pixellated vampires

I abandoned the option to go to a bar and onward for a bite to eat this evening. I had more stuff to do involving big spreadsheets by critical deadlines.

I've just finished and am now watching a TV program set in a southern state of America, where some of the people appear to be vampires. The TV remote buttons are across the room somewhere so I've no idea what I'm actually watching.

I was wondering why the vampire faces break up like a kind of pixellation at certain times and thought this might be a sign that they were about to transform.

Then suddenly it was the advert break advertising shampooed hair with hair extensions also with pixellations.

I've realised that the channel I was watching must have a low signal and most of the clues in the program were just a technical fault.

Like the small print in the TV ads, things are not always what they seem.

No fire without windrush ventures ?

Some chatter around Westminster now that the Guardian is flipping through the various trading structures allegedly created by Tony Blair.

Something about how his money flows from TBA into the various subsidiaries, with off the shelf names like BDBCO No822 Ltd.

Tony's own company's management fees for administering it all seem quite steep at a reputed £6m, but I suppose that's what happens when dozen or so legal entities in the organisation get convoluted. We are also told that these structures wouldn't get around any of the Gordon Brown imposed inheritance tax changes.

There are also charities included and the Guardian has just put up a set of documents to help shed light on what's occurring. The so-called Blair Mystery Project is asking for assistance. I remember that the FT had a go a couple of months ago.

I'm sort of intrigued that after a relatively Blair free period, as we now approach the end of the current government, there seems to be a range of new stories surfacing. European leadership, Chilcot tribunal and now finances. One wonders if there is someone specific stirring the pot?

And with the apparent financial run rate from the various companies, Blair in the Euro role wouldn't have made much sense. It would have meant stopping most of the other activities and making this complexity far less opaque.

Santa sighting 2009

I almost forgot that Santa does a test run through our neighbourhood at this time of year. He doesn't bring the full sleigh, just the sporty little number, which has a really good acceleration, considering its only 1rp.

Yes, early evening there was a loud knock on the door and I could hear faint music. Bizarrely, I actually thought "I wonder if its Santa? If so, he's a bit early this year" as I headed for the door.

And sure enough.

He seemed to be adding me to the 'Nice' list.

Elves were also present.

Poles Apart at Rich Mix

Poles Apart was an excellent theatrical experience on Saturday evening.

Our little group arrived at Rich Mix with just enough time to round up a few drinks and settle into seats before Polish tunes heralded the start of the show.

It was Hardgraft's presentation of Mark Whiteley and Daniel Hoffmann-Gill describing their reverse immigration experiences as two Brits seeking work in Poland. A 2000 or so mile job hunt adventure from Oldham to Warsaw mirrored the journey that thousands of Polish people have made to the United Kingdom.

And what a trip! Dan's defective car stranded him somewhere in France calling upon Wizzair (Yup, its real) to get them to what proved to be an almost job-free zone.

The action was cleverly constructed and whilst engaging and downright funny, there was a strong back story and narrative throughout. Amongst the humour was much poignant description of the European relationship to Poland, through terrible war years and including the horrors of Nazi and Russian occupation. War, Genocide, Poverty, Expatriation. All topics were handled and in a way that fully and sometimes literally engaged the audience.

What also came through was a genuine delight and positivity about the Polish people that Mark and Dan had met. They may have found it tough to get work with their badly written letters of introduction and stuttery speech, but they commented positively on the people they had met, their kindness and sense of humour.

They also described the feelings they found as two people isolated as non-workers outside of a community and the inevitable arguments and stress between them that this created.

Both players were strong performers and able to move into improvisation, whether with volunteers on stage or handling unexpected questions from the audience during some of the interactions. The set was minimal but effective and the two actors filled the stage with a confident presence and a wealth of moves that also ensured no slowing of pace throughout the entire show.

There were some additional scenes woven in to this performance, which reminded me of the cut-aways sometimes in Lorca or Brecht, to add side bar commentary. Recent UK immigration developments with election of MEPs from the BNP drove the points being made, involving a variety of denial scenes with musical accompaniment. Funny, but in that bitter sweet way reminiscent of 1930s German burlesque.

