I've been practising this song to play on Monday in Nottingham- then I realised that by then it will be February. Rather melancholy- but then January's the most melancholy of months, isn't it?
http://helenmccookerybook.bandcamp.com/track/january-in-paris
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Friday, January 30, 2015
An Afternoon at Our Radio
It was cold, windy, sleety and miserable. I struggled along Old Street after work with my guitar after work. Why? Katy Carr, my talented songwriter friend who has been spending a lot of time in Poland lately, asked me along to the debut day of Our Radio, a radio station set up by Johny Brown (of The Band of Holy Joy) for the people he works with at Mencap.
They operate out of a basement not far from Old Street station, and by the time we got there they had been broadcasting for four hours already. It was hot, stuffy, but there was an amazing atmosphere. Everyone was busy; there was an octagonal table sprouting a garden of microphones in the middle, around which sat our three hosts, Joseph, Christian and Ritchie.
Ritchie told us about the rap he's written and the performances that he has done and Joseph told us about his love of film music. We had a quick sing of Be Bop-a-lula, we prepared some questions, and then we were ready to roll.
The guys asked Katy and myself how long we'd been writing songs for, where our ideas came from and how we learned to play. We asked them about the music they liked (and at the end I was delighted to hear that Christian had felt inspired to try to write songs himself after our show). Our hosts were relaxed, honest and funny and Johny stood in the background to offer encouragement. I sang my song London and Katy did a beautiful version of her a cappella song Ramble My Rose.
I can't imagine a better way to spend a January afternoon: there was such a warm-hearted atmosphere and at the very end, someone excitedly came downstairs to say that Gloria Gaynor had tweeted the show after discovering that they'd played I Will Survive.
This show is such a fabulous idea, I wish them all the luck in the world. It was also extremely nice to catch up with my two long time friends. Life takes us on all sorts of journeys to all sorts of places and through all sorts of experiences. It's fascinating to have the opportunity to catch up, and both Katy and Johny will be making appearances at Club Artyfartle this year. Oh yes they will!
Our radio have broadcast individual shows on Resonance fm before, see http://resonancefm.com/archives/22046
They operate out of a basement not far from Old Street station, and by the time we got there they had been broadcasting for four hours already. It was hot, stuffy, but there was an amazing atmosphere. Everyone was busy; there was an octagonal table sprouting a garden of microphones in the middle, around which sat our three hosts, Joseph, Christian and Ritchie.
Ritchie told us about the rap he's written and the performances that he has done and Joseph told us about his love of film music. We had a quick sing of Be Bop-a-lula, we prepared some questions, and then we were ready to roll.
The guys asked Katy and myself how long we'd been writing songs for, where our ideas came from and how we learned to play. We asked them about the music they liked (and at the end I was delighted to hear that Christian had felt inspired to try to write songs himself after our show). Our hosts were relaxed, honest and funny and Johny stood in the background to offer encouragement. I sang my song London and Katy did a beautiful version of her a cappella song Ramble My Rose.
I can't imagine a better way to spend a January afternoon: there was such a warm-hearted atmosphere and at the very end, someone excitedly came downstairs to say that Gloria Gaynor had tweeted the show after discovering that they'd played I Will Survive.
This show is such a fabulous idea, I wish them all the luck in the world. It was also extremely nice to catch up with my two long time friends. Life takes us on all sorts of journeys to all sorts of places and through all sorts of experiences. It's fascinating to have the opportunity to catch up, and both Katy and Johny will be making appearances at Club Artyfartle this year. Oh yes they will!
Our radio have broadcast individual shows on Resonance fm before, see http://resonancefm.com/archives/22046
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
Spiders and Flies
Yesterday a bluebottle was bumbling around in the kitchen. It must have been asleep for the winter, and something woke it up. It followed the light round the house and was being a nuisance. Martin phoned and suggested that I should lure it into the Offsprogs' room for the night by switching all the lights off and leaving a light on there. It worked, and I closed the door. This morning, I opened the door and it flew downstairs. I think it's gone back to sleep again.
