I nearly watched some ordinary television this evening, at the same time that it was being broadcast. My first attempt was during the 'X Factor', which I watched for about 2-3 minutes. The Irish guy was arguing about the rules and the one with the centre parting was saying "You know what" and claiming credit for influencing a smiling but slightly hapless looking singer, who had apparently given one hundred and ten per cent. I think it might have been a repeat because I recognised all of the elements.
I couldn't stay tuned.
Later, I flicked onto another normal channel and found Jordan being asked to eat raw? blue offal, but quaintly refusing. The two little guys who used to be on X factor were quietly egging her on, but I decided even faster to leave this moribund selection. I think it was that show about celebrities marooned next to a five star hotel in Australia, but I actually thought that Katie Jordan had already done that show. Surely not twice?
I've decided that my normal technique of preselecting a few programmes on Sky+ is probably still best, although I might miss the joy of watching shows at the same time as everyone else.
In truth I'm saddened that we've managed to drive prime time weekend television to such a low level. So bad I couldn't even stay for the adverts to know which products to boycott.
Its a good excuse to be out somewhere although I think some more writing might be an option.
There was much confusion on the way to the Decemberist's gig. It could have been from their own lyrics:
And remember how you found the key To the hide-out in the Pyrenees But you wanted to keep the secret safe So you threw the key away.
I'd arrived at the agreed meeting place early, with a key to let myself in to wait. Except it didn't work.
So I headed for the river for to wait a while for liberation stars for a roof above my head shining
Except, when my liberator finally arrived on the 137 bus, she too was keyless. Much scuffling as we waited for others to appear from the public transport system. And finally, we were able to let ourselves in, to retrieve the tickets to the gig at the Coronet.
"Taxi"
Elephant and Castle. Tunnels. Fast moving line. Metal detectors. Corridor. Sharp Left. Bar. Murphy's.
And then to take position. We had plenty of time whilst Pink Floyd's albatross was hanging motionless upon the air. I seemed to be the only one that knew the track. Meddle. Echoes.
Then a shimmy to the side and we took position for the band.
Who opened with the entire Hazards of Love album, played non stop, as one piece, complete with multiple instrument changes and all manner of swapping around on the stage.
Amazing- a complete tour-de-force. Energetically played, a kind of modernist folk story. I've heard the album many times, but as a piece played live it seemed to really come together. We all thought the same; as we sipped drinks before the second half, we chatted about how much more defined the story was for seeing it in a live performance.
Similarly the textures, from quiet mandolins and acoustic guitars, to all out whammy bar chunks of air power chords. And a great mixture of front man Colin Meloy and the rest of the band including the extra singers providing a yin and yang of styles.
Part 2. We decided to be right at the front for part 2, which meant getting a wriggle on. We abandoned middling and used the old RHS technique to get to the very front and struck suitable seafaring poses in preparation for a second half. Which turned out to be a sort of greatest hits section, complete with good crowd conducting and the appearance and disappearance at various stages of an inflatable whale brought by some of the onlookers.
I managed to catch a small video snippet from the guitar and hurdy-gurdy of Eli the Barrow Boy
It worked though, because the band decided to play Mariner's Revenge in this section, which is seldom heard live on these fair shores.
We all screamed in the right place and could have become plankton, although fortunately we'd all prepared suitable gig names in advance so I think I became an idler roustabout.
So what do I think? They are excellent fun as a band- I'm not sure they quite knew where they were....East London seemed to be the stage consensus, but we all know it was down sarf.
I've listened to them for years and love their lyrics which create entire often edgy novel plots in a few sentences. Their front man Colin keeps a sparkle in his eyes as they perform and their whole band energy and counterpoints are quite infectious.
Tonight they are on Jools Holland performing a small piece from The Hazards of Love - during which they all beat drums. Just remember they all play dozens of instruments. Demand a full showing of a concert on our television. And they played sixteen military wives.
I've been chained to my desk again today and I'm just about to start my evening shift. I did take a short break for food and watched the Bowie base on Mars being attacked in Doctor Who.
But not by spiders. The Waters of Mars.
There were water based organisms that made people into smiling cracked faced Zombies.
The Thing meets Shaun of the Dead.
It was quite an enjoyable episode, with plenty of references to other movies. Silent Running's hydroponic garden, a rather cranky Meccano robot that could have been from Short Circuit or Wall-E. A joke about dog robots.
A colony with a chain of modules that looked like the main space ship from 2001 dug into the dirt.
Some blippiness in the soundtrack from 2001. Come to think of it, an 'open the pod bay door' kind of moment.
Some pulled back scenes that could have come from Thunderbirds.
Running through lots of empty hangers whilst talking about the cost of shipping bicycles to the planet. I was wondering how much metal there was in the apparently wasted space they had to run through. It would have made a lot of bikes. And shorter corridors.
There was also some good ensemble wobbliness in the first part. Kind of ancient Doctor Who acting. Wooden handshakes and a few long pauses. Like a live show where someone has almost forgotten their lines. I'm sure it was some kind of homage. And the really cool ray guns and walky talkies, like something from Mars Attacks. Water pistols that fire death rays.
Of course, it turned into a proper story about moments in time. Fortunately, the Doctor has a perfect memory and could recall the exact web pages describing the doomed fate of the fledgling space colony.
Boom.
And he knew it was one of those moments, like Pompeii, that you are not supposed to change. Not even as a Time Lord.
So we moved from 'base under attack' to 'fatalistic ending - it has to explode'.
The Doctor should leave. But he hesitated in his special crash helmet and came back.
Maybe he could be a god and change everything? Even when he wasn't supposed to. Could he rule time?
Then we saw the countdown of the space station's inbuilt bomb. And how cool were those graphics? Someone had a lot of time on their hands to make the numbers look so interesting for people about to be blown up.
