SHANE

Shane has moved next door. He's left a key under the matt - help yourself to tea, biscuits and the DVD player.

2007-04-17T11:41:00.000Z

Oh, right, yeah. I had my viva a few months ago. It went well. People asked questions and said nice things. I felt a bit odd afterwards - realised I'd been doctored. Just re-packaged my blogself. Thus:

There's something happening here:

how-you-say-it

...but what it is...

Africa II, or, Whatever happened to summer, or, ‘Discourse and the Psychological Politics of Education’

2006-09-26T11:35:00.000Z

I was just about to zone out with Natalie Portman when the phone rang. At first I thought the caller was some crank. No number had been displayed on the hand-set and there was a lot of background noise. ‘Public payphone, how quaint’, I assumed. No-one spoke. Just at the point of hanging-up, there came the shout of an old chestnut.

Ken: Well done, old bird!
Shane: Oh! It’s you.
Ken: Ok, I can just about hear you, but I want you to repeat that – try sounding pleased this time.
Shane: Ah. (Louder) ‘Kenneth, my sweet! It’s you!’
Ken: Much better.
Shane: Thank you dear. The traffic is very loud.
Ken: (Shouting very loudly) Actually, this isn’t going to work – there’s too much traffic, I’ll call you from the hotel. Give me ten minutes.
Shane: Ok.

‘Oaf’, I thought. Again, the phone rang.

Shane: Hello?
Ken: That’s better. As I was saying, ‘Well done’.
Shane: Thank you again.

The Thesis, of ‘The Thesis Chronicles’

Ken: You handed the thesis in?
Shane: I did - eight chapters, many words, and a few good ideas that will no doubt have a huge cultural impact-
Ken: No doubt-
Shane: No doubt, and that will ultimately change the way in which psychologists and society as a whole really, come to consciously construct what we mean by ‘education’.
Ken: (pause) Sounds hilarious. Are you pleased with it?
Shane: I still think it’s interesting, which is pleasing. It also includes a chapter written as dialogue.
Ken: Which means what exactly?
Shane: There’s a chapter that’s a bit like a serious version of Shane and Ken, on the blog.
Ken: You mean ‘Ken and Shane’, on the blog.
Shane: I probably do, though ‘on the blog’ sounds a bit too much like ‘on the bog’ - and that wouldn’t do.
Ken: No. Did you actually use me?
Shane: ‘Use’ you, Kenneth? Remember, there is you, and there is your name.
Ken: Alright, does ‘Ken’ appear in the thesis?
Shane: No.
Ken: Someone else?
Shane: Er, I suppose.
Ken: Who?!
Shane: Kenneth! Be calm. Your tone is unseemly – note that I am likely to use this conversation for the final blog post.
Ken: You’ve dumped me, haven’t you! “Readers - or ‘reader’ - I feel like I’ve been dumped. In my absence, he’s been dialoguing with another…” Is it a man or a woman?
Shane: It is ‘George’ – not a real person.
Ken: Unreal indeed - you have another man! The shame!
Shane: I didn’t say that George was a man.
Ken: I still feel cheated. Cheater!
Shane: (Amused) What if I said, ‘I was with dialoguing with George, but I was thinking of you’.
Ken: And what if I said ‘Shane, you can fuck off’-
Shane: Alright, that’s a bit hardcore – like I said, ‘final blog post, Kenny boy, final blog post’.
Ken: Forgive me, I saw red - ‘George’ (effects mock spitting noise). When’s the viva?
Shane: Don’t know yet. I’ve asked that it be arranged for before Christmas, but we’ll be led by when the examiners are available – could be anything from two to six months, from what I’ve heard.
Ken: Bloody hell. Still, you’re so close.
Shane: All being well.
Ken: How do you feel?
Shane: Tired, relieved -
Ken: Relieved - maybe ‘on the bog’ is appropriate then.
Shane: That’s poor, even by your pitiful standards.
Ken: Forgive me again, I’m relaxed and I’m having fun.
Shane: Good. Say more.

Ken is having fun

Ken: Morocco is hot and sunny and not at all like London, and, (conspiratorially) I have a new friend.
Shane: Ah bless you, oh hapless wonder-boy.
Ken: Would you like to hear more?
Shane: I suspect you’re about to tell me more.
Ken: I met her on the beach. She commented on my pile of books.
Shane: Sounds sweet.
Ken: We got talking, and then I loaned her my Bel Canto.
Shane: You’re such a lad.
Ken: We met at the same spot two days later – that was Friday. Good day all round, Friday. Spent the whole day, and the next, together. And I’m meeting her again later tonight.
Shane: A fine romance?
Ken: And some!
Shane: The term ‘blimey’ springs to mind. You are no longer a man for messing about, are you? You got over the Portsmouth fiasco quickly.
Ken: That was a… that was only ever… that… that doesn’t matter now. ‘Ships that pass in the night’ and all that. The point is that this one’s different – in a good way.
Shane: Mm-hm?
Ken: I know it might sound a bit cringe-worthy –

Shane senses that Ken is about to spook him

Shane: I’m feeling nervous here, Kenneth, I’m sensing ‘not goodness’.
Ken: No, no, it’s fine. She’s clever, very clever – and seems totally sincere, and, get this - she looks like Pamela Anderson.
Shane: (Sharply) Jesus Christ!
Ken: What?
Shane: I just spilled tea on myself.
Ken: My fault?
Shane: Pamela’s. Bollocks, that hurt.
Ken: Dab yourself.
Shane: I’m dabbing, Kenneth, I’m dabbing. You were saying?
Ken: What was I saying?
Shane: Pamela Anderson – doesn’t really fit with my image of ‘Morocco’.
Ken: She’s called Kim. She’s only 20-
Shane: Whoaaa!
Ken: I know. Her Dad’s working for the government – she was a bit vague, but it sounds like he’s some kind of economist. They’re Belgian.
Shane: Belgian?! Kenny, what are you doing with a Belgian, and a very young one at that?
Ken: (Laughs) Well! Let me tell you! After we met up again, we came back here –
Shane: Enough! My stomach is delicate, and a romping Kenny would be too much right now. She does sound very impressive though, and you sound happy.
Ken: I am.
Shane: Good. And very much because of a girl with political connections – interesting stuff, the sort of thing that would go down well, I imagine.
Ken: (Sniggers) Good choice of words.
Shane: Eh? Oh, vile creature.
Ken: (Amused) Enough about me – what’s next for you?

Imminent whatnot

Shane: I’m travelling back up to the proper job tomorrow, then I’ll be dropping back into the Midlands - approximately monthly - for the arts council work.
Ken: Still busy then?
Shane: Very much so. I’ve had a couple of other jobs suggested to me, but I just want a fairly ploddy couple of months – need to recharge. It’s been a heavy summer.
Ken: But you’ll be having a break, now that you’ve handed-in?
Shane: Not properly, not yet. I’m at Emma’s. Young Alex is livelier than ever - quite sapping, though he’s becoming quite a wit. He’s good at arguing – which can be a nuisance, but it’s highly entertaining - in a ‘five year old politico’ sort of way.
Ken: Spending time with Emma – must be the first time in quite a while.
Shane: Yeah, we’ve hardly seen each other over the summer.
Ken: Trouble at mill?
Shane: Milling feeling quite unfamiliar.
Ken: Maybe a break would do you both some good.
Shane: Maybe it would.
Ken: Or a break-up?
Shane: Whoosh! Beat not about the bush, eh?
Ken: ‘Show me the spark’, that’s all I’m saying. Choose life. Choose Morocco.
Shane: Thank you, Professor Ken, I will bear your Baywatch-inspired teachings in mind as I ‘chase the spark’.
Ken: I’m back on the first of October, I’ll come up and see you, if you like. Are you still at the shared house?
Shane: Yeah - still sharing with the Polish chemist, Bosnian engineer and bloke from Liverpool. They’re not quite Pete and Marie, but they’re good eggs. I’ll be there until the end of the job contract - January or February.
Ken: Then?
Shane: I’ll be relocating. Don’t know where yet.
Ken: No rest.
Shane: ‘Regular positive change’.

That blogging business

Ken: So if you make a blog post out of this conversation, will that definitely be it for blogging?
Shane: In terms of ‘the thesis chronicles dot blogspot’, yes, barring perhaps a post-viva one-liner. The blog was originally set-up in relation to an incomplete thesis – that’s now sorted – ironically, part in thanks to a big break from blogging.
Ken: You did what you set out to do.
Shane: Mm, I suppose I did.
Ken: We can call that a happy ending.
Shane: ‘We’, Kenneth?
Ken: You know you sound very domineering when you talk like that.
Shane: And I think that’s a ‘Goodbye Kenneth’.
Ken: (Laughing) Good timing. I need to prepare myself - I feel that a very special evening lies ahead.
Shane: Give my regards to Pammy.
Ken: I will. I’ll let you know when to expect me.
Shane: Ok, see y’.

And that was that.

Thank you for reading, and thank you to those who left comments here in the past - they were hugely appreciated.

Good wishes to you.

One Year Later (the last-but-one post… and at 1578 words, it's far too long)

2005-12-20T14:00:00.000Z

Ordered as per their arrival in the comments box (ish) (see previous post):-

Was it something we said?

Whether that’s the blog-royal ‘we’ that you refer to, or not, the answer is no.

Will you still read (and pass comment on) other blogs? (Yes yes, it all *has* to come back to me)

I will read, commenting will be rare.

[Huw...] Assuming you were fairly ignorant of blogs 12 months ago, what are your overall impressions now, what (if anything) will you take away, what (if anything) did you learn? Do you have any blogging regrets? [And from the Lord…] Do a blog related post - what you learnt, whether it changed your view on anything, that sort of thing.

I was blog-ignorant 12 months ago. Blogging, I can now take or leave. At one point, probably about 6 months ago, I was spending far too much time doing the blog thing. I imagine that 'personal blogging' whilst out in the sticks is a very different experience to blogging in the city - a subtle point related to sharing social and environmental reference points with readers.

What do I take from having blogged? I regard blogs as very useful tools that can serve many various personal and professional ends. And the reason for that? The people behind them.

What did I learn? A lot. Learned stuff about myself (a bit Freudian, a bit personal development-ish - or at least 'barriers to...'). Learned stuff about social attitudes. As a massive corpus of blogs, I used to find the north American 'stay at home mom' blogs to be fascinating, peculiar and spooky. It's often hard to avoid guessing stuff about bloggers beyond what they write. It's also interesting to me to consider the massively diverse reasons for, or functions of, blogging (see previous paragraph). And as with everyone else, whilst good writing is good writing and a that is a that, there are genres of blog that I hook into more easily than others.

Regrets? A few minor ones. There were a couple of occasions earlier this year when I - yes, gentle I - should have taken more care when conversing with unfamiliars far far from here. I think I 'mis-perceived' one blogger's comfort with regards to their receiving direct questioning on sensitive subjects. Needless to say, I well and truly offended them. Not intended, not good. They hollered, I thought 'Oh b****cks' and replied, all was well again. Other than that, there were times when I wished I hadn't set out with pseudonym and there were occasions when the fairly hit-and-miss attention-deficit style of writing here was perturbing. But hey ho, it's nice to draw an arc through all of this in a way that marks exactly one year of writing. I've a mini-history of yearly cycles... horse-riding, piano lessons, NVQ witchcraft, you know how it is...

[Huw...] How will Ken react to his life no longer being chronicled do you think? Is there any scope for The Vegan Files dot blogspot? Or is he not like that? [And from Hoss…] I, too, would like to know what's to become of Ken. And are you going to South Africa? [And from Steve...] Will Ken Survive without lots of people reading about his personal life, and will he change his mind about Gabriela?

‘Kenneth Kenneth Kenneth!’… Now there’s an appealing Blairish mantra!

With Ken, I discussed these issues (very much the appropriate term!) last night.

Despite himself, I do think he will miss the quiet silliness of my chronicling his general whatnottage. I can’t imagine such chronicling not being experienced at some level of ego-boosting (not to mention 'gross ethical inconsideration' - his words). I’ve enjoyed writing about him. But then, he has made it easy for me.

Ken is aware of the weblog phenomenon, and I do like the idea of 'The Vegan Files', however, I don't think this world wide web business does very much for Our Hero. And as he would have pointed out had he not forgotten, 'But Shane, you're so much more eloquent and witty than I could ever dream of being, my chronicling just wouldn't hit the mark... and besides, I've got more important stuff to be getting on with'.

Whatever happens, Ken will continue to be Ken, but who knows, maybe not always as I/we have come to understand him (nb/ that's not meant to sound like code for 'he's gonna have a sex change').

On the Gabriela front (and my what a fine front etc etc), I don’t know what will become. Since Ken’s previous (dismissive) action towards her, she isn’t someone who I’m inclined to follow. That said, their paths are bound to cross, so... When it comes to close personal relationships, I’m entirely confident that Ken will be a very interesting character in the weeks, months and years to come.

And Hoss, South Africa is on.

Tell us where we can find you.

But my kneecaps are very important to me.

[Hoss...] What of Emma and you?

This relationship has been, and is, many things - some good, some bad. Being brutally honest, I can see ways in which each of us are ideal for one another, just as I can see ways (fewer) in which each of us are far from ideal for one another. Most importantly: we are together, by choice, and we continue to work on finding space for more quality time (not a euphemism). I'll update on this in the final post too.

[Steve...] What is the thesis about and what made you think blogging would help it?

I thought the blog, through force of social pressure, might help me to write. A naive and erroneous fool I was. The three main academic disciplines that my thesis can be related to are (in alphabetical order):- Education, Psychology and Sociology. The precise title and issues being addressed will be mentioned in the final post.

[Hoss...] What do you really do, and what are your long range goals?

What I really do, is a very small amount of teaching at a British university (if you can call it that), my PhD research is registered with another university. I also work on research projects and consultations that, in no particular order, cover the following areas: arts and cultural development, lifelong learning, school change, and social and emotional well-being.

Recent collaborators have operated out of two universities, one in the north, one in the midlands. Other recent stakeholders, funders and collaborators have included football clubs, housing associations and government departments. For the first half of 2006, most of my paid work will be with schools that are seeking to raise creativity across the school curricula (I'm very much looking forward to this).

For now, that is as much as I can say on what I do. As for my long range goals, gosh!... Thinking work-wise, as a 3-part list:-

1. Post-doc, to negotiate a happy path between academic and non-academic work
2. To develop my paid arts-based work, and thus further blur the researcher/artist distinction
3. To collaborate with existing researcher pals on shared interest projects generated by self, and them

Non-work long range goals, as a 3-part list:-

1. To further extend the social circle, or 'family of friends'
2. By my own design or orchestration, to regularly experience something close to the Christmas Day dinner scene at the end of the film 'About a Boy' (and no, that does not necessitate more frequent Christmas Daying)
3. To continually feel more and more settled - in all matters

[Steve...] Will we ever hear the Shane play for today on Radio 4?

On Radio 4, not likely. More likely to find a version of it in a 'provincial' theatre. Relationship-building and intelligence-gathering has begun towards the goal of forming a production company of like-mindeds.

[Steve...] Has Emma’s mum ever commented about reading your blog again?

Interesting question, to which the answer is no. I suspect she was probably scared off… it occurred to me that there was a good chance of her having read of the precise context in which Emma and I first ‘bedoinked’ (pron. b’doynk’d – rather than ‘bed-oinked’… nothing to do with pig sex – well, not from my perspective *frowns* *ponders*).

[Steve...] Can we see the portrait of Emma? Or even the real you? Or a pic of Ken with all his piercings? (Well perhaps not all)

I'll consider a gallery for the final post.

[Poor Steve...] Will Crewe Alexandra Football Club stay up?

For every one of the previous 10 seasons I’ve thought ‘Crewe for the drop this season’, and I’ve been wrong each time. My view this season: ‘Crewe for the drop’, along with Millwall and Brighton.

[Huw...] When you are gone, which one post would you like us to remember The Shane Blog by?

Bloody hell Huw! Funereal tone what!… In answer: At the time of writing it, I mentioned to a very good pal that this post had been pleasing – it was at times wry, at times serious and it thoroughly cast me as some kind of god-figure. It was also very close to the actual conversation (there has been occasional ‘license’). Bit of a shame that some very pleasing comments on that post seem to have disappeared (pre-Haloscan days perhaps, can't remember, hey ho).

So there you have it.

I will be back, but only once.

Much wellness to you all, and the others...

What is this melodrama? Give the man a slap, an earl grey and make sure he doesn't miss breakfast in future!

2005-12-13T11:10:00.000Z

On December 20th 2004, following a chat with a good pal, I started the Shane blog - originally it was titled 'New Town, New Love, Unwritten Thesis'. I blundered into it really, not much forethought went into it. Bit of an arse that the url never matched the title - an oaf, I too can be.

Originally, I had romantic illusions of the blog being a useful device for helping me complete the great PhD tome. Truth is it wasn't. For a long time, the blogosphere proved to be a pleasant distraction from more important life-directing matters. In the past few months, I've done much less distraction. I've written and read less blog stuff, more 'other' stuff, and I'm getting interesting contract work.

I will make two more posts to this blog. The second of these will be some time in 2006 (non-negotiable!) and will be the final word on what happened to the great tome. This will mark complete Shane blog closure. If I was a bookmaker, on this I'd be offering odds of: Happy ending 11/10, Happy ending with amendments 4/7, Goddawful ending 100/1, Bullshitter never came back to make that second post 66/1.

The first post of the two posts will be made in a couple of weeks. If you've any subject matter or query/ies (however general or personal) that you would like to see featured, let me know. Otherwise, you leave it to chance - a bit like that 'NEXT BLOG >>' button in the top right hand corner, and you wouldn't want to go there, would you?

Shane sighs, shortly after hearing a BBC Radio Five Live presenter ask the nation 'Does Stanley Tookie Williams deserve to die?'

2005-12-11T00:02:00.000Z

There's many things that I find amazing.
The passage of time is one of them.
Or, changes in individual and social politicking, if you want to put it like that.

I've no doubt that Stanley T. Williams has changed over the years, we can all see that - from convicted murderer to Nobel Peace Prize nominated educator. I think that's kind of besides the point though.

Anyway, the man awaits a Hollywood ending... gulp!

Now, I must switch the radio channel... my physical and mental distance from the Williams and Arnie situation was comforting. Callers to the BBC are eroding that comfort...

And then, in a moment of wryest juxtaposition, a new radio feature begins. I hear Morgan Freeman intone 'In the harshest place on earth, love finds a way...'. Beautiful eh... until he says 'March of the Penguins'.

* * *
Update I (Monday, 3:28pm GMT): '... Convicted of four murders, Williams, 51, will be executed on Tuesday unless Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger grants clemency or a federal appeal succeeds.

Mr Schwarzenegger said earlier he was agonising over the clemency request.

...Mr Schwarzenegger held a clemency hearing on Thursday and has until midnight (0800 GMT Tuesday) to make his decision.

...Williams is scheduled to receive lethal injection at 0001 (0801 GMT) at San Quentin prison, north of San Francisco.'

'The most advanced nation on earth'?

* * *
Update II (Monday 9:50pm GMT): "...After studying the evidence, searching the history, listening to the arguments and wrestling with the profound consequences, I could find no justification for granting clemency," Mr Schwarzenegger said.

"The facts do not justify overturning the jury's verdict or the decisions of the courts in this case," the governor added.

* * *
Bollocks, the most advanced nation on earth!

A brief post in which Shane evidences his preparedness for Christmas...

2005-12-08T15:24:00.000Z

...
Marie: You remember that Jon and Dee, and Dee's daughter - Anna - will be joining us for Christmas don't you?
Shane: Yeah. How old is Anna?
Marie: About 12, maybe 13
Shane: Right
Marie: Mm, it'll seem unusual having a kid around
Shane: Yeah. (Pause) So will she - the kid - be doing present-receiving and so on?
Marie: Yeah, and we will too
Shane: Uh?
Marie: Adults can exchange gifts too y' know
Shane: (Appalled at self) Oh god! I genuinely forgot about that... it's because of all the TV ad's for kids' stuff
Marie: So you're not fully prepared then?
Shane: No
Marie: Has Alex been asking for much?
Shane: Yeah, every time there's adverts on TV it's 'I want that, and that, and that, and that...'
Marie: And your response to is?
Shane: I pour scorn on the rugged boyish toys and wait for a very pink Barbie-type thing to crop up, then I heap praise on it and say 'Oh that looks good - I'll get you that', at which point he appeals to his mother for assurances
Marie: The spirit of Christmas eh?
Shane: Absolutely. And besides, I'm telling myself that I'm doing him a favour by not heaping 'stuff' on him. After all, surely that's what guilt-ridden parents are for
Marie: (With raised eyebrow) Mm... and people with money
Shane: (With ill-hidden frown) Oh yes, and people with money.

'Show me how it feels' she said

2005-12-06T12:17:00.000Z

So after a moment's thought, I said...

Still, better to have plates than no plates at all. That'd look stupid... think 'stick-holding supremo'.

Y' know how it is.

A baffling conversation in which the Ken I never knew is revealed... or at least hinted at

2005-11-29T23:56:00.000Z

…

So, nothing was ‘doing’ with Gabriela, Ken was irritable and I was knackered. Fair to say the next 48 hours were looking like a long 48 hours. That said, I wasn’t going to give the cretin an easy time. In anger, he’d used the f-word, something was clearly up. Like I said earlier, ‘Euro brush-off’ was the obvious answer. I’d soon find out.

After food at a posh pub in Pimlico, we said ta ta to Ian and Foxy, and headed tubewards… with Gabriela. The term ‘almost gooseberry’ sprang to mind. The atmosphere between the three of us was a little awkward. I was guessing that her slightly numb expression was about feeling uneasy in the almost intimate company of Ken (post brush-off). I took Ken’s apparent sleepiness to be a crude veil of his feeling like a bit of a Ken. Gabriela left the tube one stop before us and at this point Ken woke right up.

Ken: D’ y’ think she was upset?
Shane: She seemed distant
Ken: I felt like a bit of a shit
Shane: Don’t – she’s the one who should be feeling like a shit
Ken: Why?
Shane: She comes at you with all of her Italian charm, then leaves you high and dry. Does it need anymore explaining?
Ken: Yes
Shane: Don’t make a victim out of her
Ken: She was amazing
Shane: Kenneth, be not a fool – sorry to put it like this but I am tired – she dumped you, therefo-
Ken: Eh? No she she didn’t
Shane: Look, I wasn’t having a go, there’s nothing wrong with you – nothing seriously wrong – it's just that she’s clearly one of those people who likes the idea of being able to string along-
Ken: No, y’ don’t get it – I told her that (pause)… I wasn’t ready for… anything serious
Shane: (Astounded) Uh?
Ken: What?
Shane: You blew her out?
Ken: God no – we didn’t even snog
Shane: No. I mean you gave her the brush-off?
Ken: Oh, yeah, I suppose
Shane: (Perplexed) Unbelievable – just unbelievable
Ken: She was – is – really nice
Shane: What’s wrong with you?
Ken: You said there was nothing wrong with me
Shane: I was wrong, I’ve changed my mind
Ken: It wasn’t right, she is amazing – gorgeous, clever, funny – but my head just wouldn’t have been in it
Shane: Quoi?
Ken: I saw Zoe on Friday
Shane: Uh?
Ken: We’ve been emailing a lot
Shane: Zoe Who We Don’t Talk About In The Sense That You And She Once Did Something That We Don’t Talk About?
Ken: Yeah
Shane: Oh (pause)… what’s that got to do wi- whoooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Ken: Yeah
Shane: But she’s off to Africa
Ken: Yeah
Shane: You’re not planning to see her again are you?
Ken: Not in the near future
Shane: (Shocked) I’m… shocked
Ken: Me too.

And after a moment’s quiet:

Ken: I read a lot about hedonism a few years ago, I just never believed in it.
Shane: And this relates to?
Ken: I’m thinking of just - y’ know –
Shane: (Pause) Nope
Ken: - just relaxing and… letting things go a bit
Shane: (Pause) You’re not the real Kenneth, what have you done with my Kenneth?!
Ken: (Laughing)
Shane: I have money; I am able to pay a small ransom. I demand Kenny be returned.
Ken: How much have you got?
Shane: Approximately eight pounds, a travel card and several papers on research methods
Ken: Get me a double brandy at the Coronet and we can discuss terms from there
Shane: Okay, but you'll have to prove to me that he's alright!
Ken: The brandy first!

Ken's version of hedonism was yet to materialise as I left London, however, reports of the past weekend speak of 'clubbing' and 'excess'. Fair to say I am left a little confused by this turn of events.

A minor outburst - most unbecoming of Kenneth, the oaf.

2005-11-24T16:30:00.000Z

So, the deal was that I’d land at Kenneth’s early Sunday afternoon, we’d then trog down to Tate Britain. There, and really - ‘what chance of this!’ - we’d bump into none other than the pleasantly gadding-about Ian and Foxy Chloe, and Gabriela! Hurrah what! But no…

A Kenneth-shaped text lands (as I’m on the train!… oh so many expletives deleted), and it says: ‘Have headed off to the gallery, meet you down there at 4pm, hope your bags aren’t too heavy…’ Yes, it was brief and it was flat. I immediately called him to find out what was happening. Couldn’t get through. Peeved – it’s fair to say – I headed straight to the gallery, half-thinking ‘I hope I don’t interrupt anything!’ (((Shudder)))

I land at the gallery an hour early, and deposit bags at the cloakroom (indeed, a glad tiding). Still, Kenneth is unreachable. Okay-. So I text Ian, and ask where they are. Not around, but meeting us at the gallery at 4pm is the answer to where he and Foxy are (at 3pm). The shit. So, without a Kenneth (and related entourage) in sight, I do the Turner Prize thing. Speaking of which:-

[

Simon Starling – most intellectually engaging.
Darren Almond – most beautiful / relaxing.
Gillian Carnegie – straight-edge subculture.
Jim Lambie – colourful, but without hooks.

I’d plump for Starling or Almond, though I think that it’ll go to Carnegie – one in the eye to the mockers of the Turner Prize normative radicals.

]

Anyway, like a scene from some modern adaptation of that classic western… er-… Shane?… we have four guns blaze over the horizon - or at least into the Tate café area - at exactly 4pm. All seem well and chatty, having coincided on the walk from the underground station (exactly who originally walked with whom is not clear). I note that Kenneth has a slightly distant look (beyond the standard oaf look). Maybe the others didn’t spot this, but I did. As it was my first meeting with Gabriela, I had to ensure that I didn’t seem blithely disregarding. Kindly, she seemed a chappess around whom ‘blithe’ would rarely be the spirit. Captivating. Anyway, mentioning that I’d done the show already, they say they’ll quickly skip round then we can grab food before Ian and Foxy head off for an evening drive back to Cornwall. As they all depart exhibitionwards, Kenneth makes a polite nose-powdering excuse for hanging back. Soon, he privately confers:

Ken: There’s nothing doing with Gabriela.
Shane: Ah. What happened?
Ken: Nothing happened. There’s just nothing doing.
Shane: Why?
Ken: (Irritated pause) It’s just not right. There is no big ‘why’.
Shane: What does that mean?
Ken: Fucking hell! There’s just nothing doing, ok.

Indeed, ‘Step away from the edge’ thinks I. Kenneth stomps off exhibitionwards, and I’m left guessing ‘Euro brush-off’. As I'd be around for a further 48 hours I decide that we can return to this moody blue later, and so we did…

There was a crisp winter mist over the lake, a heron made flight from the water's edge.

2005-11-21T11:45:00.000Z

On Saturday, I learned of a bereavement that had befallen a friend. That mystery of modern blog science, the Hoss Gene, is a landmark in my view of the blogosphere. Like the several others who I call upon, the flavour of Gene's writing is wry, dry and rapturously warm; most fundamentally human. It was saddening to consider the sense of loss that would be experienced by Betty's kith and kin.

I mentioned this bereavement to Emma as we walked by this lake (pictured) on Saturday morning. Recalling the endeared tone of my previous comments about the old guy, Emma commented, 'I hope he's alright'.

'Yes' I replied, as my mind turned to the likely wisdom that Feelgood Haines would impart at this time.

Thoughts, and familial strength.

Pre-emptive

2005-11-17T08:00:00.000Z

Just received a text from Ken.
He'd read the last post.
And was thrilled.
Though he claimed he'd not be going anywhere near Tate Britain on Sunday.
'Oh bugger' one might think.
But no.
For I replied...

'But Gabriela and Foxy Chloe will be TB'ing on Sunday. Won't you join me Kenny? For a not-so-chance encounter...'

He replied...

'Hmm'

He will be TB'ing on Sunday.
However.
I fear he may act decisively before then.

Oh bugger.

Small world

2005-11-15T22:00:00.000Z

About four years ago, I introduced my two most poles-apart pals to one another. It was a case of:

"Cornish Ian(1) meet Ken(2)"

(1) wonderful chap, churchy, met him in 1993, chartered accountant, farming background
(2) wonderful chap, oaf, vegan, met him in 2000, multiply pierced (previously), tattooed, researcher**

** a surprising image of Ken?

I had wondered if Ian and Ken would take one look at each other, immediately clock ‘a freak’, and leave a big awkward silence. Gladly, they did not. They got on - like the proverbial house. Since then, their paths have crossed on two occasions - a football trip to Crewe, and a football trip to Brentford. Sophistication nil, glamour nil. But again, the boys got on well. And since then they’ve often asked of one another.

Earlier this evening, I took a call from Ian. After opening pleasantries he says:

Ian: Anyway, there's news - I’m getting married.
Shane: (Thinks ‘Oh god, must say the right thing’) Bloody hell! Congratulations! The fox-hunter, I presume?
Ian: (Pause) Yes. Her name’s Chloe.
Shane: Of course it is. That’s excellent news.
Ian: Ta.

Standard questions and answers re making proposals, informing families, brother being best man and so on...

Shane: Fantastic! And will there be-
Ian: There’ll have to be a stag-do.
Shane: (Thinks ‘Oh god no – please not a big night out in Falmouth’) And?
Ian: Well, I reckon we should have a bash at the three peaks!
Shane: Oh, you star! I knew you’d come up with something good. Y’ know, we’ve got so much in common… in fact, it is I who you should be marrying, not Chloe. I say dump her and marry me!
Ian: (Awkwardly) Ah yes, very funny. Shane-
Shane: Yes?

