Some people are really good at shopping. They enjoy nothing more than five hours on a spending spree, spending time spending money. They'll happily potter endlessly round department stores, markets, boutiques and car boot sales. They can spot a bargain, buy on impulse and haggle a good deal. They know the value of a good label, and the cost of being seen wearing anything else. They juggle their credit cards with skill, buying now and paying later. They must have the latest gadget, if only so they can put it on a dusty shelf next to the last three.
I am rubbish at shopping. I may be able to spend time in shops but I can't spend money. I can walk out of a string of department stores empty-handed, and walk away from a car boot sale with nothing but mud on my feet. I prefer to buy stuff in sales, but I always have to go back twice before I'll buy something. I don't need to have the latest label, or mind if I'm seen wearing last year's. I prefer to pay with cash than to pay by card (although I always seem to get stuck behind the opposite in queues). Advertising executives despair of me, because I contribute to economic depression.
Now, to be honest, being rubbish at shopping can be a good thing. My bank manager thinks so anyway, because I've never had to meet him. It's good to be able to walk through shopping centres financially unscathed, it's good not to be taken in by feeble marketing campaigns, and it's good to be in credit and credit-card-free. There's a down side of course, in that I could easily afford to waste my money on buying unnecessary stuff because I've spent too much of my life saving money through not buying unnecessary stuff. Call it solvency abuse.
I went out to a nearby shopping mall the other day to see if I could cure myself of this affliction. I came home with absolutely nothing for myself, and just one birthday present for someone else that I don't actually need until June. I stood in a newsagents and failed to see even one magazine I wanted to buy (this was before yesterday, obviously). It would be nice to be better at spending money on myself for a change, but I'm just not good at wanting, or needing. So, erm, I have a proposition to put to you, dear readers. Catch the financial news here tomorrow.
Broadband-less: Blimey, and to think I once thought not having any comments up and running on here was traumatic. Not compared to this. I've been completely internet-less since some mysterious time in the early hours of Monday morning. End of the world at the very least. Of course, the minute you suddenly find you can't get internet access the first thing you want to do is to log on to your service provider status page to see if there's a problem, which of course you can't do because there is. Eventually I discovered that another internet company had conspired to bugger up the Demon ADSL connections to 203 separate telephone exchanges, including mine. It's been terrible - I've had to get myself a life instead. I actually did some 'working at home' without any online distractions. I rediscovered teletext. I went out to the cinema (Ghost Ship, not bad I suppose, for a Monday anyway). I even nearly did some ironing, but that would have been taking things too far. But this morning I can finally stop twitching, because after 24 hours in the reality wilderness my online connection to the rest of the world has at last been restored. I know I've missed my 5000th visitor (sorry if that was you) but did I miss anything else?
Today I had the pleasure of a train journey from London to Cambridge, commuting against the flow in half-empty carriages. I knew that my newspaper would only sustain my brain as far as Hitchin, so I had to buy myself a magazine in order to survive the complete round trip intact. Usually I'll stand in a newsagents and stare at the assorted glossies for ages without ever seeing a single copy of anything I actually want to buy. It's been like that ever since the demise of Record Mirror back in 1990, may God rest its pop soul. However today, on a Swish recommendation, I decided to buy the launch issue of Word magazine. Excellent choice.
At last, a magazine that's actually worth reading. Word is the nearest thing I've ever seen to reading blogs in print, an intelligent selection of opinions, previews, reviews and recommendations. Mark Ellen is the editor behind the project, so there's a definite Q-music angle, but there's much more than that in the way of books, entertainment, interviews, films and gadgets. I shall certainly be back down the newsagents for issue two.
Top reads in this next month's Word:
• deep meaningful interviews with Neil Tennant/John Peel/Nick Cave.
• how old famous people are, one for each age from 11 to 100.
• Laura Cantrell's US Thrift Shop radio show.
• the history of the Found project.
• how the online CDDB database and mobile service Shazam recognise music.
• new headphones to die for.
• how long it took Andrew Collins to write 12 episodes of EastEnders.
• the credibility of the Top 40 chart.
