 Over the Hill
Flippin eck, an era has ended. Yesterday afternoon the BBC screened the very last episode of Grange Hill, an amazing 30 years after the very first. I watched them both (as well as 90% of the episodes inbetween), and I bet there's nobody else reading this blog who can say the same. I've always been a big fan, which is why I wrote a long in-depth nostalgic post back in February (which I won't bore you with again). But it was good to see the final series returning to form after a few naff years in the CBBC wilderness. Yesterday's final episode was rather sweet, and rather silly, and rather uplifting, and rather improbable, and rather cheesy, and all the things that a decent Grange Hill story ought to be. Very Phil Redmond to have an unexploded WW2 bomb being discovered underneath the school hall during the end of term disco, and very CBBC to have it not exploding. And rather fitting to have Tucker Jenkins back to offer some careers advice to his cousin Togger, and to deliver a heartfelt sermon in praise of a comprehensive education. They won't make children's drama like this again, and the next generation of Year 7s are definitely missing out.
Diet update
mid-March: X stone 7
mid-May: (X-1) stone 7
mid-July: (X-1) stone 4
mid-Sept: (X-1) stone 2
Going well, isn't it? I switched from low-cholesterol crash diet to sensible eating back in May, and I'm pleased to say that my weight is still slipping gradually downwards. I'll even gorge myself on greasy seaside fish and chips these days without fear of arterial retribution. At this rate I might even be (X-2) stone something by the end of the year. But please, that's not an excuse to buy me new trousers for Christmas, OK? | | Yellow peril
I've had my Oyster card for five years (five years this week, in fact), and I'm still using the original blue wallet. It goes everywhere with me in my pocket - to work, to the shops, even to the occasional sweaty nightclub - so not surprisingly it's started to look a bit worn. The ink's gradually wearing off, the interior plastic's a little crumpled, and there are two small rips at the weak point near the central fold. It's these tiny tears that concern me most, as one day soon I may whip out my Oyster and rip my wallet in two. Trouble is, all TfL's replacement wallets these days are bright yellow IKEA adverts, and I don't want to wave a sponsored eyesore every time I walk through a ticket gate thank you very much. Alas, I doubt TfL will ever again hand out tasteful unbranded Oyster wallets, not when they can raise money to fill Boris's budgetary black hole instead. So should I hunt down a tasteful alternative (with essential exterior pocket) or do I risk carrying on using my Oyster original? I'm torn.
 Everything is borrowed (The Streets)
I do love a good Streets album. Which is just as well, because Mikey's latest offering is merely good, not great. His latest collection of low-key garage mumbling is an attempt at uplifting positivity, which is in direct contrast to the last album's unloveable brashness. And it sort of works. The lyrics are almost as cunning as ever, although not quite so rapid-fire and dense. The underlying beats are more tuneful, more gentle, although nowhere near as hooky as his earlier work (not even after a week's preview listening on MySpace). And the singing? Well, you don't buy a Streets album for the singing. I kind of like this latest rebirth, near enough. The Times, Guardian and NME are more keen, and the Scotsman, Time Out and Telegraph (and mike) less so. Here's hoping that Mr Skinner's fifth (and reputedly final) album (of reputedly Berlin-based electronica) will be a return to the glories of one and two. |
