We need to move again

This blog format is lousy for having conversations. I'll have a look round for some bullet board sites, never sure if you have to pay for them though. Maybe Derek knows.

Andrew Scott... you are NOT the Weakest Link

Surley this email I got from Slim today can't be true!!!

'Ive just watched the weakest link, where to my astonishment Andrew Scott won it. Does anyone remember him, before any gig, hed introduce the bands maybe even say a poem. hes fat bald and lives in portsmouth, just been on facebook and Derek is a friend of his'

Oh please God let is it be so!!!!

I always remember two things about him which I am sure you guys will recall:


1) He told me he was going to be a football commentator when he grew up. He didn’t know how you become one but he was sure he could do it.

2) He fell asleep during his driving test.



And now he has won The Weakest Link! Amazing …

Spotify

Has everyone got Spotify? We could do a joint playlist or something.

Read Oli's stuff!!!!

Guys if you are just opening the stuff and seeing loads of bits I have put up about Glasto and thinking 'No!!!!!I can't face all that - I read enough of Holliday's sycophantic musical nonsense when I lived in Tamworth!' can I just ask that you at least read my son's piece as I am rather proud of what he has done!!!

The overview bit I did mught interest you Poge if you do fancy going next year and the top ten acts are worth reading. Possibly. A bit.

Not sure if even I can recommend ny Brucie haliography bit though because i do love him. And it shows!!!!

Glasto - my adjective-laden Springsteen review

You may want to attempt reading this - but you may need a strong stomach if you don't like New Jersey's finest. As printed in tomorrow's Bath Chronicle et al...



When you are a rock star as big as Bruce Springsteen you only ever usually play to the converted. Every time Springsteen normally takes to the stage on one of his many epic tours he can be confident that everyone there has paid large sums of money because they want to watch, listen and sing along with The Boss. They are on his side – they are his people.

But, as it is for everyone else, Glastonbury is oh so different.

As all the tickets were sold before Springsteen was even confirmed on the bill, he must have known he was facing something very rare for him – the musical equivalent of a sporting ‘away match’ where not everyone was necessarily a worshipper at the altar of Bruce.

Could he cope? Could he entertain and delight a crowd who, for the most part, wouldn’t even know any of his material?

Could he heck.

Springsteen was simply magnificent on that balmy Saturday evening and for the 160 minutes he dominated the Pyramid stage, he gave a performance of passion, exuberance, exhilaration and musical majesty. I am certain he will have satisfied all his true fans (and I speak as someone who has been a devotee for 30 years) and, I imagine, he will have converted many more ‘newbies’ in both the park and in TV land with a staggeringly energetic show that belied the singer’s 59 years.

One of the things that really impressed me was that he also produced a totally uncompromising set. He could have easily relied on better known tracks such as Born In The USA and Hungry Heart to help him through but Springsteen ignored them and gave a fully rounded performance which included not only some of his traditional toe-tappers but a few of the more delicate, challenging and less well known moments from his amazing repertoire. A repertoire remember, that spans nearly 40 years and has yielded 120 million album sales worldwide.

As an example of his approach, on his brilliant new studio album Working On A Dream there are many wonderful, poppy singalongs (This Life, Kingdom of Days, Surprise, Surprise) but Bruce ditched them all and instead played an 11-minute version of the more complex and less immediate Outlaw Pete from that same album. It took guts in a way – but Springsteen has always had those.

So, acknowledged classics like Thunder Road, The River and a delightfully elongated Dancing In The Dark sat alongside lesser known beauties such as Waiting On The Sun and The Ghost Of Tom Joad, and there was even a stunning unreleased track, Hard Times, written in the mid-19th century no less which resonated about the economic situation that we live in in a typically Springsteen-esque socially aware way.

With Bruce it is not just about the songs however. It is about the whole performance and once again he showed what an amazing front man he is. Out of the words of some, his powerful exhorting of the crowd to mirror his musical passion might have sounded cheesy, but with Springsteen you sincerely believe he sincerely believes it. The man does not have a cynical bone in his body and the way he struts across the stage with a smile on his face and a burning spirit in his soul, shows that this is a man at the very top of his game.

