film alphabet

hello once more

pretty much does what it says in the title, this post does. a film alphabet, look you see, or if you like the alphabet presented in film. 

not just any old films, mind. well, yes, ones which have titles that (allowing for not counting the odd "a" or "the") commence with specific letters of the alphabet, but also all ones what are from the 60s. this is at least what the poster (or print) says.

i was strolling out and about (as opposed to strolling inside) when this poster, or framed print, caught my eye in a charity shop window. no way was i leaving that behind, then. the aesthetics really drew me in, and the fact that it is some sort of game (in a sense) is a bonus. 

yes, of course the first image of it is in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode, but there is a proper, almost clear look at it below. 

sorry, seems a bit blurry and dark, now that i look. oh well, it is there now, and see my picture taking abilities (i am reluctant to use the word skills) as added to the challenge. feel free to have a go at working out all the titles, i shall post the answers (which are handily attached to the back of the print) in some later post. this should give a vague sense of "interactive" on this blog, maybe. 

quite happy with that procurement. very happy, actually, the more i look at it the more i love it. and, of course, am wondering if i can find 70s and 80s versions of it. maybe 90s too. i shall have to work on some space on walls if so. 

UPDATE  for anyone interested, answers (and clearer pic) can be found via clicking here. 

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

dolgarrog dam disaster

hello there

when off on my travels here, there and everywhere i do like to at least try and explore where i end up, look you see. predominantly such travels are for verk so i am doing stuffs of verk, but we are human, we get treated as such, so there is margin to do this. my exploration is hardly too adventurous, but every now and again i get to find something of interest or, as is the case here, historical significance. 

such an instance happened on my (most) recent visit to North Wales. a remarkable, beautiful place, by the way, and i thoroughly recommend a visit. on my travels around for verk, mostly to and from a most agreeable hotel, i noted a memorial close by. as luck, or fortune, would have it, one late afternoon with not as much rain as you might think enabled me to take a stroll up to see it. 

on walking up to it, then, i discovered it was a memorial to a quite terrible incident from 1925. two dam walls broke, sending billions of gallons of water, carrying boulders, downhill, devastating the village of Dolgarrog below. 

there is no way, with my basic research, that i could do justice to the story. instead, then, here's a link to information on the History Points website, as well as a good article on the BBC website. 

it strikes me as being more suitable, or appropriate, to not write so much here. as chance allowed me to be there, i took the images you can see. should they be of interest to anyone who has happened across my blog, well that's fantastic. 

according to the plaque in the above picture, these are some of the boulders which came crashing down on that fateful night. to make it a bit easier to read, there's a close up below. 

you might well note that the information is presented in two languages, English and Welsh. or, for the latter, it is perhaps appropriate to refer to it as Cymric. most, if not all, signs i saw on my travels in North Wales were presented in both languages, and rightly so. the only issue or problem i had was with the variations on road signs. sometimes English was at the top, in other instances at the bottom. this made it difficult to quickly seek and read the information i clearly needed when driving. yes, to state the obvious, they do indeed drive on the proper, non-French side of the road there. 

below and above are two further signs from the memorial, with the one below giving information on the memorial walk. sadly, or alas, no, i did not take the walk. the sun setting was somewhat against me undertaking such a stroll, and if we are honest my present physical condition might have rendered an attempt unwise. also, i did not have proper walking shoes on. 

hopefully these pictures, the information and (more likely) the links have been of some interest to one or two of you. 

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

forenzics

howdy pop pickers

well, an album i picked up on day of release, look you see. and have enjoyed ever since, which is about a month north of that day of release, so no, the usual title (or variation) seems not to be appropriate. in this instance, then, the vibes, or tunes (or album) come in the form of Shades And Echoes, the "debut" album off of a "new" band called Forenzics. 

except, of course, not quite. Forenzics happens to be (with a nod to the enz element in the name there) Tim Finn with Eddie Rayner, with both being off of (or out of) the simply brilliant Split Enz. fellow former member Neil Crombie pops up too, as does long term off-on collaborator and Roxy Music legend Phil Manzanera. plus a whole host of others. 

it's an interesting, if not unique, album, this. as the in retrospect intelligent name of this "new" band gives every indication, for the most part what's going on here is strands, themes and ideas from some Split Enz songs recorded close to 50 (!!) years ago inform "new ones". the album title is how they refer to it, with each song on the record having a note giving the provenance (or origins) of the shades and echoes of other songs one may pick up on. 

