I remember now why I like Camden: as I was walking home today I saw two people walking down the street struggling with a huge inflatable dinosaur. I mean huge, it was about the size of four people. Now, you'd expect people carrying a huge inflatable dinosaur to either grin at you or give you a kind of sheepish, smiley "er, so, you noticed the inflatable dinosaur then?" look. Whatever the dinosaur was for, though, it was clearly deadly serious as they both had very grittily determined expressions on their faces.

I've managed to go almost a week without posting, which I think is something of a record, but I'm aware I'll be away (saving the world or trying to, anyway, in Edinburgh with the Tolkein Weirdo) all weekend, and will be busy next week as my boss is away so I will be pretending to be in charge (by which I mean I'll be in charge of the filing cabinet keys, which live in his office. Power indeed!) I could do with a weekend to myself. At the last minute last weekend I ended up at a Soho Young Writers' Group, where we had to write a scene in a day. I invented two complete gimps of which I was rather proud until I realised I had to get them to interact in some way. Which they did, just about. Might post the finished version for sheer amusement once they mail it back to me.

Stop Press!!!

The fixtures are out! And it's confirmatoin of my miserable existence that I'm quite this excited about it. You can find the Bradford listings here and since we are playing at home (playing Walsall - lucky escape, it could have been an away match!) on 28th December it looks as though I have a choice between spending Boxing Day in Oldham or New Year's Eve in Scunthorpe. Classy.

I have found a brilliant game The reason it is brilliant, though, is not because of the graphics, or the fact that it comes up with particularly ingenious words, or even that hangman is a good game to play during your coffee break. No, the reason this is so good as that the words are more often than not misspelled. For example, my poor stick man was hanged for not getting the word "dammage". So, unintentioanlly, you get two games for the price of one: Hangman, and trying to predict the workings of a dyslexic mind. So if you're bored...

We have gone survey-mad. People keep stopping me in the streets and asking me if I buy newspapers regularly or what I think of my workplace. The other day somebody even asked me if I would participate in a survey about dieting (I don't think they were insinuating anything...) London Transport is running lots of surveys at the moment and keep accosting me every time I get on the 24 bus and thrusting a piece of card at me with a load of Who Wants to Be a Millionnaire (Who Wants To Be a Commuter?)style questions on it such as "Did you get on the bus from a.) work b.) home c.) place of education d.) shops e.) a friend's house f.) somewhere else. Nobody fills them in, of course (and you feel a bit daft if you've only hopped on to go a couple of stops) but they insist you give them back when you get off as this apparently makes it a more "accurate survey". Accurate in what way? It accurately shows perhaps that people don't care. Maybe you should be quizzed about it when you get off: you did not fill in this form. was this because a.) you don't care b.) you don't carry a pen with you c.) you feel sick reading on the bus d.) you can't read e.) other (please state.) I filled mine in because I wanted to give them more paperwork.

It's not rubbish, it's Art!

Boring person that I am I am sitting at home listening to Sarah McLachlan's "Solace" (a cross between early Corrs and Joni Mitchell) and waiting for the repeat of "Dr Who" having been roaming around London all day and thus missing the first installment. If you have a spare moment it is worth popping in on the Degree Shows for University of the Arts London, especially the Product Design stuff at Central Saint Martin's. The great thing about modern art is that it always hits the spot one way the other. You either think, hey, that's pretty clever, or you laugh. I laughed at a piece of paper stuck to the wall and an empty cardboard box, mainly because they are produced by students, and I have an image of them getting up hungover and thinking, shit, it's due in today! And I've done jack all. They look around the room and all they can see is a piece of paper and an empty cardboard box. And they think, ah, thank God for that! Then there was the girl who displayed her jewellery designs in a fish tank, complete with fish! And another guy whose main exhibit was a hole in the wall. I wonder what they'll do if it rains.

I wish people would stopping slagging off Geldof. He's doing his best. The guy's a popstar so he's arranging some pop concerts and swearing. That's what they do. But then Diane Abbot criticises him for not having enough black artists (and what has she, an MP, and as such elected to bother with stuff that bothers us, done, may I ask?) Then he gets criticised for involving the Pope (feel free to see my posts on said Pope for my opinion, but he's still the Pope, he's kind of a key figure on the whole world stage thing.) And then everyone else criticises him for existing in general and say things like, well, we'll never solve poverty in Africa. Er, no, but isn't it worth a try? Where's the problem here? I'll bet if he wasn't getting involved at this point when it's become such a huge issue at the G8 etc everyone would be saying, hey, he had his moment of glory 20 years ago and now he can't be arsed. Well, I think he's cool, and for the record, I like the Boomtown Rats too.

