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Friday 31 August 2007

A Question of Sport?

28/06/2007

"It's not the winning, it's the taking part that counts." How many times did you hear that on your school sports day? A couple of hundred I guess, if you were like me (a titan in English and language classes but a lightweight on the sports field). You know, you came last but you put up a brave fight, played the part of the valiant underdog and that's heroic.

I write this to you on the back of reading how Tim Henman has gone crashing out of Wimbledon in another five-set thriller, that still there's always next year. Admittedly, you've got to feel a little sorry for the lad and the immmense burden he has to carry on his shoulders: every year the crowds get right behind him, spurred on by the media who encourage us to pin all our hopes on him, since he's the only one of our lot for who the tournament won't be over on the first day.

Then there's our football heroes in the England squad. They battle hard (rallied by the patriotic "Great Escape" in the background), but, alas, our Achilles Hell of penalties lets us down again...and again...and again. Of course, we just pat them on the back and say, "Oh well, you tried hard but it was those damned pesky penalties again. Get us every time. Doh!"

So maybe we should be less supportive and more pessimestic towards our sporting heroes. Maybe if we were to expect nothing but the worst and react with a bit of more venom, they might just develop the killer instinct, get out there and show us what they're made of, purely for the sake of silencing the critics and the millions of down-doers. What do we care what they're reasons are? We just want to see some silverware- and have something to believe in. Wouldn't that be nice? Go on, lads surprise us!

If You Were Here, Truman...

04/07/2007

Dear Mr Capote,

Have just watched "Capote" again, a bio-pic on yourself and how you wrote "In Cold Blood," your magnum opus by all accounts. Hope to find some time to bury myself in it someday. The film itself was fabulous, the kind that has you talking about it once you exit the cinema and are in the car on the drive home, so many questions...

The main one is, what made you write it? Id like to think that it was because you were a good person, that you were not so vain as the media would have us believe, that you really felt those men had some good in them deep down instead of being the monsters we all thought. You maybe actually even loved one of them. Did you? That would be the optimist in me.

Then there's another voice, suggesting it was all fuelled by the desire to be famous, to be somebody. Was it? According to the film, you could have cleared them, saved their lives, but then in their hour of need you weren't there, didn't want to know. Is that true? Were you using them? Is the suggestion of betrayal, although they murdered and forfeited their freedom in society, justified?

Which one of the voices is right, Mr Capote? Which? How I'd love to know.

Crossing the Ocean of Time

11/07/2007

So, it's official. For my summer holidays this year I shall be visiting Romania, the land of Dracula, as you know, on a Transylvania Carpathians tour and also the supposed resting place of Vlad the Impaler by Lake Snagov. They say it's there, but have you ever read "The Historian"? In typical Da Vinci Code-style Elisabeth Kostova, the author(ess), suggests it may be...somewhere else (I won't spoil it for you!). Well whatever she believes, I have to at least go and check it out. After all, I was born in the North only an hour or so away from the fishing town of Whitby, which Bram Stoker cherished so dearly as to make it part of the setting for his famous work.

Still, you've gotta wonder what the Romanians make of it all, even if it was their own history and folklore that started it! Maybe they're a bit fed up of all this interest for a savage and sadistic ruler who took pleasure in torturing and murdering his own people: six centuries on and he's drawing crowds - though I guess it was more a case of the opposite back then- and having people yapping on about him. Perhaps I'll see it written in the faces of Romanian's today: "Here we go with the old Dracula shit again."

Which makes me wonder if I should find something else to ask about once I'm there (just need to brush up on my Romanian first!), or spice up proceedings by waving round the Hungarian flag. But then again it's a pretty long drop from the Carpathians, and the wolves must get awful hungry! So maybe I should embrace old Vlad T, just like the rest of them.

La revedere!

Go Green - In Whose Interest?

15/07/2007

I think green. I really do. All these warnings about climate change, a bid to save the planet for the future generations, I take notice of them. All the requests to recycle, I take notice of them. When the temperatures are hitting over 30ÂșC, I sit and sweat it out in my bermuda shorts and, in the name of everything green, resort to homemade air conditioning: shirt off, window open. And since we see some pretty severe water shortages in the summer, I try to waste as little water as possible too, in consideration of the reservoirs drying up further south.

Then there's the question of other resources. So I recycle. Plastic, glass, card, paper, you name it, my flat is littered with it, ready for transportation to the nearest recycling bin. Energy these days is an issue, so I have my energy-saving light bulbs in place. This is my bit to try and keep the world turning for the future generations. What are you doing?

