Spam

I just received the most magical piece of Spam. It didn't even have a link in it to some dodgy site. This is all it said:

luger grammatic borderland

piggyback biography piggyback? marcus, minus housewares.
mccall headphone forbidden biography hermetic housewares, luger
skirmish suny duet grammatic impeach.

orin turf.

It was like a gift of freeform poetry into my inbox.

I was also quite drawn to the following which arrived a day or two ago:

Aloha, my gentleman!

I want to tell you some tender words to brighten your day! I am looking for
my second half here. I want our hearts to unite some day.
My heart longs for you. My heart longs to leap at the sound of your voice.
My heart longs to be filled with joy by your smile. My heart longs to see
our love for one another grow as we sit on the couch and we share from the
heart. My heart longs for me to feel the love and desire of your gentle
touch. My heart longs to experience the sensual passion between us. My heart
longs to feel the love and joy of us cuddling and snuggling close. My heart
longs for you!

Me too, oh, me too.

More of this, less knock-off Canadian viagra, please, gods of Spam.

The Ultimate Mix Tape: Update

OK, so here is the tracklist so far. The CD is full now, so anything else that goes on has to be a substitution. It's kind of like a more fun version of Sophie's Choice.

1. Space Oddity - David Bowie
2. Tell Me Why I Don't Like Mondays - Booomtown Rats
3. Alright - Supergrass
4. Park Life - Blur
5. Brown Sugar - The Rolling Stones
6. Babies - Pulp
7. Hanging on the Telephone - Blondie
8. Smells Like Teen Spirit - Nirvana
9. Psycho Killer - Talking Heads
10. Take Me Out - Franz Ferdinand
11. I Fought The Law - The Clash
12. Step On - Happy Mondays
13. Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder
14. Surfin' USA - The Beach Boys
15. Mr Tambourine Man - Bob Dylan
16. The Boxer - Simon & Garfunkel
17. I'm Only Sleeping - The Beatles
18. Me and Bobby McGee - Janis Joplin
19. Teenage Kicks - The Undertones
20. Another Brick In The Wall - Pink Floyd

So tell me, where did I go wrong? Deadline for the final version is this weekend. Remember, no additions, only substitutions, so you've got to tell me what to take out as well as put in...

The Ultimate Mix Tape

It is my oldest nephew's birthday this week. He is turning eleven. I have decided that this is the right age to begin his musical education especially as his younger sisters are obsessed with musicals. I don't think that a boy should have to take his first tentative steps towards puberty with High School Musical, rather than the Clash, as his guide. (I don't think that a girl should have to either, but it is easier for them to get away with.) Therefore as his birthday present I have decided to make him a compilation CD featuring all the key musical influences that he will need to take him through life. (Or would do, were it legal etc etc.)

This is where you come in. What are the indespensible moments of music that no eleven-year-old boy should be without? What, in essence, is the canon? We can get into more esoteric stuff later as he gets older, but right now, what are the bands, the tracks that he needs to know? And is he too young for Leonard Cohen?

Answers in the usual place.

Democracy v Laundry

At the weekend, I spent some time with a friend whose grandmother recently died in her nineties. Born at the beginning of the 20th century, she was old enough to remember both world wars as well as the historic decision to grant women the vote. But the thing she used to get really animated talking about was the invention of the washing machine. That, according to my friend's grandmother, was the event which really changed her life.

Which got me thinking: if I had to choose between giving up the vote and giving up the washing machine, which would I choose? The answer, I fear, is that I would give up the vote. I hate to say it but there you go. I suppose you could always pay someone to do your laundry for you (or indeed have a wife) - but what if you couldn't? Ultimately I'd hand over all the power in the world to free myself from scrubbing my smalls all the lifelong day.

Cabvision

Anybody else come across the devil's own "entertainment" which is Cabvision? For the fortunate, allow me to describe. You get into the back of a black cab - a cab which, I mght remind you, costs significantly more money than the average minicab. You sit down. And you are immediately greeted by a television screen in the back of the seat in front, which promises you joy, rapture, multiple channels - and, naturally, advertising. Of course, should you not be interested, you can mute it. BUT YOU CANNOT SWITCH IT OFF. It will be there, beaming its images at you, pulling your eye away from the window with its rampant shininess, and there is nothing you can do about it.

