20 May 2010
Just a short one. I'm trying to lose weight, and am slowly convinced that instead I am becoming more barrel chested with age. And barrel stomached, but that's probably because I will insist on drinking copious amounts of the contents of barrels.
Enough. Time for a sparkling water, methinks.
Sunday 30 May 2010
Expansion
19 May 2010
I'm a member of two theatre companies now. I've recently joined the Tower Theatre, currently based around the Bridewell Theatre off Fleet Street but with designs on a new build home on Curtain Road in Shoreditch. The other is Incognito, of which I've been a member for 8 years. They're based in the rather less impressive sounding suburbs of Friern Barnet at the far north of the 43 bus route.
Incognito also have their eyes on a bit of building activity, but in their case the expansion of their current home. Converted in the post-war years from an old biscuit factory, the cute little 65-seater needs a bit of work to keep it up to date with pesky modern requirements like running drinking water and disabled access.
(I originally mistyped that it required " a bit of ork", bringing figures of fanged, grey skinned cockneys dancing around on stage and eating live squirrels whilst singing "My Old Man's a Dustman")
The key difference between the two groups so far is that Incognito seem determined not to scrimp on their productions whilst they raise funds for their building work. I've just seen a production of Barefoot in the Park that had the most elaborate set imaginable, complete with a running tap, a stage build up by a foot so that it would look more like people coming on stage had just climbed up stairs and a brilliant skylight.
The Tower, meanwhile, have set a costume budget for our current show of about £80. This means that a character described as "Satan in a suit from Saville Row" will appear in the final act in a pair of Primark chinos.
Hmm.
I'm a member of two theatre companies now. I've recently joined the Tower Theatre, currently based around the Bridewell Theatre off Fleet Street but with designs on a new build home on Curtain Road in Shoreditch. The other is Incognito, of which I've been a member for 8 years. They're based in the rather less impressive sounding suburbs of Friern Barnet at the far north of the 43 bus route.
Incognito also have their eyes on a bit of building activity, but in their case the expansion of their current home. Converted in the post-war years from an old biscuit factory, the cute little 65-seater needs a bit of work to keep it up to date with pesky modern requirements like running drinking water and disabled access.
(I originally mistyped that it required " a bit of ork", bringing figures of fanged, grey skinned cockneys dancing around on stage and eating live squirrels whilst singing "My Old Man's a Dustman")
The key difference between the two groups so far is that Incognito seem determined not to scrimp on their productions whilst they raise funds for their building work. I've just seen a production of Barefoot in the Park that had the most elaborate set imaginable, complete with a running tap, a stage build up by a foot so that it would look more like people coming on stage had just climbed up stairs and a brilliant skylight.
The Tower, meanwhile, have set a costume budget for our current show of about £80. This means that a character described as "Satan in a suit from Saville Row" will appear in the final act in a pair of Primark chinos.
Hmm.
Wednesday 26 May 2010
Heterosexual
18 May 2010
I'm getting a certain amount of ribbing from my friends having been cast as Don Juan in a production of Patrick Marber's excellent Don Juan in Soho. I suppose I was hardly likely to get away with portraying a character who has had apparently had sex with about 20,000 women without a little comment. I keep having to point out that the original cast had Rhys Ifans in it, rather than Johnny Depp, and that therefore having the temerity to accept the casting did not mean I thought I was Adonis. Well, maybe Lord Adonis.
I was looking at reviews of the original production yesterday, and I spotted an odd reference:
"In a flash of sexual timidity, also, Grandage has removed Marber's apt allusion to DJ's gay proclivities, when no females came to hand."
Now, being familiar with the script by now, I know the line in question. "Skirt, and every once in a while, trouser. He's no poof, but he's got the appetite..."
I'd be interested to know who thought that was a problem. A man so sex obsessed that he will seduce a thousand-score women would probably fuck a cabbage patch doll if there was nothing else around, and in these days the "men who have sex with men" thing is practically old hat. The play is immoral, rude and largely played for laughs. I'm trying to work out if the director cut the reference because he wanted a purely heterosexual anti-hero, and if so why? Could it be that he wanted to stress that this particular kind of Lothario needed to be kept aside from the usual tabloid assumptions of homosexual promiscuity? i.e. to make him "a bit gay" would be to pander to the Daily Mail and make them think "well, what do you expect then?" But by doing so are you not accepting their view of the world? Hmmm.
I doubt I'll get a chance to ask.
I'm getting a certain amount of ribbing from my friends having been cast as Don Juan in a production of Patrick Marber's excellent Don Juan in Soho. I suppose I was hardly likely to get away with portraying a character who has had apparently had sex with about 20,000 women without a little comment. I keep having to point out that the original cast had Rhys Ifans in it, rather than Johnny Depp, and that therefore having the temerity to accept the casting did not mean I thought I was Adonis. Well, maybe Lord Adonis.
I was looking at reviews of the original production yesterday, and I spotted an odd reference:
"In a flash of sexual timidity, also, Grandage has removed Marber's apt allusion to DJ's gay proclivities, when no females came to hand."
Now, being familiar with the script by now, I know the line in question. "Skirt, and every once in a while, trouser. He's no poof, but he's got the appetite..."
I'd be interested to know who thought that was a problem. A man so sex obsessed that he will seduce a thousand-score women would probably fuck a cabbage patch doll if there was nothing else around, and in these days the "men who have sex with men" thing is practically old hat. The play is immoral, rude and largely played for laughs. I'm trying to work out if the director cut the reference because he wanted a purely heterosexual anti-hero, and if so why? Could it be that he wanted to stress that this particular kind of Lothario needed to be kept aside from the usual tabloid assumptions of homosexual promiscuity? i.e. to make him "a bit gay" would be to pander to the Daily Mail and make them think "well, what do you expect then?" But by doing so are you not accepting their view of the world? Hmmm.
I doubt I'll get a chance to ask.
Line
17 May 2010
I have crossed the line from functioning existence into some kind of sleepwalking state where simple things like raising a sarcastic eyebrow are just tooo much effort. It's debilitating. I can barely raise a tirade of abuse about the Queen's Speech or point and laugh at Teresa May.
What can I do?
This morning I was viciously assaulted by a selection of alarms. While the Ducks of Death on my iPod quacked furiously at me, my Nokia phone played a merrily insufferable tune and my computer boomed its auto-start-up noise.
It didn't make any difference. I just lay there, listening to it bleep my brain to a pulp. And lo, just when I think I've got enough energy to crawl to work, I can't get into the bathroom.
It's all too much. Someone throw me a line, will they?
I have crossed the line from functioning existence into some kind of sleepwalking state where simple things like raising a sarcastic eyebrow are just tooo much effort. It's debilitating. I can barely raise a tirade of abuse about the Queen's Speech or point and laugh at Teresa May.
What can I do?
