 where Frying would later work)

Emily herself took on a role at the Savoy as Skillet Maid, where she worked until she married.

This was handily timed as just before the turn of the century there had been a shortage of eggs and dairy produce due to a severe case of Foot And Mouth (a disease of cattle) that had drastically impacted on supplies - however with the endemic reduced and the Savoy kitchens newly refurbished it became very popular, and a sign of wealth, to dine on "Skilleted" eggs for breakfast.

Head Chef Marcel Holtz recorded in his diary that "Miss Frying was a deft hand with the skillet: a hard worker and much admired through the kitchens. So much so that the staff began to refer to the art of skilleting eggs as "frying"

Being a low graded maid Emily's contribution to culinary delights was never publicised, nevertheless the term "frying" passed into common parlance and eventually began to replace the name "skillet" for the pan. It was only about 15 years ago that her name was discovered under the records of the Savoy at the time and a member of her family managed to trace the line.

Emily herself came to a sad end, dying in a workhouse when her husband was killed in the war and she could not find employment.

For more information on Emily - click here

Every Picture Tells A Story

2011-03-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

Raven's Wordzzle's

In twenty years of marriage they had never exchanged an angry word.

The occasional cross sentence, yes. Frequent angry paragraphs, perhaps: the semi-regular educational pamphlets on painful bodily insertions it was true. But an angry word: never

That was until she came back from the portrait sessions pregnant, which at least explained the unusual smile that the artist had captured.

At first he had put it down to a particularly odd batch of mushroom soup that they had found in a small takeaway in Little Italy and it was true that they had both been bloated and shapeless for a couple of weeks after and it was many months before the magical tap-dancing aardvarks stopped appearing to him every night, but eventually it had to be conceded, no matter how charitable he might be, that his wife was well and truly, to put it in common parlance, “up the duff”

This considering that they had long ago decided that the key to a happy relationship, sans angry words, was separate rooms at opposite ends of a very large house: was something of a revelation

The artist, of course, denied everything: pretending to be in love with some chap called David until it was pointed out to him that he was a painter and not a sculptor. One spectator to the event would later claim that the language in the small enclosure of the artist’s rooms had been enough to turn the cheeks of even the coarsest sailor bright pink, but the fact remained that he was now forced to live with a painting that would forever show his wife in mid-term with someone else’s child.

Of course he would never have admitted that the child was anyone else’s but his, not even with one hand tied behind his back, but he took solace in one tiny fact

‘There is a tiny happy ending’ he said to his wife, sometime after the painting was complete, ‘the painting is somewhat small, and you have a funny smile: I doubt very much that anyone will ever want to look at it”

None Of The Above

2011-03-24T01:45:00.000-07:00

This is based on a speech that I did last night at the first round (club level) of the International Speech Competition - the eventual winner of which competes in Las Vegas. A speech, I should add, that failed to place in the competition.

"Any person capable of getting themselves into a position of power is, by very dint of that fact, the absolute last person you should allow to be there"

Competition Chair, fellow Toastmasters, most welcome guests

Is it just me or are Politician's getting more similar all the time? Think back to the 70s and 80s: the era of Thatcher, Kinnock, Hesseltine, Foot: you may not have liked these people, but you knew who they were and you pretty much knew what they stood for.

Today we have Cameron, Clegg, Milliband: three men who look like they all stepped out of the same cloning machine. They're all so busy trying to hog the middle ground that there can't be any space left.

All over the world in developing countries people travel for miles for the right to take place in a free election: often at great risk to their lives: yet here in the UK only about 60 per cent of the population regularly vote.

How many of you voted in the last election? How many of those of you that voted really took the time to read the party manifesto and know exactly what the party you voted for represented? And how many of you really believed that the party could deliver on those promises? I suspect that by now we're talking about quite small numbers.

Take myself as an example: I'm not particularly politically aware. I don't know that much about each of the parties, I don't particularly believe that any of them can deliver on their promises. I think that all of them have some good ideas, but I don't necessarily believe in all of their ideas, so I find the process of voting quite difficult.

Also I live in an area that is considered to be a safe seat. In other words the same party gets back into power pretty much every time: so my turning out to vote is pretty much a waste of time - I might as well throw my piece of paper up in the air for all the impact it has.

But I do vote - because I feel that it is important for my voice to be heard in some way, shape or form.

So how can my voice be heard? Well - what about some form of Electorial reform? Well - that's handy, because very soon now we are going to have a referendum on precicely that.

It's called Alternative Vote. What this means is that instead of voting for a specific party you have to rank all the candidates in order of preference - say from 1-5. The Liberal Democrat party, as the 3rd biggest party, think this is a great idea that can only benefit them: because let's face it - if your first vote is for Labour then your second vote is hardly going to be for Conservative - and so they will pick up extra points.

Great for them: but is it great for us? Well, potentially it could be: because it could force some of those parties desperate for your vote to smarten up their image, to make it a bit clearer exactly where they stand.

However: it does mean that if there is an extremist party in your area, such as the British National Party, then you have to give them a vote. It may be your lowest vote, but you still have to give it. Now I have a problem with this - I find it hard enough to vote for a party I'm not entirely 100% in favour of, but I really object to having to vote for one I'm 100% against.

So what about the option to vote "None of the above"? Currently people like myself have no option to state "I don't have any faith in any party" and to have that voice heard.

Would the introduction of an option to say "None of the above" result in the collapse of the government? Well, as it happens people in Australia already have the option to say this and I have yet to see their government collapse - so why couldn't we have the same here?

I'd like to leave you now with another quote from the late, great Douglas Adams, who as well as saying that "any person capable of getting themselves into a position of power is the absolute last person you should allow to be there" said: "The purpose of a politician is not so much to wield power: as to take attention away from those that do"

Competition chair.

(I Wanna Be A) Chartered Accountant

2011-03-19T00:29:00.000-07:00

This post came out of a joke between myself and Argent last night at a quiz night. And so, with apologies to Paul McCartney, I present:

Chartered Accountant

Dear Sir or Madam, let me read your books

If the Taxman's due, let me take a look

Coz I studied numbers, and I'm good at Maths

And I need a job, and I wanna be a Chartered Accountant

Chartered Accountant

I've always known what I want to be

Yes I've always dreampt of Accountancy

Coz I'm feeling fiscal and I know my sums

I can buy a tie, would you let me be a Chartered Accountant

Chartered Accountant

suggestions for extra verses are most welcome in response

What Are You Rebelling Against? (The Poetry Bus Challenge)

2011-03-12T00:26:00.000-08:00

Well it's been some time since I rode the poetry bus, but some challenges are just too tempting to resist: and so it was with this week's poetry bus, as driven by The Watercats

The challenge, should we chose to accept it, was:

1: PROTEST

2: IN A FOUR LINE POEM

3: WITH A RHYME THAT HAS A RHYTHM SUCH AS THUS;
dum dum dum dum dum dee dum
dum de dum de dum dee dum
dum de dum de dum dee dee
dum de dum de dum de dee.

So - I spent some time trying to decide what to protest about. There are so many good causes out there that need highlighting, but from the start I was more interested in finding a spurious cause - one that really doesn't need public outrage.

I thought about protesting about protest songs, i thought about protesting about busses, sausages, nipples on men - until I remembered something I'd heard a while ago.

You see it seems (or so I heard) that Warner Brothers are keen to keep the image of the Dark Knight dark and, as such have chosen to encourage those responsible to never release the 1960s Batman TV series on DVD - and if there's one thing a protest song is good for it's getting something/someone released (just look at "Free Nelson Mandela" for proof)

So here it is - the We Need Batman Released protest song

WE NEED BATMAN RELEASED

My DVD needs some capers right now

The caped-crusader, in his blue-suede cowl

Oh Warner Brothers, won't you give me some peace

We need the Batman to be released

Funny? I Nearly Laughed

2011-03-02T12:23:00.000-08:00

It's been some time since my last post - a long time by my usual standards, but I seem to have a bit of writer's block and can't think of anything to say.

Recently I wrote two half-songs (sadly they can't be combined into one), half a speech and half an introduction to a chapter before getting bogged down - so just because sometimes you have to just plunge in and write something I'm going to do a post i've been putting off for a while.

Those of you who read my blog regularly will be familiar with, and no doubt shriek with fear at the mention of, my ongoing List-O-Fives. We've had concept albums, movies, books, sci-fi - and a while ago I threatened to do one on sit-coms.

Problem is that there's too many for just a basic list of five - so i thought what i'd do is a list of all the sit-coms i like, in alphabetical order - and only pick out a few for more than a brief description.

Here we go:

The Big Bang Theory - despite playing to the stereotype that all scientists and clever people are, therefore, total nerds this is sharply funny and Sheldon Cooper is surely a classic creation. I'm quite enjoying the ongoing joke about Sheldon's deadly rivalry with Wil Wheaton as well

Blackadder - starting at the time of Richard 3rd and ending up in the 1st world war several generations of Edmund Blackadder strove to do dastardly deeds and generally failed. My personal favourite will always be Blackadder II with the genius casting of Miranda Richardson as Queenie (Queen Elisabeth 1st) - favourite quotes include:
Queenie: They've completely vanished
Lord Percy: ...like an old oak table (and so forth)

Dad's Army - 60s-70s show about the British Home Guard - don't tell him Pike!! A very rare combination of 100% perfect casting, very distinctive characters and top quality one liners

Father Ted - enjoyably daft comedy about three Irish priests sent to a small island essentially to keep them out of harm's way. I had the pleasure of attending the filming of an episode in series two and got to meet Fathers Ted and Dougall afterwards. Top episode has to be the Eurovision one

Fawlty Towers - more farce than sit-com this John Cleese vehicle is one of the most infamous sit coms and is second to none in terms of tight writing, characterisation and cringe-enducing moments

Frazier - one of the best from across the pond, right up to the point they introduced Daphne's family - but often very hard to watch because of the stupid, down-right pompous things the main character did. Home of one of my favourite quotes: "If we were looking through the world's most powerful microscope right now I still couldn't locate my interest in your problem"

The Good Life - 70s sit-com starring Richard Briers and Felicity Kendall as two surburbanites who turn self-sufficient, to the horror of their posh neighbours. It has been said that no truly british man can think of Felicity Kendall in The Good Life without a sigh.

One Foot In The Grave - Richard Wilson as grumpy pensioner Victor Meldrew with his long suffering wife Margaret - endlessly ranting at the world. Last series wasn't as good, but still very funny at its best

Porridge - Ronnie Barker's shining moment and one of the best written comedies of all time about serial offender Fletcher and his fellow inmates at Slade Prison as they try and outwit the guards

Red Dwarf - 3,000,000 light years from Earth a slob, a career-no-hoper, a cat, a mechanoid and a senile computer are trying to find their way home. First two series were actually very clever sci-fi ideas with humour, then descended into a monster-of-the-week format (though still funny for another four years) - until finally took it a series or two too far. Best lines increasingly went to the mechanoid Kryten, including when they had to go from blue to red alert and Kryten says, "are you sure sir, it does mean changing the bulb?"

The Simpsons - does this count as a sit-com? Maybe not - once great, not as funny as it was, but still worth watching we are all familiar with the story of America's No1 family

Still Game - shamefully overlooked Scottish sit-com about a group of pensioners living on a rough estate.

Still - i couldn't leave you withouy a chance to watch at least a bit of one of these shows - so here's that Eurovision song from Father Ted - and if you don't smile there's something wrong with you!

Actor, Artist, Writer, Painter, Ponce?

2011-02-17T09:21:00.000-08:00

Tonight, not more than an hour or so after I finish writing this, I intend to practice my saxophone.