And from a slightly distant, more echosome corner of the room:

Chloe: You can jolly well fack awwwff, he will not be marrying you - or anyone else!
Ian: We’re on the speakerphone old boy.
Shane: Ah. I was only kidding. (And louder) Anyway, I wouldn’t marry him - he’s shit in bed!
Chloe: He wasn't half an hour ago!
Shane: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhhhhhhhhhhh! Too much information!!! (They laugh)
Ian: There was one other reason for calling actually.
Shane: Yes?
Ian: Y’ know your pal Ken?
Shane: Yes.
Ian: Where does he work?
Shane: He’s been working at New University since the summer. Why?
Ian: Does he still live up near Holloway?
Shane: Yes. Why?
Ian: (Away from phone) Told y’ – that’ll be a tenner. (To phone) I – we - think he’s been dating a friend of Chloe’s.
Shane: What’s her name?
Chloe: (Closer) Gabriela. She’s Italian.
Shane: He has! Small world what!
Ian: (Amused) Definitely. Though I hear he’s toned down his appearance.
Shane: Yeah, a bit. What have you heard about them?
Chloe: I’m not sure about Ken, but I can tell that she’s smitten. She told me that they went out on Saturday evening and that she ‘laughed louder than ever’.
Shane: That would have been the bit where he lowered his trousers. (Ian belly laughs)
Chloe: Don’t be cruel. You’ve got to help us move them on to the next level.
Shane: 'The next level'?
Chloe: You knowwwww-
Shane: Oh Jesus, I’ve just eaten!

And so it came to pass that the conspirators did hatch a plan, the subtlety of which was quite remarkable. Their daring would begin at around 4pm on Sunday 20 November, 2005. And it would begin here:

...and all around Kenneth and Gabriela's innocent, and not so private, viewing of this.

Hee hee hee hee hee hee heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Stoned

2005-11-10T21:00:00.000Z

I made my (approximately weekly) call to Kenneth.

Shane: Good evening Kenneth.
Ken: Hello chum, how's it going?
Shane: It's going well, this week I 'ave been mostly getting to grips with feminism.
Ken: Really?!
Shane: Was quite interesting.
Ken: It's funny you should say that-
Shane: It is?
Ken: It is.
Shane: Why? Discovered your feminist credentials?
Ken: (surprised) Aren't you a feminist?
Shane: Er-, I don't know, hadn't asked myself that.
Ken: Why not?
Shane: (ponders) Other peoples' politics?
Ken: Poor Shane, very poor. We'll put that down to tiredness.
Shane: Thank you dear.
Ken: You're welcome. Anyway, as I was saying-
Shane: Mm?
Ken: -it's funny you should mention feminism. Y' see, I've been dipping into that sort of stuff too.
Shane: Is this the build-up to an unoriginal joke?
Ken: Not at all. I've been reading about 'power and the vagina'.
Shane: Of course you have Kenneth, of course you have. And without wishing to regret asking, what have you learned... about power and, or, the vagina?
Ken: Well, basically speaking - no offence, Sharon Stone did better than Madonna and Demi Moore, but none of them quite got there.
Shane: Got where?
Ken: I don't know, I was just, er, reading for gist.
Shane: Okay. So where did De Kenneth Profundis come from?
Ken: (pause) I've got a new friend.
Shane: Yee-eesss?
Ken: We've been having lunch together. A lot.
Shane: Eating is important. Say more...
Ken: An Italian.
Shane: Okayyyyyy...
Ken: Her name's Gabriela.
Shane: A-haaaaa...
Ken: She's classy.
Shane: Her feminism certainly suggests that.
Ken: Yeah - she's a postgraduate student.
Shane: Nice one Kenneth.
Ken: Yeah.
Shane: So Ken's got himself a classy brainy Italian bird... one who's encouraging him to read about Hollywood totty.
Ken: (bashfully) Well, I haven't quite got myself an Italian bird-
Shane: -Heh! Steady-on there with your hard-core feminist rant Kenneth. Bite not the Shane who calls you.
Ken: Oh yeah, sorry, lost control for a moment. Yeah, anyway, we're getting on well.
Shane: Sounds good, mustn't rush these things. (pause) So what's next for Kenneth and the classy Italian, Gabriela?
Ken: (pause) I'm takin' her to Walthamstow on Saturday.

The Ken done good. Ish.

The Body - Part II: Blind

2005-11-04T12:00:00.000Z

So, like I was saying, I'd been pondering where or how a sense of non-abusive shock (or edge) could be generated around the body. It occurred to me that Marie would find this an interesting topic of Monday evening conversation. So, I sat on the pondering, until later.

Monday was to be a day of working in the office, at home (an annex of the main house). I use the term 'main house' for exaggerated posh effect - this amuses me. Anyway, Marie, also working out of the office, reminded me:

Marie: You didn't forget that I've got those people coming this afternoon, did you?
Shane: (pause) Which people?
Marie: The Very Important People - about the project - confidentiality and all that? Remember? I did mention it.
Shane: Hold on - why is the office so clean and tidy?
Marie: There are some Very Important-
Shane: Are the Very Important People coming today?
Marie: Yes.
Shane: Aaargghhh yes. I almost forgot.

So, respecting confidentiality and all that, I took my stuff into the house (the main one) and settled into reading and making notes on the settee in the front room. An hour or so later, taking a sneaky peek from the kitchen window, I spotted that the Very Important People had arrived in an Impossibly Posh Car. I returned to the academic settee. Far too comfortable for comfort, I gauged my own potential to fall asleep - that wouldn't be productive. So, to wake myself up, I thought 'I know, I'll take a cool shower'. Then, stupidity reigning, I thought 'Oh sod that, I'm sure a warm bath would be much better'. So up the stairs I did trog, and a bath was had.

Later, I found Marie pottering over a smouldering grill-pan.

Shane: Ah. How's things?
Marie: Recently extinguished.
Shane: Mm, I see. And the Very Important People? They were ok? Nothing too intense?
Marie: (pause, at which Shane begins to feel a tad uncomfortable) Well, they were very sweet-
Shane: Good.
Marie: -considering.
Shane: Considering what?
Marie: Well, just as we sat down around the big table, Barbara (VIP#1) let out a mini... er-...
Shane: Fart?
Marie: No, not a fart - that wouldn't have been so bad.
Shane: Oh my god - she shit!
Marie: No, don't be ridiculous. She let out a mini... shriek.
Shane: Why?
Marie: Well, it would seem, dear Shane, that from the seat that is side-on to the office window - at the back-
Shane: Yee-eesss?
Marie: -upon glancing up and over her left shoulder-
Shane: (picturing it) Yee-eesss.
Marie: Barbara - and she was very good about this - said it didn't happen very often, well, er... she copped a load of you.
Shane: (confused pause, with rather a sinking feeling) Wha-?
Marie: You have to ensure that the slats of the blinds are fully closed. If they're not, from below outside, it's possible to see into the bathroom.
Shane: (pallid) What did she see?... Barbara - the Very Important Person.
Marie: We saw you towelling yourself down... and 'singing'?
Shane: (mortified) Oh god. Oh double-god - Erasure - Drama! - on repeat.
Marie: Mm, (enjoying this) how are you feeling right now?
Shane: A little pale.
Marie: You look it.

And there it was. An answer to how the body could be used to shock, without cause for reference to notions of abuse (including 'of the self' - I'm so very glad to say). I regret that Marie's Very Important Barbara and my slightly damp arse, back and full frontage had to combine to provide the context for this 'shock', but at least it gave Marie the opportunity to recount a similar blinding gaff made by Pete last summer. On that occasion, the innocent victims of exposure were next door's chickens. Well, you don't get snakes in these parts of the Midlands, so they were bound to be scared.

...just one psychological drama after another...

The Body - Part I: Smudge

2005-11-01T13:30:00.000Z

So, at the weekend, Ken and I went to the theatre, where we saw John Cooper’s ‘Education of a Lapdancer’ (‘proper review’ here). In a nutshell, it goes like this:-

Family living in London – father Chris, daughter Claire, step-mum Marie, Claire’s boyfriend Billy.
Chris (a teacher) and Marie (a GP) are tired, as is their marriage.
Chris has been visiting a lapdance club. There, he has become a regular of a Romanian dancer, Ileana. He tells her that he’s researching for a novel and invites her for a drink. She takes his card.
Chris gets suspended from his job due to an aggressive outburst.
Ileana passes Chris’ details to Sorin, an East European businessman.
The unfolding story sees Chris become embroiled with Sorin in some shady money-laundering facility for a people-smuggling operation.
Along the way, Sorin impacts on all members of Chris’ family:-
Billy becomes a messenger for Sorin.
Sorin shags Marie.
Chris shags Ileana (who tells Sorin, rendering Chris blackmailable).
Sorin gives Claire the number of his dance club – where she gets a job.
The upshot of all this is that:-
Sorin is shot dead by other dodgy businessmen.
Chris and Marie split-up.
Chris ends up with a bag of cash that was Sorin’s, but that the authorities remain unaware of.
Outcome: Chris has shifted from respectable teacher to someone who questions and acts against the capitalist notion of meritocracy – he is unconvinced that a formal education and ‘playing by the rules’ is in the best long-term interests of individuals… What will get a person (say, Ileana or Claire) further in life: a GCSE or a G-string?

The ‘resolution’ to the play is awkward. Having rejected legitimacy and the meritocracy for himself, Chris then seems to endorse it by spending a chunk of the acquired cash on providing a 3-year formal education for Ileana (indeed, ah bless). That said, it was a timely play and it raised pertinent social and education questions. I remained fully-engaged throughout, as did Ken.

Unsurprisingly, there were scenes that were set in a lapdance club. Thus, we – the audience of about 60 – got to see gyrating, sliding and spinning. Ileana (played by Kate Steavenson-Payne) was a little stiff, which is more than could be said for me. Less-than-exotic was the moment when, leaving the stage, I noticed the great dusty grey smudge on her arse - the price of unpolished boards. Maybe it was because of the very staginess of it, maybe it was because of the socio-political drag that I sensed, maybe it was because I was with Ken, whatever it was, I was immune to Ileana's stuff, oh yeah.

Journeying back to the Midlands on Sunday afternoon, I pondered ‘nudity on stage’. In the past, I’d experienced more explicit and in-your-face uses of the body for theatrical/artistic expression, but I now came to wonder where or how a sense of non-abusive shock (or edge) could be generated around the body. I knew that the answer would be about context, but yesterday afternoon, when I became an answer to this, it did come as a surprise.

Part II to follow.

Education?

2005-10-27T17:30:00.000Z

Ken just called.

Ken: Still on for the weekend?
Shane: Yep, should be fine. I'm fancying lower league football.
Ken: Okay-. Hold on a minute, I've got TimeOut here (pause for muffled leafing through magazine, muffled swearing). Oh, superb - you beauty!
Shane: Where?!
Ken: Barnet!
Shane: (sharp intake of breath)
Ken: Versus Rushden and Diamonds.
Shane: Fantastic.
Ken: Guaranteed classic.
Shane: Well-spotted Kenneth, well-spotted. And what else will old London town have in store for us?
Ken: A play.
Shane: Which play? (excitedly) The History Boys?
Ken: No, that's finished. Something at the Pleasance - to do with education - your sort of thing.
Shane: Er-, I don't think I'll be up for anything too heavy.
Ken: It'll be ok.
Shane: So what's it called?
Ken: I've sent you a link.
Shane: Good man.
Ken: The review is luke-warm, but we'll make up our own minds.
Shane: Right.

Upon opening the link and first reading the title of the play, I dropped a whole fig roll into my earl grey.

Well, you would, wouldn't you.

Though it does sound quite tame - damn Kenneth, damn him.

Freedom

2005-10-24T08:00:00.000Z

Late Saturday morning. Busy town centre. A four year old seems restless. We are committed to a town centre family-pub lunch that's to begin 30 minutes from now. A four year old has the potential to make it an arduous lunch.

Emma: Okay Alex, you can have three pounds to spend because I've-
Alex: Cool!
Shane: You've what?
Emma: I er-
Alex: I'm gonna buy a big truck with my money.
Emma: I don't think there'll be enough to buy a big truck - maybe something smaller - like a car.
Shane: -three pounds to spend because you've-?
Emma: I forgot to give him his pocket money for the last...
Shane: (laughing) The last?
Emma: Two months?
Shane: Excellent! You make me feel proud of you.

So, to Woolworths, and...

Horror of horrors - Woolworths is closed due to refurbishments. That leaves us scratching about for a child-friendly treat alternative.

Emma: Ah! Poundland! Let's see what they've got.

Inside store.

Alex: Oh cool Shane - look at these.
Shane: I don't think your mummy would let you buy that.
Alex: But why not?
Shane: Toy guns - not cool.
Emma: No, I don't want you buying any guns.
Alex: It's okay mummy - they're not real.
Emma: No - I know they're not real, I just don't think guns are very nice. Choose something else.
Alex: What about these?
Emma: Yes - swords and axes are fine.
Shane: (thinks) Hold on a minute - 'swords and axes are fine'?

Anyway, we leave Poundland with:-

1 weapons set (flimsy plastic sword and solid, though tattish, plastic axe)
1 power ball (luminous bouncy rubber ball)
1 pair of handcuffs (some kind of metallic material - surprisingly high quality I'd say - certainly 'robust' enough to hurt if applied too tightly)

Having left Poundland.

Alex: Shane, you and me can be the police.
Shane: Oh aye, definitely.
Alex: Mummy, you can be the robber.
Emma: You won't catch me!
Alex: We will!

Town centre pub. Busy.

Emma: Okay, I'll go and order. You boys play nicely.
Shane: You're okay, go on - we'll be alright.
Emma: I'll be quick.
(Shane and Alex larking about - in a moderate sort of way - at a table in the child-friendly area of the pub. Shane playing Dopey the Robber, allowing Alex the Policeman to catch him and 'cuff him.)
Alex: That's it - you're under arrest. You're not getting away.
...
Shane: Ah, come on - let me go. I didn't do the robbery.
Alex: Okay. I'll let you go when mummy gets back.
Shane: (Spotting a duff deal) Let me go now please.
Alex: I can't.
Shane: Why?
Alex: Mummy's got the key.
Shane: What!
Alex: She said she had to look after them in case we lost them.

Emma is amongst a throng at the far end of the pub. It would be unwise to let Alex venture off in search of her (the key) alone. And the reason that Shane won't venture forth with Alex in search of the key to the 'cuffs? Simple. Shane's left wrist is handcuffed to a table leg. The table leg is attached to a very big, very heavy, table. Why can't Alex or Shane use the simple escape switch on the 'cuffs to free Shane? Because when Shane just tried that the switch came off between the fore-finger and thumb of his right hand. How is Shane feeling at this point in the scenario?

Alex: Shane, your skin has gone white.
Shane: Really? (pause) Mummy will be back soon. She can unlock me.

And upon returning, seven minutes later (yes, seven!!!), she did. But before that, I was clocked as being handcuffed to a table by at least four people. Two youngsters were too far away and clearly too scared to pass casual comment, one old man commented 'Been caught I see', and one waiter asked 'Is everything alright sir?'

'Everything's fine' I replied, sweetly - of course.

Queuing

2005-10-19T17:00:00.000Z

The British are said to be great at queuing. However! I have to report an incident of... deviant queuing.

Having wandered into town at lunch time (well, it is crazy cattle market Wednesday after all), I opted to take lunch from The Potato Man - a man who sells potatoes. From a well-equipped van. Many many potatoes. Doth he sell. Letting my mind wander back to the stunner who I'd acknowledged in the paper shop earlier (our's is an alternative farming community), I was interrupted. By a... slapping noise. Now paying more attention to the two people in front of me in the potato queue, I noticed that apart from their smoochy soppy frippy froppy queuing technique (they would delay my potato at their peril!), I noticed that Mr Soppy was occasionally (and quite unaware of himself) slapping the denim-clad arse of Ms Soppy. Her blushfulness suggested that she was a little more self-conscious, but again he idly slapped.

Slap.

Slap.

Slap.

Gladly, The Potato Man's Chicken Curry is so fine that it would take more than an errant queuer to put me off my lunch. However, let me tell you that so distracting was this firm-but-affectionate slap-slap-slapping that had it not been for the restraining presence of Marie I would surely have stabbed Mr Soppy in the hand with the nearest blue plastic fork. Of this I am not proud, but my god, someone's got to draw the line when it comes to queuing for potatoes.

I know. This aggressive tone probably surprises you. In fact, I sense...

Ugh!

20

2005-10-17T13:30:00.000Z

Idling on a Monday lunch-time, what better way to pass a few minutes than to accept the invitation from Bristol She-Queen Claire to share '20 random facts about you (me)'? No better way. Now, let's see...

1. I spent the weekend in County Durham.
2. Returning to the Midlands, I hassled Emma into driving part of the M6.
3. I did this (point 2) because Emma hates motorway driving.
4. I'm not sure whether this (point 3) makes me a bad person.
5. Last week I lunched with a person who once tried to split Emma and I.
6. Based in London, Luncher (L) is now 'in a happier place'.
7. I ended a 2002 thing with L after hearing an unpalatable fact re her past.
8. Recently, I was asked for the word that best captured my past year.
9. I chose the word (or name) 'Alex' (Emma's son). He teaches me much.
10. I hope Boy George is innocent.
11. I also hope that I win the National Lottery.
12. I don't play the National Lottery.
13. The first single I bought was 'Karma Chameleon' by Culture Club.
14. Aged 8, I knew there was something different about Boy George.
15. I couldn't work out what was different about Boy George.
16. Dad got concerned when, at the age of 8, I tied ribbons in my hair.
17. I liked listening to Mark Lawson's interview with Alan Bennett.
18. I've watched professional matches at about 30 football grounds.
19. My favourite football trip was AZ Alkmaar in Holland.
20. The trip to Cambridge United came a close second.

If you're feeling listful, consider yourself tagged.

Now, work. Indeed, yuk.

Serious?

2005-10-11T13:00:00.000Z

(Beware: at 1,203 words, a long post)

Received a text, it read: ‘Am on the train, can you pick me up at 19:45? Ta.’ Sender: Ken.

I was not expecting him, as I’d already arranged to visit His Royal Kenniness later this month. So, presuming the fool to have texted me in error, I replied: ‘You fool, why would I need to know what time you’re getting off the train?’

He replied: ‘Because I’m coming to stay for two nights – bringing my work and laptop with me – won’t be a problem, honest. See you in an hour – Virgin-willing!’

At the time I was dining with Marie and Pete. News of Ken’s imminent arrival was greeted with:

Marie: Excellent!
Pete: Ah, a supplies surprise!* If you’re collecting him you’d better put that glass down.
Shane: Oh arse!

* Ken tends to win favour with the organic and free-range produce of the Ken Family Estate (we’re talking serious acreage - woods and lakes and so on).

So, Ken was collected and we drove up to the chateau. Greetings were greeted, backs were slapped, eggs and butternut squash were handed over, warmth abounded. Then, to the pub – a Georgian town centre place with quiet nooks and dusty crannies. A couple of drinks in, Ken produced a big document from beneath his large furry jacket, placed it face down on the table then looked at me.

Ken: Shane.
Shane: Ken?
Ken: I’ve been reading, and having (pause) A VERY BIG IDEA.
Shane: Is this about going to Africa again?
Ken: No no no, we agreed all that-
Shane: We did?
Ken: That’s right, we did. No, this is a MUCH bigger idea.
Shane: Right. Is this why you’re here?
Ken: No. Well, maybe, partly. I think I’ll be talking with Marie too, but I thought I’d better tell you first.
Shane: Okay. So what is it?

I had to ask, it would have been rude not to.

Ken: We’ve talked about having children before haven’t we?
Shane: (laughing) Not having them together we haven’t!
(A man at the next table is listening-in, Ken turns and proffers a smile)
Ken: Discretion please Shane, bit more discretion.
Shane: Sorry. ‘Having children’?
Ken: Mm. I’ve been reading this. (Hands document to me, I look at it)
Shane: You’ve been reading a report on… fostering and adoption in England.
Ken: Yes Shane, that’s right.
Shane: I know it’s right - I can read.
Ken: Don’t be grouchy – there is cause for celebration.
Shane: What?

I was no longer able to daydream in the direction of the Charlotte-Church-like bar personage. Kenneth the Foul Beast had fully distracted me. And induced a headache.

Ken: I think we should consider fostering, with a longer-term view to adopting!
Shane: (shaking head) Oh Kenneth, sweet ludicrous Kenneth - full of good intention. Before you get going, let me tell you that this already has the hallmarks of what could only be a completely - and utterly – and I really do mean utterly - ridiculous idea.
Ken: Wait, time is on our side! This is how I see it-
Shane: Three hours ago I was expecting a nice evening in with Kirsty Wark, and now I’m sitting in town with an oaf who’s trying to sell what I suspect is going to sound very much like happy-clappy co-parenting. My head really does not need this right now.
Ken: Shane, I believe that you have proved yourself with young Alex, although to be frank, that was never in doubt-

On reflection, I see this for the simple act of Kenneth buttering that it was.

Shane: Ta. (Smiling) You called him ‘young Alex’.
Ken: You’re welcome, and yes – that’s what you call him. (I laugh, Ken gives me a stern look – quite unKenny in fact) Do you know what proportion of adoptions occur between kids and parents who’ve already had a foster relationship?
Shane: (looks confused)
Ken: Er, actually, I can’t remember that one – but it was quite high. Might have been 30 or 40 per cent. Actually, that may be completely wrong.
Shane: You’ve clearly done your research.
Ken: The point is ‘one step at a time’.
Shane: (Pause: struggling to produce a mental image) Emma and Alex and Shane and Ken and Adopted-Fostered-Whatever Child – all one big happy family?
Ken: No. Bigger than that!
Shane: What?
Ken: I thought GayFranglais might want to join in too.
Shane: Dreamland Kenneth, you’re wide-awake in dreamland. And besides, I’m sure social services wouldn’t touch your version of… ‘family-planning’.
Ken: That’s not what Marie reckons.
Shane: How the-? Marie? You’ve shared this with Marie?
Ken: Not exactly. I just asked her some questions about families and adoption and stuff - by email, yesterday.
Shane: Did she know you were coming up tonight?

One is smelling a very large Marie-shaped rat. In fact, one is suspecting that she is using Kenneth’s foolish nature to entertain herself at my expense.

Ken: No. But she said that I should come up any time I felt like it.
Shane: Speak on.
Ken: Well I thought if it was a baby boy we could call him ‘Roy’-
Shane: -er, I think you've missed about 70 keys steps in the process.
Ken: I can tell that you're in no fit state to seriously discuss this.
Shane: Oh Kenneth. I feel... chastened.
Ken: Hmm.
Shane: So ‘Roy’ for a boy?
Ken: Mm.
Shane: Shirley for a girlie?
Ken: Don’t be ridiculous – Shirley? As if!
Shane: But Roy, for a boy, is ok?
Ken: Yeah.
Shane: What else?
Ken: Well that's what we need to discuss.
Shane: What?
Ken: Exactly how we will raise Roy.
Shane: Have I been spiked?
Ken: I know. It feels like a dream-come-true doesn’t it?
Shane: (laughing) You're insane.
Ken: No Shane, I’m not. I’m offering us all… (brace yourselves, he is searching for dramatic phrasing)

My amusement at the illogic and unreason of our hero is all that is sustaining me here.

Ken: I'm offering us all an alternative vision of the future!
Shane: Bravo Kenneth, bravo. Motivational pre-parenting. I like it.
Ken: Good. And besides, I know that you’re feeling wobbly about the idea of (whispers) pro-creating.
Shane: What?
Ken: Emma told me.
Shane: When?
Ken: Today – by email.
Shane: And how do you happen to get into that exactly?
Ken: I just told her what I’d been reading - said it was work-related. I think she thinks we talk about stuff like parenting. Assumed I knew already.
Shane: What else has she told you?
Ken: I now know what a urethroscopy is.
Shane: Pull! No! Punches!
Ken: You should have told me.
Shane: Why?
Ken: So I could tell everyone else.
Shane: Jesus!
Ken: (laughing) Relax old boy, we’re family, you’re safe with us.
Shane: This has got to stop.
Ken: What?
Shane: This... loose talk. It concerns me.
Ken: It’s alright - I’ll keep myself in-check when Roy's around.
Shane: Funny.

It's 11pm. Few people remain.

Ken: Shane.
Shane: Back to where we began. Yes?
Ken: I meant it.
Shane: Mm?
Ken: What I said earlier. I am looking into the whole adoption-fostering thing. I think you should too.
Shane: Time to go Kenneth, time to go.

It was an unusual way to end the day.

Lamb

2005-10-10T19:00:00.000Z

Thank you all for your comments and contributions to my hymn project. It was a difficult task trying to fit in the various suggestions - some made it, some didn't. But as you'll see below, it was a...

(To the tune of-)
(There is not a tune in the world that this could be put to)

LAMB LAMB LAMB

Divine lamb, hit by a car
Heal soon, blessings surround you
Feel our compassion, eat some fair trade chocolate

Get well soon soon soon
Get well soon soon soon
Get well soon soon soon
God is strange, and mysterious, and might be a wo-man with righteous shoes-

We prayed at the church, it was happy clappy crappy
Made our insides shrivel, we felt quite sick
Questioned our faith, in church employment policy-

E-qual-i-ty -ty -ty
E-qual-i-ty -ty -ty
E-qual-i-ty -ty -ty
Even for tam-bour-i-nists-

There is deep deep foreboding, the lamb is unwell
Mountains of tension, broken suspension
Still no vet, God give us a sign-

A glint in his eye eye eye
Glint in his eye eye eye
Glint in his eye eye eye
Looks like woolly's gonna be okay-

The lamb has died, and the car's still damaged
Tears well up, we feel quite awful
Time ticks by, we must have lunch-

We can have lamb lamb lamb
We can have lamb lamb lamb
We can have lamb lamb lamb
And vegetables, Yorkshire puddings, and dessert - if we eat the other stuff first-

- Shane Wexford and The Comments Box Brothers and Sisters (2005)

Please forgive me. Normal service resumes later this week. Hallelujah.

h-i-p

2005-10-09T15:30:00.000Z

On Saturday we went to a wedding, in Middleshire. A church wedding. In a village. About 200 in attendance. Again, exchange of the matrimonials was between friends of Emma who had met whilst at university. Paul and Caitlin. I am 100% confident that they will stay together and be happy together. They're fine people. Solid people. Good people. Planners. Whiter than white. Middle class. Environmentalists. God's planet and all that. And I got to meet several of Emma's longer term circle of friends and it was all very pleasant. When we got to the churchy servicey marriagey bit, it kind of sounded like:

"Let's sing some hymns"

"Blah blah God blah blah church blah blah Jesus blah blah Goddy churchy Jesusy blah blah blah. Marriage blah blah. Sin. Duty. Blah blah. Oh. And love. Commitment. Behave yourselves. Regardless. You're in it for the long game. God's watching. He'll know. We are talking God here! So really do behave yourselves. Any objections? No? Do you? And you? Good. You're married"

"Let's sing some more hymns"

"Now you may go and eat, drink and dance to popular hits from the disco era, but don't forget - God's watching. Have a nice day"

I liked the church. I liked the people. But as much as I tried to open my head and heart I just couldn't get the whole 'him upstairs' aspect of the gig. It left me feeling that the focus wasn't so much on the marrying couple - and the earthly context in which they're living - as I felt that it should have been (NB/ do not begin with any of that 'God is among us, and in the heart of every man' stuff; I know - they called at my house, I bought the magazine). So what do I do with my feelings about the awry foci of the wedding? Well. What I don't do is go round discussing these thoughts with strangers (or even intimates) on Paul and Caitlin's wedding day. But when people make remarks and ask for comments I say gentle things such as:-

"I found the service fascinating - I don't often visit church"
"Made me wonder about how I would choose to get married"
"That God chap sounds like an awfully busy man", and,
"I have decided to write a hymn"

Indeed. If you can't beat them, join them!

Brothers and sisters, I've started scribbling, but it may take a few days. My next post will be the words to my first ever hymn. Really, it will be like an exaggerated poem. Probably won't dictate a tune to go with it, but will insist that is sung with the dignity and respect that all hymns should be sung - I learned this on Saturday. From my observations, I would also say that 'hallelujah' is a key hymn word. But beyond that, I could do with some help: So if you've any suggestions as to words, sentiments or hidden meanings that ought to feature in my hymn-in-progress, then please, do let me know.

It was an amen kind of idea.

Orwell

2005-10-06T17:00:00.000Z

Some months ago, probably around February or March, I noted that someone had landed on the Shane blog having used the search term ‘Shane Wexford’. Now, whilst this someone may simply have been an earlier visitor, or, an innocent teenager seeking an alternative yet equally handsome (albeit Irish) Shane who they’d met during a winter break in Cyprus, it seemed unlikely. This view was compounded as it was also noted - by Statcounter - that the searcher was located in not-so-big Midlands City. This raised suspicions that the Shane Wexford blog – which Emma had said she wasn’t going to read – had been searched for by she. At this time, precious few of the intimate circle had been informed of the Shane blog. So, one evening, whilst chatting on the phone, and kind of out of nowhere, I ventured:

Shane: So what did you think of the blog?
Emma: (pause, surprised) What?
Shane: The blog - you searched for it yeah? And read it. On Monday evening, just after 8 o’clock? (In retrospect, this may have sounded a bit mentalist)
Emma: No. I haven’t seen your blog.
Shane: Oh. It’s just that someone in Midlands City searched for it then and spent about half an hour reading it.
Emma: Well it wasn’t me.
Shane: Oh, right. It’s just that you’re the only person over there who I’ve mentioned it to.
Emma: Well it wasn’t me.
Shane: Any ideas of who it might have been then?
Emma: (pause) No.