Then, rather weirdly, when Dr No and myself were approaching the barrier at South Kensington tube to come home, she almost walked into a gigantic spider that was swinging on a ten foot long line of web from the high ceiling of the station. I pulled her out of the way just as she was about to walk into it, and although she said she didn't mind spiders I still felt that she'd had a remarkable escape. It really was enormous, and very wiggly indeed.
Then, rather weirdly, when Dr No and myself were approaching the barrier at South Kensington tube to come home, she almost walked into a gigantic spider that was swinging on a ten foot long line of web from the high ceiling of the station. I pulled her out of the way just as she was about to walk into it, and although she said she didn't mind spiders I still felt that she'd had a remarkable escape. It really was enormous, and very wiggly indeed.
Museums
So January has been visiting museums month. On Friday, I went with Claire to the Foundling Hospital Museum in Bloomsbury, a touchingly sad museum based in the old Foundling Hospital that was set up in Georgian times by Thomas Coram as an institution where mothers could bring infants born out of wedlock that they could not afford to support. There were books with details of each child written in exquisite copperplate handwriting, and their new name. Each mother left a tiny token (see below) which was wrapped in paper and used to identify the child should a relative come forward to claim them in future. There were uniforms from as late as 1940, which I found shocking. The children were raised to go into service, either domestic (girls) or the army (boys). William Hogarth set up an art gallery there to help to raise money. Upstairs there were walls painted with bible stories, one of Moses being rescued from the bullrushes.
As I looked at the carefully-listed names of little babies, I thought of how much their tiny lives were valued. What a species we are: assigning such value to human life in one era, and in other eras gassing whole warehouses full of children and women (and men), and burying them in pits; mass murder has happened in Germany, Rwanda, and the Balkan States. Who cares about space travel to Mars? Don't we need to sort out life on Earth first?
Later, we went to hear Viv Albertine being interviewed by Fred Deakin at Central St Martins. The building is enormous; the students look tiny. There's a strange atmosphere of something about to happen, but not yet. The microphones malfunctioned for a while, making Fred sound like a rapper and Viv sound quiet as a mouse. When all had settled down, it was interesting to listen to Viv formulating new thoughts as she spoke. To promote a book, yes, you must repeat yourself, but Viv still listens to what she says as she's saying it and develops everything in a very interesting way; she also deals with sycophancy in a very neat and tidy manner. Tiredness took us home before the Q and A, but it was a Good Day.
Yesterday, I met Dr No and we went to the permanent exhibition of Russian Theatre Art at the Victoria and Albert Museum. As well as work by Rodchenko and Popova, there was lots of other work to see. It was interesting how popular G.K. Chesterton was in Russia in the 1930s. The colours of the costume designs were rich; rulers, protractors and set squares had been used and we wondered whether the designers were having to justify their designs to committees of engineers, perhaps. I particularly liked Mr Monday, dressed in his business suit and with a sneery expression. Some of the people had enormous bodies and afterthought heads, with strange large flat feet. The music playing quietly in the background was lovely and I noted it all down: the Bolshoi Choir featured heavily.
There is so much to see and do in London. January-avoidance has never felt so good! Today, I stuck my nose back to the grindstone. I'm applying for a sabbatical to do some writing- lots, actually, but only specifying one thing on the application. It's going to take a few more hours to get it right but I hope Im successful this time around.
As I looked at the carefully-listed names of little babies, I thought of how much their tiny lives were valued. What a species we are: assigning such value to human life in one era, and in other eras gassing whole warehouses full of children and women (and men), and burying them in pits; mass murder has happened in Germany, Rwanda, and the Balkan States. Who cares about space travel to Mars? Don't we need to sort out life on Earth first?
Later, we went to hear Viv Albertine being interviewed by Fred Deakin at Central St Martins. The building is enormous; the students look tiny. There's a strange atmosphere of something about to happen, but not yet. The microphones malfunctioned for a while, making Fred sound like a rapper and Viv sound quiet as a mouse. When all had settled down, it was interesting to listen to Viv formulating new thoughts as she spoke. To promote a book, yes, you must repeat yourself, but Viv still listens to what she says as she's saying it and develops everything in a very interesting way; she also deals with sycophancy in a very neat and tidy manner. Tiredness took us home before the Q and A, but it was a Good Day.
