tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16446223278827480212024-03-05T13:24:11.977-08:00Hairybloke's Haiku Diary of Common SenseThe Journal of The Rational Party. Membership, 3Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.comBlogger483125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-17384458865090365302010-11-13T10:29:00.000-08:002010-11-13T10:40:56.365-08:00Saturday 13 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOIOX1Sfxkq5WvoRf43T0j1jN7VtC4g7EnmIOkMCwD2Gjwoy-Xf6jAfsSzwqjdNiZhgWI6nodQmy2XnW1rhyuz5gCXqhXQwQap36TIYZQu5Zf3jCjx-XrRr0WwaPk-Hh5HZ7LLkTAS4Y/s1600/home101002_032.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvOIOX1Sfxkq5WvoRf43T0j1jN7VtC4g7EnmIOkMCwD2Gjwoy-Xf6jAfsSzwqjdNiZhgWI6nodQmy2XnW1rhyuz5gCXqhXQwQap36TIYZQu5Zf3jCjx-XrRr0WwaPk-Hh5HZ7LLkTAS4Y/s400/home101002_032.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539103894064404098" /></a><br /><br />Having weighed myself last week and discovered, to my horror, that I am carrying the equivalent of a litter of shetland ponies around with me, I have embarked on a diet.<br />I'm trying to come to terms with soup, something with which I do not become regularly involved. Oxtail is very nice however, and I've come to like Red Pepper with Goat's Cheese, although the Chunky Vegetable is far too much like watery minestrone for my liking. I've never liked minestrone much at the best of times, its only saving grace being that at least it had the decency to appear with some pasta in it. Now, it appears in disguise, with no pasta, trying to pass itself off as a vegetable medley. Get thee gone, Chunky Vegetable! I have seen through you to the bottom of the bowl, quite literally.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-12639030682889714252010-11-13T10:19:00.001-08:002010-11-13T10:27:33.867-08:00Friday 12 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcNviqx5YLKCWegPSU-qI8DASiuE1ZLxkEyiXAJq_t5uKd5V6dnzeRbouzUsX62VLtl_6O9BZPZNh63S3YfrtBjN3iIS1gsPjVG6BA2F6oouuQQ92nspz-RaPjDhYy5uKp3MNn65tpoSc/s1600/hammersmith100623_024.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcNviqx5YLKCWegPSU-qI8DASiuE1ZLxkEyiXAJq_t5uKd5V6dnzeRbouzUsX62VLtl_6O9BZPZNh63S3YfrtBjN3iIS1gsPjVG6BA2F6oouuQQ92nspz-RaPjDhYy5uKp3MNn65tpoSc/s400/hammersmith100623_024.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539100931193529106" /></a><br /><br /><br />Van Gogh painted a twisted church, so I thought I might like to photograph one. Why, you may ask, would a committed atheist want to go about photographing churches? Well, despite the curious and deluded ideas behind their construction they are in the main quite beautiful creations. I'm often struck by the paradox that many artists (and indeed composers) have produced religious work of outstanding quality. Than again, many creative people, including myself, are a bit bonkers. There was a lot of money in it too, back in the day. Many a painter made his reputation and a few bob by knocking up the odd crucifixion scene, or an instructional mural. They were like graphic novels for those in the congregation (nearly all of them) who could not read.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-60893611509769051922010-11-13T10:11:00.001-08:002010-11-13T10:16:00.138-08:00Thursday 11 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSxqATwB2sGvf6X7UTEO2m8LLg4XJEV0n3fETK2izPoXO7wH8XqJryJnnrwBhSouHKOlnyNGMK-RA-NxZZRScOJcdPD1z2mHxHLmlsrcmFAECo5ZBF3XEfWtome5Zg41I6IKEePE9hvI/s1600/experiment101016_074.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSxqATwB2sGvf6X7UTEO2m8LLg4XJEV0n3fETK2izPoXO7wH8XqJryJnnrwBhSouHKOlnyNGMK-RA-NxZZRScOJcdPD1z2mHxHLmlsrcmFAECo5ZBF3XEfWtome5Zg41I6IKEePE9hvI/s400/experiment101016_074.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539098772266892018" /></a><br /><br />Through my window I can see the weather vane of the local church which, being the godless soul that I am, I have never attended. Nevertheless, the spire and the golden cockerel which spins in the wind are a comforting sight. Sometimes, when the weather is more inclement, the outline of the construction can adopt a more sinister appearance.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-89022010917541719742010-11-13T10:04:00.000-08:002010-11-13T10:08:20.826-08:00Wednesday 10 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw81ULr2jaZp_3r49sfisHvT8vSvhkhrzPph9APtw7o1qF6Yc6wGig9nu8ctYY4oze9EzwYb8ww8zR7Wy32Wbp63dhxBwTFih2LNDqcLsLAxnLN3B1ofBo4TJkKVmwOp_JhmO8ui0cF0/s1600/experiment101025_008.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 399px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXw81ULr2jaZp_3r49sfisHvT8vSvhkhrzPph9APtw7o1qF6Yc6wGig9nu8ctYY4oze9EzwYb8ww8zR7Wy32Wbp63dhxBwTFih2LNDqcLsLAxnLN3B1ofBo4TJkKVmwOp_JhmO8ui0cF0/s400/experiment101025_008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539097240699009874" /></a><br /><br />Taking photographs of TV offers great opportunities for experimentation. I must confess that some post production was employed in Photoshop to doodle in certain areas. However, I think I like the air of mystery which is created by this.