Gold

Okay, I admit it – I’m hooked on the Olympics! I shouldn’t be as I don’t watch sport of any kind as a rule, ever! But the run of medal wins for Team GB has been dangled before me like a precocious metal carrot!

To be fair I’m still not watching the sport all that much. I’ve caught a few races or the final moments of the odd event but I’m not glued to a TV and its 20 or so Olympic channels. What first grabbed my attention was the medal statistics (yes I am that sad!). I now have the medals table permanently up on my iPhone and check it at least three times an hour to see how we’re doing compared to the rest of the world (pretty darn good as it turns out) or comparedit to Beijing or even 1908!

Another additional addiction is the BBC - those Bloody Brilliant Chaps (and Chapettes). Their coverage of the games is superb. Every sport is catered for and filmed in full and available at any time via the internet. The footage and photography is simply sublime with High Definition being used to its best effect. And they have cameras everywhere supplying beautiful slow motion replays within seconds of these demi-gods (they are surely not human) as they perform their feats of wonder.

And lastly there is Britain and in particular London itself! It just seems the most perfect setting for these games. Although I no longer live in the Big City I get a real jolt of pleasure each time I see something taking place somewhere that I once strolled. My particular favourite so far has been the Triathlon in and around Hyde Park – it was as if the place had been designed for just that moment!

There will be a big gap in my life after the closing ceremony this weekend so if you’ll excuse me I’ll just get back to Olympian Obsession and leave you with a song…

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Reverie

During my time on this rotating-rock I have discovered some things that I am 'quite' good at. One is my ability to always find a spot of water on the floor when only wearing socks. My most recent is the discovery and love of baking. But the longest standing is my capacity to dream weird yet wonderful dreams and then to remember them...

Lot's of people say they either don't dream at all or know they do but can't remember them. But there's no fading or vanishing of my dreams with the arrival of the morning sun. I once heard a theory that we shouldn't try to remember or analyse dreams as they're the brain trying to rid itself of useless information in order to to free up space for the important stuff. Like what?! Given the choice between remembering my latest dream-escape and my own mobile number I take the dream any time! But then I can't forget them even if I wanted to.

The same visual memory curse I have which recalls actors and movies they have stared in can also place dreams I had from years ago as a clear photograph. So I can see the paper dragon attacking the castle from the dream when I was four or the sand filled London from when I was nineteen as easily as the dream I had last night. I can also remember the dreamscapes that I would return to; the derelict, roofless museum with all the ivy; and the castle with the cinema and shopping centre; the small cafe by the bridge next to the waterfall that was full of cyclists; the Cornish fishing village beyond the forest with its trams, stuck in perpetual twilight!

As to why we dream one thought is that the mind uses the body's down-time as a data-processing-period. The brains churns through what has happened in the last few days, what's expected in the time to come and anything else that has currently settled in the subconscious. I can buy into that as I can often see threads leading back from my dreams to things which happened the day before. For example a spot of gardening being done while you know the rest of the country is probably watching England play football leads to a dream of a stadium full of  tropical plants (although where the zombies come into it I've no idea - the English team weren't that bad surely!)

But I tend to sneer at other dream theories as I do dream in colour, I can read words I see written down, I've died in my dreams but survived in the real world and I can sometimes control my dreams. I backed into someone's car in dreamland the other week, felt bad about it so rewound the experience and parked a second time. It also helps when I see a dream turning sour that I can try to turn the dream around or change it all together. It doesn't always work - the stadium zombies got me no matter what I tried! (I really hate football!)

But the best part of my dream-escapes comes from one simple equation:

A vivid dreamer  +  A flying dream  =  Greatest experience ever!

Forget virtual reality! Forget flight simulators! This is the closest thing you'll get to being Superman! It's only happened once or twice but it was enough. As I settle on my pillow and let reality wash away I wish that "Tonight I'll fly once more..."

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Sidekick

Yours to command

As foes are fought

Your helping hand

When 'er distraught

But "barful strife"

What makes me frown

My place in life 

- Along yet down

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Leitmotif

*Music plays with a quiet but firm start, slowly rising in tempo and volume and ending in three sharp cords*

Alright?

Wouldn’t life be excellent if it came with a soundtrack? I know you can already get a nice playlist going of your favourite songs. Joggers, runners and those of a general ‘Keep Fit’ nature will probably have an iPod crammed with suitable tracks personally selected to help them feel the burn, break through the wall and sweat profusely (possibly something by ‘Wet Wet Wet’). Similarly drivers will have their own favourite power ballads in the car to help get their motors running. Until they have kids that is when all they’ll hear for years is ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ followed by pop-pulp and boy bands.