This morning I was viciously assaulted by a selection of alarms. While the Ducks of Death on my iPod quacked furiously at me, my Nokia phone played a merrily insufferable tune and my computer boomed its auto-start-up noise.
It didn't make any difference. I just lay there, listening to it bleep my brain to a pulp. And lo, just when I think I've got enough energy to crawl to work, I can't get into the bathroom.
It's all too much. Someone throw me a line, will they?
Friday 21 May 2010
Torture
15 May 2010
I can't do it. I should talk about British complicity in torture in war zones, or the new Government's admirable commitment not to deport those who may face torture in their home countries. I should talk about how I hope the LibCon coalition will live up to their responsibilities as a self-professed reforming liberal Government and end all UK involvement with the Big T.
But it's been a long week, and I've been on the receiving end of some violence, so I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself.
I've been hit in the face by cricket balls preceisely twice in my life. Unfortunately, both those times have been in the past fortnight. I don't know what I did to the cricketing gods, but clearly Stumpy, the Cricketing God of Disfigurement, or Bodyline, the Cricketing God of Violence have been at work manipulating things so that I have my own, mild version of torture.
It's creating a bit of a stir at work. There is general consensus that I've been having a punch up, perhaps with Liberal Conservatives. This is a fair enough assumptions since I spent the lection period ranting fanatically about the evils of Tories and then come to work covered with unsightly abrasions and swellings, like someone performing "The Elephant Man Meets Raging Bull" or something. People shuffle away from me on the street - even more swiftly than they usually do. I'm having to dress quite smartly to avoid being denied access to shops by security guards worried that I'm only there to thieve and support my crack habit. The second blow was on the forehead right between the eyes. My brow swelled up so much I looked like one of the vampires from Buffy - one that clearly wasn't important enough a character to ever get to take their makeup off.
Just to cheer me up, my cricketing friends have taken to pointing out that "these things come in threes". It's not my face I'm worried about (well, it *is*, but...), it's just that if I get hit again my dignity will be gone from the cricket field forever and I won't hear the end of it. That would be tortuous, if not actual torture.
I can't do it. I should talk about British complicity in torture in war zones, or the new Government's admirable commitment not to deport those who may face torture in their home countries. I should talk about how I hope the LibCon coalition will live up to their responsibilities as a self-professed reforming liberal Government and end all UK involvement with the Big T.
But it's been a long week, and I've been on the receiving end of some violence, so I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself.
I've been hit in the face by cricket balls preceisely twice in my life. Unfortunately, both those times have been in the past fortnight. I don't know what I did to the cricketing gods, but clearly Stumpy, the Cricketing God of Disfigurement, or Bodyline, the Cricketing God of Violence have been at work manipulating things so that I have my own, mild version of torture.
It's creating a bit of a stir at work. There is general consensus that I've been having a punch up, perhaps with Liberal Conservatives. This is a fair enough assumptions since I spent the lection period ranting fanatically about the evils of Tories and then come to work covered with unsightly abrasions and swellings, like someone performing "The Elephant Man Meets Raging Bull" or something. People shuffle away from me on the street - even more swiftly than they usually do. I'm having to dress quite smartly to avoid being denied access to shops by security guards worried that I'm only there to thieve and support my crack habit. The second blow was on the forehead right between the eyes. My brow swelled up so much I looked like one of the vampires from Buffy - one that clearly wasn't important enough a character to ever get to take their makeup off.
Just to cheer me up, my cricketing friends have taken to pointing out that "these things come in threes". It's not my face I'm worried about (well, it *is*, but...), it's just that if I get hit again my dignity will be gone from the cricket field forever and I won't hear the end of it. That would be tortuous, if not actual torture.
Tuesday 18 May 2010
Poet
14 May 2010
I am not a poet.
This is probably fairly obvious if you have actually had the patience to read any of my previous prosaic ramblings. I don't really read poetry, and I certainly haven't tried to write very much of it, especially not since I stopped being a lonely love-lorn teenager.
I'm not entirely sure what natural imperative drives teenagers to wrote poetry when they're depressed. Why does it even occur to them? Are there 14 year olds from amazonian tribes uncontacted by modern society that get rejected by the chief's daughter and inscribe their pain and longing into the bark of a Gwahu tree, and tattoo it with ink gained by squeezing the ribcage of the rainbow Splillip Frog until it vomits on their wooden stylus? It seems likely. But why?
I suspect that it's just because teenagers are fucking lazy, and poems are generally short. If poetry didn't exist they wouldn't transcribe their pain in the form of a three part Proustian epic. They'd probably just have another wank.
I am not a poet.
This is probably fairly obvious if you have actually had the patience to read any of my previous prosaic ramblings. I don't really read poetry, and I certainly haven't tried to write very much of it, especially not since I stopped being a lonely love-lorn teenager.
I'm not entirely sure what natural imperative drives teenagers to wrote poetry when they're depressed. Why does it even occur to them? Are there 14 year olds from amazonian tribes uncontacted by modern society that get rejected by the chief's daughter and inscribe their pain and longing into the bark of a Gwahu tree, and tattoo it with ink gained by squeezing the ribcage of the rainbow Splillip Frog until it vomits on their wooden stylus? It seems likely. But why?
I suspect that it's just because teenagers are fucking lazy, and poems are generally short. If poetry didn't exist they wouldn't transcribe their pain in the form of a three part Proustian epic. They'd probably just have another wank.
Friday 14 May 2010
Packing
13 May 2010
Packing. I hate packing. It doesn't matter that packing is a precursor to a theoretically exciting moment in life - it's still a kind of distilled tidying, and as such I loathe it. After all, what's the difference between finding a home for everything by putting related objects in a draw or a filing cabinet, and putting together all the things that will be useful in the amazon basin into one backpack? It's natures evil attempt to make you organised against your will.
Islamic artists insert a deliberate flaw into anything they do, because only God is perfect. Aside from the arrogance inherent in the suggestion that without the intentional flaw their work would have been perfect, it's a concept I can relate to. Whenever I pack for a holiday, I intentionally forget one really crucial item - plane tickets, malaria medication, trousers - in order to bring me luck later on.
Actually, that's a lie. I'm just an idiot, but it was a nice idea.
Packing. I hate packing. It doesn't matter that packing is a precursor to a theoretically exciting moment in life - it's still a kind of distilled tidying, and as such I loathe it. After all, what's the difference between finding a home for everything by putting related objects in a draw or a filing cabinet, and putting together all the things that will be useful in the amazon basin into one backpack? It's natures evil attempt to make you organised against your will.
Islamic artists insert a deliberate flaw into anything they do, because only God is perfect. Aside from the arrogance inherent in the suggestion that without the intentional flaw their work would have been perfect, it's a concept I can relate to. Whenever I pack for a holiday, I intentionally forget one really crucial item - plane tickets, malaria medication, trousers - in order to bring me luck later on.
Actually, that's a lie. I'm just an idiot, but it was a nice idea.
