A narrowboat
Originally uploaded by ALBOWIEB
4 hours ago
Friday, 23 April 2010
Thursday, 22 April 2010
Second leaders' debate.
Well that was another exciting debate - clearly I was completely and utterly wrong when I said they were going to be boring and prescribed. Everybody upped their game a bit, except perhaps for me - I simply didn't have the stamina to blog it live. I nearly gave myself RSI on twitter, though - I don't have the figures, but today has possibly been my tweetingest day ever, what with everything being Nick Clegg's fault this morning and the debate this evening. As I say, I don't have the figures, but if I was Sky News I could simply make them up. Apparently 92% of the population thought that David Cameron won the election and that he's a really nice man.*
Personally I think Nick Clegg did the best again - Gordon Brown has only had to beat expectation in the debates by not having a stroke at the podium, and on that score he has sailed through, surviving two sessions of cut and thrust verbal parrying. He tends to wibble between pre-prepared catchphrases, gurning and grinning and groaning at the camera. It made me nervous. Clegg, however, has been in his element - he has found here a platform where he can connect people and talk through issues in a way that makes him seem normal and connected with the viewer.
It's a total myth that a politician could ever be a 'normal bloke' because a) they're politicians and b) there's no such thing anyway. It's a tightrope over the Niagara Falls for an electioneering politician to walk, making a voter feel like you have their specific issues in mind, that you care about them and you're genuinely emotionally invested in their wellbeing. From my own (limited) experience of working in parliament, which I've never really talked about here for various reasons and probably still won't, Nick is very charming, charismatic and engaging. He is also earnest about what he and the party stands for - his passion is for communicating what he believes in, what the party stands for, where the other chaps are dead focused on winning power.
It's a subtle but important distinction - Nick wants to win you over not because he's right and you're wrong (which Gordon Brown was effectively saying this evening) but because he believes what he's saying is in your interests and for your benefit. He has his faults - and who doesn't - but what is so disarming about him is that he's often prepared to admit them and own up to them. I really like that about him.
I'm off to bed - but I can't wait to wake up, this election just keeps getting better and better.
*This is made up.
Personally I think Nick Clegg did the best again - Gordon Brown has only had to beat expectation in the debates by not having a stroke at the podium, and on that score he has sailed through, surviving two sessions of cut and thrust verbal parrying. He tends to wibble between pre-prepared catchphrases, gurning and grinning and groaning at the camera. It made me nervous. Clegg, however, has been in his element - he has found here a platform where he can connect people and talk through issues in a way that makes him seem normal and connected with the viewer.
It's a total myth that a politician could ever be a 'normal bloke' because a) they're politicians and b) there's no such thing anyway. It's a tightrope over the Niagara Falls for an electioneering politician to walk, making a voter feel like you have their specific issues in mind, that you care about them and you're genuinely emotionally invested in their wellbeing. From my own (limited) experience of working in parliament, which I've never really talked about here for various reasons and probably still won't, Nick is very charming, charismatic and engaging. He is also earnest about what he and the party stands for - his passion is for communicating what he believes in, what the party stands for, where the other chaps are dead focused on winning power.
It's a subtle but important distinction - Nick wants to win you over not because he's right and you're wrong (which Gordon Brown was effectively saying this evening) but because he believes what he's saying is in your interests and for your benefit. He has his faults - and who doesn't - but what is so disarming about him is that he's often prepared to admit them and own up to them. I really like that about him.
I'm off to bed - but I can't wait to wake up, this election just keeps getting better and better.
*This is made up.
Waxing lyrical over sheets and that.
I am writing this this evening, and you are reading this this morning. Probably. I love the time travel aspect of blogging and then leaving your post on a timer like it's one of those dishes you can buy from Argos for the cat that'll make you feel less guilty about going on holiday for a week and being too cheap to put it in a kennel.
People of the future, I love fresh sheets. I have just put fresh sheets on my bed whence I type, I am luxuriating in their soft cleanness, the zesty chemical fresh smell (that is not really fresh-smelling but smells like you imagine fresh to smell because they always use the same chemical smell to mean fresh. Like with beef flavour crisps and banana milkshakes) and their childlike enthusiasm. These aren't like the jaded, world weary sheets I just took off the bed and discarded onto the floor, like yesterday's sheets, these are perky and eager to get on with life, with their purpose - untainted by the world's travails and bits of chocolate.
These sheets are as fresh as it gets, enjoy them while it lasts...
People of the future, I love fresh sheets. I have just put fresh sheets on my bed whence I type, I am luxuriating in their soft cleanness, the zesty chemical fresh smell (that is not really fresh-smelling but smells like you imagine fresh to smell because they always use the same chemical smell to mean fresh. Like with beef flavour crisps and banana milkshakes) and their childlike enthusiasm. These aren't like the jaded, world weary sheets I just took off the bed and discarded onto the floor, like yesterday's sheets, these are perky and eager to get on with life, with their purpose - untainted by the world's travails and bits of chocolate.
These sheets are as fresh as it gets, enjoy them while it lasts...
Wednesday, 21 April 2010
On a scooter in Croatia.
I spent a summer working in Croatia at the end of my first year - it was a pleasant time, working on one of Europe's biggest campsites - 9,000 open spaces for people to book, but untold hotels, mobile homes, permanent tents and the like from various providers. Anywhere between 15 and 20,000 people on the site during peak summer times - bigger than Bangor, the city where I went to university.
Looking at the pictures on that website (the dutch just says it lies on a kilometre stretch of the Adriatic has loads of crap to do) I have a load of memories of sitting on those rocks writing letters, listening to the singer who I swore was a transvestite and appeared everywhere you went in the local area by the pool, watching the Formula 1 in the bar with all of the Germans cheering on Michael Schumacher. The heat was unbearable - ever-rising humidity, 40-degree heat and every ten days a huge thunderstorm that would reset the weather.
The profile picture I often use these days I took in Croatia - I was getting itchy feet stuck in the same 5-mile radius, I wanted to use my day off in the week to do something a little more adventurous, to get out and see something a little further afield. I rented a scooter from the camp office and set off on my merry little way at 25mph to Rovinj, an hour or two down the coast. A medieval town, built on a hill by the coast - it was a great day, wandering about.
So here's me, riding along a road on a scooter. But the fun wasn't in the trip, it was in the freedom.
Looking at the pictures on that website (the dutch just says it lies on a kilometre stretch of the Adriatic has loads of crap to do) I have a load of memories of sitting on those rocks writing letters, listening to the singer who I swore was a transvestite and appeared everywhere you went in the local area by the pool, watching the Formula 1 in the bar with all of the Germans cheering on Michael Schumacher. The heat was unbearable - ever-rising humidity, 40-degree heat and every ten days a huge thunderstorm that would reset the weather.
The profile picture I often use these days I took in Croatia - I was getting itchy feet stuck in the same 5-mile radius, I wanted to use my day off in the week to do something a little more adventurous, to get out and see something a little further afield. I rented a scooter from the camp office and set off on my merry little way at 25mph to Rovinj, an hour or two down the coast. A medieval town, built on a hill by the coast - it was a great day, wandering about.
So here's me, riding along a road on a scooter. But the fun wasn't in the trip, it was in the freedom.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
I did some listening.
I was going to start off with 'today I have been mostly listening to...', which would of course have been a completely knackered but still mildly amusing reference to the Fast Show which I never really watched or found funny when it was first on like ten years ago.
And I haven't even been mostly listening anyway, so the very premise would have been misleading, I was merely starting with the hope of drawing your attention to some diverting fun that I discoverised this morning, namely the I Am Idiot podcast. Despite being a hip and happening young swinger, I have hitherto only listened to one podcast, those naughty boys Angry and Cliff - but their regular-guest-who-should-be-in-the-title-but-they-already-did-the-business-cards Ben has branched off into pastures different with a new podcast which I shall also be listening to.
