What does the above sentence make you think?
That I’m getting a lot of hits? Or that I’m not getting very many?
I never understand what people mean when they say this, it seems to be that it’s a phrase used in exactly the wrong circumstances. “Thank you for voting me footballer of the year, I’m humbled”, “It’s lovely to receive this Nobel Prize for the third time, I’m really humbled by your affection”.
Surely it would be more correct to say “I’ve be voted ugliest no-hoper in college, I’m humbled”, “I’m humbled by the courts decision to brand me a pervert” etc.
“It’s humbling to think of how many people bought my records” etc, I hear it all the time and think, humbled? My arse.
This is one of those posts were I have no idea where it’s going, one of many. It’s such an obvious idea, but I find it really interesting. It’s the idea of family, heritage, race, ancestors and national culture.
I was watching a program a while ago called “Who do you think you are?” When celebs track their family tree - it’s a surprisingly interesting program. This week it was Barbra Windsor, the arcatypical East Londoner. Sure enough her parents and grandparents had been born and bred within the sound of the bow bells, but what struck me was when she went back a generation more and found that they have come from County Cork and Scandinavia.
I don’t know much about my family tree, but I can go back to my great grandparents on one side as County Longford shop keepers, and on the other side as county Down farmers. The interesting thing is, anything further back than that, I have no idea - for all I know they could all be Russian, Italian, Polish.
With that thought in my mind it strikes me as strange for anyone to have a over inflated sense of nationalism. Seeing themselves as ‘true’ English or ‘true’ Irish or whatever - even Babs Windsor is quarter Irish/Scandinavian. After a generation or two an immigrants family can be truly integrated to the point where they can even find themselves being jingoistic about their ‘adopted’ country.
I have a Czech friend who lives near me and it strikes me that in 100+ years our respective great great grand kids will probably just see themselves as English and maybe not even know our original nationality - and maybe complain about the Paddys and Poles coming in and taking all the jobs etc.
Were it is different I suppose is with skin colour. If I was literally green, with green skin then my great great grand kids would know that they weren’t originally anglo-saxons, and more importantly others would see them as ‘different’. If Obama’s parents came from Albania rather than Africa he might just assume that he could trace his linage back to the Mayflower - and it wouldn’t mater either way.
I’m no fan of musical theatre. Well, fan is a big word… I have been to see a few musicals, and yes, like them… but that doesn’t make me a fan… The last one I went to see was Spamalot, which was in fact brilliant. My mate GE was with me and she was a big fan, so I allowed myself to be swept along, which is always the best way I feel. Before that I went to see Chitty Chitty Bang Bang - it had all the great names… WILMOT-BLAIR-BIGGINS!!! A great show.
Understand that I’m not gay or ought, but I love musicals.
Last night on the south bank show (embarrasingly for the best part of a decade I thought Melvin Bragg was Billy Bragg’s dad - I was shockingly fished in by someone!) Anyway the show was about the making of Viva la Diva which ‘stars’ opera singer Katherine Jenkins and Ballerina Darcey Bussell. (It’s notable that Bussell looks really like the thin one offa trinny and Susannah, and Jenkins is fairly hot!)
Truly truly awful: Jenkins can sing but is a rubbish dancer, Bussell can dance but can’t sing. But they both had to sing and dance songs from Broadway. My word, an absolute car crash. The opening night in Manchester was a peer ‘through your fingers’ experience as they sang out of tune and bumped into each other a lot.
Whoever told them it was a good idea, was less than inspired.
I find brands fascinating. On Newsnight tonight they were discussing the Stella effect. Stella Artois as a brand has managed to get itself to a position where it sells two and a half the volume of its nearest strong larger rival. However, in taste tests, 18 to 30 years olds consistently could NOT identify Stella from a range of similar lagers. It’s all about the brand baby!
‘Reassuringly expensive’ used to be the tag line which made it seem like a bit of a luxury. The reality though doesn’t quite follow the tag line. A couple of years ago my sister and I went for an impromptu weekend in Bruges and Brussels, the home of Stella, but it was regarded as the local cheap ‘cooking’ lager. Perception is everything.
It’s a double edged sword, Stella has become so popular with lads on a night out that lawyers now talk about ‘the Stella defence’ , I was drunk and disorderly your honour, because I was drinking too much Stella.
So, Stella have had to change tack… the name has been sullied. Luckily they have a ‘surname’ as it where, Artois, which they’ve use exclusively on their new adverts. If only Burberry were so lucky.