Thursday 13 May 2010
Downturn
12 May 2010
Downturn? That's a sneaky one. After desperately squishing various words into allowing me to rant about the election, it throws a genuinely political word at me. Nasty trick.
The Conservative-Liberal-Democrat Government that has been set up has a big job to do is avoiding a further downturn as it seeks to repay Gordon's bills. It would have been a perfect scenario for pure Tories, since despite the fact that we are mostly in massive debt because of the cost of recapitalising David Cameron's old chums in the banking sector, they have convinced many of the public that it's all because of government waste. For Tories, spending 5 years cheerfully wielding the axe would be like a pervert getting a job quality testing butt-plugs.
But I don't think it is going to be quite so much fun for the Whigs. At the moment they're crowing that the policy deals they have done with the Tories are (as one LibDem put it) a "centre-left agenda with occasional moments of right-wing madness"*. But the deal does not say where the axe will fall. For a party that believed that cutting spending too soon could lead us to a double-dip recession to engage in as yet undefined cost-cutting must be very alarming. If it all goes wrong their own membership won't forgive them, let alone the voters.
But what the hell. Some people say that we're heading for Greek style unrest. Since Greek style yoghurt is so nice I wonder if their unrest might not be pretty good too. Though I'd prefer strawberry. Possibly low fat macrobiotic, strawberry unrest, personally churned by Vince Cable whilst people throw marzipan sparrows at his head. It's the only way.
* "a bit like the last Government", as he put it.
Downturn? That's a sneaky one. After desperately squishing various words into allowing me to rant about the election, it throws a genuinely political word at me. Nasty trick.
The Conservative-Liberal-Democrat Government that has been set up has a big job to do is avoiding a further downturn as it seeks to repay Gordon's bills. It would have been a perfect scenario for pure Tories, since despite the fact that we are mostly in massive debt because of the cost of recapitalising David Cameron's old chums in the banking sector, they have convinced many of the public that it's all because of government waste. For Tories, spending 5 years cheerfully wielding the axe would be like a pervert getting a job quality testing butt-plugs.
But I don't think it is going to be quite so much fun for the Whigs. At the moment they're crowing that the policy deals they have done with the Tories are (as one LibDem put it) a "centre-left agenda with occasional moments of right-wing madness"*. But the deal does not say where the axe will fall. For a party that believed that cutting spending too soon could lead us to a double-dip recession to engage in as yet undefined cost-cutting must be very alarming. If it all goes wrong their own membership won't forgive them, let alone the voters.
But what the hell. Some people say that we're heading for Greek style unrest. Since Greek style yoghurt is so nice I wonder if their unrest might not be pretty good too. Though I'd prefer strawberry. Possibly low fat macrobiotic, strawberry unrest, personally churned by Vince Cable whilst people throw marzipan sparrows at his head. It's the only way.
* "a bit like the last Government", as he put it.
Family
Just discovered that the Whigs have been unable to stop the Tory plan to reward marriage with £150 in tax breaks.
Despite the various anomalies, such as the fact that it will punish widows and widowers for negligently allowing their partners to die of cancer or get run over by cunts, or cause a quandary for quite a lot of people who quote statistics that show that women tend to feel less fulfilled after they get married, the LibDems best response is to abstain.
This means that without a serious rebellion for the members of the Conservative Party who aren't still living in the 19th century it's pretty much certain that in the middle of an economic crisis we're going to spend millions of pounds on the lamest behavioural engineering experiment since my mum offered me 20p to tidy my room.
No wonder the pound is plummeting. Which will make £150 even more pathetic.
11 May 2010
Despite the various anomalies, such as the fact that it will punish widows and widowers for negligently allowing their partners to die of cancer or get run over by cunts, or cause a quandary for quite a lot of people who quote statistics that show that women tend to feel less fulfilled after they get married, the LibDems best response is to abstain.
This means that without a serious rebellion for the members of the Conservative Party who aren't still living in the 19th century it's pretty much certain that in the middle of an economic crisis we're going to spend millions of pounds on the lamest behavioural engineering experiment since my mum offered me 20p to tidy my room.
No wonder the pound is plummeting. Which will make £150 even more pathetic.
11 May 2010
Blastoff
I don't think I'd like to go into space.
Not at the moment, anyway. I'd rather a few other people strapped themselves into a Virgin spaceship and risked being evaporated with rocket fuel before I give it a go.
But then, I am an official tardy-adopter, especially with anything dangerous. I went to university and met a load of people who'd had a gap year when they were 18 and spent it rescuing Zambian babies from crocodiles or building houses for poor people in Laos out of dental floss. Ignoring a school trip to Paris, I left the country for the first time when I was 28. I learned to drive in my twenties. I'm still not quite brave enough to turn the TV on during a thunderstorm, and I have to really gather my willpower to swim less than an hour after eating an edamame.
So I might give space travel a miss. You know, just for now.
10 May 2010
Not at the moment, anyway. I'd rather a few other people strapped themselves into a Virgin spaceship and risked being evaporated with rocket fuel before I give it a go.
But then, I am an official tardy-adopter, especially with anything dangerous. I went to university and met a load of people who'd had a gap year when they were 18 and spent it rescuing Zambian babies from crocodiles or building houses for poor people in Laos out of dental floss. Ignoring a school trip to Paris, I left the country for the first time when I was 28. I learned to drive in my twenties. I'm still not quite brave enough to turn the TV on during a thunderstorm, and I have to really gather my willpower to swim less than an hour after eating an edamame.
So I might give space travel a miss. You know, just for now.
10 May 2010
Fatalism
I'm watching Sri Lanka play cricket on TV. They seem to have given up.
I wonder if that's because Sri Lankans are Buddhist fatalists? When I was there in 2001 I was driven around for a few days by an amusing man called Lal, who tried to fill me in on as much of Sri Lankan culture as is possible as you get driven jet lagged along the pot-holed highways of central Serendib.
He warned me, as yet another truck swung dangerously into the path of our tiny vehicle, that Sri Lanka had a fairly poor traffic record. I was much more likely to die on the roads - he said helpfully as I sat stuck in a car on a road - than I was at the hands of the Tamil Tigers and their terrorist campaign.
Apparently this is because they are fatalists. Rather than servicing their cars and paying careful attention on the roads, many of them choose to believe that whether they make it alive to the end of their journey is entirely in the hands of fate and not, say, having your eyes open and not driving into a tree.
Clearly they don't all think this. Possibly not even that many. But as any teacher will tell you, it only takes a few to ruin it for the rest of us.
entry 9 May 2010
I wonder if that's because Sri Lankans are Buddhist fatalists? When I was there in 2001 I was driven around for a few days by an amusing man called Lal, who tried to fill me in on as much of Sri Lankan culture as is possible as you get driven jet lagged along the pot-holed highways of central Serendib.
He warned me, as yet another truck swung dangerously into the path of our tiny vehicle, that Sri Lanka had a fairly poor traffic record. I was much more likely to die on the roads - he said helpfully as I sat stuck in a car on a road - than I was at the hands of the Tamil Tigers and their terrorist campaign.