I'm trying to find ways to describe it, but I'm falling short - the jingles make me splutter every time I hear them, and the discussions between Howard, Keith and Ben are like listening in on a therapy session in a mental hospital crossed with water-cooler chatter at GQ magazine. Sophisticated, urbane. But quite mental.
And I haven't even been mostly listening anyway, so the very premise would have been misleading, I was merely starting with the hope of drawing your attention to some diverting fun that I discoverised this morning, namely the I Am Idiot podcast. Despite being a hip and happening young swinger, I have hitherto only listened to one podcast, those naughty boys Angry and Cliff - but their regular-guest-who-should-be-in-the-title-but-they-already-did-the-business-cards Ben has branched off into pastures different with a new podcast which I shall also be listening to.
I'm trying to find ways to describe it, but I'm falling short - the jingles make me splutter every time I hear them, and the discussions between Howard, Keith and Ben are like listening in on a therapy session in a mental hospital crossed with water-cooler chatter at GQ magazine. Sophisticated, urbane. But quite mental.
Monday, 19 April 2010
Doing a walk.
I went out into the countryside yesterday to go for a pointless walk in the countryside with my mum and my sister. I'm not really into walking for walking's sake, I like it to have a point - going somewhere, taking pictures, disposing of a body, that sort of thing.
It was mildly diverting, there were dozens of cute lambs and the sun was shining, enabling me to put a dent in my empassioned paleness. The undoubted highlight (after getting home and having a nice cup of coffee) was sitting in a bird hide. There was a sign as you went in saying 'quiet please' in massive letters. I wasn't sure whether this was to add to the atmosphere, help nervous birds (it could have been some kind of halfway house) or trick the animals into coming closer.
My sister somehow translated this amongst her addled synapses as 'whispering is for losers', giving a clarion call to interesting wildlife to hurry the hell off to the other side of the pond. We saw a coot and some Canada geese. I mean, really. There's a fountain in town that would have at least twelve of either at any one time, they're the drunk-students-on-a-Saturday-night of the pond world, they're ubiquitous, they're everywhere, although less with the vomiting.
I commune with nature seldom enough that I would like it to put on an occasional show when I stop by, standard fare is just not enough. I wanted to see a gaggle of perch doing synchronised swimming and a brace of kingfishers doing loop-the-loops and spelling out my name in a flurry of wings and blue.
It reminded me of being in Germany, that blessed period in my life where I did regular exercise and went cycling all over the Bavarian and Baden-Wurrtembergian (I'm sure it's a word) countryside. I felt at one with nature, I enjoyed going out and soaking up a foreign land, taking pictures and feeling all spiritual and that. I've been full of reminiscence this past week or two and vitamins don't help - I think over the next few days my posts will mainly be about events that stick in my mind from places I've been. A distraction, perhaps, from the nothing that's happening in the places I am. Fun times.
It was mildly diverting, there were dozens of cute lambs and the sun was shining, enabling me to put a dent in my empassioned paleness. The undoubted highlight (after getting home and having a nice cup of coffee) was sitting in a bird hide. There was a sign as you went in saying 'quiet please' in massive letters. I wasn't sure whether this was to add to the atmosphere, help nervous birds (it could have been some kind of halfway house) or trick the animals into coming closer.
My sister somehow translated this amongst her addled synapses as 'whispering is for losers', giving a clarion call to interesting wildlife to hurry the hell off to the other side of the pond. We saw a coot and some Canada geese. I mean, really. There's a fountain in town that would have at least twelve of either at any one time, they're the drunk-students-on-a-Saturday-night of the pond world, they're ubiquitous, they're everywhere, although less with the vomiting.
I commune with nature seldom enough that I would like it to put on an occasional show when I stop by, standard fare is just not enough. I wanted to see a gaggle of perch doing synchronised swimming and a brace of kingfishers doing loop-the-loops and spelling out my name in a flurry of wings and blue.
It reminded me of being in Germany, that blessed period in my life where I did regular exercise and went cycling all over the Bavarian and Baden-Wurrtembergian (I'm sure it's a word) countryside. I felt at one with nature, I enjoyed going out and soaking up a foreign land, taking pictures and feeling all spiritual and that. I've been full of reminiscence this past week or two and vitamins don't help - I think over the next few days my posts will mainly be about events that stick in my mind from places I've been. A distraction, perhaps, from the nothing that's happening in the places I am. Fun times.
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Saturday, 17 April 2010
24-hour political party people.
OK, so it wasn't as dull as I was getting worried about. So it wasn't really that dull, considering they were talking about excessively boring matters of domestic policy like the NHS and Afghanistan. And yes, the Liberal Democrats might have turned an electoral corner by getting unprecedented coverage of a big event. But I'm already over it.
The profundity of such big occasions of state is vastly undermined when it's followed by a plonking great talent show premiere with idiocy of such magnitude that if you mixed it with ice water it would rise up five miles into the sky and take out most of Europe. Cough. It's not only that the headlines write themselves (and Gordon Brown does look a little bit like Susan Boyle - and the Scot did come a close second in a much-hyped finale, but the PM's less the underdog and more the dog waiting in the vets to be put down. And he's going to come third at this rate), but it shows up the shallows of showbiz. One evening you have statesmen squeezing pages of manifesto thought - which is in itself the nicely packaged version of hundreds of hours of policy wonkery and discussion - into 90-second soundbites, and then the next evening you have a dog doing ballet. It just doesn't compute.
We're a nation of people with that thing with the hyperactivity and the attention span stuff, I forget what...but one man's up, one man's down, a sneer here, a dodgy tie there - politics is cut-throat, and it gets even worse when politicians jump into bed with 24-hour news, the internet, fancy debates and huge launches. They can't fly around in their private jets at the moment, but they do have their huge battle buses. It's all been stolen from the West Wing, I'm sure - what's odd is that we have three grown men playing at being statesmanlike for the cameras rather than actually being statesmanlike. How would Churchill have managed a Paxman interview, or how would Lloyd-George have coped with a live telly debate? I find it odd that these people even got elected, how on earth did people make their minds up?
I think in 2010 I'm going to need a big band week during the election campaign to really help me make up my mind...
The profundity of such big occasions of state is vastly undermined when it's followed by a plonking great talent show premiere with idiocy of such magnitude that if you mixed it with ice water it would rise up five miles into the sky and take out most of Europe. Cough. It's not only that the headlines write themselves (and Gordon Brown does look a little bit like Susan Boyle - and the Scot did come a close second in a much-hyped finale, but the PM's less the underdog and more the dog waiting in the vets to be put down. And he's going to come third at this rate), but it shows up the shallows of showbiz. One evening you have statesmen squeezing pages of manifesto thought - which is in itself the nicely packaged version of hundreds of hours of policy wonkery and discussion - into 90-second soundbites, and then the next evening you have a dog doing ballet. It just doesn't compute.
We're a nation of people with that thing with the hyperactivity and the attention span stuff, I forget what...but one man's up, one man's down, a sneer here, a dodgy tie there - politics is cut-throat, and it gets even worse when politicians jump into bed with 24-hour news, the internet, fancy debates and huge launches. They can't fly around in their private jets at the moment, but they do have their huge battle buses. It's all been stolen from the West Wing, I'm sure - what's odd is that we have three grown men playing at being statesmanlike for the cameras rather than actually being statesmanlike. How would Churchill have managed a Paxman interview, or how would Lloyd-George have coped with a live telly debate? I find it odd that these people even got elected, how on earth did people make their minds up?
I think in 2010 I'm going to need a big band week during the election campaign to really help me make up my mind...
