Film: Avatar

A rumoured $350 million production budget. James Cameron's first film in 12 years. The invention of an entirely new camera to facilitate filming.

To say that Avatar has been suffering from pre-release hype would be to put it mildly. James "King of the World" Cameron has hailed it as a masterpiece, the template for which all future film-making will take it's cue. I finally got to see the spectacle tonight, and one word summed it up: Underwhelming.

Before I get assailed by legions of fanboys who seem to track Cameron's every waking movement, let me first say that Avatar succeeds to some extent. The 3D technology and clarity of definition is certainly impressive, as is the imagination Cameron to create the world of Pandora.

Unfortunately, that's where the good news runs out, as we are subjected to a turgid storyline, clunky script and woefully predictable action sequences. For a film that has been announced as groundbreaking, Avatar does nothing new. The Matrix's bullet time technology was so fascinating that we'd never seen it's like before. Avatar rehashes action film clichés again, and again, and again. If this is the future of film then I'm worried about the direction that cinema is headed.

We have the peaceful Na'Vi of planet Pandora set upon by the human military, in order to get a precious stone which is worth untold millions of dollars. Parallels drawn with the American war on terror are easily made, with the words "shock and awe" actually making it into the script. Besides some occasionally stunning visuals, the animation fails to convince at every turn. The reason why Lord of the Rings was so successful is that it triumphantly married two worlds together. On one hand, the skilful artifice of computer technicians at Weta Workshop, creating monsters which both looked ferocious but intriguing, mythical but somehow realistic. The animation had a lived in quality. Beasts were animated to look dirty, tired and look as though they were battle-hardned. On the other hand, we had real depth of character in each actor and a realistic effort was made to develop and explore storylines.

Avatar does none of this. The world of Pandora looks too perfect, it's edges too smooth, and it's people with no sense of realism at all. Likewise, it's proof that CGI effects and explosions are no substitute for old fashioned storytelling. James Cameron certainly knows how to throw the kitchen sink at a production budget, but there's little evidence here of any craft or diligence to create a good plot.

I wanted to love Avatar, I really did. But it's such a pristine and squeaky clean looking film, that there's no emotional heart to it. Like both Transformers films before it, one simply can't get over the fact that you're watching a computer game, a collection of graphics and a dull, uniform battle scene.
 I didn't care about any of the main characters, be they bad or good. Even Sigourney Weaver fails to save the day. This type of film normally relies on its hero being a maverick, slightly out of his league, or wise-cracking. Jake Sully, Avatar's central character, is none of these. He's an uncharismatic paraplegic marine, who you simply don't believe when he's in the middle of delivering a cod-inspirational speech (in the same league as Leonidas's "This is Sparta" tirade. That bad, honestly).

Avatar is guaranteed to be a box office smash. Perfectly timed in order to lap up the Christmas holidays market, it's set to be a big draw. Indeed the London Imax is sold out until January 11th for every single screening. All I can ask is don't part with your money to go and see this trash, it simultaneously fails to be anything revolutionary, whilst not even offering mindless entertainment. It bored me. How sad.

Avoidance Tactics? - Business as usual re: Afghanistan

It's remarkable how some people in power either ignore, or refuse to see things which are staring them straight in the face.

This was the prevailing theme today when myself and an audience met with Ivan Lewis, Minister of State for Foreign and Commonwealth affairs. The topic on the agenda was primarily the war in Afghanistan, the logistics, ethics and practicalities involved in such a war. Lewis spoke for around a quarter of an hour before opening it up to the floor for questions.

It's here when I'm going to check myself slightly. I am constantly defending politicians against others' insults. For every expenses abusing, sleaze ridden corrupt cabinet minister, there are constituency MPs who work hard for their electorate, and want (to use a cliché) "to make a difference". But given the responses supplied by Lewis today, can you blame young people for feeling disenfranchised and apathetic about politics? Typical politicians answers were given, instead of answering the question directly, policy was trotted out with all the panache of a Michael Howard Newsnight interview. The audience looked on incredulously as good, constructive questions were left unanswered.

Lewis is currently on a roadshow (his own words) visiting every region in the UK to stir up support for the war in Afghanistan, to "assure forces that the British people support them". I have no doubt that the British people support them, but their ringleaders...I'm not so sure. Lions led by Lambs indeed.

Furthermore, Lewis constantly emphasised that we were in Afghanistan to rid the world of the greatest threat to our way of life. It would be churlish to point out the not-insignificant problem of climate change as our greatest threat, but you can't have everything. For a man so clearly preoccupied with the modern threat of terrorism (Lewis voted for the Iraq war, for ID cards and against an investigation into the Iraq war) he seemed stupendously blind to it's root causes. Much of the argument seemed to take the view that we stamp out any insurgents in Iraq and by proxy safeguard our own country. What he fails to take into account is that much of the terrorist bombings in the UK (including July 7th in London) were propagated by British residents. How exterminating members of Al-Qaeda 3000 miles around the world is going to help us, I don't know.

Moreover, he incessantly referred to the British people being in a state of fear as "the security of the people of this country lay in the hands of extremists". Have I ruptured the space-time continuum into a Daily Mail alternate reality? I've yet to meet a single person who is genuinely worried about the threat of terrorism to this country. It's happened before, but the chances of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time are so minute that it's hardly worth thinking about. Did people stop using the Tube when London was under threat? No, because they had to get on with their lives and it was business as usual.

Towards the end of the talk we were bombarded with statistics showing "improving" living conditions in Afghanistan. Much has been made of the effort to rebuild and reinvigorate Afghanistan. While this may be true, it still doesn't explain the fundamental point of the whole debate:

Why are we there in the first place?

Higher Education - For Everyone?

So, Lord Mandelson, Prince of Darkness, Secretary for Business, and now, apparently all round “good guy” unveiled his higher education policy at the beginning of this month. 

Entitled ‘Higher Ambitions’ , the framework set out a more science and technology based system, where the aforementioned sectors would be given priority with regards to funding and access.

It’s here when my position as a left leaning liberal is called into question. Mandelson’s idea is to brand universities with the same kind of traffic light system that you find on ready meals, defining their calorific content and fat etc. He wants to further expand the idea of universities as a brand. While there’s no getting away from it, universities are a business (Trinity College Cambridge recently bought the O2, no doubt), I think that this is a step too far. I find myself more in tune with the Conservative Policy than Labour on this one.

On the party website, Labour declare that “more young people are attending university than ever before”. That may be so, but does that take into account whether these extra people should be at university at all? ‘Going to Uni’ is the cool thing to do right now, and has become less a thing to aspire to, than part of the status quo. What this leads to is a huge amount of university students who really shouldn’t be there at all. Their skills are far more suited to apprenticeships, which have died out in current years, and which the Conservatives pledge to bring back. 

University is a place for someone to learn, grow in knowledge, and then hopefully apply the skills learnt into an increasingly competitive job market. What Labour has done, is create an entire new class of university student. That is, who floats through their degree course, not really paying much attention, graduates, and then is suddenly lumped with thousands of pounds of debt, but crucially, without having benefited from the university system. On the whole these people would be better suited to learning practical skills. The whole reason why Polish plumbers have become an in-joke is because there are no native plumbers to fill the ranks. We now expect people to go to university, when in fact we should be taking individual cases into consideration. A huge amount of self-made entrepreneurs never went to university, and I doubt any of them regret it. We need to see what suits the individual, rather than applying generalised conventional wisdom to everyone.

