Credit Where It's Due

As you've no doubt noticed, there's a tendency on TV nowadays to talk over the closing credits, or distract from it in other ways.

I know this has been going on the USA for some time (I saw an episode of Seinfeld where the closing action was reduced to about 2/3 of the screen whilst some other gubbins scrolled along the bottom of the screen - even as the closing credits for Seinfeld were running on the 'inset', thus forcing the viewer to look at one or the other), but this sort of thing's moderately new to the UK.

It's used to varying degrees - BBC1, ITV and Five are pretty happy to do it, cheerfully talking over the closing titles of almost any programme with closing credits, though BBC2 and Channel 4 seem a tad more hesitant, especially with films. Equity kicked up a fuss about the 'squashing' of credits a few years ago (2003, I think it was), on the grounds that the small type made it impossible for actors and other cast and crew members to be identified, and that they were thus losing out on work. Not entirely sure that this argument holds up on a practical level in these internet days, but I can see what they're driving at.

The argument that TV channels make about trimming, slicing, squashing or otherwise diminishing the closing credits, as I understand it, goes something like this: in tests, an overwhelming majority of people polled (something like 60% or more) were found to start turning over once the credits started rolling. The argument thus goes that the channel needs to act to capture the audience's attention and keep them watching - hence the inserted clips from the programme coming next, or a voice-over to tell you what's following, or even a clip from the following episode of the show you've just watched to remind you when next it's on.

Now, at the risk of creating a straw man in terms of this subject, I have to say that I've never found any of the arguments at all compelling; in these Sky and Digital days (with the latter set to become mandatory over the next decade or so*), it's never been easier to find out what's on and coming next on any given channel (with an onscreen guide at the flick of a button), or to find out when the next episode of a programme is. So I don't buy that argument.

Nor am I convinced by the need to show me a clip from the following week's programme - in fact, I find it dispels any sense of drama. If I see that Doctor Gregory House has tripped over his cane at home and cracked his head on the lino and has passed out with nobody to help him, that's a cliffhanger that'll draw me back. I don't want to then be given a forty-second edit of the next episode in which House is clearly up and about and doing fine. It defeats the purpose of having such an element to the script, and as one who dabbles with words myself, I can only imagine how annoying it must be for the writers involved to find that someone at the TV channel feels that they have better instincts about drama than they do.

Okay, so I've loaded that example rather by referring to a US show (bear in mind my comments about this being more prevalent in the USA), but it still holds true for Casualty, The Bill, and many other drama series on UK TV. In fact, on Tuesday night, at the end of EastEnders on BBC1, unless I'm very much mistaken, they showed a clip from Thursday's episode of the series, and reminded the viewer that it was on again on Thursday night.

Now, to me, this seems to be extracting the urine at a very high level. EastEnders has - with very few exceptions - been on Tuesday and Thursday since its inception a couple of decades ago, so it's not going to be a surprise to anyone watching it on Tuesday that it'll be on Thursday as well. The trailer did nothing to let the viewer know what was on next on BBC1, and as well as ignoring the work put into the episode (that is, in trying to draw back the viewer with a wish to know more) by the crew, it effectively patronised the viewer by telling them something they almost certainly knew already.

I have to say that I don't care for the whole 'squeezing' of credits and the like, mainly because it just looks tacky and rating-grabbing, but also because it seems to be symptomatic of the whole 'building a brand' nonsense which means that programmes on the BBC have their logo stamped on the titles at some point. The thing that gets me about all this is - and I've said it before and will no doubt say it again - 'building a brand' is not simply flogging stuff. To be truly involved in building a brand, you have to do the legwork, and actually create stuff from scratch. Just slapping logos (oh, sorry, I mean 'Digital Onscreen Graphics') and trailers and voice-overs and other attempts to keep my attention is not 'building' anything, it's just selling something that already exists.

And perhaps it's my contrary way, but the more someone tries to sell something to me, the more I feel the urge to take my time, attention and money elsewhere. The solution, to my mind, would be to make the viewing available so absolutely riveting that I simply wouldn’t want to turn over. But that take a bit more effort and creative endeavour, doesn’t it ?

*Not because digital will give you a better picture, of course, but because the government has decided to sell off the frequencies. Which is interesting, as it suggests they in some way own them, as opposed to being charged with a duty to look after them. Legally I'd be interested to know what the position is on this sale (as with all the privatisations of the 1980s and 1990s). It has an unsavoury feel of gamekeeper turned poacher about it to me.

Advertising is, of course, an art form in its own right

Is it just my imagination, or..?

(No) Good Advice

I saw this poster outside a running-related exhibition.

Now, I know it's talking about long-distance running, but let's face it, we all know this advice could be applied to most situations in life.

LINK: New and Improved

Well, as promised, I've updated my London Marathon sponsor page, to reflect the fact I've actually done it.

Please go here to sponsor me - it's not too late...

Thanks!

Unoriginal Soundtrack

There’s a lot of fun to be had whilst traveling in London, and my newest hobby is listening to the music which other passengers play through their mobile phones.

Now, some might say that playing mp3s through a speaker half the size of a postage stamp (with all the tinniness of a 1970s transistor radio blaring out Radio 1 on Medium Wave) is rather rude. An intrusion, perhaps, on the private space of other passengers, challenging them to say something and risk making a scene.

I disagree. It’s free music – plus, you have to conclude that the person playing the music, doesn’t think it’s a tube or bus journey, oh no, uh-uh. Your trip, obviously, is a music video. Yes, all the other passengers are extras in the drama of their lives, and so it needs a soundtrack.

There is, of course, a bit of a worry in that much of this music is utterly inappropriate to travelling – most of it’s hip-hop or R&B, in my experience – which rather suggests that the player of the music is perhaps trying to do too much, and even attempting to change their whole environment.

You see, most of the videos accompanying these songs take place at dimly-lit parties in spacious homes, on beaches where thong-wearing women shake their booty, or in clubs with migraine-inducing lightshows and glass-topped bars. Those are just examples, but my point is: these videos rarely take place on public transport.

Granted, some of them feature open-topped cars or limousines cruising along the streets, but they are – correct me if I’m wrong – not set on the number 30 bus, or a Northern Line tube. So playing the soundtrack to suggest that you see the bus journey as something from 50 Cent’s film, or a Jay-Z video, is a bit off the mark, isn’t it ?

In fact, it’s a bit delusional really, and I do rather worry that by playing music which doesn’t even vaguely match with the immediate setting, these folks might (even subconsciously) make themselves aware of how their life isn’t actually at all like that of their musical idols. And that might make them feel a little sad.

Then again, the vast majority of other passengers had probably already concluded that these phone-toting folks were pretty sad anyway, though for rather different reasons.

Other Intelligent Magazines Are Available

If you can't get enough of my wordsmithing, you might want to make your way to a newsagent and buy the latest edition of the Fortean Times (issue 223, coverdate June 2007), in which I have a review published on page 62.

No, I'm not going to tell you what I'm reviewing, you'll have to buy the magazine to find out. Not that you'll find that a punitive thing, it's always a good read.

Girls Who Love Boys Who Do Boys Who Think Stray Thoughts

1. Given their output and its success, it occurs to me that the TV production company Kudos might well be the modern equivalent of ITC. Whaddaya think?

2. Bored? Then why not recite the opening chant of Toni Basil's 'Mickey'over the start of Avril Lavigne's new single 'Girlfriend'? I think you'll find it a perfect match, though I'm not necessarily saying it's an ideal use of your time.

3. Very frighteningly, the Home Secretary has warned that the UK could be subject to an electrical attack from terrorists. No more details appeared to be forthcoming, but as the reference was made in a speech in which he justified the budget for the Home Office, I'm sure it was honest and true and not just scaremongering. In fact, thinking about it, I distinctly recall watching a documentary about just such an attack being launched on London,which gave more detail about the mechanics of an electrical attack than the Home Secretary. The documentary, I seem to recall, was called Goldeneye.

4. Quite a lot of reviews of the new series of Peep Show (currently running on Channel 4) have referred to it being tainted by the advertisements which the stars did for Apple computers. I've seen a couple of billboard posters for these, but as they have a web address at the bottom, and I'm not willing to actually do the advertisers' work for them, I haven't seen any of the ads. And nor am I interested in seeing them (though I gather they run as cinema adverts as well, but generally I try to avoid adverts as much as possible). Consequently, my viewing of Peep Show (which I like a lot) is unaffected by knowledge of the cast's work in adverts. A little knowledge is indeed a dangerous thing, it seems, or at least a fun-spoiling thing. And incidentally, I didn't see as much scorn poured on Olivia 'Sophie in Peep Show' Colman for her role in the AA adverts a couple of years ago... but perhaps some kind of chivalry is at work here? How gallant.

