Juxtaposition

I just read a Sky News ticker at Manchester Piccadilly. It said 'Prince Charles celebrates 60th birthday * Tragedy 'could have been avoided'.'

Only by his untimely demise. Time makes fools of us all, and in Britain at least, sexagenarians of most of us. Assuming it was a mistake, the following 5 mins of messages gave no indication of what other tragedy they meant.

"I don't know - I didn't go into Burger King"

I was standing by the counter in the world's best known chain of "restaurants" waiting for my fries to cook, and a man with a pronounced French accent walked in. He asked for a "Royale Cheese". The two ladies behind the counter looked at him blankly. He asked again. Same response. So then he said "Big Mac". I intervened.

"You mean a big cheeseburger, right?"

"Yes"

"(to staff) He wants a Quarter Pounder With Cheese."

"Why do they have different names in different countries?"

"If you ever see Pulp Fiction in English..."

"Ah yes! I know what you mean."

So that's how Quentin Tarantino and I got a Frenchman the burger he really wanted.

More music!

Stand By Me and Message in a Bottle are up on the music page. I screwed something up exporting them though, and they're a bit too fast and high. Personally I think I might prefer it as it is. See what you think. Click the music link to the right.

Edit: The files themselves aren't the problem - right click on the line in the flash player and choose download file, and it will give you the MP3 at the proper speed. Not sure why it's not playing like that in the flash player, but I'll try to fix it later in the week.

A Freudian analysis of Paul and Michelle's wedding

Superego: Everyone had a really good weekend, and I'm pleased that whatever I contributed to the day helped that to happen.

Ego: I had a really good weekend. And I was pretty good when the speeches came round.

Id: I want to have another really good weekend.

Matt: When I have a few hours I'll actually write what happened, pop a few photos up and tell you all about it. But it was pretty good - excellent organisation by both Bride and Groom, great attitude from all present, and an abundant supply of drink came together to ensure that. And Paul and Michelle will be touching down in New Zealand at some point in the next 12 hours or so.

Art Garfunkel

I sometimes maintain that Art Garfunkel was my second favourite member of Simon and Garfunkel. This is now no longer true. It's a technicality, but until Paul Simon plays me a live show, I don't think I can make a comparison. And Art is a good lad.

His show consisted of about 50% Paul Simon tunes (from the time of their collaboration and afterwards). There were songs by Antonio Carlos Jobim, Randy Newman and a couple of others. And even one dong that Art co-wrote, as he's discovering himself as a lyricist now. But everyone was there to hear that voice singing those songs.

It was a lot like seeing Paul McCartney, or the Wailers. It's an astounding show, but it's so difficult to treat it as an isolated thing. You can't help but think how it would be if there was one other person there. John Lennon was missing in 2004 at Glastonbury. Bob Marley was missing in 2006 at the Rise Festival. And there was a space in the harmonies, that, whether for this reason or another, Art's capable backing band didn't fill, where Paul Simon should have been singing, for a number of songs.

He's older now, and his voice fails sometimes on the high notes. It's uncertain, it shakes. Falsetto, I would say, is a young man's game. But when he sang Bridge Over Troubled Waters, every ounce of the man in his twenties who recorded the song was there, on stage, and it was the one point in the evening where I really didn't mind that the man who wrote the song wasn't around.

All said, he has a back catalogue it's difficult not to be envious of. And he has an odd, but assured, stage manner that is as engagin as it is confusing. Poetry readings, and little stories expose a man with a childlike fascination with the world, which is odd when one reaches 66. But as he said, he has had a lucky life, and has a lot to be happy about.

Hearing that voice sing those songs is a privilege. Hearing it sing other songs was a pleasure. I would recommend Art Garfunkel's solo show to any avid S&G fan, but don't go expecting the tight harmonies from the records (in fact don't even expect that from any reunion tour that emerges in the future) and don' go expecting a young man's voice. But you will hear all the qualities that made him famous, and that supported Paul Simon's excellent songwriting to make them both the phenomenon that they were, long ago.

This is as close as I'll get to seeing the two of them perform together. In a year or two, when he returns to London, I'll go and see his old partner, and then I'll know. And I'll try, but probably fail, to consider him on his own, and not as one half of my favourite sixties act. but until he proves otherwise, to me, directly, Art is my favourite half. So I'd like a Paul Simon tour soon please.

