I wish Piers Morgan all the luck in his new role as the world's greatest interviewer (according to P.Morgan). I like Piers, really I do, though he does strike me as the kind of person who would write his own Wikipedia entry.
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Things that require little comment, number 473: The name of the mistress who is allegedly blackmailing a tycoon, claiming he fathered a child with her, is called Fuk Wu.
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Every now and again sport confirms its ability to be reassuringly wonderful and it wasn't just England winning the Ashes, it was both the manner in which they did it and the manner in which they celebrated the victory and Australia accepted defeat (step forward and take a bow Shane Watson).
It's not just cricket. By which I don't mean 'it's not cricket old boy' but that cricket is not alone in this. Golf and tennis often throw up admirable losers as well as gallant victors. Remember Nick Faldo consoling Greg Norman for instance or the way so many female tennis players seem to be so tactile with each other, even when no one is watching them.
But the sight of the England players celebrating with the Barmy Army was magnificent and the way the Aussies invited them into their dressing room for a drink was truly noble.
My favourite scene was seeing the England players sitting in the middle of the pitch, several hours later and still in whites, and passing round what looked suspiciously like some kind of cigarette. But surely they can afford a whole packet between them rather than have to all share the same one.
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According to the Express we now have a 'plague' of swine flu. Maybe someone should remind them of this in a few months time when we'll have a new Express plague (immigrants, interest rate rises, heatwaves, housing market collapses, Princess Di evidence, Maddie McCann revelations and so on).
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The Sun is offering a £50,000 reward for anyone who might have information on the murder of Jo Yeates. Thank goodness for that. Now all those people who know whodunnit can tell the police instead of sitting on the information!
Like any newspaper reward, you have to wonder how much it actually helps find the murderer and how much it will help shift sales of the paper.
And also, if it turns out not to have been the much pilloried landlord who had the affrontery to look a bit odd, will there be an apology from some of our leading newspapers for doing all but painting little horns on his head and giving him a photoshopped pointy tail when he was interviewed by the police?
It's easy to be nostalgic but there was a time when, if someone was 'helping police with their inquiries', the spirit of the law - if not the letter - made us all think carefully about what we would write about them.
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According to today's Daily Mail, Facebook may be behind the murder. The murderer may well have been a F/B friend of the victim apparently. Strangely it also carried a story about a 1974 murder which may be linked. Does this mean a murderer from the mid-70s was also a Facebook friend of a young architect 36 years later?
I have a number of Facebook friends, some of whom I freely admit I don't know that much about because I haven't seen them for many years (it's why people of my generation are on it I think). So if anything happens to me, be warned - the Daily Mail may well think it's you what done it!
The papers will follow you round and dig up old photos of you in drag for a stag weekend or that picture of you in the 1980s with a haircut of the time that we now recall with much humour. They will discover a former colleague of yours who will say you always did have an unhealthy interest in school playgrounds or fashioned a hedge in your front garden into the shape of an erect penis.
They will find out that you once appeared in an AmDram production because everyone knows that being slightly theatrical is just a thin veneer to cover up psychopathic tendencies.
And for those of you who are fanatical cyclists, just make sure you burn any photos of you in the homo-erotic outfits popular with the sport (remember that spy found in the holdall?)
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FA Cup starts tomorrow (for us glory hunting supporters of 'big clubs') and, of course, the year ends with one. Now all we need is a Chas and Dave reunion and we're all set.
Yours with the trembley knees....Solly
Friday, 7 January 2011
Thursday, 6 January 2011
Still Looking For A New England
There's a two hour Kurosawa film on at the BFI next week which I quite fancy seeing in which a mild mannered civil servant learns he has incurable cancer. I've asked a few mates if they want to come with but strangely they all said no. Anyone? No? Oh.
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When I were but a lad I would often pitch up to see the young Billy Bragg performing, usually just him and a guitar in somewhere obscure like a bar in Piccadilly called something like The Captain's Table or Cabin (they gave out playing cards instead of tickets I do remember). And I saw him in his hometown performing at a civic hall in Barking.
I've met him twice. The first time was a blag on my part. He was a support act for U2 at a massive concert called The Longest Day at Milton Keynes Bowl in 1985. I had to look it up to discover that Burning Spear, The Ramones and The Faith Brothers were also on the bill.
I was at the Ilford Recorder and I persuaded the concert's PR to let me have two backstage passes on the basis that Billy Bragg was from the paper's patch. I took fellow reporter Brent Baker (it must have been all that alliteration) who went on to invent the idea of I'm A Celebrity for ITV many years later.
