So, in a few days I will be flying to the UK for a long-overdue holiday. The last time I was in the UK was over the Christmas holidays in 2005. I wonder how much has changed? Only time will tell.
I have a ridiculously manic schedule (as always) with my various trips and encounters figured out on an excel spreadsheet. I think I'm going to spend most of my time on trains! Ah well, I don't mind travelling to the many corners of the British Isles if it means I get to see some wonderful friends.
It is a great shame that there are many people I won't get time to see during my trip. I wish I had more time to play with, but it simply isn't plausible.
Obviously, I will be blogging about it all at some point. It may be while I am there, but it might also wait until I get back. Who can say at this point?
Anyway, with this forthcoming trip in mind, my life here in Australia has been terribly busy. I am usually a rather reclusive chap during the week but because I have been catching up with lots of friends here 'before I head off' (as one says) I have had to open up my social diary and permit myself some midweek rendezvous (that's the first time I have ever thought of that word as a plural and I had to check to see if it was the same spelling both singular and plural - it is! You learn something new every day. Not interesting, just new.)
I also have been trying to get a lot of housework done because a friend of mine is house-sitting and looking after Fizzgig while I am away and I hope to leave the apartment in a decent state so he isn't repulsed by lurking dust-bunnies.
Not only has my social (and cleaning) life been jam-packed, but my work has been incredibly busy too. I have had to cram in an insane amount of work into the weeks before and after my trip to make sure I get everything done. With all the added stress, one wonders why one holidays at all!
On a rather less jovial note, our manager has sadly been taken ill and will not be at work for some time meaning that while I am away, the work load will be exacerbated for my colleague Nola - I worry that she might implode. So if anyone is reading this and they know Nola, please be kind to her while I am gone!
Well, given that I am so busy, I don't really have time to blither on in this blog (my Hitchcock blog took up precious time yesterday too, darn it!) and I'll get back to cleaning. Currently I am sat in an old pair of orange boxer briefs so I think a shower and a change into something more appropriate for guests (for more arrive today for pre-holiday meetings) - I don't want them to vomit at the sight of me in my undies.
*Today's Kirsty MacColl themed blog title comes from the opening credits to The Adventures of Mole, part of a 'Wind in the Willows' cartoon series starring Richard Briers, Peter Davison, Hugh Laurie, Imelda Staunton and others. The song was written by Neil Innes and performed by the wonderful Kirsty!
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Just One of Those Things
2010.
What? Gone already? Cripes.
The year was notable for me as I was able to complete a number of collections. I shall warn you now (with the ever ready 'nerd-alert') that this may get a bit geeky. I know it's a bit pathetic, but it's just one of those things about me that makes me 'me'. Obsessive Compulsive perhaps?
#1. My Agatha Christie collection.
Publishers can be pure evil sometimes. They release a whole range of titles in matching jackets and then, without warning, they change the jackets but NOT the ISBNs. This makes it extremely difficult for the customer to order the missing titles. For a few years, I was missing a couple of titles from the Agatha Christie collection and I refuse to start again on the new-look jackets, having spent the best part of a decade collecting these beauties. For the past two years, I was searching for ONE final title - Endless Night - I even had friends across the globe looking for it on their travels. I was beginning to believe it had never been published in this format as an evil ploy invented by Harper Collins to make sure no one could ever have a complete set. However, thanks to eBay, I finally got my missing piece to the mystery and I almost shed a tear of joy.
#2. My Alfred Hitchcock collection.
This is another collection that has taken me over a decade to complete, mainly because some of the more obscure titles from his oeuvre were simply taking a while to come out on DVD. Admittedly, my copies of Elstree Calling and Waltzes in Vienna are not of the highest quality, but I don't care - I am just proud to own them. This allowed me to work on my Hitchcock blog - http://greathitchcockproject.blogspot.com/ - which involves watching all of his films in chronological order and blithering on about the experience. It's not exactly Julie & Julia but it keeps me off the streets knifing Asian grannies.
#3. My Swing Out Sister collection.
I have been a fan of Swing Out Sister since their "Breakout" debut and even though they've not been at the forefront of the music scene, they have been successful for over twenty years albeit mainly in Japan. Their albums are frequently hard to find, especially here in Australia, so I have had to rely on specialist shops and the good old internet to find the albums missing from my collection. A few months ago, I found the one album I needed - Filth & Dreams - on Amazon "through one of these sellers" and I was so happy. It was released in 1999 and I have been searching for it ever since. It's a superb album too.
By the way, there are a great number of 'best of', 'Remix' and 'live' CDs, but that's going too far. I am content with the main studio albums.
#4. My Star Trek collection.
Woah, I really am a complete nerd/geek/saddo. Yes, I now own every DVD of official Star Trek - even the rather less-good animated series (thanks Joel!)
I had avoided watching Star Trek: Enterprise for many years, thanks to that f***ing awful theme music (Yes, it really is that bad) but when I bought the entire series with some vouchers I got for my birthday, I had a huge amount of fun watching all four seasons - season three is particularly awesome!
#5. My Robert Rankin collection.
When I was 18, I was living in Bedford and having an awful time. I was screwed up and I hated pretty much everything. However, I picked up Armageddon: The Musical in a book shop and I was hooked. For a long time, I was collecting the paperback editions of Robert Rankin's titles, but over time I began finding hardback editions in second-hand shops. I now have every available hardback edition of his books (as far as I know - no one seems to have information about the first four books of the "Brentford Trilogy"(sic) ever being available in hardback. If this is not the case, I may not have finished this collection yet).
#6. My Roger Corman/Edgar Allan Poe collection.
In my youth, I loved watching 'seasons' of films on BBC2 and Channel 4. It may have been Hitchcock, Astaire & Rogers or Marilyn Monroe... but one which I particularly adored (and seemed to be aired rather frequently) was the season of Roger Corman films based on Edgar Allan Poe stories. There were only seven, but each one is a Gothic delight. Oddly, it took me ages to get a hold of my favourite one - The Premature Burial - as it was only ever available as part of a 'double bill' pack, and that is no good to someone like me who likes to alphabetise.
#7. My Avengers collection
It has taken years for The Avengers to be released properly on PAL system DVD - far too bloody long. However, here they are in all their glory. It's one of the finest TV shows ever produced and, heavens to Betsy, aren't those boxes splendid in their design.
Interestingly, I haven't had to pay for ANY of them. They were all bought with Amazon vouchers or as gifts! (Thank you Rohan, Vanessa, Louise, Adam, Family etc...)
So, that is my year of 'completion'.
***
In other news, let's take a look at the highs and lows of 2010 as far as I am concerned...
I watched a frightening amount of TV on DVD - but I am unashamed about that. I don't have much of a life, but I enjoy the simple pleasures.
I watched:
All three seasons of Veronica Mars (which was much better than I had expected.)
All four seasons of Star Trek: Enterprise as mentioned above.
All six/nearly seven seasons of Medium which I had previously avoided because I didn't like Patricia Arquette's fringe. However, I got past that and realised how much fun the show was.
All nine seasons of Roseanne. God, that show was genuinely funny and good (well, most of it).
All six seasons of The Avengers (well, five and the remaining two and one third episodes of season one!)
Both seasons of the 21st Century version of Terry Nation's Survivors - they really should make more. Oh, and Phillip Rhys is beautiful.
