Down by the River

The lovely Patroclus has tagged me for a meme. This is good because, to an extent, I seem to have mislaid my mojo. There are all sorts of reasons for this and I’m not too worried about it overall, but it’s still nice to have something to focus on. I’ve got another couple pending too - including one from Mr Locker - which I will get to presently (honest). In an ideal world, this present meme would involve making a podcast but I don’t have the first idea about how to do that (tbh, I’m not even sure I know what a podcast is), so you’ll have to make do with links to …

Anyway, the idea is to list seven songs I’m particularly into at the moment. The only problem has been paring down the list. I listen to music a big lot, and I’m very subject to earworms (please say you know what I mean by that). Like Patroclus, I will throw in - free of charge - some vacuous commentary. Don’t say I’m not good to you.

1) The Cure: Friday, I’m in Love

This is an acoustic version and very lovely too. I’m a big fan of deceptively simple jingly jangly pop and this hits the spot. Doesn’t the bass player (Simon Gallup?) look like David Tennant? My daughter nearly fainted when I played this for her. Anyway, I’m very interested by Robert Smith - he seems to have huge talent and integrity. And his hair is a bit like mine. Really!

2) Talking Heads: Listening Wind

I remember vividly the first time I heard this one. I was living in Paris at the time. I was at a friend’s appartment in Rue Amelot. It was very late. There was a bloke I was vaguely interested in there. Maybe I was a little bit drunk. The bass line - probably Tina Weymouth - is fantastic, don’t you think? I used to have it on vinyl but I recently replaced it with a CD from Tesco - yes, I know, I know. It has a slightly world music feel to it too - although world music hadn’t been invented back in those days. Y’know, if I could have studied anything at all, money (and practicality) no object, I think i’d have done ethno-musicology. Which sort of brings me to …

3) Tinariwen: Cler Achel

This is the song I’ve got on my Myspace profile - that’s how much I like it. I’ve managed to miss seeing them twice in the last couple of years, but I have high hopes for this summer! I can’t even remember where I first heard them, but there’s something about the instrumental part that reminds me of Fairport Convention! How weird is that? Ooh - that bloke in the middle there - that’s what my hair looks like today. Well, a cross between that and Robert Smith.

4) The Clash: Rock the Kasbah

Ludicrous video. Great song. It’s almost disco, isn’t it? This really dates me, of course - I don’t care. Listen to that bass line - so supple! Poor old Joe - a sad loss to British music. I saw them a couple of times - unforgettable. Is that how you spell Kasbah? Totally unrelated (but while I’m on the subject of Kasbahs), I went to Marrakech with my daughter lately - and Essaouira. It was wonderful.

5) Steve Reich: Music for 18 Musicians

Not a lot of people know this, but I originally studied music at university. I am, to all intents and purposes, the most tremendous geek. I’m very fond of minimalism, and Reich is one of my favourite composers. It was very difficult to find a clip that adequately gets over how fantastic this work is. This is made up of lots of little fragments but the whole piece is quite long and very intense. Try listening to the whole thing - really - it’s hypnotic and, I think, very uplifting.

6) The Kinks: Waterloo Sunset

Listen to those lyrics. Poetry, isn’t it? So tender and so Londonish. And Ray Davies has GOT to be one of the coolest men alive. I used to live in Highgate, and so did he. And I quite often used to see him walking around the village. And I’d go all wobbly and try not to look as if I was staring (which I was).

7) Matt Weddle: Hey Ya

Please listen to this one, even if you don’t bother with anything else. It’s like one of those optical illusions where one minute it looks like two faces and the next it looks like a vase. You think you know this song - the original version by Outkast is great - but this is like a completely different song. If you haven’t heard of them already, the band Obadiah Parker, of which Matt Weddle is a member, is really worth getting to know. The audioclip on their Myspace is better than that Youtube link, actually, but it doesn’t have the advantage of cutting between Weddle and Andre (Ice Cool) 3000. What’s going on with the timing here, btw? Is it an 11-bar phrase? Say of 2/4 bars? Curious.

Notable ommisions: B-52s: Roam (I’m going to see them soon); Stranglers: Duchess; Bob Dylan: Boots of Spanish Leather; Couperin: Les Barricades Mysterieuses; Palestrina: Missa Papae Marcelli … gosh, I could go on and on.

