tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27366993302086801452024-03-05T04:18:02.023-08:00Here Come The FleasMusic, media & travails.Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-54290712525366688392009-04-24T05:13:00.000-07:002009-04-24T05:14:38.349-07:00Russel Grant is my friend<span style="font-family:verdana;">Now, this term is bandied about far too much, “oh, I met the Queen at the Palace the other day, it was so surreal” No it wasn’t. You were at the palace to meet the Queen. That is not surreal<br /><br />Now I was on the toilet Twittering to the general universe about whether I should go and have some sushi for lunch and in a flash RUSSELL GRANT replies telling me I must.<br />THAT my friends, is surreal.</span>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-80783482735236031072009-04-17T05:52:00.000-07:002009-04-17T06:24:49.476-07:00Review - William Elliott Whitmore at Borderline<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78oLN9G5xgc_BrlzLPYQ2JLEg67OrsJSdzXaPtaV5EY7Ou4Pxa-enD3-wnH9Lkr0z1UdyF50KGJbOA_HWpYxC3aVhb0YV8-k_2OefuSJC5N8t1IwG9WbilBCJpx5OgxOjiFI0kUP54fOL/s1600-h/300px-WEWKL.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325650701005330514" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 157px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg78oLN9G5xgc_BrlzLPYQ2JLEg67OrsJSdzXaPtaV5EY7Ou4Pxa-enD3-wnH9Lkr0z1UdyF50KGJbOA_HWpYxC3aVhb0YV8-k_2OefuSJC5N8t1IwG9WbilBCJpx5OgxOjiFI0kUP54fOL/s400/300px-WEWKL.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>About a decade ago a band limped on to the scene, hung around for a bit and then promptly disappeared, although they stayed together and still release albums and tour.</div><br /><div>They were instantly recognisable for singing style of Tom Gray. It was a husky, smoke infused drawly growl which peppered such hits as Whippin Piccadilly and Get Myself Arrested. It was a subtle voice which fitted nicely into their rag tag multi instrumentalist line up evoking a sound more entrenched in the American South than South Bermondsey.</div><br /><div>Tom Gray was in his early twenties at the time and had the voice of a 70 year old lifetime smoker and it just oozed from his lungs coating the songs in Americana.</div><br /><div>William Elliott Whitmore is into his thirties and whereas he is a Jack Daniels swilling Iowan he sounds much less convincing.</div><br /><div>I was taken in by it initially on record and was struck by the stark instrumental use and husky bark which contrasted to great effect.</div><br /><div>I was convinced that he was black and knocking on heavens door. When I found out he was only 30 something and white I thought, nice idea.</div><br /><div>Then the idea started to grate with each listen but I had already bought tickets for the Borderline gig.</div><br /><div>Whitmore is a very personable young man. Bearded and wearing a pork pie hat he was every inch the musician as he wandered around mingling with the punters. He remembered people from previous gigs and spent a fair amount of time with each fan who wanted a chat. If this job doesn't work out he should consider a position in customer service.</div><br /><div>Taking to the low, intimate, wee Borderline stage he opened a full bottle of JD and handed it to the audience to polish off. Another nice touch.</div><br /><div>His playing style is bold rhythm strokes, be it on banjo, or less successfully on acoustic guitar. The songs are solid and stand up well as solo accompaniment but the playing is rather rudimentary and it all got a bit samey after a while.</div><br /><div>He can hold a crowd well and everyone was rapt, but I got a little bored and went back to meet Allan Jones the editor of Uncut.</div><br /><div>Another bottle of JD got opened and passed around and he left the stage to huge cheers and I admit the gig improved after the obligatory encore.</div><br /><div>The voice, oh the voice. It sounded better and less contrived than on record but it is so put on it sometimes sounds like he is swallowing frogs and trying to regurgitate them again.</div><br /><div>Will he be around in a decade? I'm sure he doesn't know anything else, but he won't be on the radar round these parts unless he changes his style as it was just a little tedious.</div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-86658921670453190282009-04-16T08:11:00.000-07:002009-04-16T09:12:53.356-07:00Abercrombie & Fitch<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4ikdfwL9zAVbplJu2bYqUmXmC1bBZyr7artlGF80bfokhw9GFGitN8UphGe7uS_7T5Ey3nj4m31aKuPpLnfARiPP3ZS0BNf6DECq7mLKGSfDt2lUwASZLR2BsDQ9ICa6F_E71Dwwabm6/s1600-h/Af_women_t-shirts_Abercrombie_amd_Fitch_women.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325322934345030882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK4ikdfwL9zAVbplJu2bYqUmXmC1bBZyr7artlGF80bfokhw9GFGitN8UphGe7uS_7T5Ey3nj4m31aKuPpLnfARiPP3ZS0BNf6DECq7mLKGSfDt2lUwASZLR2BsDQ9ICa6F_E71Dwwabm6/s400/Af_women_t-shirts_Abercrombie_amd_Fitch_women.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I have experienced a horrific vision of the future of shopping. It is truly stomach churning.</div><br /><div>The Abercrombie and Fitch store off Savile Row is the most pretentious and overblown shop in London and that is up against some stiff competition.</div><br /><div>For a start the grand stone building remains nameless. You just know it's there or you don't. You're in or you are out. It smacks of elitism before you cross the threshold.</div><br /><div>Outside is a congregation of lumberjacks and eighties luminescence chic, a place to hang. It's a destination for tourists. It's the place to be. Apparently.</div><br /><div>Step inside and you pass a half naked, very fit bloke who stands there looking pretty, showing you what you want to look like but can't. Cause you're not pretty enough. You will never be A&F good but you can spend a lot fooling yourself you can with their clothes.</div><br /><div>Oh the clothes! They are woeful.</div><br /><div>They look like the clothes Next and Burton were churning out 10 years ago. they are dull, samey, cheap and nasty looking bundles of tat.</div><br /><div>They are layed out in grand, beautiful rooms which are so dimly lit, presumably to hide the fact that the threads are uniformly shit.</div><br /><div>It's a tremendous building and with the right product it could be a wonderful addition to the sumptuous shops on New Bond Street. But they are selling cheap shirts and polo tops to vainglorious wankers who have been fooled into thinking they are buying into something substantial.</div><br /><div>On top of the crush of wandering imbeciles being fooled out of their money every surface seems to have been doused by their musty mouldy mildew fragrance. It reeks.</div><br /><div>The shop assistants stand around like some kind of Stepford family for the Top Shop generation. What they are trying to acheive has baffled me.</div><br /><div>All I like to do on my lunch hour now is to stand and laugh at the fools and their money.</div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-30716422694652699102009-04-06T12:34:00.000-07:002009-04-06T12:40:34.215-07:00More running<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVZ2UNhRYCpdsnT6laMOOlGdYFxkpNDnI7d9OokvRLA-n-S_Jps0xPByPgsZ2hn7K98aDss_-V059MRDA4KBAeJJpZ9H5zNwiNHLccdWZM65BtUFECzb3LMdsheyzHDQ3j_Y3481RHS0x/s1600-h/SuperStock_1614R-10042.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 349px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvVZ2UNhRYCpdsnT6laMOOlGdYFxkpNDnI7d9OokvRLA-n-S_Jps0xPByPgsZ2hn7K98aDss_-V059MRDA4KBAeJJpZ9H5zNwiNHLccdWZM65BtUFECzb3LMdsheyzHDQ3j_Y3481RHS0x/s400/SuperStock_1614R-10042.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321665604192293170" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I have started a brand brand spanking new regime.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I am running home from work every week day. That's six and a half miles every day, five days a week.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Then I'll do an 8 or 9 miler on Sunday.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It's so liberating. I am saving £150 per month compared to when I worked in Croydon. That's £1800 per year. And that my little bloggers is a fucking stack of cash.