It is early, the sun is in the process of rising, and the feline contingent of the house are stalking about my feet verily Yowling to be outdoors, unfortunately such delights are denied of them, for shortly, well in ooh about 4 hours, I, the offspring, the discogoth and one of her brood depart these walls for the heady delights of Flamingo land.
Yes reader, I am away, on a Holiday.
At this moment in time, I aren't sure what has possessed me, what in the name of all I hold holy was I thinking, ah yes that was it 'the children will enjoy it'
let us examine for a moment the finer points...
it is a Theme Park and Zoo I like neither....there is a Monorail over some of the Animals, this I suspect is a recipe for disaster - what pray tell does one do, if it breaks over a pit of bored, caged angry.. and potentially HUNGRY Lions, Tigers or Bears (oh my..) madness, though probably saves on the animal feed bill.
However, its NEAR Whitby, so that'll be me happy for a few hours at some point.
Holidays that 'the children will enjoy' are as close to torture as any adult need venture, it is I suspect a masochistic streak within parents, wishing perhaps to punish themselves further for having the temerity to issue forth an extension of the gene pool. Things can only be made worse by going to resorts situated traditionally along the coast, where 'entertainment' and indeed 'fun' are top of the bill and enforced on people foolhardy to pay for such a privilege. I speak from experience here, Butlins, is I suspect the last vestige of the third Reich, though as you might expect.. we opted for self catering, and as such casual observers of the horror... men and women in red coats, barking 'Hello Can I help you?' - terrifying.. no actually it was worse then that, at the set meal times, you'd see the prisoners of fun, glassy eyed, wandering trance like towards the food halls, bandy legged and forlorn looking, their very being haunted by the fact they will be near hypnotised into later, attending a 'show' which may or may not feature the creator of his own time 'Chico'...
But... the children enjoy it...
None of this nonsense held sway with my parents, they I presume didn't give a shit if we enjoyed our summers or not, and essentially put us out to pasture in the back yard, one year aged about 2 I lived for several weeks as a hobo in a cardboard box ( it was BRILLIANT, granted I slept indoors, but I really don't know why the homeless complain so much) other years, we cycled about various villages, like a modern day von trapp family (only my mother looked very little like Julie Andrews,and there were remarkably few Nazi's looking for plague graves in the Wolds, nor was our apparel constructed entirely of curtains, though we did indulge in questionable singing)
I of course do them a disservice,we did have fun, and they made sure of that in their own way, picnics, and walks, simple fun, 'appen we were poor, it was grim up north afterall... though we did have at least 2 holidays when I was very small..
Ingoldmells, the Miners Welfare camp -no one in my family is a miner, never have been, we were healthy lunged interlopers.. there under false pretences.. actually, no, we were invited by my Grandfather, who with his MGM trio performed of an evening - entertaining the emphesymic. These holidays have become the stuff of legend in my memory... I recall recoiling in horror when a grown man called me a silly sausage... my Mother very kindly explained to me that it might mean poo, I was aghast, and precocious to tee, will have chastised him.
The accommodation was perhaps then, the highlight... a humble performers perk, you see... the 2 berth caravan... quite how it worked I aren't sure, but it contained 4 adults, 2 children and three dogs, a rambunctious springer spaniel, a whippet and a bloody huge Alsatian, cosy is an apt description... back in the early 1980's concerns about paedophilia were brushed under the carpet.. and we children were strip washed in a large bucket outside the caravan (this I suspect has led to a lack of inhibition on my part in adult life, and the sheer inability to care where I pee).
As the camp was enclosed, the door of the caravan was mainly open, and the dogs loosed about us....
The Alsatian, kato was a beast of an animal, huge, hairy and rather prone to startling people by standing very very close to them and frowning.. this was largely due to myopia on the dogs part, but gave her a ferocious air... in spite of the fact that at least once that holiday I attempted to ride her like a horse... it didn't work, dogs are not compliant in such circumstances...
To further create the illusion of thuggery kato would cock her leg to pee, there is a chance she may in fact have been a he, I cannot remember, and have no one I can ask to confirm this.. One
morning, whilst out on a jaunt about the campsite, kato was as dogs are prone to be, possessed by the urgent need to evacuate her bladder... she chose a tent as the ideal receiver of her micturate... unfortunately it was occupied, and said camper was less then happy.. I was recently washed and dressed for the day when an irate man, charged up to the caravan,
"is THIS your dog" he demanded, My grandfather confirmed indeed he was owner of said Alsatian...
"Well its PISSED all over my tent, and YOU are going to have to clean it"
Something of a heated debate ensued, My Grandfather maintaining the upper hand, calm and polite, affronted by the behaviour of, and language used by this man in front of children...threats about reporting us ALL to the camp owner were rather futile, we were in a privileged position after all, ultimately he took the bucket of water - in which we had so recently been washed, accompanied the gentleman to his tent, and rather then actually cleaning the tent, threw the soapy water over it, turned on his heel and went back about his business...
I don't recall encountering the camper again, I recall being too young to run amok with the other children nearby, and spending a deal of time hung out of the caravan door watching them, I recall equally a playground, where the children of a miner openly mocked me for knowing how iced lollies were made, and indeed my sisters Monty Python t-shirt (this later became my PE kit at primary school)...
That, that was our final trip to the Miners welfare, had I suspect very little to do with the dogs behaviour, and was more connected to my grandfathers failing health, his last summer spent entertaining the emphesymic.. before himself succumbing to cancer.
At least a decade, I suspect more, passed before we went on a 'proper' holiday, abroad no less... well to France, by which time I had an appreciation of cheese, and developed an appreciation of wine... I lost all appreciation of sloped low ceilings on the first morning there, when, in that most stupid period of your life(immediately after waking..) I sat up... it hurt.
Anyway, the others are getting impatient, apparently its not the done thing to lord around in your dressing gown, blogging when there are excited offspring in the vicinity....
I must away...
Tuesday 30 March 2010
Monday 29 March 2010
Sometimes, you discover a truth, your brain had erased, for no good reason beyond the fact you were 19 and quite spectacularly drunk...and then..12 years later, you are reminded of it.. you sit dumbfounded.. then laugh.
Lets go back in time... vworp vworp vworp tardis sound effects...
It is New Years Eve 1997, every ones back from Uni, so the old gang have decided to see the new Year in together.. in the heady night spot of Lincoln.. we convened in a pub by the canal (always start near the water - saves falling in) taxis were booked for after midnight at the top of the hill to return us to our respective villages.. Much alcohol was taken on board,and the peculiar battle for my attention from a dear friend ensued.. her mistake had been to invite along the one person whom could hold court with my attention and my affections, causing the rest of the world to cease to exist, so she took the approach of getting so shit faced everyone would be paying attention to her... by 11.30 she was sat vomiting ungraciously under the table.. we were a stones throw from the Cathedral, it was agreed that her parents should be summoned... on the grounds that she was showing us all up - and I'd be able to get a free ride home.. we saw midnight in, she slumped on a bench as the clock chimed out its fateful passing of time bongs.. almost empty by then of her cargo of booze... I mysteriously bleeding down my sleeve.. and the source of all the trouble stood at my side, hooting with laughter with me at how oddly this reunion had turned out...
and there, my memory stops.
What i don't recall is that between 1 and 2 am, I was at home, probably drinking tea with my Mother and sister who'd been out for a meal... and the phone rang.
Uncharacteristically for me at ANY point in my life.. I answered.
I am assured by my mother, who remembers it clearly, because everyone who was in earshot was quite taken aback...that my words ran thus...
'he-llo?'
'who is this?'
'YES.. but WHO is THIS'
'oh *sigh* FUCK OFF'
at which point I apparently held the receiver at arms length and uttered the words 'Mother, dads on the phone, apparently he wants to talk to you'
and then stalked off about the house, mumbling vitriolically about the 'fucking wanker' 'what the fucks does he want, twat'
All these years I have lamented not saying goodbye and not closing a door.
Turns out, that actually.. I slammed the bugger SHUT with some vigour, only I had clear forgotten about it.
My phone manner has improved slightly.. and oddly enough, asides the memory games my mind plays on me.. I no more wish to speak to him now, then evidentally I did then.
Lets go back in time... vworp vworp vworp tardis sound effects...
It is New Years Eve 1997, every ones back from Uni, so the old gang have decided to see the new Year in together.. in the heady night spot of Lincoln.. we convened in a pub by the canal (always start near the water - saves falling in) taxis were booked for after midnight at the top of the hill to return us to our respective villages.. Much alcohol was taken on board,and the peculiar battle for my attention from a dear friend ensued.. her mistake had been to invite along the one person whom could hold court with my attention and my affections, causing the rest of the world to cease to exist, so she took the approach of getting so shit faced everyone would be paying attention to her... by 11.30 she was sat vomiting ungraciously under the table.. we were a stones throw from the Cathedral, it was agreed that her parents should be summoned... on the grounds that she was showing us all up - and I'd be able to get a free ride home.. we saw midnight in, she slumped on a bench as the clock chimed out its fateful passing of time bongs.. almost empty by then of her cargo of booze... I mysteriously bleeding down my sleeve.. and the source of all the trouble stood at my side, hooting with laughter with me at how oddly this reunion had turned out...
and there, my memory stops.
What i don't recall is that between 1 and 2 am, I was at home, probably drinking tea with my Mother and sister who'd been out for a meal... and the phone rang.
Uncharacteristically for me at ANY point in my life.. I answered.
