tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-209575122024-02-19T03:29:37.206+00:00]][[mediumselfesteem]][[she thinks I'm crazy
but I'm just growing oldUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger583125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-89756922706558494372011-11-08T02:36:00.002+00:002011-11-08T02:40:42.705+00:00today....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSCwd3jG2nYwkjss4jklEki13-nVocWbhmedo3c6h56QttrH2eik1VNNzQRthDgFMnc_Db43HbBQkDvpQPgnuWUujzOkUvuxWCWv5UB83P5CKUhat-q0SuKSapwxz5O-pKf7cdA/s1600/Friedrich1808.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSCwd3jG2nYwkjss4jklEki13-nVocWbhmedo3c6h56QttrH2eik1VNNzQRthDgFMnc_Db43HbBQkDvpQPgnuWUujzOkUvuxWCWv5UB83P5CKUhat-q0SuKSapwxz5O-pKf7cdA/s400/Friedrich1808.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672449252455215122" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.google.co.uk/#sclient=psy-ab&hl=en&source=hp&q=lost+interest+in+everything&pbx=1&oq=lost+interest&aq=1&aqi=g4&aql=&gs_sm=c&gs_upl=2667l4732l0l6566l13l8l0l3l3l0l205l1167l1.6.1l11l0&fp=1&biw=893&bih=498&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.,cf.osb&cad=bhttp://"><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 102);">Ho Hum</span></span></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);">back whenever</span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-11260294180643441372011-11-01T03:38:00.001+00:002011-11-01T03:43:51.688+00:00today : the dan (and randy)<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/vVy0ZVQcl7E" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/s8hc9XjUe6s" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="420"></iframe><br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia; color: rgb(255, 204, 255);">I've been playing a lot of guitar recently. Playing like a 15 year old obsessive might, for hours at a time. This week I will turn 45. Damn that 9 year old kid who kicked a whiffle ball out of my hand in 1976, breaking my left little finger. It was never right after that and playing a lot of guitar 35 years later keeps reminding me. It sometimes doesn't do what I want it to after playing for long periods. But I guess our imperfections are part of our individual styles. Django Reinhart only had two working fingers fercrissakes. Tony Iommi chopped the tips off his in a metal press.<br /><br />So anyway, there I was playing in a new set of DR black beauty strings on my red Music Man. I looped some simple-ish chords on the delay and played along. There was a phrase I kept returning to that I knew sounded familiar. It bugged me all day and I kept playing it and replaying it my head until it suddenly struck me that was a tiny bit of the guitar solo from My Old School by Steely Dan.<br /><br />So for the next week or two I started listening to Steely Dan a lot. Two long road trips later and I'd covered the 'Citizen' box set twice over in two days. That's all the albums plus The Nightfly trilogy plus one two other tracks. Twice in two days.<br /><br />They are an odd prospect, but fascinating. People get obsessed by them in a nerdy kind of way. To some ears they are fatally easy listening and bland. But maybe that's because they kind of invented that smooth California sounding jazz-rock or rock-jazz that was maybe too soft for rock fans and too rock for jazz fans. That kind of muso music that was made for hi-fi systems, when hi-fi was entirely the preserve of the people who are now computer and gadget geeks. Then there's the lyrics, which because they aren't ooh-baby-baby, rock and roll lyrics get pored over and dissected and deconstructed and analysed ad nauseum. There are pages on the web that contain glossaries, dictionaries and entire rambling essays about Steely Dan Lyrics.<br /><br />I must say, there are plenty of Dan tracks (songs? cuts? sides?) that don't excite me too much. Yes, the playing is superb and the production pin sharp. But the songs. Some of them are too welded together - trying to fix clever-clever lyrics to clever-clever chord sequences. Let's see how many Minor ninths with an added fifth and a dropped second we can string together - on a chorussed electric piano even dreary chords sound dreamy. Green Earrings, for example.<br /><br />Which is fair enough. Great songs somehow perform alchemy from mundane elements. Chords, melody, rhythm, meter, arrangements and lyrics somehow fit perfectly together as if they always were that way. Think of Cole Porter's Anything Goes. How could you improve that song? And most bands and artists hit the heights maybe once or twice in a career. So I'll forgive Steely Dan for the forced noodly non-melodies, the repetitive syncopated piano that appears too much too often and the songs that have a great lyric but a boring arrangement. I'll forgive them for inspiring uninspired bands like Deacon Blue and a million and one late 70s/early80s TV and movie soundtracks. I'll even forgive them for the overuse of that really annoying synthesised harmonica/unidentifiable reed instrument sound that they overused on later recordings, rendering them almost unlistenable.<br /><br />I have a general theory of bands and artists that they have done well if you can make a best-of that reaches 8 tracks. Most good bands' truly best work amounts to somewhere between one and five tracks i.e. almost nobody even makes one entire album where every track is a killer. If you can get past ten outstanding tracks, even in a decades long career, then a band is pretty great. It's a fun game. You have try to be objective and have a super-high quality threshold. So you can't have track that has a great riff, or a great line, or a great chorus, or a great solo. The best-of songs have to have pretty much all the elements in place.<br /><br />Let's use REM as an example. Most people (including me) likes their song Everybody Hurts. But it just doesn't make it, because it's a terrific vocal performance, and it has one terrific chord change (don't let yourself go: Amajor to Eminor), but is not really a great song. On my list Coldplay have a best-of that amounts to one song (Don't Panic), as do U2 (With or Without You).<br /><br />As I said, it's a fun game. You can skewer peoples' favourites and they get really riled, partly because true objectivity is impossible and is always a cover for personal prejudice. But in music I think there is a real difference between favourite and best.<br /><br />Anyway, I digress. Back to Steely Dan. Off the top of my head: Pearl of the Quarter, Peg, Do It Again, Only a Fool Would Say That, Reelin in the Years, My Old School, Pretzel Logic, Kid Charlemagne, Any Major Dude, Deacon Blues - there's 10 without even thinking, and not even touching The Nightfly, which IS one of those albums where pretty much every track is outstanding (although I hate that song IGY - ironically the one that was a hit of sorts and everyone else likes).<br /><br />When I was a High School English Teacher I used to do this thing with songs. I would take a lyric, pick out lines and use them as a jumping off point for discussion, analysis and creative work.<br /><br />"I would go out tomorrow, if I could borrow a coat to wear" was a favourite. I was always struck, even as a child, by what a weird song Simon Smith and His Amazing Dancing Bear is. It somehow ended up in the kids' songs category due to its jauntiness and the fact that it has a dancing bear in the title. But the story in the lyric contains such scope for interpretation that it is far too complex for Tony Blackburn and Arnold the dog. I guess this is Randy Newman's trick. Levels of irony piled high in apparently simple songs and almost always something disturbing lurking in the subtext. Even 'I Love LA' has these odd minor key bits in the music that deliver a slightly disturbing haunted circussy undertow to the enthusiasm of the lyric. And I always liked Same Girl. Apparently a simple, beautiful paen to a long time or long lost love. But there's that bit about the nights on the streets and the holes her arm that give it that undermining twist. I especially liked Mathilde Santing's version, which gives the song a gender makeover.<br /><br />It'a amazing, (alarming outrageous and charming) actually, how quickly 13 and 14 year old kids get into Simon Smith and weave stories around the lyrics as they are revealed line by line. He's an outsider, the bear is is in his head, that sort of thing.<br /><br />Another one I used was from Green Flower Street (which is Donald Fagen, but firmly in the Steely Dan ouevre) : "Lou Chang, her brother, is burning with rage." I remember one kid putting up his hand and saying that it's about a white guy going out with a Chinese girl and the brother doesn't like it. Just like that, from one line.