Jools had half the current rashbre car CDs on display tonight with The Raconteurs, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds and Bon Iver. Add the Chatham County Line (not in the CD player) and the whole theme was sort of Wild West, with guitars, steel, violins, mandolins and banjos. Dust on everyone's boots. Dig, Lazarus, Dig.
Mobile phone etiquette continues to change with the times. It used to be that when you rang someone professionally and they answered you'd say something like "Is now a good time to talk?"
Times move on.
Now, in some situations, you have to do the same if you walk up to them face to face. It's bluetooth that's done it. You can't always tell when some people are on the phone. Maybe they have a distant look, or they appear to be talking to themselves and if their head is tilted, it could be that they're packing a bluetooth headset.
So "Is now a good time to talk?" is sometimes needed face to face.
Its overtaken the accidental phone calls from speed-dialling in peoples' pockets and bags. We've all had them. Those footsteps on gravel or train compartment bing bong calls with no speech.
My most recent masterpiece was an accidentablog when I managed take a photo of some palm bushes in a Spanish street and automatically post it to flickr without realizing. I only spotted it yesterday when I returned home. The wonders of connectedness.
Spain on business and a mini phone movie of my return trip. It was a way to deflect the rather excessive problems within the airport. I arrived and yippee, the line for BA was empty. I was eticketed and fed my executive club card into one of the machines. Nada. "Please go to the checkin", it said.
So I did. "BA blah", I explained. "Euw", they replied (in Spanish), "you can't do that here, its codeshare with them over there". They pointed to a very long and irregular line of people.
"OK", I groaned. But I was in my zen-like "airport mode" where nothing that anyone does can affect me.
I join the new big line and stem the undercutting Swedes who are trying to invent a way to bypass those of us who are good mannered. The Americans at the front of the line have two huge items of luggage and the longest story possible to explain why they think they should take it onto the plane intead of having it tagged. After ten minutes, they get processed and the line moves forward.
Strangely, none of the other lines seem to be moving and then ours also stops.
I cast my eye along and guess that there has been a computer failure, based upon the level of inactivity from all of the checkin staff between rows 8 and 52. I can't see around into the next zone and start wondering if my card would work in that Spanish machine with all the cartoon pictures. We wait 20 more minutes without moving and the line starts to evaporate away as people try their own plan Bs. I take a phone conference call which I'd originally planned to take from airside.
After my meeting there's an announcement "The computer systems are broken", it explains in crackly Spanish. It sounds as if the PA system is also in need of attention.
I spot that the counter staff have started typing again and, sure enough, we are ready to move forward. Finally, front of line I get ticketed and my bag checked and then the lady tears my luggage tag in half. "You havn't paid", she says, "Yes I have", I protest rather feebly knowing I'm about to be sent to another line.
I use eye contact to say that I want to come back to the front of the line after I've been processed elsewhere and she agrees. Now for the cashier part. I've had this happen before when flights get changed and the excess gets paid but one airline doesn't pay another airline in time. I know I have to pay and then let the accountants sort it out afterwards. Now with etickets its much harder to to prove everything.
Another counter. Kerching.
Amex extraction and I'm ready to get my bag checked.
Back to the line. Straight to the front. Smile to the lady. She stops the other checking-in and immediately tags my bag. Now I can go to departures.
I won't explain the fun they had with gate changes, or the delayed aircrew.
Suffice to say we took off 40 minutes late and arrived 30 minutes late but my bag was first off the plane.
Instead, heres me taking off from cloudy Barcelona and ...
Here's me landing at green and pleasant Heathrow accompanied by the Portishead inspired Jazz fusion playing from the plane's speaker system...
I quite like that landing video. If you look carefully (in fullscreen mode) you can see a police roadblock (clockwise) as we flew over the M25. That explains the absence of traffic. The jolt was real when we hit the tarmac and the cameraphone jumped forward.
