edit - after emailing the BBC, they published picture 3 above in their 'Your pictures' section on the hot weather and storms in the UK.
Link (pic 5)
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Summer begins, Edinburgh style
Sunday 2nd July, 2006: 'British Government issues heatwave warning', says the BBC. Not in Scotland I bet - as these photos that I took twenty minutes ago prove. Summer has started in Edinburgh...
edit - after emailing the BBC, they published picture 3 above in their 'Your pictures' section on the hot weather and storms in the UK.
Link (pic 5)
edit - after emailing the BBC, they published picture 3 above in their 'Your pictures' section on the hot weather and storms in the UK.
Link (pic 5)
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Geekmeet
Your author relaxing at the weekend
I've always been interested in hobbies, and why people enjoy doing things that others find incomprehensible. When I was living in Sydney I attended the 2005 World Stamp Expo (and here's how I got on) - not because I'm fascinated by philately, but because I fail to see the interest in collecting small sticky pieces of paper. But a lot of people do, and very happy it makes them (until Roger from down the road flaunts his rare Armenian 50 Spongle first edition with the King's head back to front). Others find it thrilling to write down train numbers in a book, collect jaunty teapots, or run along canal towpaths until they vomit (you know who you are). Me, well, I like playing computer games (amongst other things).
After typing that I somehow feel a need to counter it by saying that although I admit to it, I'm not a wild-haired recluse with questionable hygiene and social skills (well, not after I've had a cup of tea in the morning). I'm not sure what it is about these kind of hobbies that lead people to offer some kind of qualifier when they reveal them, but being a 'gamer' is something I tend to feel slightly embarrassed about. I would certainly never put it on my CV, for example. In any case, my tireless work at the orphanage tends to take up too much room. Computer gaming is seen as an anti-social thing to do, and the standard image of the bespectacled nerd is often used with regard to people who claim to know anything about them. As my friends will attest, I know absolutely nothing about computers - but I do know how to plug in a joypad.
Over the last weekend I spent four days in a converted Chapel in the South Derbyshire countryside with a large group of friends. We weren't there to go hillwalking, fishing, or any other pastime which can be equally sniffed at by others - no, we were there to play computer games. A LAN (local area network) event is where a group of people bring their PC's, or in our case Xbox 360's (or in my case, nothing but a hopeful smile), connect them up with various multicoloured cables and a bit of swearing, play games against eachother, and eat a lot of Jaffa Cakes. I'd been to a few before, and yes, I do enjoy them. I grew up in the 1980's when computers were just coming into the public eye, and I challenge any lad born from 1975 onwards to admit to not having an interest in computer games at some point.
Of course, very few of them travel hundreds of miles to meet up and play them all weekend with people they see once a year at most - but then I'm sure some people travel hundreds of miles to attend classic car conventions, or spend hundreds of pounds importing guitars to add to their collection. Horses for courses and all that ;) I'm not afraid to admit I had a great time, catching up with the guys (as they almost always are). Playing a game in your flat is all well and good, but when you can play the same game in a large room against several friends who are there to shout abuse at you is far far better. It's like going to a book recital instead of reading in your house, or a concert instead of listening to a CD. Only with Jaffa Cakes, as I said.
So we swapped tales about what we'd been up to since the last meet - I had a fair few, of course - had a barbecue, drank a fair amount of cheap lager, and watched car after car after car drive past with England flags flapping from the windows. Oh, and played games, of course. From the sublime Project Gotham 3 on the 360 (which I am playing in the photo above), to the ridiculously brilliant Sunset Riders. I managed to play all kinds of different games, some of which I will certainly buy - like the awesome We Love Katamari - just check out the website (it's Japanese), some of which I won't, because I got a chance to try them out. We managed to squeeze in the England game - unfortunately - and also some award-winning fish and chips, which apparently in Belper they have with Mint Sauce. Wierd, no? It works, though. All in all it was a great weekend, and I'll be looking forward to the next time we meet up in 2007. If liking computer games enough to travel that far to play them makes me a geek, then hey, I'm a geek. What's your poison?
I've always been interested in hobbies, and why people enjoy doing things that others find incomprehensible. When I was living in Sydney I attended the 2005 World Stamp Expo (and here's how I got on) - not because I'm fascinated by philately, but because I fail to see the interest in collecting small sticky pieces of paper. But a lot of people do, and very happy it makes them (until Roger from down the road flaunts his rare Armenian 50 Spongle first edition with the King's head back to front). Others find it thrilling to write down train numbers in a book, collect jaunty teapots, or run along canal towpaths until they vomit (you know who you are). Me, well, I like playing computer games (amongst other things).
After typing that I somehow feel a need to counter it by saying that although I admit to it, I'm not a wild-haired recluse with questionable hygiene and social skills (well, not after I've had a cup of tea in the morning). I'm not sure what it is about these kind of hobbies that lead people to offer some kind of qualifier when they reveal them, but being a 'gamer' is something I tend to feel slightly embarrassed about. I would certainly never put it on my CV, for example. In any case, my tireless work at the orphanage tends to take up too much room. Computer gaming is seen as an anti-social thing to do, and the standard image of the bespectacled nerd is often used with regard to people who claim to know anything about them. As my friends will attest, I know absolutely nothing about computers - but I do know how to plug in a joypad.
Over the last weekend I spent four days in a converted Chapel in the South Derbyshire countryside with a large group of friends. We weren't there to go hillwalking, fishing, or any other pastime which can be equally sniffed at by others - no, we were there to play computer games. A LAN (local area network) event is where a group of people bring their PC's, or in our case Xbox 360's (or in my case, nothing but a hopeful smile), connect them up with various multicoloured cables and a bit of swearing, play games against eachother, and eat a lot of Jaffa Cakes. I'd been to a few before, and yes, I do enjoy them. I grew up in the 1980's when computers were just coming into the public eye, and I challenge any lad born from 1975 onwards to admit to not having an interest in computer games at some point.
Of course, very few of them travel hundreds of miles to meet up and play them all weekend with people they see once a year at most - but then I'm sure some people travel hundreds of miles to attend classic car conventions, or spend hundreds of pounds importing guitars to add to their collection. Horses for courses and all that ;) I'm not afraid to admit I had a great time, catching up with the guys (as they almost always are). Playing a game in your flat is all well and good, but when you can play the same game in a large room against several friends who are there to shout abuse at you is far far better. It's like going to a book recital instead of reading in your house, or a concert instead of listening to a CD. Only with Jaffa Cakes, as I said.
So we swapped tales about what we'd been up to since the last meet - I had a fair few, of course - had a barbecue, drank a fair amount of cheap lager, and watched car after car after car drive past with England flags flapping from the windows. Oh, and played games, of course. From the sublime Project Gotham 3 on the 360 (which I am playing in the photo above), to the ridiculously brilliant Sunset Riders. I managed to play all kinds of different games, some of which I will certainly buy - like the awesome We Love Katamari - just check out the website (it's Japanese), some of which I won't, because I got a chance to try them out. We managed to squeeze in the England game - unfortunately - and also some award-winning fish and chips, which apparently in Belper they have with Mint Sauce. Wierd, no? It works, though. All in all it was a great weekend, and I'll be looking forward to the next time we meet up in 2007. If liking computer games enough to travel that far to play them makes me a geek, then hey, I'm a geek. What's your poison?
Friday, June 23, 2006
One-way trip to the vet
"Listen love, I've got something to tell you"
A while ago I introduced you to the delights of the ICD-10 'Causes of External Injury' code list from the World Health Organisation. The book is used regularly in my office when trying to find the exact medical diagnosis for various types of cancers and so forth. Also on our dusty bookshelf lurks the similar SNOMED codebook, which stands for the ‘Systemized Nomenclature of Human and Veterinary Medicine’ – or at least it does if you ignore a few words here and there.
I was idly flicking through this weighty burgundy and pink tome (published by the College of American Pathologists and the American Veterinary Medical Association), when I came across the section devoted to diseases and illnesses of animals. There are the usual suspects, such as BSE (code DE-3B130V), 'beef measles' (DE-65202V), and the unpleasant sounding 'contagious pustular acne' (DE-12610V). So with apologies to animal lovers everywhere, it’s time for another list...
- sudden death syndrome of feeder cattle (DF-D0021V)
- blackhead disease in turkeys (DE-50922V)
- mild disease of sheep (DE-22740V)
- contagious agalactica of goat (DE-15846V)
- greasy pig disease (DE-12240V)
Of course, plenty of these ghastly horrors affect the commoner species of domestic animals – although 'Mild disease' doesn’t sound too serious. I doubt any country-wide mass livestock burnings result from that. 'Contagious agalactica' sounds like goats are spontaneously assembling space rockets and blasting for the heavens. And can you imagine trying to catch a sow to treat it for 'greasy pig disease'?
- chronic wasting disease of captive mule, deer and elk (DE-3B130V)
- epidemic diarrhoeal disease of infant mouse (DE-35724V)
- San Miguel sea lion virus disease (DE-35430V)
- poison pod poisoning (DD-971A0V)
- wart hog disease (DE-32730V)
- turbot herpes (DE-32222V)
- sparrowpox (DE-31716V)
- wet crab yaws (DE-15522)
OK – deer and elk, fair enough – but mules as well? Why not moose? Or donkeys? Or does CWDoCMDaE (as I believe it's commonly abbreviated) only strike if mule, deer and elk are enclosed together? It would explain why you never see them in one field. I can't even begin to speculate as to what the San Miguel disease is – the only sea lion-specific ailment in the SNOMED book. And turbot herpes – I promise you, these aren't made up.
- Frounce (DE-53150V)
- Zwoegersiekte (DE-36220V)
- Pizzle rot (DE-12634V)
- Farcy pipes (DE-11B10)
- Fistulous withers (DE-11026V)
Being a medical-type book, there are plenty of archaic-sounding nasties inside. Personally, I think Fistulous Withers sounds like a Bond villain rather than an illness, but there you go. I definitely wouldn't want to catch Pizzle rot – just thinking about it makes me want to cross my legs. And didn't Arthur Askey used to play the Farcy pipes?
- pale bird syndrome (DE-35512V)
- Congo floor maggot disease (DE-71401)
- giant intestinal fluke infection (DE-60450)
- Swamp Cancer (DE-5A020V)
- snuffles in rabbits (DE-13160V)
- old dog disease (DE-33970V)
“I’m sorry farmer Giles, but your chickens have been struck down with Pale Bird syndrome,”
“Ah. I thought they were just white.”
“No, sorry. And see these maggots in your pigs? Congo floor maggot disease. There’s no cure, I’m afraid.”
“Bugger. That’ll teach me to import African pig carpet for them to lie on.”
“Hmmm. Also in the lower field I found hundreds of giant intestinal flukes – I think your cows may have succumbed.”
“No, no, I’m breeding them. We turn them into sausages. They are quite robust.”
“I’ll say, I had to fight them off with a stick. While I’m here – your swamp-fed sheep will need radiotherapy, your rabbits have called in sick, and your sheepdog has started reminiscing about the war.”
“Oh bother. Still, at least I’ll get extra subsidies, eh?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re incinerating your farm. From orbit.”
A while ago I introduced you to the delights of the ICD-10 'Causes of External Injury' code list from the World Health Organisation. The book is used regularly in my office when trying to find the exact medical diagnosis for various types of cancers and so forth. Also on our dusty bookshelf lurks the similar SNOMED codebook, which stands for the ‘Systemized Nomenclature of Human and Veterinary Medicine’ – or at least it does if you ignore a few words here and there.
I was idly flicking through this weighty burgundy and pink tome (published by the College of American Pathologists and the American Veterinary Medical Association), when I came across the section devoted to diseases and illnesses of animals. There are the usual suspects, such as BSE (code DE-3B130V), 'beef measles' (DE-65202V), and the unpleasant sounding 'contagious pustular acne' (DE-12610V). So with apologies to animal lovers everywhere, it’s time for another list...
- sudden death syndrome of feeder cattle (DF-D0021V)
- blackhead disease in turkeys (DE-50922V)
- mild disease of sheep (DE-22740V)
- contagious agalactica of goat (DE-15846V)
- greasy pig disease (DE-12240V)
Of course, plenty of these ghastly horrors affect the commoner species of domestic animals – although 'Mild disease' doesn’t sound too serious. I doubt any country-wide mass livestock burnings result from that. 'Contagious agalactica' sounds like goats are spontaneously assembling space rockets and blasting for the heavens. And can you imagine trying to catch a sow to treat it for 'greasy pig disease'?
- chronic wasting disease of captive mule, deer and elk (DE-3B130V)
- epidemic diarrhoeal disease of infant mouse (DE-35724V)
- San Miguel sea lion virus disease (DE-35430V)
- poison pod poisoning (DD-971A0V)
- wart hog disease (DE-32730V)
- turbot herpes (DE-32222V)
- sparrowpox (DE-31716V)
- wet crab yaws (DE-15522)
OK – deer and elk, fair enough – but mules as well? Why not moose? Or donkeys? Or does CWDoCMDaE (as I believe it's commonly abbreviated) only strike if mule, deer and elk are enclosed together? It would explain why you never see them in one field. I can't even begin to speculate as to what the San Miguel disease is – the only sea lion-specific ailment in the SNOMED book. And turbot herpes – I promise you, these aren't made up.
- Frounce (DE-53150V)
- Zwoegersiekte (DE-36220V)
- Pizzle rot (DE-12634V)
- Farcy pipes (DE-11B10)
- Fistulous withers (DE-11026V)
Being a medical-type book, there are plenty of archaic-sounding nasties inside. Personally, I think Fistulous Withers sounds like a Bond villain rather than an illness, but there you go. I definitely wouldn't want to catch Pizzle rot – just thinking about it makes me want to cross my legs. And didn't Arthur Askey used to play the Farcy pipes?
- pale bird syndrome (DE-35512V)
- Congo floor maggot disease (DE-71401)
- giant intestinal fluke infection (DE-60450)
- Swamp Cancer (DE-5A020V)
- snuffles in rabbits (DE-13160V)
- old dog disease (DE-33970V)
“I’m sorry farmer Giles, but your chickens have been struck down with Pale Bird syndrome,”
“Ah. I thought they were just white.”
“No, sorry. And see these maggots in your pigs? Congo floor maggot disease. There’s no cure, I’m afraid.”
“Bugger. That’ll teach me to import African pig carpet for them to lie on.”
“Hmmm. Also in the lower field I found hundreds of giant intestinal flukes – I think your cows may have succumbed.”
“No, no, I’m breeding them. We turn them into sausages. They are quite robust.”
“I’ll say, I had to fight them off with a stick. While I’m here – your swamp-fed sheep will need radiotherapy, your rabbits have called in sick, and your sheepdog has started reminiscing about the war.”
“Oh bother. Still, at least I’ll get extra subsidies, eh?”
“I’m afraid not. We’re incinerating your farm. From orbit.”
Monday, June 19, 2006
The DUaB Guide to...hostelling
Home sweet home
Seeing as I'm careering wildly towards the start of my third decade, I think it's only right I should use this mouthpiece to offload some of my long-found wisdom. After all, blogs are a great forum for espousing opinions - but I guess you can also use them for important stuff people might want to read, rather than my favourite type of pie (and anyway, we all know what that is). So with that in mind, get ready for the first in a series (possibly) of Down Under and Beyond Guides - this one aimed at my globtrotting regulars - how to hostel
- The key thing to remember is the 'Ladder of longevity' - in a shared dorm, the guys who've been there for the longest are the top dogs. When you arrive, there will be only one bunk left - up in the corner by the draughty window/undimmable safety light/curious mould. That will be yours. As soon as someone leaves, the others immediately steal their superior matresses/pillows, meaning the new person always has the worst combination. This is standard, and can only be solved by nicking a better spot for yourself when it becomes available. Or fighting.
