Gertsamtkunstwerk

Is it mere psychology?

Roman is ready to write off title says the sub-Standard. But maybe he's been reading the Alex Ferguson book of kidology.

Ronaldo moving from Real Madrid to Chelski? According to United fans, there's only one Ronaldo

Rampant champions

The better United do, the more I ignore them. Yet, they keep winning, whilst certain pretenders have experienced a few slips.

It's a matter of some sadness to me that I seem to have fallen out of love with Manchester United and we are, now, at best, Good Friends. Well into the mid-Nineties, I was pretty much obsessed, but now, yes, I like to see them play, and love them to see win, and I have a strong strength of identity with them. But their results are no longer a key determinant of my state of mind. I suspect it's because I'm growing up, but I feel I ought to go through a mourning process.

Paranoia revisited

Just going through the email associated with this site and eliminiating 64 spams attempting to sell me body enhancements, sometimes for parts I don't even have, and having the usual laugh at the supposed names of the senders, I had a sudden thought: suppose someone writes a spider that can pick up names used on one's blog and spam you with messages purporting to come from those people. It would be a nightmare.

Or spidering your site for content. Then the very bottom spam was titled Gorgeous .. male celebrities in their 50s, 60s and 70s.

Somewhat pertinent to previous content on this site. The potential consequences of such a spider are really quite frightening.

Just thought I would cheer you up on this rainy Thursday morning. At least, where I live. I keep forgetting it's the world-wide web

What I got for Christmas

My mother decided to give me a box of operatic libretti that my father collected. It also contains various programmes from various performances over the years.

Well, at least I now know what my father did on New Years Eve when he was sixteen (the family, along with much of the Civil Service, were evacuated to Blackpool)

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Audio Visual technology

I'm off work today because my new TV was being delivered.  Pathetically, and I'm ashamed to say it, but I had to wait for my man to finish work to get it set up ie lifted onto the shelf in the living room. It was a bit of a battle finding a widescreen TV that fitted on the 44 cm shelf that makes up a vital feature of my pre-Victorian cottage.

I also bought a DVD player yesterday. I now have the TV set up, which took some doing. There's probably as many wires in the below-the-TV cupboard as there is behind the computer. And try as I might, there simply isn't the flexibility to do everything I want to do. I want to be able to have the sky box going straight to the TV and through the video. I want the video to be able to go straight to the TV and receive straight from the aerial. And I want the DVD to do straight to the TV.  I shall have to get a SCART lead for that. Plus I need a new SCART lead for the Sky box because the one that Sky supplied is rubbish. It keeps coming out of the back of the skybox, and is cracked. Then I thought the TV wasn't working, and it turns out that it's the SCART connection into the TV. *Sigh*. I really don't like SCARTs. Maybe it's just me, but they seem technologically more ante-diluvian than the parallel ports thatused to come with PCs.

My colleague said yesterday that I would hug my TV when it arrived, then take a photo, but I'm too exhausted even to set up the DVD player. Even though I have a wonderful DVD which my mother got me for Christmas which has been partly played on the computer. Reviews of Otello performed and interview

Mind you, I watched Balamory, which I have never seen before, but I kept saying "Been there!" "Been there" 

And Abbado's currently conducting the Berlin PO in Dvorak's New World Symphony. It's like being there. The sound is even better than the picture.

Propaganda

Every week we have a new set of posters. Mainly in the lifts. And lift lobbies. All connected to the Senior Senior Senior Management's/Ministers' vision of Working in 3D (Delivery, Delivery Delivery. Yes, really...)

It's always fascinating to find out what it's going to be in any week - the infamous dEmail campaign, which encouraged us to email ideas on how to cut down on email. Exhortations to participate in the Out-of-Office Experience. Posters on how we are taking great initiatives to deliver Departmental Aims.