It will be the second practice of the week and, frankly, I’m hoping that tonight I will be more in the mood.

Half an hour, it seems, is not long enough: you’ve barely plugged the mouthpiece on straight in half-an-hour, let alone looked at all the pieces that you’re supposed to be learning, all the scales you need to practice and thrown in a bit of light relief with a bit of improvisation.

Tuesday night I wasn’t really in the mood: a couple of random squeaks that sounded like a badger breaking wind, half a song here and there and half the pacific ocean’s worth of spit and that was it.

But despite all this – I am really enjoying learning the Sax, and am starting to get reasonably ok (if you ignore the high notes), but does the fact that I now play guitar, keyboard (chords only), bass and sax make me a musician?

Well: no. I would argue not

I also paint. Well, I attempt to paint. I will be attempting to paint quite a bit next week when I have a few days off – assuming that I can think of a project (anyone who wants a free painting should probably leave a comment as to what they would like in response to this post)

I was, in fact, having a conversation with someone at about midnight last night who actually can paint – he was talking about how he experiments with colour and when I was asked if I did the same I was probably a bit over-frank when I talked about how depressed I had got each week on my last Life Drawing course (to the point where I was getting so stressed about my piss-poor results that I physically didn’t want to go each week)

Because although I like to paint, I am not ever likely to be accused of being a painter

Nor am I a writer, a photographer or a cyclist – although I do all these things.

I suppose the difference really is twofold. Firstly – one must possess a modicum of ability. Secondly – and here, I think is the clincher – one should be doing it for a living.

Take an example if you will: Deluded Talent Show Competitor – who on the third week of the competition starts describing themselves as an “artist”

You are not a bleeding artist. It’s debatable that someone who has been recording for 10 years and has a triple platinum selling album is an artist or not: you are definitely not.

So what then should be on my passport? I work in Admin Support (IT), but that’s a rather depressing thing to admit to the gallant men and women at passport control. What will it say on the plaque on the wall of the house where I was born: Don’t Feed The Pixies, inventor of the XXX, lived here?

Maybe it doesn’t matter what we call ourselves – I still enjoy doing these things (when not throwing my easel out of the window with frustration or shouting “It’s a bleeding A, you can see it’s a bleeding A, so why are you playing a bleeding D” at my saxophone), so maybe it doesn’t matter that I will never be a musician, a writer, a painter

Maybe just painting, writing and playing music is enough?

Chinwag

2011-02-13T01:22:00.000-08:00

So a week or so ago, before I achieved my superhero like powers, I was out with one of my closest friends.

Of course, being a bloke, I don't actually have close friends - blokes don't talk about stuff like emotions and feelings and issues: we talk about sport. Sport was invented so that men would have something to talk about to each other, rather than just sit there in stony silence until it was time to go home: I truly believe this.

Which is why it's such a shame that I have no interest in sport - but there you go.

Anyway - we shall call my friend Dino, for reasons that will go unexplained. We could equally call him anything, i guess - but that was the first name that came to mind - so, Dino it is.

So - me and Dino were out in our "usual" - and the fact that we now have a "usual" is a clear sign that we are getting on a bit, mentally if not physically. Only old men talk about going to the "usual" - but nonetheless: we have a "usual"

The "usual" is an old-man's pub as it happens. The kind of place where three generations of the same family have been drinking, where the music is quiet enough so you can actually have a conversation without having to use a megaphone. A few years ago we might have wondered from place to place a bit, but we like it here now: it's busy enough to be interesting, without being crowded: there's a good mix of people who leave you alone, the bar staff are always friendly (but not too friendly) and you can have a conversation - something that is important when you only see each other once a month or so.

We go through the usual questions about work: complaints mainly about how our geniuses have, as yet, failed to be recognised by appropriate renumeration - and then I get a text.

The text is from a girl that we both know. See - I met Dino through work about 16 years ago now and he was the sole recipient of the Funniest Thing I Will Ever Say In My Life (sad that it was only one person who got to hear it, but there you go) when we both shared an over-warm office in what must surely be a special corner of hell reserved for those with no ambition.

We will call the girl Daffy (having started on the cartoon thing) - and the text was to say that she was out with Bugs (ok - maybe I'm stretching the cartoon thing here now), another girl that we both worked with.

Back In The Day the four of us would go out after work some nights, trail around the bars and clubs and return in the wee tiny hours. Most of the time, as I lived some distance away, I was Designated Driver and Registered Sober Person.

But since I left the company 7-8 years ago now I have barely seen Daffy and Bugs.

Daffy is out with Bugs - and they want to know if I'm free to meet up at the end of February. This is somewhat unexepected, but I text back and say maybe, should be yeah

And that's when it comes: what I was expecting in the first place. A) they want to know if Dino is available and B) they want to go clubbing - to somewhere that plays the sort of stuff we used to listen to Back In The Day (i didn't even know the harpsichord was still about, to be honest, but there you go)

And immidiately I'm annoyed, again. Because it's like this every single time. Whenever we get together, for whatever reason: they always seem to want to make it some big reunion thing. It has to be the four of us together, or none at all.

And it annoys me because Daffy and Bugs already see each other on a regular basis, they already do the things they are suggesting to do. It's been 12-18 months since I've seen either of them: what I want to do when I do see them is have a chance to talk: to catch up on their lives - get to know them again: not to try and re-capture my youth. Those days are gone, and quite frankly its for the best

Also - being out with Daffy and Bugs together is somewhat difficult - they immediately go into girlie mode and it's almost like you are just there in the background, hanging onto the tail ends of their evening.

I don't understand why it is so impossible for me to just meet up with Daffy, or Bugs, for a coffee and a chat from time to time. If they want to meet up with Dino they can do that as well - but it seems that the four of us together is the deal breaker and that my company alone is never sufficient for them.

I wouldn't be saying any of this if Dino didn't feel the same way: I think we both feel that we've grown up since those days and neither of us feels any desire to try and recapture our youths.

To be honest I never really enjoyed the club scene that much: I never quite knew where to put myself and how to start conversations: the thought of hanging out with people XXX years younger than me in a nightclub sends shivers down my spine.

It's not too much to ask is it, to just have a normal friendship with both, where one, or the other, of us meets up for a chat? You can never go back

Riding With Strangers On Busses And Trains

2011-02-05T05:07:00.000-08:00

There must be a sign over my head.

That or something about my general demeanour that singles me out as a Helpful, Able Person Looking to Ease Stress for Strangers - or HAPLESS for short

Because especially since the start of 2011 I seem to be back in Cub Scouts every week, endlessly rushing to the aid of the feeble, infirm or just bonkers. There must be something calming, nay reassuring in my countenance that enables random strangers to approach me for directions I have no hope of supplying or other assistance.

It started on a Saturday in January. Most Saturday mornings I meet up with an old friend and catch the bus back into town afterwards. If I'm not meeting anyone else I catch the connection back home - as was the case on this day: so I decided to go into the main bus station and wait.

About ten minutes later the bus rolled in, stopping at the wrong stop because there was already another bus in its slot. However, the bus doors did not open. From my place on the sidelines I could see some debate between two staff and a single elderly passenger who was clearly too infirm to have walked to the stop and had intended to sit on the bus until it left again. The conversation ranged on, until eventually the two staff issued the old man off the bus and onto the concourse outside the main building. They muttered something about having to go back to the depot and that they would be back shortly, leaving the old man stranded outside the building with huge busses rushing past.

Now it was clear to even the most casual observer that this man was more than a few sacks short of a bushel in the brains department. He must have been 70-80 years old, with a hearing aid in each ear, a stick for each leg and an expression on his face that suggested he didn't know his arse from next wednesday.

And so Super Pixie, suffering the curse of a conscience, went to see how he was and began trying to explain what had happened. It took some effort to get the message through that they probably weren't going to come back and during the half-an-hour we waited for the next bus I also discovered that the old man was already overdue his next heart pill.

Of course, no staff could be found to help. The busses are run by one company, the station by another and all the small offices in the station by a third company: with the net result being that their company slogan is "We Officially Don't Give A Crap" - and who was it that made sure the old man got on the bus safely and off again safely at the other end? Muggins here

The next approach was actually on a train: but it was actually someone offering me help for a change, showing that despite what I think every time I look in the mirror I do not resemble an axe murderer.

I was on my way back from a business trip with a man the size of three sofa's sitting next to me when I happened to mention the name of my final station. Sofa man chipped in, "Oh, I go past that station and can give you a lift if you want"

And it's a terrible enditement of the world that we live in today that I immediately assumed he was after my bottom.

After a second it occured to me that actually I was judging the world based on reading tabloid newsheadlines I realised that he was just being kind, and politely declined.

The third, and indeed fourth occasions were on the next train I caught for works purposes. I was waiting on the station for the train to come in and a lady with two walking sticks and a very large case began explaining to me that she had booked assistance from the train line, but it hadn't turned up and would I mind helping her lift her luggage onto the train.

Again the conscience chipped in, so of course I asked her where she was going and it turned out that she had to get the same connection as me: so being Super Pixie I not only helped her onto the train but sat with her on the train, helped her off again and ensured that a porter was found at the midway section before I left her alone.

In the intervening half hour she had, of course, told me her entire life story (what with me being HAPLESS and everything)

Then the second train that I caught got delayed and a chap from Liverpool approached me in the corridor. I don't know if you've ever had a conversation with a Liverpudlian, but there can be something vaguely threatening about their accent if it is at the harsh end of the spectrum, but nonetheless I advised him that he would be better off staying on the train until the main station where he would get a better connection than my middle-of-nowheresville station

And then the fifth one, actually the first one again, was this morning. Elderly Bus Bloke - as we must now inevitably call him, was at my stop this morning for the third or fourth week since I initially helped him and had to be gently persuaded into catching the bus heading in the right direction (its a half-way terminus, meaning that if he'd caught the wrong one he'd have ended up standing in a lane somewhere looking bemused instead of where he wanted to go)

And half way through the journey he managed to drop both walking sticks on the floor, so of course muggins here couldn't just sit and watch him fall over and break something and leapt out of his seat, picked up the sticks and handed them back.

But my good deeds for the day didn't stop there - oh no. Because it turns out that I am not the only member of my family who is HAPLESS, although we won't make any mention of common sense.

Most weeks before I see my friend it is my habit to pop in to my parents and visit them for an hour, wave a royal hand, answer endless questions and generally catch up. This week, as I got off the bus I saw my mum standing in front of the school gates next to her house. They were, for a change, locked.

As I walked towards her she also began approaching, leaning heavily on her walker and began explaining that my Dad had found a school bag in the garden, gone into the school to drop it off and returned to find that he had been locked in.

Usually on a Saturday there are various groups that meet at the school, but there was no sign of life this week so I walked my mum slowly around to the caretaker's house (two blocks away) and she knocked on the door.

There was a significant delay, which was soon explained by the figure of a man wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He vanished and returned having rapidly pulled on some clothes. He listened slightly impatiently to my mother and then explained that he wasn't due to go into the school that morning, so my dad would have to go and knock on the hall door, where the people in the hall would let him out.

Now again, as with Elderly Bus Bloke it should have been clear to him that my mum is never going to out run Lynford Christie and would struggle to get back to the house, but he refused to help - and so I went around to the school front again and explained to my dad.

Dad then traipsed around the outside of the building for about 10 minutes whilst my mum toddled slowly back, banging on windows and yelling "hello" in a vaguely hopeful tone of voice - all to no avail.