- Always get up early to avoid the queue for the showers, or shower at unpopular times like 2am. You won't have to wait, but the water will be cold and you need to be quick with the towel as you'll be a bullseye for insects. At least this means you won't have to run the wrath of sleep deprived Dutch girls waiting in line the next morning. Or you could not shower at all, in which case you'll probably get a better bunk faster too, as your dorm mysteriously empties. Also, if you are the first person in the shower in the morning and the floor is surprisingly sticky - best not to think about it too much.
- The best bed to pick is the bottom bunk furthest away from the door. Only children prefer top bunks, as all that clambering about on a kitchen table-sized wobbly mattress can only end in tears. On the bottom you can store your stuff without anything falling off, and when the grouchy cleaner comes in you can quickly push your pile across the floor under someone else's bunk, and shake your head in sympathy at your mucky cohabitant. Oh, and never loudly announce "Right! Let's get pissed!" before jumping from the top bunk, as it can lead to a broken ankle, a hospital visit, and a sheepish expression.
- Never leave anything important lying around in a dorm, it just isn't worth it. Of course, if you're backpacking you won't have anything of value anyway that you can't keep on you at all times. If I was near my old hostel in Kings Cross and needed the toilet, I used to wander in and use theirs - even when I was living on the other side of Sydney. Nobody ever questioned me.
- If you come back from a trip out and find a new person's belongings on a bed, have a quick look to find out who you'll be rooming with from now on. Nametags, types of clothes, brands of guidebook - all give useful clues as to their nationality/gender. If you find a Harry Potter novel, or the Da Vinci Code, throw it out of the window. You can always blame that Canadian bloke in the corner.
- Try not to get back from a night out and remove your contact lenses minutes before a group of drunken Swedish girls return from a foam party and decide to have a shower. I can't stress this highly enough.
- Be prepared to encounter 'backpacker bores' - travellers that constantly try to one-up you with fulfilling anecdotes about their pointless adventures. Have a few outlandish lies ready, to throw at them when they start droning on about helping deliver a baby yak halfway up the Anapurna Trail, or something. "Yeah yeah, that's fascinating. I had to spend a couple of weeks in the mountains too recently. Just outside Rome - the Titularses - do you know them? No? Lovely spot, the dew forms so fast you can almost drink it off the vines. Views for miles along the valleys. Course I was only hiding there 'cos of what I did to the Pope."
- If you come in late at night, the unforgivable sin of dorm living is to turn on the light. Your fellow dormers will much appreciate your courtesy, and prefer drunken stumbling, crashing noises, and swearing to dazzling light, drunken stumbling, crashing noises, and swearing.
- If someone wearing sandals reaches for a guitar, leave the room.
- If in a dorm in a remote and dusty part of Australia, don't investigate that odd-looking hairy black insect-thing hanging in the corner. It can probably kill you. Don't try and scare it off by holding a cigarette lighter in front of a can of deodorant and pressing the nozzle. That will certainly kill you.
- If struggling to find a place in a dorm in Vienna, don't answer "Oh, cool" when told the only available place is an all-female hostel. It won't lead to an invitation.
- Be prepared to answer the same questions on countless occasions - your name, where you're from, what your route was through SE Asia, etc etc. Always mix it up a little each time to keep people on their toes - "Hey! Are you Marcel? The German guys in Room 3 said you found a great circuit to Angkor Wat. I'm going there in July - any tips?" "Marcel? Sorry, my name's Hector. I've never been to Angkor Wat. Oh, if anyone from the Royal Navy comes asking about me, tell them I went to New Zealand"
Seeing as I'm careering wildly towards the start of my third decade, I think it's only right I should use this mouthpiece to offload some of my long-found wisdom. After all, blogs are a great forum for espousing opinions - but I guess you can also use them for important stuff people might want to read, rather than my favourite type of pie (and anyway, we all know what that is). So with that in mind, get ready for the first in a series (possibly) of Down Under and Beyond Guides - this one aimed at my globtrotting regulars - how to hostel
- The key thing to remember is the 'Ladder of longevity' - in a shared dorm, the guys who've been there for the longest are the top dogs. When you arrive, there will be only one bunk left - up in the corner by the draughty window/undimmable safety light/curious mould. That will be yours. As soon as someone leaves, the others immediately steal their superior matresses/pillows, meaning the new person always has the worst combination. This is standard, and can only be solved by nicking a better spot for yourself when it becomes available. Or fighting.
- Always get up early to avoid the queue for the showers, or shower at unpopular times like 2am. You won't have to wait, but the water will be cold and you need to be quick with the towel as you'll be a bullseye for insects. At least this means you won't have to run the wrath of sleep deprived Dutch girls waiting in line the next morning. Or you could not shower at all, in which case you'll probably get a better bunk faster too, as your dorm mysteriously empties. Also, if you are the first person in the shower in the morning and the floor is surprisingly sticky - best not to think about it too much.
- The best bed to pick is the bottom bunk furthest away from the door. Only children prefer top bunks, as all that clambering about on a kitchen table-sized wobbly mattress can only end in tears. On the bottom you can store your stuff without anything falling off, and when the grouchy cleaner comes in you can quickly push your pile across the floor under someone else's bunk, and shake your head in sympathy at your mucky cohabitant. Oh, and never loudly announce "Right! Let's get pissed!" before jumping from the top bunk, as it can lead to a broken ankle, a hospital visit, and a sheepish expression.
- Never leave anything important lying around in a dorm, it just isn't worth it. Of course, if you're backpacking you won't have anything of value anyway that you can't keep on you at all times. If I was near my old hostel in Kings Cross and needed the toilet, I used to wander in and use theirs - even when I was living on the other side of Sydney. Nobody ever questioned me.
- If you come back from a trip out and find a new person's belongings on a bed, have a quick look to find out who you'll be rooming with from now on. Nametags, types of clothes, brands of guidebook - all give useful clues as to their nationality/gender. If you find a Harry Potter novel, or the Da Vinci Code, throw it out of the window. You can always blame that Canadian bloke in the corner.
- Try not to get back from a night out and remove your contact lenses minutes before a group of drunken Swedish girls return from a foam party and decide to have a shower. I can't stress this highly enough.
- Be prepared to encounter 'backpacker bores' - travellers that constantly try to one-up you with fulfilling anecdotes about their pointless adventures. Have a few outlandish lies ready, to throw at them when they start droning on about helping deliver a baby yak halfway up the Anapurna Trail, or something. "Yeah yeah, that's fascinating. I had to spend a couple of weeks in the mountains too recently. Just outside Rome - the Titularses - do you know them? No? Lovely spot, the dew forms so fast you can almost drink it off the vines. Views for miles along the valleys. Course I was only hiding there 'cos of what I did to the Pope."
- If you come in late at night, the unforgivable sin of dorm living is to turn on the light. Your fellow dormers will much appreciate your courtesy, and prefer drunken stumbling, crashing noises, and swearing to dazzling light, drunken stumbling, crashing noises, and swearing.
- If someone wearing sandals reaches for a guitar, leave the room.
- If in a dorm in a remote and dusty part of Australia, don't investigate that odd-looking hairy black insect-thing hanging in the corner. It can probably kill you. Don't try and scare it off by holding a cigarette lighter in front of a can of deodorant and pressing the nozzle. That will certainly kill you.
- If struggling to find a place in a dorm in Vienna, don't answer "Oh, cool" when told the only available place is an all-female hostel. It won't lead to an invitation.
- Be prepared to answer the same questions on countless occasions - your name, where you're from, what your route was through SE Asia, etc etc. Always mix it up a little each time to keep people on their toes - "Hey! Are you Marcel? The German guys in Room 3 said you found a great circuit to Angkor Wat. I'm going there in July - any tips?" "Marcel? Sorry, my name's Hector. I've never been to Angkor Wat. Oh, if anyone from the Royal Navy comes asking about me, tell them I went to New Zealand"
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Vlamingh Humpback story
Cape Vlamingh, Western Australia
I've always had a pretty good memory, one way or the other. It certainly comes in handy when I'm caught on a bus with nothing to do, or walking home from work with nothing to think about. I'm always able to recollect part of my travels, and can picture fairly closely what it looked like at the time - the buzzing neon of Akihabara, the creeping heat of Sydney in December, or whatever. It means I never get bored, as I can drift off and think about somewhere I've been - which to me is the very best thing about travelling, building up this huge memory bank of sights and sounds that I can call up when I need to.
With that in mind, the other day I suddenly found myself thinking about whales. Not the rainswept Geography fieldtrip to Carnarvon when I was at college - the large sea creatures I'd never seen until I was in Australia. I did try to see them before, but heavy weather torpedoed my attempt at Kaikoura in New Zealand - one of the most famous whale watching locations in the world. In the end, I managed to see truly wild Humpback whales in the far, far Northwest of Australia - near the remote town of Exmouth.
At Cape Vlamingh there's a lighthouse that looks out over a broad earthy bay housing the Harold Holt Communications Station, established by the US to track Soviet submarines in the Indian Ocean. At the end of a long day of snorkelling and sunbaking (as the Australians call it) we rolled up the hill to take in the sunset. Bus driver Steve produced a battered box of cheap wine and a stack of plastic cups, and we toasted another successful afternoon. I was idly gazing out to sea, when I saw something dark grey splash out of the water in the middle distance. Someone else saw it too, and we both said at the same time "Ooh! Was that a...?" seconds before a Humpback Whale vaulted out of the sea and thumped back in a soundless plume of foam.
Very soon, everyone was eagerly watching as the whales launched themselves spectacularly out of the ocean every half-minute or so. We were so far away that I could hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and they weren't obscured - but in many ways it was much better than point-blank whale-watching aboard those intrusive boats. Here nobody was hassling or pressurising them, they were leaping about in the late afternoon sun purely for the hell of it - and had no idea we were watching.
Steve turned to us and said something like "It's a pity they're so far away and we can't see them, eh?" whilst casually leaning against a large copper telescope. I pointed it out to him, and by his reaction I don't think he had even noticed it. So he rolled a dollar coin into the slot and enthusiastically twiddled the focus dial for a while, before swearing and standing upright again. "Bloody thing's broken! The one time someone needs to use it, and it doesn't bloody work!". He thumped it a couple of times, before noticing a brass plate screwed to the top, with a contact phone number etched on. "I'm bloody ringing that".
"G'day mate", he said "I'm standing here at Cape Vlamingh trying to look at these whales jumping out of the sea, and the telescope has swallowed about five bucks of my money". He paused for a moment. "Ah, right. So you're the bloke that fixes it, yeah? Are you in the lighthouse?" We all turned expectantly to look at the lighthouse. "You're in Broome?" [three days drive up the coast] "Bugger mate - the whales are all over the place down here. Can't you send a helicopter or anything? Hello? Hello?"
I've always had a pretty good memory, one way or the other. It certainly comes in handy when I'm caught on a bus with nothing to do, or walking home from work with nothing to think about. I'm always able to recollect part of my travels, and can picture fairly closely what it looked like at the time - the buzzing neon of Akihabara, the creeping heat of Sydney in December, or whatever. It means I never get bored, as I can drift off and think about somewhere I've been - which to me is the very best thing about travelling, building up this huge memory bank of sights and sounds that I can call up when I need to.
With that in mind, the other day I suddenly found myself thinking about whales. Not the rainswept Geography fieldtrip to Carnarvon when I was at college - the large sea creatures I'd never seen until I was in Australia. I did try to see them before, but heavy weather torpedoed my attempt at Kaikoura in New Zealand - one of the most famous whale watching locations in the world. In the end, I managed to see truly wild Humpback whales in the far, far Northwest of Australia - near the remote town of Exmouth.
At Cape Vlamingh there's a lighthouse that looks out over a broad earthy bay housing the Harold Holt Communications Station, established by the US to track Soviet submarines in the Indian Ocean. At the end of a long day of snorkelling and sunbaking (as the Australians call it) we rolled up the hill to take in the sunset. Bus driver Steve produced a battered box of cheap wine and a stack of plastic cups, and we toasted another successful afternoon. I was idly gazing out to sea, when I saw something dark grey splash out of the water in the middle distance. Someone else saw it too, and we both said at the same time "Ooh! Was that a...?" seconds before a Humpback Whale vaulted out of the sea and thumped back in a soundless plume of foam.
Very soon, everyone was eagerly watching as the whales launched themselves spectacularly out of the ocean every half-minute or so. We were so far away that I could hold my thumb and forefinger an inch apart and they weren't obscured - but in many ways it was much better than point-blank whale-watching aboard those intrusive boats. Here nobody was hassling or pressurising them, they were leaping about in the late afternoon sun purely for the hell of it - and had no idea we were watching.
Steve turned to us and said something like "It's a pity they're so far away and we can't see them, eh?" whilst casually leaning against a large copper telescope. I pointed it out to him, and by his reaction I don't think he had even noticed it. So he rolled a dollar coin into the slot and enthusiastically twiddled the focus dial for a while, before swearing and standing upright again. "Bloody thing's broken! The one time someone needs to use it, and it doesn't bloody work!". He thumped it a couple of times, before noticing a brass plate screwed to the top, with a contact phone number etched on. "I'm bloody ringing that".
"G'day mate", he said "I'm standing here at Cape Vlamingh trying to look at these whales jumping out of the sea, and the telescope has swallowed about five bucks of my money". He paused for a moment. "Ah, right. So you're the bloke that fixes it, yeah? Are you in the lighthouse?" We all turned expectantly to look at the lighthouse. "You're in Broome?" [three days drive up the coast] "Bugger mate - the whales are all over the place down here. Can't you send a helicopter or anything? Hello? Hello?"
Monday, June 12, 2006
Fußball hat angefangen!
England expects, Scotland doesn't...
"So have you been outside enjoying all this sun?" asked the checkout girl in Waitrose yesterday afternoon. "No, I've been sitting in my pants in the dark watching football all weekend, and this is the first time I've left my flat" I replied. Well, I didn't really - I lied to her face and told her I had (I don't feel half as bad lying to the Tesco staff as I do Waitrose - I think it's all the besuited 'managers' standing around like Casino pitbosses, making everyone feel guilty). In truth I was actually wishing she'd scan my stuff through quicker, as Mexico v Iran was kicking off soon.
The World Cup has started! The office sweeps have been conducted (I pulled out Brazil in ours), the wallcharts are up (I have two - it isn't a World Cup without a wallchart), the curtains are closed, and the non-football watchers are out pretending they're having fun whilst secretly wishing they had an excuse to sit in their pants drinking beer in the afternoon. It's one month every four years when the most popular sport on Earth takes centre stage and a global audience of something like 300 bazillion people tune in to see the excitement, flair and staggering haircuts that are a part of the beautiful game.
For us Europeans, this tournament in Germany gives us games at decent times of the day - for the 2002 finals in Korea/Japan the kickoffs were all over the place. As it happened I was in Australia when those games happened, and watched the final that year in a pub in Northern Queensland with a Gecko crawling about on the ceiling above us. For the 1994 finals I was in Spain, and there was a considerable rivalry between our largely British campsite and the neighbouring Dutch campers. Seeing as England didn't qualify for those finals, we supported everyone else - especially if they happened to be playing the Netherlands.
The England flag is also missing...
That brings me nicely to the subject of living in Scotland but supporting England. It's always been an interesting experience, as a noisy majority (but of course not all) Scots loudly cheer for any team playing England, the 'auld enemy'. I was emailed a photograph of the Scottish flag at the English border, which has been mysteriously joined by the flags of Sweden, Trinidad & Tobago and Paraguay - England's opponents for the group stages. Some pubs in Edinburgh give out free drinks in England lose, and as Scotland didn't qualify for Germany, sports shops have been doing a brisk trade in Trinidad replica shirts.