There is so much to see and do in London. January-avoidance has never felt so good! Today, I stuck my nose back to the grindstone. I'm applying for a sabbatical to do some writing- lots, actually, but only specifying one thing on the application. It's going to take a few more hours to get it right but I hope Im successful this time around.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Bonkers Saatchi
The guy who was photographed with his hands around his wife's neck in public has written an article in tonight's London Evening Standard expressing utter amazement at the sexism and misogyny of 1960s US advertisements and criticising them for their portrayal of women.
Well I never!
Well I never!
Theatre Royal Nottingham Next Monday
After work I shall be hopping on a train and heading north to Nottingham Theatre Royal for this lovely gig. It will be a full set which I'm rehearsing furiously (or happily, but you know what I mean). I hope you can come along if you live in the area!
http://www.trch.co.uk/index.aspx?articleid=27248
http://www.trch.co.uk/index.aspx?articleid=27248
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Finished Poster for First Artyfartle
Saturday, January 24, 2015
Watching Come Dine With Me
Oh bliss! It's the one with successful Ayr businessman Forbes who serves his guests pigs' trotters at 30 pence a pop and sets the rhubarb crumble on fire.
And the English lady who calls him Fraser all the way through and gets a miserable score of five for that: she would have won if she'd been a bit more polite.
I don't know why, but I could watch these things all day, every day.
The ones with the horrible vindictive and competitive people aren't as good as the ones where the people like each other, for some reason.
I got all the ironing done as the episodes followed, one by one.
And those hairs on the pigs' feet....
And the English lady who calls him Fraser all the way through and gets a miserable score of five for that: she would have won if she'd been a bit more polite.
I don't know why, but I could watch these things all day, every day.
The ones with the horrible vindictive and competitive people aren't as good as the ones where the people like each other, for some reason.
I got all the ironing done as the episodes followed, one by one.
And those hairs on the pigs' feet....
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Economy
I have moved my computer to the Offsprogs' room, off the kitchen table which now is beautifully tidy.
There is one minor problem: I don't switch on the radiator in that room unless they are here, in an attempt to keep the bills down, so it's bloody freezing in there. To work, I stuff myself into a few thick cardigans and tap at the keyboards at high speed until I'm done.
This makes me economise on what I do and I've actually been getting up ultra-early to go into work where it is permanently warm, to do all the admin that I used to do at home.
Ultimately, this is probably a good thing; my part-time job has been dribbling into the rest of the week like an ice cream on a hot pavement, and it has now tidied itself into the days that it's supposed to fit into, albeit long ones.
I shall be warming the room up this weekend as I have seven research projects to mark (roughly 7000 words each) and I'm going to be camping out up there for most of the weekend. What a pity I've eaten all the marshmallows!
There is one minor problem: I don't switch on the radiator in that room unless they are here, in an attempt to keep the bills down, so it's bloody freezing in there. To work, I stuff myself into a few thick cardigans and tap at the keyboards at high speed until I'm done.
This makes me economise on what I do and I've actually been getting up ultra-early to go into work where it is permanently warm, to do all the admin that I used to do at home.
Ultimately, this is probably a good thing; my part-time job has been dribbling into the rest of the week like an ice cream on a hot pavement, and it has now tidied itself into the days that it's supposed to fit into, albeit long ones.
I shall be warming the room up this weekend as I have seven research projects to mark (roughly 7000 words each) and I'm going to be camping out up there for most of the weekend. What a pity I've eaten all the marshmallows!
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
Allen Jones at The Royal Academy
Leave half an hour extra: it's not in the main part of the RA. You have to walk round the back via the ever-crystallising Burlington Arcade which has seen off the funkier little shops and is now pure high end with no compromises. The shoe-shine chappie is there still, though.