That said, I still believe university in this country offers a good service for the fees paid. Tuition fees, although obviously higher than in years past, are still cheaper than the cost for one term attending some private secondary schools. A lot of it is down to how you use it. Use the facilities, books and lecturers that are on hand to offer support. More and more, it’s becoming clear that it’s what you do outside of compulsory work that counts, rather than within it. 

Era of mass miscommunication

So, we're nearing the end of 2009. By the end of 2010 it'll be 10 years since all the hassle about the Y2K virus, remember all that? The terror that threatened to bring civilisation to a standstill because the ticking clock wouldn't be able to handle the date ending with "00".

Computers and technology back then were a contradiction. On the one hand, they were innocent compared to todays powerful behemoths. Slow chugging processors powered us through cyberspace, and hard drives were filled up by the presence of one or two games. Dial up internet gave particularly sinister access to the internet, I always thought it sounded like a character from Doctor Who being murdered in an air shaft. However, on the other hand, computers were endlessly more frustrating and jargon based than they are now. To us "normal" people, techies like to make computers deliberately complicated, in order to keep their kudos, and moreover, their jobs. Web 2.0 has democratised and de-cluttered the internet, to the extent that even an idiot like me can make an online magazine: http://thefzine.com

Of course, "social networking" "micro-blogging" and the rest of the idiot terms applied to Web 2.0 do come at a price. That is, it's a lot like a lifetime membership. Once you've signed up, it's very difficult to get away.

Take this example: I must be one of the only people in my age group to not watch The X Factor, judging by the endless Facebook updates. Opting out of watching the program isn't enough anymore. One has to turn off all radios, computers, phones, and just about any other piece of technology that looks shiny enough to pick up a signal to get away from it all. Instead, idly minding my own business, I cheerfully click the "refresh" button on my browser. Suddenly I'm hit with a torrent of updates:


"can't actually believe that jedward are still in xfactor!!!!!"


"JEDWARD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! whhayyyyyyy" 


"hope lloyd goes!"


I remember fondly when my dad would coincide his bike rides with England's efforts to progress through the World Cup. Time after time, the streets would be deserted as he joyfully cycled around in peace for 90 minutes. Whenever there was a penalty shoot out he got an added bonus. A few years ago, I could've been him. I could've turned off the television when Simon Cowell and his Will Smith circa '91 haircut hove into view, and that would've been that. Now because I've signed up to a whole range of mailing lists, networks and websites, I have to turn all of those off aswell. "But that's your fault!" you're screaming at the screen. Yes, of course it is, but do people really have to tweet and exchange such bland information? If the technology is there for Alan Rusbridger to tweet about Trafigura and overturn an injunction, it's a massive waste of resources if we're using this to talk about deluded fools singing their hearts out with all the melody of an irate chimp.

Essentially the banter which was previously only privy to the seats at the back of the bus have been brought forward onto the internet. Meaningless chat and general idiocy dominate the feeds. I'd love it if people thought before typing a bit more, but what can I do about it? Simply watch the conversations unfold, and subscribe to the X Factor Twitter page...

Red Hill, the border of England

To visit Penrith, Cumbria, is to visit one of the loveliest market towns in the UK. The town centre is based around the market square and shops are housed in hardy Georgian buildings, similar to Lancaster.

Checking through a newsagent, I was taken aback by the amount of local media. Granted, there were a lot of Have I Got New For You-worthy publications like Farmers Guardian but so too were there multiple local newspapers, including the Cumberland and Westmoreland Herald which unusually, came in a broadsheet format.


Leafing through these publications, one article kept popping up, the mass opposition to a huge Sainsburys superstore. The proposed development is due to take place in the southern part of Penrith, but there is massive local opposition. Talking to a salesman in the excellent Gents Outfitters, Arrnisons, it became clear that Penrith is proud of its stoicism in the face of chain stores and the endeavours to keep independent shops viable. Admittedly, Penrith has a branch of Morrisons, but it is outside the town centre, and small compared to the 98,000 square feet store proposed by Sainsburys. He went so far as to say that the new development would "kill the town centre" and that the sense of community created by close knit shops would be lost. Unfortunately the council seem to be in favour of this new development, but there is an open meeting at the Town Hall on 12th November where locals can voice their opinions.


Enough of the doom and gloom, as Penrith has so much to keep you occupied. The aforementioned outfitters is magnificent. Don't come here looking for the new deconstructed avant-garde jacket by Junya Watanabe, because you won't find it. What you will find is traditional high quality men's formalwear, excellent service, and a brilliant selection of shoes. All the "classics" boxes were ticked, with chelsea boots, brogues, desert boots and oxfords, on sale in a variety of styles and colours. Hats were available in a range of measurements which were all catered for.  No wonder the men of the town dress so sharply when such an excellent shop is on their doorstep. The service is helpful, knowledgeable, and crucially, unintimidating, which will allay most men's fears about clothes shopping.


Pop across the square from here and you find the excellent delicatessen, J&J Graham. I wish I'd managed to stay longer but they were shutting by the time I arrived. What I did garner is that it had a mouthwatering range of cheeses, meats and freshly ground coffee on sale, as well as a vast selection of preserves and wine. It was impressive to find a shop like this so busy just before closing time, especially with the supermarket on the outskirts of town. A revisit is surely in order to pick up some treats for Christmas.


My final pick of the town is the Lonsdale Cinema, a two screen cinema built in 1910 in the city centre, adjoining a bingo hall. While it showed the typical multiplex fare of mainstream films, it was lovely to see the original building had been kept whilst having a modern interior. Sunday afternoons are host to the "Alternative" showing, which this week was Pedro Almodovar's Broken Embraces.


Penrith is only 20 miles from Carlisle. A quick google shows that it takes next to no time to come south from Scotland down to Penrith, nor does it take long if you live in any other part of the north west. It deserves a visit, and any money that can be put in the pockets of local retailers rather than money hungry supermarkets is much appreciated. The people of Penrith deserve better.

"I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd"

So, I think this could prove to be controversial. At least, to the one internet drifter who happens to stumble across my small hut in cyberspace. Quentin Tarantino has lost it. There, I said it. While film critics have largely been saying this for the last six or seven years, it seems that I'm very much in the minority with this view when it comes to people in their twenties.

This is not an all out attack on QT, this is a study of a man who had something special, and then squandered it. There is no doubt in my mind that he has made three excellent films. Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction and Jackie Brown all stand out as triumphs in modern cinema. Whether you like his referential style, copious violence and wisecracking script or not, these films can't help but be appreciated as brilliant works. So how did he so spectacularly lose the ability to make such defining films? I think the answer is, the river of ideas drying up, as well as becoming a figure of self parody.