I am assured by my mother, who remembers it clearly, because everyone who was in earshot was quite taken aback...that my words ran thus...
'he-llo?'
'who is this?'
'YES.. but WHO is THIS'
'oh *sigh* FUCK OFF'
at which point I apparently held the receiver at arms length and uttered the words 'Mother, dads on the phone, apparently he wants to talk to you'
and then stalked off about the house, mumbling vitriolically about the 'fucking wanker' 'what the fucks does he want, twat'
All these years I have lamented not saying goodbye and not closing a door.
Turns out, that actually.. I slammed the bugger SHUT with some vigour, only I had clear forgotten about it.
My phone manner has improved slightly.. and oddly enough, asides the memory games my mind plays on me.. I no more wish to speak to him now, then evidentally I did then.
Thursday 25 March 2010
The humble house mouse gets bad press, and not without good reason.
They are small, furry and not entirely unappealing, certainly they can make lovely pets, till they turn nasty and eat each other in a power struggle..however they are entirely incontinent, and never have the good grace to clean up after themselves. Nor do they buy in their own provisions, oh no.. the gnaw your vegetables, spill your oats about the cupboard and make free with your teabags, as house shares go.. I prefer people, at least they leave a note saying 'sorry finished the milk' and aren't usually wont to piss in the pantry..
Its been a good 2 years since I won war with my rodential contemporaries, the addition of two bloody thirsty killers to the household is, we hope deterrent, or pest control enough...
The day I discovered the mice was quite traumatic for me... put an animal out of context and it becomes immediately terrifying.. mice ranked slightly lower then the Toad that hopped into the kitchen one summer evening and rendered me, trapped on a chair, babbling incoherently and gesticulating at the amphibious infiltrator, a spectacle made all the more amusing by the fact that outside, when encountering, presumably the same toad in my garden, I just pick him up gently and move him out of harms way so I can mow the lawn (I flymo-ed one once, it made a god awful racket) needless to say, no toad nor frog has crossed my threshold since that day... a situation probably helped by my ex, who once whilst on his way to the bin managed to catch a miscellaneous amphibian on the toe end of his shoe and send it soaring majestically several feet through the air, before it landed indelicately and with a bellicose 'croak' went about its business.
Anyway yes.. the mice.
I boxed up all that was untarnished by their feasting, and threw the rest away.. and cleaned the pantry and kitchen to within several inches of their non mortal lives.. I identified the point of entry for the furry burglars.. and with a demented look in my eye.. and a cry of... 'this isn't rock and roll THIS is genocide' poured a heady cocktail of poisons down then hole... this wasn't ever going to be enough.. who eats blue wheat when theres a cornucopia of heady delights above floor level.. not mice thats for sure.
I blocked the hole... they gnawed through.
The only solution then was to lay traps, and poison...
I got through countless traps... evenings trying to read or heaven forbid watch the television were punctuated by the rhythmic 'CRACK.. *ricochet* THUD' of another mouse having its neck broken...
I never could bring myself to empty the traps... a spike goes through their head.. its a messy business and I have a weak stomach when it comes to rodent brains.
Friends recommended glue traps.. I couldn't bring myself to use them... cold hearted killing is one thing, willful torture is another... which brings me to the reason, I never considered 'humane traps'
My Grandmother, once had a mouse in her pantry... and decided far from kill it, she would ensnare it in a humane trap and release it to the wild far far from her house, safe in the knowledge that if you just put them in the garden, they come back.
We applauded this gentility, this tolerance and respect for life...and wished her luck with this endeavour.
6 months later, she cleaned the pantry out... and found the Humane trap stowed, where she had placed it, behind several jars of maturing chutney... she picked it up, and then.. when she heard the rattling sound from within..
She remembered... you have to CHECK humane traps and empty them.
My Mother was summoned, via the unusual practice of telephoning our next door neighbour (we didn't have a phone, and Grandma was in no state to hop on her moped)
Bravely, and not without a little amusement, my mother opened the trap.. and outside, emptied its contents onto the ground.. there, preserved beautifully, dehydrated, and not unlike Tutan Khamun was essentially a mummified mouse.
We considered the option of reconstitution, and were accused of being silly, worse still it was suggested we were cruel, harsh words from the mouth of a woman who had, starved to death an innocent field mouse which had taken refuge for the winter in her pantry..
From that day on I avowed.. never will I attempt genial dealings with the rodents, once more I encountered a humane mousetrap.. in my late teens, the cat had decided my bedroom was the ideal place to stow his live prey.. and safe in the knowledge I would never remember to check the neck-breaker traps - or indeed equally likely would have ended up injuring a hand or foot by neglecting to remember where they were.. we opted to use,yes, my grandmothers old humane trap... over several nights it became apparent, house mice are clever and long enough to escape these traps... so we devised an extension - to make it harder for it to escape, and so positioned it that it would make a noise against furniture when the mouse was trapped and devising its escape... at which point I believe the plan was to drop the whole set up out of the window...
And THEN.. at the point, where, watching idly from my armchair (I had essentially turned my room into a bedsit by this point) the mouse was making its approach to the trap.. ah HA we've got you NOW I thought.. THEN.. then the cat decided to kill it, and eat it..
So the moral I believe is, go straight in for the kill, too much kindness will kill slowly, too much ingenuity and thinking.. and someone or something else pips you to the post.
Oh and the mice situation here.. that was ultimately solved by having new flooring put down..
They are small, furry and not entirely unappealing, certainly they can make lovely pets, till they turn nasty and eat each other in a power struggle..however they are entirely incontinent, and never have the good grace to clean up after themselves. Nor do they buy in their own provisions, oh no.. the gnaw your vegetables, spill your oats about the cupboard and make free with your teabags, as house shares go.. I prefer people, at least they leave a note saying 'sorry finished the milk' and aren't usually wont to piss in the pantry..
Its been a good 2 years since I won war with my rodential contemporaries, the addition of two bloody thirsty killers to the household is, we hope deterrent, or pest control enough...
The day I discovered the mice was quite traumatic for me... put an animal out of context and it becomes immediately terrifying.. mice ranked slightly lower then the Toad that hopped into the kitchen one summer evening and rendered me, trapped on a chair, babbling incoherently and gesticulating at the amphibious infiltrator, a spectacle made all the more amusing by the fact that outside, when encountering, presumably the same toad in my garden, I just pick him up gently and move him out of harms way so I can mow the lawn (I flymo-ed one once, it made a god awful racket) needless to say, no toad nor frog has crossed my threshold since that day... a situation probably helped by my ex, who once whilst on his way to the bin managed to catch a miscellaneous amphibian on the toe end of his shoe and send it soaring majestically several feet through the air, before it landed indelicately and with a bellicose 'croak' went about its business.
Anyway yes.. the mice.
I boxed up all that was untarnished by their feasting, and threw the rest away.. and cleaned the pantry and kitchen to within several inches of their non mortal lives.. I identified the point of entry for the furry burglars.. and with a demented look in my eye.. and a cry of... 'this isn't rock and roll THIS is genocide' poured a heady cocktail of poisons down then hole... this wasn't ever going to be enough.. who eats blue wheat when theres a cornucopia of heady delights above floor level.. not mice thats for sure.
I blocked the hole... they gnawed through.
The only solution then was to lay traps, and poison...
I got through countless traps... evenings trying to read or heaven forbid watch the television were punctuated by the rhythmic 'CRACK.. *ricochet* THUD' of another mouse having its neck broken...
I never could bring myself to empty the traps... a spike goes through their head.. its a messy business and I have a weak stomach when it comes to rodent brains.
Friends recommended glue traps.. I couldn't bring myself to use them... cold hearted killing is one thing, willful torture is another... which brings me to the reason, I never considered 'humane traps'
My Grandmother, once had a mouse in her pantry... and decided far from kill it, she would ensnare it in a humane trap and release it to the wild far far from her house, safe in the knowledge that if you just put them in the garden, they come back.
We applauded this gentility, this tolerance and respect for life...and wished her luck with this endeavour.
6 months later, she cleaned the pantry out... and found the Humane trap stowed, where she had placed it, behind several jars of maturing chutney... she picked it up, and then.. when she heard the rattling sound from within..
She remembered... you have to CHECK humane traps and empty them.
My Mother was summoned, via the unusual practice of telephoning our next door neighbour (we didn't have a phone, and Grandma was in no state to hop on her moped)
Bravely, and not without a little amusement, my mother opened the trap.. and outside, emptied its contents onto the ground.. there, preserved beautifully, dehydrated, and not unlike Tutan Khamun was essentially a mummified mouse.
We considered the option of reconstitution, and were accused of being silly, worse still it was suggested we were cruel, harsh words from the mouth of a woman who had, starved to death an innocent field mouse which had taken refuge for the winter in her pantry..
From that day on I avowed.. never will I attempt genial dealings with the rodents, once more I encountered a humane mousetrap.. in my late teens, the cat had decided my bedroom was the ideal place to stow his live prey.. and safe in the knowledge I would never remember to check the neck-breaker traps - or indeed equally likely would have ended up injuring a hand or foot by neglecting to remember where they were.. we opted to use,yes, my grandmothers old humane trap... over several nights it became apparent, house mice are clever and long enough to escape these traps... so we devised an extension - to make it harder for it to escape, and so positioned it that it would make a noise against furniture when the mouse was trapped and devising its escape... at which point I believe the plan was to drop the whole set up out of the window...
