a brief moment with badgers

I’m writing this post as an afterthought but I wish to mark this day as my second ever sighting of a wild badger. Actually, there was a pair of them on this occasion so that makes three all told.

My first contact was but a little over a year ago. Given my age and the numbers of badger corpses you see scattered alongside any country road, it seems extraordinary that it’s taken so long to get to just three. I might have assumed it’s down to shyness but none of the three hardy specimens I encountered showed the least bit of coyness. The latter two ambled across the road, yards in front of our car, seemingly without the slightest sense of cautiousness. In fact, the hindmost one was intent on boisterous playfulness, nipping its leader on the side of the face in a similar way I’ve seen young dogs play.

Witnessing them like this, for just a short moment, I can’t understand how anyone can think of eradicating them from our countryside in the dubious belief that it best protects cattle from bovine TB. When was the last time a cow made you marvel at nature, never mind a plate of minced beef?

sex

This is not a purse.

I haven't explored it yet - I'm at work! - but already I like its style.

(Don't worry, I believe it's - ahem - intellectual).

Jaga Jazzist

A few years ago when I bought a copy of Kind of Blue in the Amazon sales, just to see what the fuss was all about, I wouldn't have believed it would eventually switch me on to Scandanavia big-time. I've never been there and I think I should go.

According to my radio jazz is big in Norway and Sweden. They kind of have their own way with Jazz. I can't describe it, and I don't know enough about music to want to try, but it sounds - I don't know - clean, young and fresh, like I imagine all Scandinavians to be. It's also sometimes crazy, which is also what I imagine Scandanavians to be.

I've just heard this on the radio. Jaga Jazzist are from Norway. Actually, I'd like you to listen before watching the band as they're distracting at first. I thought I was hearing the theme from a 60s TV show about a team of psychadelic private eyes, or a crime-fighting schoolboy who lives out of a suitcase with his mini-skirted, millionaire mother.

Once you've listened to it, then see the band; it's even more unbelievable. Enjoy.

choosing the right device

I was thinking about time machines this morning. There appears to be three options going; a) the machine, as in HG Wells, Doctor Who etc., b) the gadget; wristband, belt and so forth, or c) the portal.

I have to be honest, I'm not keen on the portal. I'd prefer something tangible; when moving across the fourth dimension, you want to keep a good grip on the other three.

Of the remaining two, I can see pros and cons with both. The gadget is more discreet, arousing less curiousity, but offers no protection whilst travelling nor sanctuary on arrival, and if you put it down anywhen you might lose it forever. The machine, on the other hand, is too obvious, too cumbersome. When you get there, should it have wheels so you can move it around with you - not exactly practical all the time - or do you leave it parked up somewhere? So, how could you make the machine not look too out-of-time, out-of-place?

It's obvious when you think about it.

piccadilly and the corned beef salad sandwich

Apologies for typing this with my mouth full but you know how it is when you come through the other side of a fever you have a ravenous appetite. I'm finishing off the last morsel of a corned beef, coleslaw and fresh salad sandwich made with home-baked bread, still warm; the dog, who disapproves of humans eating unaided, shows her objection by resting her drooling jowls on the closed lid of my laptop; in a short while she would ensure there's enough dog saliva to endanger life and laptop either by short-circuiting or fatal electric shock; I would have to put down my plate and remove my laptop from my lap thus giving her an opportunity to remove the sandwich. It doesn't work. I'm feeling right as ninepence after being far too unwell to eat a thing and now I'm far too hungry to play dogs' games.

Yesterday, I viewed the BFI playlist, The Big Smoke: London on Film. I've a soft spot for any old films showing ordinary goings on, especially up and down streets. London has a particular interest as it's where I'm from. The first clip, Old London Street Scene, 1903, I found truly incredible. Just how many horses were there in London at that time, and what did they do with all the shit? There's none to be seen in the film yet it only takes a couple of girls trotting by on ponies up our way and there's shit for miles! (I did a bit of reckless Googling and estimated over 100,000 public and privately registered nags by 1900 - and it was a much smaller place than now. When the oil finally runs out, and they find there's not enough minerals to make batteries for everyone to have a G-whizz, we'll be in the shit, again.

Moving on, I found this one interesting. It threw up some more questions. I liked the way the colour changes with the scenes, sepia for the interior of the Limehouse boozer, cyan for the street outside, but how would this have been done in 1920s; in the processing, post-process coating of the frames in each scene, or by coloured filters during projection? I don't know why I'm curious, I just am. I'll bet it's the middle one.

It's only an extract from a longer film, and I wouldn't mind watching the whole thing. It's a strong subject, racism, which with all isms isn't going away fast enough, and soon there'll be horseism and shittism to boot, mark my words.

tom dick and bfi

Taking a few days off, tom-dick, right now. It's been a long time since I last had sick leave, and I think it must apply to the whole country because, in that time, the afternoon telly has been neglected and, as a result, become unbelievably crap. I was hoping for a good, old-fashioned and classic film to take my mind off my chills and fever but instead got an endless series of programmes featuring estate agents showing vacant couples around vacant houses.

I had some time ago collected a link to the online British Film Institute and they have uploaded some ''curiosities'' from their archives on to BFI-Youtube. I hadn't realised this runs as a playlist, so by selecting one clip I ended up watching a concoction of weird and unrelated historical film clips for about an hour before I felt overloaded. Still, it was better than watching estate agents.

I'm feeling much better, by the way. Back to normal next week.

speaking of...

...chills and fever.



Young Tom Jones, (he's 70, you know?) ripping it up with his first band, The Senators. (Which, by coincidence, was the name of a different band that John Bonham, later of Led Zeppelin, first recorded with.) Remarkable sound, I think, considering the age. Especially the way the bass comes over. I believe the bassist is Vernon Mills Hopkins, a name that sounds as if it should belong to a Victorian industrialist rather than a 60s rock and roller. ah, well...

...back to the time machine.

...finally

If you though the sound of vuvuzela was something recent, here's evidence to the contrary. A British invention, apparently; seen in this film from 1939, rehearsing somewhere in the north of England, the Three Lions Junior Supporters Club Vuvuzela Marching Jazz Band, sadly unaware that British teams were excluded from entering the World Cup until 1950...



..oh well.

Robert Race

Our local arts centre, New Brewery Arts, is hosting a small exhibitions of moving toys and automata by the artist, Robert Race. I've just been.

Robert Race used to teach science; now he's a full-time artist, working almost entirely with found objects and detritus, which includes a lot of driftwood, to create wonderful, moving pieces. Some of the works are wall-sized and explicitly mechanical, others are much smaller with subtler mechanisms. And most charming; I almost bought a small bird chasing a bee, made from driftwood and clockwork (the reason I didn't is I've never bought directly from an exhibition before, one in progress, and, as visitors were encouraged to play with the objects, I don't know what happens if a bought object gets broken).

However, the piece I liked best in the exhibition I couldn't afford. Titled, Nothing much happening in black & white, it actually featured a pair of counter-rotating, stylised propeller aircraft flying around a slender and upright log, driftwood probably, the mechanism powered by gravity using a shorter, detachable log as a weight. The whole thing was about eight foot tall and would've looked great had I owned a room of sufficient height to do it justice.

There is a website but it doesn't even begin to do the work justice. You'll just have to seek them out for yourself.

moneyless artist

It just struck me, the Moneyless Man is the Hunger Artist.

I bet someone's taking bets - one mown lawn to ten apples he makes it to four & twenty months.