w.atching the w.orld unw.ind

Being an atheist lapsed roman candle, I would never ('cos of the guilt) make light of others' religious beliefs.

But today, I passed a church called "Ebenezer Strict Baptist Chapel" and I wondered if they ever have 'relatively easy on the rules' dress-down days? Otherwise, who would be tempted to knock on their door and ask for a set of the qualifying conditions to take away? Just in case, y'know.

Missed marketing opportunity there, methinks.

Labels: Religion

The turtles in the coastal waters off the Hawaiian islands are safeguarded by law. In fact, there's a $15,000 fine for 'harrassing or chasing' them.

So when we were finning peaceably over some beautiful antler and brain coral and happened across a dozing specimen, we weren't sure exactly what to do.

Our shadow or exhaust bubbles must have woken the creature, though, because as we tried to move away, it glided up from the seabed and with a look of minimal interest, took a tour around us. Deciding that we weren't a threat (or edible) it then began to gracefully drift away.

At that point, I remembered about the camera and, hoping that photography didn't constitute 'harrassment', snapped this shot.

Back on land, we decided that it had been the most memorable, albeit fleeting, association with a wild animal. Until, of course, we swam with ...

to be continued

Brian Auger and the Trinity - This meals on wheel's on fire.

The king ragworm hurtled towards the grey horizon on its fastest, but ultimately last, journey on this planet. It followed the lead weight to the sea bed, to waft enticingly in the chill currents.

We stared, transfixed, at the rod tops, willing them to nod in staccato fashion, indicating a bite. The leaden sky oozed cold sheets of rain, which slid off of our hoods and ran into our eyes, so that we had to shake our heads like wet dogs to regain our vision.

After three hours, with numbed hands and only a 4" school bass to show for our efforts (it was returned alive, of course) we wrapped up the tackle and headed for home.

But as it weas the first time we'd shore-fished in over four years, we both agreed it had been great fun and a great end to a day which had seen England restored to well-earned glory in Australia. Saturday is for sport, I've decided.

I've been threeconded. For the past 4 years, I've been seconded to another part of the company and now I've been sold on like a third party call girl to another division. And it only makes my commute 140 miles a day. So postings may be a bit random (no change there, do I hear?).

Boomtown Rats - Lookin' after No.1's cat while they're away on holiday.

Rod Stewart

Smiler
Every picture tells a story

(Thanks to “Smiler” for links.)

Yes, yes, I know full well that Roderick’s work is freely available in any media format you could care to mention. But I’ve re-acquired an almost visceral appetite for vinyl and am thoroughly enjoying the ability to mix and re-order tracks to my preference.

On Smiler, the beat switches effortlessly from the driving (sic) pulse of the John/Taupin “Let me be your car” to Dylan’s “Girl from the North Country”.

Then on EPTAS (one of a short range of adage-based titles, such as “Never a dull moment”) Kenny Jones’ semi drum solo on “(I know) I’m losing you” sits congruously (no double-negatives here!) with another Dylan tribute “Tomorrow is such a long time”.

I guest blogged elsewhere about having seen Mr.S. last year and paid for a seat which I occupied for all of three seconds, before he bounded on stage and the world stood up as one, never to return to sedentary mode.

Prior to this, the video screens were showing footage of, among other things, the man himself ironing one of his frilly shirts. Now the stories of his parsimony are legion, but I reckon even he has better things to do with his time. But this scene of domestic normality prompted the three harridans behind me to discuss what they’d expect in return for performing this chore for him.

Honestly, it was like having the script for a pr0n film being read to you. I was half worried about being used as a sex slave when the lights went down! Then I noticed that one of the harridans wasn’t actually too bad-looking, when I turned round to give them a cheesy grin and … No, No, back to the story.

The band included a 6’ blonde saxophonist, wearing a red leather what I’m reliably informed is called a “fanny pelmet” (British? American?). That certainly shut the harridans up when she sashayed down amongst the audience in the wind-up to the finale. My god, I could have strayed …

Ah well, reverie over, back to the decks. Looks like they need a damn good holy-stoning after all this burning.