<br /><br />Which is one of the reasons I like Steely Dan. They take care over their lyrics and write songs about odd stuff. But somehow, to my ears, it's mostly not pretentious. And if you feel like it you can construct the story and work out the viewpoints. At their best, the songs are as good as anything American music has ever produced.<br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-48054174889194934542011-10-29T01:32:00.003+01:002011-10-29T01:34:44.803+01:00today : another number<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vGcsxApuw0uoPgm8w_xnxaaJEjFAh6Rvii4rVmelXnVYa8NtThOTPF53iQ0DtungFPwya_ryHcxTPjBTOe7_PUP0h0dv-r6J0kgO4qVsk8KNgRJKyjv7rM65rlsDXq4oYr5WIw/s1600/colt_45_firing_by_coughx-d420cqq.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9vGcsxApuw0uoPgm8w_xnxaaJEjFAh6Rvii4rVmelXnVYa8NtThOTPF53iQ0DtungFPwya_ryHcxTPjBTOe7_PUP0h0dv-r6J0kgO4qVsk8KNgRJKyjv7rM65rlsDXq4oYr5WIw/s400/colt_45_firing_by_coughx-d420cqq.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668705540165202578" border="0" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-68474586193941281582011-10-18T01:24:00.004+01:002011-10-18T01:29:02.430+01:00boo hoo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38hD7sPu6KLfaonV2wGfn0GC7Iaqf_Pw4AVdQVfOKgcpPGMMuRlQXnBMtKNNV822SEHiXTmts2MKRy95LFyDLdStOJKPAwCj_jtmPmBNF99d1hjq_BYXImsWxOVCjesmTUQ2FvQ/s1600/poo.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg38hD7sPu6KLfaonV2wGfn0GC7Iaqf_Pw4AVdQVfOKgcpPGMMuRlQXnBMtKNNV822SEHiXTmts2MKRy95LFyDLdStOJKPAwCj_jtmPmBNF99d1hjq_BYXImsWxOVCjesmTUQ2FvQ/s400/poo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664622413431891186" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 255, 153); font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Boo hoo. My humble little 'internetweblog' is feeling neglected, as represented by the endlessly pathetic Dawson Leary. That's becoz I can't be bothered saying anything recently. You can't help but look around and just feel disappointed with the world and think that someone whinging in an obscure part of the internetweb will have no impact on the corruption, hatred, selfishness and misery.<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-41173885639612216942011-10-06T05:38:00.002+01:002011-10-06T05:40:42.897+01:00today : the tories at conference<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kVkMahBX5uis2nsgvYQHq5y2SHiq-YND1hPx3ay3bFa__WR92Z2rTHKzTfNanKZk0CMKkIY6Hr0-TpHUoZoa5wHD_qnW96aMxmGUsb0XgaXwCX_bwUUktsjFtLx7va1TAKPNJg/s1600/SuperStock_1895-42225.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 257px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kVkMahBX5uis2nsgvYQHq5y2SHiq-YND1hPx3ay3bFa__WR92Z2rTHKzTfNanKZk0CMKkIY6Hr0-TpHUoZoa5wHD_qnW96aMxmGUsb0XgaXwCX_bwUUktsjFtLx7va1TAKPNJg/s400/SuperStock_1895-42225.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660234270169710146" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(51, 102, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:georgia;">Immigrants...blah blah blah....lower taxes...blah blah blah...continue to blame the other lot...blah blah blah...bin collections...blah blah blah...hate Europe...blah blah blah...dole scroungers...blah blah blah...hang 'em, flog 'em...blah blah blah. Same old shite. </span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-46636322668505438172011-10-02T02:31:00.002+01:002011-10-02T02:32:20.600+01:00today: guitar time again<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmvXoEhWJMLxWkml-6osxnjABFutxvMgiYngB2fdchWx6Reizz2DXhgE1sA_9jOnPPKk0_IFhPzVDP154EBvNpuwea_8sJvKglAqygud5zPzsAvFvMpGOj_uJNFC_Hyr77Zdp2A/s1600/dsc0203g.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmvXoEhWJMLxWkml-6osxnjABFutxvMgiYngB2fdchWx6Reizz2DXhgE1sA_9jOnPPKk0_IFhPzVDP154EBvNpuwea_8sJvKglAqygud5zPzsAvFvMpGOj_uJNFC_Hyr77Zdp2A/s400/dsc0203g.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658701440863981186" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 204);">I bought one of these. So sue me. </span><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-32013051803331473392011-09-20T04:32:00.001+01:002011-09-20T04:33:40.610+01:00today : a groovy tune from Ane Brun<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1lI30Qw69AQ" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" width="560"></iframe><br /><br />heard this on the radio and it is very catchy and groovy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-26493328794903992502011-09-10T06:28:00.003+01:002011-09-10T06:43:02.552+01:00today : I show no interest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOjmf_0VgaNcnwXWc8UTDQKOH73WO5QaWO9FtdNmmp1E0EakxvuekGKedcWG9BHuAs4pV0AkpxzMburC6ItphjCWY8rcpDH5LCcooduD_LIv-Gxm2_uJUYyjdS0btIYzCKpjKcw/s1600/shakespeare_276005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOjmf_0VgaNcnwXWc8UTDQKOH73WO5QaWO9FtdNmmp1E0EakxvuekGKedcWG9BHuAs4pV0AkpxzMburC6ItphjCWY8rcpDH5LCcooduD_LIv-Gxm2_uJUYyjdS0btIYzCKpjKcw/s400/shakespeare_276005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650601984969434674" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The other day I was watching breakfast TV. For some reason or other they were having a debate about whether Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare. People were lined up on each side of the argument.<br /><br />I switched over. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />It reminded me that I just don't care about whether Shakespeare wrote Shakespeare. It's one of those things that will forever remain controversial amongst people who like to obsess about these things. It's an industry for some scholars and busybodies. A new book or a film will come out and it will all be dragged up again. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />Don't get me wrong. It doesn't mean that I don't care about Shakespeare the writer. The more I read the plays and poetry the more I am smitten with the beauty, scale and richness of it. People who dismiss Shakespeare - the plays - are idiots.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">But whether a single man called 'Shakespeare' actually wrote them. Don't care. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />Soon after, the show had a feature about Madonna's film about Wallis Simpson. Everyone is obsessed with Wallis Simpson and the abdication. But it is yet another thing that interests me not one jot. For a start I have no interest in the lives of the royals, and the abdication was also decades before I was born. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />Which made me think about some of the other things I don't care a fig for, but seemingly take up much of other peoples' time and effort. Richard III - evil or not? I don't care. The identity of Jack The Ripper? Well, his name was Jack, so that one's cleared up enough for me and beyond that I just can't be bothered wasting the energy. Was Robin Hood a real person, and if he was, was it in Nottinghamshire or South Yorkshire? Don't care if he existed or not, don't care where he may or may not have lived and roamed if he did.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">John Martyn? Nasty evil wife beater or beautiful troubador? Sinatra. How involved in the Mafia was he really? Wa Marilyn murdered by the Kennedy's?<br /><br />The list of things other people are apparently interested in, nay, fascinated and obsessed by, but leaves me totally cold, is endless. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 204);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">It must just be me. Not got the interested in pointless speculation gene. </span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-84062142512153786902011-09-09T04:47:00.001+01:002011-09-09T04:48:57.958+01:00today : september # 3<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Xg5D-CqDoI8" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-81712466744935998932011-09-09T04:29:00.005+01:002011-09-09T04:43:17.801+01:00today : September # 2<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifcoNuUaHJwbJFcswtQZEyUbmvNS63LEYAzhidXDzm9SdjePGv3Ai5AYAHIoWkRBb8KO5AEhDs0_hvUDH55vvg1TUDxLr28Bpr4Z3-7EP_5wFv2CodhLyo7RUNC2lmPHkaZpT8Q/s1600/Gove_1866151c1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 219px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiifcoNuUaHJwbJFcswtQZEyUbmvNS63LEYAzhidXDzm9SdjePGv3Ai5AYAHIoWkRBb8KO5AEhDs0_hvUDH55vvg1TUDxLr28Bpr4Z3-7EP_5wFv2CodhLyo7RUNC2lmPHkaZpT8Q/s400/Gove_1866151c1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650199162402912066" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(204, 204, 255); font-family:times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Whenever September rolls around, I am reminded that it is my least favourite month. In recent years, operations meant that I spent 2 of the last four Septembers in painful recovery, which is still fresh in my memory. But long before that Septembers were harbingers of misery.