Thursday, 15 April 2010
THE BIG ELECTION DEBATE: a live blog
The election debate, as it happened:
8.25pm: So it's all go for the first ever leaders' debate on British television in the run-up to election 2010. Fun times. The news outlets are going gaga, the ash is taking over the country and the world is going mad. For the next 90 minutes eyes will be fixed on four dreary middle-aged men on a yellow stage in deepest central London that looks like the setting for the Electrician of the Year Awards.
Stick with me baby, we're going to live blog this thing.
8.33pm: I got it wrong - the debate is in Manchester. It's Alastair wotsisface off the news and some dodgy synthesizer music.
8.34pm: Alastair's tie is disgusting. It looks like a food fight in a circus. 2/10. Nick Clegg has a freshly-laundered suit and a beguiling yellow tie. 6/10. Are the other two going to go along party lines? Nick is very earnest so far.
8.35pm: Gordon manages to monkey his intro and he's wearing a pink tie that must be some sort of joke. Thankfully his suit seems to fit. But that tie is distinctly wonky. 4/10. First mention of that tasty double-dip recession ten seconds in.
8.36pm: George Osborne looked like Dolly Parton in the chancellors' debate the other week he was wearing so much make-up - Dave seems to have gone down the same route of a matte foundation. Is he worried about sweating? I'll keep an eye out. Nice blue tie, not shiny. 5/10.
8.38pm: Gordon isn't going to allow any chefs in from outside the European Union? You can kiss goodbye to your Chinese takeaways, chaps. It's fish and chips all the way under a Labour government. I can't listen to anything Dave is saying because he's been on the sunbed. What colour is that? I think we have a Dulux swatch round here somewhere.
8.41pm: Mum has arrived with some dinner. I am in a position to inform you, reader, that I am eating chips with mini bratwurst and some of yesterday's macaroni cheese. I have some mineral water on the side.
8.42pm: Dave just said something about meeting a 40-year-old black man in Plymouth. They live to a ripe old age these days, you know. Are you really allowed to say that, though? Surely they should be constituents of non-European non-white origins?
8.46pm: I do wish the cameraman would keep still, I'm feeling sort of queasy with all the moving backwards and forwards. We've got some to and fro here, which is fun. I'm not following anything any of them are saying on immigration, let's hope they move onto something interesting.
8.48pm: A mother-of-two-from-Burnley is now apparently asking a question, but using the opportunity to brag about the fact that her home town is the burglariest place in the country. I suppose you have to get tourists in somehow. Dave is doing his 'I'm serious about this' face. The bratwursts are delicious with a bit of tomato sauce.
8.51pm: 'Parents must take responsibility for their children', says the current prime minister. This must come as a relief for the former prime minister, whose son was found throwing his guts up near Trafalgar Square some years ago.
8.55pm: Gordon gets a strangely bitter little swipe in at the Tories for their posters. He's not a funny man. His tie is really distracting me now, it may as well have been a novelty Simpsons one. I think Nick speaks with authority on issues of reforming criminals, he was after all charged with arson after setting a cactus on fire in Germany.
8.57pm: Alistair 'Police, Camera, Action' Stewart is getting some good discussion in here - I think that M. Night Shyamalan was better on Channel 4 News the other week, but this debate is perkier than I was expecting. I keep seeing Gordon Brown on the edge of shot trying to interrupt everyone by getting his hands ready. It's annoying.
9.00pm: My mum is contributing to this important ALBOWIEB coverage by pointing out Nick Clegg's acne scars - I've never noticed them before, but look at the left side of his throat. Cameron is curiously pink under his make-up - I don't think he's going to age well.
9.02pm: Mostly populist stuff - mentioning quangos, more police on the street, feeling safe, etc. No-one is listening to it, but they know if this stuff is mentioned that it must be bad. Nick is on a nice little roll here telling the other chaps off for blocking parliamentary reform. Dave and Gordon sound quite hollow when they're talking about the need for changing things. The Lib Dems are the only ones who came out relatively unblemished from the expenses scandal.
9.05pm: 'There are still three Labour MPs in court at the moment' says Dave. Well someone let them out!
9.07pm: The way Gordon says 'constituency' really gets on my nerves. I hate that thing he does with his mouth, why can't someone electrocute him every time he does and try to train him out of it? It works with mice, I think
9.09pm: So there's one person in the studio who will apologise for getting what he has said wrong, but it's only Alistair 'he's crashed, he's crashed, he's crashed' Stewart off the news 20 years ago apologising for getting the days wrong for the debates in Scotland and Wales that no-one cares about.
9.12pm: 4,000 pages! I can't even remember what Nick was talking about, but I am outraged nevertheless. More teachers and that. Gordon agrees. Gordon agrees with everything Nick says, it's getting rather sickening. I think poor Dave might be sitting on his own at lunch.
9.14pm: When we see the party leaders writing things down when the question is being asked I'm guessing it's the name of the povver from the audience who asked the question, so I can say with real conviction, Delores, that I am answering your question directly because look I've remembered your miserable name.
9.16pm: I'm sure Gordon's proclamations on education policy are enthralling, but I'm mostly fixated by his ears. Do you think he has super hearing? They look like the things that monitor space at Jodrell Bank. Dave is starting to sweat, his hairline is matting. Gordon is trying to look jocular by smiling at regular intervals, I think his Casio must be bleeping every 3 minutes to remind him.
9.18pm: AAARGH! Did Nick just say there should be school in the evening and on Saturdays?
9.19pm: 'I too want freedom for schools, which is why if they're failing they will be taken over...' - something doesn't fit there in another attempt by Gordon to lovebomb Nick and his potential coalition buddies in the Liberal Democrats.
9.22pm: Goodness these things do get dull quickly. Not live blogs, of course, but BIG POLITICAL EVENTS. Buy some coffee in chaps, there are two more after this. I think they should all be invited onto Top Gear to see how fast they go round the track in the Reasonably Priced Car. Except for Gordon, he can't drive, he would need his civil service driver to take him round the track.
9.26pm: I've finished dinner, by the way. The chips were lovely - I'm normally more of a french-cut fries kind of chap, but these were steak-cut CHIPS. Obviously not cut with a steak, because that would be stupid. Now considering a cup of tea - I really shouldn't have caffeine this late in the day, but I think I need some sort of boost to get through the last half hour.
9.28pm: Dave is doing lots of frowning whilst pretending to listen, whilst Nick actually seems like he is listening to what the other guys are saying. He does have more time to listen, I suppose, but he's coming out of it quite well so far.
9.31pm: Alistair 'remember me?' Stewart keeps doing a pointless little biography of the questioners before they ask their question. I don't know why. 'Our next question comes from Bill, he's in his late-40s and he's a management consultant from Manchester, he likes jogging.'
9.32pm: Questioner says that too many soldiers are dying and they're being underpaid. Well, they won't need cash where they're going.
9.33pm: ...Afghanistan, I mean - there can't be that many shops.
9.34pm: Dave says he's been to Afghanistan in each of the past four years - makes it sound like the fricking Riviera. They're all falling over themselves to look statesmanlike on international issues now. It's the key to being prime ministerial.
9.37pm: Those coloured lights behind the chaps make it look like a studio round of the Krypton Factor. Which would have been a much more fun use of the evening - Gordon would have buggered up the carrier landing and the assault course but I bet his general knowledge is good.
9.38pm: Dave is looking slick. Gordon is looking undead. Do you think he might be a vampire? I'm going to have to find some ways to slag off the other two equally, I do want to be impartial of course.
9.41pm: The helicopters from Iraq had to be refitted for Afghanistan because the terrain was different, says Gordon. Bit odd - I always thought that helicopters flew, like in the air and that. Ooh, another question from someone with a colourful back story. And an ethnic too, isn't this an exciting evening.
