prague questions

hello there

yes, i have indeed noticed that i do seem to be spending a good deal more time than i would have ever imagined referencing things what pertain (or are in some way) related to the tall one out of Pointless. it seems i have little or nothing else better to muse upon. anyway, also, there is a stark proliferation of his presence apparently everywhere. 

it is his day job, or his first (public) steps on the rise to omnipotent presence (power), that is in focus here. on an early evening, should i return from verk in such a time to be able to do so, i quite like to unwind via the challenges posed of the questions featured on Pointless. i find this agreeable and enjoyable mental (or psychological) exercise, perhaps in some way making up for the abject lack of such in a physical form. 

one evening, quite recently, they did a set of questions on Prague. to my shame, it is a city which there is a case to say i should know more of than i do. but, still, with interest i watched and studied the questions, on the off chance i could answer some. by chance i photographed it, or whatever one calls it on a phone, as a friend would, i knew, be interested. 

again, i stress, i am not blessed with as much knowledge as i should have of the city. but, all the same, them questions strike me as a little, not left field, but still. really not so much Prague specific as it could be. 

from the five (5), i could do some 60% of the questions. which is 3 (three) of them. although, to be fair, one of them (or 20%) is debatable. in respect of the straightforward, that tennis player, i knew (answers are below), and yeah, i managed to do the James Bond one. 

some apologies in advance, for i was not so quick with the phone and so did not get a fast enough image of the answers. but, still, the determined can make it out, and besides you get to have a look at the tall one, sat down, and the short(er) one, stood up. 

the question, or rather answer, of debate is where Prague is the capital of. if you had answered, as i did, Czech Republic, i wonder if you, me, we, i, would have been awarded much. for some reason the show is borderline obsessed with referring to the country as 'Czechia'. by no means is that an incorrect name, it is just that most i have encounters who are entitled or valid to have an opinion on the subject, prefer the Czech Republic name. 

my rudimentary, basic understanding is that there is a "drive" to get the world to drop Czech Republic in favour of Czechia, and there is tacit resistance to such. well, vocal, in some corners, probably. not sure if this, Pointless insisting on always using Czechia, is just them two being their usual smug smarmy selves, or a practically incomprehensible propaganda drive. no, it probably does not matter. 

update - on an episode (or edition) after i wrote this, the tall one (to the interest of the shorter one) expressed a ruling that they would indeed accept 'Czech Republic' as an answer to questions which they hoped to get 'Czechia' as the response. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

memories of anagram

howdy pop pickers

yes, indeed i am aware, look you see, that the Manics have a new (number one) record out, and i have yet to pass comment. well, not doing that there here for now, but will, "soon". i thought i may pause on it, reflect, and try and do a decent bit of writing. which, presumably, shall be an interesting and unusual thing for any regular readers. 

instead, then, a wander back to a curious incident (or episode) in music from the past. rather than, say, the future. and it stems from a rather surprising, although maybe not happy, find in a charity shop. for those unaware, or curious, it is so that these days, here in the UK one can walk into a charity shop and find, so much have we devalued music, offers where you can get 3, four or yes, even 5 CDs for £1. usually i can find ample to meet the pricing structure. 

for some reason, of late, a lot of the charity shops i go digging in have had stacks of CD singles. this is a format which the world fell out of love with, or what certain bands now abuse, for on the rare instances one gets issued, normally it is a limited edition, one track thing. before, once, you got two or three extra tracks, or some remixes, or live things. 

with some surprise, then, i found the not particularly rare, and not really fondly recalled, debut and biggest selling single off of (ahem) The Seahorses, with that single being Love Is The Law. as many shall know, The Seahorses (which just happens to be an anagram of "he hates roses") was the band what John Squire unleashed rather conveniently quickly after his departure from The Stone Roses. 

as was always the case with the British music press, apparently the guitarist is always going to move on to better and bigger things. when The Smiths split, Johnny Marr was going from strength to strength whilst Morrissey would vanish, when Bernard Butler quit Suede he would be massive and the band was over, and of course it would be Squire who rose to greater heights from the (absolute) f*****g mess what was the end of the Roses. it didn't happen. 

strangely, though, Love Is The Law is a decent song. an above average slice of what gets labelled Britpop, for convenience if not fact. produced, as it is, by music aristocracy in the form of a certain Tony Visconti. this record held up really, really well until Ian Brown (that one) revealed it, and virtually all Seahorses songs, had been heard and rejected by the Roses as not being good enough. which is quite the statement to be making in the naked light of what eventually did get deemed to be acceptable to release on Second Coming. 

the thing is, right, yeah, it's "basic Britpop", but had the Roses deemed it fine to come back with this song, it would have been better and bigger simply as it was The Stone Roses doing it. not to be. and yet, that said, well done on this record even existing. going from the chaos of the demise of the Roses (Mani is quoted as saying the reason for the spilt was "four different people doing four different drugs"), Squire somehow contrived to construct a band that was a bigger mess. the line up was a bassist he hired on a whim, a busker he never actually liked and a drummer with an eccentric lifestyle what soon got fired. 

regarding the music, and the two b-sides are tunes that i had not heard, for they didn't make the cut for the one and only album, the pure average Do It Yourself. an album on which Liam Gallagher (that one) was allowed to write a song for, long before he was allowed to do so for his day job band. anyway, the first b-side is Dreamer, written by the busker. how to describe it? well, if Noel Gallagher heard it, he would have immediately put down whatever wad of cash he was counting, do a brief applause and lament that he, himself, had never done such an audacious (yet rudimentary) re-write of Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds himself. for a second b-side, Sale of The Century, ahem. no. 

my cost, or investment, in this single will be somewhere between 20p and 33p, going to one good cause or another. to that, yes, full value i got. mostly, mind, this is a value stemmed from memories being jogged by it existing. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sin, blaspheme, sacred, profane

greetings

and so i fall from grace. spectacularly so, look you see. for years, no decades, stretching from one century into another, i have been an exponent of (and believer) in the law of Denis Leary. well, the laws of he, but one in particular. that would be that coffee should always be "coffee flavoured" coffee, and not in any way, shape or form f****d about with. for dissidents, the uninitiated and the faithless, i refer you to the most righteous pronunciation made by Leary in the "coffee" section of Lock N Load. 

usually, generally, i have a very specific coffee what i use. well, that's not true. for some reason cap columbie (or however they have branded it now) appears to have vanished, and there are a few i select from, generally as and when on special. all, however, taste of coffee. changing to, or trying, any sort of deviation, like "flavoured", was not on my agenda, and nor do i have a calendar with it noted on as a thing to get around to trying. 

on a whim, though, i did precisely such. i was perusing a supermarket, resplendent with full shelves, by the way, when i saw a rather wide (if not extensive) range of "flavoured" coffee. owing to the way our minds, brains or thought processes work, i immediately recalled a conversation with a friend, a neighbour of my lodgings in my place of exile. the memory came back of him saying of them that he rather enjoyed one he got, and that i should consider it, as they were, apparently, "f*****g sound". 

