//
Katie and Peter : The Split
Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m inconsolable.
Oh… hang on…
Thing is I’ve always seen Katie Price as this rather ignorant, domineering, sharp-tongued, bullying harpy and Peter Andre as a bit of a well-meaning lunkhead. So I always felt rather sorry for him whenever I saw the two of them together, but ultimately thought: well, if you’re happy, you’re happy, but I don’t see how.
So if it’s all true and he has finally got fed up with her it does seem that something has pushed his IQ up several points and for that I feel a sort of paternal glow towards him.
I just want to ruffle his hair and go “good on you improving yourself”.
Aww. They grow up so fast don’t they?
Posted on May 16, 2009 | Filed Under The World we Live In | 0 Comments
Stop Messing About
In what has turned out to be an oddly busy week for me culturally, Daniel and I last night popped along to the West End Theatre to see “Stop Messing About“, the sequel show to the popular “Round the Horne… Revisited” I saw a couple of years back.
And much fun it was too. More or less in the same vein as its predecessor, you were effectively transported back to the BBC Radio theatre for two acts, each of which gave you the feel of being at a recording of the actual Stop Messing About radio show. I gather there was a little new material, but most of it was authentic sketches taken from the first series and despite a relatively small audience, it seemed to be appreciated by all concerned.
The only problem is that, much like the radio show itself, the stage presentation suffered on two counts. First it wasn’t by Barry Cryer and Marty Feldman who wrote the first three series of Round the Horne, it was by Brian Cooke and Johnnie Mortimer who wrote the fourth. Received wisdom suggests that somehow they weren’t quite as good at Horne as the first team and for a change it’s recieved wisdom I do agree with. Not bad, certainly, but not as good.
Secondly was that Kenneth Horne wasn’t it it – but again this was what prevented Stop Messing About from working so well as its parent show. Indeed much of SMA was apparently supposed to have been the fifth series of Horne, but Kenneth’s death rather prevented that happening and his duties were therefore – rather obviously – split between the announcer Douglas Smith and Kenneth Williams. And neither of them quite managed to be the avuncular solid authority figure around whom the other cast could spin wildly out of control. Both were excellent performers for their parts, of course, but their parts by necessity couldn’t anchor the show in the same way and SMA was therefore ultimately cancelled.
So in some respects the stage show’s strength and weakness was in its accuracy. But nonetheless the second half seemed more confident and acerbic and the audience and cast had warmed up nicely and I would heartily recommend seeing it if you can. Robin Sebastian puts in another scarily accurate turn as Kenneth Williams, and Nigel Harrison and Charles Armstrong similarly put in highly commendable comic turns as Hugh Paddick and Douglas Smith.
My surprise of the night though was Emma Atkins as Joan Sims. Personally I’m not convinced she was as much of a fit for the part of Sims as the others were for their roles (visually or vocally) but by God she showed an amazing range and extremely deft comic timing which showcased her perfectly. I was, therefore, incredibly surprised in my (admittedly) snobbish anti-soap way to find that she’s best known as Charity Dingle from Emmerdale.
All in all, it’s about time that more of these types of shows were put on. There’s something charming and immediate about them unlike radio recordings of today and, at its best, the material just shines.
Posted on May 14, 2009 | Filed Under Film, TV, Theatre | 0 Comments
The Frontline
Last time I went into the Globe Theatre it was still being built. All very fascinating and there was a certain amount of “I’ve been there” when Doctor Who visited for the Shakespeare Code the other year, but I always vaguely regretted not having seen a production there.
But last night I accompanied the flatmate and a few of his Credit Suisse colleagues to a production of The Frontline in order, more than anything else, to put this right.
It was a shame, in many respects, that the weather took the decision to plunge itself rapidly towards zero over the course of the evening, but I have to say it was a rather enjoyable event. The Globe is beautiful, and a quite mesmerising performance space – albeit considerably smaller than it looked on telly and certainly smaller than I remember (although it was, naturally, when I was a mere child last time).
That said, I would advise anyone going to shell out a quid for cushion hire. I wasn’t, it must be said at all comfy without a seatback (my poor back!) but without a cushion I really wouldn’t have made it to the second act.
Which would have been a shame. I wasn’t entirely sold on the production from the website, and had misgivings having heard some reviews, but found myself leaving with a satisfied appetite for theatre, and a reasonable sense of bewilderment.