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-2847847317596054692010-11-13T10:01:00.000-08:002010-11-13T10:04:44.637-08:00Tuesday 9 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbzmYSDOiATGi4MpoK19ah75mwIRrhWxHFGJu1R8Bc5zhU-__dC7wKsKNHjrNEM9uExwEio1yU4F0B2qCczZas9gCHNNbSagfVCnTkAqdyv4Twc1pnxgXVVgO0RKaieM7XOH7LELeKXBU/s1600/brixton101006_044.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/AVvXsEgbzmYSDOiATGi4MpoK19ah75mwIRrhWxHFGJu1R8Bc5zhU-__dC7wKsKNHjrNEM9uExwEio1yU4F0B2qCczZas9gCHNNbSagfVCnTkAqdyv4Twc1pnxgXVVgO0RKaieM7XOH7LELeKXBU/s400/brixton101006_044.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539096342996489762" /></a><br /><br />I had a dream in which Damien Hirst and I were taking long exposure photographs of Janice Battersby from Coronation Street. Sadly, I don't know Damien Hirst, and I'm sure this is a project that neither he nor Janice Batterbsy will ever be interested in, and even if they were, they'd probably go ahead and do it without me.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-29555272825118133682010-11-08T15:17:00.001-08:002010-11-08T15:26:06.292-08:00Monday 8 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_2zzX6e3fhNOfS2CeuST6AAHd0KOAv-fmv_w8JKEkPC7qUgBi9slsVb8aCOeBwcq4jdvIg69S1ahkV4ji9Ow9G5UFpQjnejwNGPogZP8QyqGQ9oBMKoPFYvcrdNwq5si3lwr0YjzBPE/s1600/experiment101020_034.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_2zzX6e3fhNOfS2CeuST6AAHd0KOAv-fmv_w8JKEkPC7qUgBi9slsVb8aCOeBwcq4jdvIg69S1ahkV4ji9Ow9G5UFpQjnejwNGPogZP8QyqGQ9oBMKoPFYvcrdNwq5si3lwr0YjzBPE/s400/experiment101020_034.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537322392115309538" /></a><br /><br />Today's photo is an infrared view of Brompton Cemetery. Unusually for me I have chosen to keep it in colour as the otherworldliness of it is highlighted much better. <br />The diet, despite my trepidations, isn't too bad. I've signed up on t'internet to a company that sends me all my food for a month, divided into breakfasts, lunches, snacks and dinners. The first day has gone ok. My butterbean and carrot soup was surprisingly edible, and the Paella - which featured tuna strangely - was quite filling once I'd added a couple of roasted peppers. (I'm allowed additional vegetable accompaniments within reason).Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-63082425698137406972010-11-08T15:06:00.001-08:002010-11-08T15:16:21.205-08:00Sunday 7 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGqkwOX9hVNzj9a-73Q5s28FF-TdCA84H1hcMiFpQhxHWx4K5nXBorNOb7j8CBbLZpZ27OUjkv_huH9j7xJuUxbFc0Dkch1rkoKKv59fNvZMsrAmrCJPt-BrW31A_dotKLf8CE1iuc9w/s1600/macro101006_003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoGqkwOX9hVNzj9a-73Q5s28FF-TdCA84H1hcMiFpQhxHWx4K5nXBorNOb7j8CBbLZpZ27OUjkv_huH9j7xJuUxbFc0Dkch1rkoKKv59fNvZMsrAmrCJPt-BrW31A_dotKLf8CE1iuc9w/s400/macro101006_003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537319436906526146" /></a><br /><br />It's often worthwhile photographing the doodles one composes during a meeting while one's colleagues are discussing the merits of 'going forward' and 'making a difference.' Such work can often offer an insight into one's state of mind and possibly highlight deep-rooted anxieties.<br />I'd be grateful for suggestions.<br />As I embark on a diet tomorrow in an attempt to combat the state of my fat liver, I thought it best to weigh myself in order that a chart of progress could be set up.<br />Oh, the horror! I'm on the obesity cusp, which, now I think about it, is a good name for a fat rock band, Obesity Cusp, or else for a portly Victorian jewel thieif and international spy.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-84450405520684475772010-11-06T08:18:00.001-07:002010-11-06T08:40:17.044-07:00Saturday 6 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOWP07wydHYE951ONx_7-HQS2PCykHbgS29oS56Z7X31YJKzeB2xjXegJULh09izRdMfF2yg7rWwWKa-GoE3g52iUS2S4zUad9FxIxYSmXh4qRj8jHX5XMXWlzcLOwbMLBn7A3gqJvj0/s1600/shepherdsbush100605_008a.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWOWP07wydHYE951ONx_7-HQS2PCykHbgS29oS56Z7X31YJKzeB2xjXegJULh09izRdMfF2yg7rWwWKa-GoE3g52iUS2S4zUad9FxIxYSmXh4qRj8jHX5XMXWlzcLOwbMLBn7A3gqJvj0/s400/shepherdsbush100605_008a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536456759017159458" /></a><br /><br />There are five thousand stories in The Bush of Shepherds, and this is one of them. (The picture is another story altogether.) Last week, I found a black Nokia phone on the tube, and since then have been attempting to reunite phone with owner. Unfortunately, the owner of the phone doesn't speak very good English, and so I have been negotiating the terms of return with various of his friends.