5. I'm sure many of you want to audition to be a new member of the PussycatDolls. Well, here is the form for you to enter the reality show to do so. Good luck in becoming a member of their poledanci- er, I mean burlesque group.

6. The Columbine shootings, of course, were the fault of Marilyn Manson. The film Old Boy was to blame for the Virginia Tech killings, apparently. Certainly easier to blame music and film for it, rather than face the more complicated possibility that lax gun control and a diminished sense of community and social responsibility might be involved. And here, Christopher Hitchens shows a restraint and objectivity about the event which is as welcome to me as it is absent from the general reporting and reaction. A terrible thing to have happened, but it is not made any better by thinking at anything less than our highest level of intelligence about it. Indeed, that's just the sort of thinking which is needed to prevent it happening again.

7. And of course the UK entry for the Eurovision Song Contest this year won't win. The song by Scooch is such a cynically deliberate attempt to play up the camp cheesiness which has become 'ironically' associated with Eurovision in recent years, it deserves to get slated, or better ignored.Particularly since last year's winner was so utterly unlikely (and, let's be fair, did rock a fair bit), and unlike a typical Eurovision song. Pah. It's Jemini all over again, isn't it ?

REVIEW: Avenue Q

This musical's been running in London for about eight months now, I think, since crossing the Atlantic. As long-time readers of the blog may recall, I have an aversion to musicals, though this has been rather diluted by positive experiences in recent times...

...and Avenue Q was another good musical. Touted as South Park meets Sesame Street, it's the frankly silly tale of a puppet called Princeton moving onto the titular (stop that, it's a real word) street, where he meets other puppets such as Kate Monster and the Bad Idea Bears (their motto: "More drinks! More fun! Yaaaay!"), and humans including Gary Coleman (yes, he of Diff'rent Strokes fame, though not played by the real chap). And that's pretty much it in terms of plot, really.

Which isn't a problem at all, it rolls along cheerfully with songs called 'Everyone's A Little Bit Racist Sometimes' and 'The Internet Is For Porn',and a lot of jokes, and even the odd dance number, not to mention a frankly torrid bedroom scene featuring two of the puppets. It's a lot of fun, and technically a hell of an achievement as well - the puppeteers are also the voice performers, with several of them playing multiple characters, which sometimes means that there are scenes where they're having conversations with themselves, but this just makes it all the more impressive, to my mind.

The songs are amusing, and they're well sung, and the interaction between the characters and puppeteers alike is frequently very funny indeed (once or twice I think they were laughing themselves).They're currently running a weeknight deal on tickets for the show, with prices as low as £10. We had these tickets, and they bumped us up to the Stalls, which meant we had a great view, probably one that should have cost three times as much, and who's to say that isn't likely to happen to you? Could well be the case, and certainly worth the gamble, I'd say.

In case it isn't clear yet, Avenue Q is a good night out, and I highly recommend it.

London Marathon 2007

So, then, this is what I've been going on about for months. It took place last Sunday (22 April). This is going to be a fairly self-indulgent and lengthy post, really, so be prepared.

It was, as you may well know, the hottest London Marathon in its history,and apparently over 5000 people needed treatment by the medical folk on the route, but I was lucky in that I didn't need a stretcher or anything like that. I was rather lacking a stretch, though - all right, I'll explain.

As you may well know, I live in East London, so it shouldn't have been a problem to get to Greenwich. It was, though, as the DLR broke down and was suspended - as this press release concedes, though I'd dispute the claim staff were on hand to help, they were notably absent at Canary Wharf.

Anyway, I, like many other people, had to go to another station and get another train, all of which ate up my cleverly-and-indeed-thankfully-included extra time, and so I arrived at the park in Greenwich at about 9.40, five minutes before the start.

I pinned on my race number 43842 (for just one day I was not a free man, I was a number), slung my kit bag onto the truck allocated to take it to the finishing line (handy), and started to make my way towards the Red Starting line. It was, by then, gone 9.45, and so I had to join the end of the crowds without time for a proper stretch. Yes, that was bright.

Anyway, I got under way at a steady old pace, and was chugging along okay -quite emotional over London Bridge (doesn't matter how often I see the landmarks of this city, they always fill me with a childlike glee), and even felt all right at the point where the course loops back on itself and you take the psychological hit of seeing runners coming the other way, knowing they're about eight miles ahead of you (rather demotivating, so I tried to look away).

As I drew close to Canary Wharf, though, I ... well, I guess I hit 'the wall', though it felt more like a blood sugar crash (prior to training for the London Marathon, a frequent occurrence in my life, after breakfasts of waffles and maple syrup), so I stopped running, and walked a bit. Still pretty speedy walking, and I wasn't breaking either of my rules for distance running (no stopping, no slashing).

I'd completed the half-Marathon in March in just under 2.5 hours (and that involved running in strong wind and hail), so thought that I should be able to complete the full thing in something like five hours at most. Maybe it wasthe heat, maybe the walking wasn't as fast as I thought, but as I came past the Tower of London on the home-ish stretch, it was well over five hours,and obvious to me that I'd have to get a move on to finish in under six hours. Hmph, but better than not completing at all - a reality for many runners who I saw being helped by the St John's Ambulance people. So I tried to get a move on.

And get a bit of a move on I did, past the ever-increasing crowds (whose shouts of encouragement to others made me wish I'd had room to put my name on the front of my running vest as opposed to the back), through the frankly surreal Blackfriars Underpass, where the hundreds (thousands?) of discarded Lucozade Sport sachets created a weird grotto-like underlighting, and on to the Embankment, along to Big Ben.

I'd been listening to comedy stuff most of the way round - a good distraction from niggles and twinges and the lazy voice at the back of thehead reminding me of how I don't actually HAVE to run a marathon - but as I came to the Houses of Parliament, I pressed the button on my music player to switch on my favourite running accompaniment: 'Two Tribes' by Frankie Goes To Hollywood (the Annihilation Mix, I think), and I got my second wind.Well, 79th wind, maybe, but you know what I mean.

And so I chugged round the last mile or two at a good pace, even overtaking some people, which was a bit of a boost for my ego, and then I turned the corner in front of Buck House and saw the Finishing line, about 200m ahead of me. It's often hardest when the end is in sight, and this certainly felt like the case here, and the last few weary steps felt a bit like that thing in dreams where you're trying to run away but can't, but I knew I was moving as I could see it on the big screens by the side of the Finish.

Then I was over the line, and they removed my timing chip (it was laced onto my shoe, and means they can track when I passed the start and finish lines) and gave me a medal and a goody bag and then I realised that oh my goodness me I really had done the London Marathon. A full third slower than I'd hoped, but it was done nonetheless, and I felt really rather emotional about the whole thing. Which had taken me 5 hours and 52 mins. Crikey.

And then the love of my life met me in the Runners Meet and Greet Area and hugged me and kissed me and said she was proud of me and took me home for a cup of tea and a large slice of chocolate cake which she'd made specially...but that's a tale for another time, if ever.

So, in short order, the smiley and frowny aspects:

SMILEY

• Finishing it. Growing up, I was more cerebral than physical (not that you'd know from my online nonsense), and so running the London Marathon is something I would not have foreseen myself doing. So that's one in the eye for my past self, or something.
• Not getting seriously injured or anything like that - sunburn on my forehead, yes, and some definite chafing of my thighs, but my nipples remained resolutely un-frictioned.
• Finishing, I later found out, mere seconds behind Floella Benjamin,one of my childhood TV icons. Didn't see her, didn't talk to her, didn't even know about it until the next day, but it amused me nonetheless.
• The atmosphere. The cliché is true, it's a very jolly event, with people lining the route, and music blaring from pubs and bands by the side of the road.
• The woman who was in front of me for several miles having her name on her T-shirt, and that name being the same as that of my beloved, so that members of the crowd would shout out her name, and remind me of who was waiting for me at the end of it.
• My friend Chris running alongside me for 200 yards when I failed to spot him and his family. Oops, but it was great to have a familiar face keep pace with me. Thanks, matey!
• The medal. It's a sturdy thing, and something for the grandkids to flog on eBay when I'm wormfood.
• The chap dressed as Indiana Jones who was being 'pursued' by a boulder all the way round. I saw him and wondered if it was some kind of reverse Sisyphus thing (see, even at 20-odd miles my mythological knowledge remains as good as that of ... er, Indiana Jones), and then realised what it was. Very classy.
• The lady in the crowd who handed me three jelly babies just at the time I needed it most - when my blood sugar levels had dropped like a stone.What a nice sort she was.
• The kids in the crowd who stuck out their hands to be 'high-fived'by passing runners. Even, to my great and utterly immature amusement, by the man running for a leprosy charity.
• The priest outside the Catholic church in Greenwich who sprinkled water on us as we passed by. I resisted the temptation to fall to my knees, screaming 'aaaaaarrrgh! Curse you, Nazarene!', as he was smiling in a frankly chummy fashion.
• St John's Ambulance folks for being there when needed. Not by me,but every time I passed a prone person on a stretcher under a space blanket,I knew that it could easily have been me...

