Many British people doubt me when I say I'm from London. They say I'm from Essex. I say, "Yes, but where I live falls in East London". They argue, they protest, but whenever there's a local crime, I'm proven right.
Take this example- an article from the BBC website on Tamil communities tackling gangs. It clearly states that Ilford is in East London. Thank you local Tamil gang members and the people who oppose you for bringing the truth to the people.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Svenska Hjärtan
In case you haven't been paying attention lately, I have been talking a lot about Sweden- or more specifically the Swedish Melodifestivalen which is the Swedish national preselection contest for the Eurovision song contest. It's almost better than the contest and possibly more fun. Well, it makes a change from blogging about the weather...
This week saw heat 3, the best one yet. It featured a broad range of song styles- the usual schlager (done very well), electro pop, house, and for the first time bhangra. And I dragged Terese along with me to the Harcourt Arms to enjoy it.
Terese is Swedish, but is not one of those that is crazy about this contest and the Eurovision. But the atmosphere at the pub won her over even if the songs didn't. We craned our necks to see the screen through the tall people that stood in front of us and whooped and booed and drank. And drank. The crowd were appalled when one of the favourites didn't get through to the final, and even moreso when a drippy ballad did.
We made friends with people from many countries, a blonde Swedish lady started chatting me up and and after the show the pub stereo blasted out old schlager and we danced, chatted and sang. Everyone sand along, and each song was met with a cheer or a scream. And then they played "Give Me Your Love".
"Give Me Your Love", sung by Fame, is as close to perfect as a song can get. It is genius. And they played it. And as they played it, something took over control of my body (or, at least, this is what I like to claim). I ended up dancing on the bar, making a ridiculous show of myself, even carrying on dancing while I was being "assisted" down. And after the bar finally closed Terese, Johanna (Swedish, not LeeJay) and the Dutch guy headed to the Phoenix on Cavendish Square. And danced, and drank more. Until Terese and I eventually wondered off home. I arrived at 6, and spent Sunday in bed wondering what had gone wrong...
Here are songs from this week's Melodifestivalen. It continues to be genius, although the Swedish public aren't demonstrating good taste. These two should have got through, but didn't in favour of drab ballad/floaty dress combo and something else:
1. The Attic feat. Therese - The Arrival
2. Magnus Carlsson - Live Forever
This week saw heat 3, the best one yet. It featured a broad range of song styles- the usual schlager (done very well), electro pop, house, and for the first time bhangra. And I dragged Terese along with me to the Harcourt Arms to enjoy it.
Terese is Swedish, but is not one of those that is crazy about this contest and the Eurovision. But the atmosphere at the pub won her over even if the songs didn't. We craned our necks to see the screen through the tall people that stood in front of us and whooped and booed and drank. And drank. The crowd were appalled when one of the favourites didn't get through to the final, and even moreso when a drippy ballad did.
We made friends with people from many countries, a blonde Swedish lady started chatting me up and and after the show the pub stereo blasted out old schlager and we danced, chatted and sang. Everyone sand along, and each song was met with a cheer or a scream. And then they played "Give Me Your Love".
"Give Me Your Love", sung by Fame, is as close to perfect as a song can get. It is genius. And they played it. And as they played it, something took over control of my body (or, at least, this is what I like to claim). I ended up dancing on the bar, making a ridiculous show of myself, even carrying on dancing while I was being "assisted" down. And after the bar finally closed Terese, Johanna (Swedish, not LeeJay) and the Dutch guy headed to the Phoenix on Cavendish Square. And danced, and drank more. Until Terese and I eventually wondered off home. I arrived at 6, and spent Sunday in bed wondering what had gone wrong...
Here are songs from this week's Melodifestivalen. It continues to be genius, although the Swedish public aren't demonstrating good taste. These two should have got through, but didn't in favour of drab ballad/floaty dress combo and something else:
1. The Attic feat. Therese - The Arrival
2. Magnus Carlsson - Live Forever
Kung Hei Fat Choi!
Happy Chinese new year!
Yes, London is a multicultural city, and close to its centre is a nice big China Town. but being London the local councils are a bit stupid, and if rumours are to be believed, the want to place a branch of Tesco (the supermarket that is eating England) on China Town's main street. The reason? China town is too ethnically singular. If it wasn't so ethnically singular, it would be "Multiethnic town" and would be no different to anywhere esle. D'oh.
But in a nicer development someone decided to hang chinese Lanterns over the road at Oxford circus. And they look lovely.
