Right, I've had a bit of a break, and I'm going to leap straight in with a film review.
Scenes of a Sexual Nature, which, at the time of writing, is still available to watch on BBC iPlayer, and aside from failing to live up to it's title, is perfectly alright. It's not the most action-packed of films, which would probably cause a lot of people to shy away from it. It explores the nature of relationships through a variety of different characters enjoying an afternoon on Hampstead Heath in the middle of summer. Amongst these characters are people on a blind date, a prostitute and her client and two ex-lovers reunited, by chance, after over fifty years.
My favourite, however, was the portrayal of a newly-divorced couple. The scriptwriters had taken into account that things aren't always that simple. People who get divorced don't necessarily hate each other. This couple were still in love, they knew their ex was the most good-looking person they had ever known... and yet they knew that the relationship wasn't right. The novelty of this idea is summed up in this quote: 'Sometimes, relationships get to the point where you run out of things to say. Then, some people say, "I've found someone else." Others say, "It's not you, it's me." I said, "Will you marry me?" And you said, "Yes." '
The film focuses on the delicate nature of relationships, how they're not at all simple or easily quantifiable. My only issue with the film is that I don't feel I got closure on all of the stories, but I guess that's the point. I expect I've been conditioned by Hollywood romances to expect that it all gets sorted out by the end. In real life, though, things aren't always sorted out. You can be happy, but who in real life has a happy ending? For its novel approach to people's lives and loves, Scenes of a Sexual Nature gets four stars.
I had a visit from my parents and brother at the weekend. My mum and I went shopping, which was good fun (though I'm regretting not buying that red-and-black top). What is it with Debenhams at this time of year though? They've got nothing you'd ever want to wear. In any case, after that, we met L. and had dinner at Nando's, which was standard. Wandered round the docks for a bit, Tate, my brother had cake, etc. Was dead nice seeing them all but in all honesty when I run through the things we did, I have no clue where the time went. It'll be nice seeing them again at the end of term.
Dead excited about the end of term. Actually, there's a whole bunch of things I'm dead excited about. Top of the list (not actually, because that's going to the gym later today) is the Winter Ball next Monday. I am going to look amazing. So will L.; we're both going to look so sharp that people will look at us and bleed. Partly because we're that good, but mostly because they're not. Will update you, but in the meantime, bye.
Tuesday 23 November 2010
Sunday 10 October 2010
I did things this weekend
On Friday night, I did something I ought to have done sooner. I was effectively bullied into it by several friends and one member of my family. I went to see Back to the Future.
I was told beforehand that, never having seen it before, I would be incapable of appreciating all the remastering blah that it had undergone before being re-released in cinemas. Whoever said this was completely right. Generally, picture quality is lost on me. Most of the time, I don't know where I am, let alone what's going on and how many hours all the little people at the end of the credits put in.
I can however, find Tesco. It's more useful than it sounds.
Anyway. Back to Back to the Future. Despite the incredulity of a certain individual, I did actually enjoy it. Marty McFly, despite being a kid in a film, wasn't excessively annoying, and though the ridiculously caricatured characters grated to begin with, it was important to portray them in this fashion so that the changes could be made clearer.
I didn't entirely approve of the film's take on time travel, and though this is apparently resolved in the second film it feels like a bit of an afterthought. The way I see it, if you go back in time, you are prevented from doing anything differently because it was never done differently. You can only do things that you always did. So Marty can't go back and prevent his parents from falling in love because they already fell in love.
Overall however, it was an entertaining film, especially at the end when everything kept going horribly wrong. I actually enjoyed that bit, except my genuinely-surprised face and my taking-the-piss face are quite similar. Four stars.
I watched something else, the next morning, what was that? Oh yeah, I remember. High Fidelity. It's one of those films that's taken me a while to get through, and I think it might be because I watched it on my own. I reckon, if I'd watched it with someone else earlier, I might have been able to follow it better.
As it was, I think I got it more this time. Things seemed funnier, to be honest, and the wicked delight I felt at his disregard of all his exes pleased me more because I could tell someone about how it was my favourite bit in the film. There's no point having a favourite bit of a film if you're on your own.
High Fidelity's quite real. It disregards a lot of the Disney magic surrounding film romances and just focuses on the things that real people do. Real people are awkward, they hang around with people they don't really like, they get into relationships with completely unsuitable people just, well, because. Also, people panic about things they have no right to panic about. It won't help or change anything.
And do you know why it's so real? The book it was based on was written by Nick Hornby. He's good. He always has a main character with a real emotional detachment from the world. So do I when I write*, except my characters are usually a lot more flawed and a lot less real. I give High Fidelity four stars.
That was on the way to London for a friend's 18th. Had an interesting time. It was interesting to see who had changed for the better, who had changed for the worse and who had not changed at all. It reinforced in my mind who my real friends were, and if you're reading this, it's most likely you. Or you're stalking me; hi.
I thoroughly enjoyed karaoke. Everyone who was there with me knows how much I enjoyed karaoke. So what if I can't sing? I can shout louder than everyone, with or without a microphone. I even had to "sing" Michael Buble, because it was just damn disappointing without me.
I reckon that I misunderstand the concept of karaoke. It was my first time doing the thing properly, and nobody outlined the protocol beforehand. I reckon though, that the people holding the microphones are supposed to sing, and take it in turns to do so. I prefer the football-crowd style roar that we had going on though. It was invigorating.
Food was nice too. I could have probably eaten more, if the spicy food hadn't run out. As it was, it did, and quickly. Delicious! If I knew what any of the dishes were called, I'd certainly have them again.
The club, though not my style, was fun. I had a brief conversation with an Irishman who guessed that I wasn't local. When I said that I guessed he wasn't either, he told me never to lose my accent. Ohoho. If only you knew. I have been having the Michael taken out of me by hmm... everyone. To some, I'm too northern. To others, I'm not northern enough. Despite "reassurances" that my accent is going to get stronger, I think it's about as bad as it's going to get. The vocabulary will be the next thing to go though.
I can speak without the accent, but it's only when I've thought of what I'm going to say before I say it. Yes, if you ever needed convincing of how infrequently that happens, the evidence is before your very ears.
Journey home was exciting as well. On the train from Liverpool I sat near a pair of fairly inebriated gentlemen. The first wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. I said no. He asked why. Any response I made from then on was met with the question "Why aren't you courting?" I was midway between explaining that we don't call it that anymore and sitting him down and explaining fully that I've only just arrived in Liverpool and give me time.
The other was very taken by my interest in nuclear power, and told me that what power stations were producing was actually steam and that the electricity was a by-product. I explained that the electricity was the whole point of the exercise. He said that in Sweden they use the steam to heat houses. I haven't researched this, but short of building houses on top of Didcot's coal-fired power station, I'm not sure what we can do. Thermal energy is incredibly difficult to do anything useful with. That's why it's often called "degraded".
It turns out that you can't explain this, nor that your primary interest is in nuclear power, more specifically nuclear fusion "like what happens in the Sun". They couldn't even grasp that concept. I said that we were going to move on from fission, to which one's response was "but it should all be 'fficient". Sigh. He then suggested burning wood "injected with oil". I suggested just burning the oil. He then replied that we needed a way to get rid of the wood. Touché. What we are all suffering from is an absolute glut of wood.
Thankfully, the train journey was only ten minutes, and I was able to disembark with my sanity intact.
*Hardly anybody has read any of my fiction. There is one story currently being edited for length, style and to separate it from Twilight (the original predates Twilight, and sickly teenage girl romance aside, there are parallels. Apparently. Though my "Edward" is brilliant.) and I'd say more, but for the spoilers. I'm very excited. As long as uni and life don't get in the way, it should be done within a year. It's hit a bit of a hitch in that I've met someone with the same name as one of the characters, and because I absolutely refuse to change his name again, I'm going to have to be careful to separate real L and fictional L in my mind. As long as real L doesn't behave like fictional L, this should be fine.
I was told beforehand that, never having seen it before, I would be incapable of appreciating all the remastering blah that it had undergone before being re-released in cinemas. Whoever said this was completely right. Generally, picture quality is lost on me. Most of the time, I don't know where I am, let alone what's going on and how many hours all the little people at the end of the credits put in.
