A Fallen Brand

It was inevitable that Russell Brand would quit his radio show on BBC 2 today after being suspended. The apology seemed sincere only smirking at the end when he spoke of Jonathan Ross but alas there is no getting around it, his show was pretty darn good and those comments aside and the David Baddiel show, it will be missed by me. Profusely.

I first listened to those comments on my ipod after downloading the show on Sunday evening. When I heard Brand suggesting and talking in undertones about sleeping with the girl, I thought it was pretty risky but he always seems to do that. Then I hear Ross blurt out ‘he fucked your grand daughter’. I actually said ‘shit’ out loud upon hearing those words and felt a little bit embarrassed. It was over the line, and those who think it is not should try empathising in both the grandfather’s and the granddaughter’s view. If I become a grandfather the last thing I would want to hear is a man full of hi jinx retelling the tale of porking one of my progeny. What made me cringe slightly more was when they started visualising the scenario such as it was likely he’d be staring at a photograph of his granddaughter aged four as he heard his answer machine message. They pretty much fucked up big time but it was not said in a baleful manner just two guys subconsciously egging each other on.

What came next was unexpected. I presumed there would be some complaints and I thought that Brand would apologise immediately. I was lying in bed on Sunday evening trying to sleep when Steven Nolan on Radio 5Live was debating what Brand and Ross said was acceptable. It was odd that something that happened a week ago had made it onto the agenda of a radio talk show. Yet the majority of callers lambasted Brand and Ross calling for them to be sacked and stripped of their high wages. There was even some contempt in their voices when they spoke of the amount of money each one of them earns. Still I thought nothing of it. But the next morning it had reached the newspapers, the front pages even. Supplanting the current credit crunch or the US elections for something that happened on October 18th, it seemed odd. I read the news article on the BBC website that there had been a complaint made by the grandfather. I could understand why he made it. What did start to gyrate with me was the ever growing band of people complaining to the BBC. The last count was 20,000. These people did not listen to the show and hear what was said. Otherwise there would have been more than the 2 complaints made (for swearing) when the show was broadcasted. They could not have downloaded the podcast because that show had already been replaced and you cannot download old ones. My interpretation of why so many complaints were made was that many people read the papers and decided to voice their anger. Fair enough if these people did hear show and the way it was delivered with intonation and enunciation of the words used. But they did not. However, because so many of them complained it raised the stories profile and bumped it onto the agenda of the national news on television.

Only after the Prime Minister voiced his opinion did the BBC suspend Ross and Brand. Maybe it is because the BBC are still wounded over the court case they lost to the Labour government regarding the Andrew Gilligan allegations, that they felt action was required. And now Brand has quit. But I can not help but feel that it is the BBC that will lose out. It is a unique institution unrivalled through out the rest of the earth. It covers news meticulously, produces programmes on both radio and television which are superb but they have handled this issue badly. If Brand and Ross were going to be dealt with why not do it when the grandfather first complained. He and his granddaughter are the ones directly involved with the actions so they should have been suspended then. Not when 20,000 odd and the Prime Minister get involved. That only suggests that they are reacting to their fury and concern and not of the feelings of those who it does really matter. And this makes the suspension seem a façade and not genuine. Anyhow, I surmise with the belief that had Matt Morgan been there none of this would have happened. Where the hell is?


In other news, it snowed last night.