I believed her. And I felt like 7000 different kinds of tit for boldly assuming that she’d read it. I pursued this no further, assuming that the reader was probably Emma’s younger sister (having heard of my blogging through Emma). Until last Sunday that is. At the dinner table at Emma’s parents house:

Emma: Will you blog about this weekend?
Shane: No, I don’t think so. I blogged about Crosby and Blackpool in the past (we’d ventured to each last weekend).
Emma: Oh – that’s a shame, it’s been a good one.
Shane: Mm. But there’s other stuff that I can draw upon.
(Enter Emma’s Mum – having heard none of our brief conversation)
E’s Mum: What’s that?
Emma: I was just askin’ if he was going to blog about this weekend, but he’s not.
E’s Mum: Oh, right. Have you ever looked at the blog?
Emma: No, though he did once accuse me of searching for it behind his back. Didn’t you?
Shane: Yeah.
E’s Mum: (pause) No, it was probably me.
Emma: Mum! You didn’t!
E’s Mum: I did – and you can get to view what other people have been using the machine upstairs to look at. It uses a ‘cache’ or something.
Emma: You didn’t! Oh my go-! (To me) She is awful. She’s done that before.
E’s Mum: I once found some pictures of… porn! - that someone had been looking at during the day.
Shane: Well it wasn’t me!
Emma: You didn’t!
E’s Mum: I did. It was quite a while ago.
Emma: Oh go-! So who was it?
E’s Mum: You’ll never guess.
Emma: Not Dad (winces)?
E’s Mum: Nooooo. (Laughs) He said just what Shane just said.
Emma: So?
E’s Mum: I knew it had been through the day, but I knew that me and your Dad would have been at work. So I checked my diary cos I was sure we’d had someone staying here at the time, and we did!
Emma: Who?
E’s Mum: Rosie! (a close friend of Emma)
Emma: Nooooooo!
E’s Mum: Yep. But, I mean, she was probably just curious or something.
Emma: But why would she?
(Emma is shocked, whilst I am inwardly laughing)
E’s Mum: She was young.

Of course what we’d done here was skip over Emma’s Mum’s quiet researching and reading of Shane Wexford. She did look awkward when she’d ‘fessed up – just prior to shifting our focus. To say that it felt spooky that she’d been… snooping – and in this case that is the word – would be an understatement. With Emma’s awareness of her Mum’s ‘interest’ in others’ affairs, I find it hard to imagine that this searching really would have come as a surprise.

While this feels odd, I am aware of this being part-related to the pseudonymification and the not-entirely-comfortable-in-doing the-personal-exposé-style-of-blogging that comes so naturally to many (but certainly not all). Thus, I am left pondering: Should this being 'checked-out' feel odd? If so why so, if not why not. And given that, as I say, it does feel odd, why does it feel so.

It was a strange situation.

Sit

2005-10-03T14:00:00.000Z

A whirlwind left the office about 30 minutes ago. Marie - co-dweller, office-sharer and many things to many people - was having a stressy day. Into many pies hath she thrust her fingers. Occasionally, this finger-thrusting pie-orientation gets a bit out of hand - she is prone to booking weekends way in advance that later leads to the donning of so many hats in such short spaces of time that she ends up cutting a dizzy chameleon dash. About 5 minutes before leaving the office, she started to visibly huff and puff. At one point, I heard her bark at her computer monitor - generally not a good sign. This is all the more entertaining (I'm such a bad person), because I have so often heard friends and colleagues remark on how utterly on top of everything and in-control she is - which admittedly, she often is. It's just that, even plate-spinners have their limits. Upon hearing a sigh in amongst the frenetic whatnot, I dared to ask:

Shane: How are things?
Marie: Oh I don't know. Bad. Good. Soon-to-be good. I've got too much on at the moment - all my own fault. Though I can see things being lighter next week.
Shane: Good. What have you been doing?
Marie: Mostly dumping voluntary stuff that I've run out of steam with.
Shane: Right.
Marie: I've got too much on. October's now fully booked up, I've kept one weekend free in November, but gladly December isn't looking too busy at the moment.
Shane: 'At the moment'.
Marie: Yeah. I sent Soph' a stressy email this morning - usual piffle about how I'm going to start saying 'no' more often.
Shane: Got to work on being nasty.
Marie: Exactly. No more Mrs Nice-Guy...-ess.
Shane: Quite.
Marie: Told her that I've got to stop planning ahead as it's just putting me under too much pressure to travel (to see people). Need to consciously sit down and do nothing from time to time.
Shane: Sounds healthy.
Marie: Yeah. I'm gonna go up and see her in December. (Checks time) Oh fuck - how can it be that time already.

And she was gone. Soon after, I received a text. It read: 'Just realised how dim that last sentence must have sounded. Next time you see me make me sit down for 15 minutes.' One minute later I received another text: '...unless the house is on fire. And sitting on the toilet doesn't count!'.

Our's is a house of high culture.

Temptress

2005-09-29T22:00:00.000Z

Ken: Y' remember Zoe?
Shane: Zoe? Mm... nope.
Ken: Well she's done alright for herself - she's been offered a job in S.A.
Shane: Who? What? Where?
Ken: Zoe - you met her when we did the Reading festival one year - the one where Eminem did that double act thing with Marilyn Manson-
Shane: Oh-, that was shit.
Ken: Yeah it was.
Shane: (pause) Zoe. Didn't you and she-
Ken: Yeah - long time ago - we don't talk about that.
Shane: Right - yeah.
Ken: Well anyway-
Shane: She was fit.
Ken: She is, was. Anyway, she's got herself a job in South Africa.
Shane: Good one. Doing what?
Ken: Something to do with film. I think.
Shane: Fit Zoe has got herself a job - in South Africa - that's 'something to do with... film'.
Ken: Yeah. (pause) Whoaaaaaaa - not porn. Just something to do with culture and tourism or something. Poncy stuff. Your sort of thing. You'd get it if she explained.
Shane: Mm, right. Hold on - poncy?
Ken: She says we can go and visit!
Shane: Bournemouth?
Ken: Not Bournemouth you tit. South Africa! We can visit her in South Africa.
Shane: Kenneth.
Ken: Mm?
Shane: What the fuck are you talking about?
Ken: She says that I should go and visit her, and that I should take someone else out there too.
Shane: Kenny. I hardly know her. And besides, I don't think she meant me.
Ken: But she liked you.
Shane: That's not what I meant.
Ken: What?
Shane: I think she meant something else.
Ken: You're making no sense.
Shane: I think she probably meant that you should take a... a girlfriend - if you had one.
Ken: But I don't have a girlfriend.
Shane: Yes, I know that.
Ken: I'm not sure that I want a girlfriend.
Shane: Well don't get one.
Ken: (pause) No, I won't.
Shane: Ok.
Ken: (pause) I thought we could go next August.
Shane: 'We' Kenneth, what is this 'we'? Go on your own again - you'd get more out of it that way. Personal adventure and all that.
Ken: I didn't mean that I wanted you to go as my girlfriend.
Shane: No, I know that. Bloody good job too.
Ken: Your brother maybe, but not you.
Shane: Are you being funny Kenneth?
Ken: Can't I tempt y'?
Shane: What? Homosexuality or Africa?
Ken: (far too long a pause) Africa.
Shane: (pause) I don't think that I could just about drop everything and piss off-
Ken: -like we used to?
Shane: Mm.
Ken: Sleep on it. I think you'd love it. Emma would understand. Fuck it - she'd be welcome too. And the boy.
Shane: Expensive.
Ken: Mm.
Shane: Kenneth.
Ken: Mm?
Shane: (pause) You dirty temptress.

It was an idea that would require strategic marketing.

Crosby

2005-09-26T23:00:00.000Z

Stills was overrated. Nash was never in it. So Emma and I drove up to Crosby. To see this. This I said (scroll down). This! Or maybe even this.

Backdrop to the place was wonderfully functional. Wind turbines, busy shipping lanes (passenger and cargo), high rise residential blocks, docklands, and general Liverpudlianisms. With not even a hint of Beatleage in sight, gladly.

Whereas Anthony Gormley's Angel of the North is an impressive stand-out feature on a hill near Gateshead (north east of England), this work is different in that it is not as high impact in a singular unitary fashion. Whereas The Writer on Parliament Hill or the Angel are basically one big 'fuckin' 'ell', 'Another Place' (Gormley's Crosby installation) covers a much broader space and invites onlookers to walk amongst its 100 life-sized (or Anthony-sized) figures. As with the Angel or The Writer there is not the scope for building serious immediate spin-offs (enterprises) around it. So, for now, the ice-cream men have it. However, the impact in terms of cultural profile or the esteem-laden rub-off that the locals experience is HIGH. Take this piece of dialogue - between Shane and a local Man - as a for instance:

Shane: Hi there, pretty impressive eh?
Man: Oh, there's plenty more - one hundred they reckon.
Shane: Right. Excellent.
Man: Aye.
Shane: You from round here?
Man: Walton - just over-
Shane: Yeah.
Man: Just brought the grandbairns out y' know.
Shane: Mm.
(Man checks that grandbairns haven't just gone belting into the sea - that would be dangerous)
Shane: We came up just to see this.
(Man looks at us as if we're 'strange')
Shane: Have you noticed whether there are more people visiting here now?
Man: Oh aye, no, there's always plenty of people up here - nice beach, oh aye definitely - more people, no.
Shane: Right.
Man: Where are yous from then?
Shane: Midlands City.
Man: Aliens.
Emma: Yeah, that's it. (More quietly) Come on Shane.
Shane: Yeah anyway, nice talkin' to y'.
Man: Mm?

Absolutely. Feelgood coarsing through that Man's veins.

After an hour and a bit of feeling the art, we got back into the Yellow Lupo and headed up the A565 for Southport - a childhood holiday haunt for Emma. At this point I clicked into the most relaxed I'd felt in bloody ages. We knew we were not really very far down the coast from Blackpool, but when she pointed out the Blackpool Tower on the horizon to the north by north west, my oafish northern heart leapt. A surge of childish 'I wanna go on the 'Big Dipper''. The taste of candy floss. Dozens of lager louts spewing into the gutter. My grandfather beating me and Brother Wexford at pitch and putt. Then, Emma spoke.

Emma: It would seem wrong not to do fish 'n' chips really.
Shane: I concur.
Emma: Let's walk.
Shane: Let's.
Emma: To the chip shop.
Shane: To the chip shop.

And so it was. With mushy peas.

It was the shape of romance.

Arvon IV

2005-09-24T11:00:00.000Z

Saturday 17 September, 2005.
01:30am.

Day 5 (or 6)

Remainder of Thursday was good - nailed characters and structure of what I was after (a play for 5 actors called 'Fall-out from the Hot Banana'). Got to bed last night at 1am after finishing the structure for the piece. Had managed to talk to both Emma and Alex at 6pm - both well it seemed. Evening session was very good - a quick trawl through the commissioning process - insider BBC information was useful there.

Today (Fri): saw one of the tutors - she was impressed by the synopsis and characters notes I'd written for 'Fall-out...'. Was asked to read parts for seven other people in this afternoon and evening's readings. I took the roles of a young traveller, two homeless men, a dead teenager (in flashback), a holiday-maker (discovering a dead body - as y' do), a student, a squash player, a DJ, and a talking microwave oven. Indeed. Was good fun. I'd written some dialogue for Fall-out this morning - got a bloke (mid-40s) and a woman (mid-50s) to read the main parts for me. Was told that I 'write really well as a man writing for women - which is rare' and that the dialogue was 'excellent' and that 'it all rang true'. Unrelated to writing (I think), I was told by a 71 year old woman from Shropshire that I spoke 'with the gravitas of a much older man'. I'm taking this to mean that I've had a good week. Would have liked to know more about some of the participants, then again, maybe it's more interesting not knowing their full life stories (that's not meant to sound harsh). Anyway, to adapt a Frank Sinatra line...

It was a very good week.

Arvon III

2005-09-22T15:00:00.000Z

Thursday 15th September, 2005.
11:50am

Day 4

No diary entry last night. Had a late finish (11pm) to the guest tutor's evening session - an entertaining scout through radio and screenwriting from a woman called Sue Teddern. Was useful looking at a script of her's (a five-part radio serial called 'Making Hay') then listening to an episode. Writing style was broadly comedy-drama. She was a good advert for 'being yourself' - few airs, fewer graces, witty, candid, admirably unself-conscious.

Phone call to Emma last night was a bit heavy - adjusting to Alex's new school regime, handling changes in him, looking ahead to balancing work/PhDing, tiredness and my interrupting an episode of Lost. Challenging.

Was writing character notes until 2am. At around 1:30am my phone got one bar of signal which was enough for a text from brother to be patched through. Saying all that needs to be said about brother, it read: 'How is Shropshire? Where is Shropshire?' The Shrewsbury Board of Tourism (S-BoT) would be appalled.

Up since 8am today. Had the most disorganised session so far, and the subject... 'structure'! Told one of the tutors that our meeting this afternoon can be cancelled as writing time is more important to me at the moment. She was ok about this. Seems that Friday will be a day for sharing scripts that are in development.

There are a few really impressive old people (70+) on the course - lively minds and engaging storiers too. Going to try to call Emma now.

Arvon II

2005-09-21T11:30:00.000Z

Tues 13th September, 2005.
11:59pm.

Day 2

A big first full day. Had been given a writing exercise yesterday evening for sharing with the group at 11:30 this morning. That session was forgiveably 'fluid' (ie badly time-managed). Seven out of the 14 shared their pieces (3 characters, 3 short scenes, based on 'There's been a death'). I wasn't intimidated by anyone's writing, but some of their ease/comfort in 'acting' made me wince. Later discovered that most readers/actors had been shatting themselves. Reassured. Team-cooking was interesting - I started peripherally (chief onion and cabbage chopper-and-fryer) but moved to centre ground as I realised that my fellow chefs couldn't co-ordinate cooking timings. Dinner was good. Glad to have got the cooking out of the way. No one poisoned. After dinner we returned to reading our pieces. I went first. Feedback was useful - critical in the most useful sense. Was glad that subtext/subtlety had been spotted (by a woman from the USA and a woman (70ish*) - 'I'm Maggie when I'm writing, Mags when I'm painting' - from Leeds). Can already identify my writing 'style', especially clear in comparison to capable others. Chat with tutor this afternoon was useful. Was interesting that in terms of critiquing a short radio piece I'd written recently, she made points that echoed problems that I've felt with my academic writing. She was good when I started firing questions at her. She mentioned a couple of names who would most likely be the best targets for 45 minute radio plays. All in good time.

Was good to hear of Alex's first day at school. I hear that it was a shared knowledge of Power Rangers that was bringing kids together. Sweet. Power down...

(* Later found to be 74)

Arvon I

2005-09-19T08:00:00.000Z

Tuesday 13th September, 2005.
12:10am.

Day 1

I'm in bed. Drove down to The John Osbourne Arvon Centre ('Hurst Mill Farm') in Clun, Shropshire, this afternoon... fresh from a PhD supervision meeting and Crazy Golf at the Leisure Park. Alex (4) croqueted his way round the course, Emma was on good form. I would have liked to have been around for Alex's first day at school tomorrow (9 hours and 20 minutes from now). Hopefully school will prove to be a rich highly tappable social scene for him. Could take the pressure to stimulate off la famille. Anyway, Arvon...

First three people that I saw when I got here were:-

1. Female, mid-60s*, middle-class clothing/style - seemed 'quiet'/shy/scared of me. Pleasantries exchanged.
2. Female, mid-50s, driving posh car, seemed ditsy/airheaded. Introduced self and enquired as to she.
3. Female, 30ish, soon established that she was cover for one of the centre directors. Introduced self and enquired as to she.

(* Later found to be 71)

Then! I saw a man at a distance of about 20 metres, and I almost blurted out (based on my spying his hair-do) 'Fuck - he's got writer hair!' So glad that I didn't make such a gaff. But the hair was thespish.

First whole group gathering was conveniently soon after I landed - basic house-keeping stuff, just prior to this I spoke to writer hair man - bit spooked by his having been an Arvonist of many years, though it seemed uncouth that he laboured to make the point that he'd been on a tutorless 'Writers' Retreat' with Arvon - emphasising his being a writer. Was reminded of Patrick Marber's use of the label 'writer' as a pejorative in the play Closer. I understood.

The people here all seem decent. Have already identified four or five of the group of 14 tutees (11 female, 3 male) who I'm most interested in. Have broken the ice with all but one so far. Tutors have already started laying on the 'insider knowledge' - am picking up stuff at the business end of things.

As advised by Marie, I'm wisely getting my 'team cooking' duty out of the way as soon as possible - tomorrow. Will be cooking with:-

1. Female, Shetland Islander, approx 45.
2. Female, Worcs, approx 50-55.
3. Female, Shropshire, approx 60-65.

Oh! And there's no mobile phone reception and no internet! Shropshire cold turkey what!

It has begun.

Forthcoming

2005-09-18T08:00:00.000Z

The North Pole was closed, therefore, I've been here, doing this.

I kept a politically-correct (ish) diary of the experience for sharing with a couple of interested folk. I'm going to make those diary entries the next few instalments of this blog. Will let them leak (or seap) out at a rate of one every two or three days, starting tomorrow (Monday).

*****
I love being surrounded by steep forested hills.

Wedding

2005-09-06T18:30:00.000Z

Went to a wedding last weekend. I met the marrying couple, Dawn and Tim, through Emma – that was September 2004. Saw them again November and December 2004, and February 2005. Highly likeable people, both sharing the same sense of humour, neither taking themselves or each other too seriously. A match made in Hull. Before this, the last wedding that I attended was about 10 years ago. I didn’t think people got married anymore. Clearly I was wrong.

The wedding ceremony, dinner and party all took place at a city centre hotel here in the Midlands. In attendance there was to be a handful of people who I already knew, but about 100 or so who I didn’t know. Being, in effect, a ‘plus one’ at such an occasion felt a bit odd. However, there must have been plenty of us ‘plus ones’, and to everyone’s credit it wasn’t possible to tell who were the old friends and who were the new.

Now, I had to keep telling myself that I had to just go with the flow, not think too much about this ‘getting married’ malarkey, and be positive. Also, recognising that I could end up cogitating too much about what this was all about, Emma also suggested that I ‘go with the flow, not think too much about this ‘getting married’ malarkey, and be positive’. We were thinking (but not too much) as one. In the way that children are likely to get bored at such occasions (thus colouring pens and paper are thrust at them), Emma cleverly found a ‘task’ for me. She herself was on usherly duties. Whilst flitting about being Mr Sociable I had to keep a keen ear open for any one-liners that stood out, for whatever reason – funny, poignant, uplifting, whatever. This was in order that images and words from the event could later be mixed to create a montage of Dawn and Tim’s big day. Good one, Emma. So I got scribbling. Here are a handful of one-liners, some I heard direct, others were relayed to me:-

‘Burning the hotel down with hair-straighteners would not be a good idea’ (Friend Jo, to Shane, in her hotel room prior to events)

‘We saw Tim at breakfast – he’d been for a swim and was stuffing his face; one of his best men was hung-over and had been practicing his best man speech ‘til 4am’ (Lucy, a friend)

‘Here we are in the city centre, surrounded by places where Dawn grew up – drinking; memories – perfect; we’ve got laser quest over there in case people get bored later’ (Tim, privately to Shane)

‘How are you feeling, Tim - serene?’
‘Serene isn’t the word, I’m thinking of relocating to the toilet’ (Tim, responding to Emma’s sister)

‘You still can’t get married on football pitches – shame that’ (The Registrar)

‘You look beautiful’ (Tim, privately to Dawn – lip-read by Shane as Dawn joined Tim for the ‘Do yous’ and ‘I dos’)

‘Does anyone know what you do with a cravat?’ (Best man 1, to Emma, wedding morning)

‘My Dad’s best friend is here - Bob’ (Mal, another ‘plus one’)

‘This is just so publicly emotional – it’s fantastic’ (Sara, wife of a best man)

‘He’s a smashin’ fella’ (Dawn’s aunt, to a friend)

‘I guess you don’t know who I am, do you?’ (Emma’s Dad, to Tim)

‘We didn’t know whether it would sound any good - the guitars being put through the disco, but she sang really well didn’t she?’ (Dawn’s uncle, guitarist; also referring to Tim’s sister, singer)

‘We like to think of them as our very own celebrity couple – a bit like Anthea Turner and Grant Bovey really’ (Best man 1)

‘I’m Tim and Dawn’s posh friend’ (Best man 2)

‘It was leaving the house this morning – that’s when it got me’ (Dawn’s mum)

‘I didn’t realise that everyone else was like that (crying)’ (Dawn’s mum)

‘I’m going to hide behind a pillar to have a smoke, let me know if my mum or dad come’ (Emma’s sister, aged 26)

And my personal favourite, Lucy inviting our ‘cripple’ friend Jill, to dance:

Lucy: ‘Dance Jill?’
Jill: ‘I’d rather eat my own hand’

Now, given my initial reserve and anticipation of feeling somewhat removed from the whole thing, let me tell you that on no fewer than about 10 occasions did I well up, big time. Tears didn’t quite roll, but I was moved – a lot. Because of the ‘family histories’ of both Tim and Dawn, it was the case that the whole event was loaded with emotion in addition to the standard fare emotion of such an occasion. Seeing and hearing ordinarily ‘cool’, ‘easy-going’ and ‘light’ friends getting watery-eyed and speaking publicly with voices cracking under the emotional weight of the day would have challenged even the coldest among us to keep it together. I was surprised and glad at how I experienced the whole day. I was also surprised, but a little less glad, at how I danced to the B-52s’ ‘Love Shack’.

Weddings eh!

*****
I love a happy ending.

Am going to be away for almost a fortnight, will be back.

Sevens

2005-09-03T08:00:00.000Z

A Cheshire blesspoppet invited me to do one of those meme things. I accepted. Thus:

7 things that I can do:-

- Ask good questions
- Listen
- Bore you senseless
- Give orgasms
- Indeed
- Not you sir
- Do big hard mental arithmetic sums really quickly

7 things that I can't do:-

- Fart on demand
- Ride a unicycle (I tried, it hurt)
- Watch soap operas
- Know what's 'best for me'
- Ignore people who I care about
- Pretend to like mushrooms
- Imagine what Shane Wexford would look like

7 things that I find really attractive about the opposite* sex:- (What? All of them?)

- Wit
- Flirtation
- Sharp mind
- Tits
- Legs
- The older/smarter look
- Colgate smile

* Opposite, same, whatever works for you

7 things that I say the most:-

- Say that again
- Not good
- Indeed
- I'm not sure that that's a good idea, Alex
- Emma, Alex has...
- I tried to stop him but...
- Am I in trouble?

7 books that I love:-

- The Hippopotamus by Stephen Fry
- The Dancer Upstairs by Nicholas Shakespeare
- These
- two
- really
- stand
- out

7 things that I plan to do before I die:-

- Do all that I can to dodge the bus
- Revisit upstate NY
- Score a goal in an 11-a-side football match (it's been a while)
- Sing my kind of song in public
- Produce a play
- Get older
- Get wiser

I know that memes are an acquired taste - not a taste that I'd wish to heap on anyone. However, if you could bear being 'tagged', then please, consider yourself so - and let me know. Would be interested to read your responses, whoever you are. Go on, 'ave it.

*****
I love Paris (the place).

Ah

2005-09-01T21:30:00.000Z

I feel bad.

I'd just spoken to Brother Wexford (I on the mobile, he on his landline) about the misfortunes of Middlesbrough FC (I mostly laughing, he mostly cursing his season ticket holder status). I'd also mentioned that our young sister, Sister Wexford, had been trying to recruit me into a campaign of wresting Brother from the clutches of his smothering ladychum, Karen. I assured Brother that sister was told to leave him to make his own decisions. Our phone chat ended convivially. 'Ta ta' said I, 'That sounded a bit gay' said he 'See y''. We put our phones down. I poured a glass of Rosé - fuel for my evening's working.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In its entirety, the message read:

'Got a new phone number it is xxxxxxxxxxx. Made a mistake putting in some code, so got a new sim card with new number'. 'Hmm, is probably forgetful Brother again - the oaf!' thought I. I replied:

'Thanks for that. New number duly noted. Shane. ps/ Who the fuck are you?' I wasn't feeling very literary.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In it's entirety, the message read:

'It's your Mam'. 'Hmm, I just wrote the word 'fuck' to my mum - that's not gonna go down too well' thought I. I replied:

'Ah. Probably shouldn't have sworn just there'.

A moment later, a double bleep. '1 message received'. In it's entirety, the message read:

'No. You shouldn't'.

I'm off to Tesco to buy a Flake, though I will have to take my foot out of my mouth before I eat it.

*****
I love Flakes.

Monkey

2005-08-30T16:00:00.000Z

Saturday...

Shane: Don't be ridiculous
Emma: It's true, look (hands over a leaflet) - my Mum went last week
Shane: Oh my- it's true - monkeys... in Stoke-on-Trent! How bizarre
Emma: She said it was good
Shane: So it's a bit... zoo-like, is it?
Emma: No, she wouldn't have liked that - she said that they all seemed happy - climbing trees, swinging about and looking to be generally at ease
Shane: Mm
Emma: So should we?
Shane: What?
Emma: Go
Shane: Where?
Emma: To the monkey park of course
Shane: Ah the monkey park... in Stoke-on-Trent (awkward silence) er-, okay then

Enter Alex

Alex: Mummy, what time are we going to see the monkeys?
Shane: Eh? How come-
Emma: I said we'd go tomorrow didn't I
Alex: Oh yeah - cos Shane is a cheeky monkey and we have to take him to the monkey park (Emma laughs)
Shane: Wha'? Conspiracy! You'd already decided
Emma: No - I simply chose to tell you about what would have been an exciting surprise for you - you're 'inner circle' you are Shane
Shane: Rigggghhhhhhht (not convinced)

Sunday (at the monkey park)...

Shane: Heh look at that one
Alex: Which?
Shane: It's on it's mummy's back - she just crossed the footpath up ahead
Alex: Noooo-
Shane: Yes she did - I saw
Emma: No I think he means-
Shane: There! You can see! She's just stopped by the log - the baby has hopped to the ground
Alex: No Shane
Shane: It did - I saw it
Emma: No - what he means is-
Shane: But-
Alex: Shannnnnnnne, it's not a monkey -
Shane: Mm?
Alex: - it's a baby squirrel!
Shane: What? (looks up) Oh yeahhhh
Alex: See!
Shane: That's what I said - look at that baby squirrel on the monkey's back
Emma: No you didn't
Alex: No you didn't
Shane: (Pause) Yes I did
Alex: SHANE! LOOK - UP THE TREE! (really really loud)
Shane: What? (concerned)
Alex: I can see that one's bum hole! Yuuuuuuk! (bystanders snigger)

Earth does not open up to swallow Emma and Shane.

*****
I love lower league football.

vanilla

2005-08-26T23:00:00.000Z

Had a long, deep and incredibly meaningful... chat (d'ohhhhhh!) yesterday evening. Was with old pal Nicola (a PhDist from Far Far Away). She started asking questions that allowed me to pontificate and gently preach. Having asked 'Shane, would you say that you're a liberal?' I explained four categories which had to be considered in response to that question. You see, the popular uses of the terms 'liberal' and 'conservative' frustrate me. Nicola already knew this as I had recently berated her for believing our mutual pal Tom to be - in the 'small c' sense - 'conservative'. Tom is a Tory (Conservative Party supporter) but he is also socially 'and' economically liberal. His friends are religiously, sexually, politically and nationally diverse (there are even one or two of us who he hasn't slept with). Under the influence of Veronica Vodka (a foul she-beast), he once explained to Nicola, self and Ken (hurrah!) the good sense in the lowest paid workers operating outside of the formal and visible (read 'legal') economy. At this time his brother was dealing ecstacy (a phase that he was threatened out of). Tom explains his own being a Tory with the simple line 'I hate paying tax'.

In answer to Nicola I expalined that as I see it, at the level of the individual, we have:-

Social liberalism – Whoever you are and whatever views you hold, I will sit down and listen to you without interrupting. I will hear you and share tea with you without imposing my worldview – local or global.

Economic liberalism – I’m willing to trade and/or accept others' trade that occurs in ways that diverge from what is deemed to be standard economic practice.

Social conservatism – Social change and diversity need to be carefully controlled. There are ways of life that need to be protected and ways of life that need to be guarded against. I will hear you and share tea with you as long as our worldviews are in approximate accordance.

Economic conservatism – Existing forms of trading need to be secured and maintained. Alternative forms of economic activity are undesirable.

My main point was that when we hear reference to a person being 'liberal', I believe this is often a gross simplification and far too often a weakly tested label. Ultimately, I said that Nicola should choose for herself whether she thought I was a liberal, however, I did mention that I'd slash her bike tyres for not knowing me well enough if she deigned me to be broadly conservative.

(...)

Now, this may have seemed like a more than usually odd (if not entirely up my own arse) sort of post, however, it was just something that I had to get out of my system.

Bidding you wellness.

*****
I love vanilla milkshake... rock 'n' roll!

Ass

2005-08-23T18:30:00.000Z

Last week I went for an interview in York. It was for a research job. I didn’t get it. At first I was a bit peeved about this but then thought ‘Ah well, heigh ho, some you win and some you lose due to a very foolish statement that you make at the very beginning of the interview’:

Chair of interview panel: Blah blah do feel free to ask any questions as we go blah blah blah so anyway, blah blah blah
Shane: Ah, interesting question blah blah blah blah blah (looks interested, thinks ‘Gosh I really fancy the person who is sat next to the chair of the panel’)
[Repeat 3 times]
Shane: Actually, can I just ask a question?
Chair: Sure
Shane: How is the organization structured in terms of research groupings or units? I’m thinking that with this being a growing organization, staff numbers increasing and you all researching similar subject matter, how are the likely cross-overs in researchers’ projects and expertise managed – what form of line management occurs?
Chair: Well, there are aspirations and there are realities ('Great – a straight-talker' thinks I) blah blah blah blah to what extent that becomes a reality remains to be seen blah blah blah ('Right, sounds a bit… ‘ambitious’' thinks I)
Shane: Right, sounds a bit... ‘ambitious’
(All of panel except Chair look shocked)
(‘Fuck’ thinks I)
(Interview continues and passes without further shocks to the panel)
(Few days later an effusively complimentary ‘Fuck off’ letter arrives)

Dear reader, fear not for Shane, there are other more likely avenues of change being pursued. My point - the idea of my possibly moving up north had been greeted with a reaction of ‘Eeeek’ and then some practical support by Emma – most appreciated that was too. Applying for the job was in part a reflection of my feeling like I was in a work-based rut, the like of which I’ve not experienced for a long time. Any relocation would have probably meant a reduction in the amount of time we spent together and as I noted KT Tunstall saying recently 'This song goes out to all of you who have ever been involved in a long distance relationship... what were you thinking!' Truth be told, it was a price that I was willing to pay. Unto himself, rutsome Shane is not an attractive bunny.

Talking this situ over with a couple of academic-types (supervisors and former colleagues) yesterday, I heard mention of many others who had habitually lived separately (by great distance) from their partners. At this I found myself tending to think 'Yes - but most of those who you mention I had previously assumed to be closet homosexuals - like for like(ish) comparisons please'. As it is, I don't expect there to be any great leap into the deep dark far-off unknown of... well, North Yorkshire or anywhere really. So the Midlands it is - could be worse, could be Cumbernauld.