FROWNY

• The chap who died shortly after completing the Marathon. Young man,and a fitness instructor, I hear, which must have meant it was even more of a shock for his family. That is very nasty.
• DLR, obviously, for screwing up on the day as they did. Doesn't bode well for the Olympics, does it?
• Taking as long as I did. Ah well.
• The bloke carrying round a cross. Just plain creepy, I felt - and I think having bottles of water strapped to the underside of the horizontal bar rather undermined the point, to be honest.
• On which theme, the people outside churches who were shouting at us as we passed by. I think they were exhorting us to stop, and redirect our efforts towards God, or something. Which made me wonder why they didn't stop shouting at strangers and go and help in a soup kitchen or something, but there you go.
• Discovering - the next day - that I'd been slower than Nell McAndrew. I'd been expecting that, as she's a known runner, but I was slower than Nell when she was running the Marathon WITH HER MUM. A good 20 minutes slower than them, I gather. Boy, that looks bad, doesn't it ?
• Realising from the T-shirts of my fellow runners just how many charities there are. I can't help but wish there were fewer charities because they were not needed...

Which brings me to the inevitable end point of this entry, and one you're probably sick of me making by now, oh good and faithful readers, but I think you'll understand if I say it once more with feeling: if you haven't yet sponsored me for the Marathon, please, PLEASE think about doing so - there's a totaliser (like on Blue Peter) on the right hand side of this page, and if you click on it you can go straight to my sponsor page (which I'll see if I can update to reflect the fact that I've completed it), which is all safe and secure and saves me hassling you for money in person.

If you need proof I did it, of course, drop me a line at therunningman@johnsoanes.co.uk, and I'll be happy to send you a thumbnail of me with the medal, just after I'd crossed the finishing line. But do be aware that such a request does mean you have to sponsor me at least £10, for doubting me in such a cruel and hurtful way. Sniff.

So, don't make me cry - sponsor me.... Ta!

A LINK to a REVIEW

Not often I get to use two of my self-created categories in one post title, but anyway, this is a review I did recently for Waterstones.

They sent me the book free, and I got to keep it, which rather made me feel I could have been more positive about the book, but that would have been dishonest. I'm not scathing about the book, but as you can tell, it's not something I recommend you bother with.

LINKS: Superman and Super-Soldier

Superman died in 1993. Kryptonite is discovered in 2007. Surely some mistake?

Captain America died in 2007. But was arrested shortly thereafter. Shurely shome mishtake?

He's Alive! He's Not Dead! Alive? Yes! Dead? No! He's A-live!*

Yes, it HAS been a while, hasn't it?

Still, I have lots of reasons - the main ones being that I was out of the country for some time, and thus away from the keyboard, and the other being the last session of the marathon training, which I like to think was narratively foreshadowed by the incessant references to it here, so please don't pretend to be surprised.

So, the break is over, and as I should now - at least in theory - find myself with a bit more spare time on my hands, I'll see about posting more often.
Therefore, a deep breath... hold ... and onwards.

*With apologies to Chris Morris and the DTI

Not nice to see you, it seems

Now, I appreciate that not everyone cares for the talents of Bruce Forsyth, but this sign near Hyde Park does seem a bit heavy-handed.

Only connect (or in this case, hyperlink)

Over at Toast and Honey, Olivia’s done a very good job of summarizing two – one, two – arguments currently being put forward about modern literature.

To be honest, I think both sides have some merit, but in the spirit of this blog’s new-found commitment to the funny, I offer the following jape about the nature of modern writing (caution, contains language and ideas of a frankly immature and simplistic nature):

Interviewer: So, you’re a modern novelist. What does that mean in terms of your average day?
Writer: My day? Well, to give an example, I spent most of this morning wrestling with my novel, about a novelist who’s writing a book about a novelist with writer’s block. And this afternoon… well, to be honest, I spent most of the afternoon beating myself off.
Interviewer: Tell me, how are you able to distinguish between those two activities?

…Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, I’m here until Sunday. Don’t forget to tip the bar staff.

Down with the music of today

As one who, despite being over 30, prides himself on being very much down with the kids and all the music that they love so much, I try to make sure I keep up with what's new and happening. Yes I do, stop giggling. I'm not a total square, you know - why, I even know that Top of the Pops isn't on a Friday night any more. See? Not so out of date after all.

Anyway, this means that I often sit in my favourite armchair, puffing on my pipe and wearing my comfiest slippers as I watch MTV Base (I jest, of course - smoking's a filthy habit). And whilst watching large numbers of music 'vidz' (as I believe the kidz tend to call them), I've noted certain recurring themes in many of the songs.

And so, for those of you out there who don't have the time to watch youth television because you're too tired, too square, or just too busy watching nature documentaries and home makeover shows, I've compiled the following list, which summarises the categories into which the vast majority of popular songs now tend to fall.

(Please note that I'm talking here about hip-hop and R'n'B. I find much urban music to be delightfully urbane, and unlike many of my contemporaries, a little bump 'n' grind doesn't make me grind my teeth.)

The categories are as follows:

1. "I'm Best". Usually a male performer, who is at great pains to tell me about his finances, his car, his preferred brand of champagne, and his success with women. Frequently threatening various kinds of violence (such as "poppin' a cap in my ass") should I disagree, he seems very certain about his status - and good for him, I say. So few people are sure of their place in the world nowadays. Despite often performing in a street setting, he does not feel the need to close his shirt, instead preferring to show off his stomach muscles, and possibly a large pendant-style jewellery item of some sort.
2. "We're going to do it". Again, invariably a male artist, and one who informs the listener about the physical activities he intends to enjoy with, presumably, a woman. He's in no doubt about his attractiveness - perhaps it's this confidence which the woman in question finds so appealing - and (occasionally using very strong language) he promises to maintain this 'freaking' all night long. What an energetic fellow he is. And they say youth is wasted on the young.
3. "You are not worthy". Often female soloists or close-harmony groups, telling the listener that he is unlikely to enjoy the benefits of her love. He occupies, it seems, a lower run on the social ladder, or is from an entirely unsuitable neighbourhood, though on many occasions it seems that the 'sweet love' is being withheld due to an apparent paucity of finances, 'bling', or an outdated or inappropriately thrifty vehicle or mobile phone. These songs are often sung with what I think is termed 'sass', though they do strike me as rather alarming in their implied suggestion that a lady's favours will inevitably go to the chap with most money or material objects. The thin end of a socio-politically dangerous wedge there, I fear.
4. "I regret my mistake". Oftentimes, this could be mistaken for a female vocal, but it is in fact a male - or chorus of males - singing falsetto. They have, it appears, lost the affections of their ladylove due to an error of judgment. All too frequently this appears to take the form of "makin' it wit' yo' best friend" or similar, or some other misdemeanour which causes one to rather empathise with the lady's decision to cease relations. However, the chap or chaps in question give the impression of regretting their foolish error, and often prove this by lamenting in the form of a slow, high-pitched song, often performed in the street, or by the sea. In the case of groups, they invariably take turns in expressing their woe, with the vocalist explaining the sense of loss, whilst the others harmonise, or appear forlorn and gaze into the middle distance.

So there you have it. A brief primer for the uninformed as to the leitmotifs in modern youth music, and I hope it helps you to appreciate the kidz' music as much as I do.

But if you'll forgive me, I must take my leave, as I need to go and patrol my hood, as I do 24/7. Big shout out to the blogreading massive.

Will someone please tell those kids to behave themselves?

Apparently not.

It takes a court agreement, it seems.

I'm guessing the kid must have got all the maturity. Seriously, I mean all of it.

If You've Just Joined Us, Welcome

I'm painfully aware that a number of new readers have been drawn to the blog due to its being linked in relation to www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk, and as that book was very much about the funny, I shall try to hang on to that newfound audience by upping the humour content.

Hopefully that won't mean lots of self-consciously 'LOL!!!!111!!!' style posts. If we're lucky, it'll probably mean gratuitous sarcasm and sniping, plus puns. And maybe some points that actually have some kind of intellectual resonance.

No, you're right, let's not hope for too much...

