I can still remember when $60bn was a lot of money. Today, the interest on it would only buy a couple of new Formula 1 circuits.
So when the news about Dubai defaulting on interest payments popped up today, most of America was on holiday. And the middle east is getting ready for their long weekend celebrating Eid.
I know the London Stock Exchange ground to a halt. I know it was explained to be for 'technical reasons'. But its probably nothing to worry about.
I'll admit that the first of my seasonal shopping has started, although this year there are some quite noticeable High Street changes. One is the narrowing of stock from certain retailers.
Its okay for generic items, but some specific items are not in the stores. There's a difference between, for example, 'a book' or 'a CD' and one with a specific title. I suppose that is an internet impact.
I tried to obtain at least three different items using traditionalist "walking into shops" methods, but was unsuccessful. I also walked into a shop which then asked all of the customers to leave because their computer systems had crashed and would take twenty minutes to re-instate.
Inevitably I'm moving my searching across to the internet, but if my experiences are commonplace, then it does sound a warning bell for further high street stores.
Tom Waits only did his last tour to the towns where people owed him money, so most of us have to put up with the album.
Form a disorderly and sprawling line at your record store after you've listened to the rare gift of a seven track Tom Waits preview of glitter and doom via the link below.
We sail tonight for Singapore, We're all as mad as hatters here I've fallen for a tawny Moor, Took off to the land of Nod Drank with all the Chinamen, Walked the sewers of Paris I danced along a colored wind, Dangled from a rope of sand You must say goodbye to me
We sail tonight for Singapore, Don't fall asleep while you're ashore Cross your heart and hope to die When you hear the children cry Let marrow bone and cleaver choose While making feet for children shoes Through the alley, back from hell, When you hear that steeple bell You must say goodbye to me
Wipe him down with gasoline 'til his arms are hard and mean From now on boys this iron boat's your home So heave away, boys
We sail tonight for Singapore, Take your blankets from the floor Wash your mouth out by the door, The whole town's made of iron ore Every witness turns to steam, They all become Italian dreams Fill your pockets up with earth, Get yourself a dollar's worth Away boys, away boys, heave away
Twinkly Sloane Square rendezvous, then downstairs to the bar, before early supper and onwards to a concert in West London.
For one amongst us, there's a tour in full swing, and for the rest of us, there are varied mixes of folk who converge and provide support.
This time it was onward to Hammersmith, but instead of pre-gig Tex-Mex or Tapas, we'd made the most of the Sunday tradition of Oriel's before hitting the District line.
What was I thinking yesterday? Staying in to watch shabbily constructed television? Writing an almost negative post? There must have been a temporary fault in my reality. Maybe its because I was abandoned yesterday evening whilst others took a sports car downtown for merriment.
Far more positively, alongside my lone rainy foot expedition to the Tandoori, through 90mph horizontal car-wash storms, I also completed a private project and have bundled it all off for its next stage in Germany. That's alongside the work project which is in its last stages too.
I also somehow clocked another couple of chapters for "The Square", although it seems to be accomplished in rather small units of time this year. Not quite Gordon Comstock, but parts of it have appeared whilst hanging around at bus-stops. The last piece I wrote featured the upper deck of a 137, so it is all getting a little weird.
I'll figure out how to knit it together. Once I've found a use for the secret underground elevator.
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...