OK, I’m sure not everybody ‘got it’ and that’s fine. But for those who did, I’m sure they came away knowing, as I did, that we had been in the presence of a truly great and inspirational man who is, was and always will be the embodiment of the very best that rock and roll has to offer.

Put simply, Glastonbury saw why many of us believe that Bruce Springsteen is the greatest living American.

The Boss bossed it.

Glasto - my top ten favourite acts

Here is the top ten bands I saw over the weekend (as printed in tomorrow's Bath Chronicle...)

Glastonbury is many things to many people but it is, and always must be, about the music first and foremost. Here, then, is my opinion of the top 10 acts that really got my wellies wobbling . . .

1 Bruce Springsteen. I know this is a bit obvious, but he really was magnificent. For my full review of a peerless set from a peerless performer see elsewhere.
2. The Gaslight Anthem. This is a band everyone should get into – and probably now will. They hail from Springsteen’s New Jersey home and combine his gutsy rock passion with a Clash-style musical approach to make for a brilliant cocktail. They were sensational – even more so when Springsteen unexpectedly turned up on stage for their greatest song, The 59 Sound. Check them out. Now.
3. Hugh Cornwell. A truly stunning show of great solo and Strangler material from Box’s finest. The old fella went down an absolute storm with a far rockier set than the ‘acoustic stage’ position suggested. Top class.
4. Glasvegas. I love this band and they really delivered their dark, feedback-dominated sound in style to the delight of their fans. Truly the next headlining big stadium act. You read it here first.
5. Echo And The Bunnymen. Faced with Blur or The Prodigy on the two main stages as Sunday night headliners, I instead chose to go to the John Peel tent to see indie heroes Echo And The Bunnymen – and I definitely made the right choice. They were brilliant, doing the whole of their Ocean Rain album from start to finish and then a clutch of singles. The Cutter was possibly THE song of the weekend for me. Amazing.
6. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah’s. A real discovery for me. I had only heard a couple of their tracks but decided to check them out – and they were pure quality. I don’t listen to nearly enough bands with female-singers but I will make an exception here. A pleasant surprise.
7. The Specials. As good as you could hope for despite front man Terry Hall still looking like the most miserable man in music. I thought Ghost Town would be the song we would all remember but even that was eclipsed by A Message To You Rudi and Do Nothing which were both wonderful.
8. Bloc Party. A punchy, original band who produced a great, uplifting set late on Friday night.
9.F****d Up. My son Oli, recommended these and they were great fun. Part of the semi-screamo enclave but with a sense of humour most of them don’t possess and a superb front man.
10. Friendly Fires. One of the joys of a festival is taking time out to see a band you have vaguely heard about but wouldn’t normally watch. This was such a case – and I am glad I made the effort. Funky, modern pop with attitude.
11 Spinal Tap. I know this is a top 10 but anyone who knows anything about Spinal Tap would know you are ALLOWED to go up to 11 with them. OK, they weren’t that great but I am just pleased to have seen Nigel, David, Derek and a nameless drummer (!) in the flesh as well having the chance to sing along about pink torpedoes.
Sam Holliday

Glasto - my son's review (Please read!!!)

OK, a bit of parental pride here (we don't do it often do we though) so please indulge me.

My son Oli is 15 and he was my 'plus one' at Glasto and we had a great time together - and apart (it is THAT safe).

We share a lot of the same tastes - we both love Glasvegas, Gaslight Anthem, The Clash, The Ramones et al - but he is far more hardcore than I am (as he should be). So while I was dancing in the dark with Brucie baby he was off watching a band called The King Blues and while I was loving the Bunnymen (oh Mas, they were amazing) he was bopping to the Prodigy.

Anyway...I told him I wanted him to do a write-up and I know I am amazingly biased but I think he has done a top job for a 15 year old who until recently didn’t even like English much (I am trying to persuade him to do it for A Level) and has no journalistic interest at all.

