so many high points to this performance by Aussie John.... The temporary sheepishness following his stumble to check if anyone noticed and to regain composure - quickly replaced by the inate rock god within, the head banging that's so fast the camera can barely keep up, and the finishing touches of discreet rock horns and polite applause for the band... All the time ably assisted by wingman Paul, as an entire row of semi-comatose pensioners wonder what the hell's going on in the background.
John, I salute you. You are the master, and I a mere pupil.
Monday, December 31, 2007
Helen and Lee's wedding
So, back in London town after a lovely week back at home... On Saturday we attended the wedding of what I can now refer to as "The Goudies"... It's only the second wedding of a friend I've been to, thanks in part to our refusal to grow up and assume adult responsibilities, and it was a fantastic day. They got the mix just right, in that the wedding service lasted all of 20 minutes and the drinking 9 hours....
Helped in no small part by the band, who are normally fixtures at the Limelight in Belfast rather than weddings/bar mitzvahs, there were some spectacular moves being pulled on the dancefloor. I managed to capture two of the highlights - John rawking out to "Last Night" by the Strokes, and Lee facing down a challenge to a dance off towards the end of the night. It says a lot for the man that he still had it in him to pull of some pretty good shapes at almost 1am - although on this day of all days, there was never any doubt that he would get the girl at the end. I particularly like the way that Helen, having wafted in from Stage Left to greet her all conquering hero like a demure angel, then flashes a little rock horn at the very end to give her man the respect he deserved.
Cheers for a great day guys, and congratulations.
Helped in no small part by the band, who are normally fixtures at the Limelight in Belfast rather than weddings/bar mitzvahs, there were some spectacular moves being pulled on the dancefloor. I managed to capture two of the highlights - John rawking out to "Last Night" by the Strokes, and Lee facing down a challenge to a dance off towards the end of the night. It says a lot for the man that he still had it in him to pull of some pretty good shapes at almost 1am - although on this day of all days, there was never any doubt that he would get the girl at the end. I particularly like the way that Helen, having wafted in from Stage Left to greet her all conquering hero like a demure angel, then flashes a little rock horn at the very end to give her man the respect he deserved.
Cheers for a great day guys, and congratulations.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
I'm daydreaming about travelling
by moseying about on Google Earth... I keep reading things about the far north of Norway and really want to travel by boat up to see the Northern Lights. But then when I get to Kirkenes I'd have to go across to Russia to check that out too.... In fact, I'd love to travel round the entire coast of Russia. Ever since I read one of those adventure books (you know the type - if you want to make 'x' decision turn to page 127, if you want to make 'y' decision turn to page 450) based in the USSR - and Vladivostock in particular - at the age of about 12 I've been fascinated by what it must be like. Flying over Siberia on my way from Japan back to the UK a few years ago just made me want to be on the ground even more - hundreds and hundreds of miles of nothing, punctuated by foreboding concrete buildings in the middle of nowhere... I'm not normally accused of having the most active imagination, but every childhood daydream and romantic notion I have about far flung spots seems rooted in the remote wilderness of Siberia. Conveniently there is also a range of active volcanoes down near the Chinese border, so with my lovely girlfriend in tow it is marginally more likely to happen than it has been in the past. Marginally.
Irn Bru Snowman
I only saw this for the first time today on quality time-wasting channel "Dave". There just aren't enough Scottish adverts on English telly (sod Carling - I want Tennents!)
Somehow this puts me in the Christmas mood more than most things, whilst simultaneously making me want to buy tooth-rottingly sweet garish soft drinks
Somehow this puts me in the Christmas mood more than most things, whilst simultaneously making me want to buy tooth-rottingly sweet garish soft drinks
Friday, December 14, 2007
Now that's what I call.....
.....Christmas!!!
Currently downloading a raft of tunes to provide suitable ambiance for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. It's become a bit of a tradition for my group of mates to meet up near Christmas and celebrate the festive season/get hideously drunk in a safe and comfortable environment.