doubting such was possible wrestled with the ongoing vague "mid life" crisis thing i seem to be having on the go, that sense of bravado and "yolo". rather than simply walk on buy and purchase some actual, proper coffee, instead i found myself considering which flavour. as you can see, in the above, via the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode, i went full tilt. no, that is not a mistake i knowingly, and of my own free will, purchased white chocolate raspberry flavoured coffee. 

my other choices, or options i discarded? i forget some. certainly there was an irish coffee flavoured one, which has the benefit of being an actual, real thing, i suppose. however, my understanding is that irish coffee is blessed with a sense of liqueur or spirit, being baileys or whisky or similar. this would be a taste i knew not to like. another i could recall was (i think) caramel salted popcorn, which of course was an immediate "well that can f*** off" on sight. 

for some reason i got it into my head that i like white chocolate (i do), i rather like raspberry (well, at the least yes the jam of it, or the flavour) and of course i like coffee. what, then, could possibly go wrong with a triptych combination of them? to see such, please feel free to enjoy the video below, that i made for a special and dear friend, but figured on this particular date they would not mind such being shared. also, sent it to my sister as well, so there you go. be warned, for although many of you will be delighted to see me in distress at trying this coffee, blasphemy features on the soundtrack. 

i would suggest, then, or confirm, that this did not go well. to sound nor more or no less like a cliche than usual, i had no idea what to expect but no, surely, was not expecting what i got. or experienced, should that be the better way to word it, for i really do need to work on my communication skills. vague elements of the three (3) primary, principal components were there, but not particularly in an order which i would have liked to have them.

not really to my liking then, so it wasn't, to be sure. i had no realistic, optimistic notion that it would be. so why go ahead? for the very same reason some people flat refuse to go to the edge of a tall place, or if you will what overlooks a relatively long drop. always, it is so, some fear that inexplicable voice which shall simply say go on, jump, it looks exciting. 

certainly, then, this stuff is not within my remit, understanding or comprehension of things what are proclaimed as being "f*****g sound". this would be as far away as you can possibly imagine from being the first time my view on something has diverged from that of someone i would call a friend, and an equal distance, i suspect, from being the last. 

with me being me, yes, there is every chance (but of course) that i will in fact finish it. and by that i mean make use of it, make the wretched drink it produces and consume it. very foolish, i know. but, waste not, etc. after all, i have invested hefty coin in it, as it cost a staggering penny south of £2 (two quid, squire). let me drink it, rather than waste it. besides, i already offered to post it to my sister and i was told to f*** off out of it. 

but maybe i just bought the wrong flavour for me? instead of kicking off, about how if it isn't broke then don't fix it, and lamenting why kids these days can't just leave things the f*** alone and as they are, i should go and get popcorn flavoured coffee, or whatever. actually, no. lesson administered, from here on out, i pledge coffee flavoured coffee, only. just as soon as i have completed this jar. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

comments on embassy fags

hello there

my intention is not, nor ever has been, to spend so much time writing of fags. nor was it to take up quite the area of the internet that i have with such, look you see. if the UK had a more sensible approach to pricing of them, or (possibly even better) i could establish a good, strong working relationship with someone that sells the (ahem) independently imported and cheaper ones, then, i could just cease speaking of them, for they would be commonplace. 

so, my latest efforts to find the cheapest fags possible has led me to a door that i never thought i would approach, let alone knock on, go through and stay. but, here we are. a glance at an oblique, despite how it should be freely available, price guide one shop had for fags showed that there was, by the standards of today, a relatively cheap pack one could purchase. these so happen to be (takes a breath) embassy gold signature. or possibly embassy signature gold, depending on how one is supposed to read it. 

caution had to be deployed when approaching these. i am not sure, or am uncertain, that "stigma" is the right word, but there are certain connotations to embassy fags. guilt by implication, damnation by association, that sort of thing. most prominently, of course, it is so that embassy fags are closely, yet not indelibly, associated with that particular luminary of the Manchester scene, Bernard Manning. also, and let an honest, grown up conversation happen here, it is so that embassy fags were very much the hallmark of bent coppers in the seventies. was i quite sure that this was a path on which to walk. 

yes, very much so, when i saw the price. a single packet, at time of writing, is of the cheapest available right now, and that is still an eye watering, ludicrous £9.00 a pack. one can reduce this slightly by purchasing a bulk pack of 5 (five) off Tesco, where each pack works out at £8.95. but not Morrisons, who are being right tw@ts, and they charge more for the five (5) pack that how five separate packs comes out at. go figure. indeed, i hear you, not smoking would be even better on fiscal (or financial) terms, but not. it wouldn't make the slightest f*****g difference, health, etc, i am going to f******g die, everything ends, everyone dies, it all goes away. so, no. 

going for low priced (legally available) fags in the UK comes with risks. here i refer you to the exploration of carlton fags, which yes were cheap but also felt laced with the sense of an immediate heart attack on conventional consumption. bravely leaving aside the tacit statement of being an embassy smoker, was i really ready to risk cheaper for an even more insane experience? of course. 

as it turns out, or actually, these are rather good. jolly nice, as point of fact. embassy signature gold, which would seem to be the right way of saying them, are damned fine fags. quite the blessing that they come in at a (highly contextual) good price. really, a lovely, smooth smoke what is enjoyable, should you be a smoker, and doesn't leave you feeling like you are about to have an incidental heart attack, or be expected to perform sexual favours for a salty sea dog so as to access them. what a result. 

how am i reconciling, or addressing, the connotations of being an "embassy" man? by not doing so, really, as such probably only happens in my head. if we, kindly, leave aside any chance whatsoever of me casting or projecting a quasi Bernard Manning or contemporaries idiom, me smoking embassy fags leaves me open to suggestions that i would very much like to be a bent copper out of or off of the seventies. which isn't, in fairness, completely untrue. 

back in the seventies, then, and at least in the UK, if you had done a naughty (within reason), and the copper questioning you pulled out a pack of embassy, you knew you were pretty much ok, for that was the sign that yes, they were "open" to you buying a ticket, or two, at a fluctuating rate, for "the secret policeman's ball", a quiet, hush hush fundraiser for the coppers benevolent fund. only you were assisting the constabulary quite directly. it sounds like a wonderful arrangement, but alas there was a massive drawback on it. so as to qualify for such preferential treatment, you had to be of a British accent and be white. don't really like the sound of that. i would like to think if one was going to be a bent copper, then they should go full tilt, and not be prejudicial about it. everyone ultimately has a price, yet so few of us admit it to be so of us. 

others of Manchester probably smoked embassy too, by the way. if we consider the classic, archetypal Mancunians, then there can be little doubt that a 12, or perhaps 13, year old Liam Gallagher could have been found smoking embassy, or regal, when he should have been at school. paradoxically, or alternatively, no doubt even at such an age Noel (of same family) even then harboured ambitions of London (innit) life, so he was probably on the silk cut, or bensons gold. 