And so we had to go and knock on my mum's next-door-neighbours house. They, like the caretaker, were also not entirely dressed or up yet (this being just after 9am on a Saturday) - but they willingly came around to the back of the house where the entry backs onto the high school fence (complete with razor sharp prongs)

I squeezed into my dad's garage and passed over our stepladder, whilst the neighbours brought out there much larger ladder. Neighbour stood on the back of the large ladder to steady it and I climbed up, passing our ladder over the top of the prongs.

Rather hesitantly my dad climbed to the top step and reached a problem. The top of the steps wasn't high enough and he had no choice but to put one foot on the top handle, one hand on the top of the larger steps on our side of the fence and nowhere much to put his other foot or hand.

So up I went - putting my hand under his arm to steady him and take his weight as he slowly tried to turn his foot around and hit the ladder. Finally one foot landed on our side of the fence, however the adventure wasn't over yet, as my dad decided half way down that he would try and pass our ladder back over the fence behind him and nearly lost his balance in the process.

So we persuaded him to let go and concentrate on getting down and then i climbed back up and passed the ladder back out of the school

So - the next time someone stops and asks you directions, or the next time an Elderly Bus Bloke is in distress, or even if you - rather bizarely - find that your ageing parent is unexplicably trapped in a nearby school: remember - it almost never hurts to be helpful

Rude Awakenings and Cat-naps

2011-01-25T13:11:00.000-08:00

Five AM

I should be asleep.

I would be asleep if it weren't for the feline version of Michael Flatley re-enacting Lord Of The Dance on my chest.

Giles has decided that it is time he was fed. He's good like that. When the tapping and clawing doesn't work he walks up to my face and starts pressing his little mouth into my face and headbutting me.
I pick him up, move him slightly down the bed and stroke him vaguely in the hope that this will placate him for a while. Instead he tries to bite my arm: in a kind and caring way.

I open my eyes and Giles is standing on my chest again. His chubby features are inches away from my face and I can smell his slightly meaty breath. At this angle he looks a bit like Chairman Mao, or should that be Chairman Miow?

I pull the duvet over my head in the hope that he will be fooled and think I have gone away: but he's too smart for that and has clearly worked out which bit of me is responsible for contolling the Cat Feeding Arms and is determined to get a response.

Sometimes he moves away for a while, but only once he is 100% sure that he has woken me up - other times I give in and traipse down stairs, watching my feet as he thunders around them like a black and white bullet.

The bowl is usually empty - so I pick it up, put some food in and one of two things will happen as I walk away.

Firstly - he will stick his face straight in and wont stop chomping until its all gone - or secondly he will race after me to see what mad things I'm doing now.

As I write this, sat in front of the TV, Giles is stretched out on his back next to me - a few moments ago he was trying to grab my arm as I typed. Now he is asleep with his head pressed against my leg.

He and Willow still have their moments - we don't seem to be able to go a day without him chasing her somewhere - but there was a reason for me bringing you this story

And that is: its almost impossible to believe that this is the same cat that, only a few months ago, cowered as far away from us as he possibly could: would barely come out from under the sofa and would certainly never have responded when we called him.

OK - so he's still very young and when he's being playful he doesn't realise that it isn't always appropriate but over the last few weeks, when there was thick snow on the ground, we were both very glad that we took him in and gave him a home

But not nearly as glad as the fact that he wanted to stay

Games With(out) Frontiers

2011-01-17T22:33:00.000-08:00

As those of you who know me by now will be aware I am unable to grasp the attraction of Guitar Hero.

Not, you understand, that I have anything against games systems – I am old enough to have had an Atari system with Pac-Man and Space Invaders, to have listened to the ear-piercing high-volume screeching of a ZX Spectrum loading and yes, to have owned a Sega Megadrive.

My most recent system is quite old now – bought just before I discovered girls (or a specific girl discovered me at any rate) - and its main function in life is to gather dust and to serve as a shelf for the TV remote. Occasionally I will feel in the mood to re-play one of my “jump about and kill things” games (most games can essentially be boiled down to a few basic elements: jump about, collect and kill things – drive about, collect and smash into things – and, more recently, blow nine types out of crap out of things whilst re-creating the Somme/other famous battle/attempting to fly a plane)

To be frank the new generation of “wave your arms about like a prat” games just don’t interest me – they just seem to be a gimic, designed to take attention away from the fact that games are suddenly being designed for people with the attention span of a gnat – and Guitar Hero is, for me, one of the worst offenders (although a special place in the hall of fame will no doubt be reserved for the Wii-Fit – a system designed for those of us who want to merely pretend we have a fitness regime without the unnecessary effort of joining a gym and then never going)

I don’t think it helps that I play not one but four instruments ((in degree of ability these go: Guitar, Sax (although this is catching up quickly), Bass, Keyboards)) and from a musical point of view I can’t quite see what the attraction of standing in front of a TV screen frantically going GREEN-RED-RED-RED-GREEN-BLUE for hours on end is.

My argument goes as thus:

For the price of a Rock Band starter pack and PS3 (or whatever) you could buy a decent second hand acoustic guitar from a charity shop and pay for 12 months of community college education (starting from £40 for ten weeks) and within a few weeks be playing whatever songs you chose and not just those few prescribed by “the man”

Also: you don’t have to “unlock” a specific song before you can “play” it – simply type the words “guitar tab” into your search engine and watch the hundreds of sites come up (though very few for sax or keyboards as this would involve transcribing music)

This is ultimately much more rewarding and fulfilling.

But I was putting this point to a friend over Christmas and they said: “Yes, that’s all very well but: a) not everyone has musical ability, b) Guitar Hero et al are designed as party games – not as musical accomplishments.

And whilst I can see that side of the argument it does raise further questions.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with playing computer games – they can be stimulating, challenging and pass many a lonely hour – but the point of a computer game is that it’s something you do on your own, maybe with one or two other people.

Many of the board games I used to play as a kid are now being turned into computer games for the Wii or similar: Monopoly, Scrabble and so forth – but this raises an important social issue.

Back in the day when you had a party you would sit around the room facing one another, interacting directly with one another – now it seems that society is moving so that the only way we can interact with one another is via a screen. Does this worry you? Will the memory of your friends face always be of features cast in the light of a TV screen?

Only the other day I logged into Facebook to see two status updates – both sending messages to people who lived in the same house as the other! Get off your arses and go and talk face to face!!!!

Most of my work now is done over the internet – I speak daily with people on the other side of the planet (well – I type in a deeply frustrated manner to people on the other side of the planet) and high street shops are continuing to go to the wall because we increasingly do our shopping online. Public Houses are closing because we do our drinking alone in our houses.

Don’t get me wrong – I am totally anti-social and spend as little time as possible at parties, public houses or other social interaction events (unless with people that I know I have lots in common with and will find Something To Talk About) – my idea of a party is very much the traditional one that we Brits manage so well: of all the women in one room talking about hernia operations whilst the men sit in stony silence in the other room waiting for death/to go home (whichever seems more attractive at the time (on the subject of which – sport was invented purely so men would have something to talk to each other about, so it’s a bit of a shame that I have no interest whatsoever in sport))

But I think it’s a sad day indeed when we invite a large group of friends around to our homes, ask the question “so what shall we do” and answer “let’s just look at the telly”

Frankly – I could be doing that at home.

The Magpie Wordzzle Poetry Bus Triple

2011-01-12T02:38:00.000-08:00

Magpie Tales

Raven's Wordzzle's

TFE's Poetry Bus

The Bad Karma Revenge Song

When your next-door neighbour rushes in and steals your parking space

When your partner’s keeping secrets, but its too clear on their face

When disaster falls and kicks you in a very private place

You may feel like you should go insane, but there’s so much more at stake

Though you’d like to kill the doctor, who said your health was trash

And you know you shouldn’t celebrate, when his practice starts to crash

When you have the choice to kill your boss, but you know you must back down

Even though on every single day, he makes you act just like a clown

Yes it’s hard to be a Buddhist when you’re aching for revenge

Though you feel the anger burning, you will have to make amends

You can do some chanting later, whilst in your dreams you have a gun

You should wish them better karma, but time flies when you’re having fun

When the clouds have come and settled and left you in dismay

You can dream about the lottery, but you wont win it today

Though you should be seeking clarity, when they’re knocking down your house

And you feel like your life’s played with, like a cat with a toy mouse

Yes it’s hard to be a Buddist, when your anger starts to lurch

And you know that you can’t kill them, but it wont hurt to research

When the shipping forecast of your life says you will see a stormy sky
Just dream of all the carnage, as you watch their entrails fry

Suddenly Bursting Into Song

2011-01-04T12:55:00.000-08:00

Welcome one and all to the start of a new decade. Already the mutterings have begun: what are we to call the decade? The Tenties? The Twenty-Tens?

Either way, it is good to start the year the way one intends to continue – I have a couple of new ideas I may try out later in the month: but for now I’d like to return to one of my favourite recurring themes – the list of five things

As regular readers of my blog will be aware the Five Things blog is me choosing five related things that I like/don’t like, writing a few short paragraphs about each and then inviting a heated debate on the subject.

This time we’re going down that most unusual of roads: the musical.

Yes: crowds of people bursting into song about their woes or joys, all mysteriously already knowing the tune. Perhaps one of the most contrived methods of telling a story I think it fair to say that the modern musical can probably be split into three separate categories:

The Musical MusicalA story written to be told via the inclusion of new songs written for said story – the most traditional form of musical. This would include Gilbert & Sullivan, Rogers & Hammerstein, Lloyd-Webber & Rice and the rest of them

The Era Musical
Taking a particular era of music, usually pop-music, and telling the story of that era or a particular character in that era. Thus: Buddy, the musical

The Specific Band Musical
Taking songs that were never meant to tell a single story and using the songs of a specific act to tell a new story – This would include Mamma Mia (ABBA), We Will Rock You (Queen) and Our House (Madness)
However, I am discounting films that were made as vehicles for pop stars (such as the Elvis Presley and Cliff Richard films) unless they have been translated into stage plays (IE Jailhouse Rock and Summer Holiday)

#1 The Sound Of Music (category 1)
Dancing Nazis, singing Austrian Nuns, insufferably cute kids and Julie Andrews swirling around on a hillside like a deranged woman that you wouldn’t allow within fifty feet of an axe. The Sound Of Music runs for 12 days (or feels that way) and is a traditional staple of Christmas/Easter TV in the UK

Although it is impossible to dislike The Sound Of Music I have developed a special theory of musicals: which states that although we have all seen the film in it’s entirety no one, other than those who saw it on the stage or at the cinema, has done so in a single sitting. One year you might see the end, another you might see the beginning and in the intervening decades you will see all the bits inbetween, but the traditional way to watch The Sound Of Music is to wake up on Boxing Day, look at the TV Times and yell “Oh bugger, I’ve missed the start bit again!!”

#2
The Rocky Horror (Picture) Show (category 1)
Two American apple-pie teenagers get wayleighed by an alien inventor looking for a short cut to getting a hot date. They encounter a weird party, transvestism and more B-movie clichés than you can shake a Plan 9 From Outer Space at

Deeply daft and very, very strange indeed this is one that takes a couple of viewings to really get past the “what the hell is going on” factor and start enjoying it – but for anyone who has seen more than a few dodgy 1950’s Sci-fi movies you can’t help but enjoy – particularly for Tim Curry’s stand-out performance as Dr Frank N Furter

#3
Return To The Forbidden Planet (category 2)
Based loosely on The Tempest and the 1950s movie Forbidden Planet this is a tale of young love, creatures from the Id and 1950’s rock and roll.