I think he has written this really well for one so young – and I haven’t edited it at all. At times bizarrely he reminds me of the way I would write - although I never said these things nearly as well at 15 - which is ironic because he makes a point of not reading anything I write! Have a read if you have a mo.
Glasto through the eyes of a 15-year-old first-timer

A few months ago, Glastonbury felt very much like a bad idea.
I had listened to the conventional stereotypes of drugged-up hippies with abysmal and obscure peace-loving music alongside humid temperatures and the ever potent smell of faeces. The idea from my point of view was detestable – up until the point when they released a line-up including the legendary band that is Spinal Tap.

So, off I set to ‘smell the glove’ of Spinal Tap and to try and avoid as many spaced-out hippies as possible, but the first thing I learned from Glastonbury was that spaced out hippies weren’t that bad!

It quickly became apparent that this festival was very much like a small city – without any of the problems. This meant that everyone was chilled out and it didn’t matter if you were a hippie or a human being because Glasto’s community was a very friendly place. It was so friendly in fact that I only met one angry drunk and he was a Nottingham Forest fan, so I suppose the anger was somewhat justified.

The second thing that really stands out at the Glastonbury is the amount of stewardship and security – it’s highly visible and everyone is very helpful, aiding people getting in and parking, and providing great support around the site to give guidance and directions.

So after a very small amount of exploration, I headed for the John Peel Stage for the first band of my weekend F***** Up. Surprisingly, this anarcho-punk group – that seemed very out of place at Glasto – delivered one of my favourite performances of the weekend, which included the very fat and very topless lead front man ‘Father Damien’ running from the stage, through the crowd to the sound-deck at the other side of the tent while still singing through the mic.

It was a very surreal start.

After this I saw standout performances from the Horrors, N.E.R.D, The Dead Weathers and The Specials. Friday ended with Bloc Party, who were outstanding and very well received.

After a great Friday, anticipation for Saturday was high. Not only would I be seeing the ‘Tap’, there were numerous other acts that emphasised the great and diverse line-up this year. First came Spinal Tap who performed a funny and bizarre show with highlights including midgets dressed as druids dancing round an abysmally-made inflatable Stonehenge. Also The Gaslight Anthem delivered an extraordinary set with a guest appearance from Pyramid headliner Bruce Springsteen midway through set.

The high calibre performances carried on through the day with Dizzee Rascal owning the Pyramid and bands such as Kasabian, Pendulum and The King Blues delivering very exciting sets.

Sunday was a day for exploration as the thought of seeing either Status Quo or Tony Christie was – at the least – vomit-inducing. This is when I found the Trash City, Arcadia and Shangri-La venues. These very original spots in Glastonbury seemed to be in a different world to the rest of the festival with their venues and even their burger bars made to a different artistic style set in the future or the past, or both. Most were just brilliantly weird and original.

I finished the weekend with a solid set from Glasvegas and a crazy performance from The Prodigy whose performance left fans with mud on their shoes, sweat on their bodies and unknown liquids involuntarily splashed across their face.

Overall? Yes, there was often a waft of faeces when you passed any toilets in a 10 metre radius, yes there were a lot of drugged-up hippies, but I really didn’t care. It felt like you were in a new city but one with a big welcoming community.

The performances in their various types were outstanding, it was fun and well organised and I don’t even need to consider going again – because I am already sure that I will.

And, I will persuade anyone who hasn’t tried it to go next year too.

My Glasto overview . . ..

Poge, I saw your entry about maybe going to Glasto on Facebook and I would love it to be true. I had a ball (see below) and it was a brilliant bonding experience with Oli if you are thinking of doing the same with George. ..

This is the bit from the paper....


This time last week I wrote about the mixture of excitement and trepidation I had about facing my first ever Glastonbury festival.

Was I, despite my immensely youthful appear, too old for all this palava? Would I get my tent up? And would I need to spend the entire weekend with my legs crossed to avoid the toilets from hell?

Well, the answers to those questions in order are no, I wasn’t too old, yes, pop up tents really do pop up (but are strangely reluctant about popping down!) and no I did manage to use the ‘facilities’ – and I’m still alive to tell the story.

Oh but what a story it was.

