Feed Me

Pete can't make his super comfy office chair stop reclining. GAH!

2010-03-11T12:16:25+00:00

can't make his super comfy office chair stop reclining. GAH!

Mara the irony of being told i should act my age and not my shoe size by a pregnant 16 year old... it makes me grin in an obnoxiously adult sort of way.

2010-03-10T22:45:46+00:00

the irony of being told i should act my age and not my shoe size by a pregnant 16 year old... it makes me grin in an obnoxiously adult sort of way.

Jamie Rhod Gilbert's Work Experience - A new televisual low.

2010-03-10T22:03:59+00:00

Rhod Gilbert's Work Experience - A new televisual low.

Eddie Forgot to book a table for the Roxy Film quiz? Well you're too bloody late (...unless you just want a booth).

2010-03-10T20:46:16+00:00

Forgot to book a table for the Roxy Film quiz? Well you're too bloody late (...unless you just want a booth).

Ruth is germy. But has discovered the loveliness that is Nutter Butters! We should have supplies over here....

2010-03-10T19:47:52+00:00

is germy. But has discovered the loveliness that is Nutter Butters! We should have supplies over here....

Jamie Corey Haim, surely not?!

2010-03-10T14:16:36+00:00

Corey Haim, surely not?!

This guy is a dick

2010-03-09T22:35:48+00:00

Looks like I shot my load too early on Jon Venables. Above is yesterday's Channel 4 News; skip to 6.10 where Peter Price of Radio City in Liverpool comes in. This guy is a dick.

Just take a look at the first thing he says:

"There's a woman up here with some children who lives in fear of this subhuman person turning up one day on her doorstep."

The woman in question, it turns out, is Denise Fergus, James Bulger's mother. Why would Denise Fergus fear Jon Venables, or Robert Thompson for that matter, coming to find her? Her son was not deliberately targeted; they weren't out looking for "Jamie Bulger of that Bulger family, we've got a thing or two to show them bastards", they were looking for any small boy. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I know of nothing to indicate they're fixated with the family and if there were ever any indication that they were, that would be a breach of their licence and they'd be straight back in prison. Ditto, if Denise Fergus had ever had any slight contact or threat from them - she'd be straight onto the police. This is such a ridiculous argument that I can't believe I've spent so long on it.

Back to Peter:

"The papers are going to be full of it, the papers aren't going to leave it"

You said it.

"On my phone-on last night we had four solid hours of people saying 'what about Denise? What about the victim? Why is it always the perpetrator?' She has children. She lives in fear for her children."

Seriously, people of Liverpool. Get a grip. Or stop being wound up by local radio jocks. See the above: what danger are Denise Fergus and her remaining children actually in? Other than from being held in a permanent state of victimhood by their neighbours?

The other lawyer guy on the show makes some good points between 7.30 and 9. Except then Peter butts in again.

"All these years though, she has lived in fear while they've been out, not knowing whether they're on her doorstep."

*sigh* You're intelligent people, I'm not rehashing that again. At this point I'm really wanting to know whether Denise Fergus really does / did feel this way (anyone read anything?) or whether it's this guy whipping up a mob frenzy by ignoring / not understanding the terms of the release licence.

"Nobody's thinking of her, everyone's thinking of this monster."

This is starting to get tiresome. Actually, what it's starting to sound like is the old 'nobody thinks about the white working class' stuff trotted out by the far right to justify anything they perceive as an injustice, when it's actually just something they don't understand.

Jon Snow now (9.25) points out that we don't know if there's a new victim that had a crime committed against them. If there is another victim, what about that victim's mother and their right to a fair, uncompromised trial? (It was here that I started cheering Jon Snow.)

"So what do we do about all the big cases that have been tried where they found juries? Where do we pussyfoot, and where do we stop and start, and where do we think about real people paying taxes in this country to be protected?"

The Ian Huntleys of this world, during their major trials, did not have their previous convictions aired in the media and known to the world while their trials were going on. It's a fundamental tenet of our justice system, isn't it, that previous convictions aren't revealed to the jury unless the judge rules them admissable, in case such knowledge prejudices the jury? So, Peter, no comparison. Sorry.

I'm not even going to comment on the taxpayer bit.

"But is this family, the whole family, and all the people who touched James's life, are these people ever going to have any peace in this life?"

Not while you're determined to rake over the murder of a small boy for ratings, no.

Jon now asks if all the people who rang the show would be happy simply to know what it is Venables is accused of.

"Yes."

BOLLOCKS.

Jon: They don't want to know who he is?

"They want to know what it is that he's done. There's all this speculation in the press."

Gosh, yes, all that speculation in the press. How dreadful of them / you.

Jon: But what difference will that make?