PS: on BBC1’s Arena last night there was a whole program dedicated to the history of the font ‘helvetica’. Now, here’s whats amazing, it WAS really interesting. I kept my hand hovering on the remote control about the turn over, but i ended up watching it for about half an hour. Helvetica is the Stella of the font world, a very successfuly but ultimately tired brand.
I know it’s sung by Leona Lewis, an X-Factor clone, and it kills any cred i thought i had, but its a great tune, and the lyric ….you cut me open, and i keep, keep bleeding love… is perfect.
… oh really?.. having the words leona lewis and x-factor on the post quadruples your hits? didn’t know that!
It was circa 1991, Harris was at his height, and Rolf’s Cartoon Club was required watching on a Sunday evening.
My sister and I were on a family holiday with our parents, waiting at the baggage carousel at Heathrow, when one of us noticed the bearded one. My mum at this time was in a wheelchair, and as you’d expect from grumpy teenagers, neither of us wanted to do the pushing – until that was, we noticed Rolf. I grabbed for the handles and pushed mums chair at break neck speed, the long way round the carousel to where he was standing. I tried not to look directly at him, lest I turn to a pillar of salt (or whatever), but deliberately steered the wheelchair at him.
Then he spoke. I will remember these words till the day I forget them. Wheel on through there mate, wheel on through.
All I’ve got so far is a title… I’m awaiting inspiration
Premise: Most times it seems people are more comfortable being in a majority, group experiments have shown (as in, I saw it on a documentary once!) that people will say they the most ridiculous things which they know to be untrue, just because everyone else in the group says it. Other times though people seem to strive to be considered ‘different’. I think its rare that people strive to be in a minority of one, but as far as music, culture and society go the smaller the subculture the better, and when a music group or cultural totam becomes too popular and ‘mainstream’ people abandon it for this very reason (although they rarely admit it). Why?
Browsing in Waterstone’s yesterday, I read an excerpt from the new John Humphrys’ book. It made me laugh as it’s a situation I recognise all too well. (honestly, its not just because having links to such things, ups a blog’s hit count!)
(on attempted conversions)
A friend took me to “HTB” otherwise known as Holy Trinity Brompton, a rich church in the most fashionable area of London. This is were the phenomenally successful ‘Alpha Courses’ were born. It’s the sort of church you may be invited to ‘give God a clap’. I hated it.
Another friend asked me to attend a Billy Graham meeting in Earl’s court with her. Before we left she told me God helped her in everything she does. Only the other day he had helped her find a screwdriver just when she needed one. I told her the joke about the Irish catholic, desperate to find a parking place before a vitally important meeting , who promised God that if he helped out he’d give up smoking, drinking and fornication. Miraculously a place appeared. The Irish man looked up to head and said, ‘Never mind, I’ve found one.’ My friend was not amused.
On the way to Earl’s Court her car broke down. I suggested lightly it must mean God didn’t want me to go. No, she said darkly, it’s the Devil. She meant too.
At the meeting there were endless quotations from the Bible to prove whatever point he was making. This always puzzles me: if a preacher is using the Bible to convert someone, to prove that God exists, then surely he must first prove the Bible is the truth and not just a collection of writings that contradict each other and were written long after the events they purports to describe. If, on the other hand, he assumed we accept the truth of the Bible, why is he trying to convert us?
Update: My mrs must have read the post, and bought me the hardback! To be fair to JH, its a decent read - a lot less polemic than others in the genre… in fact its not even in the religion bashing genre… he has as much ire for the Dawkins of this world as the religious whack-jobs. He’s the master interviewer, and he brings it to bear on the leaders of the three main churches… and they don’t back away.
What would it take for Diana to be regarded as a prophet from god?
My answer is, as you’d expect is not very much (otherwise it would be a more rubbish post).
I saw a picture on the front of a newspaper recently of a man on his knees at the gates of Buckingham palace praying in front of a picture of Diana, surrounded by flowers. The notion occurred to me, was Diana a goddess of sorts, or at least in less enlightened times, could in 50-100 years have a reasonable religious following.
How far would things need to be exaggerated for it to be said that she healed people with AIDS, and preached love and understanding? How hard would it be to find apostles who said that she changed their lives for the better? And that she was persecuted for her beliefs and cast out of the royal family etc
A guy called Joseph Smith claimed to have dug up some gold plates in America in the early 1800s, and said that it was a message from god, and revelation about the way forward. A man, who believes this, is now in with a reasonable chance of becoming President.
Maybe in these days of 24 hour news and intimate inquiry into every part of celebrity the Diana Cult wouldn’t last long - but who knows (see scientology)- I wouldn’t be surprised if King William IV’s son is head of the English Church of Diana
food for thought, or at least a curly wurly for thought.