9.42pm: Oh no, Gordon Brown just used the phrase 'home help' - that was a bit racist, wasn't it? Wait, he's talking about old people.
9.44pm: Dave does drone on, doesn't he - not content with reiterating a point twice when he can do it three times. I wish the judges would hurry up and press their three buzzers. Nick's up now saying how lovely he thinks the NHS is.
9.47pm: 'The drugs have got to be there when you need them', says Dave. Oh yes? He also mentioned something about a cancer drugs fund - I'm not really one for getting wasted, but I'd definitely take the drugs over the cancer if the government gave me the choice.
9.49pm: I understand that Nick Clegg is polling at 52% in the Channel 4 polls so far - whilst the other two fight it out like little old women here comes the Lib Dem leader to win the election by stealth. That would be a story, wouldn't it? It'll be tougher for him in the next couple of debates, you can only play the outsider and the underdog for so long.
9.50pm: Alistair 'second wind' Stewart is REALLY STARTING TO SHOUT NOW. He's getting on my nerves. What party is he representing?
9.51pm: They'd have been as well getting that Scottish bloke off Gladiators to do the smackdown countdowns.
9.52pm: That's a really crap tie he's wearing.
9.54pm: Nick Clegg is at a canter now - I think he's found his strength. He's not so good doing big speeches because he lacks the presence of Blair at a podium or the charisma of Cameron and his 'look no notes' trick. But here, connecting with people, talking sense - he seems to have got it. Dave is the big loser here, he hasn't really scored any good hits on Gordon. And he's really sweating now.
9.59pm: Almost over. I'm waiting for the talents round, but I'm turning off before the swimsuits come out.
10.00pm: Alistair 'you can catch me on the lunchtime news' Stewart calls a halt to the questions and the boys have a little speech each to close. The big winners here are the Liberal Democrats - and I'm not just saying that - both Dave and Gordon have conspicuously failed to land any blows on each other. Gordon edges Dave into last place simply because expectations were so low. Bit rich of the PM to say the evening has been a 'great exchange of ideas' - perhaps he'll elaborate on which of the opposition's ideas he'll be taking away as policy.
10.06pm: It's all over. Interesting stuff - no revelations apart from a giant leg up for the Lib Dems. Fantastic moment at the end as Nick and Dave stand bemused watching Gordon try to work the crowd. It's been fun, dearest reader - we should do this again some time.
8.25pm: So it's all go for the first ever leaders' debate on British television in the run-up to election 2010. Fun times. The news outlets are going gaga, the ash is taking over the country and the world is going mad. For the next 90 minutes eyes will be fixed on four dreary middle-aged men on a yellow stage in deepest central London that looks like the setting for the Electrician of the Year Awards.
Stick with me baby, we're going to live blog this thing.
8.33pm: I got it wrong - the debate is in Manchester. It's Alastair wotsisface off the news and some dodgy synthesizer music.
8.34pm: Alastair's tie is disgusting. It looks like a food fight in a circus. 2/10. Nick Clegg has a freshly-laundered suit and a beguiling yellow tie. 6/10. Are the other two going to go along party lines? Nick is very earnest so far.
8.35pm: Gordon manages to monkey his intro and he's wearing a pink tie that must be some sort of joke. Thankfully his suit seems to fit. But that tie is distinctly wonky. 4/10. First mention of that tasty double-dip recession ten seconds in.
8.36pm: George Osborne looked like Dolly Parton in the chancellors' debate the other week he was wearing so much make-up - Dave seems to have gone down the same route of a matte foundation. Is he worried about sweating? I'll keep an eye out. Nice blue tie, not shiny. 5/10.
8.38pm: Gordon isn't going to allow any chefs in from outside the European Union? You can kiss goodbye to your Chinese takeaways, chaps. It's fish and chips all the way under a Labour government. I can't listen to anything Dave is saying because he's been on the sunbed. What colour is that? I think we have a Dulux swatch round here somewhere.
8.41pm: Mum has arrived with some dinner. I am in a position to inform you, reader, that I am eating chips with mini bratwurst and some of yesterday's macaroni cheese. I have some mineral water on the side.
8.42pm: Dave just said something about meeting a 40-year-old black man in Plymouth. They live to a ripe old age these days, you know. Are you really allowed to say that, though? Surely they should be constituents of non-European non-white origins?
8.46pm: I do wish the cameraman would keep still, I'm feeling sort of queasy with all the moving backwards and forwards. We've got some to and fro here, which is fun. I'm not following anything any of them are saying on immigration, let's hope they move onto something interesting.
8.48pm: A mother-of-two-from-Burnley is now apparently asking a question, but using the opportunity to brag about the fact that her home town is the burglariest place in the country. I suppose you have to get tourists in somehow. Dave is doing his 'I'm serious about this' face. The bratwursts are delicious with a bit of tomato sauce.
8.51pm: 'Parents must take responsibility for their children', says the current prime minister. This must come as a relief for the former prime minister, whose son was found throwing his guts up near Trafalgar Square some years ago.
8.55pm: Gordon gets a strangely bitter little swipe in at the Tories for their posters. He's not a funny man. His tie is really distracting me now, it may as well have been a novelty Simpsons one. I think Nick speaks with authority on issues of reforming criminals, he was after all charged with arson after setting a cactus on fire in Germany.
8.57pm: Alistair 'Police, Camera, Action' Stewart is getting some good discussion in here - I think that M. Night Shyamalan was better on Channel 4 News the other week, but this debate is perkier than I was expecting. I keep seeing Gordon Brown on the edge of shot trying to interrupt everyone by getting his hands ready. It's annoying.
9.00pm: My mum is contributing to this important ALBOWIEB coverage by pointing out Nick Clegg's acne scars - I've never noticed them before, but look at the left side of his throat. Cameron is curiously pink under his make-up - I don't think he's going to age well.
9.02pm: Mostly populist stuff - mentioning quangos, more police on the street, feeling safe, etc. No-one is listening to it, but they know if this stuff is mentioned that it must be bad. Nick is on a nice little roll here telling the other chaps off for blocking parliamentary reform. Dave and Gordon sound quite hollow when they're talking about the need for changing things. The Lib Dems are the only ones who came out relatively unblemished from the expenses scandal.
9.05pm: 'There are still three Labour MPs in court at the moment' says Dave. Well someone let them out!
9.07pm: The way Gordon says 'constituency' really gets on my nerves. I hate that thing he does with his mouth, why can't someone electrocute him every time he does and try to train him out of it? It works with mice, I think
9.09pm: So there's one person in the studio who will apologise for getting what he has said wrong, but it's only Alistair 'he's crashed, he's crashed, he's crashed' Stewart off the news 20 years ago apologising for getting the days wrong for the debates in Scotland and Wales that no-one cares about.
9.12pm: 4,000 pages! I can't even remember what Nick was talking about, but I am outraged nevertheless. More teachers and that. Gordon agrees. Gordon agrees with everything Nick says, it's getting rather sickening. I think poor Dave might be sitting on his own at lunch.
9.14pm: When we see the party leaders writing things down when the question is being asked I'm guessing it's the name of the povver from the audience who asked the question, so I can say with real conviction, Delores, that I am answering your question directly because look I've remembered your miserable name.
9.16pm: I'm sure Gordon's proclamations on education policy are enthralling, but I'm mostly fixated by his ears. Do you think he has super hearing? They look like the things that monitor space at Jodrell Bank. Dave is starting to sweat, his hairline is matting. Gordon is trying to look jocular by smiling at regular intervals, I think his Casio must be bleeping every 3 minutes to remind him.
9.18pm: AAARGH! Did Nick just say there should be school in the evening and on Saturdays?