This outing was an idea proposed by Caroline Coon, who suggested it because of the controversy surrounding Allan's work. Coincidentally, our visit coincided with the slipping of the Page 3 tit-pictures on to the internet, where all is apparently forgiven, and not forgotten. Gina Birch joined us and we had a humdinger conversation about politics around the coffee-table once we had assembled.
The first room in the exhibition featured the 'sexy' women on all fours with perspex tables bolted on to their backs. Caroline noticed the dust on the tables (really, RA, you can to better than that!). Perhaps they needed women in bondage pinnies with feather dusters to keep them clean.
I must mention that to the Piccadilly Jobcentre so they can create a doubly-humiliating zero-hours job for some poor young woman to do.
The sculptures actually looked cheap: not 'cheap', but cheap. Time has not been kind to either the sculptures themselves, nor the ideas behind them.
There was a small room that housed a lot of sketches and 3-D card models that were rather nice. The models were of couples together (later, we saw the full size metal sculptures created from these ideas) and were angular and stylish with quite a 1930s look to them.
The largest room was full of colour: wonderful colour, it has to be said, and some wonderful paintings. Away from the pointed and bent Barbie-feet that infested so many of the works, there was a real joie-de-vivre and joie-de-peindre here. I sat in front of Sun Plane (1963) just staring at it. Snuggled amongst the colours were a couple enjoying a mile-high experience; but aside from this, Jones had conquered the coldness and hardness of technology without making it cuddly. The coloured stripes of the plane blended it into the landscape, but the propellers propelled us out of it.
The bus paintings were great too. How odd to make transport technology so jolly, yet make women look so cold and hard!
In the next room the sculptures, also coloured and very Soho, depicted couples and solo men entwined or looking for sex. There was something of the dumb-waiter about them: again, very much a nod to the thirties but in form not in colour. I liked these, but my companions weren't so keen.
The last room was vile. Jones has become a parody of himself. Here, plasticky women had breasts thrusting upwards to the sky like pigs' heads, their nipples like mini-snouts. Their feet were forced into the shape of pigs' trotters, in a parody of Chinese foot-binding. I'd say the main influence here was Marvel Comics, but without the story.
That's the problem with Allen Jones's work: the story is weak. I love superficial stuff as much as 'deep' stuff (after all, I'm a total pop music fan), but there is no sense of artistic development in the exhibition. It seems as an artist he has worked backwards. The recent work looks dashed-off and the portraits don't even resemble the sitters; in the earlier work there is a wonderful joy in drawing, painting, detail and humour that promised so much more than he has delivered towards the end of his career.
This is, of course, a very opinionated reflection. With my companions we sat in a little Italian restaurant talking about our response. I am so glad we went (thank you for suggesting it, Caroline) because the exhibition allowed us to talk about so many things.
Ultimately cultural traction is the purpose of any exhibition, and despite my gut feelings against so much of Jones's work, this was indeed a very interesting and worthwhile exhibition, despite simultaneously being a disappointing one.
This outing was an idea proposed by Caroline Coon, who suggested it because of the controversy surrounding Allan's work. Coincidentally, our visit coincided with the slipping of the Page 3 tit-pictures on to the internet, where all is apparently forgiven, and not forgotten. Gina Birch joined us and we had a humdinger conversation about politics around the coffee-table once we had assembled.
The first room in the exhibition featured the 'sexy' women on all fours with perspex tables bolted on to their backs. Caroline noticed the dust on the tables (really, RA, you can to better than that!). Perhaps they needed women in bondage pinnies with feather dusters to keep them clean.
I must mention that to the Piccadilly Jobcentre so they can create a doubly-humiliating zero-hours job for some poor young woman to do.
The sculptures actually looked cheap: not 'cheap', but cheap. Time has not been kind to either the sculptures themselves, nor the ideas behind them.
There was a small room that housed a lot of sketches and 3-D card models that were rather nice. The models were of couples together (later, we saw the full size metal sculptures created from these ideas) and were angular and stylish with quite a 1930s look to them.