Well, I have a small pantheon (if that’s not a contradiction) of stories, which, when I run out of post ideas I slowly whittle down - this is one of them. Lets call it Miss Teen Singapore - bound to get some hits aren’t I ?!
A few years ago I spent a year living and working in the beautiful island state of Singapore. My friends were mostly British and Australian ex-pats, along with their local wives, girlfriends and a couple of locals who played in our football team. One of the wives was a bit of a minor local celeb, she did some promo work and presenting at events and the occasional TV slots. I’d only really been there for a week or so when I was invited to one of the events she was hosting, I was told it was a fashion show. So I thought its a Tuesday night, I’d nothing else on, and a load of the guys from the football team were going might be a bit of craic.
We arrived quite early to the nite club where it was taking place, and by show time I found myself part of a group of pissed up pale skinned blokes who’d had 6 or 7 Tiger beers and were looking forward to checking out the ladies (if you know what I mean).
To be fair to us (at this point in the story im still referring to US rather than THEM and I), we thought it was a fashion show, in a nite club and that it would be perfectly ok to be a bit lairy and photograph everything that moved - you’ve guessed the problem here haven’t you.
It was more than an hour or so in until we realised that we were actually watching (and a-whooping and a-hollering at) 15-16-17 year old girls parading around in sometimes not very much. I few of us started get back our peripheral vision and notice that we were the only ones making any noise, and that everyone else was looking at us (possibly parents).
If memory serves me, I was actually at the loo when the police arrived. Now, in Singapore the police don’t take any nonsense, I don’t mean they might grab you by the arm a bit tightly, I mean if you give any lip you can find your self with 10 lashes, and a month in Changi Prison on bread and water.
Fair to say I was reasonably concerned - it was miles more trouble than I’d ever been in before, but through the alcohol and the adrenaline of it there was part of me was quite excited. It wasn’t until afterwards I thought to myself, this is the kinda thing could end up with me on the sex offenders register!
No one was actually arrested but we were told to leave, and it made the dammed news the next day! I learned a lesson about gradual escalation of jeopardy until you’re some where you don’t want to be. Similar to the frog vs. boiling water parable.
I’ve said before, that my guilty pleasure is watching a bit of Big Brother now and again - not so much the actual show, but the analysis show on a Sunday. It’s a high grade social experiment - mixed with low-brow entertainment. Perfect. I know this is going to sound like ‘kids today! Huh! weren’t like that in my day etc’ but anyway, the favourite to win the show, Brian, was having a discussion the other housemates and he said ‘Who’s Shakespeare? Is he on telly?‘.
At first people thought he was joking, but no, he’s 21 year old, and never heard of Shakespeare. He even seemed stunned that everyone else had.
Really! How can someone go through school, live in this country and have actually never even heard the word Shakespeare? That’s not even a rhetorical question… I can’t fathom how it’s actually possible.
I still listen to Chris Moyles in the mornings, you’d think this would be ok, as im about the same age as Moyles, but apparently Radio 1 is aimed at 15-25 year olds. Maybe its time for me to move on, the show itself does feel like its getting a bit past its sell by date.
But what else is there? I tried Wogan for a while – but just too boring, and not enough good tunes. I like the Radio 4 Today Show, but it can be a bit serious for a summer’s morning – and again no music.
I spent a month or two waking up to Bush & Troy on GWR. But then they had MO-vember which amounted to a tash growing contest for a month … ON THE RADIO. So I bid them farewell.
What should i do? Answers on a post card please to… ok, you can just leave a comment.
Singer and songwriter Lee Hazlewood, who wrote These Boots are Made for Walkin’ with Nancy Sinatra, has died at the age of 78. He was a charismatic and influential performer who also produced Duane Eddy and Gram Parsons as well as Nancy Sinatra.
A pioneer of country rock, his admirers included Belle and Sebastian, Nick Cave and Lambchop.
I’d never heard of him till a few years ago, when some friends of mine were asked to cover one of his songs for a tribute album.
They were playing as the support band for him, in Dublin and they needed someone to drive the van with them from Belfast. I was only too willing, as i knew it would be great ole craic - as it always is with The Amazing Pilots ( i have a feeling the venerable Duke Special was there too, but in a non performance capacity).
When Lee started his set, i was breathtakingly underwhelmed … he sat there in an armchair with a little keyboard and crocked out this songs in the manor of someone not long for this world (one song was cringingly chorused ‘i’d like a BJ or a POA for my birthday!’). But then, he seemed to hit his straps, and the soul and emotion started to flow, as if he had suddenly decided to let us in - he left the stage to a standing ovation.