‘Tell me what you got to look so pleased about’ – “London Lady” – The Stranglers

My brother was visiting our dad in hospital, as a doctor was making his rounds.

“You’re in very good condition for your age, Mr.D. Senior” said the quack.

“Yes” acknowledged The Old Man, “I’ve still got everything I came into the world with”.

“No you haven’t”, corrected Bruv, “you haven’t got any teeth”.

Po-faced, Dad countered with “But I wasn’t born with any teeth”.

Apparently the doctor laughed so hard, he nearly discharged himself.

A colleague has offered to scan in some of my old transparencies, so that I can print them out as Christmas card fillers.

I hauled the projector out of the roof at the weekend and was amazed that it still worked. In one of the carousels was a landscape scene which I probably haven’t seen since I took the photo – thirty years ago.

My wife and I accompanied two other couples on a caravanette tour of Wales and Scotland. Both of the other guys were into orienteering and dragged me up the Brecon Beacons and Ben Nevis. Having survived, I was ‘invited’ to walk a horseshoe-shaped ring of hills with them, somewhere (I believe) in the Strathconan Valley).

We got lost, the mists came down, our clothing was barely adequate – all the stories you see on the news and think “How can people be so stupid/thoughtless” etc. Hypothermia was a definite possibility when I’d declared I couldn’t walk another step, but was goaded on by the thought of the girls not knowing where the hell we were.

We did make it back (obviously) and next morning, both of my fellow travellers were laid up in their respective tents.

Without quite knowing why, I decided to walk back to the start of our trail and sat there, watching several red deer meander by and listening to birdsong, which was crystal clear in the unpolluted air.

It was really only then that I realised how lucky we were to have survived – and took that picture.

Roy Harper

Stormcock
Lifemask


I was first introduced to this guy by a former work colleague, who even kindly typed out the lyrics for me, because they were considered too risque for official liner notes. No “Parental Guidance” stickers in them days.

I then saw him, along with about five other members of the audience, at the Portsmouth Guildhall, where he put on a creditworthy performance (it had to be, there wasn’t even enough cash in the kitty to pay the usherette) and I was embarrassed for the dearth of support.

And then, there he was, alongside the music world-straddling Pink Floyd at Knebworth, singing “Have a cigar” from the freshly-released “Wish you were here” album. What quantum leap had made that transition possible?

Stormcock features the legendary Jimmy Page of LedZep fame, playing under an alias to presumably keep a better ratio of royalties from the preying I.R. Some beautiful ‘duelling guitars’ collaborations there.

And Lifemask has, on the whole of Side 2, “The Lord’s Prayer” written, by his own admission, while ‘under chemical influences”. Some of the sound effects do sound corny in retrospect but he was ever ready to experiment. Page, again, guested. My God, it was 30 years ago.

Billie Jo Spears – Electric blanket on the ground

Blimey - three posts in 25 hours!

I originally started this mini series of blogs because I acquired some software which lets me copy vinyl albums to CD. As I can’t post pictures of the covers, I’ve tried to provide links and have been genuinely quite amazed at how much is actually available from so long ago. Ain’t gonna stop me getting’ me money’s worth, though!

4 Way Street is the very aptly-named double album which marked the conjunction of Neil Young with what was the already well-established trio of David Crosby, Stephen Stills and Graham Nash.

These live recordings from 1970 are basically split into acoustic (“wooden”) music and some surprisingly rocking electric stuff, but sadly (and unusually for my vinyl collection), one side of the acoustics is so badly scratched, that not even AudioLab could render it listenable. Great shame, because the version of “Love the one you’re with” is especially good. The only salvageable track is announced as ‘Here’s a song guaranteed to bring you down. It’s called “Don’t let it bring you down”. Starts off real slow then kinda fizzles out altogether.’ So it got shelved from my CD. Well, with promotion like that …

“Triad” deals with a man being loved by two women - he can’t see a problem with that (unsurprisingly) but the girls clearly are, shall we say, a little more hesitant? Still, deeper than you’d think, given the subject - and sensitively worded. Who’s to say it’s wrong or unworkable, as long as everyone’s cool?