• top advice from successful publisher Felix Dennis ("Only fools lend books" apparently).
• Kim Wilde, Five Star and the Human League on an 80s revival tour.
As of 7pm tonight, the BBC offers less choice than before. In fact no Choice at all, as the old digital channel metamorphs overnight into BBC Three, the distinctive new youth channel. That's BBC Three, not BBC3, presumably to make the channel distinctive enough to keep government ministers happy. I'm pleasantly surprised that my once-dire TV reception has recovered sufficiently to let me watch the opening night, although the first two hours are also being shown simultaneously on BBC2 too. A lot of money and publicity is being thrown at this relaunch, not least the decision to show EastEnders a day early on BBC Three for the next two weeks. But, is Three the magic number? Let's see...
7:00 Aww, those endearing Aardman animated blobs crawling all over the BBC Three logo have done De La Soul proud. 7:01 Wasn't Johnny Vaughan also the 'face' of the opening night on Channel 5? 7:10 Johnny Vaughan pretends to be David Letterman, only with British celebrities, a better-looking band and funnier jokes. 7:43Dermot O'Leary introduces ... hey, who cares what he introduces, just so long as he's on the telly. 7:58 Liquid News is live from Los Angeles, but fails to report on how this transatlantic junket will increase your licence fee. 8:14 The latest Radio 4 comedy jewel to translate to TV is Matt Lucas and David Walliams' Little Britain. Quite sparkling. 8:40Dermot twice in one night? Blimey. I only ever saw him once in one afternoon - remind me to tell that story one day. 9:02 Steve Coogan on stage as Paul and Pauline Calf, but it looked like the audience enjoyed it rather more than me. 9:30 Public service broadcasting quota programming - six people get drunk and a scientist films their intestines. 10:00 Dom Joly hosts a chat show (well, more of a shout show) on which the guests all appear suitably embarrassed. 10:35 Burn It is a This Life-type drama, only with the lawyers replaced by suburban Manchester scallies. 6/10 11:15 Monkey Dust is an animated satire sketch show, a non-celebrity 2DTV, very dark, very clever, and very good. 11:50 And finally, three black women rip off the original Dom Joly Channel 4 rip off of Candid Camera. Time for bed then.
At last, two months after Mark Goodier hung up his chart overcoat, the Radio 1Top 40 has a new presenter. 23 year-old unknown Wes Butters has been plucked from obscurity (well, Birmingham) to front pop radio's most enduring landmark show. Bruno Brookes and Mark Goodier may have run things capably for the last 17 years but, let's be honest, both of them had the perfect face for radio. Station bosses have now decided that what the target audience really needs is someone they can relate to, and indeed pin up on their bedroom walls, and they've promised a major revamp of the show too. Wes's overnight success just goes to show that not every media studies degree is a passport to the dole queue. Let's see how he does...
4:00 A confident natural start - the boy's gonna do fine.
4:10 We've just survived a ten minute recap of last week's chart, but any chance of some of this week's singles action?
4:11 No. Instead we face twenty minutes of the new Top 40 album rundown. I may learn to live with this, just maybe.
4:31 Liberty X have a chat with Wes, and then perform Just a Little live. Why?? It's not been in the charts for six months.
4:38 At last, the new singles chart. Ah, hang on, numbers 21-40 are relgated to 'The Continuous Countdown'. It's now highlights only, with just new entries and target-audience-favourites in full. Robin Gibb 20 seconds, Avril Lavigne 3 minutes. It's been 15 years since this show dared not to play all 40 tracks in full, and this is the beginning of a slippery chart slope.
5:18 We've reached number twenty in record time, but first there's a competition and Liberty X sing again. I had hoped that only the Network Chart Travesty did competitions.
5:26 The 'complete' Top 20. Normal service is resumed. Thank god for that.
6:06 A long pause before the Top 10 during which Liberty X sing their forthcoming cover version and get asked some Smash-Hits-level questions. Next please.
6:40 Justin Timberlake can only manage new in at number two, and Oasis were only in at three, so...