Three and a half seasons of Sliders. Oh dear. I remember this being good. The first season was fun, the second reasonably OK, the third was 'iffy' and season four was absolute trash. I just struggle to sit through an episode.
Oh, and I think I watched all five seasons of Quantum Leap this year too, but I might be getting my timing all wrong as it was early in the year or late last year.
Doctor Who was disappointing this year. Still good TV, but I cannot deny it, I miss Russell T Davies' touch. Steven Moffat seemed to be so much better when he wasn't trying to change ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING! Oh, and I have no qualms about saying it, Amy Pond needs a damn hard slap. I'll slap the Moff while I'm at it. RTD spent five years making us believe this world of science fiction was in our world and made a real family drama out of the show (brilliantly) but Moffat has made it feel like a mere bedtime story set in a different land so I have felt very departed from the show and characters. That said, Matt Smith is a very good Doctor - it just would have been nicer to have Mr Tennant stick around for another year or two to smooth the transition between executive producers.
Series four of The Sarah Jane Adventures was the best yet. Very strong stories and the characters have grown terrifically - considering this is a children's show, it's damn fine entertainment. RTD's episodes were fantastic.
Misfits proved itself to be one of the finest things on television whereas The Inbetweeners went rapidly downhill in its third series resorting too frequently on bodily fluid gags and cruelty to animals. The squirrel scene was the moment I lost the faith.
In non-TV related items, I celebrated my 35th birthday with a Murder Party which went down very well indeed; I won two awards for 'rep of the Year' in two different states; I lost a heap of weight; I went on a TV show; I wallowed in depression (again); and spent many hours playing in 'Monstro City' thanks to the MoshiMonsters website.
As the year draws to a close, I have little wisdom to give. I have come to consider that I am not living my life, merely waiting and I ought to do something about that.
I have also learned that it is becoming extraordinarily difficult to use Kirsty MacColl song titles for these posts... so I may have to start mixing it up and using Swing Out Sister song titles or those of from Beverley Craven's songbook.
What? Gone already? Cripes.
The year was notable for me as I was able to complete a number of collections. I shall warn you now (with the ever ready 'nerd-alert') that this may get a bit geeky. I know it's a bit pathetic, but it's just one of those things about me that makes me 'me'. Obsessive Compulsive perhaps?
#1. My Agatha Christie collection.
Publishers can be pure evil sometimes. They release a whole range of titles in matching jackets and then, without warning, they change the jackets but NOT the ISBNs. This makes it extremely difficult for the customer to order the missing titles. For a few years, I was missing a couple of titles from the Agatha Christie collection and I refuse to start again on the new-look jackets, having spent the best part of a decade collecting these beauties. For the past two years, I was searching for ONE final title - Endless Night - I even had friends across the globe looking for it on their travels. I was beginning to believe it had never been published in this format as an evil ploy invented by Harper Collins to make sure no one could ever have a complete set. However, thanks to eBay, I finally got my missing piece to the mystery and I almost shed a tear of joy.
#2. My Alfred Hitchcock collection.
This is another collection that has taken me over a decade to complete, mainly because some of the more obscure titles from his oeuvre were simply taking a while to come out on DVD. Admittedly, my copies of Elstree Calling and Waltzes in Vienna are not of the highest quality, but I don't care - I am just proud to own them. This allowed me to work on my Hitchcock blog - http://greathitchcockproject.blogspot.com/ - which involves watching all of his films in chronological order and blithering on about the experience. It's not exactly Julie & Julia but it keeps me off the streets knifing Asian grannies.
#3. My Swing Out Sister collection.
I have been a fan of Swing Out Sister since their "Breakout" debut and even though they've not been at the forefront of the music scene, they have been successful for over twenty years albeit mainly in Japan. Their albums are frequently hard to find, especially here in Australia, so I have had to rely on specialist shops and the good old internet to find the albums missing from my collection. A few months ago, I found the one album I needed - Filth & Dreams - on Amazon "through one of these sellers" and I was so happy. It was released in 1999 and I have been searching for it ever since. It's a superb album too.
By the way, there are a great number of 'best of', 'Remix' and 'live' CDs, but that's going too far. I am content with the main studio albums.
#4. My Star Trek collection.
Woah, I really am a complete nerd/geek/saddo. Yes, I now own every DVD of official Star Trek - even the rather less-good animated series (thanks Joel!)
I had avoided watching Star Trek: Enterprise for many years, thanks to that f***ing awful theme music (Yes, it really is that bad) but when I bought the entire series with some vouchers I got for my birthday, I had a huge amount of fun watching all four seasons - season three is particularly awesome!
#5. My Robert Rankin collection.
When I was 18, I was living in Bedford and having an awful time. I was screwed up and I hated pretty much everything. However, I picked up Armageddon: The Musical in a book shop and I was hooked. For a long time, I was collecting the paperback editions of Robert Rankin's titles, but over time I began finding hardback editions in second-hand shops. I now have every available hardback edition of his books (as far as I know - no one seems to have information about the first four books of the "Brentford Trilogy"(sic) ever being available in hardback. If this is not the case, I may not have finished this collection yet).
#6. My Roger Corman/Edgar Allan Poe collection.
In my youth, I loved watching 'seasons' of films on BBC2 and Channel 4. It may have been Hitchcock, Astaire & Rogers or Marilyn Monroe... but one which I particularly adored (and seemed to be aired rather frequently) was the season of Roger Corman films based on Edgar Allan Poe stories. There were only seven, but each one is a Gothic delight. Oddly, it took me ages to get a hold of my favourite one - The Premature Burial - as it was only ever available as part of a 'double bill' pack, and that is no good to someone like me who likes to alphabetise.
#7. My Avengers collection
It has taken years for The Avengers to be released properly on PAL system DVD - far too bloody long. However, here they are in all their glory. It's one of the finest TV shows ever produced and, heavens to Betsy, aren't those boxes splendid in their design.
Interestingly, I haven't had to pay for ANY of them. They were all bought with Amazon vouchers or as gifts! (Thank you Rohan, Vanessa, Louise, Adam, Family etc...)
So, that is my year of 'completion'.
***
In other news, let's take a look at the highs and lows of 2010 as far as I am concerned...
I watched a frightening amount of TV on DVD - but I am unashamed about that. I don't have much of a life, but I enjoy the simple pleasures.
I watched:
All three seasons of Veronica Mars (which was much better than I had expected.)
All four seasons of Star Trek: Enterprise as mentioned above.
All six/nearly seven seasons of Medium which I had previously avoided because I didn't like Patricia Arquette's fringe. However, I got past that and realised how much fun the show was.
All nine seasons of Roseanne. God, that show was genuinely funny and good (well, most of it).
All six seasons of The Avengers (well, five and the remaining two and one third episodes of season one!)
Both seasons of the 21st Century version of Terry Nation's Survivors - they really should make more. Oh, and Phillip Rhys is beautiful.
Three and a half seasons of Sliders. Oh dear. I remember this being good. The first season was fun, the second reasonably OK, the third was 'iffy' and season four was absolute trash. I just struggle to sit through an episode.
Oh, and I think I watched all five seasons of Quantum Leap this year too, but I might be getting my timing all wrong as it was early in the year or late last year.