This one has a special part in my heart as I was, however briefly, Third Guitar From The Left in an amateur production – having the high responsibility of looking around startled and falling over occasionally. Nonetheless it was one of the most fun things I have ever done. You haven’t lived until you’ve leant vaguely sideways pretending to be on a banking ship to the tune of the Beach Boys “Wipeout”

#4
Mamma Mia (category 3)
Young girl about to get married, wants to find out who her father is – her mother is also trapped in her past reliving her glory days

OK – so I’ve only seen the movie because I thought it would be a nice thing to do with Herself, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something fundamentally wrong about forcing songs to do things they were never intended to (these songs were never intended to tell a sole story).

If I had written “the book” I think I would have kept with the idea put forward in the (excellent) film Muriel’s Wedding – a young girl obsessed with ABBA

#5
Grease (category 1)
For many years I insisted that the video for “summer loving” was as much of the film as I ever needed to see – infact more than I ever needed to see. However I was persuaded to watch it – and am still seeking the assistance of anyone who can turn back time and recapture those lost 2 hours of my life.

There is a (as yet unproven) genetic code in some types of women that when they hear “Dancing Queen” by ABBA makes them shriek and launch themselves at the dancefloor – and I can only assume that the same genetic imbalance is responsible for the completely unexplainable love for this film.
So lets dissect the plot for those of you who are in any shape mistaken in believing that it is a “feel good” or “uplifting” movie.

Nice girl Sandy meets a nice boy on holiday. When she moves to the city she finds that her “nice” boy is a bit of rough and that the other girls at school act and dress like prostitutes. In the end, just when he is on the verge of changing to be a better person for her she decides that the moral of the story is: if you want your man become a tart.

Best moment of the film is “There Are Worse Things I Could Do”, but frankly Alison Moyet sings it far better than the version in the film.
#6
Summer Holiday (see above, category 3a)

Cliff Richard, on a bus in Europe with Melvyn Hayes and Una Stubbs. What’s not to like?
If you spent the next twenty years of your life devouring the cheese section of your local store you still couldn’t find anything as cheesy, but there’s something so uniquely British and feel-goody that it’s practically anti-British to dislike it. Gains inclusion via a stage adaptation starring Darren Day

On a final note: if you have never seen the episode of Buffy The Vampire Slayer "Once More With Feeling" you should watch it now before people realise!

New Year's Desilutions

2010-12-31T00:10:00.000-08:00

They say that there is no such thing as an original idea – but if there is this is certainly not one of them, but the other night I was talking to Herself about New Year’s Resolutions.
She had been texting some friends in London to the effect that it is inevitable that New Year’s Resolutions will be broken, usually within five seconds of the stroke of midnight.

I know this to be true – I used to be a member of my local gym (until financial restraints meant I had to stop) and from the start of January to early February each year it would be impossible to get on any of the machinery due to the Health Kick Resolution – but by mid February only a few waifs and strays remained.

Picking something to give up is difficult – one year I managed to give up chocolate (I try to blank those 12 months), but my only real vice these days is cheese – and if I had to give up cheese for 12 months then it would be onto the crack cocaine before I knew it.

But Herself has come up with the perfect solution for us all – why not give up something you already don’t do? If you give up doing something you don’t currently do then you are hardly going to miss it and can reach the end of 2011 feeling proud of the fact that you have continued to not do said thing.
So here’s a couple of suggestions for those of you looking for ludicrous things to stop doing during 2011:

#1: Hang-gliding Naked Through Woolworths

Quite an easy one to give up on several levels this one. Firstly because Woolworths selection of high-street emporiums have now gone and been replaced by numerous pound shops. Secondly, and aside from branches of Woolworths set over 2 or more levels, it is quite impossible to get the level of lift required vis a vis take-off for hang-gliding (although to be fair I have never tried)

#2: Part-time career as Director General of the BBC

Much as my commitment and dedication to the British Broadcasting Corporation has been a vital standpoint of their continued success over the past few years I feel sure that they can continue to flourish as a result of my continued absence and thus feel relatively secure in continuing not to be Director General (albeit in absentia) during 2011. However, should Mark Thompson (DG since 2004) fancy a holiday he knows where to find me

#3: Neurosurgeon

The brains of Great Britain may continue to rest easy during 2011 that should they falter in the knowledge that the the hands of this particular Pixie will not be attempting to put them right

#4: Mountain climbing

Actually, of the list here this is one that I’d quite like a go at. There is an establishment less than 2 miles from my house with a climbing wall, but starter lessons are £60 and you have to have more than one person at the lesson – so scaling Everest, Kilimanjaro or, lets face it, the stairs in the hallway, remains a remote possibility over the next 12 months

#5: Career as a singer in a Bhangra-influenced band

Actually in one of my previous roles I worked with someone who left the company to become exactly this. From what I gather they are doing rather well.

Suggestions for things that you want to give up, but already don’t do, will be widely welcomed.

Oh yeah - and whatever you do or don't do in 2011 be safe, be happy and be prosperous.

Christmas Wishes, Musings, Sax And Ramblings

2010-12-24T00:02:00.000-08:00

Good tidings fellow bloggers, and welcome all. It's that time of year again and those of you that read my blog regularly will know that it it's something of a tradition for me to post on or abouts Christmas with some kind of story or alternate message.

This year I've decided to take a suggestion from Bobby, a fellow blogger and write a kind of open letter to a few people who have meant a lot to me this year

Firstly: my family - my mum, dad and our kid. This year more than any other I've become really aware of the sacrifices my parents made for me when I was young - so thank you

Secondly: my friends - its funny how you have different kinds of relationships with different friends and how sometimes that changes back and forth, but this year I would particularly like to thank Argent and C.C. - without whom I don't know how I would have coped. Aargent for music and laughter, C.C. for getting me writing again - and to the latter - mate: wherever you are this Christmas be safe

I'd also like to say hi to my new friends Roxy and Samurai - looking forward to getting to know you better

Next up a quick word-up to everyone in Blogland, particularly Bug, Watercats and Lydia for much needed light relief and creative stimulation - especially for you guys there's a Christmas Quiz at the end (answers will be on the responses page) - many of the questions come from a programme called QI where the things you think you know turn out to be wrong - so it's more for your interest than as an actual quiz.

Finally to Herself. Someone at Toastmasters said this year that when you enter the room I light up. It's true - you are my light.

But enough of the sentimentality - it's time for music lovers everywhere to turn away and start running, as after frequent attempts to record myself playing something christmassy on my Saxophone I have gone with the least rubbish. Camera work is by Herself and she asked me to point out the highlighting of the "little" Merry Christmas. See what she did there?

Have a good one. Peace and goodwill to all.

THE QUIZ

1) Which Famous Chicken travelled to China?

2) What produces most of the Earth’s Oxygen?

3) Where do loofas come from?

4) What was Mozart’s middle name?

5) What is unusual about Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer?

6) What substance replaced lead in pencils?

7) Why is Santa's Grotto accident free for the 200th year running?

Three Wizened Men (A Christmas Magpie Tale)

2010-12-19T09:45:00.000-08:00

Magpie Tales

Bethelehem Police Station, December 24th - Year Zero

Officer P. Pilate reporting

I was just returning to the station when I espied three strange men on camels travelling across the desert.

Upon approaching them they claimed to be three wize men, following a star, but I distinctly smelt alcohol on their breaths.

Upon further questioning they claimed to be Melchior, Caspar and Balthasar, Kings of the Orient who had been visited by a spirit telling them to bring gifts to a child in a manger. It seemed clear to me that they had been visited by several spirits, including the spirit of Jack Daniels on several occasions.

I proceded to ask them to dismount from their camels and to turn out their pockets. Upon searching the three so-called Kings I discovered that one was carrying Gold, the second Frankensense and the third Myr. They claimed that these were gifts for the child. When I questioned whether some form of cuddly toy wouldn't be more appropriate for a child they could not provide a suitable response.

I was just about to ask them to follow me to the station when we were interrupted by three shepherds coming in the opposite direction. They were also acting in a most peculiar manner and claimed to have followed the star. I decided that they were either in collusion with each other or that the Annual General Meeting of Village Idiots was in town.

However, as it was nearing the end of my shift I decided to follow them back to The Comfy Inn, Bethelehem, where I found a young family sleeping in the barn with the animals.

Having made a mental note to report the parents for child neglect I asked the two persons present whether they were, in fact, the parents of the poor child lying in the straw.

The male then responded that he was a travelling carpenter and that he was not the father. His wife had claimed that she had been impregnated by God himself, although he seemed to believe it was actually some fellow called Gabriel. I recommended the couple to marriage guidance, but decided not to pursue the issue of parentage as it was becoming increasingly clear that everyone was bonkers

It was at this point that I turned to the three men I had initially encountered and asked if they still had any of the spirits they had initially spoken of. Sadly they did not and I returned to the station where I had a bottle of Bells hidden under the desk

Talkin 'Bout A Revolution (Mandella Day)

2010-12-16T08:12:00.000-08:00

I guess there must have been 70,000 people there that day. That was the capacity of the old Wembley Stadium.

Most of us were there to see Simple Minds. Most of us had little idea who Nelson Mandella was. He was still in prison at the time

Myself and Our Kid took seats on the side of the station and watched the acts come and go. Mostly they were the big names of the day - perhaps trying to support the cause of freedom for South Africa, perhaps just trying to sell some more records.

I remember...

Graham Chapman asking for 30 seconds of abuse
The whole stadium reverberating to the low bass of UB40
Watching the endless drum solos of the african musicians that inter-spersed the main acts
George Michael's set - and not being able to hear a single word he was singing
Everyone singing "how long - to sing this song" and hoping that U2 were gonna fill the blank spot on the programme.
Wishing Courtney Pine would get off and stop playing Jazz
Having to leave half-way through Dire Straits to catch the last train back

There was much talk of that hour - a mystery guest. Some were saying the Beatles were gonna reform with Julian taking his father's place, some claimed the Rolling Stones. In the end we got an hour of Hugh Masekala and Winne Bombata - only finding out after we returned home that it was supposed to have been Stevie Wonder, but someone had stolen his equipment.

It was long and sometimes slow day, it was noisy and some acts were better than others.

Most of it is now erased by the passing of the years: I know what we were supporting that day now and I wish i'd known more about it at the time.

But I always remember this one girl

She got up on the stage alone with her guitar, no backing musicians - just her and her voice. None of us had ever heard of her - she was a newcomer playing to 70,000 Simple Minds fans

If you looked at the big screens you could see her shaking - but that voice took us away.

Now I'm not much of a fan of female singers: I can't stand all that Mariah Carey/Whitney Houston warbling around the notes - but that voice touched me, sending shivers down my spine. She was shaking - but she was totally in that moment, meaning every single word.

I guess it was one of those moments where we really stopped for a few seconds and remembered what we had paid our £40 for

Talking about a revolution

Dominik Rivron's Universally Challenged

2010-12-09T10:42:00.000-08:00

OK - so some days ago fellow blogger Dominik Rivron invited people to write answers to questions from a school exam paper. Having spent the days since wondering which one to go for I eventually decided to put some spurious one sentence answers to some and then have a proper go at another. Here's my attempt:

Are modern politicians merely managers?
No – any manager that useless would be sacked

Can the ‘freeness’ and ‘fairness’ of elections be measured?
Yes, but due to differences with the EU we can’t decide whether to measure in pounds or kilos

Is there anything to be said for astrology?
There is – but it’s written in the stars

Are technological changes creating a golden age of cinema?
Is Phantom Menace better than A New Hope? Case closed

What can we learn from a century of sound recording?
A group of five vaguely feminine young boys will always sell records

Is Islam more dangerous than any other religion?
No – the Knights Templar were acting for the Pope, remember?