Let's clarify a few things. Taxis are a hell of a lot more expensive than tube trains or buses, so you need a pretty good reason to take a cab. Convenience, cleanliness, speed for example. To which I would add: to be able to relax. You cannot relax with this thing on. (Maybe you can ignore a screen if it is in an enclosed space with you, in which case you are a better person than me, or at least one with fewer shiny-shiny magpie issues.) If you have been on the Heathrow Express, or on one of those London buses with an on-board TV, you will know exactly what I mean. They are annoying enough under those circustances, but at least in that case you are on "public" transport. In a cab, I expect to be left alone, chatty cabbies notwithstanding.

And what is Cabvision there for? For my entertainment? Of course not. It's to make money, money at the expense of my discomfort. Let's take a moment to peruse the Cabvision website, shall we?

“Cabvision - an in cab TV system that delivers a captive audience in a mobile environment”.

As an advertiser have you wondered how to efficiently target an ABC1, under 35, affluent audience in London?

Cabvision offers advertisers the opportunity to target circa 1.4 million captive ABC1 consumers predominantly under 35 yrs (per month) in London via a mobile TV medium.

Cabvision is a "Total Taxi marketing solution".

Solution to what? Solution to the problem that right now, all around the world, there are people spending seconds, even minutes, not being sold to? Disaster!

And "captive", That's a word they like a lot. Captive, as in can't get out. As in imprisoned. As in has no choice. Advertisers would beam their messages directly into our brains if they could get away with it. "All that time wasted while consumers sleep - now, infiltrate their nights with DreamVision!"

Cabvision is demonic, yet another step on the ever-encroaching march to fill every second of our lives, every possible movement of our eyeballs, with marketing. I am voting with my feet. From now on, if the cab has Cabvision, I do not get in.

Hair today...

...and hair tomorrow. My hairdresser persuaded me to keep it long. He did say he'd cut it off for me if I absolutely insisted but he'd make me sign a disclaimer first.

Can't you at least mention your reading?

(said Lilalia).

Readings are strange. People always ask me if they "went well". It's very hard to tell. You read out loud, people listen, sometimes they ask a few questions and then they go away. It's almost impossible to tell whether they enjoyed it or not. Much easier to guage, say, a bookgroup appearance, because then you get into a proper dialogue with the audience, and then you can tell if they're lively and responsive or bored or angry or whatever else. (I do get angry audiences, because of the god thing.) This is even more true at Bestival where the lights were shining right in my eyes so I couldn't even see the audience and it was impossible to tell whether there was anyone there at all. So I know you'd like me to report back about my readings but there's almost nothing to say. I read extracts of chapters five and six, and the "hand relief" bit got the loudest laugh. The fact that there was a laugh at all is a very good thing, as it means there was someone there enjoying it - so if you came, and you laughed (or even if you didn't), thank you! And thanks also to the nice folk from Bookends in Christchurch who were selling my book on the day - and to the nice man who bought one...

Confession

I totally cheated at the festival. I didn't camp. Instead I stayed at my parents' weekend place which turned out to be a convenient 20 minute drive from the festival site, and which also, even more conveniently, had beds and proper loos and showers and everything. Being a performer meant that I could drive in and out of the festival site every day without queueing and park backstage, avail myself of the free tea, coffee and bottled water, and have famous people walk past me from time to time (Billy Bragg! Suzanne Vega's bass player, who looked like a short fat Ben Stiller! One of the Flaming Lips' Roadies! Etc!) Aside from that it wasn't very rock and roll. No crack. There was a small bowl of fun-sized chocolate bars though. I had two miniature Milky Ways and a tiny bag of Skittles. (Note to our American Readers: what we call Milky Way is what you call Three Musketeers. What you call Milky Way is our Mars Bar. If you have Mars Bars I don't know what they are.)

Despite the bed and the good hygiene, I still seem to be ridiculously tired, although that might have more to do with all the additional work travel I'm doing at the moment (today: research trip to Cheltenham; next up: reading at Blackwells Oxford, Thursday 6.30pm) because if I stay in London for more than 48 hours in a row the wind might change and I'll be stuck this way. So I was going to tell you all about everything, but I'm too tired, and I want to go to bed, and tomorrow I'm at yoga in the morning and then I have to catch up on all the work I'm missing because I keep going out of London for all of these events and -

You know what? Here's the Flaming Lips.