Buy, Buy, Buy: Comic Relief Book Featuring Your Humble Blogger

Techie problems prevented me from posting about this sooner, which is a bit annoying as I am very excited about this (still, might be for the best, as the post I would have made at the time I found out would have been incoherently full of yays and yees)!

----------------------------------------------------

Bloggers publish book for Comic Relief.

100 bloggers have published a book to raise funds for the BBC's Comic Relief appeal on Friday 16th March.

'Shaggy Blog Stories' features hilarious contributions from Richard Herring of 'Fist of Fun' fame, BBC 6Music presenter Andrew Collins, comedian Emma Kennedy, and James Henry, scriptwriter from Channel Four's 'The Green Wing'.

Authors Abby Lee, David Belbin, Catherine Sanderson and The Guardian's Anna Pickard have also contributed pieces to the book.

The vast majority of contributions, however, are the work of many of the lesser known and unfamiliar heroes of British blogging; going under pen names such as Diamond Geezer, Scaryduck, Pandemian and Unreliable Witness.

Also contributing to 'Shaggy Blog Stories', and hoping to raise funds for the Comic Relief Appeal is London-based writer John Soanes.

The book is the idea of blogger Mike Atkinson who writes the 'Troubled Diva' weblog. 'Shaggy Blog Stories' features comic writing from not only the cream of British blogging, but also the best up-and-coming and undiscovered writers publishing their work on their own websites.

Giving himself a "ridiculously short" seven days from idea to finished product, Atkinson admitted that he was overwhelmed with the response, which gleaned over 300 submissions for publication.With a pool of talented writers, and the latest publishing-on-demand technology, Shaggy Blog Stories bypasses the usual snail-paced publishing industry, and offers a mail order service to customers who will receive their finished copy within days of placing their order, and only a couple of weeks after the original idea.

"Blogging creates complex, worldwide networks of friendship and contacts on the internet", says journalist Alistair Coleman, one of Shaggy Blog Stories' contributors. "By creating a buzz about this book, we can reach out to hundreds, thousands of readers who'd be willing to part with a few quid for this very good cause. Mike's got some excellent writers on board here whose work deserves a wider audience. Everybody wins."

For details of how to order the book, visit http://www.shaggyblogstories.co.uk.

For the background story on the creation of Shaggy Blog Stories, take a look at http://www.troubled-diva.com.
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...So, you’re possibly wondering, which did I contribute to this staggeringly worthwhile endeavour? I’m not gonna tell ya, nuh-uh. You’ll have to buy the book and find out.

It’s raised over £1700 as I type this, so why not buy a copy and help push that total over £2000? Given the list of other contributors, it should be a good read, and it’s for a darned good cause.

Laughter, and for a good reason? Not to be sniffed at, I'd say...

Spotted in Covent Garden on St Patrick’s Day (Sat 17th March)

Even leprechauns have to move with the times, it seems.

I like to think he was calling someone on his mobile to make sure that his pot of gold was undisturbed while he was out drinking.

Happy (belated) St Pat’s Day to all my Irish readers.

And also all the leprechauns reading this, of course.

Look at my widget. You know you want to.

Well, the niftyish box in the column to the right is the Justgiving Widget, and provides an ongoing update as to how close I am to raising the target amount in sponsorship for the London Marathon.

Clever techie stuff, yes?

Anyway, with just over 5 weeks to go, I'm not too close to the target of £1500, so if you're reading this and haven't sponsored me yet, please consider doing so...

Thanks!

Sacked X-Factor Judge Writes Novel...

... but cover designer decides to make it resemble another book on the shelves.

I'd rather have a full bottle in front of me...

... than a full frontal lobotomy, as the saying goes.

Anyway, this is something I saw and took a (slightly blurry) picture of this evening, at the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road, here in the ever-fascinating city that I call home.

Two people dressed as bottles of Corona lager, complete with slices of lime.

On a Thursday evening in London, with shoppers and traffic passing by, as if nothing unusual was occurring. Naturally.

LINK: Kopyright Liberation

Conservative MPs David Cameron and Boris Johnson were, it turns out, members of The Bullingdon Club. This group for toffs has something of a reputation for drunken property destruction, and a number of newspapers recently printed a picture showing the group as it was when they were members.

For reasons which I’m not entirely clear on – they might be political or financial, both or neither – the owners of the photo have now stated it shouldn’t be used by the media.

Which, in the days of the interweb, is more easily said than done - here is a copy of the picture, as stored on the Flickr website by writer James Henry (whose blog is always worth a look, in my opinion).

Crikey, this www lark’s certainly one in the eye for the man, isn’t it?

REVIEW: Wicked

This musical has been playing in London for a while now, after being very well received in the USA. This is a slightly belated review, as I saw it on Valentine's Day - as any cheapskate in a relationship will tell you, nothing says romance like Black Magic. Ahem.

Given that a large number of musicals currently playing in London are based on the work of well-known groups (Abba, Queen, Boney M), or on known plotlines (Mary Poppins, the Lion King, Spamalot), Wicked arguably swims against the current tide, as it's a new story... albeit one linked to an established franchise; it tells the history of the Witches in L Frank Baum's Oz series.

The green-skinned Elphaba (hope I've spelled that right - it's meant to be derived from the first syllables of Baum's name), who eventually becomes the wicked Witch, and her opposite Glinda the Good, are shown as having known each other since an early age. However, instead of Elphaba being evil from the start and Glinda as nice as pie all along, things are shown to be a fair bit more complicated - and it's hard not to sympathise with the way Elphaba turns... well, yes, to the Dark Side.

And that phrase, and its inevitable associations, fits - there are several very good moments when events slot into place, creating circumstances and characters that are recognisable from the Wizard of Oz film, and the neat way that things come about creates an appropriate sense of sickening inevitability - notable by its absence from the recent Star Wars 'prequels', I feel, though both sought to tell the tale of a good person turning bad.

In fact, the 'prequel' description is rather inaccurate, as Wicked provides not only the history of various characters in the known Oz story, but it runs alongside it and indeed continues after Dorothy's departure, showing new takes on known events, so in its way the story is more of an extrapolation or revelation of unseen events (in the same Tom Stoppard's 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead' shows us more about the two characters from Hamlet, and the events run alongside the play by that Shaxbard chap).

But, you're probably asking by now, is it any good? The answer, to my mind, is a definite yes. The music's strong - particularly when it comes to Elphaba's songs of upset and annoyance ('Defying Gravity' and 'No Good Deed Goes Unpunished' are ones which stick in my mind even a fortnight later), and the staging is very good indeed - as you can see from the photo above, there's a mechanical dragon which looms over the stage (and occasionally does more than merely loom), Oz the Great and Terrible looks both of those things, and the final part of the first half was so effectively done it sent a tingle down my spine . The cast - of whom I'll freely admit I only recognised Miriam 'Caramel Bunny' Margolyes - all put in sturdy performances, and all showed that they could belt out a tune and hold a note where it was required (what is technically known as 'singing'. I think), and deliver a sad line or joke as well.

Given that it has plot elements of a phoney war, manufactured scapegoats, and victimised minorities, it'd be all too easy to suggest that Wicked is influenced by the events of 11 September 2001, but as the novel (by Gregory Maguire) upon which the musical was based was written in 1995, I don't know how much stock I'd put in that sort of claim. Then again, page and stage are very different places, so maybe there's something to it. Regardless, the way that things in Oz are shown to have a darker side is cleverly done.

You have to bear in mind that I don't like musicals (simple reason for that: I'm all about the story, and most musicals either ignore story as much as possible [Show Boat*], or seem all too willing to let the tale grind to a halt to shoehorn in another song'n'dance number [Chicago*]), but I found this a lot of fun - it's good to look at, and the music is solid, and the story's interesting. Definitely recommended, and in what may be a first for me, a musical that I would happily see again.

*Yes, I've seen both of these. A previous employer took me (and various clients) to see them as part of a corporate evening out. So I speak from experience - those are two evenings of my life I won't be getting back.

LINKS: The Uses Of Literacy, and Its Dangers*

1. As many of you may know, when I was a teenager I had a Saturday job in Waterstones (well, Sherratt & Hughes, but nowadays they’re known as Waterstones). Obviously, as I like books and reading, it was an ideal job for me, and it gave me the opportunity to read the back covers of many classics and then pretend I’d read the books themselves, all the better to cultivate an air of sophistication and get the right sort of friends. Now, it seems, an enterprising chap has written a book that helps you feign a knowledge of great literature. Likely to be pretty popular in that it’ll save lots of people from wasting time reading things which they’d otherwise turn up their noses at, I’d imagine.
2. As many of you may know, when I was a teenager I read a lot of graphic novels (well, comics, but nowadays they’re more commonly known as graphic novels). Obviously, I read books as well, but it gave me the opportunity to stay indoors and away from sunlight, all the better to cultivate an air of putrefaction and gather a limited number of friends. Now, it seems, an enterprising firm has created a range of scents that help comic readers feign a knowledge of soap and water. Likely to be pretty popular in that it’ll save lots of people from wasting time washing in order to prevent themselves becoming someone who everyone would otherwise turn up their noses at, I’d imagine.

