On Tuesday morning, I awoke to the sound of Nadine Dorries being interviewed on Today. That was the audio equivalent of watching a chaotic pitbull harass innocent parkfolk - not a good start to any Tuesday.
Wednesday has been better.
Thursday addendum.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Friday, June 19, 2009
Audio
It's like we've been on a car journey for quite a long time - a long journey - with not much to look at along the way, a destination that is only vague - we've heard of the place - let's call it Philadelphia, but we've not seen any pictures or know quite what to expect. But we're pretty sure that it's worth travelling to. Long journey.
We've travelled so far, there can be no turning back. Well, there can, but that would feel really shitty. Extremities aside, the attitude has got to be: no matter how many punctures, breakdowns, false dawns or whatever elses present themselves, we're not quitting this journey.
I'm not driving - which is unusual. Often, I enjoy driving - the motion, the choice words from the radio, a degree of peace. But right now, I'm not driving. Well, I kind of am - but in a sort of reaching across from the passenger's seat sort of way - and maybe not so much driving, as keeping us on the road. On-rushing trucks.
For the past few months, next Monday was the date that we were to get to Philadelphia.
Was the date.
It seems that the journey is to continue. Whilst we can't say exactly how far we've still to travel, my guess is that we're still a distance from the interstate line. We're low on gas, and the air conditioning is on the blink.
We're all being stretched, moreso than this metaphor.
And so, as I dare to take my hands off the wheel, I look sideways for something that warrants this kind of single-mindedness. Dust whipping up, run-down factories, a broken-down long since forgotten car that was someone else's journey. Then I stop looking so hard, and what was right in front of me comes into sharpest focus again*.
So we push on, cos we've got to.
One dares to dream, cos one's got to.
Maybe.
All without the pectorals, of course.
* The Boy and I had been playing Top Trumps (cars - bloody cars!) one evening, a week or so ago. His chirpiness was just what I needed. In the sound-bite, above, he finds much amusement in having dropped one of his cards and caught it between his toes.
.
We've travelled so far, there can be no turning back. Well, there can, but that would feel really shitty. Extremities aside, the attitude has got to be: no matter how many punctures, breakdowns, false dawns or whatever elses present themselves, we're not quitting this journey.
I'm not driving - which is unusual. Often, I enjoy driving - the motion, the choice words from the radio, a degree of peace. But right now, I'm not driving. Well, I kind of am - but in a sort of reaching across from the passenger's seat sort of way - and maybe not so much driving, as keeping us on the road. On-rushing trucks.
For the past few months, next Monday was the date that we were to get to Philadelphia.
Was the date.
It seems that the journey is to continue. Whilst we can't say exactly how far we've still to travel, my guess is that we're still a distance from the interstate line. We're low on gas, and the air conditioning is on the blink.We're all being stretched, moreso than this metaphor.
And so, as I dare to take my hands off the wheel, I look sideways for something that warrants this kind of single-mindedness. Dust whipping up, run-down factories, a broken-down long since forgotten car that was someone else's journey. Then I stop looking so hard, and what was right in front of me comes into sharpest focus again*.
So we push on, cos we've got to.
One dares to dream, cos one's got to.
Maybe.All without the pectorals, of course.
* The Boy and I had been playing Top Trumps (cars - bloody cars!) one evening, a week or so ago. His chirpiness was just what I needed. In the sound-bite, above, he finds much amusement in having dropped one of his cards and caught it between his toes.
.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Arseholes?
I had toyed with posting about voting in the European Parliamentary election (the invisible election?) - about my experience of looking over the list of parties and candidates (the vote-splitters; the known and the no-face politicians), and the rationale (if I could raise the status of any one party in the UK, who would that be?) that led to me voting for a party (Green) that I'd never before voted for... but I won't. Instead:
Shane: Politics, eh.
Emma: Mm.
Shane: So what have we got?
Emma: Quite of few young, big-boobed beauties. There are the gays, a few internationals, one or two normals, a geordie - gay... you know, the usual. Oh! And a really nice young Brazilian lad.
Shane: Worth watching?
Emma: It will be, in bits. Eventually. First few weeks are usually too noisy - wait 'til they settle in and settle down.
Shane: Ok.
Emma: I think you should go on Big Brother.
Shane: You say that every year.
Emma: You should!
Shane: That would be hideous! How would I get on with ANY of the people you'd typically get on that programme?
