Run for the hills!

By julesallen in All posts No Comments Tags: , , , ,

My good wife Charlotte this morning accused the TV programme “Charles: The Meddling Prince” of deliberately stoking up controversy by asserting that we stand on the edge of some sort of constitutional precipice because of Charles’s unfortunate habit of sounding off about things he’s not qualified to sound off about.   And also, says she, why are we all of a sudden surprised that he has servants…and uses them?  She seems to think that a lot of television is overstating matters just to make it more fun to watch.

I only mention this because it is so rare that my wife speaks out against things in this way that I feel she must have a point.  “What is Charles supposed to do?” she says. “Just take the money and go skiing all his life, or actually try and do something useful?”.  My mind is drawn to the likes of Bono, Sting and George Michael, not to mention Martin Sheen, Michael Douglas and George Clooney, all of whom feel qualified to make political statements despite not (to my knowledge) having either held office or studied PPE at Magdalen College, Oxford.  Of those it seems only Bono (in part) and Michael Douglas have a point worth listening to – but then I’ve cheekily allowed myself to make that judgement on my own.

My feeling is that it should, on balance, be left to us to decide, as it is with politicians or pop stars, whether someone is talking knackers or not.  I don’t support the monarchy in principle, but if the monarchy is to exist I’m not convinced of the value of forbidding them to interact with the populace or engage in the problems in our society.  I remain equally unconvinced, even after hearing young Mr Johann Hari telling us all to run for the hills, that Prince Charles is really a dangerous man.  In addition, you don’t make a decision about your constitutional future based on the personality of one particular incumbent.  The question isn’t whether Charles is fit to be King, but whether we should have a monarchy based on succession by birth.  If the decision is that we should, then it seems to me that Charles is not only fit to be King, but rather well qualified to be.

But what of the initial marital accusation, that a lot of television is striving a little too hard to convince us that something is seriously amiss?  Difficult one, because something clearly is, but I agree that it’s not always what they are talking about. 

It’s true that recent Panoramas have been positively hyperbolic about how ghastly and awful a certain story they are covering is, when in reality…does anyone remember the bungs documentary, the plastic surgery “scandal”, last night’s “murder could have been prevented” story?   What about the Iraq War, the Cockle Pickers, human trafficking, Halliburton?  Increasingly, it seems, feature films are stepping into the breach with films like Farenheit 9/11 (Michael Moore, 2004) Iraq in Fragments (James Longley, 2006), Ghosts (Nick Broomfield, 2006), Enron, the Smartest Guys in the Room (Alex Gibney, 2005), and leaving the scraps for telly. 

Thank goodness for Adam Curtis, (whose films are released in cinemas as features in the US) for saving British television’s bacon when it comes to current affairs.  For now.  His The Trap is on BBC2 on Sunday nights, no doubt repeated all over the place in the week.

Crash, bang, wallop

By BigBrother in All posts No Comments Tags: ,

It seems it’s now three years ago this month since I went on a sojourn around Nevada, Arizona and northern California.

A propos nothing more than showing off some of my photography, which has not appeared on the blog to date, here is a snap of a winter Vegas sunset (yes, that is snow on the mountain tops) I took from my hotel room.

If you click on it, I think you should be taken to my Flickr account and be able to explore more of my snaps. I may eventually be shamed into uploading some more photos during this little spell of “down time”.

Sunset Over The Rio Hotel

Buddy, Can You Spare A Dime?

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I had another interview today. All the usual guff about how I’ve wanted to work for an insurance company ever since I was a little lad and everything else I’ve ever done in my life has been building up to just such a goal.

One thing occurred to me, though. Three interviews in eight days: in total I have spent over £110 in rail fares (even using, on two occasions, the misnamed “Cheap Day Return” tickets) and about another £15 in plastic cups of rancid tea and coffee, barely edible sandwiches and a newspaper on one day. (I could, of course, have fed and watered myself, though I personally feel that walking into an interview armed with a flask and “snap box” – as my grandfather always referred to his packed lunch – is not the first impression I should create when seeking to be taken seriously as a senior commercial lawyer.)

The thought that came to my mind is this: how the Hell do poor people afford to find jobs?