*Apologies to Richard Hoggart

Hand in Glove

Now, it might just be my childish way of thinking, but is it really appropriate that this alley is right next door to a large building owned by HM Customs and Excise?

LINK: You go, boy!

I strongly recommend you read this article. Wonder if she’ll sue?

Marathon Man

What's that, to the left? Why, if it isn't a picture of me running a half-marathon last year. What's that you say? Half-marathons are easy? Well, funny you should say that...

I'm running the London Marathon on April 22 this year, in aid of Phoenix Futures, the people for whom I've previously walked on hot coals and glass (yes, yes, I know). They've very kindly given me one of their few 'golden ticket' places, so I want to repay their kindness by getting them lots of lovely money to help them with their good work.

So if you can help, I'd be very grateful indeed. You can sponsor or donate online here, which is totally secure and safe, and you can give even more with the magical Gift Aid tax-thing.

If you have any questions at all, please drop me a line at therunningman@johnsoanes.co.uk - and yes, if you want to come along and cheer or jeer, you can do that..

I'll be referring to this a LOT in the next couple of months, as I really want to reach (if not exceed) the target I've set, so don't be at all surprised if this isn't the last blog entry on this. I'll add a link in the column to the right as well, and indeed I may be adding some kind of totaliser-gadget to this page as well, so we can see how much money has been pledged, like the Blue Peter appeals which they used to do when I was young (and still do, I think).

Anyway, please sponsor or donate if you can. I promise all of the money goes to a worthwhile cause - I've been lucky enough to meet one of the people who Phoenix have helped, and even to a hardened cynic like me, it was incredible to see how pleased he was that his life had changed, and that instead of the drugs ruling his life, that he was now back in control of his life, and proud of the direction he was heading.

So please help if you can. Thanks!

Stray Thoughts I Taw A Puddy Tat

1. Rather alarmingly, I heard someone on TV the other day saying she was a 'would-be WAG' (that's Wife and Girlfriend, for those of you who - rightly enough - don't want to start using journalistese in conversation). So her aim in life was to be the wife or girlfriend (I can see why that acronym's never caught on), presumably of a footballer or someone in a similar financial position to give her money to spend on clothes and shoes and so on. I say that this is alarming because ... well, surely it isn't a good thing that people are actively planning to be a hanger-on to someone else this way? Is this any kind of goal to have? It sounds much more like a Plan B (well, one would hope Z, really), to resort to only once you've actually made an effort to achieve something with your life in your own right, as opposed to just going "ah well, I'll let someone else give me money in exchange for..." well, exactly. It's the thin end of a wedge which makes me distinctly uncomfortable.
2. Recent experiences have suggested to me that Myspace and the like can become horribly incestuous 'environments', and in some cases can become a bit too much like a substitute for a phone call or a meet-up with a cup of tea. Oh, I'm not kidding, some people can get seriously daft about it all. And this chap appears to have reached a similar conclusion, really...
3. Really enjoyed the mixing on DJ Food's "Raiding The 20th Century", which is an hour-long music mix containing some frankly unlikely merging of well-known tracks, linked by commentary from Paul Morley (who coined the title in the early 80s as a project for he and Trevor Horn to work on - sadly, it never came to anything). But it's a fascinating item, especially the Nirvana-Destiny's Child mash-up (as I believe the young people call such a thing). You can find it at a variety of places on the interweb to download as an mp3 - here's where I downloaded it, though a quick Google will show you other places. I strongly recommend that you give it a listen - it's fun, but also feels a bit like a historical document...
4. Oh look, the first letter of the preceding paragraphs gives us the three Rs - who said that my blog wasn't educational?

LINKS: Bill Hicks was right about Marketing and Advertising, it seems

It’s about time for this, quite frankly. Only a slightly more dubious qualification than those ‘MAs’ which people at Oxford and Cambridge get given as a matter of course and with no further study, to my mind, but of course I’m an academic snob. Though I prefer to call it ‘maintaining standards’.

And though this is rather old, it’s a startling and appalling insight into the methods and sometimes the depths that firms will go to in order to ‘build brands’ (read: flog stuff).

My Silly Feelings For Snow*

As London recovers from a fall of frozen water from the sky, bizarre and never seen before in the month of February, and the transport systems react with dismay and amazement, I can't help but be reminded of the famous(ish) letter which W.S.Gilbert (of '... and Sullivan' fame) wrote to the Times of 28 September 1897.

To see what I mean, merely imagine every reference to 'Saturday' to be a reference to snow in the following:

"In the face of Saturday the officials of the company stand helpless and appalled. This day, which recurs at stated and well-ascertained intervals, is treated as a phenomenon entirely outside the ordinary operations of nature, and, as a consequence, no attempt whatever is made to grapple with its inherent difficulties.
To the question, "What has caused the train to be so late?" the officials reply, "It is Saturday"--as who should say, "It is an earthquake."

... over a century has passed, and it appears the situation has, like the trains themselves, hardly moved forward a great deal.

*Apologies to Peter Hoeg

Moulded From The Same Press

... well, maybe kinda sorta.

Lies, Damn Lies, and...

This claim was on the packet of some printable labels I was using at work the other day.

How do they know? I mean, unless they're giving away half a free arm with the labels, how on earth could this statistic be even remotely verifiable?

Stray Thoughts, eh ? What are ya, some kinda wise guy?

1. If I told you - and I honestly could - that I'd recently found myself typing the word 'thoguth' a lot, you could reasonably think that I was working on a short story set in H.P.Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos. The truth is more mundane; my hands appear to have forgotten how to type the word 'thought'.

2. I'm not proud of it in any way, but I have become almost addicted to watching trash like X-Factor and American Idol. Like many people, I'm not interested in the final outcome, as I don't need any more cabaret-level cover-singing six-months-and-then-gone singers in my life (Sneddon, Parks, Ward, and so on). What I do need more of, though, is the insane and untalented ones, where the people seem to be powered solely by delusion and uncritical family support. Oh, and the dignity-free folks who beg for a chance when they have all the singing ability of a slightly wet flannel. That, my friends, is what I like to see... which sits, I know, very badly with my wish for people to be vetted for talent BEFORE they make it onto the screen. However, I think the comedy value of it may be the exceptional factor (see what I did there?) here.

3. This suggests a remake where the point's once again being well and truly missed, rather like the recent abortive Coupling USA-stylee, and even moreso the two tries in the USA to remake Fawlty Towers, one of which removed the character of Basil. No, seriously.

4. It's just over a week to Valentine's Day, so if there's someone you'd like to send something to, this is a good time to start thinking about it. You could, of course, wait until the morning of the day itself, and then run round like an anniversary-forgetting-husband in a 1970s sitcom, but unless you're actually going to have music and a laugh track accompanying your actions, it's probably not such a good idea.

5. The link will follow soon so you can sponsor me, but just to confirm for those of you who've asked, yes, I am in training for the Marathon. I've eschewed Diet Coke since the start of the year, and I'll be giving up chocolate, in all its forms, for Lent. Not for religious reasons, but simply calorific ones. Granted, giving it up may well lead me to be found shaking and cold-sweating in an alley, but I think my waistline and my running feet will thank me for it, even if my serotonin levels do drop in a scary way.

6. Sherlock Soanes Dept: whilst I didn't blog about it at the time as I only intermittently put comic stuff here, I can honestly say that, in relation to DC Comics' 52, I guessed who Supernova was a couple of weeks after he was first introduced. No, really, hand on heart I did - in the same way that I guessed Judge Dredd was The Dead Man back in 1989 or so. Mind you, I didn't guess who was behind it all in Watchmen, so maybe my comic detection powers only apply to weekly publications.

Definitely Provocative Proposition

And there was me fearing all government appointments were mere mouthpieces and hand puppets… not so, it seems.

The Curse of the Jade Ignorance

In relation to the Celebrity Big Brother racism debate : can anyone really be surprised that ignorance sits so readily with racism?

Fishin' a-barrel

All right, so if you live in London, this makes a bit of sense, but if you don't... well, how surreal an image does this conjure up?

Ban This Sick Filth Now*

Over at The Writing Factory, my friend and fellow blogster has recently taken a turn for the downright filthy and foul-mouthed.

