Why the ten?

If a cup of tea is €2.10 you might ask yourself why.

Like this : Why?

You probably wouldn't bother asking why you'd been ripped off. You'd expect that. Especially on a train [1].

A better question would be why €2.10. Or why the .10?

I can see two possible reasons for the .10 :

1. A charge of €2 exactly sounds like they just made it up. Plucked a number out of thin air.
   
2. They simply couldn't do it for less. Suzie in Accounts crunched the numbers, cooked up a pie-chart which said €2.10.

€2.10 for a cup of tea though. Can you imagine! What with the credit crunch and everything. 

Imagine if you went into a bank and asked for a loan of €2.10 for a cup of tea. They'd laugh at you. And rightly so. 

Haven't you heard about the credit crunch, they'd say.

[1] Funnily enough, I was charged €2.10 for a cup of tea this very morning. On a train.

Are you ok with your decay?

I'm wondering. I've been reading Philip Roth's Everyman and listening to Grandaddy's The Sophtware Slump. Not necessarily at the same time. 

They're both about decay. The first about the decay of the human body and the second about the decay of computers and technology. But Grandaddy may actually be using the decay of obsolete technology as a metaphor for the decay of human relationships. Heartbreak to give it another name.

So are you ok with your decay?

It's not fucking ideal is it, but what can you do!

Let's leave the last words on the matter to those much missed Californian alt-geek rockers:

In truth I'm okay with my decay

I have no voice

I have no choice 

So I rejoice

Isobel Campbell

I listened to the fragrant Isobel Campbell being interviewed by Guy Garvey on his 6 Music show last night.

I think she's a terrifically talented songwriter with the voice of an angel. She's also very normal, surprisingly ditsy and giggly, barely able to string a cohesive sentence together. Like a girl you might meet whilst getting a colouring at the hairdressers. Guy was clearly smitten and giggled like a schoolboy throughout. I liked her a lot.

Not much of a blog, I know, but at least I now have a picture of Isobel Campbell up. Two pictures.

The Ecumenical Council

I first met Tom Holland in 1972 at a Welsh Ladies Fencing tournament in Llandudno.

We had a shared love of the sport and we bonded over beer and doctrinal technicalities that weekend. Even then Holland had only 3 interests in life:

1. Ladies Fencing
   
2. Beer
   
3. The Ecumenical Council

But not in that order. In the opposite order:

1. The Ecumenical Council
   
2. Beer
   
3. Ladies Fencing
   

You would imagine that a man so obsessed with recounting  intricate details of The Ecumenical Council would be a dull man indeed. Not so Tom Holland. He imbued these weighty ecumenical matters with such a spirit of Temps d'Escrime and parried questions with a Rapier-like Froissement that it was impossible not to be captivated. 

Drinking pint after pint of strong Brains bitter that little bar in Llandudno truly felt like the centre of the known universe. Happy times indeed.

In 1975 when Tom got his first record deal there was only one subject he was likely to record. His beloved The Ecumenical Council. 

Listening to this record over 30 years later you realise what a remarkable and enduring piece he has created. With nothing more than harp and snare-drum by way of accompaniment he truly brings the subject to life. 

If anything, I understand the actual details of his monologue even less now than I did all these years ago. But that matters not. After just a few minutes I allow my mind to drift off calmly on his dulcet tones and we're back in that little bar once again. And I think to myself:

By Christ, we did some bevvying that weekend!

  

The Dangers of Religious Life

I was lying in my sunroom yesterday listening to this sparkling sermon from the Very Reverend William (Bill) McNamara. 

Of the Reverends I know Bill is definitely the Veriest.

He's also some man for the words and they fairly danced and sparkled from his mouth, each more layered and imparting deeper metaphor than the previous. As I lay there, watching the dip and swell of the ornamental parachutist in my vestibule, my brow became fevered and my spirit fervoured.

Then I realised that I'd left the bath running and water was cascading down the stairs destroying everything in it's wake. What a calamity!