Is Amazon.com good for literature?
Yes and no, but not as good and bad as Charlotte Bronte and Geoffrey Archer

Would you ban a book?
No – with the possible exception of “Jimmy Greaves – It’s A Funny Old Game”

Have any philosophical questions been solved?
I believe they are still debating that one

Is it worse to be cruel to a fox than to a flea?
Other than one is furry and cute and the other isn’t – not really

Does it matter who wrote Shakespeare’s plays?
Only if it really was a time-travelling stoat called Albert

Is it immoral to buy a £10,000 handbag?
Not immoral, just fecking stupid

Does celebrity entail loss of dignity?
No – only the things people do to maintain celebrity

Is Exile always a misfortune?
Depends on if you are the Exiler or the Exilee

If there are millions of other planets capable of supporting advanced life-forms why haven’t we seen or heard from them?
Most of us can’t be bothered to get up to turn the TV off – imagine the hassle of travelling 40 million light years

Is corruption inevitable?
Give me £10 and i'll tell you

What is war good for?
Absolutely nothing (say it again)

"A lunatic is easily recognised. Sooner or later he brings up the Knight's Templar" (Umberto Eco) - Discuss
See answer to question six

Should University Education Be Free
During the recent election campaign in England the Liberal Democrat party made an election pledge that they would not increase university tuition fees. Of course they were the outsiders and probably felt reasonably safe promising free elephants for all - but then the election results came in and, against most people's expectations they formed an alliance with the Conservative party - and promptly began talking about increasing tutition fees.

Students were, rightly, outraged and took to the streets to campaign - but is university education an automatic right? Should the state continue to fund the education of people studying art, film, english, economics - or even more practical skills?

Most other countries do not provide much or any funding for education in this way - people are expected to start saving for their child's education when they are born - if the child choses not to go to University then they have a downpayment on a house or a car.

Most students come out of university with a £30,000 debt hanging over their heads - even before they think about looking for a home. Even with the various protections of fixed interest until they earn a certain salary this is an unthinkable burden to be hanging over a young person who is just starting out in life.

For myself: i work full time and all my money goes into paying bills and keeping a roof over my head. I would love to go back to University and study (having missed out when i left school), but I am penalized because I am earning a certain amount of money and therefore judged capable of paying for myself. Should I receive funding as a recognition of my situation? Or is it my responsibilty to find extra money?

The inevitable down side of increasing and setting charges for university is that less people will be able to afford to go and the result could be that only the well off will receive a high level university - but is a reduction in numbers at university necessarily a bad thing? 10-15 years ago if you went to an employer with any degree you would stand a better chance of getting the job, regardless of the relevancy of the qualification. Nowadays the sheer number of people entering for the qualification means that only the exact degree will do.

Surely instead of concentrating so heavily on further education we should concentrate on developing practical skills. England was once described as a nation of shopkeepers, but today in the call centre world that we live in we could equally be accused of being shop assistants.

I personally feel that it is morally wrong to impose a level of such intense debt on a generation of people and that our country can only suffer from this in the long term - but equally I feel that there is an attitude in this country that everything should be given to us for free: and maybe its time that we started working out ways to take it instead.

In the current climate savings have to come from somewhere - but they shouldn't be paid for with yet another generation of debt. A more reasonable route might be to plan in a slow increase over a period of a generation, but at the same time promote the concept of saving for ones future.

A Difficult Concept?

2010-12-03T12:55:00.000-08:00

Ah yes - I know, i know: it's been a while now since i put out one of my massively popular lists of five things. I can't count the amount of requests i've had for another one (you can only count things you actually have)

And, to be fair, this one may be quite a hard sell anyway. It's a list of five great concept albums.

OK, so I realise that the concept album has little place outside of the 1970s. One tends to associate them with bands like Yes endlessly pushing out 20 minute keyboard epics with nonsence lyrics that make bashing your ear repeatedly with a cymbal for 2 days look like a viable alternative - and lets face it the concept album has little place in today's world of download insta-tunes.

But i think there's something rather magnificent in their scale, lunacy, ego trip - call it what you want: it's essentially an attempt by a rock band to write opera and, believe it or not, there are a few good ones.

So again i'm going to start by being controvertial and discounting Sgt Pepper by The Beatles. Simply because it's not a concept album. It did start out as one - but the idea of linking the songs together was dropped after the first two songs and it's only For The Benefit Of Mr Kite that returns to the idea of a show

#1 Jeff Wayne, The War Of The Worlds
OK so for anyone who ever read the book or saw the film you'll know The War Of The Worlds as being HG Wells's epic of Martian Flu Pandmics - but if you've never heard this album then you've missed a treat. Richard Burton as The Narrator, David Essex - and the main War Of The World theme: few concept albums are on this scale and the album stays closer to the plot than the Tom Cruise film did. Top moment is the single: Forever Autumn

#2 Pink Floyd, Dark Side Of The Moon/The Wall
Just a brief mention of Dark Side OTM here - which is surely the most perfect album ever recorded: with it's recurring themes of growing old, class and social divisions etc - but as far as concept albums go The Wall is, in many ways, the more interesting album.

Drawing in equal measure on Roger Waters' obsession with losing his father to the war, the band's inability to communicate with one another and the price and pleasures of fame it tells the story of Pink, a rock star who starts believing his own myth. True side two asks some disturbing questions and the end peters out a bit, but this one wins for being home for two of the best guitar solos ever recorded. Top moments: Another Brick In The Wall (all 3 parts), Comfortably Numb (although the live version is better)

#3 Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway
Masters of prog-rock, posh student types obsessed with mythology - the early years of Genesis, under the leadership of Peter Gabriel, saw a series of songs intent on telling wierd and wonderful stories. This is Gabriel's last outing with the band (leaving to concentrate, albiet not successfully, on his family and marriage), but it has been said that his involvement in the writing of the music was minimal

It tells the story of Rael, a street punk who comes to the big city in search of his brother John and becomes involved with some very sinister characters and a world of magic and mystery. OK - so sides 3 and 4 make very little sense, but this remains one of my favourite albums of all time. Top moments: The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, the chilling Carpet Crawl and Counting Out Time for the wonderfully daft lyric "Erogenous zones/i love you/ without you what would a poor boy do?" - genius

#4 Green Day, American Idiot/24th Century Breakdown
OK so this is only my opinion but American Idiot doesn't quite work as a concept album, but is nonetheless the superior album. 24th Century Breakdown, i feel, tries a little too hard to be something big and clever

American Idiot contains several recurring themes, the story of the Jesus of Suburbia, the girl whatsername, but somehow the story doesn't quite come together. Top moment: obviously everyone remembers the singles, but there are great album tracks too

#5 The Who, Tommy
You know I think back to the 1970s and 1980s and to all the mods who drove around on vespa scooters wearing duffelcoats with The Who written on and wish that i'd heard this album back then so i could tell them what a bunch of pillocks they all were.

We watched the video recently and the only way i can describe it was "a voyage to trip out city"

OK so - its the story of Tommy who sees his father murdered, goes deaf and blind, is abused (a recurring theme in Townsend's writing as he was abused himself), learns how to play pinball and becomes the messiah - only to be abandoned.

And i'm sorry to anyone who likes it - but it's unlistenable twonk. Only decent song is Pinball Wizzard and that one's sung by Elton John. Frankly i'd rather bury my ears in concrete than ever listen to it again

Troubles With God (Poetry Bus)

2010-11-29T14:55:00.000-08:00

Ok so it's been a while since I travelled on the Poetry Bus and I hope I haven't missed my ride as The Bug posted very early and a lot of people have already posted as a result

Anyway - Bug asked us to submit on one of three topics - and I chose the one related to conversations with God.

I offer you the below in good humour - please do not take offense:

Get This Party Started

At the end of the world disco party
The crowd splits to two different rooms
The believers in one quietly praying
Whilst Satan keeps all the best tunes

With the Judgement day finally over
They wait for the main star to appear
From the back of his private stretch limo
And finally make his plan clear

The lights dim, the music starts playing
The smoke machine belches a haze
And in white suit and medallion God enters
Still moving in mysterious ways

Painting In Need Of A Title

2010-11-22T11:16:00.000-08:00

This painting was done on Sunday at a 1 day art course. It's an oil painting and the second time I've done the course - the last time was back in April when I was due to do landscapes but got my days wrong.

I did enjoy the day a lot - but although the above painting has turned out really well I don't feel as "good" about it as the painting I did last week from scratch by myself - I guess it's because the mountain painting is based on the Bob Ross method and thousands of students down the years will probably have produced something quite similar. Still - I had a good time and think I learnt a few things

Any suggestions for titles for the mountain painting, serious or otherwise, are much appreciated

PS: Bob Ross had a beard, Van Gough had a beard, Rolf Harris has a beard. Coincidence?

Buskers Code Of Conduct

2010-11-19T04:20:00.000-08:00

I miss the old days of buskers: the dodgy bloke smelling of wee and singing half a verse of “Here Comes The Sun”, the two students who can only remember three out of four chords and the sad-old-bugger playing “The Happy Wonderer” on Harmonica.

That’s what busking should be about – turning up and being so appallingly awful that people pay you to go away . It’s also a good venue for people to try out their sound before they go professional or start getting gigs: but not these days.

These days you have to have a licence – and the process of getting a licence and the accompanying rules are torturous to say the least. No wonder that my home town hasn’t had a music scene for 30 years. Here is the official list of rules, as requested by Argent and sent by NoFun Ltd (and please note, I'm not making this stuff up):

Successful candidates will be added to the Approved List, which will be reviewed annually.

NoFun Ltd will only license competent and vibrant performers who they feel would make a positive impact on the City Centre.

Exactly how do they measure this? Is there a fun-ometer? If one in ten people are not said to have received a “positive impact” do they reject? Was the punk movement "vibrant" and "positive", were The Beatles?

Street entertainers should only perform within the approved entertainment

So what? If you audition as a knife thrower does this mean you can’t juggle fruit instead? Can you audition with your guitar, but turn up on the day with a tap-dancing baboon?

A pitch can only used from the hour until half past the hour e.g. 12.00 – 12.30, 1.00 – 1.30 There should be NO busking on any site between half past and the hour e.g 12.30 -1.00pm.

So: you can only play between the hour and half-past the hour, then you have to wait around for half an hour before you can start again? Why exactly? What is so sacrosanct about those times?

No sale of merchandise or goods will be allowed without a valid Street Trading Licence from NoFun Ltd.

So you can’t sell your demo tapes or T-Shirts? Hmmm

Only one entertainer or group of entertainers (maximum four people) shall be allowed in any of the entertainment areas at one time.

So children’s choirs, jazz and soul bands – any brass bands: all out. And if the pitch is already gone: tough

Low powered amplification may only be used at certain sites (see site list), with express permission from NoFun Ltd, and the sound must be kept to a reasonable level so as not to cause disturbance or nuisance to surrounding businesses or the public. All sound levels to be set by NoFun Ltd staff.

Noise (for example music or voice) should not be so loud that it can be plainly heard at a distance of 50m.

So what? If you want to have amplification do you have to wait until a council official turns up with a tape measure and a noise registering machine to ensure that it’s not too loud. If you’re not using an amplifier are you supposed to pace out 50metres to ensure no one can hear you beyond that point?

Where accompanying backing music is used, the entertainers own music must form the greater part of the performance. Drumming should only be included as a minor part of the act.

So that rules out the Salvation Army and those steel bands then (admittedly no great loss)

Entertainers must not make use of street furniture such as public seats, lamp-posts and railings.

So during the half-hour where apparently you have to ensure you utter not a single sound you also presumably have to do a bit of yogic flying or just sprawl on the floor?