And I like the lyrics of this little-known Joan Baez song:

"How long since I've spent a whole night in a twin bed with a stranger
His warm arms all around me?
How long since I've gazed into dark eyes that melted my soul down
To a place where it longs to be?
All of your history has little to do with your face
You're mainly a mystery with violins filling in space

You stood in the nude by the mirror and picked out a rose
From the bouquet in our hotel
And lay down beside me again and I watched the rose
On the pillow where it fell
I sank and I slept in a twilight with only one care
To know that when day broke and I woke that you'd still be there

The hours for once they passed slowly, unendingly by
Like a sweet breeze on a field
Your gentleness came down upon me and I guess I thanked you
When you caused me to yield
We spoke not a sentence and took not a footstep beyond
Our two days together which seemingly soon would be gone

Don't tell me of love everlasting and other sad dreams
I don't want to hear
Just tell me of passionate strangers who rescue each other
From a lifetime of cares
Because if love means forever, expecting nothing returned
Then I hope I'll be given another whole lifetime to learn

Because you gave to me oh so many things it makes me wonder
How they could belong to me
And I gave you only my dark eyes that melted your soul down
To a place where it longs to be"

Life in a Northern Town

Those aristocratic southerners are not happy. They are not happy because they have had to go North (I know. Isn't it dreadful?) for the horseracing this year.

When I left for work today somebody on the today Programme was bemoaning how dreadful the weather was there. Because obviously it never rains in the South. (We just imagined Wimbledon matches being held up for the last 10 years because of downpours.) The Telegraph of course is up in arms, it not being an option to admit that the North (sharp intake of breath) might actually be able to give the South a run for its money on anything. After all, we're all too busy walking our whippets and making Eccles cakes and buying new flat caps. Aren't we? But this article did make me laugh.

I've never thought of this before, but the term "indecent assault" doesn't make much sense. George Best is suspected of having committed indecent assault, but that kind of implies that if he'd thought carefully about it he could have committed "decent assault" and that would have been ok. It follows that if you can do one you can do the other. Maybe if you assault someone then hold the door open for them afterwards or offer to buy them a gin and tonic that's decent assault.

My parents were married on 28th December 1969. My dad is a Bradford City fan (even though we've just sold Wayne Jacobs to Halifax, I maintain that we are cool, even if only because our scarves are the same as those worn at Hogwarts), so last year we had a combined wedding anniversary/pilgramage to Torquay where Bradford were playing (and won! Which doesn't happen too often.) This year we have made a deal: wherever Bradford are playing before New Year, we're going to go and stay in a posh hotel and go to the match. Trouble is we are now malingering in the Coca-Cola League One (which used to be the Third Division, but they don't call it that now as it makes us feel like losers) so the possible options are not great. Here's a selection of the exciting places in which we could be spending a luxury weekend: Oldham, Brentford, Hartlepool, Bristol, Yeovil (about ten minutes from where my parents live), Swindon, Barnsley, Walsall, Blackpool (actually that could be fun), Rotherham or Scunthorpe. Tough choice. The fixtures are decided next Thursday, and as I am geting them texted direct to my mobile I will make sure you lucky people are the first to know. It also opens a potential career for me in writing the Coca Cola League Official Tourists' Guidebook. Wonder if Lonely Planet would be interested?

Enjoy this terrible Southern rain (you'd never get that in the North).
Px

Guitar-strumming socialists of the world, unite and take over!

I am becoming middle-aged. Today I went to see my bank about starting a pension. Then I came home and made myself a cup of tea and listened to jazz. My life's ambition now is to have a garden flat and a cat (and, er, to marry David Tennant and become a playwright, but you can't have everything.) Then I found this and thought I'd share it with you as the Great Circle of Blog has been noticably free of anything interactive recently. I came out as as a Left-Wing Idealist (no news there, then,) just to the right of Red Ken and pretty much equal with Tony Benn. I'm keen to bet on what the rest of you would be, but I know for a fact you will all be slightly right wing, with the possibile exception of Rach who I'm thinking is slightly to the left, Cavalier, who will I'm guessing be close to Thatcher, and two of my mates who, if they are reading this at the moment, will come out the same as me. My Catholic won't come out as anything as there's not an option for "Catholic". Anyway, I'd be interested to know how you do.