9.19pm: 'I too want freedom for schools, which is why if they're failing they will be taken over...' - something doesn't fit there in another attempt by Gordon to lovebomb Nick and his potential coalition buddies in the Liberal Democrats.
9.22pm: Goodness these things do get dull quickly. Not live blogs, of course, but BIG POLITICAL EVENTS. Buy some coffee in chaps, there are two more after this. I think they should all be invited onto Top Gear to see how fast they go round the track in the Reasonably Priced Car. Except for Gordon, he can't drive, he would need his civil service driver to take him round the track.
9.26pm: I've finished dinner, by the way. The chips were lovely - I'm normally more of a french-cut fries kind of chap, but these were steak-cut CHIPS. Obviously not cut with a steak, because that would be stupid. Now considering a cup of tea - I really shouldn't have caffeine this late in the day, but I think I need some sort of boost to get through the last half hour.
9.28pm: Dave is doing lots of frowning whilst pretending to listen, whilst Nick actually seems like he is listening to what the other guys are saying. He does have more time to listen, I suppose, but he's coming out of it quite well so far.
9.31pm: Alistair 'remember me?' Stewart keeps doing a pointless little biography of the questioners before they ask their question. I don't know why. 'Our next question comes from Bill, he's in his late-40s and he's a management consultant from Manchester, he likes jogging.'
9.32pm: Questioner says that too many soldiers are dying and they're being underpaid. Well, they won't need cash where they're going.
9.33pm: ...Afghanistan, I mean - there can't be that many shops.
9.34pm: Dave says he's been to Afghanistan in each of the past four years - makes it sound like the fricking Riviera. They're all falling over themselves to look statesmanlike on international issues now. It's the key to being prime ministerial.
9.37pm: Those coloured lights behind the chaps make it look like a studio round of the Krypton Factor. Which would have been a much more fun use of the evening - Gordon would have buggered up the carrier landing and the assault course but I bet his general knowledge is good.
9.38pm: Dave is looking slick. Gordon is looking undead. Do you think he might be a vampire? I'm going to have to find some ways to slag off the other two equally, I do want to be impartial of course.
9.41pm: The helicopters from Iraq had to be refitted for Afghanistan because the terrain was different, says Gordon. Bit odd - I always thought that helicopters flew, like in the air and that. Ooh, another question from someone with a colourful back story. And an ethnic too, isn't this an exciting evening.
9.42pm: Oh no, Gordon Brown just used the phrase 'home help' - that was a bit racist, wasn't it? Wait, he's talking about old people.
9.44pm: Dave does drone on, doesn't he - not content with reiterating a point twice when he can do it three times. I wish the judges would hurry up and press their three buzzers. Nick's up now saying how lovely he thinks the NHS is.
9.47pm: 'The drugs have got to be there when you need them', says Dave. Oh yes? He also mentioned something about a cancer drugs fund - I'm not really one for getting wasted, but I'd definitely take the drugs over the cancer if the government gave me the choice.
9.49pm: I understand that Nick Clegg is polling at 52% in the Channel 4 polls so far - whilst the other two fight it out like little old women here comes the Lib Dem leader to win the election by stealth. That would be a story, wouldn't it? It'll be tougher for him in the next couple of debates, you can only play the outsider and the underdog for so long.
9.50pm: Alistair 'second wind' Stewart is REALLY STARTING TO SHOUT NOW. He's getting on my nerves. What party is he representing?
9.51pm: They'd have been as well getting that Scottish bloke off Gladiators to do the smackdown countdowns.
9.52pm: That's a really crap tie he's wearing.
9.54pm: Nick Clegg is at a canter now - I think he's found his strength. He's not so good doing big speeches because he lacks the presence of Blair at a podium or the charisma of Cameron and his 'look no notes' trick. But here, connecting with people, talking sense - he seems to have got it. Dave is the big loser here, he hasn't really scored any good hits on Gordon. And he's really sweating now.
9.59pm: Almost over. I'm waiting for the talents round, but I'm turning off before the swimsuits come out.
10.00pm: Alistair 'you can catch me on the lunchtime news' Stewart calls a halt to the questions and the boys have a little speech each to close. The big winners here are the Liberal Democrats - and I'm not just saying that - both Dave and Gordon have conspicuously failed to land any blows on each other. Gordon edges Dave into last place simply because expectations were so low. Bit rich of the PM to say the evening has been a 'great exchange of ideas' - perhaps he'll elaborate on which of the opposition's ideas he'll be taking away as policy.
10.06pm: It's all over. Interesting stuff - no revelations apart from a giant leg up for the Lib Dems. Fantastic moment at the end as Nick and Dave stand bemused watching Gordon try to work the crowd. It's been fun, dearest reader - we should do this again some time.
It's not really a debate, is it.
So it's an exciting night tonight - not simply because it's Thursday, because Thursdays aren't typically enthralling evenings as a rule. The three party leaders are come together for a passive aggressive chinwag in front of millions of voters. Of course, it won't be a fireside chat, but more a tightly-controlled succession of rehearsed set pieces governed by squillions of pages of rules thrashed out over months.
I'm a political type, I enjoy these wee events - and of course the election is in itself a particular highlight in my miserable life - but I can't help but feel that these TV debates are going to be the dampest of squibs. Dave and Gordon have managed to use these anodyne telly discussions as apparently good enough reasons to avoid other interviews that they feel might not go their way, Jezza Paxman for instance. No-one would have watched it in comparison with tonight's debates, but Jeremy would have got far more out of our wannabe prime ministers than these one minute speeches. Why not a Question Time Special with leaders from more parties? The three main ones, the SNP, Plaid Cymru, UKIP, the Greens...a baying audience, questions that haven't been approved by apparatchiks.
What's great about events of this ilk is the unpredictability - I have very low concentration, I'm going to be looking at their ties, their reactions, their sweaty shirts - Gordon Brown's turgid economic analysis will kill me. I might look like I'm interested in things political, but I'm terribly shallow. What's it going to be like for everyone else watching? I like on the X Factor that even the most talented contestants can make a balls up of the live stage, I like that Paxman can make someone squirm and that a booing QT audience can put the hardiest of political performers off their stride.
Work everything out to the inane extent that they have and it becomes a live party political broadcast and everyone goes home none the wiser, preconceptions reinforced. I fear I may get bored this evening...show me some unpredictability, prime ministers.
I'm a political type, I enjoy these wee events - and of course the election is in itself a particular highlight in my miserable life - but I can't help but feel that these TV debates are going to be the dampest of squibs. Dave and Gordon have managed to use these anodyne telly discussions as apparently good enough reasons to avoid other interviews that they feel might not go their way, Jezza Paxman for instance. No-one would have watched it in comparison with tonight's debates, but Jeremy would have got far more out of our wannabe prime ministers than these one minute speeches. Why not a Question Time Special with leaders from more parties? The three main ones, the SNP, Plaid Cymru, UKIP, the Greens...a baying audience, questions that haven't been approved by apparatchiks.
What's great about events of this ilk is the unpredictability - I have very low concentration, I'm going to be looking at their ties, their reactions, their sweaty shirts - Gordon Brown's turgid economic analysis will kill me. I might look like I'm interested in things political, but I'm terribly shallow. What's it going to be like for everyone else watching? I like on the X Factor that even the most talented contestants can make a balls up of the live stage, I like that Paxman can make someone squirm and that a booing QT audience can put the hardiest of political performers off their stride.
Work everything out to the inane extent that they have and it becomes a live party political broadcast and everyone goes home none the wiser, preconceptions reinforced. I fear I may get bored this evening...show me some unpredictability, prime ministers.
I went shopping yesterday.