The thing is though, you've gotta wonder in whose interests all this is really for. I mean, why they're really telling us to do all this. Just looking in a local bookshop the other day: last year it was all Da Vinci Code rip offs; this year climate change is the subject of the literary world's preocupations. How convenient. Ex-presidential candidate Al Gore, he's especially worried about it, what with a book and a film on the matter (anybody know if the proceeds are going to charity?).

There's also the price of green products and resources. Can anyone tell me why an energy-saving light bulb is twice the price of a standard one? And why the plastic I put in the recycling bin, only for some fashion designer, if the documentary I saw is to believed, to use for making a scarf? Can I presume the benefits of this re-usage of material are being passed on to the consumer?

Maybe the climate really has changed. Now it's one in which the genuine concern behind the warnings of the tree-hugging 1990s is lost. Today, raising awareness and telling people to "Think green" seems nothing more than an opportunity for those saying so to make some of the green stuff for themselves. It's pretty sad that the world is beginning to literally revolve around money.

British Botched-Job Corporation

Just wanted to say how nice it is to see the BBC getting things wrong and receiving the due backlash and relevant fines for it.
  • First they fake the results of a Blue Peter competition - how's that for low?
  • Then they broadcast our beloved lady of the "Annus horribilis" -as opposed to the "horribilus anus"-, HM Queen Elizabeth II, apparently throwing a tantrum (we didn't know she had it in her!).
  • Now they've committed the cardinal sin of cutting out part of Metallica's performance at the Live Earth concert, which has led it to issue a frank apology (hey that makes it a hat-trick!) to us shaggy-haired rocker types. Apology begrudgingly accepted!
Amazingly, despite all the revenue from the inflated licence fee, the BBC still belts out nothing but cheap soaps and episode after episode of "classic comedy" (in the current climate of "think green" maybe it's their idea of recycling), yet the entertainment value actually comes in the form of broadcasting misdemeanours and watching them splutter and bash out apologies faster than Dad's Army re-runs, sorry, classic comedies, keep forgetting.
I say it's high time we scrapped the licence fee. Who needs a TV when we can get our movies from the internet pirates and our other viewing kicks from YouTube?
Failing that, just buy yourself a TV anyway and forget about the licence fee if you live on the top floor. Whenever the doorbell rings, simply check from on high. If they're carrying a clipboard and an apologetic look on the face, you're out!

Travel Makes Brothers in Arms

18/07/2007

Has your flight ever been delayed by a ridiculous number of hours? Has your train ever been announced as running 30 mins late mid-evening, after a hard day's work? Have you ever waited 1 hr 30 mins and had time to read the magazines in the doctor's waiting room from cover to cover?

Well I've been through all these phenomena, and I imagine you can sympathise too. Yesterday I fell foul of a train delay. Underground, with no air and in baking heat, the homebound train was announced as off for me and the rest of the mass on the platform (standing room only). Finally it arrived, followed by a good old fashioned kerfuffle with the electronic notice board, meaning we all had to jump off if we didn't want to go on a magical mystery tour (the Beatles had time on their hands!).

So praise be, our chariot arrived and it was second time lucky, we're all on our way home, neatly packed together like sardines in a tin. As the journey drew to a close, a toddler splattered me and all the other passengers in the compartment with yoghurt, just to ensure our shirts remained sticking to us.

What's so special about all this? Well, it's the feeling of complete strangers becoming long lost friends when we're all thrown into, ironically, the same boat. Some make light of the situation, some complain and some look out for the well being of the rest; and the longer we're all together waiting for the object of our inconveniences to deliver, the harder it becomes to see them walk out of my life.

It's like in the movies: they all start out with clean clothes, go through hell and back together, then part their separate ways looking dishevelled and Bruce Willis-like in the wake of another Die Hard epic.

So you never can tell. Next time you find yourself in a Planes, Trains and Automobiles moment because the public transport sector is gunning for a World Record in Incompetency, don't sigh in exasperation, blow your fringe up and ask, "So this is what I'm paying for, is it?" Instead, smile and take a look around: a potential soulmate or friend to the end may be watching how you handle the oars.

Bon voyage!

Not Enough Bad Medicine

As I sit here with my new MP3 on, Bon Jovi's "Lay Your Hands on Me" blasting into my earholes, the guys getting down and dirty with their instruments, I feel a passionate urge to set hairy-chested rocker Jon Bon Jovi, he of Slippery When Wet fame, straight on a thing or two.

I miss those guys. Yep, it's true, I really do miss them. I miss the days when they made records that sounded like they lived for rock 'n' roll ("It feels so good, it ought to be illegal" you sang). And where have all the cowboys gone?