The largest room was full of colour: wonderful colour, it has to be said, and some wonderful paintings. Away from the pointed and bent Barbie-feet that infested so many of the works, there was a real joie-de-vivre and joie-de-peindre here. I sat in front of Sun Plane (1963) just staring at it. Snuggled amongst the colours were a couple enjoying a mile-high experience; but aside from this, Jones had conquered the coldness and hardness of technology without making it cuddly. The coloured stripes of the plane blended it into the landscape, but the propellers propelled us out of it.
The bus paintings were great too. How odd to make transport technology so jolly, yet make women look so cold and hard!
In the next room the sculptures, also coloured and very Soho, depicted couples and solo men entwined or looking for sex. There was something of the dumb-waiter about them: again, very much a nod to the thirties but in form not in colour. I liked these, but my companions weren't so keen.
The last room was vile. Jones has become a parody of himself. Here, plasticky women had breasts thrusting upwards to the sky like pigs' heads, their nipples like mini-snouts. Their feet were forced into the shape of pigs' trotters, in a parody of Chinese foot-binding. I'd say the main influence here was Marvel Comics, but without the story.
That's the problem with Allen Jones's work: the story is weak. I love superficial stuff as much as 'deep' stuff (after all, I'm a total pop music fan), but there is no sense of artistic development in the exhibition. It seems as an artist he has worked backwards. The recent work looks dashed-off and the portraits don't even resemble the sitters; in the earlier work there is a wonderful joy in drawing, painting, detail and humour that promised so much more than he has delivered towards the end of his career.
This is, of course, a very opinionated reflection. With my companions we sat in a little Italian restaurant talking about our response. I am so glad we went (thank you for suggesting it, Caroline) because the exhibition allowed us to talk about so many things.
Ultimately cultural traction is the purpose of any exhibition, and despite my gut feelings against so much of Jones's work, this was indeed a very interesting and worthwhile exhibition, despite simultaneously being a disappointing one.
Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Monday, January 19, 2015
Marshmallows
After a long day at work, I have eaten three quarters of pack of marshmallows, and now I feel sick. I have also realised that I really, really don't like the pink ones, and they really, really do taste different to the white ones.
Friday, January 16, 2015
Weather Variations: a Nerd Pontificates
I keep lots of locations on my phone and sometimes idly browse through them.
Today, it's cloudy and it's going to rain in Gateshead. It's not too cold.
Newcastle, on the other hand, is bloody freezing and snow showers are happening as we speak.
The two cities are a mere short footbridge away from each other.
Extreme weather, indeed.
FYI, Sheffield and Brighton are both clear. Sheffield and Oslo are both 3 degrees; Brighton is a degree colder, and it's minus one in Inverness.
Here in London it's the warmest out of the lot at 5 degrees above freezing, but it will snow on Sunday.
They don't call me the weather nerd for nothing!
Today, it's cloudy and it's going to rain in Gateshead. It's not too cold.
Newcastle, on the other hand, is bloody freezing and snow showers are happening as we speak.
The two cities are a mere short footbridge away from each other.
Extreme weather, indeed.
FYI, Sheffield and Brighton are both clear. Sheffield and Oslo are both 3 degrees; Brighton is a degree colder, and it's minus one in Inverness.
Here in London it's the warmest out of the lot at 5 degrees above freezing, but it will snow on Sunday.
They don't call me the weather nerd for nothing!
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Music of All Sorts: Footworms and Earworms
Our office at work is next to the largest rehearsal room and we are frequently treated to a variety of different music styles pulsing through the walls and rumbling under our feet. Today's offering featured a toetappin' drum pattern that made the music sound like a cover version of a soundcheck. Musicians will definitely know what I mean.
As a gentle flow back (that's the same as a fight back, only different), follow this link to hear some lovely songs sung in Simlish. We couldn't get the first one out of our heads.
In fact, now I can't again.
Damn!
http://simscommunity.net/2014/08/30/sims-4-3-full-simlish-pop-songs/
As a gentle flow back (that's the same as a fight back, only different), follow this link to hear some lovely songs sung in Simlish. We couldn't get the first one out of our heads.