Doctor Who was disappointing this year. Still good TV, but I cannot deny it, I miss Russell T Davies' touch. Steven Moffat seemed to be so much better when he wasn't trying to change ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING! Oh, and I have no qualms about saying it, Amy Pond needs a damn hard slap. I'll slap the Moff while I'm at it. RTD spent five years making us believe this world of science fiction was in our world and made a real family drama out of the show (brilliantly) but Moffat has made it feel like a mere bedtime story set in a different land so I have felt very departed from the show and characters. That said, Matt Smith is a very good Doctor - it just would have been nicer to have Mr Tennant stick around for another year or two to smooth the transition between executive producers.
Series four of The Sarah Jane Adventures was the best yet. Very strong stories and the characters have grown terrifically - considering this is a children's show, it's damn fine entertainment. RTD's episodes were fantastic.
Misfits proved itself to be one of the finest things on television whereas The Inbetweeners went rapidly downhill in its third series resorting too frequently on bodily fluid gags and cruelty to animals. The squirrel scene was the moment I lost the faith.
In non-TV related items, I celebrated my 35th birthday with a Murder Party which went down very well indeed; I won two awards for 'rep of the Year' in two different states; I lost a heap of weight; I went on a TV show; I wallowed in depression (again); and spent many hours playing in 'Monstro City' thanks to the MoshiMonsters website.
As the year draws to a close, I have little wisdom to give. I have come to consider that I am not living my life, merely waiting and I ought to do something about that.
I have also learned that it is becoming extraordinarily difficult to use Kirsty MacColl song titles for these posts... so I may have to start mixing it up and using Swing Out Sister song titles or those of from Beverley Craven's songbook.
Friday, December 3, 2010
The One and Only*
I have never been showered with awards. I once won two tickets to see the pantomime version of Aladdin at our local village hall after winning a painting competition at primary school; I won the coveted badge of honour for 'Most Outstanding Personality' at college; but I have never been the sort of fellow whose mantelpiece is adorned with trophies.
Athletics was never my forte. I was rather good at hurdles but my aversion to all types of competitive sport hindered my chances of standing atop any form of pyramid. I once arrived back first after a cross-country run, but to be fair, there were only three of us running and the other two competitors buggered off to the pub midway.
Oddly, despite coming from an incredibly talented family - all of whom can sing, paint, play instruments, draw, act etc - I did not receive these genes, instead ending up with all the neuroses, dodgy eyesight and eczema instead.
So, this past month, I was deeply honoured and somewhat surprised to receive TWO rather special accolades.
Firstly, I won Victorian Sales Representative of the Year, as voted by the booksellers around the state. A week later, I was bestowed with New South Wales Telesales Rep of the Year. (To those not in the know, I work as a sales rep for a publishing company. I am a "Telesales Rep" which means I do the same job as a "Road Rep" only over the phone and with a lot of faith in imagination. I have accounts in most of Australia's states.)
Having worked in the sales department for ten years, I was deeply touched by the nomination, let alone the eventual win.
Initially, after that first win, I was a little flummoxed to say the least - perhaps considering that it was a miscount so I took the award humbly (albeit spoofing Sally Field in the process) and ironically.
However, the following week, with win #2, I conceded and began to accept the praise.
The prize I got for the Victorian Award was a bottle of very expensive champagne. Sadly, I gave up drinking two years ago - but I let my friends indulge themselves with that.
The New South Wales Award consisted of two bottles of wine (once again, '"shame about the sobriety") and an engraved champagne glass. The latter arrived by mail, but die to an unfortunate mix up, they sent me somebody else's so I had to post it back again.
Last week, when I thought the excitement had died down, I was present at a Quarterly Briefing at which the entire office was in attendance. Our CEO made me take a bow as everyone applauded. I was so flustered, I bowed like someone who has just done a landing from a trapeze or a six-year-old at his first nativity - arms flung out backwards, fingers splayed. I must have looked a right wally!
Today, at our monthly sales meeting, the Sales Director and the Trade Sales Manager joined our team to present me with another token of appreciation - a couple of beautiful tumblers and some exquisite dark chocolates.
Once again, I was all nerves and fretful verbal inadequacies. I am just not used to compliments or praise!
But I was touched. Deeply honoured yet aghast.
This all comes at a rather awkward time for me - so soon after my post about my depression - but things like this do help one get some perspective during those darker moments. That persistent black dog that hounds me tries to make me believe I am a fraud and that I don't deserve the honours; this in itself can be difficult to quell. But with this continued recognition from my peers and clients, I can smack that bitch in the face with assurance and legitimate pride.
* Please forgive the title of this post - yes, it's rather egotistical, but give me this one as it is unlikely to happen again...
Athletics was never my forte. I was rather good at hurdles but my aversion to all types of competitive sport hindered my chances of standing atop any form of pyramid. I once arrived back first after a cross-country run, but to be fair, there were only three of us running and the other two competitors buggered off to the pub midway.
Oddly, despite coming from an incredibly talented family - all of whom can sing, paint, play instruments, draw, act etc - I did not receive these genes, instead ending up with all the neuroses, dodgy eyesight and eczema instead.
So, this past month, I was deeply honoured and somewhat surprised to receive TWO rather special accolades.
Firstly, I won Victorian Sales Representative of the Year, as voted by the booksellers around the state. A week later, I was bestowed with New South Wales Telesales Rep of the Year. (To those not in the know, I work as a sales rep for a publishing company. I am a "Telesales Rep" which means I do the same job as a "Road Rep" only over the phone and with a lot of faith in imagination. I have accounts in most of Australia's states.)
Having worked in the sales department for ten years, I was deeply touched by the nomination, let alone the eventual win.
Initially, after that first win, I was a little flummoxed to say the least - perhaps considering that it was a miscount so I took the award humbly (albeit spoofing Sally Field in the process) and ironically.
However, the following week, with win #2, I conceded and began to accept the praise.
The prize I got for the Victorian Award was a bottle of very expensive champagne. Sadly, I gave up drinking two years ago - but I let my friends indulge themselves with that.
The New South Wales Award consisted of two bottles of wine (once again, '"shame about the sobriety") and an engraved champagne glass. The latter arrived by mail, but die to an unfortunate mix up, they sent me somebody else's so I had to post it back again.
Last week, when I thought the excitement had died down, I was present at a Quarterly Briefing at which the entire office was in attendance. Our CEO made me take a bow as everyone applauded. I was so flustered, I bowed like someone who has just done a landing from a trapeze or a six-year-old at his first nativity - arms flung out backwards, fingers splayed. I must have looked a right wally!
Today, at our monthly sales meeting, the Sales Director and the Trade Sales Manager joined our team to present me with another token of appreciation - a couple of beautiful tumblers and some exquisite dark chocolates.
Once again, I was all nerves and fretful verbal inadequacies. I am just not used to compliments or praise!
But I was touched. Deeply honoured yet aghast.
This all comes at a rather awkward time for me - so soon after my post about my depression - but things like this do help one get some perspective during those darker moments. That persistent black dog that hounds me tries to make me believe I am a fraud and that I don't deserve the honours; this in itself can be difficult to quell. But with this continued recognition from my peers and clients, I can smack that bitch in the face with assurance and legitimate pride.
* Please forgive the title of this post - yes, it's rather egotistical, but give me this one as it is unlikely to happen again...
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Please Help Me, I'm Falling
This post has been inspired by a friend of mine who suggested that I blog about my experience with depression. Hopefully it will be a cathartic process for me.
I have written about that devilish morbid cloud once before (see ‘Shutting the Doors’), but that was more about how I deal with those darker days. This post is more about the symptoms which can often disguise themselves in cunning and ways. I do not intend for this to be a self-pitying blog, nor do I request sympathy. This is about expressing the signs of that haunting black dog with the small hope that somebody else may benefit from it… or at least have a jolly good laugh.