We got our passes and had a great day. When Bragg came off stage the PR insisted on introducing us to him. 'But I'm not from Ilford' he said, to which I revealed my deception. So he insisted I ask him questions which ended up being 'did you go to Ilford a lot' and 'give me a funny anecdote about you and Ilford.' He was brilliant, played ball and it made a decent piece in the Recorder despite the fact we didn't cover Barking.
I was reminded of this by a story in the papers today. Billy now lives in a quite big house in Dorset and his neighbours have been getting spiteful anti-Bragg hate mail from some vindictive sod who may or may not be in the BNP. Personally I've nothing against Socialists making money out of their talents. Nothing's too good for the workers after all. But what I noticed was the particularly high number of BNP Trolls who have left comments on the Daily Mail website under the story. Just look at the green arrows of approval for all those who have expressed a sympathetic voice for the far right. It's quite a concerted campaign and would be a lot more effective if racists could spell. Here's a link:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1344406/Musician-Billy-Bragg-victim-malicious-hate-mail-attack-Dorset-village.html
--------------------------------------------------------
It's not just the Mail though which attracts looneys. The Guardian carried a story about the new Sky channel devoted to HBO and other US series like Mad Men, Curb Your Enthusiasm and Boardwalk Empire which is supposed to be the next big thing. All natural viewing for your average Guardinista...except when they are brought to you courtesy of Rupert Murdoch who, in the eyes of some achingly stereotypical Guardian readers, is a cross between the Great Satan and the Yorkshire Ripper.
The number who said they would miss out on programmes they would clearly enjoy - as well as top sport - simply because it was Murdoch owned Sky was remarkable. But so too were the number who said they would buy US series on box sets instead, not realising Murdoch gets royalties from the sales of many of these too.
-------------------------------------------------------
And while we're on the subject of the press, just a note to say how much I support my mates at Solent, the Southampton based press agency who got an exclusive interview with the father of murder victim Jo Yeates, sold it to the Southern Evening Echo and saw it lifted word for word by PA and syndicated far and wide. PA is the country's national news agency which is supposed to set the standard for others. Well, it used to. Now it's just a cut and paste factory and while the old guard toil away to produce real stories, the penny pinching wankers who run it can't be bothered to properly staff the biggest breaking stories in the country. I hope Solent sue their arses off quite frankly.
--------------------------------------------------------
How much do the BBC pay to host a tournament which claims to be a world championship but is, in fact, a contest for darts players who are not good enough to play for the proper world title shown on Sky?
Must fly...Solly
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
When I were but a lad I would often pitch up to see the young Billy Bragg performing, usually just him and a guitar in somewhere obscure like a bar in Piccadilly called something like The Captain's Table or Cabin (they gave out playing cards instead of tickets I do remember). And I saw him in his hometown performing at a civic hall in Barking.
I've met him twice. The first time was a blag on my part. He was a support act for U2 at a massive concert called The Longest Day at Milton Keynes Bowl in 1985. I had to look it up to discover that Burning Spear, The Ramones and The Faith Brothers were also on the bill.
I was at the Ilford Recorder and I persuaded the concert's PR to let me have two backstage passes on the basis that Billy Bragg was from the paper's patch. I took fellow reporter Brent Baker (it must have been all that alliteration) who went on to invent the idea of I'm A Celebrity for ITV many years later.
We got our passes and had a great day. When Bragg came off stage the PR insisted on introducing us to him. 'But I'm not from Ilford' he said, to which I revealed my deception. So he insisted I ask him questions which ended up being 'did you go to Ilford a lot' and 'give me a funny anecdote about you and Ilford.' He was brilliant, played ball and it made a decent piece in the Recorder despite the fact we didn't cover Barking.
I was reminded of this by a story in the papers today. Billy now lives in a quite big house in Dorset and his neighbours have been getting spiteful anti-Bragg hate mail from some vindictive sod who may or may not be in the BNP. Personally I've nothing against Socialists making money out of their talents. Nothing's too good for the workers after all. But what I noticed was the particularly high number of BNP Trolls who have left comments on the Daily Mail website under the story. Just look at the green arrows of approval for all those who have expressed a sympathetic voice for the far right. It's quite a concerted campaign and would be a lot more effective if racists could spell. Here's a link:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1344406/Musician-Billy-Bragg-victim-malicious-hate-mail-attack-Dorset-village.html
--------------------------------------------------------
It's not just the Mail though which attracts looneys. The Guardian carried a story about the new Sky channel devoted to HBO and other US series like Mad Men, Curb Your Enthusiasm and Boardwalk Empire which is supposed to be the next big thing. All natural viewing for your average Guardinista...except when they are brought to you courtesy of Rupert Murdoch who, in the eyes of some achingly stereotypical Guardian readers, is a cross between the Great Satan and the Yorkshire Ripper.
