Is it just my imagination, or could this book be seen as slightly self-referential?
No offence intended to the author – I haven’t read the book so I’m not really passing comment, but you can see what I’m driving at, right?
Category: Link Page 33 of 54
… but as you may have noticed, the blog template changed over the weekend.
This is to bring it more in line with the overall colour scheme (that is to say: blue) of my not-quite-revised-yet-but-nearly website, which is shockingly close to ready, I promise, and hopefully will be online by the end of the week.
Hmm, thinking about it, both Stephen Fry and I have revamped our websites within mere weeks of each other. What good company I find I am in.
Do let me know if there are any changes to the blog you feel strongly about (either pro- or anti-), and while I’m on the subject, do hop over and have a look at Mr Fry’s new site.
As I may have mentioned before, I have a bit of radio presenting experience, and I like to think I’m fairly unflappable, and able to keep things afloat when a track doesn’t begin, a jingle goes off when not expected, etc.
But this chap… wow.
Colour me impressed.
Three predominantly IT-based things I wanted to mention…
Don’t Follow Me, I’m Lost Too – as well as being a denim-stylee patch I had on my jeans in the late 1970s, this might well be what I, like Brian Cohen, now have to say, as according to Blogger’s dashboard, this blog has some ‘followers’. Crikey.
Please forgive me if I don’t return the compliment quite yet, I’m running a slightly older template for the blog at the moment, but I like to think I’ll upgrade soon. In the meantime, consider me very flattered and pleased.
Speaking Of Upgrades – This weekend I bought myself a new laptop. And like many writers I am convinced that I finally have the tool I need to capture my words with the appropriate speed and accuracy.
Be it pens or notebooks or formatting software, those of us who like to scribble all too often seem to be on a never-ending quest to find the right item. Truly, writers are a creative, superstitious lot…
And Finally – I’m delighted to see that this very blog is now included in the roll call of writing blogs included in Scribomatic. If you haven’t seen it before, it’s a rather nifty little widget that lists recent posts by all manner of writers, and it’s a fun way to find new blogs and stuff to read. I’ll see about adding it to this blog – probably when I change the template, as mentioned above.
And with that stuff out of the way, it’s on, ON, ON into the week!
In the following flashback to an event from my college years, please imagine the first speaker as rather exasperated, and the second person sounding … well, frankly, exasperating.
Helen: Oh for God’s sake John, I’m fed up with all your pedantisism!
John: Actually, I think the word is pedantry.
Perhaps appallingly, that is an entirely true story.
Anyway, I suspect that alleged trait explains why I find this website so very amusing.
I’ve mentioned the band Kyro before on the blog, and as a quick squint at previous posts will show, I think they kick bottom. And that I’m biased as their lead singer Ian George is a friend of mine.
Well, Kyro are no longer together (they went through a couple of name changes before splitting up, which makes me think of the fate of the band Dead Monkeys in the Monty Python Rock Notes sketch), but Ian is now a solo artist, and crikey o’blimey if he doesn’t have a single, Number One Creation, out in collaboration with the group Remember. Have a look at the video here.
It’s really rather good, isn’t it ? Ian’s the chap at the podium, and I think he carries it off rather well – not just the singing, but looking like he’s hectoring the audience too. Of course I’m biased as he’s a good sort, but on the other hand since when we used to work together we’d try to make each other giggle in meetings by saying “Yeah, I’m dealing with that work Ian’s passed me, but the information’s kind of fragmented and …bitty“, seeing him playing the role so well makes me even more impressed.
Anyway, he’s a very talented singer and musician and a jolly decent chap, and the single’s available to buy from iTunes for the piffling sum of 79p (unfortunately I don’t seem to be able to provide a direct link to that or to embed the video, though that might be my techno-density at work), and I gather it’ll be on Amazon and Napster soon too. So, if you like the video (and what’s not to like? It’s really rather different from so many promos, I think), or the song, or just want to ensure you make it onto my ‘Nice’ list as Christmas approaches, why not buy it?
And if you’re feeling brave, you could even leave a comment on Youtube about the video – but if you do… well, you’re braver than me. Folks who post comments there all too frequently seem determined to make Web 2.0 look like a chimps’ tea party, it seems, so I hope you’ll try to raise the standard.
