Charging Through The Midfield

Babybird... booo!!!

2009-11-19T14:07:00.001Z

Babybird, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

So I was at his gig in Hoxton taking photos. The reason - Babybird's his PR has been touting it around that Johnny Depp was playing guitar at the gig with the band (he's on their new album apparently) so my photo agency asked me to go and arranged for me to get a photopass.

Still there were only four photographers. About three songs in he says "a lot of photographers in here tonight. Wonder why that is?" A few laughs. Then he turns to me and asks me where I'm from. I say I'm with an agency. He accuses me of being a paparazzi (which is an insult in my book) and then turns to the crowd and says "he's a wanker".

Now I'm there because I love music and I love photography. I don't expect to be insulted in front of a room full of people with no right of reply. Franky, it's unprofessional and just rude. I could've pulled him off the stage right there and then. I wasn't blocking anyone's view, I wasn't blinding him by using a flash, I got there an hour in advance because I knew ther'd be no photopit and didn't want to push my way to the front, I was just doing my job.

I've always thought a good definition of wanker was a person who would call someone they know nothing about a wanker.

My Depp never did turn up... Babybird waited till the final song of his encore to reveal that nugget. :-(

Capturing The Moment

2008-09-13T00:57:00.001+01:00

Capture The Moment, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

It's been a good month for me. After seeing my piccies in the Daily Mail, the Daily Star and the New York Post I'm feeling like things are going nicely. What I need now are nice music magazines to pick up my images - although I think my agency has better relationships with the press than with the magazine publishers.

So I hope to buy a nice lens or two with the proceeds of these and other exploits to make my piccies even better so I can sell even more!

See how this fortuitous cycle works? You see?

Bank Manager

2008-08-29T18:15:00.001+01:00

Bank Manager, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

Dan Gillespie Sells of The Feeling gets all dressed up...

The Big Chill

2008-08-05T22:14:00.001+01:00

The Big Chill, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

I went to the Big Chill Festival in Shropshire this weekend. it was my first music festival as a photographer. Well, first camping festival - I had photo passes for SXSW, Radio 1's Big Weekend, Summer case in Barcelona and, er, the iTunes festival - but none of those were proper festivals in the classic sense.

It was great fun - even though the Wifi in the Press Office was down. The Press office doesn't exactly have a complicated remit: distribute passes, give advice, and provide a means for journalists and photographers to get their info out to the outside world! They did put on a decent bar tent though.

Anyway the sun shined for most of it and I got to see Leonard Cohen and The Mighty Boosh among others...

Decent.

Sam Sparro

2008-07-26T17:12:00.001+01:00

Sam Sparro, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

Sam Sparro is the bloke who sings Black And Gold. This was yet another gig at Koko for the iTunes Festival. It a great venue but the lighting is so difficult - lots of backlighting and shadows. Managed to get a few okay shots though...

Florence And The Machine

2008-07-10T15:36:00.001+01:00

Florence And The Machine, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

Ah there's nothing like a band who determinedly sticks to being unsigned, presumably with the expectation that the longer they hold out for the better the deal they'll get.

Or will they just disappear like 98% of all the other bands but without taking advantage of their slight fame.

I quite like this band though... and here they were a popular support act for the Ting Tings at Koko.

Well done and all that.

NER*D

2008-07-05T02:18:00.001+01:00

N*E*R*D, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

Pharrell Williams obviously decided I was worth rapping to. Not quite sure what he was saying - too busy making sure I didn't fuck this short opportunity up. Which I proudly claim I did not...

Wales

2008-06-18T23:49:00.001+01:00

Sheep on Holiday, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

I went up to Wales this weekend.

Duffy

2008-06-05T00:35:00.001+01:00

Duffy, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

Ah Duffy. I've never been a massive fan but let's face it, she's in a different stratosphere to Boyzone. Also seems very friendly. But then so did Boyzone.

This was a lovely gig though, and Duffy sang with passion, even if the start of the gig was lit by a gaggle of photographers using their flashguns throughout the first song (including myself). I suspect this looked quite dramatic to the crowd further back although not sure iof that was the attention - but it really was like papparazzi at the start. The second song of the two we were allowed lightened up and I turned my flash off allowing me to get the lovely tones you see here.

Others continued to use flash.

Lazy gits.

2008-06-02T00:44:00.002+01:00

Boyzone, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

Um... probably should ignore this...

Richard on Stage

2008-05-29T15:13:00.001+01:00

Richard on Stage, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

Went back stage with the Feeling at Radio 1's Big Weekend the other week. I've posted this particular pic because the yellow crowd should work nicely with the colour in the blog. Heh.

If you look closely a few people in the crowd have spotted me. Spotters badges for them. If you are one of these people please contact me with proof of who you are, I will check to see that you are indeed looking at me, and if so I'll send you the badge.

Eric Burdon at the Royal Albert Hall

2008-04-22T23:50:00.001+01:00

Eric Burdon at the Royal Albert Hall, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

I got sent to the Royal Albert Hall to photograph the ex-Animals lead singer. I wasn't sure what to expect but it was very good actually. Unfortunately, it was an all-seater with a low stage so the photographers were required to kneel and bloody hell did my legs hurt afterwards!

Keeps you fit this photography lark!

PS: I'm anticipating a lovely relationship between the green in the image and green in the blog design when I post this...

Portishead's Beth Gibbons

2008-04-16T16:07:00.001+01:00

Portishead's Beth Gibbons, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

I've started providing some images on a casual basis to a picture agency. The first gig they sent me to was Portishead last week. Not exactly the easiest task - see that pose that Beth is holding in this picture? Yup, that was it. That's all she did. This and occassionally turn so she was completely facing backwards. Ah well, maybe, just maybe, you'll see this is Rolling Stone Magazine.

But probably not.

The Hulk

2008-04-06T19:45:00.001+01:00

The Hulk, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

You've got to love a bit of Radiohead...

The Feeling

2008-02-20T00:15:00.001Z

The Feeling, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

The Feeling played Porchester Hall for E4 to an audience of dedicated fans and there was nothing but adoration.

2008-02-16T19:19:00.003Z

I've got a lovely double page photograph in the centre of the Feeling's new album "Join With Us". Except in lots of the copies I've been credited with the name "Yakobi" instead of "Yacobi". Bah.

The band sold a million copies of their first album, and if they sell a similar number this time if even a small percentage will look me up that's still a lot of traffic!

So I've had to set up a page with the alternative spelling.

Check it out: Ben Yakobi Music Photography

Chinese New Year in London

2008-02-11T17:09:00.001Z

Gate, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

Sunday marked the beginning of the Year of the Rat. Surely the coolest of the Chinese New Year's.

Into The Light

2008-02-07T14:22:00.001Z

Into The Light, originally uploaded by ben-yacobi.com.

I went to this rickety old house and had to run from from left of this picture to behind the camera to get this shot of The Feeling recording the video for their new single. I nearly killed myself doing it though - very slippery floor as rain was leasking through onto it, and the floor was only held up using scaffolding so had I fellen I might have gone through it!

All part of the fun though...

Heavenly Guitars

2007-06-05T00:06:00.001+01:00

Heavenly Guitars, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

Last week I jumped on a train to Warminster to stay at the Duke of Sallisbury's house. This large and beautiful country house has been rented out by The Feeling for a couple of months and they invited me down to photograph them recording thei second album there.

I had a great time and it was really interesting to see the recording process in action. I took over 650 pictures!!! Hopefully I should find ten or twenty good'uns from that lot...

2007-04-24T16:55:00.001+01:00

Intricate Model City, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

Ah this was once a boring flat photograph I took of the city of Florence last year in Italy. But thanks to some photoshoppery I recently learned it now looks like a little model of Florence!

Oh the joy of geeky photo sadness...

Guitar Orgy

2007-04-01T13:24:00.000+01:00

Guitar orgy, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

I was taken to a vegan resaurant last night. Vegan! Those people are crazy - no meat no eggs, no dairy products etc etc.

I somehow got through it without eating mushrooms. I had to have a great deal of discipline when going through the menu. If I could show this sort of focus when browsing through menus in all restaurants perhaps my life can be improved greatly and muchroom mistakes can be reduced to a bear minimum.

2007-03-06T10:58:00.000Z

The Feeling (Live) - 02/03/07

I didn't video this, but you might spot someopne familiar. It's not so embarrassing when you realise I'm alongside the lead singer's brother and my part was NEVER posted on You Tube.

Cadiz carnivale mass of people

2007-02-26T17:57:00.000Z

Cadiz carnivale mass of people, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

To celebrate some ancient marking in the calender all the Latin countries do a carnival. The Brazillian's do it most famously; but the Spanish tend to congregate in cities with EVERYONE wearing fancy dress. And I mean everyone.

In Britain we mark the same annual point in the year with Pancake Day. Which isn't quite as social a party to be honest.

Welsh bog

2007-02-03T00:43:00.000Z

Bog, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

A little bit of Wales.

Flying Leap

2006-11-14T10:55:00.000Z

Flying Leap, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

The Feeling gave me access all areas at their Shepherd's Bush Empire gig and I was able to get some great shots!

Bleeuuurgh!!!

2006-09-16T15:55:00.000+01:00

Bleeuuurgh!!!, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

Aww... my little half brother Danny pulls a face...

Marner Brown

2006-08-10T16:50:00.000+01:00

Marner Brown, originally uploaded by Ben Yacobi.

Pretty cool rock band...

Bass Strings

2006-05-11T15:36:00.000+01:00

Bass Strings, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

My lovely bass guitar and it's strings looking like they've just been plucked thanks to the brilliance of my focal length.

2006-04-10T12:15:00.000+01:00

The trip wrapped up

Manhattan

2006-03-29T16:13:00.000+01:00

manhatten, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

Just got back from New York City. 'Twas part of a 2 wek jolly to there and the wonderful South by South West music festival in Austin, Texas. More piccies to follow no doubt...

gingerbread house

2006-01-03T17:45:00.000Z

gingerbread house, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

Yum... we had some good eating with this baby at Chrimbo. Thanks muchly to my housemate Laura for con-cock-ting this beast.

2005-11-09T15:58:00.000Z

I just did a shit that looked like a Geiger painting.

It's the first thing I've done worth posting about since June.

2005-11-07T10:26:00.000Z

Classic extract from the Yorkshire Evening Post:

"A drunk who claimed he had been raped by a dog was yesterday jailed for 12 months by a judge. Martin Hoyle, 45, was arrested by police after a passing motorist and his girlfriend found a Staffordshire bull terrier, called Badger, having sex with him at the side of a road in Huddersfield, West Yorkshire.

Prosecutor Ben Crosland said the couple had stopped to help because they thought Hoyle was being attacked by the animal. But when they got closer they saw that he had his trousers round his ankles, was down on all fours and the dog was straddling him from behind.

"The defendant mumbled something about the dog having taken a liking to him," said Mr Crosland. "The couple were extremely offended and sickened by what they saw." Another passing motorist contacted the police and Hoyle was arrested as he walked with the dog down the road.

Hoyle, of East view, Marsh, Huddersfield, told police "I can't help it if the dog took a liking to me. He tried to rape me."

He repeated the ra pe allegation at the police station and added "The dog pulled my trousers down." Hoyle, who has had a long-standing alcohol problem, was jailed for 12 months after he admitted committing an act which outraged public decency.

His barrister said Hoyle had no memory of the incident because of his drunken state, but was now very remorseful and incredibly embarrassed.

Jailing him, Judge Alistair McCallum told Hoyle "Never before in my time at the bar or on the bench have I ever had to deal with somebody who voluntarily allowed himself to be buggered by a dog on the public highway. Frankly it is beyond most of our comprehension. It is an absolutely disgusting thing for members of the public to have to witness."

Hungerford Bridge

2005-10-14T17:35:00.000+01:00

Hungerford Bridge, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

And autumn descends...

2005-10-03T17:25:00.000+01:00

I've been updating. There are some reasons for this:

Firstly, I'm doing a 9-5 job in front of a computer and don't have time at work to update; and I don't exactly feel like spending more time in front of a PC to write stuff in addition to that.

Secondly, my mate Chris' blog is making me feel like mine is shit xompared to his nice fresh site.

And thirdly, the last thing I was going to write was after I managed to get a face value ticket for England's Fourth cricket Test against Australia on the Saturday on the morning of the game - but I was so worried I'd give away the technique I used that people might read it and guzump me at the Oval. So I waited before I printed it, and then it was just too much of a delay and I've never recovered my nerve.

I learnt a valuable lesson learnt from that day in Nottingham: all ticket touts, nasty souless scavanging fucks that they are, are Chelsea fans.

That's a truth that should be universally acknowledged.

2005-09-06T19:57:00.000+01:00

Quite marvelously, people are finding the new header atop this page quite scarey.

What I find scarey is the number of chaps around London wearing pink nowadays. Now this isn't a homophobic thing, it's just that men shouldn't wear pink. This is of course typically London - probably some sort of post-modern ironic thing, or the reclaiming of the colour. An understated male reaction by males who have grown up knowing nothing but female liberation and pushes for inequality and finding their world doesn't really favour men at all anyway.

But it still looks ridiculous.

Almost as ridiculous as the official moustache of Portugese cricket that I have ocassionally been sporting.

But that's another story (as people who regularly update their websites often say)...

Photoshopped

2005-08-05T18:01:00.000+01:00

Photoshopped, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

You can tell I was really quite bored one day.

Not now however. I'm working very hard in my new job and hardly have any time to get paid to surf the internet...

Bah.

Bike shed

2005-07-28T05:02:00.000+01:00

Bike shed, originally uploaded by Obi Wan Yacobi.

This bike was in my Mum's bike shed. Is it mine? I can't remember.

2005-07-24T03:29:00.000+01:00

From the beginning of August, and for the first time since 1996, I will be doing nine to five work. And frankly the prospect is scarier than a trip on the underground.

But logically it's a mixed blessing. I relish the return of that Friday feeling - my weekends will be fulfilling once more. I dread the daily commute through London's rush hour. No longer can I point to people sardining themselves into train carriages and say "suckers!" as my arms will be too squashed against my sides to be able to perform such an action. However I am pleased that the odd life-reducing night shift will be behind me.

Red eyes begone...

Where am I going? I'm going to be scheduling all the bits in between the programmes during BBC1's daytime schedule.

Yes I know. I'm sorry. Yes promotions are necessary - programmes cannot be magically created to fit the exact necessary durations required you fools.

Meanwhile in the land of South London I have discovered that this side of the river appears to have virtually no large music or book shops. And the small ones are a bit shit.

What sort of people live here?

I Am Fucking Terrified.com

Guitar solo

2005-07-19T20:33:00.000+01:00

Guitar solo, originally uploaded by Blogmeister.

Ah, thought I'd try the 'Blog This' option from my flickr site.

Which worked quite nicely thankyouverymuch.

That piccie is from a thank you gig put on my my friend Dan (whom you see here) and his band The Feeling after they finally accepted one of the very many offers of a record contract - and it was Island Records who proffered the deal. And now Dan has large amounts of money. And there's still the publishing deal to come...

My friend James - desperate to reflect the glory - is currently working on the website. Well actually so am I; I've been eagerly taking pictures hence the one you see above. My photo site has similar fare for you to peruse and more.

2005-07-12T19:17:00.000+01:00

Fox "News" has always disgusted me. No news channel pushing an agenda of any political leaning is to be respected. Murdoch's media outlets are particularly nauseous as they are especially self-serving and poisonous.

These are some of the "highlights". I defy any Londoner - or for that matter any normal human being - to view this and not feel disgusted.

The Nation reports on Fox's coverage.

read this brief comparison of US and British reporting of the event.

And I will now point you to the best comment by a Londoner following last week's bombs: A Letter To The Terrorists. Good mtf point...

What the fuck do you think you're doing?

This is London. We've dealt with your sort before. You don't try and pull this on us.

Do you have any idea how many times our city has been attacked? Whatever you're trying to do, it's not going to work.

All you've done is end some of our lives, and ruin some more. How is that going to help you? You don't get rewarded for this kind of crap.

And if, as your MO indicates, you're an al-Qaida group, then you're out of your tiny minds.

Because if this is a message to Tony Blair, we've got news for you. We don't much like our government ourselves, or what they do in our name. But, listen very clearly. We'll deal with that ourselves. We're London, and we've got our own way of doing things, and it doesn't involve tossing bombs around where innocent people are going about their lives.

And that's because we're better than you. Everyone is better than you. Our city works. We rather like it. And we're going to go about our lives. We're going to take care of the lives you ruined. And then we're going to work. And we're going down the pub.

So you can pack up your bombs, put them in your arseholes, and get the fuck out of our city.

2005-07-10T20:49:00.000+01:00

Five things changed London last week. The first was the awarding of the Olympic Games in 2012, the other four were the explosions that have affected almost every Londoner.

Now I'm not going to sprout off about not being changed by terrorism and all that guff. I was back on the underground at 7am the next morning and didn't give a second thought to being blown up because, unlike muscle-bound machismo actors like Sylvester Stallone who refused to fly across the Atlantic after the World Trade Center attacks, I have an ability to assess simple risks and their likelihood of occurring to me. Which fortunately isn't much.

Having said all that, the section of the Piccadilly Line where the most horrific of the attacks took place is one which I used to pass through daily for many years and most of my friends still do. And it's a mightily tight fit for the train. The tunnel is a pathetic twelve inches wider than the trains that pass through it. So the explosion was particularly deadly and the attempt to clear up particularly challenging.

