Bye Jersey

I’m not sure whether it’s the now customary trip to St Catherine’s Bay to see the French Coast across the water, but it always feels like I’m leaving a different country when returning to Bristol.

This morning was rounded off with a walk along the Green Island Bay- the Bay we found this time last year that made us resolve to return here. You have to time it right though- at low tide like this morning- Much of what counts as Jersey is under water at high tide!

Bye Jersey- See you at Easter!

A Brandnew Combine Harvester

Life in the City vs. Life in the country – a survey based on the last 24 hrs:

Interaction with people in the street:
Cardiff – Man and woman, holding hands, belching at each other
Country – Smiling man talking to smiling dog
Cardiff – Woman in clothes 2 sizes too small, white leather boots, spitting in the street
Country – Smiling old ladies saying ‘Good Afternoon’, or ‘Hello’ for no reason

Traffic:
Cardiff – Man parks saab too close to my car, smashes door open into mine because he’s a crap parker
Country – I walk from Yate to Chipping Sodbury, and continue to walk through town then back to the house to enjoy the car and pollution free journey.

Strangers’ Demeanor:
Cardiff – Hard-done-by, chip-on the shoulder, grumpy but hard face.
Country – Smiling faces with skin weathered by the cold.

Conversation:
Cardiff – Moody, guarded and always ready to assume you’re doing something wrong.
Country – Varied, sparkling with ocassional wit.

Okay, so I know I’m being a bit hard on Cardiff. I know every Welshman isn’t like that (I wished farewell to a retiring one today who isn’t at all like that), but this is a fair comparision of my own personal experiences in the last 24hrs.

Vote my Photo

Okay, So it’s been a while since my last post, but please vote for my photo if you haven’t already…

JPG Mag Tourist Competition

Loathsome lousy language louts

Okay, so I grew up in the Oxford – London – Cambridge traingle which means, if I remember correctly from my A-level English lessons, I know how to speak proper. I grew up living in Suffolk, but spent my mid to late teens in Cambridge, meaning I can speak both the language of the farm and of academia with equal dexterity. I don’t really have a Suffolk accent – I wouldn’t, for example, see a man in a field and say ‘look, e’s shewn him a quoo’ (‘look, he is showing him a cow’ for the completely baffled), in the way my nonagenerian grandmother, who’s never left Suffolk, would. I don’t have BBC ‘R.P.’, but I do have a strange Irish habit of beginning sentences in stories with ‘to be fair…’, and an uncanny habit of writing in Hardy-esque back-stitching.

But here’s my whinge. Is it me or is language on the BBC being ‘dumbed down’ and affecting us all. This evening I was watching Children In Need and Fearne Cotton described the atmosphere backstage as ‘quite literally mad’. Now I know she’s hardly a researcher for the Oxford English dictionary, but in what sense was it ‘quite literally mad’? Are people running around in strait-jackets, emulating Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest? Is Sir Terry Wogan nipping backstage, hopping in circles saying ‘wibble’ to himself quietly under his breath?
The Cambridge English Dictionary has a number of possibilities for the word ‘mad’. I know that she meant that it was hectic, that everyone was running around with energy and enthusiasm, but isn’t this ‘metaphorically mad’. People are running around like mad people. It’s not ‘literally’ anything.

It’s not just that. This evening I read the BBC’s Interactice Text News. It’s never the most grammatically inclined journalism. Quite often it’s missing an ‘it’s’, a ‘the’ or ‘they’, or more often than not the actual subject of the sentence (‘today […] went […] on their way’). Today was different. Clearly they had a work experience lad in who was doing something useful like English at University. On BSkyB’s purchase of a large stake in ITV, it was said that it had ‘substantial potential for long term value creation’. Excuse me? You mean it was a good investment, surely? Paid by the word are we? Been subscribing to the Oxford English Dictionary’s ‘Word of the Day’ by RSS Feed perhaps?

Most people are sick to the eye-teeth of people pointing at shops in the street and saying, ‘that should be Green Grocers, not ‘Green Grocer’s‘, or whatever it is, but we let this kind of sloppy language go do we? That special generation of Kylies and Jasons, the children of the late 1980s, will soon be going to University and beginning their essay on Chaucer with the opening line, ‘That Chaucer was just so good, quite literally a genius’. Pepys will become ‘quite literally a good diarist’. Hang on a minute, isn’t that sort of correct? Oh bugger, it’s affecting me already…

Playing the spoon

I’ve been working hard. I’ve been preparing for an audition for a Pro orchestral job. Last night I decided to go and watch the orchestra, partly as a fact-finding mission and partly for a boost in confidence. It was the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto and Elgar 1 (this may be enough info for the more Google-savvy of you to find out where I went, and who I’m auditioning for if you’re interested). It was a weird one though.