Emma: I think you would. I think you'd be rubbish at the getting excited and all of the shrieking, but that's why you'd be good. You'd just be... y' know, not bothered.
Shane: It would be hideous. I'd end up in a conflict - on national television, with either a massive muscley male - hideous, or some totally ditsy blonde thing - equally hideous.
Emma: You wouldn't. You'd rise above it. You'd float about and you'd talk to everyone. Then they'd all vote you out and you'd be back here in less than a fortnight.
Shane: (a bit offended) D' y' reckon?
Emma: What?
Shane: D' y' think I'd be got rid of... quickly?
Emma: I don't know. There'd only be one way to find out...
Shane: Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. The humiliation! Just applying... before getting anywhere near to being on the tele'. Not a chance.
In the way that Huw doesn't concur with lofty disinterest in football, I hold the same view regarding Big Brother. As people discuss the programme - a massive and shifting cultural phenomenon since it first aired, the real value of the show becomes evident. In person, in-the-flesh, as part of life here on Earth, I have learned much about relative strangers, as I've listened to their views on the empty, the vacuous and the banal. Because, of course, them there - their - views, can be far from empty, vacuous or banal. Racism, sexism, politics, the value of time and energy, sexuality, relationship-formation, conflict - how and how not to resolve it, and much more besides. Big Brother has it all. And so, Big Brother is as sharp as the minds that watch and listen to it. So yes it will be tremendously dull, but it'll also be as sharp as... well, you and I...???
(Whispers) The thing is, I don't really care that much - you know, enough to actually vote, but there is something that can be pro-social about it all. I think that's what I hold onto.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
And for anyone who got this far down the post: a treat! A shot of the performance artist, Ron Athey - a very nice man. We once chatted about an atmospheric violin soloist. As I typed the title to this post, Ron came to mind.
Shane: Politics, eh.
Emma: Mm.
Shane: So what have we got?
Emma: Quite of few young, big-boobed beauties. There are the gays, a few internationals, one or two normals, a geordie - gay... you know, the usual. Oh! And a really nice young Brazilian lad.
Shane: Worth watching?
Emma: It will be, in bits. Eventually. First few weeks are usually too noisy - wait 'til they settle in and settle down.
Shane: Ok.
Emma: I think you should go on Big Brother.
Shane: You say that every year.
Emma: You should!
Shane: That would be hideous! How would I get on with ANY of the people you'd typically get on that programme?
Emma: I think you would. I think you'd be rubbish at the getting excited and all of the shrieking, but that's why you'd be good. You'd just be... y' know, not bothered.
Shane: It would be hideous. I'd end up in a conflict - on national television, with either a massive muscley male - hideous, or some totally ditsy blonde thing - equally hideous.
Emma: You wouldn't. You'd rise above it. You'd float about and you'd talk to everyone. Then they'd all vote you out and you'd be back here in less than a fortnight.
Shane: (a bit offended) D' y' reckon?
Emma: What?
Shane: D' y' think I'd be got rid of... quickly?
Emma: I don't know. There'd only be one way to find out...
Shane: Pathetic, absolutely pathetic. The humiliation! Just applying... before getting anywhere near to being on the tele'. Not a chance.
In the way that Huw doesn't concur with lofty disinterest in football, I hold the same view regarding Big Brother. As people discuss the programme - a massive and shifting cultural phenomenon since it first aired, the real value of the show becomes evident. In person, in-the-flesh, as part of life here on Earth, I have learned much about relative strangers, as I've listened to their views on the empty, the vacuous and the banal. Because, of course, them there - their - views, can be far from empty, vacuous or banal. Racism, sexism, politics, the value of time and energy, sexuality, relationship-formation, conflict - how and how not to resolve it, and much more besides. Big Brother has it all. And so, Big Brother is as sharp as the minds that watch and listen to it. So yes it will be tremendously dull, but it'll also be as sharp as... well, you and I...???
(Whispers) The thing is, I don't really care that much - you know, enough to actually vote, but there is something that can be pro-social about it all. I think that's what I hold onto.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
And for anyone who got this far down the post: a treat! A shot of the performance artist, Ron Athey - a very nice man. We once chatted about an atmospheric violin soloist. As I typed the title to this post, Ron came to mind.
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Ass
Not so much a rocket from the crypt, as an echo from the everyday.
For S:
This past weekend, The Boy and his Dad had a chat about swearing.
Alex: Shane.
Shane: Mm?
Alex: Right, if I said 'I'm gonna kick your ass' -
Shane: Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Alex: - so that would be swearing?