But we'll go on because we always do. On my times on the Underground since Thursday - and I have taken several trips - I have seen no sign of nervousness or hesitancy. Funnily enough I saw more of a change in people's behaviour after 9/11 than I have after Thursday. We are used to bombings here and everyone considered this to have been an inevitability. And some feel here that now we've been bombed, we are over the uncertainty of "how will it come?", "how big will it be?". This thinking is wrong. The Madrid bombers intended the train bomb to be the start of a campaign against Spanish targets - that was until they blew themselves up once cornered by the police.

To our credit I have felt no negativity on the streets towards Muslims or Asians; we are a multi cultural city and, wonderfully, people's reaction to Thursday seems to be to embrace that rather than shun it.

And now we prepare for the Olympic Games. Perhaps it will always be associated (in Londoners minds at least) with last week's bombings. Our response should be a determination to put on the best games possible for all the countries of the world.

2005-06-30T16:45:00.000+01:00

Live 8 was good. Interesting that the three main headliners have all been associated with professional tragedy. Paul McCartney's Beatles writing partner John Lennon has a man he's never known the name of - Mark Chapman - feature at the end of every life story about him. The reunited Pink Floyd will always be associated with their founder Syd Barrett who had to leave the band after increasingly disturbing mental illness' - possibly drug-induced. The classic Wish You Were Here was penned in his honour. And The Who will always be remembered for having arguably the most amazing drummer of all time Keith Moon, who inspired the excellent Muppet character Animal and pioneered lunatic rock star misbehaviour before going too fatally far.

The tragedy experience by these performers is of course chicken feed compared to the suffering in Africa, but it is interesting that the latter two of the headliners' tragedies came about due to excess rather than deprivation. Is this inappropriate? Some may think so but I don't. At the end of the day tragedy is tragedy whether you have money or not. So well done and all that.

Regardless of the impact it has on the G8 leaders, this whole event will have at least put the issue of African poverty into the mainstream public consciousness.

So well done to Bob too.

Hats of Meat.

2005-06-28T18:38:00.000+01:00

I bought a digital SLR camera recently and took over 550 photos during my time in Italy. You'd think then that a few would be okay due to sheer numbers alone. I'm still undergoing the arduous task of processing them, and here a a few tasters.

Late night bar in Florence.

Aged boats moored on Lago Di Garda

My brother walks into the garden where he is to marry.

Liquid Laugh blog

Is it normal?

2005-06-27T19:04:00.000+01:00

I've just got back from Italy and a beautiful wedding in the Tuscan hills. It was, amazingly, my first trip to the land of passionate defensive football and political corruption and lots of the Italian stereotypes rang true. Frequently my cab journeys would involve talking to the driver who would take both his hands of the steering wheel on order to fill his quota of gestures to accompany his speech. And many cabbies would shake their head at the traffic and mutter curses quietly to themselves. If you were to listen carefully you would discover that, yes, "mama mia" is frequently uttered. And Italians are generally well-dressed - although a few go a bit too far and too many where their sunglasses in the dark. But since they are mostly the Catholic forgiving types, I'm willing to forgive as well. Very friendly though - as most human beings are.

Florence is basically a tourist circus. The beautiful old capital is known to the locals as Firenze - why do we English speaking people feel the need to have our own names for places that are clearly not ours to name? The English Channel???

When we finally found the places where the locals eat, the food was superb. I've decided that I do actually like fruit and vegetables. It's just that the fruit and vegetables in Britain are so terrible. In SE Asia I would eat freshly steamed locally grown vegetables and they were delicious. Pineapple was amazing. My brother, early in the trip, and still to be married commented that "real men don't like tomatoes". Well I don't normally like them, but in Italy they were very yummy.

After my bro's wedding, I was off to Lago Di Garda to do some photography. I will attempt to post some of my work up here in the near future. Might put some life back into this blog at least...

Mammatus cloud... How cool is that!

How to destroy the Earth. A serious exposition.

Stupidly addictive game...

2005-06-14T07:19:00.000+01:00

I've moved house.

And now I'm busy preparing for my brother's wedding.

Busy busy busy...

2005-06-03T08:02:00.000+01:00

So in the dying days of my tenancy in my flat - all on my tod - I've been observing the estate agent attempting to convince potential successors to me to pay £1200 a month for a two bedroom flat. It's a lovely place, but he'll have done a good job if he can secure that price for it.

And to be fair he's doing everything he can. Our south-east facing roof garden has been magically shifted to south. My twenty minute walk to Finsbury Park has been interpreted as "only a five/ten minute walk from Finsbury Park so it's good for the tube."

"What's the parking like?" some annoyingly tall Aussie bloke who came round asked.

"Oh, it's all free - you can park anywhere you like, there are plenty of spaces."

True; but the council, manevolent bastards that they are, have decided that there is some earth-shatteringly important reason why this should be changed and parking will in future be metered. Oh, it'll be mainly reserved for residents - but for the "administrational" fee of £300 a year.

Ah the joy of estate agents...

2005-06-01T17:55:00.000+01:00

I just bought a 90g flapjack for the outrageous fee of 98p. I agreed to this because I was blinded by the cunning and devious pricing policy to knock off a couple of pennies so the product doesn't appear to cost a full pound. Oh how dizzy my head was. Had it been Â£1 I would never have agreed to make the purchase. I recently bought a camera that was Â£199.99. I didn't realise that was practically Â£120.

My finances are in ruin.

Luckily renting a place to live is traditionally quoted in whole pound figures and hence I am moving to the Dark Side.

That's South London if you don't know. Kennington in fact. I've never lived with people I don't know before - they seem quite nice though. I'd have felt really nervous about this before I went travelling but I've learnt that people, on the whole, are generally quite benevolent and friendly.

You wouldn't agree with me if you are a reader of the English press. But I find it best to ignore everything they ever say. It makes me a far more chilled out person and I probably have a more realistic grip on reality.

Meanwhile, the French have said non and the Dutch have said nee to the European Constitution mainly because the public ignored what their media had to say and chiefly because it runs to 265 unreadable pages!!!. Compare that to the 50 page US Constitution - and it has American-friendly extra large text and simple to understand sentences.

Whilst the US Constitution is a political document for the people, the EU Constitution is a political document for politicians. Goriddancence.

Play this flying fire fighting game The instructions are in French so I should say: The up arrow makes it go down. The down arrow goes up. Left and right increase and decrease speed. The idea is to skim the plane over the water to fill your tank then to dump the water on the fire using the spacebar.

It's bastard difficult.

How to perform Strongman stunts!

Videos of people crying as they eat.

Read this Manchester Buccaneers blog - absolutely genius!

2005-05-19T00:35:00.000+01:00

The Force is a Tool of Satan! (Don't think it's serious though...)

Excellent bunny suicide cartoons...

2005-05-12T18:37:00.000+01:00

I've been collecting quotations recently. One of my favourites is:
"Quantity has a quality all of its own." - Joseph Stalin when describing his Red Army's chances against the German military machine.

I like to use it in everyday life.

My cab driver yesterday gave me another one...
"To women kindness means weakness" - Ronnie

Here are some more of the ones I like:

"Moral indignation is jealousy with a halo." - H. G. Wells

"Glory is fleeting, but obscurity is forever." - Napoleon Bonaparte

"Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity, and I'm not sure about the former." - Albert Einstein

"A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on." - Sir Winston Churchill

"I do not feel obliged to believe that the same God who has endowed us with sense, reason, and intellect has intended us to forgo their use." - Galileo Galilei

"In theory, there is no difference between theory and practice. But, in practice, there is." - Jan L.A. van de Snepscheut

"Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake." - Napoleon Bonaparte

"Women might be able to fake orgasms. But men can fake a whole relationship." - Sharon Stone

"If you are going through hell, keep going." - Sir Winston Churchill

"I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let's start with typewriters." - Frank Lloyd Wright

"Black holes are where God divided by zero." - Steven Wright

"There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe, and it has a longer shelf life." - Frank Zappa

"When you have to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite." - Sir Winston Churchill

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one." - Albert Einstein

"No one can earn a million dollars honestly." - William Jennings Bryan

"In the end, everything is a gag." - Charlie Chaplin

"The object of war is not to die for your country but to make the other bastard die for his." - General George Patton

"I don't know anything about music. In my line you don't have to." - Elvis Presley

"Vote early and vote often." - Al Capone

"Hell is other people." - Jean-Paul Sartre

"Some editors are failed writers, but so are most writers." - T. S. Eliot

"Woman was God's second mistake." - Friedrich Nietzsche

"Now, now my good man, this is no time for making enemies." - Voltaire on his deathbed in response to a priest asking that he renounce Satan.

"A witty saying proves nothing." - Voltaire

Navigate to this excellent world statistics site.

Meet The World

2005-05-07T08:44:00.000+01:00

So Labour got in again - at least we didn't see Michael Howard's smug face walking up Downing Street.

I'm increasingly of the opinion that the media is overly negative. There is much to be critical about; but that criticism is too often aimed in the wrong direction. However Jeremy Paxman's excellent interview with George Galloway deserves an honorable mention. Galloway probably gets mostly unfair publicity; he is not some maniacal anti-Western idiot like some would have you believe. However by standing in a consituency against a hardworking and benevolent MP simply because it is the place where he can take advantage of the racial tensions and ethnic makeup for electoral advantage is pretty low I think. Perhaps he thinks he's the best person to represent he sort of people in that constituency but he's not said as much and I wouldn't believe it on this occassion.

Here is the interview:

JP: We're joined now from his count in Bethnal Green and Bow by George Galloway. Mr Galloway, are you proud of having got rid of one of the very few black women in Parliament?
GG: What a preposterous question. I know it's very late in the night, but wouldn't you be better starting by congratulating me for one of the most sensational election results in modern history?
JP: Are you proud of having got rid of one of the very few black women in Parliament?
GG: I'm not - Jeremy - move on to your next question.
JP: You're not answering that one?
GG: No because I don't believe that people get elected because of the colour of their skin. I believe people get elected because of their record and because of their policies. So move on to your next question.
JP: Are you proud...
GG: Because I've got a lot of people who want to speak to me.
JP: ...you...
GG: If you ask that question again, I'm going, I warn you now.
JP: Don't try and threaten me Mr Galloway, please.
GG: You're the one who's trying to badger me.
JP: I'm not trying to badger you, I'm merely trying to ask if you're proud at having driven out of Parliament one of the very few black women there, a woman you accuse of having on her conscience 100,000 people.
GG: Oh well there's no doubt about that one. There's absolutely no doubt that all those New Labour MPs who voted for Mr Blair and Mr Bush's war have on their hands the blood of 100,000 people in Iraq, many of them British soldiers, many of them American soldiers, most of them Iraqis and that's a more important issue than the colour of her skin.
JP: Absolutely, because you then went on to say "including a lot of women who had blacker faces than her"
GG: Absolutely right, absolutely right. So don't try and tell me I should feel guilty about one of the most sensational election results in modern electoral history.
JP: I put it to you Mr Galloway that Nick Raynsford had you to a T when he said you were a "demagogue".
GG: Sorry?
JP: Nick Raynsford. You know who I mean? Nick Raynsford. Labour MP?
GG: No, I don't know who you mean.
JP: Never heard of him?
GG: I've never heard of Nick Raynsford, no.
JP: What else haven't you heard of?
GG: Well, I've been in Parliament a long time...
JP: He was a Parliamentary colleague of yours until very recently.
GG: Well, most of them just blend one into the other, Jeremy, they're largely a spineless, a supine bunch.
JP: Have you ever heard of Tony Banks?
GG: Yes I have, yes.
JP: Right, Tony Banks was sitting here five minutes ago, and he said that you were behaving inexcusably, that you had deliberately chosen to go to that part of London and to exploit the latent racial tensions there.
GG: You are actually conducting one of the most - even by your standards - one of the most absurd interviews I have ever participated in. I have just won an election. Can you find it within yourself to recognise that fact? To recognise the fact that the people of Bethnal Green and Bow chose me this evening. Why are you insulting them?
JP: I'm not insulting them, I'm not insulting you.
GG: You are insulting them, they chose me just a few minutes ago. Can't you find it within yourself even to congratulate me on this victory?
JP: Congratulations, Mr Galloway.
GG: Thank you very much indeed. [Waves, removes microphone]

Obviously I'm not feeling too bad about the economy. I just bought a digital SLR. Link: Ooh baby.

The Dullest Blog in the World.

2005-05-04T21:09:00.000+01:00

Sometimes peoples failure to understand technology is a wonderful thing.

The Pentagon recently published a report about the shooting by the US forces of the Italian special agent who had just rescued a kidnapped journalist in Iraq. In true US style, there was a certain amount of censored information. Now, if you go to this PDF document which was pulled from the Pentagon website, select the text tool, select any of the censored text and paste into a Word document and you can view all!

Feline Crisis game!

2005-05-02T08:05:00.000+01:00

What is it about the cinema that always has me sat next to the people who laugh at the jokes in the advertisements before the feature? They actually responded positively to a WKD ad! Now that's lack of taste. So it wasn't any surprise that these same people laughed all the way through the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.

Charging Through The Midfield's quick capsule review: visually good, vaguely entertaining, not many laughs. Maybe because I've heard and read all the jokes countless times before.

People who react positively to beer commercials lower the standards of the Earth so that the rest of us must suffer. If we were all only a little more discerning and cynical the standards would be forced upwards and our culture would move onwards at a nice steady pace.

Meanwhile the nation is still meandering forwards towards a general election which holds the people in a vice-like grip of boredom and asked to participate in an eternal struggle between the puppet on the left or the puppet on the right.

"I think the puppet on the left is more sincere than the puppet on the right... Wait a minute, the same man is holding them both. It's George W Bush! And wait. He's got a hand controlling him too! The puppeteer is a puppet!"

I especially like the way that lots of people aren't voting Liberal Democrats because, and I'm quoting many a person here, "They've got no chance of winning". Because, I don't know about you, I didn't know we got prizes for correctly guessing the correct party. What a great system. I though, you know, we all voted for the party that was closest to our actual views and then the most popular party would govern. The Liberal Democrats puppet hasn't been picked up yet - it's still lying on the floor. Maybe that's why we can't vote for it.

Do you like the way I went from an entry about the cinema to one about polical manipulation? Did you like that?

The Fwapometer... oh dear.

Kitten War

2005-04-27T00:44:00.000+01:00

I'm having a kind of blog writers block. Which might be a problem as I can only write an entry about this once. Excepting of course for the possibility that I turn this site into a blog purely about having writers block - there are stranger weblogs out there believe me.

It's not that my life isn't interesting, but I have never wanted this site to be a chronicle of my life. When I traveled I was happy to regail the tiny fraction of the world that was interested with stories, but what can I write about working nights. As an employee of the BBC I'm not naive enough to write up my thoughts on work as it could land me in trouble even to say something complimentary.

I can probably say that there have been a spate of meetings and seminars about personal blogging here in the last few weeks. But it is too boring to tell you about.

And I'm not going start telling you about all my family and friends lives. Nor about things like who I might fancy and why there is a strange growth on my foot.* Who would give a fuck?

But thinking about it who gives a fuck about my opinion of the Catholic church, or about the struggles I am having writing words for a website that is of no objective importance whatsoever?

What about this: I reckon that in the future we will have a neural implant that allows us to access the internet. So for instance if we see a word that we don't understand, we can access on online dictionary, much like a future version of this, and find an answer. Or even order stuff to buy.

Of course such an implant wont be too popular but after such a thing is invented a few will take it up and the rest will inevitably follow. It may take a while but it'll happen. Then some people will start writing the equivalent of trojan horses and worms which will implant annoying messages in peoples heads. We will get bastard spam, and Viagra advertisers will send subliminal advertising so we are only subconsciously aware of their plug. Sales of this ancient drug will jump temporarily through the roof and there will be much controversy.

* Mum - I don't have a strange growth on my foot. Apart from my little toe.

Geograph

2005-04-22T22:21:00.000+01:00

In the end it's always the links that win out over the prose...

Who should you vote for?... take the test.

Headfuck traffic game.

2005-04-21T23:31:00.000+01:00

My last post resulted in no death threats.

What is the world coming to?

2005-04-19T11:07:00.000+01:00

The last Pope, bless his soul, did an excellent job of filling the Vatican with conservative hardline types like him. You know, the sort of people who nodded knowingly when the infallible one told Africans that using condoms was no more likely to prevent one from contracting HIV than not using one.

And so the Catholics of the world are likely to get a traditionalist man in charge. Now normally I would hate the thought of anyone with an old-fashioned right wing leaning getting anywhere near any reigns of power. I wouldn't like it if I discovered Santa was a Tory. But in this case I'm rather hoping that a extremist right winger wins through after the white smoke billows from that ridiculous chimney.

Basically this is because I want the disintegration of Catholicism and a traditionalist will help bring this about much quicker. The sooner us humans put silly superstitions behind us, the better off we'll all be. And this might sound a little cruel but our species needs a bit of natural selection. Let all the gullible fools kill each other and their genetic information off because of their dedication to the words of some pompous self-important man with a pointy hat.

Twats.

PS: Please don't think I'm anti-Catholic. I think all religious followers, especially Westerners who have access to education and a broad range of media, should know better and deserve to be laughed at equally. Well I would laugh if only the world wasn't so fucking tragic because of them. Religion is wonderful for individuals, but when it comes to the broader picture, it is possibly the most evil force in existence.

I speak as a man with a philosophy degree. That doesn't mean I'm right of course. But of course I am.