I can however, find Tesco. It's more useful than it sounds.
Anyway. Back to Back to the Future. Despite the incredulity of a certain individual, I did actually enjoy it. Marty McFly, despite being a kid in a film, wasn't excessively annoying, and though the ridiculously caricatured characters grated to begin with, it was important to portray them in this fashion so that the changes could be made clearer.
I didn't entirely approve of the film's take on time travel, and though this is apparently resolved in the second film it feels like a bit of an afterthought. The way I see it, if you go back in time, you are prevented from doing anything differently because it was never done differently. You can only do things that you always did. So Marty can't go back and prevent his parents from falling in love because they already fell in love.
Overall however, it was an entertaining film, especially at the end when everything kept going horribly wrong. I actually enjoyed that bit, except my genuinely-surprised face and my taking-the-piss face are quite similar. Four stars.
I watched something else, the next morning, what was that? Oh yeah, I remember. High Fidelity. It's one of those films that's taken me a while to get through, and I think it might be because I watched it on my own. I reckon, if I'd watched it with someone else earlier, I might have been able to follow it better.
As it was, I think I got it more this time. Things seemed funnier, to be honest, and the wicked delight I felt at his disregard of all his exes pleased me more because I could tell someone about how it was my favourite bit in the film. There's no point having a favourite bit of a film if you're on your own.
High Fidelity's quite real. It disregards a lot of the Disney magic surrounding film romances and just focuses on the things that real people do. Real people are awkward, they hang around with people they don't really like, they get into relationships with completely unsuitable people just, well, because. Also, people panic about things they have no right to panic about. It won't help or change anything.
And do you know why it's so real? The book it was based on was written by Nick Hornby. He's good. He always has a main character with a real emotional detachment from the world. So do I when I write*, except my characters are usually a lot more flawed and a lot less real. I give High Fidelity four stars.
That was on the way to London for a friend's 18th. Had an interesting time. It was interesting to see who had changed for the better, who had changed for the worse and who had not changed at all. It reinforced in my mind who my real friends were, and if you're reading this, it's most likely you. Or you're stalking me; hi.
I thoroughly enjoyed karaoke. Everyone who was there with me knows how much I enjoyed karaoke. So what if I can't sing? I can shout louder than everyone, with or without a microphone. I even had to "sing" Michael Buble, because it was just damn disappointing without me.
I reckon that I misunderstand the concept of karaoke. It was my first time doing the thing properly, and nobody outlined the protocol beforehand. I reckon though, that the people holding the microphones are supposed to sing, and take it in turns to do so. I prefer the football-crowd style roar that we had going on though. It was invigorating.
Food was nice too. I could have probably eaten more, if the spicy food hadn't run out. As it was, it did, and quickly. Delicious! If I knew what any of the dishes were called, I'd certainly have them again.
The club, though not my style, was fun. I had a brief conversation with an Irishman who guessed that I wasn't local. When I said that I guessed he wasn't either, he told me never to lose my accent. Ohoho. If only you knew. I have been having the Michael taken out of me by hmm... everyone. To some, I'm too northern. To others, I'm not northern enough. Despite "reassurances" that my accent is going to get stronger, I think it's about as bad as it's going to get. The vocabulary will be the next thing to go though.
I can speak without the accent, but it's only when I've thought of what I'm going to say before I say it. Yes, if you ever needed convincing of how infrequently that happens, the evidence is before your very ears.
Journey home was exciting as well. On the train from Liverpool I sat near a pair of fairly inebriated gentlemen. The first wanted to know if I had a boyfriend. I said no. He asked why. Any response I made from then on was met with the question "Why aren't you courting?" I was midway between explaining that we don't call it that anymore and sitting him down and explaining fully that I've only just arrived in Liverpool and give me time.
The other was very taken by my interest in nuclear power, and told me that what power stations were producing was actually steam and that the electricity was a by-product. I explained that the electricity was the whole point of the exercise. He said that in Sweden they use the steam to heat houses. I haven't researched this, but short of building houses on top of Didcot's coal-fired power station, I'm not sure what we can do. Thermal energy is incredibly difficult to do anything useful with. That's why it's often called "degraded".
It turns out that you can't explain this, nor that your primary interest is in nuclear power, more specifically nuclear fusion "like what happens in the Sun". They couldn't even grasp that concept. I said that we were going to move on from fission, to which one's response was "but it should all be 'fficient". Sigh. He then suggested burning wood "injected with oil". I suggested just burning the oil. He then replied that we needed a way to get rid of the wood. Touché. What we are all suffering from is an absolute glut of wood.
Thankfully, the train journey was only ten minutes, and I was able to disembark with my sanity intact.
*Hardly anybody has read any of my fiction. There is one story currently being edited for length, style and to separate it from Twilight (the original predates Twilight, and sickly teenage girl romance aside, there are parallels. Apparently. Though my "Edward" is brilliant.) and I'd say more, but for the spoilers. I'm very excited. As long as uni and life don't get in the way, it should be done within a year. It's hit a bit of a hitch in that I've met someone with the same name as one of the characters, and because I absolutely refuse to change his name again, I'm going to have to be careful to separate real L and fictional L in my mind. As long as real L doesn't behave like fictional L, this should be fine.
Sunday 3 October 2010
First Week
We had a project, on my lovely Physics course, to send a manned mission to Mars. Don't worry if you weren't involved, it's a lot less fun than it sounds.
By the third day, everyone had practically given up, accepted the futility of the task, and just concentrated on getting to know each other. This essentially involved winding up the other groups, producing long lists of non-essential items to be incorporated into the mission.
These included four cows, dessicated (to save weight). These would be fed pineapple on the journey, and then reconstituted on the surface of Mars for use as transport. They were also necessary to provide fresh milk throughout the three-year journey.
The Mars habitation required, for the purposes of boredom alleviation, a swimming pool, sauna, hot tub, basketball hoop and balcony. We determined that the most efficient and cost-effective way of heating the habitation was with a wood-burning stove, which, despite the habitation being only 2.5 metres tall, required a 30 metre chimney. We had to provide details of all of this to the heatproofing department, who wrote down the dimensions down without argument.
They did have issue, however, with our balcony. Not the fact that we had a balcony on a single-storey building, which, now I think about it, is an obvious flaw. No, they took issue because the dimensions specified that the balcony had 15 metre walls. When called upon to explain this, I eventually cracked, and admitted that the balcony did not actually need to be that tall.
The next question was, of course, why we needed a balcony in the first place. The explanation given was so that we could have a good view while we were smoking. I think a penny dropped for the heatproofing department here. They pointed out that we would need to carry a lot of cigarettes for the entire journey. I explained that we were only taking half the cigarettes we needed, and that we would grow the rest of the tobacco in the hydroponics facility once we were on the surface of Mars.
Another requirement we had was for a cat flap. In response to the question, "Why?", I like to imagine that someone would answer, "For the cat." In fact, there was no cat. There was, however, an autistic cheetah called Barry who had spades for hands, but who signed in on our list with his back paws. He was also, I think, writing a musical, and may have been female at one point.
So, I've met more interesting people, and I'd imagine that I may keep a few of them. I'd imagine that I said that last time, but there really are a multitude of fantastic people here.
I'm also coming to the realisation that this city is an absolutely brilliant place to live. Even without the superlambananas, it's rich in culture and history. It's also a great place to be a student, and I think that the next three years of my life are ones which I will treasure for the rest of it.
Just to give you some idea of the delights I've been sampling:
Saturday 25 September 2010
Blanks
I haven't posted for quite a while now. I'll try and update you, but there will be a few blanks.
I quit college, and am now at the University of Liverpool reading Physics. It's Freshers' Week, so I am currently dying from a sore throat. It's really been fantastic though.
Let me fill you in on some other stuff first though. First of all, I spent the 18th (Saturday) driving fast cars, which was fantastic. I was driven around at high speed in a Porsche 911 turbo RS before getting behind the wheel of an Aston Martin DB9. Yeah, I did drive around in third, but that thing is amazing. The gizmos are neat, the decor just makes you feel like a child, because its so futuristic that it doesn't look sci-fi. It looks real and just as if it is the best that car design will ever achieve.
