May the Force be with you...

Where's that bloody droid gone?


Last weekend saw a thirtieth anniversary that many people of a similar age will look at very fondly. The original Star Wars film - then simply titled, now rebranded 'Episode IV - A New Hope' was first released on the 25th of May 1977. Only twenty-five cinemas screened the film on it's day of release. In 2005, Forbes Magazine (see post below) calculated the franchise to be worth over US$20 billion. Famously, creator George Lucas waived his director's fee and took control of the merchandising rights instead (the studio believed they were worthless). Thirty years ago, nobody could forsee the amount of plastic figures, games and other trinkets that would pour forth from the Star Wars stables, making Lucas billions of dollars for himself, and young kids very happy.

I was 9 months old the day the original film was released, so it's no exaggeration to say that I grew up with Star Wars. Boys everywhere are entranced by action, spaceships, aliens, laserbeams and so on - and although some films before and many since have had those things in abundance, it always comes back to Lucas's sci-fi saga. Of course, I was too young to take advantage first time round, and when the second in the series was released I was still only 4. But in 1983 the third (and at that point final) edition, Return of the Jedi, hit the screens. By this time, I was 7 - the prime age for flashy space chases and collecting plastic crap. I can still remember my Dad taking us to the Preston Odeon to see Return of the Jedi, and watching in disbelief at what was going on - I just wanted to climb into the screen and be a part of it.

From that moment on, all the pocket money I could scrape together went on Star Wars stuff. I'm sure George Lucas was impressed with the sales figures dropping on his desk from West Lancashire. The best day of the year, by far, was the last day of the school term. Not only because it was the last day of school - but because that was the day we could bring in toys and games. For practically every year during my junior school days, that day meant one thing - a mass Star Wars battle. The girls brought in Cabbage Patch Dolls or My Little Ponys or whatever, and the boys completely ignored all of them and crazed about on our knees battering small lumps of plastic into eachother.

It wasn't just the character figures, either. We brought in the ships and speeders, tauntauns and AT-AT's. My Dad had to drive to Manchester one Christmas to find one of those for us - but it was absoutely worth it. I still remember the day my friend Jonathan brought in a Millenium Falcon. However, soon afterwards he moved to Israel and I never saw it again. Er, him, again. Predictably, the market for collecting and trading Star Wars stuff is colossal - there are dozens of websites devoted to it, like www.swfigures.com. "If we had only left them in the box!" is often heard ($250 for one of these, which we had), but even unboxed and loose (as ours are, and I imagine most other thirty-something's collections are), they are worth something. $29 for an AT-AT Commander? Didn't we have two of those? $59 for Boba Fett?!? Are they still in the spare room Mum? Blimey.

Recently the franchise has taken a battering - the ill-conceived 'prequels' ruined the precious memories of the first three, for many people. But the next generation of Star Wars fans fell under the spell (co-incidence, Mr Lucas?) and a new lust for all things Ewok, Jawa and droid began. So for that reason alone they were a good thing. Yes, the afficionados hated Jar Jar Binks (just Google it, and look at the links on the first page), but he was the comic character - the latter-day equivalent of R2D2. Although R2 was handy with that spinny-screwdriver thing, he also fell over a lot and made funny plinky noises for us seven year olds. Let them have Jar Jar. The franchise will roll inexorably on - there are rumours that they will be re-released one after the other, in 3-D (since denied by Lucasfilm). I bet in 1977 they can't have imagined how enormous Star Wars would become. As an exasperated Harrison Ford said during filming - "You can type this shit, George, but you sure can't say it."




Star Wars celebrates 30yrs
Official Star Wars Site

The Forbes way

Far higher than 38th on my list...


Everyone loves a list - whether it's your favourite films, Channel Four gamely filling a Friday night schedule, or the recently awarded Strangest Book Title prize (the winner being a field guide to abandoned shopping trolleys). However the undisputed 'Compilation Kings' are Forbes Magazine, the lifestyle bible to upmarket New Yorkers. Founded by an immigrant Scot in 1917, their Fifth Avenue HQ churns out a series of glossy publications based on yuppie advancement, many featuring complex and well-researched lists of current trends. Their most popular are the money-based - the world's billionaires, for example (Bill Gates currently top of the 946 global fat cats, with US$56bn). But they produce many others.

The most expensive private islands in the world should interest some of the billionaires who read Forbes (i.e. all of them). The article states that they can be tough to find though - '"Islands are very scarce, the good ones," says Farhad Vladi of Vladi Private Islands in Hamburg, Germany.' Why? Most are nature reserves, are too remote, or unsuitable for landing Gulfstream jets (I'm assuming that was written tongue in cheek). Also there's always the biggest potential scourge for would-be island owners - mosquitos. For the record, the priciest offshore rock is currently Isla de sa Ferradura near Ibiza, clocking in at a wallet-busting £22.7m. If you only have £17.1m, you could plump for Thailand's Temptation Island, although "the resort needs to have a desalinization plant installed. But it does feature three swimming pools, a helicopter pad and a concrete pier".

In a similar vein, the world's most expensive home is Updown Court in Berkshire, at £75m (it comes with five swimming pools and a heated driveway). Aragawa in Tokyo is the world's most expensive restaurant, where the average meal works out at ¥1,672 (about £160). It doesn't sound crazily expensive to me, but then that's the average price, not a publicity-seeking photo-op. Japan's first steakhouse, Aragawa specialise in Wagyu beef, where the pampered cows are hand-fed and massaged every day. For the ostentatious on the French Riviera, the world's most expensive hotel room is the Penthouse Suite at The Hotel Martinez in Cannes: $37,200 a night. You could make a real splash by arriving in the world's most expensive car, the €1m Bugatti Veyron. Just don't do what this pillock did.

But as this is a travel-based blog for normal folk, and not pompous zillionaires, Forbes produces other lists that aren't as grandiose. The fifty most-visited tourist attractions in the world throws up a few surprises, although the criteria are slightly subjective. They discounted major religious centres of pilgrimmage like Mecca, but included those that are touristy (like Notre Dame Catherdral in Paris). Yet Senso-ji temple in Tokyo (30m visitors in 2005, including yours truly), was not considered. Still, I guess we aren't supposed to take it too seriously. Also not in the running were shopping malls - clearly not tourist attractions - even if the 'Mall of America' in Minnesota welcomed 40m punters over the survery period. I'm guessing a high percentage of them were indeed tourists.

Topping the list is New York's Times Square, with an estimated 35.2m visitors a year (80% of all people who go to NYC end up there at some point), with Washington DC's Memorials up next (which I visited in August last year). Rounding out the top three is my idea of holiday hell, Disney's Magic Kingdom in Florida. The mouse holds spot five as well, with the original Anaheim site sandwiching Trafalgar Square in London. Niagara Falls is up next (14m), one million more people visiting than the 7th placed San Francisco Wharf. Elsewhere in the top ten are the other two Disney sites - Tokyo (8th) and Paris (10th), either side of Notre Dame de Paris. La souris pinches the final top ten spot from the Great Wall of China, in 11th.

This is the major trend, 17 out of the 50 are amusement parks. I have actually been to one of them, Blackpool Pleasure Beach (6.7m thrill seekers; 21st overall) Surprisingly, this is the only list entrant from West Lancashire. I've managed to cross off thirteen of the top fifty on my travels - I think I managed three in one day once (the Sacré-Coeur Basilica [14th], Louvre [15th] and Eiffel Tower [18th]). There are several in London that I've visited, of course. Amazingly, two of the greatest sights on the planet are lingering near the end of the fifty - the Grand Canyon (29th), and Sydney Opera House (38th), both places I would urge anyone to visit while they can. All the theme parks in the world can't match the majesty of the first of these, and if you've read this blog for any length of time, you'll know how I feel about the Opera House.





Forbes Traveller Top 50 Tourist Attractions

'Nobody wants a ballad from a wee man'

Marija Šerifović and her hairspray-loving friends


Ah, Eurovision. There really is nothing quite like it. The annual festival of kitsch and mullets took place on Saturday night at the Hartwall Arena in Helsinki, Finland. Last year the mighty Lordi dominated the competition with their rubber monster costumes and "On the day of Rockening!" puns. After rolling out a lengthy megapost about their win, I was counting the days until it came round again. Television at it's finest, it's watched by hundreds of millions worldwide, and over 10m in the UK, where commentary at it's pithiest is provided by the legendary Sir Terry Wogan.

For my non-EU friends, it's a song contest involving 24 countries, made up of the 'big four' (France, Germany, the UK, Spain) plus the top ten finishers from the 2006 final, and 10 qualifiers from Thursday's semi final. Yes, some of the worst do get weeded out. The big four are so-called because they give the most money to the European Broadcasting Union, (which was founded in 1950 in a Torquay hotel) so secure automatic qualification. But that is no guarantee of quality - as we shall see. My co-viewees this year consisted of my American flatmate Michelle (back for her second year), and friends Paul, Craig and Ali. My other flatmate Paul, who sat through the entire 2006 contest, had wisely managed to find something else to do. I warn you now, this is a long post...