Shane: Yes to that. Swearing not good.
Alex: Okay-. What about - if I was talking to myself - what about 'Now I'm really pissed off'?
Shane: Definitely more swearing, there. No doubt about it.
Alex: (mock contemplative, suppressing a smirk) Mm, so Daddy was right, then.
And so, there came clear and direct Cultural Learnings from The Boy's viewing of HellBoy II (one of Mummy's more curious spending decisions, of late - we'll put that down to stress).
A little later:
Alex: I got told off by Gail (aunt), this weekend.
Shane: Why?
Alex: Well, you know in grandma's garden, the wall at the bottom - before the bushes and trees and things?
Shane: Yeah.
Alex: Well I was walking along the wall, and I sort of fell backwards into one of the bushes and scratched myself - see... (shows scratches on leg and back)
Shane: Sounds a bit harsh. She would've asked if you were okay, though?
Alex: I didn't get told off for falling off the wall... I got told off cos I said shit as I fell.
Shane: Ah. Another swear word. You would have to get told off for that.
Alex: But you say it.
Shane: Er... no I don't.
Alex: Yeah y' do. I told Daddy that y' do.
Shane: Oh, f-... what did y' want to go and do that for?
Alex: So I wouldn't get told off.
Shane: That's... no. No. You have to learn to not use words... like the swear words. And learn to stop imagining that you've heard me say any of them.
Alex: (pause) Y' do, though.
Shane: Sometimes - and this may catch you by surprise, here... sometimes - rare occasions, very rare indeed - I'm not perfect.
Alex: (slowly gets the point) You are so ridiculous.
'Perhaps', I thought, relieved at his having not just replied, 'Bollocks!'.
For S:
This past weekend, The Boy and his Dad had a chat about swearing.
Alex: Shane.
Shane: Mm?
Alex: Right, if I said 'I'm gonna kick your ass' -
Shane: Whoaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Alex: - so that would be swearing?
Shane: Yes to that. Swearing not good.
Alex: Okay-. What about - if I was talking to myself - what about 'Now I'm really pissed off'?
Shane: Definitely more swearing, there. No doubt about it.
Alex: (mock contemplative, suppressing a smirk) Mm, so Daddy was right, then.
And so, there came clear and direct Cultural Learnings from The Boy's viewing of HellBoy II (one of Mummy's more curious spending decisions, of late - we'll put that down to stress).
A little later:
Alex: I got told off by Gail (aunt), this weekend.
Shane: Why?
Alex: Well, you know in grandma's garden, the wall at the bottom - before the bushes and trees and things?
Shane: Yeah.
Alex: Well I was walking along the wall, and I sort of fell backwards into one of the bushes and scratched myself - see... (shows scratches on leg and back)
Shane: Sounds a bit harsh. She would've asked if you were okay, though?
Alex: I didn't get told off for falling off the wall... I got told off cos I said shit as I fell.
Shane: Ah. Another swear word. You would have to get told off for that.
Alex: But you say it.
Shane: Er... no I don't.
Alex: Yeah y' do. I told Daddy that y' do.
Shane: Oh, f-... what did y' want to go and do that for?
Alex: So I wouldn't get told off.
Shane: That's... no. No. You have to learn to not use words... like the swear words. And learn to stop imagining that you've heard me say any of them.
Alex: (pause) Y' do, though.
Shane: Sometimes - and this may catch you by surprise, here... sometimes - rare occasions, very rare indeed - I'm not perfect.
Alex: (slowly gets the point) You are so ridiculous.
'Perhaps', I thought, relieved at his having not just replied, 'Bollocks!'.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Leafy
On Friday evening, I acted against my own prejudices, I stepped into the unknown, I watched men fiddle with balls.
On Friday evening, I engaged with the world of village cricket.
It was really rather pleasant.
On Friday evening, I engaged with the world of village cricket.
It was really rather pleasant.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Lashed
The British Artists' Football Tournament:
Saturday, 23rd May, 2009.