As my starting point, I have downloaded just about every song from the original "Now that's what I call Christmas" cassette, which is still just about going strong back at my mum's house and has provided the soundtrack to Christmas for as far back as I can remember. I just need to hear Wings or John and Yoko and am instantly transported back to the build up to the big day in the late 80s/early 90s, as the excitement built up for what seemed like an eternity, with more and more presents arriving under the tree and my sister and I trying to "subtly" find out which were ours and work out what could be inside.
These days of course, technology has progressed a little from the good old cassette and this year's selection is going to be on my Ipod (due to CDs only holding 24 tracks - rubbish). I've gone for some classier stuff along with the cheese so we'll have a bit of Frank and Dean and a bit of Louis Armstrong as well to while away the wait for dinner - which seems to take as long to cook these days as Christmas day did to arrive when I was a kid.
I just hope I don't get mugged on the way to Helen's house - the shock and feeling of injustice would only be outweighed by embarrassment as the mugger stuck on my tunes to discover Slade and Cliff Richard blaring out.....
As a further reason to celebrate, J found out today that she has got her dream job! She starts as a lab assistant in a Geotechnical consultancy on the 2nd of January. She bloody deserves it.
Currently downloading a raft of tunes to provide suitable ambiance for our Christmas dinner tomorrow. It's become a bit of a tradition for my group of mates to meet up near Christmas and celebrate the festive season/get hideously drunk in a safe and comfortable environment.
As my starting point, I have downloaded just about every song from the original "Now that's what I call Christmas" cassette, which is still just about going strong back at my mum's house and has provided the soundtrack to Christmas for as far back as I can remember. I just need to hear Wings or John and Yoko and am instantly transported back to the build up to the big day in the late 80s/early 90s, as the excitement built up for what seemed like an eternity, with more and more presents arriving under the tree and my sister and I trying to "subtly" find out which were ours and work out what could be inside.
These days of course, technology has progressed a little from the good old cassette and this year's selection is going to be on my Ipod (due to CDs only holding 24 tracks - rubbish). I've gone for some classier stuff along with the cheese so we'll have a bit of Frank and Dean and a bit of Louis Armstrong as well to while away the wait for dinner - which seems to take as long to cook these days as Christmas day did to arrive when I was a kid.
I just hope I don't get mugged on the way to Helen's house - the shock and feeling of injustice would only be outweighed by embarrassment as the mugger stuck on my tunes to discover Slade and Cliff Richard blaring out.....
As a further reason to celebrate, J found out today that she has got her dream job! She starts as a lab assistant in a Geotechnical consultancy on the 2nd of January. She bloody deserves it.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Mistletoe and Wine
ah, Christmas.... a mere fortnight away no less. Wasn't it only last Thursday we were having our annual moan about how the shops are starting to sell Christmas cheer earlier every year?
Christmas this year in the Chomper household is going to be a quiet affair, and all the better for it - we've limited ourselves to one present each and are instead going to focus on chilling out and getting drunk. Initially I thought this would take all the stress out of the pre-Chrimbo run in, with fewer present ideas to bandy about. Alas, it has proven otherwise, as now all the pressure is on choosing the right gift from the range of options available. Normally, due to my fortuitous monthly pay day on the 18th, I am relatively flush with cash in the last week before the big day, and thus can afford to run about buying everything on people's wish lists, saving myself the hassle of making any decisions whatsoever, whilst simultaneously covering every base and looking downright generous to boot.
My own present list - which my mum insists on - is looking decidedly more mature than in previous years, no doubt connected to my passing the crest of the hill in October and cultivating more grey hairs than is possible to count on my head these days. Previous years saw a range of cds by popular beat combos, stupid books, gadgets and a variety of other stuff place themselves firmly at the front of my brain screaming "you need me!". This year, all I would like is (one of) a new bag for work, a teach-yourself-Polish CD, a new wallet, or a lead to connect my PC to my telly. Rock, and indeed, roll. It reminds me of the year I couldn't think of anything to buy my dad for Christmas and ended up buying him a belt.