"Well, if they know that it's a sex crime, or to do with children, then we know that the system has totally and utterly failed."

Uh-huh. That's the overriding concern of the mob right now; the integrity of the prison and rehabilitation system. If they were to find out Venables was accused of something relating to sexual assault or paedophilia, they'd be perfectly content to rail against the system, rather than forming a line outside every prison in the country demanding to know his new identity (to protect our communities, of course) and trying to string him up.

And Peter's final thoughts:

"Do you honestly believe that the British press will take a pause, and take a breath? They want to know because this is such a big case and because he is such a monster."

That's the third time Venables has been referred to as a 'monster' or 'subhuman'. (By the way, I read this article in The Times today about whether children are 'born' evil and how to make rehabilitation work, very interesting.) But I think this repetition is revealing: they're not interested in the principles of the justice system or the right of the family to know, they're interested in perpetuating their own view that some people - even ten year old children - are just 'evil'. Because wouldn't the world be a simpler place if that were true? Then nobody would have to take responsibility for themselves or each other, or have to work through the complicated bit where you take someone with massive emotional problems and try and make them less fucked up, for the good of us all. No, it's easier to condemn for eternity and rant and rave on Channel 4 News which, juxtaposed against two very rational people, makes you look like a dick.

Incidentally, I saw on Twitter (I forget where) that a comment on the Daily Mail's website said: "They should have been strung up. You don't kill children". I wonder if there's any way the author of that comment will ever understand what they wrote.

Jamie au revoir simone.

2010-03-09T13:18:20+00:00

au revoir simone.

How I Met Your Mother

2010-03-08T21:51:07+00:00

For a PVR owner I sure am bitching about a lot of adverts lately. So I want to point out - nay, direct you to the truth - that Neil Patrick Harris, not Glee, is the best thing on TV right now.

Yeah. Dougie Howser. Who knew? But I'm right. Whoever it was on the writing team that came up with the idea of taking the terrible, pigheaded Barney and giving him depth and a hopelessly unrequited love story is a genius. (I like unrequited love stories. I find the familiarity warm and comforting.) You've missed 'Benefits', the episode where Ted and Robin start sleeping together again to stop them fighting while they're flatmates, but when E4 does one of its periodic Saturday night catch-ups I recommend - nay, I command - you to watch it. Or set your PVR so you can avoid the adverts. You don't want to put a shoe through the screen on sighting the Credit Expert and miss the final scene; a scene where, if your heart doesn't break, you have no soul and I don't like you.

Plus, HIMYM is one of the few American shows I've seen where heavy boozing isn't an automatic lead-in to a hangover / terrible decision / alcoholism.

Plus, NPH did this at the Oscars.

Which is basically what he did at the Emmys

but that doesn't diminish NPH, it's just another reason why the Oscars are getting more and more derivative each year (probably the wrong year to say this, what with The Hurt Locker doing so well, but when I made my living from reviewing that stuff - and so had actually seen all the films in contention - I went through awards season getting increasingly stabby in the knowledge that it was the DGA and SAG who generally got it right, but the Oscars who got the publicity).

Jamie became a fan of a group or page about some stupid metaphysical concept to do with day-to-day living for no reason at all, including (but not exclusively) blinking, sleeping, yawning, stretching, relaxing, eating, lying in, drinking tea, forgetting what you were about to say, laughing at rubbish jokes, getting drunk when I said I wasn't going to and many other absolutely hilarious and fulfilling concepts.

2010-03-08T12:20:00+00:00

became a fan of a group or page about some stupid metaphysical concept to do with day-to-day living for no reason at all, including (but not exclusively) blinking, sleeping, yawning, stretching, relaxing, eating, lying in, drinking tea, forgetting what you were about to say, laughing at rubbish jokes, getting drunk when I said I wasn't going to and many other absolutely hilarious and fulfilling concepts.

Eddie lextrical has hit 50 music beans. beans music 50 hit has lextrical http://lextrical.wordpress.com/.

2010-03-08T10:40:26+00:00

lextrical has hit 50 music beans. beans music 50 hit has lextrical http://lextrical.wordpress.com/.

Joining the ill-informed hoards

2010-03-07T12:38:40+00:00

This whole Jon Venables thing depresses me intensely but I am quite pleased with the Guardian for publishing this article today, as one amongst the "BURN HIM" pieces that are flooding out of some of the other 'newspapers' published in this country. It seems - though this is all hearsay, of course, and I partly hate myself for churning it back at you even if it is in service of a wider point - that Jon Venables's mental stability has been crumbling, to the point where he's going around telling people who is really is (does it really take a huge leap of logic to realise that if that's the state he's in, is it surprising we also hear stories of him drinkng heavily, taking drugs and getting into fights?).