i would agree with any observation any of you may have made about the rather convoluted name for these fags. embassy is a given, of course, of branding law, but the rest? really? does it have to be signature gold? i mean, for this to make sense, it would have to be so that either they did a "signature" pack which was not gold, or a gold pack which were not "signature". no, i have never asked at a shop, because usually behind me at the fag counter are people with scowls, waiting to buy scratchcards or to seek refund for ill-fitting garments purchased in haste. but, a rose by any other name, etc. 

for the foreseeable future, then, which is here, i shall be an "embassy man", for better or worse. they are a most agreeable form of cigarette. yes, there exists better ones, but these are serviceable and do the job whilst being the cheapest. nice one. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

quite cross man on a train

hi

virtually all problems, moments of distress and matters of conflict in this life are caused by a mistake we all make. this mistake, look you see, is our apparently inherent assumption that everyone else sees, understand, knows and interprets all exactly as we do. the problems, distress and conflict not caused by such invariably stem from a stance that everyone should understand, see, know and interpret something exactly as we do. our human nature is that we thirst for life, yet we are stupid, we shall die, and so this will never ever change. 

it is not as rare as one would like to encounter the personification of such behaviour out there, in the real world, or whatever it is for you away from the screen on which you read this. unless, of course, for some reason you have made a print out of this and are currently looking at paper. weird. should it be so that there was not quite such a proliferation of advocates of this folly, well, our world, our lives, would not be so as all went f****d as they so frequently are. 

generally, if not invariably, it is best to, when spotting such a type, leave them to it. just move along, walk away and spare your life. such types barely survive yet certainly thrive on confrontation and distress, all because someone has the temerity to also think for themselves. let them be, let them fight with themselves and decidedly lose. 

every now and then, from circumstance not choice, one has to listen to them. well, no, hear them certainly, but not actually listen. such misfortune fell on me, your humble narrator, recently. when one finds themselves on an early morning train one seldom has room to walk away. such fate was mine quite recently, then, when i found myself on an essential train journey with a right, would be officious little pr!ck of an opinionated toss. 

one of them types what cultivates a specific look so as to give the impression of creating authority. i am sorry that i could not sneak better pictures. at a time such as this i really do wish i had the bravery and courage of Spiros, for he would have gone up to his face and taken a picture, and also done some kung fu stuff on him if he dared speak to him. to wit, he had the exaggerated, long but perfectly pruned beard, the quasi brass/gold shaded heavy set framed glasses and the staunch scowled stare of scorn so favoured by Pinter. convoluted, and done in the belief that it presents a wise, intelligent, superior being who is better than you and should be respected as authority, but simply screams "w@nker". 

he was reading some broadsheet or other, i neither know nor care for which. not even sure he was reading it in truth, probably just using it as a prop, a means of conduit to express his views. mostly he was off on one about some sort of taxation changes or other, speaking in a quite cross way of how unfair it is, how x, y and z should be taxed or pay for something instead of a, b and c. some animation accompanied this, as he was audibly striking someone (or thing) as he ranted. perhaps it was the person sat nearest to him, a table or a chair, or even himself. you would hope the latter. 

after his little temper tantrum, and indeed yes, think Greta but without concerns for the weather, it seemed that he went somewhat quiet, distracted by whatever page of the newspaper he flicked to next. evidently the next pages featured words he approved of and agreed with, or featured something else which kept him quiet, pictures of lady tennis players maybe. truly, it was a blessing to behold that he managed to keep silent for a reasonable percentage of the journey i was on. rather enjoyably, he got to do his scorn and disdain look all the more when a happy go lucky chap with two lively, easily aroused pet dogs sat down vaguely next to him, across the narrow aisle of the train. 

the main gripe, or issue, i had with this (let us be honest) pr!ck was the way he chose to sneer at me for wearing one of them vaguely anti-plague face masks. yes, d!ckhead, i know they are no longer compulsory. but they have asked if we would please continue to wear them, so as to help others (which i appreciate is a concept beyond your grasp), so it is no burden for me to do so. 

mercy was the sense i had, disingenuously so, when my station was reached and i got off and he did not. off he went, no doubt on a mission or quest to disrupt some place enjoying a quiet Sunday with his odious poisonous demeanour, spewing forth a misguided sense of superiority. or, you know, maybe it was just me. 

the blessing of the dawn of the internet was supposed to be that types such as this could just scurry away, write it (whatever was on their mind) all down and "post" it somewhere that only other loonies interested in it could or would face exposure. yes, i am aware i too am hiding away on said internet by writing this. all of the rumours keeping me grounded, i never said, i never said that they were completely unfounded. sadly, or alas, it seems that a few years of spewing such sh!t on the internet serves only to even more emboldened the entitled, giving them false guidance into sharing such with people who just want to get along. 

so, anyway, the rest of that day, for me, was very pleasant indeed, thanks. not that this episode, or incident, was a complete waste, as if nothing else it gave me something to write here, taking up yet more valuable space on the internet. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

one man in black makes a last stand horror shock

howdy pop pickers

a kind of quasi, unexpected music review then. strange, for it concerns a band that i truly, deeply love, yet have possibly kind of neglected or not followed for, oh, three (3) decades, look you see. which yes, coupled with the clever references in the title, means that on the stereo is the new album off of The Stranglers, Dark Matters. or should that be "The Strangers". 

indeed, slay me where i stand, condemn me as not being a "proper fan" all you like, for when Hugh Cornwell dropped out from the band in, what was it, 90 or 91, i too dropped out. his view, or at least the diplomatic variation of it, was that The Stranglers had gone as far as they could, they were creatively exhausted, there was nowhere for them to go, at least not with him in the band. everything about the final album with the "classic" line up, 10, said this was, with regret, true. should the best thing on your album be a cover version, and make no mistake best by some distance, then there is no distance left to run. 

yes, i am aware The Stranglers continued, playing to an ultra-loyalist fan base which i am clearly lacking the credentials to be part of. i saw one of the early gigs of the "hope you like the new direction", and have a couple of the records they made (certainly this new one, and at least one other), and i was very much like, well, all right, but not for me. 

why, exactly, did i then go ahead and purchase (as pictured in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode), this album, Dark Matters, off of The Stranglers? devotion, loyalty, respect and to honour. this album commenced recording prior to all that plague, global pandemic stuff. then, as with so many thousands, Dave Greenfield of the band passed away. with the album all but finished, a decision was taken to complete it, and to include a tribute to him off of he who is the last remaining original man in black, JJ Burnel. 