<br /><br />When I was a teacher it, of course, meant going back to work. Some other teachers seemed to happy to be back in school. I imagine they maybe had broods of children and, as the adult at home for the previous six weeks, had spent the entire time trying to entertain their offspring. Maybe, for them, returning to work would herald at least some of the day being in their own control, some return to normal adulthood.<br /><br />But for the childless me it spelt the end of freedom. The summer holidays were the time when I could cut loose from all routines and responsibilities. Sometimes I went on holiday for the whole time. Other years I would write solidly, or record and mix an album, or just do what I wanted for as long as I wanted. For example, I always like sitting down when the Olympics or whatever is on and consuming it all night and day knowing that other Olympics watchers were rationed to highlights brief moments.<br /><br />But September was when the watch went back on my wrist and the collars and ties moved to the front of the wardrobe. Time to start being grown up.<br /><br />Not that returning to school is totally without joy. There is something comforting in routine and work. I personally find something deeply satisfying in falling asleep in front of the TV on a Friday evening, overdosed on take-away additives and a glass of cold beer, but properly tired from hard work rather than sleepy from staying up the previous night playing GTA3. And teaching always throws up new challenges, new pupils and new colleagues - all generally positive. There's nothing like finding some gems amongst the new intake of pupils - either ones you know you can help get on and enjoy teaching or ones who are crazy and/or strange to the point of sheer entertainment. Same with new staff. Sometimes the churn of new colleagues can throw up interesting and positive dynamics. A new friend even.<br /><br />But as the years went by looming Septembers started to outshine the potential positives of a new academic year. Eventually, for me, that first six-week half-term started the downward spiral towards the Xmas half-term, which is the nadir of any school year. The first couple of weeks in September are filled with energy and various kinds of newness. The next four filled with dread and pessimism at the knowledge that the clocks will go back and the six weeks from Bonfire night through to Christmas will be some kind of dark troop towards hell.<br /><br />Let me explain. The minute the October half-term ends the entire nation is on a run-up to Christmas. Children are almost entirely distracted by the hyped promise of whatever gifts they are to receive. But everyone is also drained by the darkness of the winter mornings and evenings and those days where it never really gets properly light. Motivation is at its lowest. Tiredness makes everyone grouchy and hard to live with and there are more windy, rainy and cold days than not. It's not a massive change - but 1% less motivation and 1% less cooperative behaviour can tip the balance significantly.<br /><br />Anyway, that's all in my past and not the real reason why I hate September. The real reason is that as soon as September comes around the so-called 'silly season' ends. I turn on the TV and find that I am bombarded with crap. Not only do the political correspondants all return from their hols but so do the politicians. After a blessed few weeks where we have had a nice break, everything returns to its appalling norm. That is: an endless parade of politicians, their fat awful corrupt lying smug holiday-tanned faces, spouting their endless specious bullshit. All their speeches and policy initiatives and hobby-horse ideology. All their psychotic egotistical preening and their arrogant self-serving miasma, poisoning the airwaves and the air with their pointless noise.<br /><br />It reminds you that modern-day politics is not about running the country - after all, whilst they were away inflicting their odious selves on the people of California, Tuscany, Devon and the Dordoigne, the country more or less kept running. It is about egotistical shallow bastards promoting themselves and the hollow certainty of their own cretinous opinions and shoring up the wealth of themselves and their friends. It's no less tribal and objectionable than in Afghanistan or Libya.<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-612686343726734852011-09-09T04:27:00.002+01:002011-09-09T04:39:07.997+01:00today : September # 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3DlG05pboz-uVp8kYjuW-PcfUIEUKs7XU1_nbj0HjDLH7ceBs-aM9LU1AioWCg2Nkrx3hctS3nr3RlhzZ8S81Ri49ClZAUuvWG3sP-f4APQgqG261w1-3dOepN5z86hA1cJZTw/s1600/HG1172.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif3DlG05pboz-uVp8kYjuW-PcfUIEUKs7XU1_nbj0HjDLH7ceBs-aM9LU1AioWCg2Nkrx3hctS3nr3RlhzZ8S81Ri49ClZAUuvWG3sP-f4APQgqG261w1-3dOepN5z86hA1cJZTw/s400/HG1172.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650199287908925650" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(51, 153, 153);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">September 1, 1939 </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">by W. H. Auden</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I sit in one of the dives</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On Fifty-second Street</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Uncertain and afraid</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">As the clever hopes expire</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of a low dishonest decade:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Waves of anger and fear</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Circulate over the bright </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And darkened lands of the earth,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Obsessing our private lives;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The unmentionable odour of death</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Offends the September night.<br /></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Accurate scholarship can </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Unearth the whole offence</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From Luther until now</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">That has driven a culture mad,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Find what occurred at Linz,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What huge imago made</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A psychopathic god:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I and the public know</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What all schoolchildren learn,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Those to whom evil is done</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Do evil in return. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Exiled Thucydides knew</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All that a speech can say</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">About Democracy,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And what dictators do,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The elderly rubbish they talk</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To an apathetic grave;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Analysed all in his book,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The enlightenment driven away,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The habit-forming pain,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mismanagement and grief:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We must suffer them all again.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Into this neutral air</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where blind skyscrapers use</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Their full height to proclaim</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The strength of Collective Man,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Each language pours its vain</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Competitive excuse:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But who can live for long</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In an euphoric dream;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Out of the mirror they stare,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Imperialism's face</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And the international wrong.