In fact, now I can't again.
Damn!
http://simscommunity.net/2014/08/30/sims-4-3-full-simlish-pop-songs/
Wednesday, January 14, 2015
Club Artyfartle Launches at The Boogaloo Bar
Here is the ticket link; Martin Stephenson is playing a full set to promote this new night:
http://www.wegottickets.com/event/305483
This event is on at The Boogaloo Bar.
http://www.wegottickets.com/event/305483
This event is on at The Boogaloo Bar.
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Plate
Back when I was in my twenties, my then boyfriend installed a kiln in his room in the squat where we lived. He bought plain white tiles and painted designs like Atora Suet packs and Tampax boxes on them, building up a roaring trade in some of the more chichi shops in Brighton. I made a little porcelain baby whose hand fell off, and also some rattles and things which I think he still has. It used to get very warm in the room when he was firing the kiln, which operated on stolen electricity piped up from the basement where a squatter electrician had a flat. O, the stories I could tell!
Monday, January 12, 2015
Supporting Lesley Woods from the Au Pairs in April, in Brighton
Ticket link here wegottickets.com/event/304893
When I interviewed Lesley (must be 2010 or even earlier) she was talking about becoming a solo artist- I think this will be a great gig. She has a fantastic voice!
When I interviewed Lesley (must be 2010 or even earlier) she was talking about becoming a solo artist- I think this will be a great gig. She has a fantastic voice!
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Forests and Venues
I have been thinking about the razing of small venues across London and eventually, I came to the conclusion that a similar process is happening to that of the huge hurricane that flattened forests across the south of England in 1986.
Supposedly a disaster, we were shown TV images of collapsed trees, snapped in half and jumbled up in a pile of misery: an apocalyptic vision if ever there was one.
Then, about ten years later, scientists declared that nature had done a wondrous weeding-out exercise. The trees that had collapsed were often the weaker ones, old or diseased, and by thrashing them the high winds had done the woods a favour.
New growth appeared and with no canopy of taller, older trees blocking out the sky, access to light for the saplings was easy, as was access to rotted compost from the fallen forest that provided nutrients for their early growth-spurt.
I wonder if something similar will happen now that the 12 Bar is closing down, along with so many other little venues.
London is in a constant state of development and renewal; there will always be corners that nobody looks at apart from artists and musicians who need somewhere cheap to work. The ingenuity that arty farties introduce into what they produce will get to work on where it's produced.
What will happen next?
Supposedly a disaster, we were shown TV images of collapsed trees, snapped in half and jumbled up in a pile of misery: an apocalyptic vision if ever there was one.
Then, about ten years later, scientists declared that nature had done a wondrous weeding-out exercise. The trees that had collapsed were often the weaker ones, old or diseased, and by thrashing them the high winds had done the woods a favour.
New growth appeared and with no canopy of taller, older trees blocking out the sky, access to light for the saplings was easy, as was access to rotted compost from the fallen forest that provided nutrients for their early growth-spurt.
I wonder if something similar will happen now that the 12 Bar is closing down, along with so many other little venues.
London is in a constant state of development and renewal; there will always be corners that nobody looks at apart from artists and musicians who need somewhere cheap to work. The ingenuity that arty farties introduce into what they produce will get to work on where it's produced.
What will happen next?
Saturday, January 10, 2015
Planuary
January is for taking stock and planning. It's also for marking (groogh) and a bit of socialising too.
I went to The Institute of Sexology at the Wellcome building yesterday: great cafe, poorly curated exhibition. It was all bits and pieces and didn't know what it was. As with every exhibition, it had some moments of saving grace: I liked the cabinet full of neatly lined up dead wasps and I've always liked the miniature ceramic fruits from their own permanent exhibition that have tiny erotic scenes inside them. But I don't like boxes that you look inside, little videos on walls and big shouty videos that you can hear all the way through the exhibition, mixed in with things in cabinets.
One thing or the other is best; but that's probably just me.