brave and interesting is the question of when, exactly, a band ceases to be that band in the light of membership replacement. a stark harsh truth, something with The Stranglers would never ever shy away from anyhow, is that at some stages of this recording you are hearing just one original member of the band. considering JJ Burnel's well documented (and in respect of some journalists extremely well demonstrated) martial arts skills, i am not going to question too much, but also i would reasonably expect this to be the last "new" recording under the name "The Stranglers". but, JJ can and will do as he wishes, for he will hit you harder in the face than ever Roger Daltrey would, to be sure. 

the album, or record, itself? actually, it is all rather good, except with the annoying "what if" nag hovering all over my mind as i listened. it's a really solid listen, and if anything kind of harks back to that exciting era of The Stranglers, where they were transforming from angry, confrontational punk shouting to complex, multi-layered, experimental, angry confrontational punk stuff. yet, and no disrespect to the current band, what i want to hear is Hugh singing, what i want to hear is the voice of JJ that i remember doing that shouty singing. quite conflicted, i am, then. here i am wishing to hear something that is not a thing any more, but the label on the box says to my mind it is. 

coming with the album when purchased off of the official site, gratis (and of course people are selling this on ebay), is a lovely gesture of a disc, an eight track selection of reasonably recent performances which showcase Dave Greenfield. mostly these are songs from the "classic" era, if not all the really well known numbers, with one or two from this new album. for any fans, like me, of The Stranglers sounding as we kind of knew it, this is an absolute beauty. 

getting back to the actual album and one slight problem is that which plagued 10, as in the best song on it, in this case This Song, turns out to be a cover. apparently the original is by someone called The Disciples Of Spess, yet here The Stranglers are given a co-writing credit? not sure what's going on, but having relied on the internet, a school of thought says The Stranglers have re-worked it considerably more than you would normally associate with a cover. 

better, probably, to say actually, you know what, the best one (song) here is of course And If You Should See Dave, which is JJ's tribute to his mate and fellow band member, one would think in that order. there is no room for wishy washy mediocre sentiment here, it's a solid tribute which is a solid a Stranglers tune as you could wish for. overall, though, there's not a "bad" track on it, if it is so that it only ever really goes above average momentarily. at not stage during the course of the just north of forty (40) minutes of the record did i pause, go for a cigarette (sorry) and come back to it, so yes, it does hold your attention. 

now that i think, i did give serious consideration to buying the previous album, Giants, mostly as i really liked their infamously dark humour with the cover art. also, it featured 75% of the original line up, it marking the final time Jet Black recorded with the band. that's Jet Black who was born before the start of World War II. my recollection, though, was that finances made such a chance purchase unwise, and these days copies of the album go for a farcical fee. although let me check the official site. 

do i say this record is one full worthy of considering adding to any collection? yes, probably. it may not be The Stranglers as known (which is weird, since they have existed longer without Hugh than with, go figure, ask Marillion or Genesis i suppose), but it's a fine, solid album, and one i will play a fair few times, i do believe. 

well, that's that. and yes, i suppose at some point, or stage, best i have a listen to whatever it is that the Manics have decided to record and release. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

the right shoes to get you through the night

hello there

it's not an exclusive thing, of course, for my requirements are to have such at times more frequently. oh, this is about shoes, look you see. whereas i go and get them as and when i need some (such as, for instance, my incumbent pair are busted, or the tread has gone), it is so that i quite like to get a special pair as and when Chris de Burgh (no, the singer one) releases a new "concept album".

there is every chance that he might wish to do so, but not, it is not so that he (de Burgh) can go right ahead and release a non-conventional album with the immediate frequency with which i may require new things for my feet. but, when he does go to such an extent, i like to make sure it is marked, no make that acknowledged, by me getting some new shoes (or similar). 

with the coming, advent, release (or "dropping") of an album all about Robin Hood, then, it was time for me to visit Mr Shoe Seller (Sports Direct) and get some feet related items. 

and there they are, above, in situ (if that means on my feet), in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode. no, so far as i am aware, he (Chris de Burgh) has not done a concept album based on the (many) wonders of the Commodore 64, but i have every confidence it is on his to do list. probably a bit too busy to do, but still, a lovely thought. 

other Chris de Burgh (and i think which one is established by now) concept albums, and the shoes what i marked the occasion (or instance) with? well, in terms of albums, too many to list. but ones that i can think of are probably Crusade, and i suspect Spanish Train was kind of a concept album, if a very high concept one. 

no, there are to be no pictures of what special shoes i (might have) had to mark those (and probably other) releases. such shall remain private, mainly - and primarily - because i suspect there exists no photographic evidence of such. at least not conclusive. but, if one is interested, one can certainly see the ones i have for this release, being the Robin Hood one. 

for the interested, yes, an "action" shot of my new shoes, being on my feet, as they are. and yes, of course, that is a pair of them rather fine David Bowie socks what i have on. well, what else would i wear for such a moment? 

seeing as the provenance of my splendid new shoes has (have?) been established, what remains is the question of how, exactly (or precisely) i select special new shoes so as to honour the imminent arrival of a concept album off of Chris de Burgh. this, my dear reader, is done quite conventionally. usually, as in this is what happened, when i attend the stores hosted by that nice Mike Ashley, they have just one pair what will actually fit my massive clown feet. and so the choice is made. 

how much am i looking forward to the Chris de Burgh concept album (and i assume it is a concept album, that could just be a random name for an unrelated set of songs) about Robin Hood coming out? not at all, to be honest. i don't believe i have the slightest interest. as far as i am aware i only have the one Chris de Burgh tape (CD), a 'greatest hits' thing i picked up at a charity shop or similar. 

and in conclusion, then, there you go, the shoes "in the box" what they came in. from what i have been made aware of, something called "unboxing" is quite popular on the internet, so i have every confidence this will be of some interest. 

now that i think on, maybe i have (or had) a tape of Crusader somewhere. and, with it in mind, i wouldn't mind hearing Spanish Train again. still, getting special shoes to commemorate the release of a concept album off of Chris de Burgh is, to me, a lovely thing to do. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

a camouflaged face and no money

hello fashionista

well, it's been gosh at least a couple of weeks since i mentioned Bowie here, so here we go. on a prompt from some pictures off of Spiros, look you see, and mostly just a throwback sort of thing to a post from, give or take, a couple of years ago. at least from when this goes "live" rather than just when you read it. 

so, a while back, Spiros kindly sent on some images of the celebrated, neo-mythical Relax shirt what Bowie wore in the celebrated Jazzin' For Blue Jean video, or "short film". if for some reasons you would wish to read of musings on that subject, or look at some pics and a bit of video, here you go, here's the link to it. 

but that was then, and this is now. with good (yet classified and secretive) reason Spiros just so happened to be near the shirt once more, and sent on some more pics. as sharing such here takes up some quality internet space, here we are. 

yes, indeed, as i probably mentioned in the other post (i tend not to read my own writing, for fear of a headache or similar distress), that would be a bootleg shirt. the real, legitimate ones, of course, had Frankie Say Relax on them. and, as Frankie were (very much) a collective rather than a singular, indeed Say was correct. shirts with Frankie Says on were also fake. 

