Gordon Sumner

Do you know who I really hate? Yeah, that Sting. I always have done. As a child my sisters would torment me by playing their copies of The Police's Regatta De Blanc and Zenyatta Wotsit albums over and over again. Even aged 8 I knew I hated The Police and that twat singing. One of those albums contained a track called Canary in a Coalmine, and I detested that one especially.
Imagine my disgust, then, when I flicked open the latest edition of Word mag yesterday and saw a full page ad for his latest release, an album for winter with the utterly pretentious title of If On a Winter's Night... (Those fucking dots are actually part of the album title) Guess what, there's a photo of our hero looking all windswept and interesting on the cover walking a dog, alone in a snowy forest. I'm not surprised he's alone, who'd want to go out for a walk with a man who, was described perfectly accurately by Radcliffe and Maconie last week as, "the punchable lutist and Wallsend wassock". The lutist bit comes from the fact that a couple of years ago Sting released an album of lute music. What a cu..
I'm going to illegally download If On a Winter's Night *dot dot fucking dot* and only play it on the hottest day of the year. Yeah, that'll stick it to the punchable lutist and Wallsend wassock.
Do you know what else I hate about him? All that tantric sex stuff he banged on about. Christ, who wants that going on for hours and hours? I'd lose the will to live. Especially as at 6pm the holy trinity of TV starts: Eggheads, East Midlands Today and The One Show. Trudie Styler must have a snatch like a blind cobbler's thumb.
I do like Message in a Bottle though, mainly due to the guitar riff and drums, and would like to point out that I also like Stewart Copeland. He was in Curved Air after all.

Right, I'm off to watch Dune, Brimstone and Treacle and Quadrophenia back to back.

Ask me about the Mitfords

I've had a bit off a Mitford's weekend. First off, on Friday night, I went to see Andrew Collins and Richard Herring record one of their podcasts. I don't normally download their podcasts but thought I'd go along and support the Lincoln Comedy Festival and it was only a tenner to get in for over two hours of live entertainment. I enjoyed it, even Mr Collins's attempt at stand-up in the first part of the show. I tell you what bugs me though; people who get up to the bog in the middle of a set. It was even more noticeable on Friday night as they were recording it and someone's echoing footsteps must be clearly audible on the podcast. I haven't downloaded it, I heard it live, three rows from the front. It was a lovely venue for comedy though, the seats were actually quite comfy.

The Mitford connection is that Collins was sporting a t-shirt which read "Ask me about the Mitford sisters." Apparently he's an authority on the Nazi-loving, uppercrust siblings.

The second bit of my Mitford weekend came yesterday afternoon when I thought I'd pop along, as part of my ongoing quest to culturally enrich myself, to the annual Sotheby's sculpture selling exhibition at Chatsworth House. It'd slipped my mind but the youngest of the Mitford's, Deborah (or 'Debo' as she's known to her friends), is the Dowager Duchess of Devonshire, whose family seat is Chatsworth. Their are two large gift shops at Chatsworth, both groaning under the weight of books about the Mitfords. They don't hide their light under a bushel.

I love a stately home gift shop. They always think they're above selling gonks and pencil sharpeners with the name of the home on the side. For a start not only were there books about the Mitfords, but there were books by a Mitford. That's right, Debo has her own books of letters and essays published. I flicked through the latest one and not only did it have an introduction by Alan Bennett ("Aah yes, I've spent many happy hours stroking Debo's pussy by a roaring fire in the private apartments at Chatsworth" or some such nonsense) but there was also advice, I kid you not, on the correct way to wear a tiara. My stifled guffaws must have been noticeable to the staff.

Another book which diverted my attention was DeBrett's Guide for the Modern Gentleman, of course I could have written the bloody thing, but it was worth standing in the shop and flicking through for fifteen minutes, if only for the advice on how to handle a lady (I was heartened to find three of my favourite albums in their Top Ten Heavy Metal Albums).