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Allied with burning around 5000 calories every week, I should have about a 2" waist come summer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Let the good times roll. </span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-42628162971197741482009-04-06T12:27:00.000-07:002009-04-06T12:33:49.773-07:00Snail Mail<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidovHgAFpKormGEN9zd0gilN8VJ7TpQwWlIdQBmPKcg5rR9PI0913ZYlnbou4b-K7KO0jFcupME2vdVMmpOs6COKNyWTuJI0aktiOkWT3d8ulzjfTNhCoQ4xO0_dsMlzSiXKy2eg28d-sg/s1600-h/snail+mail.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidovHgAFpKormGEN9zd0gilN8VJ7TpQwWlIdQBmPKcg5rR9PI0913ZYlnbou4b-K7KO0jFcupME2vdVMmpOs6COKNyWTuJI0aktiOkWT3d8ulzjfTNhCoQ4xO0_dsMlzSiXKy2eg28d-sg/s400/snail+mail.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5321663839203370786" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">My auntie contacted me today.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">She contacts me about 3 times a year.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">She contacts me by post.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">How quaint is that? Snail mail the old-fashioned way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I haven't seen her in about 6 years I think, and all this time we catch up. Very. Slowly.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So we cover the big topics. Ones which can be covered and then left to fester for a few months. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">What are you doing now, how was the snow for you, what does your wife actually do.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Three subjects and then pop a stamp on the envelope and put it in a mailbox.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Can't wait to know what interests her nowadays. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I'll let you know in August.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-71349361259974317352009-03-17T10:02:00.000-07:002009-03-17T10:09:13.685-07:00Running update<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4u0zwHZvjZa0M4Y2CiCfTpOpU2eTrE1Y6RuxuVD20KJThSDMmz_NQMwOUEEwmLaJ2xk5HIykXyo33jLo3abZ4C-O7ryCLthq1kTv_s294QZoAs3c9eyLGK1gvtAwMc93sPMyza5hFAxay/s1600-h/indian_runner_AP.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4u0zwHZvjZa0M4Y2CiCfTpOpU2eTrE1Y6RuxuVD20KJThSDMmz_NQMwOUEEwmLaJ2xk5HIykXyo33jLo3abZ4C-O7ryCLthq1kTv_s294QZoAs3c9eyLGK1gvtAwMc93sPMyza5hFAxay/s400/indian_runner_AP.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314204901992851826" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Well last week was kind of a washout. I only managed to run 4 out of the 6 days and it's just not good enough. Only 23 miles were clocked up and that isn't going to get me round a marathon course in under 3 hours.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">This week I have done 11 miles over Monday and today. I know tomorrow will be off the agenda as my mate is coming round to drink wine and download copious amounts of music. Then me and the wife will be up and out early. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">Thursday will be a 7 miler then Friday, Saturday and Sunday will see another 20 miles covered.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);">That's more like it.</span></span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-14748215191591575972009-03-17T09:40:00.000-07:002009-03-17T10:01:59.104-07:00Review: Bronson<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SeLHAkPwYdKeRu5FQLkAhaTY_Klhteu31Zypvye8Bs_apjQjsgGIFVHJj2QYhGyfiCIG7JUTAFI86MI-fJS2jeEiZvo-XGru_b7URJ4bQgdZsREphl1lITwrOZiKkCSecv-ikj8tt4r-/s1600-h/image.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SeLHAkPwYdKeRu5FQLkAhaTY_Klhteu31Zypvye8Bs_apjQjsgGIFVHJj2QYhGyfiCIG7JUTAFI86MI-fJS2jeEiZvo-XGru_b7URJ4bQgdZsREphl1lITwrOZiKkCSecv-ikj8tt4r-/s400/image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314203018515921810" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I still don't have a purpose in life. I want to be successful, happy, have kids, a loving marriage, yada, yada, yada.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">When I was 14 I wanted to be a music journalist, and I still do, although the goalposts have changed dramatically. Still, it's an ambition of sorts. I'll take it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Michael Peterson wanted to be famous for being a thug. A violent, indiscriminate hooligan. And, by jove, he's done it. By changing his name to Charles Bronson, growing a Victorian wrestler's moustache and being bald as a coot, he is infamous. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Played on screen by the raw talent that is Tom Hardy, Bronson isn't so much brought to life as set in stone. His crimes and temperament are legendary anyway, so being able to visualise it, rather than imagine it is no great achievement. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The man spent 30 years in solitary confinement. And they said the Watchmen was unfilmable. Why did the director Refn try this of all biopics? The key lies in its execution and place in the film sphere.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It is an arthouse film. Refn's use of theatre, addressing the camera, panto, cartoon and lighting all serve to make a potentially boring 90 minutes utterly engrossing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Much has been made of the lack of answers the film gives as to why Bronson is the way he is. That is not the point. Bronson is a buffoon, a cross between a Forrest Gump and Ronnie Kray. He has no point and to create this film, Refn has demonstrated that you don't need a conclusion. Just tell the pitiful story of this contemptible, mindless idiot. But tell it well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And Hardy and Refn combine to leave you, not asking questions, but clapping your hands at a job well done. Hardy's unflinching, bulked up performance ranks alongside Stuart: A Life Backwards and I look forward to him making continually demanding and brave choices.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It is a film I will gladly watch again. Even though I find the character of Bronson so utterly vile and wanton, I can somehow ignore that and just watch a beautifully crafted film. I will not waste one second thinking about his plight, his aims, his point, I just wait with baited breath to see what the team will produce next time.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-15727984645807303452009-03-17T05:05:00.000-07:002009-03-17T05:08:27.360-07:00My Barclays Bank complaint<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivxoGgxvip7jke3UQf5xlEp5qRR1fAJwjjvmTgzcJuCVzeZg9nC6FCxLO3fzMnei3t12BSKWZebUd7cl4LwXx72btpZwYWLwAPXOVwUBJz5N80olSaOoHKmR5onW868f3ZaFXnzKcZ0x0/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 95px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivxoGgxvip7jke3UQf5xlEp5qRR1fAJwjjvmTgzcJuCVzeZg9nC6FCxLO3fzMnei3t12BSKWZebUd7cl4LwXx72btpZwYWLwAPXOVwUBJz5N80olSaOoHKmR5onW868f3ZaFXnzKcZ0x0/s400/images.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5314127075430345602" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >In these times of economic difficulties, it would seem a good time to ensure that your customers are getting the service they deserve. If this applied to me, then you think I deserve to be treated like rubbish.</span><br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >Let me list a catalogue of errors made by yourselves and then please let me know how you intend to make it up to me. i am feeling distinctly unloved, even though I give you over £20,000 of my money each year to mess around with.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >First, at the end of October last year, I was the victim of fraud. So I canceled my card and filled out forms for you to find out where the missing dough was. You never got back to me with the findings that this form was supposed to, ahem, find. Maybe it was an 'Inaction form', in which case, it did its work. My card took over a month to come through, following several phone calls, and if I may be blunt, balls ups by your Croydon North End staff. That's over a month without a debit card in the run up to Christmas. I don't have any loans and no credit cards (is that why you hate me?) so my current account is my only source of dosh.