<br />Someone rang me last Saturday and I told him I would be free all day Sunday to meet up and hand the phone over. No one rang. Then I had a call Friday morning, and gave someone else my address so that they come and pick it up. It took about twenty minutes to spell out the name of the street, and consequently I suspect no one wrote anything down as no one turned up.<br />Today, however, I was coming out of the second hand CD shop in Shepherds Bush when my phone rang again. <br />'It's about this phone, Mr Rob,' the man said. 'We are not sure how far away you are.'<br />'Where are you now?' I asked.<br />'Shepherds Bush,' he said.<br />'So am I,' I said. 'I'll meet you outside Morrisons in five minutes. I'm wearing headphones and a green parkah.'<br />I'm not sure why I handed out the physical description. There was no one else but me waiting outside Morrisons. In retrospect I regret giving him the short notice as a few minutes later a rather breathless pair of Turkish men staggered round the corner and waved at me.<br />They were effusively thankful, which was nice. I was a little disappointed that no one suggested sexual favours by way of a reward, but c'est la vie. <br />The next time I find a phone on the train however, I'm handing it in to someone official and letting them deal with it.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-75030524541655918172010-11-06T08:08:00.000-07:002010-11-06T08:18:13.361-07:00Friday 5 November<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mtm98-aeyE17YQF9fGSM_0qbaFDQ4QZB5F_iAA1edAl6QbtC9uMy8Sfa-p8RqOhA_b5nharU-0TOX7Lm6fgzvL174sj6AdDEclACP_pfQ-NzTRaMEbnUuvTex7NPfc4O2qcM0TZpeLg/s1600/experiment101030_005.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Mtm98-aeyE17YQF9fGSM_0qbaFDQ4QZB5F_iAA1edAl6QbtC9uMy8Sfa-p8RqOhA_b5nharU-0TOX7Lm6fgzvL174sj6AdDEclACP_pfQ-NzTRaMEbnUuvTex7NPfc4O2qcM0TZpeLg/s400/experiment101030_005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536454261657310530" /></a><br /><br />This is my street. Even without the long infrared exposure it's a bit of a surreal area in itself, tucked away between Housing Estates and within two minutes walk of an Underground Station that no one has ever heard of. <br />Christie, West London's best known serial killer, lived just around the corner and frequented what was my local pub. I was barred once, for two days, for impuning the honour of the landlord's wife. Sadly, it was turned into a hideous theme bar in the Eighties, with decor so garish that no one dared enter. It was closed within weeks and then demolished. I think there might be a community centre there now. I've never thought of change as being a particularly good thing. In this case I am right.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-51351987798539448102010-11-04T13:32:00.000-07:002010-11-04T13:40:17.916-07:00Thursday 4 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuEYme15WuPAQeNkfkmA-21RGGficTuHIVgU1G_3kyBjvGK2SHuZbeUKkCyBKxdp4ZCtUlz7Ao2NsuHAxT3dppwwQeZ9rs17CiNapEVuzehR0BkBoltyHdWTyXVLOqJDCN_CAnQouggM/s1600/stpauls100618_023.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnuEYme15WuPAQeNkfkmA-21RGGficTuHIVgU1G_3kyBjvGK2SHuZbeUKkCyBKxdp4ZCtUlz7Ao2NsuHAxT3dppwwQeZ9rs17CiNapEVuzehR0BkBoltyHdWTyXVLOqJDCN_CAnQouggM/s400/stpauls100618_023.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535795674804109842" /></a><br /><br />I think it might be interesting to post a photograph a day for the next month or so. I'm a surrealist at heart and firmly believe that surreal situations occur everywhere, but that only certain people can see them and make them visible to others.<br />Whilst on the South Bank this summer I turned a corner and was confronted by this gentleman, in the act of assembling some form of costume. The lady emerged from around the corner just as I raised the camera, and adds somehow to the strangeness of the scene.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-26206148519028183052010-11-03T16:33:00.000-07:002010-11-03T16:47:43.170-07:00Wednesday 3 November 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZROJ2TnN-GMiWqsIPiQbt3ZLtmV-A9pCoFq44zsoJJc3CK87KrwR7kCTP0gVl3vQqQbbHRLoVfXtrjRsatSJhIH5kOkmlZqYkCE4rLNydn6QCHwX1k6KHNiRyLUJMgSJMhuxfOHljgo/s1600/experiment101016_064.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZROJ2TnN-GMiWqsIPiQbt3ZLtmV-A9pCoFq44zsoJJc3CK87KrwR7kCTP0gVl3vQqQbbHRLoVfXtrjRsatSJhIH5kOkmlZqYkCE4rLNydn6QCHwX1k6KHNiRyLUJMgSJMhuxfOHljgo/s320/experiment101016_064.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535473301953952594" /></a><br /><br />My experimental photography has taken a strange turn, as you can see. There's very little photoshop involvement, apart from a black and white conversion and some dodging and burning. It's all old-fashioned smoke and mirrors. Hopefully, I can post some more when I've developed the technique a bit further.