It is or it isn't
May. 13th, 2007 08:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
peterbirksSHOE UPDATE:
My black leather Church's (right) shoe is now in City Airport. But the journey was not simple. Oh no.
It got to the warehouse in Hanoi okay, but a phone call on my voicemail at work informed me that there had been a "delay" at Frankfurt -- single shoes apparently looking a bit suspicious to Customs and Excise types.
Eventually it got out of Frankfurt, and arrived at Stansted Airport. However, then there was another "technical hitch". As a result, my poor (British) shoe was questioned by immigration authorities and, on the grounds that it might be here for some arranged marriage with any left shoe that it could find, it was deported to Liege, an obscure part of Belgium.
Spending mere hours in Liege, my cunning shoe got itself on the next flight out of Belgium (wise shoe) and has now arrived at City Airport, where it is currently undergoing interrogation again. I am full of hope that it will be released into my care in the near future.
Christ, it's probably easier to adopt a kid from Vietnam than it is to get a show back (please, no references to William Whyte, guys ... I know ... that was the point of my sentence).
+++++
So, I'm ploughing through the Asia newspapers, when a glance at Daily News India showed me, as usual, no stories of any interest (Indian journalists match their call-centre counterparts when it comes to skill and concept of truth) but there was a Google ad that caught my eye. "Business Resources in West Lothian", it ran, at www.westlothian.com.
The obvious question is, why? What on earth can connect me, Daily News India, and an obscure part of Scotland? What algorithm can possibly be at work? Whatever it is, I hope that the guys who wrote it are the same as the ones who write the scripts for pokerbots.
++++++
No-one takes the Eurovision seriously any more, do they? No, wait, they do. Why else would there be a reaction that might lead to questions in the House about the "bloc voting" by the Balkan entrants, and the ex-Soviet entrants, and the Scandinavian entrants? (No mention, of course, that Malta and Ireland were the only countries insane enough to vote for the entry by the UK.)
FWIW, I thought that the Serbian entry, which won, was quite good, and at least the singer could sing. On top of that, the song wasn't in English.
Oh, and back to the UK entry. I'm sorry, but does anyone remember a BBC sitcom called "The High Life"? Siobhan Redmond was one of the stars, along with two camp actors whose names I forget, mainly because the sitcom itself (about a budget airline) was not very memorable. However, it did have one of the great opening sequences of all time, with the staff members of the airline performing a dance routine while singing the opening song. Utterly hilarious.
And then, what the fuck happens? Yes, you just cannot satirize anything these days, because surely the Scooch entry was some kind of post-deconstructionist piss-take of the opening sequence to The High Life? I mean, what were the songwriters thinking? What was the public thinking when it voted for it? Was it demonstrating some obscure subtle sense of humour, realizing en masse what a farce the Eurovision Song Contest was, and therefore voting for the silliest piss-take of a song. Is it all some kind of hyper-UK joke that neither I nor the Eurovision were in on?
No, I don't think so. It just shows the standard of taste of the average BBC viewer on a Saturday night.
+++++++
I know that I shouldn't say that I have a lot in common with Richard Herring, since he is famous and I am not, for which I give much thanks. But he often writes about his (rather solo) life and the travails (and the way that he reacts to them, and then writes about them) do rather remind me of me.
Then again, I'm 12 years older than he is. If I'd been like that when I was 39 then, well, I would have been worried.
However, in his blog Richard did mention a hotel called The Dolphin, in not the most complimentary terms.
To which, my question is, has there ever been a good hotel or pub called "The Dolphin"?
In my vast experienced of pubs, I can't recall one. I can recall one that was so bad that it almost came back the other side. This one was on the junction of Mare St and Wells St, and Mecca betting-shop managers ni the 1980s would use this for their meeting place after work. It had a giant eye-scarred Irishman as the landlord, who drank tea out of a mug that must have held a quart. The floor was so worn that you went through four layers of linoleum (a new one being laid every decade or so, without removing the previous layer -- eventually only short people would have been able to get in there) to wooden floors. The seating, in genuine Watneys Red Barrel plastic, had not been replaced since the 1960s, possibly because there was one woman in there in her 90s or thereabouts who always drank a bottle of Guinness and had not, apparently, moved from her seat since 1962.
The tables, in genuine Watneys Red Barrel Formica, were also remnants of another era, matched by ashtrays which by now are, I suspect, collectors items (indeed, I still have one, a "Double Diamond" ashtray in the shape of two Ds.).
But this Dolphin was good only in the sense that it was so irredeemably awful, in the light of the gentrification that would soon hit the area, transforming the nearby Broadway Market, which now seems more full of tapas bars than Pie and Mash shops.
I was walking from the Mecca shop in Broadway Market to The Dolphin one Saturday night around 1987, after a hard day's work. As I passed by the canal, a guy came up to me and handed me a note. Since it looked as if the guy didn't speak English, I assumed he was looking to find an address where they stored runaway eastern Europeans.
I unfolded the note. It read:
"I have a knife. Turn round and walk back to the shop, now."
To which I replied. "Fuck off. I'm going to the pub", and carried on my way.
