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25/08/08 : Going away - and having to come back

Sarah says that, however much she's enjoyed a holiday, it's a nice feeling to get home at the end. I, however, would prefer to stay on holiday instead of returning to chores and the horror of having to get up in the morning for work and stuff.

To make things worse, we returned to rather crappy weather, making it feel like summer is over and it'll soon be time to go back to school (I left school in 1989 but that feeling never quite goes away).

It's also one of those things where Old Father Time is a complete git. The family (parents, siblings, associated spouses and offspring) decided it would be nice to go back to Jersey (we first went in 2001) about two years ago. Much planning and waiting followed, then we go and a week later we're back home and it's all over.

Still, it was a nice break. Sarah has some pics and stuff here, I might post some myself later.

27/07/08 : Tim stands at the top of Hengistbury Head and turns around

Taken on a family walk today.

It's a little wobbly and there are a couple of jumps where I edited two clips together, but you get a nice view of the surrounding area; first looking over Southbourne beach, Bournemouth in the background, then round to the right across Christchurch harbour (you can just about see the Needles (Isle of Wight) 32 seconds in) and right back round to the beginning (just who are those people standing right in the way?)

More pics here.

22/07/2008 : Steal EVERYTHING!

This made me smile, although Mr. Rock is actually making a valid point about illegally downloading songs.

Stealing music is hardly new. When I was a kid I used to "tape" - i.e. record onto analogue tape cassettes - stuff from the radio, other people's tapes, CDs if I was lucky, even computer games before disc drives became less expensive. My parents never stopped me or pointed out that it was illegal (and immoral) - in fact I'm sure they did it themselves. As did pretty much everyone else. Yet if I had have walked into my local branch of HMV, picked up the latest hit album and walked out of the shop without paying, it would have somehow been a completely different thing.

In my ideal world however everything would be free. People would only need to work for the minimum amount of time it takes to get everything running (no need to over work to make a profit, no middlemen, pointless competition or corruption) and could just help themselves to whatever they needed. They'd have plenty of free time to make whatever music or art or whatever they wanted, free from the restraints of having to following trends to keep selling their material. There'd be no theft, greed would die out along with most of the other problems in society. Somehow I can't see my utopia becoming a reality.

18/07/2008 : Not been stabbed yet

It appears that Dorset has the lowest level of knife crime in the country [ BBC News article ] which means I can now sleep soundly in my bed at night. Unfortunately (and surprisingly) Hampshire fared rather less well in the report, and I live right on the Hampshire border. So, head too far along the good old A31 and I'm likely to be murdered to death by gangs of vicious knife wielding hoodies.

Ok, I'm sure that knife crime is a problem, particularly in some places, but the Daily Mail (who else) claiming that "no part of Britain is safe" is a bit over the top. All of the tabloids are full of scare stories, using figures for knife "incidents" but failing to point out that these figures include domestic accidents.

Still, don't forget to vote for [insert preferred political party here] because they're the people who will take "tough action". Let's just hope we don't all die from bird flu first.

16/06/2008 : Vagabond Kiss

I came across an old photo album whilst sorting out a cupboard recently. Behold: Vagabond Kiss in early 1996.

(click for bigger)

People still occasionally get to my sites by googling Vagabond Kiss, which always surprises me as we only had local success, split up shortly after the above photo was taken and weren't actually that good.

I'm in the middle, to the left is Johnny (one of three bass players we got through) and to the right is Andy (one of about ten drummers). Gav, now my brother-in-law is at the back and at the front is Jim, the lead singer.

Looking back I think we were actually better when we started out a couple of years earlier. We still had the big choruses but a more unique sound - big chunky guitar chords, tinkley piano, funky bass (from a guy called Luke, not pictured below for some reason I can't remember) and ultra-tight drumming from Jim, who sang lead vocals from behind the drum kit. I can understand why he wanted to get another drummer and be at the front, but none of the other drummers we had were a patch on him.

It was Jim that led us towards the more "80's hair rock" sound we had when photographed above. He was a weird guy really, the sort of person who would be your bestest mate until you disagreed with him over something, which he would take personally as if you have done whatever it was just to piss him off. Totally self-centred and misanthropic (I seem to attract such people) but a pretty good singer and songwriter, and the best rock drummer I've known.

(click for bigger)

UPDATE : Just googled the band myself and found out that some of the former members have "reformed" the band with a female lead singer . . . I wonder if they're doing the same kind of stuff as before or whether they just couldn't be bothered to think of a new name? Seems a bit odd to me.

01/05/08 : Humph

I shall miss Humphrey Lyttelton, who died last Friday. Not for his skills as a jazz trumpeter, but because a well spoken slightly curmudgeonly old man can make a double-entendre sound so brilliantly filthy - and get away with it.

To be read aloud:

"Samantha is a croupier and often works at an exclusive Soho club where gamblers pay top money to play roulette all day and poker all night".

Samantha was the silent (i.e. non existent) scorer on I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue.

It sounds best from the man himself of course, so here are a couple of examples (the second one being the best).

25/03/08 : Feeling good about food

There has been much discussion in the media recently about battery chickens. The usual argument for is that people on low incomes can't afford anything else. Well, as someone on a low income I thought I'd give an opinion.

A couple of weeks ago I bought a chicken from Tesco. It was free range (although not organic). It was just under 2kg and cost just under £8. I made the following -

Roast chicken for two adults and one child.
Cold chicken for lunch the next day (the best bit - in soft brown rolls with far too much butter).
After removing the remaining meat and making stock out of the carcass I made chicken supreme (chicken, ham, mushrooms, stock/cream sauce, rice) for two adults and one child and, for a light meal the following evening, chicken and vegetable soup (with the last of the stock).