no, probably nothing much else to add beyond what i had said before. except, well, yes, Blue Jean is a most excellent pop single, full worthy of equality with the Let's Dance singles from the year before. 

quite a more better look at the plaque with the shirt there for you. i don't think, and believe me this is no criticism of Spiros, it was all that easy to see in the previous post. they have paraphrased or condensed the details of the video, but still, the gist of it is correct. rather just watch the video, i think. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

broken britain

greetings

there is a particularly, and decidedly, unusual trend on the go here in the UK. what it involves is a sense for the theatrical and dramatic, with some holding ambitions to display their sense of entitlement at every moment possible, look you see. and this is done with an exclusive focus on various shelves one may (as in would) find down at any particular supermarket. 

we live in somewhat challenging times. i am not convinced they are as difficult as some make out, and indeed there is always that cliche of how it "could be worse". still, between (or betwixt) concerns such as the invisible war on the plague, featuring many people staying at home, all of that brexit business, a shortage of people to do verk (related to the first two) and what have you, every now and then one sees the shops not have every item one would wish for in. nothing new, true, and we saw quite similar to such as recently as one and a half years ago, when plague (new) broke out and for some reason lots of people went off of one, purchasing all the toilet paper, all the flour and all the pasta. 

such touched me (kind of) when i took a stroll to get one of my few vices in this world, some triple cooked chips in beef dripping. a definitive opiate factor, these b@st@rds have, believe you me. i believe or think i am right saying that beyond cigarettes (sorry) and compact discs these are all that yearn for. and yet today it was so i was unable to obtain some. 

oh, bother. yes, annoying, but instinctively i appear aware that from time to time shops do run out of things. for some reason, for instance, generally it is celebrated news when Apple perfectly stage manage being "out of stock" of whatever new thing they sell. but, also, i am aware of the pressure of the peculiar times we live in. my understanding is that i should set up some sort of "twitter" account, blame everyone i can think of for the lack of chips, and it will immediately be fixed, or else. quite frankly, i do not have the patience, or energy. 

if this is all down to a "lack of staff", and there are reports of a shortage of HGV drivers, then i am not really adverse to a career change. this is despite me being perfectly satisfied (sate) with my current verk, more or less. however, if someone has to go and drive chips around, so be it. especially if this is needed to be done on an intercontinental, across Europe thing, as a life on the road, driving on whatever side, encountering hitchhikers, prostitutes (or similar), them illegal immigrant types and having access to loads and loads of cheap cigarettes, sounds excellent. but, then, we have more trained (and licenced) drivers of HGV than we need, it's just that the red tape and ridiculous fines (i heard one gets a fine of £250, that you can't contest, for just a scratch on a number plate) means that most cannot be bothered to do it. oh. 

maybe, then, i shall just trust that someone somewhere shall get this all sorted out. who knows, perhaps the next time i go back to the shops they will have some in stock. if not, well, i dare say i can just get another type and simply make do. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

in hot cop drag, in leatherman's stag

howdy pop pickers

more vibes, then. and in, this instance, more of more of more, look you see, for here under consideration, or discussion, is the second volume of the much fabled 12" remixes of the 80s off of them what do all those Now compilations. which, in respect of the latter, appear to be getting to be all too familiar purchases for me these days. and why not if they are good. 

and yet i am reluctant (or reticent) to discuss the degree to which this particular set, called in full Now That's What I Call 12" 80s Extended, is "good". sure, as well documented, there was precisely one (1) song which appears which meant that this was an instant purchase, but it would be nice of at the very least most of the rest of the set was of interest. in some instances, yes it is, but for the majority of it, well, no, not quite so good as the first (here you go, link to it). but, that said, presumably there are some vibes here what others are as excited about as i am that one in particular. 

so as to get to the point (or purpose) of my particular purchase of this set, yes, indeed, this has on it a 12" remix of Male Stripper off of Man 2 Man Meet Man Parish. which is an absolute banging tune, one of my all time favourite things, and i care not how homoerotic or such it is, many thanks. for some reason this has not ever turned up on a CD (except a variant, i think, on a variation of a Queer As Folk soundtrack disc), so i was delighted to be able to get it in this format, my original 12" single all tucked away and not played for a bit. 

on the one side, so to speak, the remix here is not the one i own. instead, this is the "other" 12" which came out at the time (multiple releases were a good way to spike the charts), that runs slightly longer than what i had, and does not have the "we shall behold him" bit at the end. no, no disappointment at all, for it is quite class i, at last, have the other version. 

yet that is where all good of this inclusion ends. sadly, and if i am honest annoyingly, the sound of the tune that is Male Stripper here is muted, as point of fact subdued, compared to the rest of the sound heard across the discs. whilst i lack any technical blessings, everything about the version here says it is all compressed, as if someone had simply downloaded an mp3 of it and shoved it on a disc. strangely, then, i have (ahem) more better quality CD copies of this that i have made myself, either via downloading a better mp3, or flac file, or by simply taping my 12", transferring my tape to a PC and recording from there. oh, what a pity. 

i concede the chance to own any variation of Male Stripper on CD was always to be an autopilot purchase, but faced with such disappointment as what they have delivered, perhaps it was possible for me to extract coin value from the rest of the set. oh, provenance? considering i went and bought the original off of HMV, so too i went there to buy this. and was satisfied to see they had it at £9.99, which is one pence (new) south of supermarkets, and appears to abandon the extra £1 or sometimes £2 what HMV like to add to prices, so as to remind you (and your wallet) of the prestige of using them. 

roughly, or about, five or six (maybe seven) are tunes here i would actually wish to have, or are ones that i have no objection to all of a sudden being in my collection. which is ever so slightly problematic, or questionable, faced with north of forty (40) entire. pretty much all of them reside on disc one (of a total of 4), although yes it is quite difficult to tell with the "challenging" (as in idiotic) colour scheme what they elected to use. 

to disc one, then, and specifically the first two tracks. it remains so that A Kind Of Magic, off of Queen, is a brilliant tune, and any such longer (or extended) listening experience of it is welcome. a combination of the bass on it, and of course the Freddie factor, make this totes excellent. my suspicion was that this would probably turn out to be the same, or slightly different, to the A Kind Of A Kind Of Magic off of the one CD issue of the album of same (singular name), but no, quite different. right after that, bewilderingly credited to the band and the two members of the band, is Sexcrime from the 1984 soundtrack. this was a 12" i always wished to own, but alas the art department decided that 'sex crime' in big letters on the cover was a good idea, so i had no wish to have it in my collection and have to explain why, in the context of the Orwell novel, the term made sense. one of my favourite albums is the soundtrack entire, and the "main" theme song (although i am not certain it featured in the film, but yet i recall the music video featured on the rental tape) is a highlight. 

