Went out last Friday to a gig where this mob were the support act.

I'd never heard of them before, but gorblimey, they were good. A little poking around shows that the eponymous Johnny is Australian and is currently doing two months touring Europe -- though only two gigs were in England, and I was at the second, so sorry, you missed him.

Garage rock is alive and well down under, and here's the proof (with a really rather good video, too, assembled out of bits of ancient movie; can anyone identify any?)

You can travel from Earl's Court to Sloane Square on the District Line in 9 minutes or so.

THE SPACE RACE IS OVER

When I was young I told my mum
I'm going to walk on the Moon someday
Armstrong and Aldrin spoke to me
From Houston and Cape Kennedy
And I watched the Eagle landing
On a night when the Moon was full
And as it tugged at the tides, I knew deep inside
I too could feel its pull

I lay in my bed and dreamed I walked
On the Sea of Tranquillity
I knew that someday soon we'd all sail to the moon
On the high tide of technology
But the dreams have all been taken
And the window seats taken too
And 2001 has almost come and gone
What am I supposed to do?

Now that the space race is over
It's been and it's gone and I'll never get to the moon
Because the space race is over
And I can't help but feel we've all grown up too soon

Now my dreams have all been shattered
And my wings are tattered too
And I can still fly but not half as high
As once I wanted to

Now that the space race is over
It's been and it's gone and I'll never get to the moon
Because the space race is over
And I can't help but feel we've all grown up too soon

My son and I stand beneath the great night sky
And gaze up in wonder
I tell him the tale of Apollo And he says
"Why did they ever go?"
It may look like some empty gesture
To go all that way just to come back
But don't offer me a place out in cyberspace
Cos where in the hell's that at?

Now that the space race is over
It's been and it's gone and I'll never get out of my room
Because the space race is over
And I can't help but feel we're all just going nowhere

(Billy Bragg)

"If a person can't communicate, the very least they can do is to shut up." (--Tom Lehrer)

It really annoys me when I see someone talking about an event happening "in just three short months" or bemoaning that it's "three long weeks" till they see their boyfriend.

How does a long month or a short month, pray, differ from an ordinary one?

Don't these people read George Orwell on the use of ready-made hackneyed phrases?

I swear that the next person who posts that bloody clip of Susan bloody Boyle bloody singing is going to be off my friends list!

...well, probably not... but seriously, people, is there anyone in the WORLD who hasn't seen this yet?

So a middle aged woman can sing. Wow. Who knew? Go get Shirley Bassey out of her retirement home!

EDIT: I'm not going to post a link to the bloody video. If you really haven't heard of her, Google is your friend. I also recommend some very sensible comments from Firecat, who as so often makes a lot more sense than me: http://firecat.livejournal.com/609437.html

Music GCE A Level: 8 February 2008

Question 1 (20 marks)

Compare and contrast Weird Al Yankovic's "Angry White Boy Polka" with Bill Bailey's "Greatest Cockney Rock Album In The World... Ever." Pay especial attention to each artiste's use of their respective culture's traditional musical formats.

(Namely a fanfare of trumpets and angelic harps)

Happy birthday arakinuk

Last night I dreamt that I had been elected as a local councillor for the Labour party.

After the count and the announcement that I had won the other Labour councillors took me aside and congratulated me, then told me "Right, now we get to tell you how the system really works, not the lies that the voters all believe..."

But before they could tell me, I woke up.

What does this MEAN?!

Would the poem in my last post be better if it ended:

"I'm glad I am a poet.
My god! perhaps I'm not."

Observe the happy poet!
He's composed an epigram.
I wish I were a poet.
My god! perhaps I am.

Found this week on the ever-amusing b3ta.com:

"My friend says that if she died in a car accident, she wouldn't want bunches of flowers [tied to the nearest street furniture], as her opinion of them is similar to yours. Instead she wants a giant statue of her saying "SLOW DOWN" as it moves its arm up and down in the style of a traffic policeman."

Be it hereby noted and enacted that I WANT THAT TOO. Okay?

(A special prize to anyone except bhata who can say why this has got me thinking of Half Man Half Biscuit. Who, incidentally, I saw in Kentish Town last Thursday week, and very good they were too. They even got people starting a mosh pit centre stage, as though they were metallers or grungers instead of urbane quirk-rockers.)

Thanks to loganberrybunny for drawing to my attention this BBC poll in which we are invited to rank Britain's twelve post World War II prime ministers in order of their ability -- but in order for your vote to be counted you must score all twelve.

This is the sort of debate I could engage in till the cows come home, so I'm reposting my answer ( below this cut )
However, I encourage anyone thinking of voting to cast their votes without looking at my post or Logan's first! (And don't forget they're being ranked on post-war achievements only -- especially relevant for Churchill, that, of course.)

Grab the nearest book. Find the 5th sentence on page 23. Append it to the paragraph below. Append your name to the list below of people who have contributed to the paragraph. Post the result to your LJ.