1. Bosnia & Herzegovina - Marija Šestić with "Rijeka Bez Imena"
Sample lyric - "No-one can touch your soul like I can, eternally"
Heeeere we go, with what Terry calls a "comely Bosnian" called Marija. Her song means 'River without a name', and the frightened-looking backing dancers sway around in floaty dresses. Already we have two Eurovision staples - dry ice and ethnic instruments.
Eurovision.tv fact - "The sixth person on stage was a male player of a guitar-like instrument, who turned out to be the person that Maria is longing for."

2. Spain - D'Nash with "I love you Mi Vida"
Sample lyric - "Come like the scorpio you are, and lash your deadly tail on me"
Spain's first boyband pile out next, all dreadfully spunky and clad in white denim. With a huge amount of eye makeup and haircuts that wouldn't look out of place in a Sunday league pub team, they are agonisingly out of tune. Finishing on their knees, D'Nash set the bar very low for the 'big four'.
Eurovision.tv fact - "The members of D'Nash are Mikel, Basty, Javi and Ony. Basty has travelled accross Spain performing as soloist with his band. He is a pilot and the sportsman in the group."

3. Belarus - Dmitry Koldun with "Work your magic"
Sample lyric - "You've got the magic power, I keep the key to your tower"
This one starts like a Bond Theme - everyone's in black. Dmitry seems to be singing "Work your magic shoe", which his dancers then demonstrate by balancing precariously on a pair of moving sidescreens. There are lots of fireworks, and they all line up and wave hands around, as is tradition. This will do well, I predict. [it doesn't]
Eurovision.tv fact - "Dmitry's mother, the founder of Princess Diana's Belarusian fan-club, had always dreamed of having a daughter who would look like Diana. Amazingly, her dream partly came true."

4. Ireland - Dervish with "You can't stop the Spring"
Sample lyric - "Europe's all one stage, and the archipelagic icicles have melted like the cage"
It's the Irish entry, so I've already written down 'Fiddles, tin whistles and accordians'. This proves eerily prophetic. "Did Ireland have a public vote?" asks Paul. "And they chose this?". Most of their lyrics are about blackbirds, obviously a blatant pitch for the RSPB vote.
Eurovison.tv fact - "Dervish possess one of the tightest and most inventive rhythm sections on the circuit today."

5. Finland - Hannah Pakarinen with "Leave me alone"
Sample lyric - "The day will still come when I see you crying - 'cause you will get yours, just leave me alone"
More black outfits, this one's a power 80's rock ballad. This causes some excitement amongst certain friends of mine, who shall remain nameless. "She's a very angry young lady" says Terry. Quite so, it's no Lordi, that's for sure.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Growing up in Eastern Finland near the Russian border, Hanna started her career by singing in local rock groups by night and driving a forklift truck at a paper mill by day."

6. FYRM - Karolina with "Mojot Svet"
Sample lyric - "Tonight again I am talking to shadows, I have to run away from myself"
Karolina also causes some excitement, as once again FYR Macedonia produce a leggy young lovely. Karolina looks like that one out of Girl's Aloud who married the footballer. There is lots of stroking with the dancers, and we all pay careful attention. There's a wind machine, too, which is always good to see.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Due to her great popularity, Karolina was used in the haircare products manufacturer Head & Shoulders' advertisements, for the ex-Yugoslavian area."

7. Slovenia - Alenka Gotar with "Cvet z juga"
Sample lyric - "Le privid si mi iz daljnih dni"
Black once again, it seems to be the ensemble outfit colour of choice. There's an Opera theme thing going on, and a spooky trick with a glowing hand, which turns out to be a small lightbulb as Alenka reveals her secret. She'll be out of the Slovenian Magician's Guild for that, without doubt. "She must have a car battery in her back pocket!" says Craig.
Eurovision.tv fact - "In 2003, Alenka won the special award from the Klagenfurt Theatre for the best world stage person."

8. Hungary - Magdi Rúzsa with "Unsubstantial Blues"
Sample lyric - "So now that it's over - I'll try and take it sober"
I can safely say that I've never seen a bus stop used in Eurovision before, as Magdi sits on a suitcase pretending to thumb a lift down an imaginary road. There are no key changes in this one, it's actually quite good. This of course means it won't win, but then it wouldn't be Eurovision if the good songs came out on top.
Eurovision.tv fact - "We all wish Magdi good luck and hope that after conquering the Hungarian music lovers, she can show her extreme talent to a European audience."

9. Lithuania - 4FUN with "Love or Leave"
Sample lyric - "Weak and unwise, I betray all fears that I should disguise"
The most poetic lyrics of the night, as the Dana-a-like singer croons away on a bar stool. Behind her a large screen hides the musicians in silhouette. Resisting the temptation to make v-signs and animal shapes, they play some decidedly good music. What is Eurovision coming to? Time for more alcohol, if this is what we're in for.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Lead singer Julija is included in the 2002 catalogue "Who is who in Lithuania" (Lithuanian edition)." [by the way, all these facts really are on the Eurovision website]

10. Greece - Sarbel with "Yassou Maria"
Sample lyric - "Shake it up, shake it up, there you go - oh ohh"
Oh-ohh! Here we go. You can always rely on the Greeks. Sarbel might sound like a grimy fish that odd-looking men try to catch in flooded gravelpits, but he looks (and sounds) like Ricky Martin. Almost. "He's horrible!" says Ali, as he thrusts his way around his dancers. Brilliantly, Sarbel rips off part of their skirts - the holy grail of Eurovision - and they become ribbons he entangles himself in.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Sarbel was brought into this world by a Cypriot father and a Lebanese mother on May 14th, 1981 in London."

11. Georgia - Sopho with "Visionary Dream"
Sample lyric - "Clouds containing lakes - I'm near the haze of pouring light"
Cossacks! Things are indeed looking up (or down, depending on how you look at it). Sopho is staggeringly out of tune, and for Georgia's first ever entry, is really quite awful. She shrieks a lot as the dancers whirl about with their swords clanging. It could get 0 points.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Sopho started singing when she was only 3 years old. She began attending the Music School (Piano and Oboe Department) in Batumi."

12. Sweden - The Ark with "The worrying kind"
Sample lyric - "I'm just a silly old boy with my head in the can, I'm just a mortal with potential of a superman"
The Campometer rockets into orbit as the Swedes amaze with a glam rock T-Rex affair. Their frontman pouts and croons away, as the guitarists do choreographed motions Status Quo would be proud of. He then rips off his silver jacket and lies, naked apart from trousers and a pair of sequined gloves, on a spinning black and white turntable. It's Ali's favourite, and is fantastic.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Everybody in The Ark is really nice, they all like beer, a few are a vegetarians, and one of them secretly likes fermented herring."

13. France - Les Fatals Picards with "L'Amour a la Française"
Sample lyric - "I remember us la Tour Eiffel, so beautiful with your sac Chanel"
Traditionally France don't try in Eurovision, they send a failed hotel bar singer and finish in the bottom five - but not this time. 'The love of a Frenchwoman' is sung by a band even camper than the Swedes, which is almost hard to believe. The pink-clad singer gambols around the stage, as the drummer pounds away, dressed as an angel. "Is he singing 'the sun is hotter than birds?' This doesn't make sense" someone says. [France finish in the bottom five anyway]
Eurovision.tv fact - "The band formed in 2000 by Ivan. He added a few buddies in order to legally keep the notion of a band, and thus benefit from several fiscal advantages, like for example car sharing."

14. Latvia - Bonaparti.LV with "Questa Notte"
Sample lyric - "The perfume of your skin invites me, to discovery what I don't know"
Now there's a chat-up line to remember. In 2006, the Latvian entry assembled a robot onstage. In 2007, they are represented by six Opera singers dressed as Dickens' characters. They have top hats and are holding roses. "They are really good!" "What?" "No - not them. Jelly Babies."
Eurovision.tv fact - "Andris Erglis is the baby of the group. But he has an enigmatic appearance."

15. Russia - Serebro with "Song #1"
Sample lyric - "I've got my bad ass spinning for you"
Another band that sounds like an anagram. But what a band. Three marginal teenage girls in black schoolgirl outfits rocking out about girl power. This will do very well. "You know," says Terry, "there used to be a time when Russian girls had moustaches".
Eurovision.tv fact - "What are my pleasures in life? Stage, sex and cars. Also I like to be a leader and I make a cult of food. [Elena Timnikova, singer]"

16. Germany - Roger Cicero with "Frauen Regier'n Die Welt"
Sample lyric - "When I found out she wanted to save the environment, I sewed "No thanks" on my parka"
The third of the 'big-four' is a German swing band in multicoloured suits. They all have fedora hats on, and switch to English halfway through. The title means 'Women rule the world', yet the song mentions David Beckham.
Eurovision.tv fact - "The song is a deep-seated recognition of women, that only an out-and-out macho does not want to accept. And Roger Cicero is definitively not a macho." [again, these are not made up]

17. Serbia - Marija Šerifović with "Molitva"
Sample lyric - "Days are like wounds, countless and hard to get through"
"Things are looking up!" says either Craig or Paul, as a bookish bespectacled Serbian is surrounded by a bevy of hairspray addicted backing singers. Another Eastern European power ballad, there's a bit of groping, but not as much as Sarbel the Greek. It's not bad, either.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Marija knew that music would be her only occupation. She finished high school and music schools and then studied management."