Apparently this is because they are fatalists. Rather than servicing their cars and paying careful attention on the roads, many of them choose to believe that whether they make it alive to the end of their journey is entirely in the hands of fate and not, say, having your eyes open and not driving into a tree.
Clearly they don't all think this. Possibly not even that many. But as any teacher will tell you, it only takes a few to ruin it for the rest of us.
entry 9 May 2010
Uniting
This could be an excuse to talk more about the election.
Instead I will just reflect on the Uniting Church of Australia. I have always been gently impressed with this concept, because it was formed of Methodists, Presbyterians and Congregationalists in 1977 when they realised that there were only about 15 of them in each church, and if they got together they would be closer in size to the Australian Anglicans (54 people) and the Australian Catholics (69 people).
I imagine these figures are wrong, but Australians have never struck me as particularly religious. Though they have frequently just struck me.
I don't know much about ecumenicism, but I suspect that getting Methodists and Congregationalists to merge is fairly tricky*, otherwise they wouldn't have been separate churches in the first place.
But my favourite fact is that the members of the church who oppose the ordination of gay and lesbians formed a group called Evangelical Members of the Uniting church. Otherwise known as EMU.
It's fairly sad to be homophobic. It's even sadder to desperately shoe-horn the name of your reactionary movement into an Australian animal.
They should have called themselves the Knob-ends And Nincompoops Gagging At Respect for Other Ones, or something.
Or just cunts.
* hmm. This merger business could catch on.
entry for May 8
Instead I will just reflect on the Uniting Church of Australia. I have always been gently impressed with this concept, because it was formed of Methodists, Presbyterians and Congregationalists in 1977 when they realised that there were only about 15 of them in each church, and if they got together they would be closer in size to the Australian Anglicans (54 people) and the Australian Catholics (69 people).
I imagine these figures are wrong, but Australians have never struck me as particularly religious. Though they have frequently just struck me.
I don't know much about ecumenicism, but I suspect that getting Methodists and Congregationalists to merge is fairly tricky*, otherwise they wouldn't have been separate churches in the first place.
But my favourite fact is that the members of the church who oppose the ordination of gay and lesbians formed a group called Evangelical Members of the Uniting church. Otherwise known as EMU.
It's fairly sad to be homophobic. It's even sadder to desperately shoe-horn the name of your reactionary movement into an Australian animal.
They should have called themselves the Knob-ends And Nincompoops Gagging At Respect for Other Ones, or something.
Or just cunts.
* hmm. This merger business could catch on.
entry for May 8
Wednesday 12 May 2010
Given
The Lib Dems seem to have been given quite a few concessions. Britain's state pensioners have finally had the link to earnings restored (you have to assume that was LibDem pressure), there'll at least be a review of Britain's nuclear deterrent (though a commitment to having one) and the Inheritance Tax threshold will remain where it is.
But I will scream if I hear one more commentator suggest that the huge raising of the income tax allowance is a major concession. No, it wasn't Tory policy, but it is intrinsically a Tory wet-dream. It's a tax cut. And it's not a tax cut for the worse off, it's a tax cut for the lower middle-classes, exactly the kind of people that the Tories could do with securing before the next election. Who'll get the credit for it? I fear the more successful the Liberal influence over the Tories, the better it will make the Tories look. If the Tories get a full majority next time on the back of successful coalition governance, the voters will be in for a shock.
That's a given.
May 6 2010
But I will scream if I hear one more commentator suggest that the huge raising of the income tax allowance is a major concession. No, it wasn't Tory policy, but it is intrinsically a Tory wet-dream. It's a tax cut. And it's not a tax cut for the worse off, it's a tax cut for the lower middle-classes, exactly the kind of people that the Tories could do with securing before the next election. Who'll get the credit for it? I fear the more successful the Liberal influence over the Tories, the better it will make the Tories look. If the Tories get a full majority next time on the back of successful coalition governance, the voters will be in for a shock.
That's a given.
May 6 2010
Monopoly
Vince Cable (I keep wanting to call him Vince Clark, which then leads to the terrifying image of him with an enormous New Romatic-style fringe wiggling slightly as he plays keyboards) has been appointed Business Secretary, with responsibility for sorting out the banks.
Vince often fails to correct people who suggest that he saw the banking crisis coming. He didn't. He warned extensively that levels of personal debt were unsustainable (they were) but like everyone else was taken unawares by the impact of the hideous rapacity of Britain's banking sector.
Cable (or possibly Clarke's) appointment as chief of all things banking does at least mean that the Tory "victory" has not had the one unbearable aspect that it seemed to - that the banking crisis had handed power to.... the banks. Cable is not a Tory and comes from a very different bankground (er, big oil - ed), and this at least shows Cameron's willingness to distance himself from the pinstriped mob that gave him his votes in the first place.
So perhaps we'll see the major rule change to the eternal game of Monopoly, and see the Banks becoming part of the board rather than the mysterious power that oversees it.
Or not. We'll see if we ever pass Go again.
entry for May 5 2010
Vince often fails to correct people who suggest that he saw the banking crisis coming. He didn't. He warned extensively that levels of personal debt were unsustainable (they were) but like everyone else was taken unawares by the impact of the hideous rapacity of Britain's banking sector.
Cable (or possibly Clarke's) appointment as chief of all things banking does at least mean that the Tory "victory" has not had the one unbearable aspect that it seemed to - that the banking crisis had handed power to.... the banks. Cable is not a Tory and comes from a very different bankground (er, big oil - ed), and this at least shows Cameron's willingness to distance himself from the pinstriped mob that gave him his votes in the first place.
So perhaps we'll see the major rule change to the eternal game of Monopoly, and see the Banks becoming part of the board rather than the mysterious power that oversees it.
Or not. We'll see if we ever pass Go again.
entry for May 5 2010
Thousand
A thousand years ago Ethelred 'The Unready' was King of the English. Not of England, you understand, because it didn't exist as a political entity (a bit like now), but then most countries didn't, so it wasn't as though we were all that far down any league tables (unlike now).
Apparently Ethelred wasn't all that Unready, which is all very well, but he certainly didn't have an easy time of it. His reign was disrupted because no-one could quite decide who had the right to rule outright. The 'country' was divided, with some favouring Ethelred, and other Canute, he of the holding-back-the-sea experiment and general all-round Danish bloke.
After Ethel died a power-sharing agreement was set up between Canute and Edmond Ironside, Ethelred's son, after Edmund's claim for the crown turned out not to be backed by his party. Did I say party? I meant counsellors. Eventually Edmund agreed that whichever ruler died first should cede their territories to the other. The ink probably wasn't dry before he snuffed it. Conspiracy theories abound.
Why am I writing this down? No idea. Can't see any parallels around the dangers of power sharing.
