With the New Year on the horizon, a car full of Diesel, and a wedding invitation for London on New Year's eve, I decided to take an epic journey across the UK: single-handedly increasing the average UK individual's carbon footprint. You know what they say: "when an opportunity arises for you to visit some of the more remote cities, you should really go and visit some of the more remote cities."
Worcester (#24)
Well, due to leaving a little later than I'd anticipated, I arrived in Worcester to find it darkening, misty and surprisingly icy. I had expected the city centre to be quite pleasant, but it wasn't really. The guildhall (think that's what it was) was elaborately decorated and was sporting a huge Christmas tree. The main shopping street was quite boring, but there were some Elizabethan-type black-and-white timber houses hidden down various side streets. The place could've been quite nice, but it wasn't really. The river area was very snowy. The cathedral was quite nice, and made all the more atmospheric by the mist, but stood opposite a concrete car park and shop ensemble. I was also desparing slightly at this point as water pipes all over Wales had burst, making it unlikely that the Youth Hostel I intended to utilise that evening would be open. Also, it was getting dark and I was nowhere near Hereford (my next, pre-stay, stop).
Hereford (#25)
By the time I'd arrived at city number 25 (represent), I had received good news about the condition of the specific pipes that had previously threatened to leave me bedless that night. Arriving at 6.30pm has two main consequences in Winter; firstly it's night time so everything is dark; secondly parking is free. This second point was shouted to me across the road by a helpful and vocal passer-by. I worked the first point out myself. Hereford was, despite being my first "night city," very nice. There were many building of different eras, and a beautiful riverside area. The was a big "old house" in a kind of shopping street intersection, whose black and white timber was uplit by rainbow lights: Elizabethan disco. The pubs were all advertising their absurdly low prices, and the whole city felt a bit like any mid-Wales town, despite still being in England. I would have liked to see it in the day, but still think I got a good impression of the area, especially as there were very few of those people around.
Swansea (#26)
I surrounded the trip to the next two (Welsh) cities with a series of long drives that are variously described by the following adjectives in a number of combinations: foggy, frightening, dark, long, confusing, picturesque, frustrating, slow, unnecessary, glaringly sunny, and fun. Swansea is a sprawling city with a long drive into it. The city centre is very confusing to park in, but also unexpectedly cheap to do so. The shopping area is a bit run-down, but opens up very nicely at one end. Also, there's a busy feel to the place, which is nice. Some of the nicer buildings are unfortunately separated from the centre by a large dual-carriageway, as is the lovely marina area. Also, the out-of-town shopping centre is easily stumbled upon: convenient. The hills rise up around the town, and overall it's not as awful as I'd feared.
St David's (#27)
Essentially a tiny village with a massive cathedral and bishop's palace. The city hall was mostly concerned with a craft fair, and there were a handful of little independant shops. An absolutely beautiful place, but not very urban. A bit of an anomaly really, but lovely that I have to go to places like this as well, even if they are far far away from anything else. It also necessitated some of the nicer driving of this trip. The cathedral was quite stark inside and I wondered if that was only due to the Reformation, or if the remoteness of the city precluded too many wealthy patrons injecting money into the church through memorials, praying likenesses and sponsored windows.
Cambridge (#28)
Now the trip to my next destination was via a rather elongated route, with a long but very pleasant drive from Wales, a wedding in London (city already done) and New Year's eve in the single day between being in St Davids and being in Cambridge. I certainly felt very aware that I'd only had 4 hours sleep and driven a "helluva" long way when I arrived there on New Year's Day. Cambridge is very attractive and the university is much more integrated into the city than Oxford, which I assume is because the civic powers in Cambridge played "second fiddle" to the educational ones. There are colleges everywhere and plenty of green spaces (like Christ's pieces, which are not like Reece's pieces). Due to car parking expense, and general exhaustion, it was a short tour concluded by a run across the city to the car park (which I had somehow misplaced). I especially liked the squares surrounded by houses with doors painted in specific colours. Plenty to see, not a huge amount open.
Ely (#29)
Ely was small, with free parking for all. The city centre included a number of houses, many of which sported festive wreathes on their doors. At least one house looked as though Bob Cratchit and his family might live there. The village-like city was mostly cathedral-orientated, although Oliver Cromwell's former house was occupied by the Tourist Information Office. There was a waterfront area which contained a huge second-hand-car-lot style boat yard, replete with all manner of river-going vessels. A pleasant enough small place that you wouldn't want to grow up in, but is quaint anough to visit. You can get into the (lovely and warm) first quarter of the cathedral, but must pay to venture further. I then left to get to my cheap hotel before dark where I could get some precious sleep.
Norwich (#30)
I wasn't expecting Norwich to be so lovely. I imagine that being the dominant city in the rump of England has allowed the city to become quite wealthy: as transport links in the county seem to be quite rubbish, the main option for trade for the majority of Norfolk-dwellers must've been to visit lovely central Norwich. Similarly, they must've seen Norwich as the centre for worship because it's absolutely rammed full of churches. There's even an area called Tombland which, disappointingly, is not full of zombies. Despite the surrounding area being quite flat and Belgium-esque, every building in Norwich seems to be built on a slope, making everything slightly askew. The castle sits resplendently atop a large hill (or perhaps mott) in the city centre. There is also a large, impressive guildhouse overlooking a permanent outdoor market, and a big new glass shiny building near to yet another church. I really liked the place. It's just a shame that it's such a chore to get to, although that is perhaps its saving grace.
Peterborough (#31)
I wasn't expecting Peterborough to be so lovely, and it wasn't really. The cathedral had the biggest and most impressive frontage I've seen, with gorgeous grounds, and the market square area was in pretty good repair. Mostly, however, I was struck by the massive size of the indoor shopping mall, and the amazing conjoined-twins car park that supplemented it. The shopping centre ruled throughout the city. There was a river front, but it was only overlooked by a car park and a police station. There were a million advertisements for KFC, but no discernible fried chicken outlet in the city centre. The parking was very cheap on a Sunday, and the acquisition of this latest city brought my total to a respectable 31 cities in 33 days. Ah, it could've been worse.