Mobile blogging test

Does all this email nonsense work then? Can i put a picture on my blog from my mobile? One that looks suspiciously familiar to readers of b3ta.com?

Redesign

Following a friend's redesign I thought I'd try one of my own. I didn't realise it but until this post I had precisely 404 posts on this blog. If I was just a little geekier, I'd try to make a joke out of that.

I've brought the blog to the front page (long overdue) and I've found new flash jukebox functionality, and a nice map that tracks where I've taken photos. Have a poke around, and if you're frustrated by the new format when you're trying to find something specific, just click through to the old site via the links page.

Stevie Wonder

Last night at the O2. And he played a beauty. He wrote all the songs. I mean ALL of them. Not just the ones he played last night, but actually all of them. I'm not a huge fan, but I'm definitely won over after last night. That is all.

More music

I've rerecorded Back in Black, as I had a few gripes with the way it came out last time. This time, I have less gripes. Ziggy Stardust is also on there, and the original take of Back in Black. It's all on the music page.

Polite post

I saw a sign on a back road near Tottenham Court Road station a couple of days ago. It said "Polite Notice: Please leave quietly as this is a residential area".

There was a director of the BBC, News I think, who once banned his staff from describing anyone as "famous". The word was either unnecessary or incorrect, he reasoned.

I think the notice falls into the same bracket. We do not need telling that something is a polite notice. If it read "Presumptuous notice: Please leave..." I would be quite happy.

Perhaps I'll change it with a permanent marker on my way home.

Sneaky new tune

It's clear I need to keep working on lots of things, both my recording technique and my singing, not to mention bum notes from the guitar and some tuning issues with my kazoo. That said, I hope that you'll enjoy my latest musical offering. One track. The first recording I've made completely independently (and it shows Jim, your expertise will definitely be needed in the future). Please check out the Music Page for my version of the AC/DC classic Back in Black.

And yes, I do know they're touring soon. And yes, please, please tell me as soon as you know where and when in Europe.

Metallica at the O2

Paul's stag weekend was not blog material. There's some sort of rule about what goes on tour staying on tour, which I've already broken extensively, and plan to break some more, but not on the internet.

However, when the dust settled and we made it back to work on Monday, I'd got a Metallica gig lined up for the Monday night. It was a fanclub gig, and I'd had to join a mailing list to get into it. Elissa had joined up too, and picked up a couple of tickets, and was up in the top tier with an Aussie friend who liked her rock. She texted me her location and we managed to spot each other across a few hundred metres and a crowd of 17,000. Anyway, the gig.

This review sums it up nicely. The band didn't play "Nothing Else Matters" or "Enter Sandman". But it doesn't matter, because they've got a ton of other songs that benefit from 17,000 people singing (is that the right term?) the words. The band are very obviously becoming middle aged, and James is a little bit chubbier than he should be. But it doesn't matter. They're back at ease with themselves after the cringeworthy Some Kind of Monster and, to be fair, the equally cringeworthy "St Anger". That was referenced during the show, in fact. James said "This song is from our much-loved album, St Anger" and the crowd made a noise that was a third cheer, a third jeer and a third chuckle. "Say what you want, this song still fucking rocks." And Frantic, as the song turned out to be, did fucking rock. Particularly Kirk Hammett's dirty vocals. Everything fucking rocked between 8.45pm and 10.45pm.

I got very excited about Master of Puppets. Of Wolf and Man was pretty good too. I knew all the words to Until it Sleeps, which surprised me. I can still hear James saying "For whom the bell tolls - Oh, time marches on... Your turn!", then the crowd chanting "FOR WHOM THE BELL TO_OOLLS!" and a cheeky "Yer DAAMN right!" from the frontman.

Metallica aren't terribly subtle. They're not going to change the world of music. They're probably not going to have another album as successful, and certainly not as memorable, as either the Black Album or Master of Puppets. But they're still going to pump out a show that rocks, for at least another decade. A fiver well spent, I think.

Click on the Hetfield for a few snaps that are much better than any I could have taken.



Click here for an obligatory link to the people hosting this image, because bloody bloggers bloody image upload is bloody broken.

Cheese, wine and Mitterand's waiter

On Friday evening Elissa and I popped into Tesco, picked up sandwiches, some smoothie, a couscous salad and a couple of cream slices, and headed to St Pancras to catch our train. Our train to Paris, where we'd be spending what we had down as a very relaxing weekend.