In Inglorious Basterds, his latest flick, there's a close-up of a bowl of cream while a conversation is taking place over a dinner table. The close up used in this style has become one of the Tarantino trademarks along with the trunk shot, and long, lingering takes. However, the difference is that before, Tarantino was using these embellishments to drive the story forward, to provide a different take on familiar situations and to render anticipation in the viewer's mind. Now he seems to include these begrudgingly in order to make the film seem his. Quentin Tarantino is trying too hard to make a Quentin Tarantino film. One doesn't feel that he creates films by an organic process anymore, but that he sits at his desks discussing scripts thus: "Ah yes, we'll have a trunk shot there....then in the next scene, that'll have a femme fatale in...oh and throw in a mexican standoff"

Tarantino's dedication to homages and tributes has, as above, turned from witty referencing to cloying and tiresome. In "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" each major character is accompanied by a little vignette, and a freeze frame outlines their respective characters as "The Good" "The Bad" and "The Ugly". Tarantino creates an obvious tribute to this in Inglorious Basterds, outlining the various Basterds in these small onscreen character profiles. Whereas in Sergio Leone's western, these depictions are used to good effect, to set up the story, under Tarantino's clumsy direction, they become tiresome. Eli Roth's character is introduced as "The Bear Jew". I was expecting a monster colossus of a man. Instead we get Roth, hardly well built,  wielding a baseball bat. Are we expected to find this clever, amusing or fearsome? It ends up being none of these.

In the aforementioned first three films by Tarantino, he used his knowledge of trashy cinema, integrated with snappy dialogue and cartoonish violence to create films which were exciting, humourous and unpredictable. He has failed to achieve this in any of his films since Kill Bill Vol. 1.

I put forward the argument that a blockbuster like Transformers can be considered superior to Tarantino's  efforts this millennium. It is easy to see the motives of the likes of Transformers, Hancock, Independence Day, et al. Their chief goal is a money spinning enterprise, providing big, dumb entertainment "for all the family". It's an effort to pack as many people into multiplex cinemas as possible to reap the biggest financial award. But, and here's the clincher, have they ever purported to be anything but that? Tarantino's slew of latest films are junk masquerading as high art, and he has struck back at critics deeming them "unworthy" saying they don't understand him. Doesn't that sound a bit like the hormonal teenager whose parents have been honest about their son's "eclectic" musical taste?

The horrible thing is that besides reasoned film critics, his army of devoted fans and sycophantic chat show hosts like Jonathan Ross manage to keep the idea going that he is still the prodigal enfant terrible of American cinema. When you find yourself yawning halfway through a Tarantino film, you have to ask yourself, if he based his early triumphs on keeping the viewer locked in with intrigue and expectancy, once these facets have faded, what does he have left?

Tarantino has run out of ideas. He should take a leaf from the Coen Brothers' book, who manage to create films with their signature stamp on, but can never be said to have created identikit films.

Lancaster bomber

I'd never been to Lancaster until yesterday. In tremendous contrast to my previous post, it seems like a town which ideally, all Northern towns would seek to replicate in terms of atmosphere, beauty and entertainment.

Late Georgian architecture adorns the high street, crowds make their way up and down the tiled pedestrianised area that makes up the town centre. It's refreshing to see so many independent shops on the high street, somehow Lancaster has not yet succumbed to the homogenisation that afflicts other British towns. It has found a way to accommodate high street institutions (Topshop, M&S, HMV) as well as provide an outlet for small business owners. Furthermore it was inspiring to see such niche interests represented; sauntering down the high street I saw advertisements for a Joe Meek themed clubnight and a French film society. I challenge anyone to find similar pastimes catered for in another town of similar size.

I think the secret to Lancaster's beauty is it's ability to effortlessly combine elements of the past with the modern. This collocation never seems contrived, and while the aforementioned shops are prevalent on the high street, they are housed in original shop fronts, their letters embossed in the old stonework. Lancaster's bygone years as a market town means that it has a long history in trade and commerce on a public level. Perhaps this means that it has adapted more readily and comfortably than some of the worn out mill towns in this part of the UK. Despite the architectural eyesore that is Lancaster University (very good academically, but I'm not sure the architect would top many "best in show" lists) it is truly a lovely town to look at. Open country is but a bus ride away, and there seems plenty of cultural investment in the form of the Lancaster Grand Theatre and Lancaster Castle.

While the current levels of poverty would betray the portrait I'm painting (second in Lancashire with regard to "Households accepted as homeless") I still think that Lancaster has a lot more going for it than other places in the region. All it needs is some investment, as currently it lives very much in the shadow of it's noxious Lancastrian neighbouring cities.

Go on, pay it a visit.

Broken Britain

Moss Side Estate. Greater Manchester. Teenagers huddled on street corners while others ride up and down on bikes outside long deserted boarded-up shopfronts.

The North of England has a tinge of sadness to it. From the gun crime that has dominated estates like Moss Side since the early 1990s to old cobbled town's whose cotton mills have laid dormant for years. This is an area of the UK with so much to give and to be proud of. Brilliant scenery, friendly locals and a refreshing lack of pretentiousness which can't be found anywhere in London.

I didn't fully appreciate how much the rest of the England, and particularly the North, was neglected as opposed to the Capital. I am constantly reminded of this fact by northern friends, but until I jumped ship to move up here I had no idea. Governments past and present have failed these people. A sea of ghost towns have been created by the loss of industry, leaving it wide open to be homogenised by the usual Tesco, McDonalds, et al.

The only southern equivalent to be found are the washed out seaside resorts located on the south coast. With crumbling piers, and sunshine providing the only real source of income, these towns have also been neglected. The fundamental difference between them and their northern counterparts, is that they never had much to offer in the first place.

Consider places like Burnley, Oldham, Rochdale. Once upon a time these milltowns provided a steady source of employment to skilled and unskilled workers alike. Times change, but when we lost the mills, we lost a fundamental sense of community and camaraderie, similar to the Welsh miners. These are towns that are now taken over by greedy property developers, creating a concrete jungle that is more akin to some kind of Gilliam-esque dystopian phantasmagoria. It saddens me more than the lonely seaside resorts, because there was once something beautiful here.

Looking at the redbrick and wonderfully precise York Stone buildings, one is aware of a gold mine of local history. It says a lot about governments past and present that they continually try to embrace the modern in order to improve and maintain Britain's global standing. I think far more respect would be given to them by the people of this country if they instead invested more in nurturing tradition, as well as revitalising local governments which are in stasis and promoting localised issues.

Non-breaking news

This is belated. My digital camera refused to work these past few days, but finally, it sprung into action this morning.

I trotted over to Picadilly Gardens in Manchester this Saturday just gone, to see Unite Against Fascism group mount a counter-protest to the English Defence League's protest over "Islamic Extremism".

I was unsure as to what to expect, but it became quite clear early on that it was the old far right in action once more. Banners reading "No More Mosques" as well as jibes towards immigrants could be seen and heard all over Manchester city centre. At one point the EDL and UAF were demonstrating about 10 metres away from each other, and only a massive police presence eliminated the chance of any real trouble.

That said, it was equally frightening and exhilarating to be caught up in such a passionate exchange of views and opinions, with the very real possibility of it spilling over any minute into physical violence. Stop and search, metal detectors, police dog teams and riot squad were all on show in Manchester, with the Northern Quarter all but deserted, police blockades having sealed off most of the main roads coming into that side of Manchester.

This isn't going to be particularly vivacious post, instead I'll let the photos do the talking.

Red top to the rescue

"Labour's Lost It"

It being the endorsement of that erstwhile bastion of journalistic integrity, The Sun. Last week Rupert Murdoch's flagship publication declared that after 12 years, the red top had finally relinquished its support of New Labour.

By making such a brash statement on the front page, The Sun assumes that their withdrawal will be the final nail in Gordon Brown's coffin. However, the looming general election will be closer than editors at News International imagine.