The apple and salted caramel biscuits were just perfect, though.
The planning: well, everything is always slow. I completed half an interview on Wednesday for my research, followed by meeting up with Carol Alevroyianni, who came to talk to the students at the University of the East about employability and taught me rather a lot in the process too.
It's amazing how you become buried in other people's definitions of who you are and what you are able to do, and how rarely you think of bursting out of this bubble.
A chap from Viva mag in Brighton interviewed me very briefly yesterday. I think they will be doing something on Joby and the Hooligans/The Vault later this month and I'll post when it is. They are a local magazine that combines writing about local issues with historical stuff and John Helmer, formally of The Piranhas, writes for them too. http://www.vivabrighton.com
I went to The Institute of Sexology at the Wellcome building yesterday: great cafe, poorly curated exhibition. It was all bits and pieces and didn't know what it was. As with every exhibition, it had some moments of saving grace: I liked the cabinet full of neatly lined up dead wasps and I've always liked the miniature ceramic fruits from their own permanent exhibition that have tiny erotic scenes inside them. But I don't like boxes that you look inside, little videos on walls and big shouty videos that you can hear all the way through the exhibition, mixed in with things in cabinets.
One thing or the other is best; but that's probably just me.
The apple and salted caramel biscuits were just perfect, though.
The planning: well, everything is always slow. I completed half an interview on Wednesday for my research, followed by meeting up with Carol Alevroyianni, who came to talk to the students at the University of the East about employability and taught me rather a lot in the process too.
It's amazing how you become buried in other people's definitions of who you are and what you are able to do, and how rarely you think of bursting out of this bubble.
A chap from Viva mag in Brighton interviewed me very briefly yesterday. I think they will be doing something on Joby and the Hooligans/The Vault later this month and I'll post when it is. They are a local magazine that combines writing about local issues with historical stuff and John Helmer, formally of The Piranhas, writes for them too. http://www.vivabrighton.com
Tuesday, January 06, 2015
Smiley
I'm watching George Smiley on some backwoods channel on TV.
It's McDad, even down to the spectacles and the way he sits.
It's McDad, even down to the spectacles and the way he sits.
Monday, January 05, 2015
Song
I wrote this for Maureen to sing, who is a blues singer. That's why it's so low! recorded by Martin at Barbaraville Studios:
https://soundcloud.com/the-daintees/helen-mccookerybook-prisoner-of-the-sun
https://soundcloud.com/the-daintees/helen-mccookerybook-prisoner-of-the-sun
Day
It was a long train journey, starting in The Highlands and ending in London.
I spent almost the whole journey (eight hours) looking out of the window.
The highland mountains stood like heaps of flour, waiting for giant eggs to make a cake. Although it was sunny, the snow wasn't thick, so they didn't shine; they stood lumpily one in front of the other waiting for the shell of snow and frost that would invite the skiers up to Aviemore.
On a particularly bleak part of the moorland, a little wheelbarrow stood, desolate and abandoned in the scrubby, empty landscape. 'I tried!', it seemed to say. But there were no humans around to listen.
Further south, the fields were packed with pheasants cultivated the way that apples or cherries are cultivated in Kent, ready to be plucked from the skies with a minuscule ball of lead shot, bunched up and served to the Haw-Haws for dinner. Delicious!
Two cock pheasants fought in a field. Dip-up, dip-up, went their heads. A pathetic fight if ever there was one. Splendidly-coloured they shone in the winter sun; we sped past them and did not watch their display for long.
Beyond Stirling, the ploughed fields were striped with water-filled trenches that reflected the cold white sky.
Through the lowlands... in a bright green field of young beast, a bullock danced a crazy dance for no reason at all, kicking his heels and tossing his head: goodbye old year!
The North Sea snapped at the Borders, cold, navy blue and menacing. 'I eat ships', she snarled, heaving her massive weight from Norway to Scotland and back again.
Just outside York, I looked for the York Hares, but they weren't there; they must have been shivering in their harehouses or wherever it is they live.