18. Ukraine - Verka Serduchka with "Dancing Lasha Tumbai"
Sample lyric - "Ukraine - that's cool?! Cool! Ukraine - that's reat?! Reat! The square is dancing!"
Bloody hell. I could fill an entire post about the Ukrainians. The 'orange revolution' seems to have become the 'bacofoil revolution'. The Campometer is off the scale here. Verka looks like Timmy Mallett crossed with Pat Butcher from Eastenders, spraypainted silver. All of them wear mirrored costumes based on German WWII uniforms. Most of their lyrics are numbers, shouted in German. Verka has a giant star on his head. I get a text from my mate Chris saying simply 'Oh that wins'. I secretly use his number to vote for them.
Eurovision.tv fact - "At the beginning of his career Verka performed just the items of the verbal idiomatic genre." [Verka's repertoire has since expanded]

19. United Kingdom - Scooch with "Flying the Flag (for you)"
Sample lyric - "Would you like something to suck on for landing sir?"
Well, we've got the best lyric in the competition, if nothing else. It turns out nothing else is more or less what we get. Our entry is a highly OTT song about being an air steward. "This is horrendous" someone says, as we watch between our fingers. This is the difference between the UK and Europe when it comes to Eurovision. We deliberately send the cheesiest option whilst they take it seriously. But my theory falls down when I remember the Ukrainians.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Last year's winners were a heavy rock band, we want to bring it back to Euro pop where it belongs"

20. Romania - Todomondo with "Liubi, Liubi, I Love You"
Sample lyric - "Everywhere around the world, "io ti amo" è sempre uguale (Hey!)"
Each singer is dressed as a different country. There's one in a beret, one dressed as a Russian sailor. With aching predictability the 'British man' sports a bowler hat. But what are they on about? And why is the Romanian dressed as a jester?
Eurovision.tv fact - "A football fan, Andrei the Romanian hates violence against animals, and wickedness in general." [bless]

21. Bulgaria - Elitsa Todorova and Stoyan Yankoulov with "Water"
Sample lyric - "See this young lass there, eeeeee!"
Only four to go. Although the lyric sounds like it's from Last of the Summer Wine, the Bulgarians are a pair of techno drummers. A wide array of things to wallop are within reach, and Eiltsa and Stoyan do some serious walloping. We're all thrilled to see Stoyan has a corking mullet - the first of the night. At song number 21, that's something of a pity. "This is bonkers!" says Craig.
Eurovision.tv fact - "Stoyan got his high-school education specializing in percussions and his university degree also in percussions, Jazz and Rock Department."

22. Turkey - Kenan Doğulu with "Shake It Up Şekerim"
Sample lyric - "She smiled at me, said: Would you like it sweet and low?"
Good old fashioned Euro-smut. Kenan piles along at a crazy tempo, looking rather smug. But then he is dressed like a circus ringmaster, and surrounded by belly dancers. None of us really know what to think anymore. It's terrible - but is it the right kind of terrible?
Eurovision.tv fact - "Although a famous, popular and appreciated artist in Turkey, Kenan thinks what he has achieved in his musical career is still not sufficient."

23. Armenia - Hayco with "Anytime You Need"
Sample lyric - "I only wanna guard, every beat of your gentle heart"
We had a bus stop before, now a tree appears at Eurovision. What's more, it's covered in streamers of toilet paper. Hayco from Armenia wears a medallion [check!], stares at the camera [check!], misses his high notes [check!], is supported by bongo drums [check!], and seemingly ends up covered in blood [double check!]. Alison sums it up - "Nobody wants a ballad from a wee man."
Eurovision.tv fact - "In 2003 Hayco won at the Armenian National Music Awards for 'The best DVD'."

24. Moldova - Natalia Barbu with "Fight"
Sample lyric - "The onfall's adapting the hearts, itch people will gnaw our wishes, no more"
It was a fight, but we made it. Rounding out the show is yet another black-clad power ballad from the former Eastern bloc. Natalia is wearing the lowest-cut pair of leather trousers any of us has ever seen. Terry is lost for words. Or maybe it's the Bailey's he's been knocking back (allegedly). We have no idea what the song's about.
Eurovision.tv fact - "When Natalia was young, her greatest pleasure was to "make herself beautiful" and to wander from place to place, even to the forest."


So, the music finishes. But the fun is far from over, as the next hour and a half sees the votes rumble in from all over the continent (and beyond, if you look at certain European maps). The hosts - Jaana Pelkonen and Mikko Leppilampi start it off. "Nobody could be famous in the UK with a name like Leppy-lampy" says Sir Michael Terrance Wogan KBE, at his brilliant/drunken best. The interval act - allowing the EBU to count the millions of text votes - features Santa Claus (the most famous Finn?), trapeze artists, soft chello rock, and a man in a bubble. After which, it's time to reveal the winner.

Again, if you're unfamiliar with the procedure, the public from every country that entered can vote (even if their entrant failed to make the final). Their votes are broken down in order, and the most popular song gets 12 points, the next popular 10, then 8, 7, 6, and down to 1pt. You can't vote for your own country, but voting for your neighbours is always a popular option, and one of the most contentious/fantastic parts of Eurovision. It's something that Terry constantly rails about, but the public vote was seen by the EBU as a key change to the old format of stuffy 'critics' from each area handing out points like judges at figure skating. Anyway, how bad can it be?

The very first vote announced is from Montenegro - who's public award 12 to neighbouring Serbia. The crowd are booing already, 45 seconds into the 90 minute voting. "Ahh, the old Balkan foxtrot" says our Tel. He may have a point - the semi final was also decided on a public vote, and all ten of the qualifiers to the final were from the east of the continent. But then maybe they had the best songs. The Belarussian public give 10 to Ukraine and 12 to Russia. "I wouldn't bet on any Western European country getting many points" says Terry. "But if I was worried about being attacked by Russia, I'd give them 12", says Ali.

However, it's not all bad. Amongst the Danish giving the Swedes 12, the Spanish voters decide to give top marks to Romania. It was one of the worst songs, but they did sing a bit of it in Spanish, so why not? Each country's votes are announced to the Finnish hosts by a specially chosen person - the Danish judge flirts outrageously with Messer Leppilampi, who bears a striking resemblance to Barbie's friend Ken. The Greek judge speaks some token Finnish and the crowd go crazy. The Slovenian judge sports a spangly jumper. Ali suggests going on holiday to the winning country.

Bosnia give 12 to Serbia. Booing. Cyprus give 12 to Greece. Booing. The Croatian public vote causes booing even before their spokesperson announces who got the top points, as everyone guesses it's going to a neighbour. It goes to Serbia - who are now well clear of the rest. The UK are last with no points, the Irish only just ahead. "I think we should have a referendum on a Scottish entry!" someone says. The Norwegian judge gets excited - "Finland!!! You Rocked The World And Set Europe Alight!!! [cheering] "Our 12pts goes to...Sweden!!!" [booing]. The Swiss spokesman appears in a deep caramel tan and silver suit. "Swiss men don't look like that!"

Finally, the Irish public give the UK our first points - 7 - moving us up to second last, ahead of...Ireland. Then next up Malta do what they always do and give us 12, launching Scooch to the dizzying heights of 22nd. To be fair, Terry makes a mockery of this as well (until 1964 Malta was a British colony). The Swedish judge makes an indecipherable joke about ice hockey, and then gives Finland top marks. Russia give 10 to Ukraine and 12 to Belarus - "Hands across the Volga!" says Terry. "The Russian jury give 8pts to Russia, 10pts to Russia, and 12pts to Russia," says Craig. The Icelandic spokeswoman looks how most men imagine an Icelandic spokeswoman would look.

The Moldovan judge appars in front of a photograph of what seems to be the New York skyline - "That isn't Chisinau!" says Terry, experienced European traveller that he is. It's the Serbian A-Z he's dusting off, as they are still a country mile ahead of several other assorted East European entrants. The Macedonian spokeswoman is none-other than Elena Risteska, who represented them in the 2006 contest. I'm ashamed to say I know that, even if it's the hotpants I remember. She sings a bit of her entry, but it falls on deaf ears and she meekly reads out the numbers. They give 12 to Sebia too. The UK's scores are presented by Ferne Cotton sitting in front of Sir Norman Fosters Gherkin (as it were).

It's all over. Serbia have won, the UK has come joint second last - the other 'big four' have been forgotten also (Germany 19th, Spain 20th, France 22nd). Ireland get the lowest score, with five points. It was another miracle of television, politics and intrigue. In May 2008, the circus moves to Belgrade - but until then, as ever, the final words lie with Sir Terry Wogan..."It's been a wonderful evening. Not musically, of course. Goodnight.."


Final top three scores - Serbia 268pts, Ukraine 235, Russia 207.




Serbian Ballad wins at Eurovision [bbc]
The Official Eurovision site
Marija Šerifović website

A Quick Plug

It seems as if I've been nominated for a blogging award - not by myself, I hasten to add. The post I wrote about Spring arriving in Edinburgh has been shortlisted for a prize by RoomsNet.com and their Rooman's Blog. I'm not really sure who submitted it, but if it gets the most votes I stand to win a $400 hotel voucher to a destination of my choice (Hello Blackpool!). If you've forgotten what that post was about, here it is again. No pressure or anything, but should you wish to give me support, you can do so by going here, and following the instructions. Fingers crossed, eh?