2005-04-16T03:16:00.000+01:00

I've become addicted to chocolate. Whilst ill and not eating too much, chocolate became marvelous high energy; low bulk food stuff. Straight after my recovery came the post-Easter cheap-chocolate period. My local Tesco are still selling Creme Eggs and other similar egg-type efforts for a mere 8p each.

I'm trying to give up I really am.

I've turned to Flapjacks and cakes in the attempt to substitute the sugar rush for something non-chocolatey, however such an act is like the Iraq War - one misery replacing another.

Bah.

See a man making a solid chocolate Easter egg!!!

Online sweetie shop!

2005-04-10T20:52:00.000+01:00

Saturday morning saw preparations for my brother's wedding move forward at a pace. As Best Man I accompanied him to a tailor's to get fitted for the attire we shall wear on the big day near Florence in gastronomic Italy. Much garlicy red meat will be consumed. By me at least; I can imagine the females doing their usual thing of buying fancy wedding attire slightly too small and ruining their own fun via starvation in order to fit inside it.

This morning and the sun shone. At this time of year the optimists among us like to dress as if summers already upon us, whilst others are still stuck in winter. So on my jaunt down to Finsbury Park Station I observed examples of humans in t-shirts, shorts, and sunglasses; and others in overcoats, scarves and hats.

I'm not innocent of the desire to bring on the summer. I have often been guilty of venturing out sparsely dressed for the conditions. This morning I took no risks - I prefer to be hot than cold. T-shirt, jumper, jeans, and a coat.

Fuck being cold.

Destroy Charging Through The Midfield!!!

2005-04-08T17:41:00.000+01:00

Today I am imagining the television transmissions of The Pope's funeral speeding out across the galaxy at the speed of light with their destiny being on the screen of some advanced alien entities. And they will point at images of the millions of gathered Catholics showing off their religious convictions with whatever their equivalent gesture is and say in their own alien way,
"Aarrgghh ha ha ha ha!!!... What gullible idiots."

See proposed London tube map for 2016.

2005-04-03T15:38:00.000+01:00

I had planned to play golf yesterday. On a day off I actually rose from my cot at 8.30am in order to facilitate the day in hand. The last time I raised a metal stick to a ball was at a golf course near Agnes Water in Queensland Australia. For the equivalent of £5 my friends and I got half an hour at a driving range, a loan of a set of clubs and trolley, a whole bunch of new balls to waste away, a round of nine holes - not your pitch and putt types either, but par 3, 4 and 5 thingys, a putting competition, and it was all rounded off with a sausage sizzle; as many as I could eat. The course was well kept, the greens were lush, the sun shined continuously and kangaroos gathered as disinterested spectators; they like the well-kept grass. Beer was sold in the clubhouse and consumed en route from one hole to the next.

I suppose I haven't played at a proper golf course in Britain so it seems unjust to complain. But one difference is definitely the weather. In anger God, or whatever other force, cast down water from the sky and used areas of differing air pressure to drive the contents of the atmosphere across the land at a faster speed than is comfortable on a golf course. So day cancelled. But in preparation I had a taste of the difference between the two cultures approach to golf. I was told I should where trousers and a collar or smart jumper. "You've got to keep out the riff-raff" my friend Rob informed me. The round would cost £15, clubs and shoes had to be provided by my friend (they would have no doubt cost more) and I would have to visit a golf shop to purchase balls. Not the greatest encouragement for potential new golfers. And I was only able to go because I was going with a member. Not such a restriction in Oz.

Here are some pictures of a snake eating a kangaroo. Possibly a potential golf fan lost.

Meanwhile I actually got an email from someone who has stumbled onto this site. Only the third since October 2002. The informant informed me (for that is what informants do) that an animated being named Avery Ant has put himself forward for Pope. Although the animator has already taken it upon himself to draw the Pontiff's tall hat - which probably won't go down well with the Vatican. If I was running for Mayor I probably wouldn't do too well if meeting and greeting with the Mayoral sash already festooned across my chest. Good luck to him I say. Maybe he'll let his flock wear condoms.

2005-03-31T06:59:00.000+01:00

Last night I went to The Marquee Club to see a friend's band lovingly entitled The Feeling. It should be noted that The Marquee is no longer the world famous venue in Charing Cross Road where some of the biggest bands of the sixties and seventies played as this had some years ago become a Wetherspoons public house. Although the no doubt structurally important pillar I once saw a couple use as a prop to shag each other whilst the club was full remains, albeit with a new coat of paint.

The old Marquee was great...

No, this was a venue in Leicester Square which has no doubt taken the famous name in order to increase its standing in the city. So much so in fact that being on the guest list apparently still doesn't get one in for free. Bah.

I've known Dan, the lead singer of The Feeling, since he was knee high to a grasshopper - which is very small indeed.

I hadn't seen The Feeling for nearly a year and a half but I had obtained a CD of their tunes last March and took it with me travelling - and mightily impressive it was too. In the desire to accumulate as much money as possible for travelling I had purchased virtually no new music for months so it was a welcome addition to the collection of CD's I took to S.E. Asia with me. As my plane flew into Bangkok International Airport at the start of my trip I had "Kettle On" playing in my ears - quite against the usual avian advice to switch off electrical equipment on descent. "I'm coming home" Dan crooned - quite contrary to the situation I was in but seemingly appropriate nevertheless.

The music became a genuine sound track to much of my trip. Listening to some of the songs again I am reminded of a guesthouse room in Thailand's Koh Phangan and waiting for a bus whilst passing through Australia's Bundaberg (and needing cheering up as I had that morning said goodbye to a wonderful group of people I had befriended). And their songs are rally top quality.

"They've got an army of teeny boppers now" my friend James, Dan's brother, informed me. And so it was true. When they came on the dance floor packed itself out and in front of me was an army of trendy-types singing along to every word. I knew they were trendy (and I freely admit that is a word my mother uses) because they all had ridiculous 1980's haircuts. As did Richard the band's bassist.

And it is possibly because of Richard that all the people were there. For he is boyfriend to cat-like being Sofie Ellis-Bextor who was there at the front. Plus her mum the goddess like Janet Ellis - of Blue Peter fame - was there too. And I am reliably informed that it isn't the patronage of a best selling pop singer that has bought along these masses but rather the encouragement of Ms Ellis who must have some maternal influence on them all. Regardless it was a good gig.

Luckily I was wearing my Blue Peter badge.

2005-03-26T23:15:00.000Z

Over the last three weeks I've hardly been in the mood to socialise or make lots of phone calls. But very occasionally - very occasionally it seems - I do receive calls from my friends.

But somehow they always manage to contact me when I'm on the bloody underground. On average I must spend less than half-an-hour a day out of mobile phone signal range, so it would be pretty unlucky you would think if I always received calls during this time. And my journeys are always at different times so it's not some time-based annoyance.

During these three weeks I have answered a truly pathetic 23 incoming calls; with five having got through but for one reason or another I have missed. Meanwhile the number of times someone had attempted to call me whilst I have been travelling on a tube train is eleven.

Annoying. Thinking about it - I spent a week convalescing at my Mum's during which I spent zero minutes on the underground. So make that makes seven per cent of my life over the last three weeks that has been spent on the tube. And that is when about a third of calls to me have been made!

Gah!

Fascinating stuff that the entire internet should know about I'm sure you'll agree.

2005-03-21T10:08:00.000Z

If I was not in occasional pain then that picture of Tetsuo at the top would have been integrated into the site much more aesthetically.

But the image is one that I downloaded at work and my work doesn't have floppy disk drive access and my home PC isn't connected to the internet.

So I would have to put a copy of the image into a CD burning software at an appropriate desk at work, cut a CD with the image, take it home, turn on my PC, save it to my hard drive and load it up into Photoshop. Then I would have to resize and crop the image. I would put a black border only on the vertical edges ('cos I thing that would look pretty cool) and write some appropriate wording in the suitable typeface. Something like: Charging Through The Pain.

Then I would have to resave the altered image, recut a CD, bring it into work, save it to my allocated section of the hard drive, upload it onto the site I use for hosting my photos, click the link, right click on the picture, select Properties and copy the URL.

Then I would have to log into my Blogger account, select the Template tab, find the correct piece of HTML code, paste over the old header URL with the new one, save the new code, and hit republish.

And IF that all went smoothly then I should have my new header, all nice and looking good.

But I can't be arsed.

2005-03-19T08:28:00.000Z

It's been a while.

And there's been good reason too.

I am currently speaking to you thanks to the wonder of modern pain-killers and anti inflammatory drugs. Last Sunday I developed what I would have then described as a 'dodgy tummy'. I held my stomach and hoped that sleep would put it off. When the pain returned on Monday I went to work anyway hoping the displeasure would fade away. But it was too much for me - I went home wearing something like a wince.

So I ate little and waited for it to pass. Pain grew. And stayed. It remained in the same place, just above my belly-button, and became a permanent feature of my life. Worse still, hunger remained, and food smells were magical.

By Wednesday it was too much for me. In genuine agony I dragged myself down the street in an attempt to join a local GP. No can do. I was directed to the Drop In Center at the nearest hospital (which doubled up as the A&E department). So I caught the bus to the Whittington Hospital in Archway. I waited whilst doubled forward in an attempt to relieve pain. I was first seen by a buxom Caribbean nurse. I could tell she'd been doing this for a while: I've never been treated with greater rudeness and impatience. I was berated for not dealing with it earlier.

"WHY did you not see a GP before?" she demanded.

"I don't know" I whimpered, avoiding the temptation to apologise to her for being a member of her public in health difficulties.

When the doctor saw me she prodded me a bit, asked me a few questions and furnished me with antacid pills and a bottle of indigestion-type syrup. "In reality these Drop In Centers aren't that good because no-one will follow up your case. I don't really know what's wrong with you. I'll schedule you a scan and book you an appointment with a gastro-enterologist." Neither medicine did anything and the pain continued unabated. Not eating but with an appetite I went back to work last weekend for a couple of days. I shouldn't have done, but I wanted to work.

Yet I couldn't take the pain on the Monday and on Wednesday morning I was in so much pain, after nearly doing so twice before, I called 999 and asked for an ambulance. I was bouncing off the walls in pain and I couldn't take it anymore. Half an hour after putting in the call I was called back.

"Unfortunately Sir our ambulances are very busy this morning. Is there any other way you can make it in?"

"No. I'm in too much pain."

"Okay, wait there, don't eat or drink anything, and we'll send someone when we can."

One hour later I answer my phone again:

A concerned girl spoke. "Unfortunately we have to prioritize our ambulances and it will be a while before we can dispatch one to you."

Fair enough, I wasn't bleeding to death on a street. But by this time I was very worried about my condition. The pain had remained constant and ever-present in the same place.

"If you can get a taxi in your wait will be shorter than if you waited for us to get to you." I agreed to try to get in myself.

My Mum had called me that morning, and, bless her nylon stockings, decided to take time off work and join me at the Whittington. The girl on the phone advised me to take some paracetamol for the pain. I had previously avoided this as I had known that it can increase stomach problems and even cause bleeding. Bah.

I took my paracetamol and my Ma joined me in the queue. The nurse this time was an extremely friendly young chap who looked Thai. "Fill this" he said. My Mum handed me a large bottle of water and rightly encouraged me to drink muchly. The doctor carried an impression of importance and knowledge. He poked various parts of me.

"PARACETAMOL???" He bellowed, looking over his glasses at me. (I cannot remember if he had glasses, but my mental reconstruction of him has them in it.) "I cannot believe that they advised you to take that." He bemoaned the state of the modern NHS and how advise given over the phone was ofen dangerously incorrect. "Do not take paracetamol." He took the antacid pills the previous doctor had given me and prescribed new, stronger pills that did pretty much the same thing. "These are the most expensive medicines for your condition". "But expensive doesn't mean best" my Mother wisely countered. He instructed me to take double the dose suggested on the label and drink much more of the indigestion stuff.

Whilst I was at the doctors, the paracetamol had reduced the pain so I went home positive that perhaps things would improve if I kept disciplined. The doctor had ruled out any major disease and also unpleasant things I was worried might be afflicting me like a stomach ulcer, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, or an intolerance to a type of food.

But the pain continued. The medicine did nothing. I'm still bouncing off the walls beseeching the air around me and clutching my stomach "Why? Why won't the pain just go away? GO AWAY PLEEASE..."

My Mum, upon hearing my condition was unchanged, wasn't likely to wait long before acting. "I'm coming round, taking you to Barnet hospital and then you're staying at home with me." I didn't object. Barnet Hospital was where I was born - this was a return to my roots. And besides, my flat was in a disgracefully dirty state - not a good place to be ill. Barnet A&E actually looks like an A&E. There are ambulances outside and wards next door. The Whittington felt like a glorified doctors surgery. Wonderfully the waiting room was empty. "Fill this" said the nurse.

The doctor saw me and did the usual prodding - eliminating all the nasty diseases. "I'm stumped". I squirmed in pain for the umpteenth time. "Okay we'll take a blood test and I'm going to get a second opinion."

He fetched a nurse and a consultant surgeon. At last a proper test and a specialist/expert person. He felt around, felt around a few other places, and sent me off for an X-Ray.

So basically Barnet worked out in about one hour that I had torn an abdominal muscle. The doctor filled my hands with Ibuprofen and PARACETAMOL! Like a scene from a Simpsons episode he emptied his pockets of drugs. "Take these..."

"And these..."

"And these."

Blessed relief!

So now I'm am atopped with drugs. There is still a bit of pain, but nothing like what it was.

And I can eat!

Whittington = shit

Barnet = good

Meanwhile during my absence my good friend Chris has set up his own wonderfully entitled blog Igirisujin Ni Nihon in preperation for his self shipment out to the land of Japan and it is already better than mine. Bahness galore.

2005-03-02T17:28:00.000Z

A whole week since my last post but at least I spent my time being vaguely active. This weekend I went to Brighton to visit friends. Friends who have a young cat (or a slightly aged kitten) called Marcus.

So although I received excellent hospitality I was placed on some sofa cushions on the floor with the sofa frames above my head and to one side. Which basically means I was at the center of the cat's playground.

So I lay down in the darkness and my foot was stuck slightly out the bottom of the duvet - pounce. I laughed and quickly moved the foot back under - pounce. My other foot moved - pounce. I kept my feet very still. Twenty seconds later I moved a finger - pounce. My other hand scratches a point on my chest - pounce. Twenty minutes of pouncing practice later and it all stops. I lay in the silence. After three minutes I open my eyes. A cat's head hovers staring at me from about six centimeters. Our eyes met for several seconds.

I had read somewhere that in the cat kingdom, when eye contact is made, the superior is the one who doesn't break the stare. So with that in mind I won that encounter. However I'm not sure if Marcus was playing as thirty or forty seconds later... pounce.

In the morning I am woken up early my more pouncery. After a few minutes of existing as a semi-conscious involuntary plaything I give up the idea of getting more sleep and roll one of my hands into a fist. I sit the aforesaid hand on top of my duvet and have it quiver* as if to recreate a small furry thing. Marcus duly responding by demolishing my arm with his claws and teeth.

* - The entry for quiver in the Urban Dictionary uses the following example to illustrate its meaning: "Right before you come, let me know so I can shove this shampoo bottle up your ass. You'll quiver".

There is no picture of Marcus available to show you. So to make up for things, here is a list of catty webcams:

Lisaviolets Cats
Erik Max Francis' Kitten
Amsterdam Cat-Food Dish
Cat Nap Cam
Kitty Cam
Skittles
Kat and Calypso
Randy Cam

Other weird and bizarre webcam links.

But if you have a bit of time and lots of patience to spare, type: inurl:"ViewerFrame?Mode=" into Google. Bit pot luck but click on a few links and some will have you in control of various webcams. Good luck.

2005-02-23T17:25:00.000Z

Recently the Stella Awards announced the 2004 winners. The Stella Awards are given to frivolous and ridiculous lawsuits and are inspired by Stella Liebeck who successfully sued McDonald's for $2.9 million after spilling a cup of their coffee over herself in 1992 whilst a passenger in her grandson's car...

5th Place (Tied)
Kathleen Robertson of Austin, Texas was awarded $780,000 by a jury of
her peers after breaking her ankle tripping over a toddler who was running
inside a furniture store. The owners of the store were understandably
surprised at the verdict, considering the misbehaving toddler was Ms.
Robertson's son.

5th Place (Tied)
19 year old Carl Truman of Los Angeles won $74,000 and medical expenses
when his neighbour ran over his hand with a Honda Accord. Mr. Truman
apparently did not notice there was someone at the wheel of the car when
he was trying to steal the hubcaps.

5th Place (Tied)
Terrence Dickson of Bristol, Pennsylvania was leaving a house he had
just finished robbing by way of the garage. He was not able to get the
garage door to go up since the automatic door opener was malfunctioning.
He could not re-enter the house because the door connecting the house and
garage locked when he pulled it shut. The family was on vacation and Mr.
Dickson found himself locked in the garage for 8 days. He subsisted on a
case of Pepsi he found and a large bag of dry dog food. He sued the
homeowner's insurance claiming the situation caused him undue mental
anguish. The Jury agreed to the tune of $500,000.

4th Place
Jerry Williams of Little Rock, Arkansas was awarded $14,500 and medical
expenses after being bitten on the buttocks by his next door neighbor's
Beagle dog. The Beagle was on a chain in its owner's fenced yard. The
award was less than sought because the jury felt the dog might have been a
little provoked at the time as Mr. Williams, who had climbed over the
fence into the yard, was shooting it repeatedly with a pellet gun.