Yes, London is a multicultural city, and close to its centre is a nice big China Town. but being London the local councils are a bit stupid, and if rumours are to be believed, the want to place a branch of Tesco (the supermarket that is eating England) on China Town's main street. The reason? China town is too ethnically singular. If it wasn't so ethnically singular, it would be "Multiethnic town" and would be no different to anywhere esle. D'oh.
But in a nicer development someone decided to hang chinese Lanterns over the road at Oxford circus. And they look lovely.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Childish? Us?
Never...
The only thing of note this week was a trip to the cinema with Megan. It being Valentines' day, and us being romantic, we thus decided to do it in style.
We met in Mile End, drank flat beer in a rotten student pub and then went to see a lovely romantic film about a crazed lonely lezzer who fancies the fit new teacher at school who in turn more than fancies one of her students. In this case "more than fancies him" means she is having relations with him. And he is 15. Oh dear.
As you can imagine, it was a rather serious film, but not one without its moments of dark humour. And these certainly weren't lost on us. Nor were the many opporunities for dodgy innuendo we could locate amongst the script.
"Notes On A Scandal" now takes pride of place in a long list of films that I have been accompanied to see in the cinema and have laughed inappropriately at. Other members include the hilarious "Gladiator" and the side-splitting "Texas Chainsaw Massacre".
The only thing of note this week was a trip to the cinema with Megan. It being Valentines' day, and us being romantic, we thus decided to do it in style.
We met in Mile End, drank flat beer in a rotten student pub and then went to see a lovely romantic film about a crazed lonely lezzer who fancies the fit new teacher at school who in turn more than fancies one of her students. In this case "more than fancies him" means she is having relations with him. And he is 15. Oh dear.
As you can imagine, it was a rather serious film, but not one without its moments of dark humour. And these certainly weren't lost on us. Nor were the many opporunities for dodgy innuendo we could locate amongst the script.
"Notes On A Scandal" now takes pride of place in a long list of films that I have been accompanied to see in the cinema and have laughed inappropriately at. Other members include the hilarious "Gladiator" and the side-splitting "Texas Chainsaw Massacre".
Monday, February 12, 2007
Something fishy going on...
Since I came back from Japan I've eaten a lot of fish. Whether at a sushi bar, at a turkish restaurant or at home, I've enjoyed fish. But there is a problem.
I only know the Japanese names for many fish.
Of course I know cod, tuna, salmon and plaice. And I've eaten canned mackerel and pilchards in my time, not to mention sardines. And swordfish. But could I recognise these last four at a supermarket fish counter? Probably not.
Conversely I recognise aji, saba, hamachi, katsuo, suzuki and hirame in their raw forms.
What's the solution? Yesterday, after moving stuff into her new flat, Megan and I went to Fujiyama's in Brixton- a marvellous Japanese restaurant, once again with non-Japanese staff. And they let me have one of their placemats- a photo-guide to a la carte sushi. In Japanese, English, French, Spanish, and Dutch. And one other language I couldn't decipher. So soon I shall be able to order fish in many countries. Bravo, etc.
I only know the Japanese names for many fish.
Of course I know cod, tuna, salmon and plaice. And I've eaten canned mackerel and pilchards in my time, not to mention sardines. And swordfish. But could I recognise these last four at a supermarket fish counter? Probably not.
Conversely I recognise aji, saba, hamachi, katsuo, suzuki and hirame in their raw forms.
What's the solution? Yesterday, after moving stuff into her new flat, Megan and I went to Fujiyama's in Brixton- a marvellous Japanese restaurant, once again with non-Japanese staff. And they let me have one of their placemats- a photo-guide to a la carte sushi. In Japanese, English, French, Spanish, and Dutch. And one other language I couldn't decipher. So soon I shall be able to order fish in many countries. Bravo, etc.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Swedish crooner
Last night I went to a Swedish pub in Marylebone, London to watch the second round of the Melodifestivalen. It is something I have wanted to do since I read about it 2 years ago, and it was certainly worth it. Not only do you get to watch Melodifestivalen on a big screen, you also get to cheer and jeer with the crowd, and impress (or distress) with your knowledge of Swedish slanger songs as everyone sings along to the interval acts.
This week's round contained the likely winners of the whole shebang- Swedish glam rockers The Ark. They are huge in Sweden and critically acclaimed. And they made it through to the final on March 10th.
Here's their performance- the song is called "The Worrying Kind"
This week's round contained the likely winners of the whole shebang- Swedish glam rockers The Ark. They are huge in Sweden and critically acclaimed. And they made it through to the final on March 10th.
Here's their performance- the song is called "The Worrying Kind"
Friday, February 09, 2007
Don't waste those second chances!
