Radio Ga Ga

A battle more akin to those of the ancient world rages in our office for supreme control of the airwaves.

In one corner, literally, we have the station I’m fairly sure was the inspiration for Sad FM for the over thirties in Bridget Jones Diary. It plays the same twenty songs all day, every day. Occasionally a new song is introduced, say once every six months, but generally it is and has been the same twenty songs for most of this decade (*ooh edit and the last decade). Those songs were probably very enjoyable once. In fact I think they might even have been songs I enjoyed as guilty pleasures once- before being subjected to the musical equivalent of water boarding every day.

In the other corner, literally, we usually have quite a good radio station, though like all stations it does over play and then ruin songs you loved when they came out- but not on the level of Sad FM. Let’s call station two try hard FM.

Were I working alone I would have Radio 4 on but I accept that would have to be on very loudly in an office and might be distracting- plus music in theory should cheer people up and get the momentum going. So if we can’t have Radio 4 I favour a roaming music policy whereby we rotate between several stations every few weeks- accepting that all of those stations will play Snow Patrol’s chasing cars at least twice a day because all radio stations do- I think Kiss FM might even have a dance remix of it. However whenever I suggest the roaming policy, the musical equivalent of varying which newspaper you buy, everyone initially agrees and then we carry on as before listening to the same two with me rocking in my chair with a vacant but crazy look in my eyes.

I have over time developed the ability to drown out Sad FM and Try Hard FM when they are at their worst- in sad’s case playing a jingle about having the most music variety in London while playing the same song twice in a row (which has happened several times- hello Girl’s Aloud the promise) and in Try Hard’s the DJ just talking nonsense and laughing at himself for an entire fifteen minutes (with me shouting play a song every few minutes).

So yes in short I can sort of ignore them mostly. What I can’t ignore is both at the same time clashing with each other. Neither keeper of the radios can hear the other controllers stereo but those in the middle of them can hear both. Now at times this does lead to almost genius, 2manydjs- esque, mash ups between Dolly Parton and the chemical brothers say or Dirty Dancing and smells like teen spirit. Most of the time though you can just hear a wall of horrible noise with the occasional ‘the most music variety’ jingle or that awful ‘we buy any car’ advert that should be banned for crimes against ears.

So that’s the situation. Not a real problem of course, a first world problem. Still perhaps I will become a world conquering mix DJ- currently we are enjoying Take on Me twinned with bittersweet symphony- oh and there’s a bus alarm going off too- some people might pay to listen to all this.

All the Pretty Horses

I'm reading All the Pretty horses by Cormac McCarthy until the small hours of the night at the moment and then dreaming of galloping all the hours I am asleep and awake.





















Victorian horse in vintage typewriter key pendant from Buster and Boo on Etsy.

Winchester .40 Smith & Wesson ring from Jetflair on Etsy.

'Dust Storm' print from Mazzy Blue Studios on Etsy.

'Bridles' print from Ya Rly by Liliya on Etsy.

'Galloping filly' (really) skirt from Anthropologie.

Pony dress from Joy.

'Gentle Giant' print from Angie Muldowney at All Things Original.

The most Gallic jumper I have ever seen

Eiffel Tower jumper from Topshop, available in sizes 8-16 and rather fabulously I thought in maternity sizes- for chic bumps.

The perfect tea bag?

I think these teabag designs from Yanko design are genius. There are lots of comments about how the bag would float from kill joys below the pictures- I do see where they are coming from but for real tea surely you go leaves and strainer and for a making you smile every day these would be perfect? They just seem to be a prototype at the moment but hopefully they won't be forever.

Found via the tea appreciation society blog.

Blur: no distance left to run

I was lucky enough to see the documentary film No distance left to run last night. It is a film in every sense- filled with drama, humour and beautiful cinematography.

No distance left to run is of course about Blur- through them it is about what it was like to be music artist from the early nineties to I suppose the time just before i-tunes conquered the world; about songs and gigs; life on the road and life in the bubble of fame but really it’s a film about friendship and particularly the friendship and love between Damon Albarn and Graham Coxon.

In Hyde Park last summer, as the sun was going down on a truly glorious evening in this beautiful city- and in Glastonbury weeks before in the darkness of that sacred place- it was Tender that felt like the zenith of this band and of the experience- and the relationship between these two men, who co-wrote and co sung that song is just that- tender.

No distance left to run is honest, at times searingly, uncomfortably and therefore fascinatingly so. All of these men are extremely interesting in their own ways. I thought Alex James was a revelation; back in the day he was always the fun one to me, the party animal, the one who didn’t seem terribly complex. To watch him talk about his friends feeling pain, losing them and finding them again- and the expressions on his face when the camera hangs just a moment longer than perhaps he realised was to see a man who probably looks for the light in life but who is more than he seems- and who is a very true friend.