A quick glance at the column to the right will show the name Stevyn Colgyn, and regular readers will know that I’ve linked to comments and stuff on Steve’s blog before (and he’s reciprocated). What I haven’t directly drawn your attention to yet is the fact that Steve has a book out, called Joined-Up Thinking. Though you might well have guessed that from the picture.
Yes, a real book, with a hardcover and a dustjacket and everything. And I can confidently – and honestly – say that it’s a corking read, as I just finished reading my copy last night; Steve was kind enough to give me a signed (and indeed cartooned) copy a day or so ahead of publication, and even with my slow, finger-across-the-page reading style, I rattled throught it at a good old rate, because it’s fun and addictive stuff, showing all sorts of connections between things which you’d never have known about otherwise (as a huge fan of Twin Peaks, I was delighted to see it connected to Les Miserables, to give but one example).
It’s a lively read, and I heartily recommend it. Try not to be swayed by my bias – Steve’s a thoroughly nice chap, and a friend – because it’s good fun, and Steve writes well, especially when explaining the background to things. Oh, and one short chapter does a great job of debunking a number of urban myths, which I found particularly enjoyable (though maybe that’s because I’m always the first one to hit ‘Reply All’ and type ‘Urban Myth’ when I get one of those e-mails warning me of some unlikely peril, or claiming that I’ll get a gazillion pounds from Bill Gates if I forward it to ten people I know).
You can buy it online – here, for example – and in all good bookshops (yes, and some otherwise shoddy ones as well).
Go on, buy a copy (or more than one), and see why one reviewer referred to the book as ‘Trivia Porn’ (though that’s a better pastime than Porn Trivia – after all, few of us can remember the names of the lighting crew on Naughty Gym Instructors I – VII)…
As well as the previously-announced Brighton date, BBC Writersroom are going to be holding roadshows in Manchester and Cardiff, on Wednesday 26th November and Wednesday 3rd December (respectively).
They’re free to attend, but you have to make sure your name’s on the guest list – for details on how to do that, as well as the specifics of where and when, please click here.
Crikey, just realised that the Cardiff date is a mere day before the Brighton roadshow. I guess the Writersroom tour bus will be driving through the night like the Mystery Machine. Here’s hoping they don’t break down near that old house on the hill where nobody goes any more…
First things first: I don’t advocate cruelty to animals in any way. I’ve been a vegetarian for over half my life, I’m strongly against hunting and the like, and tend to avoid leather and other animal-derived products.
That said, over the past year or so, I’ve come to hate mice with a vengeance. Because they keep making appearances in our home.
Quite how, I’m not too sure, as we live in a second-floor flat, and since the first sighting I’ve gone round stuffing any possible entry points (around water pipes and the like) with steel wool, or that squirty-insulation foam stuff. We’ve invested in supposedly-mega-effective ultrasonic noise emitting things (which made no difference at all), sprinkled peppermint oil so liberally round the place it smells like a Trebor factory, and of course, put down poison; I’m not happy about the last as it means killing them, but the fact is, they’re uninvited, and pests – and besides, the mice take their revenge from beyond the veil by dying in far-flung corners of the flat, so I start and go ‘yahh!’ when I find their lifeless little corpses. Oh yes, it’s quite charming.
Anyway, yesterday, my lovely wife spotted a mouse, which ran into the kitchen and under the fridge. I thought I’d seen one on Sunday night (but hadn’t been sure – it had been late and I was tired, and it could have been a shadow seen out of the corner of my eye), and so I got my torch and some bits of wood and cardboard (one of them a vast replica cheque – don’t ask) and blocked off as well as I could around the fridge. I also got the vacuum cleaner.
Yes, you read that right – but what else was I going to do ? I wasn’t going to stamp on it (if nothing else, they move with incredible speed), or try to bash it with a broom, though this latter’s mainly because I don’t live in a Tom And Jerry cartoon (and for the full effect I’d have to convince Mrs Soanes to jump onto a chair and start screaming, and she was busy doing other stuff).