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" ><br /><br />Secondly, I ordered some statement copies so i could prove to a company that i had paid them a cheque so they would let me go on their course to better my life. One month later, no statements, but you took £5 out of my account anyway and sent me a sodding chequebook. Who is running the show there? Are you on Sir Fred type bonuses, lighting big fat cigars with my £5 bills and laughing? I could not go on the course, so you have set my personal development back 6 months.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >When I called to get the £5 back the guy on the end of the line finished the lengthy call with a sales pitch for contents insurance. I nearly laughed myself silly. It's all take take take isn't it with you lot. How about showing me some love.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >I even foolishly tried to set up a savings account nearly a month ago and still have not heard a peep from you.<br /><br /></span><span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >What is wrong? Have I upset you? Did I steal your marbles when we were little?</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >Please let me know why I shouldn't go elsewhere with my moolah. </span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >Yours,</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >stultifyingly dumbfounded,</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 102, 102);font-family:verdana;" >Jim Emery</span>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-6564250172642745032009-03-16T15:12:00.000-07:002009-03-16T15:31:24.128-07:00Review: Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq59nPG6ddPko72fU2gyFbv0zIuPCoVUzRbB_IwzsSF3cZ_kISYfZLh-rEwvhgZ7eBx7PBbt7RcjpiiOy9iWhS1cIUYEVw0Axo99HZ8YI4LKp0DKq53ahpOpxU5lTQQQPDyBYEtTqZKlZO/s1600-h/image.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 389px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq59nPG6ddPko72fU2gyFbv0zIuPCoVUzRbB_IwzsSF3cZ_kISYfZLh-rEwvhgZ7eBx7PBbt7RcjpiiOy9iWhS1cIUYEVw0Axo99HZ8YI4LKp0DKq53ahpOpxU5lTQQQPDyBYEtTqZKlZO/s400/image.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313916641323439058" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Stewart Lee, 41st best stand up ever! A great, original comedian who is back on our screens tonight in his own show.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Chris Moyles's literary ambitions get rightly, roasted as does Dan Brown. Radio 4 grasping popular culture and its comedy content, all a precursor to an attack on the autobiography of Asher D also hits the spot - brilliantly.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">The supporting sketches, none of which will be repeated with catchphrases as nauseum, are the right length and give the show a depth and makes it even more likeable.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Can Lee do any wrong? Not in my eyes. I am a snob, like him and despair of the pit of thickness people are happy to wallow in. Being a bit clever seems to be taboo nowadays. Ask the University Challenge types who accepted their disqualification with utter dignity. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">His rambling, descriptive, deadpan style is a great antidote to the sketch cockery of Little Britain, Tate, Corden and Horne. I say deadpan, there is always a knowing smirk at the corner of his mouth and for those of us who are in on it, it's an added plus.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0);">Will the dumbing down of society and culture desist in the wake of this show? No. But we can feel that bit more smug, and we don't care.</span></span></div><div><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-71806501995985111282009-03-16T03:56:00.001-07:002009-03-16T08:41:19.671-07:00Rolling Stones - Cocksucker Blues<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTPmREk13cq6lVZHHm5DOfkhvCjgw10_bAmq7ZZaKPZeMNPM_67RTFU23UqqsCYZ8RKwlU_L-l_oj3q9HaUFJC_jBe_0PX2pfYliD1BjUYDc7F55juq7UN2zrcPOUjq1hjxWjvmbmwyyG/s1600-h/g_ls3jEmEo6taR8Z4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTPmREk13cq6lVZHHm5DOfkhvCjgw10_bAmq7ZZaKPZeMNPM_67RTFU23UqqsCYZ8RKwlU_L-l_oj3q9HaUFJC_jBe_0PX2pfYliD1BjUYDc7F55juq7UN2zrcPOUjq1hjxWjvmbmwyyG/s400/g_ls3jEmEo6taR8Z4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313811161225246770" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">This film has been banned, ever since its conception in 1972. There is a court order, which still applies today, stating that no-one may view the film without the director being present. With that in mind, I present a review based on spurious speculation....</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Presented in black and white and colour, the film follows the Glimmer Twins and the rest of the Stones (Mick Taylor era) on tour to promote the awesome Exile on Main Street album.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"> Interspersed with intimate footage of Mick and co are up close and equally personal moments of the band performing. The cameras get so close to the action, even when they are playing to thousands of fans. And this less than three years after the murder and mayhem at Altamont.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">But there is a reason for this blase attitude and that is the copious amounts of powder flying about. One of the reasons it's banned is because it shows the touring party, including Jagger, openly sniffing the marching powder backstage.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">A lengthy passage showing Jagger in a trance performing Midnight Rambler is spellbinding, as he crawls around and stalks the stage. This is in glaring pinks and shows the band romping in its full majesty. This then cuts back to the entourage talking about and experiencing the joy of cocaine, once more.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Then the film takes a darker turn as Richards and a couple of pals go straight for the horse. It is no wonder they never wanted this shown. While he is strung out in one part of a room backstage, Ahmet Ertegan, founder of their legendary record label is just feet away. It truly is a different era.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The cast of beautiful people also includes Stevie Wonder, Andy Warhol, Biance Jagger and Tina Turner, all of them just players in the main story of the kings of their world, Mick'n'Keef. "Anything to get away from those 39 people" Mick says at one point as they are driving down a freeway. It's clear that touring was tedious business at times, even among the drugs, mayhem and nakedness.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The live bits are gloriously loose and ramshackle. Without the sheen of trained camera angles and Scorcese being coerced by Jagger into how to do his job it shows the band at their best. Wonder joining them onstage for Uptight and Satisfaction is a mess but so uplifting and Jagger and Keef combing for a raucous rendition of Happy is brilliant.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">It is after this Keef vehicle that we cut to a naked groupie with her legs open, covered in cum. This opens up a whole section where groupies dominate proceedings, handing out spliffs, jacking up and being naked. This is the part of the tour you only hear in articles, but it's all there.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">If you can get yourself a copy of this film and can get a sit down with the director to see it, I urge you to do so. I hear it's very, very good...</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-71831440507564867022009-03-13T02:01:00.000-07:002009-03-13T02:04:21.164-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5XsS22cJkrdQxSHboV8SFPXI0JMsMPN_bRbscEUR_Zt5U7vd13cOjfJ4CCmuNo83Oq9c2-BVzRZBdVgH9ZHSg-8gNpNnCiernWLD25T-miyJvEj7wEZMT1Tq2GmaHlLefU77o9jAE76R/s1600-h/rednoseday_logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 120px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5XsS22cJkrdQxSHboV8SFPXI0JMsMPN_bRbscEUR_Zt5U7vd13cOjfJ4CCmuNo83Oq9c2-BVzRZBdVgH9ZHSg-8gNpNnCiernWLD25T-miyJvEj7wEZMT1Tq2GmaHlLefU77o9jAE76R/s400/rednoseday_logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312595573332432178" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Great game for Comic Relief, set up by Peter Serafinowicz. I plumped for Aubergine Vincent. Only £2 a go. Fun for all the family.