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-83679251670109997142010-10-26T06:02:00.000-07:002010-10-26T06:05:19.076-07:00Sunday 24 October 2010It’s that bipolar time again. Recently, to escape the rain, I ducked into ‘The Green Man’ on Edgware Road and ordered myself a large whisky. Within thirty seconds I was accosted by one of those men who just like to wail about the state of the world. I don’t mind that particularly. It means I don’t have to say much.<br />‘I had an ‘eart attack you know. They won’t give me no disability. Thing is, I’m a butcher, and if I stand up for more than two hours my ankles expand four inches.<br />‘Thing is, if I went in and said I was bipolar I’d get ninety-five quid a week extra. I reckon there’s no such thing. In my day, people called it ‘being a bit fed up’”.<br />So, I’m a bit fed up. <br />I tend to do crazy creative things when I’m a bit fed up so I started a painting of David Bowie’s ‘Aladdin Sane’ cover. I’ve also been watching ‘Spartacus’ on and off. One could base a drinking game around Spartacus, where one would have to take a sip of drink every time a penis was referred to, or down a shot every time John Hannah mentions bums, poo or wee-wee. I don’t think even Paul Gascoigne would get to the end of one episode before passing out.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-42225020543940876332010-10-26T06:01:00.001-07:002010-10-26T06:01:58.616-07:00Thursday 21 October 2010It was the Ugly One’s birthday this week and his chosen restaurant for the celebration was Aroma in Shepherds Bush, the ‘Eat As Much as You Like’ Chinese Restaurant. The lady who showed us to our table had a somewhat grim demeanour and a semi-permanent scowl. I suspect she thought that, as fat people, we would no doubt eat far more than the twelve pounds charge would cover. I did my best to match her expectations.<br />We got home just in time to catch ‘The Apprentice’, one of my regular addictions each year, in which this week the teams had to produce bread and other baked products for sale to clients such as hotels and on a market stall.<br />One imagines that Melissa is what a Su Pollard Mogwai would turn into if one fed her after midnight. If I had to live with her, I fear I would be forced to murder her in a manner involving blunt instruments or strangulation. Melissa somehow managed to win the task, but only because the other team was so woefully inept and she had a military mind running her kitchen.<br />The surgeon, whose name escapes me, Dippy, Zippy, something like that, was fired. <br />Back to Holby City for you, sunshine.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-34078976381495880812010-10-26T05:58:00.000-07:002010-10-26T06:00:06.949-07:00Sunday 17 October 2010I am glad to report that Wagner has been saved for another week. Hoorah! I made celebratory chicken curry in his honour. I want Wagner (although it has been established that this is pronounced Vagner, Louis Walsh has a blind spot and insists on calling him Wagner, as in Robert Wagner) to go through to the final, knocking Simon Cowell’s remaining dreary groups back into obscurity.<br />Seeing Kröd Mändoon must be a portent of hope for the world.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-12511989815814031362010-10-19T05:56:00.001-07:002010-10-19T05:56:54.879-07:00Saturday 16 October 2010I’m enjoying the X-Factor this year, especially as Simon Cowell has been put in charge of the groups, and doesn’t seem that keen to deal with them.<br />The acts were supposed to sing songs by their heroes but I suspect many of them were told who their heroes were. Cowell’s bunch of young chartreuses, Belle Amie, chose to sing ‘You Really Got Me’ by The Kinks, which isn’t suspicious at all since, as we all know, most teenage girls worship Ray Davies and no doubt have all the Kinks albums. <br />I am backing the wonderful Wagner, and entreat you all to vote for him to get through to the final.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-40650833166450016952010-10-19T05:53:00.000-07:002010-10-19T05:54:50.526-07:00Friday 15 October 2010Santander are vexing me now. Their suspicious activity software is way too sensitive and seems to trigger warnings whenever I buy stuff from t’internet. I had to ring them up and went through a robot system which read out my recent purchases, and I had to press 1 to confirm that it was me that actually purchased them. I want to deal with real people. Had someone with common sense examined the purchases they would see that it was minor purchases and exactly the same sort of thing as I’ve bought in the past. If someone was regularly buying Vin Diesel’s underwear on e-bay, you’d think Santander would make a note of it and register it as normal behaviour.<br />I haven’t had a celebrity omen for some time. I did see Ginny Weasley from Harry Potter on the Central Line some weeks ago but I’m not sure if she counts. She’d be a negligible omen at best. <br />Today, however, I was coming out of Edgware Road station and saw Kröd Mändoon going in. Strangely, some time back I saw Rula Lenska exiting this very station, rising up the stairs with her scarlet barnet shining like a hairy dawn.