very good indeed, this is. brilliant, as point of fact. and that's allowing for virtually all of this being predominantly "new" to me in the first instance. as much as i love Split Enz, my collection and interest is from a period further down the line from the songs touched on here. so, all good. for an artist who has been so prolific as Tim Finn (and his mates) has, it is outrageous that still new, fresh and high quality tunes keep flowing. 

and prolific he has been, despite not registering as a huge star outside of the New Zealand / Australia parts of the planet. oh, sure, like me, there are pockets of fans in countries, but for some reason fame and success has been more elusive than it should be. should i remember right, his only taste of chart appearances in the UK came with I Got You with Split Enz, and then when he by accident (it's a long story) joined Crowded House during the Woodface era. for how insane that is, imagine going to a country where the only success The Beatles had was (in a same stage comparison) the single Help! getting in the charts, and them them two where they sang over some old Lennon tapes. 

but what's this album like? musically, and what have you? well, mostly i would say it's mellow. a chill album, i suppose. by no means is that to suggest it's breezy or in some way easy listening, for as ever Tim Finn is quite challenging and not shy in his lyrics. if we are honest at this stage of my life most albums are precisely this, but yeah, this is one of those records you put on of an evening and just listen to, really. not dance about (bar one or two) and certainly not just have on as audio wallpaper. 

certainly (or most decidedly) no, it is not that each track here is a masterpiece. easily my least favourite, and one likely to be skipped, is Premiere Fois, which does that thing where they sing in a language what is not English. French, in this instance. i mean, yeah, great that you can do that, but as a song i simply don't understand it, although the English translation is sort of there. other than that one, mind, all the songs range from good to excellent. 

not an entirely new concept, this record then. but one could suggest, after arguably 70 or so years of rock and roll (or popular music) as we know it, there's not much margun for much new anymore, anyway. revisiting former works is something a good many major artists have done, it's just that Tim Finn and his mates are being honest and direct about such. 

a bit too early to be talking in terms of album of the year material? perhaps, but this one certainly sets out an interesting marker. it shall take some doing to top this one, but one never knows what releases are waiting in the wings. for now, well, a month down the road and it remains on the stereo, so i guess that's my review. 

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

who wants to live forever

hello there

not so long ago it was the instance, or occasion, of being my birthday. as is usual, various wishes came my way, look you see, and of course automated mails from whoever i have registered whatever with. 

mails of an "e" version, of course. automated emails, which sometimes are considered spam. but not so bad. one website i use frequently gave me a 10% voucher (used), The Who sent a mail saying thank you for my support (but no discount voucher) and the Stones (of Rolling) gave an unexpected generous 20% voucher, which was very much used. no, nothing off of Bowie Estate. 

also, Queen sent me a 10% off voucher. sadly, and i tried, i could not find anything on their store i was short of or wished to buy on impulse. the most interesting thing, though, was the message that came with the voucher. behold. 

yeah, i am going to guess that they don't really think my name is [firstname], rather it's just that their special software thing which extracts a user's first name was all busted. still, nice to get a wish off of them. all the more impressive as one of them is effectively retired and one of them remains deceased. 

signing up to these web things isn't all bad, then. let me go and have another listen to the rather smart CD set of Exile On Main Street what the Stones partially met me slightly short of half way on as a kind of birthday gift. 

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

some royal tea

greetings

just another lavish, possibly excessive and maybe bourgeois shopping adventure from my travels, look you see. every now and then it's most agreeable to indulge such, and maybe one or two of you out there might find this interesting, even if only on a sheer curiosity level. 

of late, then, i have been getting around and around. a rather unexpected consequence of this is that, every now and again, i feel so dislocated and distracted that i am not too sure of where (exactly) i am at any given point. mostly i just follow the postcode on the sat nav and there i am. this isn't a point of concern or, for that matter, a brag, but it is momentarily disarming when someone asks me where i am (perhaps on the telephone) and i have to say "actually, i don't know". 

but then along comes the times when i am quite aware of my precise location, and the facilities offered by me being in a particular place. like, or such as, for instance, when i am close to getting my hands on, in exchange for some significant coins, some rather posh tea. 

yes, then. it is unmistakably and most decidedly so that most outrageous fortune was mine, good luck favoured me and once again i was able to be a patron of my most beloved (non-vibes selling) retailer of repute, Fortnum & Mason. should it be so that for some reason you would wish to be informed of key previous instances of patronage, here, here and here you go. undoubtedly there are other tales around my blog, but those shall do momentarily. 

it wasn't really, to undermine some of that which i wrote, that i was all that close to Fortnum & Mason. my travels took me to that there London (innit), which is a fairly large place. getting to the actual, or if you will proper, Fortnum & Mason was, due to distance away and opening times, a matter which was simply not feasible. with some tenacity and egging on, however, a good friend calculated for me how it would be possible for me to get from my momentary place to an agreeable chapter of same. 