The number who said they would miss out on programmes they would clearly enjoy - as well as top sport - simply because it was Murdoch owned Sky was remarkable. But so too were the number who said they would buy US series on box sets instead, not realising Murdoch gets royalties from the sales of many of these too.
-------------------------------------------------------
And while we're on the subject of the press, just a note to say how much I support my mates at Solent, the Southampton based press agency who got an exclusive interview with the father of murder victim Jo Yeates, sold it to the Southern Evening Echo and saw it lifted word for word by PA and syndicated far and wide. PA is the country's national news agency which is supposed to set the standard for others. Well, it used to. Now it's just a cut and paste factory and while the old guard toil away to produce real stories, the penny pinching wankers who run it can't be bothered to properly staff the biggest breaking stories in the country. I hope Solent sue their arses off quite frankly.
--------------------------------------------------------
How much do the BBC pay to host a tournament which claims to be a world championship but is, in fact, a contest for darts players who are not good enough to play for the proper world title shown on Sky?
Must fly...Solly
Wednesday, 5 January 2011
From dodgy Barnet to honest Tottenham
The mighty Tottenham Hotspur have appointed a 'PR Guru' to help win the hearts and minds of anyone who doubts that the North London giants should move to the Olympic Stadium. But what is a PR Guru?
Well, there's several ways to spot one. They have a massive sense of self importance but can poke fun at themselves, they've been around for a few years, can tell wonderful anecdotes with frequent name dropping but, most importantly of all, they have to have a ridiculous barnet.
Spurs have appointed Mike Lee, a sports specialist with a thatched top worthy of Shakespeare's original home in Stratford with wispy bits falling over his brow. He's very definitely a PR Guru. Talking of Thatch, have you ever seen the strangely coiffured Lord Bell, formerly Mrs T's PR man who has tightly wrinkled silver curls at the back of his regal head.
Then there's Mark Borkowski, a wonderful man and close personal friend (that's what we say in PR circles) and there's a link to his fab blog alongside this one. He is famously referred to as a floppy haired PR maestro and has a wonderfully vainglorious crop.
But best of all, did you ever wonder what happened to his white cat after Blofeld was killed by James Bond? Simples. It went and found a new home atop of Max Clifford, possibly the PR Guru's PR Guru. From one pussy loving evil genius to...er, a litigious PR masterminded who does a lot of good work for charity but doesn't like to talk about it.
So to Andrew Bloch, Nick Hewer, Messers Band and Brown, Trevor Morris (now he's got a sensible haircut) and all the others. If you want to make the leap from Aston Martin owning public relations bigwig to a true PR Guru, then don't concentrate on the fancy offices and famous clients, get yourself a dodgy barnet.
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Working in South London is proving to have its benefits. So far we've checked out gastropub The Garrison (chicken sandwich and chips for a tenner) and, by contrast, The Horseshoe Inn, nestling betwixt Guinness Trust buildings, low rise council blocks, the out-of-place Bermondsey Village Hall and the magnificent Shard. For those with a fondness for this sort of thing, it sells both Pride and Jennings, satisfying both Londoners and Northerners at the same time.
Tomorrow we may well try The Woolpack and The Leather Exchange (a Fullers pub) before going a bit upmarket and trendy for The Tunnel Bar and The Hide which looks like it has something to do with the Wine and Spirits Association.
Kudos to the enterprising curry house owner in Tooley Street who has renamed his establishment The Shard rather than something corny like King Curry or the Taj Mahal.
But whether or not I'll ever get used to the sight of co-workers wearing black leather hotpants to the office is another thing. I've had a word with him and he says he won't do it again.
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Apparently a vulture tagged by the University of Tel Aviv flew into Saudi Arabia where it has been arrested on suspicion of being a Mossad spy. You expect me to talk Goldfinger? No, I expect you to fly.
The story is so funny that I hope it runs and runs. Perhaps they will adminster Saudi-style justice and chop its wings off. Or stone it to death and leave it out for good old Saudi vultures to pick out the bones.
Last month the Egyptians said the shark that was eating people may have been acting under instructions from the Israeli government. A gefilter fish or smoked salmon I could understand but a shark?