I drove in the rain, but I still drove fairly fast, lapping five times in ten minutes, as opposed to the average four. I scored 92/100 on whatever rating system they use.
The next day, I was down in London for Chelsea-Blackpool with a formerly football-ignorant friend. My navigation aside, the afternoon was absolutely amazing. Chelsea won 4-0, with all the goals coming in the first half. On television, this would have made for a dull second half, but seated (infrequently) in the Matthew Harding stand, we were treated to, and participated in, some of the greatest terrace anthems you will ever hear.
And of course, the classic, "Where's my eight-nil you c**ts?"
I think my friend even sang along to one or two of the chants. If you fancy a go, or fancy a listen, check these out: Carefree; Chelsea, Chelsea; In Your Northern Slums; Didier Drogba; Celery; Hello, Hello; F**k 'Em All; Blue Flag; Chelsea, Champions (sung as a call and response by adjacent stands); Chelsea; Come On Chelsea; Dennis Wise; Follow Malouda...
There were more, but we won't go there. There were also a couple of anti-West Ham songs. I don't think we much cared who the opposition were by the end.
The next day, I went to university. Everyone had already moved in, so I'd missed all of the introductions, but my room is opposite the kitchen and sees a lot of traffic. I've met more amazing people in the last five days than I can name. And if they end up reading this blog, hey. :)
I quit college, and am now at the University of Liverpool reading Physics. It's Freshers' Week, so I am currently dying from a sore throat. It's really been fantastic though.
Let me fill you in on some other stuff first though. First of all, I spent the 18th (Saturday) driving fast cars, which was fantastic. I was driven around at high speed in a Porsche 911 turbo RS before getting behind the wheel of an Aston Martin DB9. Yeah, I did drive around in third, but that thing is amazing. The gizmos are neat, the decor just makes you feel like a child, because its so futuristic that it doesn't look sci-fi. It looks real and just as if it is the best that car design will ever achieve.
I drove in the rain, but I still drove fairly fast, lapping five times in ten minutes, as opposed to the average four. I scored 92/100 on whatever rating system they use.
The next day, I was down in London for Chelsea-Blackpool with a formerly football-ignorant friend. My navigation aside, the afternoon was absolutely amazing. Chelsea won 4-0, with all the goals coming in the first half. On television, this would have made for a dull second half, but seated (infrequently) in the Matthew Harding stand, we were treated to, and participated in, some of the greatest terrace anthems you will ever hear.
And of course, the classic, "Where's my eight-nil you c**ts?"
I think my friend even sang along to one or two of the chants. If you fancy a go, or fancy a listen, check these out: Carefree; Chelsea, Chelsea; In Your Northern Slums; Didier Drogba; Celery; Hello, Hello; F**k 'Em All; Blue Flag; Chelsea, Champions (sung as a call and response by adjacent stands); Chelsea; Come On Chelsea; Dennis Wise; Follow Malouda...
There were more, but we won't go there. There were also a couple of anti-West Ham songs. I don't think we much cared who the opposition were by the end.
The next day, I went to university. Everyone had already moved in, so I'd missed all of the introductions, but my room is opposite the kitchen and sees a lot of traffic. I've met more amazing people in the last five days than I can name. And if they end up reading this blog, hey. :)
Wednesday 15 September 2010
A few links
Just a short post today, I think.
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Tea - All the quotes on wikiquote about tea. I was just in that sort of mood.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A61345 - The h2g2 entry on tea. I found it most useful.
https://www.bbcsurvey.co.uk/ - I found this quite fun. There's nothing I like better than a good survey, even if the results mean absolutely naff all. It tries to work out which BBC characters you are most like. I was a combination of Sherlock, David Mitchell and a Dalek. I'm quietly pleased. They are all intelligent characters with considerable unemotional streaks. It's probably quite accurate, but I'd imagine it says that to a lot of people - Sherlock, Mitchell and Webb and Doctor Who are very popular programmes.
Anyway, take a look and tell me what you think, and which characters you get.
http://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Tea - All the quotes on wikiquote about tea. I was just in that sort of mood.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/h2g2/A61345 - The h2g2 entry on tea. I found it most useful.
https://www.bbcsurvey.co.uk/ - I found this quite fun. There's nothing I like better than a good survey, even if the results mean absolutely naff all. It tries to work out which BBC characters you are most like. I was a combination of Sherlock, David Mitchell and a Dalek. I'm quietly pleased. They are all intelligent characters with considerable unemotional streaks. It's probably quite accurate, but I'd imagine it says that to a lot of people - Sherlock, Mitchell and Webb and Doctor Who are very popular programmes.
Anyway, take a look and tell me what you think, and which characters you get.
Monday 13 September 2010
Education For Leisure
If I could have written earlier, I would, because there's so much that I now have to tell you.
Firstly, I went to college. It isn't bad; that's probably the best that can be said about it. In my Physics lesson, topic of the day seems to be any kind of weaponry. In my first Mathematics class, I was asked to fill in a short form, with a question at the bottom that asked us if there was anything that we thought the teacher ought to know. I wrote:
"DO NOT WORK WELL WITH OTHERS
AS DO NOT SUFFER FOOLS."
His response, that those around me were not fools, was met with a raised eyebrow.
I do not mind them, and I will help and have helped them with their work. If only to stop them going "x minus four all squared... erm... x squared minus four x minus four... why does the back of the book say that's wrong?" Mostly, darlings, because it is.
No, it's all very fine and well and lovely (though incredibly noisy and busy and where can I eat a sandwich in peace?) but it's not for me. It stops me being bored, though I was reminded today of the Carol Ann Duffy poem 'Education for Leisure', which used to be on the GCSE syllabus.
According to this (http://www.guardian.co.uk/education/2008/sep/04/gcses.english), that isn't the case any more, it being taken off due to some complaints about killing a goldfish by flushing it down the pan. Oh, and knife crime, but it's the goldfish that really sticks in the throat. Or the U-bend, ba-dum-pshh.
I liked 'Education for Leisure'. It prompted one of my best quotes. In response to the line, There is nothing left to kill, I assessed that the narrator was suffering from a lack of imagination, as, "There is so much more to kill." I was not implying that he should kill everything, just that he should perhaps have investigated the avenues open to him before reaching for the bread knife.
Perhaps he should have spent a little more time with the goldfish. Not having killed a goldfish myself, I know not what stress relief/boredom alleviation it brings, but I can imagine that flushing it away is barely a satisfying way to end its pathetic fishy life. It's over in a flash, blink and you miss the moment where the force of the water snaps its little flexible spine. What's more, there's no body to examine.
If I was going to kill an animal, like, in a planned way, I'd want to gain something from it scientifically. The narrative voice in the poem is evidently one of an idiot. It's someone who considers Shakespeare to be in another language. Well, there's our proof: idiot.
I've covered the Education bit with college; Leisure was mentioned in the musical Blood Brothers, which I watched in London on Friday night. I was blown away. The narrator was incredible, particularly. There was a standing ovation at the end; I wanted to give one in the middle but I thought it best to find out how the play ends.
The realism in the final scene was so strong, with police officers shouting through megaphones from the back of the theatre as if we were part of the events. I laughed so hard; it was technically brilliant.
The narrator looked so pleased with himself, too, at how everything unfolded. He was so subtle, and yet made such an impact. In case you hadn't guessed, five stars.
On Saturday, I went to watch the BBC Last Night of the Proms in Hyde Park. It's a bit of a tradition, though only the third time I've seen it live. Three times is probably enough for my short life.
Bjorn Again weren't my cup of tea (they're an ABBA tribute band), but I warmed myself by dancing along. We also had a nice bit of opera with Kiri Te Kanawa and Jose Carreras.
Moment of the first half was probably seeing the look of inexpressible fury on my brother's face at being denied the presence of John Barrowman, who was playing at The Last Night in Salford. Apparently, a video link to his performance just wasn't good enough. I am now looking to buy him tickets to his tour, despite my meagre wealth. I shall talk to my parents; my mother saw how utterly devastated he was. It was hilarious. I've never seen him so truly angry.