And every week you can guarantee that the posters will be defaced. To be honest, I think much of the defacing is childish, and potentially embarrassing, especially in the lifts that are used by visitors, as well as staff. Moustaches or false glasses drawn onto photographs of colleagues. One of the dEmail posters (which were all cheesy 50s-stylee adverts) featured a group of men wearing Y-fronts (don't ask...!). Personally, I found it slightly embarrassing to be stood in a lift, with random male colleagues, next to a picture of men in Y-fronts (they weren't exactly Homer and Bart). Someone had written 'Knob' in an appropriate place.

There has been some hang-wringing in the soap box about the defacing.

This week's poster is Delivery-focused, praising a eminently worthy scheme we are funding. In the lift I took to go home yesterday, someone had attached a sheet of paper which said "Propaganda is to democracy what violence is to dictatorship".

That is the way to deface a poster!

Mozza rules!

I assert that Mozart is totally the best composer ever. Par excellence, beyond comparison - although, by some reckonings only the seventh most influential musician of the last millennium, some distance behind Robbie Williams - wasn't that just the most dire TV programme ever, I was staying at a friends' house, and we ranted and raved in incredulity and disdain at the final results.

How can one single out any Mozart composition as his greatest? I certainly don't intend to do so. However, the disc playing on the stereo right now must be up there. I am loath to highlight just one movement, because a piano concerto is made up of three movements. However, the second movement in this one is special. I don't think that this is a particularly top interpretation - I have a different version, with Murray Perahia playing, which I much prefer. But seeing as though my CD collection has been compiled in an entirely capricious way, I may as well as share that fact.

So, another of my all time favourites is Mozart's Piano Concert 21 in C major, K467, with a special emphasis on the beauty of the Andante.

Update: I was thinking of writing about what a great dance tune this would make but then I thought that it would look silly. But tonight (8 January) I have just seen a ballet on the telly using the music.

Insidious evil of bad music

It won't go away. It just won't leave me. It's a so-called bloody "song". Twelve years it's been around.

I hate Mistletoe and Wine. The world is full of good music of all descriptions. And Mistletoe and Wine. Christmas has been and gone, and yet, I find myself in the smoking room today, with the earworm of Mistletoe and Wine. No, not an earworm, a Trojan Horse and Virus combined, the superbug of earworms. I was telling myself that it was long ago and far away, so for a few brief seconds I had Paradise by the Dashboard Light in my head. On the way home I had King of Pain, briefly. But still bloody Mistletoe and Wine came back to haunt me.

I spent much of the evening playing most of The Chemical Brothers' Singles but as soon as Child of Our Time was finished, the curse of Mistletoe and Wine returned. Briefly it was broken, when the local news carried the story of Wimbledon's roof and illustrated it with that notorious clip of *Sir Cliff* singing Summer Holiday. Not one of his worst songs, indeed, as a toddler, I used to sing it.

And then bleedin' Mistletoe and feckin' Wine returned to my poor little head.

Is shooting too good for Cliff?

Dunham Massey Park

Last Tuesday

We went to Tatton Park. Mother suggested, if we wanted to eat, we should head for the Knutsford end. Not the Rostherne or Mere end, which is where I would live if I was a footballer. Mother had explained to Jimmy that Knutsford was famous because Elizabeth Gaskell had lived there. I was quite unnerved as we drove in to see so many places - tea shops etc - named after Cranford, which is her most famous book, but in my opinion Mary Barton is the best.

We drove into the Park - the old Park, by Tatton Mere, in my opinion one of the most beautiful places ever. I'm not expecting you to agree, it's bound up with some complex childhood memories - being forced, against my will, to go out for invigorating walks on Sunday afternoons and risk missing the Top Twenty (later, Forty) on the radio. Still, the memories are positive. And, bizarrely, I was reminded of a song I have not thought about for years Forever Autumn by The Moody Blues. Many years ago, when being anxious about missing the Top Twenty I watched a flock of migrating geese and I thought:

I watch the birds fly south across the autumn sky
And one by one they disappear.
I wish that I was flying with them
Now you're not here.