All this Christmas present thought reminds me of when I was a kid, and a gullible kid to boot - I firmly believed in the presence of the big man until I was at least 11 or 12. Old enough, at any rate, to enter secondary school still too scared to waken up in the middle of the night for fear of disturbing him. Of course, things were simpler back then, and kids didn't grow up as fast as they do now, although I think perhaps I grew up a bit slower than most. But then, there was the proof - the mince pie eaten and whisky drunk; the muddy boot prints leading up to our back door on Christmas morning (given the lack of snow in those pre-Global warming days).
I remember once coming downstairs to my parents at some ungodly hour (probably about 9.30pm) on Christmas Eve, totally stressed that I couldn't get to sleep. What would happen if Santa came and I was asleep? Pretending wouldn't fool him - if he could communicate with Robin Redbreasts to find out if you were behaving, he could sure as hell tell if you were pretending to be asleep when he squeezed his fat belly down the chimney. Thankfully my mum, who I think was friends with Santa or at least had met him, had the solution, and my stocking was removed from the end of my bed and placed in the living room, at the opposite end of the house to me.
Poor old Santa got a rough deal from me on more than one occasion - and my parents were the ones who had to sit there, consoling their only son on Christmas morning and I wailed about the unfairness of it all that Santa hadn't got me exactly what I wanted. I mean, to me he was something like first cousin once removed from Jesus, and therefore should be telepathic as well as capable of commandeering 6 reindeer and a sleigh big enough to carry presents for all of the Western world.
So, one year I asked for a radio. I got a radio. I cried. What I actually wanted was a radio with a cassette player on it like my sister's - I mean, surely Santa would have realised that? My parents were there to console me. As they were the year I asked for a guitar. Santa bought me a guitar - a very beautiful child's size acoustic guitar, that would no doubt have cost an absolute fortune if it had been bought in a local shop rather than manufactured in an elven sweatshop at the North Pole. Again, I was gutted. I wanted an electric guitar, not an acoustic one. Surely Santa would have realised that? Again, my parents were there to comfort me and explain that, from what I'd written in my letter, Santa probably thought that he'd got me the right thing. Poor old Santa - I'm just glad he wasn't there to hear me whinge and moan and be genuinely distraught that these lovingly bought presents hadn't gone down as well as he no doubt thought and hoped they would when he chose them. And I want to take this opportunity to apologise for being such an ungrateful, naive little shit for not appreciating them the way I should - they were amazing presents and I was incredibly privileged to grow up in an environment where I could act like such a little snotrag over the "wrong type" of very expensive present.
Of course, the fact these two episodes came to me years later as I thought back and cringed about them only goes to demonstrate how wonderful all my Christmases were growing up. I was one of those kids who were fortunate enough to be in a position where, if I asked Santa or my parents for a "big" present, I generally got it. I still have all my Christmas presents from over the years - from my Scalextric, to my remote control car, to my "Manta Force" (an early and disgraceful example of marketing to kids via their classroom which I shall explain at some point), my Amiga, my Nintendo - even my stereo, which I got (I think) when I was 11 years old, and is still pumping out the tunes in my bedroom as I speak. I loved them all, even the radio and the guitar, and with hindsight wish I'd made that more clear.
I'm waiting for payback when I have kids.
and, erm, have to give feedback to Santa.
Christmas this year in the Chomper household is going to be a quiet affair, and all the better for it - we've limited ourselves to one present each and are instead going to focus on chilling out and getting drunk. Initially I thought this would take all the stress out of the pre-Chrimbo run in, with fewer present ideas to bandy about. Alas, it has proven otherwise, as now all the pressure is on choosing the right gift from the range of options available. Normally, due to my fortuitous monthly pay day on the 18th, I am relatively flush with cash in the last week before the big day, and thus can afford to run about buying everything on people's wish lists, saving myself the hassle of making any decisions whatsoever, whilst simultaneously covering every base and looking downright generous to boot.