Hmm. Edmund was very popular in London but outside the city the people wanted a different ruler. Some things never change.
technical entry for May 4
Apparently Ethelred wasn't all that Unready, which is all very well, but he certainly didn't have an easy time of it. His reign was disrupted because no-one could quite decide who had the right to rule outright. The 'country' was divided, with some favouring Ethelred, and other Canute, he of the holding-back-the-sea experiment and general all-round Danish bloke.
After Ethel died a power-sharing agreement was set up between Canute and Edmond Ironside, Ethelred's son, after Edmund's claim for the crown turned out not to be backed by his party. Did I say party? I meant counsellors. Eventually Edmund agreed that whichever ruler died first should cede their territories to the other. The ink probably wasn't dry before he snuffed it. Conspiracy theories abound.
Why am I writing this down? No idea. Can't see any parallels around the dangers of power sharing.
Hmm. Edmund was very popular in London but outside the city the people wanted a different ruler. Some things never change.
technical entry for May 4
West
I'm heading out West on Sunday. Not very far west, it must be said. I'm not going to Idaho, or even the Bahamas. Just Oxfordshire. On one level this is a shame - I'm dying to get out of the country for a couple of weeks for a rest but I'm stuck here by a combination of rehearsals and lack of funds - but I am getting to play cricket on a very pretty ground in beautiful countryside, so it seems churlish to dwell too much on the fact that Barbados would be slightly more exciting.
If there's anything worrying me, it's the fact that this particular hillside is fairly exposed and faces east. Given the May we're having, there's a very real risk that there will be a gale from Siberia with a wind chill of -1 howling across the rape fields and rubbing our skin with icy cheese-graters. About 12 years ago I arrived at this ground on a dat so chill that the man at mid-off was wearing a ski-mask, like someone fielding for the UDA in the 1984 Northern Ireland inter-faction terrorists one-day final.
So wish me a westerly breeze. After all, it'll probably make it warmer for you, too.
technical entry for May 3
If there's anything worrying me, it's the fact that this particular hillside is fairly exposed and faces east. Given the May we're having, there's a very real risk that there will be a gale from Siberia with a wind chill of -1 howling across the rape fields and rubbing our skin with icy cheese-graters. About 12 years ago I arrived at this ground on a dat so chill that the man at mid-off was wearing a ski-mask, like someone fielding for the UDA in the 1984 Northern Ireland inter-faction terrorists one-day final.
So wish me a westerly breeze. After all, it'll probably make it warmer for you, too.
technical entry for May 3
Sweating
There has been a fair bit of sweating in the last few days. Sweating from Gordon Brown over whether he had a future (I'm afraid not Gordon, go and have a long lie down, you deserve it). Sweat from David Cameron as to whether his grand project would founder on a minority Government where he had to defer to every right-wing psychopath on his backbenches to get through even the smallest piece of legislation. Sweating from the LibDems as to whether their wider party would back whatever deal they made with the Tories.
That's a lot of sweat.
It's not over. The Whig's "triple lock" device to stop over-mighty leaders jumping into bed with the wrong people on the wrong terms (or even the right people on the wrong terms) might have been partially negotiated (the parliamentary party and the national exec have backed Clegg) but the leader has decided that he wishes to consult the third part of the lock (the wider party) even though he doesn't have to.
Why? More sweat?
Nick Clegg knows the problem he's going to have selling this deal. He thinks he's got a good one but knows that any deal with the Tories is uncomfortable for his supporters, and that therefore any deal he makes might turn out to be not quite enough for them.
Now, LibDem voters might be disappointed by a deal with the Tories, but Clegg may be wagering that voters don't get anywhere near the Tory hating levels of actual party members. They hate them with a fiery passion that would make a Labour supporter blush with shame at their own pluralism. So the party - appropriately - become the miners' canaries, chirping happily if everything is fine, or dropping dead out of sheer disgust if the deal on the table is insufficient to compensate for the horror of seeing their boys in a cabinet with Theresa May and Liam Fox in it.
If the party membership can wear it, Clegg might think, anyone will. And if they don't, he can still walk away without actually having shafted anyone. And that's worth a bit more sweat.
technical entry for May 2 2010
That's a lot of sweat.
It's not over. The Whig's "triple lock" device to stop over-mighty leaders jumping into bed with the wrong people on the wrong terms (or even the right people on the wrong terms) might have been partially negotiated (the parliamentary party and the national exec have backed Clegg) but the leader has decided that he wishes to consult the third part of the lock (the wider party) even though he doesn't have to.
Why? More sweat?
Nick Clegg knows the problem he's going to have selling this deal. He thinks he's got a good one but knows that any deal with the Tories is uncomfortable for his supporters, and that therefore any deal he makes might turn out to be not quite enough for them.
Now, LibDem voters might be disappointed by a deal with the Tories, but Clegg may be wagering that voters don't get anywhere near the Tory hating levels of actual party members. They hate them with a fiery passion that would make a Labour supporter blush with shame at their own pluralism. So the party - appropriately - become the miners' canaries, chirping happily if everything is fine, or dropping dead out of sheer disgust if the deal on the table is insufficient to compensate for the horror of seeing their boys in a cabinet with Theresa May and Liam Fox in it.
If the party membership can wear it, Clegg might think, anyone will. And if they don't, he can still walk away without actually having shafted anyone. And that's worth a bit more sweat.
technical entry for May 2 2010
Monday 10 May 2010
Ribbon
Interesting times. It's fascinating watching the external presentations of the deal making between David Cameron's Conservatives and the Liberal Democrats' Nick Clegg (intentional inversion). Of course, we have no real idea of the conversations going on between the Tories and Whigs. They might be just as amicable as they are claiming, or the alleged personal vitriol between Clegg and Cameron maybe be sparking acidic fires around the room. We won't know for ages, probably until after the next election.
But what we do know it what is at stake. The Lib Dems want their cherished electoral reform. The simplistic view is that they should insist on a referendum for it as a pre-condition of joining a coalition. But the real responsibility on the Lib Dems is to gain a referendum and then win it, and they are understandably cautious about losing the only chance for a generation to secure fairer voting.
The easiest way to guarantee a referendum would be treat with Labour. But although no sprinter broke the ribbon and stormed to victory in the electoral race, Gordon Brown's abiding unpopularity with the wider public risks the fairness part of the argument (why should a party with less than 40% of the vote get to govern?) losing out to what we shall call the fearness part (PR is so fucked up it allows Gordon Brown to stay as Prime Minister).
Clegg is therefore understandable nervous that the fearness factor would lose him the referendum he had gained by joining with Labour. Thus he is still trying to make a deal with the Tories work despite the obvious roadblocks. Many in his party are urging him not to budge on PR.