Hope you are all having fun.
Px

Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith

I've finally seen it. I am proud to say I was restrained enough not to see it until a month after it came out, but today, well, it had been a long week and I wanted to chill out in front of a film with plenty of (overpriced) Cookies and Cream Haagan Dasz. Now, it's got some seriously awful reviews, and some pretty good ones, and these guys even started a campaign to boycott it (guys, you REALLY need to get out more.) I'm not going to try and compete with any of these people - not even the nutbars or the miserable bloke from the Guardian. There's a good reason I'm not a film critic. But generally, I was impressed. Maybe this was because everyone had hyped it up as being "not a patch on the original" (yeah, remember those 1970s special effects? Can't beat 'em.) It took a while to get going. I think it was trying to set up the story but in my opinion it could have done it in half the time and with half the number of computerized robots shooting the crap out of each other. The second half, though, was brilliant. A bit Disneyfied, perhaps, in that everything goes dark the more evil the Bad Guy becomes, just in case you weren't sure he WAS the bad guy (remember the Lion King when Scar dies and suddenly the sun is out for the first time in years? You get the idea.) But then, I just had enough of that doing Emily Bronte as a student. It was all a bit too psychological for me: bad guy wants to save his wife (as you would, really), gets more evil, wife dies (having tied up the next bit of the story by giving birth to Leah and Luke beforehand), well, that's it, no looking back now. Welcome, Darth Vader, and go and buy the box set to remind yourself what happened next. The script wasn't bad, either, which was surprising in a way as you expect them to fall back on special effects, which they could happily get away with. Precious little C3PO (he irritates me. I was at school with a guy just like that.) Not too much soppy stuff (Anakin-used-to-be-such-a-nice-guy-what-happened), lots of Obi Wan Kenobi )my personal favourite as he inspired an agony aunt column called Obu Wan Canoodle I once wrote for my school paper) and almost enough Yoda. (You can never have too much Yoda.)

And since I can't think of anything funny to say, I have dug out the following "Yoda song" by some American guy called Weird Al Yancovic, sung to the tune of "Lola" by The Kinks (and i found the chords too!)

E
I met him in a swamp down in Dagobah
A D
Where it bubbles all the time like a giant carbonated
E A
Soda S-O-D-A soda
E
I saw the little runt sitting there on a log
A D
I asked him his name and in a raspy voice he said
E A D C D E
Yoda Y-O-D-A Yoda Yo yo yo yo Yoda
E
Well I've been around but I ain't never seen
A D
A guy who looks like a Muppet but he's wrinkled and green
E A
Oh my Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
E
Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand
A D
How he can lift me in the air just by raising his hand
E A D C D E
Oh my Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda

B7
Well I left home just a week before
F#7
And I never ever been a Jedi before
A
But Obi-wan, he set me straight of course
A
He said, "Go to Yoda and he'll show you the Force."
E
Well, I'm not the kind that would argue with Ben
A D
So it looks like I'm gonna start all over again with my
E A D C D E
Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
E A D C D E
Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda

A E B
So I used the Force
A E B
I picked up a box
A E B
I lifted some rocks
E G#7 C#m
While I stood on my head
B B6
But I won't forget what Yoda said
E
He said, "Luke, stay away from the darker side,
A D
And if you start to go astray, let the Force be your guide."
E A
Oh, my Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
E
I know Darth Vader's really got you annoyed
A D
But, remember if you kill him then you'll be unemployed
E A
Oh, my Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
B7
Well, I heard my friends really got in a mess
F#7
So I'm gonna have to leave Yoda, I guess
A
But I know that I'll be coming back some day
A
I'll be playing this part till I'm old and gray
E
The long-term contract I had to sign
A D
Says I'll be making these movies till the end of time
E A D C D E
Oh, my Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
E A D C D E
Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda
E A D C D E
Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda yo yo yo yo Yoda

PS You Rock My World

You know, sometimes in life, it's the little things that matter, and so often things that are actually really great go unnoticed. So I am setting the record straight in defence of the following:

1. Marks and Spencer. It amuses me that after Margaret Thatcher said it was her favourite shop their profits went down and they've never been the same since (coincidence? I'd like to think not.) But what has poor old M&S does to deserve that kind of slander? Let's look at the evidence: a shop that provides average-priced predictable clothes (and really, where else do you go if you need a suit for work or a plain top or skirt that doesn't have daft slogans or beads all over it?) great sandwiches and even a product called "Extremely chocolatey minibites". Surely they can do no wrong?
2. The Number 19 Bus. I have a no.19 bus fetish. It has a lot going for it. Firstly, it appears in the first line of a Clash song (Rudie can't Fail). Secondly, it gets you out of Battersea. Thirdly, it travels along the most impressive streets in London, kind of like a tour bus but without the American tourists and irritating voiceover.) Fourthly, it's a Routemaster (or at least it was last time I checked.) Finally, it appears in an obscure children's book called "The Witch That Made Children Cry".
3. George Harrison. OK, John Lennon was my favourite Beatle, but that wasn't George Harrison's fault. When the poor guy died (a fairly ordinary death, as well, which doesn't tend to enhance one's career, i.e. not getting shot or dying in the bath or on the toilet) all the papers were unanimous in their praise of this bloke who was fortunate enough to have been a Beatle but wasn't as good as John and Paul. Er...and? Actually he was a great guitarist, seemed like a nice guy, and was keen on gardening and fast cars. Not that I have too much time on my hands and bother reading up on this sort of thing of course... But anyway, George Harrison has been overshadowed too long, so here he is.
4. Ribena. Why are adults ashamed to drink Ribena? Well, I'm not. But people seem to look upon it as a kids' drink. Well, it is in a way. It's one of those things that when you taste it transports you back to your childhood. And they employ Ribena Berries to man their helpline, and that's good enough for me.
5. Garrison Keillor. The greatest writer of the twentieth century, only nobody seems to have heard of him. He is American (but that's not his fault) and writes the funniest, most observant short stories ever. Think Phoenix Nights meets The Waltons. Or maybe not.
6. Bradford. Wait, wait, yes I know it's full of racists and the football team is shite, and it's north of Watford etc etc. But hey, give it a chance! Actually it has the greatest curries in Britain, and lots of famous people came from there, and I don't just mean Gareth Gates, but also David Hockney, Kiki Dee, the Bronte sisters and quite a few others that I can't remember offhand (er, ok, so most of them have moved away, but hey, it's a start.) There are also some gorgeous areas in Bradford - go to Saltaire and marvel at it if you ever get the chance, and go to Omar's Balti House for the biggest Naan breads in hte UK! In 2003 they were up for Capital of Culture and brought an "Embassy" down to London for the day. I think I was the only person that went, but it was great! (And for the record, the football team isn't crap. Just...unlucky.)
7. Chilli Oil. I am actually quite middle-class at heart, and I always have chilli-infused olive oil in my kitchen. Mainly because you can add it to anything and it immediately becomes sophisticated.
8. Women's Football. Come on, guys, what's wrong with women's football? Give us a chance!
9. Westminster Cathedral. Nobody seems to know it's there, despite the fact that it's a huge building bang in the middle of Victoria Street (as in halfway down it, not in the middle of the road. Then you really would notice it.) I'm in danger of slipping into sentimentality again, and feel slightly sacrilegious putting on a par with Marks and Spencer and Ribena, but it's a gorgeous place, worth nipping into just to have a look some time even if you think religion is a load of rubbish.
10. If you can think of a number 10, let me know. I like round numbers.

xx

Not wishing to labour the point (although I am about to do just that) in 1966 John Lennon (somewhat tongue in cheek, I think) announced that the Beatles were more popular than Jesus. Possibly a bit of a daft thing to say when you're touring the Deep South, but then, he didn't strike me as having a great deal of common sense. Anyway, for purely research purposes, I typed in "Jesus" to Ebay and it found 1028 results. These included signed photographs of Robert Powell and Jesus Christ Superstar posters. I then typed in "Beatles" and it found 5730 results. I therefore conclude the Beatles are more popular than Jesus, although I can't quite understand why. (For the purposes of comparison, Morrissey got 916 results, the Smiths 818 - interesting that Moz gets more - the Clash got 776, Blur got 866, Joan Baez 72 and The Cure 621.)

I got bored after that.

Still sunny...

Passion is a Fashion

Arse. I knew I shouldn't have gone on Ebay. I typed in "The Clash". You know, just out of interest. And it came up with 900 items! Ok, I thought, let's narrow it down. I typed in "Clash T-shirts" and the total came to 87. And I just got a pay rise...