*****
I love learning that in terms of the use of hair wax you just need to use a tiny amount - not a great big dollop like what I used for my interview in York. D'ohhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Damn my lack of haircraft knowledge, damn it!

Oh, and one more thing, would it be wrong to start painting phone boxes pink... like this one?

Gentle

2005-08-19T18:30:00.000Z

Received a pleasant flurry of text messages from chum Green-fingers over in the Potteries - she's not a gardener or anything, she just didn't get to the anti-septic in time. Gentle summer text message reading...

1. Just spotted scratched graffito on bus: Mike loves Lisa and Amy. Found this to be touching.

2. Stoke summer: 3 little kids and a spotty dog running down the hill to the rec, dog turning his head to check they're all keeping up.

3. Overheard in the bakers: 'I'm goin' hospital Mon-dee with my knee'. May have blurted a nanosecond snigger. Received scornful look from cake guardian.

*****
I love the conservative dress code of polite Japanese society.

Cretin

2005-08-14T23:00:00.000Z

I have been blackmailed.

Emma: How's Ken?
Shane: Fine
Emma: You were talking for quite a while the other night
Shane: Yeah, I was telling him that I was gonna kill him off in the blog
Emma: (Laughs) No you weren't (Pause) you weren't were you?
Shane: Yeah
Emma: Why?
Shane: Don't know, fancied writing something a bit different, thought it would be funny
Emma: Well I don't think you should
Shane: Too late, I already did
Emma: Wha-?
Shane: Well, I suppose technically I didn't - Ken was last seen getting in a taxi bound for-
(The phone rings, I look at it)
Emma: Are you gonna get it?
Shane: It's getting late - they can leave a message
Emma: Answer the phone

Shane: (Answers phone) Hello
Ken: You cunt!
Shane: Kenneth! You're alive! (Laughing)
Ken: You sent me to Egypt
Shane: Well we don't know that you actually got there
Ken: -with a 'My First Chemistry Set'
Shane: Yeah, I liked that bit
Ken: You bastard - wait 'til I tell Emma
Shane: She already knows
(Emma eyes me with suspicion, I shake my head and mouth 'It's nothing - just Ken')
(Emma strides towards me, 'Hello' thinks I, she takes the phone from me)

Emma: Ken
Ken: Emma!
Shane: Emma!
Emma: Fuck off murderer!
Shane: Wha-?
(Emma listens as Ken talks)
Emma: Mm (more Ken talk) yeah (still, Ken talks) I know (yet more Ken) I know - he's being a spiteful shit isn't he?
Shane: Hehhhhhhh, give me the phone - he called to speak to me
Emma: Just a minute Ken (places hand over mouthpiece) Can I help you?
Shane: Come on - very funny - now give me the phone
Emma: What's that word?
Shane: (Pause) Please, give me the phone
Emma: No (Ken rambles on) yeah - I'm going to sort it out (Ken again) I know, I think it's the beginning of a God complex - we've got to nip it in the bud
Shane: (Laughing) 'God complex' - excellent!
Emma: Ken, that's great! I will (laughs) yeah - definitely, bye love (hangs up the phone)
Shane: What the fuck are y' doing?
Emma: Hm?
Shane: He called me - he wanted to talk with me
Emma: He did talk with you
Shane: He called me a cunt (Emma laughs) and a bastard
(Emma laughs more, stops laughing, then coldly gives me 'a look')
Shane: What?
Emma: What?
Shane: What's that look?
Emma: What look?
Shane: (Pause) You gave me a look - it was pure evil
Emma: 'Pure evil'! You're ridiculous sometimes (laughs)
Shane: You're cackling
Emma: No I'm not (smiles) (pause) you're to bring Ken back
Shane: What?
Emma: You heard
Shane: Why?
Emma: Because you don't send one of your best friends to Egypt after inferring that he's a terrorist
Shane: (Laughs) Is that what he said?
Emma: If you don't there'll be a price
Shane: (Laughing) What price?
Emma: (Smiles) I don't know... 'a price' (she gives that look again) I'm due on in a couple of days
Shane: (Pause) -and your point is?
Emma: My tits feel... gi-normous (grins)
Shane: (Pause) Mm?
Emma: Oh nothing - doesn't concern you anyway
Shane: Your tits feel bigger?
Emma: Mm
Shane: Here, let me see
Emma: Ah no no no y' don't - you've got to bring back Ken
(Pause) (I look baffled) (Emma smiles)
Shane: Are you-?
Emma: Blackmailing you? Mm, I think I am
Shane: You git!
Emma: (Laughs) Go on - get blogging...

Dear readers, it is with great distress and hundredweights - actually no, thousandweights - of sadness that I have to inform you that Ken is... Ken is back. In fact, what with him being the feckless arse that he most undoubtably is, he hardly even went away. Apparently last week's taxi driver ran the cretin straight to hospital - having rightly spotted that there was something 'not quite right' with our Kenny. Anyway, at the hospital our hero was administered mild sedatives, was allowed a day of rest and recuperation and was then thrown out onto the street whereupon he made his way back to the Kennypad in Holloway. He called me on Friday to relay details of his scrape. The fool.

*****
Thus far (2/24), I love Lost.

Cairo?

2005-08-11T11:00:00.000Z

Called Ken on Wednesday evening to say thanks for good hosting last weekend and to mention that his return to this blog in my last post had been welcomed by a commenter (someone who, I should add, has never met him!) and that his thong-related contribution had raised discussion.

Ken: Hello?
Shane: Hello there
Ken: Ah hello, thought it was you
Shane: Why?
Ken: Cos the screen on my phone says ‘Shane’ when you ring
Shane: Technology eh?
Ken: An amazing thing. So what d’ y’ want? Business or pleasure?
Shane: My dear Kenneth, it could only be pleasure with you
Ken: Are you pissed (as in drunk)?
Shane: No no no, just calling to throw pleasantries your way for general hosting and weekend Kennethness
Ken: You are welcome my son, was good to get out on Sunday morning – it’s a long time since I saw a Sunday morning
Shane: Quite. Also, d’ y’ remember that woman at The Holloway?
Ken: Er-, y’ mean ‘Woman’
Shane: Which woman?
Ken: Pretty wee thong thing?
Shane: Yes - well I mentioned in a blog post that she’d inspired our consideration of thongs
Ken: Righhhhhhhht. Is this going somewhere unpleasant?
Shane: No no, far from it – one person even said that they were glad that Ken was back
Ken: Ken was back from where?
Shane: Back in the blog – I think
Ken: Why? What did y’ say about me?
Shane: Very little – just that we’d talked thongs and done a bit of trogging about
Ken: So they like me
Shane: ‘They’? It was one person – just one
Ken: Man or woman?
Shane: Woman
Ken: Attractive?
Shane: Fuck off – what’s that got to do with anything?
Ken: Attractive?
Shane: Don’t know, haven’t seen a picture. Writes well though.
Ken: Mm
Shane: Well I thought it was a nice thing to say
Ken: Mm, so are y’ gonna write some more about me?
Shane: Not for a while
Ken: Why not? Why not give the people what they want?
Shane: Er-, give the ‘person’ what she wants. One person Kenneth, one person
Ken: -and the silent majority
Shane: I’m not sure about that
Ken: Go on, it’s important that we make best use of me
Shane: Whoa whoa whoa – ‘we make best use’? ‘We’? No. The people are not yet ready for a Ken blog
Ken: Shame – would have probably added something
Shane: What d’ y’ mean?
Ken: Y’ know – I don’t mind y’ puttin’ pictures of me on there – y' could sort me out a date or something
Shane: Get lost (pause) In fact, I was thinking of killing you off
Ken: (Laughs)
Shane: It would obviously be a heroic death – desperately trying t’ save a hamster from a burning building or some such
Ken: (Still amused) No, I don’t think we should act too hastily – mine is a rising star
Shane: (Distracted) What’s that noise that I can hear?
Ken: Oh! (Laughs loudly – guffaws even)
Shane: It sounds quite distressing – Kenneth, have you got a woman there?
Ken: It’s er- (background noise fades) it’s Whitney Houston
Shane: What?
Ken: I thought that I’d been watching too many nasty gangsterish films since I got back so I’ve decided that for every violent film that I watch I’ve got to watch one er- kind of love story type of film
Shane: A romance?
Ken: (Pause) Yeah
Shane: (Pause) That’s quite ‘balanced’ of you
Ken: Yeah, that’s what I thought
Shane: Ok, good. Good. So what’s the film?
Ken: Have you seen ‘The Bodyguard’?
Shane: I’m afraid I haven’t Ken…
[We talk on – Ken later acknowledges that in covering not much of the right bottom that thongs can be ‘quite compelling’]

Dear readers, it is with great distress and hundredweights of sadness that I have to inform you that… Ken is no longer with us. In fact, it was quite the most horrific of incidents. You see, I called him on Wednesday and after his gleeful answering of phone, Ken reached for the remote control to his television set. Police later mentioned evidence of his watching a Whitney Houston film. Anyway, upon reaching for the remote from his position of ‘dangerously perched by the open window’, Ken toppled back and fell into a lower flat’s large plantpot installation. Muddied and bruised, Ken lumbered into the street. Confused, he wandered into an adjacent building. There, he collected a child’s edition of this and was last seen hailing a taxi. He is said to have mumbled to the cabbie ‘Heathrow please, I’ve got relatives in Egypt’. Ken leaves behind an incomplete PhD thesis in International Relations.

*****
I loved that man. [Insert tributes here]

London

2005-08-08T16:00:00.000Z

Landed at Euston 4:30pm on Friday. By 6:30pm Friday I’d decided that this was not going to be a trip that spiked my interest in living in London. Travelling through the rush hour down to Streatham was enough to tell me this. That said, the seeing of old pals and generality of the weekend was good.

Nancy chum talked of speed-dating. This enthused me. In order to work out what kind of chap she’d be interested in we turned to the Time Out’s personal ads section whereupon I read the ads and she marked (out of 10) her interest in the individual. Following ten random ‘males seeking females’ ads, scores ranged from 2 up to 7. Fairly poor I’d say. So, I quietly threw in a curveball… I read out an ad from the males seeking males section… an instant hit – 8 out of 10! Thus, I pointed out that Nancy would be better off becoming a gay man. At this, she cast me a dirty look – as in unimpressed dirty rather than... er other dirty, yeah anyway…

The theatre trip on Saturday afternoon was excellent. The venue (Kings Head pub, Islington) was fantastic. Capacity looked to be just under 100, was a sell-out. The play was a script, directorial, casting and acting success. Which I guess means a production success. It was especially good to see Sara Crowe (the blond one) evidencing greater range than she would be popularly associated with (having been the face of an 80s/90s ‘soft spread’ product). It was also interesting to just discover this review saying very much the same thing.

Other than that, I bought a gorgeous brown suit (very mature Nick Cave) that I’ve now discovered I can’t afford (very stupid of me) (note to self: do not spend monies that are ‘due’ to go into the account). On Saturday evening we ate at Wagamama in Soho – very good it was too. Here, we met Ken – for the handover of Shane.

Trogged up to Holloway with dearest Ken following a quick scout about Leicester Square. Ken and I discussed matters much more profound than the merits and demerits of speed-dating, we discussed… thongs! We agreed that they are quite chavvish and we concurred with the view that a 20% dip in thong sales should be attributed to this association. Sociological factum: nice middle class girls wear nice big pants.

Reminded of Huw’s review of his walk up to Parliament Hill to check out the table and chair, that is where I deigned we should head on Sunday morning. Breakfast at a café below the hill, and great views atop made for a most contented self. Was good. We later mixed with the masses at The Holloway pub down on Holloway Road. An all very gritty end to my Londoning.

Met with Emma at Euston (she’d been spending the weekend with some hens – that’s farmyard fetishism for y’). There, we jumped on a Virgin. En route to the Midlands, whilst feeling fully relaxed from the weekend, Emma raised talk of the impacts of my likely working away in the coming months. This was a conversation that was at times heavy and awkward and was really the kind of conversation that we needed to be having. ‘Yuk’ and ‘so long’ relaxed weekend vibe.

*****
I love weekend breaks.

Sporadic

2005-08-03T00:45:00.000Z

London calls. Will be doing public transport in the directions of Streatham thence Holloway this weekend. Feels like an age and a half since I last ventured into the capital. Is in fact 10 months. I wonder if much has changed since then... Quite looking forward to seeing this. Beyond that, no specific plans other than to meet with a couple of pals.

*****
Wrote a radio play last weekend, as y' do. Also met a chap from the BBC about making a short PhD-related film for him. All exciting.

*****
Went to bed at 2:30am this morning. Was woken at 6am by a 4 year old for whom the first two hours of the day are about plastic sword fights, playing with toy trucks, watching Power Rangers (featuring the very sexy baddy 'Divatox'... I know, I'm bad) and generally beginning his day of educating the masses as only he knows how - 'Er, no Shane, they're not acting - it's real'. Fair to say three and a half hours sleep just isn't enough.

*****
Oh, and I'm looking forward to the new football season, as I imagine are these three bloggers: 1, 2, 3.

*****
I love... the Oasis song 'The Importance of Being Idle'.

Spiked

2005-07-31T15:30:00.000Z

A couple of months ago I was in another place writing about having made initial online moves towards searching for the whereabouts of Pa Wexford's younger brother - Thomas - 9 years the junior. Older Other Brother - Len - is 9 years older than Pa Wex' and is thus 18 years older than Thomas. Last contact between Pa Wex' and Thomas was about 25 years ago. Contact with Thomas ended after Len and he had had some kind of bust-up - the details of which seem not to be known to my father. The deal was that Thomas simply packed his bags and fucked off from the house that he'd been sharing with his oldest brother (their ages would have been about 19 and 37 at the time). Their parents had died young. ANYWAY, that's the background.

Last weekend I gently introduced Pa Wex' to some printouts that I'd taken related to just one of a few Thomas Wexfords (pseud.) that I'd found information on. This included a picture. Pa Wex' studied the image and as he did this I could see that he was thinking hard. It was a bit odd to think that he might not actually recognise his younger brother should he be presented with him. We soon established that the chap in the image bore some similarities to the younger Thomas but that it wasn't him as the date of birth (that I'd also fluked upon) was out by about two years. Now, Pa Wex' is not a man who is in any way hinternet-savvy, but he is a man who rather oddly occasionally drops an unnecessary 'h' in front of some words that begin with vowel sounds... happle, horange, hand so hon. I think he does this to irritate self and sister, though he merely comes across as an innocent lunatic. Anyway, beyond glancing over the afore-mentioned printout there was no greatly demonstrative indication of further interest in the missing Thomas. To my father it's a story that ended a long time ago I reasoned. Odd that he'd have totally dropped it though. So, last weekend passed and I thought at the end of it 'Oh well, there was an opportunity to show an interest and it passed'. Don't get me wrong, I was quite comfortable with this.

Then. In midweek I'm on the phone to Ma and she says just before I go 'Oh - hold on, your Dad wants a word'. This was unusual. So pa takes the phone, coughs into it and then speaks:

Pa Wex': Shane!
Shane: Hello.
Pa Wex': Y' know you showed us that stuff from the computer about that Thomas?
Shane: Yeah.
Pa Wex': Well you said there was another Thomas who was a bird-watcher...
Shane: Yeah - in either RuralCounty or ReallyRuralCounty.
Pa Wex': Yeah. Well d' y' think y' could find anything else out about him for us?
Shane: I can certainly try. It might take a little while though.
Pa Wex': That's alright - y' know - just when you've got time, see what y' can find out for us.
Shane: Ok. Will do.

And so it came to pass that after what has been a great many years Pa Wex' has volunteered an interest on Thomas. This pleased me though it carries an edge of unease. An interest has been spiked and an interest shall be pursued. It feels like a very interesting story in progress, which is a very good thing - from where I'm sitting, standing and poking my nez in where it might not be wanted.

*****
Today, I love my father. [ - SPACE FOR YOU TO WEEP/VOMIT INTO - ]

60p

2005-07-27T19:45:00.000Z

It’s a strange old time – with much of London still reeling and the rest of us feeling the aftershocks, even life in the provincial English Midlands seems unsettled. For Shane, this is compounded by such matters as having to call upon unpleasantness in order to ensure that monies owed to him become monies paid to him, matters such as grandma Elspeth feigning Telephone-Alzheimer’s in order to be left alone to watch the cricket, and matters such as a steady rise in the number of unprovoked kitten attacks – CharlieDimmock is no longer a cute and cuddly wee thing, she's a big bounding brute of a she-kitten, and I caught her snapping branches on the cheese plant the other day. However, wallowing aside – a very difficult aside, it is true that in amongst all of this there are gleaming twenty pence pieces - accidentally swallowed but never forgotten. Let us march together and spend:-

1. Earlier today, our elderly near neighbour Harry knocked at the door. Marie recognised him immediately and soon we were formally introduced. His effusively helpful manner had been prefaced with an unhurried 'Well you see, I was trimming the hedge earlier and I had a bit of an accident...' At this I thought we were about to hear about how he'd accidentally lopped off his wife's left arm and that such an event was 'a bit of a shame really' and that 'If it's not too much to ask - I can see you're both working - would it be possible for one of you to run us to the hospital, it's just that I think she might be about to run out of blood...' - so mild and gentle was he. Anyway, the dear old boy had merely broken his garden sheers and was seeking a replacement pair. By way of returning what favours were offered he was particularly keen that Marie should 'Take my number - it's just that you never know when you might need me, in the night or something - for some help, y' know - anything at all - always happy to help'. Dirty old rogue. But despite that, the sort of chap who adds warmth and charm and horticultural injuries to a townscape. Gorgeous. [20p]

2. Today, I very nearly accidentally bought a pair of young Herefords. It's not often that I think "I think I'll pop down to the cattle market for a bit of a wander" but today I did. Having got in amongst the farmers and done my best to feel part of it (and not stick out as the only one who could smell the cow shit), I took a near front position as a pen of cattle were being filtered through the bidding area. With my fascinated eyes darting between bidders and auctioneer, at one point as the price charged up the auctioneer interpreted my overly-interested eye-contact as a bid, thus, for a fleeting moment in his 10 words per second tirade - 'One twenny one twenny one twenny AND thirdy an' thirdy an' thirdy AND fordy AND fiffy an' fify an' fiffy an' fi' and fi' and fi' FIVE AND sold one fifty five the TWO Hereford Bull' - I was the buyer of the Herefords. Driving back to the chateau I thought to myself, 'Fuck me - just what if! Pete and Marie would have been well pissed off to find that I'd brought home a couple of young Herefords... without first consulting'. [40p]

3. Received the following email from Country Bumpkin Pal (Shelly): 'Shaney old boy, I am at Michigan Uni feeling like a fish very much out of water. None of the familiar signs of agriculture, just a load of yanks and very large portions of everything (I thought I had a big appetite til I got here). First (and quite possibly last) trip to the states and 2 weeks to get through - am already planning my escape to a ranch or Canada. Feel like an extra in a bad US college 'movie'... News from reality please?' The thought of Shelly at any overseas university other than Yeeha University amused me greatly. [60p]

There you have it, 60 pence worth of blog, now go on - naff off or I'll clip y' round the lug hole.

*****
I do love the Holland football shirt, but I'm yet to be convinced by this old Charlton Athletic horror.

NEWS UPDATE I: Have just returned from town. Was horrified to note the headline on the local 'paper was 'Pensioner in Wheelie Bin Row'. I do hope it wasn't Harry. [Thursday 1:32pm]

NEWS UPDATE II: Relief, dear reader. It wasn't Harry. He tells me that he remains entirely happy with his relationship with the town's wheelie bins. [Thursday 2:47pm]

Chomping

2005-07-25T12:00:00.000Z

Recently, a commenter to a post of Deanne mentioned 'love bite'. This is a term that has bamboozled and amused me in equal measure ever since the age of 13 years, 4 months and 26 days.

Please, let me explain.

A temporary red mark on a person's skin resulting from kissing or sucking by their lover (def.) is a straight forward enough thing in terms of how it's produced and what it looks like. Some are purpley, some reddish, some deep dark blue, some 'dotty', some more solid-looking, and some will go through phases featuring each of these appearances. Some will last for days, others will be gone in hours. Now, in the throes of pash - when the juices are flowing and general trouser- and skirt-forms tell of zealous anticipation, a spot of devouring seems quite acceptable to me*. However. 'Love bite' - no, this is not an acceptable term. 'We-were-getting-down-to-rudies-and-we-got-a-bit-carried-away-and-now-m'-neck-looks-like-it-was-struck-by-a-speeding-golf-ball bite' - yes, that's more like it - it's more of a 'does exactly what it says on the tin' kind of a label. To ascribe 'love' to the bite is a bit much, I reckon. And as for suggesting the word 'love' is derived of the expression 'love-making bite', I say 'Oh pleeeeaaase, passez la sick bucketez'.

My first experience of being purple-patched was as a drunk teenager coming under the bicuspidy molaric spell of a girl called Maggie who'd been in my Maths class. I later presumed that she'd not eaten for a while. Anyway, having departed Maggie and returned to the parental home at some middle-of-the-night hour I sat down to play the video recording of the Chris Eubank boxing contest that Ma Wexford had recorded for me. As I sat on the big settee, wondering why the television set was orbiting right before me I heard mother plodding down the stairs. She entered the room and let out a cry of great amusement. Until this moment, I hadn't realised that I'd been savaged about the neck. It was all very embarrassing. Two days later there was some awkward shuffling in Maths, and through the icy quiet that followed my old pal Kevin commented 'Did you get up to much this weekend Maggie?'. 'Ask Shane' she replied. Kevin then turned to find that he was in fact sitting beside a beetroot. Since then there have been few occasions of colourful biting incidents, though I'm rarely far from a shirt with a collar.

I did mention my gentle consternation at the term 'love bite' to an old girlfriend, and was inspired enough to laughingly pen this:

Title: 'Love Bite'

Love Bite
A bite of love
From me to you

Simple and nonsensical, just like the term itself and the old girlfriend.

You may wonder why I've not yet made reference to the expression 'hickey'. Well, the reason is that that sounds far too twee - and as you'll gauge from dipping into my archive of posts I'm a rock 'n' roll, Mr Mean Mr Nasty, far from twee, really quite raucous kind of a guy. Or something to that effect.

I'm rambling, there are other things that I'm meant to be writing. Let this silty meandering nonsense end.

[* I confess to grimacing whenever I see someone unself-consciously bearing their markings in public.]

I was crushed to discover that 'love bite' is not featured in the Oxford English Dictionary. Crushed I tell you, simply crushed.

*****
I do love this image from Interview with a Vampire.

FATE

2005-07-18T13:45:00.000Z

Last weekend, and for the third year running, I had the pleasure of attending Festival at the Edge (FATE) in Shropshire. Whilst FATE is primarily spoken of as being a storytelling festival, there’s a lot more that goes on too. Before I go any further, let me assure you that this isn’t a sales pitch, though it may come across as such. In 2003 I attended FATE with chums Marie, Leeds Joe and Pete – a small posse**. In 2004, following broader enthusing from Marie (and a little from self), our gaggle** had risen to about 15. This year, we reached 27 fellows of gorgeous and wonderful soul. Over the whole festival, my guess is that there were 1000+ people in attendance – many camping (spread across a big site) whilst others visited for the day. Official entertainment included storytelling, storywalks, live music (celtic, folk, irish, pop-rock, rhythm and blues, and jazz, no gospel), children’s entertainers, circus skills tents (for having a go), workshops in belly-dancing (I saw sequined ladies), clog-dancing (I heard reports of a clog-dancing goth – fully blacked and purpled up, with face powdered white and footwear rather wooden), tai chi and more. There was a beer tent, a variety of caterers, a market, and more. And it was sunny and warm – all weekend.

Whilst I only skimmed the surface of the scheduled entertainment, I managed to see a performer whose physical and sparely worded comic skill and timing, charm and broad appeal was incredible. The performance went under the title ‘Pete White’s Suitcase Circus’ (PWSC). Official blurb read: ‘Pete’s a welcome return to the Festival with his Suitcase Circus. Whether he’s spinning plates as Trevor Organ, or doing wonderful things with a handful of ping-pong balls and a chocolate biscuit, Pete is a true genius of physical humour with brilliant comic timing and a suitcase full of wonder stuff and riotous entertainment. See him at both the Adult and Children’s Festivals’. This does not do justice to the man (web-searching yielded no sign of a personal or professional PWSC website). In particular, Pete’s attempt to break the world record for the most quick eating of an apple whilst juggling was superb. Anyone who can get away with ‘accidentally’ spraying an audience of under-10s with half-munched apple must be talented. Pete White's Suitcase Circus is an act that appeals to children, but appeals more to adults. The kids laughed, the adults guffawed. Exemplar moments:

1.
(Much enthusiastic shouting out from children in the audience)
Pete: (calmly) Alright, let’s not descend into a rabble.

2.
(Pete about to reward a child volunteer (James, 6, one of our crowd) with a balloon animal)
Pete: So, do you have a favourite animal?
James: Yes.
(Pete awaits embellishment, James awaits next question, they raise eyebrows at one another)
(Laughter from adults at back of marquee)
Pete: Okay. Er-. Can you tell us what your favourite animal is?
James: Veloceraptor.
(More laughter from audience)
Pete: Ah (Scratching of head, mock discomfit and desperate ‘plan B-ing’) (Pause) Ah! (Pete produces a balloon dog) There you go! (Hands over balloon, James looks unimpressed) It’s a veloceraptor on its way to a fancy dress contest dressed as a dog.
(Laughter and applause…)

Outside of the formal entertainment, there were many amusing and fascinating to-be-treasured moments. For me, these included:-

- Watching a group of the children in our party (ages 2, 4, 6, 8 and 12) bond with one another through a not very dippy-hippy, though entirely organic, series of (plastic) sword fights

- Taking a surprise plastic sword blow to the elbow (from behind) whilst carrying a beaker of red wine, thus depositing contents on right size 10 (US male size 11, European 44.2)

- Being duped by a toddler into reading stories for said toddler (what cunning!)

- Incidental chit-chat, with familiars and unfamiliars (including a most entertaining tale that featured a bath tub full of soaking chick-peas that was directly related to this 1989 story – the stuff of a Tom Sharpe novel)

- Getting to see contrasting styles of parenting (all admirable in different ways), and thinking about this (though that did ultimately induce headaches)

- Achieving the spinning of a plate – without cheating

- Meeting good egg new people

[** Pick a definition, any definition (paragraph 1)]

*****
I love the refreshing charge of a campsite cold-bucket-of-water hair-washing experience. Bracing stuff.

Harrogate

2005-07-11T13:00:00.000Z

Last Friday, Emma and I drove up to Harrogate. This was primarily for Emma to sit for a portrait artist.

I'd visited Harrogate twice before - to interview and re-interview a most interesting woman and to meet her young kids. Those had been fleeting visits. All that I'd gauged was that there were nice big stone houses near the centre of town and that there was an attractive green space called 'The Stray' just off the town centre. 'Cultural knowledge' - if you will forgive that phrase - also told me that it was a popular conference town - political parties, societies for various 'ologies and trade exhibitions. Thus, big expensive hotels, decent restaurants and generally 'keen' pricing should have pervaded. And so they did. That said, our business was specific...

So to the artist who Emma had first seen on a TV programme buying a property. A little research had yielded her details, contact and an enquiry had been made and after some vetting a booking was sorted. Artist turned out to be an entirely convivial chappess who made good tea and was comfortable with dry humour. She told Emma that she'd 'not met anyone like you (her) before' and that she was a 'breath of fresh air'. She told me 'you'd be good to paint oh yes, what a wonderfully interesting mouth, nose and dimpled chin'. I smiled and agreed to let her photograph me. 'Ich habe keine desire to get my portrait painted merci beaucoup like' thought I. Emma's portrait will be ready in a few weeks - sketchings, photos and what's already painted will see it through to completion.

Our overnight had been at a small bed and breakfast - 'family run' and all very pleasant until our hostess got a little too relaxed whilst dishing out breakfast on Saturday and started to anecdotalise about a guest who'd been so big and fat that he'd broken the bed in room 5. Not very professional. It was also clear that our hostess was one of those very competitive people who do one-upmanship for a living. Cringe-worthy, though suited to Harrogate from what I saw - quite a bit of 'new money' knocking about as evidenced by the glut of personalised car number plates.

Other than all that, the famous Betty's tea room was doing good business on Friday afternoon and Saturday lunch time - lots of Americans, all drawling and drooling. Was most entertained to note that you don't get mushy peas with fish and chips at Betty's, you get 'pea purée'. I shit you not.

*****
In 2002, a poll for the Observer found that 31% of people had had sex with a work colleague. I wonder how the National Institute for Lone Traders would have interpreted this... wankers?

*****
I love the tube map. Incidental art. Love it.

Age

2005-07-06T17:00:00.000Z

I received an email, it read:

Older People Urged to Snap "Having a Good Time" in new photo competition - deadline 29th July 2005.

Such is the shortage of positive images of later life, that Counsel and Care has had to commission its own original photographs for its publications and this website. Elsewhere, in photo archives, billboards and in magazines and newspapers, older people are shown as distressed, unhappy or confused. These negative images of later life must surely contribute to ageism and the devaluing of a time of life that for most people brings shared enjoyments and valuable new experiences.

If you can send us your images illustrating the positive side of later life particularly of older people Having a Good Time, you may be eligible for a top cash prize of £500, and second and third prizes of £100 each. For details on how to enter this photographic competition go to http://www.counselandcare.org.uk/

So I start pondering what image I would seek to capture in relation to 'older people Having a Good Time' (sic)...

Would I go back to the library in town where this morning a most foul old lady responded to me with contempt at my suggesting that the library catalogue 'which covers the whole of the county' could be added to in order to satisfy my literature desire? No, I would not.

Would I pursue a classic 'old person having a good time with the grandchildren' type of image that would also implicitly sell the notion of nuclear family? No, I would not.

Would I turn to my closest old bid' relative and seek to capture her - maternal grandmother Elspeth - 'having a good time'? Ohhhh yuk yuk double-yuk wash my mind out with soap and water and a touch of lavender, no way!

The phone rings.

Shane: Hello.
Voice: Hello, it's your Mam (imagine strong north east accent*)
Shane: Oh hello, how's things?