As I know him, though, I can confirm it's very much in character.

Oh my goodness yes.

*I’m entitling this post thusly because I know it’s always been an aim of his to be referred to with this phrase. Granted, I’m not the Daily Mail, so it's not quite the fulfilment of a dream, but I don’t think we need another Daily Mail, do we? Let's face it, we didn't need the first one.

Welcome to Stray Thoughts (Population 51,201)

1. Yes, it's been a while. And many of you will already know the sort of things I've been up to in that while - and thanks for the kind words. It's good, and me like.

2. Not a fan of the death penalty, so haven't been joining in with the frankly unseemly hand-rubbing and grins of glee about Saddam Hussein being executed. And I think that the recent 'outcry' about how he was mocked as he was led to the gallows is just weaselling by politicians who were involved in the whole thing and may be experiencing a twinge of conscience. Maybe it's just me, but if I knew I was about to be killed, someone calling me nasty names would be a side issue.

3. And let's remember, the avowed reason for Gulf War 2 was because Saddam allegedly had 'weapons of mass destruction', not because he was a brutal leader and killed people and so on. It was because he had bombs... which he didn't. I know history will probably be rewritten to suggest it was all about liberating Iraq, but that wasn't the premise given, and let's try to bear that in mind, eh ?

4. Do any of you know much about rugby? If so, and you're willing for look at some digital photos, please drop me a line at oddlyshapedballs@johnsoanes.co.uk , as I have a signed England rugby shirt which a friend won in a raffle, but we can't identify the signatures. Ta.

5. The usual paucity of Christmas television, as far as I'm concerned; The specials of The Thick Of It and Doctor Who didn't really capture my attention, though I did enjoy the Vicar of Dibley finale(s). Not cutting edge by any stretch of the imagination, and overly reliant on Dawn French's likeability, but pleasant and amusing enough.

6. This may well be one of the greatest items I've ever seen. What a fab idea.

Let's All Meet Up In The Year 2007

Ah, that's very decent of you - decided to keep the appointment we made this time last year, eh ? Smashing.

Have to admit, though, I haven't done my homework, as I haven't yet had a chance to sit down and figure out how many (if any) of my 2006 goals I've fulfilled. I'll try to get to it, but you know how it is - busy at this time of year...

And as it's 'this time of year', I'll just take the opportunity to wish you a Very Happy 2007, and to promise to post more when I get the chance. May the year bring you all the things you could want, and a few which take you by surprise.

Do you think Mary and Joseph had a stable relationship?

Yes, yes, I know. There's a reason I never used that line in my stand-up.

Anyway, just a quick post to say that I'll probably be away from the keyboard for the next few days, and to wish you, my constant reader(s), a very happy Christmas /Yule / Saturnalia / Insert own pet name for week-long present- and food-fest.

The picture above was taken yesterday in Central London, as I finished off my shopping - the star in the centre is illuminated, and shoots out spangles of light along the radiating lines every couple of seconds; and all this is on the front of a functioning office building, it seems. Once again, I smile wryly and shake my head in amusement at the casual wonders of the city where I live.

Have a good Christmas, and may you get everything you deserve, and at least one thing you don't.

She’s Leaving Home (But She Has Her Phone With Her, So That’s All Right)

To the left there, one of a series of phone ads which are currently plastering the Tubes here in London.

And one of the oddest ads I’ve seen in some time, I feel; the suggestion being that the young woman in the picture hasn’t called home for a while, and the caption suggests that it’s something she ought to do, and so I’m rather inescapably driven to conclude that she may have run away from home.

Given the fate which so many female runaways are in danger of, and the shape of her mouth in the photo they’ve chosen to use… well, it looks to me as if Nokia are trying to get a slice of the teenage runaway prostitute fellatrix market.

I don’t know much about advertising, but I can’t really imagine that it’s one of the larger demographic slices. Ah well.

The Running Man

The rumours are true, yes; I have managed to get a place in the London Marathon 2007.

I’ll be running for a charity, so will be setting up a page online where you can sponsor me, probably in the next week or two.

More news as I’m able to share it.

REVIEW: Casino Royale

It’s been a few weeks since I caught this at the cinema, but it’s worth me giving a quick review, I think – if nothing else, it gives me a chance to post the picture to the left there; Daniel Craig’s first press conference after it was announced he was playing James Bond led a lot of the papers to be rather scathing, but the majority of them did a volte-face when they saw the actual film. Apparently they’re not able to distinguish between the actor and the role, though perhaps such a tenuous grasp of the difference between reality and fiction is a job requirement for journalists.

Anyway, Casino Royale is a very decent Bond film, and a good solid thriller in its own right. It features the standard elements of the Bond films (pre-title sequence, him saying his name in – y’know – that way, specific drink orders, etc), but unlike, say, its immediate predecessor (the woefully patchy Die Another Day), it also features a strong plot with a discernible through-line (as they say), and good performances by all the cast.

One or two of the lines are a bit wonky, but the general pacing’s very good, and they do well in coming up with some stunt sequences that are actively inventive (the free running bit, for example), and the pre-title bit sets out the stall well; it’s a flashback, and then they go into a flashback within that. Fairly unusual for a Bond film, let’s face it, and streets ahead of the thinking that leads to such nonsense as invisible cars.

Anyway, heartily recommended if you want a good entertaining film with some actual character development for Bond, and some respectable twists. And worth seeing on the big screen for the ‘wow’ factor – one or two scenes had the (admittedly fairly lively Saturday night) audience I was a member of actually gasping, which must mean the film-makers were doing something right.

Invading myspace

In answer to the several queries I’ve had, no I don’t have a myspace page, nor do I intend on setting one up in the foreseeable future.

The simple reason for this is that with very few exceptions, the pages seem to be exceedingly ugly and slow to load, and invariably chock-full of postings from bands in Wisconsin saying ‘cool site!!11! Be sure to check out our page too!!!! Lol!1!’ and the like.

And for some reason, I can’t bring myself to get involved with all that. And let’s face it, I don’t post enough updates to this blog as it is, let alone update my web space on any kind of regular basis.

That Sound You Hear Is That Of TV Execs’ Fingernails On The Bottom Of The Barrel

I've often maintained that ITV2 shows the stuff that even 'ITV1' knows is unfit for broadcast, and as if to prove me very right indeed, tonight at 9pm they are showing the following:

Ghost Hunting with Girls Aloud

Let me say that again.

GHOST HUNTING WITH GIRLS ALOUD.

… you know, I’m almost tempted to type those words over and over again, like Jack Torrance in The Shining, but let me just say that the idea that this is an actual programme, occupying two whole hours on the schedule, is far more terrifying than any supernatural element that the programme could possibly contain.

Granted, not half as scary as being a nightclub toilet attendant when the girls are out on the lash at night, but still deeply troubling.

Corduroy pillowcases could create better headlines, frankly*

Today's Evening Standard board, with a typically nonsense use of language.

Unless he shouted 'Why is a raven like a writing desk?' as he fell, I think the word 'mystery' would have been more appropriate.

*Apologies to Bill Watterson

Vive la difference!

I’m doing some market research this week, and as part of it I’ve been asked to complete some online diary-like exercises. Apparently, the same research is being done in France at the moment (albeit one hour ahead). As I’m rather inclined to be impressed by the culture-loving ways of the French, I can’t help but wonder about the possibility of a vast difference between the two sets of diaries.

TUESDAY
It was raining. Went to work. Had a couple of drinks with the lads after work, and got a kebab on the way home. Think I sent my ex a text message or maybe even called her from the pub just before we got thrown out, but I’m not sure. Some tosser was mouthing off on the bus, so I lamped him. Was sick in a skip outside next door’s house. Fell asleep watching ITV Play.

MARDI
Spent the day in a café with Luc, smoking Gauloises and drinking coffee, and arguing about literature. He insists on the importance of Perec’s influence, but I disagree, and refuse to accept that anyone other than Baudrillard has any true and lasting merit. We agree, though, that Proust was an effete dilettante, and that Sartre, whilst important at the time, is now merely a poster-boy for students and would-be intellectuals, which is only right, as existentialism remains fundamentally adolescent in both its concerns and outlook. We drank wine, talking late into the night, ignoring the rain outside, and when we were finally thrown out of the café, I walked the streets for several hours, my steps inevitably leading me to the street corner beneath Marie’s apartment. Taking a pencil stub from my pocket, I wrote a brief but heart-felt villanelle about love, loss and destiny on the wall, there beneath her window. I know she will see it, and I fancy it might bring a tear to her eye and perhaps even regret to her mind. I made my way home then, smoking the last of my cigarettes and enjoying the sound of my footsteps on the rain-slick pavement as the new day threatened to dawn.