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-458352945380308412010-10-15T02:33:00.000-07:002010-10-15T02:37:48.988-07:00Thursday 14 October 2010Back in the Seventies TV Comedy was a mixture of standard sitcoms – spread over a wide spectrum of quality and funniness – and genuinely cutting edge ‘experimental’ work. Even there, the quality was variable. Monty Python’s Flying Circus, which, although it emerged from other mould-breaking programmes, was the flagship of the new way of doing things. Although much of the Python canon has stood the test of time, there is much of it that seems ill-judged and a little tedious today. Other programmes still shine as masterclasses in half-hour comedy. ‘The Good Life’ is still shown regularly and seems as fresh today as in yesteryear, as does ‘Steptoe and Son’, ‘Dad’s Army’ and of course, ‘The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin,’ a truly groundbreaking and somewhat philosophical series about an intelligent man’s fight against the banality of existence. Many would argue that the series owed its success to Leonard Rossiter, cast as the legendary Reggie, and this view has its merits as this was undoubtedly Rossiter’s finest hour. The show was simply different, though, in terms of writing, acting, directing, the surreal shots of Reggie’s inner thoughts as when a hippo appears every time his mother-in-law is mentioned. There was also the clever use of the catch-phrase which in this series was not only used in its traditional way, but as a metaphor for the tedious repetition of daily life. Every day, Reggie set off for work through the Poet’s Estate to arrive at Sunshine Desserts, where the forces of entropy were represented by the letters falling from the name of the company above the door, day by day.<br />It was a truly classic and brilliant series, and therefore one can surely understand my concern when the BBC planned to remake it.<br />If there are Comedy Gods, (if there are any Gods at all, I would imagine the best ones to have would be comedy ones) I hope that they have their thunderbolts and lethal sarcastic barbs aimed squarely at Clunes and the BBC. Despite the lukewarm to hostile response to the first series, the BBC have made a second series. Ironically, this Reggie – complete with overloud and hysterical laughter track - is more closely related to the worst of Nineteen Seventies comedy than to its original incarnation. It’s a crude clunking abomination of a show, and I am at a loss to understand why the BBC didn’t just make a completely new series since this seems to be only popular with those who don’t know the original, or don’t know any better.<br />It’s a shame. I used to like Martin Clunes. Oddly enough, my mother hates him, but then she always did have a bit of psychic foresight. She must have seen all this coming.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-88127727306075111222010-10-14T08:12:00.000-07:002010-10-14T08:14:33.292-07:00Wednesday 13 October 2010My baby Olympus E420 has acquired a new lease of life. Having got my new Nikon I was preparing to sell the Olympus, but fate stepped in. We’ve been cleaning out the attic and discovered – among other things – a box of old Olympus lenses, filters and attachments. I sent off for an OM adapter, and now I have a whole new kit.<br />The most confusing thing about this is that most magazines and books have been telling me that I have to have a digital camera adapted to take infrared photographs. I have a dedicated infrared filter from when I used to use ‘proper film’ and thought I would try it out. Surprisingly, via various lengths of exposure, both cameras produced infrared images with dark skies, white clouds and ghostly blue and violet trees. <br />The Apprentice is back on TV. Hoorah! And the Chilean miners are being piped to the surface in a claustrophobic tube. Hoorah!<br />Apropos of nothing, for reasons known only to themselves, Prince Charles, Camilla Merton-Parker and Pope Herr Lipp all visited the Underground Bunker this year. C&M didn’t linger too long. They thanked us for our sterling service, asked us what exactly it was that we did and then complimented us on the pristine state of the lift. They went on to Brixton market after that and Camilla was given free mangos. You’d think she could afford fruit, wouldn’t you?<br />The Pope had a nice cup of tea, blessed our kettle and then went on to Lambeth Palace. I think he’d rather have stayed with us. They don’t have Hobnobs at Lambeth Palace, or the Vatican either, it appears. Just Garibaldis. Despite the fact that he thinks I’m the greatest evil facing civilisation today, I feel rather sorry for him. <br />Peter Tatchell was planning to pop round and arrest him, but there was a signal failure at Seven Sisters and he was stuck at Stockwell for forty minutes so nothing came of it.