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I'd like to thank Mike of iTunes, not just for helping me out over having some thieving git nick credit from my account but for ending his messages with 'thank you for being the best part of iTunes.'
He's in America of course. It just wouldn't work if he wasn't.
So thank you, all of you out there, particularly whoever it is in Slovenia who is reading this blog, for being the best part of Solly Blog....Solly
Well, there's several ways to spot one. They have a massive sense of self importance but can poke fun at themselves, they've been around for a few years, can tell wonderful anecdotes with frequent name dropping but, most importantly of all, they have to have a ridiculous barnet.
Spurs have appointed Mike Lee, a sports specialist with a thatched top worthy of Shakespeare's original home in Stratford with wispy bits falling over his brow. He's very definitely a PR Guru. Talking of Thatch, have you ever seen the strangely coiffured Lord Bell, formerly Mrs T's PR man who has tightly wrinkled silver curls at the back of his regal head.
Then there's Mark Borkowski, a wonderful man and close personal friend (that's what we say in PR circles) and there's a link to his fab blog alongside this one. He is famously referred to as a floppy haired PR maestro and has a wonderfully vainglorious crop.
But best of all, did you ever wonder what happened to his white cat after Blofeld was killed by James Bond? Simples. It went and found a new home atop of Max Clifford, possibly the PR Guru's PR Guru. From one pussy loving evil genius to...er, a litigious PR masterminded who does a lot of good work for charity but doesn't like to talk about it.
So to Andrew Bloch, Nick Hewer, Messers Band and Brown, Trevor Morris (now he's got a sensible haircut) and all the others. If you want to make the leap from Aston Martin owning public relations bigwig to a true PR Guru, then don't concentrate on the fancy offices and famous clients, get yourself a dodgy barnet.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Working in South London is proving to have its benefits. So far we've checked out gastropub The Garrison (chicken sandwich and chips for a tenner) and, by contrast, The Horseshoe Inn, nestling betwixt Guinness Trust buildings, low rise council blocks, the out-of-place Bermondsey Village Hall and the magnificent Shard. For those with a fondness for this sort of thing, it sells both Pride and Jennings, satisfying both Londoners and Northerners at the same time.
Tomorrow we may well try The Woolpack and The Leather Exchange (a Fullers pub) before going a bit upmarket and trendy for The Tunnel Bar and The Hide which looks like it has something to do with the Wine and Spirits Association.
Kudos to the enterprising curry house owner in Tooley Street who has renamed his establishment The Shard rather than something corny like King Curry or the Taj Mahal.
But whether or not I'll ever get used to the sight of co-workers wearing black leather hotpants to the office is another thing. I've had a word with him and he says he won't do it again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently a vulture tagged by the University of Tel Aviv flew into Saudi Arabia where it has been arrested on suspicion of being a Mossad spy. You expect me to talk Goldfinger? No, I expect you to fly.
The story is so funny that I hope it runs and runs. Perhaps they will adminster Saudi-style justice and chop its wings off. Or stone it to death and leave it out for good old Saudi vultures to pick out the bones.
Last month the Egyptians said the shark that was eating people may have been acting under instructions from the Israeli government. A gefilter fish or smoked salmon I could understand but a shark?
----------------------------------------------------------------------
I'd like to thank Mike of iTunes, not just for helping me out over having some thieving git nick credit from my account but for ending his messages with 'thank you for being the best part of iTunes.'
He's in America of course. It just wouldn't work if he wasn't.
So thank you, all of you out there, particularly whoever it is in Slovenia who is reading this blog, for being the best part of Solly Blog....Solly
Tuesday, 4 January 2011
Bermonzey Boyz
My first day working in Sarf London has passed without incident though a failed train at Stratford and a person trespassing on the Northern Line did their best to try and prevent me getting across the Thames.
I noticed the sandwich shop on the corner of my new street has closed down. Something I said? Apparently not. A worker there got sacked for smoking cannabis so he went home and, presumably once the peaceful effects of the pot had worn off, went back and stabbed the owner to death.
It's enough to make one break out in stereotypes.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Talking of transport, I noticed that the local BBC news - South East Matters or some such bollo - asked viewers to comment on the inflation busting fare rises planned for commuter trains and London Transport.
Guess what, everyone thought they were a bad idea and everyone was critical and not a single email, text or phone call had anything good to say.
That was five minutes of editorial well spent. Though compared to the dross that is local TV news and has been for 40 years or more, why should anyone be surprised.