Statistics:
England 26/50
Scotland 3/6
Wales 2/5
NI 0/5
TOTAL 31/66
Christmas is a time for, you guessed it, visiting more cities. However, the festive season did mean slightly less austerity, and significantly more watching of The Muppets Christmas Carol than previous city visits.
York (#22)
Christmas Eve, Day and the beginning of Boxing Day were spent in York. The added bonus of this is that the Minster is free to visit and you can wander around its splendid interior fairly uninterrupted. There are statues inside (clearly paid for by wealthy benefactors) of individuals preying towards the altar, but one of the women was only praying one-handed, with the other by her side. I wondered why for some time. York is another beautiful city, with plenty to recommend it. Walls, a river, quaint old buildings that are in regular use, a lovely cathedral area, and mott and bailey-style castle: it's got it all. The weather was rather cold, but I'm getting used to that now. A truly wonderful place to spend Christmas, even if very few places are open, and it's practically impossible to get a Radio Times for the Christmas week. Also why is Marks & Spencer everywhere?
Ripon (#23)
A short, but surprisingly confusing, journey by car delivers you into the heart of Ripon. This is a city, despite being very small and largely unspectacular. The main possibilities for the traveller seem to be the (pleasantly smoke-smelling) cathedral and a number of walks eminating from it. The public toilets are free, and Sainsbury's is closed on Boxing day. Expect strange men to talk to you in the car park. There is a weird out-of-town style warehouse shopping area down an alley from the main square. The January Sale fever shown on the news, sweeping the nation, missed Ripon by some distance. Superdrug was open. This was day twenty-six and only the 23rd city, but they do say "more haste, less speed," which may be true in this circumstance. At least these two festive cities were a treat to visit. Woo travelling!
Picture the scene: it's December the first, the country is experiencing sub-zero temperatures and most places are covered in a duvet of snow. This is arguably the best time to begin an epic journey around the British Isles. Travel is being disrupted everywhere and I'm heading towards Scotland. Joy.
I'm going to keep this fairly brief, as although there's quite a lot to say, most of it isn't interesting. So expect city snapshots and nothing else.
Preston (city number #1 - order not preference, obviously)
Preston is one shopping street on a ridge that falls away on both sides. One side falls towards the Ribble river, which is actually quite pretty and mostly frozen. The civic buildings on the other side of the ridge-road are massive and impressive, with the museum containing the most beautiful radiators in history (not least because it snows quite persistantly). The Guild Hall is quite ugly, and the outdoor market worth seeing, but not visiting as such. All in all, not half as bad as I'd thought, questionable pub names aside.
Lancaster (#2)
Very very small, with a "working" castle (that doubles as a prison and a courthouse). The snow is quite thick and very precipitous here. The river is quite frozen. TK Maxx provide me with an ill-fitting pair of jeans for £6 as I realised that the only pair I'd brought with me have a series of holes in the groin area: cold and revealing! An awful artistic "sculpture" that looks like a children's museum learning post intimates that Lancaster was a big player in the triangular Slave trade and probably feels quite bad about it now. Quite picturesque and linked to the surrounding countryside, with a generic Christmas market. Not a bad place, but let down by the intimate inner city ring road that is a huge unending traffic jam.
Carlisle (#3)
Day two and I'm racking up the cities whilst entertaining intense 'flu-like symptoms. The cold throughout the day results in a facial burning sensation after any time spent inside/near warmth. Carlisle is actually very nice indeed, with a well preserved cathedral area (looking at its best in deep snow), and an expensive castle. Everyone under the age of twenty-five carries a sledge at all times, which lots of them then use to slide down the only part of the ciy with no snow on it: green and weird. The Hadian's wall walk is very nice, and I saw a big statue of Queen Victoria, which was fun. Some of the city is a bit utilitarian. Surprisingly nice, but let down by pay-only historic buildings (not the cathedral, thank god).
Glasgow (#4)
Onwards and upwards. My face gets worse, as does my sense of general being. Staying in Glasgow, I had the worst shower known to man (a thin mist of freezing cold water) and then I could hardly keep both eyes open simultaneously. Glasgow is a grid-pattern city full of pubs and bookmakers. I've heard at least one man who could apparently only say the word "Aye" but, in fairness to him, he did use it almost constantly: monosyllabic, talkative and positive, a winning combination.
Stirling (#5)
An absolute treat. The top of the city is full of pretty winding streets, churches with awesome 360 degree views, a castle, snow, and interesting buildings. The lower part is full of all the business parts (shops, train stations, barbers etc...) The post office doesn't exist despite being on all the tourist signposts. Overall an absolutely lovely place. Spent a lot of time in the snow graveyard on the hill with its glass diorama of a typical (now presumably dead) family and massive pyramid memorial. Played a single game of pool on my own and watched an episode of Murder She Wrote. Oh Jessica, why are you always there at the right/wrong time?
Edinburgh (#6)
A big and proper city. Edinburgh is lovely. Especially when swathed in snow. However I did intend to travel up to Dundee, Aberdeen and Inverness before getting the night-train to London. The travel wasn't letting me do this, so I ended up spending two extra nights in Edinburgh, feeling very frustrated and equally as cold. I did get to have a good explore, which is well worth it, but quite difficult when everything is slippery and freezing. At one stage an avalanche of snow decided to vacate a nearby roof and try to kill me, but it landed a good couple of metres short of its intended target, merely frightening the hell out of me.
London (#7) & Westminster (#8)
Getting out of Scotland was an absolute joy, albeit one costing increased expense and added inconvenience. Also, no snow to worry about. I decided to get the main parts of London and Westminster out of the way using the power of quick walking. London is really a class apart when it comes to British cities, and isn't well suited to reductive description. Suffice to say, it's a joy to be in and genuinely invigorating. There's a lot to see and do, but I just ticked the main boxes and went to get some precious sleep. On the second day I visited the excellent Emirates Stadium to see my beloved Arsenal play Partizan Belgrade. It was good to feel belonging at a football match for a change.
Oxford (#9)
Actually a bit disappointing really. The university isn't particularly well integrated into the main city and, despite the proliferacy of nice old buildings, there's plenty of ugly pointlessness to go with them. There are lots of bicycles. The castle area is a shopping centre, which is a little odd, especially when packed with the latest in an unbroken line of Christmas markets. I can say with some confidence that I didn't really care for it.