Murdoch and co. have been in the news quite a lot recently, most notably back in late August when James Murdoch (son of Rupert) gave a lecture in Edinburgh attacking the BBC, declaring it to be a threat to independence of news provision. While he was storming around the stage, I hardly think that Mark Thompson was quaking in his shoes. The BBC is, and will remain one of the best examples of how a broadcasting corporation should be run. One need only hop over the Atlantic and tune into the likes of Keith Olbermann to see how good we have it in the UK. Murdoch's Sky News prides itself on being first with breaking news, often to the point of throwing unsubstantiated quotes onto the screen, so obsessed are they with getting the scoop.

Rupert Murdoch sees himself as an all conquering, Alfred Harmsworth, Lord Northcliffe style character.

I think it's a shame that history seems to have blotted out Northcliffe and his emergence as the first press baron in modern newspaper production. Having created The Daily Mail and Daily Mirror, he subsequently went on to rescue several papers whose sales were in free fall. At one point he owned both the aforementioned newspapers as well as The Observer, The Times and The Sunday Times. He pioneered modern techniques like advertising and headlines, amongst other modern conventions like serialisations and machine operated typesets.

If Murdoch (whose father, interestingly, was mentored by Northcliffe) truly wants to be the Northcliffe of the 21st Century, he a) Better come up with some ideas to revolutionise media quickly (and charging for online content isn't going to cut the mustard) and b) Has to become a lot more pleasant in the process.

Undoubtedly Northcliffe was a difficult man. Rampant expansionism and megalomania contributed to a nervous breakdown before his death, and he was unpopular amongst rival newspapers for his aggressive taste for pioneering new techniques. But could you really forsee Murdoch leaving money in his will to all his employees, as Northcliffe did? Or starting a campaign proclaiming the evils of white bread and the virtues of wholemeal? It was these little eccentricities that gave him the edge that Murdoch lacks.

With his business-like approach to news, Murdoch has no doubt amassed a gargantuan fortune, but none of his media outlets have endeared themselves to the British public like the BBC. The Sun, as the most read newspaper, is still only read by 11% of the electorate. When you turn on Sky News, there is no authority, no sense that the newscaster understands the issues being presented. Instead a garish newsroom which resembles the control room on the Starship Enterprise is hurled before your eyes, which makes the presenters look like Gerry Anderson's cast offs.

We'll see what happens at the polling stations come 2010, if Cameron and Osborne are triumphant no doubt The Sun will be first to accept the plaudits. For now let's just enjoy the fact that News International are faced with a problem that they've never seen, a media world which is changing beyond their control.

Oh the humanity.

Humanity's sense of self preservation is ironically, only matched by it's ability to create new ways to blow each other apart.

Since the beginning of time, the human race has time and time again been defined by conflict. Whether it be the antics of 1066, the horrors of the Somme or riled captains barking orders into the ears of grunts in 'Nam, the subject of warfare is fascinating to everyone, whether we experienced it first hand or not.

When discussing war, it's very easy to romanticise what is an atrocious and vile part of human nature. The kinship and bond that forms between soldiers under fire is compelling to those of us lucky enough to never be involved in the bloodshed. What seems to be a common trait amongst people who've lived through battles is that they were just trying to get through it, day by day. Humanity's sense of self preservation comes to the fore during this time of danger. Interestingly it's this same sense of self preservation that humanity applies in a less immediate context, that is, climate change.

I have mixed views about this now popular issue. Wading through the reams of publicity and products that are pure tokenism is difficult, and means that sometimes those with pure and well meaning intention are often overshadowed by their more glamourous cousins. I'm referring to the pedal pusher wearing Notting Hill mothers who guilt trip the rest of us by "buying organic" and dressing up little Artemis and Ophelia in 100% fairtrade cotton. They are also the same people driving their 4 x 4's down Kensington High Street, doing their best to smash me off my bike into the kerb and pumping enough odious gases into the air to rival a pre-Thatcher northern mill.

Humanity is threatened by climate change. We dropped a stink bomb down the vest of mother nature, and now the universe is calling us into the headmasters office for a caning. Thus we're frantically scrabbling around to appease him on high (God, Allah, Richard Dawkins, Simon Cowell, whoever you believe in) by saving our planet. Interestingly if all of humanity was wiped out tomorrow, the universe would heal itself, wildlife would thrive and ecosystems would recover to a state that won't have been seen since the first ice age.

So if we were truly selfless we'd give it all up tomorrow. But we're not. We're the young private dodging bullets on the frontline, senses heightened, adrenalin pumping, thinking of nothing more than to batten down the hatches and save our scrawny behinds. So mankind blunders on, trying to find new ways to delay the inevitable. We're all going to hell in a handcart, and my children's children's children's children's children's children's children's children's children's are going to be burnt to a crisp.

Lovely.

Gregg Wallace is an idiot

The title says it all really.

He's exactly the type of nouveau-riche fool who I fully expect to take up residence in greater London in some sort of ostentatious mansion, but not to actually be in the media spotlight.

The fact that this man is employed, is frankly, offensive. I can't get over how massive his head is.
Seriously, it's huge. Not only is it huge, but it looks like someone has got a face the size of a room, then tried to squash it down to normal size. Yet still failing, because his face looks like it's fighting to burst out, and go on a killing spree or something.

Anatomy issues aside, the man is a complete scumbag. Whilst undertaking some investigative journalism (i.e. donning a parka, adopting the walk of a rambunctious young lad and generally looking like a bit of an idiot) I quizzed some stall owners at Covent Garden Market about their history with the above named Mr Wallace.

Wishing to remain anonymous (presumably because Wallace runs a militant arm of Masterchef, who come round your house and scream in your face that "COOKING DOESN'T GET ANY HARDER THAN THIS" repeatedly, until you're a sobbing wretch), I was surprised to hear a range of different views from stallholders.

They ranged from a simple "what a tosser", to: "He still owes me money, if he ever came down here again, he'd be lynched".

So it's not just me then, clearly. He should be ousted from his post at the BBC, ordered to pay back all the money he owes to various stallholders, and replaced with a younger, less aggressive type on Masterchef. I was thinking someone who possesses a rakish charm, a philandering sense of self and a passion for cooking that would make Delia look like a Little Chef employee. I am of course, talking about myself, I'm the obvious candidate, so hi Mark Thompson, if you've any sense, sign me up.

Shape of things to come, part II

Lack of scribblings of late. This has been due to me being on a roadtrip in America, so sorry about that. But not that sorry, because it was incredible. Anyway, I might be taking a break from the whole blogging thing for the time being, maybe until September anyway. I have a film to make and a screenplay to pitch, so most of my time is going to be spent pursuing that. I'll most likely keep you up to date from time to time about how the whole thing it's going. At the very least we'll be showing the film at a few coffee shops around London, at the most we may even get a screening at one of the Picturehouse cinemas in London, in which case I'll be inviting anyone I bump into to fill up seats. Ciao for now, not that anyone reads this shit.

Sub prime steak

Just thought I'd weigh in on the ridiculously over-emphasised and boring topic that is the economic crisis.

It's difficult to understand the logic that led to an enormous economic downturn. Of course, it was primarily driven by greed, and the need to constantly up the risk factor in order to reap the rewards. I know very little about economics. What I do know, is that the banks' strategies were always madness. New Labour further encouraged this culture of high risk lending, partly because City Boys have been in and out of Downing Street for 10 years, on the basis of donations, but partly because they believed that this was one area of industry which might just work, no questions asked, without regulation.