Animals are prohibited from being brought into the city centre by street entertainers while they are performing.

So performing animals presumably cause some kind of offence? What about Working Dogs?

Entertainers should stand unless their performance requires them to be seated. If the performance requires the entertainer to be seated then they should NOT sit directly on the floor – a suitable folding chair should be used.

So – not allowed to sit down during the act either

Non musical entertainers (eg. Jugglers / Stilt Walkers etc) must have proof of their current public liability insurance with them whilst entertaining. NoFun Ltd will require a copy of the certificate. Performers must take necessary precautions to prevent themselves or member of the public being put at risk.

So if you fall off your stilts you could be sued by us as well as by the public. Nice

Entertainers who appear to be under the influence of either drugs or alcohol will not be permitted to continue performing and will be reported to Local Police. NoFun Ltd will also remove them from the list of Approved Street Entertainers.

So that’s pretty much all musicians out straight away

Maybe it's just me - but shouldn't music (and entertainment) be spontaneous? Surely the spirit and "vibrancy" of a place is not improved by laying down needless rules and regulations to ensure that no one is ever offended? Maybe we should just learn to chill out?

Today Was A Good Day

2010-11-15T15:05:00.000-08:00

Mondays. I don't like them. Tell me why...

Well - to be honest: i'm not that bothered about Mondays really: it's Tuesdays and Thursdays that tend to get to me. Those extraneous days that merely mean there's one more day before you get properly close to the weekend.

But today was day five of an extended seven-day weekend and I'm finally getting to that point that happens just before you go back to work where you can wake up without screaming, aware that you can wake up when nature tells you to rather than when the alarm does and take things at a pace that you want to.

Our Kid recently text me and asked for the new Bon Jovi best-of for Christmas: so I ordered it from the interweb and decide to spend the day upstairs doing something I've done precious little of this year.

To whit: a painting.

My attempts at art this year have been a bit on and off: I did a one day course early in the year and haven't done a lot since - until recently when I signed up for a Naked Person course (aka "Life Drawing") with Mad Penguin Lady (my favourite eccentric art teacher).

To be honest I didn't really enjoy the course that much: it had been a while since I'd really tried to draw at all and I found myself trying hard just to remember anything I had ever learned: producing a series of pictures that would have added nicely to my modern art exhibition Demented Jelly Babies, but would have added little to the study of the human body - I got quite depressed about the whole thing.

But with a day to spare and a project in mind I picked out one of my canvases-in-waiting and began a painting (sadly I can't tell you about it at the moment, as it will be a christmas present for someone)

So, with a background of Bon Jovi on the stereo I sat and spent the day painting, taking breaks from time to time to allow the acrylics to dry (acrylics tend to be my weapon of choice - watercolours are too wishy-washy and troublesome and much as I like the finished effect of oils I just don't have the patience to wait three weeks whilst each bit dries.

I spent about 4 hours painting in total inbetween washing up and making meals: then set off into town to meet a friend.

My friend, USM, is someone I've known on and off for about 6-7 years now and we've kept in touch even though we no longer work together. We both have a love of sci-fi and we both pretend to be writers: him rather more efficiently than me. The thing is that I struggle with writers block - somewhere along the way I kinda lost my belief in my ability. I think this came because of two things: firstly I get stuck in endless re-writes and secondly I know that the finished result will only ever be read by a handful of people. But also because sometimes the ideas just refuse to solidify.

I was telling him a few weeks back that I, like many writers, am likely to be distracted within a few seconds of starting to write: to turn on the TV, spend time staring at the cat and thinking "how cute" or finding any number of excuses to do anything other than write and he said, "well, why don't you come and meet me? I usually sit in a bar in town and write in the evenings: we can just sit opposite one another: break the tension when we get stuck etc etc etc'

And we meet. And we chat. And we write. I get more done in one evening over a couple of cups of coffee than I've done in the last couple of months. The lack of distractions and the change of scene does me good, as does the company.

So today was a good day for me: I did a lot of things that make me happy and for a change they went pretty well. It would be nice to earn a living doing things one enjoys: but realistically very few people do.

But still: I think we all need days like these once in a while

I Know This Much Is True

2010-11-08T11:25:00.000-08:00

So I was sitting in this bar – this was back in the day when I was still young enough to sit in a vaguely trendy bar without people gathering in corners and wondering who the old fart in the corner was - and it was quite late in the evening. I’m not much of a drinker and I was driving anyway, so I was stone-cold sober.

And of course there was a karaoke on.

It was that time when karaoke (literally meaning “empty orchestra”) was everywhere and sad, beer-bellied blokes were getting up and singing “Hstranghers hin the night-a” or “hthe hwonder hof hew” in that style of singing that only drunk pub singers can manage, drawling out every line, whilst ill-advised young couples were taking on “Bat Out Of Hell” having failed to realise that it’s a nine minute song

Fortunately these things are rare today – though you still see them from time to time. Kareoke, that is – not drunk pub singers: you see them all the time – but they were all the rage at the time. My normal, sober, reaction upon seeing a Kareoke machine would have been to turn-tail and find another pub, but I was with friends you understand.

And it so happened that not that long ago Tony Hadley (of Spandau Ballet) had been doing solo gigs in that area – not the night before, but you know – not long back. And about half way through the night, after a particularly drunk and manic young lady had murdered Willie Nelson’s “Crazy” this bloke in a white suit got up to sing (it was also the time when white suits were yet to become laughable for the second time (the first time being around the time of Miami Vice))

And the thing was: he was the spitting image of Tony Hadley

And the song he chose to sing was “True”, by Spandau Ballet

And when he sang it he sounded exactly like Tony Hadley – to the note.

Only – I’m not sure. Is this what faded pop stars do in their spare time? Trawl the karaoke bars of the world bemusing the regulars by performing their own songs to generic backing tracks?

Plus: my memory of this Tony Hadley lookie-likey is that he must have been about 10 years too young to be the actual Tony Hadley – unless of course the man himself had aged well. So was it the man himself, or just someone who had practiced very hard? I guess I’ll never really know.

But I do feel a bit sad for these fading stars. Like I went to see Midge Ure (Ultravox and one half of Band Aid along with Bob Geldof) not long after the Tony Hadley incident (and we’re still talking at least 10 years ago here) and he introduced one song by saying “The last time we did this song we had Eric Clapton on guitar on the left, Mark Knopfler on guitar on the right, Mark King of Level 42 on bass and Phil Collins on drums: tonight you’re getting the cheap version”

All very amusing at the time: but sometimes I wonder if it hurts to be reduced from having entertained 70,000 people in one go and from having Phil Collins and the Pope on your speed-dial, to playing bingo halls and karaoke bars where the audience are disinterested at best – or if the music itself remains enough
I hope the latter is true: I hope that it’s still enough just to create the music, to be a part of that moment – but still: there must be a part of them, as they stand on that stage, that looks out on that small room and wonders where it all went.

Maybe that’s why there are so many Era-Revival tours with all the nearly-made-it acts on one line-up, not just because the acts want to recapture something they once had, but because we do as well

Who knows – maybe one day I’ll be in a pub somewhere watching a karaoke and Lady Ga-Ga will get up and do one of her own songs then disappear, unrecognised apart from by me? Don’t be too sure it couldn’t happen.

The Greasy Spoon Rules

2010-11-02T12:58:00.000-07:00

Visitors to London for the first time often find it hard to find something to eat.

They end up either wandering from street to street in increasing degrees of hunger or spending a fortune in Planet Famousville or the like. London for the uninitiated can be like having liposuction on your wallet.

However, even in the capital, it is perfectly possible to eat quite a good sized meal for £5-10 if one knows where to go.

This is where the Greasy Spoon Café comes in. This kind of eatery is, in no way, to be confused with anything referred to as a Café (pronounced ka-fey) – it is a Kaff and there are simple rules to recognise one and how one should behave once inside the doors of this most prized and sort-after eatery

Trust me: no trip to London is truly complete without a big plate of ehem, bekon, hegs n cheeps (see below)

So – here are the rules of the Greasy Spoon Kaff

1) How to find one

Locate a tube station in central London – look for some buildings that are clearly office spaces. Walk along the main street between point a (tube station) and b (office space) looking down the small streets to the side – within four or five streets you will find a Kaff

2) How to recognise it when you see it

It will be called INSERT NAME HERE’s Café

It will have a window next to the door for take-away meals (in the really good ones these will be welded shut so you have to go in regardless)

It will be filled with large IT staff eating sausage/bacon sarnies (sandwiches) and drinking coffee/huge cups of milky tea

The menu will be clearly visible from the street – usually written on a blackboard or a piece of laminated paper

The only options on the menu will be sandwiches and fried things (some places stretch to Jacket Potatoes, but most correctly assume that said IT staff eschew anything healthy) – in the really good ones even the salad is deep fried

It will have an awning over the entrance so that diners can sit outside in the pouring rain and enjoy the fume-filled air when the inside (inevitably) becomes over-crowded

3) Décor

It is law that all Greasy Spoon Kaff’s have fixed benches and chipped formica tables the size of which Bilbo Baggins would consider petite – the trick is to approach these sideways and slowly squeeze oneself in – then never, never breathe out again until you leave.

There must be either: a football banner on the wall showing the colours and names of a local London club or pictures of famous people who may, at some point, have been desperate enough to eat there (and those of you wondering where Joanna Lumley eats when in London should visit the Kaff just around the corner from Liverpool St Station to see her picture on the wall) or both

4) Queuing system

This varies from place to place. The best approach is to stand outside for 5-10 minutes and observe how the regulars do it – or to face the wrath of the staff
It varies between:
a) Being ushered to a chair to wait your turn
b) Forming one of two queues (depending whether one is eating in or out) in the tiny space that is laughingly described as the entrance in the fire evacuation forms

5) Taking the order

DO NOT order anything healthy. The correct order in a Kaff is either a Bacon Sarnie (sandwich) or similar meat-filled sandwich, a plate full of dead animal – or ham, egg, bacon, chips and beans.

Vegetarianism might as well be a foreign country as far as these places are considered and they are still labouring under the mis-apprehension that Vegans are those pointy-eared people from Star Trek.

Your order will then be shouted out across the café to the small room where the tiny workers toil – your order of ham, egg, bacon and chips will be translated into Kaff speak as “ehem, bekon, hegs n cheeps”

Regardless of what you order you will be asked if you want bread and butter with it – even (and I can’t stress this enough) your order in the first place was bread and butter.
(Americans: be warned – chips are what you call French Fries. Crisps are what you call Chips)

Whether eating in or out one must order a cup of tea or coffee – this is how you can tell a really good Greasy Spoon from a mere pretender:

a) Is the tea/coffee as weak as humanly possible?
b) Did half of the milk/tea/coffee end up on the floor/saucer?
c) Was the sugar thrown towards the cup with a similar level of gusto to an Olympic athlete throwing a javelin?

If the answer to all the above is “yes” then you are in a top quality Kaff and should mark it on your GPS for future visits

6) Staff

There are two types of Kaff workers

a) Elderly slim men with a mixture of greek and cockney accents, who despite their size and lack of meat on their bones could easily break you in two if required. They are unfailingly either extremely pleasant or entirely ignorant of your existence

b) Diminutive women in pinafores carrying more weight in their arms than Sherpa Tensing did when he went up Everest

It is the ultimate honour on Earth for one of the staff to recognise you and remember your order – if this happens then it is probably time to give up your outside life, move in upstairs above the building and put on an apron

The size of both types of workers goes some way towards explaining the small table size, alongside the policy to push as many people in as possible

7) Etiquette on leaving

Greasy Spoon Kaff’s are not, by the very nature of their existence, the kind of place one is encouraged to linger. They rely on a fast turn-over of customer and so the polite thing to do is to eat your meal as soon as it arrives, linger for a few seconds reflectively over your cup of tea/coffee and, having paid, leave quietly.