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Faces along the bar</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Cling to their average day:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The lights must never go out,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The music must always play,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All the conventions conspire </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To make this fort assume</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The furniture of home;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lest we should see where we are,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lost in a haunted wood,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Children afraid of the night</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who have never been happy or good.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The windiest militant trash</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Important Persons shout</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Is not so crude as our wish:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">What mad Nijinsky wrote</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">About Diaghilev</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Is true of the normal heart;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For the error bred in the bone</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of each woman and each man</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Craves what it cannot have,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Not universal love</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But to be loved alone.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">From the conservative dark</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Into the ethical life</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The dense commuters come,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Repeating their morning vow;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">"I will be true to the wife,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'll concentrate more on my work,"</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And helpless governors wake</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To resume their compulsory game:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who can release them now,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who can reach the deaf,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who can speak for the dumb?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All I have is a voice</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To undo the folded lie,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The romantic lie in the brain</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of the sensual man-in-the-street</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And the lie of Authority</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Whose buildings grope the sky:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">There is no such thing as the State</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And no one exists alone;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hunger allows no choice</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To the citizen or the police;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We must love one another or die.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Defenceless under the night</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Our world in stupor lies;</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yet, dotted everywhere,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Ironic points of light</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Flash out wherever the Just</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Exchange their messages:</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">May I, composed like them</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of Eros and of dust,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Beleaguered by the same</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Negation and despair,</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Show an affirming flame.</span></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-9471097763817335872011-09-03T01:13:00.000+01:002011-09-03T01:14:00.521+01:00today : some groovy tunes<span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4Sc72jvZoGE" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Jazzsteppa - dubstep with jazz: genius</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ErYAGQZs8e0" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="560"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">SBTRKT - Pharoahs. Superb electro groove. genius</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pW28TtsLkP8" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Soul Creations Funky Jive pt1 (I actually prefer Pt 2 as it has more jazzy soloing but I couldn't find a youtube for it). Check out the wah wah funky guitar: genius. </span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/IpGp-22t0lU" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">I noticed this tune Atlas by Battles cropped up on an advert recently. When Battles hit a groove -like on this or Tij, they are genius.</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/phy2Lrig-N0" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Twilight 22 Electric Kingdom. Old School 1983 genius. </span>
<br />
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/N5XVeENmLMk" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe></span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 102);">Fujiya and Miyagi should be more successful than they are. Their music is interesting and textured. This video for Ankle Injuries (could be my theme tune) is genius. </span>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-56399497877507092472011-08-30T01:16:00.003+01:002011-08-30T01:41:33.021+01:00today : spineless swines, cemented minds<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: trebuchet ms; color: rgb(153, 255, 153);"><span style="font-size:130%;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsl-3vBc1oThbJryLzzoQJ927dphWTJsyZeH6So-X5aHEuEjA4jvSiTZTV60SMKiaZe8MP1PFsOEQsb2iHw36u5LqQJz6NCCT5rxdTRapOwRAYHnjo6P9V8HpiymGCE3EwQU5zg/s1600/Free-schools-a-good-idea-003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsl-3vBc1oThbJryLzzoQJ927dphWTJsyZeH6So-X5aHEuEjA4jvSiTZTV60SMKiaZe8MP1PFsOEQsb2iHw36u5LqQJz6NCCT5rxdTRapOwRAYHnjo6P9V8HpiymGCE3EwQU5zg/s400/Free-schools-a-good-idea-003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646442217192041458" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:130%;">
<br />Michael Gove's free schools open in a few days. It'll be interesting to see whether they achieve any success.
<br />
<br />I suspect we'll never know if they are better than other schools. No doubt they will be measured differently when it comes to results. I also suspect that the fact that they are an ideologically, rather than educationally, driven project that they won't be allowed to fail. So expect to see the exact amounts of direct funding being quite difficult to fathom, with various obfuscated forms of financial support that other schools won't receive.
<br />
<br />The rub, of course, being that their freedom is supposed to replace a failing national curriculum. Mmmm, that's the NC that was a Tory invention in 1991, mainly as a response to bogus tabloid fears of left wing Local Education Authorities brainwashing our precious kids with their loony leftism and forced gayness. And now a new thing to replace old thing. The fears are little changed. Centralising control and exercising it through grateful proxies. Bypassing the swathes of immoral ill-disciplined (liberal lefty) teachers that populate normal inner-city schools. And still there's the suspicion that inner cities are run by Labour lefties who cannot be allowed to have access to our childrens' purely capitalist minds.
<br />
<br />I bet that when it all comes out in the wash, in an age of cuts across the education system, the money per pupil spent in free schools will easily outweigh Gove's trumpeted pupil premium. And lets not forget that it was the Tories who relentlessly stripped cash out of the system over for twenty years, leaving schools, pupils and teachers gasping for breath.