I am loathe to delve into specifics here. While there are a myriad of reasons and theories about why the economy went belly up, (sub prime market lending and endless amounts of other financial jargon) as I've already mentioned, it was all inevitably caused by increasing greed. I have a bone to pick with building societies that turned into banks too. The behaviour of banks is now to lend more than their asset base. HBOS changed the business model from an old-fashioned, slightly boring banker who gave you some money and then lent some money to someone who might pay it back, to someone who decided that leverage was a cool-sounding word and borrow several times what the bank owned, then lend it to anyone!

When there was a remarkable shift from the slightly jaunty, thrifty "credit crunch" to a more serious economic downturn in September 2008, Gordon Brown said "I've been worried about this for a long time". REALLY? Which British politician opened the Lehman Brothers building in the City in 2004, saying: "Lehman Brothers is a great company. Let me thank you for the privilege of being here, I look forward to its future" It was Gordon Brown. That's what happens when you are complacent in the face of recklessness and greed, and you don't realise that markets are not moral, they're amoral, that’s why you regulate them. What's so stunning here is that I'm no economist, yet I am flabbergasted at the ridiculous nature of the situation. One can't punish the banks too heavily, because after all, it's our money that they rely on. The Catch 22 is that we need them as much as they need us, thereby to a certain extent they can afford to do what they want.

Still, it's not the end of the universe just yet.

Oh dear.

Sunday afternoon. South East London.
As I didn't have much to do I decided to go to the cinema, where Greenwich Picturehouse do matinees for a fiver.

After the film (Shifty, excellent), I popped into the toilet for a cheeky piss. As there was virtually no one in the cinema, I was looking forward to the moment of quiet reflection one can get from standing alone at the urinal.

Or so I thought.
A noise which can only be described as a cacophony made itself known from one of the cubicles. Think the beach landing from Saving Private Ryan.

I paused for a moment. "Oh God, it's someone having a fit of internal combustion in the cubicle, and he doesn't know I'm in here, so won't show any restraint." I had to act fast, to let him know that I'm here. I softly reached over to the door, and pulled it open, letting it slam back against it hinges, denoting that someone had entered the room.

Silence.

Brilliant. It's worked, I thought. Now all I need to do is wash my hands before..."PLOP PLOP PLOP!".
Oh no, he's still doing it. He knows I'm here, yet he continues! Suddenly I becamse painfully aware of the sound of toilet paper being used, trousers being pulled up. I've got to get out of here. There's no way I can look the man who provided the sound effects for Platoon in the eye. But it's too late. The cubicle door is opening, he's approaching the sink.

Silence.

"Nice day today isn't it mate?" he pipes up.

"Yeah, nice and sunny I guess" I awkwardly reply.

"Nice and quiet after the Marathon"

You have got to be shitting me.

With that I was out the door, running down Greenwich High street in the vain hope that I'd find something to take my mind off things. You just don't want that on a Sunday Afternoon.

Skiving, no doubt.

This post is going to be somewhat brief, mainly because I'm bored at work and dodging the watchful eye of my manager as I write this.

Two of my friends have just left for America, meeting in the former hub of car manufacturing that is Seattle. I'm meant to be joining them soon, flying out to Toronto to explore the East Coast of America. Recently I've got the travel bug, and it's affected my outlook on daily life quite a bit. I love the sensation of strolling around, not knowing where I'm going, looking at the buildings around me. (This same sensation can be easily replicated if you neck 12 shots and then stumble round your local town centre, but never mind) There's something very liberating about travelling somewhere you've never been before. Maybe it's the sensation that you won't bump into any of the reprobates who happen to live on the same road as you, or just rediscovering the child-like sensation of the shock of the new. I'm beginning to be sick of London, having lived here for most of my life. It's nice knowing where everything is, how to best navigate the tube system etc, but it's become boring. I remember the first time I went to Boombox at Hoxton Bar and Kitchen, the amazing feeling I got that I was part of something innovative and exciting. Ever since I've failed to replicate that feeling, in a club or otherwise, London and it's personality have become predictable, much like that sinking feeling you get when a relationship no longer excites you.

So to conclude, I'm looking forward to seeing new pastures in America. Because you see so much of American life through a film lens, you're almost surprised when it actually turns out to be the same as it is "in the movies". Places like New York City take on an almost mythological status, because of the countless iconic films/photographs/books which have used the Big Apple as it's backdrop, and I'm pleased to say that I'll be a part of it soon.

Just let it be...

With all the recent media coverage about atheism and Richard Dawkins shtick, I thought I'd have a crack at making some sense of it.

I think the atheism movement, or "fundamentalist atheism" as I like to call it, has rather hit a brick wall. Their entire argument is the existence of God, rather, the lack of. So where do they go from here? Endlessly reiterating the same point does nothing to substantiate or progress the argument.

Before I dive headfirst into this, I'd like to say that I'm bringing a fairly neutral perspective to the table, in that I am fairly unsure myself as to the existence of a higher power. To me, the God/no God argument is irrelevant. I'm more interested in the basis for such opinions being formed.

On the whole, us humans object to someone stating the bleeding obvious. Being patronised, having something shoved in our face is the sort of thing we don't like. Dawkins and his followers of staunch atheists relish in ramming their beliefs down our throats. What other groups share this contemptible characteristic. Oh yes, fiercely religious sects of course. I'm just as pissed off when The God Delusion thrust my way as "compulsory reading" as when I'm approached by the Hare Krishna’s. "But they're a bunch of deluded religious loonies!" I hear you cry. Perhaps. But are you going to begrudge the fact that Christianity gave my late grandparents great strength when times were tough? Delusional they may have been, but to derive such cast iron will from religion to get through the worst of times cannot be mocked.

"Ah yes, granny and grandad going to church is fine, but what about September 11th?"

A lot of the war and conflict in this world is based on differing aspects of faith. Dawkins argues that religion is an evil tool in this sense. Let me put forward a comparison for you:

If guns were outlawed in America tomorrow, what would happen? Would crime cease? No. Criminals would go on using them, and now the general public would be defenceless. Guns have been freely available in North America for years, and a law isn't going to stop those with the intent to commit crime from using them.

Likewise, citing Islamic fundamentalists as a reason why religion is evil is pointedly short sighted and naive. That's right, I'm calling atheists naive. Whether organised religion was around or not, these people would still be out to cause trouble. Atheists seem to think that if they get everyone converted the weapons will be laid down. Are they really so arrogant that they think they can overturn belief systems which are based on thousands of years of knowledge? It's like trying to overturn the myth that everyone who went to Oxford is a sparkling font of intellectual power.

In a way, I almost want the Christian afterlife to be correct. That way I can have a good old chuckle in purgatory while Dawkins is forced to kiss the feet of a Christian Fellowship, a situation that surely takes on hellish proportions in his mind.

"We're in a world of shit"

There are no guarantees in life, but it is a sure thing that you will get back what you give.
If you give 100 percent of your attention, energy and time to something, you will get exactly that back.
Spending your time and attention focused on what you cannot do and do not have, assures that more of the same will come. When you concentrate on emptiness, weakness, fault, and blame, it is sure to become a reality.
Nobody has everything, but everybody has something. Use what you have right now. Use it wisely, freely, with love. Wherever you are, use your time, energy and talents to do the best you can right now. Give no thoughts to what is missing. Spend no time wishing it were better. Make sure you give all you have, to make sure you will get all that you need.