Yesterday was a mildly busy day. Out for breakfast in the morning, my mother and I rather wildly decided we were going to hit Bicester shopping village, in a hash brown and bad coffee-fuelled frenzy. That middle class nirvana of overpriced fashion labels discounted down to just above acceptable prices. It's a dog-eat-dog world, fashion - although I've never seen either a dog eat another dog, or a fashion model eat anything. Clothes are whipped off the rails in their prime, marked with degrading signs and cast out from society to be taken away from their abodes in trucks like cattle to be treated badly in anonymous-looking warehouses on the edges of urban developments. Not that I would equate discounting to the Holocaust, but it sounded suitably dramatic.
We are all too aware of the fragile state of our great British economy, that house of cards with fewer and fewer cards. The queen of hearts is long gone, but now we've sold all of the diamonds. Whatever the vagaries of recession, I can't help but feel a frisson of nostalgia every time I hear the prime minister refer to a double-dip recession. It makes me think of our substantial national debt being dipped in perky flavoured sherbet. A spoonful of sugar really does help the medicine go down.
It's a tough world though - I'm feeling the pain as much as the next guy, unless the next guy happens to be Robert Carlisle in The World Is Not Enough, where he plays a terrorist who has taken a bullet to the noggin that curiously means he is unable to feel pain and is a lot stronger. I saw some lovely shoes in Clark's (I know, I know - did you read the post about me getting old?) that I really fancied buying. I weighed up the situation. I weighed up the shoes, but I didn't think I'd get far if I legged it with them. The day boiled down to an upsetting recessionary consequence:
I went shopping yesterday, and I didn't. Buy. Anything.
We are all too aware of the fragile state of our great British economy, that house of cards with fewer and fewer cards. The queen of hearts is long gone, but now we've sold all of the diamonds. Whatever the vagaries of recession, I can't help but feel a frisson of nostalgia every time I hear the prime minister refer to a double-dip recession. It makes me think of our substantial national debt being dipped in perky flavoured sherbet. A spoonful of sugar really does help the medicine go down.
It's a tough world though - I'm feeling the pain as much as the next guy, unless the next guy happens to be Robert Carlisle in The World Is Not Enough, where he plays a terrorist who has taken a bullet to the noggin that curiously means he is unable to feel pain and is a lot stronger. I saw some lovely shoes in Clark's (I know, I know - did you read the post about me getting old?) that I really fancied buying. I weighed up the situation. I weighed up the shoes, but I didn't think I'd get far if I legged it with them. The day boiled down to an upsetting recessionary consequence:
I went shopping yesterday, and I didn't. Buy. Anything.
Tuesday, 13 April 2010
I do a job.
I’ve told briefly of my job. That’s about it really. I sell cuisines for a famous Scandinavian marque. It’s a job, it’s getting some money. I’m not really about to profess opinions either way on the matter, because you hear all sorts of things about people getting in trouble for saying something or other about something or other. I’ve been fortunate so far not to get in too much trouble about things I’ve said – and goodness knows that I should have got into trouble for some things that I’ve said, but I have scraped by on minimal readership and my endearing frankness. Or some shit like that.
It’s the very fact of the job that gets me down, though, not the job itself – I don’t like having to do things because I have to do things, I always try to find some excitement in everything I do because I know how easily distracted and bored I get within mere hours and days and months of starting something. I am stuck under my own cudgel, a victim of my own poverty. I live in hope of getting a job somewhere being paid to write, for the chance to live that dream, and although I might be making steps towards that, they are mere baby ones.
I don’t like life when the line blurs between making progress and simply existing – it’s not living, it’s just being. Being is good enough for some people - but I love living, that’s what fuels me. I love adventure and new things and the romance of being alive. The hope of that is not quite enough, I’m left with a slight deficit – but until I can make that up I sell some kitchens and I keep my eyes peeled.
It’s the very fact of the job that gets me down, though, not the job itself – I don’t like having to do things because I have to do things, I always try to find some excitement in everything I do because I know how easily distracted and bored I get within mere hours and days and months of starting something. I am stuck under my own cudgel, a victim of my own poverty. I live in hope of getting a job somewhere being paid to write, for the chance to live that dream, and although I might be making steps towards that, they are mere baby ones.
I don’t like life when the line blurs between making progress and simply existing – it’s not living, it’s just being. Being is good enough for some people - but I love living, that’s what fuels me. I love adventure and new things and the romance of being alive. The hope of that is not quite enough, I’m left with a slight deficit – but until I can make that up I sell some kitchens and I keep my eyes peeled.
Monday, 12 April 2010
I feel old.
I'm starting to feel proper old - I think I've got hypoactivity. I don't even know if that's a thing, I just made it up. Old people can do that. I went into town this morning to run an errand and now I'm exhausted, I had to have a nap this afternoon.
There's just not as much flexibility in my body as there used to be in my younger days, I groan when getting up out of a chair and I've even started - no joke - tucking my trousers up at the knees as I sit down.
I've had this ache in my neck for days, and my knees where I fell over in London last month are still quite tender to the touch, I don't heal as quickly as I did in my peak.
It's an upsetting time, realising that your body is past its heady heights. I've always procrastinated physical fitness, but now I know that whenever I do decide to put some effort into being a fine specimen of a man I'll never be able to reach the potential that I once had.
A sad day. If only I had the money for a convertible.
There's just not as much flexibility in my body as there used to be in my younger days, I groan when getting up out of a chair and I've even started - no joke - tucking my trousers up at the knees as I sit down.
I've had this ache in my neck for days, and my knees where I fell over in London last month are still quite tender to the touch, I don't heal as quickly as I did in my peak.
It's an upsetting time, realising that your body is past its heady heights. I've always procrastinated physical fitness, but now I know that whenever I do decide to put some effort into being a fine specimen of a man I'll never be able to reach the potential that I once had.
A sad day. If only I had the money for a convertible.
A further pre-life crisis relapse.
Gah. This succinctly sums up my current malaise; I have slipped back into my pre-life crisis. I was over the worst; I felt like I had some movement, direction, some get up and go. I’ve never been very good with the get up and go - I’m more likely to be filled with a feeling of sit down and have a cup of tea.
I don’t seem to live in the same time zone as those around me – January 1st holds no excitement, it feels like the middle of the year to me. Summer is the natural buffer period between epochs and adventures. Seeing as I run on an academic calendar, this is my worst time of year – things have always drawn to a close around this time of year, in my brief and humble existence.
As with anyone’s life, the drawing down of a something correlates directly with increasing worry, a nervousness about things that are yet to come. I think I’ve said here before that I like to be able to imagine myself doing the next thing, it gives me a peace inside knowing that I’m not hurtling down a cul de sac. The thing about seeing light at the end of the tunnel is that you don’t really know you’re in a tunnel until you see the light. There’s a faith there, a trust in the essential tunnel-like qualities of your location that keeps you going, but until you see the light you could be walking ever deeper into a cave, or even worse, someone has locked you in a box.
Here’s holding out for the light. I don’t want to be locked in a box.
I don’t seem to live in the same time zone as those around me – January 1st holds no excitement, it feels like the middle of the year to me. Summer is the natural buffer period between epochs and adventures. Seeing as I run on an academic calendar, this is my worst time of year – things have always drawn to a close around this time of year, in my brief and humble existence.
As with anyone’s life, the drawing down of a something correlates directly with increasing worry, a nervousness about things that are yet to come. I think I’ve said here before that I like to be able to imagine myself doing the next thing, it gives me a peace inside knowing that I’m not hurtling down a cul de sac. The thing about seeing light at the end of the tunnel is that you don’t really know you’re in a tunnel until you see the light. There’s a faith there, a trust in the essential tunnel-like qualities of your location that keeps you going, but until you see the light you could be walking ever deeper into a cave, or even worse, someone has locked you in a box.
