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Despite being quite depleted in numbers I’m pleased to announce that the Village Prostite Who Threw Herself in the Pond has won the Cornerhouse Quiz.
This is no small feat. The Halloween inspired prize is the director’s cut of The Wicker Man and eight bottles of beer. Boo-hoo to Ann Widecombe!
This posted via mobile via Flickr and so not so closely proofread. Click the pic to see it large (there’s an ‘all-sizes’ tab for really large).
I’m disappointed to see the Arctic Monkeys knocked off the number 1 spot by a Westlife song I’ve probably heard in the gym, but failed to realise was new. But not everyone shares my admiration of the boys – all but one of whom is just 19 – with Assistant’s Jonathan being uncharacteristically snide in his assessment, while Spinneyhead’s delighted to be down with the kids.
Re-rewind a week to a Top of the Pops that seemed almost surprised to be ending on the Arctic Monkeys polished, but amateurish video. That same edition featured McFly, rather desperately trying to rock out and producing a very poor Who impression. Later in the week McFly were again reaching out for credibility with a session on Jo Whiley’s show (how does Jo Whiley get away with it?). One of them confessed that he only had a small willy; you could actually hear that in their horrific version of Kaiser Chiefs’ I Predict a Riot.
Anyway. I’m not going to pretend the Arctic Monkeys are the saviours of rock & roll. But I do think they’re a more than welcome addition to the scene. I Bet That You Look Good on the Dancefloor, is a good fun rocking little pop song to be proud of.
Ripped stonewash jeans looked awfull twenty years ago, but I should own up to once sporting the A-ha look.
These were spotted at Texaco, Chorlton Park paired with a trendy-but-nice Bench top. Why oh why oh why?
This posted via mobile via Flickr and so not so closely proofread. Click the pic to see it large (there’s an ‘all-sizes’ tab for really large).
With 2006 less than nine weeks away and Christmas less than eight, it’s time to think of the odd stocking filler and what better than that old favourite, the pin-up calendar, annual or, failing that, a more practical diary for someone who has yet to go electronic.
The thing with pin-up calendars is that they don’t really reflect the year they’re for at all. I mean a 2006 calendar is really a reflection of what’s cool and hip at the end of 2005. So what is cool and hip right now? Number one in the hit parade is the Official Hollyoaks Babes Pin Up Calendar; Kelly Brook’s sitting pretty at number two and the ITV Soap Babes are at number three. In fact there’s very little for the ladies (I’m discounting the Official ITV Soap Hunks Pin Up Calendar at number four as it does look so very, very gay). So can it be that girls aren’t into this sort of thing…? Boyfriend of the Month’s failed to chart.
Yet while the calendars are fairly contemporary in their tastes (Butlers in the Buff anyone?) annuals are decidedly old fashioned. The Beano Annual is still number one and Blue Peter Annuals continue to sell well. What does it all mean?
Broken Flowers is a highly enjoyable comedy, but is itself broken thanks to having Bill Murray play to much to the bewildered middle aged man he’s making his own. And it’s near impossible to imagine that that middle aged man was once a dynamic womaniser and dotcom millionaire.
A popcorn munching 6 out of 10.
Director: Jim Jarmusch……Starring: Bill Murray…… Julie Delpy…… Tilda Swinton……Sharon Stone
King’s Game (Kongekabale)……Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride
It’s been dead quite around here regarding fireworks, so whatever legislation the government brought in regarding their sale’s clearly working. In previous years it’s been like WWII. I’m confident of this assertion as Katharine and I were once stopped in the street by an old dear (totally out of the blue) at about this time of year who said: ‘They don’t think about us old ones. I keep thinking the war’s started again…’
But I have to report that about ten minutes ago – around 2.35pm – I got caught out by trick-or-treaters. Little Bast***s. There were three of them so I gave them three 20p coins to share. I’ve no idea whether to feel mean or not, but I shan’t be answering the door again this weekend. This reminds me that earlier in the week we were watching North West Tonight, who’d gone to Pendle, home of witches for a seasonal feature. They went into an old folks home and the old dears fondly reminisced about their naughty childhoods. They talked of a local custom whereby they ‘mummed’ elderly ladies. This involved a gang of kids entering an old dear’s home, by force if necessary. They would then dance around the fire chanting ‘mummmmm… mummmmmm… mummmmmm’. They’d refuse to leave until the elderly lady gave them something.