Brian May was really good, so good I forgot to film him. We had to wait for Neil Sedaka, who I didn't realise was pretty-much singlehandedly responsible for all of the cringeworthy songs of the 20th century. His performance started dragging the second he walked onstage.
My brother alleviated boredom by finding and stalking Jon Tickle, of Brainiac fame. And I do mean stalking, he followed him to the toilets. The boy has no shame.
The above video was filmed on my mobile, and rather hastily thrown together. It's Elgar's Pomp and Circumstance, a Last Night staple, and one of my favourites. It was certainly done much better than God Save The Queen this year, which was shambolic. The Czech conductor had taken it upon himself to begin the National ANTHEM (yes, anthem, not lullaby) as quiet as possible.
As a result, nobody in the park knew what was going on. Nor, apparently, did the vision mixer who was supposed to be giving us the lyrics to each tune so that we could sing along.
Another huge insult to this great festival of national spirit was the American flag waved by the soprano who sang 'Rule Brittania'. The only thing good about her (she had awful diction) was that she was wearing a brilliant Vivienne Westwood creation, though I've seen that one ages ago. Maybe something newer, you know?
Try as they might, they can't kill the Last Night though.
Oh, and I also watched Merlin. Thumbs down for Bradley James' bare torso (where has he been? Obviously not the gym) but thumbs up for epic potential. No idea how Merlin's going to make it through this series without thoroughly outing himself. He's too obvious. I do think this will be the last series though; it looks too good for them to want to follow it up with another series.
As a result, nobody in the park knew what was going on. Nor, apparently, did the vision mixer who was supposed to be giving us the lyrics to each tune so that we could sing along.
Another huge insult to this great festival of national spirit was the American flag waved by the soprano who sang 'Rule Brittania'. The only thing good about her (she had awful diction) was that she was wearing a brilliant Vivienne Westwood creation, though I've seen that one ages ago. Maybe something newer, you know?
Try as they might, they can't kill the Last Night though.
Oh, and I also watched Merlin. Thumbs down for Bradley James' bare torso (where has he been? Obviously not the gym) but thumbs up for epic potential. No idea how Merlin's going to make it through this series without thoroughly outing himself. He's too obvious. I do think this will be the last series though; it looks too good for them to want to follow it up with another series.
Friday 3 September 2010
God is music
On a whim, I have decided to learn to play the violin. Well, it's not exactly on a whim. I wanted to do it when I was younger, but as my application to the Lyceum was to study piano, my mum got pretty annoyed when I announced that, actually, I wanted to learn violin.
After that, I pretty much ignored music. Before, it had been important. At my first school, we would listen to a different piece of classical music every day, and we had to be able to name a vast number of pieces. I listened to Mozart, Holst, Handel, even Beethoven when I wasn't trying to get to sleep.
I mean, it was all music that was designed to send me to sleep, but I did used to stay up and try to listen to it. Thankfully, cassette players (consult the history books if you're unsure what one is) used to finish each side with an enormous clunking noise, which usually woke me up if I was drifting.
Family tradition also dictated that we watch The Last Night of the Proms (on telly, naturally). We watched it religiously, planning ahead, inviting the neighbours around and all the rest of it. I thought it was brilliant.
Music left my life when I was about five or six. I'm not entirely sure why, but it did.
I still haven't got it back, but I'm trying, and it's a gradual process.
The one thing that really saved me, musically, was being forced to learn the recorder at the age of seven. This was at school, and they did it because recorders are cheap. I bought my own, because of the hideous bucket of spit-scented half-chewed recorders that got passed around each week. Words cannot describe how unhygienic that was.
For this reason, I hated the recorder, because, being disorganised, I often forgot my own, nice, wooden recorder, and had to borrow one of the disgusting plastic ones.
Time went on, though, and we were split into sets for music. This appealed to my already-strong notion that I was better than pretty much everyone around me, and when Recorder Club was created, solely for the elite, I was in my element.
I did, however, hate the instrument with a passion, and this was my downfall. I jumped when extra music lessons were offered, and left my recorder-playing days behind me in favour of learning the guitar.
In short, it didn't go well. Despite my disinclination to practise, I was better than everyone else, which was a good start. However, lessons were after school. My mum got a new job and was unable to pick me up after school. That appeared to be that.
I did, later join the school orchestra, though perhaps for all the wrong reasons. I joined because all members of the school orchestra were given a shiny red-and-gold badge saying ORCHESTRA, which was effectively a fast-track to the front of the lunch queue. Although practises were only twice a week, this came in useful on the other three days due to the magic phrase "extra orchestra practise".
To begin with, I joined my old Recorder Club chums, but I quickly came to realise that it wasn't for me. I became the orchestra's one-and-only percussionist, specialising in the glockenspiel. To this day I will get quite annoyed at anyone who calls it a xylophone.
However, that too fell by the wayside when I left primary school. I didn't even listen to music for my first two years at secondary school. I only started to because of homework.
My R.S. teacher (miserable witch- she hated me) told us to listen to the Black Eyed Peas' 'Where is the Love?'. Now, today, it sounds like patronising, meaningless faux-protesting, but I liked it. A lot of people did. It reminded me that music could mean something.
I started to buy CDs. I bought each copy of the Now series, I watched Top of the Pops, I listened to the radio. In the end I got into Green Day, which led me to the Ramones, and the Clash, and the realisation that the best music isn't necessarily what everyone else is listening to.
I started to play the guitar again, then the bass guitar, and the keyboard. I got really into music lessons at school- my teacher loved me to the point where he failed to reprimand me for punching another student in the face.
I elected to study music at GCSE. I watched The History Boys, and discovered The Smiths. I will never forget the day that my mother came home to find me listening to Morrissey. Maybe it was her disapproval that spurred me on, but I've never quite gotten over him.
I realised that not everyone can read music, or can write music for a whole variety of different instruments. I wasn't special, because I wasn't good at any of it, but I wasn't completely useless.
At Cheltenham, I didn't play music, partly because I didn't have time, but also because there was so much emphasis on being good. It's not my way. I'm clever, yes, but I'm not a mathematical prodigy. I can also write creatively, draw an adequate representation of someone's face, speak a multitude of languages to tourist level. I know that there are 88 constellations, and I can tell you the names of a fair few of them, as well as their brightest stars. I can't touch-type, but I know how to run an Excel spreadsheet.
It's not arrogance to say that if there's one thing I do well, it's everything.
So, coming home, I did what I should have done a long time before. I got myself a proper instrument. I've had the violin for about 24 hours now. She's not brilliant, but neither am I. It's something we have in common. I hope I do outgrow her. Then I can take up something else.
I've wasted a few years, but it's not the end of the world. I have relative pitch, which means I don't have to stick stickers on my violin to know where to put my fingers. I can play a major scale without giving anyone a brain haemorrhage. The cat even slept though my playing.
I'm reclaiming music.
After that, I pretty much ignored music. Before, it had been important. At my first school, we would listen to a different piece of classical music every day, and we had to be able to name a vast number of pieces. I listened to Mozart, Holst, Handel, even Beethoven when I wasn't trying to get to sleep.
I mean, it was all music that was designed to send me to sleep, but I did used to stay up and try to listen to it. Thankfully, cassette players (consult the history books if you're unsure what one is) used to finish each side with an enormous clunking noise, which usually woke me up if I was drifting.
Family tradition also dictated that we watch The Last Night of the Proms (on telly, naturally). We watched it religiously, planning ahead, inviting the neighbours around and all the rest of it. I thought it was brilliant.
Music left my life when I was about five or six. I'm not entirely sure why, but it did.
I still haven't got it back, but I'm trying, and it's a gradual process.
The one thing that really saved me, musically, was being forced to learn the recorder at the age of seven. This was at school, and they did it because recorders are cheap. I bought my own, because of the hideous bucket of spit-scented half-chewed recorders that got passed around each week. Words cannot describe how unhygienic that was.
For this reason, I hated the recorder, because, being disorganised, I often forgot my own, nice, wooden recorder, and had to borrow one of the disgusting plastic ones.
Time went on, though, and we were split into sets for music. This appealed to my already-strong notion that I was better than pretty much everyone around me, and when Recorder Club was created, solely for the elite, I was in my element.