Here’s holding out for the light. I don’t want to be locked in a box.
Sunday, 11 April 2010
The endless cycle of magazines.
I thought I was doing great with my CAR magazine this month, got to the end with plenty of time before the next issue comes out and then I realise as I reach for the next magazine in my pile that I haven’t even started this month’s issue yet.
I always buy CAR magazine and I always going into university to read Autosport and Autocar magazines, I occasionally go into Coventry's central library to read F1 Racing, except the place is beige and depressing and smells of death. I buy Empire or Total Film sporadically, although I really can't tell the difference between the two of them. If I'm feeling particularly intellectual I might buy the Economist or Time magazine once a year and not understand a word of either. Months should really be longer.
If a month was six or seven weeks then I would have ample time to catch up on my selected publications. I don’t know how people even manage when they take a daily paper, or even a Sunday one – if I buy a Sunday newspaper it takes me weeks to get through it, there just aren’t enough hours in the day.
Someone did a thing the other month about the amount of information we absorb in a day – I can’t remember what it said and I can’t really be bothered to find it, which is unfortunate, but it basically said that we have to take in a lot of information in a day. Academics, eh? They did have plenty of pictures and graphs and that to back it up – think of the gigabytes and gigabytes of stuff that you see and hear and read and listen to and read and see. Thousands of words and hundreds of minutes of video and audio and whatever else. I don’t know how our brains manage all that ebb and flow. When I think of all the stuff I process no wonder I can’t remember why I came into the room or how I was going to finish this blog post with a neat denouement.
Oh well, I’ll just get back to reading my magazine.
I always buy CAR magazine and I always going into university to read Autosport and Autocar magazines, I occasionally go into Coventry's central library to read F1 Racing, except the place is beige and depressing and smells of death. I buy Empire or Total Film sporadically, although I really can't tell the difference between the two of them. If I'm feeling particularly intellectual I might buy the Economist or Time magazine once a year and not understand a word of either. Months should really be longer.
If a month was six or seven weeks then I would have ample time to catch up on my selected publications. I don’t know how people even manage when they take a daily paper, or even a Sunday one – if I buy a Sunday newspaper it takes me weeks to get through it, there just aren’t enough hours in the day.
Someone did a thing the other month about the amount of information we absorb in a day – I can’t remember what it said and I can’t really be bothered to find it, which is unfortunate, but it basically said that we have to take in a lot of information in a day. Academics, eh? They did have plenty of pictures and graphs and that to back it up – think of the gigabytes and gigabytes of stuff that you see and hear and read and listen to and read and see. Thousands of words and hundreds of minutes of video and audio and whatever else. I don’t know how our brains manage all that ebb and flow. When I think of all the stuff I process no wonder I can’t remember why I came into the room or how I was going to finish this blog post with a neat denouement.
Oh well, I’ll just get back to reading my magazine.
Saturday, 10 April 2010
The craftsman's toolbox.
This afternoon I have totally been fixing some shit and that - albeit armed with an alan key and a screwdriver. I do wonder why they called it Alan. Do you think that's the name of the guy who invented it? A little informal if you ask me - if I'd invented it, it would be the Mr Burnett key at the very least. It's quite unorthodox as keys go, let's be frank. It doesn't open anything. It would be perfectly useless if you ever got locked out of the house, unless you had a pre-fab Swedish house, in which case you could use it to loosen the roof or something.
With all that twisting, turning, occasional bludgening and stabbing in the finger with a screwdriver, I've come to a certain understanding of how other chaps get some semblance of pride and self-satisfaction out of DIY. I totally dominated those dining chairs. It's a way of exerting control on your environment, I think. In a topsy-turvy turbulent world, where all is unsure and uncertain, there is always crap that needs hammering. Mmm, manly.
Me, I've never felt that need. For me the satisfaction is in building the metaphysical; thoughts and ideas and communities. The intellectual alan key is the tool of my trade. I collect nice words and phrases and images like my dad collects spare screws and buttons and batteries in his little boxes in the attic. Crafting a tight piece of writing, sculpting some modicum of emotion out of my own experience and personality - that's where it's at. I might be a wuss because I can't saw, bash or fashion, but I am an occasional artisan nonetheless.
With all that twisting, turning, occasional bludgening and stabbing in the finger with a screwdriver, I've come to a certain understanding of how other chaps get some semblance of pride and self-satisfaction out of DIY. I totally dominated those dining chairs. It's a way of exerting control on your environment, I think. In a topsy-turvy turbulent world, where all is unsure and uncertain, there is always crap that needs hammering. Mmm, manly.
Me, I've never felt that need. For me the satisfaction is in building the metaphysical; thoughts and ideas and communities. The intellectual alan key is the tool of my trade. I collect nice words and phrases and images like my dad collects spare screws and buttons and batteries in his little boxes in the attic. Crafting a tight piece of writing, sculpting some modicum of emotion out of my own experience and personality - that's where it's at. I might be a wuss because I can't saw, bash or fashion, but I am an occasional artisan nonetheless.
Isn't life tough?
Just everything. Old people always say that young people have it easy, but I think old people had it much easier. Sure, I didn’t have to walk 14 miles to school in my bare feet through a particularly harsh volcanic region, but then neither did anyone I’ve ever met.
I think young people have it tough. The pressure of achievement, early success, finding love, settling down, doing well in your exams, finding a career, buying stuff, wearing stuff, doing it right, saying it right. You’ve got to be seen and not heard, pipe up, have your say, you’ve got to make decision after decision after decision. I’m not saying I like the idea, but when old people were young life had a certain flow – you moved through life to the beat of society’s drum, your cards were dealt for you.
There’s been an astonishing change in the fluidity of life even since my parents were my age – I am more mobile than any of my ancestors, the world is my oyster. (I’ve never really understood that saying – oysters aren’t very big and the thought of eating one makes me feel sick. Is the seldom prospect of turning up a pearl the apposite image here?) Which is great, but with great power comes great responsibility.
Old people like to think they had it hard, but that just puts more pressure on us young ‘uns to play it more cool. Life’s tough.
I think young people have it tough. The pressure of achievement, early success, finding love, settling down, doing well in your exams, finding a career, buying stuff, wearing stuff, doing it right, saying it right. You’ve got to be seen and not heard, pipe up, have your say, you’ve got to make decision after decision after decision. I’m not saying I like the idea, but when old people were young life had a certain flow – you moved through life to the beat of society’s drum, your cards were dealt for you.
There’s been an astonishing change in the fluidity of life even since my parents were my age – I am more mobile than any of my ancestors, the world is my oyster. (I’ve never really understood that saying – oysters aren’t very big and the thought of eating one makes me feel sick. Is the seldom prospect of turning up a pearl the apposite image here?) Which is great, but with great power comes great responsibility.
Old people like to think they had it hard, but that just puts more pressure on us young ‘uns to play it more cool. Life’s tough.
Friday, 9 April 2010
I have nothing to say, but I'll say it anyway.
I guess that’s just my style. I went to bed last night a little early, fully intending to get some stuff down on pixels to blog about. It never happened – I spent several hours going through Pop Justice until I realised night time was supposed to be sleepy time, not...I can’t think of anything to finish that strained sentence. Time spent on the internet looking at caustic websites at any rate.
And now I have nothing to say. People say you should sleep on it, but if I sleep on it I’ll never remember it – if I think of something I want to write about and I don’t get it down quickly enough it just evaporates. My thoughts have a half life of about three seconds, by the time minutes have gone by I’m left vacant and alone.
But then this is what I like about blogging – even saying nothing is valid plumbable depths.