In other news, this Saturday sees one of the blogging highlights of the year, the Eurovision Song Contest. This year it's coming from Helsinki after Finnish costume rockers Lordi won the previous title. You can check out my lengthy post about the 2006 contest here. It should be a corker. I'll try and post it by Sunday, then after that it's back to normal blogging activity, like the special post I'm working on about shrimps. Until Sunday...




RoomsNet.com
Rooman's Blog (I'm entry no.29)

Eurovision Official Site

Nessie Near Misses

The toad makes a break for it


Exciting news from the Highlands and Islands region this week, as a team of scientists from MIT in Boston almost struck biological gold. One of the most infamous Cryptids out there (large and elusive animals), was again hunted for. The Loch Ness Monster has long puzzled people and inflamed opinions (like those realising you have to pay to visit the 'Nessie Experience', for example). The Beantown Boffins were completing a sonar map of the Loch, all 23 miles of it. Some project, as it contains more fresh water than all that in England and Wales combined. I'm not sure if they were specifically looking for giant marine dinosaurs - but they didn't find any. A 13,000yr old fossilised seabed was a pretty decent result, along with numerous seismic echoes of 'animal remains', and not Nessie, but a toad.

The Common Toad (Bufo bufo) was spotted by the MIT submersible, calmly waddling it's way through the muddy Loch sediment - or it was until the buzzing sub startled it with bright lights. Nothing unusual about that, you might think, as they are found in most European bodies of freshwater. The interesting thing was, this plucky Bufonid happened to be almost 100m (325ft) down in the cold, black water. Toads usually hunt in damp undergrowth or shallow lakes - amphibian experts are baffled as to what it was doing so deep underwater. It was the second "Hang on - that shouldn't be there!" nature story of the week, after the Cornish lobster fishermen who were checking their pots half a mile from Portreath Beach suddenly found a deer swimming past them.

Back in Scotland, Nessie enthusiasts were no doubt disappointed that the MIT expedition failed to find a slippery plesiosaur or two. With the possible exception of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster is the most famous unseen creature in the world. It's certainly one of the oldest - the first alleged sighting was in 565AD by a Saint, no less. Columba (the patron saint of bookbinders), apparently rescued a hapless Pict by the name of Lugne, who was being attacked by a "ferocious monster". However, it seems Columba was a bit of a specialist in battling large creatures - the account of his life written by Adomnán of Iona includes several Herculean battles with massive beasties. He once killed a charging wild boar by shouting at it, apparently. Blessed are the bookbinders.

The 'Ultimate Nessie Site' (nessie.co.uk) has a list of sightings from 1871 onwards - "Mr D MacKenzie, October, log like object that moved off at speed". Some of them are a bit obtuse - "Gypsy woman, 1890's, place unknown, description unknown", some highly detailed - "Sir Murdoch MacDonald and son and one other observer, 18:00hrs, the 8th of August 1934, two humps, 15ft overall, moving slowly (about 100yds in five minutes)". I bet Sir Murdoch had a story to tell at dinner that evening. "I say chaps, you'll never guess what the boy, one other observer and I saw a few hours ago". The last recorded Nessie spotting event happened in 1998, so maybe the old girl has had enough of showing herself.

She hasn't always though. Monster fever peaked in the 1930's, at about the time a road was constructed around the banks of the loch. Sir Murdoch and others now had direct access to hilly vantage points, and many took advantage. The Daily Mail (in a highly untypical knee-jerk reaction) hired a big game hunter and media celebrity called Marmaduke Wetherell to roam the wilds for the beast. Within a few days, he had found a massive set of prints in the mud. Excitedly sent off to London's Natural History Museum for analysis, the area went crazy, thousands flocked to the small lochside towns. Floodlights were set up so people could search for Nessie at night. However, the experts looked at the tracks, and revealed that they were from a Hippopotamus - most likely the base of an umbrella stand.




The Official Loch Ness Monster site
Visit Loch Ness
Cryptomundo - the search for large animals

Pink Week

According to the papers today, Scotland is headed for it's warmest April since records began. This weekend the weather was dry and sunny, and as the Brits tend to do, everyone piled outside to make the most of it. Edinburgh is currently going through 'Pink Week', so the sun was much appreciated. Unofficially named by local students, it's the few days every Spring where the city parks explode into life with tree blossom. It's not just the Japanese who love the 'sakura', we've got it over here as well. The two best Pink Week viewing locations are the Edinburgh Botanic Gardens (fairly obviously), and the Meadows park towards the south of the city centre. I lived just off the Meadows for many years, and never tired of the spectacular floral show at the end of each April. The Japanese see them as a metaphor for the ephemeral nature of existence - and with good reason, as within a few days all these blossoms will be gone.


White blooms near my office



Students 'studying' in the Meadows



Arthur's Seat hides behind a pink hedge



Closeup from the botanic gardens



Jawbone walk, the main pathway across the Meadows



Another closeup - note the blue sky!

Hair Crimes

Your author, circa 1997. Curtains!


So I was getting my monthlyish haircut over the weekend, during which I learned that the girl who regularly attempts to hack into my spiky shagpile comes from the same Polish city as my Aunt (hello Gosia!!). Slightly odd, as I thought she was Spanish (the hairdresser, that is). But then, I've only been going there for eight years. I managed to impress her with my awesome pronunciation of Wroclaw, which I'd be willing to bet you can't take a shot at*. It's the second-largest city after Warsaw, and is in the Lower Silesian Voivodeship, as I'm sure you all appreciate. That's a word my spellchecker returns as 'Volvo dealership'. Anyway, we talked about our collective knowledge of Poland for a while - her twenty-odd years compared to my pronunciation of one urban area. I'm glad my Auntie isn't from Bydgoszcz, or I'd have had nothing to say at all.

Haircuts are peculiar things, it's the single thing you get someone else to do that has a major impact on how you look. Hence the trepidation many people feel about them. Tonsurophobia is what you have when things get really bad. The 'International Hair Directory' HairFinder.com has an article about the subject, written by a Psychosocial Therapist. In it, she postulates fear of getting a haircut may be a sign of a greater problem, such as social anxiety disorder or personality issues. There are dozens of hairstyle websites out there, many trying to help those with haircut anxiety by featuring stunning pictures of knockout celebs, like the lovely Scarlett Johansson. Thankfully Hairfinder has a Hair Chooser where you can upload a photo of yourself (men and women both) and generate all kinds of wacky do's - but alas it costs US$15, so you'll have to make do of the photo of me above.

Firstly, I was obviously pale and drawn because of all the hard academic work and all those hours in the gym working on my six-pack. Secondly, center partings were all the rage in the mid-90's. They were hard to keep up with, though, far more complicated than my current "shave round the back and chop into the top, prosze." I remember once getting some old duffer in a place outside of Stirling, who hacked into the back like a pensioner going at a privet hedge, then blowdried the front until I looked like George Michael. But hey, I bet there's not one of you out there who doesn't have at least one hair crime in their past. Student days are clearly the best time for these, as the new found freedoms kick in and either youthful exuberance or destitution result in cracking combinations of lengths and colours. I've never changed colour, but I've certainly changed my length (as it were), the time I got the whole lot shaved off was great fun, until I realised that I instantly resembled a pink kiwi fruit.

As I can't do a post without mentioning Wikipedia, I had great fun with their 'notable hairstyles' section (go to the link and scroll down a bit). Duck's Ass, anyone? I put that into an online Polish translator, and it came back wonderfully as 'kaczka osiol' "Kaczka" sounds like the noise a duck might make, if it had a heavy cold, and "Osiol", well... Worried waterfowl aside, there are so many different types and styles of haircut these days, that pretty much anything goes. Even mullets seem to have come back, every day I see some catastrophic alignment of edges and highlights. Kevin Pietersen has a lot to answer for, although it's worth pointing out Shane Warne had that hair surgically implanted, and it still looks like he's got a bird on his head. Maybe it's a kaczka osiol. Anyroad, the good thing with modern hairstyles is that if you are unfortunate enough to get a terrible haircut, it seems you will be in good company.





* It's pronounced rotswoff. Gold star if you got it...

Fancy a pint?

The Pike Bar, Seattle


The blogging Spring cleaning continues apace - with DUaB sorted out in it's new look (unless you happen to be viewing in Internet Explorer, but I'll get on that soon), attention has been turned to the brand new kid on the block - The BeerCast. A new blog from a panel of enthusiastic amateur boozers (myself included), we aim to offer an interactive forum for lovers of all types of ales. Come over and see for yourself, as we take one country at a time and review some of the choicest - and not so choicest - beers on offer. As we have to record our tasting sessions for notetaking and soforth, we may well cobble together a podcast (the BeerCast of the title), so watch this space. Or rather - watch this space...