<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-21192317800229944702011-08-22T04:59:00.001+01:002011-08-22T05:03:00.682+01:00today : I meet someone I don't know<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhve8ftk4zHwS7Kh-PHzvNTf1ikRtX6t6n-y5m8SHQGD4ln0NAMA6bppGPnhp5WVb92QpM_DNhtFBhJjRq-5_-ZYzY3lNc1UVKEG3IgmjQtO_yS9Y4SM2q4XRPgGrRnqWdifVrrHA/s1600/I-Darrin-Take-This-Witch-Samantha-bewitched-3895849-684-513.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhve8ftk4zHwS7Kh-PHzvNTf1ikRtX6t6n-y5m8SHQGD4ln0NAMA6bppGPnhp5WVb92QpM_DNhtFBhJjRq-5_-ZYzY3lNc1UVKEG3IgmjQtO_yS9Y4SM2q4XRPgGrRnqWdifVrrHA/s400/I-Darrin-Take-This-Witch-Samantha-bewitched-3895849-684-513.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5643525561743665490" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(255, 255, 102);font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I'd like to use the opportunity of me owning an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">internetweb</span> weblog to announce categorically that I have never knowingly met or befriended a haemophiliac.
<br />
<br />Don't get me wrong. In no way have I sought to avoid haemophiliacs. I have nothing against them and am sure that they are all very nice people. In fact I am further certain that many, if not all, of them are worthy of some measure of admiration for living with such a potentially difficult and problematic condition.
<br />
<br />But still, as far as I know I have never met one.
<br />
<br />I just thought I'd clear that up.
<br />
<br />Because today I was in the process of donating some old stuff - a stereo system that worked but was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">obsolete</span> due to the lack of a CD player, some fine quality but little-used hiking boots that were in hindsight, seeing as I literally cannot walk, an optimistic purchase, and some books - to a charity shop. I know the guy in the shop and it's my first choice whenever I have anything to donate.
<br />
<br />(Without wishing to appear too worthy and preachy and that I do a lot of work for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">charidee</span> without wishing to talk about it, if you are ever thinking of donating to a charity shop it's a good idea, so my contacts on the inside inform me, to only give half-decent stuff. It seems that lots of people use charity shops as a way of throwing stuff away, including lots of stuff that is genuine rubbish and sometimes disgusting, like soiled underwear, unwashed nappies and bloodstained bedclothes. This means that charity shops have to spend time to sort out the good stuff and pay extra to throw the bad stuff away. The rule is that if you yourself wouldn't think of buying something were it in a charity shop, then it's probably best being put in the bin or taken to the tip, especially if it appears to be covered in suspicious bodily fluids.)
<br />
<br />So there I was, parked at the backdoor of the shop unloading my donations from the car. My friend was helping, given that my walking sticks mean I have 100% less available hands than your average normal person to carry bags etc. In fact, to say that I was unloading is only true in its broadest, continuous sense. What I specifically was doing was pointing at the various items in the boot of my car, which my friend then unloaded and took inside.
<br />
<br />Nearby, outside a charity clothes shop (it is a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">salubrious</span> area), there was a parked red van. A wheezing circular bloke wearing blue overalls was piling stuff into the back. Once he'd finished and theatrically slammed the doors he walked over to me. From about a foot away he pointed firmly at my chest.
<br />"I know you. You're Darren's mate. Good to see you."
<br />I can quite honestly say that I didn't know this guy. Never seen him before. In point of fact, I've never even known anyone who could be mistaken for him. Moreover, I don't know anyone called Darren. The last person I knew of that name was at middle school aged about twelve. When we moved on to new school we quickly lost touch. Not a surprise given that we were never really good friends: the only bond we really had was that I was the maverick right-sided midfielder in the school footie team and Darren was a pretty tall and fast centre forward who <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">benefited</span> immensely from a number of my crosses, through-balls, back-heels and other skillful and creative assists.
<br />
<br />There aren't even many famous <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Darrens</span>. D-list musical and panto actor/tabloid love-rat Darren Day, Darrin from Bewitched, footballers Darren <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Huckerby</span> and scoop-faced serially-injured Darren <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Anderton</span> and pretentious film director Darren <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Aranovsky</span> are the only ones I can <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">conjure</span> up at the moment, and one of them is fictional and spelt differently.
<br />
<br />"I'm sorry," I said. "I don't know a Darren."
<br />"Yeah you do. Darren. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Darr</span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">-en</span>. <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">Darren from Ellington Avenue</span>!" He'd started to speak to me in that slightly <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">shouty</span> way people speak to foreigners who don't understand English, or the elderly whose ears and memories are assumed to be suspect.
<br />"I'm sorry," I said, rapidly rifling through people I'd known who'd lived in the area of Ellington Avenue but never thought of for years just to see if I missed a Darren. I rapidly came up with a Neil, a Niall, an Andrew, a Chris, a Jonathon and a Dean, but no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Darrens</span>.
<br />"Darren the haemophiliac!" he said, as if this piece of medical information would prove the key fact that made me unable to further deny my knowing Darren from Ellington Avenue.
<br />"I don't know what to say," I said. "I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> local and I grew up around here, so maybe you've seen me around. I even know Ellington Avenue because a girl in my class lived there..."
<br />"What school did you go to?"
<br />"Greenwood High."
<br />"How old are you?"
<br />"Forty-four."
<br />"Oh," he looked momentarily crestfallen. "I'm thirty six." He was silent for a moment while we both absorbed the import of our ages: with the maximum crossover for people being in school at the same time being seven years, any notion that we went to school together was scuppered.
<br />
<br />Apparently this was his last gambit for creating some historical connection between us.
<br />
<br />"Well, gotta run," he announced. "This stuff won't take itself to the tip," he said and walked away back to his van.