(You will note that I apply a touch of levity to my words as I am adamant to not depress others – an act of kindness or textbook psychosis?)
Symptom #1
Apathy can be rather contradictory. One moment, I am finding every single human gesture or activity utterly futile and deplorable, making me want to free myself from any connection with the human race; the next, the worry it causes can be quite a burden and I feel the tension burning across my shoulders as though I am bearing the weight of a yolk. Can you picture me as a dairy maid? Do I suit plaits?
Symptom #2
Paranoia! At least I think people say I’m paranoid behind my back (ho, ho). I have always been told to not worry about what others think of me, but that would seem to go against my very nature. Sometimes, I am driven by the very fear of what people may be thinking or assuming about me. I was once rather carefree and flamboyant, but over time I began to repress my natural urges as I realised how others may find them annoying. I spent most of my youth being told to ‘calm down’… either that or ‘cheer up’. I was an adolescent of extremes.
The majority of people feel the need to be liked and admired. I have always desired to be the entertainer. I wanted to be the one who made people laugh, to whom people would gather to hear stories or be the one whose talents could be applauded. Sadly, I feel that I have missed out on a number of ‘talent’ genes and ended up with a bag of neuroses and flaws.
And that leads into symptom number three; lack of self-worth…
Symptom #3
I often feel that I am unskilled, untalented and generally useless. The phrase ‘chocolate fireguard’ comes to mind, but at least that has the advantage of being delicious.
Not only do I feel unqualified to be of worth to anyone, I also lack an appreciation for my own looks and demeanour. Recently somebody pointed out that, as opposed to the ‘Law of Attraction’, I applied the ‘Law of Repulsion’ to myself. I simply do not exude any pheromones or any sexual confidence.
I look in the mirror and I grimace at what I see. (I suppose the fact I am grimacing is not going to help matters.)
Those who swagger with attitude and confidence both annoy me and leave me in awe.
How do they achieve that level of confidence? Does it come naturally? Did they perhaps buy it from an Innovations catalogue alongside a Scare-Cat for their lawn and a pair of lavender in-soles?
I know that one doesn’t need to be externally beautiful to be attractive and loved by others, but somehow I manage to remain deeply ‘unsexy’. (Why hasn’t Microsoft word queried that spelling? Is it actually a word? Seems so…)
I often recall a line written by Victoria Wood and apply it to myself; “…has all the sexual allure of kapok.”
These worrying doubts I have about myself have snowballed over time and now I cannot bear the thought of inflicting myself upon another poor soul, so my barriers rush up like hyper-alert border-security guards and keep me from finding a meaningful relationship. I find myself convinced that it would be a crime against humanity to make anyone suffer the insanity of Ben.
***
The worst aspect of my depression is the way I can often push people away and force myself to become reclusive and lonely. Unfortunately, this only exacerbates all three symptoms mentioned above. One cannot expect to receive help from those who have been shut out. There will come a time when good friends tire of trying; they may attempt to call through the letterbox for a while but eventually they’ll bugger off and go for a pint down the local and will leave me to my own devices.
This is where I need to go back to my predetermined ploys to shoehorn my way out of the mire (mixed metaphors were on special at the market this week) and try to alleviate my anxieties. No doubt the issues will remain there, bubbling away like a ratatouille in a slow-cooker, but as long as I can keep attempting rational thought and examining the stew, I shan’t let it bubble over and leave burnt bits of veg on the stove.
Oh, and the title of this post... Yeah, it does sound like a cry for help, doesn’t it? It was the closest Kirsty MacColl song to the sensitive issue, so I thought it would do.
In a bizarre segue; I shall leave you with another Victoria Wood moment:
Gail: Why are they called ‘Alps’, Carl?
Carl: Well, people go skiing on them ‘n’ fall off, don’t they? And they go “‘elp! ‘elp” but it sounds like “alp” because they all have earmuffs on.
For more information, please take a look at the following websites.
www.beyondblue.org.au/
www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/
I have written about that devilish morbid cloud once before (see ‘Shutting the Doors’), but that was more about how I deal with those darker days. This post is more about the symptoms which can often disguise themselves in cunning and ways. I do not intend for this to be a self-pitying blog, nor do I request sympathy. This is about expressing the signs of that haunting black dog with the small hope that somebody else may benefit from it… or at least have a jolly good laugh.
(You will note that I apply a touch of levity to my words as I am adamant to not depress others – an act of kindness or textbook psychosis?)
Symptom #1
Apathy can be rather contradictory. One moment, I am finding every single human gesture or activity utterly futile and deplorable, making me want to free myself from any connection with the human race; the next, the worry it causes can be quite a burden and I feel the tension burning across my shoulders as though I am bearing the weight of a yolk. Can you picture me as a dairy maid? Do I suit plaits?
Symptom #2
Paranoia! At least I think people say I’m paranoid behind my back (ho, ho). I have always been told to not worry about what others think of me, but that would seem to go against my very nature. Sometimes, I am driven by the very fear of what people may be thinking or assuming about me. I was once rather carefree and flamboyant, but over time I began to repress my natural urges as I realised how others may find them annoying. I spent most of my youth being told to ‘calm down’… either that or ‘cheer up’. I was an adolescent of extremes.
The majority of people feel the need to be liked and admired. I have always desired to be the entertainer. I wanted to be the one who made people laugh, to whom people would gather to hear stories or be the one whose talents could be applauded. Sadly, I feel that I have missed out on a number of ‘talent’ genes and ended up with a bag of neuroses and flaws.
And that leads into symptom number three; lack of self-worth…
Symptom #3
I often feel that I am unskilled, untalented and generally useless. The phrase ‘chocolate fireguard’ comes to mind, but at least that has the advantage of being delicious.
Not only do I feel unqualified to be of worth to anyone, I also lack an appreciation for my own looks and demeanour. Recently somebody pointed out that, as opposed to the ‘Law of Attraction’, I applied the ‘Law of Repulsion’ to myself. I simply do not exude any pheromones or any sexual confidence.
I look in the mirror and I grimace at what I see. (I suppose the fact I am grimacing is not going to help matters.)
Those who swagger with attitude and confidence both annoy me and leave me in awe.
How do they achieve that level of confidence? Does it come naturally? Did they perhaps buy it from an Innovations catalogue alongside a Scare-Cat for their lawn and a pair of lavender in-soles?
I know that one doesn’t need to be externally beautiful to be attractive and loved by others, but somehow I manage to remain deeply ‘unsexy’. (Why hasn’t Microsoft word queried that spelling? Is it actually a word? Seems so…)
I often recall a line written by Victoria Wood and apply it to myself; “…has all the sexual allure of kapok.”
These worrying doubts I have about myself have snowballed over time and now I cannot bear the thought of inflicting myself upon another poor soul, so my barriers rush up like hyper-alert border-security guards and keep me from finding a meaningful relationship. I find myself convinced that it would be a crime against humanity to make anyone suffer the insanity of Ben.
***
The worst aspect of my depression is the way I can often push people away and force myself to become reclusive and lonely. Unfortunately, this only exacerbates all three symptoms mentioned above. One cannot expect to receive help from those who have been shut out. There will come a time when good friends tire of trying; they may attempt to call through the letterbox for a while but eventually they’ll bugger off and go for a pint down the local and will leave me to my own devices.