Winchester (#10)
Double figures! Also, ten cities in ten days, with two more scheduled before the end of the day. A busker, plugged into Christmas tree electric, was playing and singing Comfortably Numb. It was very good. The cathedral was prohibitatively expensive to visit. The surrounding area was quite lovely. I carried my heavy bag up St Giles' Hill to gaze over the walled city. The college, cathedral, river and city centre sit closely together and the are a few lovely buildings. I probably could've spent longer there, but had the travelling bit between my itinerant teeth so boarded another train.
Southampton (#11)
There are two good things about Southampton. Firstly I was 1/6 of the way through my whole journey. Secondly I never have to go back. It's grim. The idea of a city centre with a big park in the middle is nice, but when it's badly kept and surrounded by detritous it doesn't really work. There was one nice building, next to a huge tower block. Worst city ever.
Salisbury (#12)
A gorgeous little city, with only a few inner city anomalies. Lovely market cross and many fabulous buildings. The whole cathedral area was really quite special, and the place just had a lovely feel. There seems to be a river in various places, and you can wander down any number of random alleyways to find new bits. I discovered here that Sainsbury's value 14p tomato soup is just as good as Heinz's. Although, when you're not eating very much, to save on luxurious expense like food, everything tastes great: nothing like starvation to hone the tastebuds.
Brighton & Hove (#13)
Day eleven and massive round-trip from Salisbury to Brighton and back, via Chichester and Portsmouth. Collecting cities at an otherwise unprecedented rate. Got to catch them all. Brighton is run down and kind of rubbish. Must admit I expected better. Apparently it's quite expensive to visit (based on taking a break there compared to other British places), although I couldn't tell you why. It has a big pier, a strange oriental pavilion, and being next to the sea is lovely. Otherwise it's not much to look at. Low-quality in all discernable ways.
Chichester (#14)
Much nicer. Another octogonal market cross. Walls you can walk along, and many quiet side streets to investigate. The main road past the station was constantly interrupted by it being a level crossing attached to the station. The city was small but lively. Also, the Christmas market didn't feel like an unnecessary impostion, which made a change. Probably could've spent a lot longer there, but not with the enforced light restrictions I was working under. Travelling in winter is particularly tricky, as it's generally dark; the South isn't as bad, but still necessitates a lot of whistlestoppery.
Portsmouth (#15)
This is a real working city. Yeah, it's not the prettiest place I've ever visited, and the nice civic buildings inevitably act as a counterpoint for some concrete or smoked-glass monstrosity, but it's a proper place. The Gunwharf Quays area was very well done, even though it mostly offered an opportunity to worship at the alter of consumerism. Historic docks were nearby, and I got to see some old warships, and other confusingly futuristic contemporary ones in close proximity before the sun truly disappeared. Compared to the nearby Southampton nightmare it was an absolute pleasure. Finished the day by returning to Salisbury. A long day trip, but made sufferable by leaving my bag at the Youth Hostel.
Bath (#16)
A city made unique by its architecture and the stone it's made from. Very beautiful but packed full of tourists and shoppers. Took a long walk up the hill to see what I could see: Bath sits very comfortably in a valley of sorts. It is an absurdly pretty place, but perhaps a bit too "fixed" in its own character to be a great city by my estimation. It is undoubtedly a good looking place though, with ample parkland and pleasant vistas. Too many people around on this occasion for my liking though.
Bristol (#17)
Still day twelve and another pesky city ensnared. A good one too. Real city things going on here. Good use of the water all around. I really like Bristol, despite its vaguely pikey bits. The new indoor/outdoor shopping centre is actually amazing, and I'm not a big fan of shopping areas. The cathedral part is very pretty. It's businesslike enough, clearly still changing and yet maintains a number of interesting historical parts. I like that you can go for a drink on any number of moored watercraft. There're a couple of good squares too, mmm squares.
Exeter (#18)
Or the place where I unexpectedly fell over on some ice in front of an old lady whilst trying to find the city centre, which was in a completely different direction. Having bitten off and spat out a large chunk of skin from my hand, bled a little, and felt quite silly, I eventually found the city centre... on a hill. There was an interesting iron bridge, a pay-only cathedral under renovation, some old buildings near some new ones. It was alright. It even had a little quayside part that would've been nice in the summer (although probably filled with those people who drink outside pubs and talk loudly and incoherently). I used the sinks in the waterside public toilets to clean up the wound I'd achieved earlier. There were a lot of swans and seagulls. I've been to worse places.
Plymouth (#19)
Mostly bad. However retrieved from abject awfulness by the promenade and the sound. I walked down from the station into the poorly planned city centre and then up again onto the expansive promande overlooking Plymouth sound. It was very nice up there. Lots of memorials and grass. The city centre is very dated though, regardless of the new generic glass shopping mall part. You've also got to love the Hoe, even though I couldn't really figure out what it was. I was born in Plymouth, but I'm glad I didn't stay there long. There are good points though, not many, but some.
Truro (#20)
Cornwall's only city is arguably just a town. There's really very little going on in it. The "cathedral" is shoved in the middle, and largely church-like. It's not a bad place, but it's exceptionally unexceptional compare to my previous conquests. The pick n' mix stall in the Pannier Market was amazingly good value though, even for a penny pincher such as me. Most of the day was spent in a semi-sick sugar euphoria, which made the blandness of the city more manageable.
Manchester (#21)
Arguably a proper city, with many different areas to explore. The city centre is still very easily traversed and borders Salford at the Irwell river. Having lived in Manchester for over nine years I feel an affinity towards it whilst still being slightly disappointed. Despite there having been no snow for over five days when I visited it, the ground was very icy in most places and so my voyage of rediscovery became a revisiting of many old haunts. The city has old and new buildings, and mixes them very well, but doesn't have any really ancient areas. Also, considering the river and various canals, the city lacks any decent access to water, making it feel a little heartless. Perhaps as the Irwell merely acts as a border, neither Manchester or Salford have thought to properly use it. Due to staying in Cornwall for a while, Manchester was only "done" on the 21st day, making my ratio a mere city-a-day. Still I think an impressive first leg all said.
