Monthly Archives: March 2009

Friday stuff

I am working up to another mammoth books post, whenever I find time to write it. I’ve been too busy writing other people’s profiles on My Single Friend (and I don’t know why I’m linking to them really, because their system is SHODDY, but the front end is quite good and it’s fun writing about other people).

In the meantime, here are some links to enliven your Friday afternoon:

  • Russel Brand on Jade Goody is the first really personal and thoughtful thing I’ve read about the whole affair
  • In lieu of my increasingly forlorn attempts to look for a new job, ten ways to make your boss love you
  • A really tasty chicken stew with a summery twist which I made yesterday.  I found it by googling “chicken radish”, those being two of the three things I had an abundance of in my fridge. As luck would have it, the third thing I had an abundance of was cucumber, and this recipe calls for that, too.

(An underexplored measure of adulthood is one’s ability to use up salad vegetables before they go old. This is the first time I have ever finished a whole cucumber.  I made cucumber sandwiches on Sunday, a salad on Monday and a stew on Thursday. I’m so grown-up I’m practically dead.)


Sunglasses

I bought my first sunglasses of the spring earlier, at the end of a lunch hour spent scrunching my face up against the brightness of the day. I was looking for a geekish pair to go with the actual anorak I am wearing (not this instant, as I sit in my office typing, but as part of today’s outfit), but I work in a district with a limited supply of shops selling anything anyone would actually want to buy, and the only sunglasses on offer were the enormous kind preferred by Victoria Beckham, Cheryl Cole and other people I don’t want to look like.  (Well, OK, I would be happy to look like Cheryl Cole, I’m not crazy. But I don’t want to dress like her.)

My eventual compromise solution was some fairly enormous sunglasses, but with thick white plastic rims which stop them from looking like something impossibly glamorous that should be teamed with skinny jeans and an enormous bag, since given the choice I would always go for flared jeans and a tiny bag.

These are they:

glasses

When I came back into the office I stuck them on my head, and had an immediate rush of summery feeling. It was brilliant.


Small things which have mildly annoyed me today

1. The use of the phrase “From whence…” in The Suspicions of Mr Whicher. From where, or whence. Not an illiterate combination of the two. It irritates me when highly-praised books have small and obvious errors in them (though so far I’m afraid I’m also failing to see why this one has had any praise at all. It’s all very well having a fantastic story to tell, but – call me old-fashioned – I still think that for it to be a success you also need to be able to write).

2. A mockup of a web page in which the designer had used the following sample text:

Lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum lorem ipsum

Lorem ipsum is a nonsense language which you use when you’re designing web (or printed) pages so that you can see how they will look with text in them. The WHOLE POINT is that it replicates the effect of actual words, because it contains strings of different lengths. Google it and you’ll find it’s freely and abundantly available on the internet. It looks like this:

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam pretium magna at odio. Praesent velit. Fusce accumsan turpis. Mauris orci turpis, fringilla vitae, blandit nec, tempus sed, nisi. Sed vitae ligula.

In the example above all the designer has done is demonstrate that he has no idea what he’s doing. I admit that this might annoy me less if he were someone whom I thought had any idea what he was doing the rest of the time.

One day, when I am in charge of the internet and all book publishing, everything will work better. In the meantime I will stoically continue to correct errors of omission, oversight and stupidity, free of charge. You’re welcome.


Funny

Last night I went to watch an episode of Would I Lie To You? being recorded at Pinewood studios. Rob Bryden had mentioned it on Twitter, and it was free, and Reginald D. Hunter who I think might be my favourite living comedian* was appearing, and a friend is the executive producer and writes some of the jokes, and these all seemed like good reasons for going. Also, I didn’t realise beforehand how far away Pinewood studios is. It’s in Buckinghamshire! We were driven there from the station at a bracing speed by a taxi driver who appeared to be under the impression that it was a race, even though we were the only car on the road.

Anyway, it was lots of fun. The other guests were Ken Livingstone, Fern Britton (who I had to google so as not to mix her up with that awful teenager who presents music shows) and Stephen Mangan, all of whom were good value for money. Fern and Ken, especially, since they are not paid to be funny and I wasn’t certain they would be. Fern was also an exceptionally good liar.