But what I’d really like is the instrumental interludes you get in movies. The sort of tracks which don’t make it to the chart busting soundtrack. They only include several re-released classics and a least one cover by a new but forgettable vocalist - all of which may only appear for a blip of a second within the film in question. No, I want the mood setting music that happens under the main action. Not least because it would give you fair warning of what was about to happen. If it’s fast and crashy then someone’s about to start chasing you. Soft and romantic – pop in a breath mint as the big smooch is coming up. Quite and menacing - don’t open that closet door! Really, don’t! Just get a big gun ready or better still leave the house immediately and find a policeman.

Also as someone who has a terrible memory for names and faces it would be a big help if people had their own signature tunes which played as they approached you. That way you’d remember if they were someone you should either politely smile at, hug or punch in the face! (I look such a fool when I mix those up!) Better still your own tune will immediately announce your presence as you enter the room or signify your power and intent as you leave.

And so farewell…  

*Laurel and Hardy tune as we fade to black*

(Shit)

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Pointillist

I am very much a reluctant decorator. And as glasses wearer I end up literally seeing spots before my eyes whenever the roller comes out. If I were to win the lottery tomorrow before I tell my work where to stick its job I would swear never ever to touch a paint brush again. In fact let’s go further and say that if I ruled the world I'd outlaw DIY altogether. Leave it to the professionals. That’s what they’re there for after all!

Trouble is most of the time I have to do it myself (worst luck). During the ten years we spent at our last house I learnt to strip, paint, wallpaper, tile (both walls and floors), grout and fit coving. I’ve power sanded old floorboards, laid new boards and even boarded the attic. I’ve removed three fitted wardrobes and all the kitchen units before refitting new ones and a sink. And I can honestly say with hand on heart that I never enjoyed a single moment. And having moved house within the last year it’s about to start all over again!

However, the one thing I do like, which I know can drive some people potty, is putting together flat pack furniture. Whether it’s the puzzle aspect or the anal necessity of following instructions I enjoy most I don’t know. Unlike some friends of mine I can’t wait to go back to the big blue and yellow furniture fun house that rhymes with MY-KEA! It’s like being a kid again, deciding which Airfix kit to buy next. My conundrum-craving-cranium also gets a kick out of arranging how to get all the boxes into the car and still have space for a family of four.

MW and even my kids completely shun instruction booklets as though they were the work of Lucifer. Any new game, toy or appliance is simply wrenched from its packaging and fitted together however seems best. It’s only once the thing refuses to work, or refuses to stop working and is threatening the lives of the entire neighbourhood, that I am called upon to find out what the problem is. And the first stage of this recovery process is always the same - find where the instruction manual was shamefully discarded and READ IT!   

I, on the other hand, just sink into an ecstatic fugue when given something new to build. Laying out all the pieces; counting out the bits and fixings; scanning the instructions to see what lies ahead; checking tools are assembled and ready to hand; and all this before even thinking of making a start. The build then goes by in dream like dance - with a one-two-three, one-two-three, slot-A-into-B, attach-bracket-C. And when all is done and I look upon the furniture I have constructed I’ve wept, for there are no more screws to count!

So tell you what. While I’m waiting for my numbers to come up what say we do a deal. You scrape my walls and I’ll un-flatten your pack…

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Intercourse

why link
the world of birds
and bees  with
gooseberry bushy
stork-ing  babies?

there’s nothing
                      sexual
that’s not more
                      contextual

to their own love
cycle
than that of thee
or me

their thing is more to buzz
and sing as flighty friends
who chirp and sting

not ‘how’s your father’

or sportive tricks

(except of course for
 tits and pricks!)

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Towel

Happy Towel Day! 

Do you know where yours is at?

Airborne

I have next to no experience at jet setting. It's not that I hate planes; I’m just an infrequent flyer.  As such I don’t really know what to expect being very naive of airline etiquette.

I think part of the problem comes from Hollywood – a good example being Indiana Jones. (I mean of course the flight to Tibet in ‘Raiders’ rather than crashing into a mountain in ‘Temple’!) In such movies people would simply board a plane and then, as someone recently put it, “Fly by map”. In the time it takes to draw a red line from A to B you’re there! Actually my most recent flight to Ireland was a bit like that. There is more time checking in, spending money in departures and waiting for luggage the other end than flying!

Probably the worst flight was another small trip going on holiday to Jersey with my parents. The short distance was sort of extended due to turbulence. The plane was thrown first one way and then another and would then just drop straight down. The “Fly by map” for that trip would look more like a cross-sectional representation of the Himalayas! On that occasion I think being a novice flyer helped as I was unaffected by the experience – unlike my poor father who was making full use of the complimentary paper bags (and not to do the Eric Morecambe trick!)