3rd Place
A Philadelphia restaurant was ordered to pay Amber Carson of Lancaster,
Pennsylvania $113,500 after she slipped on a soft drink and broke her
coccyx(tailbone). The beverage was on the floor because Ms. Carson had
thrown it at her boyfriend 30 seconds earlier, during an argument.

2nd Place
Kara Walton of Claymont, Delaware sued the owner of a Night Club in a
neighboring city when she fell from the bathroom window to the floor and
knocked out two of her front teeth. This occurred whilst Ms. Walton was
trying to sneak in the window of the Ladies Room to avoid paying the
$3.50 cover charge. She was awarded $12,000 and dental expenses

1st Place
This year's runaway winner was Mr. Merv Grazinski of Oklahoma City,
Oklahoma. Mr. Grazinski purchased a brand new Winnebago Motor home.
On his trip home from an OU football game, having driven onto the freeway, he
set the cruise control at 70 mph and calmly left the driver's seat to go
into the back and make himself a cup of coffee. Not surprisingly the RV
left the freeway, crashed and overturned. Mr. Grazinski sued Winnebago for
not advising him in the owner's manual that he could not actually do this.
The jury awarded him $1,750,000 plus a new Winnebago Motor home. The
company actually changed their manuals on the basis of this suit just in
case there were any other complete morons buying their recreational
vehicles.

However for one reason or another, the list you have just spent minutes of your life reading is a complete fake; probably because it is much more interesting than the real thing. Which is why I printed it.

Clicky click here for the genuine, and more boring, awards.

2005-02-22T18:49:00.000Z

Today is Free Mojtaba and Arash Day - two bloggers imprisoned in Iran who ran blogs.

Committee to Protect Bloggers

Bloggers Without Borders

Bloggers Bill Of Rights

2005-02-15T23:37:00.000Z

This is what I love about the internet. In a recent post I remarked on a spam email I received hailing a character called Gouranga. So I decided to do some research. And of course within minutes I discovered the inevitable: somebody else had already done the research for me.

Now being a thorough sort I would never trust the research of someone else and present it as fact until I have properly verified all the necessary. However I am also extremely lazy and need only to achieve standards that I set for myself.

The marvelous Urban Dictionary's results can be witnessed thusly. The most popular being Rob's explanation:

A word that appears on motorway bridges in north west UK. It's only purpose to annoy drivers who are left with a nagging curiosity for the rest of their day until the next day when it ceases to become important ever again.

The word, it is revealed, perhaps originated from Hare Krishna and instructs one to be happy and travel in peace. It can be now seen somewhere within the marvelously enjoyable Grand Theft Auto games (where in its most recent incarnation you may decide to gamble some of your money on a horse called Gentleman's Relish).

However forget all this. Let Joe from Germany sort it out once and for all. Good man that.

2005-02-13T23:50:00.000Z

Never give out your password or credit card number in an instant message conversation.

Prophet says:
evening

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
alright

Prophet says:
hows things

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
not bad: at workl doing some online courses.

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
what you up to then?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
surfing the net?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
can you write my next blog entry?

Prophet says:
that would be creative right ? .. sorry i only do technical ..

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
got any word documents I can publish?

Prophet says:
i can install linux on you laptop if you like ?

Prophet says:
LOL

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I don't have a laptop. But thanks.

Prophet says:
writers block huh ?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
uh-huh

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
ooh, online courses for Cool Edit.

Prophet says:
i'm building a PVR !

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
and that is?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Personal

Prophet says:
a personal video recorder

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Videeo

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Recorder?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
see?

Prophet says:
clever

Prophet says:
you stuff a tv card into your pc and it records all your favourite programs whenever there on

Prophet says:
you dont even need to know when there on, just what the program is called

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
not bad.

Prophet says:
oh, it gets better

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
If you ever came into the building I'm sitting in now you'd probably come in your pants.

Prophet says:
it will also play your mp3s ... show your photos .. and play every arcade game ever written from pong to outrun

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
that'll be a computer then.

Prophet says:
that will be a home media centre

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Clever things those. very useful.

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I've got a computer.

Prophet says:
a set top computer

Prophet says:
LOL

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
How does this differ from a computer then?

Prophet says:
yeah ? .. how many operating systems are you running ?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
No cooling fan?

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I'm at work. Fuck knows.

Prophet says:
the computer is that big white noisey thing on your desk .. this is a sexy little black (or brushed aluminium) box that sits under your tv .. makes no noise .. and records all your favourite programs while your out .. then when you do have time to watch tv .. there's always gonna be something on for you to watch ..

Prophet says:
plus you can pause live tv .. rewind the action .. skip the adverts ...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I know the garb. But.... pause live TV. I feel a misnomer hitting me repeatedly round the head.

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
This is technology used in the braodcast industry for years now making it into peoples homes...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Once I do the BBCs technology vision course I'll be an expert at this shit.

Prophet says:
yeah ... once upon a time there was a little company called tivo .. they had a really great little product .. 5 years ahead of its time ...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Well, I'll have heard about it.

Prophet says:
but then then sky bought it up and canned its ass cause they felt it threatend their interests

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
aye, but they stand most to gain from it.

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
and its arse, not ass.

Prophet says:
5 years on and every home in america has one and every home in england is still using vhs !

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Not me baby, I watch all my programmes off the transmission server three days BEFORE it goes to air!

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Now that's technology!

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I'll stick to my PS2 for my home entertainment.

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Where's my blog entry then?

Prophet says:
if you have and xbox you can turn that into a pvr !

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
yeah but no decent titles to play on it

Prophet says:
blog ... it would only be me raving on about big companys shit canning good ideas ...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
go on then...

Prophet says:
... microsoft fucking the world over ...

Prophet says:
.. why america is so much better than england ...

Prophet says:
... why its ass and not arse ...

Prophet says:
Can I not just cut and paste this conversation?

Prophet says:
probably

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Marvelous. Two inernet related activities for the time of one.

Prophet says:
so anyways ..

Prophet says:
the most usefull thing you can do with a PC is put the HD's into caddies

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Go on...

Prophet says:
setting aside the fact that they last 10 times longer cause the live in little air cooled boxes ..

Prophet says:
BTW ..

Prophet says:
if you ever want to see a modded PC ...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
How interesting...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
yes?

Prophet says:
i currently have my power supply hanging out the back of the box .. and a aluminium vent porting the CPU heat exhaust via a vortex cooler straight out of the back , where the PSU used to be

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
Fascinating.

Prophet says:
thus the inside of the box is cool and all the heat goes straight out the back

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
LIke all that hot air coming out of your ARSE yes?

Prophet says:
the nvidia FX 5900 is super cooled with heatpipe supersincs .. the HD's as i said are independantly cooled with there own internal fans in the caddies ..

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
I'd love to stay and chat.

Prophet says:
AND I'M HAVING TO SHOUT OVER THE NOISE OF ALL THE BLOODY FANS I'VE GOT IN THIS THING ...

Obi Wan Yacobi says:
But I've got to go and eat my own flesh.

Prophet says:
sorry

Prophet says:
eat ...

Prophet says:
i new there was something i keep forgetting to do this week

2005-02-08T01:38:00.000Z

Prize for the greatest SPAM email I have received recently goes to Neateye.

No attachments, just this short message:

Call out Gouranga be happy!!!
Gouranga Gouranga Gouranga ....
That which brings the highest happiness!!

Of course the sender (whose email I am wisely holding from you) could be someone I know with an odd new Gouranga themed email address.

Who knows, or indeed dares, to dream...

I turned to email Junkbox after deciding to turn away from yet another chart orientated television title starting "The 50 Greatest..."

Who votes for these things? Of course everyone knows that the general public is very stupid indeed and when acting en mass is the very embodiment of hell on earth. This weekend saw a run down of the greatest music videos of all time, which wasn't really as it was voted for by the public. And hence a not terrible but far far far from special Robbie Williams offering (something about rocking DJs) made number four.

This wouldn't be so bad if the pundits that are wheeled out to provide commentary weren't so simperingly positive. Presumably not wanting to undermine their own show and/or discourage people associated with the clips to refuse to appear the producers of this programme asked their guests or editors to make sure each video was "bigged up" (as they might have undoubtedly said). Much better television would have been provided had we been able to see an interview with someone saying it how it really was.

"This video is an average piece of work that gained notoriety because parts of it were banned - although nothing about it could be said to be outrageous or cutting edge and no boundaries whatsoever were pushed back. This piece of shit shouldn't even have been mentioned here."

I'd liked to have seen a few more Michel Gondry efforts. He is the director who recently crossed into the feature film world with the excellent Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind. Some of his videos include the choreographed masterpiece of Daft Punk's Around The World, the White Stripes Fell In Love With The Girl the beautiful one take genius of Massive Attack's Protection and a wonderful palindromic spilt screen video with a Japanese band called Cibo Matto with their track Sugar Water. These are genuinely amazing videos and huge technical achievements.

Robbie Williams taking his clothes off is not my idea of music video nirvana.

But I shouldn't care - it is just another chart rundown I don't take any notice of.

2005-02-02T13:52:00.000Z

After change happens it can be quite difficult to maintain previous habits. And so it is with this blog. New job, new abode, and I'm finding it difficult to find time to write entries for this page. Plus I have to admit there has been something of a mental block recently.

Now I know that no-one's interested in a daily account of my life. "Today the tube journey took ten minutes longer as there was a passenger alarm set off on the train in front of us." Snore.

Actually that wouldn't be true as today I was chauffeured into work in the back of a Mercedes. Very nice I know, oh yes. But anyway it's not a very interesting thing to read, and so I'm forever attempting to create new and novel new pieces - mixed of course with pointless philosophising like this.

And so the entries can become a little short.

2005-01-27T15:36:00.000Z

things often happen, quite often...

...When it comes down to it, it is an undeniable fact that things, being a grouping of stuff, always happens on a given occasion. And, logically speaking, given occasions always occur at a given moment - which, in turn, also happens pretty regularly, i.e. quite often. So, it can be deduced that happenings occur very often, if not all the time. And things are contained within these happenings. Therefore the conclusion, that things often happen, cannot be avoided. Furthermore, since this aforementioned instance (that things often happen) is a permanent and regular state of the universe in which we live, the aforementioned happens quite often really.

Some have argued that, since this aforementioned state of affairs can be subjected to a sort of plurality of logic to deduce a second, higher stage of things, the conclusion reached above should be pluralised further still to a third stage. Such a controversial view would state that very often things often happen, quite often. Many of those who argue for what is known as the third way used to express a support for an infinite pluralism of things happening. Arguments for this infinite pluralism of things provoked much controversy and intrigue.

The original statement read "it is our opinion that very often, often things often happen, quite often and regularly to the extent of being often regularly." However these infinitists have been criticised for making too light of things - which does not seem to feature in their thinking anywhere near as often as the term often. This is objectionable, it is claimed, because the statement reflects a greater state of time - expressed in the term often - than it does the occurrence of things. Therefore the infinitists statement suggests that things do not happen often enough. Faced with this claim, the infinitists re-stated their philosophy to read "stuff usually happens". This made many people very unhappy and it was suggested that this latest statement mocked things. Thus supporters of the third way grew in number. However it should be noted that this appears to be something of a knee jerk reaction to the infinitists temerity in the face of some serious philosophy. In my opinion, the third way goes both too far and not far enough. Please, please ignore this latest philosophical inclination and choose either the first way - as originally expressed in Greek thought - or try to understand the infinite way. This last way can only be defined to you by yourself. Give it a go, because it can provide a much more complete understanding of things.

2005-01-18T20:34:00.000Z

I have long ago stopped caring about the music charts, although I hasten to add not about music. After all, why should I care what 13-year-old girls are buying in their lunch breaks at ASDA? In fact I am so indifferent towards most of the, ahem, "musicians" in the charts nowadays that I have decided that many of these groups should be re-branded 'children's entertainers'. For that is what they are: their primary talents are usually dancing, pretty faces and nice smiles. Which is fine, but not in the charts. And many in the media still use the charts to gauge what they believe is the current cultural climate. But in reality it is mostly nothing but an over-inflated blow up doll filled with other peoples toss.

Now every time I have a conversation with anyone about music-orientated shallow and commercially created products aimed at kids I always correct them with the insistence that they drop the description 'music', 'song' or even 'chart topper' and replace it with the more descriptive 'children's entertainment'. And I urge you all to do the same.

The worst thing about these bands is that music production technology is so advanced that out of tune singers can be corrected with modern vocoder-type software and boring singing styles covered up with simple effects or, more usually, by using the same old harmony style. However dance moves and sexy legs have to be real talents. Which isn't really the point of a music artist.

Compared to what we are witnessing today, Elvis Presley, whose fame is being cynically exploited by men in suits with elastic wallets, is a musical genius. Although his talents were limited to singing and prancing about. Yes a pretty good voice, very distinctive. But Elvis’ fame comes largely from his legend. After all he was a musical interpreter rather than a creator. Like the children's entertainers of today, he didn’t write his own music, could not play an instrument, his manager made more money than he did, and never really put any of his own personality into the music. Here was a man who was a huge Monty Python fan – but did anything in his career reflect this part of his soul? That a man who could not tap out Green Sleeves on a piano is now widely regarded as a musical legend is a sad indictment of today’s children's entertainers.

Perhaps my despair with the once entitled hit parade has clouded my view to such an extent that I regard any trend reflected in the charts as one I should oppose. But Elvis' current popularity seems more to do with an unusually clever way of selling a box set to die hard fans than any genuine cultural phenomenon. In previous years one really would not know who would top the charts. Occasionally there would be a real surprise. Who would have thought the Sex Pistols could blaze their way to top slot and simultaneously upset so many?

Now, any similar cultural scream for recognition would be and probably already has been muffled by the big supermarket chains that stock what they like. And they only like guaranteed sellers and pre-sales deals with major labels. When I saw in Music Week in the early nineties the announcement that supermarket sales would be counted towards chart position I knew the game was up. And how right I was. Now we have a different number one every week and most marketing people in the industry would be able to tell you who would occupy that slot for the following three weeks just by looking at a few projected advertising and distribution figures.

But I have not relayed the worst of it, oh no. Labels are now increasingly using software that analyses songs, compares various aspects to previous hits, and judges which will be most successful at the checkouts. It’s bad enough that many artists seem to be in a kind of paradoxical competition to sound more like each other; now we have computers instructing them to do it. It's a very sorry state of affairs – I'm convinced we are reaching the lowest of low points.

I had some experience in an A&R department at a record company. That is the department that scouts, signs and develops acts. Since that time people have occasionally asked me how to get a record deal. I'd usually reply in some convoluted way with mention of managers, promotion, getting the band’s name out etc etc. But one A&R chap I recently spoke to put it much more succinctly.

"The entire process a band and its management have to go through to get signed is best described using only one word," he explained to me.

"Hype."

But soon enough the embarrassment that is the singles charts as we know it today will probably end. Many in the industry think that physical singles will no longer exist in a few years – after all why would anyone spend £3 on a CD single when, even if you actually pay, it can be downloaded for 89p? And I'm hoping charts based on these figures will better reflect the nation’s musical predilections. Not that I'm expecting too much. But at least out of touch producers will stop looking at the soulless, vacant, piece of shit singles charts and cease cramming yet more of the same turd down our throats.

Of course it is just when things are at their bleakest when the musical gods produce a mainstream occurrence that rises spectacularly like a phoenix out of the flames. I specify mainstream because I have no problem with the music being created today, just the excrement that gets thrown at us everyday. There are some bloody marvellous offerings to be had if you look for them. But you have to look for them. And the clearly testicular nature of the musical market of today suppresses much potential artistry from ever coming to fruitition.

And thusly Top of the Pops will die a lingering death. Not because it has been badly produced or scheduled at the wrong time but rather because it can only ever be as good as the chart music it is obliged to show.

But if we were to re-brand crap aimed at school kids as 'children’s entertainment' perhaps a new chart would be formed for that shit (which ITV will inevitably air) and the real music could take centre stage again. I could save Top of the Pops! What a great first act that would be for my new employers!

It's not going to happen.

2005-01-14T20:44:00.000Z

It looks like I'll be working for Auntie Beeb by the end of the week. Which is probably good news but does it mean I must curb my opinions and become a neutral? Hmm, well, perhaps not. (Important: my views are my own and not those of my new employer. Obvious I know, but still..)

And so I will have to face that all-important impression-giving stage that all new recruits must go through. This isn't a suit and tie affair, so choosing clothing is the first issue. Most of my wardrobe consists entirely of jeans and t-shirts. There is a strong possibility that these will be okay in the long term – however we all know I must start out by donning something more smart looking. Or, as the proper English goes, something "smarter". Although not too smart lest I leave new colleagues with impressions of sadness (the small tuft of hair on my upper chin should take care of that - a very useful visual tool).

I must not, under any circumstances, arrive late for my first day. Even if London is showered with car-sized meteors and London Underground decides to pack in the service whilst large-scale electricity cuts are accompanied by arctic temperatures and hurricane winds should I arrive as much as twenty seconds late. People who operate in live broadcasting environments tend to take notice of human concepts such as timekeeping. And thusly so must I.

Which means ensuring my alarm clock is in full working order as the presence of body odour should not be an option and a morning shower shall be had in the proper leisurely manner.

Next I have to make the almighty effort to memorise my new colleagues names. Especially those of my superiors.

Everybody will be my superior. Either in terms of position or basic experience in the department.