Statistics:
England 18/50
Scotland 3/6
Wales 0/5
NI 0/5
TOTAL 21/66
Days 21
In my infinite wisdom I have decided to go to every city in Great Britain. There are 5 in Wales, 6 in Scotland, 50 in England (sort of) and 5 in Northern Ireland. I plan to travel by a variety of means achieving my goal as quickly and cheaply as possible. Along this journey, I anticipate learning a number of things about Britain, the nature of cities, travelling in general, and myself. To be honest, it's simply a way of passing the time until I find something better to do. How difficult can it be?
Wow! This is the beginning of the top 30 and, although we're dealing with tiny qualitative differences (much like when grading and certifying diamonds from Sierra Leone (song not included, for obvious reasons: badness)) at this stage, the songs are just getting better, man (band not included for obvious reasons: badness). I cannot wait for you to revel in the aural goodness emanating from the following lines of cold, hard, factual information.
30. Radiohead - Myxamatosis (3:57)
29. The White Stripes - Fell In Love With A Girl (1:48)28. De La Soul - Eye Know (4:13) 27. The Cure - Boys Don't Cry (2:42)
26. Rilo Kiley - Portions For Foxes (4:45) 25. Pulp - Do You Remember The First Time? (4:22) 24. Sum 41 - Fat Lip (3:00)
23. Dire Straits - Romeo And Juliet (6:05) 22. The Who - 5.15 (Single version) (4:16)21. Iron Maiden - The Number Of The Beast (4:48)Yes, Myxamatosis is a better song than Just, if only because it includes an oblique reference to a song from the "Parallel Universe" epsiode of Red Dwarf as sung by Danny John Jules. Get used to it. Radiohead are awesome though, and mostly uplifting. All hail Radiohead.
The White Stripes are good, raw and (like The Wedding Present) loved by John Peel. He seemed to know a bit about music. I don't think I'll ever get bored of Portions for Foxes, even though I once had a fox in my house. It was rubbish. It went upstairs.
Originally I thought that, in Boys Don't Cry, the title of the song and constant refrain, was some kind of self-effacing suggestion that deep, personally-unfathomable emotion existed behind the public facade of our singer/storyteller. Not so. He pretty much explains that he will say anything, lying where necessary, to achieve his relationship goals. It is unmistakeably pragmatism which directs his actions above any particular sensitivity, perhaps hinting at a reluctance, or even inability, to engage with the relevant party in the illogical, emotive manner that they require.
The song itself could be viewed as a further contrivance on his behalf to mitigate his heinous actions. Despite suggesting that he's "been too unkind," by creating the song, the singer contradicts his own assertions that "it's too late:" although he states that he has exceeded "limits" of the relationship, the song itself proposes reconciliation through its very existence. Indeed, should his musical request for forgiveness succeed, he will further his exploitation of the relationship within the boundaries, manipulating the "limits" to accommodate his own interests, however selfish.
Listing a plethora of actions he would undergo to retain his love interest intimates an amoral emotionless response to the immediate prospect of losing them. His message appears to be that boys don’t (really understand why it’s necessary to) cry, but will if it benefits them.I'm not sure if I should try explaining all the other songs between 30 and 21. Surely it's obvious to the most cloth-eared simpleton that they appear on obvious merit. I will say however, that Romeo and Juliet is guitar twangery of the highest order, and that the way Mark Knopfler enunciates Ju-hu-li-hett is nothing short of genius. And no, I don't "know the movie song," but if it's half as good as this flawed love song, it'd get installed deep inside the Top 100, and of that I have no doubt (band not included for obvious reasons etc etc).
20. Roni Size - Brown Paper Bag (9:03)
19. Suzanne Vega - Marlene On The Wall (3:38)
18. Ray Charles - What'd I Say (Parts I & II) (6:26)
17. Ike & Tina Turner - Nutbush City Limits (5:29)
16. Ben Folds - Landed (4:28)
15. Richard Thompson - Beeswing (5:28)
14. Radiohead - 15 Steps (3:58)
13. Doors - Light My Fire (7:04)
12. The Boomtown Rats - I Don't Like Mondays (3:48) 11. Passengers - Miss Sarajevo (5:40)
We're now reaching the accepted moment in all notable countdowns where we forget the entries listed beforehand and begin to hype the Top 10 mercilessly, like they're the Gods of the list. But let's not forget those wonderful songs just outside of the magic circle (thus not protected against the evil eye, or something):
Brown Paper Bag is the longest song in the list, beating Jamiroquai by a full 14 seconds and it will always stay close to my heart having brought Miles "Do Your Little Dance" Dugmore to the cusp of beat-induced insanity in the Academy.
Suzanne Vega's inclusion proves that I'm in touch with my feminine side, but the complete absence of Elton "no sense of proportion" John indicates that I stop some way short of lycra-mix drainpipe jeans, plunging-neckline long-sleeved t-shirt and plimsole-pump-wearing, card-bearing, flag-waving, epidermis-moisturising metrosexuality. Also, "Marlene" narrowly (and somewhat aptly) beat "Luka" for the Suzanne Vega song of choice.
Speaking of which.... If you go out the very limits of the city (along highway 19 which is well known for being badly lit and rarely travelled due to other, more direct, routes to Nutbush’s principal neighbours), you’re unlikely to be caught as you mercilessly, and with some personal relish, beat your wife.Richard Thompson is underused on this list, but is probably a hidden gem for most people. It's just good music. Quality lyrics. Beeswing (not a form of park playground furniture for Bees) is full of love, alcoholism, needless arguments and lifelong disappointment. It's lovely.
I Don't Like Mondays falls directly into the category of “Songs with Epic Piano Parts” (see also Barry Manilow – Could It Be Magic). It is a great song but, in being about an American high school tragedy, and making light of it, is probably a bit insensitive. However, if you are going to improve your own financial/social status through the tragedy of others, then taking a leaf out of Bob “Do You Know Who I Am? I’m Bob Geldof” Geldof’s book on profiteering is a good start. That aside, this song has almost as many reasons to recommend it as there are for hating, condemning and burning Bob Geldof. The popularity of the song probably primarily derives from the universal truth of not liking Mondays, rather than the lionizing of teenage angst (song not included for... is this getting boring yet?). So, presumably, a song about not liking (or indeed loathing) rude, self-aggrandizing, machiavellian bastards would be equally (if not more) successful. I especially appreciate the way Bob has, in his other chart-topping opportunist musical interpretation of human suffering, since attempted to write Midge Ure out of history like the conceited friend of prominent historian David Irving that some people wrongly assume he is.