And THEN.. at the point, where, watching idly from my armchair (I had essentially turned my room into a bedsit by this point) the mouse was making its approach to the trap.. ah HA we've got you NOW I thought.. THEN.. then the cat decided to kill it, and eat it..
So the moral I believe is, go straight in for the kill, too much kindness will kill slowly, too much ingenuity and thinking.. and someone or something else pips you to the post.
Oh and the mice situation here.. that was ultimately solved by having new flooring put down..
Yesterday, I did something possibly ill advised, of which I am sure the consequences will be biding their time until they come back to haunt me.
For the benefit of those reading who have never met me, it may come as a suprise for you to learn I'm not quite like the majority of people, I have never had an inclination to follow the herd, I blame this entirely on my family.. I do not strive to be 'different' or 'alternative' in my dress or disposition, I simply know what is and isn't 'me' and actually I'd stand out far more in the fashion uniform of the masses, simply because it would be at odds with me... equally.. I have never felt inclined to do anything other then speak properly, yes I have something of an accent, but it wanders around various regions at a seconds notice, theres a lot to be said for enuciation, pronuciation and indeed the correct inclusion of consonants (which isn't to say 'appen I never drop the occasional 'h' or indeed 't'.. but the inflection is there... what I don't do is replace 'tt' with a 'ck' sound.. I loathe and destest THAT kind of behaviour) anyway.. yes.. you should now have the idea in your head, that I, Fanylion am a little, how shall we put this without sounding dreadfully cliched and up ones own arse.. erm... kooky..
For all of that slight oddness, in my own way I fit in with the right kind of people, I live in an area where theres very much a social divide.. there are the decent, honest people, and at risk of sounding like a crushing snob.. there are the chavs.. the vast majority of the latter, look down their immaculatley made up noses at everyone else - they simply KNOW they are of superior standing, I do not bother them, they do not bother me, occasionally I suspect they consider ringing the fashion police, or indeed having me sectioned based on my devillment of wearing checks AND stripes.. and then.. just in case there wasn't enough playground politics.. you have the extras from shameless.., the people who I have no qualms abut appearing snob
bish about, the ones who roll up pissed at hometime, who stand shouting and swearing in the playground, making tactless remarks and being frankly nasty.. just to make themselves feel better.
Since my eldest started school, I have established myself, been accepted by the other parents, as yes.. a bit 'odd' sometimes, but not terrifyingly weird.. I have firm friendships, people who take me for who and what I am.. and then, then theres 'monstrosity #1' as I shall call her.
And herein is the crux of my waiting for a situation to bite me on the arse, you see I broke the cardinal rule, instead of, just letting her railroad me OUT of the way, and out of control of a situation wth my own child (bear in mind this is not someone who could consider me even a casual mate, and if she does, it says more about her lack of intuition and ooh intelligence then it does mine) I steadfastly remained calm, and ignored her... assuming perhaps that she might take the hint and back off.. she didn't
I to avoid confrontation, kept a very very low profile..
and then, it, the monstrosity cornered me in the street, where people where innocently unloading their children from cars to deposit them at school...
And in the politest way imaginable.. I warned her, that she really didn't want to speak to me, it was not in her better interests, my mood was bad, my temper short.. and there it was.. the moment perhaps when she realised... Fanylion *doesn't* actually like me, THATS why she never sends me a christmas card, never stops to talk to me in the street, never invites me down for coffee.. and looks so bloody BORED when I speak... she swore in her dulcet, consonant dropped tones at me...
I didn't let rip people, I didn't execute the verbal castration, or character assasination..
no
I turned on my heel.. (she flinched actually) looked her in the eye, and made it quite clear, that I was in a BAD mood, and actually, like every other human being walking the face of this planet... I will take it out on whomsoever I wish...as is my wont.
I left her, stood, mouth flapping like a liver diseased acne riddled 2 legged goldfish and walked home, hand in hand with my ailing child, head held high..
and I know, the fall will come.
I know..
when I LEAST expect it, andthere are enough people around to witness my downfall.. then
at that moment it will come.. a launched tirade, that would have Jeremy Kyle running for cover.
I will be this, that and indeed the other, I have no doubt about that..
if I'm really lucky, she'll try and hit me.
for my part, as I know its coming, I intend to do what my Mother always taught me to do with bullies, look bored, ask nicely if she's quite finished yet and rise above it..
I'm hoping, you see.. that on that fateful day, I'll get the TV movie cheer, that my boys and I will be carried out of school on the shoulders of a rejoicing crowd..
that the Monstrosity will be seen for what she really is, tarred, feathered and run out of town, back to the village she came from.
Though I expect of course, in reality.. she'll shout and yawp and take a swing at me, I'll behave with dignity and let it wash over me... people will wonder quite whats just happened there, and the gossip mongers will have a field day...
For the benefit of those reading who have never met me, it may come as a suprise for you to learn I'm not quite like the majority of people, I have never had an inclination to follow the herd, I blame this entirely on my family.. I do not strive to be 'different' or 'alternative' in my dress or disposition, I simply know what is and isn't 'me' and actually I'd stand out far more in the fashion uniform of the masses, simply because it would be at odds with me... equally.. I have never felt inclined to do anything other then speak properly, yes I have something of an accent, but it wanders around various regions at a seconds notice, theres a lot to be said for enuciation, pronuciation and indeed the correct inclusion of consonants (which isn't to say 'appen I never drop the occasional 'h' or indeed 't'.. but the inflection is there... what I don't do is replace 'tt' with a 'ck' sound.. I loathe and destest THAT kind of behaviour) anyway.. yes.. you should now have the idea in your head, that I, Fanylion am a little, how shall we put this without sounding dreadfully cliched and up ones own arse.. erm... kooky..
For all of that slight oddness, in my own way I fit in with the right kind of people, I live in an area where theres very much a social divide.. there are the decent, honest people, and at risk of sounding like a crushing snob.. there are the chavs.. the vast majority of the latter, look down their immaculatley made up noses at everyone else - they simply KNOW they are of superior standing, I do not bother them, they do not bother me, occasionally I suspect they consider ringing the fashion police, or indeed having me sectioned based on my devillment of wearing checks AND stripes.. and then.. just in case there wasn't enough playground politics.. you have the extras from shameless.., the people who I have no qualms abut appearing snob
bish about, the ones who roll up pissed at hometime, who stand shouting and swearing in the playground, making tactless remarks and being frankly nasty.. just to make themselves feel better.
Since my eldest started school, I have established myself, been accepted by the other parents, as yes.. a bit 'odd' sometimes, but not terrifyingly weird.. I have firm friendships, people who take me for who and what I am.. and then, then theres 'monstrosity #1' as I shall call her.
And herein is the crux of my waiting for a situation to bite me on the arse, you see I broke the cardinal rule, instead of, just letting her railroad me OUT of the way, and out of control of a situation wth my own child (bear in mind this is not someone who could consider me even a casual mate, and if she does, it says more about her lack of intuition and ooh intelligence then it does mine) I steadfastly remained calm, and ignored her... assuming perhaps that she might take the hint and back off.. she didn't
I to avoid confrontation, kept a very very low profile..
and then, it, the monstrosity cornered me in the street, where people where innocently unloading their children from cars to deposit them at school...
And in the politest way imaginable.. I warned her, that she really didn't want to speak to me, it was not in her better interests, my mood was bad, my temper short.. and there it was.. the moment perhaps when she realised... Fanylion *doesn't* actually like me, THATS why she never sends me a christmas card, never stops to talk to me in the street, never invites me down for coffee.. and looks so bloody BORED when I speak... she swore in her dulcet, consonant dropped tones at me...
I didn't let rip people, I didn't execute the verbal castration, or character assasination..
no
I turned on my heel.. (she flinched actually) looked her in the eye, and made it quite clear, that I was in a BAD mood, and actually, like every other human being walking the face of this planet... I will take it out on whomsoever I wish...as is my wont.
I left her, stood, mouth flapping like a liver diseased acne riddled 2 legged goldfish and walked home, hand in hand with my ailing child, head held high..
and I know, the fall will come.
I know..
when I LEAST expect it, andthere are enough people around to witness my downfall.. then
at that moment it will come.. a launched tirade, that would have Jeremy Kyle running for cover.
I will be this, that and indeed the other, I have no doubt about that..
if I'm really lucky, she'll try and hit me.
for my part, as I know its coming, I intend to do what my Mother always taught me to do with bullies, look bored, ask nicely if she's quite finished yet and rise above it..
I'm hoping, you see.. that on that fateful day, I'll get the TV movie cheer, that my boys and I will be carried out of school on the shoulders of a rejoicing crowd..
that the Monstrosity will be seen for what she really is, tarred, feathered and run out of town, back to the village she came from.
Though I expect of course, in reality.. she'll shout and yawp and take a swing at me, I'll behave with dignity and let it wash over me... people will wonder quite whats just happened there, and the gossip mongers will have a field day...
Sunday 21 March 2010
fixed.
Its 25 hours ago, I am in Mold... specifically I am upstairs in Y Delyn, Dean is insistent he is having technical issues.. now MOST of these are rectified by turning the volume up and changing the settings to aux rather the CD on the venues amp... but he maintains during and after one track specifically that the sounds not right, somethings wrong, its just NOT good enough.. interestingly however ALL the other songs played on that deck are fine...
Whats interesting about this is the track he had particular issue with, was Genesis.