This is where I need to go back to my predetermined ploys to shoehorn my way out of the mire (mixed metaphors were on special at the market this week) and try to alleviate my anxieties. No doubt the issues will remain there, bubbling away like a ratatouille in a slow-cooker, but as long as I can keep attempting rational thought and examining the stew, I shan’t let it bubble over and leave burnt bits of veg on the stove.
Oh, and the title of this post... Yeah, it does sound like a cry for help, doesn’t it? It was the closest Kirsty MacColl song to the sensitive issue, so I thought it would do.
In a bizarre segue; I shall leave you with another Victoria Wood moment:
Gail: Why are they called ‘Alps’, Carl?
Carl: Well, people go skiing on them ‘n’ fall off, don’t they? And they go “‘elp! ‘elp” but it sounds like “alp” because they all have earmuffs on.
For more information, please take a look at the following websites.
www.beyondblue.org.au/
www.blackdoginstitute.org.au/
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Libertango
Having attended a school where music tastes were mocked first, sexuality second, I have always been a little curbed when discussing my music tastes. Even to this day I have issues buying CDs over the counter for fear of laughter or pitying glances. Thank heavens for the internet.
My music collection during my tender years was a bit of an embarrassment. My vinyls consisted of hand-me-downs and discs bought from car-boot sales. They included Max Bygraves, The Jets, a Playaway album and Rupert and the Firebird.
I spent a lot of the eighties listening to Michael Jackson, Diana Ross and Five Star and, embarrassingly, I even recall defending my choices by saying the old adage “Blacks have great rhythm!” (Yes, I know, I know… but I was young, naïve and eager to evade derision.) I was also a big fan of Swing Out Sister, but more of them later.
In the nineties I was obsessed with Beverley Craven, The Commitments and The Kinks but it was of course Kirsty MacColl who took the highest pedestal.
Due to peer pressure, I did try and get into the groove of the cooler side of music. Attending every performance of my brother’s band and listening to the Wayne’s World album didn’t really cut it, frankly. I guess my Betty Boo CDs exposed my cheesy side a little too glaringly.
I did have my darker days as I had a tumultuous time dealing with the whole gay thing. I would lie on the bedroom floor in the dark listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s score to Damien: Omen II hoping the world would leave me alone or at least give me a billion pounds so I could buy that elusive Gothic mansion I had my eyes on. When I rose from those bleak moods, I would stick on some Del Shannon and sing-a-long to Runaway.
In an effort to shed the burden of guilty pleasures, I thought I’d write about the music that brought me to the present day. I can’t detail every single artist or band who brought me enjoyment, but here are a few highlights…
Madonna
I am a ‘90s Madonna’ fan. I wasn’t swayed by her in the 1980s (although I thought Material Girl and Express Yourself were cheeky and fun) but by the nineties, I was becoming in sync with her metamorphosis. I was a late developer, sexually (come to think of it, I’m still developing, bloody retarded hormones!) and when I was desperately seeking (!) some confirmation that I could be who I needed to be, Madonna was going through her Erotica/Bedtime Stories phase and I almost took Human Nature as my anthem - “I’m not you bitch, don’t hang your shit on me.”
That era was bookended with two of my favourite albums - I’m Breathless and Ray of Light. The former was my proper introduction to old Madge through a corridor lined with 1940s wallpaper and jazzy swing beats. The latter was her most accomplished album to date and her voice was at its peak thanks to the training she undertook whilst working on Evita.
I felt it was a shame that the 21st century brought an endless stream of dance-themed albums with little deviation. Reinvention was her hallmark for the first two decades of her career. She needs to take some of her own advice, methinks.
In one moment of bravery, I did dress up as Madonna for Comic Relief and performed Hanky Panky and Vogue for a refectory full of college students. It would have helped had I known all the words.
Swing Out Sister
From the moment I heard Breakout I was in love with Corinne Drewery. Maybe if I’d seen the video and witnessed her love of jangly bangles, I may have been less thrilled. Corinne reminded me of my step-mother Eileen, mainly because they had similar haircuts, and it was Eileen’s copy of the debut album It’s Better to Travel that I practically commandeered for my own aural pleasure. I simply adored Twilight World and still do.
Many people think that was the last of Swing Out Sister until they remember that they did a cover version of La La Means I Love You which was featured on the soundtrack to Four Weddings and a Funeral. Thankfully, for fans like me, their success continued in Japan of all places and they are still doing their thing and producing music which is unique and brilliant to this day. I recently completed my collection of Swing Out Sister albums having found the brilliant Filth and Dreams on line. This is their notoriously difficult to find sixth album from 1999 which was only released in Japan. There have been three more since and I am hoping that there will be a tenth next year. Thirty years in the business and still entertaining me greatly. For anyone interested in seeking out their loungey, jazzy style, I’d recommend Beautiful Mess, The Living Return and Filth and Dreams (if you can find it!)
Beverley Craven
As with Swing Out Sister, I knew I was going to love Beverley from the moment I heard her debut single. She was on Top of the Pops performing her superb Promise Me and I felt something inside click and I was an instant fan.
During a hiatus to raise a family and battle cancer, her songs never left the playlists of my mind. When she returned to music a couple of years ago, it was as though she’d never left and her fourth album Close to Home was like an intimate concert especially for her devoted fans.
During my last couple of years at school, Beverley was riding the heights of popularity and had some massive sell-out concerts. I was desperate to attend one, but could simply not afford to go. However, there was a special promotion where one could obtain free tickets as part of a run of charity concerts (Sadly, I forget the charity now).
I wanted to go so badly and I was determined to do so. There was one problem. The tokens one had to collect were only available from the inside of Tampax packets, printed on the leaflet within the box.
So, using the charm I was born with, I persuaded a number of girl friends to part with their tokens (I even bought some myself!)
One of my friends, feeling slightly embarrassed about the whole thing, gave me the tokens but had discreetly cut off the illustrations showing how to insert the product into the body.
The end result was positive and I eventually made it to Sheffield. The tickets were for two seats and I had to take someone who could drive – so I took my brother who was also a fan…
…we were the only blokes there.
The hippodrome was crawling with Tampon-wielding usherettes, handing out free samples and chocolates for those in need. I was keen to get a goody bag and persuaded one attendant to keep one aside, despite my penis, as I was such a fan – only because I knew there was a cassette sampler of one of Beverley’s songs inside.
I still have that tape along with some very find memories.
Harry Connick Jr.
Oh, Harry.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
Why won’t you dump Jill Goodacre and come and marry me?
Whether he is covering a smooth classic or belting out one of his own numbers, he exudes the sexy confidence of a truly talented musician. I love the old Big Band/Swing thing and Harry is an expert at caressing our emotions with his dulcet tones. I’d take Harry over Michael Buble any day for the same reason that I’d take Tony Bennett over Frank Sinatra. Michael and Frank are a little too perfect and clinical in their style – bloody amazing, obviously – but Harry and Tony have that extra dollop of heart as far as I’m concerned. There’s a little extra dose of magic there.
I still have not managed to see Harry perform live but hopefully one day in the future... Our eyes will meet between stage and stalls and he will suddenly be overcome with sexual abandon and - *slaps self* Ahem… anyway, where was I?
Bebel Gilberto
Bebel is a late addition to my music library – well, I say “late” but I was amongst the first to discover her – you know, prior to every single café in Christendom using Tanto Tempo as mood music.