Arriving at Gare Du Nord we headed to the Metro and got off just across the bridge from Notre Dame. Our hotel was a short walk away, and our room was comfortable and quiet. The boulangerie down the road provided a delicious breakfast. Then we set off. We walked from our hotel to the Eiffel Tower, via Notre Dame, the Louvre, Tuileries, The Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe and the Trocadero.


View Larger Map

At the Eiffel Tower we hopped onto a boat and took a tour back up the river to Notre Dame and beyond, and then we hopped onto the Metro and headed to Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. By this time it was about 5pm, and the light was softening slightly. Sacre Couer looked much darker than I ever remember it being. Elissa was delighted to see nuns inside the church. We wandered round the square in Montmartre, watching people having their portraits done, and popped into another boulangerie for a snack and a coffee.

Later, back at the hotel, we had a short nap, and complained about the pain in our legs. We both staggered around the streets (no, not a drop, I swear!) and eventually found ourselves outside a restaurant. A drunk local came and spoke to us, in French. I missed what he had said and explained we were English (sorry Elissa, it's easier to bundle us together...) and he explained that Francois Mitterand used to eat in the restaurant, and lived just round the corner. "If it's good enough for the President, it's good enough for us" I said. And it was. Their couscous was particularly good.

Sunday morning we rose late, and went to the Musee D'Orsay. It was really busy, but as we got to the end of the queue we saw why. The museum is open for free on the first Sunday of each month. So we had a very pleasant couple of hours in there, and felt very pleased at getting a bit of a bargain. I was hard pushed to choose between something by Van Gogh and a big stone polar bear, as my favourite bits.

We headed out of the centre a little, trying to find a flea market, but we failed. In the end we made for the Centre Commercial at Gare Montparnasse. Of course, it was Sunday so everything was closed. We grabbed a bite to eat and rushed back to the hotel where the man behind the desk pointed out two supermarkets that would be open, and we managed to find our obligatory cheese and wine haul for the trip home. At Gare Du Nord, an Australian tourist gratefully received our day travelcards, and we checked in. Our train pulled back in to London at about 7pm, just enough time left in the day to try the cheeses and have a glass of wine!

Another update

I'm getting keys to my new place tonight! And moving in very soon!

In the last few weeks Elissa and I visited Snettisham, and saw birds flying around in vast numbers, there have been a couple of parties, we've watched a few films and, well, everything. But the photos are the best bit, and cause I still don't live anywhere, not much of it is online. Maybe this blog stuff needs to take a back-burner until I move into the new place... But that's this weekend!!?!

Please allow pigeons off the train first...

A few weeks ago, Elissa and I took the Metropolitan Line from Aldgate East to Liverpool Street. So did a pigeon. It hid in its own seating well until we approached the station, and then just before the doors opened, it took off, meaning that when the doors did open it could exit the train above the boarding passengers. Presumably it wouldn't have to do this if pigeons were included in the usual "Please allow passengers off the train before boarding" message, although that's largely ignored either way.

The idea of a pigeon as a commuter conjured up all sorts of other ideas. The pigeon heading home to his wife and children, saying what a rough day it had been and how busy the tube was. Perhaps he worked in an office in the city and was just changing for the Central Line to head back to his nest in Ealing? What did he do for a living? Did he have an oystercard? Did he use prepay or a travelcard?

I'm a kazoo - spelt Kay-Zed-Yu. And I'm not a trumpet or a didg'ridoo...

I bought a kazoo a couple of days ago. This was in no small way inspired by Swannee-Kazoo from I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue. I intend to put it to good use in a month or two, when I'll have a computer with gadgets attached to it, to pick up all the subtlety of its soothing tones. Last night I was walking past a busker playing "Sittin' on the dock of the bay" and he was just coming up to what I thought was the whistling solo. I reached into my bag, and put the kazoo in my mouth, before it occurred to me that playing along would probably oblige me to make a donation (and put him off his stride a little bit). But next time I'm passing a busker and they're playing something I know, I'm joining in...

London, Peterborough and London again

So I moved up to Corby Glen for a few weeks while I trained for my new job, in Peterborough. I have since made it back to London, on numerous occasions, but now, more permanently.

And in the last few weeks, the following mildly diverting things have happened.