I did, however, hate the instrument with a passion, and this was my downfall. I jumped when extra music lessons were offered, and left my recorder-playing days behind me in favour of learning the guitar.
In short, it didn't go well. Despite my disinclination to practise, I was better than everyone else, which was a good start. However, lessons were after school. My mum got a new job and was unable to pick me up after school. That appeared to be that.
I did, later join the school orchestra, though perhaps for all the wrong reasons. I joined because all members of the school orchestra were given a shiny red-and-gold badge saying ORCHESTRA, which was effectively a fast-track to the front of the lunch queue. Although practises were only twice a week, this came in useful on the other three days due to the magic phrase "extra orchestra practise".
To begin with, I joined my old Recorder Club chums, but I quickly came to realise that it wasn't for me. I became the orchestra's one-and-only percussionist, specialising in the glockenspiel. To this day I will get quite annoyed at anyone who calls it a xylophone.
However, that too fell by the wayside when I left primary school. I didn't even listen to music for my first two years at secondary school. I only started to because of homework.
My R.S. teacher (miserable witch- she hated me) told us to listen to the Black Eyed Peas' 'Where is the Love?'. Now, today, it sounds like patronising, meaningless faux-protesting, but I liked it. A lot of people did. It reminded me that music could mean something.
I started to buy CDs. I bought each copy of the Now series, I watched Top of the Pops, I listened to the radio. In the end I got into Green Day, which led me to the Ramones, and the Clash, and the realisation that the best music isn't necessarily what everyone else is listening to.
I started to play the guitar again, then the bass guitar, and the keyboard. I got really into music lessons at school- my teacher loved me to the point where he failed to reprimand me for punching another student in the face.
I elected to study music at GCSE. I watched The History Boys, and discovered The Smiths. I will never forget the day that my mother came home to find me listening to Morrissey. Maybe it was her disapproval that spurred me on, but I've never quite gotten over him.
I realised that not everyone can read music, or can write music for a whole variety of different instruments. I wasn't special, because I wasn't good at any of it, but I wasn't completely useless.
At Cheltenham, I didn't play music, partly because I didn't have time, but also because there was so much emphasis on being good. It's not my way. I'm clever, yes, but I'm not a mathematical prodigy. I can also write creatively, draw an adequate representation of someone's face, speak a multitude of languages to tourist level. I know that there are 88 constellations, and I can tell you the names of a fair few of them, as well as their brightest stars. I can't touch-type, but I know how to run an Excel spreadsheet.
It's not arrogance to say that if there's one thing I do well, it's everything.
So, coming home, I did what I should have done a long time before. I got myself a proper instrument. I've had the violin for about 24 hours now. She's not brilliant, but neither am I. It's something we have in common. I hope I do outgrow her. Then I can take up something else.
I've wasted a few years, but it's not the end of the world. I have relative pitch, which means I don't have to stick stickers on my violin to know where to put my fingers. I can play a major scale without giving anyone a brain haemorrhage. The cat even slept though my playing.
I'm reclaiming music.
Sunday 29 August 2010
Name That Cat
I just thought of an idea for a new game show, because I just realised that, even if I wanted to go to bed, I couldn't, because my bed has been taken over by a skinny tomcat called... well, that's just it. My cat doesn't have a name.
It's pretty much up to whoever's in the house to give him whatever name they want. So far, in alphabetical order, he's been called Bob, Bobby, Bobs, Cat, Cath, Chat, Mao, Robbo, Robert, Roberto, Robs and Socks. We haven't even had him three months.
At the moment, my least favourite is Socks, followed closely by Bobs. Up until recently, I pretty much called him Robbo, but the latest guest in our house started calling him Mao and it's kind of got stuck for me. Seeing as I mew at him anyway, to irritate him or something. How do you irritate a cat? It's difficult.
Anyway, any new ideas, send them to me.
I handled a puppy today. Probably not the best idea for someone who sees a dog and instantly wants to kill it, but it had escaped its house, and the owner was obviously struggling to get it back inside. I don't think the owner would have been keen if I'd let it run or just strangled it while I had the chance.
It surprised me how trusting it was. It felt really weird.
It's probably not dogs I hate; it's dog people. The people who think dogs have anywhere near as much value as humans. Well, they can lower themselves to that level, but they mustn't be surprised when I refuse to join them.
Then there's the people who let their dogs defecate in public spaces, and then don't clear it up.I'm sorry! Do these scum think the world owes them something? Do they think it's okay for them to leave actual faeces lying about in the sun for flies to breed in and spread disease? Or for small children to fall over in? (Actually, that's quite funny, so long as you don't have to clean the child in question.)
Next time you see one of these worthless, inconsiderate, expendable wastes of human flesh, tell them that they've dropped something. Do it for me, before I have an aneurysm.
Now it's time for the reviews. I've been revisiting a couple of things in the past few days.
First up, it was The Young Ones. 28 years on, it's still got a certain quality to it. It's a violent-slapstick, alternative comedy look at the nuclear family. Vyvyan will always be one of my favourite comedy characters. Unnecessary violence, the ability to eat everything and short bursts of incredible lucidity and possibly even genius (well, he is a medical student) make him absolutely brilliant. Also, everyone knows a Rick, the revolutionary who thinks Che Guevara is a Mexican restaurant.
I think I'm more of a Neil myself. He's calm, passive, keeps the place neat and tidy. He's the mother figure. That's just me all over. I'm well into peace and love and lentils and the rest of it.
I hate Mike, because he's pointless. He's supposed to be cool, and respected, but he's more of a loser than the rest of them. Aside from Mike, the other bad points were the talking scenery, which I don't think works anymore, and the dwarf in the episode 'Boring'. Dwarves just aren't funny, especially not when they're painted. In fact, they're rarely not.
Though, aside from the mindless violence and cute destruction of even the fourth wall, there is one last redeeming feature: the music. We need music back in sitcoms. Hell, we need Madness back in sitcoms, and not just doing adverts on GOLD. The Young Ones gets 4 stars.
I also re-watched Sherlock Holmes, the Guy Ritchie film. That took me by surprise, because I didn't like it. Everything I loved about that film, it turns out, is just Arthur Conan Doyle, and okay, a nice bit of bromance. There's my point though: get lost, Irene Adler! Mary's not much better, but at least she knows her place. It's not her fault she's just not pretty.
I think the issue Ritchie was always going to have was making a good film without gratuitous swearing or violence. That's what made Lock, Stock so brilliant: in particular, a joke involving the c-word that I won't repeat here.
Oh, it's clever. But nowhere near enough, not after seeing the BBC adaptation, not after reading the books and knowing what can be done. I think the trouble was, I hated the bad guy. Really, you've got to love the bad guy, and hate yourself for it. Blackwood was ugly, and we never saw enough of Moriarty.
Now, Moriarty was something the BBC did oh so well. That line, "Westwood." It just gets me. The film though, 3 stars, though I await the sequel with interest.
Oh, what else? Ah yes. Come Dine With Me. The narrator's mellowing, as are the guests. Bring back the bitching! This week, someone nearly vommed listening to an anecdote about phlegm, and someone else was made to cry. It's not enough! Daggers out, please! Two stars.
Oh, arsehole of the week: bloke who bought the violin I was trying to buy at a flea market for £12 and refused to sell it to me for any less than £30. May everyone urinate haphazardly on his shallow grave.
It's pretty much up to whoever's in the house to give him whatever name they want. So far, in alphabetical order, he's been called Bob, Bobby, Bobs, Cat, Cath, Chat, Mao, Robbo, Robert, Roberto, Robs and Socks. We haven't even had him three months.
At the moment, my least favourite is Socks, followed closely by Bobs. Up until recently, I pretty much called him Robbo, but the latest guest in our house started calling him Mao and it's kind of got stuck for me. Seeing as I mew at him anyway, to irritate him or something. How do you irritate a cat? It's difficult.
Anyway, any new ideas, send them to me.
I handled a puppy today. Probably not the best idea for someone who sees a dog and instantly wants to kill it, but it had escaped its house, and the owner was obviously struggling to get it back inside. I don't think the owner would have been keen if I'd let it run or just strangled it while I had the chance.