I believe bits of the TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice were filmed at Chatsworth, and, as you'd expect, there's tons of Pride and Prej stuff, including stacks of copies of the book. What I couldn't quite understand though is why, next to Pride and Prej, there were also stacks of copies of Stuart Maconie's Pies and Prejudice. Do you think one of their buyers got the wrong end of the stick?

Anyway, what I loved the most were the tables given over the The Duke's, The Duchess's and Lady Burlington's own choices of gift. They've got stuff on with a little note by whichever member of the family's picked it, like this for a kiddies' book "My grandchildren love me to read them this amusing book whenever they come to stay" or this for a book called Posh Crosswords "The hours on the train journey between London and Derbyshire just fly by with this handy book of puzzles". What had me scratching my head the most though was a huge stack of those clocks which sings a different birdsong on the hour, they're the sort of naff things you only normally see on those terrible Innovations catalogues. The 12th Duke's note? "This clock never fails to amuse me, on the hour, every hour." As Basil Fawlty once said "Only the true upper class would have tat like that."

Don't bank on it

I was in my bank this morning, using their cash machine. I use the cash machine inside because a) I don't like the way banks are forcing you outside to get YOUR money which helps them pay for their nice branches and b) I get a thrill out of the free warm they're inadvertently giving me.
The bank in question is one which is cockney rhyming slang for 'masturbation'. You may have seen their, supposedly 'amusing' TV ads voiced by Stephen Merchant (or you may know him as him off of Extras, no, not Ricky Gervais, the lanky one, the one who plays the agent, you know "Barry from Eastenderrrrs"). While I was using this machine to go about my financial dealings to find out if my wages had been paid and to withdraw some cash for tonight, I noticed a sign directly above the machine which said "I love it when you push my buttons". Now things are pretty slack for me action-wise at the minute but you know you've hit rock bottom when a cash machine starts coming on to you. If that's what its intentions were.
The other intention might have been, of course, that Wanker's Bank think they're actually having a little joke, that I might somehow be amused by their little bon mot. Well, I'm not, I want my bank to deal with my finances efficiently and without jokes.
Looking round I noticed that they're trying to make us love them. There was a sign near some chairs which said "Take the weight off your feet", I know what a chair's for, they don't need to explain it to me.
Another, near the enquiries desk read "How can I help?" Well, you can help by taking down these stupid signs and not paying some sort of PR company hundreds of thousands of pounds of MY money to come up with 'friendly' signage.
In my experience they're not exactly 'friendly' when you pay in a cheque, worth an awful lot of money, issued by another high street bank, take ages to let it clear (when it should have cleared instantly) and then charge me the unfriendly sum of £16 when I write a cheque for the same awful lot of money to my DEAD mother's solicitor whose bank tries to draw the money before Wanker's Bank have let it clear. Wankers.

And they can shove their free pens up their arses too. "Take me, I'm free." No, I'm paying for those pens, they're not free to me.

Have a good weekend.

Welcome to the machine

I've just watched a programme about the progress of technology with Simon Armitage that was on BBC4 last night. At the start of the programme he went into a school and asked them to tip out all of their gadgets onto their desks. Isn't it easy being a kid these days? With mobile phone technology there's now no more need to pop down to the phone box at the end of the street with a stack of 5 pence pieces if you wanted to speak to the girl you wanted to ask to the school disco.That's not counting the limitless possibilities of internet instant messaging.

When I was at my last days at school the first 'brick' mobiles were appearing. How we laughed, who'd want one of those? That was an opinion I held up until as recently as 2000 when I finally relented and got a mobile, even that purchase was more out of necessity.

I've been toying with the idea of an iPhone recently, but then do I really need an iPhone? Yes, they look like fun, but there's a scores of features on the mobile I've got now that I never use like a radio, video calls, organisers, a calculator and video capture. I suppose the internet on the phone is handy for when I'm away but I very rarely use it because a) I'm on holiday and much as I love you I like to have a break, and b) it's bloody expensive on pay-as-you-go. Besides, knowing my luck, I'd buy the iPhone the very minute they were bringing one out that was better. Who was it who said they'd buy a new telly if they stopped inventing new ones?