• Elissa came up to Corby, saw a hedgehog for the first time, spotted two barn owls, and enjoyed Stamford's premier tourist attractions, Burghley House and the Gardens of Surprise. I recommend them to anyone with a good sense of humour.
• My family, plus Elissa, headed to Alton Towers. I encouraged a small boy to squirt my mother with a giant water gun. My sister drove too quickly.
• I travelled to London for the weekend, to record some bass. We recorded bass. It sounded alright.
• I watched a lot of the coverage of Glastonbury, and rued not going and seeing it in person. Next year, perhaps.
• I went to Hyde Park to see The Rascals (with guest appearance by Alex Turner), Dirty Pretty Things, Black Kids, Guillemots, The Wombats, Beck and Morrissey. This was my Glastonbury. And 50,000 people all sang "See I've already waited too long! And all my hope is gone!" and I got shivers up my spine. Beck was still better though, but purely on the basis of my knowing next to none of Morrissey's solo material.

And now I'm at work in London, keeping fingers crossed for a flat in Brixton, and generally enjoying finally being back where my life is. And life is good.

Squirrels are jumping, and the cotton is high

This weekend was beautiful. Saturday was mostly dry and warm but the weather on Sunday was something else. Everyone and his mother was out in Tooting Bec Common, where Elissa and I arrived at 5pm with a fishing rod and some freshly buttered toast. We were hoping to catch ourselves a squirrel!

In the corner of the common, two squirrels started to show an interest. We pulled out the fishing rod and tied the line round a lump of toast. Elissa went forward with it, and threw it over the branch of the tree. Cautiously, our first squirrel came out and tried to have the toast away. It didn't take long. We reloaded the toast a couple of times and attracted the attention of a second squirrel. A few more goes later and things weren't lasting as long each time we added toast. Elissa figured it out first - "They're biting through the string" she said. And they were. Clever little buggers.

Here are some snaps of our efforts, and a quick photo of last night's sunset in Corby Glen.

A bit about me and Corby Glen

I'm back in Corby for a few weeks while I train in Peterborough, to do my job in London. I lived in Corby for the first 18 years of my life, before I moved to London to study, and so it's packed full of (mostly) happy memories and emotional significance. While this sort of post is probably akin to posts of people's cats (yes, your cat is lovely to you, but why do I have to look at it?) I thought it'd be a nice departure from the "I did this, I did that, then the next day I did this" that my posts seem to generally follow. So here's a few snaps of the village and a bit of chat about what it means to me.

	This is my parents' house. It was built in or around 1988, by my father, in nearly every aspect. It was later propped back up again when it started sinking into the garden. In 1997 I had two excellent parties here, much to the concern of our immediate neighbours. The lawn on either side provided me with hours of diversion as a young teenager, and I learned to drive a car when I was about 13 or 14 on the back garden.
	Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church, moved 150 years ago from the Irnham Estate, stone by stone in a bunch of wheelbarrows. I was the altar boy here every week for many years, and played flute with my aunt for the services for years after that. Now they have one service monthly on a Thursday evening. Many of my relatives from decades before I was born, are buried in the grounds.
	The Glaziers Arms, no longer trading, is where I drank and played pool for many years, and later celebrated my 18th birthday there, with my younger brother. There's one in every village, and this was the one. One evening, we were almost thrown out for singing Radiohead on the karaoke machine. When my grandfather died, one of the locals headbutted my cousin Howard for no apparent reason, and I still liked the place. Very odd.
	The Fighting Cocks. Usually more stringent with its age limits. Not so many memories from this one. My brother is in there a lot though.
	This lane runs from Bourne Road down to the Marketplace. I used to use it as a go-kart track. Most of my shoes from that time had a triangular wedge worn out of the soles at the back, from where I'd used them to brake. I don't remember ever being hurt, but I bet I was.
	The Methodist chapel. Home of many services relating to the Scouts, also choir rehearsals at one stage, and the local Guide troop.
	My old Primary School. I used to hopscotch just underneath the big window on the left.
	The Green. Home of one of Lincolnshire's best slides. Not that one, it's rubbish, the old one. As a child the swings seemed to hold a strange fascination. As an adolescent I was more fascinated by bottles of cider and chatting rubbish until midnight. On the swings, mind.
	Derelict building just outside the village. I don't know what it was for, nor have I ever asked. One day I'll go and have a closer look (without wrecking too many of the wheat plants, I hope).
	As you can see, we're well situated for several small towns, and a much better pub than either of the Corby ones, in the next village across.
	Corby from the top of the hill. The two tall trees on the left mark the back of my parents' garden, or they did until they sold the plot at the top of the garden. This is the view that I usually woke up to, when we would come back from long caravan holidays in France.
	The Coachman - formerly the Woodhouse Arms, or simply the Woodhouse. Once home to a transvestite, swingers-party-organising landlord with an oven in the back you could roast a whole pig in. Now, much more normal, and much duller for it. But allegedly a good place for a meal and a bed for the night. We didn't go here much.
	The Willoughby Gallery. In the Easter holidays as a student, I would occasionally study in the library here. It's a lovely building, well-maintained, and worth a visit if you're in the area.
	The Ron Dawson Memorial Hall. I once went camping with someone called Dawson, but I don't think it was Ron. Either way, this is where my uncle had his wedding reception, and to this day is the only place I've got properly off the ground with one of my kites.
	St John's Church and the old Village Hall. From the age of two, or something like that, I attended playgroup here. This is also where I correctly identified the village's Santa as being my grandfather in disguise. The real Santa was busy, he said later.
	The Fire Station. My father and brother are retained firefighters here. I once borrowed Dad's uniform for a New Year's Eve party, which I recommend to any young man for fancy dress. There's no pole, which I think is a shame.