The BeerCast

Good for what ails you

Mmmm


I've been thinking a lot about beer over the last few weeks. Not just on an amateur level, either. The new beer blog (still not finished, but getting there) gives us plenty of opportunity to increase our knowledge. Of course, when you dabble with the drink, it can come at a price. Hangovers - or 'vesalgia' to give it the proper medical term - are never fun, and yet many of us are happy to take the trade-off they involve to have a decent night out. Several times a week, if they are students. But how to combat them? Wiki has a list of possible remedies that vary from the reasonable - drinking water and taking paracetamol, to the bizarre - eating cactus fruit, swimming in cold water, masturbation (the old 'It's for my hangover, dear!' excuse).

Scotland has it's very own ready mixed Hangover cure, of course - the mighy Irn-Bru. Due to a high sugar content and freakish combination of minerals and who-knows-what, it does help with the headache and dehydration. But it's not enough, so it's advisable to combine it with that other great British invention, the All-Day Breakfast. I love the introduction to it's page on the aforementioned Wikipedia - 'Fry-ups are no longer an everyday occurrence in most British households although they occupy an important place in the English concept of the morning meal. They are the predominant business of many greasy spoon cafés as well as generally being offered to tourists as traditional fare in hotels, guest houses and Bed and Breakfasts.' Quite.

A proper home-cooked fryup is a joyous thing - golden free range eggs, perky mushrooms, thick floppy bacon. The list of alternatives is almost endless, and up here you have the added complication of haggis, black/white/red pudding, potato scones and so forth. Take the time to find the right ingredients and cook it yourself, and it's a world beater - and not necessarily unhealthy. But what if you don't have the ingredients to hand, or an easy shopping trip away? Bearing in mind that with a pounding hangover you aren't likely to be down the local organic market sourcing fresh produce. You need to turn to convenience, to the easy option. And what could be easier than having the entire fryup pre-cooked, and in a tin?

Hunger Breaks - The Full Monty just screams out from the supermarket shelf, with the fake tablecloth pattern and glistening photo of goodness within. Produced by HL Foods of Spalding, Lincolnshire, it falls under the considerable umbrella of Premier Foods, who seem to manufacture almost everything for sale in the UK - they own Cadbury, Sharwoods, Hovis, Mr Kipling, Branston, Oxo, and many others. But Hunger Breaks is surely the jewel in their crown - just a quick glance at their product range and you can feel your arteries harden. They have five tinned delights - All Day Breakfast, Chicken Curry, The Big BBQ, Sausage n' Wedges, and The Full Monty. Yes, you read that right - tinned sausages and potato wedges. Lovely.

So what wonderments make up the latter of these? The enticing blurb on the back of the label reads - 'Baked beans in tomato sauce with large sausages, potato chunks, button mushrooms, mini bacon steaks and a mini chopped & shaped beef & cereal cutlet.' In reality, this consists of - baked Beans (22%), water, tomatoes (15%), pork sausage (13% - themselves made up of a whopping 49% pork), potato (9%), button mushrooms (6%), bacon slice (5%), beef chop (3%), sugar, and then various flavourings and extracts. Polishing off the 410g lot will rack up 340 calories, 16g of fat and 3g of salt. The first thing that happens is the 'chopped & shaped' beef and cereal cutlet dissolves under the most gentle of stirrings, so small pieces of mince fragment into every mouthful.

This is a pity, as it makes it all taste very similar and limits the fun of plucking out the 'bacon slices' - which have indeed been chemically formed into the shape of a rasher of bacon (it must be the Sodium Diphosphate 'stabiliser'). After the first few forkfuls, you can feel it sitting there in the stomach like a lead weight - but picking at the bits becomes addictive, and soon the whole thing has gone. The best bit - probably the sausages, which of course don't taste like anything else. The worst bit - the feeling of creeping dread that you've just done something very wrong, something that you really shouldn't have. As you waddle back into the kitchen with the plate, the authors of your fresh and exciting cookbooks look down on you from their sea bass and endive-pictured covers, with a look of disgust. That's the worse thing. Oh, and the nausea.

DUaB Mark 2...

Hello again! Sorry for the downtime over the last few days, I've been wrestling with the wonders of html and blogging tools. Or rather, finding lots of free template sites and doing a fair bit of cutting and pasting. Anyway, after three years of using one of the default Blogger templates, it was time for a change - and this is the result. Hope you like it, I certainly do. Thanks to Final Sense for the ready-to-go templates, although of course the header I had to cobble together myself. That's what bank holidays are for, of course - DIY. In these modern cyber times, it's not just phsyical things you can do up, online property can be smartened. Plus it's my 300th post, so another reason to mix things up a bit. The layout might have changed, but the content won't too much (so apologies for that).

Before I get back to posting normally, here's a story I read about over the Easter break. A 25yr old Croatian man was arrested at Zagreb airport when customs officials saw his suitcase bulging. When they opened it, surprisingly it contained 175 chameleons. The man, named by the Guardian as Dragos Radovic, bought them in SE Asia when told by a local that they become invisible. Smuggling invisible animals sounds like the perfect get rich quick scheme - but unfortunately when plonked en masse into a suitcase they don't all take on the colour of the bag lining. Instead of an empty case, the officals saw 175 green chameleons (which don't change colour when stressed), and promptly arrested him for smuggling and animal cruelty.

So once again, as if proof were needed - crazy schemes never seem to work out in the end. Speaking of which, if you're a fan of beer - check out The Beer Cast. An amusing look at the most popular drink in the world. Hopefully we'll get it online by the end of the week, so if you get the dreaded 'private only!!!!' message, check back in a few days.

R


Edit - it seems there might be a slight formatting problem with the blog if you use Internet Explorer. I'll try and sort it out as soon as I can...

Bonus London photos

My short period of shooting about over Europe has sadly come to an end, as I'm back in Edinburgh working away again (until the Easter break on Friday, of course). Here are some photos I took last Saturday afternoon in London, which was superbly busy on a sparkling Spring day. I walked around two great buildings for picture takers - the Old Bailey and St Paul's Cathedral, before crossing the wobbly Millenium Bridge and walking along the south bank of the Thames for a while. The last photo is the relaxing end to a hectic week - I just about recovered from the 4:30am start - and celebrated with a well-earned complimentary G&T on my BA flight back to Scotland. I don't usually - but well, when it's BA, and it's free - one might as well, eh?


St Paul's on a sunny London afternoon



The Cathedral peeks out from buildings on Ludgate Hill



A seagull wheels past Lady Justice, the Old Bailey



London's oldest courthouse looking imposing



St Paul's as seen from a busy Millenium Bridge



Finishing off a successful trip in style






**BREAKING NEWS**BREAKING NEWS**BREAKING NEWS**BREAKING

It's a cut and thrust world, this blogging lark - you need to innovate, or you stagnate (or something - I was never very good at motivational management-type speak). So over the Easter long weekend, changes will be afoot for DUaB. After several hundred posts and almost three years - it's time for a change. So in a frantic burst of Spring cleaning, after Easter DUaB will return invigorated, with a new look. Also - and hang on to your hats - a new blog will spill forth from these tired, Wikipedia-abusing fingers. Yes, your author is branching out into another blogging sector. More soon, more soon....

Early Bird - Early Starts?

Archaeopteryx - a truly early bird


What's in a saying? Yesterday I had cause to think about 'The early bird catches the worm', and what it means. Phrases.org ('you'll probably find something here to interest you!') list the meaning of that particular nugget as "Success comes to those who preapre [sic] well and put in effort." Like putting effort into spelling, perhaps? They attribute the birth of this adage to John Ray's Collection of English Proverbs, written in 1670. I wonder how John came up with his saying - presumably he was sitting in his post-Elizabethan kitchen munching on some precursor of the crunchy nut cornflake and watching the blackbirds in his garden. Those that flapped down late from the surrounding trees missed out on their wriggly breakfast compared to the first few individuals. Dropping the bowl into the sink, the next addition to his new book of proverbs hit him "Yes! I have another - the bird that arriveth late to said party, misseth outeth on yonder Oligochaete bounty! Hussah!"

So Phrases.org seem to impy the saying means if you preapre - or prepare - in advance, plan carefully, you'll come up trumps in the end (itself an entry in the phrase database of course, derived from an old card game called triumph, apparently). Anyway, these days, the 'early bird catches the worm' has almost universally become applicable to things happening to those who arrive first, or get up the earliest - a la the blackbirds in John Ray's garden. Sales, special offers, competitions - these all offer incentives for those of us who can summon up the energy to crawl from our beds before sunrise. Of course, if you live in Scotland and get up before noon, you usually get up in the dark anyway. One rather amusing irony in me considering this phrase is that for a while I actually had to catch worms, as I was studying their numbers in various eastern English estuaries. So I can unequivocally answer that the early student doesn't catch the worm, as I was in bed with a hangover and went in the afternoons.

So why was I thinking about this particular phrase yesterday? Probably because I was busy thumping the alarm clock as is bleeped maniacally at 4:15am, rousing me from dreaming about Rovers winning the FA Cup. I had a meeting to attend in London, so needed to catch a 6:30 flight to the other capital, in order to be at Guy's Hospital for 10am. When you have to get up that early, there's a sense of disbelief when the alarm sounds, as you can't quite imagine it's that time already. But my clock is made by Oregon Scientific, so it must have been right (anything with the word 'scientific' in or on it has to be believed, surely?). By the way, looking at their website, surprisingly it pictures their products used by fit and healthy-looking model types studying, working out or otherwise bettering themselves - no pictures of bleary-eyed northerners punting their products across the room for forcing them out of bed in the middle of the night.