From this we can conclude, safely one important factor which should never EVER be overlooked, Genesis in ANY incarnation, were in fact SHIT.
Sadly it was from their debut album, so we cannot attribute the mainstay of their LACK of appeal, though it is something which must never ever be considered anything but of paramount importance, the 'Phil Collins Effect' throughout his career, YES he has proved an accomplished and impressive percussionist I cannot and would not deny that, but he besmirched the music scene across three decades, and must never ever be thought of as anything but a smug, drumming, ginger baldy twat. Whilst yes I can tolerate, that is to say I am not driven into a psychotic rage or fit of uncontrollable vomiting by 'against all odds' on those rare occasions I listen to the local radio station (usually when we have had several inches of snow and I need to know if I have to actually LEAVE the house and take the loin fruit to school) I cannot bring myself to fully appreciate his whining, I cannot like him.. this however is not the case for the self important Geordie... Jimmy Nail.
Jimmy Nail you see takes shite music so far down the line of truly awful, that it becomes bearable, simply it is a nostalgic hankering for the aurally abysmal, it is background muzak which neither inspires nor distracts you at those times when you need to concentrate your mind... This moment of boredom and distractibility with Spotify so easily at hand saw me delving into the heady delights of Jimmy Nail... having giggled ceaselessly at his soulful vocals, I chanced upon 'Black and White' on his awe inspringly naff titled best of ' the Nail File', reader I implore you hunt this track down.. it will never EVER be the best thing you hear, but it will by far and away not be the worst... You can picture the seriousness with which he MEANS this sentiment, you can hear it in his inflection and intonation, Nail is impressing upon us the need for racial equality, to further hammer home he has at some point enlisted a young black rapper, one 'Ranking Roger', this act leads to what may never be usurped as one of the FUNNIEST moments in bad music... there you are, Jimmy Nail, pouring and gurning his SOUL into this message, this moral tale of scholarly metaphor,, and then... he is urged on with the war cry 'C'mon JIMMY NAIL!!!!!!!!'
I cried tears of mirth when I second heard this, the first time, I simply sat agog at what was playing out before my ears.
I have however, digressed..
Back in Y Delyn, the music improves.. a small crowd is gathering to enjoy the aural delights proffered by Dean, I discovered one of the few lagers I positively enjoy is on tap there, and our small elite hunkered round the decks is added to by the arrival in secret (always when The disco Goth and i are smoking elsewhere) of Ben, known previously as Soundhog (and DO hunt down his work, the mans an undiscovered and unappreciated genius) a man who can reverse DJ, tinker with equipment, create effects and echos without ever revealing HOW, and often unnoticed or magnificently tolerated by Dean, at this point the evening stops being about what anyone as an audience might be wanting and becomes self indulgent music geekage - two grown men impressing each other.. though for an onlooker and listener, this is when it gets better then being 'really quite good' because 2 heads are often better then one.. segues become seamless.. chat becomes silly, and guitar playing along to bloody everything becomes jealousy inducing..
But yes, we raise a glass, and indulge in a nonchalant salute to friends and music, to ridiculous conversations about the 'infinity Les' nature of my family (I have a series of Uncles and cousins all called Les, this begins with big Les and moves down the generations to the point I have a cousin of my age referred to as little little Les's little Les, it has I suspect become farcical..more anecdotes of my odd family at a later date) the realisation that domestic cats are a dying species because rescue centres neuter them all..., the shock revelation that the Disco Goth has never liked Kylie.. and the perplexing notion that in a cannibal situation I'm first on the dining table as food on account that I most likely taste like mint.
There is NOWHERE on earth quite LIKE wales, nothing expected ever happens there and yet.. its the most grounding and normalising place to go.
Whats interesting about this is the track he had particular issue with, was Genesis.
From this we can conclude, safely one important factor which should never EVER be overlooked, Genesis in ANY incarnation, were in fact SHIT.
Sadly it was from their debut album, so we cannot attribute the mainstay of their LACK of appeal, though it is something which must never ever be considered anything but of paramount importance, the 'Phil Collins Effect' throughout his career, YES he has proved an accomplished and impressive percussionist I cannot and would not deny that, but he besmirched the music scene across three decades, and must never ever be thought of as anything but a smug, drumming, ginger baldy twat. Whilst yes I can tolerate, that is to say I am not driven into a psychotic rage or fit of uncontrollable vomiting by 'against all odds' on those rare occasions I listen to the local radio station (usually when we have had several inches of snow and I need to know if I have to actually LEAVE the house and take the loin fruit to school) I cannot bring myself to fully appreciate his whining, I cannot like him.. this however is not the case for the self important Geordie... Jimmy Nail.
Jimmy Nail you see takes shite music so far down the line of truly awful, that it becomes bearable, simply it is a nostalgic hankering for the aurally abysmal, it is background muzak which neither inspires nor distracts you at those times when you need to concentrate your mind... This moment of boredom and distractibility with Spotify so easily at hand saw me delving into the heady delights of Jimmy Nail... having giggled ceaselessly at his soulful vocals, I chanced upon 'Black and White' on his awe inspringly naff titled best of ' the Nail File', reader I implore you hunt this track down.. it will never EVER be the best thing you hear, but it will by far and away not be the worst... You can picture the seriousness with which he MEANS this sentiment, you can hear it in his inflection and intonation, Nail is impressing upon us the need for racial equality, to further hammer home he has at some point enlisted a young black rapper, one 'Ranking Roger', this act leads to what may never be usurped as one of the FUNNIEST moments in bad music... there you are, Jimmy Nail, pouring and gurning his SOUL into this message, this moral tale of scholarly metaphor,, and then... he is urged on with the war cry 'C'mon JIMMY NAIL!!!!!!!!'
I cried tears of mirth when I second heard this, the first time, I simply sat agog at what was playing out before my ears.
I have however, digressed..
Back in Y Delyn, the music improves.. a small crowd is gathering to enjoy the aural delights proffered by Dean, I discovered one of the few lagers I positively enjoy is on tap there, and our small elite hunkered round the decks is added to by the arrival in secret (always when The disco Goth and i are smoking elsewhere) of Ben, known previously as Soundhog (and DO hunt down his work, the mans an undiscovered and unappreciated genius) a man who can reverse DJ, tinker with equipment, create effects and echos without ever revealing HOW, and often unnoticed or magnificently tolerated by Dean, at this point the evening stops being about what anyone as an audience might be wanting and becomes self indulgent music geekage - two grown men impressing each other.. though for an onlooker and listener, this is when it gets better then being 'really quite good' because 2 heads are often better then one.. segues become seamless.. chat becomes silly, and guitar playing along to bloody everything becomes jealousy inducing..
But yes, we raise a glass, and indulge in a nonchalant salute to friends and music, to ridiculous conversations about the 'infinity Les' nature of my family (I have a series of Uncles and cousins all called Les, this begins with big Les and moves down the generations to the point I have a cousin of my age referred to as little little Les's little Les, it has I suspect become farcical..more anecdotes of my odd family at a later date) the realisation that domestic cats are a dying species because rescue centres neuter them all..., the shock revelation that the Disco Goth has never liked Kylie.. and the perplexing notion that in a cannibal situation I'm first on the dining table as food on account that I most likely taste like mint.
There is NOWHERE on earth quite LIKE wales, nothing expected ever happens there and yet.. its the most grounding and normalising place to go.
Friday 19 March 2010
I join you reader, from my sometime home, well locale I visit so often I ought to pay rent, in North Wales.
Opposite myself are The Disco Goth and a be striped DJ Fuzzyfelt, adjacent to my right is a Glass of rather lovely wine, and a note book, in which I am intermittently making notes at a high speed for Affingham...
Dotting around, in a fugue of high pitched hovering is a mosquito... at some point, it is inevitable at least one of us will be dive bombed.. My money is on the Disco Goth. I have good grounds for this, and thus regale you with the peculiar occurrence..
The Flies of 'steddfod.
Having resided in a field for some three days, in the hot sun of high summer, it is inevitable, no matter to what lengths we went to maintain scrupulous personal hygiene (I for one was walking a 2 hour round trip JUST to shower) that some amount of sweating would have occurred by mid evening.. from sweat emanates pheromones... The Disco Goth, I can only conclude is the very epitome of pheromone production...
To stand by her was akin to being with pig-pen from the Peanuts cartoon, only it wasn't a haze of dirt swarming about her, but a flock of small insects.. some great amusement could be gained by asking her to move and watching the slight delay of a cloud of insects moving just to join her and be close... sadly this spectacle ceased once the sun had set and the temperature had dropped, and it never reoccurred the whole time we were there...
That is all
Back to my wine
Opposite myself are The Disco Goth and a be striped DJ Fuzzyfelt, adjacent to my right is a Glass of rather lovely wine, and a note book, in which I am intermittently making notes at a high speed for Affingham...
Dotting around, in a fugue of high pitched hovering is a mosquito... at some point, it is inevitable at least one of us will be dive bombed.. My money is on the Disco Goth. I have good grounds for this, and thus regale you with the peculiar occurrence..
The Flies of 'steddfod.
Having resided in a field for some three days, in the hot sun of high summer, it is inevitable, no matter to what lengths we went to maintain scrupulous personal hygiene (I for one was walking a 2 hour round trip JUST to shower) that some amount of sweating would have occurred by mid evening.. from sweat emanates pheromones... The Disco Goth, I can only conclude is the very epitome of pheromone production...