I kinda think that's good value.

Actually I think I'm doing quite well with my resolution to eat less crap. The other day Sarah made a cake (ingredients: self raising flour, sugar, butter, eggs, vanilla extract - less than half the stuff you'll find in anything from the shops) and after all the heavy Easter food and choccy and stuff we decided to have a starter and a dessert instead of a main course in the evening. Sarah made bread - a granary cob (well, a granary splat - though it tasted nice) and I made broccoli soup (don't knock it 'till you've tried it). We followed that with a summer fruit crumble - the fruit was frozen and came from Tesco (we used up the stuff we picked and froze last summer ages ago) but I made the crumble topping and proper custard.

As well as tasting better, I'm sure it's all better for you - and you know exactly what you're eating. It just sort of makes you feel good about stuff in general.

P.S. And anyway, why does anyone have a "right" to have cheap chicken? I mean, good food needs to be available to everyone, but there are other things that can be eaten - what's the thing with cheap chicken? I haven't heard anyone moaning about the lack of cheap fillet steak. Or complaining that Tesco won't add caviar to their value range.

13/02/08 : Crashes and bangs

Well, my resolution to blog more often started well . . .

I seem to have picked up some new readers via Sarah. So, hello, welcome, stick around - I'm bound to write something fascinating one day soon.

In the meantime, here's something a little different from my usual musical offerings. This is a poke in the eye to the people who continually market all "classical" music as beautiful, relaxing etc. (Classic FM I'm looking at you).

Go on, just watch it . . . it's only four minutes long . . .

This was from one of last years more interesting proms, featuring a youth orchestra from Venezuela. Apologies for sounding racist, but they're a weird looking bunch who I'd guess spend almost as much on hair gel as instruments. The second half of the concert featured music from Venezuelan composers and they dressed up in traditional costumes. Entertaining, but not what I'd programme after Shostakovich's intense tenth symphony. Still, this performance of the violently dramatic second movement is possibly the best I've heard.

It's a shame there isn't a video of the last bit of the finale, where old Shosty goes around the orchestra defiantly banging out the notes of his initials, almost as if he's metaphorically jumping up and down on Stalin's grave. Fantastic stuff.

Sarah just dismisses it all as "crashes and bangs", the philistine.

19/01/08 : Tim impresses himself with his typing skills

I think that 65 words per minute (plus two errors) is pretty good for a non office person.

There's something I want to know though. Sarah often goes nun-nights before me, leaving me sat at the computer in the dark. Now, touch typing is about not being distracted by having to look down at the keys right, so, why is it that when it's dark I type at half the speed, make twice as many mistakes and keep having to look down at the keyboard (which I can't actually see anyway)?

16/01/08 : On nearly being bummed

I said in an earlier post that my "nearly being buggered in the woods" story deserved a post of its own - and here it is, with a bonus story - for there have been two occasions when I have come close to being an unwilling participant in hot man-on-man action.

The first time was at a cottage (public toilet building resembling a small abode in a rural area - see here for the sexual relevance) in Poole Park. Now, female readers may not be aware of this, but there are two unwritten laws of urinal etiquette.

Firstly, position. If there is no one else standing at the urinal (or "trough" as I used to call them) then one must position oneself at the far end. If another person enters and wishes to use the facilities, he must stand at the other end. If a third person enters, then unless the urinal is particularly wide, he must stand around awkwardly - pretending to adjust his clothing, combing his hair etc. - until a space at either end becomes vacant.

The second rule is simple. Under no circumstances do you look anywhere other than straight ahead.

Anyway, I had positioned myself correctly and was about to "go" when another person walked in and, after standing around for a while, walked over to the middle of the urinal. This immediately made me tense up - and I am sure that female readers will be aware that when one is tense, one cannot go. So, I'm standing there, tackle out, not actually doing what one is supposed to do whilst standing at a urinal with one's tackle out, with some guy dangerously close to me, presumably also tackle out but not actually doing what one is supposed to do in such circumstances.

Then, out the corner of my eye, I saw him edge closer. At this point, I realised that not only was I not going to be able to relieve myself but that it would probably be best to leave. I hurriedly zipped myself up (luckily not too hurriedly - otherwise the story could have ended rather more unpleasantly) and turned around to leave. The other guy was practically looming over me.

The second time was rather more sinister. It was a hot night in the middle of summer and I was at the Neptune bar by Boscombe pier. Me and my then pal Jim decided to leave to get some fags (incase any US readers get the wrong idea I should point out that "fags" is UK slang for cigarettes) from a local shop. We took the shortcut through Boscombe gardens, but instead of using the proper path, we cut through a trodden path through one of the wooded areas. As we were walking along I noticed that there was a man standing behind one of the trees, completely motionless. This seemed slightly odd, but we walked on - and then a little further down the path noticed another man stood behind a tree. At this point we began to think that something weird was going on - I found myself saying "misty up here, init?" just for something to say (it was actually misty). Then we noticed more of them - at least ten - all stood like statues behind trees. I remember hearing myself say "... misty up here init ..." out of nervousness. Our pace quickened and we soon caught up with a guy and a girl and asked them what was going on. The bloke simply said "They're gay".

It took a few seconds to work out what he meant. I remember thinking something along the lines of "So what? Why would that have anything to do with why they're all hiding in the woods as if waiting for . . . . . oh shit."

We ran like we had never ran before.

Still, we laughed about it (possibly with an element of hysteria) later.

UPDATE:  googling the words "urinal etiquette" led me to the urinal test . . .