Sometimes being pissed for 20 years can have its advantages.
My black leather Church's (right) shoe is now in City Airport. But the journey was not simple. Oh no.
It got to the warehouse in Hanoi okay, but a phone call on my voicemail at work informed me that there had been a "delay" at Frankfurt -- single shoes apparently looking a bit suspicious to Customs and Excise types.
Eventually it got out of Frankfurt, and arrived at Stansted Airport. However, then there was another "technical hitch". As a result, my poor (British) shoe was questioned by immigration authorities and, on the grounds that it might be here for some arranged marriage with any left shoe that it could find, it was deported to Liege, an obscure part of Belgium.
Spending mere hours in Liege, my cunning shoe got itself on the next flight out of Belgium (wise shoe) and has now arrived at City Airport, where it is currently undergoing interrogation again. I am full of hope that it will be released into my care in the near future.
Christ, it's probably easier to adopt a kid from Vietnam than it is to get a show back (please, no references to William Whyte, guys ... I know ... that was the point of my sentence).
+++++
So, I'm ploughing through the Asia newspapers, when a glance at Daily News India showed me, as usual, no stories of any interest (Indian journalists match their call-centre counterparts when it comes to skill and concept of truth) but there was a Google ad that caught my eye. "Business Resources in West Lothian", it ran, at www.westlothian.com.
The obvious question is, why? What on earth can connect me, Daily News India, and an obscure part of Scotland? What algorithm can possibly be at work? Whatever it is, I hope that the guys who wrote it are the same as the ones who write the scripts for pokerbots.
++++++
No-one takes the Eurovision seriously any more, do they? No, wait, they do. Why else would there be a reaction that might lead to questions in the House about the "bloc voting" by the Balkan entrants, and the ex-Soviet entrants, and the Scandinavian entrants? (No mention, of course, that Malta and Ireland were the only countries insane enough to vote for the entry by the UK.)
FWIW, I thought that the Serbian entry, which won, was quite good, and at least the singer could sing. On top of that, the song wasn't in English.
Oh, and back to the UK entry. I'm sorry, but does anyone remember a BBC sitcom called "The High Life"? Siobhan Redmond was one of the stars, along with two camp actors whose names I forget, mainly because the sitcom itself (about a budget airline) was not very memorable. However, it did have one of the great opening sequences of all time, with the staff members of the airline performing a dance routine while singing the opening song. Utterly hilarious.
And then, what the fuck happens? Yes, you just cannot satirize anything these days, because surely the Scooch entry was some kind of post-deconstructionist piss-take of the opening sequence to The High Life? I mean, what were the songwriters thinking? What was the public thinking when it voted for it? Was it demonstrating some obscure subtle sense of humour, realizing en masse what a farce the Eurovision Song Contest was, and therefore voting for the silliest piss-take of a song. Is it all some kind of hyper-UK joke that neither I nor the Eurovision were in on?
No, I don't think so. It just shows the standard of taste of the average BBC viewer on a Saturday night.
+++++++
I know that I shouldn't say that I have a lot in common with Richard Herring, since he is famous and I am not, for which I give much thanks. But he often writes about his (rather solo) life and the travails (and the way that he reacts to them, and then writes about them) do rather remind me of me.
Then again, I'm 12 years older than he is. If I'd been like that when I was 39 then, well, I would have been worried.
However, in his blog Richard did mention a hotel called The Dolphin, in not the most complimentary terms.
To which, my question is, has there ever been a good hotel or pub called "The Dolphin"?
In my vast experienced of pubs, I can't recall one. I can recall one that was so bad that it almost came back the other side. This one was on the junction of Mare St and Wells St, and Mecca betting-shop managers ni the 1980s would use this for their meeting place after work. It had a giant eye-scarred Irishman as the landlord, who drank tea out of a mug that must have held a quart. The floor was so worn that you went through four layers of linoleum (a new one being laid every decade or so, without removing the previous layer -- eventually only short people would have been able to get in there) to wooden floors. The seating, in genuine Watneys Red Barrel plastic, had not been replaced since the 1960s, possibly because there was one woman in there in her 90s or thereabouts who always drank a bottle of Guinness and had not, apparently, moved from her seat since 1962.
The tables, in genuine Watneys Red Barrel Formica, were also remnants of another era, matched by ashtrays which by now are, I suspect, collectors items (indeed, I still have one, a "Double Diamond" ashtray in the shape of two Ds.).
But this Dolphin was good only in the sense that it was so irredeemably awful, in the light of the gentrification that would soon hit the area, transforming the nearby Broadway Market, which now seems more full of tapas bars than Pie and Mash shops.
I was walking from the Mecca shop in Broadway Market to The Dolphin one Saturday night around 1987, after a hard day's work. As I passed by the canal, a guy came up to me and handed me a note. Since it looked as if the guy didn't speak English, I assumed he was looking to find an address where they stored runaway eastern Europeans.
I unfolded the note. It read:
"I have a knife. Turn round and walk back to the shop, now."
To which I replied. "Fuck off. I'm going to the pub", and carried on my way.