</span><a style="font-family: verdana;" href="http://www.justgiving.com/peterserafinowicz"> http://www.justgiving.com/peterserafinowicz</a>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-20758468430569917342009-03-11T15:42:00.000-07:002009-03-11T15:51:50.999-07:00How To Buy music<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KwMr4az2BAfDPYfjLYuFV8wh4hdRjO8o6G2_b0grWzpGkPQiv0w_xBumHft9dRCCpyLdr9Kl2R3H6Sr1EyeQ5OzWkHdpFi2tAXX7-XtGrpvU-t-eQr_WsW-SrQDN6_E8iLfb8R2-9lNU/s1600-h/logo_mojo.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 125px; height: 95px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_KwMr4az2BAfDPYfjLYuFV8wh4hdRjO8o6G2_b0grWzpGkPQiv0w_xBumHft9dRCCpyLdr9Kl2R3H6Sr1EyeQ5OzWkHdpFi2tAXX7-XtGrpvU-t-eQr_WsW-SrQDN6_E8iLfb8R2-9lNU/s400/logo_mojo.gif" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312066681750891154" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">If you are looking for inspiration on what music to buy next, I have already sung the praises of The Wire magazine if you wanted to look forward and discover music.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">If you wanted to look back, though, you could do worse than checking out this website: </span><a href="http://www.muzieklijstjes.nl/MojoHowToBuy.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">www.muzieklijstjes.nl/mojohowtobuy.htm</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> . Yes it's Dutch, but as it collates information which is purely artist names and album titles, all the info is in English.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It lists the top ten albums of the best releases of a certain artist, band, label or genre as voted for by the readers of Mojo magazine. And they are usually pretty spot on.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So, if you wanted to kickstart a John Martyn or Quincy Jones collection, this is for you. I have found these lists invaluable and I hope you do too. Let me know if it helps in any way.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-58263667622954915412009-03-09T14:24:00.000-07:002009-03-09T14:29:32.830-07:00The marathon with no race<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88EAzYUHoYeVSoUvuF8Ug-m5_wjvN9xKVvaXRc2_FDxwPex5bNpVYepy7OgRhxluUxpZPgC_yL48D1tLeQ6grUBXdlwpagW8dX5jKXpFy6aPmOrHrkWhhf1ffBQBpIj9gYiaY3TK6qrUa/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 135px; height: 85px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88EAzYUHoYeVSoUvuF8Ug-m5_wjvN9xKVvaXRc2_FDxwPex5bNpVYepy7OgRhxluUxpZPgC_yL48D1tLeQ6grUBXdlwpagW8dX5jKXpFy6aPmOrHrkWhhf1ffBQBpIj9gYiaY3TK6qrUa/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311303284494375122" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Today is the start of my marathon training. I haven't signed up for one yet, but that's just detail. I will be running 6 days a week and that will be a total of about 50 miles each week. I will let you know the ups and downs as I go. I started with a gentle 4.5 miler today and continue with a 6 mile run tomorrow.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Wish me luck!</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-39481934320698345592009-03-05T09:13:00.000-08:002009-03-05T09:29:55.178-08:00Thank you so much - you're the greatest<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQV15ugVze105GLNHcJPP_WPPuCE0rPu7_AcB1zK8bSLrg2xoHbVmHF7TA6mOg7h_owPtou_CNWepnu4OHMXMVzYD_C8hoS4OGEkodv2sqWrbtgZWsQSKfVNk92OnEVCRtJQPoEy-FYjt8/s1600-h/chivalry.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQV15ugVze105GLNHcJPP_WPPuCE0rPu7_AcB1zK8bSLrg2xoHbVmHF7TA6mOg7h_owPtou_CNWepnu4OHMXMVzYD_C8hoS4OGEkodv2sqWrbtgZWsQSKfVNk92OnEVCRtJQPoEy-FYjt8/s400/chivalry.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309756413558177506" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Took in a bit of the old culture today in old London Town and visited the </span></span><a href="http://www.photonet.org.uk/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Photographers Gallery</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">, just off Oxford Street.<br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The wife and I were making our way upstairs and a woman stood at the top, waiting for us to pass. I went up first and sort of nodded my head in a thank you type manner. Then my wife made her way past the woman and didn't make any gesture. The woman at the top of the stairs then said very loudly, "Well a thank you wouldn't be too much trouble would it?"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The goddamn bitch. I just said "Shut up, if you don't want to let people past without them giving you a fucking trophy, don't fucking bother." A smart come back. Now, I would only say this if I was in the right to do so.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">The stairs were plenty wide enough for 2 people to pass each other. I had already said thanks with a nod of the head, she must have missed it. If you can't do something nice without expecting someone to bestow a knighthood on you then stay out of the being polite game. It's not for you.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">I count myself as one of the most chivalrous people around and open doors for anyone who follows me. I don't drive, because I know I would still be at the same junction 9 days later, letting people out. To have my good name besmirched like this was grossly unfair.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);">Still, I was happy with my reply and that's the best one can hope for in a situation such as this.</span></span> </div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-32377092535991940572009-03-02T10:17:00.000-08:002009-03-02T10:21:50.979-08:00Andrew Collins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqguT8kR-U87BRKFgFCkSN5BamOXaTCwDa9JWg4T5yL8M5MEEOBiqMtQOWS8DRVyYIvGwxPPIKGybyTg050o32-MWFtWxZ6AlvP-Frv6uWV9Rkb4CEa8XLnntTXDNTZQpLR92ES7F8L2r/s1600-h/andrew_collins.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 159px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKqguT8kR-U87BRKFgFCkSN5BamOXaTCwDa9JWg4T5yL8M5MEEOBiqMtQOWS8DRVyYIvGwxPPIKGybyTg050o32-MWFtWxZ6AlvP-Frv6uWV9Rkb4CEa8XLnntTXDNTZQpLR92ES7F8L2r/s400/andrew_collins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308657321826880882" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; font-family: verdana; color: rgb(102, 0, 204);">Back in 1994, the editor of Q magazine decided not to put the new and upcoming band Oasis on the cover, or even to feature them in its pages. He said he would wait until they had a top 10 hit.<br /><br />Did this guy deserve to be in the top job if he wasn’t prepared to take a chance on a new band? It shows he wasn’t a risk-taker. The first person to say no would be the man himself – Andrew Collins.<br /><br />In a talk he gave to my journalism degree class on Thursday evening, he was very self-effacing, humorous, nervous yet composed. From his days illustrating Puzzler magazine, to the heady heights of working on five of the big six BBC radio stations (“I won’t do Radio 3 – I don’t like classical music”) and interviewing Rourke, Winslet et al at this year’s BAFTAs, he waxed lyrical.<br /><br />I would be the second person to say that his writing isn’t memorably great (he would be the first, again) but I have always liked his style of broadcasting. His partnerships with Richard Herring and Stuart Maconie have produced some very funny and engaging moments and his radio shows were always lucid and gave the listener rewards for tuning in.<br /><br />It was interesting to hear how, as a freelancer, he keeps having to ferret for work, grabbing bits here and there. I’m sure it’s not as much of a struggle as many others in his position, but I expected him to be constantly in demand. His work ethic does, provide some clue to his relative financial status where work is concerned. He very rarely works evenings past 7pm and never on weekends, unless it is vital.<br /><br />He responded to the various questions with long, in-depth and informative answers and had the class enthralled. He is very modest and thinks himself very fortunate to have had the life he has been blessed with. A mixture of luck, cheek, begging, hard work and valid opinions has kept him near the top of his game for 20 years.