with thanks to the DLR (which stands, rather boringly, for Docklands Light Railway and not David Lee Roth) and the tube drivers not being on strike, i was able to get to the above. this is the chapter of Fortnum & Mason one can find at St Pancras, which is the rather large train station next to the extremely large train station at Kings Cross. whereas it is not quite so large as the main place of worship for all things Fortnum & Mason (Piccadilly Circus), it remains just as exquisite and exceptional. and expensive. 

something rather poignant about that above picture, i suppose. despite me (indeed, visibly) taking all precautions and having as many "jabs" as they cared to invite me for, it was not so long after this when i gone done tested positive for that hideous new plague. no, i do not believe my infection relates in any way, shape or form to Fortnum & Mason. such is the nature of this virus, or whatever we are calling it now, that one could get it anywhere and be none the wiser. 

quite a departure, of sorts, from my "usual" purchase choices at Fortnum & Mason. look at me, using a common word such as usual, suggesting or implying that i am some form of regular, favoured patron of this establishment that i am probably not worthy of gaining entrance to. normally, then, i would purchase one of their 'selection' boxes, featuring a range of different teas. this i have done at least twice before, perhaps even three times. as this has a tendency to leave me with a great many variations of Earl Grey tea, of which i have no intent ever of drinking, i elected instead then, since i was spending so much, to just but forms of tea that i would actually consume (drink). 

although i did this, as one may see above, with a particularly hedonistic sense of the theatrical. why would one simply purchase regular tea bags when one can, for a higher price and less overall volume, procure the same in rather charming silky tea bags. 

no, alas, i do not recall with any precision exactly how much these silky royal blend teabags cost me. i can remember, however, standing looking at them in Fortnum & Mason, looking at the price and quickly establishing that for the same money as 15 (fifteen) of these, i could get somewhere in the region of 300 (three hundred) or so Yorkshire Tea bags. common sense momentarily was left aside, then. and a true indulgence purchase was surely made. 

how, then, is the tea itself? well, most agreeable and quite enjoyable. on the instances that i allow myself to have one of them, for i have (mindful of cost) decided to be quite prudent with using them. this is not tea to be made for the sake of it, rather it exists for times when the tea shall be special. yes, on my most recent of birthdays i did have a cup or two of it, with some scones with clotted cream and strawberry preserve. 

the extent of my shopping adventure is pretty much pictured above. absent from view would be the fine chocolates i purchased with pleasure for the boys. they assured me that they tasted excellent. for those of a keen eye, yes, that is a box of afternoon blend tea bags, 25 of them in just "regular" (as in not silky) bags. from what i recall the price for 25 regular teabags more or less equated to the cost of the 15 silky ones. perhaps some economist at some stage will consider this matter. 

up to now, no, i have not cracked open those salted caramel biscuits. i shall do, before the expiry date, but a concern is that i will not be able to resist, once opened i shall wolf them all down. yes, these were also a bit on the expensive side, but look at what an elegant biscuit tin i shall have from here until the end of my days. 

more shopping adventures as and when i have them, dear reader. 

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

not owls

hello there

it is surely the task, or mandate, of any sister to unleash surprise attacks on their brother (or brothers, look you see) on an ad hoc basis. yet, a bit like Clouseau and Cato in Pink Panther, only maybe without sawing holes in floors. although, no, a story for another time, another place. 

my sister, i shall have you know, excelled in this. recently she launched such an attack, leaving me feeling flummoxed, bamboozled and ashamed of my failure. what happened? as i recall, and to many i am the definition, if not personification, of an unreliable narrator device, i was sat quietly one evening, perhaps considering some crisis of spirituality matter, or otherwise engaged in thoughts pertinent to some noble work of art. then my phone bleeped, altering to a message received. a message in picture format. 

unmistakably, of course, the image was of a scene from Twin Peaks, in original form, as being broadcast on New Zealand TV (yes they have it there, apparently) in 2022. quite a delight to see such, for i do love and adore the show, no matter how much they forced me to wrestle with such when experiencing the recent(ish) return to it all (here). 

as one might expect, my mind wandered off on seeing this, strolling through memories of coffee, pies, diners, murders, dabbling with the occult, learning wisdom from trees and sporadic quotations off of the poetry of Shelly. most outrageous fortune and happiness were mine. yet then another message followed, with my sister demanding that i, as a fan, on the basis of these images alone (for there are two), tell her just what, exactly, was on the note what Agent Cooper (Dale) had in his hands. 