Put simply, I discovered what thousands have already done in that Glastonbury is a truly remarkable experience which I could recommend to music fans and non-music fans alike. I have now become one of those boring people who discovers things years after everyone else and then waxes lyrical while they’re silently muttering ‘yes we know, in fact we’ve known for 30 years’.

Yes, I have gone from being a Glastonbury virgin this time last week to a born again Glastonbury evangelist today. Hallelujah, praise the Lord – and praise Michael Eavis.

I have been in many large gatherings – sporting, musical, cultural, political etc. – but never have I felt such a sense of community with strangers as I did last weekend.

It was the kind of place where no-one cares how old you are, what you do, what you look like, what race or background you come from or what your views are on politics, religion or David Beckham’s haircut. It is an incredible leveller – a classless community with hardly any sense of hierarchy or corporate awareness and it all feels like an unreal, almost Utopian gathering.

It is hard to pinpoint my happiest memory of the weekend but I think the general sense that a wide diversity of people can come together in often uncomfortable circumstances and form a special bond is what impressed me the most.

Also getting a big thumps up is the peacefulness of the event – I’ve never felt safer or less intimidated among strangers in my life. As an example I was with my son Oli, just 15, and having quickly established the vibe, I felt no qualms for his safety and let him disappear for hours on end on his own. I can genuinely say I have felt more intimidated in a pub with two chavs at a nearby table than in a series of fields with 180,000 strangers.

And what also brought a smile to my face were the huge amount of examples of British eccentricity on view. It was almost impossible to look silly and almost impossible to hear anybody ‘tut’ because there was a real sense of live and let live. You felt that no-one was judging you because everyone was paddling the same oddly-shaped canoe.

Coming away from Glastonbury I started to feel what millions must have felt in the past – a strange sense of anti-climax. It was a magical weekend with unbelievably good music and to return to the harsh reality of the real world was something of a let down.

Still, at least in the real world, the toilets flush.

Have we forgotten The Memorable Book?

Look guys I know we all have children, jobs, relationships, homes, Facebook, Twitter, TV, books, music, Sky, food, drink, air and water to think about/worry about but can we really sit back and allow the Mem Book to die?

We have already lost Woolworth's and Danny La Rue - this is an institution that must not follow the pick n mix and that somewhat odd trannie bloke.

Mem Bookers, remember the spirit of th th wicketball and return to the fold.

Your fellow Now people need you.

Amen.

A Glasto Virgin reveals his fears

I am off to Glastonbury this weekend for the first time (gulp). Here is what I did in my paper/on my blog about ending my festival virginity. Note, I somehow compare organising my own festival (i.e Tamworth on the back of a lorry) with this minor event!!!!

PS Talking of parnetal pride look at the quote my son came up with about me. I would have been soooooo proud of that at 15!!!!


This weekend I am about to end my Glastonbury virginity at the tender age of just a tad over 40 (a tad obviously meaning roughly five years).

The fact I have waited so long to partake in the Glasto mud is not because I’m averse to music or indeed festivals - far from it.

As some people know I’m a complete music nut (and many think the word ‘nut’ is appropriate in that I’ve seen my favourite band The Stranglers more than 80 times) and in my younger days I actually organised rock festivals of my own for a number of years. And yet, for some reason, the charms of Glastonbury and the like have never particularly tempted me – until now.

I have been pondering a visit to Somerset’s most famous farm for a couple of years but it was only when I started hearing the mere hint of a two-word rumour – “Bruce Springsteen” – that I thought I simply could avoid the Glastonbury temptress no more.

I adore Springsteen and the thought of not seeing him practically in the backyard was unbearable. So, Glastonbury here I come.

The problem with going to the festival for the first time at a not-quite-as-youthful-as-I-was-before age is that so many other people have been and have told me all the potential problems.

I have been told of mud rising up to thigh level, six-hour car park queues, tents floating away down a hill and even more scarily, that the place is full of hippies. Frightening.

And then of course there are the toilets (pictured amidst the mud here).

