Sunday, 10 October 2010
Thursday, 7 October 2010
A shiny, fresh, new...
On tuesday I went to the ExCel exhibition centre in ToyTown for a big Microsoft 'partner' event that lasted all day. Including a hellfire-and-damnation, rousing speech from Steve Ballmer.
They gave each of us delegates a lunch bag - from which I saved my fruit.
As a result, at the end of the day, I realised Microsoft had given me a shiny, fresh, new Apple.....
They gave each of us delegates a lunch bag - from which I saved my fruit.
As a result, at the end of the day, I realised Microsoft had given me a shiny, fresh, new Apple.....
Sunday, 3 October 2010
Poem of the Week
As Kingfishers Catch Fire
Gerard Manley Hopkins
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
Gerard Manley Hopkins
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies dráw fláme;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves—goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying Whát I do is me: for that I came.
Í say móre: the just man justices;
Kéeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is—
Chríst—for Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.
The London Wave
If you drive in London you will know what this is.
When that driver pulls out in front of you, causing you to brake, or drives up the outside lane and then pulls in at the last minute, rather than join the rest of you in the queue wanting to turn left. Or when they take the last parking place by B&Q, which you had been about to reverse into, forcing you back out on the hunt for the nearly-ready-to-leave family along with seven other drivers, or when coming towards you along a narrow road they speed up to ensure they get to the most squeakily narrow bit first, forcing you against the pavement.
You get this desultorily handflap. Palm outwards.
It says something like: 'Ha! I got there first. Ha! You were cowed and beaten, and I am the superior driver in all ways. But just so as not to start a rumpus, I'm going to wave at you in pseudo-thanks, as though I am acknowledging your good manners, and expressing gratitude to you for giving me a right of way I didn't deserve. Even though we both know that's a lie and you didn't have a choice really unless you wanted to get aggressive, but by waving thanks I'm pretending it was all your decision. And covering up for your weakness and giving you a way out with a miniscule modicom of self respect.'
And you know what? On really bad days you wave back.
When that driver pulls out in front of you, causing you to brake, or drives up the outside lane and then pulls in at the last minute, rather than join the rest of you in the queue wanting to turn left. Or when they take the last parking place by B&Q, which you had been about to reverse into, forcing you back out on the hunt for the nearly-ready-to-leave family along with seven other drivers, or when coming towards you along a narrow road they speed up to ensure they get to the most squeakily narrow bit first, forcing you against the pavement.
You get this desultorily handflap. Palm outwards.
It says something like: 'Ha! I got there first. Ha! You were cowed and beaten, and I am the superior driver in all ways. But just so as not to start a rumpus, I'm going to wave at you in pseudo-thanks, as though I am acknowledging your good manners, and expressing gratitude to you for giving me a right of way I didn't deserve. Even though we both know that's a lie and you didn't have a choice really unless you wanted to get aggressive, but by waving thanks I'm pretending it was all your decision. And covering up for your weakness and giving you a way out with a miniscule modicom of self respect.'
And you know what? On really bad days you wave back.
Farewell Tony Curtis
The press and media have been full of the death of Tony Curtis. A late film of his that I enjoyed enormously, but which was little mentioned, was Nic Roeg's Insignificance, which I must write about sometime. However, most commentators wanted to remember Some Like It Hot, and ITV pulled off something of a coup by showing the film after the news on Friday.
So we watched it. It is, of course, astonishingly good, and still funny. The script sparkles, Wilder's direction is fine, and all three leads - despite the stories of difficulties with Marilyn on set - sparkle on the film. And the supporting cast, including George Raft ('Spats' Colombo) and Joe E Brown (Osgood Fielding III - he gets the film's punchline) are also wonderful to watch. But in a way - despite how terrific Curtis and Jack Lemmon etc are (and the improvised Tony Curtis impersonation of Cary Grant is still achingly funny) - the real star is the script.
So we settled down to see at least part of it, and I realised I knew it - almost but not quite scene-by-scene. Rather like Kind Hearts and Coronets, School for Scoundrels and The Mouse that Roared which I wrote about a year or so ago, but less intensely. In any case, Some Like It Hot is faster, and doesn't really allow for that kind of reflection.
Anyway, it was late and we were tired and we had a busy day the next day, and although it was good we knew we would have to switch it off before the end...
So we watched it all the way through. No choice at all really.
So we watched it. It is, of course, astonishingly good, and still funny. The script sparkles, Wilder's direction is fine, and all three leads - despite the stories of difficulties with Marilyn on set - sparkle on the film. And the supporting cast, including George Raft ('Spats' Colombo) and Joe E Brown (Osgood Fielding III - he gets the film's punchline) are also wonderful to watch. But in a way - despite how terrific Curtis and Jack Lemmon etc are (and the improvised Tony Curtis impersonation of Cary Grant is still achingly funny) - the real star is the script.
So we settled down to see at least part of it, and I realised I knew it - almost but not quite scene-by-scene. Rather like Kind Hearts and Coronets, School for Scoundrels and The Mouse that Roared which I wrote about a year or so ago, but less intensely. In any case, Some Like It Hot is faster, and doesn't really allow for that kind of reflection.
Anyway, it was late and we were tired and we had a busy day the next day, and although it was good we knew we would have to switch it off before the end...
So we watched it all the way through. No choice at all really.
Down South: II
We had a pleasant wander around the town, chateau keep and logis royale...
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