"It's like being in Japan"

So said Faris Badwan, frontman of The Horrors, in reference to the tepid crowd reaction to his band's first full live airing of songs from their forthcoming album, Primary Colours.

Be fair. Haven't the Japanese got a reputation for being wildly manic and vocal at gigs? The phrase "big in Japan" has become synonymous with the notion that no matter how unpopular a band becomes, they will always have diehard fans in the Far East. Anyway, I digress. Myself and two friends went to see The Horrors last night, at Bethnal Green's Rich Mix theatre/cinema complex. It was a bizarrely pristine venue that had the air of a record company shindig, and the audience who attended only succeeding in cementing that feeling. Amongst the plaid shirts, ironic knitwear and drainpipes one could pick out singer and performance artist No Bra, members of the Klaxons and S.C.U.M., as well as a rumour that Damon Albarn himself was in the audience.

Before I begin to delve into the band's performance, a small point about their audience. Is it really necessary for everyone who lives in East London/frequents the nightlife there to look at me as if I've crapped myself? Look, myself and the two aforementioned friends were dressed pretty snappily, so it can't have been a fashion related faux pas. Apparently smiling isn't allowed when one passes by Liverpool Street, as every time I cracked a grin at something one of my companions had said, I was frowned upon by others, as if I'd just set a flag of Stalin alight whilst in the Gulag. I'm not going to pretend to be interested in these people's projects, bands, dogs, whatever. It's just that when someone whose studio flat in Dalston is quite clearly trust funded by Momma and Papa has got the gall to turn his or hers nose up at me, it's galling that's all. Oh well. Rant over. Back to the music, man.

Not knowing the names of the new songs forces me to review the gig as an overall performance. Only playing two songs from their previous album, Strange House, they instead focused on new tracks. When they did play Count In Fives, it not only contained an immediacy that was sadly missing from many of the new songs, but also jarred quite awkwardly with the rest of the setlist, as did Sheena Is A Parasite. All that said, I did thoroughly enjoy the new material, though I think the name of the band is now no longer particularly appropriate, both in terms of stage presence (all members of the band, even to some extent, Faris, stood stock still as if it was an Oasis gig) as well sonically. The soundscapes being formed are much more complex than they ever were on Strange House, and the subtlety with which particular passages of music are executed can't help but be admired. A lot of the songs brought to mind some of Joy Division's more escapist and ambient work, something which I thought was showcased in set closer and new single, Sea Within A Sea.

On the train home, I queued up Public Enemy on my iPod. As Chuck D ranted and raved about the government, I thought of the contrast between them and The Horrors. Here is a seminal band, one which struck a chord with a generation, and whose witticisms, lyrical ability and production still sound fresh today. I would argue that The Horrors don't have this same aura...yet. For anyone reading this and shouting "How can you compare Flavor Flav to art rock from London". Well, you can. Besides the two genres of music being worlds apart, the impact each band has on a listener can quite clearly be measured. As they're only a mere two albums in, we'll forgive Faris & Co. They're not quite there yet, but I have the feeling that they're beginning to come into their own, and possibly develop a sound which is more unique and can be attributed directly to them.

Jolly good show.

Knock Knock? Who's there? It's the King of Pop

So there you have it. Either you could say I was deceived by a huge marketing exercise (probably). Or that I've managed to get a piece of pop history (possibly). Either way, I've snapped up a load of tickets to see Michael Jackson at the O2 this September, in what is billed to be his final set of concerts ever. That is, until he announces more dates in other countries and plays the same trick all over again.

I've already been criticised by a couple of naysayers at buying a set of tickets to see an aged pop star with a distinctly bizarre past, at around 80 quid a pop. It's a dilemma faced by anyone who's thought of buying tickets who doesn't belong to Jackson's ridiculously faithful core fan base. Lurking in the back of our minds is the thought that essentially, we're paying a lot of money to see a man who's last brief live appearance was pitiful, and who appears more frail by the day. It's a testament perhaps to the legacy of performance that he's left behind him that he can sell out 50 dates at a 20,000 seat stadium in a matter of days. Despite all the accusations levelled against him, the tabloid tales of bizarre rituals and oxygen chambers, Jackson still commands the sort of loyal fan base that many big-stage artists dream of.

When people say he's overrated, I simply cannot comprehend what they mean. Yes, it seems he is almost universally loved. But why? Because he's made what is arguably the best album of all time in Thriller. He has an incredible dance style, meaning that moves like the Moonwalk have etched themselves into popular culture, a public consciousness if you will. Finally, I feel he's the essence of a true performer. It's not everyone who leaves their gigs by strapping themselves into a rocket and blasting off on a jet pack. I don't want to sit here and analyse Jackson's personality, because to do so would detract from the point I'm trying to make. He is (and there's no other way of putting it) fucked up, but isn't the fact that he's had a storm of controversies marr his private life for years on end, and yet still remain popular a testament to his staying power as a legend of popular music.

So, if you've got a ticket to see Wacko Jacko, lucky lucky you. It's almost irrelevant if he turns out to be awful. How many other people of my generation can turn around and say they've seen him in concert? Not many, I'd wager. That alone is worth the ticket price, and until you can dance like him, shut up and stop criticising.

Jackson: Post rhinoplasty, pre "vitiligo"

Golden Age?

Slumdog Millionaire has swept away all competition at this years Academy Awards. As predicted, the British film was joined by Kate Winslet winning the best actress award for her role in “The Reader”.

Accusations that the Danny Boyle directed film glamourised poverty did not stop it from winning eight Oscars, the best by a UK contender since The English Patient won nine in 1997, including the coveted Best Picture and Best Director awards.

Critics have been lauding the results as the culmination of a phenomenal year for British film, but is this year’s success really so out of the ordinary? British talent has always been strong in terms of behind the scenes work, as the winner of this year’s Best Costume Design, The Duchess, confirms. Make up artist Sue Plume, whose credits include Lord of the Rings and The Matrix trilogies, concurs. “What we are seeing is not a freak occurrence. British film has always been consistent, it’s just that this time we got the timing right” Asked whether she thought British film is perhaps overlooked in favour of the more glamourous American industry, she responded; “Certainly. British craft and design is second to none in the industry, but our films are often more subtle and wry than our American counterparts” (She goes on to cite Shane Meadows’ Somers Town, a film that many critics believe deserved a nomination)

Aside from all the glitz and posturing of the Academy Awards, British Film has been gaining momentum for some time. The Film Council, BBC Films and Film4 have all been instrumental in setting up funding, particularly for independent films. Tessa Ross, who is at the head of Film4, stressed the need to keep growing and progressing so that British film never falls into a slump. In 2008 alone British films included productions as diverse as Adulthood, The Chronicles of Narnia and Quantum of Solace, spanning the drama, fantasy and spy genres respectively.

From a financial point of view, the pound’s loss of strength against the US Dollar means that currently, British films are very attractive to American studios, an example being Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last in the Harry Potter franchise, funded by Warner Bros.

Critically, the films produced over the last decade have been a consistent success. Which makes the talk of a “golden age” in British film deceiving. British films normally eschew the sentimentality and mainstream techniques that are employed in Hollywood productions. Whilst this produces good reviews, it does not necessarily motivate the British public. Faced with an evening where they want to be entertained, they will still go and see an American blockbuster. The challenge for forthcoming British films is to retain integrity whilst simultaneously motivating the film-going public, which is why Slumdog Millionaire has been such a hit.