It was the year 2000 and I was on that heinous example of globalisation gone awry, Borders, browsing as one does – looking for items and then searching for them cheaper elsewhere. Overhead, I could hear these beautiful melodies embracing my ears and I went to the information counter and for once and once only, I received some actual information (At Borders! I know! Incredible!) The very nice woman informed me it was this little known Brazilian artist, Bebel Gilberto and I was smitten. I actually gave the hungry beast (the shop, not the nice lady) my money and take home the CD and it became a frequent sound at the shop where I worked for a few months.
A few years later, Bebel visited Melbourne on tour and I got to see her live. It was a beautiful experience and I had shivers down my spine and even welled-up with tears at one point. Bebel is one of the most sensual performers around – the opposite to the forced eroticism of Madonna – it was all natural and sensual. Pure bliss.
Betty Boo
Don’t mock me. I love her! Sure she dropped her microphone whilst miming. If it had happened these days, no one would care. She was sprightly, entertaining, funny and way ahead of her time.
Have you heard Grrr! It’s Betty Boo? It’s an awesome summer album and was even cited by Old Madge herself as being “Criminally underrated”. Damn straight.
Kirsty MacColl
There is nothing I can say here about Kirsty that I haven’t written many times before. So I shall be brief in my overt enthusiasm for this wonderful and much-missed performer.
1) If it wasn’t for French and Saunders, I’d not be so aware of her work.
2) She ‘helped’ me during my lowest ebb with her touching music.
3) Tropical Brainstorm is my favourite album ever, bar none.
4) When she died, I broke a little bit inside and still feel that fracture daily.
5) I am grateful beyond words that I got to see her perform live.
I understand she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, there has never been anyone as clever, witty and original as the late Kirsty MacColl.
So, I could go on (and on) and talk about the influence of Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Lena Horne, The Kinks, The Pasadena Roof Orchestra, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, various musical soundtracks (“Aren’t all musicals gay?” asks Roy in The IT Crowd) and a whole bunch of odds and ends including that CD of Del Shannon’s hits and a variety of Marilyn Monroe compilations, but I shan’t and won’t.
Music is a deeply personal thing and, as with comedy, it’s a matter of taste. I try not to judge others as I know I have no right to do so.
So, next time you’re in the local CD store and you’re feeling a tad embarrassed about buying the Spice Girls greatest hits, take a deep breath and purchase with confidence – I know when I did, I actually received some kudos from the girl at the checkout.
Well, she was nine.
One final note: The worst album ever to be created is one I bought as a booby-prize for a party – it was called Pan Pipes play Celine Dion or some such rubbish. Absolutely dire. Unfathomably awful. Yet… hilarious.
My music collection during my tender years was a bit of an embarrassment. My vinyls consisted of hand-me-downs and discs bought from car-boot sales. They included Max Bygraves, The Jets, a Playaway album and Rupert and the Firebird.
I spent a lot of the eighties listening to Michael Jackson, Diana Ross and Five Star and, embarrassingly, I even recall defending my choices by saying the old adage “Blacks have great rhythm!” (Yes, I know, I know… but I was young, naïve and eager to evade derision.) I was also a big fan of Swing Out Sister, but more of them later.
In the nineties I was obsessed with Beverley Craven, The Commitments and The Kinks but it was of course Kirsty MacColl who took the highest pedestal.
Due to peer pressure, I did try and get into the groove of the cooler side of music. Attending every performance of my brother’s band and listening to the Wayne’s World album didn’t really cut it, frankly. I guess my Betty Boo CDs exposed my cheesy side a little too glaringly.
I did have my darker days as I had a tumultuous time dealing with the whole gay thing. I would lie on the bedroom floor in the dark listening to Jerry Goldsmith’s score to Damien: Omen II hoping the world would leave me alone or at least give me a billion pounds so I could buy that elusive Gothic mansion I had my eyes on. When I rose from those bleak moods, I would stick on some Del Shannon and sing-a-long to Runaway.
In an effort to shed the burden of guilty pleasures, I thought I’d write about the music that brought me to the present day. I can’t detail every single artist or band who brought me enjoyment, but here are a few highlights…
Madonna
I am a ‘90s Madonna’ fan. I wasn’t swayed by her in the 1980s (although I thought Material Girl and Express Yourself were cheeky and fun) but by the nineties, I was becoming in sync with her metamorphosis. I was a late developer, sexually (come to think of it, I’m still developing, bloody retarded hormones!) and when I was desperately seeking (!) some confirmation that I could be who I needed to be, Madonna was going through her Erotica/Bedtime Stories phase and I almost took Human Nature as my anthem - “I’m not you bitch, don’t hang your shit on me.”
That era was bookended with two of my favourite albums - I’m Breathless and Ray of Light. The former was my proper introduction to old Madge through a corridor lined with 1940s wallpaper and jazzy swing beats. The latter was her most accomplished album to date and her voice was at its peak thanks to the training she undertook whilst working on Evita.
I felt it was a shame that the 21st century brought an endless stream of dance-themed albums with little deviation. Reinvention was her hallmark for the first two decades of her career. She needs to take some of her own advice, methinks.
In one moment of bravery, I did dress up as Madonna for Comic Relief and performed Hanky Panky and Vogue for a refectory full of college students. It would have helped had I known all the words.
Swing Out Sister
From the moment I heard Breakout I was in love with Corinne Drewery. Maybe if I’d seen the video and witnessed her love of jangly bangles, I may have been less thrilled. Corinne reminded me of my step-mother Eileen, mainly because they had similar haircuts, and it was Eileen’s copy of the debut album It’s Better to Travel that I practically commandeered for my own aural pleasure. I simply adored Twilight World and still do.
Many people think that was the last of Swing Out Sister until they remember that they did a cover version of La La Means I Love You which was featured on the soundtrack to Four Weddings and a Funeral. Thankfully, for fans like me, their success continued in Japan of all places and they are still doing their thing and producing music which is unique and brilliant to this day. I recently completed my collection of Swing Out Sister albums having found the brilliant Filth and Dreams on line. This is their notoriously difficult to find sixth album from 1999 which was only released in Japan. There have been three more since and I am hoping that there will be a tenth next year. Thirty years in the business and still entertaining me greatly. For anyone interested in seeking out their loungey, jazzy style, I’d recommend Beautiful Mess, The Living Return and Filth and Dreams (if you can find it!)
Beverley Craven
As with Swing Out Sister, I knew I was going to love Beverley from the moment I heard her debut single. She was on Top of the Pops performing her superb Promise Me and I felt something inside click and I was an instant fan.
During a hiatus to raise a family and battle cancer, her songs never left the playlists of my mind. When she returned to music a couple of years ago, it was as though she’d never left and her fourth album Close to Home was like an intimate concert especially for her devoted fans.
During my last couple of years at school, Beverley was riding the heights of popularity and had some massive sell-out concerts. I was desperate to attend one, but could simply not afford to go. However, there was a special promotion where one could obtain free tickets as part of a run of charity concerts (Sadly, I forget the charity now).
I wanted to go so badly and I was determined to do so. There was one problem. The tokens one had to collect were only available from the inside of Tampax packets, printed on the leaflet within the box.
So, using the charm I was born with, I persuaded a number of girl friends to part with their tokens (I even bought some myself!)
One of my friends, feeling slightly embarrassed about the whole thing, gave me the tokens but had discreetly cut off the illustrations showing how to insert the product into the body.