So, here I am in London. Only four days after mooching about on the Paris Metro, it's the Tube this time. The flight was fine after my early start - I'm not sure I caught any worms, but I learned some more interesting stuff about cancer. And besides, I've caught tens of thousands of worms in my life, I reckon I shouldn't disturb them any more than is necessary. One thing that amazed me was how busy Edinburgh airport was at 5am - long queues for all the flights connecting with other UK cities, people going to meetings or catching onward flights. A party of Egyptians in front of us in the queue had all kinds of luggage problems - how do you decide what to remove when the check-in desk lady curtly instructs you to take 2kg out of your suitcase? We got our boarding cards and walked past him, furtively rooting about in his luggage for things he didn't need back in Cairo, armed policemen eyeing him suspiciously.

The upshot of my Early Bird activity was by about 2pm I was seriously flagging - but of course as my boss reads this, I was still highly alert and motivated, taking copious notes and thinking of piercing questions to ask. By the time I got to my Grandparents in north London, I was just about done. After one of my Grandad's special pie and sausage combos, that was it. I went to bed and slept for almost twelve hours, as the worms of this part of the city rooted about in the ground, safe in the knowledge that I was coming nowhere near them...

Provins Problème

Sunday afternoon Pétanque


Awkwardly-received gifts can be a real nuisance sometimes. Not just the stereotypical Christmas jumper - but all kinds of other things too. In AD133 Henry I of Champagne (a kingdom with boozy coronations, no doubt), was given the head of a saint, of all things. Saint Quiriacus lived as Judas Cyriacus, when he happened to direct Empress Helena to the possible whereabouts of the 'true cross'. This "have you tried digging over there?" helpfulness got Judas baptised, made Bishop of Jerusalem, and then martyred in a truly horrible way by the persecutions of Julian the Apostate. Somehow his head was acquired by Henry I, probably under the influence of his native brew. "Wow. Guys, that was some session last night, eh? Ow. So, what happened? I didn't get pissed and buy anything stupid again did I? Hey - why is there a receipt for a Saint's head in my wallet?"

Why do I mention this? Well, Henry brought the head back to France and decided to build a cathedral around it. In time, this grew to a small town, which in medieval times was the centre of the region. A series of well-timed protection orders meant the architecture of Provins (as the settlement was called) was safeguarded, and has since become one of the classic walled medieval towns of Northern France. Sunday was our chance to walk these ancient cobbled streets, and maybe poke about in a few saint's head-related touristy gift shops. However, the bloody clocks went forward, and we missed the train. I was already struggling to adjust to the +1hr of CET, changing times on my watch, alarm, Macbook, iPod, etc etc - totally forgetting that they had to advance another hour. So we arrived at Gare d'L'Est with half an hour to spare, bought tickets (€20 apiece), and casually noticed the lack of any Provins-bound trains on the destination boards. Erika asked a ticket information person - the next train for Provins was at 5pm. That would be a quick day trip.

So - we had an emergency Sunday day out in Paris. When I lived in Sydney, if I had such an occurrence, I'd go to Manly. Always the same, always great, always plenty to do. Being in one of the world's greatest cities as we were, it wasn't hard to find something to occupy us for a few hours. The weather was bright and sunny - something of a shock for me - so we wandered along the canal amongst relaxing Parisians out with their dogs, kids, bikes, cans of beer. They were sitting outside cafes in sunglasses looking at everyone who came past, clanging petanque boules around in giant cat litter trays, ruefully flicking through day-old copies of Le Monde and wondering whether to plump for Sarkozy or Royal. They were also gathering in their hundreds outside the Hotel de Ville - we inadvertantly blundered into a mass rollerblading rally to celebrate Frances' 50th year in the EU (I think). They were giving out free tshirts - if you know me, you can imagine the Richard-shaped cloud of smoke that appeared as I belted over to get one.*

We walked for miles, through twisty backstreets and main boulevards, into the Marais where every person in Paris was crammed between the buildings, shopping in one of the few areas where everything was open. Here tourists got in the way of locals, who spilled onto the narrow roads getting in the way of scooters who cut up cars. Women cycled along with dogs in their baskets, people gripped dark, twisted baguettes like looted treasure, at one corner of the Place des Vosges arcade a classical quintet chello'd out a number for the crowd. Everywhere you looked there was a classic Parisian scene. It really is one of the best cities in the world in which to stroll around, there is always something to look at, something to catch the eye. Every time I leave Paris I realise a little more how much I enjoy going there - and every time I leave I promise to myself I'll be returning as soon as I can.


* because it was a tshirt, not because I saw something free...

The Green Peril

Items left at van Gogh's grave, Auvers-sur-Oise


In 1890 Paul Gachet was a village doctor in the small town of Auvers-sur-Oise, 16 miles north of Paris. He was also an amateur atist, and a serious hypochondriac. Because of his regard for the arts, he became renowned for treating painters for their many foibles and illnesses, advising amongst others Manet and Renoir. In May of that year, Camille Pissarro wrote to the good doctor about another troubled genius from the impressionist movement, Vincent van Gogh. Before that time Vincent had been staying at an asylum in Saint-Rémy, near Arles. He realised that if he moved north, he could live near his brother Theo, and talk through his issues with Dr. Gachet. So he moved to Auvers-sur-Oise.

As you can see from the photo above, it didn't go too well for him. He had a spectacular two months in the sleepy town, producing approximately seventy oil paintings in seventy days. His first impression of Dr. Gachet was not good - "He is sicker than I am, I think, or shall we say just as much." I'm not sure what Vincent thought of his new surroundings - he certainly cranked out some amazing art in that short period - but to me it looked like a typical French village as we turned up this afternoon on a battered local train on a day-trip whim (courtesy of the Rough Guide to Paris). Coming out of the station, a signpost pointed the way up an alley to the graves of the van Gogh brothers, so we followed it through the church grounds depicted in one of his final works.

Past the church the lane continued on, out of the shelter of the buildings and into an open field. The weather was still grey and cold, and the wind was fairly belting off the countryside as we scurried along to look at the simple headstone of a painter we knew little about. Eventually we found it, next to Theo's (who died of syphilis six months after Vincent shot himself in the stomach, in that very field). Covered in ivy, the small graves had merely the names and dates of the two brothers, Vincent's made slightly more remarkable by the offerings left by present-day admirers. There was nobody else around, it seemed as if the entire place was deserted - but thankfully we found a modern-looking restaurant open and had a fantastic three course meal for €20 apiece - terrine of rabbit, roast lamb and barley, and a selection of local cheeses. C'est superb!

Afterwards the weather was so rubbish something indoors was the only option. We had two choices - the Vincent van Gogh Museum, or the Absinthe Musem. So, apparently absinthe is derived from the mixture of certain herbs, including Anise, Fennel and the one nobody has ever heard of - Grand Wormwood. Initially given to French colonial forces in Algeria to ward off dysentary, it became the Parisian intellectuals' drug of choice (or one of them, at least) as the toxins it was said to contain had psycoactive properties. Entirely unrelatedly, sometimes manufacturers would add Zinc or Copper to make the liquid a more greenish colour. Yes - we walked past the van Gogh museum, and eargerly forked out €4.50 to find out more about a drink that tastes utterly vile. Or in my case, look at the pictures and then Google it when I got back to Paris to find out what it all meant.

The drink was banned in France in 1915 - giving me a good chance to use my legendary 'absinthe makes the heart grow fonder' joke (normally very hard to get into routine conversation - but when in a museum dedicated to the stuff, a crime not to wheel it out), not that it got a laugh. It's still banned today, although 'Wormwood based drinks', are not. It's definately still illegal to manufacture in the US, but not illegal to own it there. It was never banned in the UK, however (hoorah!). Apparently the gift shop of the museum in Auvers-sur-Oise is one of the few legal vendors of the stuff, and there were indeed several bottles behind the proprieter. But we had to make a sharp exit after I was caught taking photos inside, against her instructions, so I never got the chance to buy any. Not that I would, as it's truly disgusting stuff. Vincent van Gogh drank a huge amount of it during the last seventy days of his life - it was rumoured to have a significant effect on his mental health. He called it 'The Green Peril'.





Absinthe Museum website - apparently you have to be of legal drinking age to view this link - so don't tell your parents. Also, that's the woman who had a go at me for taking pictures, not unreasonably I have to say. This was the photo in question. Worth it, I think...

Gris à Paris

Ou est la friterie?


So, here I am once again in Paris - I think this is my 6th visit now, possibly 7th. Only an hour from Edinburgh, but a completely different vibe going on (as you'd expect). I say only an hour, but in reality I left my flat yesterday at 11:30am and got to my friend Erika's at 8pm. British Airways, in their wisdom, decided to sell their BA Connect airline - the carrier for the Edinburgh to Paris CDG route, so until the new owners have sorted themselves out there were no flights available (or they had totally sold out). Either way, I had to travel the lengthy alternative via Glasgow, then Prestwick, then Beauvais "This looks like Cumbernauld Airport!" said the man in front of me at the arrivals queue - it is basically a tent in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, by the time I popped up from the Metro at Erika's local station, the neon signs for Tabacs and Pharmacies let me know exactly what country I was in.