Maybe it’s because I am that little bit older now but the thought of sharing what have been described to me as the ‘toilets from hell’ with 170,000 other people brings on a mild form of paruresis (that is shy bladder syndrome) and parcopresis (which is bashful bowel syndrome). I wouldn’t even be keen on using public toilets at somewhere like the Ritz so this . . .

And then, of course, there is this camping lark. I love the countryside but I’ve always believed it is better outside of the home rather than as part of it. It doesn’t help that I am, without any shadow of a doubt, the worst person in the world at DIY and the words “putting up a tent” give me the same fears as other people have about swimming with sharks.

I will be accompanied at my first Glasto by my 15-year-old son, Ollie, who’s far more practical than me, and when I foolishly told him of my tent fears, he looked at me, shook his head and uttered the wounding phrase: “When God invented man, I don’t think you were quite what he had in mind.” Cutting.

Thankfully, however, God has invented pop-up tents and that is how we will now be spending our forthcoming weekend. (If only he would also invent pop-up flushing toilets, we would all be laughing).

But despite the reservations about the mud, the loos, the queues and the total abandonment of personal hygiene, I am still very excited about opening my Glastonbury account. The musical line-up looks incredible (I'm especially looking forward to Broooooce, Glasvegas, The Gaslight Anhem, The Specials, Echo and The Bunnymen, Hugh Cornwell, Spinal Tap and more) and I’m looking forward to catching up with some great new bands, some great old bands and many others who have yet to reach my radar.

Hopefully, I might even see some of you at the event – I’ll be the one in a dodgy pop-up tent, wearing a faded Stranglers T-shirt and with a toilet roll in one hand and a ‘how to survive your first Glastonbury’ guide in the other.

Bring it on Glastonbury – do your worst!

The BNP - again

OK, I have seen it for myself - and it isn't pretty.

On Friday night we had a political debate in Bath about the EU elections and the organisers (and I understand why) tried to be democratic and invite everyone (including the BNP) A big demo followed - you can see my report I wrote below if you wish - and in the end only four of the minor candidates actually spoke. One of them was the BNP guy and just look at his quote below...

“ In recent weeks, I have shaken hands with Negroes, Muslims, Arabs - even my dentist is Egyptian. I am not a racialist. The BNP just puts the British people first and foremost.”

Negroes!!!!! What is this- the American civil war.

Guys, these fellows are serious. They are dangerous and we shouldn't let people (even jokingly) say 'we should vote for them to give Gordon Brown a bloody nose. This is so much more serious that that. Just because a few MPS have diddled their expenses (and yes i feel the same contempt as anyone about this) people are thinking of voting BNP as a 'protest vote'. A protest vote! Let's tell our MPs off for claiming an extra toilet seat by supporting a party whose leader has claimed the gas chambers at Auschwitz were fake and built by the Americans after World War 2. A party that despite putting on suits is still the same old knuckle-headed hate-filled bunch of the NF days that made me join the Anti Nazi League as a teenager (I sat among 12 of them on Friday and it was chilling)

Don't let it happen. Click on this 'let's get 1 million against the BNP facebook if you agreee ..http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/group ... 474&ref=mf

Sorry for the rant - but this stuff is sooooo important I think.

PS The story of the demo is at,.....http://www.thisisbath.co.uk/news/Anti-B ... ticle.htmlAnd yet...

Slagged off for BNP coverage

Guys,

You may want to see this.

As some of you may know I have always been a pretty serious anti-rascist/anti-fascist (I was the only member of Schoolkids Against The Nazis in Tamworth accoring to their records!) and my interest in the Holocaust has even taken me to Auschwitz and the Yad Vashem Memorial in Jerusalem. Hence I am pretty militant about this and anti-racism and anti-Semitism is probably my most sacred political belief.

So, you can imagine how vexed I am to have been accused of being soft on the BNP after a story we did on them in our patch where three memebrs of the same party were standing for the vile swine.