One view of the mere and that song was in my head!

We walked the length of the mere back to Knutsford. It was beautiful. And incongruous. You feel that you're in the country, strangers walking their dogs and their well-swaddled children say hello. In the distance a double-barrelled shot gun echoes around. The noise of the invisible jets leaving Ringway. Then we see one, enormous, and so low we can almost touch it with our hands, and in the next blink it's above the clouds that hang over our heads. It snows, but that's okay; by the time we get to Knutsford we're cold and hungry, and the snow has long stopped.

And we find the Portofino restaurant which has a fine setting in what appears to be an old Coaching House, and serves fine food at amazingly low (Lunchtime prices) and an excellent Chianti - just the ticket. Pavarotti sings in the background

We wander around the main street of Knutsford. I have decided that I want a pair of Fuck-Me boots. When I would ever wear black suede knee-highs with a three inch sheer stiletto, I don't know. But I desire. Jimmy suggests we go in a shoe shop. In my walking boots, and wind swept, I refuse. I'm not having some snotty Cheshire shop assistant patronising me. Jimmy obviously doesn't understand. But humours me.

We walk back along the mere, now an invigorating walk in the descending frost and declining afternoon. On the way back in the car, I ponder a question which has been unresolved nearly thirty years - what is the mere in the hamlet of Mere called?

We walk round Altrincham looking for a restaurant. there are loads of them, incidentally. I fancy one called Il Pagliacci, but, bizarrely (and somewhat reminiscent of Cuba) it is shut for the holidays. In the end we decided on Francs. We return to Mother's, and get a taxi out again. Bizarrely, the taxi-driver is Tunisian, not a nationality you expect to encounter in Altrincham.

The food in Francs was gorgeous. I had Tartelette Lorraine and Bermuda Triangle. Do not hesitate - it's some years since I've eaten there, and it was superb then, and is superb now.

Paranoia

You would put it down to arrogance - self-centred, even solipsistic. I have this knowledge They're watching me. Don't tell me I'm not the only one. I know it - they watch me.

I haven't been the same since I read an article - goodness knows where - which explained how this bloke sits in Google headquarters and monitors what people are searching for. I have this vision that every time I type something embarrassing into the search box, this bloke is saying "ooh, get her, she's searching for that celebrity again. Not that my searches are embarrassing, really. Not like the person who came to this site because of Julie Andrews fuck. Okay, I do tend to type the same old names into the News tab day after day, up to three times a day, sometimes. And my other searches are generally for commercial or quasi-commercial organisations with whom I have a transactional relationship.

And the Bank. I am convinced that, because I pay a Premium for Personal Banking, this means that someone is sitting in my branch in West Bridgford analysing evry transaction I make "Ooh look, she's not in London, ooh a cash till in Spain. Not another visit to an electrical gadget shop. Oh, M&S, again. "
Of course, logically, I know they're not.

And the weird thing is, I never stop to think that my every physical move outside my home is tracked by CCTV. And they really are watching...

Bumpy Nights

When you're surfing around the net, you come across some oddities. Opera News has a collection of anecdotes of when it went wrong. Some are just accidents or human error. Then there are what can only be described as gross errors of judgement and, frankly, poor taste:

...In a later production, at Maggio Musicale in Florence, Jonathan Miller was setting the same scene and told me to run out of Donna Anna's house. �You�ll only be wearing your shirt.� I wasn�t sure I heard right. �Only a shirt?� He explained �You�ll be naked from the waist down, carrying your pants. Run across the stage, dart into a shadow and put them on during that exchange with Donna Anna.� The critics jumped on it, and one British newspaper reported, �Mr. Ramey as Don Giovanni made his entrance with a waving willy.� Zubin Mehta was conducting, and at every performance, when I stopped downstage to sing my first line, he would bury his head in the score!

