Reading is the subject of this blog and what can I say: it’s a lovely town in Berkshire with an important historically context, particularly around the Medieval period.
I suppose I should also take the time to write a bit about books. To be honest, I don’t read many books in my leisure time, the main reason is that as a student I spent the bulk of my time reading (and eating Pot Noodles). Thus, the idea of spending my free time reading is slightly absurd; you wouldn’t expect a coal miner to finish work and then relax by going down the pit for a few hours in the evening. Similarly a Gynaecologist is unlikely to get home and start inspecting his wife’s neither regions… well… actually… I suppose gynaecology can be a stressful occupation and he has to relax somehow.
However, my time as a student has now ceased and I have a slight quandary, should I start reading? Without wanting to show-off, I am relatively intelligent and I don’t believe that reading is either necessary or sufficient to regard someone as “intelligent”. For example, I wouldn’t refer to Chris Finch, who reads a “book a week” as more intelligent than me – perhaps not the best example to use, as he’s a fictional character.
Whilst I do read a small amount of books here and there, I read very little with respect to stories as I struggle to empathise with a character that I know doesn’t exist – for my fiction outlets, I prefer to read Wikipedia and Political parties’ manifestoes.
My non-reading isn’t due to a lack of books, I do have a pile of books that I am due to read, most of which will hopefully be completed sooner rather than later. In addition, I am a member of my local library, which I can borrow books from as long as I can bear the screaming children that tend to be present when I walk in.
In addition, I have recently found out that charity shops can be a great source of books. I went in one the other day to offload some t-shirts that I used to wear a few years ago, the vast bulk of which appeared to be designed by a four year old who had eaten too many smarties, and then vomited all over their designs due to their high sugar intake. Just as I dropped off these deckchair inspired shirts I noticed a table full of books, all of them at the bargin basement price of 75 pence each or 3 for £2. Included in there were some bestsellers, such as Pamela Stephenson’s biography about her husband Billy Connolly and Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code – which is still overpriced at 75 pence.
The visit to the charity shop provided me with many questions, especially as there was an enormous cellar downstairs with even more books in there, the volume of which was easily double what was on display in the shop. First and foremost, is everyone else like me and doesn’t read very much, clearly there is an abundance of supply, but is there the demand? Does everyone instead actually read a lot, perhaps there is one huge complex set-up which involves passing books on to each other in a structured network that I don’t understand (a bit like The Tube) and I’m not part of it? And, more importantly, even at 50 pence, who in their right mind will buy my old shirts…
Wednesday 30 June 2010
Friday 25 June 2010
Game, Set and Hatch… a plot to find a decent player
‘Bad Luck Laura, There’s Always Next Year’ read one headline aimed at Middle England. ‘There’s Always Next Year’ is the nauseating phrase that informs one and all that Wimbledon is upon us. The recipient of said phrase on this occasion was 16 year old, world ranked 234, Laura Robson; were the British nation actually expecting her to win? There would have been more chance of David Cameron saying “we really need things to say the same” or for Paul McCartney saying “Actually, me and Heather Mills are still on really good terms”.
Whilst Robson’s underlying potential cannot be questioned, her Britishness perhaps can. In Melbourne, Australia she was born and raise… on the tennis court she spent most of her days. However, despite being born and educated in Australia, if she’s good at sport, we’ll have her – which is pretty much the UK immigration policy in a nutshell.
I am not having a dig at Robson for switching her nationality to British, she’s not the first and probably won’t be the last. For many years, Britain were represented at tennis by Greg Rusedski; a man who would have felt more at home in British Columbia than he would in Britain. The French have adopted a similar approach with their national football team, with many players being of African heritage. This plan massively backfired at the current World Cup as they crashed out in the first round, nonetheless, the team did show some typical French traits – they went on strike.
In the men’s game, Andy Murray is the only hope, if you are an Englishman and refuse to support Murray on account of him being Scottish, then tough. There were no English players in the men’s draw – for the first time ever. Such is the sheer dearth of talent in the British game, that whilst we love strawberries & cream and shouting “come on Tim”, we are ultimately woeful at tennis.
Quite why Britain is so bad at tennis is something of an unknown, it certainly isn’t a new thing; we have been bad for many years. A gentleman on Sky Sports when commenting on this very issue, referred to the fact that Australia is also currently very poor at producing tennis players. Whilst being a good attempt at dodging the issue, it doesn’t really wash; when Burnley were relegated from the Premiership this year, their manager didn’t say “well, if you look at the points table, 2 other teams were also relegated”.