no, i didn't have a clue. absolutely no scooby doo. vaguely i could recall the specific scene, with, i think, Agent Cooper finding the note slipped under his door. under pressure to give an answer what i had clearly come up with on merit and memory and not internet search, i proffered one answer that i knew was incorrect. so, i replied that the note said "the owls are not what they seem". as soon as i sent it i had an image in mind of the Log Lady saying this directly to Dale, not passing on a note. yes, i am a disgrace. 

with a generosity of spirit my sister did not knack me (too much) for my folly. helpfully, mind she did send the correct answer. if you are wondering, and cannot recall either, this is the note what said, in a rather straightforward way, "One Eyed Jacks". 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!rehto hcae ot tnellecxe eb

proper stamps

dia duit ann

for reasons best know to himself, and himself alone, look you see, my chum Spiros decided to make use of a post office. this was fairly recently. whilst you or i may well just go to the nearest, closest and most convenient one to where we are, such is not how Spiros does things. instead, off he went to use an admittedly impressive looking one in Dublin. 

yes, certainly i asked him if he was going to go in and ask if they had any proper stamps, with an image of HM The Queen on them, like what you get in London (innit). i was told to f*** off. one would assume that whatever it is that appears on Irish stamps is pretty enough. should they enable the safe carriage and delivery of a letter, or similar item of mail, then fair enough. 

recently i had reason to be in a post office in Wales, look you. i asked if i could buy some of the special edition stamps, such as the ones of the Stones and the ones celebrating the platinum jubilee of HM The Queen, to mention her again. yes, of course, a well spoken, elegant gentleman said. i explained to him that in post offices in England they rarely let you buy the special edition stamps, telling you to buy them off of the website instead. what's the point in having them, or post offices, then, he asked, and further said of it all, after some consideration, that he had "never heard of anything so daft in his life". but, it is true, the post offices in England do everything they can to not sell you stamps. 

bheith ar fheabhas ar a chéile!!!!!!!!

in search of the joe cole derby

bonjour

on 16th March (2022) it is so that a competitive professional football match, a so-called 'champions league' one no less, shall be played between Chelsea and Lille. no, as a general rule, like i suspect many of you, i am not particularly interested in this. certain football games do hold some interest, look you see, but this isn't really one of them games. 

so why write of it? good, indeed fair, question. my interest was piqued, so to speak, when i saw it being written about as being the 'joe cole derby'. this rather struck me as marketing, or attempted hype, going all full tilt stark raving bonkers. 

rather than shrug it off and get on with my life, i thought no, let me look at how, or in what way, this match can justify or vindicate the declaration of such a name. and, also, look at other games that could well claim a similar stature. if you have little or no interest in joe cole, yet for some reason are still reading this, now is probably your time to depart. 

to facts, then. yes, it is so that (with degrees of distinction) joe cole played for both of these teams. indeed, to a certain extent, one could call Chelsea "the English Lille", or Lille "the French Chelsea", except both are wrong. although they strike me as terms of reference which are just as valid as calling a match between the two a 'joe cole derby'. 

a level of sense in calling this match what they do (the joe cole derby) might be present if it were so that we spoke of a lateral move between clubs. which didn't happen. after his stint at Chelsea (where he moved to off of West Ham) he joined Liverpool, and then went to Lille. on loan, no less, so it was not like he was ever a "proper" Lille player. who really is, though. 

which may well prompt, in the minds of some, a pertinent question. exactly why, or for what reason, does the world even need a match to be known as the 'joe cole derby'?  from what i recall he was a really, really good, possibly great player. but, that said, for 15 or so years we've had an ongoing "who is the greatest of all time, ronaldo or messi" debate. no one has, except maybe joe (or perhaps even john terry), ever said "neither are joe cole, though". 

he is an interesting character, though. that rare sort of player who can move from one "rival" club to another, yet retain the good wishes of the fans off of all the clubs he represented. as i remember, when joe went from West Ham to Chelsea (as in one London club to another), the hammers hardcore were at peace with this, citing that it was "good business", it would put the lad on the world stage, etc. oddly they did not speak so when one frank lampard made the exact same move. 

certain places on the web, for i did (oddly) do some research on this, actually refer to any fixture which sees Chelsea play West Ham as "the joe cole derby". which makes a good deal of sense, actually. at the least, more than calling Chelsea vs Lille such. joe being so revered and well remembered at both clubs makes it a lovely idea to honour him with that match title, perhaps serving to take a touch of the sharper, more vicious element out of what is a hotly contested highly competitive game. 

others might well suggest that Chelsea vs Liverpool is also full worthy of the title "the joe cole derby". this is not one i am convinced on. sadly Liverpool did not play joe as much as they could have. also, to be fair, i believe that Chelsea vs Liverpool is affectionately called the "rafa benitez derby", so as to honour the greatest, best and most important spanish manager either side has had. 

actually, i am now quite bored of this. go ahead, whatever. call any match you care to the "joe cole derby" as far as i am concerned, or for all i care. the lad done good, always put a shift in, etc. why not honour him so. 