Local papers are great and have a genuine purpose. Local TV news is crap and serves no use whatsoever. How can the news on a regional network be called local when it's not local to 95 per cent of those watching. It's about time these expensive wastes of space were abolished. Sorry for going all Littlejohn about this but I'm a passionate believer in local news and this is not worthy of the name.
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Have you ever seen the self-serving spin off of Mastermind where the contestants are all 'celebrities'? Interesting to see just how far they have dumbed down the questions to give the participants a chance of getting a few points on the board.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The BBC's Stargazing continues and after sniggering about Uranus, I now notice the programme is coming (oo er) from Jodrell Bank (fnarr fnarr) and is presented by Brian Cox (titter, titter). It is fast approaching birdwatching for double entendres.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently there's some kind of mass debating going on this week over the state of sports journalism in this country which, you just know from the line-up of Tom Bower, Tessa Jowell et al, is going to be all about how shite the tabloids are, ignoring the fact that most of the 'news' in the broadsheet sports pages and on the telly is merely a follow up to what has been in the redtops the day before.
Of course you can point to some of the columnists in the heavies and I agree that on cricket and racing, for instance, they are often superior. But when it comes to football I'd rather have a Martin Samuel or a John Dillon or a Rob Shepherd or anyone who actually knows about football (and went to a certain school) than posh racing writer turned soccer 'expert' Henry Winter, long haired egotist Simon Barnes or Mihir Bose - who can somehow suck the life out of the most exiciting of sporting events in a couple of thousand words (when 400 would do.)
But if you want to pick one thing wrong with football journalism in particular, then it is any interview which is only allowed to take place if the piece ends with a little note that 'Jermaine Inkpad was taking part in the Adidas Bastards Challenge Event' or 'Wayne Shagnasty wears Nike 'Exloitakid' Boots with extra spring provided by the tears of Korean children'.
Cheers - Solly (Solly's Blog is brought to you in conjunction with the Central Line and The Newton Arms)
I noticed the sandwich shop on the corner of my new street has closed down. Something I said? Apparently not. A worker there got sacked for smoking cannabis so he went home and, presumably once the peaceful effects of the pot had worn off, went back and stabbed the owner to death.
It's enough to make one break out in stereotypes.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Talking of transport, I noticed that the local BBC news - South East Matters or some such bollo - asked viewers to comment on the inflation busting fare rises planned for commuter trains and London Transport.
Guess what, everyone thought they were a bad idea and everyone was critical and not a single email, text or phone call had anything good to say.
That was five minutes of editorial well spent. Though compared to the dross that is local TV news and has been for 40 years or more, why should anyone be surprised.
Local papers are great and have a genuine purpose. Local TV news is crap and serves no use whatsoever. How can the news on a regional network be called local when it's not local to 95 per cent of those watching. It's about time these expensive wastes of space were abolished. Sorry for going all Littlejohn about this but I'm a passionate believer in local news and this is not worthy of the name.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Have you ever seen the self-serving spin off of Mastermind where the contestants are all 'celebrities'? Interesting to see just how far they have dumbed down the questions to give the participants a chance of getting a few points on the board.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The BBC's Stargazing continues and after sniggering about Uranus, I now notice the programme is coming (oo er) from Jodrell Bank (fnarr fnarr) and is presented by Brian Cox (titter, titter). It is fast approaching birdwatching for double entendres.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Apparently there's some kind of mass debating going on this week over the state of sports journalism in this country which, you just know from the line-up of Tom Bower, Tessa Jowell et al, is going to be all about how shite the tabloids are, ignoring the fact that most of the 'news' in the broadsheet sports pages and on the telly is merely a follow up to what has been in the redtops the day before.
Of course you can point to some of the columnists in the heavies and I agree that on cricket and racing, for instance, they are often superior. But when it comes to football I'd rather have a Martin Samuel or a John Dillon or a Rob Shepherd or anyone who actually knows about football (and went to a certain school) than posh racing writer turned soccer 'expert' Henry Winter, long haired egotist Simon Barnes or Mihir Bose - who can somehow suck the life out of the most exiciting of sporting events in a couple of thousand words (when 400 would do.)
But if you want to pick one thing wrong with football journalism in particular, then it is any interview which is only allowed to take place if the piece ends with a little note that 'Jermaine Inkpad was taking part in the Adidas Bastards Challenge Event' or 'Wayne Shagnasty wears Nike 'Exloitakid' Boots with extra spring provided by the tears of Korean children'.