To stand by her was akin to being with pig-pen from the Peanuts cartoon, only it wasn't a haze of dirt swarming about her, but a flock of small insects.. some great amusement could be gained by asking her to move and watching the slight delay of a cloud of insects moving just to join her and be close... sadly this spectacle ceased once the sun had set and the temperature had dropped, and it never reoccurred the whole time we were there...
That is all
Back to my wine
Wednesday 17 March 2010
After the ball was over..
And so, with heavy heart, and a little sigh, we gather, to think of Donna Noble... last time we saw Donna, she was a bit overwhelmed by the Doctor in his bleak angry phase.. in the meantime, it seems she did a bit of thinking.. and Actually, being a Temp in Chiswick..well it was a bit boring in retrospect....
This time round she also has a Mother who thinks she should get a job and settle down with a nice boy, and a Grandfather who spends a lot of time 'up the hill' looking at stars and tending to his veg... Wilf in fact, is probably one of the best 'adds depth to a companion' characters that exists, reverential and wise, and encourages Donna to follow her dreams...
And so she does... In fact she was reading on the Internet, and hunting down the Doctor... And so, she finds him, after a series of near misses whilst the vunerable and gullible of the world take a new wonder drug, where the fat literally just walks away. Don't get me wrong... the idea of a mouthy ginger being the new companion filled me with dread, but this Donna has had some time to think, she's considerably quieter and yes, she's ready now and she WANTS to see it all... to experience more, and The Doctor, well he just wants a mate...
And so, not before bumping into a dewy eyed, pouty girl in a crowd of gatherers who have been ogling a spaceship, she joins him, in the Tardis...and they complement each other so well, this is very much what both characters needed, The Doctor someone to make him think, slow him down take into consideration the impact of his actions on the Human race - for which he has an evident soft spot, whilst he expounds the importance of maintaining a balance, a continuous timeline - not interfering or playing God... (remember he's seen what can happen when a God Complex develops) and it works so well because theres no expectation on either side, no hidden agendas... its a mutual feedback, they make each other more.
And off they yomp, through space and time, saving the world, liberating species from their oppressors, all the whilst on some almost 'hippy' personal growth travelling expedition, both becoming more aware of their power on a different level to that which they would ordinarily consider themselves, till ultimately they are equals... sparring partners, friends on the best, if weirdest Holiday ever, living in the moment neither wishing to know the future (no spoilers)...
Where other companions have been prone to making the occasional faux pas... Donna is prone to being whipped out of reality, into idyllic dream worlds where she has a family and husband - but only if she looks at them, and indeed into another version of the world, where she turned right at a junction... at which point it becomes rather apparent, that not ONLY was she dissatisfied with being a temp.. she was also the most important woman in the whole universe, even if there was something on her back...
Which is where Rose Tyler steps in... remember Rose? persistent little bugger... never quite lost the God Complex either... and so she sends Donna, back into her own timeline (which risks all known reality caving in on itself) to get run over, in order that Donna who of course knows none of this at the junction turns left instead...all to make sure the Doctor doesn't die... admirable yes, but you worry for his pets...
So, yes back they go in the Tardis, the Doctor and Donna... and then... as it tends to.. Reality Cracked open, earth disappeared and there they are, trapped outside of time... its not looking good.. there have been portenders of doom all the whilst which they have ignored, of course they do eventually get back to earth - not least because ex-companions of the doctor can't NOT intervene..and when theres Daleks dashing around, oh and BLOODY Martha considering blowing up the entire planet... and the Doctors grinning because he's heard the word Rose, and you just KNOW its going to be a big ole, knees up - the whole gang together.. saving the world..
Then it goes a bit tits up.. you end up with two Doctors, and Donna blessed with a whole lot of Time lord intelligence... which is brilliant, you'd already seen her sort of calmly accept she was a key figure and moment in space and time...add a bit o'timelord and she was cocky with it... and you reflect on all she's done, where she's been and how its all led to this moment of brilliance..
and then, when everyone's gone home, Rose has been LEFT in the other Universe, with a token, won't live forever timelord (psycho - clone yourself BRILLIANT plan, wish I'd thought of that myself actually)the parties over..
And by far and away the cruelest fate awaits Donna.
All those things, all that change for the better in herself, everywhere she'd been, saving the world, travelling through time and space..
She'll never know she even did it.
Everyone else at least walks away with their memories...
to never know what you have been..or what you are.., just another thing she's missed and doesn't believe happened.
and just n case thats not bad enough... Wilf Mott makes you cry at then end of it all as well.
This time round she also has a Mother who thinks she should get a job and settle down with a nice boy, and a Grandfather who spends a lot of time 'up the hill' looking at stars and tending to his veg... Wilf in fact, is probably one of the best 'adds depth to a companion' characters that exists, reverential and wise, and encourages Donna to follow her dreams...
And so she does... In fact she was reading on the Internet, and hunting down the Doctor... And so, she finds him, after a series of near misses whilst the vunerable and gullible of the world take a new wonder drug, where the fat literally just walks away. Don't get me wrong... the idea of a mouthy ginger being the new companion filled me with dread, but this Donna has had some time to think, she's considerably quieter and yes, she's ready now and she WANTS to see it all... to experience more, and The Doctor, well he just wants a mate...
And so, not before bumping into a dewy eyed, pouty girl in a crowd of gatherers who have been ogling a spaceship, she joins him, in the Tardis...and they complement each other so well, this is very much what both characters needed, The Doctor someone to make him think, slow him down take into consideration the impact of his actions on the Human race - for which he has an evident soft spot, whilst he expounds the importance of maintaining a balance, a continuous timeline - not interfering or playing God... (remember he's seen what can happen when a God Complex develops) and it works so well because theres no expectation on either side, no hidden agendas... its a mutual feedback, they make each other more.
And off they yomp, through space and time, saving the world, liberating species from their oppressors, all the whilst on some almost 'hippy' personal growth travelling expedition, both becoming more aware of their power on a different level to that which they would ordinarily consider themselves, till ultimately they are equals... sparring partners, friends on the best, if weirdest Holiday ever, living in the moment neither wishing to know the future (no spoilers)...
Where other companions have been prone to making the occasional faux pas... Donna is prone to being whipped out of reality, into idyllic dream worlds where she has a family and husband - but only if she looks at them, and indeed into another version of the world, where she turned right at a junction... at which point it becomes rather apparent, that not ONLY was she dissatisfied with being a temp.. she was also the most important woman in the whole universe, even if there was something on her back...
Which is where Rose Tyler steps in... remember Rose? persistent little bugger... never quite lost the God Complex either... and so she sends Donna, back into her own timeline (which risks all known reality caving in on itself) to get run over, in order that Donna who of course knows none of this at the junction turns left instead...all to make sure the Doctor doesn't die... admirable yes, but you worry for his pets...
So, yes back they go in the Tardis, the Doctor and Donna... and then... as it tends to.. Reality Cracked open, earth disappeared and there they are, trapped outside of time... its not looking good.. there have been portenders of doom all the whilst which they have ignored, of course they do eventually get back to earth - not least because ex-companions of the doctor can't NOT intervene..and when theres Daleks dashing around, oh and BLOODY Martha considering blowing up the entire planet... and the Doctors grinning because he's heard the word Rose, and you just KNOW its going to be a big ole, knees up - the whole gang together.. saving the world..
Then it goes a bit tits up.. you end up with two Doctors, and Donna blessed with a whole lot of Time lord intelligence... which is brilliant, you'd already seen her sort of calmly accept she was a key figure and moment in space and time...add a bit o'timelord and she was cocky with it... and you reflect on all she's done, where she's been and how its all led to this moment of brilliance..
and then, when everyone's gone home, Rose has been LEFT in the other Universe, with a token, won't live forever timelord (psycho - clone yourself BRILLIANT plan, wish I'd thought of that myself actually)the parties over..
And by far and away the cruelest fate awaits Donna.
All those things, all that change for the better in herself, everywhere she'd been, saving the world, travelling through time and space..
She'll never know she even did it.
Everyone else at least walks away with their memories...
to never know what you have been..or what you are.., just another thing she's missed and doesn't believe happened.
and just n case thats not bad enough... Wilf Mott makes you cry at then end of it all as well.
Tuesday 16 March 2010
I can't sound Jolly, I loathed Martha with every fibre of my being.
Martha my dear, I can't forget thee, try frankly as I might...
Now series three of the new run, is a turning point for Doctor Who, in that the writers et-al have every much established themselves and found their feet, it contains some of the best episodes, and without the undertones of a doomed romance you do get more of a feel for the doctor.. but its all marred by one thing.
Martha Jones, doe eyed and obsequious.
The Doctor, well she doesn't register on his radar.... he's the last of his kind, and he's not looking for a rebound companion, JUST a companion... frankly you'd think someone who's in training to be a (Medical) doctor would have the wherewith all to see that, but no...
And it all started with a kiss...
Granted you can see where she got her signals mixed up, I mean, your on your rounds as a student doctor, and suddenly its raining upwards and your trapped on the moon, then one of the patients, a certain Mr Smith starts acting a bit oddly, kisses you, and together you save the world, whilst trying not to be arrested for being alien by the intergalactic police - who look like Goth Rhino's and answer ONLY to the Shadow Proclamation...maybe she was having an off day.. but frankly if a manic hospital patient started ranting and raving, chasing the elderly lady who just HAPPENS to have a straw and be sucking the life out of people, AND he interferes with medical equipment, frankly THATS no basis for romance, kiss or no kiss... but she's smitten and off they trot...
