Reasons to Stay Indoors

The Seventh of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Tuesday.

I don't like this day quite as much as I used to.

Where's my spy camera? Where's my spy camera? Where's my SPY CAMERA!?

Always seems like a bit of a risk ordering something from Amazon Marketplace rather than the main site. Yes, you can read the reviews and what have you but when they don't say they're going to post immediately it can be a bit worrying. And all to save a couple of quid. Was it worth it?

The item in question is a CD and DVD combo of a-ha's farewell concert in Oslo entitled Ending on a High Note. I went to see the Manchester leg of the same tour. A bittersweet experience. It's always a shame when a band you admire decides to call it a day. You can take some solace in their solo work, but it never seems quite the same. Think about it - George Michael was never much cop after Andrew Ridgeley packed up his goodies and surfed off into the sunset.

The top Norwegian songsters split for the first time back in the early 90s. Not long after Morten Harket brought out a solo album called Wild Seed. There are some good songs on there, and you've got MH's extraordinary voice (there you go. I bet you didn't know that the MH in Vin MH stood for 'Morten Harket', did you? Neither did I...) but it's missing something.

Mostly what it's missing is the song writing skills of Paul and Magne. Especially Paul. He went on to found the group Savoy along with his wife, Lauren. There's a real sense on their albums of him cutting loose with the stuff he really wants to do and has been unable to in a-ha. But the fact remains, as good as Paul's voice is it's not as striking as Morten's.

(Nevertheless, I think Savoy are the most satisfying of the a-ha spinoffs so my Second Music Recommendation is their 'best of' collection Savoy Songbook Vol1)

I saw that Queen documentary that was on over the Bank Holiday the other day. It was the same there too. There's something about the tension in these groups that helps produce their best work when they're recording together. The solo stuff is a bonus but it never seems to completely cut it.

A couple of compare and contrasts to finish off with.

The original Savoy version of Velvet from 1996 and a-ha's 2000 cover version.

Magne's song The Longest Night with a chorus added by Paul to make Foot of the Mountain.

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Beets International

The Sixth of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Monday.

Ah yes. Dub Be Good To Me. Thank you former Housemartin Mr Zoe Ball.

It didn't seem that sunny yesterday, but today at work those of us who had taken part in the dragon boat race could be identified by the deep red colour of our skin. It's been itching all day. This is the reason I almost never wear shorts (apart from the obvious effect revealing my gorgeous pins has on anybody) - the back of my legs have been itching all day. Arrgh!

Anyhoo, that got me to thinking - I haven't had beetroot in ages. I couldn't actually tell you what it tastes like now. I wonder if I would like it? I can't recall if I liked it when I was younger, but I'm always surprised by how your tastes change over the years. Half the battle seems to be psychological - Seuss was on to something with that Green Eggs and Ham lark. No wonder he got to be a doctor. (Haven't decided whether the cartoon that link takes you to is cheesily amusing or soul destroying. But it was either that or Barack Obama reading it so this is what you get).

I couldn't tell you when it was but I still recall the occasion of my discovering that sandwich pickle, rather than being the hideous brown atrocity it appears to be was actually pretty darn tasty on a cheese butty (although you can't top an unadorned cheshire cheese sandwich. On crusty white bread when the cheese is nice and tangy. I love that. But that's not what he said. He distinctly said 'To blave' and as we all know, to blave means to bluff, heh? So you were probably playing cards, and he cheated -). I was on a Class 158 unit on the Hope Valley line between Manchester and Sheffield and I was absolutely starving. There was a trolley on board and the least offensive sandwich available was the cheese and pickle number. I bought it thinking it would be some survivalist endurance test, forced down out of necessity. Ah, heck, I've already given away the ending. I've really got to work on my plot structure. Yes, we already know that it was a lot nicer than I was expecting. That's not the point. The point is... what in the world can that be! (points over reader's shoulder (two Princess Bride references in one paragraph. Surely that redeems that anecdote? No? Oh, please yourselves)).

Nostalgia sometimes gets the better of you. I revisited this scenario recently while picnicking on Tower Hill during my erstwhile wife's conquest of the London Marathon. I was in charge of the offspring and come feeding time the only sandwich I could find that came near to no1 son's very specific dietary preferences was filled (I say 'filled'. This was a London butty shop - the filling to bread ratio was heavily weighted in favour of the bread) with cheese and pickle. 'You'll be surprised how delicious it is,' I told him, warmly recalling my own Branstonian Epiphany. He then proceeded to take about an hour and a half to consume just one sandwich all the while making gagging and retching noises. He's a man of principle - I admire that.

