Author: theroyalist

A first time for everything

First time in a pub: was 15, was smuggled in by older boys, had three vodkas and orange, was stretchered out.

Son’s first cup of coffee: I don’t drink the stuff and neither do the offspring, though my younger son decided to take the plunge into the unknown for experimental reasons. He said “JW Jnr’s first cup of coffee”. After much gurning and vomiting he said “JW Jnr’s last cup of coffee!”

First ever video recorder owned: Betamax!!!! The boffins at school (FEEG and all his gang) claimed it was the superior technological weapon in the VCR wars. Later, the hegemony of VHS was ended by DVD. In hindsight, maybe the makers of Betamax should have abbreviated their product: BTX.

First time ever I saw your face: First heard this on the underrated Clint Eastwood film, Play Misty for Me, sung by Roberta Flack. Multitude of singers have covered this song. One of the best is the haunting version by Johnny Cash.

First blog ever written: Was on Bebo ( who remembers Bebo?). It was a strange tale of me in the waiting room at the doctor’s, sitting beside some famous figures. I asked Darth Vader if his sore throat was getting better. As debuts go, it was a precocious start. It’s been downhill ever since.

Anybody out there got any unusual firsts (or seconds) they’d like to share. Keep it clean, guys (and MrsO).

Jingo

A Happy Independence Day to our American cousins. Enjoy it as it will be your last.

It is time that the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland ruled the world again. We will start by taking back our lost Thirteen Colonies. Soon the globe will be re-drawn with Union Flags all over it, where they used to be. And if we have sturdy enough winter wear, we will put in the east a British Russian empire.

God Save The Queen.

New towels, please

For every match the players at Wimbledon are issued with two towels. These are the property of the All England Club. Post-match the deal is they are returned to the nearest ball boy. Not so. The players walk off court with them. Stealing in plain sight. The used towels are then given to friends, family or auction. You can never be too wealthy.

I’ve written before on the despicable practice of the players towelling off then hurling their sweat-drenched towels to ball boys between every point, passing on all their germs. I’d now like to chastise their manner when “asking” for the towel; they point at it: fetch. The slave children then serve their masters with this greasy piece of fabric.

Why don’t the players ask the child, nicely, to hand them their towel? Do they think our young are stupid? The bright young things are more multi-lingual than their ancestors were at that age. I’m sure they would know a smattering of Serbo-Croat, a slice of Swiss, a chip of Czech, and, naturally, be faultless at French.

Our ball boys are too nice but it would be good if at the end of the contest they employed their linguistic skills to volley abuse at the robbers. Stop złodziej oddać nam nasze ręczniki kurwa.

Overrated: Classical Music

“Unlike the truest kind of genius, he did not grow artistically”

These words of critic, John Simon, on the shortcomings of the career of Tennessee Williams could be applied to the musical form that is self-proclaimed as classical. Classical, my baroque left Bechstein pedal.

The classicists are stuck in a time warp. They listen, over and over again, to the same pieces of orchestral music; a blaring maelstrom of noise. And they party like it’s 1799. Honestly, some of the ghastly tunes sound as if they’ve been composed by a deaf man. And the titles are boring New York street numbers: Mozart’s piano concerto no.25, Haydn’s symphony no. 76, Bach’s cantata no. 211, Balfour’s bagpipe quartet no.1872.

Continue reading “Overrated: Classical Music”

We are all Radiohead

Good evening, all you old rock ‘n rollers, it’s the resident music editor here with all the gen on the latest in the world of rock. The experimental rock band, Radiohead, have released their ninth studio album, A Moon Shaped Pool, to much admiration from the critics. Radiohead’s jagged alternative music with its subliminal lyrics, nasal singing and robotic humming reference points has always left my ears unamused. I’m going to play the irony card: they’re too cheery for me. Yet, the hypnotic quality of the sounds draws me back to them time and time again. There must be something in the grooves.

Now onto serious matters. The name of Radiohead can be added to the list of victims in this age of terror. Those of you that follow the news will have heard of the Radiohead fans that were attacked by Islamists in a record store in Istanbul while they were listening to a stream of the new album. These fundamentalists didn’t like that the fans were drinking alcohol and listening to music during the holy month of Ramadan. There you go, you’re not even safe in the secular state of Turkey.

A much less serious problem concerns the video for their new single, Burn the Witch. The inspiration for this animated film was an old TV programme for children. The creators of the original work are unhappy that their copyright was used without permission. They weren’t chuffed either with the dark tones of the story. It could end in court. The video also pays homage to an old horror classic. I’ll let you watch to find out what it is.

Play it loud and prepare to be hypnotised.

 

 

Moratorium

With the whole world now revolving around the times of 3pm CET, 6pm CET and 9pm CET important duties have to be sandwiched between the Euro 2016 games or discarded altogether. Discarsions, for me, have included no trampolining practice or parkouring. Other pieces of business have to be rushed. Blogging has been put on the Croatian flares backburner.

Then a window of opportunity presented itself. Right now.

Pass the open window
For it bodes ill
The sash could break
Your neck on its sill

The oil tanker is heading for the iceberg

It will be interesting to see the share price of Sports Direct in the coming days. Even though it was a low gas, lukewarm “grilling” by the Business Select Committee, Ashley’s performance hit the zeitgeist as he played it like Trump. It’s now over to the city to see how they will react.

The warm-up blog before the headliner appears

The teacher that ran our school football team was ahead of his times; he made us warm up before a match. We would do stretches and shuttle runs. Our opponents would mock us for this ridiculous new science. Nowadays only a fool doesn’t warm up. Even our five-a-side team of crocks bend their arthritic bones before an important fixture.

It’s not just sports that you need to prepare your organs for the big event. Vocalists have to exercise their tonsils by tuning up with a scale of doh, ray, me, fah, soh, la, ti (at this point the joker in the band will stand on the singer’s toes) DO-TOH.

Old cars had to be warmed up. You had to choke them.

Even writing blogs needs a warming hand. Your fingers hover over that big, empty page like a skier at the top of the piste. 1,2,3 you’re off, banging the keys until you reach the bottom.

Sometimes you make gold, other times…