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

at an airport

howdy

so my travels seem to take me to all sorts of places. well, yes, i would suppose that travels would take one to places, hence the term, look you see. up to now this has not, strictly speaking, seen me end up anywhere internationally (although some may argue that there London is like a whole different nation), it was so that of late i was quite near somewhere that facilitates such. an airport, no less, hence the title of this one. 

why, exactly, did i end up at, or near, an airport when i had no intention of taking flight? it was so that my employers, verk, determined that the best hotel to place me in to do of what they ask (and pay) me was one rather close to such an establishment. far be it from me to argue with such an arrangement. 

yes, indeed, that is one of them "selfie" things (of moi, naturally), presented in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode, before the hotel. oddly, or even strangely, i quite like that one, which is a rare thing, since i tend not to like pics of me. indeed another selfie to follow, so don't say you were not warned of such horrors. 

the hotel itself was quite class. very smart, actually, all posh and that. quite possible, and forgive me for i did not think to take a tape measure, that the room in which i stayed was actually larger than my usual lodgings where i reside in my place of exile. all lovely it was, and i absolutely recommend a stay there. 

one of the best things of the hotel was that it appeared to be full of what used to get called air hostesses, but now i believe we are supposed to call them "flight attendants". to be clear, then, yes, lady flight attendants, if that is correct. very agreeable it was, indeed, to spend so much time staying in a lovely hotel with so many of them.  

above, then, is - as warned - a selfie of moi (me) before the hotel. one evening, when a (comparatively) early verk finish allowed for such, i decided to take a stroll. it wasn't all as busy as one might thing, but then again i suppose there are all sorts of restrictions on travel. not really all that much to see or do at an airport, really, except watch planes take off and/or land, some basic (overpriced) shops, and the chance to see people departing or arriving. true, with a bit of thought (or in hindsight) i should have gone and stood at the arrival gate with some rudimentary sign, perhaps suggesting i was waiting for someone called 'Putin' or 'Trump' or similar; anyone which would have given people pause for thought. 

ultimately, my conclusion of the whole experience is that if you wish to be around loads and loads of flight attendants, and indeed pilots in uniform, then you are better off staying at a hotel near an airport, rather than just hanging around at the airport itself. when they (pilots, attendants, etc) are at the airport, it is so that they are working, or on planes. according to one security guard that approached me, you are not actually allowed to go on the planes unless you have a ticket and have been "cleared". so yeah, meeting them in the hotel is totes easier. 

more observations from my travels, indeed, as and when they happen, or occur. 

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

demis roussos and a big massive burger

Γειά σου

yes, this indeed one of those instances where i would (or perhaps should) commence with the words nothing, really. for some reason i feel compelled, or obliged, to do regular updates here, look you see. as i am ordinary, unimportant, invisible and dull (and no one shall recall me), there is, as it happens, only a finite amount of vaguely interesting things what i can place here. 

so, every now and then (not often, but still), i shall have a consideration of the internet, see if anything on there seems curious or interesting enough to place here, sharing with anyone who stops by. like, for instance, a picture of demis roussos off of Greece with a big massive burger. 

predictably enough, this image was used in a magazine about burgers. strangely, or weirdly, the article itself makes no reference to demis at all. not a whisper of a suggestion as to why this image was used. my guess would be that the magazine was published in the mid to late 70s, and demis was hugely popular then, so that would be why they used it. also, smart picture. 

do i like demis, or would i consider myself a fan? kind of. very much a fan of his work with Aphrodite's Child, and them incidental bits what he did for his mate Vangelis for the Blade Runner soundtrack. but i haven't explored all that much of his solo stuff. perhaps i shall. certainly it is true that i wish i could get my hair and beard to look as class as his, and indeed that i could dress as stylish as what he did. 

more as and when, then, dear reader, more as and when. 