Never had the powerful motif of this forgotten old piece of scratched shellac seemed more prescient.

Escapism

I was listening to child psychologist, Dr Tanya Byron, on Radio 4's "The Media Show" recently.

She was discussing why children’s viewing can and should be controlled. But, she argued, children, like adults, need some tv "downtime" away from the stresses of daily life. 

After a hard days learning at school and dropping crumbs all over the house they need to simply sit down, empty their tiny little minds and be entertained and enchanted.  Not challenged. She lauded "Spongebob and Squarepants" in this regard, a programme that she, herself, greatly enjoyed. 

She went on to say that adults were exactly the same. When she went home at night after a hard day's kiddie staring the last thing she required was some informative documentary about the boring old war or some outdated Dickens dramatisation with fancy language. She preferred to sit down, disengage her brain entirely, and watch "Strictly" or "X-Factor" with a glass of Australian Chardonnay. That's what she said. 

It's what being a human being is all about, she also said.

Internet Radio

My internet radio is a fickle mistress to say the least.

As times she leaves me whimpering with simple pleasure but, as often, leaves me depressed, helpless and cuckolded.

They say there's a book in everyone and, if that's true, I suspect the fractious, beautiful, unhappy and joyful relationship I have with my internet radio may be the subject of my own tome. It would be a cast of two since everyone else in our house, quite rightly, stays well away.

I'll probably cover this in more detail in the future when I'm less emotionally frazzled.

Bolander

Here's my old sparring partner Neddy appearing as Bolander in my house last night. It was a great honour to have him perform in my living room and I emailed him to let him know.

You're probably wondering, did I use some kind of fancy screen scrape technology? 

Nope, friend. I did not. I took the picture off the telly with my ducking? phone. 

I didn't think this was possible due to semi-diffusional gamma rays or some such. It certainly didn't used to be back in the days. 

My parents have an alarming number of pictures of a grey tv (some inexplicably featuring a single slippered foot at the bottom left of shot). The idea that the tv could genuinely have been off on each occasion is not a feasible one. I can only conclude that they were trying to take pictures of Tommy O'Connor or Jimmy Tarbuck for whatever the seventies equivalent of a (world wide we)b log was. 

You think this is all a bit mentalist? Well, at least I wasn't watching 'X' or 'Strict'. 

Je reste mon valaise.

Not sure why Neddy (Bolander) is wearing a Dundee United scarf. Perhaps he's a fan. I'm sure he would have mentioned it though...

 

Predictive Text 3

It doesn't even like me swearing...

I don't need no moral guidance from a bleedin' phone.

I don't swear that often but the notion of deciding the 2011 Rugby World Cup seedings 3 whole years in advance for "logistical reasons" is ducking? ridiculous.

Orange Conundrum

You may consider this a matter or no importance and I might agree before adding that, if that's true, then the matter is very welcome on this blog. This blog's very raison d'être is to find a home, to love and care for, such matters. For if not here, where?

But what is the matter of which you speak?

The matter is this (and thanks for your patience) .

When I'm eating a tangerine (as I do at least twice per day) or a mandarin (I don't know the difference) and reach for the second half I find that it's never there.  It's already been gobbled. 

Now I'm not suggesting that someone is coming over to my desk and stealing it. I think that's unlikely although not impossible. More likely is that I've already eaten the second half before I reach to get it. 

Is this confusing? Bear with me. It's important (although obviously of no importance).

Now clearly I must have reached to get the second half a first time before eating it. But what I think is happening here (and this is merely a theory at this stage) is that, perhaps due to excessive juicyness, I've actually achieved some kind of internal tangerine/mandarin frenzy and have become completely blind to the fact that I've already reached for and eaten the second half. And, thus, end up reaching for an already eaten and therefore non existent tangerine/mandarin half.

And, worse, I do precisely the same thing with the second tangerine/mandarin. Another frenzy resulting in a futile search for a non existent second half.

Unless someone is coming over to my desk and stealing them...