It’s a shocking and violent piece at times, full of profanity, and drugs, and sexuality, but it’s also very funny and as philosophical and heart-warming as it is harrowing. The parallel-running of various sub-plots on the stage was cannily managed so that you were able to follow two or three things happening at once with little difficulty.
There were a few niggles in that the songs I didn’t feel were universally strong, and a couple of the plot threads seemed to be left dangling somewhat, but given the overall standard of acting (and a wonderful monologue on the wonders of Marmite) it seems churlish to complain. I was left reeling and can heartily recommend it.
(And amazingly, I had no idea that the God-botherer with the beard and the guitar was the staggeringly beautiful Jonathan Kerrigan who I’ve had a crush on for years. But then that’s probably just as well. I’d probably have yanked him off the stage if I’d known.)
Posted on May 12, 2009 | Filed Under Film, TV, Theatre | 0 Comments
Why I’d Make a Lousy Mayor
Based on the experiences I’ve had over the last week during my daily commute, I have come to the conclusion that I would make a lousy mayor of London. Basically because it would be so tempting for me to start enforcing draconian rules and regulations regarding allowable behaviour on public transport.
For one thing I’d ban pushchairs on commuter buses (or certainly ones over a certain size). Watching people trying to squeeze onto an already packed bus with one and the resultant upheaval it causes all existing passengers makes you wonder why people think it’s a good idea.
I would almost certainly make a maximum limit of two pushchairs at all other times too.
But then there’s other little niggles. People whose overall width is over that of a standard seat would start having to pay an additional obesity charge for their tickets since they cause so much discomfort to those people nearly crammed in by their backsides.
I would make it acceptable for passengers to begin kicking in the shin anyone whose mobile phone conversation goes over two minutes, said kicking to continue until termination of the call.
And people who put their bags on free seats would be allowed to be slapped by anyone wishing to take the spot, and then – if said bag-owner grumbles about having to move it – the prospective sitee would be perfectly within their rights to stab the antisocial bastard in the eye with a biro.
Sensible and fair policies I think you’ll agree.
Posted on May 8, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
“I Don’t Want to be Prime Minister”
Regading the latest statements in the Labour crisis of the confidence, could I just take the opportunity to add some supportive words to Harriet Harman?
Harriet, it really is fine, love. We don’t want you to be Prime Minister either. Because, frankly – and I mean this in a loving way – you’re really awful.
Maybe not quite as awful as Wacky Jacqui Smith or Hazel Bleary Blears, but you are still, somehow, redolent of a dominatrix let loose in Whitehall who is then determined not to let anyone get up to what she used to.
Something about the cabinet at the moment rather puts me in mind of a flock of vultures just waiting patiently for the roadkill to stop twitching.
Posted on May 4, 2009 | Filed Under The World we Live In | 1 Comment
Siege in the City!
I must confess, I found my journey to work this morning rather pleasant.
Not only was I temporarily sat next to by someone who was the spitting image of Rob Shearman – noted author and Doctor Who writer extraordinaire, responsible for “Dalek” amongst other works – but the bus was otherwise relatively empty and the streets were clear and the journey through London Bridge and Bank remarkably swift.
So I was vaguely amused to discover that the front page of lacklustre free-mag City AM proclaimed the words “G20: City Under Siege”.
Okay, it may all kick off later on but at the moment it’s all oddly quiet and the main difference is an increase in the wearing of denim and Converse.
Update 1201: Young Mark headed out about lunchtime and found a fairly peaceful protest down Moorgate. One of the protesters was wielding a banner stating “Resistance is Fertile” which I think is a marvellous sentiment.
Moorgate Protest
Update 1451: Okay… that was a bit underwhelming. Just went for my lunchtime PowerMince and found distressing scenes of peace and quiet everywhere.
A few more police, admittedly, and a few closed stores, but the streets comparatively empty. Even Liverpool Street, where earlier the UBS building was besieged with protesters, had reverted to the sort of levels of population you’d expect in the dead of night. And the Climate Camp at Bishopsgate seemed terribly good humoured.
Yet still the Evening Standard proclaims in big bold letters: “Anarchists in Battle for the City”.
Er… not really, guys. The most terrifying spectacle I saw was a rather ill-dressed young man whose skin had the colour and texture of a dollop of B&Q emulsion.
Posted on April 1, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life, The World we Live In | 0 Comments
Drowning in Mucus
2008 was, for me, a fairly sickly year. Up until mid-December I rarely seemed not to have a background level cold of some sort, and it was incredibly frustrating – not least because they rarely amounted to anything other than a mild sore throat and a slight sniffle.