I think I entered some sort of ‘Eerie-Indiana’, Bermuda Triangle-type dimension. I’m not sure what first brought it to my attention. The gig was part of a subscription series, but one of those where I’m sure many subscribers ask whether they can subscribe quarterly in case they aren’t around to use the full year. The average age was well-above that of the average stars of Olive Oil adverts, and the ocassional head of hair with colour left in it stood out in the crowd like the last remaining flowers of autumn. This kind of crowd comes with drawbacks. Mostly, you are assured that you’ll get a running-commentary from someone around you. Tonight, my commentary was given by the nasal drone of an elderly chap behind me, with ocassional ‘Oh, she’s doing that now’. What exactly was ‘that’? Which ‘she’???

Soon enough the commentator behind me noted that it was the interval, probably a reaction to the fact that 20% of the audience had already left the hall. Those in the choir seats had an unsual journey though. Shunning the doors beside their seats to the rear of the stage, they chose to walk ‘Bruce’s Price is Right‘-style down the steps and across the stage. It was like watching a Channel 5 version of Supermarket Sweep. In their rush to get to the old-style ice-cream sellers, with tray on string around their necks (think Python Albatross Sketch), they forgot one thing – Let the musicians off first!. There were elderly men in beige and women in Cyan and Magenta crossing paths with violin and horn-wielding musicians in a spectacle more akin of a police motorcycle display team.

Elgar 1 began the second half with an unusual percussive accompaniment – an octagenarian had joined the orchestra. Not the subtle and gentle whispering of the first theme for this universe. Oh no. This has choreography in the form of an elderly gentleman shunning his cushioned seat and gently placing his jacket on a side wall, before jumping backwards to his new-found vantage point. He then carefully removed his ice-cream tub (vanilla I think) and spoon and set-about eating his pudding. I was expecting him to follow this with his usual evening medication, but no, he sucked his fingertips clean – IN THE NOISIEST WAY I HAVE EVER HEARD. He managed to successfully drown out a string section of around 40. I know many of these people are old enough to have personally known Elgar, and yes they probably attended the debut performance, but I mean, he was really loud!

I know at this point I’m in danger of sounding like a musical snob. You’re probably imagining me at home with my Wharfdale and Boise stereo listening to vinyl LP’s through large cushioned headphones (I don’t by the way). I just have this idea that just because you’ve paid £12.50 for a ticket, it doesn’t mean you own the orchestra. They’re not court minstrels anymore. You haven’t hired them as musical entertainment for 100 minutes of an evening. It’s not just for you. These people have worked hard. They’ve trained for years to get good at their profession. They still practice hard to keep their skills up to scratch. They haven’t done that for all this time to be accompanied by an elderly gentleman dressed in a maroon linen suit and navy socks eating his organic low-fat vanilla ice-cream!

11th Hour, 11th Day, 11th Month…

Rememberance Sunday. Every year the media and various official bodies try to argue that it has no relevance to modern people. Even on the day itself, the BBC was reporting that some services were refusing to name those lost in the World War I because it was too long ago. Other councils were reported to be arguing over white vs red poppies, whilst all the time people were focussing on John Snow’s decision not to wear one at all On-Air. Despite this, the country fell silent at 11am on Saturday and again on Sunday.

We watched in our town’s High Street as troops marched to the War Memorial accompanied by pipes and drums. Not just troops of the services and young cadets. The Scouts, Cubs, Brownies, Guides and pupils from the town’s secondary school carried Standards and marched behind them. Most of the town were lining the streets, as the church service was aired over tannoys. The streets, normally lined with twenty-somethings was home to people of all ages. Many sang Amazing Grace with some gusto, and the National Anthem with pride. Across the road a man in Second World War Uniform and handle-bar mustache held on to the pram containing a small child, whilst another with grey Brylcreemed hair carried a bucket for donations.

A few yards away from me two typical youths, complete with ‘Parka’, Quodrophenia-style jacket and a BMX, around 17/18 years of age watched on. With an earring and ‘yob’ haircut, one started to reaffirm my faith in our culture. From behind I expected them to mock. I’m sure in most situations they would. But as the names of those lost to the wars was read out, it noticed he was in his full three-piece suit. He stood, hands only parting from their place in front of his stomach ocasionally to chew his gold-ringed finger as he solemnly looked at the ground in respect. He watched on thoughtfully as primary school children placed wreaths at the foot of the memorial.

Had he lost Grandparents in the Second World War? Or was it more recent, perhaps a relative in Iraq, or one of the other conflicts our fearless leaders, who have never served in an armed force, have gotten us involved in? Whatever the story, I’d have to say that Rememberance Sunday definitely has a relevance today.

This morning and into the afternoon we remembered those lost in previous wars, and the nation, it’s government and Monarch prayed for peace. This evening the news broke that 4 British soldiers were killed in a bomb ambush attack whilst patrolling on a boat in Iraq. Today has relevance, but does it have meaning and power to change things…?

