My tip for Matadors

Picture the scene. It’s the hottest day of the year so far, and I’m in Birmingham. I’ve just finished rehearsing the Brahms Clarinet Quintet for a concert in a couple of weeks and I suggest that the lovely Sarah and myself go shopping. Being former Brum residents, we go around the new (for us, anyway) Bullring. For those of you who don’t know, the Bullring is essentially Lakeside in London, or BlueWater in Kent with a party-trick – it manages to be three buildings joined seemlessly underground by tunnels lined with shops, terminating in a rather Gherkin-esque Selfridges store.

But I digress. Like any shopping trip with a member of the opposite sex you end up in clothes stores, endlessly being asked your oppinion of clothes you have no opinion on. Your shopping-partner tells you she has something specific in mind, then proceeds to show you at least a dozen items of clothing ranging from stripey socks to evening dresses, with at least two tops which are entirely the wrong size/shape/colour which are cast aside with the comment, ‘I could never wear that with my hips’.

No matter how positive your comments, no matter how much you ty to sell them, you will have to wait whilst half-a-dozen garments are tried on. So today I found myself waiting in the womenswear department of Next. Why is it they always put the lingerie and bikinis by the fitting rooms? They know men are going to have to stand there on their own. It means we have very little options. If we look around us daydreaming, we look like we’re shopping for lingerie for ourselves. If we look towards the fitting rooms we either look like we’re trying to see strangers changing, or we get told off for ‘eyeing-up’ other women. If we look away into the distance we get told off for not paying attention when our beloved comes out to show us what the new item looked like, even though she’s already decided ‘it’s not the right shape’.

So there I was standing in Next with about 6 men, all staring at their shoes, desperately trying to look enthusiastic, positive and attentive, but in a non-creepy, monogamous way. To my left was the man pretending to text – he’d got it very wrong because we knew he was faking it, and frankly looked like he was taking snapshots of the underwear in front of him. Then there was the blue-collar dad, complete with beige trouser shorts – he was asserting his confidence after years of this kind of thing by leaning with one arm stretched out onto the centre of the underwear stand, but undermined by the way he was staring at his brown suede shoes the entire time. There was the ‘new boyfriend’ – he kept telling his other half how great she looked in everything, so keen to look interested he was almost in the changing rooms but who gave his inexperience away by constantly looking around to see what the other men were doing, or fearful they too were passing judgement on her.

However, I was in awe and admiration of the last guy I saw. He was in a league of his own. His own Premier League of clothes-shop-widowers, men left abandoned in unfamiliar territory. I first saw him walking alone into the fitting rooms with a full-length white linen dress. As did every other man. To our collective relief, or perhaps disappointment, he returned immediately with two white skirts only to return a minute later with a similar white skirt and another in green. This guy knew nothing of the clothes-shop inhibitions men have. He strode boldly across the shop floor with a sense of authority, but to many of us it was like he was walking across water. Wakling across water with flames coming out of a layer of hot coals. It’s just not possible. I myself returned my gaze to my shoes.

So here’s my tip for fellow Matadors stepping into Bullrings across the country, nay the world. Try suggesting these as possible browser bookmarks to your other half:

Next
Selfridges
Debenhams
H&M
TheGap

Where the bears go in the woods

I love the ocassional strange news story, and today is no exception. I give you, the story of the fearless tabby cat in New Jersey who chased a bear up a tree not once but twice!

BBC News: Tabby Cat Terror for Black Bear 

The World’s Best Invention, probably

I spend a lot of time in my car daydreaming during the week. Some of it is useful, some of it is not. Today may just have been the former – you decide.

It’s been a while since the washing machine was invented, 1904 to be precise, although it wasn’t until 1951 that the first automatic washing machine came about (it never ceases to amaze me what you find on the internet – The history of washing machines!). Then Dry cleaning took off, as one franchise-offering company states:

“…the tremendous growth the dry-cleaning industry has enjoyed for the past 20 years…”

Dry cleaning is good because you’re clothes come back clean and ironed, but bad because it’s expensive and needs big machinary. Some companies are going overboard trying to create crease-free fabrics, other fashion houses are trying to convince us the in way of wearing clothes is creased. Then, my brain thought, the clothes only get creased because the clothes get all crumpled up going round in circles in the washing machine. How about either: a) a washing machine that sprays water etc onto your clothes whilst they are hung up (you could have a cupboard in your house converted into a shower-cubical-esque magic washing machine that dries too!), or b) a waching machine where clothes go in neatly folded, one garment on top of the other like a magazine rack.

Genius, thought my brain, that could make me rich. It’s filed in my head next to wheelchairs for kids that have caterpillar tracks like tanks so that they can go cross-country or onto the beach.

Genius. Don’t go stealing my ideas now.

PS. My idea became wobbly when I discovered that the dry-cleaner was actually invented in 1825 using technology from the early 18th century!

BAA – Si Senora?

A comment on the BBC News website about the takeover of BAA, which runs most of Britain’s airports, by a Spanish building firm:

Blair is dismantling Britain and selling us out.
Peter Barry, Yeovil, United Kingdom

I love the image. A grinning Blair boxing up Westminster heirlooms to flog on ebay, before setting up the table he uses for wall-papering in some Essex field to sell of parts of Yorkshire to buyers at a carboot sale.