Is what I was thinking when I heard the news about BIG snow (yes, the papers actually called it that) due to fall in London yesterday. So I arose at 6:45am, left the house at 7:15 and was in the pretty part of London by 8:20 armed with a camera and a killer instinct. Unfortunately I was also armed with stupidity and forgot that parliament square existed. This meant no photos of Big Ben and snow together at last. But I pushed on.
The scene as I set out.
I decided instead to trek round the parks, taking in St. James' park, Green park and Hyde Park. And I ended up with too many photos and extrememly wet socks and shoes.
Missing: romantic couple.
St. James' Park was lovely, although it needed a few more romantic couples to fill its benches. It did have enough birds forraging for foods and posing for nice pictures. I would request that next year some action is taken to steady the branches so amateur photographers like me can take nice, steady pictures.
ALong the way I managed to chat to a few people, including a man in wellies with an army of dogs. But I was very disappointed not to see HRH the Queen Elizabeth Royal Mail Windsor building a snowman in her garden. She had enough people to play with- Police, guards and I'm sure some nice tourists would have helped too.
After the picture taking I met Juliette for a nice, long catch up. And a shopping expedition. And a lovely big lunch at the Japan Centre. We toured the Japanese shops, Juliette showing me the new ones, and we each bought and shared sweets and crackers. And then we went to BeardPapa's, a delicious Japanese shop selling only custard filled choux buns. And they are gorgeous. There's only the one shop in Europe, but that'll change soon I'd imagine.
Juliette's going to Japan in March. I'm not jealous. Much.
The British have a distinct sense of respect for their own history, demonstrated in no clearer way than in this picture where some caring youth (I assume) has attempted to finish off this marvellous piece of art.
I expect to see the statue fully clothed next time I come.
Demonstrating a similar sense of respect, this time for ourselves, Terese and I met up for dinner and non-alcoholic drinks. We have promised to support each other in a booze-free February and started well by having soft drinks, then an all you can eat oriental vegan buffet, and then more soft drinks. Hoorah for us.
We had an early night as I was starting work on Friday (today). Back in the city, this time in the Strand. If you took a map and marked on it the locations of the three agency jobs I've had, you'd notice a pattern. Each one moves South, but in a perfect straight line. All I need is five more job changes and I'll be in France. Vive le choux pastry!
I wonder if French cities can look as bleak as this?
The scene as I set out.
I decided instead to trek round the parks, taking in St. James' park, Green park and Hyde Park. And I ended up with too many photos and extrememly wet socks and shoes.
Missing: romantic couple.
St. James' Park was lovely, although it needed a few more romantic couples to fill its benches. It did have enough birds forraging for foods and posing for nice pictures. I would request that next year some action is taken to steady the branches so amateur photographers like me can take nice, steady pictures.
ALong the way I managed to chat to a few people, including a man in wellies with an army of dogs. But I was very disappointed not to see HRH the Queen Elizabeth Royal Mail Windsor building a snowman in her garden. She had enough people to play with- Police, guards and I'm sure some nice tourists would have helped too.
After the picture taking I met Juliette for a nice, long catch up. And a shopping expedition. And a lovely big lunch at the Japan Centre. We toured the Japanese shops, Juliette showing me the new ones, and we each bought and shared sweets and crackers. And then we went to BeardPapa's, a delicious Japanese shop selling only custard filled choux buns. And they are gorgeous. There's only the one shop in Europe, but that'll change soon I'd imagine.
Juliette's going to Japan in March. I'm not jealous. Much.
The British have a distinct sense of respect for their own history, demonstrated in no clearer way than in this picture where some caring youth (I assume) has attempted to finish off this marvellous piece of art.
I expect to see the statue fully clothed next time I come.
Demonstrating a similar sense of respect, this time for ourselves, Terese and I met up for dinner and non-alcoholic drinks. We have promised to support each other in a booze-free February and started well by having soft drinks, then an all you can eat oriental vegan buffet, and then more soft drinks. Hoorah for us.
We had an early night as I was starting work on Friday (today). Back in the city, this time in the Strand. If you took a map and marked on it the locations of the three agency jobs I've had, you'd notice a pattern. Each one moves South, but in a perfect straight line. All I need is five more job changes and I'll be in France. Vive le choux pastry!
I wonder if French cities can look as bleak as this?
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
More British weather...
This winter has been a bit of a mystery. In as much as it's been a mystery where winter has actually been for the last three months. Sunny skies, warm temperatures and a severe lack of frost.
Which is why I felt the need to record this hard frost for posterity. Please note the sunny skies and washing drying on the line, neither being typical of a traditional British winter.
Biting, but not enough so to stop the washing drying.
Which is why I felt the need to record this hard frost for posterity. Please note the sunny skies and washing drying on the line, neither being typical of a traditional British winter.