And actually he does have some regard for her, just as friends though, he KEEPS saving her... even though as things develop, you know once they've had a bit of a to-do with some witches, met Shakespeare, fought with the daleks, it does start to look a bit like, her life back at home, on earth is leading towards a *bit* of trouble for the Doctor, that and almost getting them eaten by a Lazarus monster (think Oil of Ulay.. but taken to an extreme) he clearly has some respect for her, and trusts her, and knows he can rely on that obsequious doe eyed pal to look out for him when he has to turn himself into a human for a whilst... and someone to stop him.. and actually all that doting and belief in him Martha had, well it paid off in dividends in the end, and in a way SHE saved the world - he seems to have a habit of this doesn't he, the Doctor... taking people, ordinary or otherwise and empowering them... she listened to and appreciated him, she saw all the good he did, or at least all his good intentions, she was his counsel, and even though yes, she made something of a faux pas, she did at least end his belief that he was the ONLY time lord left, and essentially caused the return of his arch nemesis and best sparring partner... The Master.. a Man so devoid of sanity and utterly in love with his own hype, that it seems odd the Doctor would be pleased to see him, let alone try to reason with him... a strange move which did lead to him being aged physically to match his chronological years and eventually kept in a bird cage... but Martha.. well she buggered off whilst the going was good... and disappeared for a year.. doing gawd knows what..whilst Good Old can't die Captain Jack was tortured, and Martha's family - who if they'd kept quiet might have been left out of things attended to the many whims of a megalomaniac time lord...
Anyway, whilst lying about whatever it was she was doing, Martha manages in the end to get caught by The Master, and taken back to a space station... where its revealed.. that whats she's done, is makes sure EVERYONE believes in the doctor JUST as much as she does... he de-ages, everything gets fixed, times reversed.. the End.
Oh and she GOT the hint, and left with her head held high.. and went off to be a Doctor in her own right...
Leaving the Doctor to contemplate.. and crash into the Titanic. Which was worth it for his 'what, What WHAT!' boggling.. but is NOT going to be spoken of, because if I ignore it.. it never happened.
Now series three of the new run, is a turning point for Doctor Who, in that the writers et-al have every much established themselves and found their feet, it contains some of the best episodes, and without the undertones of a doomed romance you do get more of a feel for the doctor.. but its all marred by one thing.
Martha Jones, doe eyed and obsequious.
The Doctor, well she doesn't register on his radar.... he's the last of his kind, and he's not looking for a rebound companion, JUST a companion... frankly you'd think someone who's in training to be a (Medical) doctor would have the wherewith all to see that, but no...
And it all started with a kiss...
Granted you can see where she got her signals mixed up, I mean, your on your rounds as a student doctor, and suddenly its raining upwards and your trapped on the moon, then one of the patients, a certain Mr Smith starts acting a bit oddly, kisses you, and together you save the world, whilst trying not to be arrested for being alien by the intergalactic police - who look like Goth Rhino's and answer ONLY to the Shadow Proclamation...maybe she was having an off day.. but frankly if a manic hospital patient started ranting and raving, chasing the elderly lady who just HAPPENS to have a straw and be sucking the life out of people, AND he interferes with medical equipment, frankly THATS no basis for romance, kiss or no kiss... but she's smitten and off they trot...
And actually he does have some regard for her, just as friends though, he KEEPS saving her... even though as things develop, you know once they've had a bit of a to-do with some witches, met Shakespeare, fought with the daleks, it does start to look a bit like, her life back at home, on earth is leading towards a *bit* of trouble for the Doctor, that and almost getting them eaten by a Lazarus monster (think Oil of Ulay.. but taken to an extreme) he clearly has some respect for her, and trusts her, and knows he can rely on that obsequious doe eyed pal to look out for him when he has to turn himself into a human for a whilst... and someone to stop him.. and actually all that doting and belief in him Martha had, well it paid off in dividends in the end, and in a way SHE saved the world - he seems to have a habit of this doesn't he, the Doctor... taking people, ordinary or otherwise and empowering them... she listened to and appreciated him, she saw all the good he did, or at least all his good intentions, she was his counsel, and even though yes, she made something of a faux pas, she did at least end his belief that he was the ONLY time lord left, and essentially caused the return of his arch nemesis and best sparring partner... The Master.. a Man so devoid of sanity and utterly in love with his own hype, that it seems odd the Doctor would be pleased to see him, let alone try to reason with him... a strange move which did lead to him being aged physically to match his chronological years and eventually kept in a bird cage... but Martha.. well she buggered off whilst the going was good... and disappeared for a year.. doing gawd knows what..whilst Good Old can't die Captain Jack was tortured, and Martha's family - who if they'd kept quiet might have been left out of things attended to the many whims of a megalomaniac time lord...
Anyway, whilst lying about whatever it was she was doing, Martha manages in the end to get caught by The Master, and taken back to a space station... where its revealed.. that whats she's done, is makes sure EVERYONE believes in the doctor JUST as much as she does... he de-ages, everything gets fixed, times reversed.. the End.
Oh and she GOT the hint, and left with her head held high.. and went off to be a Doctor in her own right...
Leaving the Doctor to contemplate.. and crash into the Titanic. Which was worth it for his 'what, What WHAT!' boggling.. but is NOT going to be spoken of, because if I ignore it.. it never happened.
Monday 15 March 2010
More a synopsis then a run through on the whole character... on account theres an entire other series in the way
Imagine, for a moment, your a temp, from Chiswick, its your wedding day.. your walking down the aisle towards your best beloved and then...
BANG
your suddenly stood in the Tardis, with a bespectacled, pinstripe suited, slightly miserable looking waif of a Man...
You'd be a shade on the annoyed side wouldn't you?
Yes... So was, Donna Noble... Now in the fullness of time, Donna Noble will go on to become my favourite of all the companions of the new run of Doctor Who.. back in 2006, she was essentially the between companions bouncing board for a heartbroken and Angry the Doctor... it was, yes...
a bit of a romp.. Christmas Specials always are..
And so, having established that no ones really SURE how she got there, and clearly she'd sooner not be, the task of returning her to her wedding, or at least her nearest and dearest commenceth.. of course, the Doctors interest has been piqued, and the appearance of Robot Santas, and Exploding Christmas trees (and where were they in my actual REAL childhood - I might not have grown to hate the festive season so much if it had been exciting you know) just draws him in even more...
And so, it transpires, Donna has been temping at an insurance firm, this firm has links to Torchwood - who I neglected to mention where in no small way responsible for the whole Rose getting stuck in another reality situation in the preceding series...
The fact the wedding reception went ahead despite her vanishing entirely into air, and the appearance of yet more festive adornments trying to kill everyone, leads to the burgeoning, unlikely alliance of the Doctor and Donna, oh and her previously intended...
Now in the meantime, a whacking great star has appeared in the sky, and 'neath the Thames, after thoroughly upsetting Donna, her now ex fiance meets something of an unfortunate fate - moral of the story - never spike anyones coffee.. because eventually, you'll get fucked over by..
a REALLY big BASTARD of a spider..
the ins and outs are of course that spiders are going to EAT the population of earth, teleport to their huge web-star ship and be gone...
Now no-one likes spiders do they?
Donnas gripe is understandable - she was intended to be their lunch, I'd not be very impressed by a spider that wanted to eat me... and the Doctor,well frankly he's had ENOUGH, he's still in a bad mood about Rose, he's stuck with a Mouthy Ginger, who frankly has a bit of an attitude (but is she bovvered, eh trivia fans).. so fuck this for a game of soldiers.. he does what ANY of us would do..
Turns the tap on, and watches in malevolent glee... as they all perish, Muhahahahahahahaha
(actually I favour either a blob of bleach - they burst, or suffocating them in a glass for 3 days, time was of the essence here though)
The spaceship gets blown up as well, the world is saved, and there writhing and screeching is a HUGE bastard of a mutant spider, rater upset about the demise of her children... at which point..
Donna, develops a compassion gland, makes the Doctor snap out of his rage, and they make a run for it... she decides against his invite to travel with him... and with the ring that Will STOP her randomly appearing in the Tardis in place... off she trots, sensibly, unlike EVERY other bloody companion who gets to go IN the Tardis, back to her Normal life... possibly a bit miffed at not getting married, but much more versed in the manner of mass arachnid apocalypse... Taraa Donna....
BANG
your suddenly stood in the Tardis, with a bespectacled, pinstripe suited, slightly miserable looking waif of a Man...
You'd be a shade on the annoyed side wouldn't you?
Yes... So was, Donna Noble... Now in the fullness of time, Donna Noble will go on to become my favourite of all the companions of the new run of Doctor Who.. back in 2006, she was essentially the between companions bouncing board for a heartbroken and Angry the Doctor... it was, yes...
a bit of a romp.. Christmas Specials always are..
And so, having established that no ones really SURE how she got there, and clearly she'd sooner not be, the task of returning her to her wedding, or at least her nearest and dearest commenceth.. of course, the Doctors interest has been piqued, and the appearance of Robot Santas, and Exploding Christmas trees (and where were they in my actual REAL childhood - I might not have grown to hate the festive season so much if it had been exciting you know) just draws him in even more...
And so, it transpires, Donna has been temping at an insurance firm, this firm has links to Torchwood - who I neglected to mention where in no small way responsible for the whole Rose getting stuck in another reality situation in the preceding series...