να είστε άριστοι μεταξύ σας!!!!!!

perhaps the strange ones in the dome

bonjour les cueilleurs de pop

well, well. a bit of a double event for me, this one. proof, if it was ever required, that i am not so totes obsessed with Bowie to know of all what he gone done, look you see, and all the further evidence of how well i am doing in not having him, he, the great one, feature on this blog once a month. or so. 

musicians, pop stars and other associated artists (artistes) tend to get a touch of a hard time from some corners, or quarters, when they try to earn coins of money in the commercial world. basically every one in the arts what does this gets labelled a "sell out" by some, except oddly actors and actresses, of  which such behaviour is presumably expected. or accepted. strange this, for, allowing for the "have something to say" argument true of most, if not all, art, well, why go public with it if not to earn a living? 

that said, this one took me rather by surprise. it's no secret (at all) that Bowie quite liked ensuring he earned a fair whack for what he did, and why not. whereas some of his ventures into earning coins are well documented - "Bowie Bonds", and so forth - this one slipped by my radar, or missed my attention. 

people what are (considerably) better informed than what i am (or was) shall no doubt recognise the above as being a still from the advert for something called vittel water what Bowie apparently did. given that the soundtrack is Never Get Old off of Reality, he must have gone done this around late 2003 or at some point in 2004. just before he went into a quasi exile, then. which weirdly kind of (sort of) beat to the chase what Sean Connery did in respect of an ostensible final public appearance. 

usually, normally or at least as it once was, it was Japanese companies what paid an extraordinary amount of money to use celebrities to endorse various products. often of flexible relevance to the celebrity employed. like, for instance, this. peculiar, if not strange, to see that at one stage the French had so much money to throw around as to be able to lure Bowie in. my understanding of French tele, based mostly on vague memories of something called Rapido, is that very few people actually watch it, least of all Frenchies themselves. 

i am going to assume, or take as a given, since this blog makes no (zero) money, that them what do this vittel water are not going to object to me showcasing their advert for the dozen or so people what read what i write. so, then, here you go. the advert, on video, in full, below. 

quite brilliant, really. very amusing indeed, especially that bit where Bowie channels his inner Sir Roger and acts with his eyebrows alone. nice, as a fan, to see him so comfortable and relaxed with several of his more iconic moments. generally the sense, or idea, one has is that he really rather preferred to move on from a look or style, so yes, great to see him (no doubt of usual subversive mind) have a bit of fun with it all. 

exactly how much extra (or more) water did vittel, who(m)ever they may be, flog or sell as a direct result of procuring the services of David Bowie to promote it? i have absolutely no idea. to be fair, this advert is kind of pretty much an artistic work in itself. no doubt Bowie made sure he got a hefty wedge for doing it, so if vittel picked up some profits too, well so much the better. 

some might suggest that i am not a 'proper' Bowie fan on the basis of not knowing this, what, 18 year old advert existed until recently. fair comment, i suppose, but i rather like to look at it as being presently, indeed happily, surprised when something what is "new" to me crops up like this. being a know it all wins you few friends and less popularity contests, believe me. 

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

three films

hello there

so, yes, then, i've watched a few films of late. well, three, look you see. hence this post being called what it is. a quasi custom, or tradition, is for me to pass comment on such, being for the benefit of anyone with a passing interest in what i might think of them. not so many, i would think, is that number. 

were the films i watched any good? yes (The Lighthouse), maybe (Kingsman i think it was called) and not really, not really, no (Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2022). that pretty much gives you a brief overview then. you are of course very welcome to read on, but do pay attention, and beware, for everything which comes beneath the below image is very likely to contain *** SPOILERS *** so carry on with caution. 

to start off with where i think i started would be to commence all of this with Kingsman. at least i am pretty sure this is what it is called. my understanding is that it is a prequel, of sorts, to some (i believe two) films called Kingsmen, which i have not seen. this i explained to James and William when they wished to watch it in my presence, expressing a concern that i may well not understand it all. in their view it was fine for me to watch, since as it was (is) a prequel there was no need for me to have seen the first two. pretty sure this is how Star Wars sort of works. 

anyway, what's it all about? plot and that? not really sure. i mean, i do know it features him off of all them posh films, except for when he played the one wizard with no nose in Harry Potter, and also a recurring character of a singular letter in James Bond. generally, or in general terms, it seemed to be all about some upstanding English chap(s) saving the world from some people what done a naughty. 

i quite enjoyed it, despite not knowing what was going on for certain parts, or vast swathes. all of it seemed to be splendid action sequences taped together with a vague notion of a plot. this plot may well be something that seems, or is, more clear if one has seen the first two (2) films, but no matter. one most agreeable chunk of the film featured Rasputin, which appeared to be based more on our history and understanding of this bloke from the Boney M song, rather than any actual historical fact or assumption.