Rob Bryden presented, and was as likeable as ever, even when he was having to get people to repeat lines for the sake of the recording. And team captain number one was David Mitchell, whom I used to dislike because he has the cold dead eyes of a shark, and because I didn’t think he was handsome enough for TV, but whom I subsequently met at the aformentioned friend’s house, and he was so lovely that I stopped being offended by his looks (I admit, this isn’t the most flattering change of heart, and I still hope he doesn’t read this) and decided he was very nice indeed.  And last night he was very quick, and very funny, and very generous about giving other people the chance to shine, and keeping quiet when they were making a good joke at his expense.

All of which was in marked contrast with the other team captain, Lee Mack. I really don’t know what he was doing there, and I don’t wish to sound like a snob, but in a studio full of smart, witty and broadly right-thinking (by which, naturally, I mean left-leaning) people, he just seemed completely out of place. His end-of-the-pier, slightly racist, slightly sexist, slightly homophobic brand of humour was utterly at odds with the tone of the show, and putting Ken Livingstone and Reginald D. Hunter on his team only emphasised that.  Sadly, the audience didn’t agree with me and laughed heartily at his most boorish jokes. Which was a shame.

And talking of funny, I’d like to apologise to anyone who watched Comic Relief on Friday night on the basis of my enthusiastic endorsement. Barely a laugh was raised. I can’t remember when they stopped letting comedians present Comic Relief, but it’s a poorer thing for it.

*I can’t immediately think of a dead comedian I prefer, but I wanted to qualify it somehow so as not to sound too ebullient.


While I’m here

rednosedaylogo

You can donate via the website, or text YES to 66609 to give £5 directly to Comic Relief (but if you’re a UK taxpayer you should go online afterwards and confirm it so that they can claim tax relief on your donation).

In celebration I will be making risotto and considering dropping my booze ban.


Comic Relief

You know what? I unashamedly and unironically love Red Nose DayLove it. I love Jonathan Ross being a bit rude (but not very), and I love it when the casts of Eastenders and The Bill do a comedy routine, and I love it when the cast of West End musicals bomb across town to Television Centre after their curtain call and perform all over again for the cameras.

I even love Lenny Henry, which I understand is very much not the thing these days.  But I do, and if I lived in Yorkshire I’d have gone to see him in Othello.

So come tomorrow evening you won’t find me at either of my siblings’ gigs (which saves me from having to choose a favourite, which is lucky), but curled up in front of the TV getting overexcited before the spectacle even begins.


Olympics site

I forgot to mention an inadvertent bit of tourism which I did on the way to Norfolk: at Stratford station we spotted what can only have been the 2012 Olympic village.  It’s in the very early stages of being built, but the scale of it is awesome already. If you can find an excuse for going to Stratford, go there sooner rather than later.


I went to Norfolk, but it was shut

My beloved and I spent three nights at the Victoria Hotel in Holkham, on the north Norfolk coast, last week. It’s a beautiful part of the world and a little like visiting the 1950s. Church doors are left open so the curious passer-by can wander in and have a look around; there’s a red pillar box and an old-fashioned phonebox on every village green – and, best of all, there are free, clean public lavatories which are abundantly possessed of soap and hand towels. It was all so civilised I didn’t know where to look.

They do like to close things for the winter,  but although Holkham Hall itself only opens to visitors during the summer, we were looking forward to exploring the grounds and perhaps meeting a deer or two. A sign told us to turn back barely a  minute up the drive, so we went back to the hotel where the receptionist helpfully rang up the Hall and was told that it was because they were “gassing moles”, which I imagine is the only time that has ever been used as an excuse for anything. I was so charmed I almost didn’t mind missing out on the park.

Slightly more disappointing was our failure to spot any seals on our seal-spotting excursion. We caught brief glimpses of a couple in the sea, but having been told by our ship’s captain (the most authentic Norfolker I have ever met) that there were “usually” six hundred of them sunbathing on the sand, we were hoping for more. I did get some pretty photos of the sea, though:

sea

I tried to warm to Norwich, but they need to move the station so that the eager visitor doesn’t have to walk a mile up an unlovely hill lined with takeaways to reach the city centre.  On the other hand, the shop assistant in Waterstone’s was very friendly indeed, so it wasn’t all bad.

I am now trying to plan a career move which would allow me to live in a cottage overlooking the sea.  I’d be happy in any of the towns along that stretch of coast, but I especially liked the look of Salthouse, Stiffkey (pronounced “Stewkey”, and you’ll be glad I warned you next time you visit) and Cley Next The Sea.  If you happen to have property for sale in any of those, do let me know.


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