6:50 ... so TATU are still number one with All The Things She Said. Which means the number one act is still younger than the chart show DJ, and all is normal with the world again.
6:55 A quick preview of next week's hits, and then Wes heads off for a well-deserved celebratory Ribena.
The Sun Hot topic: Child molesters - burn them now, ask questions later.
War in Iraq: A good thing. God bless our lads in the battle against Saddam.
Tony Blair: We don't like him... unless he's supporting war in Iraq.
The Mirror Hot topic: Equality, social justice, and tumbling readership figures.
War in Iraq: No war. War is stupid. War - uh-huh - what is it good for?
Tony Blair: We like him... unless he's supporting war in Iraq.
The Daily Mail Hot topic: Asylum seekers - they're all criminals and they bring your property prices down.
War in Iraq: Will probably mean even more immigrants asylum seekers entering the UK.
Tony Blair: He's the evil man who wants to house all those asylum seekers in your street.
The Guardian Hot topic: Real Ale shortage likely at Stop the War demo.
War in Iraq: See you in Hyde Park next Saturday?
Tony Blair: Actually, that Charles Kennedy might be a lot safer.
The Financial Times Hot topic: Aren't your shares doing badly at the moment?
War in Iraq: And they're going to carry on plummeting.
Tony Blair: No comment.
The Daily Telegraph Hot topic: Poor old Pinky Smithers died last week, here's his obituary.
War in Iraq: We remember the Korean war, you know. Got a medal for it too.
Tony Blair: With our failing eyesight, he looks a lot like Margaret Thatcher.
The Daily Star Hot topic: Breasts.
War in Iraq: More bare-breasted babes posing in army camos.
Tony Blair: Has no breasts, therefore we're not interested.
• Count 1 (blog visitors = 461) ...which is about 65 a day. Which was nice.
• Count 2 (google searches = 83) ...including rather a lot for Lemon Jelly's Nice Weather For Ducks
• Count 3 (blog content = 23) ...which is about a quarter of my monthly posting limit, so I'm on target.
• Count 4 (spam = 1) ...and could Sam Wong tempt me to host a hot money-making website generating me cash 24 hours a day? Oddly enough, no.
• Count 5 (nights out = 7) ...so I've beaten my total for the whole of February 2001 in Ipswich after just three days this month in London.
• Count 6 (alcohol intake = 13) ...which is about two bottles of Becks a night, although rather above that average last night.
• Count 7 (tea intake = 30) ...which is about four cups a day. At least it's lower than the lager index.
• Count 8 (trains used = 28) ...which is a mean of four trains a day, many of which really were mean journeys.
• Count 9 (escalators walked up = 21) ...which is already the equivalent of walking to the top of Canary Wharf, only not all in one go.
• Count 10 (mystery count = 0) ...so still nothing to count, which I must say is not entirely unexpected.
Three things the zero-rated mystery count could be, but isn't:
• number of cups of coffee drunk
• number of journeys taken outside London Zone 3
• number of attempted door-steppings by visiting Jehovah's Witnesses.
you're listening to the streets
you will bear witness to some amazing feats
bravery in the face of defeat
all line up and grab your seat
Geezers need excitement, so it was off down to Brixton to see The Streets as part of the NME Awards tour. "The who?" they asked at work when I told them where I was going. Never mind, you'll all hear about fresh-faced Mikey Skinner when he sweeps the Brit Awards in a fortnight's time.
The Brixton Academy filled up with lads in hoodies, dwarf girls fresh from Claire's Accessories, hip twenty-something music-lovers and gangs of weedheads from Billericay sixth form colleges. The ethnic mix inside the venue was exactly the opposite of that on the streets outside, more Beastie Boys than Grandmaster Flash. We had to stand through Killa Kela, the human beatbox (very very impressive, but just the once thanks) and the woefully miscast More Fire Crew. And finally, about 11, on came the original pirate material.