Another hectic day, finished with a Catalan supper in a rather stylish restaurant in Barcelona. I knew it would be a late one when we didn't leave to visit the restaurant until around 21:30 and an agreeable and leisurely conversation then ensued until well past one o' clock in the morning.
A short taxi ride back, but I declined the offers of further refreshment because I knew I had an 07:00 breakfast appointment on Tuesday.
We met for some stand-up comedy Sunday evening. Simon Amstell describes himself as a skinny Jewish homosexual comic and we had an entertaining evening listening to his stories, with him presumably powered by Benylin or some other form of medical assistance.
After a short introductory session by an accomplished warm up, Simon took us through two halves of conversational musings about life, existence, one-ness and relationships - with more than a dash of comic despair included in the ingredients. Quite a thoughtful act delivered slickly and with occasional dives into asides with the audience. There was ranging philosophy being used as a vehicle to make points and deliver a payload of humour too. Plenty of laughter and notably better than another recent standup I'd seen, who co-incidentally was referenced during the act.
I'm not sure how the jellybaby got onto the stage or if Amstell was as ill as he sounded, but he showed a trouper's spirit in the second half, despite some sort of bug. An enjoyable evening and I hope he gets some more entertaining write-ups to add to his collection on chortle.com.
Throughout the show, his stage sign displayed his name in reverse, perhaps symbolising that he's kind of running parts of his own career in an unusual order.
Idyllic Sunday with early morning gentle bicycle ride and kudos to the various folk who say 'hello' as we pass one another at that time of day.
Then followed by an amble through the newspapers, but things have now begun to become trifle hectic.
I've just realized my 'end point' for the day has been brought forward to around 17:00 when I'm supposed to be be heading out to meet, eat, then off to a comedy show, then home, then pack for a madly early start tomorrow.
And I've got a couple of hours of 'proper work' to squeeze in today, so I'd better stop this 'architecture of participation' blogging malarky for the day.
Well, maybe after a cup of coffee (not gin or sitcoms).
I tried to stand clear of the freezer, but the song kept ringing in my ears. I feel a lot better for liberating a little of the ice cream. And its still sunny.
A quick zap to Cheltenham on Friday morning and the nostalgia of street parking with ordinary pay and display - coins and little tickets to put on the dashboard.
In Westminster now, unless its the weekend or after hours, the act of parking can trick unsuspecting irregulars with the dial up parking meters.
Its simple enough in theory.
The individual meters have been replaced with a monoblock unit for a number of bays and you buy a ticket for around 20p for 3 minutes or multiples thereof. Except the units all have mysterious faults and it is necessary to pay by phone instead. "No problemo", I hear you cry. Well it isn't after the first time through the system.
The first time involves enrollment and the act of typing in about 25 numbers, at the end of which you get flipped to a real live operator who is there to take the money. The receipt is't a ticket, just a text message back to the phone. Oh, and an automatic text reminder x minutes before the end if you ask for it.
Its amusing in some areas with notoriously regularly broken meters (like behind Oxford Street) to watch people struggling their way through the system. The interesting thing about it is the difference compared with the act of feeding a meter.
There's a kind of coinic precision to the calculation about "how long will I stay here?" when its done whilst feeding the meter. Adding 20p and 50p at a time and watching the little clock go around. On the phone it becomes "Oh, say eight quids worth, please" (thats 2 hours in the middle zones).
Time for a segue from greenery and sunshine back towards the city:
"Photograph caption : Inside the Bohemian Grove : This photoessay captures the spirit of the fine balance between rural surroundings and the encroachment of the City. In most versions of the story, the City wins and farmers and rural folk become parts of the ever-radiating machine. In this scene, it seems to have worked the other way around where the apparatus of city life is captured and annulled by the elemental forces of nature. First, Fire quenches the power of the city's machine to move, then Earth starts to sprout vines to surround and ensnare it. Water plays a part by creating the corrosion of the remaining skeleton and Air carries away the specks of rust as this manifestation of the struggle is played out. What is left is a Bohemian Grove, with a trophy of Moloch as a center of worship."