Again, I apologise for my generation – we voted the Labour party in because we’d only grown up under Thatcher and Major. We thought we were going to achieve what our hippy parents had dreamed of – a new revolution. We were wrong. They’re all the same – just more modern suits and haircuts.

The Voles in the Willows

This morning’s BBC news told another tale of woe – apparently Britain’s Vole population is in dangerous decline. Descriptions of the childrens’ stories, The wind in the willows, without vole were presented to us as a way of making the situation seem more emotionally charged.

I’m not pro- or anti- animal testing. I hate cruelty to animals at all levels, but then I would also hate to watch another human in agony which could be relieved if only the miracle drug could get clearance for use. Yes, laboratory testing is cruel, but given the many war refugees, famines, floods and genocide around the world, its easy to see a wider perspective on the world. I can’t help being glad, for example, that Amnesty International ‘s current campaigns involve writing letters to countries about Arms Control, Violience against women, refugees, the death penalty and freeing unjust prisoners rather than harassing scientists who are trying to cure cancer.

Why give my views on this? One of the reasons the vole is in decline is because the food chain has been suffering from an influx of mink and rats, caused by animal rights protestors releasing former lab animals into the wild. I guess the animals have rights, but maybe we should set up a lobbying group to press the mink and rats to find alternative tastes…

The Race For Life

On Sunday I, along with doubtless thousands of other men across the country, went to watch and support the runners in this year’s ‘Race for Life’. In particular, I went to support the lovely Sarah. The 5k run (3.2 miles) saw women running to raise money for Cancer Research. With it’s backdrop of ‘chic-flic’ pop (Charlotte Chuch, Joss Stone etc.), it ran a course around Cooper’s Field, across the Taff and through the park in the centre of Cardiff.

The runners each had an opportunity to put names of people they were running for on their backs, with an array of “nana’s” and “Aunty such-and-such”. Each was personal and touching, but the most moving by far for me was the small girl running, according to her top, ‘for Kylie Minogue’. It’s said that everyone knows at least one person affected by Cancer, but this girl had been educated about it through one of her idols.

One last thing. Although it involved making a further donation to a great cause, I’m pleased to say that Sarah ran the whole thing!

Dyrham Park

Some picture from Dyrham Park, near Bath. More at Flickr.

The Single Market

Earlier this week I travelled to Manchester then Leeds and back again. I know it’s not far in relation to Continental or International travel, but it was still a long way to drive.

Overheard in front of me at the Costa-Coffee-clone queue at Hilton Park Services:

Brummy Barista: Hiya. How can I help ya?
Man in Red Top: Er…hello…
BB: Smiles, worriedly
RT: You have…er…*Taps head*
—Awkward Pause—
RT: *Taps head again with fist*
BB: You’re a coach driver?
RT: Um…*Opens fist above head repeatedly*
BB: You want to pay with these? *Holds up coach driver vouchers*
RT: *Continues his mime*
BB: Sorry, I don’t understand. *Turns and asks me what I want*
Man who’s just been served: Hi. You’re a lorry driver?
RT: Yes. Yes. *mimes again*
MWJBS: You want a shower? Miss, is there a shower here?
BB: Er…no…we don’t have those here…
RT: *Walks off to get coffee from McDonalds*

Europe’s a big place, and we’re one big happy family now. The media constantly talks about how much businesses see Europe as one big town, but if you can’t even get a coffee????

My faith in people was about to be lost, but thanks to that unknown motorcyclist at the front of the queue it was saved. I’m sure anywhere else, our European traveller would have spoken in pidgin French or German and have been understood – I daresay he was baffled by the strong black-country accent he was bombarded with!

PS. A quick look at the Hilton Park website shows they do have showers.

After the Dr visited

“Are you sitting comfortably? Good. Then I’ll begin”

That was the voice of Maureen Lipman, the evil ‘Wire’ in tonight’s Dr Who (which I hope you were all watching) and below is the star of the episode – my street. Not Muswell Hill as they would have us believe, but Cathays in Cardiff. I have to say that the highlight for me was Billie Piper’s opening line, “This isn’t Las Vegas…”!

Below are some of the behind the scenes images on the Dr Who minisite. I have to say though, I enjoyed looking at the ‘behind the scenes’ program, Dr Who Confidential. You can find out what they had to do to ‘dress’ the street from the Location Manager’s videoblog here.

Dr Who – Life on the street

In case you’ve missed the last few posts, I’m quite excited at the prospect of my street being on Dr Who tomorrow. For the last few weeks, my pupils have not stopped asking me when it’s going to be on. It’s a strange thing, the street means nothing to them, yet it’s something real for them, something they know exists for real, to see on the tv – that’s quite a big thing for 9 year-olds.

Yet it’s come with some sadness. Yesterday, our landlord’s brother came to sort view the new water-feature that’s sprouted in the ceiling of our living room. His solution? 3 small holes to channel the water into a bucket whenever we put the central heating on. The thing is, the whole house needs to be gutted and refurbished for various reasons, preferably by the late summer. We’ve been on about moving by then, and so he feels there’s probably little point in fixing things anymore if everything’s going to be put into a skip.

So there you have it. Tomorrow we’ll watch Dr Who, proudly seeing our home on the television screen, but with the sad knowledge that very shortly we’ll have to leave for pastures (probably even countries) new…