[...we idly chat for a few minutes...]

Shane: And how's Elspeth?
Ma Wex': Oh she's fine. She was teaching your sister how to swear in French earlier, needless to say she was also very pleased with the result of the Olympics bidding contest. She calls Jacques Chirac 'Jack Shit-Rack'. So yeah - she's fine.
Shane: 'Having a Good Time' you might say?
Ma Wex': Yeah, I s'pose...

[...we chat on.]

Thus, it was decided, my entry for the photo contest will depict grandmother Elspeth having a laugh at the expense of the French president. I will capture the moment at which she beats him at Scrabble. There now comes the not so small matter of luring Jacques to a tiny village in the north east of England. But how? I don't know, but this gives me something to think about this week...

* Minor television celebrity

*****
I love Finnish food. What?

Africa

2005-06-28T18:15:00.000Z

My pal Ken is in Africa at the moment. He's on a trip that's been 95% holiday 5% work. He's emailed a few times and texted too. I've known him for about 5 years. After touring for about a month or so, he's ending with a couple of academic conferences. Of course he's not allowed to whine about them as they're in bloody South Africa, and for someone from Milton Keynes that's like... well... South Africa! With real animals and everything.

Without saying so I knew the trip would be good for him - in giving him a generally lifting kick up the arse. You see, to some people, London (his base) can deaden the head. I have witnessed rather than experienced this; maybe it's to do with the way the pollution gets up your nose and turns your snots black. It was a shock when I first noticed this phenomenon - with my snots, not anyone else's - a brief occurence, but gross nonetheless. Anyway, last night my mobile phone, my 'cell' - if you will - rings. On screen it says 'Ken Mobile'. So I answer.

Shane: Bloody hell!
(pause)
Ken: Hello there, just thought I'd call you from South Africa
Shane: I'm having my tea, can you call me back
Ken: No
Shane: Ok, cool - hello...

So we chat. Of course he evidenced all of the positivity that I'd imagined, and it was good to talk. He also impressed me with a mini political rant related to his witnessing deep material poverty juxtaposed with lavish conference hosting. Couldn't quite say what the impact of this observation was having on him, but I think it's fair to say he was looking at his own situ in a different light, the term 'makes you realise how fortunate you are' was voiced. At all of this I thought to myself 'How can you not recognise that you're so fortunate from your base in London? Why a trip to Africa for this to register?' The term 'blind to the homeless' sprang to mind. However, I didn't sour things by raising this. I sensed he was now beginning to miss home, a bit. Towards the end of our chat he surprised me with a comment.

Ken: I've thought of you a few times since I've been here
Shane: You're only human (thinking 'Please - not inter-continental gay love interest')
Ken: (amused) There's been a few situations like going into villages and stuff - off the beaten track of the other tourists, after we've been kind of warned about having to take care in unfamiliar places - even if you know you're not hassling anyone - where you can still feel a bit nervous - especially if you can't talk the lingo or understand a word they're sayin'. Well, on a couple of occasions when I've been thinking 'Oh fook me, what have I done?' or 'Oh mighty shitey, where the pissin' 'eck am I, ou est la exit?' I've found myself muttering 'What would Shane do (in a situation like this)?''
Shane: (moved) That's er-, that's... a very kind thing to say
Ken: Whoaaa-, hold on a minute, I said fuck all about following what you'd do, I just said I'd asked myself what you'd do
Shane: Ah yes, I see, quite wise
Ken: Damn right, I wouldn't want to end up in some brief encounter situation Congolese jail stylee with me desperately flicking through my phrase book looking for 'Please no, prettier men will be along soon'
Shane: (laughing) You are of course... a shit
Ken: Thank you darlin'
Shane: You're more than welcome. And by the way, what was it that I would have generally done in these dicey situations?
Ken: Just talked to people y' know - got to know them.
Shane: Mm.

This was a very well-timed call, featuring a wonderfully ill-veiled compliment. I'm so glad that dear Ken wasn't attacked by tribesmen/strung up by Afrikaner Party militia/tricked into a costly tryst with a Namibian lady of ill repute/sold poisonous magic beans at a Gaborone market.

*****
I love The Angel of the North.

Kids

2005-06-24T22:00:00.000Z

[Driving to a work meeting with Emma]
...
Emma: Ed (Alex's father) called earlier today, he said that Alex had a good weekend last weekend.
Shane: That's good.
Emma: Yeah. (pause) I asked him if Alex ever mentions me when he's with him.
Shane: Yeah?
Emma: Mm. He said he mentions you and me.
Shane: You mean he said 'you and me' as in Ed and you or he said 'you and me' as in you and me?
Emma: As in you and me. He tells Ed things that we've done, y' know.
Shane: Yeah, good.
Emma: It is good. He's not yet said anything like 'I want to go back to Mummy's house' - so it is good. He likes going to his Dad's cos he gets to see his cousin, Ollie - that's always a winner.
Shane: Yeah, with Ollie being older, Alex probably looks up to him.
Emma: Definitely. Ollie had made Alex a picture that said stuff like 'Alex is the best cousin in the world' on it. All very cute.
Shane: Sounds good.
Emma: Yeah.
Shane: Did you tell Ed that we'd been to Blackpool?
Emma: Yeah.
Shane: Did he laugh?
Emma: He didn't laugh exactly, but he did ask why.
Shane: (irritated) And?
Emma: I just said that we'd been to your Mum's after the work trip up north, and that we chose to split the return journey in half as there was a play that we wanted to see in Blackpool.
Shane: Mm. Given that you said he was into one-upmanship he probably thought to himself that this is too easy when he heard reference to Blackpool.
Emma: I don't know. Maybe. But it would only be himself that he's competing with. I'm not interested in that. It's not one-upmanship to me. He did say one other thing that was a bit 'urrrgghhh'.
Shane: Mm?
Emma: He doesn't like Alex (aged 4) saying 'Oh my God'.
Shane: Okay-.
Emma: I tried to explain to him that it's just an excited exclamation - he doesn't say it in anger or anything y' know. I mean I say it and my Mum says it - he said that he'd got it off my Mum, but his response was that Alex still understood the concept of God - I said 'What!'
Shane: (bemused) He thinks that Alex understands the concept of God?
Emma: I know. I explained that there was nothing blasphemous about the way Alex was using it, but that if it offended him he would have to at least give Alex something different to say.
Shane: Yeah. D' y' think it was Ed's mother who was offended by 'Oh my God'?
Emma: (pause) No, I think it probably was Ed.
Shane: Mm.

This conversation left me thinking that it suggested that Ed and I had very different ways of reading Alex and conveying 'values' - which was an interesting point to ponder for the remaining 8 minutes of the journey.

[Returning from the work meeting]
...
Emma: Y' know when we were at your Mum and Dad's last week?
Shane: Yeah.
Emma: It was amazing how your Mum and Dad were so at ease with Karen's (brother's girlfriend) nieces.
Shane: Yeah, it was good. Very natural.
Emma: I know. And your Dad - the way he got up and went over to Sadie (aged 16, serious physical and mental disabilities - physical stature of a 5 year old, unable to talk or sign) and started interacting with her.
Shane: Yeah, it was good.
Emma: And your Mum - just chatting away with Ellie (aged 11, sister of Sadie) - like she'd known her forever.
Shane: Yeah.
Emma: Looking at your brother and Karen, with the girls, any outsider would have definitely thought they were a family.
Shane: Probably.
Emma: It certainly made me think that your Mum and Dad are looking forward to becoming grandparents.
Shane: (pause) Probably.

This conversation ended leaving me thinking 'bloody hell' for the remaining 6 minutes of the journey.

Number of children that I've liked the idea of having* at different times in my adult life: 0, 2, 4, and 'many'.

* And not always biologically born unto Shane.

*****
Last night, I coined the phrase 'Oh my monkey' as an excited exclamation for Alex's take-up in replacement of 'Oh my God'. The boy laughed, and got it immediately. He giggled his way to bed parroting 'Oh my monkey! Oh my monkey!' All very cute.

*****
I love ginger beer.

Blackpool

2005-06-21T20:53:00.000Z

Last week, Emma and I had a chat about portraiture - as y' do. I listened as she explained why she would like a series of three or four portraits of herself, staggered over many years. The set would be an interesting heirloom for young Alex. And, to Emma - experiencing the pictures in many future 'here-and-now' moments - they would convey the stories, feelings and much more associated with each and the collection. All of this was explained without sounding vain - quite an achievement. Emma's sitting for portrait #1 will take place in July. On the back of such middle-brow whatnot, it was I who would determine last weekend's plans...

And so, to Blackpool* we went. Doing all that I could to minimally offend Ma Wexford and the Northern Clan, we departed after a flying visit on the back of Friday's far north work trip. Visiting Blackpool was to be a first for Emma, and about a seventeenth for me. The thing that tipped the determining balance for me was this image. Say what you like about it, but to me, it was gorgeous. Not alluring. Not exotic. Probably not even 'nice' to a lot of people. But to me, still gorgeous. Whilst in Blackpool, we walked along the full length of the promenade (about 4 miles), rode a big wheel on the central pier, and rode a really quite small 'rollercoaster' called 'The Mouse' (I think) on the south pier. That was Sunday morning and early afternoon. The previous day, on the other hand, was a whole different story...

Driving into the town at 4pm on a very hot and sunny Saturday afternoon, the streets were highly crowded with people who were in town to get pissed and were doing a damn fine job of it. Having checked in to our hotel - a decent place at the north end of town - we were on the street side-stepping the vomitous, the 'jay-walking', the rude, the lewd, the most orangely fake-tanned, the tastefully tattooed majority, the police, and the occasional bemused family who had thought that Blackpool could still serve the 'family holiday' fraternity. Their discovery: 'not any more, it can't'. From this we went for an Indian meal - very good it was too - biryanis - and then trogged off to the gorgeous Grand Theatre for a cringe-worthy farce called 'Just Desserts'. The theatre was only at about 40% capacity but the audience of middle aged Coronation Streetists were pleased. (When I was a kid, Ma Wexford took brother and I to the same theatre for sell-out shows by the cream of British forgettable entertainment, Pa Wexford would babysit sister at the hotel bar.) Emma and I were glad to have gone along too - for many varied but mostly voyeuristic and research reasons. From the theatre we returned to the street, and negotiated a quick and safe return to our for-one-night-only Blackpool layer. Emma's impression of Blackpool at the end of Saturday evening was captured beautifully with the phrase 'It feels like the sort of place where you might see someone die before your very eyes'. At this, I laughed, but recognised the truth in it.

* A few years ago, it emerged that Blackpool was aspiring to become the 'Las Vegas of the north'. On Saturday, a local newspaper story in the town ran along the lines of 'local councillor says that another sex shop opening on a Sunday won't do the town's image as a 'family resort' any good'. I think that's all the context that you need.

All that said, it was a good weekend.

*****
Last week, Mercury emailed me and said that due to a problem caused by Venus fucking up Saturn's power-steering and what with there then being no-one available to collect Pluto from the station, that this week the horror-scopic content of the Shane blog would have to be replaced. Thus, we have an innovation. Behold:

If you are in the UK: Sun bathe, and acquire unusual 'tan lines'. The Brazilians are into this, apparently.
If you are in Europe (not inc UK): Come over for tea. But leave your email and blog 'smilies' at home.
If you are in North America: The time for your modelling career is upon us. Act now, it's portfolio assembly time.
If you are in Central/South America: Please forward any interesting recipes. And no kidnapping!
If you are in Austral(as)ia/Oceania: Dye a hare red.
If you are in Africa: Encourage people to name newborns 'SirBob' - all one word.
If you are in Asia:... Perverts! I have no idea who 'Shahida Mini' is, and let me tell you - whether you're searching for 'porn pictures of...', 'sex movie featuring...' or the unending 'big tites', you will not find them here! AND, it is 'big TITS' - no 'E' - see?
If you are in Antarctica: You are not. You are a lunatic. Get help or start taking the meds again. Yeah?
If you are in Oxford, England: Never mind, eh.

*****
Oh, what the heck, here's one for you persistent guys in the Pakistan, United Arab Emirates, Iran, Syria, Egypt... (.)(.) - they're as tites-ish as I can do I'm afraid... Heh! Let's go crazy: (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.) (.)(.)

*****
I do love the idea of making this blog thing WORK.

Judgement

2005-06-14T18:32:00.000Z

At the time of writing this, our local Member of Parliament is sitting about 6 feet away from me here in the office. She seems like a nice lady. And she's just thrust a large plate of posh biscuits at me - and she's not even electioneering! What a woman.

*****
Had a good PhD supervision session on Monday. Felt like a viva voce examination. The questions came thick and fast. The answers came - which is good enough for me. At one sub-profound moment, whilst ranting about disingenuous authorship, I blurted "I mean! What the fuck!". The supervisors smiled, we then moved on to the next question.

*****
Here's a link to a BBC article giving a brief summary of who and what the Michael Jackson trial jury were. I imagine that for any person in their early 20s (as three of the twelve were), to find yourself sitting in official judgement of such an elder must seem a little odd. I just hope those kids have old heads on them young shoulders. I also wonder if being part of a news story at the centre of such a media frenzy would change these folks' experiences of day-to-day living, and their senses of who and what they are. Shamone. *Moon walks to the next point*

*****
How odd. Just saw the local MP again, this time at the vets' surgery - as in veterinary surgery rather than ex-military personnel's surgery. MP cooed at the chateau's two new kittens ('CharlieDimmock' - all one word, and 'Thud'). MP did not thrust posh biscuits at me. Thus, she has gone right down in my estimations.

*****
This week, starrily, your song lyric spliced personal motto is:-

Capricorn: You gotta wrap your fuzzy in a big red bow. [Scissor Sisters]
Aquarius: You can't hurry love, though you can avoid... [Phil Collins]
Pisces: I've got the brains you've got pet ducks. [Pet Shop Boys]
Leo: Whoo hoo. [Blur]
Virgo: Pretty girl beware of his implantable defibrillator. [Shirley Bassey]
Libra: Just beat it, but do mop up. [Michael Jackson]
Scorpio: You're a real dead ringer for Donald Trump. [Meatloaf]
Sagittarius: Woke up this mornin', got myself some toast. [Alabama 3]
Aries: Drove my chevy to Grimsby. [Don McLean]
Taurus: I've never been this far away from Holmfirth. [Kaiser Chiefs]
Gemini: Oh, you, look, so, beau-ti-ful, Bernard. [U2]
Cancer: Don't you forget about brie. [Simple Minds]

*****
Heading towards a white-knuckle weekend (starting early Friday). Work and family stuff in the far north.

I love chopped logs. *Wonders if there could be such a thing as an unchopped 'log'*

Hero

2005-06-09T09:58:00.000Z

Relationships - like hill farms - will always have their peaks and troughs. Where it is claimed that a relationship is troughless, I say "bullshit". Where it is claimed that a relationship is peakless, I say "Time to Say Goodbye". Emma and I have had a month or so of intense hill farming - organic of course. We'd both been storing up irritations that had to be aired at some point, and so they were. It felt heavy whilst the airables were being aired, but it felt good after airing had been done. Am I making sense?... No?... Then I'll continue. A month ago, if I'd been asked for a prognosis of Shane-Emma I'd have sighed and taken a telling pause before answering. Now, it feels better. The key to moving things forward was that we spoke to one another - so profoundly mature that I had to pinch myself. [Just wanted to float a line or two re Shane-Emma as it felt like a long time since I'd mentioned us in the 'We wanna be together' sense.]

*****
I am weak. I am about to 'out' myself... It's just two weeks into this year's Big Brother and I already know the names of the various characters. I even had a bet on who would win: like the party-piece of my old friend the stripper - Spotty Tracey - it was a rash act.

*****
I think I impressed Emma's whole family last weekend, when in retrieving young Alex's errant frisbee I lithely climbed a rather large tree - even if I do say so myself. But more - I proved to be a hero in the Frank Spencer mould when it became clear that the tree was quite rotten - a large branch creaked, snapped, and a moment later I was hanging from a lower branch by shredded trousers. Not cool. Really not cool. No matter how many ways I look at it, not cool. Alex was highly amused that I scratched my arse. How 'sweet'.

*****
Despite some people getting confused last time out, and imagining the divine starry directions of Mystic Shane to be negotiable (I know!), let us try again. This week, it's all about Jew Pitter. See...

Capricorn: You cannot hide from the chiropodist.
Aquarius: I love Hugh. Do you?
Pisces: I once loved a ewe. Did you?
Leo: I love you. You should too.
Virgo: You ought to buck up your ideas, matey!
Libra: Embrace a Belgian, wish them well for Europe.
Scorpio: Out yourself - but not with regards to sexuality.
Sagittarius: And what will be your contribution to this?
Aries: Move to Hollywood, Northern Ireland.
Taurus: Cause havoc in a china shop, or China.
Gemini: Become a Michael Jackson Tribute Artiste.
Cancer: Tell it like it isn't.

*****
I love it when I don't destroy things in the kitchen.

Six

2005-06-02T20:15:00.000Z

Some blogs I like because they make me smile, some I like because the prose reads 'like treacle' (to nick a line from The Crying Game), some make me think, and some are very rich seams of good comments. Those who come across as natural bloggers - who write in exactly the manner that I imagine that they think and talk - are particularly impressive. Claire is one of these. Recently, she posed 6 questions Shanewardly and asked that at least 5 be answered. In the words of The Chemical Brothers, here we go...

1. What do you research, and why that path...other than the PhD?!

I'll not answer the first part (anonymity).

Why this broad path? Influences include:- Watching my sister grow up, getting arrested "for a crime that I did not commit" (many moons ago) (((shudder))), listening to a couple of academic tutors, believing them, getting my hands on a couple of influential books early on in my studies, believing questions to be as interesting as answers, and returning to education at what felt like the right time (1997, age 22).

2. Have you ever been given a nickname that you just couldn't stand, and what is it?

No I haven't. However, whilst working in a factory in my home-town in the mid-90s there was a chap who gave me the name "Lah-de-dah" (as in posh) (NB/ you really don't have to be very posh to be considered posh where I come from). By this time my accent had already softened a lot, and however hard I tried I just couldn't talk in high-speed north-easternisms. I also tended to wince at some of the tabloid newspapers. I remember making the guy almost wet himself with laughter after he'd asked for my views on a particular Page 3 image. I think it was my use of the term 'pendulous breasts' wot did it. I think that without trying he and I amused one another.

3. If you could go anywhere in the world for however long you wanted, where would you go and why?

Tough question. I'd go to the USA and spend a year touring in a big camper van. The USA would suit the geo-anorak in me, and I'd like to re-visit a few places in New York state. I think there's a lot to America that we don't hear of - I'd choose Mundane America over Media America any day. I know there are people who would avoid the USA for political reasons, however, I think if we look hard enough we could all find shit on our own doorsteps.

4. You're going to be stranded alone for 12 months, you get to take 5 items with you...what do you take? (I'm going to answer this in desert island terms)

A radio (the most important thing by a country mile)
A huge ream of paper
Pens (I'm assuming that a laptop with internet access would be a no-no)
Toothpaste
Don Quixote (3 pages per day - read 'em and wipe!)

5. What's the most annoying song you've had stuck in your head this week?

None this week. KT Tunstall's song about 'Other Side of the World' has been a pleasant enough head-ditty. I'm also liking Eels and the Kaiser Chiefs. I do remember once sitting in an exam and having T'Pau's 'China in Your Hand' stuck in my head. That was bloody awful.

6. If you could be famous, what would you be famous for?

Writing a play or novel that both entertained and made a politically-engaging contribution to cultural life. I think Willy Russell's Educating Rita is an excellent example of such a thing. I'll leave ending war and poverty to someone else.

Claire, thank you.

If anyone would like to be 'tagged', please email me (see profile) to let me know, and I'll fire 6 questions at you.

*****
(Shane and Alex (4) watching a TV programme in which a baby rhino is treated by a veterinary surgeon)

Shane: Y' know, y' don't get rhinos in this country
Alex: Yeah y' do
Shane: Really?
Alex: Yeah
Shane: (pause for thought) Where?
Alex: Chester zoo
Shane: (smiling) Ah yes

*****
There's. Somethin'. Happenin'. Here...

Capricorn: Eat pie, or if you're into numbers, eat pi.
Aquarius: Give a dog a bone.
Pisces: Give a neighbour a bone.
Leo: Give in to temptation.
Virgo: Create a religion. Let David Hasselhoff be your God.
Libra: Whilst a friend drinks milk, make them laugh so much that it comes out of their nose.
Scorpio: Whilst a lover drinks milk, make them reach such a peak orgasm that...
Sagittarius: Claim to have seen Jesus in Totnes. Sell Totnes on eBay.
Aries: Become a model for a life-drawing class.
Taurus: Only eat eggs this week. This will help with your 'trouble'.
Gemini: Here's an idea: cosmetic surgery on your bottom. Sit on it for a while.
Cancer: Dark eye make-up, and all will be well.

*****
I love the smell of basil - the herb, not the bloke off Fawlty Towers - though I'm sure he'd smell ok.

Personals

2005-05-27T21:26:00.000Z

A couple of weeks ago, Tim wrote about coming up with a personal ad' for a friend. Such games enthuse me muchly. Reminded me of an undergraduate class that I took in which an effortfully 'out-there' tutor - a nice chap - asked us to come up with an ad' in less than 25 words. It was a way of getting us to think about language, the individual, society, and a creative way for the out-there one to bag a quick nubile shag. My point - Tim's post reminded me of the horror love-options that are vaunted in the local paper, so out of dark curiosity I had a gander. Therein, I discovered that under each section - male seeking female, female seeking male, et cetera et cetera et cetera et cetera (as is the case these days) - personal advertisers are listed from youngest to oldest. It's like reading through a 'have me' league table - functional, but a bit harsh too. My age-wise erring, in the language of football, is towards mid-table mediocrity. Yes, I'm having a touch of the Kirsty Warks again.

*****
My old pal GayFranglaise (GF) used to dabble with personal ads. On one occasion he recognised a telephone respondent as a writer of whom he'd read - and who he knew used 'experiences of personal ads' as material for his writing. GF did not get back to him. On another occasion, someone wrote a accidental response to an ad of GF. The letter-writing respondent had jotted down GF's 'box number' rather than the box number of the intended... target. That said, the friendly written correspondence that was built with the accidental writer was a warming outcome to the original box number error.

*****
If there's one thing that I cannot tolerate it's intolerance.

*****
Was at the supermarket earlier, I asked an assistant "Do you sell tofu?" She guided me to it then with a straight face said "It's the organic stuff, but it's ok". At this, I smiled a broad smile.

*****
This week, this story provoked a lot of nonsense about teenage pregnancy in the UK. In a BBC Radio 2 phone-in one person suggested that all pregnant teenagers be ordered to abort. Another person suggested that all pregnant and impregnating under-16s face imprisonment. Other people banged on (no pun intended) about that thing called 'education'. And I must say, having listened to such phone-ins I am inclined to agree. The levels of wit, wisdom, big-picture-savvy and social sophistication evidenced by those phone-inners did appall. I say "Educate them, let's contextualise the young pregnancies, and let's look at how early years parenting may be a better alternative to later (tired) years parenting".

*****
If. You. Believe...

Capricorn: The word 'no' does not exist for you this week.
Aquarius: Oil an actor's bicycle tyres, then invite them to break a leg.
Pisces: Book a seagull safari holiday in Whitby.
Leo: Begin this week's confession "Father, I didn't sin this week. Would you like to borrow my Cadfael tapes?"
Virgo: Enquire at your local grocery store about the range of pornography that they'd stock for you.
Libra: Reach out and touch Faith (avoiding charges of sexual harrassment).
Scorpio: Book a cheap flight to Spain.
Sagittarius: Less is more. Reduce your charitable donations.
Aries: Campaign for more teenage pregnancies.
Taurus: Write the opening line of an erotic hit-novel.
Gemini: Beware goat turds and dog cheese.
Cancer: Love thyself. Word of advice: Duracel.

*****
I loved it earlier this week when Emma's son Alex (4), after being told that he could take a piss on the compost heap, and not fully understanding, simply left the house and took a leak on the patio.

Wandering

2005-05-21T18:09:00.000Z

Here at the chateau we had a guest. Young. Very short. Bandana. Yeeesssss, bandana. I found this very hard to come to terms with. Was less Andre Agassi, more a youthful stubbly Bob-Hoskins-type. Guitar god too apparently. Very pretty girlfriend. Plinketty... plonketty... twang... twang-e-roooo-eeee-roooo-eeeee... "hello love you've pulled"... twang... and so on. Quite. Effects pedals eh? Positive correlation between the sale thereof and the number of 'illegitimate' children born into the rural English Midlands? I think so. It's not rocket science.

*****
The USA spends upwards of $15.4 billion per annum on NASA. I wonder what difference $15.4 billion could make to worldwide health, education and economic development programmes. Public spending - it's a messy business don't y' know - social principles, business ethics, economic interests... it's also rocket science.

*****
Partook in my second drama workshop (at posh theatre) on Wednesday. Was good, though sparsely attended: BeardBard, GlamourRuskie, Smiler and self. We talked and did exercises around pieces from 'Our Day Out' and 'Look Back in Anger'. GlamourRuskie invited us to go and see her in concert (piano). Sweet, but will pass.

*****
Most engaging news story of the past week had to be this. Piano man found wandering. Fascinating, sad, spooky, and many other things. The picture that the BBC and many others are now using with this story is not hugely helpful. Other media outlets continue to use a clearer 'walking shot' of the young man. Maybe the shift from walking shot to foetal shot was a consequence of the images being released in that order, and also the likelihood of a response to the heart-rending image of fear. Maybe. I wonder how many people are now working on the screenplay of 'Piano Man', though I'd rather not know.

*****
That George Galloway, a rare breed in modern politics - I admire his head-on style.

*****
You want starry directions? I'll give you starry directions...

Capricorn: Try hard to shake hands with an Aries.
Aquarius: Invite your local MP* round for dinner.
Pisces: Invite your local MP* out for an afternoon of shopping.
Leo: Enact a one-person protest against McDonalds.
Virgo: Enact a one-person protest against Phil Collins.
Libra: Stop. Or you'll go blind.
Scorpio: Tell your oldest relative that you've a new hidden piercing.
Sagittarius: Tell your youngest relative that you've a new hidden piercing.
Aries: Avoid Capricorns - at all costs.
Taurus: Write the opening line of an erotic flop-novel.
Gemini: Wash your mind out with soap and water.
Cancer: It is time to make a commitment to Jesus.

* Member of Parliament, or nearest political equivalent.

All that I'm doing here is trying to make the world a better place.

*****
This coming week, I'll be dreaming here and waking here.

*****

I love the term 'balance of asymmetry'.

Ruthless

2005-05-14T19:51:00.000Z

Just returned to the chateau from a work trip up north. Went well. Colleague-wise, OlderArtist had a refreshing easy-to-work-with quality, Emma – who was playing main sidekick – was a woman with ill-timed PMS (though I survived!), SidekickOfOlderArtist was an ill-hidden PainInTheArse – and all because “[partner] and me had a big row* and he went stormin’ off last night”… the night before we all headed north for 24+ hours. Thus, she was unslept and wobbly – a not unreasonable state given the circumstances, but I’m thinking ‘What kind of a twat are you playing with here?’. ‘Storming off’ would have been a very uncool parting gesture. [Dear Reader, Can you tell that I’m erring towards tired, unsexed and grumpy? I wonder whether you can.]

* (rhymes with ‘cow’). An argument.

*****
Radio 2 decide to play ‘Don’t You Forget About Me’ by Simple Minds. A nostalgic watery eye (just the one - the left, always the left) threatens to compromise my imminent effort at being hard and cold and really attractively ruthless. Boll. Ox. Well, let’s just see about that…

*****
This week’s starry directions:-

Capricorn: Suck a ginger person’s toe. Don’t argue, it worked for Fergie.
Aquarius: Lick a toad (that’s not a euphemism for a ‘cheatin’ love-rat’).
Pisces: Bake a cake. You don’t need any ‘tactile’ encouragement.
Leo: Get some Basic Skills training.
Virgo: Tell a good friend that you fancy/fancied their Mum/Dad/both.
Libra: Convince someone with good self-esteem that there’s nothing wrong with them.
Scorpio: Give up shop-lifting.
Sagittarius: Do your bit for the security industry: take up shop-lifting.
Aries: Tell a lie on Friends Reunited.
Taurus: Sell your Man United shares to a man named Malcolm.
Gemini: Report a dirty toe-suckin’ Capricorn to the Toe-Cops.
Cancer: Your body is a temple. Welcome all to it.

*****
I hear that Kenneth Clarke is not ruling out an attempt to run for leadership of the Conservative Party. Let it be noted… I’m not either.

*****
Then a Gwen Stefani song comes on. It’s synthesised Madonna-bland, far from nostalgic, but that Stefani character, she works. It is she that Shane will marry.

*****
Got drama workshop #2 on Wednesday. Should be… on.

*****
I love NY.

Ish

2005-05-10T13:15:00.000Z

This week, Inspiration suggests it would be wise to follow the stars…

Capricorn: Cook for a friend.
Aquarius: Create some ‘positive graffitti’.
Pisces: Make up a word and use it three times in the next 24 hours.
Leo: Reply to a letter from a newspaper’s letters page.
Virgo: Decide what bird you’d be, were you a member of the Tit family.
Libra: Cook for an enemy.
Scorpio: Buy a goldfish, and give it the name ‘Catherine Zeta-Jones’.
Sagittarius: Try Buddhism, give it another go, or drop it.
Aries: Ignore all advice on days of the week featuring the letter ‘a’.
Taurus: Break a taboo... yes, that one.
Gemini: Go go-karting, or quad-biking.
Cancer: Write a polemic titled ‘Cannibalism: a misunderstood lifestyle choice’.

*****
The weekend was spent in the North East. That included Saturday at a ‘Radio 1 Big Weekend Festival’ in Sunderland. Emma, a non-native, upon first hearing the local accent, remarked “I didn’t understand a word”. I imagine LocalAccent thought ‘That bird in the purple wellies was a bit posh like’. Featuring a largely unmoving musical line-up, radio DJ hosts who took tedium to the extreme and great big downpours, the event passed without really engaging me much. Sister Wexford (provider of free tickets to the event) was glad to publicly beat me on a football shooting game, but later tore strips out of me for throwing an early towel in on the music event (she and a pal had queued for many hours to acquire tickets). My suggestion of “Go out, get drunk and forget about it” did not assuage her. This, I inferred, from her use of the term “Fuck off you dick”. That said, she has now calmed and good relations are restored.