But the real ‘treat’ came a few years back when we took a family trip to Florida and therefore went transatlantic. In my innocence I imagined a greater distance would mean a bigger and better experience. Bigger it was but better..? Again Hollywood had me equating USA with luxury airlines, big seats, helpful attendants and an almost surround-sound private cinema experience! What I got was uncomfortable seating, a small screen two inches from my nose and no sound as their batch of ‘complimentary-very-cheap-earphones’ were all duds! For the flight back however we were prepared and had our own earphones ready. But this time the ‘micro-screen’ in front of my wife wasn't working at all.

Now, I'm not sure why I felt the need to stand up and say something. Possibly it was after the fiasco of the first flight or maybe it was just post holiday frustration! But I have a kind of an Incredible Hulk complex. Most of the time I'm mild and quite but every so often things will get on top me enough that I see red - or green if we're still going with the Hulk analogy. (See 'Evil' for more detail on past indiscretions). I certainly don’t know what I expected them to do...

“No problem sir! We have a repairman being rocketed to us as we speak. Once he has successfully transferred from one plane to the other mid-flight he will have your screen up and running before parachuting back to sea-level where a speedboat will take him home again!”

Regardless I stood up to the flight attendant, saying this was not good enough and demanding something be done! Our eyes locked in a battle of wills. Behind mine I had irate indignation and the knowledge that the customer is always right. Unfortunately behind hers I could see tasers, plastic wrist restrains, air marshals and forced ejection. It was a tough call but I finally decided to be the bigger man and backed down.

All in all I think I prefer holidays in our own British Isles. The weather may be unreliable but the on route catering is what you choose, your luggage is never out of your sight and you can step out to stretch your legs whenever choose. Try doing that at thirty-thousand feet...!

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Pretender

How nice it must be to simply dress up in anything you like whenever you like. 

I speak mainly of my daughter who, aged 10, can change her clothes three or four times in a day depending on what she; wants to be, needs to be or pretends to be! School uniform one minute, garden rambling gear the next and then finally superhero complete with mask and cape. And she’s also so creative that with the aid of a minimal wardrobe she can change from Rock Star to Film Star to mother of four quicker than you can say Madonna.

It could be the latent actor in me crying out for a character to play. After all I donned many costumes and get ups during that time from the simple to the ridiculous and all in the name of art. I’ve also attended my fair share of costume parties over the years. I’ve been everything from Han Solo to Fred from Scooby -Doo, from Groucho Marx to a Ghostbuster. I’ve even been the half of Peters and Lee that could see (don’t ask!). Sadly I don’t get invited to those sorts of parties any more - which may be just as well as it’s a bit hard to pull off the blonde flowing locks and a-line dress while sporting a beard!

But I also envy those ‘adults’ who dress up for fun – the cosplayers of the world or the even more appealing Steampunk lovers. Unfortunately I don’t have the required spherical appendages, of either steel or Adamantium, to pull it off! Neither do I have the time for that matter which you have to put in or the effort to achieve a really good job. 

It you look around the internet you can see those that expended the man-hours and sweat to create beautifully crafted costumes, perfectly replicated down to the colour of the stitching and complete with detailed gadgets, gizmos or guns. These people look like they have literally stepped from the pages of the book or comic in question. Conversely, standing not far away is the person in a romper suit and rubber mask waving a water pistol who would be far better off hiding their head under their Star Wars duvet back home! Shame on you!

Of course being a father does give me some release. So until she stops I’ll just pull on this blanket and swimming goggles and join her…    

“Look! Up the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane! No it’s ‘WONDER-GIRL and her side-kick ‘STUPID –DAD’!”

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Compute

People quickly get the wrong impression of me. At first glance they assume I'm a 'Serious Person' (Sorry. Try again.) Secondly they assume I'm the 'Studious Type' (Wrong again. One more try.) Final assumption, that I'm a 'Computer Geek' (Oh bad luck! But thank you for playing. Goodnight! Sleep tight!)

It is true that I do spend roughly 80% of the week sat in front of two screens and a keyboard, and that it in a desperate attempt to keep up with the world about me have tried to complete a degree in Business Computing (for the result of which see answer to assumption two above). But on the whole I have never discovered the power behind the motherboard. My track record with computers will go some way to explain the situation.

Back in the good old, day-glow Eighties I had just got to grips with my Atari console when it suddenly became important to go that step further and have a home computer. (I blame too much Star Trek) So I asked my parents to buy me what at the time was a top of the range home computer. And so I took possession of a sleek and streamlined Sinclair ZX-81! (Oh yeah!). For those not from the ‘Dee Dee Bopper’ days the ZX-81 was ‘the’ computer to own - for about six months. It looked cool; small and black although with a very annoying 'flat' keyboard that required pinpoint accuracy and several pounds of finger pressure to type on. No monitor either; instead it plugged into a TV. It also had very little memory for a computer but with an additional Ram pack it could be boasted to a mega 32K of hot throbbing hard drive!