Of course, with a single leap, they escaped.
Kind of. We see a blue flash as the base captain kills herself (we assume!?) to reset time. The Doctor is clearly on the edge of going dark.
What finer than a snow bedecked setting for a few ghosts to appear and four knocks to sound the end of this particular Doctor?
From yesterday's post - with Debra - who used to live in Amsterdam and has just returned from Portland, Oregon
To today, with a post of Colin Meloy from Portland, Oregon, performing a song in an elevator in Amsterdam.
To tomorrow, when I'll be somewhere in London seeing Colin and the rest of the Decemberists teaching about the Hazards of Love and other important things.
I'd never need an excuse to divert on travels through parts of the Peak District, but we were afforded an excellent opportunity on the way back from Manchester.
This was a result of being on the home patch of Debra, who writes a fine word, clicks defining photos and knows the best routes around plenty of high places.
Much better than my own navigational skills, which resulted in her needing a search party to guide my car to the right location.
Oops.
A visit complete with one of those conversations where we both know random additional things about one another from our on-line linkages. It's great to put more of the pieces together and share news in real time.
Hours whisked by, before leaving a countryside serenity to return south to my own particular hubbub.
Sunday could also have a Thirteen I suppose. 1) We finally arrived in Manchester, later than planned, but in time for a good dinner with some fancy wine. 2) Being in the area around Piccadilly meant there was much noise and general partying into the night. 3) But somehow we managed to be around again in time for breakfast, which was served until a moderately realistic eleven o'clock. 4) Then to the city, with vague lists of early festive shopping, and several stores trying almost too hard with the music and spray tester fragrances. 5) Surprise good news whilst in the basement of one store, where we heard on fuzzy cellphone of the arrival of Henry, son to Kate and Neal. 6) Hooray for Scorpios. 7) Then by evening out to meet friends, swap papers and in my case be a supporter, whilst a certain pop star sang away in the Apollo. 8)Back in a new found friend's car to the hotel, where a real life drama involving paramedics and police was unfolding. We were asked to go into the bar, instead of past the thankfully well-assisted scene. 9) Quite a good plan for us, involving some pretty fine cocktails. Shaken and muddled. 10) Sometimes I think I am also shaken and muddled 11) Yet another blink and it was already Monday. 12) Creating planning and modest logistics for a thoroughly enjoyable detour into the countryside 13) And a whole other story...
I know its not Thursday and this probably won't be thirteen items, but hey. 1) I've spent since Thursday morning chained to a desk and was starting to think I haven't been doing much stuff in the last few days. 2) Then I realised I've probably been operating at a blur without somehow noticing. 3) SInce November started, there was my little rainy day trip to Edinburgh 4) And working in the South of France for almost a week - it was even sunny for most of the time. 5) Various nights in hotels and another one later today. 6) We've all been to a lovely restaurant to celebrate my birthday. 7) And several pubs and bars, including that one with the tree downstairs and all those twisty rooms. 8) I've been writing that NaNoWriMo thing for 2009. 9) My first book, "The Triangle" was launched at the Miami Book Fair 10) A few of us had a blast at The Comedy Club 11) I met a good friend for an evening, someone I haven't seen for about two years 12) I've been back and forth on the Tube system to various office meetings; I'm deciding that Jubilee is my most used line. 13) And later we pack for the weekend in Manchester.
Its almost Friday as I write this and I'm wondering where the day has gone.
I feel as if I've sort of erratically orbited the planet, with a combination of conference calls with America, Malaysia and Central Europe.
It somehow disorientates the sense of time, with morning meetings when other people are just finishing their days and then much later sessions as different folk stir their breakfast coffees. I know I'm not the only one to have multiple time zones along the edge of my work calendar and have to do those EST-1 and CET+7 calculations when talking to people.
I've actually been working since daybreak and realised a few minutes ago that it was almost time to shut down for the evening.
A home-working day today, which I think I took too literally, somehow not noticing the changes from dark, to light to dark and the appearance of rain. In some ways I've been very connected today, but in other ways it can be very disorientating.
Now we've had Halloween, Guy Fawkes and a couple of days where the night has dipped into low single digits.
This year, November sunshine lingered around trees and leaves held resolutely in place. But now, wind's stern speeches and rain's applause cajole the change.
Only the early dark big moon evenings provide a real clue to the passing season.
I clear intruder rockets from the garden and curl my toes to anticipate the acceleration from November into the next year.
Thanks for the varied greetings...I also managed a small amount of quiet time this morning by way of a birthday gift to myself.
I'd awoken at 6 o'clock in order to be in position for an early morning meeting, but before it all started I had time to take in the view above and pause a while, without even a phone call or email to send.
Later, at eleven, my busy office meeting also paused, for the two minute Armistice Day silence.
This year my birthday is on one of those cusps, half-way through a personal decade. Therefore, it's the start of a new range that marketeers use when they classify people in surveys. They claim it is supposed to be more tactful than starting ranges at the ten year boundaries.
If such classifications can ever be considered tactful.
I suppose, by their reckoning, I move into their start of a new category.
I suppose it was inevitable that someone would give me a spy kit at some point.
The brown illustrated paper bag included a reference card providing advice about handling various dangerous chemicals. There were two sticks of what I assumed to be bubble gum but was most emphatically told they had an entirely different purpose. Also a solar powered calculator with a reflective back.
I think the shine was so I could be rescued if stranded in the desert (Stay near the crashed plane and use something shiny to attract attention - don't start walking).
But probably the most important content, once I'd got past the orange triangular cut out and the two peg warning, was a ticket to see Lee Simpson and friends at the excellent and raucous Comedy Club - which we've secretly attended.