Mind you, unless alcohol's involved, I can take most of it - like our aforementioned office sweep which had the special rule whereby if you drew out England and didn't want them, you could put them back and pull out another team. This could have led to a heartaching conflict for the Scottish supporter - the natural dislike of cheering for England against the possibility of winning money - but as it happened the bloke who picked England was Irish and decided to keep them. Likewise our office fantasy league has produced some interesting team names 'I hope England get stuffed', being the pick - although 'Peter Crouch's High Balls' is my personal favourite.
Anyway, back to the game itself. As I write this, we're barely 1/5 of the way through the tournament, with over three weeks of diving, playacting, and speculative shots fired over the crossbar to look forward to (Italy's first game is tonight). The shops will continue to run out of booze (not uncommon up here as it happens). I used to work in a Spar warehouse, and to a man the staff there hated football tournaments as they had to work twice as hard to cope with the beer orders. I'm going to miss my first game today as I'm at work - sadly Japan v Australia, which holds particular interest for me of course. But as of 5pm I'll be back in front of the matches, rooted to the sofa. I should say - if you thought I was completely vegetative over the weekend only watching football, I did vary my day slightly - I watched the Grand Prix too...
"So have you been outside enjoying all this sun?" asked the checkout girl in Waitrose yesterday afternoon. "No, I've been sitting in my pants in the dark watching football all weekend, and this is the first time I've left my flat" I replied. Well, I didn't really - I lied to her face and told her I had (I don't feel half as bad lying to the Tesco staff as I do Waitrose - I think it's all the besuited 'managers' standing around like Casino pitbosses, making everyone feel guilty). In truth I was actually wishing she'd scan my stuff through quicker, as Mexico v Iran was kicking off soon.
The World Cup has started! The office sweeps have been conducted (I pulled out Brazil in ours), the wallcharts are up (I have two - it isn't a World Cup without a wallchart), the curtains are closed, and the non-football watchers are out pretending they're having fun whilst secretly wishing they had an excuse to sit in their pants drinking beer in the afternoon. It's one month every four years when the most popular sport on Earth takes centre stage and a global audience of something like 300 bazillion people tune in to see the excitement, flair and staggering haircuts that are a part of the beautiful game.
For us Europeans, this tournament in Germany gives us games at decent times of the day - for the 2002 finals in Korea/Japan the kickoffs were all over the place. As it happened I was in Australia when those games happened, and watched the final that year in a pub in Northern Queensland with a Gecko crawling about on the ceiling above us. For the 1994 finals I was in Spain, and there was a considerable rivalry between our largely British campsite and the neighbouring Dutch campers. Seeing as England didn't qualify for those finals, we supported everyone else - especially if they happened to be playing the Netherlands.
The England flag is also missing...
That brings me nicely to the subject of living in Scotland but supporting England. It's always been an interesting experience, as a noisy majority (but of course not all) Scots loudly cheer for any team playing England, the 'auld enemy'. I was emailed a photograph of the Scottish flag at the English border, which has been mysteriously joined by the flags of Sweden, Trinidad & Tobago and Paraguay - England's opponents for the group stages. Some pubs in Edinburgh give out free drinks in England lose, and as Scotland didn't qualify for Germany, sports shops have been doing a brisk trade in Trinidad replica shirts.
Mind you, unless alcohol's involved, I can take most of it - like our aforementioned office sweep which had the special rule whereby if you drew out England and didn't want them, you could put them back and pull out another team. This could have led to a heartaching conflict for the Scottish supporter - the natural dislike of cheering for England against the possibility of winning money - but as it happened the bloke who picked England was Irish and decided to keep them. Likewise our office fantasy league has produced some interesting team names 'I hope England get stuffed', being the pick - although 'Peter Crouch's High Balls' is my personal favourite.
Anyway, back to the game itself. As I write this, we're barely 1/5 of the way through the tournament, with over three weeks of diving, playacting, and speculative shots fired over the crossbar to look forward to (Italy's first game is tonight). The shops will continue to run out of booze (not uncommon up here as it happens). I used to work in a Spar warehouse, and to a man the staff there hated football tournaments as they had to work twice as hard to cope with the beer orders. I'm going to miss my first game today as I'm at work - sadly Japan v Australia, which holds particular interest for me of course. But as of 5pm I'll be back in front of the matches, rooted to the sofa. I should say - if you thought I was completely vegetative over the weekend only watching football, I did vary my day slightly - I watched the Grand Prix too...
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Spot the difference
Alrighty, a quick housekeeping post before the weekend's potentially large report concerning a certain football tournament which begins tomorrow. But I'll say more about the World Cup then - in the meantime, some important (yet uninteresting) news!
Firstly, the eagle eyed DUaB regulars might have noticed a slight change in some of the photos for the posts below. This is due to me accidentally stumbling across something called Macromedia Fireworks on the new PC that appeared in my flat when I was in London. It means with a bit of clicking and dragging, and a fair amount of swearing, I can turn the pixellated photos of old into sharper images of the same size - or even crop them to make prettier images. I've put a couple of examples below, with the new improved version above the old image as seen on DUaB previously. Over the next few weeks I'll be going back over the archive and transforming the photos - exciting!
Secondly, it appears I might be going to Scandinavia in July for a few weeks, Inter-railing through Sweden, Norway and Finland. Yep, you read that correctly - Inter-railing. I'm still in my 20's, I think it's allowed (our choice of Scandinavia has nothing to do with the Norwegian entry from Eurovision, by the way). It should be a final swangsong for my backpacking days - although I might be going to Vancouver for New Year, so my voyages will continue. Which brings me neatly to another link appeared on the right there, called 'My Life of Travel'. It's a travel-writing blog ring, and so far I've just copied my short travel bursts from DUaB to MLoT. Over time I'll be going over them and re-writing them with more flowery language and longer words to make me look smarter, and so forth. So something for you to read when that Switzerland v Togo World Cup match just doesn't capture the imagination...
New photos above old...
Firstly, the eagle eyed DUaB regulars might have noticed a slight change in some of the photos for the posts below. This is due to me accidentally stumbling across something called Macromedia Fireworks on the new PC that appeared in my flat when I was in London. It means with a bit of clicking and dragging, and a fair amount of swearing, I can turn the pixellated photos of old into sharper images of the same size - or even crop them to make prettier images. I've put a couple of examples below, with the new improved version above the old image as seen on DUaB previously. Over the next few weeks I'll be going back over the archive and transforming the photos - exciting!
Secondly, it appears I might be going to Scandinavia in July for a few weeks, Inter-railing through Sweden, Norway and Finland. Yep, you read that correctly - Inter-railing. I'm still in my 20's, I think it's allowed (our choice of Scandinavia has nothing to do with the Norwegian entry from Eurovision, by the way). It should be a final swangsong for my backpacking days - although I might be going to Vancouver for New Year, so my voyages will continue. Which brings me neatly to another link appeared on the right there, called 'My Life of Travel'. It's a travel-writing blog ring, and so far I've just copied my short travel bursts from DUaB to MLoT. Over time I'll be going over them and re-writing them with more flowery language and longer words to make me look smarter, and so forth. So something for you to read when that Switzerland v Togo World Cup match just doesn't capture the imagination...
New photos above old...
Monday, June 05, 2006
Leaving on a jetplane
What's your vector, Victor?
Like most of you I imagine, I was keenly reading Al Gore's tips on how to be Greener last week, and was unsurprised that Flying less was on his list - second only to RETAKE WHITEHOUSE, I think. Like most jetsetting politicians, Gore flies around regularly, to promote his flying less agenda - which he squares with his conscience by offsetting emissions by giving money to pygmies, or something. I was thinking about this in the departure lounge of Heathrow's Terminal 1, and wondering whether I should do something about it. As regular DUaB readers will know (and I'm working on the secret handshake), I fly quite a lot - like my knee-breaking three 12hr flights in four days last year (Tokyo>Sydney>Seoul>London).
I'm just old enough to remember when flying was fun - before these days of terrorism and planetary collapse. When flight attendants were stewardesses, and pilots gave you a jaunty salute as they went into the cockpit. Or maybe that was just Airplane and it never really happened. Going on holiday was made even better by the excitement of getting on a plane, it made you feel more special than being stuck in traffic on the M6 in the rain, anyway. Now the flight has ceased to be part of the enjoyable start of the holiday and has become something to be endured and suffered through - the holiday only starts when you get out of the airport at the other end.
Not that I've had any bad flying incidents to make me this jaded - and I even survived an emergency landing after a plane I was on developed a fault with the undercarriage. We were diverted from Cardiff to Nottingham East Midlands, and I remember looking out of the windows at the fire engines pelting to the runway thinking it was pretty cool - until realising they were pelting there for us. It was all a precaution, of course. Oh, and I was on a flight to the Canary Islands when a fight broke out - but again that was before these days of 'endangering the aircraft' and shoe bombs and the like, so the cabin staff prised them apart (it was a husband and wife). They were arrested by the Guardia Civil when we landed, however.
So I'm always expressly charming to cabin staff, as it's a horrible job I would not want - having to be nice and polite to people for hours at a stretch. If they can't, they get sent to work for Northwestern Airlines, I think. On a Boston-bound flight water started pouring out of the bulkhead onto our seats, and after minutes of button pushing, one of them sauntered down to us and curtly asked us what the problem was. "Oh, it always does that" she said. "It will be worse when we land", before wandering off to get us a pile of paper napkins to wedge in the hole.
When you get there it can be bad too - I once got all the way to Sydney before the airport announced my name over the PA system to say my luggage had been left in Edinburgh. I had to wait three days for it to be expressed over, with only the clothes I was wearing to my name. I only had one pair of socks - those long anti-DVT ones - so I built up a few years worth of immunity before my stuff arrived. Also I really object to being photographed and fingerprinted in the US like a criminal - but what can you do? Show any kind of dissent and it's off to Guantanamo. Customs officials over there are the worst I've encountered too - in Australia they are always cheerful, Tokyo extremely polite, but I've been grilled in the States by men who seemingly do it just because they can. I guess that serves me right for arriving on a night-flight from Amsterdam. I'm just glad I don't have an Arabic name.
Anyway, despite all that my experiences haven't been entirely bad or I'd never leave the country. If you want a fun airline atmosphere, take a Friday night flight to Dublin. The one I was on a few years ago was like a night out in a bar combined with the last day of school - I think only the pilots were sober (or at least I hope so). Another great memory - and also alcohol related - was on a Malaysian Airlines plane from Kuala Lumpur to Sydney (I've been asked this before, but Malaysian are without doubt the best airline I've ever flown with). It was the first time Edd or I had been over the Equator - ironic considering where he now lives - and the steward, who was a burly bloke called Raheem with a curly moustache, somehow found out, or guessed, and gave us a free beer and an ice-cream to celebrate. We had no idea what time it was, but enjoyed the treats as we watched the tiny plane symbol on the guidance map blink over the white line dividing the hemispheres...
Like most of you I imagine, I was keenly reading Al Gore's tips on how to be Greener last week, and was unsurprised that Flying less was on his list - second only to RETAKE WHITEHOUSE, I think. Like most jetsetting politicians, Gore flies around regularly, to promote his flying less agenda - which he squares with his conscience by offsetting emissions by giving money to pygmies, or something. I was thinking about this in the departure lounge of Heathrow's Terminal 1, and wondering whether I should do something about it. As regular DUaB readers will know (and I'm working on the secret handshake), I fly quite a lot - like my knee-breaking three 12hr flights in four days last year (Tokyo>Sydney>Seoul>London).
I'm just old enough to remember when flying was fun - before these days of terrorism and planetary collapse. When flight attendants were stewardesses, and pilots gave you a jaunty salute as they went into the cockpit. Or maybe that was just Airplane and it never really happened. Going on holiday was made even better by the excitement of getting on a plane, it made you feel more special than being stuck in traffic on the M6 in the rain, anyway. Now the flight has ceased to be part of the enjoyable start of the holiday and has become something to be endured and suffered through - the holiday only starts when you get out of the airport at the other end.
Not that I've had any bad flying incidents to make me this jaded - and I even survived an emergency landing after a plane I was on developed a fault with the undercarriage. We were diverted from Cardiff to Nottingham East Midlands, and I remember looking out of the windows at the fire engines pelting to the runway thinking it was pretty cool - until realising they were pelting there for us. It was all a precaution, of course. Oh, and I was on a flight to the Canary Islands when a fight broke out - but again that was before these days of 'endangering the aircraft' and shoe bombs and the like, so the cabin staff prised them apart (it was a husband and wife). They were arrested by the Guardia Civil when we landed, however.
So I'm always expressly charming to cabin staff, as it's a horrible job I would not want - having to be nice and polite to people for hours at a stretch. If they can't, they get sent to work for Northwestern Airlines, I think. On a Boston-bound flight water started pouring out of the bulkhead onto our seats, and after minutes of button pushing, one of them sauntered down to us and curtly asked us what the problem was. "Oh, it always does that" she said. "It will be worse when we land", before wandering off to get us a pile of paper napkins to wedge in the hole.
When you get there it can be bad too - I once got all the way to Sydney before the airport announced my name over the PA system to say my luggage had been left in Edinburgh. I had to wait three days for it to be expressed over, with only the clothes I was wearing to my name. I only had one pair of socks - those long anti-DVT ones - so I built up a few years worth of immunity before my stuff arrived. Also I really object to being photographed and fingerprinted in the US like a criminal - but what can you do? Show any kind of dissent and it's off to Guantanamo. Customs officials over there are the worst I've encountered too - in Australia they are always cheerful, Tokyo extremely polite, but I've been grilled in the States by men who seemingly do it just because they can. I guess that serves me right for arriving on a night-flight from Amsterdam. I'm just glad I don't have an Arabic name.
Anyway, despite all that my experiences haven't been entirely bad or I'd never leave the country. If you want a fun airline atmosphere, take a Friday night flight to Dublin. The one I was on a few years ago was like a night out in a bar combined with the last day of school - I think only the pilots were sober (or at least I hope so). Another great memory - and also alcohol related - was on a Malaysian Airlines plane from Kuala Lumpur to Sydney (I've been asked this before, but Malaysian are without doubt the best airline I've ever flown with). It was the first time Edd or I had been over the Equator - ironic considering where he now lives - and the steward, who was a burly bloke called Raheem with a curly moustache, somehow found out, or guessed, and gave us a free beer and an ice-cream to celebrate. We had no idea what time it was, but enjoyed the treats as we watched the tiny plane symbol on the guidance map blink over the white line dividing the hemispheres...
Thursday, June 01, 2006
London calling
Forget beefeaters or the Houses of Parliament, nothing says 'I've been to London' like a drunken self portrait taken on the tube. After an acoustic music night at a Tapas restaurant in Turnpike Lane, I managed to snap a few photos of myself on the last Picadilly Line train. In case you're thinking I've suddenly become some kind of exhibitionist, I of course looked around to make sure nobody else was in the carriage. Taking photographs is second only to talking to people you don't know on the list of Tube no-no's. We are British, after all.
I don't care how old you are - Dinosaurs rule. Simple as that. It explains why the only part of the Natural History Museum you have to queue up for (apart from getting in), are the boney lizards like this one. Like all men, I had a dinosaur phase when I were a lad, and it was fun walking around looking at the youngsters open-mouthed as they excitedly tried to take it all in. It would have been even more fun if they'd let me get to the displays to push the buttons to make the models roar. Little bastards.
This is the monument erected by the people of Great Britain - after much controversy and expense - to the actor Anthony Daniels, for his timeless performance as C3P0 in the Star Wars series. At least that's what it looks like from a distance, as when you get closer you find out it's really to Prince Albert and so is far less exciting.
Kew Gardens in leafy South London is home to millions of plants and flowers and trees - and also the largest Victorian glass building in the world (this isn't it). When the weather's nice, it's a pleasant stroll around the gardens and through the sweaty greenhouses. Sadly the experience is let down by the £11 entrance fee - Edinburgh's Botanic Gardens is free (and far superior in my admittedly florally ignorant opinion), and the fact that every 60 seconds a low-flying plane rumbles overhead en route to nearby Heathrow. A bit rich seeing as how I travelled to London, I know, but it's not as peaceful a place as it should be.