It surprised me how trusting it was. It felt really weird.
It's probably not dogs I hate; it's dog people. The people who think dogs have anywhere near as much value as humans. Well, they can lower themselves to that level, but they mustn't be surprised when I refuse to join them.
Then there's the people who let their dogs defecate in public spaces, and then don't clear it up.I'm sorry! Do these scum think the world owes them something? Do they think it's okay for them to leave actual faeces lying about in the sun for flies to breed in and spread disease? Or for small children to fall over in? (Actually, that's quite funny, so long as you don't have to clean the child in question.)
Next time you see one of these worthless, inconsiderate, expendable wastes of human flesh, tell them that they've dropped something. Do it for me, before I have an aneurysm.
Now it's time for the reviews. I've been revisiting a couple of things in the past few days.
First up, it was The Young Ones. 28 years on, it's still got a certain quality to it. It's a violent-slapstick, alternative comedy look at the nuclear family. Vyvyan will always be one of my favourite comedy characters. Unnecessary violence, the ability to eat everything and short bursts of incredible lucidity and possibly even genius (well, he is a medical student) make him absolutely brilliant. Also, everyone knows a Rick, the revolutionary who thinks Che Guevara is a Mexican restaurant.
I think I'm more of a Neil myself. He's calm, passive, keeps the place neat and tidy. He's the mother figure. That's just me all over. I'm well into peace and love and lentils and the rest of it.
I hate Mike, because he's pointless. He's supposed to be cool, and respected, but he's more of a loser than the rest of them. Aside from Mike, the other bad points were the talking scenery, which I don't think works anymore, and the dwarf in the episode 'Boring'. Dwarves just aren't funny, especially not when they're painted. In fact, they're rarely not.
Though, aside from the mindless violence and cute destruction of even the fourth wall, there is one last redeeming feature: the music. We need music back in sitcoms. Hell, we need Madness back in sitcoms, and not just doing adverts on GOLD. The Young Ones gets 4 stars.
I also re-watched Sherlock Holmes, the Guy Ritchie film. That took me by surprise, because I didn't like it. Everything I loved about that film, it turns out, is just Arthur Conan Doyle, and okay, a nice bit of bromance. There's my point though: get lost, Irene Adler! Mary's not much better, but at least she knows her place. It's not her fault she's just not pretty.
I think the issue Ritchie was always going to have was making a good film without gratuitous swearing or violence. That's what made Lock, Stock so brilliant: in particular, a joke involving the c-word that I won't repeat here.
Oh, it's clever. But nowhere near enough, not after seeing the BBC adaptation, not after reading the books and knowing what can be done. I think the trouble was, I hated the bad guy. Really, you've got to love the bad guy, and hate yourself for it. Blackwood was ugly, and we never saw enough of Moriarty.
Now, Moriarty was something the BBC did oh so well. That line, "Westwood." It just gets me. The film though, 3 stars, though I await the sequel with interest.
Oh, what else? Ah yes. Come Dine With Me. The narrator's mellowing, as are the guests. Bring back the bitching! This week, someone nearly vommed listening to an anecdote about phlegm, and someone else was made to cry. It's not enough! Daggers out, please! Two stars.
Oh, arsehole of the week: bloke who bought the violin I was trying to buy at a flea market for £12 and refused to sell it to me for any less than £30. May everyone urinate haphazardly on his shallow grave.
Thursday 26 August 2010
How to drive a car
I had my third driving lesson the other day, my first in over a year. Not that I told my new instructor. She thinks I've had a lot more experience than I have.
She also thinks I have ADHD, owing to the fact I drive at near enough the limit and can't find my reference points because I'm never sat still. I won't deny that I'm hyper, but I'm paying full attention. It just doesn't look it.
If I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have been amazing, which I was. That means I get to drive around a different housing estate next week, which should be fun.
No, my instructor's impressed. Evidently terrified, but impressed nonetheless.
Oh, and I killed my first vertebrate. Don't worry, darlings, it was only a pigeon. I accelerated into it. Beautiful, feathers everywhere. It's amazing the mess you can make at 20mph.
I had a bit of a pointless day after that. I fell asleep and woke up to make a risotto, then went to sleep again. This means that I don't have any films or books to review. I could review the music I've been listening to?
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Well, it's beautiful, if a little over-popular. There's a reason for it though. I doubt I'll ever get over it. 5 stars.
Beethoven's 5th, first movement. Again, very popular, but also very good. 5 stars.
Beethoven's 6th, fifth movement. Must have been a bit of a let-down after the 5th, to be honest. 3 stars.
Holst's The Planets, Mars, The Bringer of War. Oh! That start! So good. So very good. You know how I know you'll believe me it's good? It featured in Sherlock, the last episode, where Sherlock and John fight the Golem in the darkened lecture theatre. So dramatic! Ah. 5 stars.
If you think I'm being generous, don't worry. All that is going to stop. Holst's The Planets, Venus, the Bringer of Peace. Boring! Talk about a comedown. It makes me all shivery to think about how awful it is. It's so twinkly and pathetic. Two stars.
Holst's The Planets, Mercury, the Winged Messenger. It works. It's not amazing, but it works; the rising and falling scales are exactly what one would imagine from the flight of Mercury. And what it has in technical qualities, it doesn't exactly lack in art. Four stars.
There; I've tried to review orchestral music, which I'm only listening to so I don't suck at the music rounds on University Challenge. The only times I have ever got points on those is when Moonlight Sonata came up and another time when there were a whole set of questions on David Bowie songs. I did alright in the picture rounds today (watching a repeat I hadn't seen before). There was a set of questions on pictures of Moses (15 points) and another set on poker hands (the full 25).
Don't try telling me I'm a geek. It's not strictly true. I do know things, however, and I want to know more. I want people to know that I know more than most people. I will never apologise, though it pleases me to think I might need to. Mostly because I won't.
She also thinks I have ADHD, owing to the fact I drive at near enough the limit and can't find my reference points because I'm never sat still. I won't deny that I'm hyper, but I'm paying full attention. It just doesn't look it.
If I wasn't paying attention, I wouldn't have been amazing, which I was. That means I get to drive around a different housing estate next week, which should be fun.
No, my instructor's impressed. Evidently terrified, but impressed nonetheless.
Oh, and I killed my first vertebrate. Don't worry, darlings, it was only a pigeon. I accelerated into it. Beautiful, feathers everywhere. It's amazing the mess you can make at 20mph.
I had a bit of a pointless day after that. I fell asleep and woke up to make a risotto, then went to sleep again. This means that I don't have any films or books to review. I could review the music I've been listening to?
Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Well, it's beautiful, if a little over-popular. There's a reason for it though. I doubt I'll ever get over it. 5 stars.
Beethoven's 5th, first movement. Again, very popular, but also very good. 5 stars.
Beethoven's 6th, fifth movement. Must have been a bit of a let-down after the 5th, to be honest. 3 stars.
Holst's The Planets, Mars, The Bringer of War. Oh! That start! So good. So very good. You know how I know you'll believe me it's good? It featured in Sherlock, the last episode, where Sherlock and John fight the Golem in the darkened lecture theatre. So dramatic! Ah. 5 stars.
If you think I'm being generous, don't worry. All that is going to stop. Holst's The Planets, Venus, the Bringer of Peace. Boring! Talk about a comedown. It makes me all shivery to think about how awful it is. It's so twinkly and pathetic. Two stars.
Holst's The Planets, Mercury, the Winged Messenger. It works. It's not amazing, but it works; the rising and falling scales are exactly what one would imagine from the flight of Mercury. And what it has in technical qualities, it doesn't exactly lack in art. Four stars.
There; I've tried to review orchestral music, which I'm only listening to so I don't suck at the music rounds on University Challenge. The only times I have ever got points on those is when Moonlight Sonata came up and another time when there were a whole set of questions on David Bowie songs. I did alright in the picture rounds today (watching a repeat I hadn't seen before). There was a set of questions on pictures of Moses (15 points) and another set on poker hands (the full 25).
Don't try telling me I'm a geek. It's not strictly true. I do know things, however, and I want to know more. I want people to know that I know more than most people. I will never apologise, though it pleases me to think I might need to. Mostly because I won't.