The best way to deal with getting through the inevitable queue in the doorway is just to throw oneself bodily towards it and hope for the best.

Finally...

OK - so some of you novices out there who have never been to a Greasy Spoon may be reading this and thinking that actually it doesn't sound like such a great experience.

And ok: so these places are never going to win a Michelin star, and the only reason that Egon Ronay would be seen dead inside the doors would be to commit arson, but here's the thing...

It's great. From the moment you go through the door and the bloke behind the door calls you "mate" instead of "sir", to the moment where you sit down at the formica table and regard the world over a large cup of tea, all the way through to the no-nonsense food, the wink of the waiter/waitress, the informal atmosphere and the simple, straight-forward food.

Given the choice between tea at the Ritz and ham, egg and chips in a simple London cafe I'd chose the bacon buttie every time

Cat Man Doo-Doo

2010-10-28T09:07:00.000-07:00

It’s not entirely clear when it happened: sometimes these things take on a life of their own and evolve seemingly out of control.

One day there’s this new strange cat in the garden inviting itself in, the next it’s living with you hiding constantly behind the sofa and then, all of a sudden without warning: the cat becomes French.

I know what you’re thinking: what cat? How did you acquire a French cat? How can an English cat become French without going through the messy business of passport application?

It all started from some odd noises in the kitchen. We had seen the Alleged French Cat (AFC) in the garden several times over the summer but with myself increasingly working from home and increasingly leaving the back door open so that Willow could enjoy the summer weather the AFC started inviting itself in.

Ever since Charlie died in January Willow has had full reign over the house and spent more and more time with me, even joining in the occasional conference call (to much amusement from work colleagues)

And now the AFC, a black and white cat that was clearly afraid of humans (mostly running away from me despite my attempts to make friends) had decided that Willow’s food was particularly appetizing and had begun repeatedly launching commando runs from the kitchen door to the bowl and back

Willow seemed to get on with AFC pretty well: in fact they had joined forces against the hated enemy black-cat-white-nose on a couple of occasions and although she was slightly cautious around this new interloper they did seem to get on ok: which is why we decided to try and catch the cat, take it to the vet for a check-up and make sure that it was being looked after

(AFC's then unnamed 1st trip to the vet)

AFC had no collar and was unkempt: it was clear he’d been in a few fights and he was not a happy cat. This is why, soft buggers that we are, we decided to catch him and take him for a check-up at the vets.

At first we tried a range of traps and tricks that would put The A-Team and McGuyver to shame – involving upturned laundry baskets and string around the scratching post that doubles as a door stop. The cat was just too fast.

And then one day I saw the cat sitting in the kitchen doorway and managed to make it to the food bowl without scaring it away. I positioned myself and the food bowl so that the cat would have to come past me to eat and then shut the door. The thing immediately turned into Steve McQueen and started a desperate bid to climb into the windowsill and through the closed window as we tried gamely to pull the cat’s claws away from the net curtain and stuff it into the carrier that used to belong to Charlie. The cat managed to sink his claws into Herself’s arm and left her with nasty marks but otherwise went quietly.

At the vet they checked him over and told us that that he is a male, about 1 year old and with all his bits in tact. They were pretty sure he was a stray and had either never been owned or only briefly. They gave us some details for the Cats Protection League, but told us cheerfully that they have no room to re-house cats at present due to the recession (people abandoning pets)

We let him loose in the garden and discussed the situation, Herself still with huge red wheals on her skin and an arm swollen to the size of a tree trunk. Cats Protection League would pay to have his naughty bits removed or amended, but after that we would be facing the prospect of putting a homeless cat back into the garden for the winter.

So a week later we trapped him in again. He spent the first few hours hiding down by the window until we moved him to the front room: where he promptly hid under the sofa.

We barely saw him for two days: just long enough to eat some food or use the litter tray we placed under the kitchen table then he would vanish.

Before we could take him to the vet again for injections etc he needed a name. We went through a couple of options – I was quite fond of Mr Flibble until Herself reminded me that when you to the Vet with your pet they call out your pet’s name

Herself suggested Giles (going with the Buffy the Vampire Slayer theme started with Willow) and it stuck, along with the usual array of extra names that cats gain as you get to know them.

(AFC, aka Giles, still in hiding under the sofa)

After a couple of days he stopped hiding under the sofa and started alternating between hiding under the sofa and under the bed. When he was seen (briefly) it was clear that his fur condition was improving.

The problems started a week in when Willow started to realise that there was another cat about on a permanent basis. She had a nervous weekend: wee’d on the bed a few times. We rapidly ran out of bed clothes until we ended up spending two nights sharing a zipped-open single sleeping bag that was so devoid of actual warmth that Sir Ranuph Fiennes, had he been stuck with it on a polar expedition, would have had no option but to burn it.

Meanwhile Giles had learned how to use the litter tray and was managing to create a smell that permutated into the bricks of the house. He’s about twice the size of Willow and can happily chomp through a whole packet of food and then go and eat Willow’s for an encore.

He’s still a kitten: so when you do fuss him he will go to catch you with his claws or bite in a friendly way – which makes me wonder why we are so forgiving of our pets. If our pet shark gnawed someone’s leg off would we just say “ah, he’s just being friendly?”

The other day we took Giles off to the vet to “have his ‘nads chopped” as the vet charmingly put it. He was gone for most of the day.

Since he came back he doesn’t seem to be holding it against us and has shown no interest in going outside. My main concern is the first time we do let him out: will he come back? I hope so.

(Giles grabbing my jeans)

It’s been about six weeks now and he’s really come out of his shell and we’re starting to get a picture of his personality.

So what do I know so far? He’s a cheeky bugger who’ll scoff all the food he can. He likes to rub against your legs and catch things in his paws. He destroys the litter tray in an attempt to cover his extremely smelly poos. When he miows he sounds like a broken squeaky toy. He can move fast enough when he wants to and is oblivious to our calling his name. He is still a kitten in many ways and will jump on shoelaces and attack pieces of paper. He likes sleeping on the edge of the bed and pouncing on my toes at 4am.

On the whole Willow tolerates him, though they do seem to be arguing, especially when he's just woken up and is full of energy – some of it is that he doesn’t realise that his idea of playing is seen as aggressive. My worry is that Willow won’t feel as free to roam around as she has and will retreat – I hope not

And yes - we still refer to him as Monsieur Gilles

(Willow and Giles in a rare moment of tranquility)

Poetry Bus - The Visitors

2010-10-25T05:06:00.000-07:00

OK - so this week my good friend Argent has set the subject for the poetry bus. The topic we were supposed to take was "meetings", but I have taken the term slightly loosly (alright, I threw it out the window, but it didn't get hurt - so no letters of complaint please) and thought I'd write a poem loosely based on a well known meeting.

So, and with apologies to Samuel Taylor-Coleridge, here is my poem about meetings (sort-of)

A Caution To Callers From Porlock

A person from Porlock came calling
Upon a bright summer’s day
I was out in my shed, when he messed with my head
And sent those daft visions away

He asked if I’d like double-glazing
I told him I’d had them all done
But he wouldn’t be gone, and he just carried on
So I snuck down and hid till he’d gone

I told him I never had needed
His patter, no matter how slick
But he just wouldn’t go and he couldn’t take no
So I had to resolve it and quick

A person from Porlock came calling
And gave me too many a thick head
But he’ll cause me no trouble, coz I fetched out my shovel
And I buried him under my shed

And The Award Goes To…

2010-10-22T09:50:00.000-07:00

OK – so some of you may have noticed that I haven’t been around much this last week – or most likely not to be fair. There’s far more interesting things to be noticing than the absence of my piffle for a few days.

This absence is due entirely to the evil machinations of my broadband suppliers who have taken every last opportunity to drag out what should have been a simple process for 11 days

And there’s lots of odd things that I’ve been thinking about whilst I was away: all of which could make potential posts before I fall back into the habit of Wordzzle/Poetry Bus entries – if my creative spirit were so motivated.

Like I was going to tell you about my new cat (and please keep an eye out because this post WILL happen), and I was going to bring you a list of top 5 concept albums (and may still do so) and discuss at length the health and safety implications of Alexander cutting the Gordian knot (no, not really)

Also – I was going to tell you how frustrating I’ve found my latest art course and why I’m at the point of giving up on the whole damn thing – but to be honest my creative batteries seem to be quite low at the moment, so I won’t be doing that at the moment either.

Instead I will tell you briefly of something I really should start doing. This is, in part, brought about by the recent Evil Machinations of my Broadband supplier, but also in reaction to an increasingly bizarre world

Like the other day I was out with Our Kid and some random woman approached in the street and just when I thought she was going to ask for directions she asked me if I ever drank cider.

I politely (or impolitely) ignored her existence and carried on walking, but for just a second I did wish that I had, ready in my pocket, an award for the Most Random Question asked of me that I could hand out.

And I would like to encourage you all to produce some small awards and laminate them and keep them ready in your pockets for special occasions: because people who help (and hinder) us should be advised of such

So – here’s a few recent awards I would like to hand out (admittedly belatedly):

London Underground Train-guard who read out the train times in the style of a Darts Commentator – Award for the Person Who Made My Day Bearable

Music shop assistants all over the world – Most Miserable Employee Of The Month Award

Anyone on a bus loudly discussing their personal lives – Conversation I Could Have Happily Lived Without Hearing Award

Or: Person Most Mistakenly Believing Themselves To Be Funny Award

So please go forth, spread the word and produce some awards – the only rules are 1) you can only give out one of each until all of them are given out and you start again 2) if you’re going to be rude to people join a gym/take up karate first

As you can imagine the Minions Of Satan award goes to the IT Support Staff for my Broadband suppliers – put it on display somewhere dark and warm why don’t you?

Don't Laugh At Me Coz I'm A Fool

2010-10-05T12:17:00.000-07:00

Poetry Bus

Happiness

is where you find it

sometimes

it can be hard

to find it

Happiness

is often where

you least

expect to find it

But dont let the smile fool you

behind these eyes

their lies

a story that is seldom told

For who knows

how true

the tears of a clown

can be

Photo: Norman Wisdom (1915-2010)

The Old Ones Are The Best

2010-10-01T09:02:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

Raven's Wordzzles

Sherlock Holmes sat back and felt the thick grass through the blanket. The game of solitaire was beginning to bore him now, so patted his pockets and when they came away without discovering any matches he lit a thin cigarette from the oil lamp and extinguished the light.

He turned to his trusty companion and saw that his long diatribe on the need to save our schools from the decay in education had been wasted as Watson was gently snoring

The great detective frowned in thought for a second. The camping trip had been tolerable at best. Watson seemed to be enjoying himself and had even taken time out to catch a few butterflies but Holmes, neurotic as he was, could not relax.

There was something disturbing him, something that he could not quite fathom. It was only as he stared at the distant church that he realised what it was

Dr John Watson jumped awake as his companion uttered a sharp exclamation, ‘the candles, the candles’ he snapped before he had time to fully wake from the dream. He looked around and groaned as he saw the face of Sherlock Holmes peering into his

‘Having a quiet think were you Holmes?’ Watson asked, tongue in cheek

Holmes shook his head, ‘I am incapable of sleep tonight Watson’ he announced to the field of sheep, ‘I think it is the spam that we had for supper’

‘I told you to take some charcoal tablets’ Watson muttered, knowing he was wasting his breath. Holmes the man was lost to him now, replaced by Holmes the thinker

‘Tell me Watson’ Holmes asked, ‘When you look at the stars above us: what do you deduce?’