Under cover of darkness, Andy and Grant belt out some classics from their heaving back catalogue at an acoustic night. After the aformentioned impromptu gig at a Spanish restaurant in North London, this was at a more traditional muso event underneath a pub in Farringdon. They are extremely hard to pick out in the blackness, but Grant's on the right next to the drum. Andy is on the left hidden by his hair, as ever. You can go here to listen to some of his music. If you do, you'll see what the above photo would have looked like had I turned the flash on.
The 'Diana Princess of Wales Memorial Fountain' in Hyde Park, which was exceedingly controversial when it opened. A circular ribbon of water, it runs around a loop on the banks of the Serpentine in Hyde Park. When she died, it became a 'Where were you when you heard?' moment. I can distinctly remember where I was - in our local waiting for the Liverpool Newcastle match which they cancelled as a mark of respect. She didn't get much respect from the Sherwood regulars as a result, I can tell you. The fountain is impressive - but only in a technical way. Kids can paddle in it, which she would have liked, but it also traps rubbish and sucks water out of the water table when it could easily be recycled. It just doesn't serve as a memorial in any way - it just seems pointless and a waste of money. Maybe intentionally.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
To the other capital
Not Cardiff or Belfast...
Thanks for the positive feedback about the marathon Eurovision post, it was something special to watch, that's for sure. I'm off for a week of heady socialising in London as of this afternoon - so DUaB will be shutting down for a week. Rest assured I'll be up to all kinds of blogworthy stuff down South, and will give you plenty of updates when I get back here. Until then, let's hear it for holidays! And Latvian robots!
Thanks for the positive feedback about the marathon Eurovision post, it was something special to watch, that's for sure. I'm off for a week of heady socialising in London as of this afternoon - so DUaB will be shutting down for a week. Rest assured I'll be up to all kinds of blogworthy stuff down South, and will give you plenty of updates when I get back here. Until then, let's hear it for holidays! And Latvian robots!
Saturday, May 20, 2006
A load of Balkans
For those about to rock...
There is really nothing else quite like the Eurovision Song Contest - the annual 'music' talent contest provides amusement, kitsch, controversy, skimpy costumes, rampant nationalism, and the occasional catchy tune. In short, it's perfect for bloggers. For my non-EU readers, every year 24 European countries put forward a song and over three staggering hours of live television these are performed, and then voted on by the public from those countries. Last night Athens hosted the 51st contest, as they won last year with a Shakira-esque singer who managed to rhyme 'conviction' with 'crucifiction' in her entry. Oh yes.
So my flatmate Paul and I settled down to a corking evening of cheesy Euro pop, with Michelle (who is from the US and has no previous exposure to Eurovision) coming in now and again, and quickly leaving with a puzzled expression on her face. As it lasted for a loooong time, I took a few notes, so here are some things about each entry as they came on. The BBC's coverage was tremendous, with Terry Wogan once again providing hilarious commentary. I wonder if other countries actually take it seriously? (Apologies for the length of this post - but it serves to give you an idea of what we went through)
1. Switzerland - six4one with "If we all give a little"
Sample lyric - "If we all give a little we can make this a world for everyone"
Well, we're off. The first entry is a group of three men and three women in various strange costumes. They don't look Swiss, although we aren't sure what Swiss people should look like. Lots of arm waving and daft hats. The crowd seem to like it.
2. Moldova - Natalia and Arsenium with "Loca"
Sample lyric - "Hey Loco, I'll give you my choco, do you want it or not?"
A 2-Unlimited style cheesy summer pop effort, with plenty of skimpy costume changes as the blonde singer Natalia keeps shedding clothes, although she ends up in a wedding dress, strangely. Someone rides a scooter on stage. This is what Eurovision is all about, although they are let down by Arsenium who Paul thinks looks like a Butlins Redcoat. They blow kisses to the crowd.
3. Israel - Eddie Butler with "Together we are one"
Sample lyric - "So let's close the door on yesterday"
An Israeli gospel choir with screeching women in white suits. Plenty of melodramatic key changes as Eddie the lead singer sits on a white grand piano. To be honest, it's rubbish.
4. Latvia - Cosmos with "I hear your heart"
Sample lyric - "A violin on a summer night, on a full moon mountaintop, couldn’t sound as sweet as you do – don’t stop"
Now this is more like it. Admittedly the song is fairly anonymous as Cosmos are six suited men singing a capella, although a couple of them have cracking mullets. Just as we're writing them off, three of them start to assemble a robot which moonwalks across the stage. Astounding, this is brilliant. Crowd goes wild, the robot waves.
5. Norway - Christine Guldbrandsen with "Alvedansen"
Sample lyric - "Only I can spark you to flame, come and play my secret game"
Six stunning blondes sing a song about elves. Dressed all in white, they don't sing in English - but neither of us care. Do all women in Norway look like this? We watch the song in total silence, having forgotten about the Latvian robot.
6. Spain - Las Ketchup with "Bloody Mary"
Sample lyric - "Una Bloody Mary por favor"
This one seems to be a drinking song about going on holiday, and has ballet dancers dressed in black. To be honest, I'm still thinking about the Norwegians.
7. Malta - Fabrizio Faniello with "I do"
Sample lyric - "I kept a piece of heart you gave, from our breakup day"
An emotive spiky haired bloke with an open shirt sings something about relationships ending. Maybe if he wasn't constantly surrounded by gorgeous dancers his girlfriend might not have left, eh? Just a thought, Fabrizio. He finishes the song on his knees, looking up at the heavens.
8. Germany - Texas Lightning with "No no never"
Sample lyric - "Never ever not gonna keep you safe where it's warm"
Wow. This one's a country and western song, complete with luminous cacti and banjos. The singer looks like an older version of Lulu, and the band all have stetsons. The crowd really like it. With quiet shame, I write 'This is actually quite good' on my pad.
9. Denmark - Sidsel Ben Semmane with "The twist of love"
Sample lyric - "He didn't know how to twist, didn't know how to make a girl insist"
Next up are the Danes, with a Grease style musical number involving plenty of dancers and some breakdancing. I missed most of it, as I was in the kitchen scouring the cupboards for something to drink.
10. Russia - Dima Bilan with "Never let you go"
Sample lyric - "Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, love's carving it into the stone"
Dima is apparently a heart throb in Eastern Europe, he has spiky hair and is wearing a vest. He stares soulfully at the tracking camera as it pans past. A woman showers him with rose petals as another appears out of a white grand piano which nobody was playing.
11. FYRM - Elena Risteska with "Ninanajna"
Sample lyric - "Dance with me nananinananajna"
The former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia put out a gorgeous young Kylie-type singer in a low-cut top and denim hot pants. Paul tries to work out if Nananinananajna is the name of a person as I quickly Google Elena Risteska. After seeing the results, she becomes my favourite.
12. Romania - Mihai Traistariu with "Tornero"
Sample lyric - "Tornero, tornero, tornerai, tornerai"
Mihai can 'reach five octaves and one third', apparently, whatever that means. He also wears an incredible amount of makeup and likes enormous, crashing key changes. Dry ice makes it's first appearance.
13. Bosnia & Herzegovina - Hara Mata Hari with "Lejla"
Sample lyric - "Wind rolls down the meadow, pain follows me like a shadow"
Terry Wogan mentions alcohol for the second time as the Bosnians bring an accordian and funny-shaped guitars to the mix. More white suits as they walk slowly around the stage, singing their emotive lyrics. "This kind of stuff wins Eurovision", I say to Paul. He looks away.
14. Lithuania - LT United with "We are the winners!"
Sample Lyric - "We are the winners of Eurovison! We are!"(x4)
"Lithuania have never won the contest" says Terry, despite their positive song title. Paul thinks it sounds like van Halen. I write 'six hairy men in suits, shouting'. One of them produces a gold megaphone. When they finish, the crowd boo them.
15. United Kingdom - Daz with "Teenage Life"
Sample lyric - "If you treat the kids fine, together they will shine"
Paul fetches Michelle to see our entry, which is frankly appalling. "What's the deal with this?" she asks. I try and explain what Eurovision is about, but Daz's yellow jacket and dancers dressed in school uniforms say more than I ever could. Michelle leaves.
16. Greece - Anna Vissi with "Everything"
Sample lyric - "I can feel my life ending, as a whisper, goodbye"
The crowd go crazy as the home singer comes on. Greek flags wave frantically as Anna yelps out her over the top song. The crowd join in and Anna finishes in a heap on the floor. Will Greece win again? If the audience could vote, absolutely.
17. Finland - Lordi with "Hard Rock Hallelujah"
Sample lyric - "It's the Arockalypse, on the day of Rockening"
Finland are something else. In a competition of pretty girls and cheesy pop, they produce a hard rock anthem dressed in full length rubber monster costumes. "They look like Klingons" says Terry. The song is brilliant. The drummer looks like the Predator, and the lead singer unfurls a huge pair of wings. Outstanding.
18. Ukraine - Tina Karol with "Show me your love"
Sample Lyric - "You'll be my part, that's why I came"
Tina's lyrics cause some tittering in our flat as she gamely tries to follow the Finns. She has a very short skirt, which helps, and is highly enthusiastic. Backed by dancing Cossacks with tambourines, they introduce skipping to the show for the first time tonight. Tina blows kisses to the crowd.
19. France - Virginie Pouchain with "Il etait temps"
Sample lyric - "Oh what a treat when the dream is at the end"
We're not at the end yet, as France's turgid entry means there are still five acts to go. Her high notes are seriously out of tune and she seems to give up long before the end. Terry mentions the war.
20. Croatia - Severina with "Moja Stikla"
Sample lyric - "For the grass has not yet sprouted, where my high heel has trodden"
Plenty of classic Eurovision stereotypes here - dancers in ethnic costume, over the top singer, masses of makeup, dry ice, and the classic whipping-the-skirt-off-routine Bucks Fizz patented all those years ago. We're not sure what the song is about.
21. Ireland - Brian Kennedy with "Every song is a cry for love"
Sample lyric - "Being strong, being tough - never tender, always rough"
More tittering. As befits tradition, the Irish entry is a whimsical ballad, complete with violins, swaying backing singers, and a pained final note. "Eurovision can't be won by someone called Brian", I say to Paul.
22. Sweden - Carola with "Invincible"
Sample lyric - "When it's coming over you, you won't let it go"
Even more tittering. Michelle looks at us with a confused expression. Sweden's entry sees the first use of a wind machine in the finals, and also the first wearing of silver trousers. The backing singers produce large silk flags as Carola manages to rhyme 'heart' with the word 'heart'.
23. Turkey - Sibel Tuzun with "Superstar"
Sample lyric - "My brilliance will bedazzle you. Watch out!"
Another energetic blonde in a short skirt. "She looks like one of those people in Dalkeith that would beat you up", says Paul. Terry Wogan informs us that the dancers are actually British. I mark it down as one of ours, although it's pretty dreaful.
24. Armenia - Andre with "Without your love"
Sample lyric - "What I say? What I hide? Without your love?"
The final entry! It's almost over, as Andre belts out a Greek bouzouki-style number whilst standing on a metal box. The crowd appreciate it, although maybe they are just relieved they've reached the end. I'm not even sure Armenia is in Europe. But the singing is over.
So with the end of the performances, it's time for the voting. Each country has a public phone vote, with the stipulation that you can't vote for your own country. Of course, voting for a neighbour seems to be allowed, and the tactical stuff begins. The Slovenian televote comes in first, and they give 10pts to Croatia and 12 to Bosnia. The crowd are booing already. Andorra give Greece 1 point and Spain 12. More booing. Political votes pile in, as Latvia give Finland 8, Lithuania 10, and Russia 12. Amusingly the Portuguese public give no points to Spain. The voting continues.
Over the next hour - yes - the choices of the European public are counted and verified. Croatia give Bosnia 12, Bosnia reciprocate. "The old Balkan foxtrot" as Terry calls it. Ukraine give Russia 12, but get only 10pts back. The French give Turkey top marks, and the Greek host congratulates Turkey through gritted teeth. The rock monsters of Finland are storming clear in the voting. Belarus are next to give their results. I write 'Armenia 8, Ukraine 10, Russia 12' on my pad. They give Armenia 8, Ukraine 10, and Russia 12.
The man from the German jury appears on a horse. Terry mentions the war again. We've been watching this for almost four hours now, as the Dutch spokesman makes an ill-advised sexual comment. Albania give Malta 1pt, and they become the last country to get off the mark. Nobody will get 0 this year. Moldova give neighbouring Romania 12, leading to more booing. Finland are 50pts clear. The Serbian public give Macedonia 8, Croatia 10, and Bosnia 12. The UK jury gives top points to Finland. Rock on! Paul votes for Latvia because they had a robot in their routine. They come 16th. Greece give 12pts to Finland, who have won. Outstanding result, Europe I salute you. Lordi come on stage to reprise their winning entry in their monster costumes, holding bouquets of flowers. The Eurovision song contest really is something else.
Final top three scores - Finland 292pts, Russia 248, Bosnia 229.
Finnish Monsters Rock Eurovision
Official Lordi site
Official Eurovision site
There is really nothing else quite like the Eurovision Song Contest - the annual 'music' talent contest provides amusement, kitsch, controversy, skimpy costumes, rampant nationalism, and the occasional catchy tune. In short, it's perfect for bloggers. For my non-EU readers, every year 24 European countries put forward a song and over three staggering hours of live television these are performed, and then voted on by the public from those countries. Last night Athens hosted the 51st contest, as they won last year with a Shakira-esque singer who managed to rhyme 'conviction' with 'crucifiction' in her entry. Oh yes.
So my flatmate Paul and I settled down to a corking evening of cheesy Euro pop, with Michelle (who is from the US and has no previous exposure to Eurovision) coming in now and again, and quickly leaving with a puzzled expression on her face. As it lasted for a loooong time, I took a few notes, so here are some things about each entry as they came on. The BBC's coverage was tremendous, with Terry Wogan once again providing hilarious commentary. I wonder if other countries actually take it seriously? (Apologies for the length of this post - but it serves to give you an idea of what we went through)
1. Switzerland - six4one with "If we all give a little"
Sample lyric - "If we all give a little we can make this a world for everyone"
Well, we're off. The first entry is a group of three men and three women in various strange costumes. They don't look Swiss, although we aren't sure what Swiss people should look like. Lots of arm waving and daft hats. The crowd seem to like it.
2. Moldova - Natalia and Arsenium with "Loca"
Sample lyric - "Hey Loco, I'll give you my choco, do you want it or not?"
A 2-Unlimited style cheesy summer pop effort, with plenty of skimpy costume changes as the blonde singer Natalia keeps shedding clothes, although she ends up in a wedding dress, strangely. Someone rides a scooter on stage. This is what Eurovision is all about, although they are let down by Arsenium who Paul thinks looks like a Butlins Redcoat. They blow kisses to the crowd.
3. Israel - Eddie Butler with "Together we are one"
Sample lyric - "So let's close the door on yesterday"
An Israeli gospel choir with screeching women in white suits. Plenty of melodramatic key changes as Eddie the lead singer sits on a white grand piano. To be honest, it's rubbish.
4. Latvia - Cosmos with "I hear your heart"
Sample lyric - "A violin on a summer night, on a full moon mountaintop, couldn’t sound as sweet as you do – don’t stop"
Now this is more like it. Admittedly the song is fairly anonymous as Cosmos are six suited men singing a capella, although a couple of them have cracking mullets. Just as we're writing them off, three of them start to assemble a robot which moonwalks across the stage. Astounding, this is brilliant. Crowd goes wild, the robot waves.