Sometimes being pissed for 20 years can have its advantages.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
In my end is my beginning
Date: 2007-05-13 09:32 pm (UTC)Are you fucking kidding me?
See, this is exactly the sort of crap that all of us outside of London have had to put up with since La Thatcher circa 1979, and indeed La Faulkandiere post 1983 ("Let's fuck the navy up by withdrawing the Endeavour, invite an invasion, cosy up to Reagan for tracking support, kill around five thousand, claim it wasn't our fault, win an election on an entirely specious victory, and then spend £2 billion building a ridiculously pointless airstrip." Oops, that last one was my Father's complaint. He's dead these last fifteen years. But he was still correct).
Do you have any idea at all where West Lothian is? If not, then you're pathetically ignorant. Since you're not pathetically ignorant, I can only assume that this is an hilarious throw-away comment.
Look. The rest of Britain tends to regard London as "an obscure part of England." Sadly, since the 1950's, it is no longer obscured by pea-soupers that kill a fair percentage of the useless morons who live there and have traditionally sponged off the rest of the country (and, for two hundred years, the Empire). It's still pretty fucking obscure, though.
A lot less so than Glasgow.
I took my Californian friend's family up on the London Eye a couple of years ago. I was personally excited by the idea. I hadn't spent much time in London since the sixth form, back in 1979, when there was at least a modicum of culture to the place.
Got to the top of the Eye. Looked up-river -- skank. Looked down-river -- skank. It's a depressingly cheap little city. God help us when 2012 comes around.
And you really think that West Lothian is "obscure?"
Tell it to Gladstone and Churchill.
Re: In my end is my beginning
Date: 2007-05-13 09:49 pm (UTC)PJ
Shoes
Date: 2007-05-14 02:54 pm (UTC)-- Jonathan (who's beginning to forget when he last had a proper holiday)
Re: Shoes
Date: 2007-05-14 02:59 pm (UTC)Clearly I failed.
PJ
Re: Shoes
Date: 2007-05-14 08:49 pm (UTC)I hope your feet will be comfortable again soon.
My wife persuaded me to buy a new pair of sandals today (12 euros).
I picked up an envelope from the post office containing six photos I'd ordered from Photobox, and managed to leave it behind in the local supermarket. I'll have to enquire tomorrow. These things do happen.
-- Jonathan
no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 10:09 pm (UTC)Titmus
no subject
Date: 2007-05-13 10:21 pm (UTC)PJ
no subject
Date: 2007-05-14 06:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-14 06:53 am (UTC)What ARE these things? Are they produced in West Lothian? Does my lack of knowledge of them make me pathetically ignorant?
I do hope so.
PJ
no subject
Date: 2007-05-14 09:43 am (UTC)The other one was a highwayman type film. Probably not your thing!
Eurovision
Date: 2007-05-14 08:33 am (UTC)And where is the bitterness for the likes of Belarus and the Ukraine for their communist masters? I actually rated the Russian entry and presumably if there'd have been voting by the likes of Turkmenistan (where is the border with Asia now?) they might have won.
Scarily the Europeans do take this very seriously, even the other supposedly mature Western countries like Spain and France (although their entry was also a joke one). Watching it with a translation of the lyrics on in subtitle and Terry Wogan is one of the highlight shows of the year for me - more laughs than any sitcom I might have seen in the last decade.
Liege
Date: 2007-05-14 11:01 am (UTC)Are you fucking kidding me?
See, this is exactly the sort of crap that all of us outside of Brussels have had to put up with since 1878.
Do you have any idea at all where Liege is? If not, then you're pathetically ignorant. Since you're not pathetically ignorant, I can only assume that this is an hilarious throw-away comment.
Look. The rest of Belgium tends to regard Brussels as "an obscure part of Flanders." Sadly, since the 1950's, it is no longer obscured by pea-soupers that kill a fair percentage of the useless morons who live there and have traditionally sponged off the rest of the country (and, for a hundred years, the Congo). It's still pretty fucking obscure, though.
A lot less so than Liege.
I took my Wallonian friend's family to the Manneken Pis a couple of years ago. I was personally excited by the idea. I hadn't spent much time in Brussels since the baccalaureate year, back in 1979, when there was at least a modicum of culture to the place.
Got to the top of the Pis. Looked up-river -- Antwerp. Looked down-river -- Laaken. It's a depressingly cheap little city.
And you really think that Liege is "obscure?"
Tell it to Plastic Bertrand and The Smurfs.
Titmus
Re: Liege
Date: 2007-05-14 04:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-14 08:00 pm (UTC)Years of therapy would not succeed in dislodging the lyrics and video to their Eurovision entry "Piff Paff Poff" from my fevered mind.
The Dolphin
Date: 2007-05-15 12:23 pm (UTC)I used to like the Dolphin in Herne Bay when I liverd there. It was run by an aging hippy and her three daughters and had a great laid back atmosphere. Okay, the decoration was a bit shoddy and the furniture excentric but the beer was fine and they normally did afters on a Saturday night. This last point was quite important when one was an habitual, social drunk in a world that had never heard of 24 hour opening.
Col