It makes me wonder whether rehabilitation can ever be expected to fully work. Not because I subscribe to the "once a bad 'un, allus a bad 'un" school of thought, but because I'm not sure our pitchfork-wielding society will allow it. The prison system can educate and reform as much as it wants (and let's never forget that with the Bulger murder we're talking about children, and children whose short lives had been shitty, not adults with fully-formed moral codes) but what's the point if, in every town, there's a sizeable section of people just waiting to spring into action as a vigilante group. Just look at what's happened to women merely suspected of being Maxine Carr, and all she was convicted of was perverting the course of justice (not that you might have realised that, from the press coverage). I certainly don't think I could handle that kind of pressure.

Do the ranters think the convicted has forgotten their crimes? That somehow, despite living every day with a life and a name that isn't their own, what they've done has slipped their minds? That they're not reminded it of every time someone yells "John!" in a pub and they have to quash the automatic urge to look up, or when a mate starts reminiscing about their schooldays, never mind the countless times every day that the knowledge will simply bubble up. I'm at a loss to think what kind of justice this kind of vigilantism (hell, any kind of vigilantism) is supposed to be dispensing. They have, however, got their wish - if the Guardian is to be believed, Jon Venables will be held as a burden on the state for some time; not in prison but in a series of mental hospitals, broken by his own guilt and our society's desire for unspecific revenge.

I think - with very little evidence other than experience, though I'm rather hoping that my slog through the Social Sciences reading room at the BL will provide some succour to my theory - that many of the things I rail against and cannot fully get my head round (racism being another) stem from a lack of empathy. A very genuine inability to make the leap to seeing the world from someone else's point of view. I am often stunned when I hear a writer has been asked how they write about something that's out of their sphere of experience, with the underlying accusation that if they're writing about, say, a gay character, they must also - *gasp* - HAVE TEH GAYZ. Erm, no, It's a question of imagination and empathy. If three years of a History degree taught me anything (and it did, Arts deniers) it's that people are basically the same at root, no matter the time or place; and that monsters are made, not born. Whatever he did, Jon Venables is still a human being and will react the same as any of us to large amounts of stress. Oh look, he broke. Excuse me, Britain, while I stand back and applaud each and every one of us.

Jamie Just lost a game of chess as I dropped a piece in the wrong place by accident. They also had only 10 seconds left on their clock. Words cannot describe the rage I am feeling.

2010-03-06T17:11:32+00:00

Just lost a game of chess as I dropped a piece in the wrong place by accident. They also had only 10 seconds left on their clock. Words cannot describe the rage I am feeling.

Pete feels thoroughly debauched. Goodbye GT/VML!

2010-03-06T11:48:40+00:00

feels thoroughly debauched. Goodbye GT/VML!

Hey! The recession is over!

2010-03-05T16:25:20+00:00

I mean, it must be - otherwise nakedly encouraging people to overextend themselves on credit, à la the Credit Expert advert, would be completely irresponsible and reprehensible, wouldn't it?

Look at that guy! He's well wealthy! He has a massive house, a creepy butler, something made from solid gold (I don't know what, I'm generally cooking with my back to the TV whenever this ad comes on) and ice from the Sea of Tranquility WHICH DOESN'T EVEN EXIST. But wait a moment - his secret is not that he's a Russian 'oligarch' / mafia boss, or an oil magnate, and has piles of money sitting around, his secret is that he's got the best credit rating in the world. OMFG! That house and the butler and the gold and the impossible ice has all been paid for on the never-never! Does that mean I can have a massive house and a butler and some gold and some pretend Moon ice if I stick it all on my credit card? Cos buying tons of stuff we couldn't afford was totally not one of the things that got us into this shitty economic mess in the first place.

Everyone round mine for cocktails made with you-know-what.

Jamie Everything's coming up Millhouse.

2010-03-05T13:28:06+00:00

Everything's coming up Millhouse.

Stargazing

2010-03-05T01:12:33+00:00

When I was growing up, the Plough revolved around me. No, really, it did. For some reason, my parents' garden in Drighlington* was the centre of the easiest recognised constellation around. I had a late-finishing Saturday/weekend job, and when the taxi dropped me off at 1am I used to like to stand in the driveway and look up, and note the position of the Plough above me, revolving but not materially moving, like it was pinned into place somehow by the garage.

I can, even now, only name that one constellation. I try, and I sometimes stay up all night during the Perseid meteor shower only to be thwarted by light pollution because I love the stars, but I still can only pinpoint the Plough. Even in London, with all its street lights and neon, I can look up on clear, cold nights like this and see the stars that call me. Right now, the Plough is upside-down and north-east above my back garden, but I can see it. This is the important point. I'm not sure what I would do if I couldn't pick out the Plough (though I suspect I'll find out in Sydney in around a month's time). But: just to tell you, that the stars are out tonight, and they are bright, and they are calling me home. Wherever that is.