When I was at school the only piece of technology I owned was a 14" colour portable telly and my sister's cast-off Walkman. She was a rather 'troubled' teenager who ended up under a shrink so my parents were a bit more generous with her when it came to dishing out presents. In fact, I don't recall owning my 'own' Walkman until I started earning my own money delivering papers.
I loved the Walkman and must have got through about half a dozen of them, including those with a fairly useless graphic equaliser on the side. Can you imagine my joy at the advent of the CD Walkman? Heavy on batteries but you could instantly go back to the beginning of Megadeth's Symphony of Destruction the minute it had finished without all that horrid rewinding killing your batteries.

Now with the iPod I can listen to my entire record collection wherever I go. I don't, of course, because I'm too lazy to rip CDs into the bloody thing. Most of the music on there is stuff I've downloaded, hence the weird look of that Top 25 Most Played post. The things I listen to most on the iPod are podcasts when I'm either doing my chores or out walking. I've got the second biggest iPod available, storage-wise, and I don't think it's a quarter full.

The most useless gadget I've got is a personal DAB radio. It's crap. Don't buy one.

I'm not buying any more technology, not until they give us those hover boots they've been promising us anyway. As the campaign slogan says in Muriel's Wedding "You can't stop progress!"

In with a bullet at number twelve, it's Petula Clark

I've heard it said before that the Top 25 Most Played on your iPod is a true reflection of your musical taste. Well, here goes, wish me luck....

1. The Go! Team - My World. Brighton-based hip-hop-rock-dance crossover outfit have a go at long-forgotten kiddies' TV theme music. Rather good.


2. Focus - House of the King. Dutch prog nutjobs provide theme music for Saxondale. Excellent.


3. Arctic Monkeys - I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor. Only decent thing they've ever done.


4. Hard- Fi - Living for the Weekend. A shining example of one of my 'obsession songs'. Don't think I want to hear it again for a while. Especially with lyrics like "Oh shit, my clothes are all counterfeit."


5. Sailor - A Glass of Champagne. Look, I like it. Okay?


6. Amy MacDonald - Mr Rock 'n' Roll. Jesus, how did that get in there? The Argos KT Tunstall, no, hang on, that was Sandi Thom. Okay, the Primark KT Tunstall.


7. Genesis - ABACAB. I like Genesis, and what are you going to do about it?


8. Clout - Substitute. Another 'obsession song'. Thing is, the only version of it on iTunes is a re-recording, so it's not even the original with the blokes playing all the instruments.


9. Lindisfarne - Lady Eleanor. See Monday's post. It's about a "belly-dancing beauty with a power-driven saw".


10. Tool - Stinkfist. Fuck yeah! The Californian prog-metal miserabelists stock opening gambit at a live show.


11. The Raconteurs - Salute Your Solution. Haven't heard that in ages. Another 'obsession song'.


12. Petula Clark - Colour My World. Saw on a DFS ad, liked, downloaded. Tony Hatch in full effect.


13. Billy Ocean - Love Really Hurts. No wedding's complete without this. Red Light Spells Danger is nearly as good too.


14. Heart- Barracuda. Inspired to download by Guitar Hero. Zeppelinesque rock workout about music industry creeps. Top.


15. Wolfmother - Woman. Imagine if Deep Purple were Australian and still capable of making good records.


16. Bobby Goldsboro - Summer (The First Time). I'm thoroughly fed up of hearing this paen to cherry-popping.


17. CSS - Let's Make Love and Listen to Death from Above. I loved this a couple of years ago. Funky shagging song by the Brazilian crossover dance act.


18. Elbow - Newborn. Worth it just for elongated section at the end. Brilliant when played live, especially the way it suddenly stops.


19. The Killers - When You Were Young. I normally hate The Killers (I've got enough Simple Minds' records without this lot making weak facsimiles), but this is the only song I've ever got 100% on Guitar Hero. Probably because there's not much guitar...