Cheers - Solly (Solly's Blog is brought to you in conjunction with the Central Line and The Newton Arms)
Monday, 3 January 2011
Finbar Saunders
My most enjoyable moment of the BBC's spaceathon Stargazing was when Prof Brian Cox - or 'The Sun's boffin' as he is also known - dropped his guard and instead of calling it yura nus (or the ridiculous Ooranus), went back to the good old schoolboy pronunciation of Your Anus when talking about everyone's favourite planet, Uranus.
At that point my 12-year-old and I sniggered like, well, 12-year-olds, and my wife simply rolled her eyes.
-------------------------------------------------------
RIP Pete Postlethwaite who was, I believe, great in a number of film and TV roles. But just because Spielberg loved him and just because he did a few right on roles and just because he's dead does not mean that everything he did was brilliant. And no doubt the forthcoming Clash of the Titans will confirm that.
As does Brassed Off. In my opinion one of a wave of 'It's Grim Up North' flicks that confirmed Britain's reputation as making films which are beloved of the Guardian and considered pessimistic crap by the rest of us. It was the usual condescending rubbish that everyone up north is poor but funny, hard working and honest and gritty sexists whose stone cold hearts can be turned thanks to a barnstorming speech by a veteran working class, granite faced elder.
And Pete's accent in The Usual Suspects was pretty dodgy too.
It's The Michael Caine effect. We remember Zulu and The Italian Job, Alfie and Get Carter but thankfully we quickly forget The Swarm and The Jaws sequel and Blame It On Rio and dozens more.
Robert de Niro has now done THREE Meet the Parents films for crying out loud. This is the guy who did Goodfellas and Taxi Driver - the latter a film so good that I saw it five times in a late night double bill with Midnight Express at The Swiss Centre in Leicester Square, once on my own.
Few films are SO good that they are worth going to see, on your own, late at night, in Soho, without having to sit next to someone in a dirty mac.
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A New Year and a new office. Tomorrow I begin my first new daily commute for 17 years when I will have to remember to change tubes at Stratford and go south of the river to work - the first time in my life that I have travelled to the dark side of the Thames to earn a living.
Wish me luck. It will be strange fitting in to all those strange South London ways. The odd accent, the way everyone speaks from the side of the mouth and holds their cigarette between their thumb and forefinger, unlike us North London sophisticates who have adopted the continental style of holding it between first and second fingers. I am expecting pubs with meat raffles and the description of 'up and coming' applied to a street where the cafe sells capuccino.
I'm not sure what to pack but I'll play it by ear.
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The boiler's fixed, the dog recovered and is back home and a very nice American man called Mike has refunded me the £14.76 that a Chinese hacker spent on my iTunes account.
So perhaps it won't be such a bad year after all. Cheers everyone, I hope this year brings you what you want...Solly
At that point my 12-year-old and I sniggered like, well, 12-year-olds, and my wife simply rolled her eyes.
-------------------------------------------------------
RIP Pete Postlethwaite who was, I believe, great in a number of film and TV roles. But just because Spielberg loved him and just because he did a few right on roles and just because he's dead does not mean that everything he did was brilliant. And no doubt the forthcoming Clash of the Titans will confirm that.
As does Brassed Off. In my opinion one of a wave of 'It's Grim Up North' flicks that confirmed Britain's reputation as making films which are beloved of the Guardian and considered pessimistic crap by the rest of us. It was the usual condescending rubbish that everyone up north is poor but funny, hard working and honest and gritty sexists whose stone cold hearts can be turned thanks to a barnstorming speech by a veteran working class, granite faced elder.
And Pete's accent in The Usual Suspects was pretty dodgy too.
It's The Michael Caine effect. We remember Zulu and The Italian Job, Alfie and Get Carter but thankfully we quickly forget The Swarm and The Jaws sequel and Blame It On Rio and dozens more.
Robert de Niro has now done THREE Meet the Parents films for crying out loud. This is the guy who did Goodfellas and Taxi Driver - the latter a film so good that I saw it five times in a late night double bill with Midnight Express at The Swiss Centre in Leicester Square, once on my own.
Few films are SO good that they are worth going to see, on your own, late at night, in Soho, without having to sit next to someone in a dirty mac.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A New Year and a new office. Tomorrow I begin my first new daily commute for 17 years when I will have to remember to change tubes at Stratford and go south of the river to work - the first time in my life that I have travelled to the dark side of the Thames to earn a living.