I am particularly bad at remembering names. Usually I ask once and take no notice of the reply before I ask to be reminded again several minutes later. Not uttering the words "What was your name again?" more than three times to the same person in the same day will be a necessary motivational rule.

At this point it occurs to me that if I did not feel the need to write a regular weblog entry, I would not even be considering all these potential worries. I tend to bounce through life naturally, instinctively doing pretty much the right thing. Normally I would perform all these actions without a second thought. Now, because of this bloody blog, I’m thinking too much about trivial things like a normal member of the general public. And we know how unbelievably stupid people are. Oops, sorry, that’s not towing the BBC party line at all. Sorry.

I have no opinion one way or the other.

Tell my wife hello.

2005-01-09T20:42:00.000Z

Ah the blessed beer jumper. The garment I can wear to every visit to a pub in a given period and have all the pungent smoke and beer smell get attached to that rather than half my wardrobe.

Before, I would come home, smell the disgusting aromas of pub upon my person, and have to chuck my clothes into my gathering of impending laundry. Thusly my choice of clean clothing would be greatly diminished. Now this isn't a problem with t-shirts, of which I own a great many, and which of course also retain that classic BO smell. Trousers strangely lose their smell. But jumpers; jumpers are a mirror for odours past and present. A rhinoceros can walk to a spot and using its nasal senses can build a mental picture of the activity there for up to two weeks previous. So it is with jumpers. I have relatively few and so such a tactic is both practical and inspiringly easy on my usage of washing powder.

Hence this week I will be wearing my dark blue Bench hoody to all my public house activities. Mmm, imagine the memories it will eventually hold.

Of course I will have to carefully explain the phenomenon to all my drinking buddies in advance should I occur any social repulsion - but once I am inside the drinking establishment, all possibilities of revulsion at my smell will evaporate, as I will reekily blend in with all around me.

This week I have already sported said hooded jumper at The Twelve Bells in Finsbury Park, and I shall go in unison with it to the pound-a-pint event that I fervently hope will be taking place on Monday night at Charing Cross Road's traveller spot Walkabout. Great will be the smell there. Half will be the number of temporarily ruined jumpers.

A curse has already been set upon my shiny raincoat that holds and steadily releases the smell of smoke for decades after use.

2005-01-06T14:24:00.000Z

Continuing in the series of publishing Word Docs I find on Internet Cafe hard drives:

"Our new project will address issues of gender identity, body representation and mediatized lives through non-narrative physical dramaturgy. The work will be choreographed after the performer’s improvisations, balancing between idiosyncrasy and metaphor.
We look for a performative language that is based on our Corporeal Mime training and, at the same time, undermines its own codes of representation, shifting levels of address and presence.

In this new project, falsa imago aims:

To develop the idea of a mediatized intimate life approached with a tape recorder in “damaged by miracles” with the use of a video camera, filming preset scenes indoors and outdoors as well as directly live on stage and of a television on stage.

To develop the idea of the body as a map approached in “God knows why I keep making a puzzle of myself” (Gallery 291,London Feb 2004), with photographs of body parts either filmed and animated or at human dimensions representing the performer’s identity in search for its definition, image, gender specificity, geographical roots, social consistency.

The body as a territory, to be found, defined, mapped, armed,
represented, fictionalized, invaded, fought for, in war, bordered, destroyed or deconstructed and rebuild, in peace, expanded, erased, visited, colonised, culturalised, predicated, purified, civilised, cultivated, dogmatised, named, identified, traded, protected, cherished.
In terms of relation, intimate, sexual or political, this same geographical body will become the terrain of appropriation of misappropriation, games of physical war.

A puzzle applied to the human body represents our constant dismantlement of oneself and the other’s psychological and physiological entities with the longing for a lost and impossible plenitude (sexually embarrassing children in search for long lost Paradise).

am working on concepts of dismantlement, body without organs, physical deterritorialisation and reterritorialisation, and representation, most of it inspired by "A thousand Plateaus", Gilles Deleuze. I have started to work with a puppet, a red heart-shaped cushion (deterritorialised organ), a television (reterritorialised body), a video camera and a few miniDv tapes...ah and also one of Hoxton Hall's light (with lots of cables of course...)and Hoxton Hall protection gloves.
So, for the picture, I think the puppet, perfect body without organs, the red heart-shaped cushion and the television with or without me would look great really.Or just parts of my body, dismantled (as in the little video we did: "God knows why I keep making a puzzle of myself.."). The body parts will demultiply when I will be able to get a full size mannequin and make a human puzzle out of it. "

Fascinating stuff....

2005-01-02T17:50:00.000Z

So now, in addition to my email inbox, my mobile's text message inbox has also been receiving spam. And so the little annoyances of Western life continue. Having this year spent much time familiarising myself with the lovely people of South-East Asia however my reaction to a message urging me to naively text a five-digit number with my name and age so I can "get to know" an alleged other person has been much changed. For I am feeling much closer to the suffering of people I can easily identify with and caring less about irrelevances at home.

Like a farming community shapes its life and culture around its industry in Europe so are communities on Thai coasts and beaches shaped around tourism. So I hope the positive public reaction to the disaster extends to enthusiastically choosing the countries affected as places to visit. A dip in visitor numbers would be a further negative effect to these areas.

And perhaps the robust public reaction has something to do with long haul travel destinations having become increasingly popular in recent times. I have dozens of friends who have visited either SE Asia or the Indian Subcontinent and so the more effective and escalating media coverage of our modern times isn't the only globalising effect on our minds. Millions have made personal connections with people in faraway places. In the past, images of suffering have been difficult to appreciate, as the few images we have seen have appeared to illustrate a world vastly different from the one we are used to. Now we see a world many of us have experienced, through hundreds of different camera lenses, repeatedly, and often via encounters made by fellow westerners.

And these are the reasons I think globalisation is not entirely a bad thing. Most anti-globalisation protesters march against the exploitation of poverty-stricken workforces, increasing pollution, and the threat of cultural, economic and political imperialism and on these issues I have huge sympathy. But describing many of their objections as issues of globalisation is misleading. To me globalisation means a world drawing together; communication between people becoming easier; travel to faraway places becoming more practical; goods becoming available worldwide; relief arriving to the distressed more quickly. But more than this globalisation means saying goodbye to insular thinking; the naïve superstitions of isolated communities; the poor and the badly educated becoming weightier political issues as the West gets closer to affected areas.

I suppose the negative attitudes regarding globalisation is because capitalism has been a big and mainly negative driving force; however the biggest pushes towards it have been more positive historical events such as the end of the Second World War, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the rise of the internet.

In India the economy which has been a poor one that only benefits the rich has been in a revolution because western companies have striven to take advantage of cheap wages and have relocated much of their operations there. We may baulk at what we perceive as exploitation but in reality this movement has helped India to better provide for its poor. And its poor need all the help they can get. In north-western Vietnam my friends and I got to know some local Black Hmong tribes kids. They lived in mud huts in remote villages. They were internet capable – the Vietnamese Hmong have been subjected to some pretty shocking treatment at times by their government. How easy will it be for such political tactics to be used on an increasingly knowledgeable people?

H'mong tribes kids in Sapa, NW Vietnam...

To me the ultimate and only end game of globalisation - although not one that is deliberately directed there - is a changed public perception of the world in which they live; a round world. In all of human history individual nations and their people have acted in self-interest, understanding and caring only for their own people. Only in the very recent past, in the lifetimes of the last two generations, have international bodies like the UN the EU and the ICRC had any real influence or impact on world affairs. These bodies are in existence because we live in a smaller world. You may not like these bodies much but even the blindest pessimist must admit that before the times of these institutions wars between countries were very regular affairs. Only in the last sixty years have conflicts between the major European countries, stretching back centuries, been consigned to history. Look in your history books and see the relationships between Britain, France, Spain, and Germany have been good ones only in yours and your parents lifetimes.

The inevitable results of globalisation for normal people will be less blind patriotism, less sympathy for profiteering foreign military campaigns, better unbderstanding of other peoples cultures, and other positive effects. In the end, nations and companies will have neither the desire nor the support for the selfish tactics we see today. If we survive that is: looking at the US and the middle east today I think it might take a while for everyone to join in. Bloody Christian/Jewish/Muslim fundamentalists... Fucking idiots. I stick my knob out at them.

2004-12-28T14:52:00.000Z

In my living room, in a large tank, there live two turtles Ronnie and Reggie. They belong to my flatmate's girlfriend and, whilst he is visiting her somewhere in the southern hemisphere, it seems that I am their daddy. One's big fat and greedy, the other small and prone to anxiously withdraw into his shell.

The problem with turtles is that their life spans are about as long as a human's. This means that if you get one as a pet, you have the responsibility of looking after it for the rest of your life. Making them the last pet I would choose – especially considering their tank takes up space that a sofa could otherwise inhabit. Bah.

And this reality is what many parents tried to inflict upon themselves and their children in the eighties after the much-watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles started a fad for the hard round eating-machines. I never watched this flagon of other peoples toss, but I remember enough about it to say that it was like Charlie's Angels, but with turtles. In sewers.

And here is the interesting thing about it: After a relatively short amount of time, hundreds of annoyed parents flushed said animals down their toilets thusly populating the sewers with turtles and setting up the possibility that a shit children’s cartoon could have become the ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.

The full extent of my ambition however is simply to keep the things alive until Tom returns from porking his woman on a Fiji beach. When I told people about Ronnie and Reggie's existence some told me that turtles are virtually indestructible. So to see the little one (cannot remember which ones are which) eating very little recently is a bit scary. Should the little bastard die a day before Tom comes back I'll be in trouble; a one-day turtle hunt would produce an unsatisfactory result so preparation is key. I'm already scouting pet shops for identical replacement turtles.

So you should not be surprised to hear that it is not the turtles I am worried about following Boxing Day's tsunami in SE Asia. I never visited any of the Andaman Coast beaches on the Western coast of Thailand but I went to a few similar coastal resorts and spent many weeks in Thailand. Therefore images of suffering and destruction have been doubly affective to my mind as I am fully able to imagine the lives and places that have been affected.

I cannot really speak for those citizens of Sri Lanka, India, Sumatra or the small islands around that area, but Thais are a philosophical bunch. Life will go on after the clean up; places and people will not be allowed to pass out of memory; prayers and shrines will be offered; always eager to eek out any opportunity, buildings will be re-erected; and normal life, accompanied with smiley faces, will eventually return.

I hope these areas recover quickly and I hope people realise that such events occur both randomly and extremely rarely and that tourism - which is vital to so many locals livelihoods on the coasts - quickly returns, because these are magnificent places full of beautiful and friendly people.

For the very latest news, apart from the obvious sites, try visiting Tsunami Blogs.

2004-12-11T16:54:00.000Z

This week some campaigners have been in overdrive trying to get violent video games banned. Last week a friend lent me Manhunt for the wondrous Playstation 2. I found out subsequently that the game has been held responsible for inspiring the recent murder of a British schoolboy. Manhunt offers little in the way of depth other than that presented by the range of deaths one can inflict upon a victim. And as my friend handed over the game he advertised it proudly, “this was banned in New Zealand”.

“Cool.” I replied.

Why would I, and doubtless also most of my peers in the same situation, be so positive about such news? I’m not a bloodthirsty loner desperate to gain a thrill by enacting gory simulated murders. I cannot say I’ve ever experienced any sort of adrenaline increase when executing a computer-generated character. But rather that when I get hold of such a game I want to play it because I’m curious to see what the fuss is all about. By playing such a game I am exploring societies tolerances and measuring myself against them. I don’t think I would have turned the game on had it not been banned. And actually it’s pretty dull but I’m playing it still, curious to see how far it goes…

Banning Stuff Encourages Its Use Shock!

Which is why Dutch locals don’t really bother with drugs. Why Brits with their strict drinking rules binge drink. Why Catholic priests are renowned, unfairly or not, for kiddie fiddling. And also why American teenagers - strictly denied any sort of narcotic, legal or otherwise - go completely and utterly over the top when off on their ridiculous “frat” parties.

Of course age restrictions should be properly enforced. I don’t think 6 year-olds should be free to play games in which they can get a satisfying pop from the head of a pedestrian using the sniper rifle they had to murder three Yardie Gangsters to obtain. But I do think adults should be free to do so if they wish. The basic principle is: if it hurts or affects nobody else, I should be free to do what the hell I like. As a loyal existentialist I would defend such a basic right to the end.

Which is why all drugs should be legalised for adults. It’s both controversial and staggeringly obvious. Anyone not exposed to the incessant media-induced morality and with half a brain would deduce nothing else without a doubt. No, I don’t think people mainlining crack is a good idea. But I am an adult; if I want to fuck up my body I have every right. Recently suicide was legalised, so how is this any different?

The current state of affairs is this: Any anthropologist worth their salt would be forced to admit that narcotics use is a constant that every human civilisation has always partaken in throughout all of history.

A sizeable proportion of intelligent and reasonable (as well as unintelligent and unreasonable) people take both legal and illegal drugs responsibly (and irresponsibly).

Any intelligent legislative thinker would openly admit that good law making must always follow society and its trends.

Users of illegal drugs, in order to obtain said substances, are forced to turn to a black market that is driven by people who use the money for criminal activities or, worse still, to fund organised crime, gang violence, and even terrorism. The principle, remember, is that we should be able to do anything as long as it doesn’t affect others.

Sorry to patronise here but DO YOU SEE?

Drugs legal: nobody else affected.

Drugs illegal: people take drugs anyway. Other people affected via black market criminality and hooked drug users thieving and begging to fund their dealers.

Drugs, it seems, more adversely affect the general public whilst they remain illegal than they would do if they were to be legalised.

How unbelievably simple does this logic have to be?

Let us explore other ridiculously obvious arguments that even a ten year old could grasp (maybe not the statements themselves but the deductive and inductive processes without a doubt):

Drugs legal: people have the choice to take all narcotics, all admittedly damaging, some less than the current legal ones; others more.

Drugs illegal: tens millions of Britons choose to consume the two major narcotics that are really quite damaging. Any other uses of major narcotics are often those that those dealers would like you to take, which - shock of shocks! – are the drugs that are the most addictive!

Drugs legal: People would feel much more open about asking questions to the right people such as a doctor, allowing young adults to make better decisions. Think how well informed we all are about nicotine and alcohol compared with heroin and cocaine.

Drugs illegal: Dissemination of the facts about drugs the realm of the drug dealer, the peer pressuring friend, stereotypes, cultural pressures, campaigning groups battling against sensationalist headlines and school lectures by police which although may be largely true is usually distrusted due to the blatant inconsistencies in drug laws which everyone down to the most innocent 12 year old is aware of.

Drugs legal: Police and judiciary time and finance freed to concentrate on burglars, rapists, murderers, terrorists and, er, nowadays, motorists.

Drugs illegal: police, politicians and judiciary expending huge amounts of effort, money and manpower on maintaining a war against drugs and, oh yes, the massive numbers of related problems exacerbated by this, let’s face it, culturally central phenomenon’s illegality.

Drugs legal: Drugs sold pure, manufactured by companies operating within safety guidelines and with all tax from profits going to the treasury. Industry and jobs created. More tax. Drug prices not inflated meaning addicts not encouraged to steal to pay for unneccesarily expensive habit.

Drugs illegal: Drugs laced with rat poison, baking powder, bleach, random chemicals and other horribly dangerous substances that drug cartels and unscrupulous amateur manufacturers use to heighten their profits. Leah Betts mum is a leading campaigner for a zero tolerance against drugs. Most people free of emotion and with the facts to hand should see the irony in this: had her daughter taken a legally produced ecstasy tablet, she would have almost certainly had a good time and gone home safely. Although still illegally: she would have been underage. So maybe she still would have used the black market, but more probably would have obtained legal ones illegally.

The change itself would probably lead to an increase in the number of users. Change always does. But it’s not the process of change that is important but the situation that needs to be bought about. Once the change has become the norm the numbers of drugs users would probably, using the common laws of anthropology and psychology as a guide, drop from today’s levels. And after all they could hardly rise.

What sane person, in possession of the facts, would voluntarily decide to start injecting him or herself with heroin? Many still would no doubt; and a black market would still inevitably remain for all the drugs – like it does for cigarettes and alcohol. But the problem would be massively reduced without a question. And inevitably fewer people would take the highly addictive, depressant, anti-social, car wrecking, vastly toxic, and violence inducing alcohol – and frankly that can only be a good thing for everybody. (Here’s a question: why is an alcohol comedown, arguably one of the very worst of all the drugs, given a friendlier name?)

Any politician who searched his or her own mind must know all of this, but who can blame them for valuing their careers? Such a move would never enjoy even a decently sized marginal support in today’s world. But it would be one hell of a brave move and I bet, if explained properly and despite all the inevitable headlines and follow up stories designed to dispute the facts we’d see splashed across the Express and the Mail for weeks on end, would get at least the respect of the public for being a genuine attempt to do something meaningful.

Meanwhile video games won’t be banned. Although I wouldn’t support such a ban it would probably be easily enforced. Hardcore video games would be genuinely difficult to get even with the minimum policing. Drugs’ trafficking on the other hand is policed like a bastard and yet the flow is bountiful. Could it be that our society is intrinsically linked with drugs? Well, durr…

“We are losing the war on drugs” politicians say. When only one side bothers fighting a war and still loses it really should be prepared to consider that the war is a fundamentally misplaced one. As the late great Bill Hicks once said: "Well you know what that implies? There's a war going on, and people on drugs are winning it! Well what does that tell you about drugs? Some smart, creative motherfuckers on that side."