<br /><br />At the end of the session, I got to thinking about risks. As editor of Q, he received a call from a 16 year old girl who demanded to write the cover feature on the Manic Street Preachers, who were about to release their first album. He refused and some ten years plus later, he spotted the girl’s name again, this time as a political writer for the Guardian.<br /><br />Tania Branigan has since won awards and accolades for her reporting. What would have happened to her if Andrew had given her the dream start? His magazine’s profile could have been raised and that could give hope to a trade that is very cliquey and difficult to penetrate. Would anyone have taken that risk? I think the worlds press could be a lot healthier if people did.<br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-31960997616866212662009-03-01T10:21:00.000-08:002009-03-01T10:47:42.170-08:00A favourite day out<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_LJCW5LI4jrx55MHzuRO0YpmYHZ1aDphgvKX2bmCvj9V8So0JBRcwRy6OPCRr_0Ky-8FBcTs0iUHMj07aEOWK2zcKjUKcZku5YN_qpivtdrlMfclOqKXwk8erUr_sRpzK3vRtSBtZ1BY/s1600-h/p9221311.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM_LJCW5LI4jrx55MHzuRO0YpmYHZ1aDphgvKX2bmCvj9V8So0JBRcwRy6OPCRr_0Ky-8FBcTs0iUHMj07aEOWK2zcKjUKcZku5YN_qpivtdrlMfclOqKXwk8erUr_sRpzK3vRtSBtZ1BY/s400/p9221311.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308292747472037858" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSU3zOA2o-u3xXzwPxlxJF7uyD1TNSg59dxYP250k8z2KIQIjFR55enXXPOuXap9RSpH0PlPAmYnaTe_uiH0ZCU8OFel5en9Xz7QoqiC5sA70AMDtCVzdFkRc495iaj8M7Gjhl26hb2gC/s1600-h/Nurse-2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 254px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSU3zOA2o-u3xXzwPxlxJF7uyD1TNSg59dxYP250k8z2KIQIjFR55enXXPOuXap9RSpH0PlPAmYnaTe_uiH0ZCU8OFel5en9Xz7QoqiC5sA70AMDtCVzdFkRc495iaj8M7Gjhl26hb2gC/s400/Nurse-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308292739333492706" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTkGpUSpb-HsAEL4ckbAwRCGCSrqZbxIcGROPU60bXCsFfDmK2b75TKL_bc14uALB8SB6cejLl3ECmithur1VIMju8XJULPeYYOYX2qiRufCbCE39gxcyoT0EzIaczGOm1CKS5ckmgLkW/s1600-h/mw57489.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHTkGpUSpb-HsAEL4ckbAwRCGCSrqZbxIcGROPU60bXCsFfDmK2b75TKL_bc14uALB8SB6cejLl3ECmithur1VIMju8XJULPeYYOYX2qiRufCbCE39gxcyoT0EzIaczGOm1CKS5ckmgLkW/s400/mw57489.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308292731299026242" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">If the wife is at work and I need to get out of the house, I know the best way to spend a few hours. And that's what I did today.<br /></span></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">After an hour long run around Wimbledon Park and a quick shower, i head up to London town and make my way to the National Gallery. A few Titian's later and the hunger pangs from the run take hold.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Near Leicester Square, on the edge of Chinatown, is the Tokyo Diner. This unpretentious little eatery is perfect for the lone diner and I timed it right today and bagged a table for four. The Word magazine had plenty of room to spread out and I flicked through, at my leisure, until the Katsu Don and cold spinach in sesame sauce arrive.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">The simple rice. pork and egg dish and vegetable side fills me up nicely, all washed down with endless free green tea. The bill is just £12 and they don't accept tips. the best way to 'tip' is to keep on coming back and to tell your friends.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">After the scran, I had back towards Charing Cross to visit the amazing National Portrait Gallery. this is my favourite gallery and could do the guided tours. I know the place so well and always make sure I go to see the John Singer Sargent and Sir James Guthrie canvas's of important people from the Great War. They sit opposite each other and evoke incredible feelings. especially the face of a young Winston Churchill gazing through the amassed politicians straight at you. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">Other highlights on offer are Jillian Edelsteins' photographs including Blur; Julian Opie's Blur quadriptych; Andrew Tift's stunning depiction of the Kinnocks at home; Pete Postlethwaite by Christopher Thompson and the massive, ingenious acrylic image of a photograph of Sir Paul Nurse.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);">But the treats are endless and as I gaze into the eyes of the great and the good it truly humbles me. It is a remarkable place and a perfect way to spend an afternoon on your own in Londo</span>n</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-85660925238784190872009-02-27T11:24:00.000-08:002009-02-27T11:26:17.776-08:00Waiting to go<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrT2wt9B00iFT6XSqNyVIxdqZG3Aqw1qDVLRJFdrqD9sJ6-VtcAsFB_rq5IY4GSr1ulnfTlkAo8Msw_xYsFLZQ_MtbIXVOSNS5bYlQsopb1i-TU3rgjRGbcCr6Iq0scTu1foVcMN2SjEzi/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 97px; height: 123px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrT2wt9B00iFT6XSqNyVIxdqZG3Aqw1qDVLRJFdrqD9sJ6-VtcAsFB_rq5IY4GSr1ulnfTlkAo8Msw_xYsFLZQ_MtbIXVOSNS5bYlQsopb1i-TU3rgjRGbcCr6Iq0scTu1foVcMN2SjEzi/s400/images.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307560619696891298" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Time does go slow when you don’t do any thing all day at work. At home it just flies by, you can be watching every single episode of a series of 24 and it would only seem like about 5 hours. Here, the time may even be going backwards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">My new boss said I can go straight after lunch, which, for me is 3 o’clock. Great stuff! That means I can go home, get changed, have a 6 mile run in the sunshiii-iine, shower, changed, and then be at the National Gallery for 6pm, where I am to get right cultured up. Init?</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />As I type this, I have just received an email inviting me to an Employee Of The Year awards dinner at the Marriott hotel in Birmingham a week on Thursday. I nearly laughed myself silly. I have been offered an award for my work for charity (I did a half-marathon last year). What a thoroughly, bloody decent bunch of people.</span><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-73444080032554288992009-02-26T14:38:00.000-08:002009-02-26T15:01:31.126-08:00Wire- Are all things with this name excellent?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEU_RXuMxcyUV-V7I-TtX8ZyxnoW_l_Cq0rgAQY-7k9oEr6HoSd87jwEL-ni_0mI90y_HZeFI6r5c-28VgpVZ5saQlgSSu3iEHSwyOdFjQ3gJ5orHteLI22V7u342Tg-rkHII2RY0rCI5/s1600-h/301cover.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 342px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEU_RXuMxcyUV-V7I-TtX8ZyxnoW_l_Cq0rgAQY-7k9oEr6HoSd87jwEL-ni_0mI90y_HZeFI6r5c-28VgpVZ5saQlgSSu3iEHSwyOdFjQ3gJ5orHteLI22V7u342Tg-rkHII2RY0rCI5/s400/301cover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307242850998318498" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">How have I missed it? For so long, I have been searching for a magazine to take me to the next level. I want superior, no-nonsense journalism, which entertains and, more important at the moment, educates.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">I have stagnated in the past for the past three years. Mojo magazine has been my Gideons Bible for the past 10 years. Other titles died, some became unreadable, populist pap and the rest were just glossy lists masquerading as music journalism.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">Wire magazine, like its Baltimore based namesake TV show elevates a dying trade to a level previously unseen since whichever heyday you can relate to. It's on issue 301, I have a lot of catching up to do.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">At 100 pages, it is slim, classy, attractive, uncluttered and oozes quality writing from its pores. I have always sought new music but, obviously, Mojo is not really where to look. Even the Fleet Foxes, who were championed across the board, are household names, leaving no room for the seasoned music Nazi to cock-a-snook.