Well, that wasn't nearly as soppy as I thought it would be. It's a nice place, and I'm glad to have been raised here. And I reckon there'll be some sort of family tie to the village for the rest of my life, so I had better like it!

Workin' 9 to half-5, what a way to make a livin'

I got a job. I'm a database analyst for one of the nation's leading magazine publishers, and currently based in the Peterborough area. I'll be back in London in a month. The people in the office are friendly and cheerful, and my boss is a man who recently did a skydive in a mankini. For charity, it should be noted. If I don't say that it was for charity, people have generally been concerned for my welfare. I've just finished my third day, and I'm beginning to feel useful and to understand what the company does, and what it expects of me.

In other news, my band (or rather, Esther's band, of which I am a member) played a gig at the Bull and Gate on Monday night, to a rapturous reception from an audience largely comprised of close friends. But you can tell when people are saying "No, you were really good" just to be nice, so I'm pretty sure we did ok. There will be video footage at some stage, and some good-quality photography seemed to be going on during the show too, so I look forward to seeing and sharing both.

In the meantime, here are a handful of lo-res band shots to give you a flavour of what we're doing.

I'm still here!

I've not written anything for about a month, and nothing worth reading for much longer - since I got back really. I am planning to write lots here, when I get my camera working again, when I know what's going on with my life. Almost as notes to myself for the future, but so you know what's happening, I've just been offered a job (through an agency, so I still don't know the details), I've joined a band with my excellent friend Esther, I've just got back from a weekend in the Alps, my forehead injury is now almost invisible, and I'm sat watching a programme about Stephen Fry, and my affection and admiration for the man is increasing minute by minute.

"He's going to do everything - I mean he'll end up running the UN, won't he?" Emma Thompson.
"Who knows? I mean, male prostitution is always an option?" Unidentified male.
"I think this country's incredibly lucky to have someone like Stephen" Prince Charles.
"He's a national treasure, and a personal treasure too. I share him with the nation" Hugh Laurie.

Rove McManus, the Australian talk show host, always asks his guests who they'd turn gay for. I'd turn gay for Stephen Fry, not through any attraction, but just because if he wanted, er, that sort of thing, I wouldn't want to deny him.

Oasis abuse

Tripod were one of my favourite things about Australia. Here they give Oasis all the respect they deserve. Download the MP3 here, and a bunch of others from here, under Recommended downloads.

Quiet drink in the where?

Me and my tight friends have a habit of drinking in Sam Smith's pubs, where you can buy a round for you and four friends and a bag of crisps with a tenner. A few of us were out last night in The Princess Louise, which was recently refurbished and has lots of little booths with tables in them, for the drinker looking for privacy and getting there good and early. We talked about many things, but one thing that keeps coming up is that we don't have a map with all the Sam Smith's pubs in Central London on it. So, being unemployed, I decided it was time to make one.