A mate of mine, SW from Clevedon, was recently chosen to be on a Channel 4 game show! The show itself is a complete car crash - how it’s managed to get beyond 5 or 6 episodes is beyond me, but SW made a great fist of it. He had a 1 in 3 choice at the end to win about £40k, by deciding who of the three random punters in front of him earned the highest wage … and as the Crusader Knight said to Indiana Jones, he choose poorly.
Still if you’re gonna be on tellie, its good to at least get out of there with out looking like a tit! With his tongue in cheek jibes about ‘odd’ contestants and dramatic ooooo’s and aaaaaah’s to build the tension - he could join the pro game show circuit (if such a thing doesnt exist, it should!). I think it was for the best that they edited out the rant about his right-wing political views, all things being equal.
He does have an idea though , for the next series. Instead of wining the the monetary value of the person’s wage… the person should have to swap wages for you for a 5 year period. Now, that would be high stakes, and give the viewing figures a boost.
I never understand what people mean when they say this, it seems to be that it’s a phrase used in exactly the wrong circumstances. “Thank you for voting me footballer of the year, I’m humbled”, “It’s lovely to receive this Nobel Prize for the third time, I’m really humbled by your affection”.
their family tree - it’s a surprisingly interesting program. This week it was Barbra Windsor, the arcatypical East Londoner. Sure enough her parents and grandparents had been born and bred within the sound of the bow bells, but what struck me was when she went back a generation more and found that they have come from County Cork and Scandinavia.
Were it is different I suppose is with skin colour. If I was literally green, with green skin then my great great grand kids would know that they weren’t originally anglo-saxons, and more importantly others would see them as ‘different’. If Obama’s parents came from Albania rather than Africa he might just assume that he could trace his linage back to the Mayflower - and it wouldn’t mater either way.
Last night on the south bank show (embarrasingly for the best part of a decade I thought 
I find brands fascinating. On Newsnight tonight they were discussing the Stella effect. Stella Artois as a brand has managed to get itself to a position where it sells two and a half the volume of its nearest strong larger rival. However, in taste tests, 18 to 30 years olds consistently could NOT identify Stella from a range of similar lagers. It’s all about the brand baby!
carousel at Heathrow, when one of us noticed the bearded one. My mum at this time was in a wheelchair, and as you’d expect from grumpy teenagers, neither of us wanted to do the pushing – until that was, we noticed Rolf. I grabbed for the handles and pushed mums chair at break neck speed, the long way round the carousel to where he was standing. I tried not to look directly at him, lest I turn to a pillar of salt (or whatever), but deliberately steered the wheelchair at him.
I saw a picture on the front of a newspaper recently of a man on his knees at the gates of Buckingham palace praying in front of a picture of Diana, surrounded by flowers. The notion occurred to me, was Diana a goddess of sorts, or at least in less enlightened times, could in 50-100 years have a reasonable religious following.
A few years ago I spent a year living and working in the beautiful island state of Singapore. My friends were mostly British and Australian ex-pats, along with their local wives, girlfriends and a couple of locals who played in our football team. One of the wives was a bit of a minor local celeb, she did some promo work and presenting at events and the occasional TV slots. I’d only really been there for a week or so when I was invited to one of the events she was hosting, I was told it was a fashion show. So I thought its a Tuesday night, I’d nothing else on, and a load of the guys from the football team were going might be a bit of craic.
beers and were looking forward to checking out the ladies (if you know what I mean).
If memory serves me, I was actually at the loo when the police arrived. Now, in Singapore the police don’t take any nonsense, I don’t mean they might grab you by the arm a bit tightly, I mean if you give any lip you can find your self with 10 lashes, and a month in 
I’ve said before, that my guilty pleasure is watching a bit of Big Brother now and 
again - not so much the actual show, but the analysis show on a Sunday. It’s a high grade social experiment - mixed with low-brow entertainment. Perfect. I know this is going to sound like ‘kids today! Huh! weren’t like that in my day etc’ but anyway, the favourite to win the show, Brian, was having a discussion the other housemates and he said ‘Who’s Shakespeare? Is he on telly?‘.
I still listen to 
A pioneer of country rock, his admirers included Belle and Sebastian, Nick Cave and Lambchop.
A mate of mine, SW from Clevedon, was recently chosen to be on a Channel 4 game 
build the tension - he could join the pro game show circuit (if such a thing doesnt exist, it should!). I think it was for the best that they edited out the rant about his right-wing political views, all things being equal.