The fact the wedding reception went ahead despite her vanishing entirely into air, and the appearance of yet more festive adornments trying to kill everyone, leads to the burgeoning, unlikely alliance of the Doctor and Donna, oh and her previously intended...
Now in the meantime, a whacking great star has appeared in the sky, and 'neath the Thames, after thoroughly upsetting Donna, her now ex fiance meets something of an unfortunate fate - moral of the story - never spike anyones coffee.. because eventually, you'll get fucked over by..
a REALLY big BASTARD of a spider..
the ins and outs are of course that spiders are going to EAT the population of earth, teleport to their huge web-star ship and be gone...
Now no-one likes spiders do they?
Donnas gripe is understandable - she was intended to be their lunch, I'd not be very impressed by a spider that wanted to eat me... and the Doctor,well frankly he's had ENOUGH, he's still in a bad mood about Rose, he's stuck with a Mouthy Ginger, who frankly has a bit of an attitude (but is she bovvered, eh trivia fans).. so fuck this for a game of soldiers.. he does what ANY of us would do..
Turns the tap on, and watches in malevolent glee... as they all perish, Muhahahahahahahaha
(actually I favour either a blob of bleach - they burst, or suffocating them in a glass for 3 days, time was of the essence here though)
The spaceship gets blown up as well, the world is saved, and there writhing and screeching is a HUGE bastard of a mutant spider, rater upset about the demise of her children... at which point..
Donna, develops a compassion gland, makes the Doctor snap out of his rage, and they make a run for it... she decides against his invite to travel with him... and with the ring that Will STOP her randomly appearing in the Tardis in place... off she trots, sensibly, unlike EVERY other bloody companion who gets to go IN the Tardis, back to her Normal life... possibly a bit miffed at not getting married, but much more versed in the manner of mass arachnid apocalypse... Taraa Donna....
I have been thinking, and frankly I find myself a little alarmed. Back in the heady days of the eighties, fuelled by his addiction to drugs and drink, Pete Townshend absconded from The Who to write, what are some fine examples of songsmithery which remain very much of their time, but have a point of context in my memory, of happy times, a house filled with music is never to be considered a bad thing.
You can take them as they are, nicely worded catchily tuned pop music your Dad liked, or you can see the sentiment and you can smile.. a lot of the work seems to focus on the changing inter personnel dynamics as a person ages and as you age it begins so to strike a chord.
However..
the words;
"let my love open a door to your heart"
are a source of concern for me, and have been for some time. Now I have no reason to consider that Mr Townshend is anything but a literate, if not rather intelligent man - certainly my own correspondence with him suggest him to be both well read and articulate, its not unreasonable then, to anticipate he may have some rudimentary grasp of the physiology of the cardio respiratory system is it?
I have over the years had cause to examine my ribcage, of late I have noted a peculiar dint to the right adding weight to my assertion last year, that I had in fact received broken ribs (this was around the point in time I was wearing a corset whensoever possible, as means of bracing myself literally) anyway, what I can say with some degree of certainty is that there is simply, NO door which would lead to my heart. I conclude then, this is either poetic license, or a more accurate line would be;
"let my love, rip apart your flesh and break through the cartilage and bone of your sternum, to your heart"
Doesn't have quite the same ring to it does it?
Also, one has to consider - to what is he referring when he says 'my love' is this simply the emotion, presumably then a metaphysical torture device.. or a specific part of his anatomy, in which case, the imagery is to horror inducing to detail, and frankly I suspect the disproved allegations regarding paedophilia are the very least of the worlds concerns....
You can take them as they are, nicely worded catchily tuned pop music your Dad liked, or you can see the sentiment and you can smile.. a lot of the work seems to focus on the changing inter personnel dynamics as a person ages and as you age it begins so to strike a chord.
However..
the words;
"let my love open a door to your heart"
are a source of concern for me, and have been for some time. Now I have no reason to consider that Mr Townshend is anything but a literate, if not rather intelligent man - certainly my own correspondence with him suggest him to be both well read and articulate, its not unreasonable then, to anticipate he may have some rudimentary grasp of the physiology of the cardio respiratory system is it?
I have over the years had cause to examine my ribcage, of late I have noted a peculiar dint to the right adding weight to my assertion last year, that I had in fact received broken ribs (this was around the point in time I was wearing a corset whensoever possible, as means of bracing myself literally) anyway, what I can say with some degree of certainty is that there is simply, NO door which would lead to my heart. I conclude then, this is either poetic license, or a more accurate line would be;
"let my love, rip apart your flesh and break through the cartilage and bone of your sternum, to your heart"
Doesn't have quite the same ring to it does it?
Also, one has to consider - to what is he referring when he says 'my love' is this simply the emotion, presumably then a metaphysical torture device.. or a specific part of his anatomy, in which case, the imagery is to horror inducing to detail, and frankly I suspect the disproved allegations regarding paedophilia are the very least of the worlds concerns....
Sunday 14 March 2010
Suspect, my 'passing' interest is a little more in depth then I confess
So, yes... Rose Tyler, where were we.. yes thats right God Complex, save the world, kill your new found best friend in the process, all in a days work surely.. that or some jellied eels whilst you have a cockernee knee's up dahn the local, singing music hall greats round the Old Joanna...
(it seems you never can tell with the down to earthy London types...)
Confronted, then with the newer, younger, prettier (infinitely prettier frankly) 'new' version of the Doctor, Rose developed something of a sense of style... better hair, and a dewy eyed look.. By now she knew she could be fairly impressive when she chose, and also that this Doctor was very aware that he was far cleverer..and so a bounce back and forth rapport was established.. not before he'd spent most of Christmas fast asleep, only to be revived by a cup of tea, then save the world in a dressing gown, whilst conveniently losing a hand and growing a new one... lest any plot loopholes be needed in the future...
And off they skipped, having jolly japes and 'a bit of a romp' with ethically corrupt cat people, werewolves.. Dickens.. and then the slightly odd appearance of an alternative reality full of cybermen... where Rose Once again made a bit of a faux pas regarding her Dad (you'd think she'd have learned after the whole nearly folding all of time and space in on itself last time.. but no...), her no longer plastic boyfriend stayed in the other version of the world, which was frankly fair enough really.. And you knew, you KNEW so often.. things she said, lingering glances... again Rose was going to go a step too far.. some people resolutely just never learn do they... The devil told them she'd die in war... did she GO HOME? no... she avowed to stand by her man to the bitter end... (doesn't matter how many times a time lord points out - you'll die, I won't.. the ladies just love it)
And then reality cracked open, Cybermen, Daleks (and there was no scope for dust this time around) people hopping between 2 worlds... and to be fair - they DID try and stop Rose, but she wasn't having it.. no no no back she went only to find herself pulled foot long into the Void... rescued at the very last minute by her not dad Dad...
After that, she started hearing voices, and demanding trips to the coast, to break her heart over a hologram and snot heartbreakingly into a rather lovely scarf...
And frankly, really you'd THINK that would have been enough wouldn't it? that you know you KILL one Doctor, your permanently separated from the other with NO way back, stop your sobbing, use some of the things you have learnt, save the other world...
Back on the other side of the Idiots lantern, a nation wept, and some are still prone to random tears if they think too hard about that scene,. a new companion would be instated, we must forget Rose Tyler, and carry on... we've seen the last of her.
or So you would THINK.
(it seems you never can tell with the down to earthy London types...)
Confronted, then with the newer, younger, prettier (infinitely prettier frankly) 'new' version of the Doctor, Rose developed something of a sense of style... better hair, and a dewy eyed look.. By now she knew she could be fairly impressive when she chose, and also that this Doctor was very aware that he was far cleverer..and so a bounce back and forth rapport was established.. not before he'd spent most of Christmas fast asleep, only to be revived by a cup of tea, then save the world in a dressing gown, whilst conveniently losing a hand and growing a new one... lest any plot loopholes be needed in the future...
And off they skipped, having jolly japes and 'a bit of a romp' with ethically corrupt cat people, werewolves.. Dickens.. and then the slightly odd appearance of an alternative reality full of cybermen... where Rose Once again made a bit of a faux pas regarding her Dad (you'd think she'd have learned after the whole nearly folding all of time and space in on itself last time.. but no...), her no longer plastic boyfriend stayed in the other version of the world, which was frankly fair enough really.. And you knew, you KNEW so often.. things she said, lingering glances... again Rose was going to go a step too far.. some people resolutely just never learn do they... The devil told them she'd die in war... did she GO HOME? no... she avowed to stand by her man to the bitter end... (doesn't matter how many times a time lord points out - you'll die, I won't.. the ladies just love it)
And then reality cracked open, Cybermen, Daleks (and there was no scope for dust this time around) people hopping between 2 worlds... and to be fair - they DID try and stop Rose, but she wasn't having it.. no no no back she went only to find herself pulled foot long into the Void... rescued at the very last minute by her not dad Dad...
After that, she started hearing voices, and demanding trips to the coast, to break her heart over a hologram and snot heartbreakingly into a rather lovely scarf...
And frankly, really you'd THINK that would have been enough wouldn't it? that you know you KILL one Doctor, your permanently separated from the other with NO way back, stop your sobbing, use some of the things you have learnt, save the other world...
Back on the other side of the Idiots lantern, a nation wept, and some are still prone to random tears if they think too hard about that scene,. a new companion would be instated, we must forget Rose Tyler, and carry on... we've seen the last of her.
or So you would THINK.