Biting, but not enough so to stop the washing drying.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Schlager palaver...
Yes, on Saturday night the Swedish Melodifestivalen began. It's a huge palaver to select their Eurovision entry. There are 4 heats, each including 8 songs. Two of these songs will go directly to a final. Two more will go to a second chance round from which two more will go to the final. So 32 becomes 10 which finally becomes 1.
Unbeknown to most, Sweden is home to much of the world's great pop music. Not just Abba or Ace of Base or the Cardigans. Sweden's got it all. Presently there is an invasion of Swedish indie music in the UK (I'm From Barcelona, El Perro Del Mar, Peter, Bjorn and John, Jose Feliciano to name a few). There's also the electro pop that they excel at (The Knife, The Similou, Robyn, again naming but a few). But these aren't big names. Not household names. The biggest names are American stars. having their hits with Swedish songs. Britney, the BackStreet Boys, Kelly Clarkson. Their biggest hits were written in Sweden by Max Martin and the late Denniz Pop.
So you'd think Sweden would be a shoe-in for the Eurovision, that they'd win every year. But no. Sweden always does well, but they're always accused of entering the same song. An Abba sound-alike that thumps away with joy. What we know as the Abba style is a northern European style of music called Schlager. Indeed, Schlager took over much of the world in the late 1990s as British groups sold lots of records on the back of well crafted melodic pop.
So although they won in 1999 with a Schlager stormer (Charlotte Nilsson's "Take me to your heaven"- click here for the slightly incongruous, slightly Japanese video), this year they're taking no chances. Saturday's selection took in Country and Western, folk-pop and finally Dansband, an even older Swedish style that harks back to the 50s and 60s. And what a song. Despite being called "Samba Samero", Anna Book's song isn't particularly latin and requires no brain cells for its enjoyment. And it has a key change. This went direct to the final, while my other favourites, Uno and Irma took a pretty duet to the second chance round. Believe me, THIS ARE NEWS. 70% of Sweden was watching on Saturday. And here's Anna Book and her Dansband spectacular.
Unbeknown to most, Sweden is home to much of the world's great pop music. Not just Abba or Ace of Base or the Cardigans. Sweden's got it all. Presently there is an invasion of Swedish indie music in the UK (I'm From Barcelona, El Perro Del Mar, Peter, Bjorn and John, Jose Feliciano to name a few). There's also the electro pop that they excel at (The Knife, The Similou, Robyn, again naming but a few). But these aren't big names. Not household names. The biggest names are American stars. having their hits with Swedish songs. Britney, the BackStreet Boys, Kelly Clarkson. Their biggest hits were written in Sweden by Max Martin and the late Denniz Pop.
So you'd think Sweden would be a shoe-in for the Eurovision, that they'd win every year. But no. Sweden always does well, but they're always accused of entering the same song. An Abba sound-alike that thumps away with joy. What we know as the Abba style is a northern European style of music called Schlager. Indeed, Schlager took over much of the world in the late 1990s as British groups sold lots of records on the back of well crafted melodic pop.
So although they won in 1999 with a Schlager stormer (Charlotte Nilsson's "Take me to your heaven"- click here for the slightly incongruous, slightly Japanese video), this year they're taking no chances. Saturday's selection took in Country and Western, folk-pop and finally Dansband, an even older Swedish style that harks back to the 50s and 60s. And what a song. Despite being called "Samba Samero", Anna Book's song isn't particularly latin and requires no brain cells for its enjoyment. And it has a key change. This went direct to the final, while my other favourites, Uno and Irma took a pretty duet to the second chance round. Believe me, THIS ARE NEWS. 70% of Sweden was watching on Saturday. And here's Anna Book and her Dansband spectacular.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Thin on the ground.
Frankly this last week has been boring. Terminally so. I left the house, not one, not twice, but thrice (as Janet Jackson would say). One trip was to Ilford (which rather counts as an endurance test), one to a temping agency who were rather positive about things, and the final one was today, going for a run and trying out a new watch I'd bought. This watch is amazing. It has a built in Global-Positioning-System. It plots your movements on a map, times you, records best speeds, calories used and can plan training routes, dinner dates and train timetables. Or something. But that's not the point. The week's been boring. Thank God the preceding weekend was a bit more full.
Friday was Verity's (a.k.a. Dorothy Brody) birthday, so I met up with her and her friends in a bar in London. All was going well and we were all suitably trolleyed and laughing when a man plonks a drink on the table in front of me. Now, I've seen this man before, but I said nothing. I actually laughed because I was drunk. And then 10 minutes later a tequlia was plonked in front of me without so much as a word. And the 15 minutes later a bottle of water and a bottle of wine. At which point I thought I could go for broke and sit it out for the champagne or go and talk to him.