The next morning, it was grey, cold and windy - as it always seems to be when I come here. So after a leisurely morning involving several pastries from the local boulangerie, we indulged in the age-old Parisian tradition of aimless wandering around the streets, punctuated with the occasional cup of coffee in a small, smoky cafe. After a while the leaden sky turned to heavy rain, and we quickened our pace a bit, ducking into the odd shop now and again. The highlight for me was undoubtedly coming across a large group (10-15) of Chinese tourists animatedly watching a man trying to parallel park a battered black Renault. The space he was going for was far too small, but being Parisian he nudged and bonked his way in (bumpers are for bumping, after all), each collision causing the crowd to shriek and point. Glaring at them, he eventually parked and rolled down the window, shouting at them in French, which Erika translated as along the lines of "This isn't a show for tourists! Why don't you piss off and go on a guided tour?"

The Birthday Bridge

Today - the 19th of March - sees a very special birthday. If I had only a single card to send, it wouldn't be to Bruce Willis or Ursula Andress (and not just because they have yet to thank me for the Christmas card). It would be to that modern wonder of the world, the Sydney Harbour Bridge. It was officially opened 75yrs ago today, minutes after it was unofficially opened by a disgruntled sword-wielding army officer. I love the Harbour Bridge, it was a pleasure to see and travel over it when I lived in Sydney. By train on the way to work, I'd stand by the window so I could look out, even though I'd seen the same view the day before. Walking home from Milson's Point, as the sun was setting over the harbour, is one of my abiding memories of my time there. So to celebrate, here are the pick of the photos I took of the 'Coathanger' - the birthday bridge.


Shimmering in the sun, as the Manly ferry glides past



Three Sydney landmarks in one shot



From Circular Quay metro, I can't think of a better view from a station



Towering over the Rocks, wobbly streetlines and all



Blurry fireworks at New Year's Eve 2005



Crowds of people on Australia Day



Minutes after my final walk home over the bridge, at sunset





Harbour Bridge Celebrations [Sydney Morning Herald]
History of the bridge

Dinotastic!

The other night on BBC2, the corporation's premier science outlet Horizon began a new series with a programme about dinosaurs. As I've mentioned before in various posts, I had a serious dino phase as a youngster - in fact almost all seven year old boys love them, I think it's in the rules along with liking throwing stones in water, getting dirty, and being generally insufferable. Later on as a biologist I began thinking about fossils in a more complex light than "Wow! Fossils are COOL!" (although admittedly only slightly more complex), I started wondering about what it would be like today had some things not happened the same way. Like if we'd flopped back into the sea, instead of starting to shimmy up trees. Or begun feeding our young by regurgitating food like seabirds. But one of the outcomes I've pondered off and on over the years most of all was the subject of this Horizon documentary - what would it be like if dinosaurs hadn't become extinct, and we lived here in modern times alongside them?

It was done in a half-jokey fashion, much to the annoyance of some of the following day's TV critics (the perennial 'dumbing down' debate). But the lengthy assumptions made in the science meant it needed to be done in a light-hearted manner. It's all just conjecture, namely the examples given had dinosaurs present as we commonly imagine them alongside our evolved selves - e.g. the idea that small dinos might have developed a similar urban role to foxes and raccoons. There was a great clip of a woman shooing a couple of them out of her bins - she should follow my Grandad and weight the lids down with bricks. Of course, reptiles had a head start over us of several million years - so allowing for development at similar rates, maybe we should be rooting about in their bins?

This was also touched on at the end - the idea that adapting to the changing Earth would have prodded dinosaurs into even more of a bipedal, upright method of getting around, in short - would they now be humanoid? Wonderfully, the programme finished with a selection of what looked like Dr Who extras shopping in a supermarket alongside normal-looking humans, albeit strangely unclothed. Wouldn't they have evolved modesty, too? Anyway, forgetting the 'scaly humans' side, if dinosaurs were around today in their Jurassic Park-type forms, what kind of uses would we have for them? What kind of uses would they have for us? (Food, mostly). Could we live side by side with them? Eat Stegosaur omelettes, ride T-Rex's to work? (you'd always get a parking space, at least).

Imagine going for a lovely walk in the country. Well, you probably couldn't. Swimming in the sea is definately out, too. Just look at the terrifying Pliosaur. Although that particular picture looks like a giant crazed penguin, it would still puncture your lilo. So there'd be no days at the beach, no walking the dogs (more on them later), no picnics. Forgetting the cheese knife would be the least of your problems. Every day, people would be garishly rendered by terrible creatures just by stepping into the countryside. It would be like living in Australia, basically. Dino exterminators would make a fortune, as unwelcome giant lizards find their way into garden sheds. It would take a lot of boiling water to get rid of a nest of those things, I can tell you. They would be hunted remorselessly, blunder in front of trains, knock over power lines, eat fields of crops, and savage Tokyo with strangely blue breath.

So yes, on the one hand it would lead to untold misery and destruction, and death on a colossal scale. But it would be fun though. For a start, there's be no dogs or cats. Primitive humans wouldn't have bothered domesticating the wolf, when they could hunt using velociraptors. Pets would be a thousand times better. Forget horse racing - you could go to a sport where the mounts wouldn't just refuse to jump a fence, they'd eat the jockey. Dinosaurs were found on every ancient continent (including Antarctica), so there'd be no need to trek to deepest Africa to see some exciting large wildlife, you could just go to the local park with a frisbee and you'd hit something toothy and bad-tempered (probably not a good idea, actually). I have to say, if I co-existed on Earth with dinosaurs, I'd even start wearing Fred Flinstone-esque caveman gear - and for that reason alone, it would be fantastic.





Horizon Dinosaur Special

Making ironing fun

Ray and Dean letting the iron do the work


It's been a tough few weeks for the digital TV industry here in the UK. Firstly, the 'ring and win' channel ITV Play was heavily censured for misleading viewers. Basically, they pose a query - in this case 'Name an item commonly found in a woman's handbag', and you phone in to guess the answers, some of which will win cash prizes. The example they gave was 'mobile phone' - and viewers started to add their guesses - at 75p a time - along the lines of keys, makeup, diary etc. Trouble was, the answers turned out to be 'plane tickets, ibuprofen, dog, mittens, driving licence, contact lenses, umbrella, elastic band, false teeth, dog biscuits, directions, balaclava, and Rawlplugs'. Amazingly the first seven of these were guessed correctly, but miffed viewers complained to the broadcasting regulator, Ofcom, who ruled that ITV’s solutions “were not reasonable answers to what appeared to be a straightforward question”.

Then last week customers of the newly hyped Virgin Media service had some of their channels blanked from their (paid) subscriptions, because of a long-running feud between Virgin and Sky. Licensing agreements couldn't be reached, so Sky took their ball home with them and removed the content from Virgin's cable package - effectively pulling the plug on thousands of households who had already forked out money for a guaranteed service. However, this was soon brushed aside as a few days later another TV storm broke, when several leading premium rate phone ins were taken off the air as it was revealed some channels ran 'live' competitions that had been pre-recorded, so viewers calling in their answers were competing in competitions that didn't exist. One of the guilty parties was ITV Play, which was hurriedly pulled off the air.

So what's going on with digital telly? Surely this never happened in the days of only four channels. Back then, you actually had to change programmes by physically getting up and walking over to the telly to push the button. Apart from my Uncle Pete, who bought a ten foot length of cane from a garden centre, pushed a cork on the end, and used it to prod the telly from across the room (it was also perfect for prodding my brother). Today, the 'original four' - or three if you remember prior to 1982 when C4 started - have spread into dozens of others - BBC3, BBC4, ITV2, ITV3, ITV4, ITV Play (although not at the time of writing), E4, E4+1 (E5?), More 4, More 4+1 (More 5?). Not to mention the new competition, the channels from other providers that languish at the higher end of the Freeview listings (we don't have cable, or anything fancy). Are any of these actually worth watching?

A few days ago I conducted a small experiment. Between 8-9pm I randomly chose a high numbered channel, and sat through an entire hour of primetime television output, to see if really there was anything to grab the attention. I don't know what I was expecting, but if the TV producers out there are regularly chucking out the standard of programme I watched, then I can only salute them, as it was truly brilliant. I chose number 22, which turned out to be the 'Ideal World Channel', of which I had never heard. For a solid hour of open-mouthed amazement, I observed 'Ironing Solutions with Laura Star, hosted by Dean Wilson'. It was sixty minutes (plus commercials - all of which were about Ideal World's products) of two men trying to flog irons.