‘What about kids today,’ asked the reporter. ‘Should they do what you did?’
The old dears’ expressions changed. ‘No,’ they said firmly. ‘It’s not right for kids today… things are different now.’ Miserable old witches.
The Village Prostitute Who Threw Herself into the Pond (pictured right, it’s a Japanese film reference) is the (sorry to say) not-so-proud owner of a pair of tickets to see Stomp at Blackpool’s wonderful Grand Theatre. We won these by coming about (can’t quite remember) ninth at Cornerhouse’s twentieth anniversary quiz. We’re pictured on a happier day, when we won an ordinary quiz night back in August.
Anyway. These stalls tickets – specifically seats H23 & H25 (odd numbered seats are on the left as you face the stage) – are for Tuesday 8 November 2005. The show starts at 7.30pm. If you’d like to go, you’ll have to bid for them on eBay. Proceeds will enable the Village Prostitute Who Threw Herself into the Pond to have a proper Christmas do.
A little while ago I argued against the ban on smoking in pubs, though I’ve never smoked. Those who fear the risks of passive smoking can choose a no-smoking pub, I argued, while smokers should be hit by a new tax – a form of compulsory health insurance – that would factor costs to the taxpayer into the cigarette market.
Yet while the government’s chosen not to work with market forces on smoking, it is attempting to introduce competition to the education system. Bloggers4Labour notes that this idea has little support and takes a swipe at Labour purists of privileged educational background, who came to prominence in the 1940s and ’50s; boring! Jonathan Shipley’s assembled several anti-arguments, but they all seem to take their time getting to the point. I think they’re trying to say:
‘The choice isn’t straightforward and it requires more thought than some parents are willing or able to put in. Many kids will be failed by their parents and consequently failed by their school.’
Against that, government reckons enough parents must have the nous to avoid bad schools, render them unviable and force closure or take over by a successful neighbour. Provided failing parents form a small enough minority, bad schools will eventually die. In practice the buildings will remain and be occupied with something better. It’s hard to see how that process could otherwise be accelerated.
So I’m wavering. Living in London, I went to a school where the teachers went around in pairs. My chemistry teacher was mugged in a school corridor and many kids’ parents were feared. Yet my parents – blissfully unaware – had been given a choice and had thought long and hard about it. (As a kid, you think all schools are that way and say nothing.) Here all the parents had failed their children. When I was fifteen we moved to Wales, the nearest town had two schools and I was allocated to the worst. It was a revelation: you had to be very lazy or genuinely troubled not to make it to university. But given the choice, the parents would have abandoned that successful school, whose neighbour was believed to be just a tiny bit better.
I recently gave Scoopt a plug on my PR blog, but I’m afraid my hopes of getting rich quick as an amateur paparazzi may remain just dreams. The first photo sale went to the Bristol Evening Post for what Scoopt describe as a ‘two-figure’ sum. Nevermind. But I still reckon it could work out. Over on the other place I wrote of Scoopt:
‘Picture the scene. You’re walking around Manchester on a Friday night and come across a drunken Coronation Street star collapsed on the street. Nothing particularly unusual there.’
Well blow me! On Saturday night Katharine and I were walking to the car park from The Price at the Library Theatre via the The Printworks. Upon exiting said flesh pit (plenty of Girls Aloud Barbie dolls) a very flash, sporty and expensive looking Mercedes (maybe this) was dumped half on the pavement and half on the double-yellow lines. Out popped a guy with a flash suit and a Neanderthal walk with a well groomed and snooty woman. They were heading for said flesh pit. If I’d had my wits about me (and I knew who he was) I’d have snapped them for one of those footballer ignores parking law stories the Manchester Evening News loves to run.
One of the best things about blogging as a medium is the immediacy it offers the writer, who can delve into their website statistics and see how many people are reading, where they come from, how they find you et cetera. Even better, some people who subscribe with services like Bloglines have public profiles and that means you can check out the other blogs they like.
But here’s a tip. If you’re going to have a public profile on Bloglines (and especially if you’re the kind of consultant whose clients may take a look) it’s probably best not to list your favourite porn sites alongside all the worthy stuff. You know who you are… and now I know you a little better than I wanted to.
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