* That's pronounced Driggle-ington, by the way

Jamie Will Self pwns stupid public FTW.

2010-03-04T23:17:09+00:00

Will Self pwns stupid public FTW.

Is this a surprise to anyone?

2010-03-04T17:35:00+00:00

Careers advice is rubbish. The only surprise to me is why people find this surprising, or why they suddenly think it's a new problem. At my school - Fountain Street Comp, lest we forget (that really is a joke only one person is ever going to get) - there was a room running parallel to the corridor between the old and new buildings - or, horribly old, cold and hospital-green turn-of-the-century block and 70s pebble-dashed fun - that was designated the 'careers office'. It was unlocked a couple of times a year to allow the fifth formers to desultorily turn over its sad stock of leaflets, trying to find anything even remotely relevant or interesting. At the time I wanted to work in radio production and I think they pointed me towards something on journalism, because they're clearly the same thing.

In the sixth form, we were given a high-tech (for the time) computer-readable form to rank our interests, the idea being that a machine would crunch our answers and suggest careers we might find rewarding. Unfortunately, technology turned out not to be able to reconcile my fondness for humanities and physics (arts and sciences? What am I, some kind of freak?), and suggested I become a lab assistant. And yet, even with such laughable careers advice, somehow I failed to become a NEET. I suspect the answer to the NEET issue may lie elsewhere.

Eddie should I make 'France' a NPT/searchable synonym to 'French'?

2010-03-04T16:13:52+00:00

should I make 'France' a NPT/searchable synonym to 'French'?

Jamie Escape routes needed. All exits appear blocked. Bugger.

2010-03-04T15:40:07+00:00

Escape routes needed. All exits appear blocked. Bugger.

Jamie Getting into The The.

2010-03-03T13:41:32+00:00

Getting into The The.

Items you don't want to see on a friend's Amazon wishlist #1

2010-03-03T09:17:05+00:00

Nasal hair clipper.

Sourcing music

2010-03-02T19:40:57+00:00

Since abandoning Xfm for Radio 4 (in the absence of a digital radio in my flat, and therefore 6Music, something I'm kind of regretting now), I'm getting my music recommendations from other people's blogs. I recently went on a bit of a CD-buying spree (yes, I buy my music on CD and then import it to iTunes. I like having the artwork. What?) thanks to Delrico and Me and My Big Mouth, and now it turns out these guys are pretty good:

The cat's less impressed but he has terrible taste.

By the way, it does irritate me slightly that all these blogs are run by boys. I suppose it was ever thus but still, you know. To try and make up for this I will make an anti-recommendation. I got the most recent publicity email from Aqualung today (if you don't know my history with this band and all its antecedents, there simply isn't space to go into it right now) announcing the brand spanking new single, Fingertip. You could listen to it on myspace, but can I save you some time and say don't bother? It's not terribly good. If you do find yourself on Aqualung's myspace for any reason, of the tracks they've got on there you could do worse than Something to Believe In.

Eddie bears AND shits AND (woods OR forests).

2010-03-02T16:15:10+00:00

bears AND shits AND (woods OR forests).

Jamie So it turns out that after 6 weeks of "police work" the drunk twat who stole £300 worth of my belongings from next to me whilst I was semi-conscience in a hospital bed will get away with it because the hospital refuse to release his patient info and the police say there's not enough evidence to get a court order to release the information. COMMON SENSE HAS PREVAILED AGAIN.

2010-03-02T12:50:08+00:00

So it turns out that after 6 weeks of "police work" the drunk twat who stole £300 worth of my belongings from next to me whilst I was semi-conscience in a hospital bed will get away with it because the hospital refuse to release his patient info and the police say there's not enough evidence to get a court order to release the information. COMMON SENSE HAS PREVAILED AGAIN.

Shock news: my feet don't work properly

2010-03-01T17:35:11+00:00

Several months on from Robo-Boot 2: The Revenge, I managed to inveigle myself an appointment at a biomechanics clinic to see if they can work out what's going on, and whether I'm doomed to be stuck in a fracture cycle for the rest of my life (or until the bone in question crumbles into dust, whichever comes sooner). The good news is: yes, there's something they can do! The bad news is: the reason they can do something is because it turns out I am, to use official medical lingo, "kind of fucked".

Only "kind of fucked", note. But still, entirely "kind of fucked" from the knees down. Built wrong. Wonky genes. Shoddy bone structure. To be honest, this I already knew, but today I got extra information to add to the pile of "slightly fucked" I was already aware of, and it all adds up to "kind of fucked" and a big welcome mat to regular stress fractures just by walking the hell around.