Monday 23 August 2010
And now, a rant
NO!
I'm not even anywhere near done on the ranting front, let me warn you.
Right now, I am sitting all sleepy-eyed in my pyjamas when I should actually have been asleep, having done what I needed to do an hour and a half ago. But I'm not. In fact, I just had more hassle than I needed.
This was my plan: today, I would wake up at 0650 in order to buy tickets to Chelsea-Blackpool the second they came out, thus ensuring two seats in Matthew Harding Upper, the best stand by far. It was a brilliant plan, but unfortunately not one that came into fruition as my mobile ran out of battery and my alarm failed to go off.
It would have been a brilliant alarm as well. Linkin Park's 'Given Up' (which is a song that will give a half-awake person a coronary if they don't turn it off in time) with the text "GET UP. NOW."
As it was, I had a dream about holding a housewarming party with somebody who I'd never met, but I was going to be living with. We had races to open the door to the guests, and it was a bit petty, but then he bought me a scotch egg from the inexplicably noisy canteen next door and I woke up happy.
I wasn't happy about two seconds later when I realised I'd woken up naturally rather than being dragged back into the land of the living. As quick as I could, I typed my ticket request.
At that moment, I felt I was probably entitled to shout "bugger", because the tickets had gone. So had the tickets in Shed Upper and Matthew Harding Lower (East). My dream of watching a decent match in a decent stand was fading.
By the way, if you don't understand football, like a lot of people, you'll have to understand that every match is a pretty big deal. Matches are like plays, there's drama and excitement, and the best soundtrack you could have hoped for. It releases a beautiful chemical enjoyment, and I never got that from basketball or ice hockey, nor cricket.
I did however, find tickets in Matthew Harding Lower (West). This was accompanied by a countdown clock to tell me how long it was before these tickets were given to someone else. 5 minutes and counting. Well, of course, I nearly died, because though it's a reasonable length of time, there's nothing like a ticking red clock to make you nervous. Thankfully I had my debit card in hand, typed in my details and hit Enter.
No. I'd forgotten to tick the box for Terms & Conditions (which, incidentally, I didn't read, no, because I only had 4 minutes 48, 47, 46...) so I had to go back and do that.
No. I hadn't put in an expiry date the second time around. So I did that, made sure none of the other boxes had randomly emptied themselves (which, curiously, they hadn't).
No. Card not accepted. Well, that was it. I tried again, but the same result.
I knocked on my parents' bedroom door and asked for a credit card. My mother told me somewhere the card wasn't, so I ran around the house looking for where it was.
Anyway, I got the card, and started typing in the number. To my surprise, the number on my dad's card was exactly the same as the card number I had already typed into the box. How could this be?
I'll tell you how. In my half-awake stupor, I had seen that, when I started typing my card number into the box, it Autocompleted for me. I thought: how kind. Rather than check that the number was mine, which it wasn't, I simply carried on.
It's even an avoidable mistake! I know my debit card number BY HEART. The thing is though, who thought it was a good idea to Autocomplete debit card details? That's just asking for trouble.
I typed in my actual card details and completed the transaction. I don't want to look at the state of my bank account just yet. I'm going to be keeping my accounts, though, because I have a pretty tight budget for the next year. Well, it looks alright, but I'm sure it'll be tight. I'm looking forward to it, though, trying to be responsible.
Speaking of responsible, I have a driving lesson today. I don't want to go.
I just have the one review for you today, and it's a book: Arthur Conan Doyle's 'A Study In Scarlet'. Well, I thought it was brilliant, and unexpectedly funny in places. Well, I think it was funny. It made me laugh anyway. Sherlock Holmes is undoubtedly one of the most interesting characters ever written, and Watson is so frequently poorly represented in films and television serials. Adaptations often have him appearing as a kind of butler, which he really wasn't.
The deductive process is remarkable. The second part of the book takes you through what Holmes had worked out in the first. A lot of people criticise the book for the fact that Holmes is absent for about half the book, but it doesn't matter in my eyes. You just get a chance to figure out what Holmes already has from much better evidence.
And it's amazing, because it's still believable, it's still achievable. It has dated a little, though, and Holmes is altogether too bright for me. I don't expect people warmed to dark characters like they do now. Four stars.
I'm not even anywhere near done on the ranting front, let me warn you.
Right now, I am sitting all sleepy-eyed in my pyjamas when I should actually have been asleep, having done what I needed to do an hour and a half ago. But I'm not. In fact, I just had more hassle than I needed.
This was my plan: today, I would wake up at 0650 in order to buy tickets to Chelsea-Blackpool the second they came out, thus ensuring two seats in Matthew Harding Upper, the best stand by far. It was a brilliant plan, but unfortunately not one that came into fruition as my mobile ran out of battery and my alarm failed to go off.
It would have been a brilliant alarm as well. Linkin Park's 'Given Up' (which is a song that will give a half-awake person a coronary if they don't turn it off in time) with the text "GET UP. NOW."
As it was, I had a dream about holding a housewarming party with somebody who I'd never met, but I was going to be living with. We had races to open the door to the guests, and it was a bit petty, but then he bought me a scotch egg from the inexplicably noisy canteen next door and I woke up happy.
I wasn't happy about two seconds later when I realised I'd woken up naturally rather than being dragged back into the land of the living. As quick as I could, I typed my ticket request.
At that moment, I felt I was probably entitled to shout "bugger", because the tickets had gone. So had the tickets in Shed Upper and Matthew Harding Lower (East). My dream of watching a decent match in a decent stand was fading.
By the way, if you don't understand football, like a lot of people, you'll have to understand that every match is a pretty big deal. Matches are like plays, there's drama and excitement, and the best soundtrack you could have hoped for. It releases a beautiful chemical enjoyment, and I never got that from basketball or ice hockey, nor cricket.
I did however, find tickets in Matthew Harding Lower (West). This was accompanied by a countdown clock to tell me how long it was before these tickets were given to someone else. 5 minutes and counting. Well, of course, I nearly died, because though it's a reasonable length of time, there's nothing like a ticking red clock to make you nervous. Thankfully I had my debit card in hand, typed in my details and hit Enter.
No. I'd forgotten to tick the box for Terms & Conditions (which, incidentally, I didn't read, no, because I only had 4 minutes 48, 47, 46...) so I had to go back and do that.
No. I hadn't put in an expiry date the second time around. So I did that, made sure none of the other boxes had randomly emptied themselves (which, curiously, they hadn't).
No. Card not accepted. Well, that was it. I tried again, but the same result.
I knocked on my parents' bedroom door and asked for a credit card. My mother told me somewhere the card wasn't, so I ran around the house looking for where it was.
Anyway, I got the card, and started typing in the number. To my surprise, the number on my dad's card was exactly the same as the card number I had already typed into the box. How could this be?
I'll tell you how. In my half-awake stupor, I had seen that, when I started typing my card number into the box, it Autocompleted for me. I thought: how kind. Rather than check that the number was mine, which it wasn't, I simply carried on.
It's even an avoidable mistake! I know my debit card number BY HEART. The thing is though, who thought it was a good idea to Autocomplete debit card details? That's just asking for trouble.
I typed in my actual card details and completed the transaction. I don't want to look at the state of my bank account just yet. I'm going to be keeping my accounts, though, because I have a pretty tight budget for the next year. Well, it looks alright, but I'm sure it'll be tight. I'm looking forward to it, though, trying to be responsible.
Speaking of responsible, I have a driving lesson today. I don't want to go.
I just have the one review for you today, and it's a book: Arthur Conan Doyle's 'A Study In Scarlet'. Well, I thought it was brilliant, and unexpectedly funny in places. Well, I think it was funny. It made me laugh anyway. Sherlock Holmes is undoubtedly one of the most interesting characters ever written, and Watson is so frequently poorly represented in films and television serials. Adaptations often have him appearing as a kind of butler, which he really wasn't.
The deductive process is remarkable. The second part of the book takes you through what Holmes had worked out in the first. A lot of people criticise the book for the fact that Holmes is absent for about half the book, but it doesn't matter in my eyes. You just get a chance to figure out what Holmes already has from much better evidence.