I know I've got a festival to tell you about

but something more important came up. Namely, should I get this haircut?


Answers on a postcard, or, if you must be literal, in the comments, preferably by Thursday, when I have my hairdresser's appointment.

For those need a reminder, this is what I look like at the moment:


(with a bit of airbrushing, courtesy of Ms Scannell.)

Happy Campers!

I'm reading at a festival this weekend. You can tell by how the clouds are gathering, it's growing cold and threatening rain. Apparently there are sunny festivals sometimes. I have never witnessed such a thing. The very first festival I went to was Reading Festival in 19ahemahem (bad enough I had to admit to the 19) and it rained so much that I fell into a bog on my way back to my tent one night and had to be pulled out by kindly passers by. I was encased in mud up to my chest and the only thing I had to clean myself off with was a packet of Wet Wipes. My clothes were so filthy and wet that on the last day I had to walk around in my pyjamas. I thought that was bad. A few years ago at Glastonbury I woke up at five in the morning to find it raining on my face through a tent that was not built to withstand monsoon. By noon half the site was underwater. On that occasion I had to resort to walking around wearing only a bikini and a bin liner, and there was such a rabid queue for the welly stand that the police were brought in to control the crowd. But hey, as long as the music is good and the drinks are cheap, who cares.

Anyway, if you too are anxiously scanning the long-range weather forecast for Lulworth Castle because you are heading to Camp Bestival, well then meet me in the intimidatingly-named Laughter tent at 5pm on Friday where I will be reading out loud from my book, assuming the pages are not so sodden that they have degenerated into one great soggy mass only suitable for making a mishappen bowl with, in which case join me in the Laughter tent at 5pm on Friday for an impromptu class in papier mache.

See you there, bring your own brolly. I'll be reporting back next week.

What a Contrast!

Last night was Thomas Middleton's 1606 play, The Revenger's Tragedy at the National. No risk of not following what was going on there. Of course, it did help, as my companion pointed out, that the characters told you what they were going to do before they did it, then did it, and then recapped afterwards about what they had done, and it's pretty much all sex, disguises and lots and lots of murder, which is all nice and visual, but even so, the key is: I almost never felt as if the dialogue was running away from me. Perhaps the language wasn't as idiomatic as Shakespeare, but even so.

Quite aside from that, it was a brilliantly designed, strikingly modern production, almost over the top but still controlled, and full of shocks and gore. The acting and directing were perfectly pitched to be large enough to carry the dialogue where it was difficult, but still retain genuine emotional resonance. And it was one of the very few plays of this type I've seen where I didn't think that the storyline and mounting bodycount were laughably ridiculous, probably because of the magnificent scene-setting of the opening minutes - some of the best theatre I've seen - which place you convincingly in that dark, decadent world.

In conclusion of what has become an unexpected two-part post (see below for the related first half), it shouldn't matter if the play is written in Early Modern English, it is possible to follow the dialogue if it is well performed, and directors do audiences a disservice by assuming we are all familiar with plays that we might not be, and not bothering to make the meaning clear.

Tickets for The Revenger's Tragedy at the National are still available, and it's part of the travelex season, so they are dead (so to speak) cheap (mine were £10).

Shakespeare with(out) Spoilers

Yesterday I saw King Lear for the first time. King Lear being one of the great Shakespeare plays, it's one of those ones where it's generally assumed that you know what happens, like Romeo & Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello etc. I don't remember ever having not known what happens in Romeo & Juliet, in the same way that I don't remember not knowing how to walk, but my mother tells a great story of going to see it with a friend of hers when they were both students, and her friend didn't know what happened and was inconsolable at the end. As a result of which, I've always thought it would be nice to see one of these great plays fresh, as it were, and so have taken great cares over the last 32 years not to find out anything about King Lear. (Avoiding spoilers, as it were - which you will not be able to do, should you read much further).