My own present list - which my mum insists on - is looking decidedly more mature than in previous years, no doubt connected to my passing the crest of the hill in October and cultivating more grey hairs than is possible to count on my head these days. Previous years saw a range of cds by popular beat combos, stupid books, gadgets and a variety of other stuff place themselves firmly at the front of my brain screaming "you need me!". This year, all I would like is (one of) a new bag for work, a teach-yourself-Polish CD, a new wallet, or a lead to connect my PC to my telly. Rock, and indeed, roll. It reminds me of the year I couldn't think of anything to buy my dad for Christmas and ended up buying him a belt.
All this Christmas present thought reminds me of when I was a kid, and a gullible kid to boot - I firmly believed in the presence of the big man until I was at least 11 or 12. Old enough, at any rate, to enter secondary school still too scared to waken up in the middle of the night for fear of disturbing him. Of course, things were simpler back then, and kids didn't grow up as fast as they do now, although I think perhaps I grew up a bit slower than most. But then, there was the proof - the mince pie eaten and whisky drunk; the muddy boot prints leading up to our back door on Christmas morning (given the lack of snow in those pre-Global warming days).
I remember once coming downstairs to my parents at some ungodly hour (probably about 9.30pm) on Christmas Eve, totally stressed that I couldn't get to sleep. What would happen if Santa came and I was asleep? Pretending wouldn't fool him - if he could communicate with Robin Redbreasts to find out if you were behaving, he could sure as hell tell if you were pretending to be asleep when he squeezed his fat belly down the chimney. Thankfully my mum, who I think was friends with Santa or at least had met him, had the solution, and my stocking was removed from the end of my bed and placed in the living room, at the opposite end of the house to me.
Poor old Santa got a rough deal from me on more than one occasion - and my parents were the ones who had to sit there, consoling their only son on Christmas morning and I wailed about the unfairness of it all that Santa hadn't got me exactly what I wanted. I mean, to me he was something like first cousin once removed from Jesus, and therefore should be telepathic as well as capable of commandeering 6 reindeer and a sleigh big enough to carry presents for all of the Western world.
So, one year I asked for a radio. I got a radio. I cried. What I actually wanted was a radio with a cassette player on it like my sister's - I mean, surely Santa would have realised that? My parents were there to console me. As they were the year I asked for a guitar. Santa bought me a guitar - a very beautiful child's size acoustic guitar, that would no doubt have cost an absolute fortune if it had been bought in a local shop rather than manufactured in an elven sweatshop at the North Pole. Again, I was gutted. I wanted an electric guitar, not an acoustic one. Surely Santa would have realised that? Again, my parents were there to comfort me and explain that, from what I'd written in my letter, Santa probably thought that he'd got me the right thing. Poor old Santa - I'm just glad he wasn't there to hear me whinge and moan and be genuinely distraught that these lovingly bought presents hadn't gone down as well as he no doubt thought and hoped they would when he chose them. And I want to take this opportunity to apologise for being such an ungrateful, naive little shit for not appreciating them the way I should - they were amazing presents and I was incredibly privileged to grow up in an environment where I could act like such a little snotrag over the "wrong type" of very expensive present.
Of course, the fact these two episodes came to me years later as I thought back and cringed about them only goes to demonstrate how wonderful all my Christmases were growing up. I was one of those kids who were fortunate enough to be in a position where, if I asked Santa or my parents for a "big" present, I generally got it. I still have all my Christmas presents from over the years - from my Scalextric, to my remote control car, to my "Manta Force" (an early and disgraceful example of marketing to kids via their classroom which I shall explain at some point), my Amiga, my Nintendo - even my stereo, which I got (I think) when I was 11 years old, and is still pumping out the tunes in my bedroom as I speak. I loved them all, even the radio and the guitar, and with hindsight wish I'd made that more clear.
I'm waiting for payback when I have kids.
and, erm, have to give feedback to Santa.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
I'm having a beer
Normally on a Sunday I would be stressing at this moment, as it would no doubt have been my 6th of the day and 20-somethingth of the weekend. But thanks to a lack of funds and a new found sense of boringness that has manifested itself since October, it is my 3rd. Something much nicer about relaxing on my bed, beer in hand and watching the football, than forcing pint after pint of water down my neck in a desperate attempt to avoid waking in the middle of the night with sweats, dehydration and heart palpatations... Being old and boring rocks.
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