This weekend I will mostly be doing nothing

My Easter break has kicked off early, due entirely to working both days last weekend. So as of this morning, I am free. Until Tuesday morning. It has, of course, in the greatest British bank holiday tradition, started raining. Heavily. The TV is full of 10% off adverts for Homebase and images of families decorating/gardening/travelling/visiting stately homes (delete as appropriate) together. The most concerning news for me, however (apart from Brian Wilde sadly passing away) has been that Crown have sought to make odour-free paints.

The smell of emulsion is one of the defining points of my childhood, as I remember the outrage when my parents decided to stop wallpapering the house and paint the walls instead. Ahh yes, the joys of ripping off whole sheets of wallpaper from the skirting board to the ceiling. And the torture of having to remove the final scraps seemingly welded to the wall. No mean feat for a nail-biter like myself.

Anyway, the smell of paint. Generally to reduce it, we tended to open windows and doors, which also ensured that the paint dried that much quicker. So, does this development of odour-free paint reveal anything about British society? Are we so nannied that we cannot survive with the smell of paint for a couple of hours? Are we afraid to open our doors and windows even when we are in the house? Do we all simply have too much money to indulge in these extravagances?

I ask only as these questions have been laying on my mind thanks to the wonderful, if slightly concerning BBC3 programme ‘Freaky Eaters‘ - in which a psychologist and nutritionist try (and generally succeed) to get people with aversions to types of food to overcome these problems and become rounded, valuable members of society. When I say aversions to food, I don’t just mean they dislike broccoli (who doesn’t?), but they will have lived 26 years (as the guy on it last night did) eating only biscuits and chocolate bars (somehow he had become head chef at an Italian restaurant), or the woman who ate only bread and tinned soups, or the guy who had only eaten meat since the age of four. They had never tasted cheese. Or vegetables. Or fish.

How is this possible? With the exception of the States, where most individual rights (and wrongs) are permissible, I cannot imagine that a show would be seen as anything other than a comedy - the victims/patients are lauded for trying a sliver of orange (or banana, as they are not the only fruit), and we get o watch them gagging as they try potato or cabbage for the first time. It was suggested last night that the psychological issues that underpin these aversions are similar to those that we Westerners would feel if presented with locusts or scorpions (I have images of the banquet scene from Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom here), although these also play on Western antipathy towards all things creepy-crawly (and I wonder where that comes from, as there are very few poisonous/dangerous arthropods in Europe). Orientalism?

I myself was a fussy eater when younger, and speaking with the true zealousness of one converted to eating almost anything now, going hungry helps in this. If there is nothing else to eat, you will eat it. Unless, of course, you have an allergy to it, or it is broccoli. My thought would have been that if my child ate only biscuits, do not keep biscuits in the house. Although, obviously it is much easier to give in to these demands, or to assume it is a phase they are going through (not in the 10cc sense), the issue is that my generation has been the first in which it has been possible to defer growing up almost indefinitely (well, till 30-something at least), and, in fact there are whole facets of industries geared up just to this Peter Pan like obsession with our childhoods - DVDs of TV shows, School Disco, constant evenings of nostalgia on TV, re-releases of sweets and chocolate bars (I am convinced that it is only the over-30’s who buy Star Bars and Party Rings), and reissues of Star Wars toys, Marvel comics, etc. Essentially you can now relive (or even create) your childhood in its entirety at a higher cost and with slightly better quality than 20-odd years ago. Or, indeed, you can simply never leave it in the first place.

9 F00-65036 ROYAL AUCLAIR 10-11-01

Joe Tizzard Paul Nicholls
Second to Hedgehunter under a big weight in 2005. Same owner as Cheltenham Gold Cup winner Kauto Star. Will relish the likely fast ground.
Rating: 7/10 Odds: 40-1

No chance of me winning the sweepstake at work this year, then. This is the first year I actually feel like having a bet on the Grand National - 4 years working at a famous bookmakers put me off gambling in general, but as Point Barrow is so clearly going to win this year’s race, and at 9/1 at present, it must be worth a punt.

The news here is full of the end of Prince William’s break-up - suicide bombers in Morocco have been relegated to second place, and the issues the anti-Putinists in both the UK and Russia are experiencing are way down the list.

And this little story filled me with an immense amount of hope and joy, especially taken alongside my current reading material.

The Renegade Master

Back once again from Ashby de la Zouch and a visit to the National Forest - didn’t know we had one, but it is a far better way of reclaiming former collieries and other disused industrial sites than simply filling them with household waste…

So a couple of other quick things before I put the washing on and disappear out for the day to Southall to top up my sunburn and try to buy a shower curtain. March’s CD is done - post if you want a copy…. This month’s coffee is Yemeni, brought back by my dear nephews from the plantation itself near Sana’a following their recent sojourn there - I may be travelling there later in the year…

Oh yeah, Portsmouth beat Manchester United to throw the Premiership race wide open, and Tiger blew the US Masters. And I saw the last 30 minutes of Mel Gibson’s ‘The Passion of Christ’ - visually stunning, but far too Catholic altogether for my tastes. Although I would like to watch the whole film to see just how outrageous his portrayal of the other religious and racial groups is. I also had issues distinguishing it from ‘The Life of Brian’ at time, and frequently expected this kind of silliness to erupt:

Blah blah blah

To this tune:

No inspiration today, save the wonderful ‘100 most annoying pop songs we love to hate’ on BBC3 last night (and last Saturday). Number one was, rather unsurpisingly, Celine Dion with that awful song from Titanic. ‘Angels’ by Robbie Williams was also in the top five (on the basis that drunken English men throughout the world insist on singing it at karaoke). This beauty, by Trio, didn’t make the list (as far as I know - I missed numbers 100-87 last week and 50-32 yesterday).