Downloadtastic

In a fit of wild abandon, I’ve been treating myself to a few choice ‘hits’ from Woolworth’s digital download site. They’re things I have on tape, but not on CD (therefore useless in the MP3 world). They were picked largely for their loudness, their sing-along-in-the-carness, and were designed entirely for a road trip tomorrow where I have to get from Bristol to Chester in two and a half hours (be nice to me if you see me Mr Brunstrom!). The thing is, I’m not quite sure what they say about me…

• Velvet Underground – Venus In Furs
• Neil Young – The Needle And The Damage Done
• Neil Young – Hey Hey, My My (Live)
• Lou Reed – Walk On The Wild Side (Live)
• Black Sabbath – Iron Man
• David Bowie – Ziggy Stardust (Original Version)
• David Bowie – Life on Mars
• David Bowie – Changes
• –It Takes a strange turn at this point —
• T-Rex – Get It On (LP Version)
• The Sweet – Ballroom Blitz (from Wayne’s World Days, possibly)
• Slade – Mama Weer All Crazee Now
• Pink Floyd – Corporal Clegg
• Status Quo – Whatever You Want
• Status Quo – Rockin’ All Over The World
• MC Hammer – U Can’t Touch This
• James Brown – I Got You (I Feel Good) (Live)

Update: Stupid crappy website – the Woolworths site crashed whilst sorting out the licences to play the tracks, and now just tells me ‘These tracks are licenced to another PC, you IP has been logged’. Excellent work Woolworths. Still, they hope to respond to my problem in ‘around 72 hours’, so that’s okay then. I’ll just hum and play ‘I-spy’ against myself for two and a half bloody hours then!

[Update: One week on, it’s Friday the 17th, and I’ve been given a refund to go to Tesco with instead]

Choose Murray’s Hair

I wanted a funnier title, but sadly I sat and thought for ages, to no avail.

I’m not much of a sportsman (I’m okay at cycling, Badminton and Tennis, but that’s about it), and I also hate having my hair cut (I hate the mundane chat with people you would never normally talk to), but here was a chance to combine my two favourite pastimes – we get to choose tennis ace, Andy Murray’s New Hairstyle. His online blog/site is giving readers the opportunity to decide what his new ‘do’ should be.

I quite fancy seeing his own attempts being plastered in photos in the press, so I beg you – click this link and choose option 4.

So here it is, Merry Xmas

Everybody’s having fun. Look to the future now, it’s only just begun.

So Monday I was sitting on the beach at Southwold in Suffolk, in a T-shirt watching families eating ice-cream squinting in the light of the full sun. Fast forward to Friday, and I’m in Clinton’s Cards in Bath and trying to find wedding cards in the vast array of Christmas tack, listening to songs about Snowmen. And it’s not just the card shops, who you can almost forgive for touting Christmas a little earlier – it’s their business afterall. No. I went for a nice vanilla latte in Costa Coffee, and here it is again. Musak designed to make me feel festive, to want to snuggle in front of a cozy fire, pinning up my stocking for Santa, decorating the tree, having spent a day spending the Gross Domestic Product of a small West European Country on presents for friends and family.

IT’S NOVEMBER THE 3RD. IT’S NOT BEEN BONFIRE NIGHT YET!!!

Sorry to shout. But really. Surely the men in white coats would be round to ask a few questions if I were seen putting up my tree. I’m sure the local Parish Council would write to me if I put a set of outdoor lights on my roof on November the 3rd, perhaps depicting all the reindeer, and switched them on. Yet I’m supposed to get all festive with my coffee, and start sending my cards – there’s only 52 days to go afterall.

Is there some convention about November the 1st? Some sort of UN-brokered treaty perhaps, about Christmas promotions not starting til November 1st? I woke up this morning and an unsuitably perky ‘Wool’ and ‘Worth’ were ignoring the glorious sunshine coming through the window and singing along to Slade peddling Woolworth’s Christmas offers.

I know there’ll soon be Cadbury Cream Eggs in the shops, but I forgive that because I like them. But please, save Christmas for another few days. But maybe this is what the church wants – a 2 month celebration of the birth of Christ, allowing us time to commemorate the Messiah’s coming by buying complete and utter tack from shops we never go in, for people we rarely see for the rest of the year. Pah! Humbug!

Just to prove I’m not a grumpy old man, may I take this opportunity to wish everybody a Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year. Also a Happy Easter, and Happy Birthday.

Busker Watch

Forget Bill Oddie’s ‘Naval Watch‘, or whatever his latest BBC 2 Programme filmed in a converted shed is, it appears I’ve stumbled upon Busker Watch. My last post showed a Busker-cum-tightrope walker in Bristol (seen here).

Bobbie has commented on the photo that he blogged about the very same guy (at least he certainly looks familiar!) in Brighton in the Summer (Photo here).

Visit the Photo on his Flickr account, and Katy Lindemann has a sighting in a different spot in Brighton (Photo here).

It’s already more interactive than Bill’s Bunyon Watch!