They also talk of our being guilty of injustice, and their being the victims of an unjustifiable war. Brandy, and Tom got increasingly close-mouthed and sour. Although a certain sense of tripartite society survived down to Christian times, the three classes described in the Eddic poem "Rigdthula" bear little resemblance to Dumezil's three. It is often argued, and still oftener thought, that none but bad men would desire to weaken these salutary beliefs; and there can be nothing wrong, it is thought, in restraining bad men, and prohibiting what only such men would wish to practice. At its nearest point the wall was little more than one league from the City, and that was south-eastward. When he saw Jack Hare jump towards the fire, and the Practical Man brandishing the toasting-fork, Sir Isaac grabbed the strings of gravitational force that bound Jack to his destiny and PULLED--- That's a seventy-four gun privateer, besides. To honour a group of British nobles, treacherously slain at a conference by Hengist's guards, Aurelius decides to erect a great monument near Amesbury. That being so, he did not chortle when he went upstairs. Let stand. This ensures that when the garbage collector runs, it has complete access to the memory in the heap and can perform its tasks safely without the threat of being preempted by another thread. And then you may begin to laugh. The data are stored in Column 1 and renamed "Age." Pull your hand back. I don't remember that any secrets were revealed to me, nor do I remember any avid curiosity on my part to learn something I wasn't supposed to--perhaps I was too young to know what to listen for. You don't remember how awful it is being normal. Highlight the desired state tax table and press Enter. Abraham had now reached a ripe old age, and the LORD had blessed him in every way. This doesn't alter either string, any more than 2+3 alters either 2 or 3. And I will say firmly that it is the author who says, "One does feel," who is really an egoist; and the author who says, "I believe," who is not an egoist. The police have agreed to let us show this video. She was particularly fond of Union Maj. Joseph Willard, some years her senior, who courted her amid the competitive field of Blue and Gray. And he rose up that night, and took his two wives, and his two womanservants, and his eleven sons, and passed over the ford Jabbok. Nonetheless I am surprised to see the amount my week's worth of toil has actually brought me. Her cheeks began a burn against her palms. He sang when he was making things of this sort; and when Smith began to sing those nearby stopped their own work and came to the smithy to listen. "Nej, vänta lite nu!" utropade premiärministern. "Ni kan inte bara stoppa in ert folk på mitt kontor, det är jag som bestämmer vem som arbetar för mig..." The small, dark interiors were, especially of the temples, were places where the gods, ancestors, and a few authorized lords visited. It provides war and disaster relief and aid to refugees. Many Irish priests still seem frozen in a state of adolescence.

1) Ranger Rick 2) Rialian 3) Elenbarathi 4) Starsandfishes 5) Echthros 6) Doltaghey 7) Ebonhost 8) Tibicina 9) Browngirl 10) ceo 11) roozle 12) quietann 13) Dale (achinhibitor) 14) tigerbright 15) autographedcat 16) kitanzi xvii) annonyno חי)thnidu 19) smallship1 20) vashti 21) xydexx 22) Leonard_Arlotte 23) margaras 24) snobahr 25) halfelf 26) Vandringar 27) melskunk 28) kinkyturtle 29) klepsydra

It's generally believed by most people that all bankers are, well... merchant bankers, to use the vernacular.

So it's nice to see that one bank at least accepts this and is honest and upfront about it.

Step forward and receive your prize, ICICI Bank UK!

Check out section 1.2 of their savings account terms and conditions:

https://www.icicibank.co.uk/UKRET/web/L001/corporate/jsp/iciciuk/ActivateUser/UK_HiSaveFixed_Rate_Account_Final.pdf

...which means: happy birthday, snowfields!

I'm so allergic to myself


that when I cry


my tears leave acid trails


running down my cheeks

What do I have in common with the Jews?  I don't even have anything in common with myself.

I got wild staring eyes




and I got a strong urge to fly






but I got nowhere to fly to

I adore the unique British band Half Man Half Biscuit, but I would be the first to admit that they aren't for everyone.

Anyone who tells you that they have identified every reference in every HMHB song is lying (or Nigel Blackwell, who writes them -- and I'm not convinced even he could get them all, sometimes.)

Their newest album, the wonderfully (and typically) titled CSI: Ambleside just came out, and I picked it up yesterday at HMV, taking it over to bhata's with me for a first listen. We all agreed it was a thumbs-up and, if anything, even better than its predecessor Achtung Bono. There's a more definite rock groove (apart from one track which comes perilously close to being rap, but amuses nonetheless) and it's perhaps a smidge more accessible than some of their other releases this century, though of course it will still come nowhere within ten miles of denting the charts.

If you've never heard any HMHB, give it a listen.

Oh, and speaking of obscure references... The CD's back cover proclaims that it was 'produced by R M Qualtrough'. This name rang a faint bell for me, and not a musical one either, so I looked further...

And it was as I thought. 'R M Qualtrough' was the false name given by the never-identified murderer of Julia Wallace in Liverpool (HMHB's home town, of course!) back in 1931, a real-life whodunit celebrated at the time, and even now, for its complexity -- Julia Wallace was in some ways the Madeleine McCann of her day. Her husband, an inoffensive little insurance salesman, was lured out of the house by a phone call to sell a policy to a non-existent address, and while he was out searching for it, 'Qualtrough' broke into his house and killed his wife. The police decided that Mr Wallace must himself be the murderer and he was actually found guilty at his trial, but then cleared by the Court of Appeal -- the first such case in British legal history, I do believe. It's all at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Herbert_Wallace and http://www.chesshistory.com/winter/extra/wallace.html.

A quick Google suggests that I may be the first on the Internet to nail this little joke by Nigel, and I'm feeling insufferably smug about it. Which is, of course, why HMHB are a perfect band for me.