I was impressed with this show. Two fellahs on stage dressed in suits and white trackies, wouldn't always work, but here the performance skills, the foundation storyline and agenda as well as a willingness to go 'off-sausage' during the performance kept us all entertained throughout.

Well done and thank you.

Poles Apart from Hard Graft Theatre on Vimeo.

the eyes have it

As if I'm really posting this at 23:59. I'm not even home yet.

After a thoroughly enjoyable afternoon and evening, the sideways rain arrived like bullet shafts of water mingling with the electric lighting from the Cinema in the Kings Road. We'd already run from this apparent shelter to an adjacent bus stop after seeing a Number 22 disappear in the opposite direction with one of our number.

Meanwhile we'd entered the Twilight Zone of Night Buses and the thought of water mixed with electricity for a second time was more than any of us could bear.

But let's wind back a bit.

Art
Brick Lane, late afternoon. A quiet errand to pick up a copy of Glitter and Doom from Rough Trade, and to drop into the Hidden Arts Fair in Truman's Brewery. All to plan and a chance to catch up on gossip from artydesignerfriend Linda.

Linda makes vibrant joyful designs on fabrics which I think should be placed in frames as proper artworks.

Drink
Then, via the salsa dancing in Spitalfields to the Commercial Tavern for the next stage.

I'd arranged to meet a small gang there ahead of a visit to show in the neighbourhood. The slight trouble was I wouldn't recognize one of our group.

I was first to arrive, listening to slide guitar blues, watching for an empty table or for any of our group to arrive. I knew train works meant the whole area was a total exclusion zone for tube connections so everyone was likely to be late.
Meet
Then she arrived, alone, eyes scanning the room, looking for someone.

I began to think I should have chosen a pub that wasn't famous for always being completely dark and candle lit. I paused and introduced myself, except something was wrong. It was the eyes. They didn't look quite right.

"No, thats not me", she politely replied, before going to stand at the darkest corner of the dark bar fiddling with her phone. I glanced a few minutes later as her companion joined her and thought their shadows moved upstairs.

A few minutes passed and I noticed her arrive again through the front door. Alone. Except something was different - it was the eyes - they looked recognisable.

She headed purposefully to the same corner of the bar and continued chatting to the man, who somehow looked different in the dim light. But I noticed her disengage as my phone scuttled across the table. I stood, turned as she turned towards me. It was Ellie. We'd met, but both intercepted other people first.

The complicated wonders of blog-world.

Gang
Of course, we needed a full gang to make the trip to the next venue work - plenty of whooping and hollering would be required. So a few minutes later, John and Melanie appear and then a little later our last team member, Beth. With an umbrella.

Curry
We left Hoxditch and headed back into Brick Lane. Choice of food...Why, curry of course, complete with street corner negotiations and a somewhat compressed time to chase down Cobra beer, poppadoms, curry and rice.

Then the speedy stroll through the length of the area once wandered by Jack the Ripper, before arriving at the evening's venue.

More of that tomorrow...

over 50k words on nanowrimo

Bleary-eyed, surrounded by reference books and unwashed coffee cups, Thursday blipped over 50,000 words on the NaNoWriMo project. To be truthful, it surprised me. To be even more truthful, the coffee cups were clean and I use the internet for reference. But I was bleary-eyed.

It surprised me to be at that point before the last weekend in November. When I tried using the 'official' word counter instead of the one in my software, my word count actually went down again. I probably needed to add some more weather descriptions to bulk out the word count.

But I'd written a couple of sections separately on another computer, so when I finally combined everything it suddenly jumped to just over 51,000 words. I ran it twice because I didn't believe the numbers the first time. I was sure I'd need a few more evenings to get to the number.

There's a couple of big things to do though. Firstly, although I think I know how to wrap things up in the story, I will need to write another 10-20,000 to get to that point. Secondly, there's a plot change that I thought of part way through and I need to re-apply to all of the front part of the story.

I don't think there is any danger of getting this finished in the next few weeks and I suppose it would be wise to create a gap before re-assessing for an edit.

quiet day at the office

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.

wrong kind of shopping

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.

Update Since I wrote this, I see one high street book chain is having some trouble.

glitter and doom

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

twink

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.

aspidistras, anyone?

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.

newsflash : trash television is unwatchable

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.