And it's amazing, because it's still believable, it's still achievable. It has dated a little, though, and Holmes is altogether too bright for me. I don't expect people warmed to dark characters like they do now. Four stars.
Saturday 21 August 2010
Films!
A couple of film reviews for you. I watched Brideshead Revisited not knowing what it was about, and usually that's a good thing. I like the actor who plays the main character (Matthew Goode), but there was a lot missing. I don't think you get to see Charles' motivations enough. Towards the end, other characters start pointing out things that you hadn't been allowed to figure out for yourself as if you should already know it. It's a bit like a "butler did it" ending in a mystery.
If it had been longer, it could have been better. As it was, it didn't really work, because I just ended up feeling far too sorry for Sebastian, and also for his father. It has made me want to read the book though, so I might do that once I've finished everything else I still have to read. 3 stars.
I gave my mother a choice of films to watch the day before yesterday, mostly because I thought she'd make the right decision. She didn't. She picked Tim Burton's shaky start: Beetlejuice.
Oh, two stars, before we get any further. It features a sickeningly in love couple who die and end up haunting their old house and despising the oddly contrasting new tenants. The other characters are the idiot father, the evil stepmother and the loveable goth girl. Oh, and the fat, lecherous, rotting Betelgeuse himself. All in all, it's about as funny as cancer and about as clever as stapling yourself in the eye.
Please, God, bring me a film that's worth watching.
If it had been longer, it could have been better. As it was, it didn't really work, because I just ended up feeling far too sorry for Sebastian, and also for his father. It has made me want to read the book though, so I might do that once I've finished everything else I still have to read. 3 stars.
I gave my mother a choice of films to watch the day before yesterday, mostly because I thought she'd make the right decision. She didn't. She picked Tim Burton's shaky start: Beetlejuice.
Oh, two stars, before we get any further. It features a sickeningly in love couple who die and end up haunting their old house and despising the oddly contrasting new tenants. The other characters are the idiot father, the evil stepmother and the loveable goth girl. Oh, and the fat, lecherous, rotting Betelgeuse himself. All in all, it's about as funny as cancer and about as clever as stapling yourself in the eye.
Please, God, bring me a film that's worth watching.
Wednesday 18 August 2010
One hell of a day, one hell of a play and a disappointment
Right, so, to cut a long story short, I spent most of today thinking that my best friend was dead, because I over-analyse things. I think I dealt with it fairly well, to be honest. Turned out it was just a misunderstanding involving some Greek mythology.
I think it's best that I leave that story there; it's probably more fun if you fill in the gaps yourself. What about Greek mythology could possibly lead me to the conclusion that my friend had died?
In any case, I went down to London today. It's turning into a bit of a second home to be honest. I went to see Alan Bennett's new play at the National. I know, it's a play, nobody cares. Just because you live in "the arsehole of the world", doesn't mean you have to act like a pleb. I think it's important to find culture wherever you are, else we're back to laughing at farting.
It was a good play, to be honest, quite clever and such an unexpected laugh at the opening of the second act... well, I didn't see it coming. I don't think anybody did. We all came in after the interval and were greeted with... well, I won't spoil it, just in case there's a film or you happen to watch it. Tickets are going like wildfire; ours were really good, front row of the circle. We didn't exactly pay through the nose either, because it was a matinee.
So, 'The Habit of Art'... I'd have to give it 5 stars. A witty piece which, due to the nature of it, had to be superlatively acted. I'm sounding like a toff; I'm really not. Incidentally, my Conservative Party membership card came today.
I got home, was greeted with my dad's Thai Green Chicken Curry (I can do better) and went on to watch a film, Starter For 10.
I didn't like it (3 stars). They ruined a perfectly good story about University Challenge by making it a love story. University Challenge is a love story. Of course, the setting was nice, the 80s, though I wish they hadn't blathered on so much about Thatcher. I also didn't like the female lead; a little caustic.
James whatsisface did an alright job as the main character; it wasn't his job that the character wasn't written with any credibility. Another character without credibility was the idiot that Benedict Cumberbatch (everyone's favourite Sherlock Holmes until Guy Ritchie brings out another film) got to play. He was a little caricatured, though it's fortunate that B.C. pulls off caricature very well. He commands any scene he's in, though we'll see what happens when he goes American in the Whistleblower.
Not sure I'll see it, actually. Seems a bit... boring. One woman's struggle to bring down sex trafficking. Ethical and all that, but I'm not sure I have enough of a soul to waste two hours of my life pretending to care.
What I am going to be doing, is wasting my life learning stuff. University Challenge, Mastermind, I don't really care so long as it's BBC, primetime and I win. I don't mean next year, but one day.
P.S. Watched Lovely Bones the other day, 0 stars. Devastating.
I think it's best that I leave that story there; it's probably more fun if you fill in the gaps yourself. What about Greek mythology could possibly lead me to the conclusion that my friend had died?
In any case, I went down to London today. It's turning into a bit of a second home to be honest. I went to see Alan Bennett's new play at the National. I know, it's a play, nobody cares. Just because you live in "the arsehole of the world", doesn't mean you have to act like a pleb. I think it's important to find culture wherever you are, else we're back to laughing at farting.
It was a good play, to be honest, quite clever and such an unexpected laugh at the opening of the second act... well, I didn't see it coming. I don't think anybody did. We all came in after the interval and were greeted with... well, I won't spoil it, just in case there's a film or you happen to watch it. Tickets are going like wildfire; ours were really good, front row of the circle. We didn't exactly pay through the nose either, because it was a matinee.
So, 'The Habit of Art'... I'd have to give it 5 stars. A witty piece which, due to the nature of it, had to be superlatively acted. I'm sounding like a toff; I'm really not. Incidentally, my Conservative Party membership card came today.
I got home, was greeted with my dad's Thai Green Chicken Curry (I can do better) and went on to watch a film, Starter For 10.
I didn't like it (3 stars). They ruined a perfectly good story about University Challenge by making it a love story. University Challenge is a love story. Of course, the setting was nice, the 80s, though I wish they hadn't blathered on so much about Thatcher. I also didn't like the female lead; a little caustic.
James whatsisface did an alright job as the main character; it wasn't his job that the character wasn't written with any credibility. Another character without credibility was the idiot that Benedict Cumberbatch (everyone's favourite Sherlock Holmes until Guy Ritchie brings out another film) got to play. He was a little caricatured, though it's fortunate that B.C. pulls off caricature very well. He commands any scene he's in, though we'll see what happens when he goes American in the Whistleblower.
Not sure I'll see it, actually. Seems a bit... boring. One woman's struggle to bring down sex trafficking. Ethical and all that, but I'm not sure I have enough of a soul to waste two hours of my life pretending to care.
What I am going to be doing, is wasting my life learning stuff. University Challenge, Mastermind, I don't really care so long as it's BBC, primetime and I win. I don't mean next year, but one day.
P.S. Watched Lovely Bones the other day, 0 stars. Devastating.
Tuesday 17 August 2010
My First Blog Post
Okay, so the title won't win me any literary awards. I'm not looking for that, though. Basically, the reason I'm writing a blog is because I'm bored, and also because I want attention. I'm going to be writing about my life, films I've seen, television programmes I've watched and so on.
The subject matter isn't going to be a thrillride, but at least I can spell, which is more than you can say for a lot of people.
People get my back up. To be honest, if I was going to sell myself as a human being, this is probably where I'd start. I know, as a USP, misanthropy is an unusual approach, but that's the point. I'm different; that's why people like me. The reasons people don't like me are many and varied, but usually it's because I didn't like them first and happened to let them in on that somewhere along the line.
I am an unemployed genius with no idea where my life is going until Thursday.
The subject matter isn't going to be a thrillride, but at least I can spell, which is more than you can say for a lot of people.
People get my back up. To be honest, if I was going to sell myself as a human being, this is probably where I'd start. I know, as a USP, misanthropy is an unusual approach, but that's the point. I'm different; that's why people like me. The reasons people don't like me are many and varied, but usually it's because I didn't like them first and happened to let them in on that somewhere along the line.
I am an unemployed genius with no idea where my life is going until Thursday.
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