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-61671159146647077952010-10-13T05:52:00.001-07:002010-10-13T06:23:37.930-07:00Tuesday 12 October 2010What with the recession and the plight of the Chilean miners, not to mention Alex Read and his fight with Mr Kong Watson, I have been just too worried to type. The Secret Underground bunker in which I work is feeling the pinch and the Powers That Be are drawing up lists and checking them twice, trying to work out who’s naughty or nice.<br />To take my mind off things on Sunday I made some spelt flour cinnamon and honey cookies which looked amazing, but tasted like Chilean miners’ armpits. I gave them to the Ugly One to feed to the ducks in St James Park.<br />Recently we purchased a Barefoot Contessa style Kitchenaid; a great red beast of a machine which not only produces perfect cake mixes, but minces meat and kneads bread dough to a point where my bread rises to the perfect shape of a chubby dwarf’s belly. Previously, my bread has sunk and resembles the flat and lifeless abdomens of evil thin people.<br />On 26 August, my ancient bread tin having given up the ghost I ordered a 2lb adonised industrial bread tin from De Cuisine, an online company who seemed to have cornered the market in bread accessories.<br />Having heard nothing after two weeks I rang their helpline and spoke to a very friendly brummie.<br />‘My order number is 78666,’ I said.<br />‘Oooooh, the number of the beast,’ he said. ‘That don’t bode well. Hang on. Ohhhh… adonised bread tin. Now, I can tell you what’s happened there without even looking it up. My son and daughter-in-law, right, they’ve gone and gone on holiday for two weeks and left me with all this. Can you imagine?... What I did, I’ll tell ya, what I did was, I ordered the steel bread tins not the adonised ones. Now, the adonised ones are on order, and I should be able to have one out to you Wednesday. I know you’re keen to get on with your baking, so we’ll do our best. That’s part of the problem, you know. Baking has become really popular. It’s the new knitting.’<br />This all sounded promising, and I hadn’t had to say a word as the garrulous brummie had dealt with the conversation all by himself, so I got on with my life. I baked a series of 1lb loaves in some old bread tins that seem to have been passed down to me from First World War bakers who took them to the trenches by the look of it, but two weeks later I got a bit vexed and did a search on t’internet for feedback about this company.<br />It didn’t bode well, as the nice brummie had already pointed out. Some people waited months for things to arrive. I didn’t want to wait months. I tried to ring them again, but the number was permanently engaged. Luckily, the website which held most of the complaints about this company handily provided an additional number.<br />I got through straightaway. It was the friendly brummie again.<br />‘Oh yes… I remember. Number of the beast, yes. Right, well, the adonised tins are on their way to me. They should be out to you Wednesday,’<br />‘But that’s what you said last time.’<br />‘I know, and I apologise, but I’m hoping that we’ll be able to ring you with good news on Wednesday.’<br />‘You will ring?’<br />‘Yes… or I can e-mail.’<br />‘Please do both.’<br />Wednesday dawned. By lunchtime having received neither call nor e-mail from De Cuisine I rang their secret number again. A nice brummie lady answered me this time, and things became somewhat surreal. <br />‘Oh, yes, six six six, sir. The gentleman’s with another customer at the moment but if you hang on he’ll be with you in a tick.’<br />The nice lady put the receiver down and muted conversation ensued, which suddenly became louder and clearer.<br />‘Yes, but there’s sawdust everywhere.’ she said<br />‘Is it sawdust?’ said the brummie man.<br />‘Yes, look at it. It’s all over everything and it’s into the computers. Look, it’s thick.’<br />‘Oh yes. Sawdust.’<br />‘Yes.’<br />Long pause. ‘Well…. That will have to be dealt with.’<br />There was a rattle and the brummie man was through to me.<br />‘Hello sir, it’s the number of the beast again, isn’t it?’<br />‘You were supposed to ring me today.’<br />‘Yes. I was going to ring you later this afternoon. If I can just explain what’s happened, someone from our delivery company has died.’<br />‘Died?’<br />‘Yes, died. And everyone’s at the funeral today, but the anodised tins will be here tomorrow and I’m certain that you’ll be receiving a dispatch e-mail tomorrow.’<br />‘Ohh Kay.’<br />To be honest I was a bit stunned by the audacity of the explanation. As an excuse it’s a corker, being both disarming and unexpected. In retrospect I should have frothed and raged and demanded my bread tin be couriered in by helicopter, but the dead body tactic did for me.