But Clegg's second dilemma is this. If he walks away from the Tories, he condems the country to some sort of minority rule. That might be just fine - and it a fair representation of the vote - but ultimately people will fear the instability and might reflect on the limits of a new voting system that will make horse trading such as this much, much more likely. In effect he has a responsbility to make the inevitable results of PR look good, so that voters are more comfortable with the idea And that means he might be best served by selling out his voters and joining Cameron in the Cabinet and then trying to engineer a referendum in a different way.
Ouch.
This was the official entry for 1 May 2010. Until I catch up the date will be at the bottom of the blog!
But what we do know it what is at stake. The Lib Dems want their cherished electoral reform. The simplistic view is that they should insist on a referendum for it as a pre-condition of joining a coalition. But the real responsibility on the Lib Dems is to gain a referendum and then win it, and they are understandably cautious about losing the only chance for a generation to secure fairer voting.
The easiest way to guarantee a referendum would be treat with Labour. But although no sprinter broke the ribbon and stormed to victory in the electoral race, Gordon Brown's abiding unpopularity with the wider public risks the fairness part of the argument (why should a party with less than 40% of the vote get to govern?) losing out to what we shall call the fearness part (PR is so fucked up it allows Gordon Brown to stay as Prime Minister).
Clegg is therefore understandable nervous that the fearness factor would lose him the referendum he had gained by joining with Labour. Thus he is still trying to make a deal with the Tories work despite the obvious roadblocks. Many in his party are urging him not to budge on PR.
But Clegg's second dilemma is this. If he walks away from the Tories, he condems the country to some sort of minority rule. That might be just fine - and it a fair representation of the vote - but ultimately people will fear the instability and might reflect on the limits of a new voting system that will make horse trading such as this much, much more likely. In effect he has a responsbility to make the inevitable results of PR look good, so that voters are more comfortable with the idea And that means he might be best served by selling out his voters and joining Cameron in the Cabinet and then trying to engineer a referendum in a different way.
Ouch.
This was the official entry for 1 May 2010. Until I catch up the date will be at the bottom of the blog!
Saturday 8 May 2010
Mileage
30 April 2010
It's a amazing how much having a life gets in the way of having a life. It would have been very kind of Gordon Brown not to call an election at the same moment that I was starting the cricket season and appearing in a play, but I suppose he'd run out of choice. June would have been almost as bad, though I might have got into a rhythm by then.
And so I'm still behind - it's May 8th and the British political system is in chaos. Sort of. Rather, we're facing what most other European nations - including our more successful rivals Germany and France - have to deal with all the time: coalition politics. At the moment Clegg and Cameron are playing footsie under the table, but there's an elephant the size of Canary Wharf in the room (well, obviously if it's that big it can't be in the room. Unless the 'room' is the O2 with the walls demolished and it's lying down. Which it probably is - if you're that big you'd need to lie down a lot). If Clegg wants power, he has to give up electoral reform but doing decreases his chances of ever properly getting power. If Cameron wants power on majority terms, he has to agree to electoral reform (or a referendum on it at least), but doing so decreases his chances of future power for him and his party, since the majority of the population still fear and despise them.
Who will budge? I'm not sure there's much mileage in a Lib-Con pact, but we shall see.
It's a amazing how much having a life gets in the way of having a life. It would have been very kind of Gordon Brown not to call an election at the same moment that I was starting the cricket season and appearing in a play, but I suppose he'd run out of choice. June would have been almost as bad, though I might have got into a rhythm by then.
And so I'm still behind - it's May 8th and the British political system is in chaos. Sort of. Rather, we're facing what most other European nations - including our more successful rivals Germany and France - have to deal with all the time: coalition politics. At the moment Clegg and Cameron are playing footsie under the table, but there's an elephant the size of Canary Wharf in the room (well, obviously if it's that big it can't be in the room. Unless the 'room' is the O2 with the walls demolished and it's lying down. Which it probably is - if you're that big you'd need to lie down a lot). If Clegg wants power, he has to give up electoral reform but doing decreases his chances of ever properly getting power. If Cameron wants power on majority terms, he has to agree to electoral reform (or a referendum on it at least), but doing so decreases his chances of future power for him and his party, since the majority of the population still fear and despise them.
Who will budge? I'm not sure there's much mileage in a Lib-Con pact, but we shall see.
Wednesday 5 May 2010
Mining
29 April 2010
I was hoping for a string of frothy words so that I could catch up - it's really May 5th - but watchout4snakes seems determined to steer me towards sensible topics. After all, it's impossible to approach the general election tomorrow with the word "mining" in your head and not think of the last Conservative Government.
David Cameron, I suppose, cannot help what his party did in the 1980s but it clearly didn't bother him all that much or he wouldn't have joined it. Indeed, as Gary Younge says in the Guardian “As a young man Cameron looked out on the social carnage of pit closures and mass unemployment, looked at Margaret Thatcher's government and thought, these are my people. When all the debating is done, that is really all I need to know.”
Put alongside the risk of double-dip recessions, links to people who think they can ‘heal’ gay-people with prayer or who run extreme right wing societies who believe that the NHS is a waste of money, and with fellow shadow cabinet members backing homophobic B&B owners, when faced with a slogan of “we’re all in it together” while unveiling tax breaks that benefit only the rich, it really is too much to ask that the Conservative Party – sorry “David Cameron’s Conservatives” have changed. Expect to see, very soon, the Conservative’s David Cameron, and the undermining of many good things we take for granted.
I was hoping for a string of frothy words so that I could catch up - it's really May 5th - but watchout4snakes seems determined to steer me towards sensible topics. After all, it's impossible to approach the general election tomorrow with the word "mining" in your head and not think of the last Conservative Government.
David Cameron, I suppose, cannot help what his party did in the 1980s but it clearly didn't bother him all that much or he wouldn't have joined it. Indeed, as Gary Younge says in the Guardian “As a young man Cameron looked out on the social carnage of pit closures and mass unemployment, looked at Margaret Thatcher's government and thought, these are my people. When all the debating is done, that is really all I need to know.”
Put alongside the risk of double-dip recessions, links to people who think they can ‘heal’ gay-people with prayer or who run extreme right wing societies who believe that the NHS is a waste of money, and with fellow shadow cabinet members backing homophobic B&B owners, when faced with a slogan of “we’re all in it together” while unveiling tax breaks that benefit only the rich, it really is too much to ask that the Conservative Party – sorry “David Cameron’s Conservatives” have changed. Expect to see, very soon, the Conservative’s David Cameron, and the undermining of many good things we take for granted.
Tuesday 4 May 2010
Cambric
28 April 2010
It's a stitch up.
Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. But in the spirit of a random word whcih is afabric used for needlework, the stitching up link is too good to miss.
'Bigotgate', as it persists in being called despite teasing from The Daily Show, has rumbled on for a bit, despite the "victim" accepting Brown's apology and the growing realisation that the other party leaders have not made hay on this issue because they know that if anyone reported what *they* say about voters after they've got in the car it wouldn't look so good for them either.