5. Norway - Christine Guldbrandsen with "Alvedansen"
Sample lyric - "Only I can spark you to flame, come and play my secret game"
Six stunning blondes sing a song about elves. Dressed all in white, they don't sing in English - but neither of us care. Do all women in Norway look like this? We watch the song in total silence, having forgotten about the Latvian robot.
6. Spain - Las Ketchup with "Bloody Mary"
Sample lyric - "Una Bloody Mary por favor"
This one seems to be a drinking song about going on holiday, and has ballet dancers dressed in black. To be honest, I'm still thinking about the Norwegians.
7. Malta - Fabrizio Faniello with "I do"
Sample lyric - "I kept a piece of heart you gave, from our breakup day"
An emotive spiky haired bloke with an open shirt sings something about relationships ending. Maybe if he wasn't constantly surrounded by gorgeous dancers his girlfriend might not have left, eh? Just a thought, Fabrizio. He finishes the song on his knees, looking up at the heavens.
8. Germany - Texas Lightning with "No no never"
Sample lyric - "Never ever not gonna keep you safe where it's warm"
Wow. This one's a country and western song, complete with luminous cacti and banjos. The singer looks like an older version of Lulu, and the band all have stetsons. The crowd really like it. With quiet shame, I write 'This is actually quite good' on my pad.
9. Denmark - Sidsel Ben Semmane with "The twist of love"
Sample lyric - "He didn't know how to twist, didn't know how to make a girl insist"
Next up are the Danes, with a Grease style musical number involving plenty of dancers and some breakdancing. I missed most of it, as I was in the kitchen scouring the cupboards for something to drink.
10. Russia - Dima Bilan with "Never let you go"
Sample lyric - "Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone, love's carving it into the stone"
Dima is apparently a heart throb in Eastern Europe, he has spiky hair and is wearing a vest. He stares soulfully at the tracking camera as it pans past. A woman showers him with rose petals as another appears out of a white grand piano which nobody was playing.
11. FYRM - Elena Risteska with "Ninanajna"
Sample lyric - "Dance with me nananinananajna"
The former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia put out a gorgeous young Kylie-type singer in a low-cut top and denim hot pants. Paul tries to work out if Nananinananajna is the name of a person as I quickly Google Elena Risteska. After seeing the results, she becomes my favourite.
12. Romania - Mihai Traistariu with "Tornero"
Sample lyric - "Tornero, tornero, tornerai, tornerai"
Mihai can 'reach five octaves and one third', apparently, whatever that means. He also wears an incredible amount of makeup and likes enormous, crashing key changes. Dry ice makes it's first appearance.
13. Bosnia & Herzegovina - Hara Mata Hari with "Lejla"
Sample lyric - "Wind rolls down the meadow, pain follows me like a shadow"
Terry Wogan mentions alcohol for the second time as the Bosnians bring an accordian and funny-shaped guitars to the mix. More white suits as they walk slowly around the stage, singing their emotive lyrics. "This kind of stuff wins Eurovision", I say to Paul. He looks away.
14. Lithuania - LT United with "We are the winners!"
Sample Lyric - "We are the winners of Eurovison! We are!"(x4)
"Lithuania have never won the contest" says Terry, despite their positive song title. Paul thinks it sounds like van Halen. I write 'six hairy men in suits, shouting'. One of them produces a gold megaphone. When they finish, the crowd boo them.
15. United Kingdom - Daz with "Teenage Life"
Sample lyric - "If you treat the kids fine, together they will shine"
Paul fetches Michelle to see our entry, which is frankly appalling. "What's the deal with this?" she asks. I try and explain what Eurovision is about, but Daz's yellow jacket and dancers dressed in school uniforms say more than I ever could. Michelle leaves.
16. Greece - Anna Vissi with "Everything"
Sample lyric - "I can feel my life ending, as a whisper, goodbye"
The crowd go crazy as the home singer comes on. Greek flags wave frantically as Anna yelps out her over the top song. The crowd join in and Anna finishes in a heap on the floor. Will Greece win again? If the audience could vote, absolutely.
17. Finland - Lordi with "Hard Rock Hallelujah"
Sample lyric - "It's the Arockalypse, on the day of Rockening"
Finland are something else. In a competition of pretty girls and cheesy pop, they produce a hard rock anthem dressed in full length rubber monster costumes. "They look like Klingons" says Terry. The song is brilliant. The drummer looks like the Predator, and the lead singer unfurls a huge pair of wings. Outstanding.
18. Ukraine - Tina Karol with "Show me your love"
Sample Lyric - "You'll be my part, that's why I came"
Tina's lyrics cause some tittering in our flat as she gamely tries to follow the Finns. She has a very short skirt, which helps, and is highly enthusiastic. Backed by dancing Cossacks with tambourines, they introduce skipping to the show for the first time tonight. Tina blows kisses to the crowd.
19. France - Virginie Pouchain with "Il etait temps"
Sample lyric - "Oh what a treat when the dream is at the end"
We're not at the end yet, as France's turgid entry means there are still five acts to go. Her high notes are seriously out of tune and she seems to give up long before the end. Terry mentions the war.
20. Croatia - Severina with "Moja Stikla"
Sample lyric - "For the grass has not yet sprouted, where my high heel has trodden"
Plenty of classic Eurovision stereotypes here - dancers in ethnic costume, over the top singer, masses of makeup, dry ice, and the classic whipping-the-skirt-off-routine Bucks Fizz patented all those years ago. We're not sure what the song is about.
21. Ireland - Brian Kennedy with "Every song is a cry for love"
Sample lyric - "Being strong, being tough - never tender, always rough"
More tittering. As befits tradition, the Irish entry is a whimsical ballad, complete with violins, swaying backing singers, and a pained final note. "Eurovision can't be won by someone called Brian", I say to Paul.
22. Sweden - Carola with "Invincible"
Sample lyric - "When it's coming over you, you won't let it go"
Even more tittering. Michelle looks at us with a confused expression. Sweden's entry sees the first use of a wind machine in the finals, and also the first wearing of silver trousers. The backing singers produce large silk flags as Carola manages to rhyme 'heart' with the word 'heart'.
23. Turkey - Sibel Tuzun with "Superstar"
Sample lyric - "My brilliance will bedazzle you. Watch out!"
Another energetic blonde in a short skirt. "She looks like one of those people in Dalkeith that would beat you up", says Paul. Terry Wogan informs us that the dancers are actually British. I mark it down as one of ours, although it's pretty dreaful.
24. Armenia - Andre with "Without your love"
Sample lyric - "What I say? What I hide? Without your love?"
The final entry! It's almost over, as Andre belts out a Greek bouzouki-style number whilst standing on a metal box. The crowd appreciate it, although maybe they are just relieved they've reached the end. I'm not even sure Armenia is in Europe. But the singing is over.
So with the end of the performances, it's time for the voting. Each country has a public phone vote, with the stipulation that you can't vote for your own country. Of course, voting for a neighbour seems to be allowed, and the tactical stuff begins. The Slovenian televote comes in first, and they give 10pts to Croatia and 12 to Bosnia. The crowd are booing already. Andorra give Greece 1 point and Spain 12. More booing. Political votes pile in, as Latvia give Finland 8, Lithuania 10, and Russia 12. Amusingly the Portuguese public give no points to Spain. The voting continues.
Over the next hour - yes - the choices of the European public are counted and verified. Croatia give Bosnia 12, Bosnia reciprocate. "The old Balkan foxtrot" as Terry calls it. Ukraine give Russia 12, but get only 10pts back. The French give Turkey top marks, and the Greek host congratulates Turkey through gritted teeth. The rock monsters of Finland are storming clear in the voting. Belarus are next to give their results. I write 'Armenia 8, Ukraine 10, Russia 12' on my pad. They give Armenia 8, Ukraine 10, and Russia 12.
The man from the German jury appears on a horse. Terry mentions the war again. We've been watching this for almost four hours now, as the Dutch spokesman makes an ill-advised sexual comment. Albania give Malta 1pt, and they become the last country to get off the mark. Nobody will get 0 this year. Moldova give neighbouring Romania 12, leading to more booing. Finland are 50pts clear. The Serbian public give Macedonia 8, Croatia 10, and Bosnia 12. The UK jury gives top points to Finland. Rock on! Paul votes for Latvia because they had a robot in their routine. They come 16th. Greece give 12pts to Finland, who have won. Outstanding result, Europe I salute you. Lordi come on stage to reprise their winning entry in their monster costumes, holding bouquets of flowers. The Eurovision song contest really is something else.
Final top three scores - Finland 292pts, Russia 248, Bosnia 229.
Finnish Monsters Rock Eurovision
Official Lordi site
Official Eurovision site
Walking at the weekend
Water of Leith in winter
Just a quick note for my UK-based readers - in this Saturday's Guardian (20th May) they are giving away a free Guardian walks guide, of 'Britain's 50 Best Walks'. As you may know, I like a walk now and again, and so picked one up. Imagine my surprise when one of the top 50 is only the Water of Leith footpath, that I walk along every day on the way home from work - and the joy of which I covered in an old post. I seem to remember mentioning '...very few people know about it' - I guess now the secret's out of the bag...
Just a quick note for my UK-based readers - in this Saturday's Guardian (20th May) they are giving away a free Guardian walks guide, of 'Britain's 50 Best Walks'. As you may know, I like a walk now and again, and so picked one up. Imagine my surprise when one of the top 50 is only the Water of Leith footpath, that I walk along every day on the way home from work - and the joy of which I covered in an old post. I seem to remember mentioning '...very few people know about it' - I guess now the secret's out of the bag...
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Signs II
Some more strangely interesting signposts from around the world for your enjoyment - starting with this one I saw on Rottnest Island, off the coast of Western Australia. If this were in a factory carpark or industrial estate, fair enough - but it was in the middle of nowhere on the coast of a sparsely populated (to my eyes) desert island. Firstly, it was on a clifftop, so there was actually very little space to assemble. Secondly, it was on the side of a single track road with nothing in sight apart from sand and bushes - I have no idea who this could be for. Thirdly, where were the other five? A mystery.
Also mysterious, but for different reasons, are Japanese signs. This one was in the large public park in Nara, a city east of Kyoto which was the original capital of the country. Deer are sacred in the Shinto religion, so are everywhere. To me (not being able to read kanji or hiragana), it looked like saying you weren't allowed to milk the deer, and maybe their antlers give off some kind of electricity. Fortunately for us we were with a Japanese speaker called Kazuko, and she translated. Apparently during mating season the deer - which were about four feet high and looked as docile as anything - get aggressive and you shouldn't approach their young. Fair enough - although it didn't say they don't produce electricity with their horns, so watch out.
'How to jog', as seen at Asakusa in northern Tokyo. My jogging career lasted about a week, and I just ran for ten minutes until my vision went white, then limped home and threw my trainers back in the cupboard. If I had only had one of these handy posters. In extreme detail, it covers the importance of warming up, warns about dehydration, and seems to give the health benefits for each part of your body that is exercised (including the hair, apparently). At the very bottom, it even tells you how to tie your shoelaces - although if you need help with that, you probably wouldn't have made it into the city to be able to read the poster in the first place.
Beware the smiling Zombiewoman who beckons you to her Public Lounge. I saw this in Kyoto, and immediately wondered what exactly a 'Public Lounge' is. Once again my lack of Japanese reading skills mean this is sadly a mystery. I don't even know what the words are coming off the enormous cup of tea like poisonous blue smoke. The top line of characters probably mean something like 'We harvest organs for transplant', or something. We didn't go.
Of course, no discussion of Japanese signs can conclude without a reference to the most commonly-cited example of their inventiveness - the electronic toilet. Taken at a hotel in Ginza, Tokyo, these were the instructions. It might be too small to make out, but the diagrams are a selection of people/backsides being alternately sprinkled and blasted with water. I attempted to try the buttons before use - but somehow they only worked when weight was applied to the (nicely warmed) seat, so you had to sit down to see what was what. Jets of tepid water, as it turned out. Not unpleasant, but not particularly nice, either. Still, it's always fun to have buttons to push, I guess.
Sunday, May 14, 2006
Signs
Having been to a variety of places, I never get tired of odd or unusual signposts. This was the oddest I've ever seen - although it was part of the annual 'Sculpture by the Sea' art exhibition in Sydney. These signs were placed at random intervals along the coastal footpath between Bondi and Tamarama beaches and were designed to be deliberately ambiguous.
At the same exhibition - the dangers of 'installing' an art project made from (what looks like) flimsy plastic right next to the pounding waves of the Pacific Ocean. Best of luck for Monochrome as Object #3, Pam! Maybe put it in a gallery to be on the safe side, eh?
On a suburban street in Canberra - the dangers of Australian wildlife. After reading this, you can't help nervously scanning the nearby trees. It felt like dozens of beady eyes were bearing down on me - but you'll be please to know I scuttled past the sign without losing an ear to any rogue birds. Unfortunately it never specified what type of bird to look for - it may have been a ground-dwelling sparrow thing, so me covering my head with my arms and whimpering could have been pointless. If I ever go back there, I'm taking a cricket bat, just in case.
This one was brilliant - on the tiny island of Ulva, in the main bay of Stewart Island south of New Zealand, you can find this 'threatened plant'. I should say so - when the picture is bigger than the actual thing, you can call it threatened. I had a quick look around, there were no other clusters anywhere - for Gunnera hamiltonii, that was it. If I were a gardener, I'd dig this up as a weed and chuck it without any thought. Hence the sign, I presume.
East of Christchurch is Taylor's Mistake - a surfing bay and sandy beach named after an unfortunate ship's captain who had some rock-related trouble there. Anyway, it made a good sign for a photo - and have you ever seen me with a cheesier grin? It's almost frightening.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Pillock in a Bubble
David Blaine, this week
What did you get up to this week? Anything interesting? I went for dinner with friends, drank in a few pubs, watched a cricket match on the Sunday. What I didn't do was chain myself in a plastic water-filled bubble for seven days and 'make eye contact' with people queueing to see me. But then I'm not David Blaine. "My only fear is the unknown," said Blaine before descending into the sphere whenever it was last week. That and fin rot, I presume (a joke for my Aquarist readers there). I would think if you sit underwater for a week you know pretty much where you'll be at the end of it. And that you'll be more wrinkly.
Anyway, the other night he came out, having survived, but only just. He described his time in the bubble as 'horrific' - "I think the time has started to really take its toll on my body. Every muscle doesn't just ache, it feels like a sharp shooting pain, like a knife being stabbed." I would think that would be a stabbing pain - but I'm no expert. I dunno, I can't work him out. Some say he's a showman, in the long tradition of Houdini etc, some say he's a headline-grabbing egotist. Essentially he's a more extreme version of people who do stupid things when drunk - "I bet you a fiver I can down this pint in under ten seconds!" "Yeah? Well Dave reckons he can sit underwater for a week!!"
I suppose as long as only he gets put at danger, it's not a bad thing if he wants to do bizarre stunts - he could spend a week pushing grapes up his backside for all I care. He certainly seems to be well rewarded - TV Networks sold $9m worth of advertising during the bubble thing, and he's set to earn a large seven-figure sum as a result. Taking that into consideration, fair play to him - people have always paid good money to see strange people doing mystifying things - like watching Bolton Wanderers, for example. Why shouldn't he rake it in?