I’ve just collected the twins from their Duke of Edinburgh training, wearing embarrassing trousers.

(I should perhaps make it clear that they’re not training to become the Duke of Edinburgh - although I’m sure they’d make a fine job of it.)*

I stayed in the car. It could have been worse. I could have got out and walked up and down in my embarrassing trousers and actually spoken to people, if I’d felt like it. But it seems I’m still a terrible mother. They were kind enough to observe, however,  that if I like my embarrassing trousers, I’m perfectly entitled to wear them - but in my own time.

That seems fair, don’t you think?

* if being the Duke of Edinburgh consists - as it seems to me - of not carrying any money and saying things out loud that would have been far better kept inside your head.

So I’m supposed to be going, on Thursday, to the book group of which I’m a member and (typically) I haven’t read the book yet. This would be a pattern with me. I’ve read loads of other books this past month … just not the one I was supposed to.

Two questions:

1) Should I bother?

2) If not, can anyone tell me enough to make it sound as if I have actually read it.

Basically, can I copy your homework?

Go on … I’ll be your best friend!

… and the landlord says, ‘I’m not serving you.’

Shakespeare says, ‘ Wherefore, prithee?’ (or something of the kind)

And the landlord says, ‘You’re bard!’

Oh - come ON!

I confidently predict torrential rain on Wednesday, no matter what those amateurs at the BBC may suggest.

But why? How can I possibly be so sure?

It’s not the (non-existant) barometer in my hallway. It’s not the (also non-existant) seaweed hanging above the door. It’s not even a funny feeling in my elbow.

It’s my sister.

Wednesday is the day she goes to collect the Christian Aid envelopes she delivered last week and, going on the experience of previous years, she’ll be in for a dousing because, as we all know, no good deed goes unpunished.

She doesn’t seem to mind, phlegmatic little thing that she is. People are more likely to be at home, she reckons, if it’s raining. And, again on past performance, if she turns up on the doorstep looking like a drowned rat, she gets the sympathy vote and people seem to donate more.

That’s what she thinks, anyway. I hate to shatter her illusions, but their charitable donation may not be quite as pure and selfless as she imagines.

(This is not my sister, by the way. I borrowed this one. Mine is a hundred times more gorgeous.)

I know this is terribly old news now, but I only just thought it up.

In the heart or in the head?

No, love. It’s in aisle 16, next to the pastries.

(someone found this blog yesterday by googling ‘hot nostrils’. how fabulous is that?)

I distinctly remember having a conversation, some time ago, in which I said, ‘Well, I won’t forget that - it’s the day before the twins’ birthday.’

Unfortunately, that’s all I remember. I can’t recall who I was talking to. I can’t picture where I was when I said it. And I haven’t the faintest recollection of what it was I arranged to do. Tomorrow.

So if anyone’s expecting me … sorry!

So, there I was, minding my own business in the middle of Whitehall, the kids were warmly wrapped in a cosy sheet that just happened to have the 1st article of the Declaration of Human Rights painted on it. It was, to all intents and purposes, a perfectly ordinary Sunday.

Through the throng, there came a little man. ‘Quelqu’un qui parle Francais?’ he pleaded. ‘Personne?’

Well, me - obviously. I do. I have a string of translations to my name - fascinating stuff, too. Thirteen volumes. If you want to know anything at all about robot spot welding, I’m your woman. CAD/CAM - easy peasy. Remote control and proprioception - pas de probleme. Of course, this was all about 20 years ago, but still. So I stepped forward.

‘Oui, m’sieur. Je parle Francais. Je peux vous aider?’

Well, it transpired that he was not a Frenchman in distress. What he really wanted was an interview for French radio on what was going on. I was now in too far to get out, so plunged on - recklessly.

It’s amazing, isn’t it, just how blank your mind goes when someone puts you on the spot. Particularly in another language. I think I may have said that Gordon Brown was a ladle. And I’m pretty certain that I expressed nothing but disdain for the people who were carrying the Olympic teatowel that day.

I forgot to ask him what channel the interview was going out on. Probably just as well. But if anyone did hear it - please, don’t tell me what else I got wrong.

Geddit?

Mmmm! Chavtastically tempting (but I didn’t buy them)