REVIEW: ‘Helltown’ by Dennis O’Neil

O’Neil is a long-time comic writer and editor, and this novel is set in the DC Comic Universe, re-telling the origin of The Question, a character O’Neil wrote to considerable acclaim in the 1980s.

Vic Sage, alias the Question, isn’t a standard superhero character – he’s essentially a man in a trenchcoat and fedora whose face is rendered blank by a mask. Quite a creepy image, and in making the character an orphan, the character truly is a blank slate, and his driving motivation in the comics (under O’Neil, at least) is that of curiosity, as well as a wish to see justice done, though that’s often almost incidental.

I was a huge fan of the Question comics (even writing letters of comment , some of which, to my adolescent fanboy glee, were published in issues’ letter columns), so I was keen to see what O’Neil did in the prose medium.The results are ... let's say mixed.

In the novel, starting from scratch and set in in the present day, a lot of the ideas underpinning the comic series are lost, and the need to reintroduce the characters – and even other DC Comics characters like Batman – takes a fair amount of time, leaving certain elements overplayed and others rather truncated. It starts rather uncertainly, too, and it’s not entirely clear who or what of the various elements described is going to prove relevant, and what’s just scenery.

The original Question, created by Spider-Man co-creator Steve Ditko, was a single-minded and pretty harsh character, and in order to start afresh, the 1980s comic series as good as killed him off, but this novel doesn’t quite have the same approach, and to my mind that was a bit of a pity. The reduced role of Myra, the love interest, is a shame as well, and indeed she’s reduced to little more than a love interest, and a rather token one at that – there’s no real reason why Vic should be so keen on her after so few interactions.

That said, the book hangs together pretty well, and some of the action sequences are quite tautly written, even if characters do have some frankly unlikely names (Emiline Grandyfan, Thaddeus Crate, and Eustis McFeely, for example), which rather disrupts the flow when reading. A pity, especially as some of the dialogue is quite snappy.

A cautious recommendation to fans of the original comic series, I guess, but in all honesty you’d be better off hunting down back issues (especially the first 12-15 issues), or even checking out the character's appearances in the Justice League Unlimited cartoon series over the past few years.

Nano Writing Month

Well, it’s the end of National Novel Writing Month, and I’m sure you’re wondering how I did. A quick click on the link to the right will tell you, but let me save you the trouble: out of a goal of 50,000 words, I wrote… around 3000. Less than 5%, by my quick calculation.

By any estimation, this is pathetic, and I’m frankly ashamed of, and embarrassed about, it. Granted, November has been one hell of a month for a variety of reasons, but it’s things like this which make me wonder if I might gradually be turning into one of those people who wants to have written, rather than to write. Many people think that they’d like to write, but it’s the act of keeping the backside on the seat and the pen moving over the page (or, if you’re all modern-like, the cursor scooting over the screen) which is all too often the key part of writing.

There’s a joke I both love and hate, and at the moment it rings all too true:
Two men meet at a party.
“I’m writing a novel,” says one.
“Really?” says the other. “Neither am I.”

REVIEW: ‘The Traveller’ by John Twelve Hawks

Touted as 'the new Da Vinci Code’, this novel is, thankfully, much better than that, though I guess it shares some themes – secret societies, and the notion of a true history of the world which remains hidden from the general population.

The Travellers of the title are people born with the ability to travel out of the material realm as we know it into other dimensions. They’re seen as a threat and tend to be eliminated by the ‘Brethren’, who are keen to make the world as regulated and ordered as possible. Travellers are protected by a warrior group known as the Harlequins, and this book – the first of a trilogy, it seems – tells the story of a Harlequin called Maya trying to protect two could-be Travellers from the Brethren.

From that description, it might all sound a bit science-fictiony, but the book’s set pretty much in the present day (perhaps a few years in the future), with most of the trappings of today, and quite a bit of the paranoid-sounding stuff about surveillance and tracing people has its roots in current events.

It’s pretty well-written, even if plot requirements sometimes force characters to speak in exposition-ese, and there are some interesting twists. I mentioned above that it’s the first of a series, and rather irritatingly this isn’t really very clear from the cover, and I half-wonder if the themes (which will be familiar to anyone who’s seen The Matrix or read The Invisibles comic series) won’t feel a bit stretched over more than a couple of books. But I was sufficiently interested to make a mental note to keep a look out for the next book (in paperback, mind).

There’s a certain amount of internet hoo-hah about the author, as he apparently ‘lives off the grid’ like characters in the book, but I’ll take that with a bag of salt, frankly. Anyway, the book’s not bad, and if you want a dose of easily-absorbed conspiracy-laden reading, I’d recommend it.

File Under ‘Dignityphobic’

To the left there, the cover of the latest Heat magazine.

Just when I thought that the magazine, and Peter Andre and Katie Price, couldn’t stoop any lower, or appear any more desperate to fill pages at any cost, comes this latest issue, with the photo touting an article showing the happy couple ‘at home’.

Yes, she's sitting on the toilet, her knickers are spooled around her knees, and he’s handing her some toilet roll, presumably to wipe after she’s urinated, defecated or both. All, quite charmingly, captured on film.

I’m not actually supposed to admire these people, am I ? Please, someone, reassure me.

The Bigger They Are…

Obviously, this is true.
But of course, I can cheerfully agree with it from my lofty perch (that's over 6’, ladies)…

All right, so it’s yet another bit of pseudo-scientific non-news. But it beats this rather grim prospect for tall men.

And I have to say that I know very little about women, but one thing I’ve come to realise is that they can forgive fat, they’ll even be tolerant of bald or balding, but that (paradoxically) they won’t overlook short…

LIST: Things I Strongly Believe One Should Never Skimp On The Purchase Of

Notebooks
Pens
Tea Bags
Chocolate
Underwear
Aftershave
Contraceptives*

… any others you can think of? Let me know.

*Surely the ultimate in false economy.

Don’t say I never give you nuffink, awright?*

Here’s another one of those free iTune codes (see this post for how to redeem it): SPMZTSPZCRFF. First come, first served once again, but let’s pause for a moment and consider what a good score that code might warrant in Scrabble.

And, assuming that this isn’t one of those tiresome e-mail hoax whatsits, this could be useful for those of you who, like me, have something of a weakness for the smell of a new book…

*This line copyright © EastEnders Christmas Afternoon Specials every single year since it started. Used with derision.

Give Stray Thoughts What They Want, And No-One Gets Hurt

1. Backnowyes, long time nopost, but verybusyvery oh yes. Don’t hurtbe, sometime things be thatway.

2. My current pet peeve; people who approach me in the street and ask for money – specifically, a particular amount (recently 20p, 40p and 50p, though not in that ascending order). The main thing that annoys me about this is that the approachers have mastered the art of looking sincere and bewildered as if they’re about to ask for directions, so I take my earphone out and ask if I can help, only to be asked for money. I’m always hmm on being asked for money this way anyway, but when I wear earphones to block out extraneous and nonsensical noise and then have it interrupted by specifically the kind of thing I’ve put the earphones in to counter… well, grr.

3. Okay, this seems to have some kind of pseudo-commercial element to it, but I rather like it – can’t explain why, but there’s something rather joyously silly about it. Just ignore the final captions, and the unpleasant interruption of commercial considerations.

4. Meanwhile, do give your money to these good folks, who are releasing DVDs of live comedy. Their first one is from Stewart Lee, and is a bit of a barg (I know, cos I’ve got mine already). Support the independents, and stick it to the man. Yeah!

5. While in Paris the other week, I went to the Buddha Bar. That’s right, look impressed. Yes, I went to this much-vaunted drinking place, where a huge statue of Buddha towers over the dining area, and where the bar is full of candlelit secluded corners which have played host to Johnny Depp, Cameron Diaz, and many other people you’ve heard of (as well as many you haven’t). It’s cloaked in shadow, with only the odd neon light from the bar and flickering flame from a candle or tealight casting any illumination. All of which is my characteristically long-winded way of saying yes, I bumped into a bar stool in the dark, and sent it flying. Smooth.

6. In answer to your several e-mails, no, I have not seen Casino Royale yet. But I intend to, and depending on what I think of the film, I’ll probably post a review of it here.

7. Started Xmas shopping yet? No, nor have I. But I was on Bond Street on Thursday Evening, where it transpires Thandie Newton was switching on the lights, and I had no idea. Curses!

Yes, I did order the Creme Brulee*

I’ve been away from the keyboard a bit recently, I know.

And one of the places I’ve been is the Café des Deux Moulins in Paris, perhaps best known from the frankly terrific film Amelie.