I couldn’t even claim man-flu, for God’s sake.
And then, suddenly, it stopped. A slight sore throat reared its head in February but I think that was excessive central heating dryness as it vanished in an hour or so. Other than that I’ve been fit as a fiddle for about three months – even being stuck in a wet forest in Suffolk with three people sniffling and coughing around me didn’t cause anything.
And yet Friday morning one of them hit me and has been developing apace all weekend. The application of Tyrozets in quantity has seen off the throat but my sinuses – always the problem factor – have been dreadful for three days now.
Having today made it to a decent pharmacy, the big guns have been broken out drugswise but I still throb and snuffle and ooze unpleasantly in the nasal region.
The worst thing is that I have to be in work because I’m training. I’m setting up the training room today, and running the course for the next three days.
Great timing, cold. Great timing indeed…
Posted on March 16, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
Revenge at Last!
Some of you may remember that in January of last year I was, due to Abbey’s shockingly lax security procedures, subjected to a banking fraud which, due to to Abbey’s shockingly poor internal processes, left me in two months of financial turmoil.
Needless to say, once I’d got access to my cash again I opened a new account with First Direct (in fact I have opened several over time) and manually transferred funds and direct debits etc over to it.
The time has now come to finally close off the old Abbey accounts and I took great pleasure the other week in closing down the savings account. The current account I will do in person tomorrow, but the savings I could do over the phone so I did.
And yesterday I not only recieved confirmation of the closure, but also a cheque for calculated interest which I wasn’t expecting.
What delights me, however, is the fact that – given the account’s been empty for the best part of a year – the cheque cost them more to process and send than its value: £0.09.
The flatmate has told me that I absolutely must deposit it, too. As Abbey aren’t a clearing bank the transaction should cost them about £0.80 on top of what they’ve already lost.
It’s a small and petty piece of revenge I know, but to cost them money for a bit is an opportunity I feel obliged to make the most of.
Posted on March 8, 2009 | Filed Under My So-Called Life | 0 Comments
An Exercise in Moistness
Now, if I had to describe our overall Center Parcs experience in one word, I’d have to choose “wet”. Going in March meant that we were definitely exposed to the risk of the heavens opening, and they did so regularly, meaning that cycling involved flying mud of the like I’ve not seen in years.
But on top of that we also spent more time than might be considered strictly necessary in the subtropical swimming paradise, drinking down 100% of our RDA of chlorinated water, and taking the opportunity to bruise every possible extremity on the walls of the white water rapids.
All of this, I have to say, I have loved.
Now, I’m not a great swimmer – I can just about crawl, tread water and breaststroke to an acceptable degree – but I do love messing about in the water.
Swimming itself, mind, bores me enormously. It doesn’t provide the sort of lengths I’m interested in after all, but add some verticality and splashiness and I’m in heaven.
And, like the gym changing room, such environments are a great leveller. I certainly saw enough sagging fatty flesh to make me feel quite good about myself, but I was also pleasantly surprised to find a great many DILFs and “up and coming young hotties” (as Other Rob puts it) to cause more than a few distracted moments.
Posted on March 7, 2009 | Filed Under Holiday Excess | 0 Comments
I like the birds, me…
Whilst at Center Parcs this week, after arising at a frankly ungodly hour on Tuesday (about 8:00), Chris, Christina and I hauled ourselves off into the village to meet up with the Birds of Prey Experience.
Quite what the experience was to be wasn’t entirely clear, but we were fairly certain it wouldn’t be so much running for cover while they swooped at you, but more of a sort of hold and stroke affair, and so it turned out to be.
It was a fascinating experience, I must say. We were treated to holding three different birds, an owl, kestrel and falcon, and had the latter swoop down to our arms from a tree when tempted down by some raw meat.
I’ve always had slight fascination with these animals, but never seen one up close before, and by God they’re beautiful. Such keen expressions on their faces too – every now and then one would suddenly track some poor sparrow or something across the sky and you’d wonder if it was about to try to go snacking.
They’re oddly light, too. Even the owl, which was about half my height, only weighed in at seven pounds – most of the bulk was feather. This ttill caused my arm to ache a bit after five minutes though, and even at that weight it transpired that most of their prey wouldn’t know much about the impact if the talons hit at 70mph.
I found myself kind of wanting one. If nothing else, the mice would have to think twice about continuing to hang around our flat.
Posted on March 7, 2009 | Filed Under Holiday Excess | 0 Comments