*****
There’s an article here about people’s most cherished memories. In the UK, ‘Child birth’ tops the personal memories list, ‘Live Aid’ (1985) tops the UK memories list, and ‘Berlin Wall’ (1989) tops the world memories list. My choices:-

Personal - Several people and a few places (far too tough to call).
UK – Response to death of Diana, Princess of Wales (1997).
World – Opening night of fire, Gulf War (1991).

NB/ My choices for UK and World memories are not 'cherished'.

*****
Emma’s father – a chap of good social standing – in discussing the recent general election mentioned that he was toying with forming a new political party based on how he felt in relation to those that already existed. His party would be called The Greenish Party. What a man.

*****
I love Old Cool.

Reduced

2005-05-06T13:48:00.000Z

The most recent search terms that led various folk to 'SHANE' (last time I'll do this, barring serious oddment):-

dhilia (USA) / leak soup ("hooray!") (USA) / shahida mini (Pak.) / greer elspeth (Neth.) / big tites ("hooray!") (USA, Iran, Egy.) / picture hard core woman wexford sex (Ire.) / jo harrison (many variations) (UK, Bel., Can., Ita.) / marie british big tits -kerry (UK) / shane tits (USA) / caroline wyatt transsexual (UK) / bg-mama (Den.) / humanyms (Can.) / politicians' three-part lists (UK) / uttoxeter porn (UK) / organ sales thesis (USA) / cunnulingus (Ger.)

All genuine. Suggestive of a political gap in the porn market? Anyone for a topless Tony Blair?

*****
On Tuesday, after his bath, Emma's son Alex asked "What's this called?" whilst pointing at his scrotal sack. He was advised to "Go and ask Shane", so he did. I gave him a factually accurate response, explaining what the future contents of the sack would be. We then made up a song called ''Testicles Bespectacles". His mum was amused.

*****
And so it passed, the UK re-elected the Labour Party to form its government. A few words on that... "no surprises there".

A few more...

Labour - will be interesting to follow in-house pressure on Blair(*)
Tories - evidence of their ill-defined politics of fear being listened to *shudder*
Lib Dems - haven't done enough to secure domestic image of '3-party democracy'
UKIP/Veritas - always welcome for splitting the far right vote
Green - anonymous... though their candidates donned handsome sweaters
BNP - another far-right splitter, averaged 5% of the vote in seats contested

(*) Gene suggests Gordy Brown to be installed by August. I'd be surprised if it were so soon. Tory leadership interesting - Howard stepping down: David Davis or Oliver Letwin to guide serious Tory revival. Likely overshadowing of the far-too-steady Lib Dem progress - not to mention Venus crossing Uranus - suggests it's time to turn to Matthew Taylor or Simon Hughes.

It's my soap opera and it's only on once every four or so years.

*****
"He who sets foot on wet land... gets wet foot" (Xiao Dung Flung, Chinese Agriculturalist)

*****
So a "young fogey" instals Haloscan and it eats all of his old comments. "Bollocks!" he cries out. But then he finds out that if you uninstal Haloscan - a mere 87 hours of techy irritation no doubt - then the old comments are returned. Politics of ransom.

*****
Weekly wisdom:-

Capricorn: Do not listen to Cher.
Aquarius: Form an inner-city fox-hunt club.
Pisces: Ask a non hat-wearer "Where did you get that hat from?"
Leo: Urinate in public.
Virgo: Consider going into Wrestling promotion.
Libra: Decide what you'd be called if you were a wrestler.
Scorpio: Put out... the wheelie-bin a day early.
Sagittarius: Flirt.
Aries: Use a water pistol.
Taurus: Write a haiku titled 'Unzip'.
Gemini: Ignore a friend's food allergy.
Cancer: Use the phrase "Armed with a brain and not afraid to use it".

*****
Henceforth, Shane will be posting weekly (Mondays, where possible).

*****
I love carpets of fallen blossom.

Stars

2005-05-03T03:20:00.000Z

Advice* for all...

Capricorn: Plan to eat out (Geordies, note: this does not mean 'eat owt'**).
Aquarius: Place a bet with a friend.
Pisces: Visit a chiropodist, but don't book an appointment.
Leo: Eat more vegetables.
Virgo: Apply to go on a reality TV show.
Libra: Streak at a charity lunch.
Scorpio: Buy flowers for a man.
Sagittarius: Get a hair cut.
Aries: Play a vinyl record backwards, then make a cup of tea.
Taurus: Sing a song as you wait for a bus.
Gemini: Drop a pack of condoms into a stranger's trolley.
Cancer: Look up the capital of Malawi.

* Best before 07.05.05
** owt = anything [slang, North East England (especially Newcastle-upon-Tyne/Gateshead)]

*****
Expecting a response along the lines of “I love my work” or “Not knowing what surprises lie ahead”, I asked co-dweller Marie “What motivates you to get out of bed in the morning?” The answer: “Toilet”. Asked if he would be watching the TV coverage of the election results, following a long pause, co-dweller Pete replied “Peeping from behind a cushion from behind the couch, I might”. Them is stars.

*****
Most ignorant election-coverage vox-pop whine (heard approximately 84 times in the last 3 days): "I think they're all the same".

*****
Last night, a Radio 5 Live football commentator mused: “He was almost through there – had the trap-door slammed shut in his face”. This is an example of why I want to hear the main UK political parties’ views on football commentators’ metaphorising. Trap-doors are normally on the ground. To have one shut in the face implies that its bearer was hurtling towards the ground head-first. And let me tell you something, no West Bromwich Albion forward has moved that dramatically this season. Football commentators: do not metaphorise.

*****
Tim will win The Apprentice tomorrow evening (Weds). If he doesn’t, then I’ll eat next door’s cat. On Thursday, Labour will win the UK general election. If they don't, then I'll eat the cat's hat.

I love Liff.

Communication

2005-05-01T18:40:00.000Z

Spent a useful* and largely good weekend with Emma. Shortly before parting from her, a sour taste was left in my mouth (nothing to do with her though)...

The BBC carried the story of the Staffordshire South election candidate, Jo Harrison, having died following an unspecified illness. Note the remarks from Sir Patrick...

...Harrison polled in third when she contested the seat in the 2001 General Election, winning 4,891 votes. The MP elected then, Conservative Sir Patrick Cormack, gained a majority of 6,881 votes over the second place Labour candidate.

Sir Patrick paid tribute to Ms Harrison saying: "I am obviously extremely distressed at the death of my Liberal Democrat opponent, and very sorry indeed that I am not going to be in a position to return to Westminster on 11 May, but we will be doing everything possible to ensure we come back at the by-election." ['What a twat' thought I.]

Standing Labour candidate, Penny Barber, added: "It is a huge shock and a terrible shame. Our thoughts go out to her family and friends." ['That's more like it' thought I.]

*****
After passing my driving test at the age of 18 I was, for at least a few months, a far from convincing 'driver'. During these months I'd occasionally give Ma Wexford and Grandma Elspeth a lift to the local shops. Much clutching at dashboard and general screeching came forth from these passengers. Having seen me undertake a reverse manoeuvre upon departing from her home one day, Elspeth later remarked "You know Shane, you did well getting out of that small space and around the corner - I think you might be better at driving backwards". 'Hmmm, a tad impractical' thought I.

*****
* = For the first time since our getting together Emma and I have had a 'serious chat' borne of not entirely positive observations of one another. The present situ is such that we are working together and spending time together 'as a couple' (foul phrase), each on a part-time basis. There has been some tension around how and when we do 'work talk' and around how we do 'us'. Consideration of Alex (Emma's son) and Ed (Alex's father) does not inhibit how well we get on, though it does call for some planning ahead - not a problem. It is fair to say that Emma and I have opened a dialogue re 'communication issues'**. This has made me wonder about the amount of 'work' that I/we should expect to put into a relationship, and equally, how much it is reasonable to do so. Previously, I believe that I have exercised both extremes - 'too much' (a good recipe for ensuring the later need for legal services to help 'get rid') and 'too little' (dubious snap decision to end something in a no-going-back kind of way).***

Here at the chateau, our fridge bears the short magnetic-poetry phrase "work hard, don't learn". Exclamation mark.

** = I was recently asked if this is how I talk when I'm 'down the pub'. It is not.
*** = Previously, I proclaimed that Emma had found the Shane Wexford blog. About this, I am convinced that I was wrong. About this, I feel like a bit of a dick.

*****
I love you. Would it be wrong to wonder what that meant?

Lovelify

2005-04-29T14:04:00.000Z

trans. To render lovely. So 'lovelified ppl. a., 'lovelifying vbl. n. [Oxford English Dictionary]

*****

Keyword analysis time again... Last 48 hours have led the following searches to SHANE:-

scram gravy ain't wavy / what is an example of an onamatapeia / fuck my tites auntie / shahida mini and one man fucking / the cyclamen from dr.who / cultural moment /shane / plump tites / uttoxeter chavs / camilla duchess big tits

It's good to know that there's an online space for such searchers to... whatever. I guess adding special interest pictures to this blog would go down well. Probably shouldn't be using terms such as 'go down well'. 'Hot oral action' perhaps, but 'go down well' - no.

*****

Earlier today, radio 2 reported that the electioneering Ann Widdecombe - on a local radio phone-in - told a lady caller that in the event of Conservative Party policies not bringing about positive changes for her then Ann would buy her a cat. This is a person who had Prime Ministerial ambitions only a few years ago. At times like this I'm proud to be British.

*****

Sister Wexford managed to acquire tickets for self and Emma to go to a free music festival in the north east. That is just over a week away. I've looked at the line-up and I know of only one of the 'acts' (The Foo Fighters). I shall wear my most lurid mustard cardigan for the event. I think it's right that one should make the effort.

*****

Two years ago, I asked a man "At this moment in time, what question would you like to be asked, and what's the answer to that question?" The response was "Question: How do you feel your artwork and life fit in the bigger scheme of art history and society? Answer: I feel like, as post-beat scenes go, I came of age during punk which was the last distinct and dynamic youth culture movement. I made extreme performance work that was always gauged by this intensity. I think I also effectively communicated my torture (from being haunted by religion, drug addiction, self-destruction, HIV...) without becoming a victim. I think many of my performances were complex responses. I used to care if I was going to leave a mark or at least "finish" making everything I need to make. In my 40s, I've become much less "do or die" about art and life." He also went on to mention gardening and socialising with friends. The man's name was (and still is) Ron Athey. A nice guy. Gentle and serene. I later saw him pull a two metre string of pearls out of his arse. An hour or so after that we chatted about violin music, as an oozle of puss leaked from his right face-cheek - you see, that had been where a hook was removed from. But, was it ever art?

*****

One to ponder: 'Unconditional love'. Hmmmm, totally unconditional?

*****

I love lush green landscapes.

Flapjack

2005-04-27T22:48:00.000Z

A good 5 days in at the deep end with Emma and Alex, her folks, her sister (plus boyfriend), and her gran. All in a big holiday cottage by the coast (Tenby - a first for Shane). Good beaches, crabbing, larking about with a 4 year old, glad to be by the sea, glad to be in the sun, glad to... ... damn those three-part lists. I returned 2 days ahead of my co-trippers - pre-planned and work-related. The whole experience reminded me of a combination of 80s Wexford family holidays (mostly Blackpool) and childhood confusion at why anyone would visit any of the Tyne, Wear and Tees coastal towns for a holiday (Whitley Bay, South Shields, Redcar...). Anyway, the trip included self, Emma, Alex and Emma's father taking a visit to Caldey Island - home to a working monastery, a handful of 'ordinary' permanent residents, angry Mallard ducks, and reasonably priced chocolate-covered flapjack. Getting the chance to see Emma for a sustained length of time in her broader family context was useful, though at the same time frustrating, very frustrating. Good people's neuroses, good people's defence mechanisms. Left me pondering how and whether to share views of the not-so-positive observations of how families interact.

*****
Sun-dried tomatos: As opposed to what? Hair-dryered tomatos?

*****
Was interested to hear that the Australian equivalent to the UK Conservative Party are 'The Liberal Party'. In the UK, the Conservatives are associated with economic 'liberalism' and social 'conservatism' (general right-wingery). My own use of the term 'liberal' has tended towards the social stuff. The up-front Australian use of 'Liberal' jars in the Wexford ear. Probably says something about priorities. Probably says that Wexford is ignoring the folly of splitting the economic and the social. Sod the three-part lists. I often flinch at other people's (ab)use of 'liberal' and 'conservative', but heh, rhetorical swings bullshit roundabouts.

*****
I love preaching. But it's usually a sign of tiredness.

Compliment

2005-04-22T12:30:00.000Z

Some interesting search terms have led people here over the past 48 hours. They include:-

1. alex football londonist [UK]
2. thesis on organ sales [USA]
3. leak soup (indeed, that old mis-spelling chestnut) [USA]
4. calcium deposits in a boy’s tits [USA]
5. shane morale [USA]
6. doctor who [UK]
7. ruth kelly deep voice [UK]
8. deflator silencer tire [Fr]
9. bondage [USA]

I am off to Wales for four days (the plea-bargaining worked). The blog will be having a fallow period until the middle of next week. I leave you with a request:-

Compliment the next person with whom you speak - whoever that is. I would be glad to hear of any details or outcomes from this.

I love not knowing what was behind search term #4. Not 'quite' forensics terminology methinks.

Drama

2005-04-21T12:46:00.000Z

Last night I sped (at an average of 38 m.p.h.) from Emma’s house in the BigCity to a smart theatre in NearbyTown for my first ever participation in a ‘drama workshop’.

Background: I’d seen adverts for these sessions over a year ago, thought ‘interesting’, made a mental note, and decided to come back to it. Fortnight ago I saw similar adverts and thought ‘Heck, why not, at worst it’d be two hours of embarrassing discomfit’. So a place I booked, and along I went. Having seen the original advert I’d guessed it would be a crowd of local am-dram luvvies participating (working their way up to that debut appearance in The Bill). On my more recent viewing of the advert I wondered what percentage of participants might actually be ‘confidence-builders’, having been referred ‘theatre’ by their counselling psychologists. I was feeling a bit nervous as I approached. Wondered if I’d know or recognise any of the participants. I knew several folk who had connections with this place. Further background: I have no experience of call-a-spade-a-spade ‘acting’. I expected to find it extremely difficult.

So: I arrived, and was greeted by a mannish woman who guided me to an attractive rehearsal space. I evidenced being a bit nervous by casually asking far too many questions – ‘How many people take part in this kind of thing?’ ‘Is there anyone else here yet?’ ‘Who is it that runs the sessions?’ ‘Does my bum look big in this?’ ‘Are you a transsexual?’ ‘Did you have an operation on your privates?’ You know, that kind of thing. My greeter dropped a light hand on my forearm, ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be good. Have fun!’ I acted a smile, and nodded. ‘Ok, you’re right, we’re cool, I’m an actor - tonight’ I lied to myself. A woman had already arrived. This was the beginning of my meeting my fellow students:-

Twitch: First impressions: ‘You haven’t just starred in a major west-end production’ I thought, ‘…though you may have just come here straight from your job at a bakery’. She was entirely pleasant, 30ish, explained that she was a regular attender, had previously enjoyed am-dram but had lost interest in her previous group, and into my flurry of questions she inserted a formal introduction – ‘I’m Twitch’. ‘Of course you are. I’m Shane’. I was told that attendance could be anything from four or five, up to fifteen. Seemed a decent sort.

We were soon joined by Smiler and GlamourRuskie.

Smiler: Late 40s, worked on computers, and was also a regular attender. ‘I use what I learn here in my job, it’s surprising, it helps you communicate with lots of different people’ ‘But you work on computers?’ queried I. ‘Yeah - but it’s global’. ‘Right, I haven’t a fucking clue what you’re on about, and I’m really not encouraged enough to pursue this line of dialogue because your fixed Colgate grin is scaring me’ thought I. Despite that, he seemed a decent sort.

GlamourRuskie: Groomed, very well groomed. Very much ‘The Russian did well’. Killer knee-high boots, with some kind of dark tights. Dark tastefully just below the knee ruffled look skirt. Dark top. Hint of cleavage. ‘Tanned’. Lined eyes – making it a little difficult to put an age on her. Guessing mid-30s. Previously hosted a live ‘cultural’ TV show in Russia, had got into this as an academic colleague had not had time to continue in the role, and asked her if she wanted the gig. Worked in classical music. Spoke with stereotypical mixed-pitch Russian accent. Moved to UK in last couple of years having married a Brit. The term ‘internet bride’ may have sprung to my mind. This was her first drama workshop. Seemed a decent sort.

BeardBard: The tutor. 30ish. Big deep booming voice. Gentle, though a big bluff man. ‘Theatrical’. Obvious physicality. Obviously overweight. Worked with offenders and kids on drama intervention projects, and in theatres as an assistant director – which was right for ‘this stage in [his] career’. Seemed a decent sort.

And that was it - tutor, and four students (including two rookies). Intimate.

Our two hours of activities were based around improvisation. Last month the group (of 7 or 8) had worked on ‘stage fights’. Twitch had hurt her thumb. Much of the early ‘work’ was akin to those ‘getting to know one another’ (team-building) exercises that occur in work places and anywhere else that you’re likely to run into complex psychopathologies. I exaggerate. The evening turned out to feature much more head-work (thinking) than I’d expected. Although there was much acting out scenarios I found myself largely ‘playing me’. I let dialogue do the interactional work. I felt little need to screech or yell or grab GlamourRuskie in a passionate (not so mock) embrace. I felt little need to plead with Twitch that actually she could learn a lot from Smiler by taking what she experienced here back out into the real world. I felt no inclination towards back-slapping Smiler in Americano buddy-buddy fashion. I would not over-react to those who would over-act. In context, physically, I was too rigid. However, I played along, and I will return. Because in all of this, what I did do was confirm that I have a good instinct for directing. And at times I did feel pushed – which is no bad thing.

Hopefully there’ll be more of us next time.

*****
I loved the Brian Clough public persona.

Frogology

2005-04-19T17:28:00.000Z

If only all politicians…
(From the BBC)

If you were thinking the election campaign was dull, at least there's Boris Johnson as an antidote.

The Times followed the Conservative candidate canvassing in Henley and he exhibited his full range of unique, bumbling charms.

When a man who was cleaning his caravan with a toothbrush said he wouldn't be voting Tory, Mr Johnson's reply was "Right-ho. Jolly good. Carry on toothbrushing."

As he departed, he said: "I think that went VERY well," before humming ‘Is This The Way To Amarillo’ and doing some knee-bends.

On another doorstep, he said: "Hello, I'm your MP. Actually I'm not. I'm your candidate. Gosh."

*****
If you can help...

Our pond frogs
Did shuffle and shake
Baby frogs
They did make
But now they’ve gone
I know not where
What of their fate?
Tadpoles beware

- Not Billy Bragg. Surprisingly.

*****
If I continue to chip away…

Useful PhD day today. Related: August is down as the month where life should begin to change dramatically, though having spotted a couple of juicy job ads things could shift well before then. Will be non-blogging for a day or two - got work meetings in the BigCity tomorrow, followed by my first ever ‘drama workshop’ in the evening. Feeling a bit *gulp* about that. Could be good, could be bloody awful, will be interesting.

*****
I love it when the rain lashes down. Really do.

Salmon

2005-04-18T10:15:00.000Z

Saw GayFranglaise on Saturday. He was telling me of an elderly cousin who died last week. Wasn’t heavy talk, rather ‘this is how it was’ kind of talk. During this he recalled ‘Oh! And I’ve inherited nine tins of salmon’. Then he chuckled. As did I. Made me wonder: If that’s what a regular old guy in the north of England left, just imagine how many tins of salmon might the Pope have left? I don’t know. Maybe the Pope didn’t like salmon. Maybe the salmon all gets passed on to the next Pope. Maybe the cardinals will discuss the salmon in the conclave (fascinating process). But what if the next Pope doesn’t like salmon? Maybe they’ll make it a condition that the next Pope has got to like salmon such that the salmon doesn’t go to waste. The future of the Roman Catholic church could depend on 10 tins of salmon. Or maybe as many as 50. But surely no more than that.

*****
Saw a film called Sideways at the weekend. In a nutshell: it’s a road movie in which a failing author is forced into exorcising the ghost of a failed relationship. This is juxtaposed against his soon-to-be-married male sidekick doing all that he can to depart single life with one or two last shagging exploits. This is storied against their wine tour of what I’m guessing was northern California. Liked the film a lot. Paul Giamatti – top actor, liked him in Man on the Moon. Best part of the film: the Giamatti character’s growing relationship with ‘Maya’ – taut and tender. Minor shortcomings of the film related to the character of ‘Stephanie’ - whose dialogue range was too broad. 8.5/10.

*****
Had an entertaining tete-a-tete-a-tete with co-dweller Marie and old chum Chantal on Friday. We spoke of words and phrases in voice and print that gave us cause for wincing. Examples included:–

‘Suddenly’... The motif for anti-climax primary school story-writing.
‘I can’t even begin to tell you…’... Wrong! You can, because you are. Not existentialism, just common sense.
‘There’s nothing worse than…’... Wrong! There is! Let us try this poke in the eye for starters...

*****
Had more geologists landing on the blog. Seems that the stalactites continue to be more popular than the stalagmites. Very recent search engine terms leading to Shane have included:-

‘natural plump tites’ – a search rooted in science-art geo-sculpture. Definitely.
‘sweet tites’ – do people really think of calcium deposits in terms of 'sweet'?
‘big tites’ – a popular search term - geo-tourists, I guess.
‘tites now’ – sister-journal to 'The History of Tites'?

I love raised eyebrows. But not the ones that have been plucked, then drawn back on higher. I don't understand them.

Ledge

2005-04-15T08:58:00.000Z

Yesterday, Michele asked ‘What is one place or thing that you have seen that is worth much more than a thousand words; that only a picture can adequately describe?’ Well. This brought to mind the following recollection. However, I chose not to share it there and then as the commenter before me had made reference to some serious heart-rending image. The idea of that being followed by a Shane day-trip anecdote seemed inappropriate. Here is the answer that should have been:

Best view I ever saw was near to a place called South Lake, near Tannersville, Greene County, NY. It was 1999 and me and my pal - an Australian girl called Jeanette who I lost touch with, she went to live in Ontario after marrying a chap called Al – well, we’d been walking for the day and we were destined for a place called 'The Old Hotel Site' (or something like that - it sounded like it was from a Scooby-Doo show). Anyway, we're walking up this hill on this clear summer's day and we get the impression before we reach the summit that a big view is going to open up before us (we didn't know for sure - the country park map was scratchy, and we were ill-prepared). Anyway, oh my lord, what a view it was that opened up. We were looking down on the Hudson, could see several distant mountain ranges, into several counties, and 'I think' a few states. The conditions were perfect. Twas amazing. Most moving. And now I wish I was there again.

And after a quick internet search I can confirm that our location was definitely Newman's Ledge and the Catskill Mountain House Site. The actual Catskill Mountain House has long since gone. Looking at the second picture on the link - that's exactly where we were - brought a tear to the Shane eye. The left one. Always the left.

Do feel free to share any of your own favourites. But do take your shoes off at the door. I'll not have you trailing dog poo into my comments box again.

*****
Those of you with a keen UK eye will recognise the political message that is embedded within this posting, and will know what to do about it on May 5th. Say no more. 'Mum''s the word.

I love the evening sunshine.

Flanders

2005-04-13T22:29:00.000Z

Oh God no, not that Flanders you fool – what would I want with Belgium? Hell, I’ve been to Antwerp, and let me tell you, ‘hell’ it almost certainly was. That’s where I got talking to a drunk Liverpudlian – can you imagine anything worse?... “Squeaky squeaky slur slur…” It was awful. What I’m talking about, is this Flanders. Say those words with me: “Newsnight Economics Editor”. Can you hear that? That’s violins. Sweet upliftin’ music. Anyway, I have decided. It is she who I will marry. You know, now that Hilary Swank has been blown out. I had considered getting friendly with that Ronaldo boy at Manchester United but I hear that his farts smell like cauliflower, and I’m not having that – Portuguese wonderkid or not. Marriage date: June 2006, assuming no national or international monetary crises.

*****
Elsewhere, Emma – m’ pardner who has often been mentioned here - has found this blog. And the first that she’ll know of my knowing that, is reading this! Hello. As I’m sure they’d say on MTV, you are busted! Let me introduce you to the wonder of statcounter. I mean, searching from that location for ‘Shane Wexford’. And you said that you wouldn’t be interested in reading the blog. That’s one big Chinese burn I owe you. Everyone else, stay out of this - we have our ways…

*****
Heard PM Tony Blair on the radio earlier today, launching the Labour Party manifesto for the forthcoming general election, and like I said before, it’s going to be ok. And do you know why it’s going to be ok? Well, it’s because he’s going to work for - and I quote - “…the many and the few”. Oh lordy lord, can you imagine ever having the confidence in people being so numb of mind that that kind of empty rhetoric would seem to be persuasive? Don’t answer that.

Did I mention that I love some theatre spaces?

Cat

2005-04-12T19:42:00.000Z

Delia, the house cat, has died. She was an old crock and was no longer able to drag home the birds as she once did. A sad parallel of my dykish Aunt Meryl. Actually, she had whiskers too. Anyway, in her last couple of days Delia even deigned to turn her nose up at the offer of tuna. She was not well. More specifically, in terms of the impact of Delia’s departure, this will be a strange period of adjustment for co-dweller Pete – Delia’s 17 year lifelong food source, and all-round human comfort zone. Marie too, an occasional commenter here, will keenly feel the feline’s absence. There’s has been a decade-long affur of the heart. It was, over the last couple of days, whilst observing and thinking about the chateau’s shift into catlessness, that I worked out – purely for myself – something about cats…

Previously, up until as recently as six months ago, I associated cats with friends who tended to be dotty female 30-somethings who would project much maternal devotion – and rhetoric – onto ‘the cat’. Recently, however, my way of thinking about this kind of thing has changed. Dear reader, brace yourself for an appalling metaphor. The cat is a canvas. The cat affords the keeper – be they dotty 30-something or undotty something else – the opportunity to act and speak as an emotional artist. This kind of thing saves us from yet more blogs with titles such as ‘Maisie’s Crazy Thoughts’ or ‘Freaky Boy’s Weird World’ and the like. It is through the cat that the keeper evidences for him/herself, onlookers, and the cat (or dog or frog or sheep), the desire and ability to form close emotional attachments. And this, can be a very attractive and reassuring thing. Sure, there will be cases of one man’s Joan Miro being the next man’s Jackson Pollock, or vice versa, or neither. But still, I’m the kind of guy who is most comfortable with art that has a function - whatever that function is. I know what I mean.

I said I’d never write about cats. Maybe I haven't.

*****
I love scratching my arse. But only when it’s itchy. Which isn’t often. I should add.

Respect

2005-04-11T08:16:00.000Z

To those people who have landed here as a result of their searching for ‘leak soup’, what you actually ought to be searching for is ‘leek soup’. Yes, that’s right, two ‘e’s. That’s ok. You take care now. Oh, and those of you who are after ‘big tites’, I may be wrong but I think it’s ‘big tits’ that you’re after. That’s ok, you’re welcome too.

*****
In retrospect, that last post – ‘Much’ – ought to have carried a ‘too’ prefix. It was long-winded and littered with bad tips for the grand national (I lost £4). There are not the words to say how sorry I truly am. Prior to bed this evening, I shall give myself a vigorous lashing whilst chanting ‘Editing is a strength, editing is a strength…’

*****
The Week magazine reports that former supermodel and ex-wife of Rodney Stewart, Rachel Hunter, last week postponed the launch of her new range of lingerie. This was 'as a mark of respect for the Pope'. Well, quite. Thank you Rachel.

*****
I’m feeling mischievous. Let me throw a distracting spanner in the works of a few web-surfers…

Bondage, S&M, Paris Hilton, Britney Spears, tits, great big pendulous breasts, boobies, ‘doing it with goats’, naked, sex, rudies, hardcore, soft core, apple core, hot pumping action, H.R.H. Duchess of Cornwall, Swindon.

My work is not yet done, thus I must fly. But understand this: I do respect you. This wasn't just a quick post for me. It meant something. I feel we connected.

Life, y' gotta love it. Really.

Much

2005-04-07T15:50:00.000Z

The last two day's PhD-related meetings are captured in the following email response to PhDist chum Nicola:

Nic': Hiya mate,
SW: Hello dear. Before we get into PhD commentary, I'll just say that Stoke's 1-3 defeat to Cardiff the other night was a bit shit - especially though as it was to Cardiff! Stoke's former forward Peter Thorne scored at least once. Other than that, I was glad that Sunderland won a crunch game against Wigan 0-1 - I'd like to see the Wearsiders in the top flight - they have a good comedy manager, and have prettier shirts than Newcastle United - it's a north east fashion thing.
Nic': hope your meetings are going ok?? sounds a bit scary, but you can get this phd malarky finished no worries. (ok, perhaps with a couple of worries, but you can finish it).
SW: Meetings have now gone. Official supervisor was good for not getting angry and abusive at me - though she must be sick of hearing herself say the same thing. Unofficial supervisor was very good: acceptably scary, necessary. We did an audit of the PhD - what was done, what needed to be done, how much time left, what that all means per month and per week. There's more breaking down (no pun intended) to be done, however, that should come as I try to get chunks of work done. This all starts tomorrow! At 7am. Or 8am. Or maybe 9am. But it definitely starts tomorrow. Of that, I am sure.
Nic': Its kind of crunch time for me also, I have to get a lot of work done (ie some chapters finished) by the time I go to [FarFarAway] to have any chance of finishing the phd before [WomanSupe'] leaves. I'm just taking it day by day really, as always, trying to chip away at it. Who knows if i'll get it done.....
SW: I don't remember where [WomanSupe'] is heading for, but then again I don't think I want to know. It gives these academics the impression that they're as important to society as people like Wayne Rooney - which is blatantly not the case.
Nic': thats all for now, have banging headache so i'm calling it quits at uni for today. I'll send you some phd pearls of wisdom when i'm feeling more inspired.
SW: You do that. I'm sure they'll be appreciated. Thank you very much. Am I sounding like a robot? I think I am. Nanoo nanoo. Bleep. Buzz.

So that was that really. The meetings were appreciated and, I feel, useful.