But no ordinary iron! (which was pretty much their prime selling point) - the LauraStar Steamax G2, with 3.5bar Swiss steam generator, multi-directional soleplate (with optional pressing soleplate), and a whopping 0.8dl boiler. Yours for a penny under £190. The show was hosted by an incredibly cheerful ironing fetishist called Dean Wilson - his bio on the official Ideal World website (yes, I looked it up) says 'Dean has been presenting live TV for 12 years and, with his unique style and cheeky approach to life, he likes to bring a smile to the faces of the viewers.' Indeed. His job was to coax us smiling viewers to parting with the cash by prompting the 'expert' into demonstrations of the iron's stunning performance. That particular expert was a bloke called Ray - and if Dean quite liked ironing, let's just say Ray probably has prefect pleats in his sexual organs.*

"I'm ex-army and I'm ex-navy and I want creases down my shirts," he said at one point, causing me to hestitate in poking fun at him. Do the armed forces have a laundry division? I suppose navy uniforms can get heavily stained.** Ray quickly got to work, steaming a selection of creased garments, some of which were crumpled by the able Dean beforehand - like when an escapologist gets a punter to check that the padlocks are real before slipping them off. In one instance, he held up a blue shirt, saying "When you get off a plane, this is what your clothes look like," before swiftly skimming the iron over a garment that looked like it had been trampled by a herd of elephants. He solemnly explained how the Steamax G2 tackled the 'three D's of ironing' - Dark (it avoids the unwanted shine effect), Delicates (causing Dean to squawk 'You can't iron that!' as he brought out a spangly chiffon sari - which of them it belonged to was never revealed), and Don't Know (as in 'I don't know if I can iron this').

It was a revelation. With this product, no longer do you have to turn things inside out to iron them. The reason being, the steam is cold - which Ray demonstrated by pointing the thing at his face and calmly blasting a jet of vapour at himself, as Dean hurriedly shouted "Do not try this at home, folks!!!". He also became something of the philosopher - "You've got to iron for the rest of your life whether you like it or not," - obviously his dual-service combat laundry experience has given him a reflective outlook. My response to that point would be 'not if the iron stays in the cupboard', but it was Dean who continually nudged us along into thinking our lives couldn't possibly be complete without this product. "I'm really passionate about this - I usually spend an hour a week at my ironing board, it took me fifteen minutes to do these jeans!", he explained, probably trying to curry favour with Ray.

For a solid hour they badgered away with this, steaming creases into pillowcases while admonishing the UK for their lax ironing standards - "Some people don't iron their duvet covers, Ray!" "I know, Dean. I know." The stock flew off the unseen shelves, in fact at one point they added extra stock - strictly against Ideal World regulations! "I don't normally do this, you know," said Dean, almost believably. They shifted the lot (although it was never revealed how many they originally had), even when at one hilarious moment, Dean pointed out to Ray that he had missed a bit and left a lapel wrinkled - "Yes, yes - but I'm doing it quickly, aren't I?" he snapped, tossing the jacket off-screen before they could get a closeup of it. So did I ring up and order one? No, of course not. But then I was busy on the phone anyway. I've got to keep my place in the queue for when ITV Play comes back on the air. I'm going to answer Rawlplugs to every question...





* or rather, Ray allegedly has prefect pleats in his sexual organs.
** Feel free to add your own joke at this point.


Idealworld.tv
Laura Star UK

Spring in the City

I can never remember when Spring officially begins - but the start of March is usually near enough. The first signs are always the crocuses, they sprout en masse in a multitude of colours. Here they carpet Charlotte Square in the west end of the city centre. Behind is the St. Pauls-esque dome of West Register House (it was designed in 1811 as a copy of the famous London cathedral), now home to the National Archives of Scotland. The horseback statue is Prince Albert, and was unveiled by Queen Victoria herself.




My local neighbourhood doesn't have many crocuses about, but it looks much brighter than ususal in the afternoon sunshine. The distinctive Edinburgh four-storey sandstone tenement buildings march off down the hill, windows gleaming. Here's the same view (from the other direction) 100yrs ago.




Built in 1870, Fettes College is the swankiest public school in a city full of them. Wealthy city merchant Sir William Fettes gave £166,000 (in 1815) for the education of poor children and orphans. Fees are now rumoured to be around the £20,000 mark - it has occasionally been called the 'Eton of the North', partly because of it's image, and partly because students study for English A-Level qualifications instead of Scottish 'Highers'. Tony Blair went to Fettes, and so did James Bond (Ian Fleming wrote that he had been transferred from Eton for an 'amorous incident with a maid'). Ironically, Sean Connery's pre-acting job as a milkman may have taken him here too, as apparently Fettes was near his route.




The best place for fans of the family Iridaceae to head for is undoubtedly the Meadows, where they fling themselves out of the ground left right and centre. I know nothing about Crocuses, so I looked them up on Wikipedia - as I do for most things I need to learn more about. 'The name of the genus is derived from the Latin adjective crocatus, meaning saffron yellow', apparently. Also, it turns out they do not grow from bulbs, but corms - they may look identical, but inside have a solid structure instead of a layered one. So don't let me catch you asking for Crocus bulbs again, eh?




So my crocus knowledge is zero. But I do know about the Meadows, having lived near it for over five years and walked along every inch of it's pathways at some point or another. A large semi-circular park on the southside of the city - after the Crocuses have come and gone thousands of yellow daffodils appear, by which point the cherry trees have started to blossom. Much of this is wasted on the local student populations as they scurry from their lectures to the pubs. And who could blame them?




So, Edinburgh gripped by the joys of Spring. About an hour after I took this photo, it was pouring down...

Find this in your supermarket

Fasole cu carnati - Romania's staple


Following on from my previous post about the UK's national dish (the mighty CTM), I've been looking into other countries' favourite meals, those that reflect who they are and their attitudes to food and cuisine. Wikipedia has a list of some of these, slightly contentious in parts - Scotland's National dishes are apparently haggis and deep-fried Mars Bars (although I've written about that before too, so I'm just as guilty of stereotyping I guess). In fact, England's other national dishes include the English breakfast, Northern Ireland's is the Irish Fry (a 'heart attack on a plate'), and Wales has Welsh Rarebit - "It is made by grating cheese, blending it with beer or a little milk and butter, seasoning (particularly with mustard), and spreading the mixture onto hot toast; the whole is then grilled in the British fashion: that is, heated briskly from above". The sick man of Europe, eh?

But what about other nations? What if you're in the mood for a Venezuelan? Or are in Tescos and can't decide between the Bryndzové halušky or the Gado-Gado? We've all been in a foreign country and pointed hopefully at something on a menu, only to have the nearby diners suddenly hush as you inadvertantly order the 'curried pelican testicles à la mode'. Hopefully you might avoid such trouser-loosening incidents if you learn a couple of popular dishes for your destination, and stick to them. Some can be all-encompassing - like the Korean speciality Bibimbap, which I first had on a plane somewhere over the Pacific Ocean. Meaning 'mixed meal', it's a DIY stew involving some or all of white rice, chicken, beef, fried egg, chilli, prawns, cucumber, courgette, tofu, carrot, radish, fish, mushrooms, doraji (bellflower root), spinach, soybean sprouts, and gosari (bracken fern stems). Apparently sometimes a leaf of lettuce may be added - but you want to leave room for the ice cream afterwards.

Stews seem to be fairly popular in the national dish stakes. Brazilians have their Feijoada (black turtle beans with salted pork trimmings [ears, tail, feet], bacon, smoked pork ribs, at least two types of smoked sausage and jerked beef loin and tongue). A good one will be dark purplish-brown, apparently. Vietnam has Phở, which Wikipedia helpfully mention is 'pronounced /fə/ or /fʌ/ by English-speakers', although my Vietnamese source told me to pronounce it 'Phur', and I know better to argue with her, don't I Lan? Eastern Europe does a good line in stews, of course - like Goulash, Borscht, and so forth.

Scandinavian countries famously enjoy a slightly acquired taste in fish products. The Swedes have Lutefisk - air-dried Cod soaked in a mixture of water and lye (caustic soda) until it reaches a pH of 11-12, putting it dangerously close to household bleach (pH 12.5). Leave it too long, and the fish fats turn to soap - saippuakala in Finnish, or 'soapfish'. Before this stage is reached the Lutefisk is soaked for another five days to make it edible, although I've never actually tried it. However I'd happily sample it if the alternative was Hákarl - the Icelandic shark dish left to putrify in gravel pits for up to three months. Dryly referred to as an 'acquired taste', fresh Greenland Shark meat is said to make people vomit blood - but rotten, it tastes of strong cheese. Mmmmm.

Staying underwater, as it were, we find the famed Japanese delicacy Fugu. An unfortunately toxic species of pufferfish, I saw them swimming around in grimy tanks outside seafood restaurants in Tokyo, and for sale at the Tsukiji fishmarket. It has been banned on several occasions throughout Japanese history, and is apparently the only foodstuff the Emperor is not allowed to eat, for his own safety. Since 1958, only qualified chefs can prepare it. Wikipedia has a great quote on the rigorous testing procedure they undergo. "The fugu apprentice needs a two- or three-year apprenticeship before being allowed to take an official test. The test consists of a written test, a fish identification test, and a practical test of preparing fugu and then eating it. Only 30% of the applicants pass the test. This, of course, does not mean that 70% die from poisoning; rather, they made a small mistake in the long and complicated procedure of preparing the dish." Wiki also reveals the most prized part of the fish - "the more poisonous testicles of the fugu can also be eaten; they contain a milky liquid and taste slightly salty." Actually, I think I'll have the shark.



How to prepare Hákarl