Mike Skinner's not a big bloke, but he had geezerly stage presence by the barrowboy-load. Cheeky and sharp, he smiled out from under his baseball cap, mesmerising the crowd into action. We were treated to 80 minutes of lager-fuelled suburban rapping, showcasing the whole of the last album. Turn The Page was a rabble-rousing crowd-pleasing opener, the sharp wit of Too Much Brandy hit the target audience square on, and the encore of Let's Push Things Forward merged perfectly with The Specials' Ghost Town, A video screen provided visual accompaniment - a moped ride across London, Hampstead Heath benchlife, spliffed-out sofa junkies, and a bloke dressed only in red y-fronts smashing up his car with an iron bar. Not every track worked live, and there were so many lyrics it was tough to chant along, but the gig was a triumph nonetheless. Genius.
blinded with the lights
blinded with the lights
dizzy new heights
I don't remember exactly when it was that I noticed I wasn't like the other boys at school. They were all off playing football at breaktime, hanging round with mates on street corners in the evening and going out with girls at the weekends. I was different. I was more likely to be hiding out in the library at breaktime, watching telly in the evening and staying in at weekends. It wasn't obvious at the time exactly what the reason for my behaviour was. It certainly wasn't the sort of thing you discussed at school, either in or out of the classroom, for fear of getting beaten up. Back then there was no internet where I could have found out more about my condition and maybe been able to chat online to others of a similar mentality. I didn't know that we were outnumbered and that most 'normal' people in society weren't like me. It took me a while to work out who I was and what I was, but I got there in the end and I'm perfectly happy with how I turned out.
It's time to stand up and admit the truth - I am an introvert. And if you're the sort of person who writes a blog or reads other people's regularly, you may well be an introvert too. Amazing how many of us there are online. I reckon that's because the internet is a very safe environment where you can make contact with other people without having to go to the effort of actually risking meeting anyone. You can take time to think over exactly what you want to say, and edit and redraft your words before you finally make your voice heard. And it beats going down the library.
I've uncovered an excellent set of definitions for introverts here (thanks to Vaughan). I wonder if this list will strike a chord with you as much as it did with me. Especially these three...
• Alone: For an extrovert this translates as 'lonely'. For us introverts it merely means 'enjoying some peace and quiet'. And not feeling lonely, which is good.
• Friend: An extrovert has many friends, because a friend is 'someone who makes sure that you're never alone'. Us introverts tend to keep few friends, because friends have to be 'someone who understands that you're not rejecting them when you need to be alone.' I'm glad my friends have worked that one out.
• Good manners: An extrovert thinks it's good manners to 'make sure people aren't left all by themselves.' An introvert, on the other hand, considers good manners to be 'not bothering people, unless it's necessary, or they approach you.' And yes, 'sometimes you can bother people you know well, but you make sure they aren't busy first.' Very me, that.
Apparently there are three times as many extroverts in the world as introverts, which is just as well or else pubs would go out of business and the internet might grind to a halt through overuse. Maybe it's time for all of us introverts to join together and become a force to be reckoned with... but only if that's alright by you and you haven't got anything better to do.
The 7am puzzle (11): Last Saturday was 1/2/03, and 1+2=3. Yesterday was 5/2/03, and 5–2=3. Today is 6/2/03, and 6÷2=3. That makes three different arithmetical dates in one week, with just multiplication missing. When's the next occasion that there will be four such dates in one week?
In every other part of the country distances are measured in miles. In London, however, distances are measured in minutes.*
* Visitors to London should note that distances on the Underground are measured in Tube minutes. These are approximately 40% longer than normal minutes so that, for example, when the train indicator board suggests that the next train is due in 3 minutes, it will more probably turn up in 5.
Five miles along a motorway in the Midlands may take less than two minutes, but five miles across London can take a lifetime of traffic jams, one-way systems, waiting on platforms and changing trains. In London no form of transport, be it train, bus or car, is permitted to travel for more than two minutes without stopping at a station, in a tunnel, at a bus stop or at traffic lights.