What drives me to say this?

It would have to be the interview with Mr Jovi in The Guardian today. In it, he tells us he'd like to think his music has progressed rather than pandered to fashions or favourites. Well, I'm sorry to say that he's wrong on that score: the band has let their old-school fans down ever since Keep the Faith (their last great album IMHO).

These days - ever since the These Days album, actually- they couldn't sound more commercial if they tried, with the same tired old spiel about living one's own life, about survival, plus the sing-along-if-you-know-the-words lyrics. The Jove were very nearly "back" with Have a Nice Day, but it wasn't to be; there they were again with those lyrics!

Come on guys, rember the veterans! Don the cowboy hats -let Sambora down a bottle of whisky if he has to- and get some decent lyrics down, the type that sound as if they've been written on the road. Then blend them all with that brutal New Jersey sound.

Stop being pin-up boys and be the rock stars you once were. We'll thank you for it.You've seen a million faces and rocked them all! This is my personal plea for you to do it to us all over again - cos it was great!

National Insecurity

24/07/2007

Today a quick word on national security after a Guardian article about the arrest of two The Mirror journalists for trying to plant a fake bomb on the London underground. They'd aimed to expose serious lapses of security in the system.

It's not the first time journalists have engaged in this kind of practice. We've had reporters waltz into airports with fake weapons or explosives and breeze through "security checks" undetected before. Some years ago there was an incident -admittedly, a question of security in general rather than national security- in which a journalist "broke into" Buckingham Palace by hopping over the wall. And they do this, again, to expose lax security.

Maybe so. And maybe we're all under the threat of terrorism. But shall I tell you what scares me most? Not that journalists actually succeed in their experiments, but that they actually announce it to the nation afterwards.

All those fanatics who loathe the West and everything it stands for may, like the rest of us, be none the wiser if it were not for these scaremongers exposing our weak points, putting us even further on edge. What are they gonna tell us next? That the police don't really carry bullets in their guns?

"Ignorance is bliss" the saying goes, and in this case it may well be true. I remember when Bob Hoskins used to strut round the house for BT, back in the days when our calls were less closely monitored, and tell us, "It's good to talk." Then he'd break into a big belly laugh.

Maybe they should bring that advert back, but with the message modified to reflect the times we live in and Bob raising a finger to his lips: "It's good to talk...but it's safer to keep your mouth shut."

A Fundamental Question

06/08/2007

One magical Olympic night in Atlanta, a man going by the name of Michael Johnson hurtled round the bend and into the straight and crossed the line in a world record time of 19.32 seconds. Behind him, in the crowd, the camera flashes went off like fireworks, the people wishing to capture the memorable moment (who knows how their photos actually turned out!)and take it home to show their grandchildren, no doubt. Now the great man himself joins Big Colin Jackson and blonde Sue Barker every summer to sit and natter about athletics. Just imagine how the title of "200m World Record Holder" must have looked on his CV when he posted it off to the BBC.

Why do I mention all this? Well, the other day Spanish TV screened its own Record Breakers-style programme, in which some weightlifter trying to hurl a human being as far as he could in an attempt to break his own record, which he did in the end. No, it wasn't dwarf throwing; the sport has gone politically correct and they just chuck a 10-stone weakling instead. This guy was then followed by a woman attempting to break the world record for putting the most objects in glasses with her toes in the space of a minute whilst standing on her hands (i didn't stick around for that one). Unfortunately, the man who currently holds the world record for clipping the most pegs on his face couldn't make it.

Now take Michael Johnson's record, an outstanding achievement of which any athlete can be proud and one worth recording or having a crack at. But as for these other records, well I've one small question: why? They're not even a half-decent party trick (I met a guy once who could pick up a pint of beer and sink it in one without using his hands - that was impressive, my friends!). Did anyone know such a record exists? Do they even care to break it, and if they do, would they own up to it afterwards? Michael Johnson must feel pretty insulted to have performed a truly mind-blowing physical feat, only to be placed in the same pages as the guy with the longest fingernails in the world!

Anyways, I'm gonna hang out some washing while the sun's still out. Ah shit, has anyone seen my pegs?

Devils in Disguise

17/08/2007

Can't wait to see the Formula One kick back off, now that we have a new rising star to place our hopes and dreams in, an inspiration to boy racers everywhere: Mr Lewis Hamilton. It's fabulous to see the roar of a British driver's engine make the rest of the world stand up and listen again. After all, Coulthard and Button have put on a poor show on our behalf.