If they’re getting just £57.45 a week to feed, clothe and house themselves, how can they also afford the £29 rail ticket I bought today?

I’ve had a look on the Jobcentreplus (sic, sic, sic) website and that of the Department for Work and Pensions and can’t find any reference to financial assistance with the expenses associated with attending interviews.

I don’t know – maybe I’m being naive and simplistic in thinking that the level of Jobseeker’s Allowance should actually allow job seekers to seek jobs.

Either way, I’m sure Charles Clarke has the answer.

Molto Divertente

By julesallen in All posts No Comments Tags: , , , , , ,

What a wonderful sight this afternoon in Rome. As the sun set over the Basilico San Pietro and the little Stadio Flaminio’s luscious baize was lit up like a beacon in the gloam, an English referee with a combination of poise and breathtaking chutzpah, hijacked the Welsh visitors, right at the death, to give the Italians an unprecedented 2 consecutive 6N victories.

Since they joined the “elite” in 2000, the Italians have had to endure more one-eyed, downright lazy refereeing from Anglo-saxon officials (why don’t we start with international referees learning the basics of the players’ language shall we?) than any continental European viewer should have to endure without putting a foot through the telly.

In ten magical seconds, all of this was consigned to history. The record will show that Italy had scored a try with 2 minutes left on the clock, to give them a 3-point lead and almost certain victory. From the restart, Wales were awarded a penalty! Do they kick for goal and secure a draw or go for touch and try to force a win, thereby risk ignominious defeat (again)? Young Welsh out-half James Hook steps up and makes the decision himself, we go for the win (who wants to settle for a draw against Italy when you’ve lost your first three games?) but not before asking Mr White, the unflappable referee, whether there is enough time:

Hook: How much time is their left?
White: About ten seconds.
Hook: Have we got time to go for the lineout?
White: Yes, if you do it now.
Hook: [PUNT - and the ball sales into touch]

“It’s the last……throw…..of the dice.” intones Jonathan Davies, always ready with a clever turn of phrase. The teams line up for the last lineout….when the ball goes dead, if it’s over the tryline, Wales have won, if it’s anywhere else, Italy have won. It couldn’t be more cruc…..oh, the final whistle’s gone for the end of the game.

Hilarious. Wales up in arms. And more importantly, staring down the barrel of a wooden-spoon-shaped gun.

Fair play to Davies himself, who admits Wales didn’t deserve to win (or draw) anyway and Shane Williams, a dejected figure, who simply said “that’s rugby – we’ve got to get on with it”. Contrast with the reaction of toxic little snapper Dwayne Peel, not to mention ex-captain Gareth Thomas who gave the referee the same sort of verbal treatment that had got him banned for the month preceding this game. Mr White was so unflustered, he looked like he’d just ended a 100-0 match a minute early to spare the loser any more carnage.

The 6N now comprises one division, when as recently as 4 years ago it contained three. Italy are here. The game was superb. The 6 Nations Championship is a real competition. Congratulazioni, the phenomenally incompetent referee!

The Itchy And Scratchy Show

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I understand the delicacy of demonstrating in a daytime TV advert the efficacy of a cream designed to alleviate “feminine itching”, but surely showing a woman rubbing Vagisil into the back of her hand and then smiling with relief is simply going to give the less intelligent viewer the wrong idea?

Hang the DJ

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Silly season used to be restricted to August; now it seems to be a permanent fixture in the media calendar. For example, banks have been bumped from the front pages this week by the frothing frenzy about TV shows and their premium rate competitions. The frenzy, naturally, is being fed chiefly by paragons of virtue like the Daily Mail and the Sun.

“How dare TV companies make up competition contestants?” thunder newspapers who employ people to write fictional readers’ letters.  “What right have these people to rig competitions?” holler newspapers who run unwinnable competitions.

Just as top-flight English football didn’t exist before Sky won the broadcast rights, so history only began in 1995 when the World Wide Web was born.  But surely I can’t be the only person alive to remember the fraudulent £1m bingo game in the 1980s when a national newspaper’s employee rigged it so his granny won?

It’s show BUSINESS, folks. They’re not doing it for a philanthropic buzz.