<br />However, the next day, the brummie did me proud and a mail did indeed arrive confirming dispatch and the lovely bread tin arrived the next day and is now doing sterling work providing me with decent sized loaves.<br />So, De Cuisine are not, as many people seem to think, a scam. They provide very good equipment, but are somewhat laid back about sending it out. I can recommend their adonised bread tins, but be prepared to wait.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-57318743474754606632010-10-13T05:49:00.000-07:002010-10-13T05:51:28.734-07:00Monday 13 September 2010It has been many months, O My Brothers, since I have recorded my general views on life. In the interim I have been diagnosed as giving a fat liver. This is hardly surprising, as I suspect that amongst my circle, I would be the one who ate all the pies. (The Ugly One would be he who ate all the cakes.)<br />I have been sent for blood tests and must return this Wednesday to see a liver specialist who ironically is fatter than I am.<br />Following this page’s campaign to discover the true age of Pineapple Studios’ Andrew Stone, Andrew appeared in the reality show ‘Dating In The Dark’ which billed him in a subtitle as Andrew Stone, 37, which is at least a step in the right direction since throughout Pineapple Studios the rather well-preserved Stone insisted he was 28. I’m still of the opinion that he’s 39, but I suspect that we’ll never get that confirmed.<br />The most disturbing aspect of all this business is that he got his father to lie and insist to the press that he was born in 1981. <br />He was in Big Brother as well, teaching the housemates to sing and dance for a video task. They seemed as eager to get rid of him as the record producers in Pineapple were.<br />This was the final series of Big Brother, at least on Channel Four, and it was a little anticlimactic. The much awaited ‘Ultimate Big Brother’ in which former winners and ‘notable’ housemates competed for the title of Ultimate Housemate was again, a bit of a damp squib, made damper by the presence of Coolio, whose alleged bullying of transsexual Nadia earned him three warnings and resulted in him leaving early, although it seems that these warnings and the majority of his abuse was not transmitted. The surprise contestant was ‘Slick Vic’ Victor Ebuwa, who I hated during his term as an original contestant, but now seems to have matured and grown up. I kind of like him now.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-89682956354821396042010-05-20T02:10:00.000-07:002010-05-20T02:11:24.501-07:00Monday 10 May 2010again I’m obsessed<br />this time it’s with a Nikon<br />D three hundred S<br /><br />People may well wonder what I have been doing for the past month, as well they might. I am a little curious myself as the weeks seem to have whisked by.<br />Actually our government underground secret bunker was on overdrive due to the forthcoming elections. I don’t know why we bothered. They still haven’t sorted it out.<br />Half of Sheffield didn’t get to vote, and some of Hackney, and various other parts of the country, although really, if you do want to vote, I wouldn’t leave it until 9.30pm.<br />There was no queue at our Polling Station. I voted for my MP and then my Councillors. There were no crazy parties this time standing for local election. Usually you have a plethora of minority groups with long names and strange convictions. The longer the name, in my experience, the stranger the convictions.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-21426829511816332692010-05-20T02:08:00.000-07:002010-05-20T02:10:21.072-07:00Monday 12 April 2010blisters on the lips,<br />it could be from pineapple.<br />not the studio.<br /><br />The Ugly One is on a diet currently, which is why he had none of my Cornish Pastie. Consequently, I am free to choose all my own dinners. This may not be such a good thing, as I suspect I will end up eating pies every day.<br />Meanwhile, naughty Louis Spence from Pineapple Dance Studios (If you haven’t been watching this series then you have missed a treat) appears to have revealed the truth about Andrew Stone’s real age on his twitter page in a conversation with none other than Denise Van Outen. Denise asked if Andrew was really 28 and Louis replied as follows:-<br /><br />@dvobumpalicious not 28 darling I beat him in junior star time I was 16 & he was 14 you do the maths darrrrrrling,did I just say that? oops <br />10:14 AM Mar 14th <br />I think we can all do the math. How old is Andrew Stone? It would appear that the secret is now out and that Andrew Stone is actually at least 38, probably 39 by now.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-70235421251189124622010-04-14T01:53:00.000-07:002010-04-14T01:54:50.951-07:00Sunday 11 April 2010Latitude (n) An expression of Latvian pomposity.