Wish me luck. It will be strange fitting in to all those strange South London ways. The odd accent, the way everyone speaks from the side of the mouth and holds their cigarette between their thumb and forefinger, unlike us North London sophisticates who have adopted the continental style of holding it between first and second fingers. I am expecting pubs with meat raffles and the description of 'up and coming' applied to a street where the cafe sells capuccino.
I'm not sure what to pack but I'll play it by ear.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The boiler's fixed, the dog recovered and is back home and a very nice American man called Mike has refunded me the £14.76 that a Chinese hacker spent on my iTunes account.
So perhaps it won't be such a bad year after all. Cheers everyone, I hope this year brings you what you want...Solly
Sunday, 2 January 2011
Nutters
My wife did something called a brunch today for around 30 local friends which gives everyone a chance to talk about 4x4s, school fees and Grade 7 Flute exams while enjoying bacon sandwiches and Bucks Fizz.
It was very enjoyable and could become a regular feature on the Golden Triangle social circuit I fear.
I'm thinking of doing something similar for my old Ilford friends involving lager, Marlboro Lights and chewing gum where we can talk about football and laugh about incidents which make me look bad, such as the brief time during the early 1980s when, for reasons which had nothing at all to do with me, I was banned from The Papermaker's Arms in Ilford, The Hare in Harlow and the Camelot in Chigwell all around the same time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
You can't help it. There's bin a mdda (as Taggart would say) and the TV news focuses on a suspect who has a) a distinctly dodgy haircut, b) an eccentric dress sense or c) talks slightly oddly, possibly a bit posh or affected. And everyone watching Sky or BBC News 24 immediately goes 'I bet he did it.'
The press, I am afraid, does not help. They dig up some odd fact - he was once in an Abba tribute band perhaps - or a Facebook picture where he dressed as as a nurse for a party (and come on, we've all done that...er, haven't we?) and that's it. He's as good as convicted.
Of course there are other signs and not just the usual stuff about playing video games or owning a pitbull called Rooney. Look out for anyone who has changed their name to that of a film star or singer with whom they have an obsession, gives their house a 'funny' name instead of just a number, supports Arsenal and waits for hours outside the stage door of an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical wearing a jacket with badges representing all of Lord Fishface's other theatrical hits - all these are sure signs of a potentially psychopathic nature, some would say.
But if you really want oddballs then look no further at the throngs of weirdos gathered behind the 'expert' on any edition of Antiques Roadshow. Round 'em up and throw away the key your honour.
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I got stopped by the police the other day. First time in ages it was. What happened was I was driving across London taking two office chairs from my old office to my new one when one of the anti-terrorist roadblock officers with nothing to do, put his arm out and got me to stop as a line of traffic gathered behind me.
He lectured me long and hard how it was an offence to transport goods not strapped down in a saloon car which could be a danger, how it could cost me three points and he could impound my car. Then he said 'happy new year' and let me on my way.
I discovered long ago that listening intently, nodding in agreement and saying thank you works a lot better than arguing or calling them a 'jobsworth' - though he did have that odd little jobsworth moustache, you know like Bob Ainsworth has and seems to be particularly popular with Brummies.
For the first time in almost a decade, I have no points of my licence going into the New Year and I intend to keep it that way as it has already cost me around £8k in an invalid insurance claim some time ago.
Anyway, when he said 'why do have two chairs in the back, I resisted the urge to say 'because the wife wants a car with a couple of extra seats in the back.'
Mind how you go....Solly
It was very enjoyable and could become a regular feature on the Golden Triangle social circuit I fear.
I'm thinking of doing something similar for my old Ilford friends involving lager, Marlboro Lights and chewing gum where we can talk about football and laugh about incidents which make me look bad, such as the brief time during the early 1980s when, for reasons which had nothing at all to do with me, I was banned from The Papermaker's Arms in Ilford, The Hare in Harlow and the Camelot in Chigwell all around the same time.
-----------------------------------------------------------
You can't help it. There's bin a mdda (as Taggart would say) and the TV news focuses on a suspect who has a) a distinctly dodgy haircut, b) an eccentric dress sense or c) talks slightly oddly, possibly a bit posh or affected. And everyone watching Sky or BBC News 24 immediately goes 'I bet he did it.'
The press, I am afraid, does not help. They dig up some odd fact - he was once in an Abba tribute band perhaps - or a Facebook picture where he dressed as as a nurse for a party (and come on, we've all done that...er, haven't we?) and that's it. He's as good as convicted.