elsewhere, or also (if you like) on disc one are things what are nice to have, but i wouldn't call any of them glaring omissions. Duran Duran are always welcome, and this is a decent enough mix of Wild Boys. the Adam Ant is a great tune, but alas stems from the time when he got f****d over by Geldof and Live Aid, so is possibly not as fondly remembered as it should be. from the Thompson Twins i would have much rather had Doctor! Doctor! but presumably somewhere someone likes this, the Human League one is a trifle tinny for my tastes, a proper mix of Tainted Love off of Soft Cell rather than a "medley" (the same is true of Bronski's I Feel Love cover over on three) would have been nice, great inclusions off of a-Ha and Tears For Fears, and any Spandau Ballet in my collection is far, far too much Spandau Ballet, cheers for that. 

biggest disappointment resides on disc four, in the form of the Shep Pettibone remix of True Faith by New Order. taking thoughts back to the 80s, i recall fondly, when musicians, producers, etc were elusive and held in esteem, we all had an unspoken idea that this Shep Pettibone was all prestige, and he selected only the finest to mix. in the cold light of north of thirty years later, no. all he appears to have done, looking (or rather listening) back, was fiddle with the treble and add the same "effects" to each mix what he gone done. alarmingly here he goes ahead and accentuates the hidden secret of this song, which makes it as clear as day that it effectively "borrows" highly heavily off of In The Night from Pet Shop Boys. 

speaking of which, dance disco pop chart remix kings Pet Shop Boys remain the most significant absence from both of these sets. one can only assume they were refused use of any of their fantastic eighties remixes, or licensing would cost too much. rather than any songs off of the one that stands there and sings and the one that stands there looking bored, we get a trilogy on disc three of songs which it was so they had a firm hand in. oh. 

it would indeed be criminal for me not to reference one inclusion here, seeing as it comes from one of my all time favourite bands of all time. yes, Frankie Goes To Hollywood. here they are represented by the 'Freddie Bastone' mix of Rage Hard. this is a mix i have absolutely no recollection of even existing in 1986, but perhaps i do have the 12" shoved away. no matter, it is not all that good. oh. and on a similar note, what seemed to excite a few was the coming together of two bona fide mega stars, Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson, on this set with the 12" of Say, Say, Say, which isn't a good song. 

no, this set, as one that you would wish to play again and again, is nowhere near as good as the first, or if you will initial, set. but yet, reasonably quite worthwhile due to the relative obscurity of some of the things here. i have every confidence, for instance, that someone out there fondly remembers, say, Aztec Camera for some reason, and shall be delighted to have them here. ever since i have bought this set, i have played the original one more frequently, so i guess that's the comment or review. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

legacy

hello there

more stuff on swans, then. and their ilk, or similar, look you see. no, alas (or sadly, if you will) i have undertaken no further research on to the subject of who "owns" swans one may find on the ways of water across the UK, so anyone looking here, rather than somewhere proper, for an answer to that is going to be rather disappointed. i would, or could, encourage you to just assume they belong to, or are under the protection of, the reigning monarch, and then your mind is free to move on from this quarrel. 

it was on an afternoon a couple of months ago, perhaps further away depending on when you are reading this, that i got to observe swans once more. actually, or in truth, this is a virtually daily thing for me to do, since i am prone to taking a stroll so as to enjoy a cigarette (sorry), and there they usually are, swimming or floating or whatever it is they do on the river. 

yes, from time to time i would, do, indeed spread some bread for them. ignore the myths and legends of how one should not do so, by the way. every now and then i see others doing the same, in particular those who(m) would appear to be a delightful, lovely couple, living not so far away as you may imagine. they go to the extent of getting some special wild birds of the river seeds for them, which is sensational stuff, as appears to be much of the way of how they live. 

on the episode, or incident, of which i write here, mostly, i think, i was in that which appears to become my natural state, which is alone. well, in human terms, or if you will within the sense of the abject terms of the human condition. should other forms of life be bereft entire from this moment, well, little or nothing would be here to write of. perhaps such still remains so. 

at first then, as depicted in the above picture, it was not swans which drew my attention. instead, it was some ducks. not sure if one says flock, herd, gathering or what have you of ducks, but some all together. baby ducks too, or ducklings, i think they are called. almost certain that baby swans are called cygnets, but that's not important momentarily. 

sure, yes, certainly, as one may well be able to work out, the ducks, ducklings, or if you will duck family also attracted the attention of the swans. this, i would think, is somewhat exemplified, if not outright accelerated, by means of the video below. should that be worded right, i am not sure. 

many, and i shall probably have the structure of this all wrong, consider ducks to be the bullies, or if you like exaggerated spelling of such bullys, of the waters. in many respects, they are fairly correct to hold such views. not content with bullying and berating other species, creatures and critters, there are certain ducks what bully other ducks. you may well see where such goes. 

going on that one documentary about a 'phantom menace' (which i am still unsure of what it is), there is always a bigger fish. whereas there are some waters where ducks may roam, droog like, and be bullies, not on this river it seems. the swans were having absolutely none of, or nothing to do with ducks, even young ones (once in every lifetime, etc), encroaching on their turf, manor or bit of water. 

sometimes i make reference to that "disneyfication" of animals or other such non-human things. indeed a very good friend of mine (oh my t v c one five, oh oh) did tell me the proper word for this, but i cannot recall what it might be momentarily. anyway, so, yeah, what i mean is that thing where, mostly thanks to the magic of Disney parables (or whatever they are, them singing and dancing animated films), people assume that all animals think, ponder and "see" things the way humans do, with particular emphasis on concepts of family, relationships and morality. 

yet there is something to it, perhaps. maybe all life follows the same course, it's just that we can make songs about it and also wish that animals, or other forms of life, could also do the same. ducks are supposed bullies, yet get bullied themselves. by swans, who have well north of 50% of the planet covered in water, and still insist on keeping ducks away from a minuscule fraction of it which they all happen to like. beneath the surface, pike roam (or swim), eager to lurch and kill ducklings, or each other, whether they hunger or not. birds circle too, frequently attacking and killing each other. various aspects of the life we have come to know somewhat make sense, then. 

rather, or a bit, all too philosophical, this. still, here we are. whereas there is no conclusive rhyme or even reason for that one, inexplicable, primordial thing what all of living have in common - the drive to remain alive - differences appear in death. for non-human things, death is but a means to remove another living thing from a fallen tree, or to provide something to eat, or to pass the time of day. many people have died in pursuit of this, or similar, true, but mostly for us humans, avoiding death for as much as possible appears merely to be a way of avoiding inconveniencing others by our demise.  

one can probably add some sort of philosophical musings here, about how our minds are in some way geared towards a quest for survival due to convincing ourselves others may want or wish to have us alive, be it for their convenience or what we deem to define as "care". alternatively, more video. 

it is probably quite apparent that i am (somewhat) running out of steam as to what to write here, so another picture, then. this one, who i have not seen around for a while (and there has been a spate of death of swans recently) appears to be one of two ringleaders of the tormentors, bulling other swans as much as ducks and what have you. 