I know Will Young murdered it, but ever since I carefully (and with some difficulty) programmed Light My Fire into my pre-MP3 mobile phone, and revelled in its awesome (and surprisingly accurate) ringtone homage at every call, I have been honoured to call it my friend. It's epic like Spartacus, as electronically dazzling as the first time you saw a Casio wristwatch/calculator, as intense as a mouthful of fizz-wizz, and as contemplative as been stoned out of your eyes on your student porch in a very run-down and borderline dangerous area on a hot sunny Tuesday afternoon. Then, after all the madness and instrumentalism has flowed for many minutes, washing over you like massive seaweed rich waves on a sandy beach, the defining tune comes back and cleans your palate with euphoria (like a thin sliver of ginger at a lengthy, psychadelic, sushi buffet). Love it.
Joy Division are one of two decent bands to come out of Manchester, possibly one of two decent things entirely. The song is over-used but still maintains kudos as an incomprehensible, nonsense-classic.
Miss Sarajevo brings some much-needed opera to the metaphorical table and it's got Pavarotti in it. He was a legend.
We're down to the TOP 10! Weep tears of joy now...
Actually don't. Wait patiently. But feel free to experience mild excitement through anticipation.
This is my attempt to write science fiction on a postcard. I've included a picture which isn't relevant, as it involves robots, but it is slightly futuristic and I spent quite a long time colouring it in, so am very proud of it. Anyway, on with the postcard:
It had started as an "alternative" games, with the rules relaxed on steriods to see how far rgose people already modified by chemicals could push the limits of established competitions. Under opportunistic marketing the superhuman exploits of the athletes had gained a cult following; some for the thrill of seeing "conventional" records shattered, others for the Barnum-esque voyeurism of the overdeveloped competitors. The project became commercially viable, then rich, so that the original sportspeople (who would've "improved" themselves anyway) were soon overtaken by the nu-mod athletes, undergoing ever more invasive procedures to "max" their performances. Body parts were "streamlined," "lightened" or even replaced to force an advantage. Chemical and "hardware" implants improved grip for throwing, power for lifting and spring for leaping. Traditional competitions could not compete with what man could become and mods became available while-you-wait. Why wear replica clothes when you could, physically, be like your heroes?
There were five of them in the car. Johnny was driving, as he had ten years ago, and they were heading back to the lake. Back then it had been stiflingly hot and the trip had been intensified by the real possibility of breakdown on any of the steep hills along the route. The original car had "drunk" an entire bottle of oil on the short 30 miles round trip from their communal student digs. Today the air con cooled them as they chatted amiably about times past, and their new homes and children. At lunch, as scheduled they arrived, and parked as close as they close remember to that spot where the picnic table had been. There was new outdoor furniture, gravel paths, cyclists and families struggling through home-made sandwiches. The original copse of trees where Sarah had disappeared with Phil had been cleared and there was no-where to pitch a tent even if they had wanted to.
This would've made more sense if [insert any number of reasons here]. The English is also absolutely terrible. Enjoy.
It is I, Princess Diana, sending you postcards of myself from beyond the grave. I can now exclusively reveal that I was murdered by the KGB in an attempt to undermine the English aristocracy which had, for a number of years, been organising a revolution "top-down" by the bourgeoise. The proposed resulting communist state begat by this reverse-Marxist uprising would've been an embarressment to the former USSR, whose communism had been defiled, and overcome by capitalism. The KGB, who still exist as nu-facist, dictator-commie knights in a small Eastern European country had to kill one of the main proponents of British reverse Bolshevism (BRB), me, as I was working interference with capitalist pigs (by sleeping with them). Hope this all makes sense, Love Q of Hearts xx
I'm not sure what I based this on. I get the feeling I read something about a small autonomous state in a town (not the Vatican), which may have been true at some point. So this is possibly based on a true story, or maybe just another story. Either way it's not very good. Had no space to develop the situation, or apply a finish. Still...
King's Folly was exactly that. Created centuries ago by a monarch in gratitude for some favour when royalty would still venture out incognito amongst the base peasantry. The were two roads although only Stone Street ran from one end to the other, Little End was halted by the tavern which served as the main "administrative" building. There were some 150 inhabitants of the area when the King granted it unconditional independence. Although a strict "legal" system was applied at the Table of Govenors, and enforced by the "garrison" they falied to cover particular areas of morality. Soon the ends of Stone Street were stone and the garrison were primarilty employed to keep the flow of tourists, and their gambling money, regular. The population grew, as did the reputation for debauchery, money lending and rough, "government" endorsed, justice. A later monarch, embarressed by his ancestor's creation, decided to repeal the gift, but the stain was hard to shift. Soon King's Folly people need city passes to leave and "tourism" was strongly discouraged. Soon vital supplies of food were "discontinued" and the population of King's Folly disbanded as city passes became less easy to get. Hunger and subsequent "emigration" ended the Folly and the debauchery spread throughout the city.
Wilkommen in more Top 100 fun. I plan to continue much in the same manner that I left off: counting down the (possible) best songs of all time. Also, we're halfway there, so the excitement increases exponentially. So, without further ado, top 50 represent:
50. The Postal Service - Such Great Heights (4:26)
49. Pulp - The Babysitter (4:59)
48. Arcade Fire - Intervention (4:19)
47. The XX - Infinity (5:13)
46. The Futureheads - Hounds Of Love (3:02)
45. Carlos Santana - Black Magic Woman (5:18) 44. Depeche Mode - Enjoy the Silence (4:16)
43. The Clash - Rock The Casbah (3:43)
42. Rage Against The Machine - Killing In The Name Of (5:14)
41. Michael Jackson - PYT (Pretty Young Thing) (4:48) The Babysitter is a brilliant song, due to it's full on, eat your face, electronic hammer followed by peaceful Jarvis Cocker descriptive interludes. Further electronic beauty is provided by the transient trance intro of Such Great Heights, which reminds me of the out-of-sync loop which permeates Baba O'Riley by The Who. The XX had to be in here, and it's quite difficult to pick just one track from their eponymous album, but I have. Also, I like to think of the serpentine infinity symbol whilst listening to it: such a practice increases my enjoyment of the music by 7-13%.
