Archive for January, 2002

Bravely bought a packet of

Bravely bought a packet of Hunza apricots from Beanies the other day - they don’t look like proper dried apricots at all, small shrivelly dusty round things (they still have stones in). I have to say they’re gorgeous - beautiful taste of vanilla. Yum.

Got an email from Paul

Got an email from Paul with details of the Basel carnival I mentioned:

Just a note to invite you to my next gig.

It’s at the Basel Fasnacht in Switzerland
(for details, check out http://www.fasnacht.ch/english/index.htm)

The band is called the Schnurebegge (website: http://www.schnurebegge.ch/)

On February 18th
Outside the Restaurant Fischerstube
45 Rheingasse, Basel
Bar open from 3.00 am. Band starts 4.00 am prompt.

If you happen to be in the area or fancy a day away from Blighty (fly out Sunday
to Zurich, one hour train ride to Basel,
return Monday night), do come along. Booking a hotel is unnecessary. Most bars
and restaurants are open all night and you can’t sleep anyway. I’ll be on my
mobile, xxxxx xxx xxx.

Paul

I am soooooooo tempted!

Been meaning for weeks now

Been meaning for weeks now to tell various people about the _amazing_ new book of photos by Scot’s wife Amy, called Surrogate. You just have to check out the website, especially the third portfolio “Little Worries”. My favourite is, I think, Tomato Accident, though it’s pretty hard choosing.

If you like the pictures too, leave a nice comment on Amy’s LiveJournal.

Finally updated my CV -

Finally updated my CV - much happier with this version, less list-y, more prose-y

Train Toilet Usability

Found another example of crap usability (quite literally… erm?) - Midland Mainline Turbostar toilets. Horrible places. OK, on the plus side that do they seem to work usually, probably because the trains are newer than the Intercity 125s where flushes and seat-catches are broken, towels run out or strewn on the floor, and water supply intermittent. They’re also nice and big. But on the minus side… everything’s electronic. So you can bet that before too long they will start going wrong. And they’re confusing as hell.

To get in, you press a pad on the wall outside and the door slides open. You then have to press another pad on the inside to close the door (once you’ve found it - OK, it was fairly prominently placed, but in that large toilet and in my hungover state it took me a while), and another pad to lock it. And then a red light goes on next to it. Because I pressed the lock straight after closing the door, I wasn’t sure whether this light meant “the door is now locked” or “warning! the door is not locked!” and the pad didn’t even have a nice click to it so that I could be sure I had pressed it hard enough. So I opened the door again to be sure. And closed it. And then the lock pad wouldn’t do anything - it didn’t start off red, and wouldn’t go red no matter how many times I pressed it. “Ahhh” I thought, “it thinks I’m outside the toilet now.” Despite the fact that I’d pressed the inner button to close the door, it obviously assumed that since I had come inside, closed the door, and then opened and closed it again, it had been through a full cycle. I quickly opened the door again just in case the toilet started spraying me with air-freshener or other noxious chemicals. Closing it a final time, I noticed the lock button was now flashing red, ahh, that’s the sign that I need to lock it. I did. And it went continuous red again. OK, so I’ve now got as far as locking the door.

The toilet bit was relatively painless (unless you take into consideration the size of… no, let’s not go there), although the flush mechanism was again triggered by a piddly little electronic pad on the wall, just waiting to go wrong.

Now wash your hands. Easier said than done. One of those all-in-one soap-water-hot-air under-shelf dispensers. The soap part was easy enough… now gotta wiggle my hands around until I can find the point that triggers the water… ah, there it is. And then, shift my hands across to find the hot air… gotta be here somewhere… maybe here… no… or here… ah, it was back where I tried in the first place, just gotta keep your hands underneath for a bit longer. All that remains is to massage my hands dry in the hot airstream while avoiding moving my sleeves under the water trigger… and then back to negotiating the door.

Played my last gig

Played my last gig with Bone Turtle last night - and a good time was had by all. We were at Charterhouse School, playing a charity dinner-dance in aid of CHASE.

We arrived late afternoon, driving across the school grounds up long avenues, where the previous night’s wind had ripped chunks out of the trees, towards the gothic spires and Hogwarts-esque halls of Charterhouse. The building we were to play in was a large hall, far more suited to unamplified speaking than an electric band - drum beats and guitar solos reverberated around the woodwork for 5 seconds, creating a mess of noise which we had to work long and hard with the sound engineers to minimise.

We got set up and then headed to the pub - as we weren’t playing until 10pm, we had perhaps rather too much time to kill (at any rate, about 3 pints worth of time). At the pub Paul told us of his annual trip to Basel’s carnival, coming up soon. The whole carnival sounded amazing - lasting about four days, with numerous “cliques” (one of which Paul belongs to) marching through the streets from pub to pub, in full carnival costume and masks, from 4am every day playing military-style pipes and drums. The whole thing sounded peppered with mediaeval ritual and bizarrenesses, and well worth seeing.

We got back to the school and feasted on their sandwiches - another 3 glasses of wine-worth of time, and a quick peek at the 100-best Kids’ TV shows on Channel 4. We were obviously in a politics classroom - they had a good selection of books arranged around the walls, and Republican/Democrat stickers plastered onto filing cabinets. I amused myself by looking for references to Ed’s grandfather, Jim Griffiths, in the books on post-WWII politics, and found far more than I had expected. He wasn’t, as Ed had told me, Secretary of State for Wales in the 1945 government - that came about a couple of decades later, he was rather Minister for National Insurance, a pretty major role in the parliament that set up so much of the modern social service, and he was also tipped to succeed Clement Attlee as leader of the Labour party at the time - a role he never achieved, though he was deputy leader for a while.