he, or she, was, or perhaps is but is on holiday or something, kind of like the Spike out of Gremlins of the swan world then. or, if you prefer, and maybe this is more apt, the Mahoney from the first four celebrated Police Academy documentaries. 

why exactly, to go back to an earlier point, one would wish to try and claim a swan as their own remains as much of a mystery as the reason for life. i cannot think of any circumstance in which keeping one as a pet would bring any sort of comfort, reward of pleasure. maybe my mind is just too limited by limitations to see the sense of it. 

just a trifle more video, there above, to finish this all off with, then. 

considering september is, at time of publication, here, i am unsure how much further swan action shall happen to be recorded for the remainder of the year. as has been proven time and again, i am not really particularly knowledgeable on this subject. for all i know, swans are sort of seasonal, and so shall not be seen again until warmer weather is here. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

yesterday today was tomorrow, tomorrow today will be yesterday

hi 

and so the invisible war against the new plague rages still. despite the best (or worst) efforts of certain nations to engage (or provoke) actual, 'proper' and all too real wars, it remains that as something akin to a population of a planet the fight against the virus is far from done, look you see. 

by no means is it, of course, that we, the people are unified in our crusade. at first, sure, we were, when just for a moment the whole world sensed that we may very well be gone proper f****d if we didn't somehow work together to quell it. even the incumbent dictator of the scottish parish council stopped biting the heels of grown up, actual politicians momentarily. for just a little while, there was a sense in the air of the people of this planet being as close to united as ever, quite possibly for the first time since, blimey, Live Aid, i suppose. 

still, that's all gone now. pockets of people around the world seem to have decided on their own ways of fighting the war. our friends down under, and their neighbours, for instance, believe that if they just pretend they are all out and don't answer the door to no one it will go away. our friends in America were, of course, inclined to shoot at it for a little bit then run away, which generally has mixed results for them. also, we had some lovely throwbacks to less enlightened times, with people doing things like sacrificing statues to the water gods and burning down phone poles on the off chance it might make it all better. 

mostly, here, in England, we have resigned ourselves to the fact that the war cannot be won as such, but a stalemate is possible. with a sigh, usually reserved (under the laws of the English way of doing things) for middle order batting slumps or less than satisfactory "summer" weather, our approach is now to just get people to check if they have plague or not on a regular basis, and if they do then for goodness sake stay at home. with some fortune this whole vaccination thing may help defeat the high numbers of people infected, but also still some wish to keep sacrificing phone poles rather than getting a jab or two. well, two, actually, as apparently just the one does not work. 

for testing, we get these lovely, plastic heavy kits posted to us, as and when we ask. these have all the stuff in them one needs to do a rudimentary scientific (perhaps more biological) experiment on themselves, or someone else if they are of a mind to, so as to determine if they are inflected with the brave new plague. as part, or consequence, of verk, i do at least two of them a week, sometimes a few more, if it feels wise to engage in a more frequent amount.

now that i have both mentioned it and thought of it, if not in such a specific order, of all the conspiracy theories floating around i am surprised no one has suggested that the whole new plague business is nothing more than the plastic(s) industry striking back. over the last few years the plastic industry, or industries, have all but been wiped out. this is mostly down to that scandinavian lass having all them temper tantrums; ones that you or i might have had given a f*****g good hiding for, rather than a press conference hastily arranged to discuss whatever dreams we had that may have been stolen. anyway, since one cannot be critical of her (yes she can say what she likes and don't you dare question it, she is only a child, you bully), plastic is all but gone, as exhibited by them sh!t paper straws. yet, for all these test kits, masks, gloves, breathing equipment and whatever else is required to wage war on a plague some remain convinced does not exist, well. i suspect we have all of a sudden produced more plastic in the last (nearly) two years than was made in the previous two decades or so. money in the bank for those what followed the sound advice given in the documentary The Graduate. 

rather an interesting change dynamic with all this so-called home testing business, actually. which is kind of the point. somehow i have waffled on without getting to that which i wished to write of, which is how they have changed the testing kits for plague, here in England. generally we get a bit upset by change, but eventually we tend to ultimately embrace it. 

getting down to business, then, and originally these test yourself for plague at home a whole bunch of times kits were in some standard, perhaps staunch, no-nonsense blue and white boxes. evidently someone decided these were not quite effective enough, and so a change has come. now, when one orders a kit, they get this predominantly green and white set, although there are dashes of other colours. particularly, i see, on (or within) what i take to be an artists' impression of what the plague virus thing may look like. 

inside the box and the test is slightly different, too. much of the kit to test with is far more posh, almost elegant as point of fact. also, gone is the need to ram the bud thing down your throat until you jolly well, and by that i mean f*****g, choke on it. one just has to do the nose test aspect of it all, and leave it all in the unspecified liquid thing for a little longer than the other, original one. 

one possible, plausible reason for the change in how one conducts (or does) the test is, apparently, we are getting these test kits off of a different maker, or manufacturer if you will. i have my doubts. anyone who has purchased some shady things off of the great virtual car boot sale of the internet knows to be rather wary of any seller who says "UK stock". scrolling down tends to reveal that the business is, as point of fact, registered and based in China. which is where these test kits come off of, or from. 

whilst i lack as much proof (or evidence) as i do interest (a sentiment i dare say many of you still reading shall share), i have my doubts. my suspicions are that these are all made in the very same place, like "legit" charging cables off of China, and this new address and business name exists purely for tax purposes. but that delves into the world of conspiracy theories, which generally i avoid. 

yet that said, someone recently (and i think i may have mentioned this in passing) tried to show me some sort of video on an "internet" thing, proclaiming that it spoke 'the truth' of these home test kits. apparently, and they were excited to share this, the cotton bud swab thing one inserts into mouth and or nose, are laced with something which causes instant cancer. how very interesting that someone should approach me with such a concern whilst i happened to be enjoying a cigarette (sorry). i would be bold enough to suggest that it is, perhaps, somewhat late in the day for me to be concerned about introducing things to my system what might cause cancer, or similar. 

another theory, which for some reason i find interesting, is that smokers have something of a grounded or based advantage in the war on the plague. someone put forward a view that the bits of our systems, lungs and so forth, what smokers knack actually damage the parts what this plague attempts to "latch on" to, or whatever, making it more difficult for a regular smoker to get infected. blimey. that's good news, and i trust soon various draconian anti-smoking laws will be redacted, and the tax lowered. except, of course, that if a smoker gets the plague, they are going to be proper f****d because of that damage already well and truly done. oh. 

right, well that's just about that from somewhere behind the front lines of the invisible war against the new plague. indeed, yes, i keep doing these tests, and they have so far all come back as negative, which is to say no, i do not have plague. any silences here might come from the tests not being quite so negative at some stage, and i become, at last, a statistic. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

gradual reading

hello reader

so yes, then, as the title implies (or gives one every indication, look you see), i have managed to complete reading another couple of books. not just one, then, since the last post on this subject (admittedly some time ago), but also not so many as three, or even five (5). just a further two, then. which would seem to be a point at which i am comfortable enough to publish musings, or comments. 