So, what lies ahead for British film? Despite the assistance provided by the aforementioned bodies (Film4 etc), independent films will find it difficult in the current financial climate, with many projects failing to get off the ground. With banks now reluctant to give out loans, funding is very difficult to come by without the backing of a major studio.

That said, upcoming British films are already showing signs of promise. The Young Victoria, starring Emily Blunt (Devil Wears Prada) looks like it will be in the vein of the classic British costume drama, one which our film industry tend to produce so well, and something that our American cousins have yet to get to grips with. Also approaching is Bronson, the biopic of the murderer Charles Bronson that has already sparked controversy about its shocking subject matter. The Damned United is based on the book of the same name, depicting Brian Clough’s tenure as manager of Leeds United. Michael Sheen, fresh from his portrayal of David Frost in Froxt/Nixon, plays the title role, and looks to once again prove that he is an impersonator extraordinaire.

The upshot is that British film will continue to enjoy success as long as the likes of Winslet, Day-Lewis and Craig put in credible performances in front of the camera, and Boyle, Meadows et al produce similarly excellent performances behind it. Whilst funding may be hard to come by, in times of economic hardship, box office takings rocket, which can only be a good thing.

Roaming sloanes

First, an apology. My camera to computer cable thing has gone walkabout, so all the brilliant photos that would otherwise be accompanying this post are sadly absent. Hopefully I'll find it by the end of this year and then I'll put them up.

Right.

I fancied a stroll in West London, so I set off for Sloane Square and more specifically King's Road. It's a part of the world which depending on the current state of affairs in my life polarises my temperament for better or for worse. On one hand the sight of all this luxury and affluence makes me want to think, "the world is in a cracking state of affairs", but on the other, "why can't I have some of that?”

Anyway, I digress. A lot has been said of the diffusion of King's Road into "just another high street". I agree with the view that it's definitely become a lot less diverse and with chain shops popping up all over the place, a lot less independent. You wouldn't find a new version of Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood plying their trade here these days.

All of that said, there are still some brilliant boutiques to be found, if you're prepared to walk a bit. Much has been made of the Oxfam on Shawfield Street (off King's Road, to the left) for it's designer togs at knockdown prices. Now, I don't know if I visited the shop when it had got a poor delivery, but in my opinion it was well, a bit dull. The best buy I could find was a Paul Smith shirt (£30) on the solitary, sad looking "Men's Fashion" rail. If you really want to find some bargains, head instead to the British Red Cross shop on Old Church Street (by Cineworld, on the left). Here I found shirts by Thomas Pink, Boss, Aquascutum coats and even a pair of Church's brogues (which, to my annoyance, were two sizes too small).

If you've got a bit more money burning a hole in your pocket, I suggest heading to the shop at Terence Conran's Bluebird. It's a boutique and clothes shop in the vein of the small Paul Smith outlets, not only stocking some cracking clothes but also books, cakes and quirky toys. I found a good selection of knits, shirts and formalwear by VW, APC, and excluding Dover Street Market, the most well stocked collection of Comme Des Garcons that I've seen in London. Even if you don't intend to buy anything, I suggest you visit here because it's just beautiful to look at.

Shop's aside, if you're interested in architecture, King's Road and the surrounding area is a joy for one's eyes. If you take the time to walk up and down the little squares that are tucked away either side of the main road, you'll find some striking architecture, none more so than on Glebe Place. Standing tall amongst a row of standard West London houses (steps down the front, whitewashed, accessible basement, etc) is a house which looks like it should be in one of Tolkein's books. I took several photos of it, and my words can't really do it justice, but if you've got the time, go and take a look at it for yourselves, because it certainly impressed me.

After all this walking (and to appreciate King's Road properly, you'll have to do a lot of it) you'll no doubt be hungry as I was, and again it has plenty to offer. So far, I'm aware I've been painting a picture of King's Road as a haven of creativity, independence and wonderful escapism. It's not like that, there are indeed McDonald's, Starbucks, HMV, etc looming large over the landscape, but that isn't to say there isn't plenty of other things either. There's no point coming here if all you're going to do is sit in McDonald's as your gut slowly expands and then panic on the toilet as several pounds of fries, Big Mac and McFlurry all violently exit your body. You can do that anywhere. So don't waste the money of travelling here if you intend to shop at one of the chains, because you're missing the point.
Back to eating.

There are plenty of eateries along King's Road, of varying price and quality. The two which I've picked are my favourites because they combine what every poor traveller craves, cheap and good quality. If you want a good filling meal, head to the Stockpot (next to Designer's Guild and near Cineworld). I've known the owners of this place for years, and they've never upped the prices, nor changed the quality of the food. For a tenner you could get yourself a couple of beers, a main course (spaghetti vongole is perfect) and a decent pudding, similar to one you'd get in a pub (cake and custard etc).

Number two would be the kebab shop, Ranoush Juice. This is a kebab shop which started on Edgware road, and which I've been fond of ever since. When I say kebab shop, it’s not your standard greasy piece of dog meat from down the road. For £6.50 I got a lamb kebab and a beer, and it kept me full well until I got home that evening. It's a very local atmosphere so expect lots of Lebanese folk to come in barking in their native tongue.

Finally, for general "organised entertainment" there are a few noteworthy things on offer. First, the Royal Court Theatre, right by Sloane Square tube station. Second, the Saatchi Gallery, possibly my favourite art gallery in London. Saatchi allows free reign to the visitor, allowing unlimited amounts of photos to be taken, and entry is entirely gratuit. There are two cinemas on King's Road, the Cineworld that I've already mentioned, but I'd recommend the Chelsea Cinema, situated about halfway down. It's got a very distinctive front, and although it only shows one film per day, if you plan ahead you can see a film that you want, as well as basking in the more attractive surroundings that independent cinemas bring (it's part of the Curzon group of cinemas).

So concludes my account of King's Road. There's a lot I've left out, partially because of quality control reasons, but partially because I'd rather people go and discover the rest for themselves.
If anyone tries to copy this and forward it to the Lonely Planet, don't because I've already sent it to them. Expect to find this in the London Guide at all good bookstores near you.

Shape of things to come

Someone actually commented on my blog.

This is a breakthrough on two levels, never mind the fact that both comments were critical.


1. Someone has actually read the blog; this is news to me.

2. It means that the fact that two people stumbled across my blog (probably by accident) means that now I've got a captive audience; that is, a host of lost internet ramblers who somehow find my blog between checking facebook and viewing highly erotic french lithographs.


This particularly blog is another segue between my last one and what I intend to post in the future. It's London Fashion Week, and as always, I'll be off with my godmother next week to go and take in the sights, the sounds, the eating disorders and write a cracking review in the process.

Secondly, I trekked up and down the King's Road in order to document the first of my London Underground guides, Sloane Square. I picked this station as I haven't been there in a while, but it's where my parents used to take me a lot when I was but a small child.

Lastly, I've been pondering objectivity and subjectivity. So much of the media is obsessed with objectivity it sickens me. A blog I follow opened a post with "We journalists make it a point to know very little about an extremely wide variety of topics; this is how we stay objective." Now I'm not sure if this reflects her particular view, but it got me thinking anyhow. Hunter S Thompson once remarked that "Objective journalism is one of the main reasons American politics has been allowed to be so corrupt for so long. You can't be objective about Nixon." He's got a point. When things like civil liberties are concerned, why shouldn't we be able to inject our writing with vitriol to go against the grain? Reporting a story objectively, simply laying out the facts, does little to uncover any political agenda between the lines.