on, then, or if you will ahoy, to The Lighthouse. yes, i do indeed appreciate that, at time of writing, this film is, what, 2 or 3 years "old", but i've only watched it now. most seem to describe, or give details of, the plot as it being "two men working on a remote lighthouse", which is rather nice and spoiler free. very good indeed, it was. sort of a 'gothic horror'. a complain, or concern, i have heard in passing is that people suspect or expect it to be "boring". well, no. should you have sustained the pacing of, and indeed certain similar thematic elements of, films like The Shining and the most recent Woman In Black, the one with that lad out of Harry Potter in, then you will get on just fine with this. 

being fair, i found it extraordinarily fast paced, or at the very least faster than i had expected. also, quite a remarkable film indeed. mostly down to the cast, of course, and the fact that one can say that this film is essentially (thanks to other casting) the story of Batman, Jesus Christ and a Mermaid at a Lighthouse. the nearest closest other artistic reference to this we have is Kelly's Heroes off of Black Grape. 

despite the plot / story being intriguing enough as it is, the veritable tour de force off of the actors is what resounds the most. Willem Dafoe perfectly encapsulates the concept of "salty sea dog" which i have referenced over the years. Robert Pattison is sensational, in particular in what can only be described as the furious masturbation scene (i did place a spoiler warning at the start), which i believe is something of a "trademark move" of his in films what do not feature glitter vampires or Chris Nolan. 

right, on to the expected and anticipated as being disappointment of the latest remake, sequel, take or what have you on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. i kind of knew it would be sh!t because just about all of these new versions are, but the premiere date of 18th Feb made it seem like a good idea to watch. 

just what's wrong with this latest version, then? mostly it seems unsure if it is a sequel, a partial remake sequel or a "new" thing on familiar footing. that and it opting to go for squeamish, unsettling, stomach churning gore (and requisite violence) rather than instilling any sense of fear, suspense or terror in the audience. one or two one-liners which are generally funny ("one wrong move and you're cancelled, bro") sneak in, but for the most part this resides in the "so bad it's bad" pile of films. 

my bad. oh, right. yes, i forgot, it was actually four (4) films i watched of late. how could i have let it slip my mind that also i had a look at this Don't Look Up business. 

essentially or effectively the plot of this film is that a group of (stylish, very good looking) science types discover the world is going to end via one almighty twatting off of an asteroid. they alert the world, and the world sort of just shrugs, goes "meh" and returns to the instant gratification, disposable ways what we appear to have made dominant these days. oh. 

it was all right. quite brave, i suppose, for such an A list cast to have a pop at the almighty, all celebrity worshipped Steve Jobs. the parody of Trump is slightly more predictable, but all the same rather brilliant in the hands of Meryl Streep. rather more former CSI cast members than i expected to see all at once, and yeah, the "A" list cast basically all act the same way they usually do. 

pretty sure the intention here was to make a film that's a "comment" on society, and a satire akin to, say or for instance, Dr Strangelove or Wag The Dog. it's nowhere near as good as either of those. also, it takes far too long to make a minimal point. weirdly, if this film is anything at all, it is a reworking of a not so bad Nicolas Cage film, Knowing, from about ten or so years ago. right down to the final dinner scene, now that i think on or if i recall it correctly. watchable, enjoyable, but ultimately this film is pretty much the personification of average. 

right then, that's that. no doubt (or undoubtedly) when i get chance to watch a couple more films i will put the relevant opinions here. until then, then, dig what you dig. 

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

hand dryer time displacement theorem

hello

so yes, then, once more to the realm of the public gentleman's restroom facility. i had so desperately tried to avoid this subject, look you see, but every now and then one (as in i) see(s) something of such interest it cannot remain unobserved, or silent. indeed, not silent. 

it was so that, recently, for purposes of verk i had to attend an area of our land which (or that) some might describe, kindly and affectionately, as being "a little bit backwards". backwards, i suppose, in respect of how the world presently works in relation to how they there all believe it still works. far be it from me to name the place, so no, you can work it out. or, if you will, assume it is such a place that you are aware of, and get on with it. 

my primary concern, once finding myself in this place, was of course (understandably) to get out of it all as quickly as possible. but, alas, i could not rush. further, i had valid reason to make use of the facilities there. in this circumstance, valid is natural, so no, this was not like my mate Spiros what goes into such gentleman restroom facilities to make short term but mutually beneficial friendships with like-minded men. no other chaps happened to be there when i was. 

there, then, i found this, or that there above. i was sort of looking around for the means to dry my hands off after washing them (yes, singing happy birthday, twice) and confess i overlooked this at first glance. under no circumstances was i expecting to find a mid to late 70s style hand drying unit still all armed, fully operational and partially functioning. 