I only thought that until I visited Blaine's website, however, where you can purchase things like this poster, entitled 'Drowned Alive' featuring an incredible drawing of a heavily muscled Blaine straining at his chains, whilst being surrounded by angels. And a man in a rowing boat, for some reason. I doubt he personally drew it - but is this how he sees himself? If not, some members of the public certainly seem to - "I got water on my hand from his body," said excited student Anthony Taylor. [no relation...] He visited Blaine every day of his aquatic incarceration and said he felt a strong bond with his fellow Brooklynite. "I'm proud of my brother and I think he did good. Most people don't even like taking baths. Nobody else could do that." [BBC]
Well, that's true. But then, would anybody else want to? Yes, as it happens. At the same time as Blaine was having the algae scraped off his tank, a man called Ted Alcorn was doing a similar stunt on Broadway called 'Dunk for Darfur', to "highlight how many had died in Sudan while he was submerged while the world held its breath,". A noble cause, but paperwork got the better of his intentions, as he was promptly arrested for not obtaining a permit. Maybe Blaine is taking the cult of celebrity too far, but at least he walks the walk - you wouldn't catch Paris Hilton* doing something like that. But it makes me uncomfortable that if something went wrong, he'd become a modern-day TV martyr. They should just tip formaldehyde into the bubble and turn him into a Damien Hurst sculpture - Blaine could become his own statue. He might actually like that.
* - Now my Google hits are going to shoot up...
NY cheers on David Blaine
What did you get up to this week? Anything interesting? I went for dinner with friends, drank in a few pubs, watched a cricket match on the Sunday. What I didn't do was chain myself in a plastic water-filled bubble for seven days and 'make eye contact' with people queueing to see me. But then I'm not David Blaine. "My only fear is the unknown," said Blaine before descending into the sphere whenever it was last week. That and fin rot, I presume (a joke for my Aquarist readers there). I would think if you sit underwater for a week you know pretty much where you'll be at the end of it. And that you'll be more wrinkly.
Anyway, the other night he came out, having survived, but only just. He described his time in the bubble as 'horrific' - "I think the time has started to really take its toll on my body. Every muscle doesn't just ache, it feels like a sharp shooting pain, like a knife being stabbed." I would think that would be a stabbing pain - but I'm no expert. I dunno, I can't work him out. Some say he's a showman, in the long tradition of Houdini etc, some say he's a headline-grabbing egotist. Essentially he's a more extreme version of people who do stupid things when drunk - "I bet you a fiver I can down this pint in under ten seconds!" "Yeah? Well Dave reckons he can sit underwater for a week!!"
I suppose as long as only he gets put at danger, it's not a bad thing if he wants to do bizarre stunts - he could spend a week pushing grapes up his backside for all I care. He certainly seems to be well rewarded - TV Networks sold $9m worth of advertising during the bubble thing, and he's set to earn a large seven-figure sum as a result. Taking that into consideration, fair play to him - people have always paid good money to see strange people doing mystifying things - like watching Bolton Wanderers, for example. Why shouldn't he rake it in?
I only thought that until I visited Blaine's website, however, where you can purchase things like this poster, entitled 'Drowned Alive' featuring an incredible drawing of a heavily muscled Blaine straining at his chains, whilst being surrounded by angels. And a man in a rowing boat, for some reason. I doubt he personally drew it - but is this how he sees himself? If not, some members of the public certainly seem to - "I got water on my hand from his body," said excited student Anthony Taylor. [no relation...] He visited Blaine every day of his aquatic incarceration and said he felt a strong bond with his fellow Brooklynite. "I'm proud of my brother and I think he did good. Most people don't even like taking baths. Nobody else could do that." [BBC]
Well, that's true. But then, would anybody else want to? Yes, as it happens. At the same time as Blaine was having the algae scraped off his tank, a man called Ted Alcorn was doing a similar stunt on Broadway called 'Dunk for Darfur', to "highlight how many had died in Sudan while he was submerged while the world held its breath,". A noble cause, but paperwork got the better of his intentions, as he was promptly arrested for not obtaining a permit. Maybe Blaine is taking the cult of celebrity too far, but at least he walks the walk - you wouldn't catch Paris Hilton* doing something like that. But it makes me uncomfortable that if something went wrong, he'd become a modern-day TV martyr. They should just tip formaldehyde into the bubble and turn him into a Damien Hurst sculpture - Blaine could become his own statue. He might actually like that.
* - Now my Google hits are going to shoot up...
NY cheers on David Blaine
Monday, May 08, 2006
A means to an end
They look like this!
If you scroll down all the way to the bottom of this page - past all the colourful photos and witty, uplifting dialogue (should you find any), you might see a small black number right at the very end. This is how I keep track of all you lovely readers - except my Grandparents, who read paper copies printed off and posted to them by my Mum. 'Silver Surfers' always slip under the radar. Anyway, thanks to the fine people at Sitemeter.com, I can get an idea of how many people visit the site, where they are, and how they came to arrive here.
I only do it out of mild interest, I constantly find it surprising people a) would want to read what I write, and b) can actually find me - given that there are 35 million blogs on the internet now. Feel free to click on the 'Next Blog' button at the top right there, which will - thanks to the magic of the t'interweb - take you to another random outpouring of a Keyboard Superhero making things up, much like myself. Or it could be in Spanish, so you'll never know. Anyway, a fair few people seem to find me by accident - and to them I can only apologise - but others come across DUaB after Googling for something.
Yep, such is the power of Google, it has now become a verb (or adjective, or whatever the right term should be. Ahem). So people looking for information bash in some near-sounding words and they get me in their list of possible sites. I don't do anything deliberate to end up in these results - some of them I read and scratch my head as to how my random outpourings get connected to what they were looking for. But hey, hopefully I can be of help - like the person who searched for 'SHOW ME WHAT SPIDER CRABS LOOK LIKE', I can only point upwards. Also, 'FUNICULAR AND CABLE CARS TO LAKE ASHI' I covered in some depth here, so maybe that person got the answers they were after.
I doubt the person who searched for 'ROBBIE WILLIAMS FAN SITE KILT PHOTO' went away rewarded though, although there is a picture of me in a kilt on here somewhere - as if that were any consolation. 'EASTER WEEKEND DUNE ACCIDENT' is something I couldn't remember happening, although I did see someone get hit by a flyaway parasol on Curl Curl beach once - maybe that was it. I don't think I've ever covered 'AUSSIE RULES CHANTS', or 'JEAN PAUL GAULTIER UMBRELLAS' - the mind boggles. As to 'WHY DOES A TELLY TURN ITSELF OFF?' I can only answer HAVE YOU TRIED LOOKING IN THE MANUAL?.
Some of the potential subjects people are after, and end up with me, are almost poetic in their strangeness. Take 'DOWN UNDER SYDNEY CITY LOVE', or 'TORRENT SUPERVOLCANO DUTCH'. No, me neither. 'CENTIPEDE ON SKEWERS' is a good one - Google has 910 entries on this important subject. It also has 692,000 sites answering the very valid question 'WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THE 2012 OLYMPICS' - although if Ken Livingstone clicks on the 5th ranked result to find out, he'll get an old piece I wrote about a basketball match at Sydney Olympic Park.
I'll try and answer as many of these as I can though, so here goes. 'WHO INVENTED THE DEEP FRIED MARS BAR?' - A chippy in Stonehaven, near Aberdeen. 'TYPICAL BRITISH BANK HOLIDAY WEATHER' - rain. 'HOW MANY CALORIES IN A TUNNOCKS CARAMEL WAFER?' - not enough. 'INTERVIEW BLACKBURN'S LUCAS NEILL' - I would ask him why he gives away so many penalties. 'IRN BRU ONLINE ORDER NEW ZEALAND' - hungover again, Edd? ;)
The two most often searched-for terms that point people here are 'DANGEROUS THINGS ABOUT AUSTRALIA', and - I'm not making this up - 'WHAT DO MEN WEAR UNDER THEIR KILTS'. I'm not sure if those people are nervous first-time wearers trying to find out for themselves, or hopeful women looking for photos. Either way, I doubt they found out what they came for here. My personal favourite Google entries are 'TOKYO GIANT RATS' - which I'm sure I would have a recollection of - 'ACCIDENTALLY SUCKED INTO THE ENGINE - CAUSES OF DEATH', which yields 26,700 results, amazingly. But to finish, a perfect way to sum up DUaB. I congratulate the person who navigated here after searching Google for 'UNPUNCTUAL HUMOUR ESSAY'...
If you scroll down all the way to the bottom of this page - past all the colourful photos and witty, uplifting dialogue (should you find any), you might see a small black number right at the very end. This is how I keep track of all you lovely readers - except my Grandparents, who read paper copies printed off and posted to them by my Mum. 'Silver Surfers' always slip under the radar. Anyway, thanks to the fine people at Sitemeter.com, I can get an idea of how many people visit the site, where they are, and how they came to arrive here.
I only do it out of mild interest, I constantly find it surprising people a) would want to read what I write, and b) can actually find me - given that there are 35 million blogs on the internet now. Feel free to click on the 'Next Blog' button at the top right there, which will - thanks to the magic of the t'interweb - take you to another random outpouring of a Keyboard Superhero making things up, much like myself. Or it could be in Spanish, so you'll never know. Anyway, a fair few people seem to find me by accident - and to them I can only apologise - but others come across DUaB after Googling for something.
Yep, such is the power of Google, it has now become a verb (or adjective, or whatever the right term should be. Ahem). So people looking for information bash in some near-sounding words and they get me in their list of possible sites. I don't do anything deliberate to end up in these results - some of them I read and scratch my head as to how my random outpourings get connected to what they were looking for. But hey, hopefully I can be of help - like the person who searched for 'SHOW ME WHAT SPIDER CRABS LOOK LIKE', I can only point upwards. Also, 'FUNICULAR AND CABLE CARS TO LAKE ASHI' I covered in some depth here, so maybe that person got the answers they were after.
I doubt the person who searched for 'ROBBIE WILLIAMS FAN SITE KILT PHOTO' went away rewarded though, although there is a picture of me in a kilt on here somewhere - as if that were any consolation. 'EASTER WEEKEND DUNE ACCIDENT' is something I couldn't remember happening, although I did see someone get hit by a flyaway parasol on Curl Curl beach once - maybe that was it. I don't think I've ever covered 'AUSSIE RULES CHANTS', or 'JEAN PAUL GAULTIER UMBRELLAS' - the mind boggles. As to 'WHY DOES A TELLY TURN ITSELF OFF?' I can only answer HAVE YOU TRIED LOOKING IN THE MANUAL?.
Some of the potential subjects people are after, and end up with me, are almost poetic in their strangeness. Take 'DOWN UNDER SYDNEY CITY LOVE', or 'TORRENT SUPERVOLCANO DUTCH'. No, me neither. 'CENTIPEDE ON SKEWERS' is a good one - Google has 910 entries on this important subject. It also has 692,000 sites answering the very valid question 'WHAT HAPPENS AFTER THE 2012 OLYMPICS' - although if Ken Livingstone clicks on the 5th ranked result to find out, he'll get an old piece I wrote about a basketball match at Sydney Olympic Park.
I'll try and answer as many of these as I can though, so here goes. 'WHO INVENTED THE DEEP FRIED MARS BAR?' - A chippy in Stonehaven, near Aberdeen. 'TYPICAL BRITISH BANK HOLIDAY WEATHER' - rain. 'HOW MANY CALORIES IN A TUNNOCKS CARAMEL WAFER?' - not enough. 'INTERVIEW BLACKBURN'S LUCAS NEILL' - I would ask him why he gives away so many penalties. 'IRN BRU ONLINE ORDER NEW ZEALAND' - hungover again, Edd? ;)
The two most often searched-for terms that point people here are 'DANGEROUS THINGS ABOUT AUSTRALIA', and - I'm not making this up - 'WHAT DO MEN WEAR UNDER THEIR KILTS'. I'm not sure if those people are nervous first-time wearers trying to find out for themselves, or hopeful women looking for photos. Either way, I doubt they found out what they came for here. My personal favourite Google entries are 'TOKYO GIANT RATS' - which I'm sure I would have a recollection of - 'ACCIDENTALLY SUCKED INTO THE ENGINE - CAUSES OF DEATH', which yields 26,700 results, amazingly. But to finish, a perfect way to sum up DUaB. I congratulate the person who navigated here after searching Google for 'UNPUNCTUAL HUMOUR ESSAY'...
Thursday, May 04, 2006
A good walk spoiled
Nice shot, sir!
How frustrating is golf? Bloody frustrating if you play like I do - and yet bizarrely I still enjoy it. Odd that. Anyway, yesterday was a rare sunny day, so I took it off and played golf with an old friend of mine. For years I'd been using the same old crappy set of clubs I bought when I was 15 and just starting out - and I still get junkmail from the place I bought them from, which is annoyingly impressive. A few weeks ago I received a four-figure cheque from Australia after cashing in my Superannuation I accrued whilst working over there, so I spent a fair whack (pun intended) of that on a new set of clubs.
What with Scotland being the home of golf (if you don't listen to the Dutch or Chinese), there are plenty of courses around here to carve up. The one we chose was reasonably long, straight and flat - good for getting back into the game (I'd not played for a couple of years). At the first tee, after a few scything practice swipes, I calmly teed the ball up, brandished my shiny new driver (the head of which is the size of a small dog), and with the next group looking on, promptly sliced the ball five feet along the ground - just making it off the raised teeing area.
So after that I figured it couldn't get much worse. Cocking up at the first tee is about as bad as it gets, as golf being what it is you assume every other player on the course is deftly skilled and sees you as some kind of feckless amateur. But the group behind lost a ball on the first and didn't have to wait for us at all, so we could get on with things at our own pace. Not that that helped my game any - but it was a nice sunny day (albeit windy), and it was good to put the new irons to some kind of use.
When I was in Australia in 2002 I played on a course in Northern Queensland, which was also great fun. Part of that was getting the chance to drive a golf buggy - and aside from nearly rolling it (which wasn't my fault), the closest I came to killing myself was when I picked up a rake to smooth over a bunker I'd just hacked out of, only to find a large pea-green spider sitting on the handle looking intently at my hand. I also sliced one into the bushes (a common occurrence when I'm not hooking into the bushes), and started poking around with my club in ankle-high scrub for my ball - forgetting that several of the world's deadliest snakes live wild there. So after freezing, and frantically scanning the leaves for a slavering camouflaged reptile, I quietly backed out of the rough and got another ball from my bag. As hard as the courses are in Scotland, at least you can go into the rough without being killed (which is good news for yours truly).
How frustrating is golf? Bloody frustrating if you play like I do - and yet bizarrely I still enjoy it. Odd that. Anyway, yesterday was a rare sunny day, so I took it off and played golf with an old friend of mine. For years I'd been using the same old crappy set of clubs I bought when I was 15 and just starting out - and I still get junkmail from the place I bought them from, which is annoyingly impressive. A few weeks ago I received a four-figure cheque from Australia after cashing in my Superannuation I accrued whilst working over there, so I spent a fair whack (pun intended) of that on a new set of clubs.
What with Scotland being the home of golf (if you don't listen to the Dutch or Chinese), there are plenty of courses around here to carve up. The one we chose was reasonably long, straight and flat - good for getting back into the game (I'd not played for a couple of years). At the first tee, after a few scything practice swipes, I calmly teed the ball up, brandished my shiny new driver (the head of which is the size of a small dog), and with the next group looking on, promptly sliced the ball five feet along the ground - just making it off the raised teeing area.
So after that I figured it couldn't get much worse. Cocking up at the first tee is about as bad as it gets, as golf being what it is you assume every other player on the course is deftly skilled and sees you as some kind of feckless amateur. But the group behind lost a ball on the first and didn't have to wait for us at all, so we could get on with things at our own pace. Not that that helped my game any - but it was a nice sunny day (albeit windy), and it was good to put the new irons to some kind of use.
When I was in Australia in 2002 I played on a course in Northern Queensland, which was also great fun. Part of that was getting the chance to drive a golf buggy - and aside from nearly rolling it (which wasn't my fault), the closest I came to killing myself was when I picked up a rake to smooth over a bunker I'd just hacked out of, only to find a large pea-green spider sitting on the handle looking intently at my hand. I also sliced one into the bushes (a common occurrence when I'm not hooking into the bushes), and started poking around with my club in ankle-high scrub for my ball - forgetting that several of the world's deadliest snakes live wild there. So after freezing, and frantically scanning the leaves for a slavering camouflaged reptile, I quietly backed out of the rough and got another ball from my bag. As hard as the courses are in Scotland, at least you can go into the rough without being killed (which is good news for yours truly).