I've never liked Alonso. Dull, arrogant and stroppy have always been the things that spring to mind at the mention of his name. They still do so after his little performance in the pit lane the other day. Incidentally, a rumour has come to my attention that he ain't as squeaky clean as he'd have us believe; that, allegedly, he's never thought twice about necking some beer and doing the dirty on his other half - hijo de perra!

But what about Mr Hamilton? Isn't he a little bit on the naughty side too? Understandably, after 10 years with McLaren, he's not gonna move over for the world champion just like that. For me, that's the source of the rift between the two drivers (not that anyone would actually like to be matey with Alonso anyway- Massa's much more fun!). That's the thing causing the team strategy to go pear-shaped. Not to mention the fuel being added to the fire by the revelation that young Lewis is getting it on with the boss's daughter.
I've also been informed that the calm and collected Mr Raikonnnen is not what he seems either. Allegedly, the Finn of few words likes to live it up a little and is said to have been caught with two ladies in his hotel room, naturally following a couple of beers, cocktails or whatever the clandestine hellraiser's tipple of choice maybe.

All that glitters may not be gold. It all reminds me of the scandals involving the England players and the infamous 'Dentist's Chair', a chair unlike like the one in my dear Mr Fletcher's local practice ( How you diddlin'?). They weren't discreet about practices of theirs improper of sportsmen and it made us angry.

But maybe next time we're slagging off Alonso, we should remember that he who is without sin should cast the first stone - and that might not be Hamilton.

Pretty Vacancies

20/08/2007

Was just watching the classic "Norman Lamont incident" with Julian Clary and stumbled across another live wire: Mr John Lydon, better known to some as Johnny Rotten, of the Sex Pistols.

Loud, uncouth, ignorant, unpredictable and uncontrollable, I used to think the guy who had everyone locking up their daughters in those torrid times was a total loser. But after checking some of his interviews my opinions have changed.

Of course, the guy steamrollers over the interviewer and says what he thinks -no change there- which is why he must be given credit where it's due! As blunt as a sledgehammer, Rotten's honesty makes his interviews a scream to watch ("I've got a few words for you!" at the Q Awards).

Back in the day, everyone was against him. His music was feared by the Establishment, who didn't want the nation's youth being corrupted by Rotten's politics and anti-social behaviour. He was feared even more by parents, who didn't want young anarchists to contend with in their households ("Can you pass me the salt? - Up yours!").

The media backlash against all things Rotten was equally brutal. It gave him an excuse to dish out revenge of the most humilliating kind on live TV. Some of those unsuspecting interviewers should have really known what they were in for.

Now, in the late 20th century and early 21st, Lydon is a star again, a while back having been in "I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out of Here".

But there is one crucial difference: he hasn't sold out and probably never will.

Instead he continues to slag off his critics and generally insult all those who've been against him in the past, not to mention those who ask lousy questions or make duff comments. It all makes this interview with Richard and Judy interview pure gold (I've always said she's one stupid madam!).

Honesty is the best policy - and there's no-one more honest than Johnny Rotten. If I thought he'd appreciate it, I'd give him an award.

Nice Day for the Ducks...and for Me!

22/08/2007

In life they say there's a first time for everything. For the first time in my life I'm going to resist the temptation to whinge about the weather. Here it's been wet and windy, we've had a couple of thunderstorms -which plays merry hell with my internet connection- and the Spanish August has failed abysmally to live up to expectations.

But who cares about that when you may well have cheated a certain demise?

What am I blethering on about, you ask. Well if you've been following my blog, you'll know that my holiday destination this year is the land of a certain Mr Vlad the Impaler, a trip I shall be chronicling for your reading (dis?)pleasure. What you may not know, however, is that this was not Plan A nor even Plan B, but actually Plan C.

Thanks to the almost criminal incompetence of the internet company we booked with, Mari and I missed out on our tour of Italy in late August and then again on a sunkissed holiday for the same time in our Plan B destination: the Mayan Riviera.

At the time I turned the air bluer than the skies. But as Hurricane Dean rips through the Carribean, I now thank the company for their prizeworthy mismanagement of my booking and forcing me to pick again, even if there is the highly unlikely prospect of having to mix it up with Rumania's infamous wolves and "pikies".

I can't tell you how much more this particular Jonathan Harker is looking forward to getting away with his Mina for a while. I'm relishing the chance to sink my own fangs into real Rumanian cuisine, soak up the sights - especially to watch the modern Transylvania smash the foreboding literary one into oblivion- and even give the lingo a crack.

Might not get too far with this last one, though. C'est la vie, c'est la vie...

I'll keep you posted.

Yours in garlic,
Count Peter