And it's here. Don't expect it to load very quickly though. And if you like using the map, please leave a comment for its author, inviting him on whatever evening you might be planning.

N.B. Vegetarians and vegans - most commercial beers, lagers in particular, are filtered through membranes extracted from fish. Samuel Smith's beers are all suitable for vegans.

Some recommended things

This weekend I went to Rock The House in Lincolnshire, a benefit concert for a friend of a friend who was injured around 12 months ago. There were a series of great performances from a variety of people, including the boy's father, who played a very emotional folk set. Later on in the evening, I had just a smidgen too much to drink, and fell over a log, splitting my forehead open and requiring 4 stitches and a tetanus jab. So my first recommendation is to not fall over logs.


Some other quick recommendations:

• Amp Live remixes of In Rainbows. Some great work snapping unusual time signatures back into 4/4 while keeping the original feel. And a great parody of the In Rainbows release on the top of the page.
• StumbleUpon - nothing to do with logs and alcohol. It just seems to be a good place to find things online to kill time. And for an example of that:
• Musicovery and Finetune - one or other might turn out to be as good as Pandora, which is no longer available in the UK.
• A Lego robot that solves Rubik's cubes.
• And more glibly, Proof that girls are evil - a simple mathematical demonstration.

Edit: Here's a photo of the resulting damage. Might be a few more later when I get hold of a better camera.

Part human, part animal embryos

I have just been reading what seems like an ongoing saga in the UK news. Gordon Brown wants to pressure the government into voting for a bill to allow experimentation on part human, part animal embryos. This conjures up a lot of strange images, not entirely unlike that mouse with an ear on its back. Personally I'm in favour of it, because it has been described as 'militantly atheist' by various religious groups, and I find it amusing that such a phrase is considered a negative comment in this day and age. But seriously, what experiments, what animals and what benefits could come from it? And why is Gordon so keen to do it? Does he have a disease usually associated with llamas that only a human-llama hybrid embryo experiment can possibly cure? Or is it so that the disappearance of educated, employable people fed up with high cost of living and miserable weather in the UK is balanced out by an influx of people keen to crossbreed babies and meercats?

Running before you can walk

In China, about 2 years ago, I bought a trumpet. It's a pocket trumpet, in a lovely case, with a bag to keep it clean and grease for the thingies, you know, all the moving parts. It's really nice.

Today I learned that I can do circular breathing while playing the trumpet. This means I can, potentially, make an infinitely long single note on the trumpet, without running out of air to push through it, and without passing out.

However, I cannot make the trumpet make a nice noise, circular or not, no matter how I try. I can, though, make an infinitely long, horrible, discordant, cacophonous sound. I'll keep practising.

Welcome to my travel blog!

Hi there - this blog is an account of my travels from London to Singapore and Australia, and wherever else I go next.The photos in the posts are just the tip of the iceberg - check my Flickr account for more photos of pretty much everything (many of which, I'm obliged to mention, are taken by Elissa).

At this stage, my travels have largely ended, but there's plenty to read, and no doubt there'll be more and more stuff about not-travel appearing on here as and when I feel I have anything worth saying.

Happy reading!

Imprisoned in Singapore, by my own clumsiness

Today I had planned to go to Pulau Ubin and Changi Village. Despite being right by the airport they're two relatively undeveloped areas of Singapore, and I had pictured wooden fronted shops, low-rise buildings, and maybe even the occasional wooden shack. I had planned to bicycle round the island and wave at the locals, and then stop for tea before taking the ferry back from Pulau Ubin to Changi, and casually drifting back towards Michelle and Alec's flat. Essentially it would have been my first trip to South East Asia, because there's something about Singapore the city that doesn't really count. It's too safe. It's too clean. It's too air-conditioned. Pulau Ubin wasn't going to be like that, I thought. It would be a taste of what I could expect while touring the rest of the region.

But I lost my key. I discovered this after Michelle and Alec had both left for work. I cannot therefore leave the flat, as I'm unable to lock the door from the outside.

Instead, I made another discovery, realising I couldn't even go out to fetch food from the nearby food courts and hawker stalls. A first in my experience and possibly unique to Singapore, I received a McDelivery. Within half an hour of phoning and placing my order, a McSpicy Meal and a list of additional items I'm too embarrassed to append here arrived right at the door, for just $3 more than I would have paid at the restaurant. The McSpicy is one of McDonalds' local specialities, like the McOz in Australia (sadly now discontinued). And it's spicy. I'm still feeling it now, three hours later, but I kind of like that. The fries were like twigs when they got here, but other than that everything was just as you'd have it in the restaurant (you can judge for yourself how good or bad that is).