Just for the record and in case you’re thinking I’m trying to justify some habit of mine I am not a great illegal drug taker nor am I the only person? who thinks this. I have not tried most drugs and probably never will, although my existentialist duty forced me to experience one or two. When you realise how pathetic some of these are to alcohol in particular you have to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Until you really think about it using basic cold logic.

Bah.

2004-12-06T09:16:00.000Z

It is always disappointing to look into the London night sky. Firstly it usually consists of one gigantic cloud; but when the way is clear the number of objects one can spot in the night sky is roughly about three. And that annoyingly includes the moon. The authorities have attempted to lighten our mood so to speak by lining Oxford Street with tens of large spotlights which wave into the sky so all the foreign visitors to Christmassy London can observe the cloud 24/7.

It is all so depressing when I think back to the time I reclined on a warm and powdery Fraser Island beach, which lay perhaps 40 miles from the nearest significant artificial light source, and wondered at the southern night sky.

I stared up at the literally millions of visible stars in awe.

“There are loads in a stripe over there,” I said pointing upwards to someone I had earlier befriended, but “if only that long bloody cloud would move out of the… ah.”

I had made a realisation.

“That cloud’s not actually a cloud is it?” I continued.

“Oh yeah” agreed whomever it was I was with in a tone that suggested I had pointed out something both revelatory and blindingly obvious.

Even a masturbating Claudia Schiffer could not have distracted me from the splendour that was the Milky Way at that moment.

Curse London and its light pollution.

Over the millennia that have seen the rise of human intelligence, wondering and philosophising under a starry sky has gone hand-in-hand with our development as a species. I have found there seems to be a direct relationship between the friendliness of an average person and the number of objects that can be observed in the night sky in their skies. When city folk visit a region like, say, eastern Australia, they tend to open up and become much more ready to embrace things like the possibility of connecting with a total stranger. It must be the stars.

Why is it I think less of a person who walks onto my tube train wearing a beaming smile?

Perhaps I think they are stupid for not realising the obvious connection between stars and friendliness. I’m betting that astronomers are the salt of the earth. If I ever need someone to lend me money I’m going straight to the nearest observatory. Although traditionally an under-funded discipline, I’d at least get a smile along with the inevitable rejection.

“Are your family also astronomers?“ I would ask with an urban-induced furrow on my brow.

“No my friend. Tea?”

“Lots of milk lots of sugar. Is your house near any artificial light sources?

“Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Fuck off then; your family makes me sick.”

It's some sort of international scandal really.

Hail the International Dark-Sky Association!

2004-12-01T15:19:00.000Z

In September 1996 I got myself a compact-looking Sony stereo. The CD function has long since failed replaced now by a CD player connected to the stereo via its auxiliary function. In fact it shares this function with my computer on which is composed weird-ass electronic music (you can of course hear compressed evidence of this by clicking on the song titles listed in the left-hand column on this page) all facilitated by a mixer which means I don’t have to worry about constant fiddly lead manipulation to toggle between the two. Hang in there now I might be going somewhere with this.

I use my stereo constantly to listen to the radio and even occasionally a tape. Actually I get to digress here and mention a magnificent couple of 90-minute tapes I have which bestow a recording of Dave Rabbit’s show on a pirate radio station called Radio First Termer who broadcasted live and unofficially to US troops during the Vietnam War. Dave’s show played, in his words, “hard acid rock music” and featured deep philosophical musings such as “fighting for someone else freedom is like fucking for someone else’s virginity”, tips on where to score the best acid and of course where naked women might be found on that particular evening. It’s a glorious three-hour recording – I only wish you could hear it too. And in fact you can. Bloody marvelous.

Anyway the reason I bring the subject of my stereo to your attention today is because I want to pay homage to the two AA batteries that have been housed in it’s remote control for about 3,000 days providing me with a regular and fault-free service without the need of any sort of tinkering whatsoever. For the record these batteries are not Duracell, Duracell Ultra, Energiser or Ever Ready whatever-colour-isn’t-the-shitty-fail-after-two-weeks version, but Sony’s own brand no frills comes-with-the-remote version. After all this time I can still point my remote directly away from my stereo and the infra-red signal will bounce off my wall and give me instant volume increase or whatever other irrelevant requested available service.

I congratulate Sony on getting the little things right. Even if the stereo looks dreadfully ugly, houses buttons that often perform the actions of neighbouring buttons instead of their own, has preset EQ settings rather than the much simpler, more practical and better sounding bass and treble knobs, and has a CD laser that stopped working only two years after I started using it.

Battery issues are important. There is not a consumer alive who doesn’t curse a manufacturer when they release a product from its wrapper and open up the battery compartment only to find the bastard thing takes three fucking batteries. Who designs these things? Batteries are only sold packaged in even numbers you twats. I swear it’s a conspiracy. Apart from forcing you to buy an extra battery, it might also encourage some who already have the standard two to find another battery of a different make and use that as the third. Mixing different makes in such a way reduces their lifespan drastically again meaning you have to buy more batteries more often... Conspiracy!

And that is the Capitalist system we live in. Would such a trick be played on communist Vietnam? Well actually yes because Vietnam is as commercial as hell but with electronic goods sold at even more expensive prices than here; although oddly batteries are far cheaper (some indecipherable part of the conspiracy I wonder?)

But what if the whole world was Communist? Not a chance.

There might be lots of other massive massive disadvantages readers but getting conned into buying lots of batteries would not be one of them.

Makes you think doesn’t it?

2004-11-25T18:04:00.000Z

So I’ve moved house. My new abode is in the merry borough of Islington, North London. Which officially makes me a beardy, Guardian-reading, sandal wearing liberal. Little does it matter that I never wear sandals and aspire to never sport a beard of any kind whatsoever – excepting perhaps for any cool looking goatee type apparitions.

Perhaps my opinions of facial growth and footwear will subtly change over the coming months as who one is appears to be defined by where one lives. Over the coming days I will be carefully scrutinising newsagents for evidence: I am expecting to see large piles of Guardian and Independent newspapers and a tiny to pathetic collection of copies of the Daily Mail and Express on the shelves. I will be scanning shoe shops for sandals; chemists for beard-treatment products; supermarkets for tofu; grocers for organic greens; and of course streets for bicycles scooters.

That geography can affect personality is fairly easy to spot. Go to many of the commuter towns on the inside rim of the Home Counties circling London (or indeed run down areas of central London) and do some chav spotting. These individuals are so alike that it takes significant effort and application to talk to one and find the true human being underneath. Their souls are encased beneath shells of tracksuits (rather sportingly entitled “shell suits”), oversized trainers, ridiculous looking baseball hats and too often white jumpers emblazoned with the logo of some awful clothes manufacturer. During the winter evenings the females like to advertise how hot they really must be by exposing as much of themselves as possible to the cooling frost. This might sound like gross over-stereotyping, but having lived in such an area for a not inconsiderable time I can assure you the stereotypes are unfortunately justified. And many chavs – and I have seen this all too often – are responsible for much of what is now politically termed as ‘antisocial behaviour’.

Now being a softy liberal I have only sympathy for these unfortunate individuals who are after all only born into the British equivalent of the American red neck situation. I now feel duty bound to say that if only we weren’t so antagonistic and ready to judge these kids they would not feel the need to react like a horse fed with a large flagon of Tabasco Sauce. They really do need their problems to be understood by others. How isolated they must feel in the land between urban and rural Britain – how symbolic their geographical position is of their lives in modern British society.

Of course if you travel from chav country in either direction towards or away from London you will encounter Tory Country. Enter a newsagent’s on a Sunday morning before the young paperboys have collected their morning’s work and gasp at the mighty pile of Mail on Sunday’s stretching to the ceiling. As a penniless teenager I was employed to do a paper round in such an area. The leafier the road, the greater the percentage of Mail readers – I even distributed one daily to the ex-Arsenal manager Bertie Mee, who in 1971 delivered the league and cup double to Highbury.

What would these people say about chavs? (I discourage you from attributing the late great Mr Mee to any labels as dealing with individuals would clearly be neither accurate nor fair and I’m trying to stereotype wildly here. He did give me a fiver at Christmas once as well.)

I suspect it would be a gloomy view possibly connected with a sense of decomposing societal and family values allied with an incompetent judicial system.

Thinking about it, I have lived in all these areas. Everyone knows in reality that these places are in fact veritable rainbows of political thought and only loosely pertain to my extremely basic pigeonholing. But the point is, now I’m in Islington I have to philosophise wildly about the world around me until I too hide behind the shell of a beard and possibly a side parting.

Question: So have I found my political home in trendy liberal Islington…?

Analysis: I have been rambling meaninglessly about politics with no discernable direction.

Conclusion: So yes it seems like it.

Analysis: But I have enjoyed thoroughly slating and mocking common folk.

Conclusion: So perhaps not.

Analysis: All of which goes to show I’m confused about my politics.

Conclusion: So actually yes.

2004-11-21T16:09:00.000Z

At times being a Londoner in London can be an odd experience. Last night I was at a party in Kensal Rise at which my friend and I were the only two English people present. Swedes, French, Candians, and a spattering of individuals from elsewhere wandered round a large house probing each others social skills. And very weird it was too. I would have thought, having returned from travelling and meeting such people, that I would be comfortable in such a scenario. Obviously I spoke to many people but one finds oneself resorting to old and unoriginal conversation techniques when nothing else comes to mind. Whilst travelling the questions that get all too frequently asked would be:

What's your name?

Where are you from?

How long have you been travelling?

How long are you staying here?

Where are you going next?

What do you do at home?

What's your name again?

Snore. I guess such interrogation gives the questioner a sense of who they are dealing with and a start to a conversation.

Last night these questions got adapted to:

What's your name?

Where are you from?

How long have you been in London?

Do you like it here?

How long are you staying here?

What is your job?

Pretty dull then. I found myself in the hallway in the vicinity of a girl and I decide to find out the answers to such deep and fundamental questions. She is from Norway, she's been here two months, she quite likes London but hasn't really seen much of it, and she is working at her restaurant for four more months. Interesting. I flirted around such questions as "have you visited the Tate Modern?" I tried to ask what sort of films she likes or music she listens to. I am asked about good clubs to visit or cheap places to eat. I wasn't chatting her up; I was probing the variety of my own social skills in an unfamiliar situation. I noticed that the whole evening consisted of asking or being asked questions. I'm sure it wasn't like this on my travels...

Having said all this I did meet some interesting people and did have a fair few more interesting conversations. The party was made up mostly of young Europeans who have come to London and are generally working in bars, as nannys, or whatever else they can get their hands on. In general they don't meet too many locals - and we locals don't often meet them. It's a world away from the London I have known.

In hindsight I wish I'd asked more random questions; it would have made for a more interesting evening:

Toilet rolls. Front hanging or back hanging?

Are you a man or a woman?

Do you find it a bit unnerving doctors call what they do practice?

Does anti-freeze freeze?

What colour does a smurf turn when you choke it?

What are you going to say next?

Why isn't there mouse-flavored cat food?

and so on.

2004-11-17T01:01:00.000Z

Sorry Everybody is the site that has attracted millions of hits over the past days as Americans photograph their ugly mugs and post them on the internet apologising for the re-election of lunatic leader George Bush. That the American electorate only had the option to choose between a right wing leader and an extreme right wing leader goes some way to excusing them.

In response to this phenomenon, pro-Bush started their own copycat We're Not Sorry site. But it seems to have fallen by the wayside and now leads only to a domain hosting site (although perhaps this is a temporary fault - clicky clicky to find out). However not before it encouraged the piss take site We Is Not Sorry which lists the top states by IQ pointing out that only those states at the bottom actually voted for Bush. Be warned that the photo page contains images that some may find difficult to stomach. Not that I want to encourage you. This site also features an apparent quote from an author who I'm faithfully told by a librarian friend is one of the best writers alive today, Hunter S. Thompson. Which I faithfully plagiarise here:

"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the
whole world--a nation of bullies and bastards who
would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not
just whores for power and oil, but killer whores with
hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and
that is how history will judge us... No redeeming
social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or
we'll kill you.

Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who
among us can be happy and proud of having this
innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine?
These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and
fooled by stupid rich kids like George Bush?

They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad
Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak
for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the
American character. They are the racists and hate
mongers among us--they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss
down the throats of these Nazis.

And I am too old to worry about whether they like it
or not. Fuck them."

- Hunter S. Thompson

We Is Not Sorry is certainly not the only piss take site on the internet oh-no-siree. Others include:

The Flat Earth Society

George W. Bush's Re-selection Site

Psychedelic Republicans

UK Adverts

UFO Abduction Insurance

National Rifleman's Kooky Kids Korner

...and then of course there is the classic and utterly utterly brilliant White House.

Not that any of this signals America's increasing polarisation.... Fuck The South...

2004-11-13T01:14:00.000Z

With the Green Cross Code Man as his mortal enemy, Obi Wan tries his hand at road safety...

Two-headed tortoise? I ask yer...

2004-11-10T23:11:00.000Z

I have recently acquired a copy of Football Manager 2005 so you’ll understand why the date shown above is so distant from the date shown above my last posting. Hmm, actually I wouldn’t want my friend Rob to leave a comment revealing that in reality I got the full version of the game only yesterday so I’d better alter my initial comment: I have recently acquired a copy of Football Manager 2005 so you’ll understand why the date shown above is likely to be some distance from the date shown above my next posting.

I’ll try not to let this happen too much.

So, it’s been a while. Apologies. You’ll understand I’m sure that on my return I had much to do. Including getting my old job back – although now in freelance shape and appearance. I had many friends and family to contact and much photography to exhibit. Sadly I returned home in time for… Family Karaoke! But it was good to see the people involved. Out of the usual pathetically poor choices on offer I felt the least offensive was "Don’t Let The Sun Go Down On Me", I sank to my knees in mockery as I warbled. Seven months abroad and karaoke had loomed large. In a guesthouse in Saigon my room appeared to be situated next to a rather loud karaoke-singing man who was consistently far less tuneful than a cats chorus. Any karaoke CD production company who produces a CD with anything approaching half-decent music rather than this vacuous clean cut middle-of-the-road shit will surely clean up. As will any camera manufacturer who markets a mid-priced camera that actually takes a photograph the moment one presses the button rather than three seconds after. Who wants to capture a moment three seconds into the future?

When that same karaoke-plagued room in Saigon was infested with over thirty cockroaches I took the situation calmly: for it was a silent afternoon. I’ll never forget the cleaner somehow cramming dozens of cockroaches into a cigarette packet before drowning them with ‘roach spray – many legs stuck out the top of the packet all thrashing about furiously as the spray took its deadly effect.

Karaoke wasn’t the only thing I came back to which cushioned my return. In Asia I had been eating much rice and noodles. And since restaurants are actually cheaper than buying food and cooking it, I hadn’t eaten home cooked food since Australia – and that was my home cooked food. So it probably doesn’t count. So when I met my dear Mama she offered me two options: a trip to the Chinese or a trip to the Indian restaurants. Not that I want to complain – I was very grateful. Actually I had missed a good old English Indian curry. Nothing beats it I assure you. The next day my Mum prepared chicken with rice…

Another reason for my posting ineptitude was that there was a certain laziness there – a desire to lay back and enjoy the comforts of home. So I‘m not too depressed to be back. I actually enjoy a quiet evening catching some television, although I’m disappointed to have spotted few changes for the better. My Playstation 2 was unpacked with great relish, and my bass guitar has been cradled somewhat. Plus it’s been interesting to stalk through London with fresh laser corrected vision. Marvellous really.

I lucked out on my flight home. Cheapo cheapo Kuwait Air aren’t exactly the most luxurious carriers I’ve travelled with and their food was as gross as I have had on a long haul flight, but I had a window to my left and two empty seats to my right. Up go the arm rests, every blanket is taken out of its wrapper and I bury myself under a sea of pillows. Bliss.

And so I’ve seen many of my friends. And almost every one of them, plus many members of my family said:

“You look thinner.”

“I didn’t realise I was fat before.” I replied in almost those exact words every time.

“You weren’t.”

“So do I look very thin now?”

“No. You look good.”

“Did I look bad before?”

“No.”

“But my stomach was flat then and is flat now.”

“Don’t show me that.”

I still don’t understand. Perhaps it is something to do with the fact that I had a dodgy tummy for about a month before I returned. It was such that I felt both hungry and full up constantly. So probably my present ‘healthy’ condition is as a result of an illness. Such are the pressures of today’s society that one has to become gaunt from sickness to look attractive. No wonder the world is rife with anorexics and bulimics.

Either that or the small bit of facial hair I’ve cultivated on my bottom lip – a kind of Hitler moustache but underneath the mouth – lends a kind of stripy look that helps to make my face look thinner. Vertical stripes and all that.

2004-10-24T06:34:00.000+01:00

Bah.

In Bangkok and I've just booked my flight home. Not that I'm not looking forward to seeing people, but living and working in London isn't adventuring around foreign soils and meeting excellent new people everyday.

Having said all of this I am especially lucky. Lucky in the standard sense in that I have been able to do all of this, but especially so because being a Londoner means I get the opportunity to reunite with many of the friends I have made on my travels. I have met dozens of fellow travellers who either live in or near London, plan to live there, or plan to visit at least once in the near future. Some of these people I made a real connection with.