My last encounter with beetroot, however, was during a big family dinner at a posh restaurant in Manchester. The vegetarian option (remember: meat is murder, kids) was a beetroot risotto. I didn't even have the opportunity to fill up on bread. This being a big family get-together and me now apparently being a grown up I duly ordered without complaint and was rewarded with something that looked like a small pink brain with some garnish.

(That's another thing. I can't see the point of cookery. If it takes longer to make than it does to eat, what's the point? Haven't you people heard of tins? Of microwave ready meals? Except...) I very gingerly put a forkful in my mouth.

Guess what? (you won't have seen this coming) - it tasted amazing.

I suppose that's really the exact same story just told twice, isn't it? Three times if you include Green Eggs and Ham. I think we've all learned something here.

Tomato and cucumber are still evil, though. Never trust fruit trying to pass itself off as veg.

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Even A Sponge Has More Life Than I

The Fifth of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Sunday.

Hmm. Bit of a google shows a couple of other blogs have used that title. Figures.

Blimey, have you read yesterday's blog? No, of course you haven't. That was actually written while I was asleep. Interesting. But let's never try that again, eh?

Joan Plowright, what were you doing in 101 Dalmatians?

Anyway to business! ('To Business!' I read Russell T Davies' new(ish) foreword to The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy the other day. That's overdue a re-read. And I never re-read books, what with my busy lifestyle. Hell, I never read books.) I did some rowing today. Oh yes. The Rotarians (do you remember all those references to the Rotarians on Steve Wright in the Afternoon when he was on Radio 1? I do.

(and Laura's Second Love ('The story of a woman's ful-filment' was good too. Oh Steve. Where did it all go wrong?) had organised a charity dragon boat race in which good people from Scarborough and Malton stations formed one of 20 crews taking part.

Yeah, something like that.

It went all right, but it reminded me of an incident many years ago when I received a knock on my door one Sunday morning from my friend Kevin Fox. The Langworthy rugby league team were a man down and would I make up the numbers. At school I'd done all right on the rugby team, mainly on account of my size (high point: scoring a try at the Willows, Salford's ground). I was a bit older by now and couldn't rely on my size so much but I gave it a go anyway. I can't remember the result but I gave a good account of myself and came out of it feeling pretty good and pretty healthy. I even enjoyed the pie and peas at the club afterward. And I began to think 'maybe this is it - a sport I'm pretty good at as a means to stay fit'. I thought about playing again.

The next morning I ached from head to toe and vowed I would never pick up a rugby ball again.

I don't know how I'm managing to type this as frankly my arms feel like they're about to drop off. My biceps are literally throbbing with pain. Add to that the itchy skin that is plaguing me - there wasn't much sun but apparently being in a boat opens you to much exposure - and any worth I felt from my exertions earlier has long since evaporated.

To conclude: sport and any sort of physical activity is a bad idea from the start. Thanks ancient and decrepit body for reminding me. I think we would all be better off if we were just brains in jars.

With wi-fi or something.

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Castling

The Fourth of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Saturday.

Isambard Kingdom Brunel was a genius. Inventor of the steam teleporter he also designed many of the Great Western railway's great engines. Only now have some of these been combined with a modern version of the teleport control equipment.

The most successful of Brunel's desgins was that for GWR's Castle class of locomotives - so named as they had the capability of swapping places with other locos in a tele-maneuvre reminiscent of a chess rook castling.

Anyhoo, one of these fabulous loco popped in to work today. Very well looked after - a great photo opportunity.I'll have to get my photos organised at some point. Meanwhile here's someone else's view of it:

Yes, there's nothing more satisfying than the ozone-tinted odour of a large locomotive punching through several unspecified dimensions of reality.

There were all sorts of spotters and enthusiasts there today - lots of them from parallel worlds . There were quite a few people there who were chatting away with other versions of themselves from across the dimensions. It was all very cosy.

Anyway, why's it called Earl of Mount Edgcumbe? He's not a castle. Is he? Maybe he is.

Maybe we're all castles.

Or maybe I'm just very overdue for some sleep. Night night, all.

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Autons to Zutons

The Third of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Friday.

As promised, here's that alphabetical list:

AUTONS – I have absolutely no idea what these are.

BUTONS – Inhabitants of the Lost Moon of Poosh.

CUTONS – Killer robots with the faces of kittens.

DUTONS – Another name for the films of Meaty Flavour

EUTONS – The murniest liar

FUTONS – Your mum thought they were a good idea, but that's the last time you stop over. Probably.

GÜTONS – The middle class pudding surplus.

HUTONS – Ambo.

IUTONS – Sub-atomic particles that power Apple devices.

JUTONS – I think this might actually be a fairly rude French verb.

KUTONS – Killer German robots with the faces of Kätzchen

LUTONS – Bedfordshire towns; Bedfordshire Airports; But not Bedford Vans

MUTONS – Sheep with superpowers. Often dressed as lambs.