But not - tada! - if I wear my new insoles. I already have insoles - have had for 11 years - but they were to correct my "quite fucked" knees; when I was 21 nobody was even considering the feet. They've given me the utterly brilliant insoles in the picture as a test for a few months. And I'm being sincere when I say they're brilliant. They are DIY, stick-it-together-with-glue-and-plastic, plucky-British-underdog-spirit insoles. The podiatrist took a bog-standard pair of insoles, cleared off for 10 minutes and came back with these, stuff stuck onto the back of one, bits hacked off the corners and other stuff glued over the top. How can you not love them? If they work (i.e., if they don't make other bits of my body start threatening to drop off) they'll make me some proper ones. But I shall miss my Blue Peter insoles.

I shall not miss my "kind of fucked" legs.

Jamie Listening to Bat's record - The best album of 2009. Oh yeah etc. etc. and all that crap.

2010-03-01T11:31:09+00:00

Listening to Bat's record - The best album of 2009. Oh yeah etc. etc. and all that crap.

Tuesday's child is full of grace

2010-02-28T18:53:30+00:00

Last week I went / trekked to Clapham to see Simon Munnery (which none of you ingrates came with me to see; alright, so I didn't quite check everybody in London's availability, but I'm still very disappointed in you all). As the train doors opened back at Waterloo it became apparent there was a rather large height discrepancy between train and platform; that's OK, it happens all the time at Lewisham (with the added fun of a width gap - you take your life in your hands living round here). So I stepped down with my right foot and made a good landing... but failed to account for the inside of the carriage being wet, which made my left foot slip the hell away...

Given that I'm sitting here, typing this, the smarter among you will have worked out that I didn't skid off the train and break my stupid neck. Instead I simply executed a sub-WInter Olympics wobble and dismount with extra shocked expression and heart palpitations. Much to the cheer of the guy getting off behind me, who started hooting with laughter.

I could see his point. It was rather amusing. And when you have the opportunity to bring cheer to an Irishman who can outcamp Graham Norton ("I'm only out tonight because I'm fed up with men"; aren't we all dear, aren't we all) without actually damaging life or limb, it's only fair to step up to the plate (or fail to step off the train). And I love these random little interactions between city strangers, that last the length of a platform and end in impossible promises to add one on Facebook (an Irish flight attendant called Jonny. Yeah, that's enough to go on. Also, I'm not even accepting friend requests from people I went to school with, never mind - but that's a story for another day). I like the fleeting camaraderie, the knowledge that not everyone in the city is a faceless bastard, prepared to shove you out of the way for the sake of arriving at their destination a fraction of a second earlier. It makes me smile.

And with that in mind, I look forward to my clumsy ineptitude bringing a spark of joy to all your days in the future. Even if none of you did go to comedy with me.

I was actually born on a Tuesday. I was struck at an early age by the ridiculousness of calendrical determinism.

Tom For the first time in years I'm having to pull myself away from making music on my computer. I'm back in the groove again, Revulsion is alive! Yippee!! woo-hoo!!! Cuddles for baby now :).

2010-02-27T18:46:34+00:00

For the first time in years I'm having to pull myself away from making music on my computer. I'm back in the groove again, Revulsion is alive! Yippee!! woo-hoo!!! Cuddles for baby now :).

Peyton and Byrne do not impress me

2010-02-27T16:03:24+00:00

So Liz and me navigated the British Library without getting chided / tutted at, which I will count as a win. The BL is, without doubt, a beautiful place to work (despite Nottingham's beautiful campus - I freely admit one of the reasons I chose to go there was because I went to a spring Open Day and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. Why yes, I am going to Japan in a few weeks - the library is a concrete block) but the BL cafe...

Hmm.

The economics of having Peyton and Byrne run the catering has been gone into elsewhere so I won't (apart from to say: £2.50 for a bun? Which is chiefly icing? Are they mad?); my beef is with the actual food. (Mmm, beef.) It's probably fair to disclose that, since I've not done any kind of academic reading in over a decade, by lunchtime my brain was screaming in protest and I found myself staring uncomprehendingly, possibly dribbling, at the sandwich labels. But even when I've got back into the swing of things I suspect my head will still be wrapped up in what I'm reading and not in the mood to examine sandwich wrappers and work out what the chuff 'mizuna' is. (It's a mustardy salad leaf, apparently.) Or ponder why they're calling the bread in what is clearly a panino (oh yeah, get me and my Italian singulars) something different and poncy. And that's before I even get to sit down and be underwhelmed by the paucity of the expansively described filling. I have been busy absorbing information: give me a cheese and ham toasty, stat. And don't charge me four quid for it, either. Or insist on making it with gruyère and finest prosciutto.