The acoustic tracks allow full rein to the beautifully rendered 3- and 4-part harmonies (only The Thorns are currently producing anything anywhere near as good) and include complementary guitar work which rides roughshod over the “Duelling Banjos” style of instrumental featured in the film “Deliverance”.

The electric tracks are driven along by the frenetic beat of the drummer, Johnny Barbata and the Jamaican bassist, Calvin Samuels. “Southern Man” - at over 13 minutes the longest of the album’s tracks - deals with the slave trade:

“Southern change’s gonna come at last
Now your crosses are burning fast”

and wonders at how long it took for the slaves to rail back at the planter’s bullwhips.

“Ohio” commemorates the deaths of four university students, gunned down by U.S. troops, trying to quell a riot - presaging the Tiananmen Square murders by some years.

Another 13-minuter, “Carry on” is a frantic ‘drive time’ number which can’t fail to have you hammering the steering wheel and leads to the sombre closing track, played virtually a capella:

“Find the cost of freedom
Buried in the ground
Mother Earth will swallow you
Lay your body down”

Goodnight.

I'll always smile and never weep
With you beside me, we will keep
The evils of this world at bay
And make it through another day.

By Me.
Eat yer 'eart out, Pope me old son.

Saturday night and S. and C., (no longer "The New Man", eh C?) are round to help us demolish steaming bowls of chilli. Now maybe it was the nachos starters? Possibly the 'rack of garlic bread' that accompanied the chilli? Shurely not the litres of Banrock Station we swigged?

But even with the aid of an empty wine bottle and cruet set (cruet set - how quaint!) - none of us could put out a coherent explanation of what caused an eclipse of the moon?

So we staggered out into the garden at the appointed time of 1.00 a.m., convincing ourselves several times that the wisps of cloud drifting across the sky was The Actual Event occurring before our very eyes.

Whatever. Back indoors and another red has miraculously disgorged its cork - yahoo!

Keep the Moon. Bring me more wine!

Abba - Super Toupee

All contributions will be shamelessly blogged.

Hurrying past a nasty smash involving some big old HGV’s on the M25 this morning – “Move along. Nothing to see here but blood and bones” - I was reminded of a similar smash where I used to live in Yorkshire.

Our house was accessed via a path leading from the village pub’s car-park – yeah, Utopia – a lovely inn and within walking distance. The Wagon and Horses, Langsett (sorry, can’t find a specific link).

At the back of the house, we overlooked the man-made reservoir and beyond that, the beautiful, heather-covered Peak District.

To the front was the trans-Pennine A616, a heavily-used link between the M1 and the M6. That was where the pub sat.

A greater constrast in vista and volume would have been hard to find.

Visitors were always advised to exit the car park a bit smartish and to floor the throttle, because the 38-ton behemoths coming down the hill were invariably making up time lost on the uphill stretches.

One punter failed to observe this recommendation and caused a lorry, carrying steel tubing, to throw out the anchors. Fortunately, the tubes didn’t go all of the way through the cab but were partly prevented from doing so by the driver’s back. He was helped into the pub for a stiff coffee.

Still declining medical assistance some twenty minutes later, the traffic cop (clearly a veteran of such incidents) bet him that he couldn’t get up from his seat and walk to the bar. If he did, he could go home.

It was the longest walk I’d ever seen. The ambulance arrived within minutes.

My 130-mile daily commute is enlivened by toggling between the CD-player and the radio.

Now my ‘station of choice’ is (and please don’t change channel now) Radio 2. Yes, they play ‘old stuff’ which, of course, I know and generally love/like but they also air new releases, so I get to hear stuff which I might like in the future. I’m hip, eh?