We played well - won 4, drew 0, lost 2, during first phase of the tournament. Both defeats were to the eventual finalists, 0-1 and 0-1. The wins were 3-1, 2-1, 6-3 and 3-2. I scored twice (one back heel, one outrageous first-time lash - following good team play down the left and a quick squared cross). Largely, though, I played a defensive, sweeperish role. In the semi-final, we drew 0-0 against Eastside Projects (Birmingham), then lost on penalties (*whispers* though I scored mine - hard and low). And so we were knocked out. We call that an honourable exit - for self and team (AirSpace). It was pleasing to hear newfound and amusing support from the sidelines. As with all teams and most players, our attitude was good, '...appreciate the effort that others have put in to making the day happen, now get on with it and play fair'. The tournament was won by another Birmingham team, 'Jibbering' - a collective of street artists and DJs - they played well, and used their squad intelligently. As we drove back up the M6, the mood was good - we'd done ourselves justice.
Number of teams who participated: 7
Number of teams who failed to show: 3
Number of instances of dissent / bad attitude: 2
Number of my legs experiencing thigh strain (Sunday - Tuesday): 2
Best kit design of the tournament: AC Tortured Birmingham (white polos, with AC-style logo)
Best team name of the tournament: Real Worcester
Number of natural left-footers in our team: 2
Number of miles to venue: 42.7
Mark out of 10 for satisfaction with the day: 10
Minutes delayed in getting to venue (Bank Holiday traffic): 20
Number of people who've seemed interested in my in-person reportage: 3
Number who haven't...: 3
There was a photographer on site for the whole tournament, though I have yet to get access to their handiwork. Thus, you'll have to imagine it... no no no, more attractive than that, surely.
Embodied by self, Saturday was a good day for north east football(ers in exile).
Sunday wasn't.
[ - Photographs may follow - ]
Saturday, 23rd May, 2009.
We played well - won 4, drew 0, lost 2, during first phase of the tournament. Both defeats were to the eventual finalists, 0-1 and 0-1. The wins were 3-1, 2-1, 6-3 and 3-2. I scored twice (one back heel, one outrageous first-time lash - following good team play down the left and a quick squared cross). Largely, though, I played a defensive, sweeperish role. In the semi-final, we drew 0-0 against Eastside Projects (Birmingham), then lost on penalties (*whispers* though I scored mine - hard and low). And so we were knocked out. We call that an honourable exit - for self and team (AirSpace). It was pleasing to hear newfound and amusing support from the sidelines. As with all teams and most players, our attitude was good, '...appreciate the effort that others have put in to making the day happen, now get on with it and play fair'. The tournament was won by another Birmingham team, 'Jibbering' - a collective of street artists and DJs - they played well, and used their squad intelligently. As we drove back up the M6, the mood was good - we'd done ourselves justice.
Number of teams who participated: 7
Number of teams who failed to show: 3
Number of instances of dissent / bad attitude: 2
Number of my legs experiencing thigh strain (Sunday - Tuesday): 2
Best kit design of the tournament: AC Tortured Birmingham (white polos, with AC-style logo)
Best team name of the tournament: Real Worcester
Number of natural left-footers in our team: 2
Number of miles to venue: 42.7
Mark out of 10 for satisfaction with the day: 10
Minutes delayed in getting to venue (Bank Holiday traffic): 20
Number of people who've seemed interested in my in-person reportage: 3
Number who haven't...: 3
There was a photographer on site for the whole tournament, though I have yet to get access to their handiwork. Thus, you'll have to imagine it... no no no, more attractive than that, surely.
Embodied by self, Saturday was a good day for north east football(ers in exile).
Sunday wasn't.
[ - Photographs may follow - ]
Friday, May 22, 2009
Left-sided
I'm feeling a bit nervous - got a football tournament tomorrow, which offers three possible outcomes:-
A - Creditable display by self and team (have been trying to pace physical exertion this week, for fittest finest preparation), leading to feelings of contentment.
B - The whole thing is a badly organised shambles (teams from all over England will converge on the West Midlands for it), leading to feelings of frustration.
C - Our team just doesn't gel on the day (we bomb), leading to feelings of frustration (variety II).
Aim: Eat well, sleep well, be sure to take footballing brain as I leave the house in the morning.
If Tuesday's training session was anything to go by, we just might be ok.
A - Creditable display by self and team (have been trying to pace physical exertion this week, for fittest finest preparation), leading to feelings of contentment.
B - The whole thing is a badly organised shambles (teams from all over England will converge on the West Midlands for it), leading to feelings of frustration.
C - Our team just doesn't gel on the day (we bomb), leading to feelings of frustration (variety II).
Aim: Eat well, sleep well, be sure to take footballing brain as I leave the house in the morning.
If Tuesday's training session was anything to go by, we just might be ok.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Logo
Alex missed school today - truly, a heavy cold, albeit with exaggerated symptoms.