Turned out he was the bar manager. As he handed me a beer, he asked me what I did for a living. "I am currently looking for work", I answered. "What are you looking for?", he asked. "Anything really, I have extensive life experience". "I'm not interested in your life experience", he said with a leer. "Oh," I replied, "so it's not my brains you're after..."
Well, that was that. I made my excuses and went to sit down with Dorothy and pals and laughed a lot more and got a lot more drunk. And when we left the bar I decided to go to Trash Palace, a Soho nightclub, where I danced for a few hours in between getting groped by random men. This reached it's peak when one man entered the club, walked up to the stage area where I was dancing, put his bag and coat on the floor, and put his hands all over me. I am quite sure I don't dance in a suggestive fashion. It's more a dangerous fashion, with arms flailing about me usually causing a few bruises. But then he did have the look of a doctor about him. Perhaps he was undertaking an intervention...
Saturday was much more civilised. The start of Terese's birthday celebrations with dinner at hers in the company of Mark and Therese (note the "h") and then a trip to nice pub in Mornington Crescent. Given the previous night's overindulgence I took it fairly steadily and ended up getting the last train home. This was good as it meant I could meet Terese, Therese and Mark on Sunday for more celebrating.
Terese's cold was worsening, so were planned to take it easy, but Camden's Bar Solo made sure it was a slow, slow day. Everything was delayed- menus didn't come, orders weren't taken, drinks were delayed and were then served incorrectly, food took an hour to come. What should have taken an hour and a half took 3. And then the bill came and it was horrendously wrong. And after we complained the manageress came up to apologise personally, explaining that one of her waitresses had gone home with an allergic reaction, one had called in sick and the chef was being problematic. I'm sure she understood when we didn't tip for good service.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a pub enjoying each other's company and talking about Swedish things (both Therese and Terese are Swedish). And that's what's giving me something to look forward to this weekend. Eurovision season is starting up again- the Swedish preselection events begin this weekend, and numerous other countries' qualifying heats will occur.
My life is desperate.
Friday was Verity's (a.k.a. Dorothy Brody) birthday, so I met up with her and her friends in a bar in London. All was going well and we were all suitably trolleyed and laughing when a man plonks a drink on the table in front of me. Now, I've seen this man before, but I said nothing. I actually laughed because I was drunk. And then 10 minutes later a tequlia was plonked in front of me without so much as a word. And the 15 minutes later a bottle of water and a bottle of wine. At which point I thought I could go for broke and sit it out for the champagne or go and talk to him.
Turned out he was the bar manager. As he handed me a beer, he asked me what I did for a living. "I am currently looking for work", I answered. "What are you looking for?", he asked. "Anything really, I have extensive life experience". "I'm not interested in your life experience", he said with a leer. "Oh," I replied, "so it's not my brains you're after..."
Well, that was that. I made my excuses and went to sit down with Dorothy and pals and laughed a lot more and got a lot more drunk. And when we left the bar I decided to go to Trash Palace, a Soho nightclub, where I danced for a few hours in between getting groped by random men. This reached it's peak when one man entered the club, walked up to the stage area where I was dancing, put his bag and coat on the floor, and put his hands all over me. I am quite sure I don't dance in a suggestive fashion. It's more a dangerous fashion, with arms flailing about me usually causing a few bruises. But then he did have the look of a doctor about him. Perhaps he was undertaking an intervention...
Saturday was much more civilised. The start of Terese's birthday celebrations with dinner at hers in the company of Mark and Therese (note the "h") and then a trip to nice pub in Mornington Crescent. Given the previous night's overindulgence I took it fairly steadily and ended up getting the last train home. This was good as it meant I could meet Terese, Therese and Mark on Sunday for more celebrating.
Terese's cold was worsening, so were planned to take it easy, but Camden's Bar Solo made sure it was a slow, slow day. Everything was delayed- menus didn't come, orders weren't taken, drinks were delayed and were then served incorrectly, food took an hour to come. What should have taken an hour and a half took 3. And then the bill came and it was horrendously wrong. And after we complained the manageress came up to apologise personally, explaining that one of her waitresses had gone home with an allergic reaction, one had called in sick and the chef was being problematic. I'm sure she understood when we didn't tip for good service.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in a pub enjoying each other's company and talking about Swedish things (both Therese and Terese are Swedish). And that's what's giving me something to look forward to this weekend. Eurovision season is starting up again- the Swedish preselection events begin this weekend, and numerous other countries' qualifying heats will occur.
My life is desperate.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