You could play games on a ZX-81 but they would take ages to try and load from a cassette tape and then only to tell you after half an hour that it hadn't succeeded. Or you could spend two weeks programming it by hand, possibly copying out a programme from a computer magazine, again only to then find that you made a mistake somewhere in the several hundred lines of code. Worst still was that after abut two months of ownership Sinclair then brought out the ZX Spectrum. It had more memory, a better keyboard and was in colour!

I tried to ignore the computer world after that but films like ‘War Games’ and Matthew Labyorteaux and his ‘Whizz Kids’ made me think I was missing out on a lot of fun. So I tried again. Schools were using BBC Computers and there was also the Commodore 64 but for some reason I felt compelled to go a different way and instead bought an Amstrad CPC464 which had (get this) a built in tape recorder! I also decided to buy a ‘disc drive’ which was the size of shoebox! But again, other than play games it was a little useless. With no printer, no modem and years before the internet would make an appearance I was still along way off bringing my school to a halt or taking over the USA or making my own version of Kelly LeBrock! Not only that but about a year later they brought out the 466 which had a built-in disc drive (doesn’t it just make you want to spit!)

I finally threw in the micro towel and took up the baton of the actor instead (which wobbled slightly due to the jazz hands!) It was years later when temp work between bouts of resting meant I had to look at a computer once more. And what did I find? Wow! Not only was the key broad completely separate from the computer but it also had its own TV monitor! And all the programmes where there to be used with barely the need of tapes or discs! And when looking for temp work it opened doors if you knew Windows (confusing really). It was amazing the time I could spend now at a PC! And when I got bored of playing Minesweeper I could even do some work!

Today my job would be impossible without a computer, as would much of modern day living. At home I have a laptop and a smart phone and microchips falling out of every appliance in the house. But that still doesn't make me a computer geek. Like everyone I know how to use a computer but next to nothing about how they work. For me it’s just a tool, all be it a cleverly compact one like a Swiss Army Knife, there for writing, creating, working, communicating and occasionally playing the odd game still.

But does it make my life any easier? Let's 'assume' it does for now but check back in a few months when my opinion may well have become 'outmoded'...

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Epiphany

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Developments

It is too hard to take pictures now because it is too easy.

For me the rise of the digital camera might mean better and more creative photography but marks the decline of the photo. I have treasured photos, not only of my own childhood but also of family and ancestors which, although gently fading, are at hand to be seen. In comparison I have over a hundred photos from my last holiday alone either still on my camera or filed away on my computer hard drive ready to be accidentally deleted at a moments notice.

The camera I remember the most from my childhood was a black and silver Kodak 44A camera that belonged to the family. All the photos from the first ten years of my life came from that camera and every one of them that was kept beautifully captures memories and places in the clearest and brightest colours. It produced large, square prints similar in size to a Polaroid snap, simply framed with a white boarder.

For my eighteenth birthday I received what I considered my own ‘proper’ camera. It was a Canon with zoom lens, focus settings and all manor of knobs and levers. Also it was a single-lens reflex; basically this meant that looking through the viewfinder you saw by way of a mirror through the lens and could focus and centre as you saw fit. Prior to that I had had a cheap 'flat' camera where the viewfinder was positioned miles from the lens and meant that if you were too close to someone you ended up taking a photo of their ear. The other thing I loved about my ‘proper’ camera was that it had a timer so I could occasionally appear in my own pictures, although I often did this anyway by taking moody shots in mirrors - I was a teenager still after all.

I would very quickly use a roll of film, alternating between colour and black and white, and quickly have them developed. From a roll of thirty-six I would be happy to get half back as what I considered to be good pictures. I remember Boots went through a stage of putting stickers on prints which they deemed to have “gone wrong” with helpful hints on how not to make the same mistake next time. These were quickly pealed off and discarded but the picture was kept; blurry doesn’t matter if the memory is in focus. Packets of prints were indexed and kept, but the good stuff when into albums or fames or up on the wall. It was this camera which chronicled much of my student life and which today provides much reminiscing (and embarrassment) on Facebook.

During my limited acting career the camera received less and less use. Finally the advances in technology, coupled with the change in circumstances brought about by parenthood, saw me finally abandon my camera for something more digital and portable. Although I have managed the occasional shot that I’m really proud off, and keeping some memories in place for the future, I still missed photos. My only solace these days is thanks to a little App called Instagram. It takes single, square shots which you can filter to give it that old school, faded look and can even a white boarder – yester-year revisited!

However, on a trip to Norwich recently we saw a shop full of old cameras, mainly for display but with some which I guess still worked. Nestled amongst them was a Kodak 44A and I was very tempted to take the full step back in time. But I was amazed and excited when my daughter on seeing them all declared that what she wants for her next birthday is an 'old' camera that still works, “Something to take real photos”. She’s nine years old and looking at what she has already achieved photographically on phones and little digitals I am expecting great things.

Looks like the future of capturing the past might be safe after all…

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