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">In the next 2 weeks I will be seeking out the possible pleasures of Andrew Cyrille, Joe Morris, Kong Nay and Menace Ruine. The only thing that connects them is their independent spirits and originality. I will even try my ear at jazz once more. Never got my head around it before and this is the last time. But the magazine makes it sound so fascinating. I am excited about music again.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);">And I haven't felt like that for years. </span></span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-70116058776201806512009-02-26T14:17:00.001-08:002009-02-26T14:19:18.903-08:00Working out my notice<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi245xwLsT7wyPZsX-BS-kbwT3r2gzi-hHFvzIIEpiziFkwXyvSDwyRPCAypFg1WjwV-7uaIVE_PXXXw98NkPuVbzuBBB60HocJiRvQoYar1QsOEB_XGNyApHnFxoBGkDLW4AxiooxvWrHp/s1600-h/sleep_desk.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 284px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi245xwLsT7wyPZsX-BS-kbwT3r2gzi-hHFvzIIEpiziFkwXyvSDwyRPCAypFg1WjwV-7uaIVE_PXXXw98NkPuVbzuBBB60HocJiRvQoYar1QsOEB_XGNyApHnFxoBGkDLW4AxiooxvWrHp/s400/sleep_desk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307233853653345858" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(204, 102, 0);"><span style="font-family:verdana;">The resignation letter landed in my boss’s lap on Friday afternoon, plonked there by myself, stifling a smile as broad as Cheshire itself. It was the start of winding down and being invisible.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">I am just approaching a week of being dispensable and it is feeling really rather good. It is getting to be quite difficult to fill my days, but enough aimless wanders to the deli or the library seem to do the trick.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">When I do finally get back to my desk, the mountains of paperwork are not there, the queries too have been funneled toward the new boss. People are even saying, “Why am I asking you? You don’t care!” And it’s true, but there’s no need to vocalize it. Surely my slouched seated stance and distant stare out of the window is evidence enough.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br /><br />I even woke up an hour late today, which made me late for work. But I still found time to arse around on Twitter at home before my shower, safe in the knowledge that no-one is going to give two hoots if I walk through the door late. And no-one did.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">It is a bit like being invisible. Arguments are breaking out among my staff and I am sitting back and watching, like I am at a tennis match. And smiling. It justifies my decision to leave. No-one looks to me for a resolution, no-one asks for an opinion. I have another week left, at least, and I think you are going to see my blog count go up. Because I am writing them all at work.</span><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-15597681828562309162009-02-26T14:03:00.000-08:002009-02-26T14:07:55.941-08:00Las Iguanas - Eat Latin, Big Breasts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLi3NCMQIwSAU9wQ1oucgFgADOUQJrXMsDy-zlUB6pnYfR0FK243abrq7xG5Bdj9HYsvvmS_DvbcDMFZvgB6u5K0-i3-DL43CamCs-gbNazoNFocXAahN1i0_-49Gv1HUn-_x3yo7bVe0/s1600-h/4319.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 190px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSLi3NCMQIwSAU9wQ1oucgFgADOUQJrXMsDy-zlUB6pnYfR0FK243abrq7xG5Bdj9HYsvvmS_DvbcDMFZvgB6u5K0-i3-DL43CamCs-gbNazoNFocXAahN1i0_-49Gv1HUn-_x3yo7bVe0/s400/4319.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307230539307180834" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"><span style="font-family:verdana;">At night, the South Bank transforms into a sight London can be proud of. Its shafts of light and subtle neon and electric signage pump a life blood through the concrete carbuncles, which in the stark honest daylight deflate any sense of pride.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Circling the Royal Festival Hall are shops and restaurant chains which come from the accepted higher end of the retail and dining spectrum. A Giraffe nuzzles alongside a Strada beneath the old Hall, and Ping Pong forms an Eastern Bloc with Feng Sushi on its west side.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">In prime position, jutting out on the corner of the top deck is the vibrant and colourful Las Iguanas.<br /><br />Imploring you to ‘Eat Latin, Drink Latin’, and if you could get a table, you would more than likely love to. We visited at 9pm on a Wednesday evening and had to wait half an hour to get seated. To the bar, then!</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">It is a small, functional bar, which serves the whole restaurant and the two guys whizzing up cocktails and cracking open ice cold bottles of Cusquena coped admirably. We weren’t allowed to get our drinks on a tab, even if we were eating. With the bar area right by the bar, this seemed reasonable.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We were seated at a cute corner table, which was right by the stairs (apart from the odd clumpy footed office type it wasn’t noticeable) and scanned the A3 sized menu. The delights on offer were plentiful and straightforward to follow and we ordered from the 3 for £12 tapas option for starters and had a risotto and xinxim for mains.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">The drinks were a mixed bunch. My caiprinha was, and always will be superb. It’s a very hard drink to get wrong and all about the cachaca, which at Las Iguanas is their own brand. Made at their own plantation in Brazil, it has a simple, pleasant taste – as you would expect from a drink made with only sugar cane and water – and the trick is to keep mixing the ice and the lime in the glass while you enjoy it.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">The passion fruit and orange cooler for my tee-total wife, however, was a wash-out. Essentially £3 for an orange juice. No zing, no zang, and no repeat sale. The tap water was excellent.<br /><br /></span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">As the calamares, chorizo and quesadilla starters swamped our little table for two, my wife decided to point out the big, perfectly formed breasts, which would be in my line of vision for the duration of my meal. Not hers - a blonde floozy who, because of this corner seating thing, was not 6 feet away and with no-one to obstruct the view. I will try and remember the food though.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">The chorizo in a rioja jus, was tasty, although a little stingy with the sausage. If they are going to scrimp, maybe better to put them in a smaller dish. The quesadillas were stuffed with giant portabello mushrooms and topped with creamy brie, fired up by a beautiful, chunky salsa. The calamares come drizzled in a light aioli dressing, which used to be spicy but alas, no longer. They are small crunchy pieces that melt in the mouth. The breasts – “Are they real?” my wife enquired. I was trying to concentrate on the food, honestly.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">The xinxim, a creamy chicken and crayfish concoction, is tangy and fragrant and served with green beans and plantains. The green beans are always difficult to keep warm and I don’t think they have ever reached my table above around 10 degrees. The broth itself is a guilty pleasure but there was too much of it and the poor bits of chicken looked lost. A bit like a pair of small hands cupping giant breasts.</span><br /><br /> <span style="font-family:verdana;">The wife – oh there you are – was a tad disappointed by the seafood content of the Bahian risotto, which was also a bit dry and needed pepping up with some of my surplus xinxim lake. The flavours in both are fantastic and you can get every one of them in spades, however, the balance of ingredients is a bit lopsided. Unlike those perfect breasts, pulsating across the way.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">We skipped the desert. A mass of naughty chocolate puds being devoured in the flightpath of zeppelin one and two may have edged me into Bill Clinton territory. The service was friendly and unobtrusive, the prices, more than reasonable for a sell-out South Bank eatery and the funbags truly….OK this has got to stop.