I am sure with this level of access and input they could have made a whole series about this group but I think choosing to focus on their friendship was very wise because this is an interesting film not just for anyone interested in Blur or music but also in male friendships. I hadn’t thought about how different they can be from female friendships before watching this last night and how very pure and innocent they can be.

I don’t want to spoil anything so I won’t say anymore but just watch it if you can- and on the big screen if possible because the footage of the live scenes is great in the cinema. If you don’t manage to it’s going to released on dvd in February with a second disc featuring one of the Hyde Park nights- which should be the cherry on top of the cake that was those gigs.

Hums Oh my baby, oh my baby, oh- why, oh- my.



Images from the Guardian here.

the red shoes

I had a beautiful pair of red shoes once. They were a perfect true red- the colour of routemaster buses, post boxes and Hollywood lips. They had a very low kitten heel so that from the front they looked almost flat- but the heel was enough to tip you forward and be flattering. At the front they came to a point and were extremely low cut so that you could see the beginning of my toes. There were two little bars of leather that made a kind of short T above the toe cleavage.

The red shoes became very comfortable in the end but initially they and my feet had to learn a way to get along with each other. When it rained sometimes they turned my feet a bright shade of pink. To start with I didn’t have rubber soles put on them because I love the clip of leather soles on London pavements- eventually I did and they were quieter but the heels still made a satisfying sound. They were bought in an LK Bennet sale for less than half price- they didn’t really look like they were from LK Bennett- which isn’t meant to disparaging, they just weren’t one of their standard styles or colours or heights and I suspect that is why they were in the sale.

When I bought them I was certainly pleased but they weren’t a pair of shoes I had longed for and I didn’t look at them endlessly in their box as I have been known to do with some new shoes. I started wearing them almost immediately and unusually for me didn’t keep them for special occasions but wore them whenever I wanted- which ended up being virtually all the time. A really good pair of red shoes can have an amazing impact on the way an outfit looks, they can make something classic look a bit quirky and something plain look interesting and the wearer becomes blessed with an Amelie type quality. Most importantly looking down at your feet and seeing a really joyful red looking back at you gives you a spring in your step and the confidence that follows.

The red shoes and I went all over town and memorably they came to Paris where they passed the pavement test (how many men and women look down admiringly at your feet) with even more flying colours than they did at home. They were resoled many times and polished to keep their lipstick sheen; they got wet; they got mud on them from walking through the park; I even think they got salt from snow on them and I worried that I wouldn’t get the white marks out, but I did.

Then one day the leather started splitting where your foot bends and for the first time they had lost some of their cherry zest and I knew that the cobbler wouldn’t be able to do anything more for them. I didn’t wear them again but they did stay in my room for quite a long time, just neatly by some drawers because they still looked so interesting. They were an accidental purchase but I have never been able to find their like since- it was truly like they had a little personality of their own. They found me and we had adventures and now they are gone but I still remember them- even though they were just shoes. I was getting dressed this morning, putting on some red tights and I thought how fine my red shoes would have looked today and I just smiled. We had fun.

Picture of the red shoes from 'The Red Shoes'from Verdoux blog via Around the Edges blog.

Dorothy's shoes from Scene stealers here.

What I am yet to do

Sometimes it feels like there will never be time to read all the books I want to read, see all the plays and films I want to see- listen to all the music I would love to love if I had time to know it- does all this sound familiar? I’m sure it does.

The world can seem like a series of rooms to me. Opening the book 1984 by George Orwell opened the door to a room of Orwell’s books and when I finally and sadly had finished there a door opened to a book my Margaret Atwood and then Aldous Huxley and onwards. The doors behind me always stay open and often in times of unrest or just to indulge myself I can go back to them, but I am certain I won’t get to open every door. Some of the rooms have windows and I can see from watching Dr No in one that Goldfinger is on in the next and I am almost torn by how much I want to get to the next room.

I accept that I won’t get to go to every room now but I still fight to get to try.

I had never seen the play War Horse until last night though, which for someone who goes to the theatre really quite a lot, loves war plays and films and used to spend every holiday and weekend working at a stables for nothing more than fresh air is a bit strange. I just hadn’t got to that room yet, perhaps because I thought it would be too sad, perhaps the timing hadn’t worked out, I’m not certain.

Of course the play is about a war and the sacrifice and pain of the horses involved in the First World War is agonising- which is why I have featured a picture of the lovely memorial on Park Lane to all animals who have given their lives in wars above. It is also perhaps poignant that the horses are played by puppets and that the animals and people involved in wars are so often puppets for the whims of a small few.

This is a fabulous piece of theatre and certainly the sum of its parts; nevertheless it is the puppets that are truly remarkable and that I wanted to write about. I was just amazed at what the puppeteers can achieve with only their bodies, wire and tape- smoke and mirrors really. Virtually anything in life when done with total commitment and passion by talented people can be remarkable but these puppets are so refreshing, so unexpectedly lifelike and moving that I have looked at the art, for that is what it is, of puppetry in a whole new light.


Photograph of the Animals in War memorial from their website here.