Wednesday, 30 January 2008
Tuesday, 29 January 2008
Watched the emotive documentary Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives last night - a weirder and more tricksier combination you could never hope to encounter. Alt rock met alt physics and quantum mechanics as E, singer in Eels, goes on an emotional journey to uncover his father, Hugh Everett III, and his parallel worlds theory. Splitting atoms, emotional distances, fractured personalities and off-key melodies of great wonder are all featured in this splendid film - it's on repeat on BBC 4 and is well worth the heavy subject matter. Makes me glad I was on nothing stronger than mussels in a Sicilian sauce, otherwise my head would have definitely gone all fuzzy with the quantum mechanics and emotional turbulence.
Friday, 25 January 2008
I've been a bad old blogger of late. Trying to get my head around the craziness of local government, interspersed with rediscovering old Bob Dylan (New Morning is just beautiful, plus the best song about chauvinism ever, The Man In Me), and orienting myself around Grimsby (am yet to find the posh bit), whilst interviewing John Shuttleworth and trawling through Creative Writing handouts and catflap implementation instructions (in some kind of Scandanavian language). Manic, then.
A mate of mine who has also been snaffled up by the crazy world of PR e-lamented me the other day. "What has happened to us??" he exclaimed, as I told him I was off to a 'stakeholder and public engagement' course in Sheffield. I've been having that internal conversation quite a bit of late. On an equalities and diversity (none of this lark in provincial journalism, I tell ya) seminar, I heard the phrases: "We'll have to drill up to the next level on that" and "grasp the nettle of public conception" without even an acknowledgement that that is, frankly, bobbins. Today, in further hi-jinks, I was taking photographs of dignitaries dwarfed by a giant organ (Grimsby Town Hall's brass one)
Reading: GB84 - David Peace; Saturday - Ian McEwan
Listening: LCD Soundsystem; Burial; Johnny Rivers (he of Secret Agent Man fame
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
I've started a new creative writing course. The last one in Hull was like a giant Relate meeting, with divorcees writing pieces like "Why???" and "Old". But this one, in the splendid atmosphere of Barton's Ropery (long and thin and full of ropes) looks promising. The tutor, Nick, has actually written stuff, for a start. Our first two-hour session involved writing a blurb for our proposed novel. Mine, printed below, contains usual Lozisms - chips, queues, pebble-dash and dashed dreams, beer mash and culture clash. Tell me though, would you read this book? If so, I'll have to go and write the blighter.
Saturday, 5 January 2008
Thursday, 3 January 2008
Wednesday, 2 January 2008
Anyone see My Fake Baby on C4 last night? This is the "craze" where people spend thousands of pounds on dolls that resemble babies (and as one of the women said on yesterday's open-mouther, they've got moving toes and heartbeats and squints and ASBOs to order). My favourite couple were pictured taking their fake baby to the aquarium, where they pointed out all the crazy rays and sharks to the plastic chubbster. The interviewer asked for the reasons why they hadn't tried for a real baby. "We're the couple that never grew up (like no shit)," they said. "We're having too much fun to have time for a real baby." Cue then, to the fun, which seems to involving knitting baby boots for a fake baby, wheeling the bubba to the park with real mums, and other such japes. Can just see the fun you're having there.