And, in a building covered with signs about having clean, dry hands, provide some sodding paper napkins.

I think I'll be taking my own sandwiches from now on.

On the 21:55 from Waterloo East

2010-02-27T14:53:13+00:00

A young woman is talking on her mobile. I'll not say 'loudly', but a part of me does wonder why I'm bothering to relate this story since you probably heard it with perfect clarity wherever you were last night.

"Yeah but... but listen, right, listen... listen... listen... listen... I'm only telling you this cos, listen... you know you say I'm bad? No, listen... you're so much worse. Yeah you are, you are so much worse." [beat] "So where are you, how're you doing?"

Later in the same conversation

"You know that, you know The Wire? Is that new stuff or is it stuff that's been on before? Yeah... The Wire. It's got that, that Robson bloke in it... that Robson bloke... Robson Green."

Yes, yes, I know she was probably talking about Wire in the Blood, but the mental images were too good not to share.

Jamie Los Campesinos! Inital verdict: Schmindie shit. Man I hate schmindie shit.

2010-02-26T11:49:05+00:00

Los Campesinos! Inital verdict: Schmindie shit. Man I hate schmindie shit.

I am electric

2010-02-25T18:23:29+00:00

I'm getting a lot of static shocks at the moment. This used to happen all the time (I still can't close a car door touching the metal; I either push the window or pull my sleeve down. I'm aware this makes me look crazy). Anyway, for no reason I can work out it's started up again. It's quite effective at keeping me away from the chocolate vending machine at work, but less fun when I shock the cat or my friends (true story: I was once on an escalator with Liz and I earthed myself onto the handrail - through her).

I don't know why it happens. I'm not even wearing manmade fibres (I stopped that in my last job. In case you ever wondered, nylon carpets are a terrible idea. That's when I stopped buying trousers from Dorothy Perkins, the shocks and the glorious static cling, with their 80% polyester fibres).

I'd love to think this was all something to do with my electrifying charisma, but I suspect it's something a little more prosy. I have yet to figure out what, though.

Jamie The thing about nostalgia is that it's not anything like as good as what it used to be.

2010-02-25T17:59:36+00:00

The thing about nostalgia is that it's not anything like as good as what it used to be.

Eddie is there anyone, anywhere, who works for an image library who actually knows how to use a boolean? yours disgustedly, Ed OR Eddie OR Eduardo NOT monkey.

2010-02-25T10:26:36+00:00

is there anyone, anywhere, who works for an image library who actually knows how to use a boolean? yours disgustedly, Ed OR Eddie OR Eduardo NOT monkey.

My new favourite game

2010-02-23T21:04:24+00:00

It's not just Japan I'm breezing off to in four weeks, I'm also heading to Sydney to visit my friend Helen. And flicking through the guidebook the other day, I found a new game to play.

South East London Sydney Bingo.

A lot of Sydney's suburbs are, it turns out, named after places in South East London. There's a Sydenham, a Dulwich Hill, a Croydon and, be still my beating heart, a Lewisham. There's even Greenwich and Woolwich next to each other on the ferry out to Parramatta. I am clearly, because it's the kind of thing that appeals to me, going to spend a day going round all these places taking photos for no other reason than it might make a cool set on Flickr. I may even visit Stanmore and consider it the bonus ball, in a mixed gaming metaphor of which I'm secretly quite proud.

For the icing on the rather splendid, chocolatey cake that is my South East London Sydney Bingo game, I shall be visiting Blackheath. I have to go up into the Blue Mountains to do so (I was going anyway, you know me and mountains) but it'll totally be worth it. And you know what? There's a cherry on the icing of that thar cake. Because the place I'm staying has the world's longest Chesterfield sofa - all eight metres of it. (I am quite intrigued how such records stand, though. Surely it wouldn't be that much trouble to make an 8m 10cm Chesterfield sofa if you really wanted a world record. Perhaps there's some kind of gentleman's agreement going on? 'Sorry madam, the world's longest Chesterfield has been taken; would you care to build the world's widest ottoman, or the deepest-filled pouffe?')

I'm really, really excited about this.

Tom after watching an episode of Dispatches slating teachers for being crap at maths, I am tempted to write a comprehensive list of everything that a good teacher is expected to be.

2010-02-22T20:14:01+00:00

after watching an episode of Dispatches slating teachers for being crap at maths, I am tempted to write a comprehensive list of everything that a good teacher is expected to be.

Eddie request from Neil Howell's brother for embarrassing Neil stories for his best man duties. Mine all involve his messianic qualities and love of shellac and pixies records. anyone got any dirt?