Tennis is ultimately a very enjoyable game to play: competitive and good for one’s fitness. I had a relaxing match in the local park against my friend the other day, I won 6-3, 4-6, 6-2 – I believe this means I am now ranked number 8 in Britain.
Wimbledon is the event that makes Britain tennis mad and for two weeks the world’s elite (and a few bit part players from the UK) complete for the various titles on show. Often things are quite predictable: Federer or Nadal will win the men’s singles; the Williams sisters/brothers will win the women’s singles and Lily Savage or Edna Everage will win the mixed singles.
This year’s tournament has thrown up a few interesting moments, none more than the epic encounter between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut; a match that began in the car park at Wimbledon before the game was even codified and on the match’s 10th anniversary, the tennis complex was built around them. The match finally ended on Thursday afternoon, with Isner trouncing Mahut 70-68 in the final set – it would have been nice if the umpire had referred to 40-40 in the final set as “deuce”. This game was easily the greatest in terms of grit and determination and easily the worst in terms of killer instinct.
These games add to our love of tennis, as does the superb BBC coverage. They have some of the all time greats of tennis as part of their commentary team: John McEnroe, Boris Becker and Pat Cash. Tim Henman also commentates, he even commentated on the final last year… well… he was bound to get into the final eventually… he tried for long enough.
Whilst Robson’s underlying potential cannot be questioned, her Britishness perhaps can. In Melbourne, Australia she was born and raise… on the tennis court she spent most of her days. However, despite being born and educated in Australia, if she’s good at sport, we’ll have her – which is pretty much the UK immigration policy in a nutshell.
I am not having a dig at Robson for switching her nationality to British, she’s not the first and probably won’t be the last. For many years, Britain were represented at tennis by Greg Rusedski; a man who would have felt more at home in British Columbia than he would in Britain. The French have adopted a similar approach with their national football team, with many players being of African heritage. This plan massively backfired at the current World Cup as they crashed out in the first round, nonetheless, the team did show some typical French traits – they went on strike.
In the men’s game, Andy Murray is the only hope, if you are an Englishman and refuse to support Murray on account of him being Scottish, then tough. There were no English players in the men’s draw – for the first time ever. Such is the sheer dearth of talent in the British game, that whilst we love strawberries & cream and shouting “come on Tim”, we are ultimately woeful at tennis.
Quite why Britain is so bad at tennis is something of an unknown, it certainly isn’t a new thing; we have been bad for many years. A gentleman on Sky Sports when commenting on this very issue, referred to the fact that Australia is also currently very poor at producing tennis players. Whilst being a good attempt at dodging the issue, it doesn’t really wash; when Burnley were relegated from the Premiership this year, their manager didn’t say “well, if you look at the points table, 2 other teams were also relegated”.
Tennis is ultimately a very enjoyable game to play: competitive and good for one’s fitness. I had a relaxing match in the local park against my friend the other day, I won 6-3, 4-6, 6-2 – I believe this means I am now ranked number 8 in Britain.
Wimbledon is the event that makes Britain tennis mad and for two weeks the world’s elite (and a few bit part players from the UK) complete for the various titles on show. Often things are quite predictable: Federer or Nadal will win the men’s singles; the Williams sisters/brothers will win the women’s singles and Lily Savage or Edna Everage will win the mixed singles.
This year’s tournament has thrown up a few interesting moments, none more than the epic encounter between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut; a match that began in the car park at Wimbledon before the game was even codified and on the match’s 10th anniversary, the tennis complex was built around them. The match finally ended on Thursday afternoon, with Isner trouncing Mahut 70-68 in the final set – it would have been nice if the umpire had referred to 40-40 in the final set as “deuce”. This game was easily the greatest in terms of grit and determination and easily the worst in terms of killer instinct.
These games add to our love of tennis, as does the superb BBC coverage. They have some of the all time greats of tennis as part of their commentary team: John McEnroe, Boris Becker and Pat Cash. Tim Henman also commentates, he even commentated on the final last year… well… he was bound to get into the final eventually… he tried for long enough.
Wednesday 23 June 2010
Have I told you Bleakley that I(TV) love you
The increase in the quality of television sets appears to be inversely proportional to the quality of the actual television programmes we watch on them. There was a time when we could watch Yes Minister, Morecambe & Wise and Porridge on a 14 inch portable analogue set, with a poor signal. At current we have the privilege of watching Celeb-air (where z-list nobodies learn to become air hosts/hostesses) on a 32 inch Ultra HD flat plasma screen that is the focal point of one’s living room. In the future, there will no doubt be the chance to have the 3D images of a show’s participants projected directly into your living room – hopefully this will be ready in time for the second series of Celebrity Toaster Swap… On Ice.