*****
I got a little irked today. Listening to the Jeremy Vine lunch-time discussion, I felt like my brain was being struck at by some of the more profoundly dim-witted of our great nation. I used to experience the same thing during the Radio 5 Live phone-ins for the intellectually retarded. Anyway, talk was about prisoners being given the right to vote. JV was talking with a chap who'd served 25 years for murder. The murderer was trying to justify amendments to the law that would see prisoners being given the right to vote - something that's being pushed from Europe apparently. Domestic political suicide obviously, but there is some Euro pressure we were told. The interviewee did well, clearly not a seasoned radio discussion participant, but he did well nonetheless. JV raised the chap's own criminal past - a very raw thing to do I felt - he'd served his time, and I was guessing that he'd not left prison to return to a life of utter luxury. The attack on the notion of retaining some 'rights' of citizenship into a prison sentence continued online. I had to respond:

The interviewee was right to refer to 'trial by radio' - this was out of order. The fact that he was capable of serving 25 years then stepping out to present what was bound to be an unpopular case as he did on national radio suggests some rare qualities. Yes, some retribution was due for the murder he'd committed, however, consistent with his point, there are examples of penal systems working best where those convicted are treated as human beings who can make a positive difference to themselves and their communities. Removing citizenship based on conviction alone is not ideal; based on individual behaviour and contribution to the social life of the prison community makes much more sense.

As for 'eye for an eye' as one caller put it, with an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and an ignoramus for an ignoramus, there'd be some spectacularly dull offspring out there.

God save us from the moral majority!

*****
The UK's general election is to be held on Thursday 05 May:-

Prime Minister, Tony Blair: "This is the time to keep the progress going, move the country forward and not go back to the failures of the past"
Conservative leader, Michael Howard: "...vote Conservative to support a party that has taken a stand and is committed to action on the issues that matter"
Liberal Democrat leader, Charles Kennedy: "Liberal Democrats want more police on the streets, more quality affordable housing, fairer local taxation, more sustainable green living..."
Green Party Principal Speaker, Keith Taylor: "With us, it is very much a case of planet, people and peace..."

Shane Wexford: "Looks like we'll be alright whatever happens, so let's scrap the election, pick the winner's name from a hat, and have a big party instead". Have emailed this suggestion to Blair and the Queen. Will let you know when replies are forthcoming.

*****
Tips for Saturday's Aintree Grand National:-
£1 each way Clan Royal
£1 each way Strong Resolve
Total stake: £4. Big league!

I'd ignore any hype re Forest Gunner - there's a lot of talk re his jockey being a woman. No disrespect (the foulest expression), but as much as I'm a fan of FG, it'll take more than female genitalia on board for him to win. Soft ground won't suit him (heard Shane on the radio yesterday).

*****
I love the word 'brouhaha'.

Pride

2005-04-06T10:39:00.000Z

Met a group of friends last night for talk, Stella Artois and tea. I think it’s a point of fascination for some that I can comfortably drink (not sip!) tea in an evening pub environment. They’re a good group – mostly chaps (the word ‘men’ seems much too butch for my liking) and as a collective they/we create quite a dynamic mix. Good for one another. Of those of them who don’t know me so well (in my view that is), it’s interesting to hear occasional comments that give away impressions that have been formed to date. One chap clearly thinks I know a lot more about a lot of things than I really do. In response to this, and through gritted teeth, I have to proclaim my ignorance – usually of stuff related to aspects of various ‘arts scenes’ (a foul expression). Particularly entertaining is SwearyCynicMan. He has a great guffaw of a laugh, the build of a brick shithouse, and the acid tongue of… of the great acid-tongued sea lizard of Easter Island. I’m toying with asking a few of the cohort to join me in a ‘community project’. Some of them have creative skills – film-making, writing, visual arts – that could be put to good use. However, the 'dilemma' that I’m faced with is summed up as: Do I

a) aim for something that will work towards ‘developing or integrating art-forms’ – art-centred, bit poncy, but may carry clout with ‘lovey’ funders, or,
b) aim for something that is altogether more participative – people-centred, that may carry clout with funders more interested in public participation – which, in my view, they should be.

Either option would yield a public exhibition or performance.

*****
Back on planet earth, got important meetings that are PhD-related later today and tomorrow. Also got a finances-related meeting tomorrow that could prove to be tricky. I sense an emergency Wagon Wheel, earl grey, and chicken and chips kind of an evening coming on.

*****
Was glad to learn that sister Wexford’s football team jaunt to Spain proved to be successful. The only blip being that several of her team’s tournament rivals got arrested for being generally tanked-up raucous Brits abroad – play national anthem. ‘Pride’ is not the word.

*****
I love being a turtle. What?

Fat necks and fat heads

2005-04-04T11:24:00.000Z

Saturday was a gorgeous day. Emma and young Alex came over to Barton, and following some tadpole-spotting, and lunch in the garden, we headed off to a park here in town that I’d not previously visited. And wow! It was gorgeous. And not just in a green green grass and leafy trees kind of a way. The people – en masse - seemed to have a thoroughly decent air to them – even the steroid-pumped tattooed teenagers who were out parading their ManDogs – ‘This dog - with its fat neck, heavy testicles and square jaw is indeed my idea of beauty. This version of beauty answers to the name of ‘Mike’’. Perhaps the sweetest moment of our visit had been when one of said teenagers excitedly trotted over to young Alex and self as we muddied ourselves in the river. I hauled the boy up such that we could both benefit from an impromptu lesson in the local hand-caught fish stocks - as delivered by our new friend, TattooNeckTeenager. We thanked TNT, and bade him farewell as he returned to his dawgs, and their dogs.

*****
As were so many others, I was appalled by this incident in the weekend’s football match between Newcastle United and Aston Villa. In front of a crowd of 50,000 people, plus a tv audience of millions, a couple of team-mates (each with weekly wages of £40-50,000!) fighting one another as the game continued. I wonder how those kids who’d been present felt when they got home that evening to bedrooms bedecked with posters of their ‘heroes’. ‘Shameful’ does not go far enough. A different BBC article mentions that ‘Northumbria Police are also set to investigate the incident’. If this had been a couple of lager louts scrapping on the Quayside at midnight Saturday, they’d be up in front of magistrates this week. As it’s a couple of the region’s sporting elite, I’m predicting a cop-out, no pun intended.

*****
I love the sound of the sea.

Elspeth: neither Who, nor Bond

2005-04-01T12:22:00.000Z

Not a trekkie, never will be a trekkie. Nor a moonie. However, on a related theme (trekkies, not moonies), I did catch the first in the new series of Doctor Who last weekend. Young Alex and I shared a hide-behind cushion. Although I had no real recollection of Doctor Who in his previous incarnations, for an hour or so I found the show to be a pleasant enough alien-chasing jape. In the title role, Christopher Ecclestone was well cast, though the direction was a little frantic - causing Ecclestone’s performance to seem unnecessarily hurried. I read yesterday that Ecclestone will not continue as the Doctor beyond one series, even though a second series has been given the green light by the BBC. This all led to an interesting chat between self, Pete and PhDist Nicola about who might play Who in future. Radically, Pete suggested that there was no real reason for the Doctor to remain a vaguely middle-class white male. In fact, Who could be a woman. We agreed that Germaine Greer would be an interesting choice, if a little old and lumpy. Thinking along similar lines, I considered the casting of James Bond, and who I’d select to play the part were 007 to ‘become’ a woman. For that role I first erred towards Alex Kingston (a contender for Who), however, I plumped for Michelle Gomez – dark, Scottish, good actress. It was in discussing all of this that I reached my intellectual peak for the day, and a hell of a lot more use than most days’ intellectual peaks it was too.

Spoke to grandma Elspeth last night. She did not fail to deliver her now trademark toilet remark: ‘…havin’ a bit o’ trouble wi’ my number twos this week’. ‘Ah. Thank you for sharing’ said I. ‘Oh, you’re alright son’ said she. ‘Quite’ thought I.

*****
Hilary Swank has turned down my invitation to join me for the Barton Summer Ball. True, a knock, but I'll bounce back. This puts our future marriage in great great doubt. Ma Wexford will be heartbroken, she was looking forward to having a Hollywood celebrity daughter-in-law.

*****
I love the word 'cooed'.

Talent

2005-03-30T15:22:00.000Z

Began the day by hearing of Charles Chadwick – a man who, at the age of 72, is about to have his debut novel published. And it only took him 32 years to write it. At that rate, the trilogy compendium will be published to coincide with his 136th birthday. Warming stuff.

***
This evening, I’m playing host to Londonist PhD pal Nicola – a largely agreeable gal who is en route to a conference. I will encourage her to share in at least one of my sordid pleasures. If I’m feeling racy then maybe I’ll suggest we plump for a bit of both.

***
Last night, I watched the film Boys Don’t Cry for a second time. Had seen it in Bristol on its release in 2000. Again, I found the Brandon Teena character (or maybe it was Hilary Swank’s performance) to be moving throughout. When Emma passed the recording to me she’d said she thought it was a good film, though she couldn’t feel much for any of the characters. What inference do we draw from this? Shane the softer touch? Well, ordinarily perhaps. However, on this occasion, not without reason – in my reading of the portrayal of Brandon, suppression of the sexual identity crisis made sense of many of the character’s flaws. All of which reminds me of my dear auntie Jim.

***
Had the misfortune of hearing an interview with the Education Secretary of State this morning – Ruth Kelly. Aged 36, mother of four, and the most senior female in the government. And she sounds like a man with a permanently blocked nose – which makes for unpleasant listening. Much the same as Caroline Wyatt of the BBC. This worries me. It’s almost as if talent matters these days.

***
I love Hilary Swank. I expect we will marry in the spring of 2006.

'tites go down, 'mites go up

2005-03-29T11:38:00.000Z

Well, firstly, a mop-up… in my previous post Emma’s amusement was centred on young Alex evidencing an awareness of ‘brother’ as a close male relation, however, in attributing this status to self, he implied – in a cute young boyish sort of way – that his mother was engaged in incest (she and I are certainly not siblings). And on that note, good morning.

***
The under-17s football in Stoke on Saturday was really good. A crowd of 5104 saw England win 3-1. Lots of ‘families’, and therein children in the crowd, and as expected, it was an event that was quite without edge.

Familially, Emma’s dad was a top bloke – he chatted easily at one time jokingly asking if I could imagine how difficult it must have been for him trying to footballingly enthuse two disinterested daughters for over twenty years. To that, he added occasional football trivia questions. If this is how I’m to be judged in terms of whether I’m worthy of his daughter, then that suits me very well. Other than that, young Alex and I continued to bond very well. The matter of my acquiring for him a great big St George’s Cross flag for him to wave throughout the game was a great hit. Less useful, however, was the great flag hit that he dealt to the man sat in front of us. That said, the victim proved to be good humoured and glad to engage in conversation about introducing youngsters to football. Quite unconcussed, which was a relief to all.

Later, as we idled towards the end of a fine lamb curry dinner at Emma’s parents’ house, young Alex enquired of his mother ‘Can Shane stay at our house tonight?’ At this, mixed feelings struck me. On the one hand, it was a public statement that he was comfortable and happy to have me around. On the other hand, it was a bit of a buttock-clencher in terms of how Emma’s parents would react. As it was, this was not an issue. Emma’s Mum jumped in with ‘Why, do you like spending time with Shane?’ The boy confirmed and added ‘Also, I think Shane would like it if I showed him my toys, would you like that Shane?’ To this, I casually replied with a coughing fit, and watery eyes – the lamb curry was not short of chilli. All laughed, except Alex, who enquired ‘What’s wrong?’. ‘Nothing’s wrong, that’s a wonderful idea (cough splutter), can you pass a tissue please Emma. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow Alex’ replied I.

And so it was that I landed at their house late Sunday morning for a trip to Poole’s Cavern in Buxton, Derbyshire. In a nutshell, this is a wonderful ‘show cave’ with a guided tour – all of this takes place under ground at a constant temperature of seven degrees celcius (approx 44F). Now, rather than bore you with details of stalactites and stalagmites, I will mention the second, infinitely more buttock-clenching moment of the weekend.

Mine and Ed’s paths crossed – for the first time since this occasion. Upon landing at the Emma and Alex home Emma answered the door to me with a half-wince half-smile stroke-of-hand, and the words ‘Don’t be freaked out: Ed’s here. He’s just out the back saying bye to Alex, he knows you’re coming, and he’s totally ok with that’. [Nb/ Since their split, despite initial talk of Ed continuing to share the house with Emma, he has rented a separate house for himself – a move which young Alex has accepted without question. Ed’s standard working and living away from what had been home probably eased this.] Anyway, feeling a bit spooked I proceeded to the back garden – thinking ‘Hang back, let father and son do their interacting, be sweet and laid-back’. On stepping out Ed turned, greeted me with a smile, stepped forward, extended hand, and said ‘Hello again, I’ve been hearing a lot about you from this one’ (tapping Alex on the head). ‘Fuck me!’ thought I. ‘Wow, that’s er-, good to hear – I think’ said I. However, these words were only half-audible as Alex’s response to my arrival had been to run towards me with out-stretched arms and a loud greeting of ‘Shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaane!’ To this, I was much more uncomfortable. ‘Not now’ thought I. ‘Well hello to you too’ said I. As this profoundly non-situation situation presented itself, my mind was cast to the scene in the film ‘As Good As It Gets’ where Jack Nicholson’s character is awkwardly encouraging the neighbour’s pet dog to show affection to the neighbour after it has been looked after by the Nicholson character for a short spell. As it is, the dog ignores the neighbour having found a richer source of bacon rashers and molly-coddling in the Nicholson character. The whole moment – for that’s all it was, about 90 seconds I’m guessing - passed quickly. Ed bade an Easter farewell, and was off to finalise some work on his new house, prior to returning to his London flat.

The quick ‘debrief’ with Emma about how I felt about meeting Ed again was useful but unremarkable. It was an undeniably mature encounter, and one which Alex would have benefited from, from having witnessed. There then followed a really good day out in Buxton, we returned to the BigCity in a much more cave-muddied state than how we had departed it earlier.

I love introducing people to new and uplifting places and experiences.

A-teamwork

2005-03-24T17:05:00.000Z

Emma: (Clearly amused) You’ll never guess what Alex- (can’t complete sentence, laughing too much)
Shane: Alex did what?
(Tears fill the Emma eyes, she is laughing a lot)
Shane: Oh dear, I’m sensing cute but appalling
Emma: (Nods) He said- (no, try as she may the laughs continue to inhibit sense)
Shane: Ah well, er, my expectations are building, it’s your own time you’re wasting-
Emma: He told my Mum-
Shane: Oh God, what did he tell your Mum?
(A tear rolls from the Emma left cheek, she reaches for a piece of paper, makes a note, hands it over)
Shane: (Reading aloud) ‘Shane’s Mummy’s brother’… Shane’s Mummy’s brother?... Oh Jesus what? Shane’s Mummy’s brother!
(Hearing this again tickles the Emma yet more)
Shane: What did your Mum say?
Emma: She thought it was hilarious. So did my Dad and my sister.
Shane: But-
Emma: Oh-, they all know.
Shane: But how?
Emma: Just the amount of time we’ve been spending together, my Dad also said the other night that ‘every other sentence at the moment seems to be about Mr Shane’. Even Alex has been talking about you.
Shane: Oh. Have you told them for definite that we’re an item then?
Emma: I don’t think I need to. It just feels comfortable as it is. Besides, my Dad especially is still having to see Ed – he’s helping us sort out the legal stuff to do with the houses.
Shane: Oh right. Sounds good. I’m presuming that Ed is still unaware-
Emma: Officially unaware, though I think he might have guessed.
Shane: He’d be ok with that? With us?
Emma: To be honest I don’t think he’d care. He told me he’d given Lexi a swimming lesson the other day. [Lexi is spoken of as the best friend of Emma, we met briefly once when I drove her to the railway station]
Shane: A swimming lesson?
Emma: I know. That’s what I thought. Bit weird, but, well, he likes swimming, and she’d already talked with me about her staying in touch with him when I told her were splitting up.
Shane: Mm. How would you feel if they-?
Emma: I don't know really. It would just seem weird at first.
Shane: Mm.
Emma: Anyway, I have an invite for you.
Shane: Oh?
Emma: My Dad wants to know if you’d like to come to the football with Alex, him and me on Saturday.
Shane: Oh wow - not wishing to sound so interested in an uncool way of course. Which football would that be?
Emma: England.
Shane: England (many many many exclamation marks)
Emma: Oh not the proper England. These are youngsters - 17 year olds.
Shane: Ah. Right. I’m guessing that’ll be about fifty quid cheaper per ticket.
Emma: Probably. It’s only a fiver for the lot of us.
Shane: A fiver for four of us?
Emma: Yeah. But it’s in Stoke.
Shane: Stoke again?!
Emma: I promise that it’ll be better than your Dracula experience.
Shane: Dear, it couldn’t not be better than my Dracula experience. I would be glad to join you all for the football.
Emma: Good. He’ll take Alex, we’ll meet them there – quarter to one.
Shane: Oh?
Emma: My Dad said he’d look after Alex on Friday.
Shane: That’s the spirit!
Emma: (Amused)

Song for the day: Bring It On (Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds)

I love it when a plan comes together.

Think twice

2005-03-23T13:07:00.000Z

Received a call yesterday from an old Historian pal - TeacherDebs - who's working in the BigCity. She shared with me a story that emerged from her covering another teacher's class. In a nutshell: there's a young rogue who TeacherDebs had previously regarded as a bit of a handful, she knew he'd had one or two run-ins with the police, and he isn't one who the other kids would mess with. An impression of a 'tough nut' begins to emerge. Well, he shocked his classmates in their year 7 (aged 11-12) English class whilst talking about 'Love Poetry', by announcing that he'd written a poem about an Asian girl who lives near him but who he's never spoken to. TeacherDebs - covering for the regular teacher - said she was completely lost for words. Though she didn't have the poem to share (for it was at the young hound's home), I was warmed by the anecdote. I jotted words as we chatted. By the end of the conversation I'd come up with this:

- The Girl Down Our Street -

There's an Indian family lives down our street
With smart brown kids who are always neat
These kids go to the private school
On the other side of town where it's not very cool

Gorgeous smells come from their kitchen
If they offered their Mum I'd be up for switchin'
Shahida the daughter talks really funny
I reckon that's cos they've got loads of money

What with the voice and the cooking that's nice
I think Shahida's the real Posh Spice

***
I love the notion of the heroic ne'er-do-well.

Horses and win-bets, bulls and fish-nets

2005-03-20T23:32:00.000Z

The races, and post-races, were really good.

General ‘at the races’ observations: Lots of ordinary people making an effort to dress smart. Some getting away with it. Many ladies – young and old – wearing a lot of make-up – much fake tan, much orange skin, some orange cleavage. Some ladies’ faces, cleavage and legs actually matched. Men in suits. Old suits. Rarely worn suits. Shirt top buttons open. Lager. Long queues for the toilets. Crowds, big crowds. In Uttoxeter!?! A few minor celebrities – horse racing and gambling pundits, a soap actor, and a former snooker player. Fine weather, bit fresh. Horses impressive. Short round track. With small fences. Attractive setting for racecourse. Spotted a student who I used to teach – looking gorgeously buxom, with orange cleavage. More lager.

Personally relevant observations: Our party all seemed well. Old pal GayFranglaise concerned me briefly – I suspect the broadly unreconstructed hetero male aspect of the event was not so winsome. However, his guest for the day – LadyFranglaise – was on very good form. I’d not spoken with her much before, however, her sociological analysis of the event was an instant entertaining hit. Like Brother Wexford said “It’s stupid going to the races expecting to make money – it’s just a good day out”. I made an £80 profit – which for a small fish like me was bloody marvellous. StatBoy had a lot to do with that – his pointing out trainer and jockey form was crucial. Was invited to the bull-running event in Pamplona for an EmmaFriend fiancé’s ‘stag do’. Baffled. Touched. Brother Wexford and EmmaSister got on very well. Lager. Champagne. Almost too well for comfort. They are both ‘otherly involved’. Unsustainably in at least one case. ‘United in drunkenness’. Their evening ended with a game of truth or dare. An extract of that as was reported by Emma (source: EmmaSister)…

EmmaSister: So what’s the strongest drug that you’ve ever taken?
Brother Wexford: (straight-faced) Coffee!

I am told that such effortless one-liners prove that he is a very cool person. I accept this. Though his blatant salivation at the EmmaSister was painful viewing for self. That said, she was hardly offended by it.

Of Friday’s five predictions of post-races comments, this is how I fared:-

“Your brother has such a deep voice” [Correct]
“How come your brother’s so tall?” [Words to that effect]
“His accent is so much stronger than your’s - I think I got about every third word” [Correct]
“Your brother seemed to be doing well – how much did he win?” [Wrong – his primary interest lay elsewhere – see above]
“So Shane, how much did you lose altogether?” [Wrong – my lucky underpants worked]

A sober interest in GayFranglaise, LadyFranglaise and StatBoy – not to mention a quite indecent interest in the gorgeously fish-netted Emma - ensured that I didn’t quite reach the point of impromptu vocal performance.

I love travelling, but I do wonder about being gored to death.

£1 each way on Bertie Blogger

2005-03-18T13:06:00.000Z

On Saturday I will be going to the races. This will be the first jumps meeting that I’ve been to, and a first dalliance with the folk of Uttoxeter. I am told that this is the biggest day of the racing year for this particular course – we will see ‘The Midlands National’. Whilst living in the north east I got to the flat races at Redcar and Newcastle, I also got to Chester a couple of years ago - all good days out. Saturday’s experience will be novel as Brother Wexford will be heading south to join our party of twelve. Previously, he met Emma – albeit briefly. On this occasion he will meet her sister too. Post-races comments will include:-

“Your brother has such a deep voice”
“How come your brother’s so tall?”
“His accent is so much stronger than your’s - I think I got about every third word”
“Your brother seemed to be doing well – how much did he win?”
“So Shane, how much did you lose altogether?”

A couple of Emma’s friends will be in attendance too. Nice people, though really heavy drinkers. I will be revealed to be the lightweight that I truly am. Such a lightweight status can manifest in three ways:-

1. Shane is the first (or only) person to puke.
2. I start planning exotic outings for the months ahead – committing to music festivals, and so on.
3. Asking people if they’ve ever heard the song ‘Only Gay Eskimo’. And if they haven’t, they are instantly assaulted with an impromptu rendition. Lyrics here.

I love a happy ending?

Listening

2005-03-16T17:58:00.000Z

Spoke with brother Wexford last night. He shared the following anecdote about when he was visiting old grandpa George (now deceased)…

The old man, for the last 4 weeks of his life, was living in an old peoples’ home (or whatever the PC term for such a place is now). Anyway, one Friday afternoon, sitting with the old man in his room, brother was told ‘I say son, I saw a bank robbery the other day’.
‘Is that right grandpa?’ asked brother
‘Aye, it is’ replied the old man
At this, I’m thinking ‘Oh my God, how come I never heard about this?’, I guessed maybe the old man had been taken out into the local town for the afternoon and at a distance had witnessed said raid bank robbery.
‘Then what did he say?’ I asked brother
‘Nothing really. I just said to him ‘Y’ know what grandpa?’, ‘What’s that?’ he said, then I just told him - ‘I don’t think you did’’
‘What?’ I asked, confused
‘Well y’ know, he was losin’ it wasn’t he, he was comin’ out with all sorts by the end’
‘Oh, yeah’ I acknowledged, feeling a bit shit for having been largely absent, ‘So what did he say when you said you didn’t think he saw the robbery?’
‘Nothing much, he just laughed - a lot, he reckoned it must have been his ‘mind playing tricks on him’’

Listening to this, I came over all sentimental and ridiculous; a tear may have rolled off my cheek. Had it been ma Wexford or grandma Elspeth listening to the old man’s break from reality they’d have awkwardly humoured him, probably shifting subject. Instead, brother – in his gorgeously frank but gentle way – had simply told it like it was – without embarrassment or fear. I could hear the old man’s chuckle as I ended the call with brother. Less than an hour later, whilst idling in front of the TV, Liz came in and offered me a Murray Mint. I hadn’t seen a Murray Mint for years. They were the old man’s favourite sweet.

I love listening, but being a natural cynic* can be a bit awkward sometimes.

* some would say 'realist'

Reach out and touch...

2005-03-15T10:12:00.000Z

It seems that quite a 'pointed' search presented this blog to a recent Google searcher in Australia.

Copied and pasted from Statcounter...

CPE-60-230-97-54.vic.bigpond.net.au (60.230.97.54)
the-thesis-chronicles.blogspot.com/2005_03_01_the-thesis-chronicles_archive.html
www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en-us&q=phd supervision arsehole supervisor&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8

I think that's called 'not having a good day'.

G'day all.

Leak soup

2005-03-14T11:56:00.000Z

Oh little town of Barton, how still we once saw thee lie. But not anymore. The people are walking with changed stride patterns, the people seem… upbeat.

The end of last week saw another work trip to the FarNorth. On this occasion, Emma and I were accompanied by a colleague, Yvonne, who will be collaborating with us between now and the wrap-up which I’m hoping will be June/July. On this occasion our behaviour was befitting of the professional researchers that we are, rather than the amateur porn stars that we certainly are not. The trip was a success in that we got done much of what we’d aimed to, however, we are discovering sour behind-the-scenes politics – when the funders and the proposed beneficiaries of research are not one and the same body, then strange things can happen. It seems that someone is acting against our interests, and we know who that someone is – it is SmokerSkinWoman – she of the pudding-like head.

***

Had it pointed out to me yesterday that Stephen Fry is featured on the provisional programme for the Hay Festival, this made me whoop and cheer and jibber and sneeze – it was that kind of a weekend.

Much of the weekend was spent with Emma in the BigCity. On Saturday we met up with Catherine for lunch. There, something quite exciting happened – I was leaked at! Theatre-leaked that is. Catherine’s contact in theatre-world, had furnished details of who the secret celebrity guests were to be in a production of ‘That Play What I Wrote’ that will be showing in Stoke-on-Trent – the cultural mecca that had played host to Dracula a month or so ago. Anyway, the ruse is that at the end of ‘TPWIW’, a guest is welcomed onto the stage to whoops and cheers from the audience – up until this point, the audience are meant to have been wondering which legend will trog out onto the boards at Southport or Bradford or Coventry or wherever it is that the show is playing. This is the formula that Morecambe and Wise used on their TV show of the 70s and 80s and which is the broad subject of the play. Anyway, upon hearing that one of the celebrity guests was ‘the bridegroom in the biggest wedding of the year’, I was agog. Surely not? In Stoke-on-Trent? Then, I was directed to this. He will cover half of the shows; the others will be covered by some comedian who is most well-known for having a squeaky voice - which is obviously the epitome of funny. Regretably, I shall be washing my hair during the entire week of the ‘TPWIW’ run, thus, I shall miss the fun.

It was good to return to the chateau last night. I landed in time to follow a focus-free political debate between a rather addled Pete, and an equally addled weekend house guest, Mary. This alerted me to the fact that some politics are more important than others…

I love learning.

Middle of the Road

2005-03-09T12:12:00.000Z

A few months ago, I 'hooked up' with a really decent group of writers. We meet monthly. Oddly, for a writers' group, it doesn't feel like 'group therapy'... yet? Anyway, here, 'trying something new', I share a brief missive that was penned for that group. The keyword prompt was 'punish'. Be strong, read on.

********************
Middle of the Road

The long journey from Truro - A30, M5, M6, and the unending minor roads through people-free counties never felt any shorter. Cruising along the centre lane, passing coach parties, long-distance insomniacs and an out-of-place classic car the man pressed the CD player off – ‘far too jingo-pop for a tired mind’ he thought. Really, he ought not to have been driving, though to him, to have experienced his passenger’s driving over such a long distance would have been… ‘unwise’. Glancing across, he noticed that she was about to fall asleep.

“A-aah, no sleeping” he intoned
“Och, you are such a-, I was feeling so relaxed just then”
“Tough. You know the rule – you’ve got to keep me awake when the radio’s off”
She sighed, “You know, you sounded really impressive just then”
“What?”
“Y’ know, when y’ do that ‘dominance’ thing”
“Hmm. For ‘dominance’ you can read ‘not-wanting-to-fall-asleep-at-the-wheel’”
Despite this flat tone, she continued to prod.
“So, Mr Not-Wanting-To-Fall-Asleep-At-The-Wheel, how would you like me to… keep… you… awake?”
He thought for a long moment - suppressing a smile, then he spoke “Ask me a question”
Disappointed, she hid a sigh with an exaggerated yawn.
“Say something profound”
“That’s not a question“
”Would you please say something profound?”
“No need for sarcasm”
“Well there’s no need for being a completely finicky shit”
“Heh heh heh-, take it easy Mrs Cadbury’s Caramel”
“Well don’t be so picky”
“Sorry” he murmured.

There followed a pause for several minutes as more anonymous greenery flashed by. He sighed, she registered this.

“Say something profound” she invited – all hostility gone.
He was glad to hear the recovered tone of voice, he thought for a short while, cleared his throat, then pronounced carefully “Mistrust those in whom the urge to punish is strong”
She gaped, “Where the hell did that come from?”
He smiled, “My English teacher - Mr Peters - good bloke - he said it once, asked us what it meant”
“And?”
“Well, it’s just a saying, y’ know, be… suspicious I suppose – of anyone who’s a bit handy with punishment”
She nodded, yet her expression was one of puzzlement “Why?”
“I don’t know. They could be dangerous - or stupid - would hardly be very ‘peace and understanding’ would it”
“S’pose not” she frowned.
“Ask me another question”

She thought longer this time, and just as he began to wonder whether she’d forgotten their peculiar driving game, she spoke again.

“Earlier, when I asked you how you would like me to keep you awake, what was your first thought?”
He smiled.
“You’re bad” she cooed.
“You’re hardly an angel yourself.”

(435 words)

********************
That, to me, was the equivalent of streak-blogging.

An unsettling 'need'

2005-03-08T11:06:00.000Z

Received an email from MainSupervisor yesterday:
--------------
Subject: Hello!
--------------
Hi Shane,

How are you? Need to have a chat, do you have a landline I can call you on?