</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;">Recommended</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Price for 2 including 2 cocktails and glass of wine and service - £50<br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">Food – 7</span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">Drinks – 7</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Atmosphere – 8</span> <span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Breasts – 36DD</span><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-5823237241309977502009-02-25T16:01:00.000-08:002009-02-25T16:04:03.532-08:00Daily Mail penetrates the young<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCt49yUwSA1nXNj8kbX9GpEPVQI-EDuhnV1QQvbhC2XQ1nC3sWIuKqTjZj7tIwr1cglWGs-yY-llLhbercbH7MV67dSK13vuNJLrCxh7SDdV6JajDK_5eA8HwKC1UG75yoYo_qj7UwP62/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 93px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdCt49yUwSA1nXNj8kbX9GpEPVQI-EDuhnV1QQvbhC2XQ1nC3sWIuKqTjZj7tIwr1cglWGs-yY-llLhbercbH7MV67dSK13vuNJLrCxh7SDdV6JajDK_5eA8HwKC1UG75yoYo_qj7UwP62/s400/images.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306890080618554962" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >I am always shocked and saddened when a perfectly normal looking person sits next to me on the train, unzips his manbag or rucksack and pulls out a copy of the Daily Mail and starts to read intently. I can half-understand him picking it up from the luggage rack for something to do, but even then, given the choice, I would just leave it there and glower at it every now and then as though it was listening to Rhianna too loudly on its tinny headphones.</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >This guy yesterday was young, late twenties, wearing a suit, no tie. His hair was spiky and, dare I say, funky? I would have been disappointed if he had pulled out a copy of Q magazine as he appeared to me to be more of a Uncut or Word reader. If he was your young professional, and not just wearing the jacket and trousers as a Superdrug team leader, I would have expected a New Statesman or Economist. (I couldn’t, at that point, hazard a guess at the guy’s political stance – I can now.)</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >The Daily Mail emerged from that Jansport back pack like a radioactive sanitary towel, contaminating and horrifying all who come into contact with it. In the readers case it horrifies him or her with its mild invective on the decline of this scepter’d isle and its degenerate inhabitants. It contaminates their minds like an unstoppable cult, spreading its hate and ideologies on Middle England. What is it about this rag that attracts my traveling companion and his peers?</span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >This was one of the issues I had to address in my essay to get on to a BA course at university and now, coming up to completing my second term, I am no closer to understanding the answer. The free CD’s are probably the bait, but the hook has to be the content, and the content, both in layout and actual words, is dated and regressive. It really should only appeal to people who are too set in their ways to know, or want to know, better. </span> <span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >It takes all sorts to make up a democracy and for the under thirties it would be foolish to think everyone thinks along the same lines as me and my peers. Maybe they are too young now to remember the Thatcher years, the Major years, even. But they cannot all be unaware of the antipathy held toward them. Conservative politics with conservative values were all but consigned to the dustbin with fluorescent day-glo and white rimmed sunglasses. Now it seems they are all coming back with aplomb.</span> </div><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="color: rgb(102, 51, 102);font-family:verdana;" >The retro attraction of the eighties music scene, seems to have gathered pace and with it the return to the Tory values of old. The mixture of right wing politics and a young, fresh faced leader of the Conservatives, a la Blair in the nineties, are helping to revive the Mail’s brand at a time when the whole industry faces ruin in some of its constituent parts. Should I, as a journalism student, be happy that young people are reading the printed word at all? Possibly, but with the dumbing-down of content across the board, I don’t see how I can defend any of them at the moment. As Patrick Wintour states in The Guardian, “Social network sites risk infantilising the mid-21st century mind, leaving it characterised by short attention spans, sensationalism, inability to empathise and a shaky sense of identity.” This could quite easily apply to newspapers. </span><br /></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-91459954319543444022009-02-15T14:59:00.000-08:002009-02-26T15:06:52.709-08:00Mystery shopping<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWctPq8_7wiRrAXx5Q7SvuJ605ScCPhlHDE5_7PEgT6XK3wGw-S-LkBksKBh3XVD6koFpfI-bJSNsQXxsgw7rNC-kWCQdlxMS7S1RJY9PEVefc92ljwVbUi4PRqsAK-4tAIvks3gmljrQN/s1600-h/images.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 85px; height: 132px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWctPq8_7wiRrAXx5Q7SvuJ605ScCPhlHDE5_7PEgT6XK3wGw-S-LkBksKBh3XVD6koFpfI-bJSNsQXxsgw7rNC-kWCQdlxMS7S1RJY9PEVefc92ljwVbUi4PRqsAK-4tAIvks3gmljrQN/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5307246449255462562" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Tonight I assumed the nom de restaurant Mr Linehan. I went undercover in one the outlets of a chain which boasts my brother as ops manager. Having nothing else in my head at the time other than the recently scanned pages of Graham Linehan's website, I decided to steal part of his identity.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Las Iguanas is a South American, Latin food and music extravaganza with a healthy whack of cachaca thrown in. The colours are bright and the food plentiful and is a great place for large groups to sample the various tapas and multi coloured cocktails.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I will post a review, maybe not from this visit but from A visit at a later date.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-30985975742969816912009-02-14T14:59:00.000-08:002009-02-14T15:31:36.734-08:00Review: Morrissey - Years Of Refusal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSnpvnTXVACCjNowrv0aeskHm0BU__xN-hZbixC5dYmjAjugrH7b3vRPl3YlUVBnsYtKIKEErFYtcqP28MzXEgYUkdEff7agenRDJiCtNPpXLJsLm9W7kwcxSz6rvtucWAVegUIqPEltFu/s1600-h/morrissey_years_of_refusal_frontcover.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSnpvnTXVACCjNowrv0aeskHm0BU__xN-hZbixC5dYmjAjugrH7b3vRPl3YlUVBnsYtKIKEErFYtcqP28MzXEgYUkdEff7agenRDJiCtNPpXLJsLm9W7kwcxSz6rvtucWAVegUIqPEltFu/s400/morrissey_years_of_refusal_frontcover.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302799735213603746" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana; ">His recent activity on our shores have caused the legions of fawning fans to rise to the surface once more, defending their fay hero to the hilt.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It seems our Moz would do anything rather than stay in this country. It seems he is less loyal to his loyal following than, I'm sure, they would like. He is no better than Phil Collins really. Stay in the U.S. or Italy, anywhere, just not Britain. Just nip over, raid their manbags and purses and flee like Raffles into the night.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Before he starts his biannual theft of the nation's overdrawn bank accounts he has dropped another one of his much hyped solo albums. The man who railed against the record companies so effectively on 'Paint A Vulgar Picture' is doing the rounds, laughing at Wossy's gags on his chat show and looking very uncomfortable. The credit crunch truly must be universal. He has even resorted to a strip with his band to try and shift a few extra units. Sellout? Well let's look inside. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">It's a hairdrying, furnace blast opener in 'Something Is Squeezing My Skull'. He sounds positively masculine, barking the names of prescription drugs out against the howling tsunami of his full-on band. It has the light thrash of a limp Therapy? under his Manc-Irish Proclaimer-lite chorus. 500 miles?</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The next two bang along in a similar fashion, like Spector has burst in to the studio and told everyone to play like there were 50 of them at gunpoint. 'I'm Throwing My Arms Around Paris' takes the foot off the pedal in a Stranglers on the Bontempi kind of manner. 'All You Need Is Me' is fine, it has a great lilting verse but the chord changes are somewhat pedestrian.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The Spanish clippity clop of 'When Last I Spoke To Carol' is a welcome respite from the unnatural tone of the album and provides one of the highlights. It's playful, and shows the humour that Morrissey used to display so well and in such abundance. He also manages to stray of the lyrics and 'wo-wo' giving the tune an air of spontaneity.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Halfway through and I am just crying out for a lead guitar line or a frickin' piano or something to break the monotony. The beautiful bass of Andy Rourke is a very distant memory and this very tiring album wears thin very quickly. Even when the Spanish trumpet reprises for 'One Day Goodbye Will Be Farewell'.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">'It's Not Your Birthday Anymore' and to be honest I am not looking forward to it if someone is going to get me this half-arsed, one-trick pony of an album. I'm going to get my copies of Strangeways and Vauxhall and pour myself a Baileys. Hopefully next time Morrissey deigns to darken our shores he can come bearing finer gifts than this.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">4/10</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-71860294801789662262009-02-14T01:38:00.000-08:002009-02-14T01:52:46.464-08:00Goody Goody Gum Drops<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKcQDuQPpRXzoKbmJxwpQXiiYQYeSO_G5MH_l5fpKNt52VL58MkVEV5dlCZ0k6lb6zjFcn28Kbu38iSsuVxzPzhz5hrhFKT5hCmjntUJnk6Kz_oWBOlNbp24APYkx2JIWvtm2_dm7Nz2bp/s1600-h/00540977963959-1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 302px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKcQDuQPpRXzoKbmJxwpQXiiYQYeSO_G5MH_l5fpKNt52VL58MkVEV5dlCZ0k6lb6zjFcn28Kbu38iSsuVxzPzhz5hrhFKT5hCmjntUJnk6Kz_oWBOlNbp24APYkx2JIWvtm2_dm7Nz2bp/s400/00540977963959-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302588538881894818" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: justify;">Jade Goody, the media personality created for us and by us will shuffle off this mortal coil at some point this year, says her publicist and doctor Max Clifford.<br /></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The news has been met with yet another shrug of the shoulders by a public numbed to the point of indifference by over-saturation. Death in the news holds no real emotion any longer unless it's met in some horrific, new fashion or part of a grisly murder spree.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">How should we feel? Some strange people are saying that she deserves it, etc. How did it get to this? A woman who doesn't know where East Anglia is is wished dead by the very people who once laughed their Burberry caps off at her thickness.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">While I have no real feelings either way on the subject, I don't know her after all, she will still leave her children motherless. So she is put in the quite unique position of using the only asset she has ever had, the media, to play out her final few months to earn some cash to leave for the kids. There is no money left in her perfume and she won't need to hire another PA, well not on a permanent basis.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So she will be in the glare of the spotlight as she slips away from us and as it is the public who put her there in the first place, the least we can do is have a few manners and smile awkwardly in her direction when she pops up in the papers and cock our heads yo one side and maybe say 'aah, it's the kids I feel sorry for.' </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And then next time Big Brother comes around you can vote with your remote control and help hammer the final nail in that coffin as well.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2736699330208680145.post-62153265222663166142009-02-10T13:58:00.000-08:002009-02-10T14:23:20.939-08:00Twitter - Bandwagonesque<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQp-G0u7njyFqVEsf7fph869VcUfaIUNOO8tuGO9mNFccmxqsUhQwsroE8Ul-GQWuBlZokMAXp8jJjqlmXDi-5xmgbyIrCsvoZ32NXoHYE5W6n3r30pHfASUYDcr_t5swKE_3L2t8vJHP/s1600-h/twitter_logo.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 147px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQp-G0u7njyFqVEsf7fph869VcUfaIUNOO8tuGO9mNFccmxqsUhQwsroE8Ul-GQWuBlZokMAXp8jJjqlmXDi-5xmgbyIrCsvoZ32NXoHYE5W6n3r30pHfASUYDcr_t5swKE_3L2t8vJHP/s400/twitter_logo.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5301297716321216306" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;">It's been a long time since I have jumped on a passing bandwagon. And not just that, I have embraced Twitter with gusto and even bored my friends to death championing it.</span><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I have never been a social networker and hate the very thought of faceless chat rooms. I didn't really use my natty MacBook for much more than selling a few CD's on ebay and writing essays for university. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">When Stephen Fry, the archdeacon of Twitter started to bleat on about it I actually sat up and took notice. It's Stephen after all. I have sat up and followed his career since the mid eighties when I understood very little of what he said and laughed mainly at his use of the word Cuntyblast. I know Pip Schofield is also a Twitterer but I stopped following him when he left the broom cupboard. he held little cultural capital for me once he dropped the gopher.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So I gingerly dipped my toe in the sea of Twitter and found the site to be uncomplicated and very take it or leave it. I have mostly taken it. The simplicity and unadulterated, dare I say it, fun, of Twitter is immediate and charming. It has little of the vitriol found in chatrooms and if you choose who you follow carefully enough, you are usually guaranteed a chuckle a day. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">There really are some very amusing 'ordinary' people out there. I don't think it's any coincidence that top writers and journalists use the site. the pithy one-liners they can pilfer for their jottings or sitcoms are endless. The fact that the comments usually have no surrounding context leaves the reader with a laugh and a lot left to his or her own imagination.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">On the more academic and serious sides, Twitter has become a networking tool, linking me to media types as well as newspaper websites updating me on the breaking news. But we can get so much more than what the big guns want us to count as stories. We have a new method of providing the news and creating an agenda. twitter is even becoming a news story in itself which is like them watching us watching me watching you watching them and so on.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">In a nutshell, as I keep telling the non-believers, it is what you make it. you 'follow' who you want to follow and the experience can be a very rewarding one. It is a glimpse into the future of journalism in a way as newspapers struggle for air, people turn to the net and create their own news agenda by picking and choosing from a wealth of information and tailoring it to their day-to-day needs.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">You don't have to follow the celebrities, you don't need to know what Will Carling ate after his bike-ride, but it can break up the Twitterverse you create and provide a welcome distraction before you dive in once more to glean the gen you want, when you want.</span></div>Jim Emeryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15620815518060543855noreply@blogger.com0