a reasonable thing to have assumed, taken as a given or concluded after consideration is, or would be, that all such devices from north of forty (40) years ago would have long since gone. decommissioned, knacked beyond repair or simply replaced for reasons of more efficient devices, or style. but no. in this corner of a place resoundingly residing in the past, a very old fashioned variation of what it was assumed a futuristic hand dryer would look like. oh. 

whereas i am no architect (they call me a butcher) or fashion expert, the aesthetics of this are rather unmistakable. clearly this was informed by certain fictional works of the late 60s and early 70s, what projected how the future would look. which is quite white and very box apparently. have a look at this hand dryer in action and tell me it would not look out of place on the orbiting hotel bit out of 2001. 

yes, i was able to get some video, since i had the place to myself. no one to ask me what the f*** i thought i was doing, or playing at. quite rare for one to have a gentleman's restroom facility all alone and to the self of one. which now has me thinking maybe it was actually some sort of museum piece or similar exhibition, and i have gravely erred in making use of it. dear me. 

reviewing this contraption, device, appliance or whatever one should call it (facility, maybe) is an interesting challenge. overall, yes, it does the job. but not how one may expect. after one presses, or twats, the big red button, one is greeted with some silence, then some rumbling and then, well, the noise one can (or should be able to) hear in the above video. 

unexpectedly for the purpose of such a device (or what have you), that solid, heavy blast of air from the dryer is rather cold. this underlines the credentials of it being off of the 70s, for wishing or wanting heat back then singled you out as a 'big fanny'. yet the ferocity of strength which this blasts out air does a remarkably fast job of drying your hands. or, presumably, recalling (fondly) that one scene with Madonna out of Desperately Seeking Susan, anything you cared or dared to place under it. this energy guzzling arctic air dispenser works one heck of a lot better than any modern, Greta appeasing one i have used of late, believe you me. or not, up to you. 

indeed i did try and do some animated footage, in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode, of this device. however, as you can (probably) see in the above, i kind of had the camera sideways for it. unless it comes out the right way round on your side of the screen. 

no, i do not believe there is much else i can add here. if fortune smiles then all future visits to such institutions as gentleman's restroom facilities shall be marked as ordinary and unimportant, meaning there is nothing curious for me to observe and record. should that not be the case, then yes, more of this sort of thing as and when i see it. 

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

everything's gone green

heya

well, here we are. another, or yet another, post on a car wash that i recently had gone done, look you see. but with a slight difference. in a previous, quite possibly the last (before this) post i suggested or implied that i might go ahead and document it in a different format. by that i do indeed mean not present it in the greater good and glory of Commodore 64 mode. 

this, as it happens, is exactly what i have gone done. behold, or if you will enjoy, the usual sort of car wash pictures what i put here, but this time in Gameboy (Game Boy?) format.

of course it is the classical, traditional or first Gameboy format used, which means everything is presented in a way that is vaguely or decidedly green. no, i have no idea why the original Gameboy was all shades of green, possibly to do with battery life, or ease of design, or something. just how it all was, really. still is, i suppose. 

yes, i either had or have a Gameboy. not sure which is correct these days. it got packed away, then the boys found it, and sort of took it as a given that it was theirs. which is absolutely fine, for i was not using it. but, then, when they fired it up, yes, i had a play on it again, and found that it remained quite good fun to play with. 

some animated Gameboy footage from the carwash? or car wash? why not. 

a history of the Gameboy is probably not required from me. i doubt that i could tell the story proper, as that would need me to read up and research, which i am not going to do. from what i remember, though, it was the first portable, self-contained handheld game what you could change cartridges on. very handy, as you didn't have to buy a device per game. what was even better was when the pirates started making cartridges what had dozens of games on them for it. 

no, i am not going to describe the various stages of the car wash pictured here. for that you can look at any of the dozen or so (at a guess) other posts on the subject, in Commodore 64 mode. the purpose or point here, if anything, is to appreciate how the world looks from a Gameboy perspective. 

progression to different machines what did the same as the original Gameboy, but ostensibly better, was fairly quick. after the Gameboy of green came the "colour" version, then the advanced, then i think them what made it, nintendo (possibly) gave up on it and made other machines what more or less did exactly the same, with different colours and sounds. so far as i am aware all are pretty decent. 

right, that's that. actually this has not been so bad, or painful, to write. or look at. perhaps, as and when journeys take me past a car wash, i might look at using another, different format so as to document it all. well, possibly. 

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