Maybe I'm a bit girly, but I can only ask: "Why?"

Mind you, I like this snippet from 'Opera Now'

Booing the director is all very fashionable in opera houses these days, but in Rio de Janeiro, the victim struck back. Greeted by a chorus of derision after his Tristan und Isolde (which contained scenes of masturbation and drug taking - ho hum...), director Gerald Thomas turned round and bared his bottom to the audience. The look of horror on the faces of the cast had to be seen to be believed, according to one commentator who was at the performance (they, after all, got the full-frontal view):

For all his pains, the director now faces criminal charges of public indecency which could land him in jail for a year. Still, it would all be good research for a future production of Fidelio

Happy Days Are Here Again

I so rock. Just filling in my leave sheet, I realise I have miscalculated and have an extra 6 days annual leave above what I thought. Easy mistake to make - for the non Accountants/Auditors amongst you, it does have the technical difficulty of having to make sure that the cumulative and the balance add up to the opening balance...

Hmm, can I post this or is the work network crashed?

Sharm plane crash

I was very shocked to read about the plane crash this morning in Sharm el-Sheikh. We were there this time last year; we even booked to fly to Cairo on this very day, but it was postponed. We flew by Flash airlines, maybe even that plane. We were toying withthe idea of going this year, too. Overseas disasters always seem so much more real when you feel a connection with the place.

I'm back!

I didn't quite intend to go so off the blogging ball over the break. But not to worry - it will soon be Drift Back Day and suddenly life is beginning to look normal. Ish.

Ive spent the past few days being hectic-ish in between big bouts of sleep sleep sleep. Hope you had a good one. I think I did, overall. Thank you for your kind thoughts and Happy New Year to y'all. Hope you got some good pressies - I certainly did!

On Christmas night we decided that I have a stomach ulcer, which freaked me out, until I found out from my health encyclopaedia and the pharmacist that I it's basically self-treatment: cut out down on alcohol, cigarettes, coffee, tea, and rich foods. Whoa! That lifestyle's for life, not just for Christmas.

Up to Sale on Sunday, I may talk later about the journey. Or I may forget. You know me - mind like a butterfly.

Monday was excellent - we went into Altrincham, and did various bits of shopping. they've recently built a giant enormous Tesco Extra, which is entered from the Ground Floor, but the actual shop is on the first floor. As we were leaving, I realised we had a clear run down the travelator and suggested to Jimmy that we behave like big kids and run down it, then I remembered I was in the area where I used to be a kid and the thought of being seen by someone I used to know was so mortifying that I actually behaved like an adult. As it happens, I didn't see a single familiar face all week except relations and my mother's immediate neighbours. So that was good.

On Monday afternoon we went to Dunham Park. We were shocked at how busy it was: probably because, although the weather was only just above freezing it was gloriously clear and sunny. It's nice seeing people taking their kids out somewhere good rather the dratted Trafford Centre or spending the time cooped up indoors in front of the PS2.

We ate at The American Brasserie on The Downs which was pleasant, then we returned to Mother's. Pauline and the children were also there; they had been to Peter PAn at the Lowry Centre.

I'll tell you more about the week away soon. We returned on Thursday afternoon, having an unbelievably clear run, and drove at an almost constant 70 mph, which was a comfortable speed, and avoided lane weaving and boy racer dodging.

Yesterday I bought a new TV (yet to be delivered) and a computer desk, which we spent this afternoon assembling. I also want a DVD player but the model I wanted was sold out so I'm leaving it for a few days.

Jimmy's Dad wasn't too well last night, so we called the Emergency Doctor out. Nothing too serious, but he is an 84 year old with a heart history. We did go for a Chinese afterwards, and I didn't rise until midday today.

Jimmy's spending this evening with his father, and I shall be watching Dalziel and Pascoe because my cousin Tim is playing a hotel receptionist in it...