2010-02-22T10:13:51+00:00

request from Neil Howell's brother for embarrassing Neil stories for his best man duties. Mine all involve his messianic qualities and love of shellac and pixies records. anyone got any dirt?

Pete is lucky to have a girlfriend with excellent taste in cakes.

2010-02-22T06:19:40+00:00

is lucky to have a girlfriend with excellent taste in cakes.

Jamie Sunday night, 11:30pm, f**king woot.

2010-02-21T23:27:05+00:00

Sunday night, 11:30pm, f**king woot.

Tom We went to the Hop Farm today - and in their gift shop there was NO real ale! No beer of any kind. WTF?!?! Still, we got home to find a quality dvd had come through the post so alls right with the world :).

2010-02-20T20:30:10+00:00

We went to the Hop Farm today - and in their gift shop there was NO real ale! No beer of any kind. WTF?!?! Still, we got home to find a quality dvd had come through the post so alls right with the world :).

Various thoughts

2010-02-20T15:58:34+00:00

Watching whatever Newsnight Review is now called last night, debating raunch culture and feminism (note: Natasha Walter is about four years behind the curve), I was interested / appalled to notice that Toby Young only had one thing to say (variously phrased) to Zoe Margolis, otherwise known as Girl with a One Track Mind; how could she possibly be sitting there, arguing that the increasing sexualisation of society was a bad thing, when she's such a slaaaaaag?

(It's a good thing for my television I have lousy aim.)

There is a new Taylor Wimpey housing development at the point where Lewisham High Street meets Courthill Road. But where other blocks are called things like 'Silkworks' or 'Prime', this one has been dubbed 'Axis'. Presumably one has to be of German, Italian or Japanese stock to live there.

Also, I cannot believe how long it's taken me to bring to the attention of any fans of St Custard's out there, the fact that the street bypassing Lewisham's main shopping precinct is called Molesworth Street.

Pete can see the Farallon Islands from his desk.

2010-02-19T22:23:58+00:00

can see the Farallon Islands from his desk.

Pete is not very impressed with the Facebook example applications. Wouldn't it be nice if they were up to date?

2010-02-19T19:48:35+00:00

is not very impressed with the Facebook example applications. Wouldn't it be nice if they were up to date?

Crikey

2010-02-19T19:43:04+00:00

I have somehow become a possessor of a British Library reader's pass (and also, judging by this post's title, a resident of the 1950s). I always expected getting a reader's pass would involve running a gauntlet of very stern people, ready to send applicants back into the cold tundra (though I may have been getting them mixed up with something to do with Soviet Russia). In reality it took ten minutes (apparently the key is having the right personal ID) and nobody making me stand in the middle of a crowd of people and shouting at me that I have no talent (that bit comes later, I hear). Now I just have to ~~avoid the vashta nerada~~ deal with all the written and unwritten rules of the Library (there are always unwritten rules). People, be nice to the n00b.

Ruth is an auntie again :o).

2010-02-19T14:52:23+00:00

is an auntie again :o).

Eddie will be explaining Boolean Logic to Cataloguers. Next week I'll be teaching bears how to shit in the woods.

2010-02-18T14:56:41+00:00

will be explaining Boolean Logic to Cataloguers. Next week I'll be teaching bears how to shit in the woods.

Jamie minimal techno.

2010-02-18T12:26:40+00:00

minimal techno.

Bang and Olufsen Beocenter 2200 Service Manual

2010-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

Somewhat random blog post, but I thought I should share this service manual for free so that no-one else has to pay for it. Contains schematics/circuit diagrams for the great-looking, but somewhat maligned Bang & Olufsen Beocenter 2200 from the mid-80s.

Afraid I can't offer any support on this, but it might be useful to someone!

BEOCENTER 2200 TYPE 2421 (A2458) Service Manual

All it takes is one fine day

2010-02-17T15:36:55+00:00

and I'm giddy as a whirligig. There are snowdrops and golden crocuses out in my garden, where I just stood laughing at the joy of new life after such a foul winter. I officially declare Spring.

That is all.

Eddie is not your friend.

2010-02-17T14:07:31+00:00

is not your friend.

Jamie Ring ring, ring ring, rings around my ears. Ring ring, ring ring, ringing in my bloody ears.

2010-02-17T10:09:55+00:00

Ring ring, ring ring, rings around my ears. Ring ring, ring ring, ringing in my bloody ears.

Pet confusion

2010-02-16T23:29:35+00:00

I was on the phone to my Mum earlier when she mentioned that between them, her and my Dad have decided to treat El Mog like a dog when they're housesitting over Easter. "Because, well, he's not very bright is he?" she reasoned.