Such programmes stifle the genuine talent, which, undoubtedly still exists, but unfortunately, no longer prospers. Many questions can be derived from the current state of television: Would a variety act such as Bruce Forsyth have found fame and popularity in today’s society? Indeed, could television’s standards go any “lower”? What is Kerry Katona’s job? (Also, if anyone knows who won the third series BBC Three’s hairdressing programme Celebrity Scissorshands, please let me know - I missed the whole series… ironically I was washing my hair).
When he appeared on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, Noel Edmonds complained about the lack of talent on television and surmised that Kenny Everrett probably wouldn’t have an outlet for his talents in the contemporary society. Edmonds of all people should be glad of the lack of talent around on television at the moment; at current he is allowed to continue hosting a game show involving people opening a shoe box, having first sensed what is inside and trying to answer that elusive question – where does Noel get his shirts from?
The whole notion of playing things safe in terms of television may be best summed up by BBC One’s Show, The One Show, which confusingly airs at 7 o’clock, so it should be called The Seven Show. The One Show mentions a few topical issues in a nice cheery way, “there is currently unrest in the Middle East, which could be bad if you’re planning a holiday there”. As well as being a heaven for names of yesteryear, Gyles Brandreth will talk about the fake snow factory he has visited, whilst Carol Thatcher will… refer to people as “gollywogs” and be politely sacked, with immediate effect.
The One Show anchor, Christine Bleakley, has recently announced that she is jumping ship to ITV after dithering on a contract of allegedly £900,000 a year from the BBC. Her job is to effectively sit on a sofa for 30 minutes a day and keep the nation company via chit-chatting to a guest who is promoting a book/film/album/television show. The value of the contract was so large that some Members of Parliament complained that the money being offered was an unjustifiable use of a large amount of public money – which is quite an insult to Bleakley; having an MP insinuate that you are a waste of a large amount of public money is like being criticised about not caring for the environment by Tony Hayward.
After effectively rejecting the offer on the table, Bleakley has decided to move to ITV in order to present the revamped GMTV (“GM” stands for Good Morning, and not Genetically Modified – the presenters aren’t all 10 foot tall). Presumably she has moved for more money and let’s be honest; you would want more money. After all she will now be in the studio before 6 o’clock in the morning and moreover; she will once again be forced to sit next to Adrian Chiles, only this time for longer…
Such programmes stifle the genuine talent, which, undoubtedly still exists, but unfortunately, no longer prospers. Many questions can be derived from the current state of television: Would a variety act such as Bruce Forsyth have found fame and popularity in today’s society? Indeed, could television’s standards go any “lower”? What is Kerry Katona’s job? (Also, if anyone knows who won the third series BBC Three’s hairdressing programme Celebrity Scissorshands, please let me know - I missed the whole series… ironically I was washing my hair).
When he appeared on Friday Night With Jonathan Ross, Noel Edmonds complained about the lack of talent on television and surmised that Kenny Everrett probably wouldn’t have an outlet for his talents in the contemporary society. Edmonds of all people should be glad of the lack of talent around on television at the moment; at current he is allowed to continue hosting a game show involving people opening a shoe box, having first sensed what is inside and trying to answer that elusive question – where does Noel get his shirts from?
The whole notion of playing things safe in terms of television may be best summed up by BBC One’s Show, The One Show, which confusingly airs at 7 o’clock, so it should be called The Seven Show. The One Show mentions a few topical issues in a nice cheery way, “there is currently unrest in the Middle East, which could be bad if you’re planning a holiday there”. As well as being a heaven for names of yesteryear, Gyles Brandreth will talk about the fake snow factory he has visited, whilst Carol Thatcher will… refer to people as “gollywogs” and be politely sacked, with immediate effect.
The One Show anchor, Christine Bleakley, has recently announced that she is jumping ship to ITV after dithering on a contract of allegedly £900,000 a year from the BBC. Her job is to effectively sit on a sofa for 30 minutes a day and keep the nation company via chit-chatting to a guest who is promoting a book/film/album/television show. The value of the contract was so large that some Members of Parliament complained that the money being offered was an unjustifiable use of a large amount of public money – which is quite an insult to Bleakley; having an MP insinuate that you are a waste of a large amount of public money is like being criticised about not caring for the environment by Tony Hayward.