I've just taken thirty minutes to travel less than two miles across East London. It would have been good to be able to travel in a straight line, only this is nigh impossible with a river, industrial estate, rugby ground and cemetery blocking the way. As a result I've actually travelled at least 50% further than necessary in order to get home. What's more, this time-wasting seemed perfectly normal for London and I thought nothing of it. When I was living in East Anglia I could have spent those same thirty minutes driving as many as thirty miles from Ipswich to Bury St Edmunds, rather than the miserly distance I've just travelled. The biggest difference between London and Suffolk, however, is that there never was any point in travelling to Bury St Edmunds, whereas two miles across London can be worth every minute.
No comment: You never realise how important comments are to a blog until they're not there. And, at the moment, they're not there. One web service down, and suddenly I'm response-less. For all I know, Michael Jackson has been trying post answers to my ten top questions below all day but has failed to gain access, and so will have buggered off for a ride on the dodgems and a Slush Puppy instead. It's always good to get comments from blog readers, even if they is merely pointing out a grammatical mistake or proof-reading my poor speling. Sometimes I'm surprised when lots of comments appear alongside a post I thought was pretty innocuous, while at other times I'm convinced a post will get at least one response but absolutely nothing develops. Such is the joy of feedback. Ah well, until they decide to get those comments up and running again, apologies for the 29 error messages on the page and normal service will hopefully be resumed as soon as possible.
• Why?
• Who nose?
• Is Pinocchio your favourite Disney film?
• Do you share any records with Jonathan King?
• Say Say Say, Man In The Mirror, Black or White?
• Exactly how many of your genes could there be in your white 'son'?
• Is your baby called 'Blanket' because you like to shake him over a balcony?
• Wouldn't it be cheaper and potentially more successful to pay Diana Ross to have plastic surgery to look like you?
• Are you planning to adopt several more children merely in order to ensure a steady stream of kids available for future sleepovers?
• Does it worry you that more people tuned into your freakshow on television in the UK last night than bought your last album worldwide?
I'll confess that I don't usually enjoy musicals. Usually the composer has merely written one great song surrounded by twelve duffers, the location is somewhere impossibly exotic like the South Pacific, New York, Chicago, Saigon or Paris, and all the characters have an annoying and unnatural tendency to burst into song at any tenuous opportunity. "Hey Curly, see that surrey over there? What Laurey, the one with the fringe? Yup, the surrey with the fringe on top..." (enter dancing cowgirls, all of whom are mysteriously able to perform a synchronised dance routine whilst waving pitchforks).
I get especially concerned at the thought of any musical based on a top music artist's back catalogue. It's far too easy merely to scrape together the vaguest of plots in order to link together all the best songs, and yes Ben Elton, I am thinking of you. "Say Agnetha, does your mother know there's a queen over there, dancing?" "What, the killer queen in that bicycle race? Mamma Mia, let her go!"
So, it was with some trepidation that I ventured to watch 'Our House', a musical set in London NW1 based around the greatest hits of 80s super group Madness. Would the theatre be a House of Fun, or instead would the show go One Step Beyond and be an Embarrassment? I needn't have worried - the show is very enjoyable. I was put in mind of an extremely good school play delivered fantastically well, and the young cast put everything into their performance.
The story follows our hero Joe Casey into two potential futures following a break-in on a local housing estate. Bad Joe runs off and ends up rich and successful (in a black tracksuit), while Honest Joe turns himself in and ends up in prison (in a white tracksuit). Star Trek scriptwriters please note, this is the way to handle a temporal distortion parallel timeline story.
It appears that Suggs and Co were deliberately writing songs with great descriptive lyrics 20 years ago with the sole intention of making a musical out of them, so seamlessly do they fit into the narrative. Baggy Trousers was always meant to be a classroom riot, My Girl remains perfectly descriptive of every teetering relationship, and Night Boat To Cairo just had to be part of a Las Vegas wedding ceremony (OK, maybe not the last one). Even though the entire audience knew that It Must Be Love had to be coming up at some crucial turning point in the second half, it was delivered with such originality that its impact was enormous. Driving In My Car was another particular favourite, with its humorous nods at Hollywood blockbusters, and the Mary-Poppins-esque dance routine to The Sun and The Rain down at Camden Lock market had the crowd in stitches.
BBC Three
The Count (update)
Our House (Cambridge Theatre)