So, was my experiment a success? Sadly, no. It reminded me of a funny answer I once read from an exam paper, "I found the play very hard to understand due to it being written in Shakespeare". The sad truth is that I could barely follow the dialogue, which meant that I only kept up with the plot on the most basic level (and totally missed Edgar coming back as Old Tom - he was wearing different clothes and his hair was messy, what could I do? - which at least answers the question I always ask in the mistaken identity bits of Shakespeare, ie surely they would notice - well, apparently not. But then again Edgar is not my son.) The acting seemed very heartfelt, but at times I may as well have been watching in a different language, to the extent that I would almost have appreciated some surtitles, although that might have gone slightly against the authenticity, given that we were at the Globe.

The three people I was with, all English teachers or having studied English at degree level, and therefore very familiar with the play, were in floods of tears by the time it finished, while I was still trying to figure out whether Lear was dead or just prostrate with grief. All I could manage was to think, on an intellectual level, that it was a "good" play. I wasn't at all moved. I'd be very interested to know whether the company who staged the play had assumed that everyone would know it already and therefore hadn't bothered to worry about enunciating the lines that much - some of the dialogue shot past incredibly fast; or whether it is just a particularly hard play to understand; whether the Globe's open air, unmic-ed set up is to blame, for letting so many of the lines be swallowed by passing aircraft; or whether I am just thick. Interestingly though, I do want to see it again now - now that I have been "spoilered" and know what happens, so that I can concentrate on *how* it happens.

PS I have just been to the Globe site to set up a link, and one of the pictures they are using to illustrate the show is from the very last scene and features a very dead cast member! So they must be assuming that we all know what happens at the end.

Is it just my imagination or

is there absolutely nothing worth watching on TV at the moment? For the first time in months, my PVR is dormant, recording nothing. If I want to watch some telly, I get out a DVD. (I've been making my way through 'Firefly', if you're curious. Four epsiodes to go, I'll let you know what I thought at the end, probably, given I that have nothing else to write about.) Over the last year or so I have watched every episode of Mad Men, Heroes, American Idol, ER, Flight of the Conchords, Life on Mars, Strictly Come Dancing, and that other one, you know, the one with the man in the little flying box. And now - niet. I am BORED. And reading, for crying out loud. Who reads?

Am I missing out on something I should be watching? Or is there anything coming up that I should know about? Coming up SOON, not "back on our screens in Autumn" as they always infuriatingly say (it's just code for "scheduled to go up against something else you really like, after months and months of drought").

Sigh.

I'm off to find a book.

The Truth About Blogging

From Garfield Minus Garfield.

To Review or Not To Review?

OK, time to take this one on.

First of all, let's get a bit of perspective going. The last episode of Doctor Who was watched by 10 million people. My blog gets about 150-200 readers a day, mostly the same people every day, with a bit of a peak after an episode of Doctor Who, but only a small peak - say up to 100 extra readers. But obviously a few more find it over time. So even if you think eventually 1000 people might read one of my reviews - and that is being generous - we are talking about 0.01pc of people who watch Doctor Who. It's practically a pub conversation. And of course, of those, many will disagree with my views.

Also, I do like Doctor Who and I do write positively about it. Looking back over my reviews of this season, eight were broadly positive and five were broadly negative, with a bit of a grey area in both cases, as there were quite a few middling ones this time round. So overall I liked most of them. To put that in a bit more context, over the four seasons of Who, this has come third as far as I am concerned - I liked season 2 best, then season 1, then season 4 and lastly Season 3. And even so, Season 3 had my favourite episodes of all time in them: the 'Family of Blood' two-parter. So I do not 'not like Doctor Who' and I am not going to stop watching. Why would I? I don't know if it's going to be a bad episode until it's over. Or a good one - I didn't think much of 'The Stolen Earth' until the last five minutes, and there's no way I'd have wanted to miss that.

One of the things that makes Doctor Who fun to write about is that it's such a mixed bag. It can be so good and so bad that it's hard to believe that each episode goes past the same exec producers. I've worked in TV myself and I know it can be bloody hard to get things in, on time, and well-made, but Doctor Who is one of the most watched, highest budgeted programmes on television. It's not just a kids programme, it's a BBC flagship show and it should be good. So it's legitimate to point out when it isn't. One of the things that makes Russell T Davies fun to write about is that the work he does is also such a mixed bag. Casanova is one of my all-time favourite dramas, and not just because of the presence of lovely David Tennant. Queer as Folk was exceptional. Loads of his episodes of Doctor Who have been brilliant - notably Midnight, this season, which got a rave from me. I am also, as far as I know, the only person alive who liked the Cat Nuns. But that doesn't make this season finale any better. I review Doctor Who because there is a lot to say about it, and because, judging by my comments, people like reading my reviews and discussing their own - often opposing - views. These are good reasons to write reviews. I'm sorry that I don't like every episode. But I just don't.