<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-8745708883870849332011-08-16T01:42:00.003+01:002011-08-16T01:47:26.822+01:00today : same old sh*t<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47e23UcyS6e05HFDf_05kV7t-18J5dqvc-g6dtJa3gC0FMaUe8zzpy-X-7SAoxrH4eSdasBZmFKd3h2InGIGZ2P-icgnHfpsrC1YR82aut9lLYhyphenhyphenuFJ7abri-VXrugTcA-P_BCg/s1600/knee.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 291px; height: 313px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj47e23UcyS6e05HFDf_05kV7t-18J5dqvc-g6dtJa3gC0FMaUe8zzpy-X-7SAoxrH4eSdasBZmFKd3h2InGIGZ2P-icgnHfpsrC1YR82aut9lLYhyphenhyphenuFJ7abri-VXrugTcA-P_BCg/s400/knee.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641248098703377586" border="0" /></a>
<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YQyC5GsXvLAEJTjJqhbwgY5dcr3IyoJb9LPQWYqrKgonBG8lp-G29NYWYaSzpSx_bDT_uMjlUTstUqUrdugHCk-LHkCyOtGV5p8h_E1M-r31-63Do0le-Tghw5WXOVM10lJsqg/s1600/michael-gove-006.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5YQyC5GsXvLAEJTjJqhbwgY5dcr3IyoJb9LPQWYqrKgonBG8lp-G29NYWYaSzpSx_bDT_uMjlUTstUqUrdugHCk-LHkCyOtGV5p8h_E1M-r31-63Do0le-Tghw5WXOVM10lJsqg/s400/michael-gove-006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641247972192623378" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-KJ-4gTkRISorFwhHUWh4v5KicB8vXLwxFQt65mu4e62gmXQ7sTp3K_Ddc3g4c7CMGRfOHcGBjCr4iBaCBrH-mDdJa6hdejgON7dIi9Shutwg7la3Ps6ngEqFoaVXbShI0okLWg/s1600/knee.jpg">
<br /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >Knee + Jerk</span>
<br />
<br /><span style="color: rgb(204, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" >National Service
<br />Cut Benefits
<br />More Discipline in Schools (bring back caning)
<br />Cut more Benefits
<br />Longer Prison sentences
<br />Chain Gangs
<br />Employ American advisors
<br />Blame the previous government
<br />Blame immigrants
<br />
<br />(and btw cut taxes for the rich)</span>
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-24316495581748232202011-08-13T04:07:00.002+01:002011-08-13T04:11:53.047+01:00today : feel the pain...take the blame<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7e-hvnoUsOa3x28UNbTz-DlJ3xDraTfMwD6bND8bF06E4AS6rxJ5TpL2eifvrgXdPZcuISPYPYUJ1NcT5BbKWezyLDUxfpCFN6IborHjm2q_UVX_-SpU7mO6RAAmQm3kWzHQYQ/s1600/riotsmonday15_634164s.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7e-hvnoUsOa3x28UNbTz-DlJ3xDraTfMwD6bND8bF06E4AS6rxJ5TpL2eifvrgXdPZcuISPYPYUJ1NcT5BbKWezyLDUxfpCFN6IborHjm2q_UVX_-SpU7mO6RAAmQm3kWzHQYQ/s400/riotsmonday15_634164s.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640172981340389282" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">Barring further incidents, there will be a torrent, a clamour, of blame, analyse and explain in the next week or so. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">None of the MPs, newspaper columnists, journalists, think-tank directors, commentators or bloggers will admit the truth. None of them will personally take the blame for what happened in August 2011.</span></span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">Overwhelmingly, opinion is that nobody understands. But that is the point. We/they will show that we/they understand so little that they hardly have a way to grasp it. They don't even understand how little they understand. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">But once again, they/we won't look in the mirror. If control was lost then there's nobody else who could have lost it. If there has been a moral shift, it didn't just happen without cause. If society is 'broken', as the politicians seem to insist, then it didn't just break on its own. The hard truth is that we/they broke it. They will bang on endlessly about others' lack of responsibility without once genuinely taking responsibility themselves. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">If the young lack role models and examples, then older generations are the ones who failed to be the example or the role model. If the young lack opportunity then we are the ones who failed to ensure it. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(153, 255, 255);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:verdana;">Everyone expressed some measure of shock and surprise that the country exploded in riots, but nobody will really admit their part in a society that engenders such violence. </span></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-30325761037879163952011-08-13T02:38:00.001+01:002011-08-13T02:39:27.013+01:00today : I predict a roti<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxN5_h4bXJbFnlwtaFfTykyvEUrmPYCEqtPtuAn_2MUNe2aeFUj4yi9d4obxyL1QzFUA7qSRq4_5p023NQ-TIDSU34GC4ptUM9VD7GxsIyibPHhwRuVI9jsD-3NfpYsMq8nQBBCg/s1600/Missi_Roti__04545_zoom.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxN5_h4bXJbFnlwtaFfTykyvEUrmPYCEqtPtuAn_2MUNe2aeFUj4yi9d4obxyL1QzFUA7qSRq4_5p023NQ-TIDSU34GC4ptUM9VD7GxsIyibPHhwRuVI9jsD-3NfpYsMq8nQBBCg/s400/Missi_Roti__04545_zoom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640149160850609890" border="0" /></a>
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-56573753107945602042011-08-03T01:12:00.003+01:002011-08-03T01:25:10.062+01:00today : 90 degrees in my shades<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsmKtXzqA2IsgocfAu4YhNJXNiKkRBiKL7PfFL0PgU_KJt1l-OxZ2Z0vWI-O3VU05L-F2aizoYZnyIBDMPA0pVAf-pTVabIQxifqbQRTmyWkoYrWmL6T1ftv6VH50ZxYU0t1mZw/s1600/full-claudia-cardinale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 185px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbsmKtXzqA2IsgocfAu4YhNJXNiKkRBiKL7PfFL0PgU_KJt1l-OxZ2Z0vWI-O3VU05L-F2aizoYZnyIBDMPA0pVAf-pTVabIQxifqbQRTmyWkoYrWmL6T1ftv6VH50ZxYU0t1mZw/s400/full-claudia-cardinale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636418877957168242" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTKOa4apoSSuT_5ubarSspfj2C6uzbDGbKIYu9VfYQWwmXTLwQ7zV9RuxYaCpViAJpreXuGbEM2oiXagK0QU-VAPs0ll81Ss8R2cOrDQ0CifA9M8KLSE-bGdIyBJ98nLYhySjkg/s1600/ll-claudia-cardinale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 357px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTKOa4apoSSuT_5ubarSspfj2C6uzbDGbKIYu9VfYQWwmXTLwQ7zV9RuxYaCpViAJpreXuGbEM2oiXagK0QU-VAPs0ll81Ss8R2cOrDQ0CifA9M8KLSE-bGdIyBJ98nLYhySjkg/s400/ll-claudia-cardinale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636418877287435026" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7ZuYyRipxR0Cr9DsMesXE7J4s63FkPZzGqANVgJIpsq_7TWRrcq-HCMd0Zh-wXPHOGAyK52draNzgsqwQ6Jm-5K2sGWCObE8V1wXubiM7VszdU5CMq5Of9_h5J1ZeXgkjVXKCA/s1600/936full-claudia-cardinale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc7ZuYyRipxR0Cr9DsMesXE7J4s63FkPZzGqANVgJIpsq_7TWRrcq-HCMd0Zh-wXPHOGAyK52draNzgsqwQ6Jm-5K2sGWCObE8V1wXubiM7VszdU5CMq5Of9_h5J1ZeXgkjVXKCA/s400/936full-claudia-cardinale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636418875447210418" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNu0rXspXCWSkRIB5fqsj9ykWDx9IYpx62h0e-pVP0qn9gPqvOB5zyA86zEElz2REE55VXlYG7IIXkLKl54AC8hs62QTzXNhQxHvpA15ScB1f-5p_RNEFbT6ntSLBhwzYjuDj75w/s1600/claudia-cardinale.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 279px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNu0rXspXCWSkRIB5fqsj9ykWDx9IYpx62h0e-pVP0qn9gPqvOB5zyA86zEElz2REE55VXlYG7IIXkLKl54AC8hs62QTzXNhQxHvpA15ScB1f-5p_RNEFbT6ntSLBhwzYjuDj75w/s400/claudia-cardinale.