And now I have nothing to say. People say you should sleep on it, but if I sleep on it I’ll never remember it – if I think of something I want to write about and I don’t get it down quickly enough it just evaporates. My thoughts have a half life of about three seconds, by the time minutes have gone by I’m left vacant and alone.
But then this is what I like about blogging – even saying nothing is valid plumbable depths.
Thursday, 8 April 2010
Looking at ducks.
I must apologise – speaking to Carolyn the other day she was complaining that she had to look at a duck for an entire week. Clearly ducks are my version of the test card. Weren’t they sinister? Some clearly mental girl talking to a freaky little clown thing, lots of colours and chequered boxes. Nowadays they’d have something bright orange with ‘please ignore, this is a test’.
I keep getting emails through that are completely blank apart from ‘this is a test email, please ignore’. Well, what? It is completely impossible to ignore something that comes in the form of something that has to be read. Emails are inherently noticeable, they’re not cobwebs in the corner of your room or Paul McCartney’s last album.
Why do people make a fuss and then tell you to ignore it, as if you could? It’s like when someone does a huge fart and then says sorry straight away, as if it has to be OK because they’ve said sorry and them’s the rules.
Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’ve shot your dog.
I keep getting emails through that are completely blank apart from ‘this is a test email, please ignore’. Well, what? It is completely impossible to ignore something that comes in the form of something that has to be read. Emails are inherently noticeable, they’re not cobwebs in the corner of your room or Paul McCartney’s last album.
Why do people make a fuss and then tell you to ignore it, as if you could? It’s like when someone does a huge fart and then says sorry straight away, as if it has to be OK because they’ve said sorry and them’s the rules.
Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’ve shot your dog.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
The bit where I hated myself.
Seriously – my April Fool’s Day post might have read like a whimsical live blog, but that was the worst evening of my life...a kind of truculent suicide descended upon me as I realise that I had been driving around the edge of London in the wrong direction. The German translation of the second Bridget Jones film (On the Edge of Reason) is Am Rande des Wahnsinns – on the edge of craziness. That’s where I was, driving on the edge of craziness. When I ended up in the right direction but slipped off onto the M11 without realising I could have driven into a tree and ended it right there. I wanted to stop on the hard shoulder and lie face down in the grass until the police came along and peeled me away.
I shall probably look back on that evening as my lowest ebb, the point at which my spirit sank to depths I couldn’t possibly reach again. I certainly reached roads I couldn’t reach again. Motorism is a depressing business in this country, it’s not the most mellifluous activity, what with all the roadworks and delays and jams and pickles that are thrown in your way.
Drivers are the most oppressed people in society, I think – tax to hell and back and no thanks. The country runs on the pounds and pounds of tax I hand over every time I fill my car. It’s justified by all that environmental bollocks, but none of it goes to helping out mother nature, it goes to bailing out mister Darling. It’s quease-making when you stand in a petrol station queue and realise quite how much money (that’s already been taxed when you earned it, remember) you’re forking over to the Treasury.
Life is tough enough these days, they ought to make things easier. Most motorway journeys take more than half an hour – they should put up a big screen every 100m and show episodes of Fawlty Towers on a loop, putting the sound out on an FM signal. It would have made my 1 April much more bearable.
I shall probably look back on that evening as my lowest ebb, the point at which my spirit sank to depths I couldn’t possibly reach again. I certainly reached roads I couldn’t reach again. Motorism is a depressing business in this country, it’s not the most mellifluous activity, what with all the roadworks and delays and jams and pickles that are thrown in your way.
Drivers are the most oppressed people in society, I think – tax to hell and back and no thanks. The country runs on the pounds and pounds of tax I hand over every time I fill my car. It’s justified by all that environmental bollocks, but none of it goes to helping out mother nature, it goes to bailing out mister Darling. It’s quease-making when you stand in a petrol station queue and realise quite how much money (that’s already been taxed when you earned it, remember) you’re forking over to the Treasury.
Life is tough enough these days, they ought to make things easier. Most motorway journeys take more than half an hour – they should put up a big screen every 100m and show episodes of Fawlty Towers on a loop, putting the sound out on an FM signal. It would have made my 1 April much more bearable.
Thursday, 1 April 2010
Live blog: I drive somewhere.
11.19pm: Sodding hell, I'm home. Six hours after setting off. This was the worst journey ever. And I'm the guy who once took 8 hours to get from Coventry to Bangor on my scooter because I got lost in Telford. Eurgh - Zoomy, you're right - thus is exactly why you shouldn't drive. I think I would actually have been quicker walking from London. Anyway, that's it for live blogging - join me next week for 'breakfast - live!'.
9.35pm: So. Still going. Wasn't helped by the fact I came out of the services and went the wrong way for 28 miles. Plus eight miles up the M11 when I got confused at the roadworks. Now there's gridlock on the M1. I'll never get home.
8.11pm: Yes, I expect to get off the M25 any hour now. The weather is holding up, incidentally. Aside from a spot of rain, a considerable amount of standing water at the Dartford Toll and the perky cold, the weather has been lovely.
7.31pm: I hear a senior cabinet minister has just said something to the BBC that has nothing to do with this live blog, but we do need some intrigue. Interesting fact: I spilled some petrol on my coat sleeve at Tesco earlier and it stank the car out.
7.23pm: As if a traffic jam wasn't quite bad enough, the soul-destroying glare of a service station. It always takes five goes before you find a habitable cubicle, and even then it looks like a Rolling Stone's hotel room. Shit smeared about and stuff hanging off the walks. Someone's had fun in here. Then they make you choose between a Burger King or a KFC. The thing about the lesser of two evils is they're still both evils.
7:14pm: I have travelled 46 miles. I am giving up for a little while because I really need the toilet.
5.31pm: The M25 is gridlocked.
5.16pm: Just filled up with petrol at Tesco. At 117.9p per litre, this is just 2p off 2008's record highs.
5.03pm: If the Guardian can live blog such dullness as "not quite the election 2010" then how can I possibly avoid charting the tempestuous exploits of my journey back to Coventry after a week in London? I am sat in the car at Foots Cray, which may or may not be in London as it happens - depends who you talk to. I am contemplating the 22 million cars said to be on the road today.
9.35pm: So. Still going. Wasn't helped by the fact I came out of the services and went the wrong way for 28 miles. Plus eight miles up the M11 when I got confused at the roadworks. Now there's gridlock on the M1. I'll never get home.
8.11pm: Yes, I expect to get off the M25 any hour now. The weather is holding up, incidentally. Aside from a spot of rain, a considerable amount of standing water at the Dartford Toll and the perky cold, the weather has been lovely.
7.31pm: I hear a senior cabinet minister has just said something to the BBC that has nothing to do with this live blog, but we do need some intrigue. Interesting fact: I spilled some petrol on my coat sleeve at Tesco earlier and it stank the car out.
7.23pm: As if a traffic jam wasn't quite bad enough, the soul-destroying glare of a service station. It always takes five goes before you find a habitable cubicle, and even then it looks like a Rolling Stone's hotel room. Shit smeared about and stuff hanging off the walks. Someone's had fun in here. Then they make you choose between a Burger King or a KFC. The thing about the lesser of two evils is they're still both evils.
7:14pm: I have travelled 46 miles. I am giving up for a little while because I really need the toilet.
5.31pm: The M25 is gridlocked.
5.16pm: Just filled up with petrol at Tesco. At 117.9p per litre, this is just 2p off 2008's record highs.
5.03pm: If the Guardian can live blog such dullness as "not quite the election 2010" then how can I possibly avoid charting the tempestuous exploits of my journey back to Coventry after a week in London? I am sat in the car at Foots Cray, which may or may not be in London as it happens - depends who you talk to. I am contemplating the 22 million cars said to be on the road today.
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