MainSupervisor
--------------

'Gulp!' thought I. Immediately, 'Need to have a chat' struck me as ominous. So I called supervisor - no answer or voicemail facility. Arse! Quickly, to email. No response to that within 5 minutes. Thus, I texted MainSupervisor. In the couple of hours that passed before MainSupervisor eventually called, I had had time to come up with the following list of possible reasons for needing to have a chat:-

- A glitch had been spotted re my supervision fees, a-hem, and supervisor was being hassled re this
- University admin were giving supervisor grief re the time taken for me to complete the PhD
- Other supervisor was not well, or worse
- SpecificFormerColleagueChum was not well, or worse
- A job had come up in the department and I was to be sounded-out re that, or worse
- Where was my next piece of writing?
- Main supervisor had found another job and would soon be leaving the university

The call came. 'Is this going to be an ominous chat?' I asked.
'I'll get straight to the point' came the response.
'Oh fuck, it is' thought I. Brace brace brace!!!

Looking ahead to the viva (examination by word of mouth) that will follow the thesis completion, I was told that the internal examiner who had been suggested would not be available for she would soon be off to sunnier academic climes. 'Is that all?' thought I. Seems that MainSupervisor had had a bit of a wobble re this.

'Have you had any thoughts re a possible replacement?' I asked.
'Well, I don't know how you'd feel about this but we were wondering how you might feel about VaguelyKnownBloke, you don't need to tell me now - just have a think about it-'
'Sounds fine, let's go with that' I interjected.
'Oh! Is there anything that you don't feel sure about in relation to VaguelyKnownBloke?'
'No. He's always struck me as an utterly reasonable person - has never struck me as having a point to prove'.
'Yeah, I think you're right, and I think he'd work well with MootedExternalExaminer'
'Well that sounds good'

The wave of relief that surged through me was quite spectacular. The chat was useful in reminding me of my main priority - getting the bloody thesis finished - a notion that guided the birth of this blog. And on that point, should the blog be continued post-PhDing, a new blog identity has been determined for that time.

Child's play & a cultural moment

2005-03-07T11:57:00.000Z

Saturday afternoon heralded a drive into the snow-capped hills with Catherine and young Gemma. Having landed at the Tittesworth reservoir and country park at the south-west edge of the Staffordshire Moorlands, we caused a few double-takes from passing visitors bound for the very reasonable visitor centre and restaurant. As snow lashed down – far from what we’d expected – this did not stop our playing in the sand pit and in the children’s playground. Far from it, it created ideal conditions, for we had the whole place to ourselves. And all for the wind-chill price of minus one degree celcius – 30 degrees Fahrenheit. Ouch. Spirits were high as we trogged back to the car – each one of us with ruddy cheeks and an icy nose-run. Gemma slept all the way back to the BigCity.

Met with Emma and young Alex on Sunday afternoon, that was for a walk in a different country park – the urban kind – trees, trees, a lake, water-fowl, trees, and the mid-distant thunder of heavy traffic. Was good; an on-spec investigation of a boat shed went down well – quite the mini-adventure for the young boy. It seemed that as Mothers’ Day had struck, ‘doing family-time’ had affected a mass exodus from the towns to the edge-of-towns. The sunny day veiled low low temperatures. Shiverrrrr, and a box of chocolates.

Funniest 'culturally-sensitive' sighting of the weekend: lots of young chavs bearing withered bunches of flowers - markers of the care and affection that they feel for their mothers. The Kappa Lilies seemed to be the most popular floral tribute.

Footballingly, this weekend:-
Glad about (one per division): Newcastle, Sunderland, Blackpool, Darlington
Disappointed for (one per division): Middlesbrough, Crewe, Hartlepool, Macclesfield

Favourites of the moment:-
Book - Tony Hawks' 'Playing the Moldovans at Tennis'
Music - Scissor Sisters
TV - The Apprentice (BBC2)

Happy World Anorak Day!

'Gobshite', noteworthiness, rabbit's foot

2005-03-04T13:23:00.000Z

Communicatively, it has been an interesting past 24 hours or so, in fact, so interesting, that as I observe Barton pigeons taking shelter from heaving rain, I am inclined to suspect that each pigeon carries with it a most important missive. Let’s hope that the rain does not create any blurring effects.

Now then, chastisement - it happened, perhaps not unreasonably. However, I must blog-defend self against the suggestion of my not respecting Emma. Referring to someone as a, a-hem, ‘gobshite’ – in a public forum – may not quite ring of ‘love sweet love’. However, ‘gobshite’, used as it was on Tuesday evening, in an affectionate ‘self-deprecating’ sense, is not so loaded. It was the term that Emma – laughingly - used of herself when I drop-jawed upon hearing that I was already a known quantity to her grandmother. As it is, I have a lot of respect for Emma – she is a fine wit, can ask good Critical questions, has a sensitivity towards young Alex that is hugely attractive, and seems to capably spin many more plates than what number I have eaten hot dinners from. And if you’re now thinking that a raw nerve was touched, you’re right. That said, Jodie’s comment reminded me of this news story – which I did like a lot when I first read it.

Now then, on to lighter matters. You may remember that last week I foolishly (!) enacted an attempt at ‘doing grown-up’. In a nutshell, a text was sent to an ex – Harmony - enquiring as to how she was (without forewarning and in a rather vague fashion, she’d casually dipped back into my life 10 months ago). Well, a response to the text was received yesterday – in short note form – as had been invited. I said I’d share the outcome, so here it is – in bold, I have inserted the thoughts that struck me as I read it:

----------------------------------------
To Shane Hubert Wexford (bit formal)

Thank you for the good times (a sweet yet ominous beginning) and the lessons I have learned and am still learning from the bad times. (Woooooooooahhhhhhh)

We connected and became disconnected. (Fair point) When I came to see you last Easter I came to see how you are, but I also came to say Goodbye. (What! You could have MENTIONED THAT! You make me sound like some kind of… fucking hell!)

I wasn’t clear (too fucking right), I’m happy (good, but Jesus Christ!), I’m in love with a beautiful man (fair detail – there was something of a bi- history) and I need and want you not to contact me again (oh Lordy, this is weird – I do not like the language you are using here).

If I happen to see you again by accident (an accident it would certainly be) I bear no malice. I just want my life to be separate from your’s. (I wonder if you had some help penning this) Have a good one. (What?) I wish you well in all you do. (Oh, do not go saying things that will make it hard for me to dislike you)

Goodbye from

Harmony Rosetta Hansen (That formality again)
----------------------------------------

As ever, names have been changed to protect the profoundly guilty!

I turned to my mobile phone: Names – Erase – One by one – scrolled down to Harmony – select – confirm delete. Sorted. Dramatically. I then took a somewhat shaky ego-battered Shane to the shower. As quickly as I’d been irritated by the note, I did feel that the unpleasant clarity of it was a relief. That said, I also felt like seven thousand different kinds of wally-plonker-twit-tw**-arsehole for having thought that it was a good idea to have a bash at doing grown-up. It was a short note, and I felt it to be beautifully written – despite the language, the tone that I read, and the sense that it was horrible yet mature at the same time. Part of me wanted to think of her as a gobshite, but that would have been unfair – and I do mean that. On stepping out of the shower (which is located off the ground floor back porch), I dropped a dripping foot into Delia’s meaty food bowl. I swore, then laughed.

Have/Continue to have/Hope you had, a good weekend.

I, the known quantity?

2005-03-02T16:14:00.000Z

Here in Barton, I saw the most gorgeous bottom earlier. Quite the thing for waking a young man up as the afternoon seemed to be slipping away.

Have been less-than-productive with some irksome writing over the past week or so, that was further compounded by a late work-start today. The problem with the writing was diagnosed by self as resisting the called-for ‘return to the literature’ – I find it hard to respect a lot of academic work as I recognise much of it as the stuff that is referred to as ‘the bleedin’ obvious’ by many reasonable ‘lay people’. The term ‘lay people’ is horrible, however, I must not digress. Of course, to digress would be to imply that this post was going somewhere. Thus, where shall it go?... Ah yes, there was a point…

I saw Emma and the boy, Alex, again yesterday – from early evening until bed-time – Alex was quite the charming poppet who seemed to be strangely familiar with me. This was partly explained when Emma mentioned that she’d mentioned me several times previously to him – including times prior to she and I ‘getting together’. I found this to be odd, reassuring, spooky, confusing, endearing, and many many more contradictory adjectives. As it was, I simply murmured ‘Ah’ when this was explained. Made me wonder how much other people who are known to Emma have heard of me. Publicly, we remain ‘good friends’ – still, it seems a bit too soon to suddenly roll out 'the new bloke'. However, on the point of who has heard what of Shane Wexford, I was briefly dumbfounded when Emma shared her maternal grandmother’s reaction to the Emma-Ed split. The old lady had simply asked ‘Oh yes, and what’s your friend Shane got to do with this?’ The term ‘what the fuck’ suddenly sprang to mind. Her grandmother’s query was explained as being the result of Emma referring to me quite often in talk of work, and occasional socialising. I read this as an indicator of two things: (i) Emma doesn't do subtlety well, and (ii) there is likely to be no surprise at her family's end when news of us having got together – or news of us ‘getting together’ – breaks.

If you will excuse me, I have carrot cake to eat. Good day.

On silences that speak volumes

2005-02-28T11:50:00.000Z

It was especially good to receive the comments – wise words most appreciated - to my last post. Ta.

Over the weekend I got into a conversation with a man - Del - who, with his partner Keisha, is attempting to make a go of what appears to be an ill-defined religious business venture. There was mention from him of Spiritualist churches. Listening to some of Del’s ‘patter’, I began to pay attention to some of the minutiae of his pitch – his eye contact, his lack of specifics, his catch-all positive statements, his ‘enthusiasm’. Also listening in were Emma and Catherine – who were getting on like the proverbial blazing house. Del mentioned that the venture was now a full-time pursuit, and that he’d given up his job in order to work with Keisha on fulfilling this, ‘her life’s dream’. I enquired as to what line of employment Del had left. His response: ‘I used to be a car salesman’. ‘Ah yes’ thought I, whilst together, Emma and Catherine commented ‘Oh, that’s different isn’t it?’ Del said nothing, and I knew why.

Later, Emma and I further discussed such things as tarot card reading, mediumship, aura photography, and so on. Such terms do not come naturally to me. Crudely speaking, I would be of the miserable git / cynic / doubting Thomas / rationalist camp. Emma’s default is not towards such a camp. Having a mother who has explored metaphysical whatnot, a grandmother believing herself to be mystically gifted, and stories of a great grandmother also being able to ‘make contact’, Emma is more ‘open’ to such talk. I turned to imagining ‘giving the people what they want’ in terms of this psychic scene – but without the illusory narrative. There are parallels between the narrative form of person-centred therapy and the kind of non-directive talk associated with those who ‘read’. It is often the case that those emerging from person-centred therapy will believe themselves to have received incisive commentary, and revelation, regarding their anxieties. Often, that is not the case – they have been listened to. And thus, what they landed with seems to have been validated. The discussion with Emma remained interesting, and ended without her blurting ‘You are just a negative cynical closed-minded ‘bloke’’. Equally, I did not squeal ‘You are talking the talk of a deluded woman who should be attending to what is real’. Such sensitivity may be necessary if we are to continue (seeing one another / respecting one another / having really good sex)*.

I’m feeling evil today.

* Delete as is felt to be inapplicable.

Doing grown-up... 'oosh dear no'?

2005-02-25T11:42:00.000Z

Idly chatting with Emma last night, she enquired as to whether I had stayed in touch with my most serious ex-flame Harmony. I said that I hadn't, and that I simply had no strong feelings of any kind towards her - it had been a relationship that went dramatically pear-shaped after we'd lived together for about 2.5 years - a long boring story. The last that I'd seen of the ex was when she landed unannounced at my previous address about 10 months ago (April '04). She was welcomed in by a rather puzzled Shane, and sat and chatted for about 45 minutes - she was close to completing her bachelors degree (as a mature student), but had been unwell - this was to lead to a hernia operation in the near future. At the time I wasn't backwards in sharing how surprised I was that she'd landed; she made some comment along the lines of 'Oh, I was passing, so I thought I'd call in and see how you are'. 'Okayyyyy' thought I - not entirely convinced. I wondered later if she was seeking some calming presence as the hernia was, I was told, stress-related. As it had been she who had ultimately brought down the axe on our relationship (though I may have placed the axe in her hand), perceiving her as having not moved on to a wholly happier, contenting and care-free existence did warm me - I'm not proud about that, but that's how I felt - easily relatable to self-esteem preservation. Anyway, as I said, the chat was profoundly civilised, if a little baffling and superficial. Anyway again, my point: initially, Emma seemed to think this was a little odd, however, she then suggested that had it not been for them having a shared child-interest (Alex), then she and Ed would be less likely to stay in touch. As it is, Emma and Ed are unambiguously connected for life. All of this made me wonder about whether it would be hugely grown-up to make casual 'how are you?' contact with Harmony. I decided that it would - it would be a mirror of her previous casual landing. So, rather than door-knocking - she now lives in CityToTheEast, I sent a short text stating: "Hello, long time no etc etc. Hope last year's hernia op ws ok & all now well wi u & yr's. Let me knw how things r. My new address - ... . Short note? Shane." The only thing that spooks me (having now sent the text) is that - as I had with her landing - will she imagine there to be some ulterior motive for my getting back in touch? The term 'oosh dear no' springs to mind.

I will share with you the outcome of this when there is an outcome to be shared.

***

Chatting to Grandma Elspeth last night was agreeably pain-free - she was thrilled at the imminent televised football information that I shared. She abruptly ended the chat with "Anyway son, I've got to go - need to go do a whoopsy before the match starts". That's high-culture that is.

Shiny Happy People, and a positive eyeballing

2005-02-24T11:28:00.000Z

THIS ONE GOES OUT TO- THE ONE I LOVE… sang Stipe.

Managed to get to the REM gig last night – Catherine’s mood earlier in the week, the previous two evenings’ gigs being cancelled, and suggestions of foul driving conditions had put the whole thing in doubt. Anyway, it went ahead, and here’s a 14-bullet-point summary review:-

1. Catherine was tired, but on entertaining and upbeat form
2. So was I
3. Birmingham NEC Arena was a better venue than I’d imagined it would be – felt smaller than I thought it would
4. We were standing about 8 or 9 rows of bodies from the front – good view
5. The show was a sell-out
6. The weather had no impact on size of audience
7. The crowd were sensible (i.e. older, and largely sober)
8. Support act ‘Now It’s Overheard’ – also from Athens, Georgia – dirgesome and bland, though at times reminded me of ‘My Bloody Valentine’ and ‘Erasure’ – which, to those who know these groups, will sound inconsistent, but that’s how it was
9. On stage, during REM’s set, there were 6 people:-
9.1. Michael Stipe – agile, wiry, gorgeous, happy, performed for every second that he was on stage, but did have one moment of ‘worthiness’ which had to be endured
9.2. Mike Mills – gladly, recovered from the ‘serious ear infection’ that cancelled the previous evenings’ gigs – looked well, played well – the anchor of REM
9.3. Peter Buck – flat expression, loud shirt, plodsomely did what he was paid to do
9.4. BigHairBigHat guitarist – added an overweight energy and novelty factor that was never going to come from Buck
9.5. DrummerMan – a silver-haired smoothly, tight performance
9.6. KeyboardMan – looked like the film-maker character (‘Ed’) from one of my all-time favourite TV programmes – Northern Exposure (Offbeat Alaskan Comedy-Drama)
10. Other visuals – simple and effective lighting design, good live camera-work (projected onto 10’ screen high above the stage) – multimedia not gone mad
11. Opening REM song: ‘I Took Your Name’ (from Monster)
12. Songs that stood out: ‘Orange Crush’ (noisy), ‘The One I Love’ (sing-a-long-a-REM), ‘Everybody Hurts’ (moving), 'Electrolite' (pop-bliss), ‘Losing My Religion’ (predictable crowd reaction), and ‘Imitation of Life’ (surprising, thought I)
13. Nice touch of the evening – Stipe stepped onstage before the support band began (with venue at approx 40% capacity) - to cheerily say hello, and to introduce the young ‘uns
14. Was a good evening had? Yes. A very good evening was had. By a lot of people.

***

Emma was on decent form when I saw her on Tuesday evening, however, a tear sprang to my eye when she explained that she’d perceived in Ed a moment of shock of upon his realising how big a deal their formal splitting would be – she’d been discussing the shape (as she saw it) of the forthcoming few months. It has been a near 5-year gig for them. Other than that, the most interesting point of my couple of hours at her house was that young Alex (3) was still up when I landed. Fully pyjamaed and mid-pre-bedtime-story, he quietly listened whilst corner-of-the-eyeing me with suspicion – I made no attempt at any foolishly buoyant ‘Well-hello-there-little-fella,-how-are-y’?-I-wonder-if-I’ll-be-your-new-Daddy,-what-d’-y’-say-eh?’ type introductions. No, none of that. Instead, I sat at a safe distance - quietly listening to the story from a separate sofa, and not eyeballing either he or Emma (indirect is usually a good approach in such situations). Talking with Emma yesterday, she said there’d been an amusing moment upon getting downstairs in the morning - Alex had immediately chirped ‘Oh, where’s Shane? He’s not here.’ A simple explanation of Shane having a different house followed. Ms E suggested that the tone of the boy’s enquiry could be read as his being comfortable with the brief time spent in the presence of Shane - a good sign.

***

…FI-RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRE!!! (Stipe went on to sing).

Mothers, children, and REM

2005-02-22T13:00:00.000Z

This morning, my first outdoor view was of a gorgeous snow-dusted Barton. That snow-dusting has now melted. However, on distant hills to the north west the snow remains – and that is attractive.

The next few days promise to be quite chaotic. Back in October, Catherine and I bought tickets to see REM at the Birmingham NEC Arena. That gig is tomorrow evening. Having spent last weekend with friends in the south west, I suspect Catherine is on the brink of realising that she has been trying to spin too many plates at once. On speaking to her yesterday evening, I sensed in her the potential for moodiness – a combination of work and leisure interests over-crowding her mind and diary being my ‘do-not-feed-the-animals-keep-it-to-yourself-Shane’ diagnosis. However, as we now have the tickets my view is that we should go along and relax – that’s right, 100% self-interested. As I shall be in BigCity later today I will be calling on Ms C and young Gemma (she of 4th birthday party fame) for an evening meal. I will be armed with an agenda of gentle spirit-raising. Shortly after that - at about 8pm – I shall be calling on Emma. I am told that young Alex should be in bed by then. I expect to feel a bit spooked being in the house that she continues to share with Ed – who is working in London until Friday. I won’t be staying at Emma’s.

I received an unsubtle note from Ma Wexford today requesting that I call old Grandma Elspeth. The fact that there was football on TV last weekend - and I’m guessing there will be more tomorrow - will give us something to talk about. Unfortunately, every time I talk to the old bird I end up pondering Ma Wexford’s not-hugely-distant experience of maximum-impact empty nest syndrome - that, and silly Geordies getting all excited about their chances in Europe, only for the inevitable to happen once again.

And again, it is snowing – the whispy fluffy kind. What chance unhindered travel tomorrow?

Consumer Affairs

2005-02-21T11:14:00.000Z

From the terms and conditions of blogladder.com...

4. The owners of blogladder.com reserve the right to publish any site content in any manner or form.

So the people behind blogladder.com could then lift from a blog(s) and publish from it/them as they wish. Whilst this would be immaterial to the vast majority of blogs, there is good writing out there - see blogroll for examples (if you're viewing through Internet Explorer the blogroll may be at the bottom of this page). How long before we read of a related court case?

I'm having a Boomtown Rats kind of a morning.

Seeing and believing

2005-02-20T14:37:00.000Z

On Friday, I met Emma at the station in BigCity. We took a train to Manchester Piccadilly. With a couple of hours to kill before we pursued our little theatre mission, we trogged around the Canal Street area perusing possible eateries and drinkeries. We ate at a place called Velvet, but before that we had a drink in a place called Queer – a gay bar (lots of homosexual drinks, and straws, and fag-hags – you know the sort of place). Anyway, absolutely fascinating was the ‘gaydar’ concept – there were people making use of free internet facilities, and were publicly using these for… well… er-… ‘people-shopping’. Wonderful idea. Equally spooky. Reminded me of my two pals who’ve dabbled in such social enterprises. Brave.

The theatre thing – not advertised – was good enough. In a nutshell, the performers were playing around with the position of the audience – would have been a bit discomfiting had it not been so predictable. Was kind of as I’d imagined it would be. Emma was a little freaked out, but alas did well to keep her cool – I’m learning that she’s good at that – the façade doesn’t always match the feeling.

On boarding the return train I was carrying a bottle of wine that we’d bought at Velvet. We were both pleasantly pished – the world was our friend, and we were friends with the world. At this point, I made a silly schoolboy error. I acknowledged a stranger – a young man, mid-late 20s, a bit scruffy, and not looking too happy. ‘I will enrich his evening’ thought I. He accepted the offer of a paper cup of wine, and made use of the journey to share a most unFriday-feeling down-on-his-luck story - visiting a sick aunt, jobless, penniless (the ticket inspector just took his name and address – no further hassle – they both knew the routine). My increasingly frowned expression led to more of his story being directed at Emma. I was doubting the genuineness of what we heard. Anyway, we left the train ahead of the young hound’s destination. Having alighted the train I suggested that this may be a standard Friday evening trip for the chap – could be worth his while – pished-up people handing over the honest dollar, euro, or pound as a token of sympathetic guilt-ridden kindliness. Emma’s response to this was ‘Oh no, really? Do you think he wasn’t for real? I gave him a tenner.’ I modified my cynicism at this point, and suggested we forget all about it: ‘The wine was poor – we should consider it £10 of compensation to the dear rogue.’

Back at the Friday night pad, we relaxed into a long, shared bath, and all that went with that. It is imperative that I tell you that candles, bubbles, and finding one’s partner to be quite the ‘sexy M-F’ (as Prince Charles is prone to saying) really does work quite a treat. I could have melted into her. Instead, I took a more standard route - in various positions, and at various sites around the house. Could quite get used to this.

Have since returned to the dirty business of working.

For Julie Andrews...

2005-02-18T12:53:00.000Z

The streets... are alive... to the sound of school children, irritated young mothers, and scruffy farrrrr-mers. Yes, Barton is a hive of activity today, and, apart from the smoking buck-toothed young mother who was walloping discipline into her child by the chippy, this vibrancy suits the town. The rain is a little unfortunate.

*****

It's been a footballing good week on the Wexford family front: brother, having become disillusioned with the lack of 'intelligent football' (e.g. Nigel Clough, Dennis Bergkamp...) whilst playing the amateur game, began a referees coaching course. He passed his exams yesterday. He'll do well if he pursues that, though I think he'd best suit coaching a kids' team. The previous day, sister turned out for CoastalUniversity's ladies football team, she scored the second in a 5-1 win. She sent me a text reading: "Hiya.just won football 5-1 and I SCORED!well chuffed!". Made me smile.

*****

Off out with Ms E late this afternoon/early evening. Will take a train to Manchester - my what a ReallyBigCity. There, we will dine, drink a little, and see some 'underground' theatre. Then, we will return to the BigCity - on a perversely early 'last' train. We'll stay over at GayFranglaise's house - where I used to live. He is away and hath bestowed keys. The house has a wide bath. Will be back in Barton lunch-time tomorrow for a work-orientated weekend. Will also use the weekend to check out one or two of the town's more interesting buildings that I've not yet explored.

I, Flusterer?...

2005-02-17T12:08:00.000Z

Barton is overcast. Some young scoundrels have just passed the chateau. One scoundrel was bouncing a ball – a sure sign of imminent criminal behaviour.

*****

How flattering to read of my last post having the potential to ‘fluster’. Whilst the thought of adopting a new guise and joining the erotic blography (nice word) club had previously occurred to me, I shall be refraining from that – the erotic blog ‘scene’ appears much too dull, and besides, anything that is computer-based has an immediately diluted ‘edge’ – for me at least. The apparent backwardness in my sex-orientated witterings is somewhat disingenuous. If you will forgive this moment of ‘bigging myself up’, I can story well in the triple-x department – when the person and the place is right. There is merely awkwardness about doing ‘open’ here. All that said, private commissions could be doable - a ridiculous one to ponder? Perhaps.

*****

Emmawards, we spoke again yesterday and it seems that she and Ed are maturely talking over the process of their split. Not only do they have young Alex to consider, but there is also a shared house – they continue to live together (a bit spooky), and a share in another property. Anticipating my potential to think about such things far too much, Emma pointed out:

Emma: Although you and I getting together in FarNorthCity hurried along the split between Ed and me, I want you to understand that we’re not splitting because of you – we were bound to split anyway – and we both knew that – so don’t go thinking that you’re some kind of home-wrecker or whatever.
Shane: Yeah, I know. But you have to also understand that as you keep me up to speed on what’s happening, I’m going to be imagining most of this from Ed’s perspective.
Emma: That’s fine, I can imagine that happening – but remember that you and Ed are really very different.
Shane: Mm, ok. (Pause) When will I next see you?
Emma: (laughter) And why would you want to see me?
(Suggestive talk and the arrangement of an actual ‘date’ for this Friday followed. On the home front, her line will be that she’s going out with a friend from work – not inaccurate.)

*****

On the thesis front (what a turn-off!), had a good supervision on Monday afternoon, in which there was talk of external examiners, and some useful feedback re my not being a whore to any one discipline. Presently, I’m constructing an argument that explains why I shall do what I did - and they refer to this as ‘contributing to knowledge’.

*****

The dear people at Blogger Support have come up trumpless in terms of advice re my southerly sidebar. Thus, it appears that I’ll have to turn to quickly learning some basic html – gulp!

FarNorth trip 2, part II

2005-02-15T17:23:00.000Z

As I was saying...

...Instead, with a quick hand to the hem of skirt Emma did throw a flick of skirt-tail that produced a flash of full leg-length proportions – not so demure. My reaction: “Game-on!” I know, what a twat. But, for me, that was the moment at which my mindset shifted. We stuck around in the bar until lights went up, and we were shepherded out towards our hotel fold...

So, somewhere around midnight we left the bar for the 3 or 4 minute trot back to the hotel. Immediately upon leaving the bar I opened up my hand for Emma and she took it. This could have been seen as a device for making sure there was no running-off-from, or it could simply have been my saying I’m very comfortable with this intimacy-malarky that seems to have been the order of the evening. We landed back with wind-freshened cheeks, and upon slowing the pace at the hotel entrance our hands naturally separated. A nod to the receptionist, up the curving one flight of stairs, along the corridor and I’m thinking ‘errrr’ – or something like that. Then! The most highly clog-footed chilled-out Dutch uber-courage possessed my ordinarily backward self and thus I did avail my room for late night tea (I know, I know, I’m cringing as I write this):

Shane: Would you care to take tea at room 34? I hear the host has access to some of FarNorthCity’s finest bourbon… biscuits.
Emma: Sounds good.
Shane: Tres bon - please ensure that I don’t scald myself: it’s just possible that I may not be 100% sober right now.
Emma: Worry not, I will eye you with- (pause, laughter)
Shane: Madamoiselle?
Emma: -with my eyes!
Shane: Mm, how very wise.

So, I unlock the door with plastic card, green light flashes (a metaphor?), and we move in. I abandon coat onto chair in the corner, and dashingly grab… the kettle. Emma, without any backwardness, collapsed onto the bed with a great sigh. ‘Indeed’ thought I.

Emma: Help me with these boots will you?
Shane: Of course.
(Zips unzipped, and boots tug-o’-warred off - gracelessly)
Shane: There!
Emma: Thank you.

At this point I’m standing in the room looking down (not a metaphor) on Emma, who is lying on my bed. Her eyes catch mine, she smiles, and then closes her eyes. This is a great device – gives nothing away (because of course she’s been playing it really ‘cool’ – right?). Anyway, she says that she doesn’t want tea - which is fine, I don’t think I do either. I sit on the bed, with my body turning through 90 degrees such that I’m approximately facing her. We are close.

Shane: Can I kiss you?
Emma: Yes.

(How detailed?... Grimace not dear reader – but be prepared for a most mechanical account)

We kissed. A good kiss. Not a peck. By my way of thinking, any invisible line had now been well and truly crossed. As we kissed, we were both fully clothed. My hands found their way around her clothed breasts, through her hair and over her thighs. (There is absolutely no way that Ma Wexford is ever going to hear about this blog). Anyway, where were we? Ah yes, breasts etc… through various shifts of bodies and general inter-twining-ness, I found myself to be lying alongside Emma. The kissing was good, but self being self I couldn’t assume that ‘going further’ was bound to happen.

Shane: Might we go further?
Emma: Yes.

Well, that was that cleared up. More kissing, and some unbuttoning, and some reciprocal disrobing - not to full nakedness though. Fair to say that we were enjoying one another. We were seeing, stroking, touching, kissing, biting, licking and generally goggling at bits of one another that were quite off the scale of regular social interaction – in the FarNorth at least. Dearest reader, I’m not going to put you through any more detail than you’ve already braved, however, let me tell you that what I saw and held in Emma was a turn-on of the most enormous proportions. We later collapsed into one another’s arms - brace yourself – both out of juice. It felt good.

The whole exercise was repeated - without a jot of alcohol - the following evening (Thursday).

As this all forms part of a bigger picture, and so related to that, here is a quick summary:-

- There was no post-coitus or post-drunkenness ‘What have we done?’
- On parting on Friday afternoon, as I headed for family and Emma returned to CityInTheMidlands, Emma said ‘It all felt so natural’. This was good to hear.
- Emma stated that regarding whatever ambiguity there had been in her relationship with Ed, that this had confirmed that they must split. ‘The big conversation’ was had last Friday evening after young Alex had been put to bed.
- Reports state that Ed took the news of Emma wanting to end their relationship very well, though he has also stated that his ‘seeing someone else’ has ended.
- Emma believes that Ed hasn’t taken in the fullest weight of their big discussion - (a bit baffling that one – but that’s what I hear).
- As the situation is hugely sensitive, both Emma and I will not be broadcasting information of our whatever-it-is in the immediate future.
- For the first time since FarNorth trip, I saw Emma for a few hours last night (totally unrelated to it being Valentines Day) – we talked and ruded.
- I received a text message this morning, it read: “Last night you made my heart swell, head pound, legs shake. Feelings linger with me still. E”. Though I’m no medical man, it sounds like some kind of ‘fit’. I hope that I am forgiven.

I’m not sure what this is the beginning of. I do know that things could not possibly pan-out entirely smoothly, however, we do have potential. These are feelings that I haven’t had for quite some time.
What shape my ill-hidden neurotic ramblings now?