And I will go home a changed and improved man. Literally - yesterday I was told I had better than twenty-twenty vision, which is a definite improvement on my myopic astigmatised vision upon leaving Britain. And I'm probably more confident now as well. Which might sound strange to those who know me as I've always been a confident type anyway - not yet aroggant though; not even sure if they are part of the same sliding scale mateys.

So generally speaking this whole adventure has probably been good for me. And good for my personal possesion count. Yesterday I took in Bangkok's Chatuchak Weekend Market for the second time. I try to avoid unnecessary usage of swear words here but: fuck me it's big. The biggest of its type in the world with in excess of 9,000 official stalls covering over 26 acres. Click here for some piccies... It's not enough of course that market stalls cover pretty much the rest of Bangkok which also hosts a superb floating market and a marvelous night market in Patpong (the area that is largely famous for other more lurid trades). The weekend market isn't the cheapest place to buy goods in this city but definitely offers the best choice, and if your bargaining skills and patience are well honed you will find some excellent deals. I bought five excellent quality t-shirts for less than ten pounds and three fake Rolex watches for about 12 pounds each. Always good. Gotta be careful where I flash my supposed bling though in London.

But anyway the point is, Chatuchak Market is insanely big and one could never hope to see all the stalls given even every minute of its opening times during one weekend. But should you want to shop that much - you deserve shooting frankly.

So like almost everybody else who comes travelling in this region, I'm leaving via Bangkok and I'm stocking up on the shopping before I do so. I have met countless people who have done the same - my purchasing is really quite tame in contrast. And my return ticket was a bargain too - 11,300 bhat is about 140 pounds. I think one could buy a flight to Bangkok, spend a shed load at Chatuchak Market, come home and find that money has been saved had the same purchases been made in London.

Well maybe...

2004-10-07T09:16:00.000+01:00

I would have been relatively suprised to learn, when I started this weblog, that I would still be posting entries after two years. Mainly I expect because knowledge of the future is an amazingly unlikely thing, but also because I was not confident in my own determination to write regularly. Yet here I am in a particluarly slow internet cafe in Pai, northern Thailand, writing the 130th entry. Which works out at a dissapointing 5.6 days between each entry - all good things must be waited for I would like to think. (Though I'm dubious as to whether that is true, and even if so it does not follow that all things that must be waited for are good.)

God this internet connection is slow. It doesn't help when others come in to use a neibouring computer although I suppose they have as much right as I do. It does amuuse me though when someone comes into the shop, stands by a computer, spends twenty seconds trying to attract the attention of the person behind the desk, then says "Is it okay if I use the computer?"

So anyway: Pai. Pai is a haven of easy living, pretty scenery, friendly locals (this is an increasingly familar list I'm sure) and cool bars and shops. I would say roughly one in two people here are westerners either visiting or residing here permanently - and many are of my parents generation. And you can see why it's so popular. It's a bit on the hippy side, but not too strongly; the food is varied, bountiful and tasty; there is excellent live music; a host of useful shops which specialise in doing differing things very well; and a nice little market. Nearby there are hot springs, waterfalls at the bottom of which you can have a swim, and picture perfect scenes of varying geography.

I met a sharp 50 year old chap - who's brewing his own wine from oranges of all things - and who has moved here from Blighty. He pretty much summed it up in his Welsh Anthony Hopkins voice: "Home? Why should anybody want to go there? Last time I went back to Britain we gathered about twenty of us ex-pats and went en mass to give each other support." He lives here with his son his wife and his nephew. Family members come to visit him and they love it. I met at the same bar a chap my age with his Mum. None seemed unhappy with their new life.

And so I'm chilling out here for a few days making friends and supping at the cup of life. Maybe I'll do a tour to a nearby village. I haven't decided yet. Need a new book though.

Meanwhile the hit count for this site is nearing 9900. The most popular day for visiting is a Thursday which accounts for 18.91% with a peak of 7.76% logging in bewteen 1 and 2pm. Interesting eh?

2004-10-02T09:06:00.000+01:00

Having established that Laos is both poor and technologically backwards, it is no surprise to learn that it is a country where NGO's (Non Governmental organisations - or in laymens terms: charities) undertake activites everywhere. Walking around the place one can see signs of this on the sides of jeeps - which look out of place anyway; on signs erected alongside completed projects; in advertisements in the local press; or in the conversations of the volunteers who drink at certain bars. So reliant has it become on these organisations however that it appears the peoples attitude there has grown to one of: "let the NGO's sort it out". Nowadays little development of infrastructure is undertaken there that is initiated and completed by government alone.

I ended up last week in the northern Laos town of Luang Nam Tha. There's not much there except the opportunity to partake in the government organised eco-treks, which center around hill tribes. Eco-trekking supposedly limits the numbers of tourists that might engulf a village and ensure the tribes are not changed by it - although how true that last point can be is questionable. I cannot say too much about this personally as I didn't go on one in the end. The cost is very high and since such a project by its very nature makes it illegal for any other trekking firms to operate around the area the government holds a monopoly on this business. I wonder how much is "eco" and how much is economy - the numbers of visitors to this part of the world is extremely low so I wonder how important "eco rules" on group size actually are. We wanted to do one but we were only three and didn't want to cover the cost of the fourth missing person - four being the minimum size to get the lowest price per person!

So I went away from Luang Nam Tha having done little more than research a trek I never did and headed straight for the Thai border by bus. It was a 200 kilometer journey; hilly but not mountainous. The estimated time was nine hours! When I got to the bus station they were replacing the engine and the front of the bus was pretty mangled up. The 9am bus finally departed at 10.45am, the sealed road lasted about five minutes before the long thread of dirt track and mud was embarked upon. A television sat in the aisle next to my feet; further forward lay some large sacks of an unknown grain or cereal; the back seat, always a desirable lying down possibility on any bus, carried luggage and produce rather than passengers. The overhead luggage rack - fastened to the roof by strings in parts - creaked with rhythmical loudness throughout the journey.

By midday we had required our first bulldozer. We all piled out: 30 or so locals and about six of us falang (Westerners) - we stretched ourselves by the beautiful scenery and waited for a fortunately nearby bulldozer to go to work. It cleared a landslide remarkably promptly. We crossed some streams and rode through some large ponds or small lakes over the following hours before one proved too much. For the second time the bus was cleared whilst the bus driver attempted to climb an extremely muddy patch of dirt road which should normally be attempted by four wheel drive, not by rickety two wheel drive passenger bus. After much revving and careering about a rope was produced and tied to the front. In these situations the Western travelers are always the first to eagerly volunteer their services. Presumably for the locals such an inconvenience has long ago lost its novelty and become downright frustrating. There were four of us western males and all of us and three or four locals grabbed the rope and started our tug-of-war with a bus, a muddy bog, and the laws of gravity (helped by whatever horse power our driver could produce). Success and celebration before we all cursed the fact we did not give our cameras to the two Western girls to capture the moment.

A third evacuation occurred for the inevitable flat tyre (to be replaced by an equally decrepit looking specimen) and us four Western lads heaved the flat to the rack on the top to the approval of the Laos locals.

It was a good journey in truth. When one goes through rural areas, all the kids run out to catch a glimpse of the bus. When they spot some Westerners they all wave and shout "helloooo!!!", and we all try to wave back before we are out of sight. That's Laos for you. We arrived at the Mekong side of the Thai border at about 11pm tired and arguing whether Mekong is properly pronounced May-kong or Mee-kong. I said it was the former, everyone else said I was mistaken and being foolish. But look! Look at this....

Never doubt me!

2004-09-22T08:33:00.000+01:00

And so on to little Laos. This country is so laid back it's almost horizontal. Boats that leave at 8.30 usually end up chugging away from the dock at 10; used dinner plates will sit uncleared at a restaurant table for hours; citzens lie back dozing in the shady spots; and everyone lazily greets you "sabai di" as you stroll past in the sun. This land is almost entirely jungle with a few clearances for towns and villages mostly along the Mekong. Life here begins early in the morning and peters out in the early evening. There is genuine friendliness here - no wonder everybody loves Laos.

But, like the population of two of it's neighbours Vietnam and Cambodia, the people of Laos went through terrible hardships during the US occupation of the region. Between 1964 and 1973, in direct contravention of the 1962 Geneva Convention recognising Laos' neutrality and forbidding the presence of all foreign military personnel, the US made this land the most bombed in history - in fact more bombs were dropped here in that period than were dropped during the entire campaign of World War II by all sides. Laos was of huge strategic importance and the administration, especially Nixon's, thought that pressurising Laos and Cambodia might shorten the conflict in Vietnam and lead to a less embarrassing US pullout.

To evade the Geneva Convention - perhaps in law, if not in spirit, the US made air force pilots wear civilian clothes temporarily declaring them to be civilian pilots and placed CIA agents in foreign aid posts. The North Vietnamese soldiers didn't even bother to do that. The name "Laos" was banned from all communications - being referred to simply as "the other theatre". Almost every rule of engagement that had to be observed over Vietnam could be safely ignored.

The Laos governemt at this time was nothing less than a puppet of the Americans. The Laos economy was almost entirely reliant on US money and inflation has been rampant. Today, one US dollar is worth 10,000 kip.

The statistics of The Secret War make for sober reading. The number of air sorties over Laos totalled 580,944 by 1973, 50 per cent more than took place over Vietnam - making it one plane load of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years, costing US taxpayers US$2 million per day. By the end the bombing amounted to approximately 1.9 million metric tonnes per square kilometer - over half a tonne for every Laotian man, woman and child.

To help them, the US recruited 60,000 Hmong hill tribe villagers to fight in the war. These soldiers were paid with funds earned via CIA-supported opium trafficking, although they were a very poor force which lost almost every battle they fought.

When one visits a country, sees its beauty and meets its wonderful people, it becomes almost impossible to read such histories and avoid the feeling of disgust. Hence my eagerness to describe it here. Very few people are aware of what happened here. The history of Cambodia is arguably even more atrocious. Western governments have been guilty of following abstract political philosophies for decades at enourmous human costs. The ridiculous thing is, these philosophies often turn out to be borne out of a sence of superiority and end in spectacular failure and disaster. In this case communism, poverty and destruction weighed heavily on Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos in the years after the US pullout which in the case of the economies of Laos and Cambodia was akin to pulling the foundations out from under an already tottering building.

I'm currently residing in Luang Prabang - I try to avoid the word, but it can only be decribed as quaint. A tiny town on the spot where the Mekong and Nam Khan Rivers meet, old buildings and markets vie for the tourist kip.

This compares with Bangkok which I have just vacated. On my last day I saw 'The Terminal' at a cinema for 600 bhat. That's eight British pounds. Extremely expensive as it is akin to British prices. The difference was that I sat on a leather sofa with one remote control to recline the seat and another to select one of the seat's many massage programs. I got a waitress service, free drinks, and arguably the greatest toilet seats on the continent. Mmmm....

2004-09-10T08:03:00.000+01:00

Last week I temporarily vacated Bangkok for the town of Kanchanaburi - a standard looking town three hours north west of Bangkok via a 25 bhat train journey. This journey was marred somewhat by a very drunken local attempting to teach me Thai boxing number one in the world in Thai for the majority of the journey. It was later made more interesting as I had to verbally maneuver around some pleasant but persistent touts attempting to make their commission by convincing me to stay at particular guesthouses. I beat them all by taking myself to Apple's Guesthouse - a place that doesn't need to sell itself is usually preferable I find.

Kanchanaburi is made special due to its geographical location - near Bangkok and beside the Burmese border; also overlooking the Kwai River - this town was the perfect place for a bridge providing passage for trains passing through Burma and into India from the east. And so it came to be: during WWII the Japanese rounded up their Allied POWs and set them to work on a railway which would serve such a purpose and their srategic interests. Prominence for Kanchanaburi was sealed by the David Lean film Bridge Over The River Kwai which is an inaccurate tale but yet supplies Alec Guinness with the opportunity to produce a stirling performance.

Visitors of all ages flock to see the (fairly unremarkable looking) bridge, a well maintained Allied war cemetery, and to partake in the town's other activities. And luckily there are many. Tours take in a series of stunning nearby waterfalls, elephant bathing, more examples of POW efforts on the railway, rafting, a monkey school (which I missed!) and even a tiger sanctuary ran by a Buddhist monastery where I was one of a number of tourists to stroke the fur of a couple of fully grown adult tigers. Such is the beauty and immensity of these animals - one cannot help but be awed into a silenced reverie.

I did this last excursion as a half day trip. I couldn't help but notice on my receipt the very carefully and deliberately written words No Insurance. I avoided wearing red, but it was okay; the tigers ignored me - they were hand-raised from birth, contentedly fat, and probably drugged to the eye balls. Which is morally acceptable if monks are doing it surely...

Typically for a tourist town Kanchanaburi serves up a string of bars and restaurants offering western and Thai fare. And as is usual in this part of the world they saturate the market to the extent that a single traveler finds it difficult to find a bar with the busy hustle of people meeting each other over a drink. Instead customers are spread out such that the average number in a place is between none and three. Classic south east Asia annoyance.

I rarely offer many recommendations on these pages, and it is about time I started. I shall immediately address this oversight with a plug for Apple's guesthouse restaurant - possibly serving the best Thai food I have eaten and deserving of their excellent reputation. Apple's also do a cooking school and their one day tour was superb. The rooms are okay although at a meager 150 bhat per night I have nothing to complain about - but bring your earplugs if you want to avoid being forced to listen to the chat of the residents in the adjacent room to yours.

And I will further compensate for my past ineptitude by recommending a superb guesthouse in downtown Bangkok: Suk 11 is air conditioned throughout, is extra clean, enormously friendly and I don't stay anywhere else in the city I have returned to for the next few days.

Ah, air conditioning... the second greatest invention in human history...

Meanwhile, Stav has put up some picures from her stay at Cool Bananas guesthouse in Agnes Waters, Australia. Don't expect to see me featured too much, but they do illustrate the sort of thing I had to put up with whilst I was there.

2004-08-29T08:10:00.000+01:00

So it turns out I probably don't have X-Men-like hex vision powers. For surely they would have kicked in the moment a team of Thai surgeons attempted to use a laser to burn parts of the top of my eyes off. Naturally this is not all bad for I electively underwent surgery to perfect the vision in my eyes. Yes, on Wednesday I had laser eye surgery or LASIK eye surgery to be more exact at Bangkok's Bumrungrad Hospital - supposedly Asia's leading private hospital. And quite a place it is too. I shouldn't have been surprised when I walked through the doors to find yet another indoor shopping centre. I strode past McDonald's, Starbucks and a very posh Japanese restaurant to my appointment with Dr. Narurmol Luckanakul (she insisted upon hearing I was to write an account of my surgery that I get her name spelled correctly). A friendly doctor who spoke good English and who liked to draw pictures of eyes in response to any questions.

Treatment at Bumrungrad is with the VISX-Star S4 laser system - the latest laser available and treatment for both eyes cost 48,000 bhat - about 650 pounds Sterling. I chose it because of its high reputation. Even foreign doctors from countries with renowned health care systems would fly into Bangkok to have their eyes treated here. Equivalent surgery at such a high class hospital would cost at least double in the West. Bumrungrad kept costs low due to the cheap overheads of building costs and labour that come naturally here plus the pure numbers of patients who undergo this procedure there. Tests were ran through: my pupils were dilated; lights were shone into my eyes; my head was placed in the headrests of countless instruments; I read off wall-charts; I had my blood pressure taken; my pulse was tallied; and my weight measured; nurses came round waiting rooms offering drinks. I spoke to the doctor, asked all the questions I could think of and agreed to go ahead.

On the days before the surgery I did all the usual things (I avoided wearing contact lenses and abstained from alcohol, caffeine and anything else that might be construed as a narcotic), but in my mind I was telling myself "this is the last time you will shave wearing glasses", this is the last TV you will see in glasses", "this is the last shower you will take when the world's a blur" and so on. I arrived at the hospital a good two hours before surgery. I was immediately given hospital pyjamas - decorated with elephants and the Bumrungrad Hospital logo - to wear and put in a bed. More tests were taken - my blood pressure and pulse were measured for about the tenth time in a week. Pills were distributed to my mouth and I popped my glasses - wretched things - into a sealable plastic bag, the sort drug dealers distribute their weed in... I think it was a new one though.

I was wheeled towards the operating theatre, head laid back against my pillow. Lights on the ceiling, blurred to my eyes, passed overhead. It felt like a much overused shot from a film - it was a much overused shot in films. I wondered whether it was used so much because it was such a striking image or if it was such a striking image because it had been used so much by directors. Doors swung open automatically as my bed neared them before I was finally turned into a modern-looking operating theatre. From the top of my vision, and upside down to my eyes, a middle-aged Thai woman dressed for surgery looked at me, smiled, and said "No pain." She was wearing glasses.

Why was she wearing glasses? Did she not trust the procedure. I put it out of my mind. She gave me a dose of anesthetic eye drops. I lay there for ten minutes before Dr. Narurmol came in. "The traffic was terrible" she said.

"That's Bangkok for you" I countered, already beginning to sweat.

For some reason I had a thick blanket over me underneath the green surgical cloth that covered all but my eyes. I maneuvered it downwards. "No pain", the woman with glasses repeated.

More pleasantries were exchanged. If they weren't competent at least they were incredibly friendly. Smiles and laughter were present probably in part to put everybody at ease. In the event they all seemed very competent, and I wouldn't have been there if I thought any differently. I have previously criticised the quality of Thai nursing in chemists on Ko Pangan, however this was a plush hospital and all were highly trained.