Bling Bling

I’ve come to realise that gold jewellery looks crap on me. There is no way getting around it. Gold does not suit my skin tone and when I don a chain or ring I look nothing more than a narcotics pusher trying to peddle aspirin in the guise of amphetamine. Still at least I know gold does not suit me so keep away from purchasing those huge link chains that look thick enough to be a bike lock. I can only imagine what I would look like walking down the street wearing Elizabeth Dukes’ latest range chatting people whilst parts of me twinkles against the light, what a fool I would look. In fact it is probably a good thing that I am not that bothered with male jewellery in general. There are no hours wasted perusing the Argos catalogue for annulates with ‘ICE’ etched on them with fake diamonds that resemble Rice Crispies. Instead I am happy with what I wear when the mood takes me. I own a wooden dolphin string necklace that cost £1.79 from some shop which I tend to wear at least once a week. It just lays there next to my television, there is no need to shine it and if it falls on the floor I do not need to get all flustered in case it has been scratched. In fact my dolphin is scratched but I consider it an endearing feature. No one can really see the dolphin as it’s usually tucked underneath my t-shirt/shirt. Still the bootlace is visible as a sign that although there’s a plethora of chains out there I still like to wrap a bootlace around my neck as I strut down the street. It also possesses symbolic properties to me too. Having to dress smart to work is hard for me, although I am getting used to it. Sometimes I feel fake and look like Little Lord Fontleroy in trousers and a shirt. I really wished I did not have to wear these clothes but I am still a participant in ‘the game’. It’s funny as I never really wanted to be in ‘the game’ I just sort of fell into the race and next thing I know I’m scampering along feeling unable to stop. So the little dolphin is a reminder that somewhere inside of me is the ‘true me’. The person who could spend hours listening to digital radio or BBC’s Listen Again whilst slurping on some wine, whisky or rum and still consider it productive a productive day if I hear a song that makes me think differently. But then I have to ask myself, the longer I do what I do then surely it defines who I am more than what I want to do? Ah ha, that is true and so I am slightly anxious at the truth that perhaps I secretly enjoy being in ‘the game’ while tricking myself otherwise. Luckily the little dolphin is still there to let me know I haven’t gone just yet.

In other news, I went to Edinburgh for work the other week. Being surrounded by historic buildings, castles, culture that is century’s years old, brick work that can make an architect cream his pants, this was the only photo I took of the journey and it wasn't even in Edinburgh but Luton airport.



It’s an amazing city but not once did it dawn on me to take photos of its undoubted beauty. No, instead it was when we landed and on the way to the car that I spot an abandoned wheelchair and my mind starts to think ‘quick take a picture’.

Tuneful

I was sitting in the canteen the other day, sipping on my potato and leek soup and drifting in and out of conversation with a group of people when I begin to splutter. A piece of leek travels down the oral express but becomes lodged in my throat. The reason was a question, “What’s your favourite song of all time?” It has been many moons since I last heard that being asked. I think the last time was when I was in school, playing that game with the paper pyramid type thing with numbers written on the top and your destiny written underneath a flap. I am not sure of the exact reasons why I choked, was it because it sounded so immature? Or was it the absurdity? Upon reflection it is a question of the greatest grandeur not really absurd but a loaded one that needs to be thought about deeply. The person who asked it gave their own answer before sound could come from my mouth, “Mine is from the iPod advert.” "Shit you haven’t really thought about it.” I thought. It quite possible is the greatest song ever heard but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with good advertising whereas I could not find an answer I was comfortable with, I found it really hard but it was something I needed to mull over (hence this entry). Firstly the last answer I gave was along the lines of Paula Abdul’s Opposites Attract. So cultured and aware of music I was back then but at that time I could think of nothing better, it genuinely was my favourite song. However, if the animated cat had not featured in the music video my mind would have changed in an instant. That cat was pretty funkin’ cool.

My early steps into more thought provoking music occurred when I heard Fools Gold one cold winter. A friend’s older brother had it on vinyl and we listened to it in his room before he got home from work. Sneaking out just as he turned the key in the door. It was an unusual beat and a lot different to the Now compilations I had been spending my hard earn pocket money on. The opinion I had on music changed upon hearing that song, it was like a letter to my soul had been written by The Stone Roses letting me know that there is a hell of a lot of music out there. It was a good few years later when I felt that unusual feeling once more, this time it almost had me in shock. I was ill in bed one evening listening to the radio when I heard Wondewall by Oasis. It was another unusual feeling that plucked away at my emotions. I just couldn’t believe such a gruff arrogant band could produce something so brutally magnificent. The words are so vague that you could just form and apply them to your own story in life and it worked so beautifully. When the song ended on the radio and Steve Lamaq announced who sung it I remember shaking my head in astonishment. Over the years, my mind has gotten used to the rhythm beats and lyrics that the same feelings has eroded, it doesn’t seem to be able to make me stop for a moment anymore. Certainly not like when I first heard it on the radio all those years ago. Although the Cat Power version almost did take me back. From then, I ditched trying to get myself into clubs on Friday nights as Happy Wednesdays at the Winter Gardens brought me the greatest joy, jiving down to some Kula Shaker and Ash amongst others.