Intervention is practically a shoe-in, who doesn't love this juggernaught of a track, with its climactic ending? Hounds of Love is yet another cover which outdoes the original. Not sure why Wuthering Heights didn't get into this list, but it seemed inappropriate. Is there any greater pleasure than shouting "fuck you I won't do what you tell me?"
No. There isn't.
Let's see what numbers 40-31 have in store:
40. The Jam - The Eton Rifles (3:28)
39. The Dears - Lost In The Plot (4:49)
38. Dead Kennedys - Holiday In Cambodia (3:44)
37. William Shatner - That's Me Trying (3:48)
36. Ben Folds - Protection (4:38)
35. Nirvana - Lithium (4:17)
34. Sex Pistols - Anarchy in the UK (3:31)
33. Jarvis Cocker - Running the World (3:23)
32. Saian Supa Crew - A Co-Mow (3:35)
31. Beastie Boys - Sabotage (2:59) Mmm, jam. The songs are getting shorter as we go further down the list, proving that attention spans are not what they used.... blah.
Cambodia was previously called "Preăh Réachéa Nachâk Kâmpŭchéa," so the name change significantly improved the catchiness of the Dead Kennedys classic. Seriously though, tourism is now the second greatest source of hard currency after the textile industry, so a holiday is probably quite a good idea, and one which will bring precious riel into the Cambodian economy. William Shatner is awesome, as anyone who's seen the cult classic Rocketman cover (which is everyone) will testify.No place in this list for Smells Like Teen Spirit (I'll spoil it for you now), because it's a bit boring. Also, when every R&B/Easy Listening Show Pony has covered it in a "quirky" fashion, it loses some of the blow-your-head-off-with-a-shotgun edginess (too soon?)
Jarvis' Running the World is nothing like Tears for Fears' re-written Everybody Wants to Rule the World containing, as it does, repeated use of the rude C-word. As I've already demonstrated, liberal reiteration of swear words practically guarantees a listing. Although, now I think about it, Tears for Fears are in some ways like the song, containing, as they do, a lot of C-words.
A Co-Mow is just awesome. It has this indian-ish, oriental-ish, arabic-ish high-pitched vocal loop which lends itself to healthly superimposed rapping, hollering and general whooping. Tout le monde say...
However, beating it into 31st place is Sabotage: the best rap song ever, including no rap whatsoever. Here we will rest awhile, until you're ready for more.
Another badly-formed, quickly-written and ultimately unfulfilling (fictional) story about Indonesian farmers. The picture is not one of a coffee leaf, but just a leaf I saw in a park. Looks authentic though. Anyway, onto the story: read it and weep.
Susilo Bambang had for many years been producing Javanese coffee in his small plantation on the Southern side of the mountain. His father had owned the land before him, but only had seemed to roast enough of the dark, bitter beans to scrape a living. Susilo had turned the farm around and his young family thrived. However, one day a new farmer moved into the smallholding vacated by another agriculutral family that had moved to the big city. His name was Suparman and he had no interest in coffee. The civets bred by Suparman were not too offensive, although they did not smell like perfume and often made unworldly screeching noises at night, but Susilo did not trust the new farmer from Sriwijaya. When he found two escaped civets in the coffee field decimating his crop, it was the last straw. Picking the scrawny beasts up by their necks he went directly to his neighbour, finding him tending to his many caged civets. "What are these doing in my fields?" Susilo demanded of Suparman, the civets dangling from his outstretched hands. Suparman looked perplexed. Then, suddenly, the tension broke as one of the dangling civets excreted a perfect pile of beans onto the ground below. They looked dirty but otherwise intact. Susilo looked at Suparman, who burst out laughing. The laughter turned into an idea, and the idea into massive profit. So was born Kopi Luwar, the most tasty defecated drink on the face of the Earth.
Right, I quite like writing then sending postcards. Also, I don't think it's a terrible idea to put them on here: I may as well "publish" something. As a result of the following text being copied directly from (often hastily-written) postcards, it has no paragraphs to speak of, is clumsily concise and contains some true "pre-edit" English work. However, it may still have some minor merits as a piece of fiction. Thus, enjoy:
He watched her pass by the cafe door, glance inside directly at him, stop and, with a fixed expression, walk in. She sat right in front of him, separated by a cup of strong, sweet tea and a plastic tomato. She looked at him, expectantly. "What happened to you?" She had curbed her voice so not to spit the words out. He looked at her blankly: he was feeling quite fragile after the previous night's excess. "Do I know you" he offered, wincing slightly from the effort. Her fixed expression slowly turned to one of incredulity, then something resembling outrage. "So that's how it is then?" She was no longer curbing. He looked at his tea, once again deciding against a sip, and wracked his sketchy memories. He squinted at her. This did not seem to help. "Well clearly I was wrong after all," she was just purely angry now, "I get up and you're already gone, and to the cafe over the road!" It was then he saw his twin pass the cafe door, glance inside directly at them, stop briefly, and walk briskly on.