I shone the torch down the back of the fridge, and saw definite movement – slow and casual, but definitely something living and not just part of the environment; one of the problems with hunting for mice in dark corners is, like watching a spooky film, you find yourself jolting at anything, such as when your torch casts a shadow. It’s quite the cardio workout, but trust me, you’re better off going for a run (which, in fact, was what I was planning to do yesterday evening before Mortimer Mouse came to visit). Anyway, there was definitely something there, so I lined up the cardboard and wood pieces and slowly started to move the fridge away from the wall.
A foot or so out from the wall. Nothing.
A couple of feet out, rotating the fridge on one corner and lifting as I went. Nothing.
I asked Mrs Wife to come and help me, and as I tilted the entire fridge forward she held the doors so they didn’t open and spill all the food and drink onto the floor. Nothing.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “Unless it ran somewhere else – like under the cooker – while I was looking away, it should still be under the fridge. But I’ve moved the fridge right out from the wall now, so…”
“I know,” she replied. “It doesn’t make sense. Unless it – ahhhhhhhhh!”
She pointed, and I looked. Almost casually, the mouse was making its way around the side of the fridge. The little… blighter had clearly moved to stay under the fridge as I lifted it, and only now was it deciding to emerge. And then with a sudden burst of speed, it ran into the cardboard barrier I’d put up.
I don’t know what m’lady did at this point, but I’ll testosteronily admit that I surprised myself at how fast I grabbed the vacuum cleaner and switched it on. To do this, though, I’d had to turn around, so had lost sight of the mouse. Where was it ?
There it was – trying to climb up the side of my oversized cardboard cheque (I said don’t ask, all right?), and I swooped in, the vacuum cleaner on full power.
“Gotcha, you [expletive deleted]!” I shouted with frankly unseemly volume.
And indeed I had got it – we have a very nice vacuum cleaner (much like this one ), which actually has a clear drum to allow you to see inside, and there amidst the grey dust, I could see a small brown mouse. Still alive, but twitching nervously – I understand that mice have a very high resting heart rate, and I can’t imagine that being sucked along a tube about 200 times one’s body length at speed would have calmed it down at all. All things considered, if I was sucked along a 1200 foot tube when I wasn’t expecting it, I reckon we’d be looking at loss of bowel control at the very least.
Still, the mouse was clearly still alive, which I felt better about, though it was startling to realise something so small was the cause of so much disturbance and irritation – though I’d imagine those of you with children are all too familiar with that notion.
“What do you think I should do with it?” I asked.
“Well, we don’t want it in the flat,” replied Mrs Wife.
“No,” I said, “but I’m reluctant to put it in the bin outside the building, it’ll probably just come back in. I mean, I don’t know if they’re that clever, but…”
“… no sense in taking the chance.”
“Exactly.”
I thought for a moment – mainly trying to figure out what to do, but also wondering if my manliness in catching the mouse had impressed her. Probably not, I decided, as it had involved the use of a vacuum cleaner, which is not entirely butch.
Inside the drum of the vacuum cleaner, the mouse was still alive, moving around in the dust.
“I know,” I said, “I’ll take it down the road, find a bin, and empty the cleaner into it. That way, the mouse isn’t likely to come back.”
“That sounds okay,” she said and nodded, “but you’ll look pretty weird walking down the street carrying the vacuum cleaner… then again, you have no shame.”
I do have no shame, that is true. And so it was that last night I walked about half a mile through London’s glittering East End, carrying a vacuum cleaner (and occasionally lifting it up to have a look and make sure that the mouse was still moving). My life, I was reminded, often takes me in unexpected directions.
I did exactly as planned – I found a bin, and emptied the drum of the cleaner into it. And as I did so, I heard a scrabbling sound, so I’m pretty certain that the mouse was still alive. Granted, I don’t know if he’ll survive if the bin is emptied into a dustcart, but I like to think that like Fox Mulder leaving Krycek in a silo, or Johnny Alpha leaving Nelson Bunker Kreelman in a time-loop, survival isn’t an impossibility.
And I walked back home with the hose of the vacuum cleaner slung over my shoulder, trying (and not always succeeding) to resist the temptation to whilst that ‘oo-ee-oo-ee-ooo-wah-wah-WAH’ music from the old Clint Eastwood films. I ignored the stares from people I passed – for, as the laydee said, I have no shame.
But enough about my evening; how the jiggins are you?