I may have been watching DVD boxed sets.
Poor Rose Tyler, she did get herself in a predicament didn't she.. well in so much as a fictional character can.
Such an ordinairy girl, worked in a shop, lived on a Council Estate with her mum, you know the sort happy with their lot in life..., nothing especially unusual about her, pretty eyes, nice smile.. clothes that leave a lot to be desired... She never was going to be my favourite companion, though she was better then Martha (who will never be forgiven as a character for saying, or an actress for agreeing to say 'Its me Martha and I'm bringing you back to Earth') no my favourite was Donna, but thats another story.
So yes, Ordinairy girl gets whipped out of time and life by some mysterious man known only as 'The Doctor', she see's her normal earth boyfriend turned into plastic after being eaten by a wheelie bin, she watches the end of the world far far in the future, and at no point does she say 'now hang ON a minute here' or indeed take leave of her senses, such is I suppose the power of a fictional universe. Yes she made the occasional faux pas, talking to Daleks, interfering with her own timeline and nearly causing the known universe to collapse in the process.. but with the Doctor by her side, everything was fixable, everything could be restored, and you were shown perhaps just how much power an unassuming ordinairy girl can have.
Right up until the point, where faced with his own Demons, faced with deciding live and wipe out a species or die and leave the world to face its fate, a choice, damaged and broken the Doctor couldn't make, and so he did what anyone with two hearts would do... he sent away the one person who could have helped him, back to her normal life, to working in a shop and living on a Council Estate with her Mum.... having seen so much, and been so many places, its understandable perhaps, that Rose Tyler went a bit mad, so mad in fact she ripped open the tardis, absorbed the time vortex, turned Daleks into dust, and found herself, burning up inside, seeing and understnding everything all at once, and in pain.... and all because, she had an irrepressible need to fix things and help her Doctor one last time. Of course all turned out for the best, only it killed her Doctor in the process... nothing was ever going to be the same after that, she'd gone way too far and developed a god complex to boot.. but she saved the world...
It wasn't of course being with the Doctor that made her Brilliant, just that he made her realise her own power... and to boot he told her, albeit in a slightly cocksure Northern manner
"You were fantastic, Absolutley fantastic, and do you know what? So was I"
Such an ordinairy girl, worked in a shop, lived on a Council Estate with her mum, you know the sort happy with their lot in life..., nothing especially unusual about her, pretty eyes, nice smile.. clothes that leave a lot to be desired... She never was going to be my favourite companion, though she was better then Martha (who will never be forgiven as a character for saying, or an actress for agreeing to say 'Its me Martha and I'm bringing you back to Earth') no my favourite was Donna, but thats another story.
So yes, Ordinairy girl gets whipped out of time and life by some mysterious man known only as 'The Doctor', she see's her normal earth boyfriend turned into plastic after being eaten by a wheelie bin, she watches the end of the world far far in the future, and at no point does she say 'now hang ON a minute here' or indeed take leave of her senses, such is I suppose the power of a fictional universe. Yes she made the occasional faux pas, talking to Daleks, interfering with her own timeline and nearly causing the known universe to collapse in the process.. but with the Doctor by her side, everything was fixable, everything could be restored, and you were shown perhaps just how much power an unassuming ordinairy girl can have.
Right up until the point, where faced with his own Demons, faced with deciding live and wipe out a species or die and leave the world to face its fate, a choice, damaged and broken the Doctor couldn't make, and so he did what anyone with two hearts would do... he sent away the one person who could have helped him, back to her normal life, to working in a shop and living on a Council Estate with her Mum.... having seen so much, and been so many places, its understandable perhaps, that Rose Tyler went a bit mad, so mad in fact she ripped open the tardis, absorbed the time vortex, turned Daleks into dust, and found herself, burning up inside, seeing and understnding everything all at once, and in pain.... and all because, she had an irrepressible need to fix things and help her Doctor one last time. Of course all turned out for the best, only it killed her Doctor in the process... nothing was ever going to be the same after that, she'd gone way too far and developed a god complex to boot.. but she saved the world...
It wasn't of course being with the Doctor that made her Brilliant, just that he made her realise her own power... and to boot he told her, albeit in a slightly cocksure Northern manner
"You were fantastic, Absolutley fantastic, and do you know what? So was I"
Monday 8 March 2010
Grand Nationals...
After a succession of felicitous gigs as a support act, or the main event in smaller venues, where an audience is guaranteed, Race Horses, have stepped into the breech, a bunch of affable debutantes, on a full UK tour as the headlining act promoting the recent release of their debut Album 'Goodbye Falkenberg'. Interestingly, although they have in the past been able to attract a formidable crowd of regulars and longstanding supporters across the border, only one show on the tour is scheduled in their native Wales.
Brimming with self belief, far from being arrogant, or in it solely for the money, their keenness to succeed and the enthusiasm which with they perform is infectious, a spectacle of enjoyment where yes- things go wrong - but they smile through it, and its impossible to not smile with them. Bringing to the stage the same captivating melodies produced on record, but with the palpable tautness of a coiled spring just waiting to unfurl into the ricocheting chaos of the climactic exit numbers, a quality that cannot be captured in a studio and thus pitches them up several notches as a live act.
Their exuberance and charm, is undeniably reflected into the audience and back onto the band, where, a glance round will see a mass of smiling faces, non perhaps so devilish and mischievous as the front man, whom after a full set of innocent songs with adult allusions, looks positively impish at the prospect of saying the F-word, an expression both endearing and bewitching, encapsulating the sense you are in the proximity of something anachronistic. They have a timeless and untarnished quality... You feel you are in the presence of a band in their infancy, guileless choirboys who once accidentally had tea with a Brothel Madam, certainly you walk away with the feeling you have witnessed the beginning of something wonderful... retrace your steps to that moment, if this is the birth of cool, then consider this both the coitus and conception....
Sidestep out of the here and now, and enter another world, back in time, but within the realms of recent history, when Euros Childs emerged with a raft of post Gorky's pop music, in his inimitable way, all contagious guitar hooks and promenade organs, with words of sunshine - a unique approach that has served him well through the years. It was inevitable then, that an upcoming band Radio Luxembourg were comparable to this,and fitted into that self same niche, though more through extraction then comparison or any notion of being a pastiche. Its a fair summary to suggest the Welsh language music scene exists within its own Macrocosm. Bordering at times on being incestuous and remaining a source of hidden treasure to all but the natives, and those foolhardy enough to venture deep across the border and face the at times extreme Xenophobia and Negativity that lingers on against the English, we of course being the great oppressors whom throughout history littered their landscapes with Castles. Obviously there have always been the exceptions to the rule, those who have gone down in anecdotal legends for sacrificing their fees at high profile events by singing in English.
Whilst success on your home turf is a highly important feature, there will always be those whose drive and ambition sees them looking beyond the horizon. Seeking new boards to tread, and a wider demographic to reach out to. With a healthy collection of releases on the Peski Label and a string of TV appearances under their collective belts, things were looking promising for Radio Luxembourg. With an irrepressible charm and enthusiasm they bypassed the sneers usually reserved for those succeeding on a bilingual level. They were gathering momentum in the manner of a rolling stone on a steep incline, they were attracting interest from high profile record labels, most notably Rough Trade, at around the same time it became apparent that copyright issues were going to emerge if they persisted with their name.. and so in 2009 'Race Horses' became their official moniker, and the two steps to the left change in direction that had begun some months previous became a permanent fixture. Not so much a deviation from their original path, as an extension building upon a solid foundation, but removing slightly the 10p mix and a sherbet dip quality of their previous incarnation.
Whilst undeniably there will always be people, myself included, who silently, and not so silently wish for a retrospective inclusion of that sugary sweet pop in their live sets, Race Horses have resolutely risen above relying on their past success, and started afresh.. although sometimes on their home turf, you are treated to 'Cartoon Cariad', although that marked in many ways the beginning of their regeneration. With new material circulating and performed regularly their appeal remained catchier then a magnetic tennis ball for an Iron handed giant.
It is perhaps testimony to their driving ambition, that they manage to not only face up to the challenge of attracting a new audience, but succeeded in swinging around their existing one, ignoring the inevitable fun poking of those resistant to change, they have taken their sound through a range of influences, and have at times bewildered audiences by opening with their own take on electronica and prog rock - a swirling mass of feedback and organs comparable to an adolescent fretboard recently acquainted with productive masturbation to then at the point where even the most determined onlooker is giving up hope, fall into the kind of effortless pop music that appears so simple and naive, yet infiltrates your subconscious like a subliminal call to arms, leaving an audience disquieted but ultimately hooked..
And so, find them where you will, what so appears to be the beginning has been a five year long journey, those first unfaltering steps of a toddler now racing down hill in a confident sprint.
Taking in a range of influences, yet managing to still sound unique, you occasionally realise that perhaps all that has come before has led to this moment, they are if you will a musical mnemonic. The vocal harmonies echoing back to the Beach Boys, the music hall narratives that take you smiling in your head to the Kinks at their most wonderful but ultimately career damaging peak, those occasional nods to George Formby and Glenn Millar, yet still not wholly derivative. That they are in part classically trained musicians is evident, as is their penchant for wordplay and alliteration. What combines and coalesces is something the like of which you may never encounter again.. suspended out of time and leagues beyond the music pouring from more commercially viable bands, there is, quite simply something happening here...and long may it continue.
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