Intrigued I typed in "Catholic" and to my amusement found that there are only 137 Catholic items, which makes The Clash roughly seven times more popular than the Catholic Church on the surface. (Cavalier, that was a JOKE, I am aware that it is somewhat sacrilegious to flog consecrated wafers et al on Ebay which is presumably why not many people do it.) I was however extremely tempted by the 3D Virgin mary postcard.

Enjoy this lovely sunny day.
Px

Christians are doing it for themselves

If you can think of a better title for this, email me.

Many thanks to My Catholic for giving me this link which caused me much amusement during my Friday lunchbreak and kicked off a somewhat random weekend that led me to London Bridge, roaming round Borough Market and sampling Thai wine in Vinopolis (don't bother.) It is amusing and bizarre in equal measure, mainly because it's, er, for real. Yes, folks, for just $18.99 you can buy a t-shirt bearing that wonderfully Christian slogan "Don't believe in Hell? It's still there. You're still going." Wish I had a hotline to God that would give me that kind of gossip. I could make my millions fortune telling (although the problem there is they could hardly send a message back saying "you know what? You were right! And it sucks down here!" As with everything, there's a flaw.) Even better, check out "Ch rch: what's missing?" Anyone who remembers David Lundie's attempt to "Put the You back into KCLSU" should appreciate that. I'm confused, though: how often have you found yourself in a situation where the advice "Say No to Evolution"? And in case that situation ever arises, is it really worth $18.99 to get that advice printed on a t-shirt? They make it sound like Evolution is some dodgy new club drug you get offered in Camden of a Friday night. Picture the scene:
"Evolution, mate?"
To which you confidently reply:
"No" (or indeed just show him to your t-shirt.)
"Fair enough, mate. How about skunk?"
I wonder of the 1985 cast of "Grange Hill" would reconvene for a follow-up top ten hit? (yeah, er, 1985 was clearly not a great year, coming in between "Hatful of Hollow" and "The Queen is Dead" and all that.)

Anyway, have fun with the website, and have a fun week.

On How Life Was

A bit of a disclaimer: as I was trying to explain to a certain Mr Cavalier several threads back, this is not intended to be a serious blog and it certainly isn't trying to make any kind of serious point (except possibly in relation to pop music, which, obviously, is an extremely serious topic.) I am also aware that blogs are not the greatest place for emotion. But I am going to break the rules just this once so, as they say in football, if you don't want to see the result, look away now...

I spent the weekend in glorious Somerset doing wonderfully little (there not being a vast amount to choose from) and I came across a huge bag of photos, loose and in albums, which my parents had liberated after my grandma died and it struck me how precious a find this was. They chronicle our family from the 1930s right up until the present day, and I wonder what anybody else might make of them, what impression they might give if you're distanced from it all. If I was famous, or from some greatly distinguished family, they're the kind of things you'd publish and lots of people would pay good money for them. But I'm not, and they won't, and I'm not even going to put them up on the blog, partly because I'm technologically inept, and partly because nobody will give a damn if I do. Why after all would other people want to see photos of families of kids outside terraced houses in uncomfortable-looking jumpers, or photos of groups of us crammed into various small living rooms eating off paper plates? There are also a disproportionate number of photos of first communions and confirmations, of bored little girls in white dresses and veils and rosaries hung over their clasped hands, looking decidely unimpressed, and lots of my Aunty Kath standing next to various members of Catholic clergy looking piously smug. It was also funny how the same clothes appeared over the space of a decade or so on various different family members (this includes wedding dresses, which doubled as wedding dresses, confirmation dresses and baptism gowns.) The other interesting thing about old photos is that it reminds you of what dreadful taste your family had in wallpaper and curtains. You think Changing Rooms is cringe-inducing? We used to have orange curtains and carpet in our lounge, which made it look a bit like an Easyjet waiting room. I found some gorgeous pictures of my grandmother on the beach at Scarborough, looking as though she was trying to look like Ingrid Bergman, then some less glamorous ones of her in her waitress uniform, and later her care home uniform, then lots of photographs of my grandma with various old ladies in tow invariably eating fish and chips.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this one, except to point out, because this is the kind of cheerful mood I'm in today, that life sucks.

Am planning an evening in involving me, the Smiths, old photos and alcohol.