I was put under the laser. It would vapourize the middle part of my cornea by tiny amounts at a time until the relevant part of my eye effectively presented a perfect sphere allowing light to focus perfectly onto the back of my eye. At least that was the theory. To do this, the top part of my cornea would have to be lifted up - it cut almost all the way round in a circle and lifted up like a flap. Dr. Narurmol turned on the laser so I could hear what it would sound like. A circular metal instrument was pushed over my eye ball both forcing my skin back so as not to obstruct the eye and keeping my eye still. My eyes were numb but I was fully conscious and able to see.

Looking up at where the laser would be emitted I could see a distinct red dot. The instrument that was to cut my cornea was placed over my right eye. I could only see the bottom of it but I imagined it to be shaped something like a jeweller's eye piece. It was a machine that made the necessary incision. I didn't feel it, but I knew exactly what was happening. My body's sweat glands would have opened at this point I imagine. It took a few seconds to cut and my cornea was lifted. This was indicated to me as the vision in my right eye swung quickly in the same direction before the cornea cleared my line of sight and the red dot became very blurred almost filling my entire field of view. A minute or so passed presumably as the surgeons checked all was fine before the laser was started. I cannot remember if I was given any warning - I was too busy sweating, worrying, and attempting not to move my eye at all.

Not that it mattered - the metal clamp thingy would have prevented that and the laser supposedly performs several checks of the position of the eye before committing itself to a burst of zapping light. And I had read somewhere that the laser captures 99.8% of all the eyes movement and corrects the position of the laser accordingly. The 'putt putt' sound continued for what seemed like about fifteen seconds - although could have been anything up to thirty or forty seconds. I was hardly in a calm second-counting mood. The cornea was replaced and my eyes was cleaned with the first hand tool I had encountered - a small swab.

Once my left eye was completed (it seemed the laser took longer than for my right eye), the surgeons seemed to take an eternity to bring me out from under the now redundant laser. Probably they were checking the condition of my eyes very closely. Next two plastic gauzes were placed over my eyes with only small holes with which to see through. I was helped out of the operating chair - my Bumrungrad pyjamas were soaked through with my cold sweat. I asked and was told that, yes, I had sweated more than any other previous patient. I suspected they were humouring me with news of such an honour. Outside of the operating theatre then and I attempted to glance through the holes in my eye shields. I knew my vision certainly would still be blurry, but I could perceive... Yes! A definite improvement. I could see things clearly in the distance!

Four days have passed now. The irritation in my eyes was much less than I expected, and every day my vision has stabilised a little bit more. My eyesight is at least as good as with my glasses on, although glare off lights will remain for a few weeks yet. I am being careful with what I do, and I'm not venturing out into the Bangkok fumes, but I am functional and vision is good. Eye drops and antibiotics in my pockets I stalk through the world without a form of crafted lens between my eyes and the world. And it should be bloody marvelous as I venture further afield.

Despite the lack of hex vision...

Now use your eyes to espy some pictures of my group on Fraser Island, Australia via Tibo's website.

2004-08-23T05:16:00.000+01:00

One of the benefits of coming to South East Asia are it's cheapness and its copyright laws. Either there is no enforceable copyright law in Vietnam regarding the selling of DVD's and CD's or no one cares enough to enforce them. In shops up and down Pham Ngu Lao - the travelers main hang-out in Saigon - and in the surrounding area, one can wander into stores and select from countless copies of the latest albums and films. In some cases, DVD copies of films are available before the film is itself being shown in local theatres. And here's the kicker: music CD's cost 30p per disc; DVD's 60p. In the last week I have seen DVD copies of Spiderman 2, The Bourne Supremacy, Elephant, Fahrenheit 911, and a number of others. DVD players can be rented for 24 hours and for less than two pounds. Quality is mixed of course; whether it was the player or the discs, some movies would stick, others were filmed by a camera at the back of a cinema (complete with occasional bobbing head off to the toilet), and some copied straight from an original DVD it seems.

The discs and their packaging are very well made although the English language explanations are often laughable in their naivete. A glance at the back of The Godfather packaging will show a carefully designed copy of the official DVD, but read it and the explanation of the film is actually taken from the Disney film Monsters Inc - printed in the Godfather's familiar typeface.

This freest of markets in the biggest city in a socialist country is not exclusively a digital medium thing. Salespeople (often children) carry around heavy stacks of photocopied books. All bound and packaged expertly but certainly not by the official publishers. I have a book called Sideshow - an excellent report on how Nixon and Kissenger's criminal indifference led to the near destruction of Cambodia and its people after the Vietnam War. One section of the book is upside down, in another part the black print become blue ink! Most copies are better though; I've just finished the superb The Life Of Pi, with few problems. Bought for 2 pounds from a lady who sold it to me whilst I was eating breakfast in Gon Cafe.

Across the road from said cafe is a shop specializing in selling reproductions of famous paintings. Not so dodgy or morally questionable perhaps, but a good opportunity to hang a copy of The Last Supper in one's bathroom. These reproductions are of excellent quality and go for between US$30 and $100. I'm not sure of the legality of buying copied books, DVD's or CD's, but westerners buy these goods in their droves.

Of more original interest are the communist propaganda posters that have decorated (or plagued depending on your viewpoint) the streets for many years. Nowadays the posters usually warn against HIV and AIDS or show the image of revered figure Ho Chi Minh. It is quite interesting to note that their is a shop in Saigon entitled "Old Propaganda Posters" - an attempt to pretend the posters are anything else would I suppose by folly. And these posters are really quite cool. Most date back from the Vietnamese struggle against the American's and encourage fighters to be brave or citizens to back up the country by working hard.

Let us not pretend that we in the west are free of copying and piracy. If you are reading this, you are online, and you must surely be aware of the ever growing mp3 collections on the hard drives of computer users everywhere.

Not me however. I've just come from Saigon...

2004-08-17T10:50:00.000+01:00

The trouble with these weblogs is that everybody can see what a lazy boy I am.

Bah.

2004-07-31T09:44:00.000+01:00

It was a funny feeling. I came out of the airport which serves Ho Chi Minh City, negotiated a taxi ride to the travellers area Pham Ngu Lao, and rode through the bustling streets of south Vietnam with relative joy in my heart. Why?

I had come from Sydney, a clean, accesable, English-speaking western city, with countless more services and western pleasures than anywhere in Vietnam. In HCMC I would face heat, humidity, thunderstorms, countless hawkers approaching me in an attempt to flog books, lighters, hammoks, chewing gum, moto rides etc etc etc, language difficulties, various biting insects, dirty streets and so on. Yet I felt good here because unlike Sydney, here I was a big player. In Australia one is a "backpacker", lugging a big bag around in order to live in a dormitory and carefully save money. Here, I am a traveller. I live in hotel rooms and I carry a huge wad of notes around with me and I am relatively wealthy. "Relatively" is the important word here but nevertheless, to the people who live here, I am a rich man.

Which means virtually the entire city is within my financial and cultural grasp - restaraunts, shops and, in fact, transportation anywhere around Vietnam. Here I feel more liberated to do what I want than in Australia where financial constraints, business districts, and a western class system exclude activities from me as long as I have insufficient funds. Let me explain more clearly: in parts of urban Australia I would walk up quiet clean streets which consisted of buildings I could never enter. This is no different from any other western cities, however in this part of the world, as a westerner, all doors are open - even the most exclusive restaraunts and hotels.

Meanwhile I can sup a beer in the afternoon without worrying what effect such an adventure might have on my bank balance...

2004-07-25T04:38:00.000+01:00

I've left 1770, and very sad it was too. It is always hard to leave a place where so many friends are made. On my last night the whole town went to a deserted beach for a huge party. Although the party had little to do with me, it was a fantastic opportunity to have a last drinky with some new found friends. The scene consisted of a generator, some decks, an MC from East London who couldn't rap but who tried anyway, more 4x4 vehicles which provided the only means of entry and exit, fire jugglers, and various drunken revelry. Typically, locals would hang on to the roof rack for dear life as our 4x4 made its way back to reality. Heaven knows how none fell off. The following morning the people I made close friends with all got up early to dispose of any remaining narcotics with me and wave goodbye before my 8.30am bus out of there. They all took pictures of us outside Cool Bananas whilst I chastised myself for locking my camera away in my rucksack and missing it all. Stav was one of the picture takers - get those piccies up girl. Hopefully I'll get copies of those photos somehow.

Meanwhile, and quite marvelously, Stefan has come through and posted some piccies from Fraser Island up on his website. I don't feature particularly prominently in them, but you can espy me there, the rest of "Group B" plus the 4x4 I drove around on the huge sand island.

So back in Sydney then. To be frank, I'm not a huge fan. Sydney is very picturesque and the people are generally friendly, but it's a city which holds little interest for me. It's western - so nothing new there, it's quite pretty, but I'm not sure it offers anything exclusive maybe apart from surf, and I'd much rather surf in Noosa or Agnes Water. Which is why I'm only here briefly. Monday is Vietnam day. It will take me nine-and-a-half hours to fly to Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC or Saigon), and I won't leave Australian airspace until after seven of them. It's a damn big country. And I haven't seen anywhere near enough of it to be able to truly say that I know Australia; my travels took me nearly 600 miles up the east coast and that is barely half of the distance up to the north east tip - let alone into the outback and the west coast 2,000 miles away. I wanted to visit the central Australian "town" of Boulia (pop. 290) - famous for its regular UFO sightings - to see a camel racing festival. I looked on the map - directly west of me and also in Queensland! Distance: 600 miles! Fuck that then. I'd have to convince someone with a car to take me and it would them quite a while.

So back I go to SE Asia. I've already seen Vietnam but there are a couple of places that I missed due to the dastard time constraints - Na Trang being foremost of them, plus the Chi Chi Tunnels near HCMC where I can have a tiny experience of what fighting for the Vietcong might have been like (bloody difficult is my prior estimation). Plus I get to revisit my friends Jon and Clair, and the new water slide in Damsen Park, "Black Thunder", oh yes. Then back to Thailand to see its north side, then onto the tiny country of Laos - famous only for having more bombs dropped on it by B52s during the Vietnam War than were dropped during the whole campaign of World War II. Should be good folks... back in the tropics.

2004-07-14T08:35:00.000+01:00

Occasionally there arrives a moral dilemma for me and this weblog. I'm in a place which is small, untouristy but which is easily the best place I have visited. Do I advertise it and add to the increased talk about this place or do I help to preserve its uniqueness with silence?

Predictably of course I choose to advertise. I realise of course that presenting my argument above only adds to the mystic but I choose to keep the paragraph for reasons of style and presentation. It is the tiny Town Of 1770 and its slightly less tiny neighbour Agnes Water that I find myself writing about here. These streets contain the most sought after real estate on the east coast. Ten years ago there was no tarmaced road here; developers came to build homes and some shops and they undoubtedly now preside over even larger bank account as a result. House prrices are high, although mid-price homes have gone down. Of course compared to London, houe costs are pathetically small, and the area fantastically more pleasant. A sprinkling of travellers are now finding themselves surrounded by a few hundred residents, a variety of beaches - most deserted, fields of kangaroos, a mainificent selection of the best bits of the Great Barrier Reef and staff intent on providing increasingly interesting times. Seven of the top ten reefs, according to Lonely Planet, are based here.

The place to stay is called Cool Bananas - you'll make plenty of friends here and you'll always have something to do. Agnes Water/1770 has a number of characters who are friendly and interesting, one is Rod who runs the Street Beat Scooter Co. If you come here, do say hello. Rod also runs the free 4x4 trip from Cool Bananas every morning at 11am where one will be escorted up dirt tracks, to empty beaches and to places of interest. Everyday is a new adventure and their seems to be an extra excitement about spending time in a place that is so young but seems to hold so much promise. "The next Noosa", "the next Byron Bay", are terms I've heard - but for me this is the first "Agnes Water". As it gains popularity I wonder how it will fare; as part of its attraction is it's cosiness. No wonder then that many of the people I have met here have stayed for far longer than they originally intended.

Yesterday I took a boat into the ocean to snorkel around Fitzroy Reef Lagoon....

Our boat was the only one that operated at this huge reef - the second largest of its kind in the world, and licenses to see it are only granted to two boats, one of which operates elsewhere. We saw turtles, dolphins, thousands of fish, dolphins, and the best of all two huge humpback whales. They stopped the boat and they, being huge and incapable of being intimidated came to investigate us. A close pass and they were huge! Even the guides on the boat were amazed and jubilant.

Before all of these malarky I had been at Fraser Island - the biggest sand island in the world, containing fresh-water lakes, rain forests, cliffs, sand dunes, the clearest views of the southern sky I've seen and miles of beach. All in all: marvelous. Placed with a group of ten and given a 4x4 car, tents, food, various other camping equipment and a terse set of instructions we had a great time driving up beaches and up dirt tracks. Well actually two of us did, the others had to sit and say their prayers.

I was a bit concerned about driving what was tantamount to a van around challenging and treacherous conditions and a wall of accident photos in the nearby "Hotel" (or pub to the rest of the English speaking world) didn't help - but actually it was the proverbial piece of piss.

We had what was referred to by others in a different car "the good group." Damn straight.

We had the loudest stereo. But it's the people that always make it. Here are the websites for two of my group.....

Stephan

Tibo

Tibo's is in French, Stephan's in Dutch. Use Babel Fish at the bottom of the left hand bar to translate. Which will be exciting for you.

It was the tip of Fraser Island which Captain Cook sailed past and lost Australia. He had to turn east to rediscover it and he hit 1770 - hence it's odd name.

All in all then, quite a couple of weeks. Australia has gotten better and better.

Well done to it and all that.

2004-07-02T05:53:00.000+01:00

I had a great time in Byron Bay but it is always important to keep rolling. So up I traveled towards the sun. That's north in this part of the world - and eventually a small town called Noosa. And very nice it is too. I was recommended a place called Dolphins, but it was full when I arrived so I had to settle for a couple of nights at the local YHA. Noosa's YHA is supposedly one of the best around; it's a lovely building and the staff are friendly. But I have to say one thing about YHA's - they seem to be full of weirdos. Not everyone of course, but far too many people who are too afraid to try any other backpacking resorts. I shared a room with a guy who was visiting for ONE DAY - and as a result of this decision faced a 16 hour bus ride. And a middle aged South Taiwanese couple who presumably hadn't slept together in months since they were sharing dorms with others throughout their trip. Don't get me wrong - lovely people, but not really the sort I want to be meeting...

Within half an hour of getting to Noosa however I had befriended a couple of local lads. I was eating dinner in the YHA - hungry after my bus ride from Byron Bay and at the bar (the cheapest in town, hence their presence) I espied words on the back of a t-shirt:

Put on the mask and dance for daddy.

I had to know. I finished my food and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Alright mate? Is that a Tomahawk t-shirt?"

"Yeah."

"Cool."

And the conversation went on from there. His name was Chris; his equally cool mate Ryan. We spoke of Faith No More, Mr Bungle and Fantomas - the last two bands obscure enough to create a connection with anybody one meets who also knows of them. I name-dropped Secret Chiefs 3 - that impressed them, although I know little about their music except from a time when my mate Chris played them to me. We rocked the YHA by insisting they play the Faith No More songs The Gentle Art Of Making Enemies and their collaboration with Sparks This Town Aint Big Enough For The Both Of Us. The last the boys had never even heard of, and they loved it so much they immediately invited me back to theirs for a drink and some music listening. I cursed the oddity of such a place as the YHA for being so dull yet providing me with such generous and friendly natives.

Chris and Ryan also had an eight track recorder, two guitars, a bass guitar, keyboard and PC with various music software. The next day we made a tune. It sounded okay, but bits were out of tune. It involved us shouting Australian nursery rhymes down a microphone. I utilised their X-box and N64. It felt like home. Their coffee table had the same paraphenalia that mine did when I lived in Elephant and Castle and in Camden with some friends. Marvelous.

Arthur Thacker - the funniest man since Bill Hicks found on the Internet alive and well!!!

And more genius here...

Note folks: Arthur has a bit of a potty mouth. The crazy fucker.

2004-06-24T08:54:00.000+01:00

I took a plane from Sydney on Tuesday to Byron Bay. To my relative delight I discovered I would be flying by a propeller-driven aircraft which meant low altitude and another (albeit not amazing) first for this blogger. It was a fifty seater - there were about 35 passengers. And the flight was a fantastic experience. The start of the flight was over Sydney and the harbor looked terrific from the air. I saw the northern beach town of Manly where I spent much of my time and I proceeded to followed my map as the plane flew up the East Coast towards Byron Bay - a gorgeous town half way up the coast and the most easterly point of mainland Oz.

It's quite touristy here but very pleasant nevertheless. It does seem that the traveling scene is quite different here than it is in South East Asia. For a start there are a damn sight more English people here (although there were still many in Asia) and the travelers seem to be younger and more inclined to drink beer and attempt to have sex with members of the opposite sex. Here you'll meet far more horny eighteen year old boys looking for some sexual adventure than anywhere else in the known world (except Ibiza probably).

So I've got to grips with Australian culture. It took me about three minutes. Shit, shit, shit television; meaty foods; beer; sport; and a love of life - which all the previous things in the list point to. Bad television is a sign that the population are actually doing things rather than watching the box, so that's good. It's easy to travel here, the most difficult thing is that there is too much to choose from. Everywhere can be found countless brochures, magazines, books and leaflets advertising methods of travel and things to do. Everybody has tips on where I should go. I just want to see a bloody kangaroo and a koala. That's it.

And the football. I must see all the football...