I was mildly outraged - she's got a point, yeah, but I like to think Mog has a modicum of catlike intelligence about him. Cut to: about half an hour ago.

My sofa isn't going to win awards for its commodiousness, but it's still a two seater that I comfortably snuggle into one side of. I don't even take up the entire sofa cushion. I'd put the netbook on the floor, slightly to my left (middle of the sofa), to concentrate on Newswipe. Then the cat decided he wanted to come for a pet.

There was an entire half of the sofa available for him to jump on. Wide open, uncluttered. But of course he didn't want to do that. He wanted to jump up right next to me, even though that involved leaping the computer at the same time. I have never seen such a display of wide-eyed concentration combined with determined bum-waggling as he demonstrated getting up here.

I have a dog. Oh, dear sweet lord, I have a dog.

Pancakes

2010-02-16T19:44:08+00:00

I got very worked up yesterday over a stupid Guardian lifestyle article flogging stupid overpriced middle class pancake 'equipment'; pancakes were the first thing I learned to cook as a child and I deeply object to anyone trying to overcomplicate and poncify the process. Though the stupid maple syrup dripper did lead to some excellent money making ideas. So this lunchtime (the joys of working from home), I made the batter in my cheap Pyrex bowl and cooked it using my Morrisons £3 frying pan. And what do you know? The middle class hobgoblins didn't come to get me.

INNER VOICE: *cough*
Bagelmouse: What?
INNER VOICE: That's possibly because the middle class hobgoblins aren't watching you.
Bagelmouse: Meaning?
INNER VOICE: Oh darling, you're not properly middle class are you? You don't feature on the hobgoblins' list.
Bagelmouse: I... humph.
INNER VOICE: There, there.
Bagelmouse: But I had brie on the first pancake.
INNER VOICE: And you had golden syrup on the second.
Bagelmouse: OH, FUCK OFF.

The universality of experience

2010-02-15T18:57:40+00:00

Whenever I see the current Halifax adverts, I wonder whether it's my student radio background that makes my hackles rise; whether the fact I can actually drive a desk that makes me taste bile; whether time spent in studios of real, proper radio stations prompts the nauseous feeling in my stomach; or whether it's the memory of producing an award-nominated showreel that causes the involuntary cringing.

Then I figure: nah, it's probably the same for everyone, and hit 'mute'.

Jamie anyone got a spare invite for Spotify?

2010-02-15T16:22:20+00:00

anyone got a spare invite for Spotify?

Pete has just seen a set from Nick Oliveri's one man band. Not bad for a free show.

2010-02-15T08:39:22+00:00

has just seen a set from Nick Oliveri's one man band. Not bad for a free show.

Jamie Computer bollocked. Utterly. Time to eventually buy a Mac laptop? Oh wait, they're mega expensive.

2010-02-15T00:39:27+00:00

Computer bollocked. Utterly. Time to eventually buy a Mac laptop? Oh wait, they're mega expensive.

Doctor, Doctor, give me the news, I've got a bad case...

2010-02-14T12:28:30+00:00

From a tiny snippet PVR'd at the start of last week's Newswipe, I take it the BBC have started airing the trailer for next season's Doctor Who. There's a fair bit of stuff I'm missing during the month I'm swanning round the Pacific and I honestly couldn't think of anything I regretted - until I twigged I'm probably going to miss the start of the new Doctor. To give you an idea of just how empty my life is*, this realisation caused me a proper pang of anguish. I'm now desperately hoping the BBC shows the first episode on or before 20th March, because if I have to watch you all talk about it on Twitter from a hotel room in Kyoto I will go quietly insane.

I know some people have doubts about Matt Smith, but I don't. Firstly, Liz saw him in Party Animals and thinks he's great, and I put all my faith in her evaluation of TV drama. (The woman knows The West Wing inside out, how can you possibly doubt her judgement?) Secondly, think back to David Tennant's initial, precious, end-of-series-post-regeneration moments. If you hadn't watched Blackpool or Casanova and didn't know he was a marvellous actor, he came across as thoroughly punchable. New teeth? That shit-eating grin and Barcelona? Get me Christopher Eccleston back on set, stat!

But thirdly, crucially: go watch that series preview again. Go on. Only this time, pay special attention to the very final scene. The "trust me, I'm the Doctor scene". Yes, the line may be cheesy, but look at him. If Tennant was playing that line, he'd be staring very fixedly into that lady's eyes and being a bit scary. But Matt Smith? Searching. Enquiring. Gentle. Tender, even. Gosh, I've gone rather wibbly.

* This is probably the wrong thing to type on Valentine's Day, even as a joke. My life is fine, everything is fine, there's nothing to see here. Which, if you're a regular reader, you probably already know.