The end result was positive and I eventually made it to Sheffield. The tickets were for two seats and I had to take someone who could drive – so I took my brother who was also a fan…
…we were the only blokes there.
The hippodrome was crawling with Tampon-wielding usherettes, handing out free samples and chocolates for those in need. I was keen to get a goody bag and persuaded one attendant to keep one aside, despite my penis, as I was such a fan – only because I knew there was a cassette sampler of one of Beverley’s songs inside.
I still have that tape along with some very find memories.
Harry Connick Jr.
Oh, Harry.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
Why won’t you dump Jill Goodacre and come and marry me?
Whether he is covering a smooth classic or belting out one of his own numbers, he exudes the sexy confidence of a truly talented musician. I love the old Big Band/Swing thing and Harry is an expert at caressing our emotions with his dulcet tones. I’d take Harry over Michael Buble any day for the same reason that I’d take Tony Bennett over Frank Sinatra. Michael and Frank are a little too perfect and clinical in their style – bloody amazing, obviously – but Harry and Tony have that extra dollop of heart as far as I’m concerned. There’s a little extra dose of magic there.
I still have not managed to see Harry perform live but hopefully one day in the future... Our eyes will meet between stage and stalls and he will suddenly be overcome with sexual abandon and - *slaps self* Ahem… anyway, where was I?
Bebel Gilberto
Bebel is a late addition to my music library – well, I say “late” but I was amongst the first to discover her – you know, prior to every single café in Christendom using Tanto Tempo as mood music.
It was the year 2000 and I was on that heinous example of globalisation gone awry, Borders, browsing as one does – looking for items and then searching for them cheaper elsewhere. Overhead, I could hear these beautiful melodies embracing my ears and I went to the information counter and for once and once only, I received some actual information (At Borders! I know! Incredible!) The very nice woman informed me it was this little known Brazilian artist, Bebel Gilberto and I was smitten. I actually gave the hungry beast (the shop, not the nice lady) my money and take home the CD and it became a frequent sound at the shop where I worked for a few months.
A few years later, Bebel visited Melbourne on tour and I got to see her live. It was a beautiful experience and I had shivers down my spine and even welled-up with tears at one point. Bebel is one of the most sensual performers around – the opposite to the forced eroticism of Madonna – it was all natural and sensual. Pure bliss.
Betty Boo
Don’t mock me. I love her! Sure she dropped her microphone whilst miming. If it had happened these days, no one would care. She was sprightly, entertaining, funny and way ahead of her time.
Have you heard Grrr! It’s Betty Boo? It’s an awesome summer album and was even cited by Old Madge herself as being “Criminally underrated”. Damn straight.
Kirsty MacColl
There is nothing I can say here about Kirsty that I haven’t written many times before. So I shall be brief in my overt enthusiasm for this wonderful and much-missed performer.
1) If it wasn’t for French and Saunders, I’d not be so aware of her work.
2) She ‘helped’ me during my lowest ebb with her touching music.
3) Tropical Brainstorm is my favourite album ever, bar none.
4) When she died, I broke a little bit inside and still feel that fracture daily.
5) I am grateful beyond words that I got to see her perform live.
I understand she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but for me, there has never been anyone as clever, witty and original as the late Kirsty MacColl.
So, I could go on (and on) and talk about the influence of Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Lena Horne, The Kinks, The Pasadena Roof Orchestra, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, various musical soundtracks (“Aren’t all musicals gay?” asks Roy in The IT Crowd) and a whole bunch of odds and ends including that CD of Del Shannon’s hits and a variety of Marilyn Monroe compilations, but I shan’t and won’t.
Music is a deeply personal thing and, as with comedy, it’s a matter of taste. I try not to judge others as I know I have no right to do so.
So, next time you’re in the local CD store and you’re feeling a tad embarrassed about buying the Spice Girls greatest hits, take a deep breath and purchase with confidence – I know when I did, I actually received some kudos from the girl at the checkout.
Well, she was nine.
One final note: The worst album ever to be created is one I bought as a booby-prize for a party – it was called Pan Pipes play Celine Dion or some such rubbish. Absolutely dire. Unfathomably awful. Yet… hilarious.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
He's On The Beach
I have just returned home after a beautiful two-hour walk. Spring seems to have finally arrived in Melbourne and there were lots of people up and about making the most of the splendid sunshine and cool breeze.
As I walked along the beach by the lapping shore, breathing in the aromatic salty smells one can only find in such locations, I was astonished by the remnants of shells and the notion of all the amazing life this planet creates. It all seems so minor and insignificant to our daily lives but it's also so much bigger than us and often far more impressive.
Then I stumble across litter. Shards of debris left by some ignorant twat who cares so little for the natural beauty of our world. Oh, it makes my heart ache. :(
I frown, curse under my breath and walk on daydreaming about a time when I might be able to find a quiet little corner of the earth away from the crowds and live a peaceful life. *sigh*
Let me not digress... back to the more pleasant thoughts:
Initially, the beach is reasonably quiet. Then the joggers and the dog-walkers come along. It seems these early-risers are far more polite and will return the gesture of 'good morning' despite not knowing who I am.
I see families out with their children and the excited glee of their young faces as they hurtle towards the waves. I reminisce about my childhood when a trip to the beach was a rare treat. Even if it was a cold Northern Hemisphere winter, there was still this well of thrilling energy within one's stomach as one approached the open beach. Armed with a yellow bucket shaped as an upside-down castle with a stubby spade to match, I'd run from the car along the concrete path to over the brow of a dune... sometimes my stomach would lurch slightly with disappointment when seeing hordes of people when my imagination had pictured an cast empty play area all for me, but I would soon get over it and spend hours on end making castles, swimming and digging pits.
The simple pleasures, eh?
I may endeavour to get out walking more often this coming summer.
As I walked along the beach by the lapping shore, breathing in the aromatic salty smells one can only find in such locations, I was astonished by the remnants of shells and the notion of all the amazing life this planet creates. It all seems so minor and insignificant to our daily lives but it's also so much bigger than us and often far more impressive.
Then I stumble across litter. Shards of debris left by some ignorant twat who cares so little for the natural beauty of our world. Oh, it makes my heart ache. :(
I frown, curse under my breath and walk on daydreaming about a time when I might be able to find a quiet little corner of the earth away from the crowds and live a peaceful life. *sigh*
Let me not digress... back to the more pleasant thoughts:
Initially, the beach is reasonably quiet. Then the joggers and the dog-walkers come along. It seems these early-risers are far more polite and will return the gesture of 'good morning' despite not knowing who I am.
I see families out with their children and the excited glee of their young faces as they hurtle towards the waves. I reminisce about my childhood when a trip to the beach was a rare treat. Even if it was a cold Northern Hemisphere winter, there was still this well of thrilling energy within one's stomach as one approached the open beach. Armed with a yellow bucket shaped as an upside-down castle with a stubby spade to match, I'd run from the car along the concrete path to over the brow of a dune... sometimes my stomach would lurch slightly with disappointment when seeing hordes of people when my imagination had pictured an cast empty play area all for me, but I would soon get over it and spend hours on end making castles, swimming and digging pits.
The simple pleasures, eh?
I may endeavour to get out walking more often this coming summer.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Dear John
On Monday, I received my DVD boxset of the classic 1980’s BBC sitcom, Dear John. I have fond memories of watching the show with my brother all those years ago (I was only 11 – bless!)