I was doing my 'fair, balanced' bit but I have been slaughtered on a local blog for doing so - and I couldn't help get involved. Have a read if you get a mo and you can see what an amazingly opininated area this is (which I love actually) ...

http://sarahditum.com/2009/05/19/my-local-papers-racist-friends/#comme


PS I obviosusly couldn't reveal too much of my own feelings as this is 'unprofessional' but to be accused of being sympathetic to the BNP is like calling me a child molester, a mass murdrerer or (worse) a Phil Collins fan. It makes me seeeeeeeeeeeethe.

If your expenses claims were published..

...which would be your most embarrassing. 

Mine would be for a very expensive meal at Simpsons, Birmingham's first Michelin star restaurant, for Collette and I which I put down as "entertaining". Assuming the TAX police are not going to read this, what does the panel feel they would be most embarrassed about. I've always wanted to put hotel tv porn down, but never actually had the guts - but thought it would be funny... Much less embarrassing than "moat cleaning" though. Brian Jenkins seems to be pretty honest, and has only £8k down as his second home claim. Harrah!

Car booting - to prove Napoleon right

It is Napoleon Bonaparte who is said to have first uttered the phrase: 'L'Angleterre est une nation de boutiquiers'.

For those of you who aren't too hot on their French (and, yes, I speak as someone who got a D at GCSE), the term is probably better known as 'the English are a nation of shopkeepers'.

If this sounds as though I spent my last bank holiday reading books of quotes then, fear not, for what I actually did on my bank hols was far more fun – a car boot sale.

Over Easter we had got into active spring-clean mode as we attacked our garage and store room in an attempt to finally dump the junk. We had decided to be quite brutal (for a change) and started loading many rubbish bags for the tip and also (in the case of clothes in particular) making up lots of other bags for local charity shops. But we were still faced with loads of other unwanted books, DVDs and curious bits of bric-a-brac. These all seemed to have the words 'car boot sale' stamped all over them.

So it was that at 7.15am on Bank Holiday Monday, May 5, I headed off into deepest Wiltshire with my son Oliver to set up the first ever Holliday & Son shopkeeping enterprise. He had been forced out of his beloved pit on the promise of 50 per cent of the profits which, to be fair, considering much of the stuff was his anyway, wasn't probably as magnanimous on my part as it first may appear.

I had done a few boot sales some years ago which I enjoyed but this was the first time I'd done one in the South West and I was reminded again of just what fun they are.

We took great pride in setting up our stall and then indulging in the banter and the bartering that characterise the splendidly convivial community spirit that surrounds these events.
I found this bartering lark especially intriguing. Although every single holiday brochure in the world talks about haggling as something you should always do when you're abroad, I have to admit I'm rubbish at it and so I crumbled easily as people offered 40p for the paperback I felt was worth at least 10p more.

Thankfully my son is the business brains of the operation and was far more ruthless than I was and if ever the going got tough, I let him do all the negotiations. This seemed quite apt as in our experience the best barterers were definitely younger people who seemed to enjoy the thrill of knocking down prices as much as claiming the goods they received.

From our first venture in deepest, darkest Seend, we discovered that the good people of Wiltshire like their DVDs, have a good understanding of the best in children's literature (our own Jacqueline Wilson was especially popular, as were books by Anthony Horowitz and Darren Shan) and no weird or curious nick-nack is weird or curious enough not to engender interest. We sold a couple of things which, I swear to you, I have no idea what they actually were and I was particularly impressed with one lady who bought an odd bag-like contraption (which I think is used for carrying drinks) and she said the real fun for her would be finding out how it actually worked!

At the end of our three hours of relaxed toil, Holliday & Son were able to announce 'pre-tax' profits of £44.50 (and that was after our entry fee, two teas, a burger, a coke and a couple of purchases had been paid for).

Most importantly of all we have now got the bug and will no doubt be ruffling through the garage once again ready for the next bank holiday where we can show again that old Napoleon may have misunderstood the Moscow winter but he sure knew the English.

Sigur Ros films for free

med sud deluxe films on pitchfork.tv
for one week only, pitchfork.tv is showing the two films that were part of the “með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust” deluxe edition.
the first is the 35minute “við spilum endalaust” (”we play endlessly”) and the second being a 13minute film of the recording session for “ára batur” at the abbey road studios.
« split sides competition

Why not spend your money on these things?