<br /><br />I forgot to mention yesterday – as I got carried away with the relationship between the rock world and the classical world – that I spent a small fortune on music. I found a double CD of vintage sex songs, i.e. jazz and blues numbers from the twenties with somewhat racey lyrics. My favourite so far is ‘I Need More Grease in my Fryin’ Pan’ and the sublime ‘Banana in My Fruitbasket.’<br />The age of Andrew Stone, lead singer of Starman (featured in the marvellous Pineapple Studios on Sky One) is still a mystery to many people and the subject of many google searches. One forum had a posting from a lady who remembered him from school and thinks he is at least thirty-four. I think he’s forty. I’m looking at the neck, and I’m thinking ‘That neck is forty!’ <br />He claims he’s heterosexual as well, but my Gaydar is beeping like a Chernobyl Gayger Counter. <br />Recently, Andrew went on ‘a lads’ night out’ with his baby manager, Rob. I think he must be lying about his age as well. He claims He’s twenty-one but I suspect he’s twelve. They filmed Andrew trying to chat up some young women in a spookily empty pub which was intended to bolster his butch image, no doubt, although ultimately he came across as a creepy lesbian stalker. Poor Rob stood about looking slightly embarrassed, rather like a teenager who finds himself in the same bar as his drunken mother.<br />My culinary exploration today was The Hairy Bikers’ Cornish pasties, for which I had a recipe downloaded from the BBC website. <br />The recipe, so I surmised, gave the amounts to make one pastie, which was a little alarming as it suggested I use a dinner plate as the template for my pastry circle.<br />However, it did turn out to be a very lovely, if massive, pastie. I ate half of it with chips and saved the rest for another day.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-29264652647411608902010-04-12T05:54:00.002-07:002010-04-12T05:55:30.912-07:00Saturday 10 April 2010Yak (n) A probiotic drink with half the fat bacteria of other probiotics<br /><br />‘When life looks black and cares attack, how sweet it is to pot a yak.’ – PG Wodehouse.<br /><br />It is my wont, when spirits are low, to hie myself to the big HMV in Oxford Street and browse copiously amongst the music. Surprising things can come to light. I had not realised for instance that Rick Wakeman had made so many solo albums (including one inspired by the Lord of The Rings’ and a soundtrack to the silent version of Phantom of The Opera.)<br />I also had to text the Ugly One when I saw that Roger Waters had penned an opera which starred no less a figure (and not many can boast that they have so large a figure) than Bryn Terfel, the opera world’s Welsh Meat Loaf.<br />The lines between rock and classical music are blurring suddenly. Wakeman (himself classically trained) is interviewed in Gramophone magazine this week, expounding on his theory that Prokofiev was the creator of the concept album (and who are we to argue?), while the reviews include the latest release from classical composer John Lord, who used to play the keyboards for Deep Purple.<br />Rock star’s children, meanwhile are moving into the film industry and tonight we saw ‘Moon’, the highly impressive film from Duncan Jones, once known as Zowie Bowie back in the days when his dad David thought that such a name might be a good idea.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1644622327882748021.post-41695051341138601642010-04-12T05:54:00.001-07:002010-04-12T05:54:26.692-07:00Friday 9 April 2010Guttersnipe (n) A snipe that lives in a gutter<br /><br />I met with the Ugly One and we went to see ‘Clash of The Titans’ in 3D. Remakes are always dodgy territory, especially if one has a particular fondness for the original. For its time the 1981 COTT was an epic mythic spectacle with an all-star cast and a script which gave weight to both the Gods and the mortals. <br />The CGI and the 3-D gives this version a realistic feel that could only be done with Harryhausen's stop-motion back in the day, but something was lacking. Certainly, the original idea of the Gods playing a form of real-life chess by moving pieces about on a board was a far better concept than this one, where the other gods hardly get a look in, and no name checks, so we're not actually sure what gods they were supposed to be. <br />Liam Neeson as Zeus seemed to think he would play the part as a bored old glam rock star in glittery armour, while Ralph Fiennes (as Hades) turned his camp meter right up to eleven. All that was missing was a moustache he could twiddle while purring 'Oooooh, I'm ever so evil, I am!' <br />However, I enjoyed the rest of it, and laughed (no doubt with the other old COTT fans) when Perseus picked up the clockwork owl from the original movie and was told by Liam Cunningham in no uncertain terms to leave it behind.Rodhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16064508235692710036noreply@blogger.com0