It was strange but my love for indie died one night. Probably after Be Here Now was released as it was so shit. I mean Britpop was rife at the time but my tastes began to change, I started to get into electronic dance type music. I’d always been a fan of Drum ‘n Bass but The Prodigy really asked questions of me as to why I hadn’t listened to more dance music. And so I did. And I realised that Prodigy stuff really wasn’t my type of thing, it was a bit too slow. It was trance music I had been waiting for which I discovered soon after. After a Saturday night at Flamingos we went back to someone’s house and carried on drinking when I heard this tweeting, beeping song called Ayla by Ayla. I think they’re German but the build up of the song really tapped into my constant attempt to heighten feelings within myself, like the way I drink coffee every day to keep awake but secretly experiment how much I can drink before I start shaking. From Ayla, the trance scene erupted before my eyes. Before I could say Tiesto I was buying Mixmag magazine and giving myself premature ear damage by listening to euphoric trance that kind of made me think, everything in the world is great. The pinnacle of this musical chapter was when I heard Delirium’s Silence (Teisto’s In Search of the Sunrise Mix version of course). It’s over 7 minutes long but when I hear it, even now, it evokes both wonderful memories and that same feeling that everything in the planet is alright.

Alas that episode came to a close when I picked up Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness for £5 in HMV one day. I felt like Judas having absconded to trance music whilst all this time there was still some great guitar music being written. 1979 blew me away as does Stumbleine. It completely made me obsessed in finding out what I’d been missing the last couple of years whilst I was listening to what Paul Oakenfold dished out.

And so after finishing off my soup I trudged off back to work but spent the rest of the afternoon remembering all the songs that I considered great. I didn’t bother to answer the question asked as to me those songs I’ve mentioned in this blog (although I’m sure I’ve missed loads out) are part of my amblings through life, how I felt, what was popular and what made me stand still until it was finished, like I used to do in Virgin and HMV. But I guess, if I was really pushed into a corner, forced to answer the question that was asked in the cafeteria then it would probably have to be this one.

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=HD7g9Ds_SE4

Strolling

For me, to think and mull over things about myself or the world I tend to go on a really long walk. Nothing works better in clearing my head than to close the door, sniff and start shuffling those feet. Where I head, I’m not really too fussed, it literally is aimless walking, sometimes on the path, other times across a field (I do believe I walked past a dogging gathering once). Since I was a young un’ I have enjoyed walking and used to see how far I could venture until I was truly lost. Although I don’t adapt the walking style you see in the Olympic Games I do tend to shift some without realising it. But it’s the opportunity for me to think things deeply that motivates me to do it. Taking in a cool breath of air kind of mellows my mind from ideas buzzing around my head and allows me to approach them rationally instead of going ‘yeah that’s great.’ Then two minutes later I’m thinking about another one and then another. I don’t actually given them due consideration and eventual realisation that some of them are pretty pants unless I think about them while walking. Hey, Meredith Belbin always said I was a ‘Plant’. So while walking along making the hole in my plimpsole even larger my head sorts them out by thinking, is it possible to do this? If so, how can it be done? How much money will it cost? Usually by step two it’s faltered. I snigger and we carry on. Other times my mind is preoccupied with the usual clichéd but still somewhat significant topic we all share, ‘am I doing the right thing for me in this moment in life?’