(I swear on my mother’s life that while I’ve been typing this post, BBC Breakfast has implored viewers to “keep sending us your pictures” of litter. When exactly did satire become self-generating? Did I miss that meeting?)

Thor, God of thunder

By BigBrother in All posts 2 Comments Tags: , , , , ,

Once famous TV sitcom actor dies.  Genuinely sad news for his family and friends, of course.

When a once-famous actor who dies was famous because he appeared on a BBC programme, the BBC can be relied upon to put on its very saddest face.

In a frantic scrabble to find a former co-star coherent early in the morning, Rula Lenska (who co-starred with Inman in that well-known, popular, long-running and successful sitcom Take A Letter, Mr Jones) is forced into the Five Live studio and then onto the Breakfast sofa, where Dermot Murnaghan begins proceedings with, “Rula Lenska, you were close friends, what are your feelings?”

If only she’d replied, “As a close friend and if that’s the best question you can ask, Dermot, my feelings are that the standards of BBC journalism are falling quicker than a whore’s knickers.”

Wendy Richard, meanwhile, was wheeled out to be interviewed on the BBC lunchtime news. “He did do straight drama, as well,” she said. Yes, love; straight as an arrow…

Meanwhile, I am now in the Jobcentreplus (sic, sic, sic) system and get to sign on every other Thursday at 3.10pm – and not a minute before.  £57.45 weekly.  It’s very exciting.  Today I particularly enjoyed the conversation with my “job seeking adviser” in which he could not grasp why, as a commercial contracts and intellectual property solicitor of almost ten years’ standing, there was precious little point in applying for the one vacancy for a solicitor on his computer – an opening for a land law specialist.

Twelve Angry Men (minus eleven)

By BigBrother in All posts No Comments Tags: ,

I had a job interview on Monday and another on Tuesday.

On Monday I sat in an office with two well-fed men in their late 40s/early 50s exploring the ways I could help their law firm rise from the play-off places in the Championship to mid-Premiership anonymity.  That job would involve a lot of shuffling piles of papers from one side of a desk to the other and would pay over 3.5 times the national average salary with the potential to earn telephone numbers in the longer term in the (highly unlikely) event I ever made partnership.

On Tuesday I sat in an office with some terribly posh, well-fed men in their late 40s/early 50s exploring the ways I could help a very large and prestigious merchant bank to continue to make gazillions of pounds every working day from activities that seem to add little value to human life.  That job would equally involve a lot of shuffling piles of papers from one side of a desk to the other and would pay a steady five times the national average salary.

Both jobs would stimulate me intellectually only rarely, though both would involve 12-14 hour days.

This evening my mind turned to mush as I slumped in front of Richard & Judy; one of the eponymous duo’s guests was the actress Trudie Goodwin, who is to leave The Bill this week after 23 years playing June Ackland.  She wanted to leave, she said, because she was bored of playing the same character and wanted to do something different in her career.

I went through the motions in both interviews, but I essentially felt (and still feel) like Ms. Goodwin.  I desperately wish it wasn’t the case but I would rather stab myself repeatedly in the eyeball with an HB pencil than sign up to another soulless gig in another soulless law firm or business.  Being a solicitor is so boring that I once seriously considered quitting the profession to become a florist, purely on the back of an execrable movie called Bed Of Roses; worse still, I repeatedly regret not having done so.  (Years ago, one former colleague apparently quit the law to become a reflexologist.  She was a bit odd generally, but she clearly had far more sense herself than the rest of us collectively.)

If I’d had half-an-inch of spine when I was 18 I would have stuck to my guns and studied Modern History & Politics at university instead of Law.  If I hadn’t been a borderline lush when I was 21, I wouldn’t have waddled, blindfolded, into the profession just because a law firm waved a cheque under my nose and I couldn’t be arsed to go out and find a real job for myself.

Last birthday I hit the halfway point on the road to my three score years and ten.  Is this a mid-life crisis?  I’m not sure.  It may have something to do with the fact that on the way to and from Monday’s interview I read the novel based on this blog.

There is probably a moral to this story but at the moment I’ll settle for a decent night’s sleep.

Pinhead

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Richard Madeley’s trying to grow a beard. It’s not a good look for him.

I’m not kidding about that job.

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