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636418885434847586" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Today it was 88 degrees in my kitchen, which for England is pretty hot. Summer is erratic and often very short and it always amuses me that we complain when it gets really hot, just as we complain when it gets really cold, or when it is neither especially hot nor especially cold. We also complain when it rains, or not. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />But I am out of step with other Brits. I love it hot. As hot as possible please. If I was (and sadly, I am not) the person who won £161 million on the lottery the other week (and there's none of this American lottery nonsense where you get it over 20 years. Here it's one of those oversized cheques in a single beautiful chunk) I would instantly move to somewhere like Santa Fe for the dry heat and/or New Orleans for the humid heat, holidaying in Calcutta, Rio and North Africa for a change. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 0);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><br /><br />Anyway I am not even going to pretend that I am not , in part, using the heat as a rather feeble excuse to post pictures of Claudia Cardinale modelling various items of 'summer' clothing. </span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-52305245704312097972011-07-28T04:32:00.004+01:002011-07-28T04:34:54.586+01:00today : tweet tweet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaj3F-g_9P60ykj4OQgD7PKjghCziWj_PyJEs7FCWiLYIcjJx5P4bn2kneZcidE-7zc0TPnNXx81UUNcD2AHC27dJvgaEnEIN7FlgXqMGi5-W804ZWaJrJfZjIvZZAMWytER3Fw/s1600/Tweety-Bird4.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeaj3F-g_9P60ykj4OQgD7PKjghCziWj_PyJEs7FCWiLYIcjJx5P4bn2kneZcidE-7zc0TPnNXx81UUNcD2AHC27dJvgaEnEIN7FlgXqMGi5-W804ZWaJrJfZjIvZZAMWytER3Fw/s400/Tweety-Bird4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634241162361177154" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">where do all the tweets and texts go? More and more tv and radio shows spend more and more of their time imploring viewers and listeners to tweet and txt. its a kneejerk part of any show now, despite the context. at the weekend i noticed, in between the uncomfortable and intrusive questions to survivors of the norway massacre (how did you feel thinking that you were going to die? by the way, what was it like to watch your friends be murdered in front of you?) the news folk begged us to send our thoughts by twitter and txt. what did they expect? later on, a couple of comments were read out. people felt sad for the people who died. one or two were angry at the guy who did it. surprise.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 0);">If someone did manage to send in a detailed and insightful comment it would never make it to air. ok, i get it on the radio. lauren laverne asks for people to request their favourite recent track. Fine. sometimes a pithy topic of discussion crops up and listener contributions add to the flavour of a show. but asking people to comment on an unfolding big news story with scant detail is just pointless and bizarre. what possible contribution could they make? and what happens to all the tweets and emails and txt that are sent and posted but never make it to air?</span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-79049594250659875912011-07-26T05:48:00.002+01:002011-07-26T05:53:33.838+01:00today : instant classic<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-4U2W6_KGZ0" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 204);">According to what I read, John Grant almost gave up on music and on life after a crappy run of luck. But he didn't, and his album Queen of Denmark is terrific - not been off my Dansette for months. This song, in particular - especially in its long form, is an instant classic. As good as anything I've ever heard. </span><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-74542644151410638262011-07-24T05:24:00.002+01:002011-07-24T05:26:45.882+01:00today : twaaannnggg!!! (reprise)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0t0nAo5d1fO73znX5aWaD4gxyuyL1l1ays5SDmIMeLWqf2LWoOWyB89vduRoAPU7ur908GhhcxMRKPXHzQ88HvcoNy3r4fMQ8N0gmFrDSx9_IfFz2p3Iz0aVfOvHG4vSj652j4w/s1600/_large.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 301px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0t0nAo5d1fO73znX5aWaD4gxyuyL1l1ays5SDmIMeLWqf2LWoOWyB89vduRoAPU7ur908GhhcxMRKPXHzQ88HvcoNy3r4fMQ8N0gmFrDSx9_IfFz2p3Iz0aVfOvHG4vSj652j4w/s400/_large.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632770526188508754" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(255, 153, 255); font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;">My Semi-Acoustic got a new set up and a set of flatwounds. Money I can't really afford. So sue me.<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-64712156882118374932011-07-23T04:14:00.000+01:002011-07-23T04:15:39.286+01:00today's very interesting music is...<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5_NHCCnnVYM" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; color: rgb(255, 255, 255); font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Fuguefat by The Octopus Project<br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-26164451803934319462011-07-21T06:02:00.002+01:002011-07-24T05:19:19.580+01:00today : I put a dollar in one of those change machines. Nothing changed.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8zpHUMmWorgXSktWubjrShiR1vqJt6Sh-VOnwdN6e8BEDJ90IUnIp7ROpvZAzrRsuHjqc3N0gMpNHDeV0gtqQ9ZJC1nIqHZ_KmTY3ZxUnxYXNLvPw4HHrwYWnMk8vjPjWd6cZw/s1600/cardow_murdochsempire.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 275px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN8zpHUMmWorgXSktWubjrShiR1vqJt6Sh-VOnwdN6e8BEDJ90IUnIp7ROpvZAzrRsuHjqc3N0gMpNHDeV0gtqQ9ZJC1nIqHZ_KmTY3ZxUnxYXNLvPw4HHrwYWnMk8vjPjWd6cZw/s400/cardow_murdochsempire.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631668948419097106" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">One of the things, as a Labour supporter throughout the period of the last government, that I was always reluctant to do was to openly criticise them. This, on the the grounds that I knew what the alternative was, and Labour plus imperfection and mistakes always always trumps the Tories. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />There were three main areas where I thought they fell down. Iraq, obviously. You can argue they had no choice but to follow Bush but in the end the whole thing was monumentally stupid. Then there was their puppy-dog overenthusiasm for things like databases (I always think the plural should be databii), surveillance cameras and all that stuff. Not only is it ideologically dodgy to go all Patriot Act on the asses of the innocent public, but these things always cost stupid amounts of money and rarely succeed. The NHS database, as an example, was a lovely Utopian idea but was ill-executed and ended up as a hideously costly failure that everybody but the people in charge could see coming a mile off.