Right, some time ago I spent approximately one weekend compiling my Top 100 songs (as within my sphere of understanding) of all time (then). Clearly that time has passed and, although some songs remain true, many others do not. I've therefore taken my previously-published (therefore legally mine) list and tweaked it... hard! I've also shoved in some other stuff I'd been keeping to one side for a while. However, although the songs may change haphazardly, I will begin the awesome countdown of awesomeness in the original self-aggrandising pseudo-promotional fashion:
Take this everyone who isn't me! 100. Dead Prez & WTF?! - It's Bigger Than Hip Hop (2:35) 99. The Automatic - Raoul (3:53) 98. Billy Joel - We Didn't Start The Fire (4:48) 97. The Police – King of Pain (4:57) 96. The White Stripes - My Doorbell (4:01) 95. Bob Marley & The Wailers - No Woman No Cry (4:04) 94. Pulp - Sunrise (6:02) 93. The National - Lit Up (2:55) 92. Jamiroquai - Just Another Story (8:49) 91. The Blues Brothers - Sweet Home Chicago (7:51) The top 10 are fairly eclectic. Starting off with the bass-filled bastardisation of Dead Prez's el classico. Yeah that's right, my top 100 has been dragged into the twenty-tens by its iPod v4. I enjoy that The Automatic constantly remind me that, after the media titillation of North-Eastern English slaughter, we can all simply return to our places of employment and largely forget about man's inhumanity to man. I don't think any list of the world's greatest music would be complete without Billy Joel's nonsense classic, or "not Stalingrad" as I like to call it. A few epics in there too, but that's why they're between 91 and 100: Sweet Home Chicago is probably 6 minutes longer than it needs to be but as a plot development device gains kudos, Just Another Story has a wonderful "nobody make a fucking move" moment, and Sunrise just sounds brilliantly euphoric towards the end. For the record: I got rid of the Smiths, because (a) they're awful, (b) Morrissey is awful, (c) they're probably the worst musical thing to originate in Manchester (which is sickeningly impressive), and (d) those songs which are not purely awful are murdered by Morrissey and The Smiths. I can remember the first time I heard My Doorbell... continuing... 90. Saïan Supa Crew - Abecedaire Des Cons (3:55) 89. Cinerama - Quick, Before It Melts (Extended Version) (5:02) 88. Woodpigeon - Piano Pieces for Adult Beginners (3:34) 87. Ray Charles - I've Got a Woman (2:54) 86. Fleetwood Mac - The Chain (4:29) 85. Marvin Gaye - What's Going On (3:50) 84. The 45 King - The 900 Number (3:05) 83. MIA - Paper Planes 82. Saloon - There is a Light that Never Goes Out (4:44) 81. Japandroids - Wet Hair (3:14) I would not effectively finish such a music-judging endeavour without including some French rap, and Abecedaire Des Cons narrowly ousts Hold Up as the Saïan tune of choice. I have included the Woodpigeon song, 'cause it's fun. I believe in fun.Even if you think you don’t know the 900 number, you know the 900 number. It's like the roux to a delicious rap béchamel sauce, in that it acts as the base for so many songs. It’s also addictive, like online Mah Jongg, or crack. The strange thing is that, although it’s essentially a drum and trumpet loop, it doesn’t get boring and you’re inevitably disappointed when it suddenly, and rather unceremoniously, comes to an end. Perhaps that’s why it generally forms part of another song. Perhaps that’s why we can’t go to a restaurant and just order a bowl of roux. We’d just be full of wheat flour, drums, trumpets and fat. That aside, the song remains in the list.Talking about evolution, I enjoy MIA's general improvement on an otherwise-forgettable Clash song. It's like when Dizzee Rascal teamed up with Lily Allen, took a song from a children's musical and essentially sold out... but good. Another song which is better for someone else doing it is the (now defunct) Saloon version of "There is a Light...", as the terrible original "band" wrote it then murdered it (as now fully discussed above). Further notice must be made of the Layla-style breakdown at the end of Quick, Before It Melts, and how good Wet Hair is live, despite the band being rather underpopulated. Good songs. Good times. Onwards... 80. Low - Cue The Strings (3:30)
79. Commodores - Nightshift (4:20) 78. The Sugarhill Gang - Rapper's Delight (7:05) 77. Norman Blake - Man Of Constant Sorrow (4:29) 76. Gerry Rafferty - Baker Street (6:29) 75. Sum 41 - Still Waiting (2:38) 74. U2 - Who's Gonna RIDE Your WILD HORSES (5:16) 73. Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit (2:33) 72. Wu Tang Clan - I Can't Go To Sleep (Feat Isaac Hayes) (3:35) 71. Weezer - Surf Wax America (3:06) Couple of good film soundtrack hits there. The instrumental guitar wonderfulness from Oh, Brother Where Art Thou! at number 77 and White Rabbit from Platoon (genius psychadelic Alice in Wonderland freak out fun abounds). As with so many Motown songs, Nightshift just makes me feel good. Some Sum41 there too, as they are awesome, actually could've picked loads more of their songs, and haven't picked any Green Day at all in this list (controversial, or just narrow-minded, I'm not sure.) I liked Isaac Hayes before he became a Scientologist, or something....
I’m sure hundreds of millions of saxophones have been sold on the back of Baker Street, especially since every busker with a bendy trumpet seems to play it incessantly. However, general overplaying aside, the best thing about the hook is it has an almost redemptive quality, drawing on the low-key, and possibly downbeat, lyrics before suggesting a more carefree and meaningful future. Gerry Rafferty is saying that life is “like... whatever” but fuck it, listen to my loud saxophone! As a result, it’s pretty uplifting and arousing, like a musical wonderbra. And that’s pretty cool.
I quite like Weezer, but find it hard to come up with a stand-out track of choice. I like the idea of being called Jonas, being a farmer and not an Argentinian footballer, but may be dragging up old Guitar Hero successes rather than genuine musical appreciation. Now let's take it to the bridge... 70. Tori Amos - Professional Widow (4:32) 69. DJ Danger Mouse (Jay-Z & The Beatles) - 99 Problems (4:06) 68. Владимир Высоцкий - Кони привередливые (5:40)
67. Kate Rusby - The Cobbler's Daughter (2:39) 66. Nirvana - The Man Who Sold The World (4:21) 65. Arcade Fire - Keep The Car Running (3:29) 64. Mos Def - Got (3:29) 63. David Bowie - Life On Mars (3:52) 62. Cranberries - Ode to My Family (4:30) 61. Counting Crows - Mr. Jones (4:32) If you like Folk vignettes about unnecessary murder, you'll like Kate Rusby's ditty. I think this section is fairly self-explanatory containing, as it does, a few staples (Bowie, Crows) with some twists (Nirvana's live Bowie cover, and the DJ Dangermouse badboy, do you like... bass?) I also particularly like Vladimir Vysotsky's "Koni Privyeredlivye" which is about a horse and is the theme to some pretty impressive/angry/sad dancing in the film "White Nights." Tori Amos' gibberish tune could've been a lot higher in the list, but it's not. Up, up and away... 60. Squirrel Nut Zippers - Ghost of Stephen Foster (3:32) 59. Dizzee Rascal - Sirens (3:44) 58. Otis Redding - Hard To Handle (2:20) 57. Violent Femmes - Blister In The Sun (2:24) 56. Arcade Fire - No Cars Go (5:43) 55. Regina Spektor - Ode to Divorce (3:43) 54. Half Man Half Biscuit - For What is Chatteris... (2:05) 53. Radiohead - Just (3:52) 52. U2 - Bad (6:11) 51. James Brown - (Call Me) Super Bad (4:16) Look everyone, Radiohead! Too far down the list for Just, I hear you think (I do, I'm psychic, or Psyduck, one or the other). Sirens gets in 'cause, despite its antisocial message, the volume of the vocal track is varied towards the end, LIKE A SIREN! It's cool. Half Man Half Biscuit's pure whimsy earns them a top 60 place: there is a place called Chatteris, 'nough said. Arcade Fire pretty much infuse this list like a delicious caramel vein.