A regular feature on the “Drive Time” show on the way home is a competition called “The Mystery Voice”, where they play a celeb’s soundbite and for a cash prize, you have to guess who it is. The other day, a guest DJ (now where did they get that idea from?) was filling in for the regular jock and announced the next contestant with “We have on the line Bessie, who thinks she knows the answer”. Hello, Bessie”

A clearly very young girl’s voice said “Hello, Noel” (for it was he).

Momentarily taken aback, Mr.E. said something like “I’m sorry, I was just expecting someone older”. Only the fact that I was doing 69 m.p.h. stopped me from taking a baseball bat to the fascia.

Having established that she was 10, he asked what she wanted to do when she left school.

“Marine biologist” came the confident response.

“Oh” said Mr.E., “and what makes you want to do that?”

“Because I love dolphins” came the cutesy reply. I mentally dared him to link that to puppies or kittens. He didn’t. 1% redeemed.

“So, for £80, whose voice is that?”

“Whitney Houston” said Bessie, without hesitation.

Brief, nonplussed silence. Remember – this is an experienced broadcaster.

“What will you spend the prize money on?” was the eventual, fazed response.

“Designer clothes, thank you”.

In that small interchange with a supposed adult, Bessie had blown every common concept about children’s drive and ambition and intelligence into the deep blue – hopefully to join her dolphins – and I loved her for it.

As the days darken steadily, the memories of the glorious British summer and our holidays provide a little light to chase the gloom away…

It had long been an ambition to see the Pearl Harbour museum in Oahu (Honolulu) and the only way to do it involved a literally flying visit en route to Big Island, as Hawaii itself is properly known.

Therefore ten hours after leaving Heathrow and just two hours after landing at San Francisco, we boarded another plane for a seven hour flight to Oahu and so managed to see three sunsets in one day.

So when we and our friends finally landed, we couldn’t afford to waste time.

Via a vaguely military connection (sorry, can’t tell you more or I’d have to kill you) we hooked up with a local couple at a pre-arranged meeting. J and B metamorphosed from strangers to good friends in milliseconds.

They escorted us around the site, took us out to lunch at a golf club with breath-taking scenery and then on to a bar, before delivering us back to our hotel. We couldn’t have packed more into our brief stay if we’d tried. And they wouldn’t take a penny from us.

So during their current tour of the UK and Eire, they paid us a return visit and it was an opportunity for sweet revenge. All they wanted, though, was a tour of a similar museum and then lunch in a typical English pub – and we happily obliged.

Now it’s one-all. Although there was fighting talk of another meeting to settle the competition. We’re looking for neutral territory, here.

Being Part (oh gawd, you must have worked it out by now)

Rick Wakeman
“The Six Wives of Henry VIII”

Tonto’s Expanding Head Band
“Zero Time”

The first of my two Moog synthesiser-based ouevres was, right from the start, laughed out of court for its pretentiousness, but what the hell, I still love it. Including the wow and flutter from the original master tape, which I have to believe was deliberate, Mr Wakeman?

The tracks of Six Wives aren’t sequenced in order of (dis)appearance but meander through the mnemonic of “divorced, beheaded, died" etc. Easier to just remember that they all died eventually anyway, imho?

My favourite story about the artist was one told by himself. After a particularly virulent curry the previous night, he heard a call of nature of deafening resonance and had to visit a private house to ‘use the facilities’.

With the bottom falling out of his world (or whatever), the bathroom door was opened slightly and a copy of “The Journey to the Centre of the Earth” was handed through (I was going to say ‘passed’ but thought better of it) with a request for an autograph!

Zero Time is an almost totally instrumental work, the only vocal being a strangulated voice being rendered (sic) by the synth. The album cover (if I can ever get pictures posted, you’d see what I mean - the web-site's pic is too small), has the two keyboard players fronting a monolithic piece of electronics which meant they would never tour, because the pantechnicon required to lug it around has never, even to this day, been built. The Apollo craft were shuttled out to their launch-pads on lesser transport.

The album’s follow-up’s title suggested an impatience on the record company’s part for more of the same, but “It’s about time” was never as successful as its older sibling (and I mean nothing insulting there, Bruv).

But, hey, I could be sitting on £30 worth of vinyl.