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">But even in the heady days before Iraq, I was always critical of the way New Labour seemed to pander to the media. There was a desperation to control the news cycle which led to many hasty policy ideas and, ultimately a scatter-shot approach to policy that left too much important stuff undone or half-finished. It also seemed to be that lots of more radical and interesting policies were put into turnaround or watered down at the behest of the media. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">In some ways they can be let off the hook by dint of inexperience. New Labour were the first government to operate in the 24hr media world and also the first to live in the internet age. As the media world expanded so explosively, it looked like they were trying to corral it all. It ended up looking like someone trying to herd flies or someone trying to catch a thousand ping-pong balls and hold onto them. And after 20 years of relentless attacks on the left by the press, who could blame them if they convinced themselves that they needed to court the newspapers.<br /><br />Recently, some people have been saying that this wasn't necessary, that the Sun never wot won anything on its own. But when you have 6 major newpapers against you and only one consistently for, then perhaps you have to try something to reduce the effect. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">In this climate the power of the press expanded to fill the gaps in competence and experience. The problem was that nobody said "Enough", the more the media tried to undermine, the more Labour tried to pander. More than once they back-pedalled. More than once they looked weak and foolish.</span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />The 24hr news media still rely too much on the newspapers. Despite TV having 70% of the news market and the Beeb having 70% of that, even the BBC uncritically follows the front pages of some of the most agenda-driven and politically biased papers. It's not often that the Beeb creates the news agenda anymore. Occasionally they'll do a Panorama that enacts some small change, but even Rough Justice is long gone. Turn on News 24 and there is almost no investigative element to the journalism. They read out the same newswire reports, recycle the same stories as everyone else, and use the same small coterie of experts and commentators.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">Knowing that nobody else is stepping up to take the lead puts power in the hands of the newspaper proprietors, whose ultimate job is to sell newsprint, and not really be custodians of balance and democracy. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />A great example of this is a kind of non-political story: the MMR/Autism controversy. The newspapers went crazy over the story without ever checking the facts. They know that fear is an easy selling tool. It served their agenda of attacking the government and pressuring Tony Blair. on MMR they could attack at will because no government was going to change their vaccination policy in such circumstances. The Mail and The Express lazily live off health scares and/or miracle cures. But this time, even the broadsheets and TV jumped in, middle class journos caught up in the paranoia of not producing perfect offspring. The result : almost an entire generation of middle class kids unvaccinated and an pointless surge in measles. It's killed some of these very children, whose parents are, in the end, little different from those who swallowed the evangelism and fed their kids the Kool Aid at Jonestown.<br /><br /></span></span><span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">The other thing that has happened is that the papers as a whole have enjoyed free reign to bully whosoever they please. Politicians are wary of criticising the papers because they know that the papers have files on them, or might stop at nothing to relentlessly smear them - smears which echo unchallenged across TV and radio channels. Therefore their only option has to cosy up. Keep your enemies closer. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;"><br /><br />On the surface it seems that recent events have cracked the press/police/politician nexus wide open for all to see. People are calling left and right for reform. But even if Murdoch's influence declines (after all he will retire/die eventually) let's remember to revisit the media/politics/police relationship in a few years time and see what reforms have been successfully enacted, and how things have changed. </span></span> <span style="color: rgb(192, 192, 192);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family:times new roman;">After all, three years later and the banks have paid themselves 14 billion quid of bonuses out of our pockets. Whilst surviving on our cash, they still believe they are so clever that they have abolished debt liability, still poise themselves to feed like vultures on the very economies their actions put in peril, and still celebrate their imagined profitability at the end of each day with bottles of vintage Bollinger. Root and branch reform was mooted, and then promised. To qoute George Carlin. We put a dollar in the change machine and nothing changed. </span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-33826826785789661782011-07-18T02:57:00.002+01:002011-07-18T02:58:45.404+01:00today : my latest hobby<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28cFDG3eED2ygicm2paPV1NAOnG8NLfJf1w8g0GL-V9A6U5IJtbenis3DbFL1GvjrIeX2Egsim3TE97yp-msy7lY8ffH3O_kYh98rZXodTwMHdACSXHlAL8uF3qrOTBQ5u-I-lg/s1600/flood-gates.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28cFDG3eED2ygicm2paPV1NAOnG8NLfJf1w8g0GL-V9A6U5IJtbenis3DbFL1GvjrIeX2Egsim3TE97yp-msy7lY8ffH3O_kYh98rZXodTwMHdACSXHlAL8uF3qrOTBQ5u-I-lg/s400/flood-gates.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630505706305416034" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-fejaADTgkCy-WSQ99F5lJIbAN1p659IZDP33w67k5KXLMoLJI7mSTmziSJ4eadDhtin-nxIWQyGovcOzYBwLVr5giwDP6b79yjfG_E2jhcyVUfuaG5x8lyA6Viz8Ka3xQjrtg/s1600/damburst.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 394px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC-fejaADTgkCy-WSQ99F5lJIbAN1p659IZDP33w67k5KXLMoLJI7mSTmziSJ4eadDhtin-nxIWQyGovcOzYBwLVr5giwDP6b79yjfG_E2jhcyVUfuaG5x8lyA6Viz8Ka3xQjrtg/s400/damburst.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630505704061100130" border="0" /></a><span style="color: rgb(102, 255, 153);font-size:130%;" ><span style="font-family: georgia;">Watching the floodgates open/the dam burst etc</span></span><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20957512.post-33610448243268647192011-07-17T03:40:00.002+01:002011-07-17T03:41:39.630+01:00today : twaaannnggg!!!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9bU8sjgbwKH8s92WDByLmmWwAbnrZKys8QGYlVxVXgCfuQMGRa0qhe326RIJ3J2Y1TH9WU_crlFQwqdBHACOtRg8h3EQL_sgGoOv6u_3v20SWEFne8K5LWWZBJUBp4lOQzGKoDQ/s1600/8a64_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9bU8sjgbwKH8s92WDByLmmWwAbnrZKys8QGYlVxVXgCfuQMGRa0qhe326RIJ3J2Y1TH9WU_crlFQwqdBHACOtRg8h3EQL_sgGoOv6u_3v20SWEFne8K5LWWZBJUBp4lOQzGKoDQ/s400/8a64_1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630145720172493282" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 153);">I bought one of these. So sue me.</span><br /></span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0