20. Nick Nicely - Hilly Fields. I blogged about this a while back.


21. Kirsty MacColl - They Don't Know. I don't need to explain this, surely.


22. Baccara - Yes, Sir, I Can Boogie. Look, I can explain...


23. Feeder - Feeling a Moment. I'm not normally keen on these Foo Fighters copyists, but this reminds me of something I'm not going into here.


24. Fleet Foxes - White Winter Hymnal. Not for listening to in the summer, but just the ticket as the days get shorter and darker.


25. Half Man Half Biscuit - Trumpton Riots. Elevaaaaaaaaaaate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm an eclectic bastard, aren't I, readers?

I've put You Tube links on to tall those tracks and it took me ages, so you'd better look at some of them. I'll quite understand if there are no takers foe Bobby Goldsboro though.

The music grabs me, spins me around and round

I'm becoming obsessed with this bloody song. I bought one of those crappy 80s compilation CDs to play at work and this was on it. I have these little song obsessions every now and again. The other week it was Lindisfarne's Lady Eleanor, a few weeks before that Don Partridge's Rosie. I'll go mad on it for about a week and then forget it, only to be reminded of it again when I play The 25 Most Played playlist on my iPod.
Twilight Cafe reminds me of early Simple Minds (guitars and synths share the limelight with a strong bassline) and it's obviously trading on that whole Echo Beach I've-got-a-shit-job-but-I-go-somewhere-after-work-to-let-my-hair-down-with-like-minded-folk vibe. What a shame she doesn't sound all that happy about it.
My obsession has led me to found out more about Ms Fassbender. Unfortunately she hanged herself in 1991 leaving three daughters. What a sorry end to the tale. She looks so happy on this clip too.

Two men called George

Via the Word magazine weekly mailout comes this link for an excellent blog. I love a bit of George and Lynne. They're so liberated, aren't they? We never 'took' The Sun in our house, mother would have thought it too common* and Dad had The Express. Dad had The Express from the minute he started work in the late 40s up until the day he died in 2003 - that's right, he was lying on his hospital deathbed and we still took him an Express.

My country-dwelling aunt and uncle had The Sun though, so it was always a treat going to their house as, for a young lad, The Sun was manna from Heaven. Not only did you have to contend with top-heavy Page 3 'lovelies' but there was also the joy that was George and Lynne. When I was that age George and Lynne offered a skewed peep into what it was like to be an adult. George and Lynne gave this wonderful impression that childless adults just lazed around in bed all day watching television**. And Lynne ALWAYS had her norks out with a pair of see-through panties on (even though, to my disappointment, only the back was see through). Their conversation was always about some builder who'd wolf-whistled Lynne or George making some double entendre. You just knew that immediately afterwards they were going to have the best sex ever.

How disappointed and disillusioned was I to become with adult life?

Dad's Express only offered the charms of The Gambols. The Gambols were Terry and June to George and Lynne's Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin. The Gambols were George and Gaye, a happily married, middle-aged, childless couple. Their strips usually revolved around anecdotes that George would tell Gaye after a day at work (of course Gaye didn't work, what are you? Nuts?), a misunderstanding Gaye would have with a shopworker, or one of George's golfing mishaps. The only time The Gambols got a little bit sexy was when they were getting ready to go out - no doubt to a fucking dinner party - and you'd see George in his vest and pants (large, white Y-fronts) while Gaye would be wearing stockings and suspenders. But not in a sexy way. It was in a way that tells you the artist hadn't come to terms with the invention of tights (pantyhose for any Americans looking in).

The summer would be livened up by having their niece and nephew, Flivver and Miggy to stay. 'Hilarity' would ensue on a daily basis with those two little sods. By they way, have you ever come across anyone called either Flivver or Miggy? No, me neither.

I mean look at that picture at the top, that's a typical Gambols' drawing. George struggling with a grandfather clock bought at an auction while Gaye excitedly follows him. Don't you just know that was a bad investment?

I'd love to kick George Gambol in the bollocks in front of his missus for not being George and Lynne. The pair of bastards.

*Perversely, she'd buy it on Grand National day because 'it had a list of runners and riders.' Like they didn't in any other newspaper.

**I hate watching telly, and eating, in bed though, as an adult.