NUTONS – Upgraded Oldtons; SI units of force.

OUTONS – The lash, the pull and a limb.

PUTONS – Sundry insincerities.

QUTONS – Killer Arabian robots with the faces of صغير بعض الحيوانات

RUTONS – You'd be surprised how often people spell them this way. Go on – have a google.

SUTONS – The start of the day for businessmen. Cf. Sutoffs at the end of the day.

TUTONS – (of Fun) was another name for The Weather Girls of It's Raining Men fame.

UTONS – Finnish lo-fi folk-psych bands. No, really.

VUTONS – Badly made knock-offs of luxury goods.

WUTONS – RZA, GZA, Method Man, Ghostface Killah et al

XUTONS – Former Finnish lo-fi folk-psych bands.

YUTONS – Not hallowed hon motorways.

ZUTONS – The larval form of Amy Winehouses.

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Of Paper-Thin Walls and Loneliness

The Second of June  Two Thousand and Eleven. Thursday.

I don't live in Japan (one of the many places around the world I don't live) but I sympathise with the plight of some of their citizens. Sympathetic Resonance you might say as I am referring to the vibrations many Japanese have to endure what with there being all those earthquakes and that. My own bad vibrations (if you will (if you won't as well, really (what's that song by The Zutons called? You know, the one that goes 'you may, you might; your chest gets tight; you say you love day but you come out at night.' (checks iTunes) Oh. It is actually called You Will You Won't. Should've guessed that really (and I quite like the Zutons (and as I've said in an earlier blog I like A to Zs, so I've just been inspired to make a list called Autons to Zutons. Brilliant. That's tomorrow night's blog sorted out) but not enough to make them my First Music Recommendation. That will have to wait.)))) are due to the washing machine that lives upstairs entering its spin cycle ('and a tricycle has one more cycle than the washing machine'. Didn't have to wait long. Ladies and Gents, the First Music Recommendation is They Might Be Giants' kids album Here Come the 123s)

I think the washing machine lives alone. Certainly the post for the upstairs flat only ever says 'Mr W Machine' - there doesn't appear to be a Mrs Machine or anybody else at that address. But my other neighbours seem to have someone with which to share their life. This I know as their acts of congress have on occasion caused plates to rattle in my cupboards and windows to jiggle in their frames. It's all a bit like that scene in Delicatessen - which you might know better as my Fourth Film Recommendation.

I guess what I'm trying to say, what with all this talk of sympathy and what-have-you, is: don't worry. Everybody feels as lonely as a washing machine sometimes.

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Personnel on the Forecourt

The First of June Two Thousand and Eleven. Wednesday.

One of the pleasures of coming home after a few days away is seeing what your Personal Video Recorder has chosen to 'tape' in your absence (do you still say 'tape' even though everything's digital these days? I do. Always a sucker for an inaccurate archaism that still adequately conveys the sense of what you're trying to say). I have an Humax PR9200 (I think) and it gained sentience around the time Skynet was supposed to be switched on earlier this year (Google: April 19, apparently) and instead of destroying the human race (that might be still on the cards, the full extent of its plans is not yet certain) it merely picks out good programmes to watch.


Hmm, it's gone for Adam Curtis' All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace. Well, it would do, wouldn't it? It is good, though and so it does qualify as my Fifth Telly Recommendation. A bit of Archer on 5 Asterisk, a bit of Bob's Burgers on Ee Four (I've been on Ee Four. Might tell you about that one day...) What exceptional taste the particular artificial intelligence that animates this otherwise everyday piece of electrickery possesses. What else has it gone for?

Oh, here we go. Trying to be wilfully obscure I feel - it's gone for BBC4's top Icelandic sitcom The Night Shift. I don't like to be dictated to by a machine, but I will grudgingly endorse it as the Sixth Telly Recommendation principally for the the character of Georg Bjarnfreðarson as played by Jón Gnarr.

A bit of half-hearted research on t'internet reveals that The Night Shift was succeeded by two sequel series, The Day Shift and The Prison Shift. But most interestingly, there's been a spin-off movie entitled Bjarnfreðarson that upon its release was more popular in Iceland than that Avatar movie thing.

Gnarr's an interesting character himself. A well-known comic actor in Iceland, he moved into politics forming the Best Party with a view to running in Reykjavík's mayoral elections. Among the best party's election promises were Free towels for every spa, a polar bear for the city zoo and a drug free parliament by 2020. It remains to be seen if they will follow up on this or suffer from a Lib Dem style amnesia attack as would you belive it they won and Gnarr has been mayor of Reykjavík since last year. 

And now, in a Look North linky style, I'd better bring my own night shift to an end. It's way past bed time...

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