After lunch:
Alex: I didn't much like the tuna mayo.
Shane: I thought you liked that.
Alex: Well, I do, but I added some raspberries** and it wasn't good.
Shane: Tuna, mayo and raspberries...
Alex: - not good.
Shane: Mm.
He'll be back at school tomorrow, and so I'll not be setting number quiz challenges, justifying jigsawing 'down-time', or contriving logo design work* for an eight year old. I will miss him, though. His singing about not being allowed to play on the Playstation or to watch any more television - all to the tune of Eye of the Tiger, well that was the high point of the day. I believe the term is 'LOL'.
* We support creative endeavour...
** Up to a point.
After lunch:
Alex: I didn't much like the tuna mayo.
Shane: I thought you liked that.
Alex: Well, I do, but I added some raspberries** and it wasn't good.
Shane: Tuna, mayo and raspberries...
Alex: - not good.
Shane: Mm.
He'll be back at school tomorrow, and so I'll not be setting number quiz challenges, justifying jigsawing 'down-time', or contriving logo design work* for an eight year old. I will miss him, though. His singing about not being allowed to play on the Playstation or to watch any more television - all to the tune of Eye of the Tiger, well that was the high point of the day. I believe the term is 'LOL'.
* We support creative endeavour...
** Up to a point.
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Litigate
I've changed my mind.
That series of reflections that I was going to post (about reacquainting with The Artist), well they'll have to be sidelined - perhaps to be revived and immersed, veiled or otherwise fronted, in future blog posting, or some such. Now is not the time to write of those reflections. Ongoing dialogue is shifting what and how I understand of my meeting with The Artist, of what we did and what we didn't talk about. Trying to write about this would be hard, and trying to read that would be really frustrating.
And so, more learnings.
Apologies for the obliqueness - episodic and thematic. Maybe one day I'll start writing really crisp, no-holds-barred, let it all hang out type stuff. One day, maybe.
In the mean-time, just be glad that I'm not clubbing you with poetry.
That series of reflections that I was going to post (about reacquainting with The Artist), well they'll have to be sidelined - perhaps to be revived and immersed, veiled or otherwise fronted, in future blog posting, or some such. Now is not the time to write of those reflections. Ongoing dialogue is shifting what and how I understand of my meeting with The Artist, of what we did and what we didn't talk about. Trying to write about this would be hard, and trying to read that would be really frustrating.
And so, more learnings.
Apologies for the obliqueness - episodic and thematic. Maybe one day I'll start writing really crisp, no-holds-barred, let it all hang out type stuff. One day, maybe.
In the mean-time, just be glad that I'm not clubbing you with poetry.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Love
Oh, forgive me. It's just that, well, I've had a week or so of being all in touch with my feelings. I think this comes from peak, or rich, emotional experiences.
I've embraced the past, I've stroked the head of a dying old bird, and I've come to understand things that I hadn't realised that I'd misunderstood. And so it goes.
Where am I going with this? Where indeed. Ah yes... For this month's posts, I'm going to pepper you with tiny extracts - dialogue, oddments of reflection, insights, and the stuff of general gaping, that came from my meeting with my old pal - The Artist, as mentioned previously.
As a starter, I'll say that we met up in Manchester - last Saturday - a warm, sunny day. We met at eleven on the dot, in the top floor cafe of Afflecks Palace, where we drank earl grey and ate toast, before moving on to the first of a few pubs. Approaching from the right (I hadn't spotted the second entrance to the cafe), The Artist called out my name and offered an open hand. I smiled, chorused back his name, and opened up for a hug. Already, 15 years on, things had changed.
I've embraced the past, I've stroked the head of a dying old bird, and I've come to understand things that I hadn't realised that I'd misunderstood. And so it goes.
Where am I going with this? Where indeed. Ah yes... For this month's posts, I'm going to pepper you with tiny extracts - dialogue, oddments of reflection, insights, and the stuff of general gaping, that came from my meeting with my old pal - The Artist, as mentioned previously.
As a starter, I'll say that we met up in Manchester - last Saturday - a warm, sunny day. We met at eleven on the dot, in the top floor cafe of Afflecks Palace, where we drank earl grey and ate toast, before moving on to the first of a few pubs. Approaching from the right (I hadn't spotted the second entrance to the cafe), The Artist called out my name and offered an open hand. I smiled, chorused back his name, and opened up for a hug. Already, 15 years on, things had changed.
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