Of course there are other signs and not just the usual stuff about playing video games or owning a pitbull called Rooney. Look out for anyone who has changed their name to that of a film star or singer with whom they have an obsession, gives their house a 'funny' name instead of just a number, supports Arsenal and waits for hours outside the stage door of an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical wearing a jacket with badges representing all of Lord Fishface's other theatrical hits - all these are sure signs of a potentially psychopathic nature, some would say.
But if you really want oddballs then look no further at the throngs of weirdos gathered behind the 'expert' on any edition of Antiques Roadshow. Round 'em up and throw away the key your honour.
------------------------------------------------------------
I got stopped by the police the other day. First time in ages it was. What happened was I was driving across London taking two office chairs from my old office to my new one when one of the anti-terrorist roadblock officers with nothing to do, put his arm out and got me to stop as a line of traffic gathered behind me.
He lectured me long and hard how it was an offence to transport goods not strapped down in a saloon car which could be a danger, how it could cost me three points and he could impound my car. Then he said 'happy new year' and let me on my way.
I discovered long ago that listening intently, nodding in agreement and saying thank you works a lot better than arguing or calling them a 'jobsworth' - though he did have that odd little jobsworth moustache, you know like Bob Ainsworth has and seems to be particularly popular with Brummies.
For the first time in almost a decade, I have no points of my licence going into the New Year and I intend to keep it that way as it has already cost me around £8k in an invalid insurance claim some time ago.
Anyway, when he said 'why do have two chairs in the back, I resisted the urge to say 'because the wife wants a car with a couple of extra seats in the back.'
Mind how you go....Solly
Saturday, 1 January 2011
Obsessed By Death
The Sun's front page today was 'Obsessed By Death' about a murder suspect who has an unhealthy obsession with death. Apart from the argument over whether it should be 'obsessed with' rather than 'obsessed by', there's an interesting point.
The Sun covered this story over three pages. There was also a page on a hubby who died of swine flu and a full page on everyone who died in 2010. Roughly 17 per cent of the paper's news editorial was about death. And most other papers have the same. So who's obsessed?
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In a TV advert for California tourism, Kim Kardashian - so that's what she does for a living - says: "All your misconceptions are wrong."
But isn't that the definition of a misconception in the first place? Surely our misconceptions are right. That's why they're misconceptions.
I have this misconception that people are murdering the English language. But I'm obsessed with literary death I suppose.
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I'm not sure which was more fun. Watching a collection of Cougars dancing in the restaurant where I saw in the New Year and then trying it on with the DJ and various young waiters, or watching the girls trying to get into the nightclub across the road, being refused and then tottering off in the cold night air in possibly the shortest skirts I've ever seen. And then remembering I have a daughter that age.
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No resolutions. A year ago, on Christmas rather than New Year's Eve, I gave up smoking and apart from a few social indiscretions since, I've pretty much kept to it. I reckon this means I'm not a complete non-smoker yet but I'm almost an ex-smoker. If that makes sense.
I will endeavour to blog as often as possible as long as there is still someone out there reading it and I may even try a few new things though I've managed to go this far in my life without attempting to ski, folk dance or go to a rugby match and I see no reason to start now. However, I do fancy having a go at the piano accordian.
Have a great 2011 everyone...Solly
The Sun covered this story over three pages. There was also a page on a hubby who died of swine flu and a full page on everyone who died in 2010. Roughly 17 per cent of the paper's news editorial was about death. And most other papers have the same. So who's obsessed?
----------------------------------------------------
In a TV advert for California tourism, Kim Kardashian - so that's what she does for a living - says: "All your misconceptions are wrong."
But isn't that the definition of a misconception in the first place? Surely our misconceptions are right. That's why they're misconceptions.
I have this misconception that people are murdering the English language. But I'm obsessed with literary death I suppose.
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm not sure which was more fun. Watching a collection of Cougars dancing in the restaurant where I saw in the New Year and then trying it on with the DJ and various young waiters, or watching the girls trying to get into the nightclub across the road, being refused and then tottering off in the cold night air in possibly the shortest skirts I've ever seen. And then remembering I have a daughter that age.
------------------------------------------------------
No resolutions. A year ago, on Christmas rather than New Year's Eve, I gave up smoking and apart from a few social indiscretions since, I've pretty much kept to it. I reckon this means I'm not a complete non-smoker yet but I'm almost an ex-smoker. If that makes sense.
I will endeavour to blog as often as possible as long as there is still someone out there reading it and I may even try a few new things though I've managed to go this far in my life without attempting to ski, folk dance or go to a rugby match and I see no reason to start now. However, I do fancy having a go at the piano accordian.
Have a great 2011 everyone...Solly
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