Sunday, April 30, 2006
The Stomach Rules the World
Rev Dr. William Buckland
A few months ago I talked about the delights of nutty academics, a subject I have fond memories of from my times at University. Recently I've been reading about the eminent Geologist Dr William Buckland - a man who on one hand was a marvellously intelligent scientist, but on the other a complete loon - yet in that kind of eccentric way only 19th Century Britons could manage. In his sadly brief life, he managed - amongst other things - to discover the first known dinosaur (before they were so called), champion theories like Glaciation, become the trusted friend of a Prime Minister - and also become fascinated with fossil poo, eat the heart of the King of France, and piss off Charles Darwin (who called him a 'vulgar and coarse buffoon').
Buckland was born in 1784 in Devon, and thanks to a spirited father became interested enough in the sciences to win a scholarship to Oxford in 1801. Studying the fledgling science of Geology (he was their first ever reader in the subject), he excelled, and was awarded an MA in 1808, the same year he was ordained as a priest. He moved on to lecturing, and delighted in unorthodox teaching methods that made him a firm favourite with his students - famously one described a typical lecture of his...
“He paced like a Franciscan preacher up and down behind a long showcase ... He had in his hand a huge hyaena’s skull. He suddenly dashed down the steps - rushed skull in hand at the first undergraduate on the front bench and shouted ‘What rules the world?’ The youth, terrified, answered not a word. He rushed then on to me, pointing the hyaena full in my face - ‘What rules the world?’ ‘Haven’t an idea’, I said. ‘The stomach, sir!’, he cried ‘rules the world. The great ones eat the less, the less the lesser still!’”
In 1824 Buckland became President of the Geological Society, and announced the discovery of the bones of a giant reptile, which he named Megalosaurus, or “great lizard”, on account of its vast size. He published a paper later that year, thus describing the first ever dinosaur - although that term had yet to be coined. This made his name, and he went on to lecture regularly at the British Association, Royal Society and the Geological Society.
However, despite his scientific merits, Buckland is infamous for one special wish - his resolution to eat one of every type of animal. Not surprisingly, his dinner parties were legendary - toasted mice were a favourite of his - which he happily chewed on whilst his guests made excuses about being full, I imagine. Hedgehog, guinea pig, alligator, sea slug, ostrich - the menu at his house was eclectic to say the least. He became a sort of Anti-Noah, living near London Zoo meant he could turn up when something died he had yet to sample. Apparently on holiday when the zoo's Leopard died, he returned to find it buried, but dug it up and tried it anyway.
Sadly I've yet to find an exact list of everything he tried - but I do know that his two least favourite snacks were Mole and the humble Bluebottle, which he thought was 'disgusting'. He obviously had an effect on his son, Frank, as he carried on his father's passion for unusual foodstuffs. However, although Frank managed to plough through a whole Porpoise, he never matched his father's greatest triumph -
"Talk of strange relics led to mention of the heart of a French King [Louis XVI] preserved at Nuneham in a silver casket. Dr. Buckland, whilst looking at it, exclaimed, 'I have eaten many strange things, but have never eaten the heart of a king before,' and, before anyone could hinder him, he had gobbled it up, and the precious relic was lost for ever."
I'm not entirely convinced by this, but other stories I've read about Buckland have referred to him buying the embalmed heart of a French king and eating it in front of shocked guests at one of his parties, so you never know. My favourite anecdote about this remarkable man sums him up well, showing his ability to use unusual methods to get to the bottom of a scientific mystery...
..."Visiting a cathedral at which spots of saints' blood were said to be always fresh on the floor, never evaporating or vanishing, Dr. Buckland, with the use of his tongue, determined that the "blood" was in fact bats' urine."
Dr William Buckland's Biography can be found here (.pdf file)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
RIP Grandstand
Jeff reacts as Gretna go two down
It was announced today that the BBC are to phase out Grandstand - their flagship Saturday sports programme - as viewing figures continue to decline. In a way, I'm sad about this, as I have fond memories of sitting in front of the telly with a plate of sandwiches and crisps watching Football Focus. It was an unofficial tradition in our house, along with my Dad cheerfully chucking a packet of crisps at us as we sat there waiting for him to finish making our rolls. "I thought you liked corned beef" and "Why has he got three and I've only got two?" were also common occurances. The later-starting Sunday Grandstand meant we had to eat whilst watching Country File, which was never quite the same. Eating ham sandwiches and footage of pig farms just don't sit as well together.
But, I'm probably part of the problem too - as I keep referring to the sheer magic of Sky Soccer Saturday (described by today's Guardian as a 'cult hit'), the old-style Grandstand looks lumbering by comparison. In response, they recently launched their own 'men watching men watching football' service - but the combination of lurid red and yellow graphics and Garth Crooks mean it can't compare with Jeff Stelling and the boys. I read an excellent article about SSS recently, where Simon Hattenstone rightly pointed out that the ever-enthusiastic Jeff manages to give equal import to lower-league games as he does to the fancy Premiership contests - and this is why the service works so well.
To the uninitiated, Grandstand is/was a multi-sport wedge of television from roughly midday to the early evening, every Saturday (and Sundays in summer). Started in 1958 in the glorious black and white era of technicians in brown coats, it continued to rise in popularity as one of the few places where you could watch a variety of sports in one day, without moving from your sofa. These days of course, there are a million sports channels beaming every sport at you at any time, so sitting through three hours of Showjumping to get to the golf isn't going to cut it anymore.
However, Grandstand introduced many household names to the UK - Des Lynam, David Coleman, Peter O'Sullevan, Harry Carpenter, Murray Walker to name a few. The fact that all of these men are just as (and maybe more) famous for their presenting style than the sports they covered gives an idea as to why the franchise is in trouble. These days, presenters/reporters/analysts seem to come from identical moulds - none have the charm and wit of a Lynam, the voice of an O'Sullevan, or the ability to cock things up like Walker. These days, there's only one sports presenter I can think of who could go clipboard to clipboard with the greats - and that's Jeff Stelling from Sky Soccer Saturday. That's why I don't watch Grandstand anymore, and I think that's why the BBC are sadly phasing it out...
It was announced today that the BBC are to phase out Grandstand - their flagship Saturday sports programme - as viewing figures continue to decline. In a way, I'm sad about this, as I have fond memories of sitting in front of the telly with a plate of sandwiches and crisps watching Football Focus. It was an unofficial tradition in our house, along with my Dad cheerfully chucking a packet of crisps at us as we sat there waiting for him to finish making our rolls. "I thought you liked corned beef" and "Why has he got three and I've only got two?" were also common occurances. The later-starting Sunday Grandstand meant we had to eat whilst watching Country File, which was never quite the same. Eating ham sandwiches and footage of pig farms just don't sit as well together.
But, I'm probably part of the problem too - as I keep referring to the sheer magic of Sky Soccer Saturday (described by today's Guardian as a 'cult hit'), the old-style Grandstand looks lumbering by comparison. In response, they recently launched their own 'men watching men watching football' service - but the combination of lurid red and yellow graphics and Garth Crooks mean it can't compare with Jeff Stelling and the boys. I read an excellent article about SSS recently, where Simon Hattenstone rightly pointed out that the ever-enthusiastic Jeff manages to give equal import to lower-league games as he does to the fancy Premiership contests - and this is why the service works so well.
To the uninitiated, Grandstand is/was a multi-sport wedge of television from roughly midday to the early evening, every Saturday (and Sundays in summer). Started in 1958 in the glorious black and white era of technicians in brown coats, it continued to rise in popularity as one of the few places where you could watch a variety of sports in one day, without moving from your sofa. These days of course, there are a million sports channels beaming every sport at you at any time, so sitting through three hours of Showjumping to get to the golf isn't going to cut it anymore.
However, Grandstand introduced many household names to the UK - Des Lynam, David Coleman, Peter O'Sullevan, Harry Carpenter, Murray Walker to name a few. The fact that all of these men are just as (and maybe more) famous for their presenting style than the sports they covered gives an idea as to why the franchise is in trouble. These days, presenters/reporters/analysts seem to come from identical moulds - none have the charm and wit of a Lynam, the voice of an O'Sullevan, or the ability to cock things up like Walker. These days, there's only one sports presenter I can think of who could go clipboard to clipboard with the greats - and that's Jeff Stelling from Sky Soccer Saturday. That's why I don't watch Grandstand anymore, and I think that's why the BBC are sadly phasing it out...
Sunday, April 23, 2006
At the duck race
The annual charity duck race along the Water of Leith in Stockbridge is Edinburgh's version of the Boat Race - only instead of oversized sweaty Canadians, you watch hundreds of plastic ducks floating down the river.
First run in 1988, it raises money for Cancer Research charities - you pay £1 and get a numbered duck. I picked number 1438, named him 'Quacker', and hoped for the best. As you can see, picking your duck out of the pack is a bit tricky.
Some people resorted to any method to win. Those people know who they are - and although they may have a clear conscience, history will judge them. That's all I have to say on the matter. Oh - that, and the fact that Grant was helping someone else's duck here, so he's probably a hero.
Half of the ducks were red, and half yellow - but for some strange reason the yellow ones were much faster. Months of aerodynamic work in the wind tunnel by the red duck engineers wasted, then. I wasn't sure, but I'm betting mine was probably red.
At a guess there were about 100 people following the race, which went over a course about 200m from the Deanhaugh Bridge to the cricket ground bridge. There were a few bemused tourists caught up in the excitement too - these crazy British, eh?
There were many fallers at 'The Pipe'.
At the end of the course the stewards pulled out the lucky winners and shouted the numbers out for the judge to write down. Winners are notified by post - so none of us knows if we won anything. Imagine if all the Grand National jockeys wore the same colour and the winning trainer found out a week later...
This one didn't win, caught in a slow-moving eddy. After the race the volunteers had to wade upstream picking up all the runners that never made it, caught on rocks and weeds en route. But the ducks love it, it's their one day in the spotlight.
Of course, there was no shortage of helpers to lend a hand in the cleanup. I heard one woman point to a real-life duck (I have no idea what they made of it) and tell her daughter 'Look! There's the referee!'
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
You clever people...
Some scenery, last year
'Never underestimate your audience' is an old saying, and so for what is my 200th post on DUaB I thought I'd turn the tables and write something mildly puke-inducing about you lovely readers. In times gone by, diaries were something intensely private and to be protected - but these days any fool with a computer can knock something out and force themselves on the public, pretending to be a literary wit (works for me). And if you put pretty photos up, so much the better.
It goes without saying I appreciate everyone who reads and comments on here - and is one of the reasons I keep track of you all so closely (kudos to the visitor who found me by searching for 'funeral indoor eternal flame'. Apparently the link was a post I wrote about the war memorial under the Arc de Triomphe - which is maybe slightly out of their price range). But I'm sure you weren't aware that in visiting DUaB, you are proving yourselves to be in the top echelon of society? Yes - even you with the Pringles. When the A-Team invented the internet in the early 1990's, obscurity meant relatively few people had access to or understood it. Today however almost everybody has access to the internet, and even fewer people understand it. I know I don't.
But whereas in previous times people online weren't exactly at the forefront of society (apart from in the technological sense), it has now all changed. In a classic episode of The Simpsons - the one where Bart and Lisa start a kids' revolt against their annoying parents - when Lisa suggests they air their grievances on the internet, Bart says no - "We have to reach people who's opinions actually matter". Not any more. Ironically, their choice of medium - radio - seems recently to have rejuevated, and only because of the internet (online radio, podcasting etc).
But before this post sounds any more like a Media Studies essay, I point you to an article on today's Guardian website (Link), the headline of which is 'Ignore bloggers at your peril, say researchers'. A Technology company found Bloggers are exerting a "disproportionately large influence" on society, and are "increasingly dominating public conversations and creating business trends". Like Butter pies, for instance.
The author of the report - entitled 'An Army of Davids', went on to say "Bloggers and blog-readers are 'influentials' - the minority that pays attention to events outside of political and news cycles. They also tend on average to be better off, better educated and, more importantly, employed." So put down those Jaffa Cakes and pat yourself on the back, especially if you're reading this at work.
There are now more than 35m blogs around the world. 35 million. As the BBC notes - 'while most bloggers only write for small audiences, [I prefer 'exclusive'] 'they can sometimes achieve wider fame or become the focus of consumer campaigns'. A good case in point is the story of the Million Dollar Homepage, or more recently Kyle MacDonald's trading blog. MacDonald is a 26yr-old Canadian who found a large red paper clip, and offered it online in a trade for something else - with a view to eventually trading up enough to get a house. Well within a year, he managed it.
So it seems that if you have a computer and an idea, you can combine the two and make something serious happen. Or like me, you can simply waffle on about places you've been, pies, and Irn-Bru. And post pretty pictures. But then that's why you come back, right?
'Never underestimate your audience' is an old saying, and so for what is my 200th post on DUaB I thought I'd turn the tables and write something mildly puke-inducing about you lovely readers. In times gone by, diaries were something intensely private and to be protected - but these days any fool with a computer can knock something out and force themselves on the public, pretending to be a literary wit (works for me). And if you put pretty photos up, so much the better.
It goes without saying I appreciate everyone who reads and comments on here - and is one of the reasons I keep track of you all so closely (kudos to the visitor who found me by searching for 'funeral indoor eternal flame'. Apparently the link was a post I wrote about the war memorial under the Arc de Triomphe - which is maybe slightly out of their price range). But I'm sure you weren't aware that in visiting DUaB, you are proving yourselves to be in the top echelon of society? Yes - even you with the Pringles. When the A-Team invented the internet in the early 1990's, obscurity meant relatively few people had access to or understood it. Today however almost everybody has access to the internet, and even fewer people understand it. I know I don't.
But whereas in previous times people online weren't exactly at the forefront of society (apart from in the technological sense), it has now all changed. In a classic episode of The Simpsons - the one where Bart and Lisa start a kids' revolt against their annoying parents - when Lisa suggests they air their grievances on the internet, Bart says no - "We have to reach people who's opinions actually matter". Not any more. Ironically, their choice of medium - radio - seems recently to have rejuevated, and only because of the internet (online radio, podcasting etc).
But before this post sounds any more like a Media Studies essay, I point you to an article on today's Guardian website (Link), the headline of which is 'Ignore bloggers at your peril, say researchers'. A Technology company found Bloggers are exerting a "disproportionately large influence" on society, and are "increasingly dominating public conversations and creating business trends". Like Butter pies, for instance.
The author of the report - entitled 'An Army of Davids', went on to say "Bloggers and blog-readers are 'influentials' - the minority that pays attention to events outside of political and news cycles. They also tend on average to be better off, better educated and, more importantly, employed." So put down those Jaffa Cakes and pat yourself on the back, especially if you're reading this at work.
There are now more than 35m blogs around the world. 35 million. As the BBC notes - 'while most bloggers only write for small audiences, [I prefer 'exclusive'] 'they can sometimes achieve wider fame or become the focus of consumer campaigns'. A good case in point is the story of the Million Dollar Homepage, or more recently Kyle MacDonald's trading blog. MacDonald is a 26yr-old Canadian who found a large red paper clip, and offered it online in a trade for something else - with a view to eventually trading up enough to get a house. Well within a year, he managed it.
So it seems that if you have a computer and an idea, you can combine the two and make something serious happen. Or like me, you can simply waffle on about places you've been, pies, and Irn-Bru. And post pretty pictures. But then that's why you come back, right?
Friday, April 14, 2006
Halfway Back
1yr ago today...