To deal with this I let my mind’s eye take over and create several alternative selfs all exactly the same as me but one is richer, another sensible and the final one adventurous. The richer one would definitely be living in New York, in an apartment similar to the one that’s featured in the beginning of Cloverfield, when the camera is first turned on in the morning. When I saw that scene my heart kind of melted seeing the view of New York below. How I would love to one day pull back the curtains and see that view, know and feeling I am part of such a magnificent city. The smile would grow and grow. The sensible version of me would probably be related to the rich aspect. Had I been sensible I could have aspired to those extremely financially rewarding professions. But from a young age I’ve wrestled with that aspect, when being told being a solicitor or accountant are professions I must push towards. Straightaway I thought they were boring, I didn’t want to follow that route. However, I do not wish to write disparaging remarks about those types of careers. As I get older I realise that in order to reach those kinds of jobs you need to develop skills like, analytical and observational both of which are useful in every job. Perhaps that is why those who fail in those professions succeed elsewhere because they have nurtured these transferable assets. I think the sensible version of me is the most dangerous, he would be content with money but inside him would harbour a resentment for not being just himself until reaching mid life and break down, fall to pieces and then start to resent the time wasted achieving those career goals only to throw them all away again from going bonkers.

And the adventurous one, well, it’s pretty obvious to myself I’d like to be travelling, perhaps right now sitting in some café in Japan reading some Murakami in peace while occasionally looking outside and see the people go to work, smiling at the cute office girl as she buys her breakfast. But adventure doesn’t mean gallivanting around the globe. What adventure would arise if I just quit my job one day? Said it was over and not come back. Turn on my laptop and really hammer through my progressive text I wrote. Rewrote the parts that were woeful, spend hours on a paragraph, days rereading the text until I was happy with it. Develop new skills in the progress as I tackle problems with the story, its direction and the fact I can flutter between tenses more times than Vanessa Feltz can re-launch her career. Sounds pretty fucking ace but reality is that it can’t really happen and besides how long would the motivation last?

It’s at this point I tend to realise that I’m in another estate far, far away and my knees are creaking. I’m glad I think about those things but it usually makes me hungry too so I always end up heading to a Tesco Express and buying a Double Decker. Man I love that Chocolate bar.

Here is me walking along listening to The Acorn. I recommend them.

Spreading That Toast

Dang, according to my recent observations these last couple of weeks I can pretty much tell how I will act during the day by none other than the choice of my spread that goes on my toast in the mornings. It’s dire but I started to see how my day pans out after a take a mouthful of Marmite, honey, peanut butter or margarine. It’s messed up, I know, but what I fancy in the morning pretty much tells me how my approach to the day will unravel once I’ve fully awoken.

Ok when I slap the toast down and push the button I know that my day is going to be a boring one when I want margarine. It’s like subconsciously I already know I can’t be bothered with it and there isn’t enough gusto inside me because to try and change this feeling. I’m either really tired or pissed off about something. When I spread the margarine I know that I’m not motivated, I’m not interested in enlightening my life today, thank you, I am quite happy to fester. To be honest I’d probably be content staring at the wall at work examining the cracks and the little animals that crawl out of them.

Yet it’s different when the toast pops up all golden and the next morning I'm craving honey. I sort of know I’ll soon have loads of ideas. Don’t know why, maybe it’s the sweet taste but I get small scale ones like where to go for lunch ‘screw the cafeteria I want to check out that Sushi Bar next to All Bar One’. Or larger ones like ‘if I save 5k and then take a 5k loan I can go travelling around the world for a year, right I’ll start saving now’. My mind just gets these random ideas which help the day roll by.

When it’s Marmite I want, I’m thinking about getting fit. I’ve got a love/hate relationship with marmite. I can go weeks eating it, scoffing it down everyday which seems to coincide when I’m on some sort of health vibe, like going for runs or playing squash. But then I stop playing these sports and all of a sudden I hate the black stuff. Even seeing the jar makes me gag and if I smell it I’m heaving like a cat coughing up a furball.

Occasionally I get the urge to slap on peanut butter and my day is random, I make random choices and do random things like roll up one sleeve but keep the other down. What I am trying to do, keep it real or something? Or the time I went for a walk at lunch and kept walking until I reached a small wood realised that it took me 55 minutes to get there and I’ve only got an hour for lunch so spent another 25 minutes reading my book sitting on a fallen tree trunk.


Either way I do find it strange that there is a connection (maybe sprinkled heavily with coincidence)between my morning eating habits and the feelings I have towards the day.