Not much further south, the landscape changed from terraced cottages to huge warehouses built to the same scale as those Highland mountains and populated by tiny people driving fork lift trucks, moving the recession about from one corner to the other in a futile display of January energy.
And now I am home, living off my fat. I have stopped moving, my soul has caught up with me, and there are six undergraduate dissertations waiting to be marked tomorrow.
I spent almost the whole journey (eight hours) looking out of the window.
The highland mountains stood like heaps of flour, waiting for giant eggs to make a cake. Although it was sunny, the snow wasn't thick, so they didn't shine; they stood lumpily one in front of the other waiting for the shell of snow and frost that would invite the skiers up to Aviemore.
On a particularly bleak part of the moorland, a little wheelbarrow stood, desolate and abandoned in the scrubby, empty landscape. 'I tried!', it seemed to say. But there were no humans around to listen.
Further south, the fields were packed with pheasants cultivated the way that apples or cherries are cultivated in Kent, ready to be plucked from the skies with a minuscule ball of lead shot, bunched up and served to the Haw-Haws for dinner. Delicious!
Two cock pheasants fought in a field. Dip-up, dip-up, went their heads. A pathetic fight if ever there was one. Splendidly-coloured they shone in the winter sun; we sped past them and did not watch their display for long.
Beyond Stirling, the ploughed fields were striped with water-filled trenches that reflected the cold white sky.
Through the lowlands... in a bright green field of young beast, a bullock danced a crazy dance for no reason at all, kicking his heels and tossing his head: goodbye old year!
The North Sea snapped at the Borders, cold, navy blue and menacing. 'I eat ships', she snarled, heaving her massive weight from Norway to Scotland and back again.
Just outside York, I looked for the York Hares, but they weren't there; they must have been shivering in their harehouses or wherever it is they live.
Not much further south, the landscape changed from terraced cottages to huge warehouses built to the same scale as those Highland mountains and populated by tiny people driving fork lift trucks, moving the recession about from one corner to the other in a futile display of January energy.
And now I am home, living off my fat. I have stopped moving, my soul has caught up with me, and there are six undergraduate dissertations waiting to be marked tomorrow.
Saturday, January 03, 2015
North London Song
I have had the lyrics for a dark song about Wood Green Shopping City sloshing about for almost five years; every so often I've picked them up, tinkered with them, changed the chords, practiced the riff, and then abandoned them to time and better things.
Yesterday, however, on a borrowed Rickenbacker, the song started to sound like a contender and I made a rough recording with my pal that sounded lively and poppy. What a positive thing, to start a New Year with an almost new song.
Instead of shopping at T K Maxx and JD Sports and Next and Costa and all that lot, I'm singing them. Healthier and cheaper by far.
Yesterday, however, on a borrowed Rickenbacker, the song started to sound like a contender and I made a rough recording with my pal that sounded lively and poppy. What a positive thing, to start a New Year with an almost new song.
Instead of shopping at T K Maxx and JD Sports and Next and Costa and all that lot, I'm singing them. Healthier and cheaper by far.
Friday, January 02, 2015
Chillin'
As in bloody freezing. Television and strawberry tarts in from of the fire are a better option.
Thursday, January 01, 2015
New Year's Resolution
I have a very simple New Year's Resolution: to stop buying and drinking bottled water. Nestle apparently think that drinking water should be commodified, and here we all are in the developed world commodifying it for ourselves: and this, in the UK, after the National furore over the privatisation of water in the 1980s.
We are collectively mad. If we don't preserve our tapwater's freshness and purity than we will lose it altogether. The global corporations will decide we don't need that standard of water coming out of our taps and they will downgrade it as an economy measure so they can make more money for their shareholders (you know, those billionaires that the Conservatives are so determined not to tax).
This is one that I need to stick to.
We are collectively mad. If we don't preserve our tapwater's freshness and purity than we will lose it altogether. The global corporations will decide we don't need that standard of water coming out of our taps and they will downgrade it as an economy measure so they can make more money for their shareholders (you know, those billionaires that the Conservatives are so determined not to tax).
This is one that I need to stick to.