Exactly a year ago I wrote this post in a Korean-run Internet gaming centre in Sydney. At the time I was wondering if my time abroad would seem to have gone by quickly when I returned to the UK, and seeing as I've now been back here exactly six months I should probably try and answer. In a word, not really. I managed to cram so much into that year that time never seemed to fly by, and sitting here thinking about it now although the 14th of October 2004 seems like a long time ago, it doesn't really (if that makes any sense at all).
But to try and wrap up other points of that post, yes it was good to return to my family, friends and x-box (in no particular order), you can be the judge of whether this blog became more interesting, and if I could go away again I would absolutely jump at the chance. And I hope I answered Princess's question(s)...
My last post, about the real seven wonders of Scotland, should probably have included 'Escaped Pets' (when you make a list you always miss something obvious off). This week West Lothian has been gripped - like an unwary poodle - by Eagle Owl fever, after the escape of a pet from a shed in Linlithgow. Having seen the cramped aviary on the news, I'm rooting for Fergus the 3ft owl - described by the Police as being 'distinctive' - to stay wild, especially as it apparently eats pet dogs. Go get 'em Fergus!
edit - Eagle Owl Update...Fergus has now been missing for four days. In a statement, West Lothian Police said 'the public should not attempt to catch it themselves', but call the Police - who will presumably sramble their elite Owl Retrieval Unit. There have been a few sightings, but they turned out to be of a concrete owl on a roof. Easily done. Link
edit 2 - Eagle Owl Update...For those of you on the edges of your seats (or perches) about the fate of Scotland's most famous Eagle Owl, Fergus was recaptured on Saturday morning, after five days on the run (on the wing?). A local gamekeeper had managed to capture it, and the plucky owl is now back in his shed at the bottom of some bloke's garden. The region's pets can breathe a collective sigh of relief...
Exactly a year ago I wrote this post in a Korean-run Internet gaming centre in Sydney. At the time I was wondering if my time abroad would seem to have gone by quickly when I returned to the UK, and seeing as I've now been back here exactly six months I should probably try and answer. In a word, not really. I managed to cram so much into that year that time never seemed to fly by, and sitting here thinking about it now although the 14th of October 2004 seems like a long time ago, it doesn't really (if that makes any sense at all).
But to try and wrap up other points of that post, yes it was good to return to my family, friends and x-box (in no particular order), you can be the judge of whether this blog became more interesting, and if I could go away again I would absolutely jump at the chance. And I hope I answered Princess's question(s)...
My last post, about the real seven wonders of Scotland, should probably have included 'Escaped Pets' (when you make a list you always miss something obvious off). This week West Lothian has been gripped - like an unwary poodle - by Eagle Owl fever, after the escape of a pet from a shed in Linlithgow. Having seen the cramped aviary on the news, I'm rooting for Fergus the 3ft owl - described by the Police as being 'distinctive' - to stay wild, especially as it apparently eats pet dogs. Go get 'em Fergus!
edit - Eagle Owl Update...Fergus has now been missing for four days. In a statement, West Lothian Police said 'the public should not attempt to catch it themselves', but call the Police - who will presumably sramble their elite Owl Retrieval Unit. There have been a few sightings, but they turned out to be of a concrete owl on a roof. Easily done. Link
edit 2 - Eagle Owl Update...For those of you on the edges of your seats (or perches) about the fate of Scotland's most famous Eagle Owl, Fergus was recaptured on Saturday morning, after five days on the run (on the wing?). A local gamekeeper had managed to capture it, and the plucky owl is now back in his shed at the bottom of some bloke's garden. The region's pets can breathe a collective sigh of relief...
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The Real Seven Wonders
Watch the hammer, skip! (and so forth)
Curling
Curling is a wierd sport that nobody seems to care much about (this from someone who used to play Ultimate Frisbee). Comedian Linda Smith (who sadly died recently) best summed it up, as 'housework on ice'. A few years ago at the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, the British women's team - all Scots - made it to the final and wound up winning the Gold medal, narrowly beating that notoriously icy nation, Switzerland. It was huge up here - millions of people stayed up to watch the final, me included. Ahem. The captain Rhona Martin won with the last toss, or whatever it's called, and they became national heroes. Until the recent Olympics when they were rubbish, and suddenly everyone has forgotten about curling. Scottish kids no longer stop stuffing their faces to pick up the slidey stone and brush-thing - and that can only be a sad thing.
Statues
In other countries there are plenty of fading war heroes rusting on stone plinths. Not in Scotland (well, there are a few), here we have things like the staggering Scott Monument on Princes Street, the architect of which unfortunately fell into a canal and drowned before it was finished. A similarly tragic story surrounds the famous Greyfriars Bobby statue of a small dog who pined for his master for many years after his death (the master's, that is). There are also the many statues of William Wallace at Stirling, the much-defaced one of Donald Dewar in Glasgow, and cartoon character Desperate Dan in Dundee. The most infamous, though, is a statue few Scots could name, but most recognise - that of the Duke of Wellington in central Glasgow. For years, drinkers have shimmied up to plonk a traffic cone on his head - and this has now become a major Glaswegian landmark. But is the statue more important than the tradition? Scots say yes, the police say no (or aye and naw).
Diet
I covered the unique Scottish diet in a previous post, so I won't add much here - other than the fact that it deserves to be one of the Wonders of Scotland. Scottish kids drink more soft drinks than anywhere else in Europe (soda to my American readers). In fact, here people don't call it that either, it's usually referred to as 'Juice' - as in a 'can of juice', so maybe that's why so many kids drink it - they're just confused. Now even Primary school pupils are weighed when they start, to keep an eye on any porky ones. But it's not just kids - even the dogs are dangerously overweight here.
Smoke free public places
Again, I was talking about this only the other day - you can go anywhere in Scotland and not have other people's smoke bother you. Great for non-smokers like me, less good for smokers. But who cares about them, eh? ;)
The weather
The middle of April and it was snowing the other day. Today is gloriously sunny, last weekend it was blowing a gale. Tomorrow it will be raining. On Tuesday I stood outside Haymarket waiting for a bus, watching wave after wave of city-bound commuters sweep out of the station and promptly have their umbrellas inverted by the mini-tornado that was whipping towards Princes Street. Scotland even has it's own type of weather - Haar - which true to form is a dank mist that rolls meanly off the sea to spoil sunny days. 'Four seasons in one day' is a widely-used weather cliché, but up here you can modify that to 'Four seasons at once, every day'.
Beaches
Scotland has some of the best beaches in the world, it's just unfortunate that the weather here gives you about 3 viable beach days per year. I was on the beach last weekend, in fact, at Yellowcraigs on the way to North Berwick. It was brilliantly sunny, but blowing a gale - good news for kite flyers. Less good news for me, doing what I normally do on beaches - rooting about for shells and bits of dead animals to bore people to tears with. In my defence, winkles and suchlike are interesting, you just don't know it. It's been a tremendous week for the Scottish coast - not only did it cough up a decaying H5N1-ridden swan (now thought to have been washed here from Germany), but some beaches are slightly radioactive, others dangerously so. They also attract odd people (no jokes about winkles there).
Tunnocks Caramel Wafers
Enough said...
Curling
Curling is a wierd sport that nobody seems to care much about (this from someone who used to play Ultimate Frisbee). Comedian Linda Smith (who sadly died recently) best summed it up, as 'housework on ice'. A few years ago at the Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City, the British women's team - all Scots - made it to the final and wound up winning the Gold medal, narrowly beating that notoriously icy nation, Switzerland. It was huge up here - millions of people stayed up to watch the final, me included. Ahem. The captain Rhona Martin won with the last toss, or whatever it's called, and they became national heroes. Until the recent Olympics when they were rubbish, and suddenly everyone has forgotten about curling. Scottish kids no longer stop stuffing their faces to pick up the slidey stone and brush-thing - and that can only be a sad thing.
Statues
In other countries there are plenty of fading war heroes rusting on stone plinths. Not in Scotland (well, there are a few), here we have things like the staggering Scott Monument on Princes Street, the architect of which unfortunately fell into a canal and drowned before it was finished. A similarly tragic story surrounds the famous Greyfriars Bobby statue of a small dog who pined for his master for many years after his death (the master's, that is). There are also the many statues of William Wallace at Stirling, the much-defaced one of Donald Dewar in Glasgow, and cartoon character Desperate Dan in Dundee. The most infamous, though, is a statue few Scots could name, but most recognise - that of the Duke of Wellington in central Glasgow. For years, drinkers have shimmied up to plonk a traffic cone on his head - and this has now become a major Glaswegian landmark. But is the statue more important than the tradition? Scots say yes, the police say no (or aye and naw).
Diet
I covered the unique Scottish diet in a previous post, so I won't add much here - other than the fact that it deserves to be one of the Wonders of Scotland. Scottish kids drink more soft drinks than anywhere else in Europe (soda to my American readers). In fact, here people don't call it that either, it's usually referred to as 'Juice' - as in a 'can of juice', so maybe that's why so many kids drink it - they're just confused. Now even Primary school pupils are weighed when they start, to keep an eye on any porky ones. But it's not just kids - even the dogs are dangerously overweight here.
Smoke free public places
Again, I was talking about this only the other day - you can go anywhere in Scotland and not have other people's smoke bother you. Great for non-smokers like me, less good for smokers. But who cares about them, eh? ;)
The weather
The middle of April and it was snowing the other day. Today is gloriously sunny, last weekend it was blowing a gale. Tomorrow it will be raining. On Tuesday I stood outside Haymarket waiting for a bus, watching wave after wave of city-bound commuters sweep out of the station and promptly have their umbrellas inverted by the mini-tornado that was whipping towards Princes Street. Scotland even has it's own type of weather - Haar - which true to form is a dank mist that rolls meanly off the sea to spoil sunny days. 'Four seasons in one day' is a widely-used weather cliché, but up here you can modify that to 'Four seasons at once, every day'.
Beaches
Scotland has some of the best beaches in the world, it's just unfortunate that the weather here gives you about 3 viable beach days per year. I was on the beach last weekend, in fact, at Yellowcraigs on the way to North Berwick. It was brilliantly sunny, but blowing a gale - good news for kite flyers. Less good news for me, doing what I normally do on beaches - rooting about for shells and bits of dead animals to bore people to tears with. In my defence, winkles and suchlike are interesting, you just don't know it. It's been a tremendous week for the Scottish coast - not only did it cough up a decaying H5N1-ridden swan (now thought to have been washed here from Germany), but some beaches are slightly radioactive, others dangerously so. They also attract odd people (no jokes about winkles there).
Tunnocks Caramel Wafers
Enough said...
Monday, April 10, 2006
Seven Wonders of Scotland
The winner
The National Trust for Scotland and The Scotsman newspaper have recently concluded a poll of the 'Seven Wonders of Scotland'. Members of the public could vote for a shortlist of 30 things that make Scotland great, or suggest their own. Below are the top seven, with the link to where the other 23 on the shortlist fared (the Scottish Parliament building finished last). Some of these are well-deserved (I do love the Forth Bridge), some not-so (Scotland's light and sky???). But see what you think. I'm currently putting together my own Seven Wonders of Scotland - look out for it sometime later this week...
1. The Forth Bridge
When it was built, the Forth Bridge was regarded as the eighth wonder of the world and it remains one of the most recognisable structures in Scotland. Sir John Fowler and Benjamin Baker's bridge is a testament to robust Victorian engineering and casts a magnificent silhouette across the waters of the Forth.
2. Single malt whisky
The pure water, the clear fresh air and the peat moorlands of Scotland all contribute to the flavours of single malt whisky, the water of life and one of our great offerings to the world. The combination of water, malted barley and yeast result in hundreds of distinctive flavours, from the smoky island malts to the sweet ambrosia of Speyside.
3. Edinburgh Old and New Town
With a stunning natural setting and a magnificent skyline, Edinburgh is a treasury of architectural marvels, from the cobbled labyrinth of the old walled city to the elegant Georgian splendour of the New Town. Every step is paved with history, from the towering achievements of the Enlightenment to the heinous crimes of grave robbers Burke and Hare.
4. Glencoe
Towering mountains and ever-changing weather characterise the eerie glen, redolent of the ghosts of one of the most bloody episodes in Scottish history. Standing in the depths of the valley, one cannot fail to be overpowered by the landscape and the almost tangible presence of the past.
5. The Prehistoric treasures of Orkney
Within a few windy miles on Orkney is a collection of standing stones which predate Stonehenge and the Pyramids. Maeshowe, the Ring of Brodgar, Stenness and Skara Brae, which are all World Heritage Sites, are potent symbols of the culture which predated and helped create Scotland.
6. The Kilt
Not only is the kilt a national form of dress, which keeps alive the tradition of the clan tartan and identifies Scots at formal gatherings around the world, it is also a design classic. French designer Jean Paul Gaultier is a fan, Vivienne Westwood created a punk version and Howie Nicholsby of Edinburgh has made plain kilts in leather and denim for stars including Vin Diesel and Robbie Williams.
7. The light and sky of Scotland
From the vast skies of Orkney to the cool clear light of the east coast and the blazing pink and orange of the Hebridean sunsets, Scotland's skies present an ever-changing panorama. Writers, poets and artists from the land of mist and mountains have celebrated the transforming beauty and peculiar qualities of Scotland's light.
list in full
The National Trust for Scotland and The Scotsman newspaper have recently concluded a poll of the 'Seven Wonders of Scotland'. Members of the public could vote for a shortlist of 30 things that make Scotland great, or suggest their own. Below are the top seven, with the link to where the other 23 on the shortlist fared (the Scottish Parliament building finished last). Some of these are well-deserved (I do love the Forth Bridge), some not-so (Scotland's light and sky???). But see what you think. I'm currently putting together my own Seven Wonders of Scotland - look out for it sometime later this week...
1. The Forth Bridge
When it was built, the Forth Bridge was regarded as the eighth wonder of the world and it remains one of the most recognisable structures in Scotland. Sir John Fowler and Benjamin Baker's bridge is a testament to robust Victorian engineering and casts a magnificent silhouette across the waters of the Forth.
2. Single malt whisky
The pure water, the clear fresh air and the peat moorlands of Scotland all contribute to the flavours of single malt whisky, the water of life and one of our great offerings to the world. The combination of water, malted barley and yeast result in hundreds of distinctive flavours, from the smoky island malts to the sweet ambrosia of Speyside.
3. Edinburgh Old and New Town
With a stunning natural setting and a magnificent skyline, Edinburgh is a treasury of architectural marvels, from the cobbled labyrinth of the old walled city to the elegant Georgian splendour of the New Town. Every step is paved with history, from the towering achievements of the Enlightenment to the heinous crimes of grave robbers Burke and Hare.
4. Glencoe
Towering mountains and ever-changing weather characterise the eerie glen, redolent of the ghosts of one of the most bloody episodes in Scottish history. Standing in the depths of the valley, one cannot fail to be overpowered by the landscape and the almost tangible presence of the past.
5. The Prehistoric treasures of Orkney
Within a few windy miles on Orkney is a collection of standing stones which predate Stonehenge and the Pyramids. Maeshowe, the Ring of Brodgar, Stenness and Skara Brae, which are all World Heritage Sites, are potent symbols of the culture which predated and helped create Scotland.
6. The Kilt
Not only is the kilt a national form of dress, which keeps alive the tradition of the clan tartan and identifies Scots at formal gatherings around the world, it is also a design classic. French designer Jean Paul Gaultier is a fan, Vivienne Westwood created a punk version and Howie Nicholsby of Edinburgh has made plain kilts in leather and denim for stars including Vin Diesel and Robbie Williams.
7. The light and sky of Scotland
From the vast skies of Orkney to the cool clear light of the east coast and the blazing pink and orange of the Hebridean sunsets, Scotland's skies present an ever-changing panorama. Writers, poets and artists from the land of mist and mountains have celebrated the transforming beauty and peculiar qualities of Scotland's light.
list in full
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