Hi gang! Got loads of money? Yeah, me too. Let me tell you about some cool stuff I bought lately. Maybe if you dig the sound and vibe of these items then you could check them out too. These lil’ doolallies have become as essential to my life (and my `cool’ image!) as Fonzie’s bike and Fonzie’s leather jacket have become to the Fonz (aka Henry Winkler!)

Nikon’s D40 DSLR camera. I’d always thought that Digital SLRs were a rich man’s game, the kind of thing that only Ron Howard could afford. But I picked up this budget model for £250 on Amazon, and it gives you all you need (if, like me, you know bugger all anyway and can only vaguely conceptualise missing stuff like Depth of Field indicators). Only downsides are – it’s only 6 megapixels (if this even matters, my phone gives 5 megapixels but the pictures are still only as `good' as the previous model's 3 megapixels, but the file sizes are heading for 1.5 meg), and autofocus won’t work on old lenses (the motor is in the supplied lens, not the camera). But I love manual focus, I’ve never had it before. Anyway, so now I’m taking some unbelievable pictures. Rock on.

The iPod touch. I don’t have an iPhone yet (sort of have a loyalty to T-Mobile, but have no idea why, they’re a German conglomerate so who gives a shit?) , but bought this last year as a substitute. Over the year it has become more and more amazing – it’s my web browser of choice when I’m at home, and the App Store is totally addictive – if you’re prepared to pay 60p for an App then they can be really great. I like the free brain mapping software thing which really helps unscramble my thinking, and the pure genius of game Flight Manager - where you draw flight paths to land increasingly crowded skyfuls of planes. I also love Stanza, a free e-reader that lets you download the Guardian in full every day, lots of public domain books, and some new ones from Random House – all for free (you can pay for books too if you wanna). Great for reading in bed. The iPhone is probably the one to go for, as then you get web access when you’re away from wi-fi, and there’s a camera on it, and a neato implementation of text messaging. But the iPod is smaller, and definitely the best gadget I’ve ever had.

There you are punks, £400 for the lot.

Sorry about your Mum Sam

Commiserations, very sad.

I'm a Budget Winner

As a non-smoking, non-drinking, Socialist, businessman, cyclist and I've just given myself a pay cut, I am a budget WINNER! for now as least

The Damned United

I wrote this as a response to Sam liking the film (I saw it a gala screening with the lead actor and director and was unimpressed at their lazy excuses for bad period details and sketchy Clough character development). But I now realise that Sam said he liked the film on his other blog. 

Anyway, to warn you off it / provide a counter-point, here's me.

I thought the film was quite poor, and too rigidly stuck to lousy stagey
British ideas of what constitutes drama. There's a scene where Clough and
Peter Taylor kiss and make up - it's meant to be the emotional centerpiece
of the film, but it just falls flat. Peter Taylor was a handsome man, and
arguably the brains of the operation on the football field. Plainly,
neither of these points are going to come across with Timothy Spall in the
role.

Worse still, Brian Clough was a very funny man, and apparently so nearly
all the time. But in the film, he's funny in public but boring behind the
scenes. Yet ex-pros have lots of great stories to tell about him. The
flatness of the dialogue to me derives from i) an unwillingness to do
anything but the most cursory research and ii) a chronic lack of
imagination. On point ii), this was clearly not the case with the book
which wildly invented all sorts of Clough craziness, but the film wanted to
appease the Clough family and neutralised everything about the man - both
real and imagined.

So it was a pleasure to see the real Brian Clough on the ITV documentary
the other week. But the thread of the doc which followed Nigel from Burton
back to Derby was a disaster. I'd always thought that his confused look in
The Impossible Job was Graham Taylor's fault - as over-complex instructions
delivered in random coin-any-idiom English simply bamboozled the poor lad.
Either Taylor's damage to Nigel's brain was permanent, or he's just always
been like that. There must have only been room for one Clough ego at home.
Barbara!

Carole King on Telly

ALL THE TIME!! great easter treat that has been. the earth moved under my feet I can tell you.