It's never fun getting a bad review. I should know, I've had them myself. If you want to read some, try this one, which describes one of my sentences as "surely one of the clunkiest published sentences of the year", or this one which says that my book is "so bad... it's the kind of book that could be made into the kind of movie someone might accidentally watch on an airplane" or indeed this one, in the New York Times of all places - circulation a bit more than 1000 - which says that my book is "so conventionally constructed that it suggests the help of fiction-writing software". I don't enjoy reading this kind of thing, but I do read it, and I put up with it, for two reasons: 1. My book is out there. I have put it in the public domain, and people are entitled to say what they like about it. And 2. It is impossible to make a piece of work that everybody will like. Not possible. It has never happened to anyone, and never will.

So I will carry on watching Doctor Who and I will carry on reviewing it for as long as I enjoy watching it most of the time and I enjoy writing about it. I've been told that if I don't like Doctor Who, I don't have to watch it. The same goes for my reviews. If you don't like reading them, nobody is forcing you to. On the other hand, if you like reading them because you hate them so very much and enjoy coming onto my blog to slag them off in the comments, don't start telling me what I should or shouldn't write about, because you leave yourself open to accusations of hypocrisy.

However, I do accept certain things. It is easier to write a bad review than a good review, mainly because bad reviews are funnier. There's definitely a risk of being vicious just for effect. That's something to watch for, and in future I will. Also, when I am watching something with a view to reviewing it, I do have my critical mind on, which means that I don't just relax and lose myself into it, I am looking for points to raise, in favour and against. So that can go against the spirit of just enjoying it. I'll look out for that too. And there is always the risk of slipping from attacking the product to attacking the person, which I do try to avoid, though Russell T Davies might feel entitled to disagree. (Ah, Russell, still my number one choice for adapting Gods Behaving Badly for TV. The chances of that are receeding into the distance at quite some rate, I imagine, after all this.)

Ultimately, if I am going to review, I am going to write bad reviews. If I don't enjoy something, I am going to say so, I am going to say why, and I am going to do it in a way that I hope others will find entertaining. I am not seeking out the people who made the work to attack them directly, I am doing it here, on my own site, which people can choose to read or ignore as they wish. And there is a comments facility so that if anybody wants to disagree, or to exercise the right of reply, they can do so. Preferably not anonymously.

So, over to you.

Nadal Wins!

Let's celebrate with some Muskerhound Karaoke!



One for all and all for one, Muskerhounds are always ready.
One for all and all for one, helping everybody.
One for all and all for one, it's a pretty story.
Sharing everything with fun, that's the way to be.

One for all and all for one, Muskerhounds are always steady.
One for all and all for one, helping everybody.
One for all and all for one can sound pretty corny.
If you got a problem chum, think how it could be.

Dagada! Dagada!
They cross their hearts and pray.
Dagada! Dagada!
They cross their swords night and day,
Dagada! Dagada!
They drink their beer and swear. They're faithful to their King.
Dagada! Dagada!
No matter what you say,
Dagada! Dagada!
They’re never far away,
Dagada! Dagada!
They're always ready to fight or to sing.

One for all and all for one, Muskerhounds are always ready.
One for all and all for one, helping everybody.
One for all and all for one, it's a pretty story.
Sharing everything with fun. That's the way to be.

One for all and all for one, Muskerhounds are always steady.
One for all and all for one, helping everybody.
One for all and all for one can sound pretty corny.
If you got a problem chum, think how it could be.

Doctor Who: Journey's End

It is never a good sign when within one minute of an episode starting, you are shouting at the television: IS THAT IT??????? So it wasn't all a huge cover-up, we didn't get a regeneration, and the Doctor was saved in about ten seconds by his magic hand. Whoop-de-doop. I could almost see RTD sticking his tongue out at the fans. It was a silly get-out clause, a presentiment of what was to come.