Regina Spektor's voice, music and general person are all pretty beautiful. I like Ode to Divorce. It's painfully lovely. Actually, practically any of her songs could go into this top 100, but I've tried to be restrained as I often listen to one repeatedly for a time, before moving onto another one.
James Brown tops this particular section through being very cool and making painfully high-pitched noises. Sometimes he feels so nice, he actually wants to kiss himself. Seriously. It also brings back excellent memories of Dusseldorf, "ripping up" a wicked bar, and subsequently being unable to speak at audible volumes for three days.
Here, and in classic soap-opera end of episode style, I'm going to stop. The second (more-important and, perhaps, more-thoughtfully chosen) part of the top 100 is yet to come. I'm very excited, like I was listening to the beginning of Luck & Neat's "Little Bit of Luck" before the beat kicked in, in Bon Bonnes, in the 1990s, and I was smashed off my face on alcopops, and I didn't know any better, and I was already pretty excited...
A Bientot
I think my favourite thing about competitive sports is that I'm driven to support my national team, despite not liking any of them very much. The only reason I'm really watching today's friendly is because there are actually Arsenal players involved (real, live, English footballers). However, as some of the England players are actually quite new to the squad, they haven't had as much media attention: this means they haven't yet assaulted anyone, slept with a teammate's bimbo girlfriend (or a very old prostitute) or repeatedly disappointed an entire nation in a high-profile way. These "unknowns," or players we don't recognise as completely worthless, are fun to watch. They have their whole careers in front of them (except Bobby Zamora, whose name I like to say to the tune of "have a banana," if that phrase does indeed have its own jingle) and inevitably turn the game/fickle supporters around.Obviously any disparagement is not directed at the Arsenal players involved, as they are all nice boys who love their respective Mothers and seemingly spend most of their careers at Arsenal visiting a number of charities and disenfranchised youths as part of Arsene's endless community projects. This commitment to social responsibilities above playing football has in no way reduced the available capacity of our silverware cabinets, but has led to some truly excellent photos of extremely rich footballers (a class of individuals typically known for vanity aligned with awful taste) wearing shark outfits in public places. I wonder how many professional footballers can have an honest conversation with a club mascot about what it's like to wear a large owl suit. Not too many I'd imagine.Anyway, the England game is drawing to a close and no-one has learnt anything. Everyone still loves Steven Gerrard, despite his being... well... Steven Gerrard, because he scored a couple of goals in a nothing pre-season match which will inevitably cause some sort of footballing "hangover" for all the Arsenal players involved when the truly important business of the Premier League begins at the weekend. Anyway, I only really started this post to take my mind off the disappointment that is international football, whether we win, lose or draw. If only we could collectively find something more interesting to do. Perhaps manufacturing some sort of plague of frogs to frighten the spiritual, or generally subjugating the weak... anything really.
I'm not sure if that means that the whole brand has to be new, or the product in question needs to be new to the brand, or if it's as new as a cow I've just bought from the livestock market that needs red-hot poker-style branding to deter those pesky rustlers.
Speaking of which, microwavable (not loving that word) ham/chicken/pork burgers are truly criminal. Also, what are you supposed to do with the bun, microwave it? Toast it separately? Do you put the sauce on first? Although many of these convenience hot snacks are advertised as "delicious in two minutes," "in your belly within 90 seconds" and "guaranteed satisfaction in under a minute" the planning/contemplation time, pausing after burning your mouth on napalm-hot tomato ketchup and subsequent hours of vomiting often stretch the limits of your employer-defined lunch break. Not that anyone eating those snacks actually gets beyond the "job-seeking" stage. Furthermore, imagine (if you will) the silent disparagment you would receive from your edamame-eating collegues should you walk the office floor with a damp-bunned twice-cooked meat-like patty in your fat, asbestos-sausage-fingered hand.
Right, this wasn't the blogging beginning I was hoping for. Actually I rather wanted to investigate the solitary existence of the general blogger who tosses his (or her, but I do tend towards the generic masculine third person) words into the world in the vain hope that someone is listening. But they're not listening. Those people who you hoped were listening are busy tossing their own worthless experiences into the online world. That's if they can actually be bothered to blog, as you can "tweet" your pointlessness much more quickly and efficiently. And you get to spell stuff inventively. And you can communicate with celebrities. And when you die everyone will RIP your twitter account and it'll be hilarious. Then someone will set up a tribute page to you on facebook whether or not you killed a few people for pretty hackneyed boring reasons (although it does give the 'papers something to write about other than the bloody water shortage which we have every single year and stops no-one from doing anything with water anyway). Then there'll be further media/public outrage about your tribute page, then someone will create another page as a tribute to the original tribute-page maker. Then everyone will blame the taliban and demand that extremists not be allowed to shackle our right to free-speech by dictating what can and cannot be written in newspapers and online and on tribute pages.... wait a minute.
Anyway, that "got away from me" a bit again. What I'm trying to say is, my blog is different/the same. At times it may be slightly amusing, but that will be mere coincidence. The law of averages (which has never actually been codified in any statute, so works much like the unwritten constitution of this country which allows any piece of wood to be Prime Minister, if it can smile and strike a deal with a similar-looking piece of wood) suggests that if I write enough, some of it will be funny. It's like Friends, officially the funniest TV show that ever happened, because they kept making it.
In the future expect this blog to be based around actual events a bit more with less rambling (unless the event was rambling, but that's unlikely as ramblers make me physically sick - not "physically fit" as in the seminal work of Reel2Real feat. the Mad Stuntman).
Guten abend