as it happens, the slow - and i would not say lethargic, but also have little defence - pace at which i now find myself reading came up in conversation with a friend. why, exactly, has my rate, or ratio, of reading now slightly fallen so. the explanation would seem to be no more explicit nor obscene than it being, in my era of exile, i no longer find myself a builder of routine. once i had set times at which i would read, but that's all gone now. oh. 

getting down, getting with it and moving on, then, a glimpse or stare (take as long a look as you would wish, your time is yours), a look at which ones (the two) i have most recently read. followed by an oh so brief, spoiler free overview of what i thought of each. 

commencing, or starting with, on the left there (or your other left, if that is incorrect), Camino Winds by John Grisham is another venture into the world of sequels, or "expanded universes" as they seem to call such these days. these are words i have used many times to describe books before, but there is no avoiding this - all breezy, whimsical, light and rather enjoyable. meanwhile, The Thursday Murder Club off of the tall one out of Pointless was one i wished not to read, kind of vowed (if not pledged) not to read, ended up with it, read it and ultimately found it to be one of the most enjoyable novels i have had the unexpected pleasure of reading, at least in this modern era. 

right, then, moving on (if you are interested) to a bit of a closer look at each, with some thoughts, observations, rantings, etc thrown in for good measure. due care and consideration shall be taken, if not exactly in equal amounts, yet for sensitive souls (for there are many who roam an "internet", always keen and surprisingly eager to get upset), a ** SPOILER WARNING ** here be in place. 

beginning with the place (or novel) where i did of these two means to start off with the John Grisham one. to recap, that would be Camino Winds. which, again, is a sequel. not sure, but the first ("original") was called Camino Island or Islands, probably the non plural. from what i remember, it was a not at all bad, enjoyable read, the first one, being neither particularly taxing or heavy on the mind. 

yes, of course, provenance of my copy. a lack of sticker gives every suggestion it was Tesco, but i forget the fee (sum) paid. with thanks to their arbitrary, abstract costing now, not to mention frequent increases, hard to say. at the least it would have been £3.50, but could have been £4.50. perhaps, possibly, it was actually a mere £3 plus the cost of some newspaper, but maybe this does not matter. 

plot? once again we (the readers) follow the adventures and exploits of the protagonist, who i think is called Bruce. yes, he does or would appear to be some sort of quasi alter ego for the author, but ultimately is that not what every protagonist from every novel is? going on what i recall of the first novel to feature him, yes, he still runs an improbably successful bookstore, he is still quite prolific with sexual relations, and still sits on a great deal of money off of a not strictly legal yet does not feel all that criminal book deal. his home place, this Camino Island(s), gets absolutely knacked off of a storm, leaving several dead. it turns out one (1) of the deceased was not a victim of the storm as such, but foul play. someone gone done a murder, it turns out. 

this plot device, the "hide a stone in a pile of stones" notion of attempting to quietly get on with a murder in the midst of widespread death, is one i am partial to. many years, and what feels like several different lifestyles ago, when i held the foolish notion of being a writer i, too, gone done a novel with a similar premise. not a storm as such, but perhaps metaphorically yes. anyway, this is not meant to be of me, the failed writer, but Grisham, the highly successful writer.

one, such as i, would go ahead and call this novel a bit breezy and somewhat whimsical, for the improbability drive is full tilt whacked for suspension of disbelief. yes, true, fiction, but a general strength, for me at least, was or has always been the plausibility of his novels. this one kind of takes as a given that anyone, like for instance a book seller and a student, can have a really good fiddle with a murder scene and there be no repercussions.

worth reading? as it happens, yes. leaving aside the concerns mentioned above, this is quite the riveting, interesting, did someone do it, and if they did, who and why, sort of thriller. all at a very relaxed kind of pace. every page feels written for fun rather than contractual obligation, and when on song and of a mind to be in good form, few are seldom at such as Grisham is. presumably it would be wise to suggets reading Camino Island(s) before this, but in truth i barely recall it, and got on fine here.

so, the novel i was going my way to avoid reading, then. yes, i had little or no interest in reading the fictional works of the tall one out of Pointless. not much against him, just that, as per numerous posts here, my experiences of reading fiction by celebrities, or people famous for other stuff, has not really worked out particularly well. 

provenance of my copy? well, that's how come i ended up reading it. one or two, true, had done that suggested oh, go on, read it thing, and there i was in Tesco, with some vouchers what they gave me off of that card thing they had, and couldn't find anything to spend it on, but they had shelf after shelf of this novel. so yeah, go on then, i went for it. 

to the plot, then. quite broadly, the main focus would be a group of four (elderly, although this shall be obvious momentarily) people living in a kind of upmarket retirement home. for the most part, or mostly, they while away time by digging through old unsolved crimes, usually murders, on a thursday afternoon. hence, you guessed it, the title of the novel. it's an interesting enough way to keep the mind active, and then wouldn't you know, one murder happens to get done right within their community. off they set in giving the local constabulary assistance, whether they wish for it or not. 

a confession would be that the first chunk of this novel - say, the opening (for where else is it one would start reading) 80 or so pages - were all that i feared. everything about the tall one out of Pointless projects the idea of a right boring b@st@rd, and here it was. it was all cliche, contrived and stereotype. but then, something which made me genuinely laugh hard (to do with the first meeting of club and the two coppers), for it was unexpected comic genius, and truly the remainder of the novel was quite the pleasure to read. 

rather splendid, then. a celebrity (of sorts) novel which, true, requires a standard fictional suspension of disbelief, but is enjoyable (very much so) and does not dwell in the detached world of how celebrities appear to think, or assume, that "real world" they left behind long since operates in some way. 

no, let me not add too much more. this novel, off of the tall one out of Pointless, decidedly lives up to the hype and is full worthy of the remarkable sales clocked. i suspect, or would like to think, that the latter has been achieved on the basis of "proper" reviews and the more important word of mouth celebrations. yes, true, there is probably a devout, acolyte cult following of Pointless and that other, horrendous game show what he does, but my suspicion is that this novel would have been a success no matter whose name featured on the cover. 

quite the happy yet lament moment, then. two very worthwhile and enjoyable novels read, reminding me of my love of reading, tinged with guilt for no set routine to read more than i presently do. i could indeed make some form of pledge, or vow, to dedicate more time (on a fixed basis) to reading, but this would be yet another thing for me to break. scorpion and frog, etc. 

my suspicion, as ever, is that all and sundry who would either wish or want to read either (or both) of these novels has long since done so. but, once more, many thanks for reading, and if all of this has somehow encouraged or inspired someone out there somewhere to read one of them, well, so much the better. 

be excellent to each other!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!