What interests me is the idea that the only time Brown forgot his mic was on, he calls a voter "bigoted". Hmm. Brown is clumsy and gauche, but he's not stupid. It's rather tempting to imagine that he's left his microphone on before, but nothing has ever come of it.
This suggests two things - one, that the bigot remark is the worst thing this alleged raging bully has ever said and two, that news companies are effectively eavesdropping on the Prime Minister.
The irony of a Government whose worst sin has been to try and convince the country that it needs to be watched 24/7 to keep it safe being monitored by the media is not lost on me, but what would have happend if Gordon Brown had received a confidential call on a matter of national security or somethign while Sky was listening? Would we be expected to trust that they would not break cover to reveal that they were monitoring Brown's communications? There's something a bit creepy about it.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it doesn't seem unfortunate beyond even Brown's renowned bad luck that this was the only time he has ever left his mic on.
As for Duffy - it's not bigoted to raise the issue of immigration and ask about its impact. But the question "where are all these Eastern Europeans flocking from?" is not only the stupidest you'll hear all year (where the fuck do you think they are flocking from?), but is also a provocative, insensitive one that has nothign to do with genuine concern and everything to do with reflected the mass panic of the right wing media machine. Again, maybe I am unkind - Duffy is clearly not a particularly articulate woman, and there is a difference between being an actual bigot, and being unable to express yourself in a way which avoids that impression. But flocking is one level down from "swamping" in terms of the pejorative language of the immigration debate, and I'm not at all surprised that Brown thought she was bigoted. Indeed he was surprisingly polite. But for a man regarded by many as terribly out of touch, it was yet another demonstration of his complete lack of sensitivity to the PR needs of the modern election campaign. We need to hope that he is made of tougher material than this.
It's a stitch up.
Well, maybe it is, and maybe it isn't. But in the spirit of a random word whcih is afabric used for needlework, the stitching up link is too good to miss.
'Bigotgate', as it persists in being called despite teasing from The Daily Show, has rumbled on for a bit, despite the "victim" accepting Brown's apology and the growing realisation that the other party leaders have not made hay on this issue because they know that if anyone reported what *they* say about voters after they've got in the car it wouldn't look so good for them either.
What interests me is the idea that the only time Brown forgot his mic was on, he calls a voter "bigoted". Hmm. Brown is clumsy and gauche, but he's not stupid. It's rather tempting to imagine that he's left his microphone on before, but nothing has ever come of it.
This suggests two things - one, that the bigot remark is the worst thing this alleged raging bully has ever said and two, that news companies are effectively eavesdropping on the Prime Minister.
The irony of a Government whose worst sin has been to try and convince the country that it needs to be watched 24/7 to keep it safe being monitored by the media is not lost on me, but what would have happend if Gordon Brown had received a confidential call on a matter of national security or somethign while Sky was listening? Would we be expected to trust that they would not break cover to reveal that they were monitoring Brown's communications? There's something a bit creepy about it.
Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it doesn't seem unfortunate beyond even Brown's renowned bad luck that this was the only time he has ever left his mic on.
As for Duffy - it's not bigoted to raise the issue of immigration and ask about its impact. But the question "where are all these Eastern Europeans flocking from?" is not only the stupidest you'll hear all year (where the fuck do you think they are flocking from?), but is also a provocative, insensitive one that has nothign to do with genuine concern and everything to do with reflected the mass panic of the right wing media machine. Again, maybe I am unkind - Duffy is clearly not a particularly articulate woman, and there is a difference between being an actual bigot, and being unable to express yourself in a way which avoids that impression. But flocking is one level down from "swamping" in terms of the pejorative language of the immigration debate, and I'm not at all surprised that Brown thought she was bigoted. Indeed he was surprisingly polite. But for a man regarded by many as terribly out of touch, it was yet another demonstration of his complete lack of sensitivity to the PR needs of the modern election campaign. We need to hope that he is made of tougher material than this.
Sunday 2 May 2010
Effusion
27 April 2010
I wonder if - a la the Matrix - it would be possible to solve the world's energy crisis not with wind farms and wave power floaty stuff, but with people. Not just any people though - and certainly not me - with with effusive people. People who seem to have way to much energy.
Being utterly energy dependent rather than energy giving (as I insert little tubes into my arm to receive the constant drip of Irn Bru and Lucozade into my blood stream) I watch these people with a certain amount of awe. I can only imagine what I could get done if I had half the energy of these walking, talking (and occasionally shrieking) nuclear reactors. But at the very least I'd like to plug them in somewhere and have them run the UK rail network or something.
Effusion power. It's the way forward.
I wonder if - a la the Matrix - it would be possible to solve the world's energy crisis not with wind farms and wave power floaty stuff, but with people. Not just any people though - and certainly not me - with with effusive people. People who seem to have way to much energy.
Being utterly energy dependent rather than energy giving (as I insert little tubes into my arm to receive the constant drip of Irn Bru and Lucozade into my blood stream) I watch these people with a certain amount of awe. I can only imagine what I could get done if I had half the energy of these walking, talking (and occasionally shrieking) nuclear reactors. But at the very least I'd like to plug them in somewhere and have them run the UK rail network or something.
Effusion power. It's the way forward.
Principle
26 April 2010
There are times when I just can't do this. When I started I didn't really expect to be combining my full time job with 15-20 hours a week of rehearsing and captaining a cricket team.
Well, that's bollocks. I expected to be working full time and captaining a cricket team, but you get the point. Perhaps I thought I was going to combine it with the occasional walk in the park, or eating spaghetti with a fork made of sunlight.
But I shall never give up! NoT eVeN iN THe FaCe oF aRMaGeDDoN!
It's a point of principle. When I have given up people can point to this post and laugh at me. They've started already, the bastards.
There are times when I just can't do this. When I started I didn't really expect to be combining my full time job with 15-20 hours a week of rehearsing and captaining a cricket team.
Well, that's bollocks. I expected to be working full time and captaining a cricket team, but you get the point. Perhaps I thought I was going to combine it with the occasional walk in the park, or eating spaghetti with a fork made of sunlight.
But I shall never give up! NoT eVeN iN THe FaCe oF aRMaGeDDoN!
It's a point of principle. When I have given up people can point to this post and laugh at me. They've started already, the bastards.
Mono
25 April 2010
About 19 years ago I caught glandular fever. or "mono" as the Americans call it. It wasn't very nice, from the strange Dr commenting on how big my neck glands were ("Gosh, those really are very big glands") to the faux sympathy from my lecturers ("Where's the essay? Yes I said I sympathised with you having a seriously debilitating illness that wipes out your energy and makes prolonged bouts of concentration next to impossible, but you've had a whole extra week").