Each night this week, I watched one disc from the box. Monday night was series 1, episodes 1-4; Tuesday night was the last three of that debut season. Wednesday night was the first half of series two and Thursday was the remainder plus the Christmas special which turned out to be the finale. I was always under the impression that this was due to the unfortunate death of the lead actor, Ralph Bates, but he didn’t actually pass away until four years later so I don’t know why I had that notion in my head.
The basic premise sounds depressing, but stick with me…
John is divorced by his wife when she leaves him for his best mate, Mike. John moves into a small rented room and having been shunned by his cliquey friends (all of whom prefer ‘couples’ when socialising) decides to join a club for the divorced and separated. The people he meets are quite an eclectic bunch with whom he only has the one thing in common – being alone.
The series was remade in America a year or so later as Dear John USA (God! The geniuses who came up with that title…) and that ran for four seasons. Suffice to say, I never went out of my way to watch that. Maybe it was good, who knows? Not I.
Although I hadn’t seen it for well over 20 years (at least) I was surprised to find so many comedic lines flooding back to me. I was amazed to find myself quoting them as they were spoken. The party held by Mrs Boyd-Peters has one of the all-time classic moments of the series, but I simply cannot tell you about it here as it needs to be enjoyed when viewed properly. Still, I chimed in with the humdinger of a quote when the time came.
Ralph Bates played John Lacey to perfection. He was beautifully bewildered, depressed and essentially flawed but still rather lovable at the same time.
Belinda Lang’s Kate was sassy and acerbic – one can see why she ended up getting the lead in 2.4 Children.
Peter Denyer’s Ralph is very much a caricature but once again, he was played with heart and the episode with the death of his friend Terry is splendid.
Rachel Bell is one of those actresses that I get excited about when I see her name in a cast list. I think she is mesmeric to watch – an under-rated comedienne who can play the snobbish social climber as well as Penelope Keith any day. As Louise, the woman who runs the 1-2-1 social club, she is the epitome of the Eighties’ middle-class yuppie wannabe and her overt interest in people’s sex lives is genuinely entertaining.
All of these elements could have made for an adequate and enjoyable situation comedy, but there was one more ingredient which strengthened the mix and that was Kirk St Moritz, played by Peter Blake.
He was the arrogant, cocky, vain, Lothario who could have been the love child of John Travolta and The Fonz. Once again, this character could have been all clichés and a one-joke wonder, but John Sullivan’s writing and Peter Blake’s performance gave Kirk a much deeper history. This layering of character resulted in a beautiful moment in the finale which should have any viewer grinning like a lunatic.
Although there were a variety of other characters throughout the run, there was one other performance I really want to mention – that is Irene Prador as Mrs Lemenski, John’s Polish neighbour. For two series, she was the one to criticise John and his crazy way of talking to himself. She would often call him a ‘Looney Man’ or some such insulting term. However, her role in the Christmas finale is as beautiful and touching as anything one could ever hope for in a festive episode and I genuinely shed a tear as I relived those scenes again.
Goodness, it is hard writing about the show when I don’t want to give anything away to those who have yet to discover it on DVD.
In fairness, it wasn’t ever going to be the greatest situation comedy of all-time and there were some moments which missed the mark. Even after the praise I have heaped upon it in this post, I cannot deny that the first half of series two is its lowest point (but it does improve by the end!)
If you have never seen it, give it a go. The series is available on DVD in the UK from Acorn Media and, yes, it may seem a little dated, but it is sure as hell funnier than some of the tripe that gets churned out these days.
Thanks to a happy coincidence, Kirsty MacColl also wrote a number called ‘Dear John’, so I didn’t need to find some tenuous link for the title of this post in my ongoing task of naming all posts after one her songs. Huzzah.
Each night this week, I watched one disc from the box. Monday night was series 1, episodes 1-4; Tuesday night was the last three of that debut season. Wednesday night was the first half of series two and Thursday was the remainder plus the Christmas special which turned out to be the finale. I was always under the impression that this was due to the unfortunate death of the lead actor, Ralph Bates, but he didn’t actually pass away until four years later so I don’t know why I had that notion in my head.
The basic premise sounds depressing, but stick with me…
John is divorced by his wife when she leaves him for his best mate, Mike. John moves into a small rented room and having been shunned by his cliquey friends (all of whom prefer ‘couples’ when socialising) decides to join a club for the divorced and separated. The people he meets are quite an eclectic bunch with whom he only has the one thing in common – being alone.
The series was remade in America a year or so later as Dear John USA (God! The geniuses who came up with that title…) and that ran for four seasons. Suffice to say, I never went out of my way to watch that. Maybe it was good, who knows? Not I.
Although I hadn’t seen it for well over 20 years (at least) I was surprised to find so many comedic lines flooding back to me. I was amazed to find myself quoting them as they were spoken. The party held by Mrs Boyd-Peters has one of the all-time classic moments of the series, but I simply cannot tell you about it here as it needs to be enjoyed when viewed properly. Still, I chimed in with the humdinger of a quote when the time came.
Ralph Bates played John Lacey to perfection. He was beautifully bewildered, depressed and essentially flawed but still rather lovable at the same time.
Belinda Lang’s Kate was sassy and acerbic – one can see why she ended up getting the lead in 2.4 Children.
Peter Denyer’s Ralph is very much a caricature but once again, he was played with heart and the episode with the death of his friend Terry is splendid.
Rachel Bell is one of those actresses that I get excited about when I see her name in a cast list. I think she is mesmeric to watch – an under-rated comedienne who can play the snobbish social climber as well as Penelope Keith any day. As Louise, the woman who runs the 1-2-1 social club, she is the epitome of the Eighties’ middle-class yuppie wannabe and her overt interest in people’s sex lives is genuinely entertaining.
All of these elements could have made for an adequate and enjoyable situation comedy, but there was one more ingredient which strengthened the mix and that was Kirk St Moritz, played by Peter Blake.
He was the arrogant, cocky, vain, Lothario who could have been the love child of John Travolta and The Fonz. Once again, this character could have been all clichés and a one-joke wonder, but John Sullivan’s writing and Peter Blake’s performance gave Kirk a much deeper history. This layering of character resulted in a beautiful moment in the finale which should have any viewer grinning like a lunatic.
Although there were a variety of other characters throughout the run, there was one other performance I really want to mention – that is Irene Prador as Mrs Lemenski, John’s Polish neighbour. For two series, she was the one to criticise John and his crazy way of talking to himself. She would often call him a ‘Looney Man’ or some such insulting term. However, her role in the Christmas finale is as beautiful and touching as anything one could ever hope for in a festive episode and I genuinely shed a tear as I relived those scenes again.
Goodness, it is hard writing about the show when I don’t want to give anything away to those who have yet to discover it on DVD.
In fairness, it wasn’t ever going to be the greatest situation comedy of all-time and there were some moments which missed the mark. Even after the praise I have heaped upon it in this post, I cannot deny that the first half of series two is its lowest point (but it does improve by the end!)
If you have never seen it, give it a go. The series is available on DVD in the UK from Acorn Media and, yes, it may seem a little dated, but it is sure as hell funnier than some of the tripe that gets churned out these days.
Thanks to a happy coincidence, Kirsty MacColl also wrote a number called ‘Dear John’, so I didn’t need to find some tenuous link for the title of this post in my ongoing task of naming all posts after one her songs. Huzzah.
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