Sorry to hog the home page again, but when one of Backside’s little niggles gets too persistent I have to put digit to key. This time it’s his disbelief that people pay good money to go and watch their favourite sports.
Take golf. With luck you might witness as many as 50 actual strokes from a grandstand! Or 100 if you want to walk all day. And cycling. Whoosh, you missed the leaders, whooooosh you missed the peloton. Take my pic of the Tour in Slacky Bottom. City marathons. No whoosh, just the occasional sweaty jogger. But OK, they’re free.
Why do people do it? Who knows?
PS Cricket is different.
I don’t know who you are,
But you must be some kind of superstar,
Cause you got all eyes on you no matter where you are,
(Superstar- song by Jamelia)
Hillary Clinton is on top of the world. $300,000 a speech and a multitude of extras. Jet plane. Cheque. Five star presidential suite. Cheque. Five other rooms reserved for lackeys. Cheque. And Clinton will only stay at the venue for 90 minutes tops. No video or audio recording is allowed. It would be good if someone bootlegged one of these “concerts” and put them online as no doubt she sings the same songs every night. That would kill the golden goose.
Who would want to hear her anyway? And what could see possibly say that would be interesting?
So old Cliff is under suspicion for kiddie-fiddling. Has been for a year allegedly. And oh-so-responsible Auntie Beeb saw fit to announce a search of his London pad. Plod says they didn’t tip off the meeja. So old Cliff seizes the high ground…..for now. Load of rubbish, etc., etc.
But, but….imagine that Plod had taken no action following reports of abuse.
Would the baying pack be any happier?
A few weeks ago I was invited to an event at Rousham, a rather wonderful privately owned garden which is open to the public, but not to children, from 10 am to dusk each day.
The event was a fund raiser for a group of cyclists (The Valley Girls) who are planning a cycling trip across India. The star attraction was advertised as being ‘Pippa Greenwood, giving a talk about growing vegetables’ – plus a chance to mingle and nibble with a glass of wine and wander the garden until dusk. For me the star attraction was the chance to see the wonderful garden.
The weather was not promising. There were several heavy downpours of rain in the few hours leading up to the start of the evening, and I debated going in wellies… however the clouds cleared and we had a lovely evening among the borders.
I’m all for equal opportunities at work but p-lease! A one-armed pilot? Pity about his prosthesis getting caught in the controls and falling off though, eh? But safety was not compromised, allegedly. Yeah, right.
What next, I wonder, to shock and entertain us?
Catching up on some out standing TV programmes on my hard drive I watched a Perspectives show on ITV presented by Michael Portillo and focusing on the life of Pablo Picasso. It’s a lively hour of entertainment about bullfighting, Guernica and Spanish art. Portillo skirts over the many love affairs of the artist and concentrates on Picasso’s artwork and the influences on the man from Malaga.
Nearing the end of the programme Portillo draws on the comparisons between Velasquez’s Las Meninas painting and the many recreations Picasso manufactured. The Picasso variations are rendered in the cubism style.
Prince’s 1999 song was rarely played on December 31st 1998 yet a year later was used extensively on various radio stations/disco 2000s to welcome in the millennium. We partied 364 days and whatever minute it was too late. One of these anomalies we have in life. I didn’t party. I was Doctor Whoming behind the sofa, with my whimpering K9, awaiting Armageddon. Something wicked this way comes.
The millennium bug was the end of days. Looking back now I don’t know why I was so worried. I did not possess a computer at the time (Y2K). The worst that could have happened to me would be that the toaster wouldn’t work. And this would have nothing to do with broadband issues or other related online jargon. The trouble would be dodgy wiring in the plug; when you’ve chubby fingers it’s hard to put that little wire in the right place; Major Tom to earth etc. Still, like the glorious Gaynor, I survived.
Aha! You think they’re badly designed airports. Naeh. We’re talking language here, particularly among young people. I hear them a lot from my grandchildren when chatting together. Every commment sounds like a question, as if the speaker is on shaky ground or genuinely seeking an answer. “I saw Sarah today (?). She looked like paler than usual (?). Even though she’s like just back from Florida (?).” You must have heard the same (?).
Now none of us oldies enjoy this particular trend, do we? (genuine question) Well, I don’t. Why? Because it sounds weird to my septuagenarian ears. And we probably think it started with Neighbours or Beverley Hills 90210 (antiquated TV soaps from Oz and LA) in which we were treated to the mores of far-flung tribes.
But soft! Apparently the uptalk fad has been amongst us Limeys for far longer. Was it North British, Northern Irish or wha’? Auntie Beeb has an opinion, as ever: http://www.bbc.com/news/magazine-28708526