To make matters worse I had just been cast in a production of Neil Simon's Fools. Rather than give up the delicious part of the chief bad guy with only a few weeks until the production, I decided to muddle through, but obviously struggled with certain parts of the rehearsal activities and had to spend a lot of time sitting - or even lying - about the place when I wasn't actually practicing my bits. So I skipped warm ups and while everyone else was doing tongue twisters and stretching I was generally to be found looking rather relaxed on three comfy chairs preserving my precious energy for the key moments
I thought everyone understood. Indeed I rather naively thought I was being a bit of a hero, muddling through so that they didn't have to re-cast. I was sure it was appreciated - certainly no one said anything to the contrary. Or not until after the play, when the Director collared me at a post show drinks and decided to give me some very flattering advice about my potential (sadly all squandered), and some very pointed advice:
"You really could go far: if only," she enthused. "You could get rid of your attitude problem."
Oh.
About 19 years ago I caught glandular fever. or "mono" as the Americans call it. It wasn't very nice, from the strange Dr commenting on how big my neck glands were ("Gosh, those really are very big glands") to the faux sympathy from my lecturers ("Where's the essay? Yes I said I sympathised with you having a seriously debilitating illness that wipes out your energy and makes prolonged bouts of concentration next to impossible, but you've had a whole extra week").
To make matters worse I had just been cast in a production of Neil Simon's Fools. Rather than give up the delicious part of the chief bad guy with only a few weeks until the production, I decided to muddle through, but obviously struggled with certain parts of the rehearsal activities and had to spend a lot of time sitting - or even lying - about the place when I wasn't actually practicing my bits. So I skipped warm ups and while everyone else was doing tongue twisters and stretching I was generally to be found looking rather relaxed on three comfy chairs preserving my precious energy for the key moments
I thought everyone understood. Indeed I rather naively thought I was being a bit of a hero, muddling through so that they didn't have to re-cast. I was sure it was appreciated - certainly no one said anything to the contrary. Or not until after the play, when the Director collared me at a post show drinks and decided to give me some very flattering advice about my potential (sadly all squandered), and some very pointed advice:
"You really could go far: if only," she enthused. "You could get rid of your attitude problem."
Oh.
Saturday 1 May 2010
Knickknack
24 April 2010
I have a house full of crap. Well, not full, but cluttered. I live in fear that one day I will wake up to find that I am one of those people they used to feature on "Life of Grime" who have accumulated so much crap that the neighbours are complaining due to the fact that a glacier of 30 year old newspapers is slowly carving out valleys in their back garden and depositing drumlins of knickknacks all over their prized flower beds.
I should throw it all out, I know. I have heard of the concept of life laundry, but when you've destroyed so many things in the wash as I have it's not the most reassuring concept. I'll sort through it when I have time - at this rate sometime in 2013.
Of course, the Tories will win, wreck the economy and I will lose my job and have a) time to clean the flat and b) no flat.
Win win.
I have a house full of crap. Well, not full, but cluttered. I live in fear that one day I will wake up to find that I am one of those people they used to feature on "Life of Grime" who have accumulated so much crap that the neighbours are complaining due to the fact that a glacier of 30 year old newspapers is slowly carving out valleys in their back garden and depositing drumlins of knickknacks all over their prized flower beds.
I should throw it all out, I know. I have heard of the concept of life laundry, but when you've destroyed so many things in the wash as I have it's not the most reassuring concept. I'll sort through it when I have time - at this rate sometime in 2013.
Of course, the Tories will win, wreck the economy and I will lose my job and have a) time to clean the flat and b) no flat.
Win win.
Accent
23 April 2010
I suppose most people think they don't have an accent.
As someone who frequently gets told that he sounds posh, it always surprises me that people think I sound anything at all. After all, I have spent 20 years gradually losing the accent with which I started (though old friends will doubtless tell me I never had much of a Southend accent anyway), and it's difficult to imagine that in losing an accent you are gaining a new one.
I was at a rehearsal this week, and a woman from Dublin announced – pertinently, since we were discussing where in Ireland her character was from – that since she was from the Irish capital that she didn't have an accent. There was a tiny pause as she recognised that there three British people in the room, and laughed as if she had been making a joke. But she wasn't. She meant it.
I live in London and have adopted a Received Pronunciation voice that clearly chimes with “southern and middle class” in the ears of listeners (or even the ears of watchers, I suppose, if they have them). [Someone thought I was a Tory the other day. I thought about beating him to death, but then I thought that being a vicious murderer would make me nearly as bad as a Tory so I thought better of it.] I do wonder if there's something smug about people living in the capital that makes them think that they are at the centre of their country's linguistic universe. It would be interesting to ask someone from Bolton whether they think they have an accent. Are they aware of it?
They probably are. I think it takes a certain amount of smugness to imagine that you “don't have an accent”, if only because the concept of “Received Pronunciation” post-dates the internationalisation of the English language. Therefore even if you accept that RP is an absence of an accent in the accepted English sense, it's still clearly not American or Australian, even if we ignored the howls of protect from Scotland and Ireland, where the bastard tongue of the Anglo-Saxons has been hanging around for centuries.
So I was delighted to hear from a friend that they had seen an advert for an voiceover artist “without an accent”. As my friend said, they might be looking for quite some time.
I still have a nasty habit of changing my accent depending on who I'm speaking to, anyway. You'd think at 38 I'd have finally worked out what I'm supposed to sound like. Dream on.
I suppose most people think they don't have an accent.
As someone who frequently gets told that he sounds posh, it always surprises me that people think I sound anything at all. After all, I have spent 20 years gradually losing the accent with which I started (though old friends will doubtless tell me I never had much of a Southend accent anyway), and it's difficult to imagine that in losing an accent you are gaining a new one.
I was at a rehearsal this week, and a woman from Dublin announced – pertinently, since we were discussing where in Ireland her character was from – that since she was from the Irish capital that she didn't have an accent. There was a tiny pause as she recognised that there three British people in the room, and laughed as if she had been making a joke. But she wasn't. She meant it.
I live in London and have adopted a Received Pronunciation voice that clearly chimes with “southern and middle class” in the ears of listeners (or even the ears of watchers, I suppose, if they have them). [Someone thought I was a Tory the other day. I thought about beating him to death, but then I thought that being a vicious murderer would make me nearly as bad as a Tory so I thought better of it.] I do wonder if there's something smug about people living in the capital that makes them think that they are at the centre of their country's linguistic universe. It would be interesting to ask someone from Bolton whether they think they have an accent. Are they aware of it?
They probably are. I think it takes a certain amount of smugness to imagine that you “don't have an accent”, if only because the concept of “Received Pronunciation” post-dates the internationalisation of the English language. Therefore even if you accept that RP is an absence of an accent in the accepted English sense, it's still clearly not American or Australian, even if we ignored the howls of protect from Scotland and Ireland, where the bastard tongue of the Anglo-Saxons has been hanging around for centuries.
So I was delighted to hear from a friend that they had seen an advert for an voiceover artist “without an accent”. As my friend said, they might be looking for quite some time.
I still have a nasty habit of changing my accent depending on who I'm speaking to, anyway. You'd think at 38 I'd have finally worked out what I'm supposed to sound like. Dream on.
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