Watson thought for a moment, trying to clear his head. The usually reticent Holmes had been something of a chatter box tonight, but he had been too tired to concentrate on the Detective’s postulations and had fallen asleep. He was sensible enough, however, to realise when he was being tested.

‘Well Holmes’ Watson replied, clearing his throat for the forthcoming oration, ‘I deduce that our sun is one of many in an infinite universe: that each may contain planets much like our own and who knows: even life. I further deduce that it is a clear night with little chance of rain and that the nature of creation is far beyond the comprehension of a simple man like me.’

Holmes shook his head, ‘No, no my dear Watson, I will not have that. Though you lack the killer instinct of a trained professional your natural observation skills often lead you indirectly to the correct conclusion’ he paused, ‘although on this occasion you do seem to have missed one simple fact’

‘Oh?’ Watson asked, irked as usual by his companion’s ability to out think and out deduce him at every turn, ‘then tell me Holmes: when you look at the stars tonight – what do you deduce?’

‘Oh it’s quite elementary my dear Watson’ Holmes replied with a small grin, ‘I deduce that the tent has been stolen!’

At Home With The Montagues

2010-09-28T13:16:00.000-07:00

assuming that the priest had made it in time, where might our star crossed lovers be today???

Juliet enters the living room from the kitchen and sees Romeo on the couch with a six-pack of beer

Juliet: Romeo, Romeo: why hast thou notst changest the cat litter tray? Verily it hast been four days since the cat did shat and the kitchen dost smell of wee

Romeo: Juliet, the stars doest shine from the lights in thine eyes, but thou knowest not to expect household chores fromst mineself whilst the football season ist in full swing. Besides: thou hast not done the dusting for ere on a month of sundays and mine mother shalt visit this very weekend i'faith.

Juliet: thou didst not inform me that thine mother wouldst be arriving on the sabbath

Romeo: i'faith, but i didst: i texted thee most rapidly, and mine n'uncle as well

Juliet: Thy n'uncle is thrice visited this week, but either thy texts are false or thou ist, as my SIM card doest prove

Romeo: doubt that the very stars doest shine but doubt not mine texts.

Juliet: Hast thy called the gas board today likest I asked of thee?

Romeo: Verily i didst but I was placed on hold ere three hours had passed and thy child didst wail and moan most grieviosly

Juliet: child of mine? How ist it that when our child doest misbehave he doest become mine only

Romeo: Alas, but the child ist mine also, i must confess. Hast thou had a hard day at work?

Juliet: thou knowest i didst, or perhaps you were not in truth listening when i camest in and toldest thou?

Romeo: Listen most earnestly I didst, but thou knowest that mine ears do not hear verily when mine belly ist empty

Juliet: All thou hadst to do when thy got in wast to putest thou food in yonder microwave likest i instructed thee - instead i see that the cat hast most well been fed again.

Romeo: in truth i didst not see thy note and did drop the plate. It is true that the cat didst benefit most well from my misfortune. Perhaps i should venture forth and swiftly purchase a Big Mac?

Juliet: Perhapst thou shouldest at that: and make mine a cheese burger

The Wordzzle Opera

2010-09-25T05:35:00.000-07:00

OK hello again - and apologies for the below Wordzzle. I was really in two minds as to publish it or not as I wrote it late in the evening with a headache from travelling - so it didn't really come out as well as it sounded in my head.

As you may have noticed I had a go at Magpie tales this week. It was interesting to try a different type of challenge - but I think I find Raven's Wordzzles more interesting - you can pretty much do what you want with a picture, whereas words set by someone else make you work a bit harder for the payoff. Maybe everyone should have a regular try at both - keep those thought muscles working.

As you know Raven publishes a series of words - 5, 10 and 15 to be incorporated in any way you see fit. This week we have a one off idea that came from recently listening to some Puccini and thinking "well, it sounds nice - but i don't have a clue what it's all in aid of"

Words for thisweek's 10-word challenge are: English, edible, eagerly, elves, eulogy, estimable, entrance, education, extra-special, Energizer Bunny

And for the mini: drab, dutiful, dusty, delicatessen, dart board

----------

La Stationeria
A modern day opera about love, life and stationery supplies
Act The First

“Ode To The New World”
The early hours before opening and the products sing eagerly of their joy that soon they will be sold and go forth into the world

“Deep Secrets”
Amongst the voices Harold the novelty stapler sings a eulogy to his forbidden love: Florence the duplex photocopier

“Opening Time”
The shop assistance arrive and sing about the futility of life selling items of stationery

“What Do You Want?”
As the customers arrive we see Claude, the education specialist. He is marking the scores from his English class and needs an extra-special stapler. In contrast Harold the stapler sings of his attempts to hide – but will Harold be sold?
Act The Second

“Ode To A Busted Staple”
Claude tries out the various staplers on display – none of them make the grade, but tragedy strikes when he sees Florence the duplex photocopier as advertised by Gertrude

“Lapin”(French for bunny)
Gertrude the shop assistant makes her entrance, dressed as an Energizer Bunny and sings about the shelf life of batteries. Claude, unseen, sings of how he wishes to make Gertrude fall in love with him

“The Copies Are On Me”
Florence the duplex photocopier sings of the estimable service she provides to the world as Gertrude and Claude debate the price of her sale. They fix on a price and Claude goes to the counter with the love of Harold’s life in his arms

Act The Third

“Oh My My”
Harold is comforted by the edible calculators and decides he must take his revenge on the world outside.

“It’s In Our Hands”
Claude and Gertrude plan their lives together whilst Harold conspires with the other supplies.

“Take Me Up The Aisle”
The staff of the shop, unaware of the machinations of Harold pause to wonder if it is the magic elves that haunt the shop that are moving the staplers around

“Never Make The Sale”
On the verge of being sold Harold makes his move and Claude is stricken by a fatal papercut

“Ode To A Dying World”
As the papercut takes Claude’s final moments he sings of his love of Gertrude and sings his dying aria “I wish I’d bought a tumble dryer instead”

Last Bus To Woodstock (Or Thereabouts)

2010-09-23T14:16:00.000-07:00

Magpie Tales

The woman at the front of the queue doesn't understand. She pulls at the pockets of the fur-lined coat and pulls out a small purse. She waves it at the sour faced guard.

He shakes his head, 'Sorry luv'

The queue is growing. The smell of dampness hangs around us all, makes the place stink of days old washing. Human washing, pulled in from the storm outside.

She waves her credit cards at him again and complains, 'Look' she says, 'You must take one of these cards'

He shakes his head, 'Your bank's six feet underwater luv' he explains, 'Your money's no good here'

A few of us are getting weary of this now. It's been a long couple of weeks. Homes, jobs, families: all are swept away. The army of the dead are marching and this woman thinks she can buy her way into heaven.

You can tell from the way she holds her head that she's used to getting what she wants and she tries the trademark icy smile that has frozen so many people into submission. But the guard is impervious to her looks and her pleas and is not swayed by her expensive perfume

'Your name's not down luv' he explains. The waters are rising now around the remains of the terminal. There's only a few seats left on the last bus out. I wonder if i should have joined the queue with the nun at the front, but see that she is still arguing ecumenical matters when she should be climbing onboard.

Somewhere behind me someone breaks ranks, runs through the crowd towards the gates and tries to climb aboard the bus. He is struck down. No one says a thing.

The woman watches for a while, unable to comprehend that this fate could befall her, 'Look,' she explains again, still not getting it, 'surely everyone accepts AMX these days?'

Back Once Again With The Renegade Master

2010-09-19T08:38:00.000-07:00

Greetings Fellow Bloggers: us hungry pixies are back. We'd love to tell you why we went away, but much like Fight Club - we don't talk about it. So please don't ask if you don't already know.

It's enough to say that we're back: leaner, meaner and short of a few pounds here and there where we've been working up our creative juices.

Sorry I wasn't able to run the Poetry Bus this week as promised, but moving on, and to make amends for those of you who were afraid you'd never see the end of my Wordzzle (and who missed part 8 on Raven's blog), here it is again:

OK – before I start I wanted to explain a bit about the idea behind this story. A while ago there was a programme on TV where they took members of the public and they trained them to be spies, making them go through the type of exercises that a real spy (not the movie type of spy) would be expected to do. Some of these exercises included: Taking on a false identity in a work place and slowly convincing someone to help you by little indiscretions (IE shared confidence in something or sneaky breaks) and slowly building up, following a close relative and leaving a message without being seen, obtaining evidence from a house via surveillance and so forth.

So the original idea of the story was: what would it be like to have to take on a different identity, maybe for years – just sending back reports and pretending to be someone you’re not. I think after a while the lines would become blurred. So I wanted to write a spy story that felt more realistic than the action/adventure of a James Bond/Jason Bourne adventure – I’m not entirely sure I succeeded, but the end result was interesting nonetheless.

Sleeper – part 8 (the final)

The waves crashed against the side of the boat bringing with them the salty smell of the sea. The wind calmed for a second, allowing the two people at the stern of the boat a seconds respite from the spray.

Sir Keith Chegwin turned his head away from the water, his bushy eyebrows furrowing in thought. If he listened carefully he could almost make out the tune playing on the piano in the first class lounge: something he felt he could almost name, but that kept slipping from his memory.

The person standing next to him shivered and pulled the huge jacket tighter around their frame but otherwise didn’t move.

‘It’s a shame’ Sir Keith muttered almost under his breath, ‘a real shame’

The figure nodded, saying nothing for the moment: so much work gone to waste, and for what?

Sir Keith cleared his throat, still feeling the after-effect of the carrot soup he had eaten at midday on his breath. They were half a mile from France now: no turning back now. Operation Littlegirl was a failure – blown wide open by a classic case of over-enthusiasm. He wondered if the careers of anyone involved would ever be the same.

It all went back fifteen years to 1995: five Russian operatives had gone missing under surveillance. It was suspected that one of the agents watching them had defected – but so far there was no evidence of this. Then they had found the diary. No names, no dates – just an entry saying “The Facility”. It had been enough for them to send an agent undercover within the Facility and from thereon in it was as if the Devil himself had decided to shuffle the cards of fate

Bomb threats, over-active imaginations and people too keen to get promotion at any cost: Divine had made a classic rookie mistake – joined the dots in a way that suited him and thrown the balance of the equation into overdrive. He had wrongly assumed that either Sophie or Mark were the Russian agent and had first tried subtlety then out-and-out blackmail and lies. In short his behaviour had been like a blind polar bear wading through a wall of fish, sending the tails of chaos flapping.
And yet…

If you throw a rock up in the air you’re bound to find someone guilty – or at least hit a spy if you were at the Facility. The bomb had been entirely separate, some disgruntled employee entirely unconnected, but through the blundering of the resulting scare Operation Littlegirl had been blown apart – because once the finger of blame was pointed at someone it was no longer safe to keep them there.

The figure in the coat shivered again and held out a hand, ‘I’ll need a new passport’

Sir Keith nodded and handed over the documents, ‘Here.’ He cleared his throat again, ‘I thought you might like to know…’ he paused, wondering how to put it into words, ‘Trenchard from finance went missing shortly after the bomb scare – hasn’t been seen since. It looks like he was the Russian…’

The figure threw back its head and laughed once, then shook it’s head, ‘Typical. I never suspected Trenchard for a second’

There was a second’s hesitation as the small, almost frozen, hands prized open the passport and stared at the picture and the name. Then Sophie pulled back the hood

‘Heather Green?’ She said distastefully, then shrugged: it was as good a name as any.