Fareham Shopping Centre

is not a place I frequent. In fact, my visit there on Saturday must be the first in 15 years (it is at least 12 since I have been in Fareham at all). It had not changed. The lighting has improved. The signs are now of early noughties vintage, rather than the late 70’s/early 80’s when it was built. Many of the same shops are there. BHS - how they are still in business, I don’t know - the only remaining member of the great C&A, Littlewoods and BHS triumverate that defined the British High Street for many 30-somethings as children. Is there really still such a passion for badly designed polyester clothing? The labyrinthine nature of the shopping centre as a whole remained, along with the small specialist shops that pervade in the less popular passageways - do people really go to a shopping centre to buy double glazing, or insurance, or Chinese medicine? There was no Starbucks. No Gap. No Uniqlo. No H&M. There were bubble perms. There were cheap gold earrings. There were an excessive number of tattoos. And I’m sure I saw at least one shellsuit. It was a step back to the way provincial Britain and my life used to be prior to 1997.

Estrada

Away this weekend. Enjoy.

Not much to write about

apart from expressing my admiration for Tim Robinson’s Connemara - up for numerous Irish literary prizes, this book manages to combine history, geology, biology, folklore, literature in a beautifully evocative picture of this small part of the west of Ireland - the author has lived and worked mapping this part of the world for the last couple of decades, and the depth of understanding of the various processes (historical, meteorological, geological and so on) that go to shape this most peripheral part of Europe combined with his eye for small cultural details (he frequently deviates from the grand narrative to engage the reader in some village gossip, or in an old folk story) ensure that the area truly comes alive.

Bar Frankfurt Calypso

was the name of the bar just round the corner from the hotel. The sign was black lettering on an orange background. In three different fonts. “Bar” was normal. In Arial, perhaps. “Frankfurt” followed the standard practice of using Gothic script for a German name. The “Calypso” element was rendered in a wonderful 1970’s style - I have been searching for the font for about 45 minutes now, to no avail. It was bliss. And had evidently not been changed since the bar opened in the late 70’s or early 80’s. An aberration, I thought. Like a kebab house in the provinces. Everywhere, and especially bars, rebrands itself about four times a week in the UK, and in a major cosmopolitan European city, it must be at least twice a day, if not more frequent. Then there was another. Not the same style, but from the same period. And another. In fact, apart from international brands - Habitat, Starbucks, FNAC, etc, most of the businesses seemed to be small concerns with no desire or need to change their image. Even the Keisy supermarkets make very little effort:

Yet despite this anti-branding, there is a conciousness to the naming of businesses. German and Austrian names are prevalent - especially for bars and restaurants - Frankfurt, Duesseldorf and Innsbruck all appeared at least once, and not one of the bars seemed to have any particular Teutonic influence save the name. I imagine it is due to the fact that Germans were the first real mass tourists in Europe, and must have got to Barcelona in large numbers in the late 1960’s.

Babe,

I’m back again… As Take That sang in one of their unforgettable mid-90’s classics. No blogging proper today - masses of work to do, and then exciting football of the highest order tonight. So in the meantime, an list of things to help me remember what to write about in the next few days:

1. Barcelona
2. Sevilla beating Barcelona
3. Bar signs
4. Cars with their roofs (or should that be rooves?) removed
5. British weather
6. Pork products
7. Irish placelore
8. Good urban design

How are you? My name is Ekaterina.

“Hi!

How are you? My name is Ekaterina. I from Russia, city Cheboksary. To me 28 years. I shall tell to you about myself a little.

I corresponded with the man from the your country before. His name Mark. He is from your country. We had a long correspondence and Mark wanted, that I have arrived to him in the your country that I have seen what life there. We have together submitted the statement on reception of the visa in your country! Mark spoke, that will help my in our meeting. I thought, that have met on the Internet the love.

I and Mark made the big plans for the future, but in a flash all has changed. From the moment of submission of the statement for the application of the visa has passed 5 months. For these five months there was for what I least waited. Mark informed, that his former wife has returned to him and lives together with him. Soon they should get married. And now in Mark plans there is no me. I wrote to him some times after that, but Mark have wished me only good luck in the further searches worthy men and have told, that our ways miss. And in October to me there has come the invitation in embassy behind reception of the visa.

In the beginning I wanted to throw out the invitation in embassy. To me it was sad, because my dreams were failed, I have nobody to fly in the your country. But my uncle have dissuaded me from resolute actions and have told, that else there is a chance to find worthy the man and to use the visa to a meeting with him. I well know English and practically I have visa your country. My uncle speaks, that it really solves many problems.

Approximately in 7 days the visa will be ready, and I should go to Moscow behind reception of the visa. I write to you because in my heart there is an empty seat. I do not search rich or poor. I search careful and responsible man which wants to enjoy a life together. Is this person you? I think, that I ask not much. I have told to you a little about my life. I have told not all about myself, but it will be easier to me to write about myself if you will ask questions which interest you. I have told to you my history, and now I shall look forward to hearing from you with impatience. Write to me! I shall send you more photo in the following letter. I wait you answer. Ekaterina.

P.S. I shall answer with pleasure if you write to me.”

Funny, in the previous 463 e-mails I received like this, her name was Natasha…