Basically, it comes down to this: I can judge this episode of Doctor Who on purely televisual terms, or I can judge it as a story. As a piece of television, it worked well. It was not one of those episodes where you keep checking your watch. There was lots of action, genuine suspense, and it was in the main well-paced, aside from a few GET ON WITH IT MOMENTS in the middle. We will achieve our evil plan! In a few minutes! Ha ha! Yes! Any minute now! Even so, I can't say that it was a bad episode.

But. BUT. Story-wise, it was unforgivable. Personally, I could live with the Donna storyline, though some of my fellow watchees (I am blogging live from an end-of-season Who, Cocktails and Curry party) were majorly disgruntled by the Donna "dying" fudge. I liked her becoming half Time Lord and enjoyed her and DT's impersonations of each other, and as I had already decided that she wasn't really going to die - too many people had mentioned it - I was genuinely moved by her being forced to go back to her pre-Doctor experience as a downtrodden but mouthy temp. On the other hand, given her cheerful phone-call at the end (see! she's happy!) and taken in conjunction with the Rose storyline, the Donna not dying trick was another cop-out sleight-of-hand.

The Rose storyline was outrageous. I wish I had never seen it. I want a Donna-style memory wipe just to forget it. In dramatic terms, it was like rewriting Romeo and Juliet so that just after Romeo has topped himself and Juliet has woken up, Romeo's identical twin brother saunters in and he and Juliet ride off into the sunset together. Rose did nothing in that episode, nothing except be captured. She didn't change the story progression one jot. The only reason she was brought back was to undermine the previous ending, which I loved. RTD brought her back because he didn't have the courage of his convictions. Her previous ending was sad but perfect. And now it has been ruined by some ridiculous McGuffin cloned Doctor. Almost as soon as he was created, I realised that Rose was going to get to keep him, and that pissed me off for the whole of the rest of the episode. Rose's original ending was sad. There's nothing wrong with that. That's what tragedy and self-sacrifice storylines are all about. Now I feel cheated of the tears I shed then. Why make it happy? What was the point of that? Why does everything have to be happy? In New Who world, nobody important ever really dies (Kylie, River Song, Captain Jack, Donna), and no emotional pain is ever final. Making Doctor 2 a bit grumpy and Rose miss Doctor mark 1 was an insulting, pathetic sop thrown to fans of the original ending, because we know that she'll get over it in five minutes flat when they are back home and bonking. It's a travesty of the only really decent bit of narrative arc that New Who has mustered over four seasons, and I am furious about it.

So off you go into your parallel universe RTD. You have squandered much of my goodwill. Now it's up to Moffatt to win it back.

Mario Who?

So, only two days later and I'm all about Rafael Nadal. Any number of reasons for this:

1. Ancic is out of the tournament and thus no longer of interest til this time next year. Tennis a brutal game, as is love.
2. Rafael Nadal is right handed but plays tennis with his left hand just to throw the other players off. How very Princess Bride. I long for the moment when he switches mid-set.
3. Rafael Nadal does a cute little run to the baseline just before he starts the match.
4. You are only allowed 20 seconds before you serve in tennis. Nadal takes 19 seconds, every time.
5. Rafael Nadal is not Roger Federer. No stupid cardigan, no monogrammed blazer, no brutal defeat of the forgotten but still cute Mario Ancic.

But most importantly of all:

6. Rafael Nadal looks like Dogtanian.

Dogtanian:

Nadal:
Someone give that dog a tennis racquet (left paw, naturally).

It's too hot to blog properly

and I am saving all my energy for the Ancic v Federer match tomorrow. Federer should really smear Ancic on crispbread and snack on him like a dollop of taramasolata, but Ancic is the last person to have beaten the Fed at Wimbledon, has been playing like a demon, so is surely in with a chance.

Anyway, I'm going away til the end of the week, but to the home of Big Mouth, so I could well pop up on one or other of our blogs before the weekend. But I will certainly be back in time for the big Doctor Who finale. The smart money is on the Doctor regenerating into Russell T Davies, who I believe is free to take the role. The outside bet is on another regeneration taking place: Donna's...

A Geeky Post

Bloody hell, Firefox 3 is fast.