After effectively rejecting the offer on the table, Bleakley has decided to move to ITV in order to present the revamped GMTV (“GM” stands for Good Morning, and not Genetically Modified – the presenters aren’t all 10 foot tall). Presumably she has moved for more money and let’s be honest; you would want more money. After all she will now be in the studio before 6 o’clock in the morning and moreover; she will once again be forced to sit next to Adrian Chiles, only this time for longer…
Sunday 20 June 2010
Leaving the meter running
Taxis are interesting vehicles, when you get in one the reason for it could be one of many things: in a rush to get to an urgent meeting, coming home from a nightclub in the early hours, use as a getaway vehicle after a bank robbery - this is highly stupid as the taxi driver would then know where you lived. In any event, robbing a bank in this day and age is fairly silly, given the lack liquidity in the banking system; your loot would probably struggle to cover your taxi fare home.
Taxi firms in general can be quite frustrating "he's on his way" or "he'll be 2 minutes" and never "he's lost" or "he's preparing an ill informed rant, then he will spout off to you". Nonetheless, cab drivers can do some good work, on many occasions nothing has pleased me more than an illuminated yellow taxi sign heading in my direction during the early hours. This pleasure is often taken away when I realise that I am stood in the middle of the road and taxi driver is about to run me over.
Despite all that, taxi drivers are by and large well meaning people, particularly if you get into their good books. I remember getting into taxi in Central London on a cold December Saturday morning 18 months ago and having an unusual conversation with the driver. Things started badly on the journey as I revealed that I was a Northerner - he was a native of London Town. However I clawed things back for myself when I said I went to Loughborough University, this does not normally get you on-side with a taxi driver or any member of the public. However this chap's son attended the same university and from that moment on, I knew I would get from Marble Arch to St Pancras in the quickest possible time for around £10 and not by going via Croydon at a cost of £85.
The key to a pleasant taxi journey is to get on-side with the driver, so you can at least have a amiable experience. However you shouldn't take it too far, for example, imagine my surprise when I read on the BBC news website that Newquay taxi driver Don Pratt had been left around £250,000 in the will of a former regular customer, Mary Watson. I often tip the driver by rounding up to the next pound, her gesture is taking this act of goodwill a bit too far.
Mr Pratt has apparently already sold his taxi firm to a friend and has stated that he will go travelling as he has often worked tireless days and nights for his self-owned firm. To be honest, you can't fault him and it is nice to see a hard-working man get a lucky reward in life, hopefully he will enjoy his retirement.
However there are 2 reasons why we shouldn't feel overly envious of the cabbie in question:
1) His surname is Pratt.
2) Ms Watson's Solicitors have been on the phone and advised Mr Pratt that the inheritance will be with him any minute now...
Taxi firms in general can be quite frustrating "he's on his way" or "he'll be 2 minutes" and never "he's lost" or "he's preparing an ill informed rant, then he will spout off to you". Nonetheless, cab drivers can do some good work, on many occasions nothing has pleased me more than an illuminated yellow taxi sign heading in my direction during the early hours. This pleasure is often taken away when I realise that I am stood in the middle of the road and taxi driver is about to run me over.
Despite all that, taxi drivers are by and large well meaning people, particularly if you get into their good books. I remember getting into taxi in Central London on a cold December Saturday morning 18 months ago and having an unusual conversation with the driver. Things started badly on the journey as I revealed that I was a Northerner - he was a native of London Town. However I clawed things back for myself when I said I went to Loughborough University, this does not normally get you on-side with a taxi driver or any member of the public. However this chap's son attended the same university and from that moment on, I knew I would get from Marble Arch to St Pancras in the quickest possible time for around £10 and not by going via Croydon at a cost of £85.
The key to a pleasant taxi journey is to get on-side with the driver, so you can at least have a amiable experience. However you shouldn't take it too far, for example, imagine my surprise when I read on the BBC news website that Newquay taxi driver Don Pratt had been left around £250,000 in the will of a former regular customer, Mary Watson. I often tip the driver by rounding up to the next pound, her gesture is taking this act of goodwill a bit too far.
Mr Pratt has apparently already sold his taxi firm to a friend and has stated that he will go travelling as he has often worked tireless days and nights for his self-owned firm. To be honest, you can't fault him and it is nice to see a hard-working man get a lucky reward in life, hopefully he will enjoy his retirement.
However there are 2 reasons why we shouldn't feel overly envious of the cabbie in question:
1) His surname is Pratt.
2) Ms Watson's Solicitors have been on the phone and advised Mr Pratt that the inheritance will be with him any minute now...
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