The photo here is taken from the telephone booth where two people … er, let’s say ‘get frisky’ in the film. And whilst the place is nice, I have to say that it wasn’t quite as sunny and colour-washed as it was in the film. Damn those film-makers with their filters and lenses and washes and doodads.

Y’know, it’s almost enough to make a chap think that there’s some kind of difference between films and reality.

I said almost.

*Though unfortunately they didn't have it.

REVIEW: ‘Good News, Bad News’ by David Wolstencroft

This is the first novel by Wolstencroft, who’s one of the creators of the BBC drama ‘Spooks’ (known as ‘MI-5’ in the USA, I believe). I’d read positive reviews of the book, and as I’d enjoyed the first couple of series of Spooks (until they’d seemingly been forced to let plots be driven by the need to write various cast members out), I was pleased to get this for 75p in a charity shop.

As you’d expect, it’s a thriller, about two men, Charlie and George, who, at the start of the book, work in a photo developing booth in London. This happy little situation is shaken up quite quickly within fifty pages or so, with some really rather clever twists and gradual revelations about the two men which undermine the expectations which have been built up.

However, once the whole spy and espionage aspect of the book gets going, the constant twists and turns of the plot start to border on laughable, reminding me of Voltaire’s ‘Candide’ in that characters seem incapable of staying dead when seemingly demised. There are also some sequences which I simply couldn’t follow – there’s one in the ladies’ toilet of Oxford Circus tube (does such a place exist? I have my doubts), and another chase in a tube tunnel, where I honestly had no idea what was meant to be going on.

The number of pages devoted to events seem disproportionate too – dozens of pages detailing a trip on the Eurostar (albeit a covert one), but at another point in the book, bam, a new chapter begins and they’re in a totally different country with scant explanation of how they got there. And the plot hinge upon which the whole book moves seems pretty feeble too, and certainly not worth the Security Services creating the mayhem involved in the book.

Finally, there’s one ‘big revelation’ which I found utterly risible, and which, if you don’t want to spoil the book, you can avoid by jumping to the next paragraph. Right, still here ? Okay, brace yourself then, this is it: the two baddies chasing Charlie and George are actually the same person – Rose Willets is Latham. Yes, she apparently is also Latham, a male character, referred to as ‘he’ in the narrative, in spite of the fact that the male pronoun should not apply to a genuinely dispassionate omniscient narrative such as the book purports to take. Quite how she is also meant to be he is never fully (or at least plausibly) explained.

To be fair, Wolstencroft’s writing style is generally quite readable, but the incessant twists of the story undermine the whole thing to the extent that, like Dan Brown’s inexplicably popular bad book, I just kept reading to the end in vaguely awed and appalled fascination - to see what he would come up with next; and not in the sense of being hooked by the tale and concerned about the characters, as they’re pretty much a uniformly unsympathetic bunch.

So, far from recommended, and disappointing after a good start. I got it from a charity shop, as I mentioned, and it’ll be going back to the same place. Here’s hoping they benefit more from selling it again than I did from reading it.

Remembrance of Things Past

It’s Remembrance Sunday, and I’d be remiss to let it pass without some kind of remark, I think.

I stand by what I posted this time last year, though it has to be said that I probably didn’t actually say as much as was appropriate about my respect for the troops involved, instead grinding my teeth about the politicians who send them to their fates (a reaction which was not diluted in any way by seeing Tony Blair lay a wreath this morning. The man clearly has no sense of causation, or even conscience).

So: I think war is a bad thing. A very bad thing, in fact, the very breakdown of civilised behaviour, and a sign that at least one party to the situation is allowing the primal basal ganglia of the brain to rule over the more evolved parts. Not a good thing at all.

And sometimes it does seem that there are some people who are unwilling to listen to reason, and who seem incapable of being dissuaded from certain actions unless it’s with the application of force, or the threat thereof. Granted, there are obvious examples of this where one can easily point to a moral high ground, and other examples where the morality is more murky, or downright absent. That said, there does therefore seem to be an argument – however regrettable the need – in favour of the existence of some kind of military.

The point I’m trying to make here is that whilst I think I admit with some chagrin the need for the military, there does seem to be such a need at this stage in human evolution, and as such I’m both grateful to, and in awe of, the men and women who fulfil these roles, and who are willing to die in doing so. I don’t think I could do it, frankly.

Gallingly, though, there seem to be all too many people who think that war is some kind of game, or political stratagem, or personal crusade, and these people utterly lose sight of the fact that what is lost is not a handful of votes or some financial amount, but the lives of real people, who will be missed and mourned.

Even more annoyingly, all too many of these armchair commanders are people who seem to know little about the subject of war, or (and you know who I’m talking about) have actively sought to avoid it whilst being all too happy to send others into conflict, or to send them into battle for the most spurious of pretexts. These people, unfortunately enough, seem all too frequently to find their way into government.

And their actions do nothing to honour the memories of those who die in the service of their country. It is the bravery, unfortunately, of those who are safely out of range.

LINK: Good sportsmanship, I’d say

Granted, many people feel (moderately justifiably) that the song was rather overexposed, but I like this – it’s for one of my favourite causes, and I think it certainly shows her in a good light, particularly in the last couple of minutes.

Free iTune

I drink too much Diet Coke, and thus have reached my limit in using their free iTunes codes (only 5 per person).

Thus, the following code can be utilised by anyone who wants it - first come, first get. Head over to iTunes' site, find the 'Coke Free Song' section or whatever it's called, and enter the following code to get a free song: TFFRNWCXSBMB.

If you try to use it and it doesn't work, that probably means some-one beat you to it. Them's the breaks, kid.

Evening Standard Free West Wing DVD Codes

This post will make no sense at all to anyone who doesn't live in London and didn't get the free item in question, but here's hoping that anyone who strays here by the almighty power of Google finds this useful:

Episode 2 - 199416

Episode 3 - 269679

Unlock, and enjoy two more episodes of one of the better examples of TV in recent years. Of course, you could have got these numbers by buying the ES yesterday and today, but frankly, the fewer people who buy that tatty Daily-Mail-affiliated rag, the better.

LINK: Hear here

If you're missing my updates, then you can get a (small) dose of me by clicking here and scrolling down to the bottom of the page, where Cameron, the leader of the Mount Ararat Trek I did in July, has posted a free podcast all about it.

It's well worth listening to, especially if you're not expecting more than half a dozen words from me.

Suddenly, one year later

Lawks alawdy, if it hasn't been a year since I first posted on this blog. Cripes.

No major observations to make on the changed world since 365 days ago, but to note - as I'm often driven to -that if, this time in 2005, I'd tried to guess what my life was going to be like, I doubt I would have been even remotely close.
How about you? Is your life taking you unexpected places? I hope so, and I also hope they're places you're happy to be.

Happy Guy Fawkes' Night.

Separated at birth (or, rather, death)?

The BBC show's logo came after the HBO one, I think, which is rather unfortunate.

...Surely I can't be the first person to have noticed this?

A Bit Of Window Licking

Was amused to see this in the window of a London bookshop yesterday.

Ignoring for a moment the fact that the title of the book is asking for trouble (that is, the way to survive them would seem to be ‘don’t watch their programmes’, which suggests the book is rather padded out), I love that they’re giving away free mini bars of chocolate with the book.

Perhaps I‘m being simplistic, but I fear that many of the people who might buy the book might also be the kind of people who’d view chocolate as something to be avoided or feared…

Story Time

Well, as I mentioned the other day, I'm taking part in National Novel Writing Month - hence the little logo in the Profile box to the right. However, rather than bore you with posts which simply say things like '11 words today, think my pen might be faulty', I've created a new link in the column to the right which will take you directly here, where there'll be a running total (assuming the technology doesn't go all HAL on me).

Will I make it 50,000 words, and finish 'Coming Back To Haunt You'? Dunno, but I'm thinking that by stating my intention in public, I might feel your eyes on me, and motivated to avoid public shame. We shall see...

LIST: Films which would be shown as part of a season for dyslexic nature lovers*

- Dead Clam
- Dragon: The Bruce Eel Story
- The Dogs Must Be Crazy
- Mission To Rams
- O Rat! O Rat! O Rat!
- Cats Away
- Vole Actually

*I know, I know, it is a feeble excuse to make lots of anagram puns, but puns aren’t the lowest form of humour, that would be Balls of Steel or The Friday Night Project. And though John Cleese may be on record as knocking puns and plays on words, do bear in mind that he co-wrote and performed the line “The plaice is grilled, in fact the whole room's a bit warm, isn't it?” (Fawlty Towers: The Germans.)