I've yet to decide if I'm actually any good at writing. If you're reading this, do please tell me if you'd rather wipe your arse with a cactus than pore through the text displayed on your humming monitor. I don't mind if you disagree with what I'm writing, it's just if it turns out I've got the literary ability of Jade Goody (ooh, topical and risqué...) then I'd rather quit while I'm ahead and get stuck into another doomed profession like banking.

Bum, arse and widdle

I got dragged along to the Forum a few nights by a friend to see Late of the Pier play. Never mind that their music is just Gary Numan furiously masturbating into a synth, it was filled with pretty much the type of person I can't bear to be around.



Live music and music in general is in a bit of a pickle. Many people are saying that we've never had it so good, but is that really true? I mean, there's no doubt that due to myspace and the like, we've been exposed to a lot of bands who are thoroughly productive and creative. However, I can't see any of these bands standing the test of time. Will anyone really be listening to Late of the Pier in 20 years time? It's doubtful that anyone in 2028 is going to listen to a pastiche of what the 80's were like, rather than just going for the real thing. Musicians face a problem today that almost every angle has been covered in music, making it very difficult not to sound like you're imitating sounds of the past.



The downside of the online music phenomenon is that you inevitably have a lot of shit sifted through independent labels. Witness for example, Patrick Wolf. Saviour to the hormonal 14 year old girl he may be, but to everyone else he's just a Bowie imitator for the Boombox generation. No matter how much he drowns himself in glitter and feathers, he can't help looking, well, just a bit old hat. When shock dressing and glam was first born, the point of it was that no one had ever done it before. Having said that, I do miss the days of music when rockstars looked like, well, rockstars. If you take a look back at the likes of Led Zeppelin, The Rolling Stones, Ian Dury, Guns N Roses, David Bowie, Roxy Music, these people actually looked like they came from a higher power. The ethereal quality they had was part of what made them so interesting to watch. Now you just get Late of the Pier prancing around in skinny jeans with no shirts on, and we're expected to like them? Members of a band are supposed to be removed from the public, sartorially interesting and just a little bit crazy.



I'm pogo-ing back and forth between both sides of the argument here. I've always been hesitant to take on things like downloading music, so perhaps I'm just a grumpy old man. Disposability is the byword of our generation, be it regarding clothes, media or music. I'm sure I can't be the only one who's hoping for a bit more than the endless stream of bands that seem to record one good album and then disappear into the wilderness, soon to be found gigging at the Dog and Duck, propped up by their morning shifts at Tesco.



Late of the Pier: Slathering themselves in paint and hoping to sell records











Ian Dury: Sold records without the use of paint.

We love Valentine's!

I decided to originally write a scathing attack on the whole Valentines Day shebang, having spent the last 3 years very alone on February 14th. I then realised that this is what everyone else in the known universe is writing about, so instead I'm just doing a small post on what I got up to the other day.

I cycled into Greenwich, with the intent of buying a book, perhaps having a coffee and then wandering around Greenwich Market. I had almost forgotten that it was Valentines Day, only to be reminded when everyone on the street seemed to come as a pair.

It's the curse of Valentine's Day that everyone who is part of a couple is tainted by assumptions that they're getting lovey-dovey all day. There I was standing in the off licence cum grocery, when lo and behold; a couple came in to buy some groceries. How dare they, I thought. Look at them, smugly holding hands whilst they check out the frozen food isle. As they mulled over whether to buy minestrone or oxtail soup I had to leave the shop otherwise the phrase GBH would soon be marching with ill-deserved confidence in the direction of this situation. It's only because they happened to go shopping on Valentine's Day that this happened, mind. Any other day of the year, perfectly acceptable. Today however, pity the poor sod who trots out of his front door to pick up a few essentials with his missus, because he's going to have daggers looked at him from every footloose person within a 2 mile radius.

Off licence incident aside, I actually had a pretty pleasant afternoon. For once I'd actually put on enough layers so that my testicles wouldn't retreat into my abdomen, and I was enjoying aimlessly strolling, sipping my coffee.
However, as I went to unchain my bike, the piece de resistance hove into view, and shattered my brief fantasy that "Hey, Valentine's Day isn't that bad after all". It's one thing being one of the only single men on the high street. It's another thing entirely when people who look like they've swallowed walrus DNA stride into view, with a slightly smug look at you as if to say "Yes! I know I have the personality of a pine-cone, but tonight I'll be getting some hot carnal action, unlike you!” That's a real kick in the teeth, that is.

So I got on my bike and pedalled away, safe in the knowledge that there was a giant tub of Cookie Dough ice cream waiting for me when I got home.

This isn't a proper blog entry

Rather, its a summary of what's to come.
Readers of my blog (that is, the one person who follows it,and the countless people who do a typo and end up here instead), I am over the next few months going to be focusing my attention on documenting London, specificially it's tube stations. I feel that tourists too often go to the obvious sights and sounds of London, and this to me isn't what London is about.
I'm convinced that behind every tube station, no matter how obscure or far flung from the square mile, has some little gem of culture, be it a pub with character, a quiet park, or a kitsch boutique.
So over the next few months I'm going to attempt the gargantuan task of visiting every single tube stop and telling you what I find there. Who knows, I might get bored half way through.

Ga-ga for GaGa

So it seems that in the midst of all this financial crisis, all we need to do is "Just Dance". I am of course referring to Miss Joanne Stefani Germanotta, a.k.a. Lady GaGa, whose aforementioned single has reached number one in four countries.

Having initially discovered GaGa (I'm sorry, but its a rubbish pseudonym, why couldn't she have gone for something more serious like, I don't know, Morrissey) back in early 2008, she was promoted as a sort of hipster version of Madonna. There are two things that are wrong with this.

1. Madonna isn't something to be deemed uncool, she's bloody brilliant and anyone who says otherwise I'd love to see prancing around in their underpants at 50.
2. Its a bit unfair on Lady GaGa herself. A bit like saying that Russell Brand is the new Oscar Wilde.

The point is, everything would be a whole lot simpler if we just accepted GaGa for who she is, that is, brilliantly perfect throwaway pop. I'm not sure when it became a sin to hate pop music. Looking back, I can't see much wrong with the likes of Joy Division and Ian Dury populating earlier chart placings, when did it become so uncool to get to the number one spot? Looking around in popular music today, the "guilty pleasures" like Rihanna, Madonna et al seem a much better proposition than say, Scouting for Girls, whose songs are akin to have someone crap in your ears and then grin childishly.






















Lady GaGa in full on Donatella Versace mode

I'm not entirely sure what my point is here. Maybe it's that because being commercially successful has become so uncool, an entirely new sub-genre of pop has been created. Namely, pop-that-is-intent-on-selling-a-shitload-of-records-but-will-claim-to-be-alternative-anyway type pop. Its because of this new leap of mediocrity that something like The Kooks exist. Alarm bells should've been ringing in the record-buying public's ears when the lead tosser (sorry, singer) said he'd previously dated Katie Melua. This is a woman so bland that she probably regards the Boden '09 Winter catalogue as daring, and buying a child travelcard as living on the edge. And yet they've sold millions of records.

Anyway enough of this, I'm off to listen to an exclusive collection of Small Faces B Sides, only available on limited edition vinyl, ta ra.