Aaaanyway, we finally got on stage (about 30 minutes late), and I was rather drunker than I’d planned. I couldn’t quite flourish in the way I tend to do - had to stick to solid basslines to avoid fucking up. Staggered around the stage somewhat as well. By the end of the second set (2 or 3 more glasses of wine…) I was pretty wobbly and unsure of what I was doing, and having a great time of it. I lost my concentration on the last few bars of the last number, Smooth, and went all over the place. Ah well, nobody seemed to notice.

Afterwards, everyone was beaming - the band had all had even more fun than a couple of weeks before at the Fitz and Firkin (and we had a lot of fun then) - what we’d been expecting to be a fairly mediocre gig full of unappreciative crinklies had actually gone down very well (with the exception of the odd number, like those written in the last 30 years or so, we had a fairly full dancefloor for much of the night). Got a lift back London-wise, happy and drunk.

I was at a loose

I was at a loose end near Waterloo station yesterday, so I popped into the Hayward Gallery to see the Paul Klee exhibition. Wow!

I’ve never seen much Klee work “in real life” before. When I was younger, I preferred more obvious artists like Kandinsky - Klee always seemed to have a slightly messy random quality that I found confusing. But it’s exactly that quality that made me love this exhibition so much (that, and the colours. Wow! Those graded washes that he applied even to simple line-drawings are awesome). And the comments too - paragraphs extracted from Klee’s writings. I could really see how his work progressed, and identify with it too. When I was younger there was a brief period when I toyed with art - wanted to get onto a foundation course, and started throwing together some sketch books to see what I could come up with. But it never felt right, always felt too random, I never seemed to have any idea what I was doing, what I was aiming at. So I gave up (well, also because I usually give things up after a bit of initial enthusiasm). Anyway, looking at the Klees it felt a little like I was looking at stuff which I could have come up with if I’d stuck at it for another, ooh, 40 years or so. It was enough to make me want to dig out my old sketch book - so I did. Scans here soon :-)

Upstairs from the Klees was “Warte Mal!” by Ann-Sofi Siden - a look at prostitution in Dubi, on the Czech-German border, since the Velvet Revolution. Looked fascinating, but most of the exhibition was made up of video-booths each showing half-hour interviews, and I didn’t have much time to spare…

In the Hayward shop I bought Lola Whose Back is Bumpy, a foam book with press-out textured animal shapes. For Rowan I bought the amazing Nina’s Book of Little Things by Keith Haring. To quote Amazon

This is a complete copy of Haring’s work that he presented to a seven-year-old girl. It consists of his cartoon drawings and writings and is prefaced by a set of instructions in which he calls on the reader to complete the book by filling in the “little things”that are important: “little things that I acomplished”, “little things that I heard today”, “things a little bird told me” and “little things a rabbit found at the top of a ladder”. He goes on: “Don’t be afraid to draw in the book. Glue, paste, staple, sew, hammer and stick”.

Hope that Rowan likes it as much as I do, and puts it to good use.

Update: Sketchbook now online. Oh, and Rowan doesn’t seem to like the book as much as I do, surprise surprise (kids, eh?)

Got some photos back

Letters to deliver
Rowan + Amy

Got some photos back from Rowan’s school play

Another witty guest book comment

Another witty guest book comment from “Hamster”

Travel Arrangements by M John Harrison

Started dipping into Travel Arrangements by M John Harrison again yesterday. SO glad I did.

The first time I read it, straight after Mike gave me a copy some 12 months ago, I enjoyed snatches of it but found it hard going, couldn’t quite find any hand-holds, kept drifting off… My mind just wasn’t in the right place. I think that home and job and travel and… life combined… had left me brain-dead. This time around is different, I am going through a phase of curiosity and exploration - every time I hear of something that’s unclear to me I scuttle off and research it and so expand my knowledge. I lapped up the short stories of the book and luxuriated in their sentences. My mind still kept drifting off - little writing ideas of my own, an event in the book sparking off similar memories in myself - but by the time it returned to the page everything was still in context.

And what little ideas I had! Jumble Wood, a wood in Northern England, smaller than it looks from the outside, took me back to a bluebell wood near Ilkley - the pungent crush and slime of bluebells underfoot. The one word “vetch” concentrated the essence of every flower casually mentioned by an author but which I can’t put a picture to… and also every flower I see in my travels but can’t name. And I started generating random invented flower names of my own - dog-sable, myrmille, common saxifrage (oops, that one’s real!), wood camponie, goldbell, downy haresbell, maid-of-the-vale, pusanor, camfragion, star pernemmion,….

And finally, menion of Gravesend reminded me of my few trips to the opposite extremities of Kent, heading towards Dungeness, Romney marshes, the Rother Levels. I’m can almost taste the kind of prose Harrison would write about that part of the country, escaping the M25, passing through a stretch of twee home-counties and then suddenly, like crossing a causeway, you’re no longer in the garden of England, not even in England, but another country where the sea is a cruel ruler playing at benevolence. The Kentish niceness of woodland, hills, knolls passes into a drab grey-greenery of salt-flecked hardy sea-grasses, grey waters, skinny fence-posts keeping nothing in and nothing out.