I'll go to Pulau Ubin next time.

Broken Social Scene and Bass Fiction

So last night at Esplanade, I went to see Broken Social Scene. They were a bit like The Doors in a way - they seemed to lock into an idea and then keep playing it for about 7 minutes, then pause and have another idea. There were some great ideas in there, but I realised I really like my ideas to come thick and fast. You know, like Bohemian Rhapsody or Paranoid Android. I need an idea every thirty seconds! Or a gig that's 14 times as long as normal. And a fast forward button!

Some of the talking in between songs was pretty unnecessary. "Singapore! You're doing ok!" (1) and "Some people don't come here because they think it's a scary place. It's not a scary place!"(2). It all seemed to smack of someone who thought he was playing somewhere where people would have to spend a year's wages on their ticket price. And he kept calling us Singapore, and casually dropping it into the 'conversation', like he was down the pub, stood at the bar with his old friend, a city-state of four million people, stood next to him with a pint in its hand. It's something only rock stars can get away with, and then it's a matter of personal taste. But other than that he seemed to be having fun with the crowd. Towards the end he ran up to the back of the auditorium and stood on the top of something, gesticulating wildly at the crowd to get them to cheer a bit more. And the horn section managed to learn a few things in between songs, and then come out and play them, which was entertainment enough. Despite the comments on Singapore, I'd probably catch their show at a festival over some random band I hadn't heard, and I'd recommend it to fans of The Doors, especially when you've snorted a pile of marijuana pills and injected a bunch of crack. Naturally that's not an option in Singapore.

Bass Fiction was one man playing with electrical devices and decks, and one man standing defiantly in front of, and sometimes among, an audience of about a hundred people. There was more bass than one can comfortably concieve in a room of that size, and more stage presence from that one man than from the half dozen in the previous show. I really liked the idea of it, and it's the most unusual event I've attended in Singapore. But it was loud and repetitive, and I was tired, so I only caught about half of it. I'm expecting Alec or Michelle to tell me how great the second half was when I see them this evening.

(1) Singapore's economy is growing faster than Canada (where BSS hail from) these days, and GDP is actually likely to be higher in Singapore than Canada in 2008, and may have been in 2007. Singapore has incredibly low crime, no problems with drugs and an efficient public transport system, excellent cheap food, a wide range of culture, arts and entertainments events and venues. It is hosting a formula one race this year, it's building a new sports stadium I think, and has a casino on the way - there's anything you'd expect from a city of its size and more. I don't know if that was what he meant, but if it wasn't, it still smacks of damning with faint praise, or ignorance at the least. I doubt he would have described Melbourne, Barcelona, Hamburg, Montreal or Houston as "doing ok".

(2) Singapore, as I already mentioned, has practically zero crime. The streets are safe, all over town, at all times of the day. It's only scary if you happen to forget the pot/pills/powder you packed into your suitcase last time your band went on tour, and it's not like they don't warn you what happens if you do.

So, in conclusion...

This year has been very exciting. I've climbed the Harbour Bridge, chased a bull, swum with a shark, bar-hopped in Melbourne (and Sydney, and Darwin, and Brisbane for that matter), visited more botanical gardens than in my entire life before last March, helped chase a near-deadly spider with a flip-flop, seen a surprising number of British bands for some reason, watched opera in arguably the world's most famous Opera House, played my first round of golf, designed my first fully functional database, strolled through rainforests, camped out in the desert at least 200 kilometres from the nearest town, eaten kangaroo and camel, barbecued a fish that I helped catch (well, that I watched someone catch). I've caught up with friends I haven't seen in years and made new friends I hope I'll keep in touch with for years to come.

It hasn't really sunk in that I'm going home yet. I think I'll probably make it onto the plane from Singapore to London before it does. And I've no idea where the next few months will lead me, in terms of living arrangements, work and so on. But I'm looking forward immensely to seeing friends and family, and to feeling normal. I hope when I see people for the first time in a year, they will have the kettle on.

That's not to say you can't open a bottle of wine later though.

Mum and Dad come to Australia

My parents came to visit a few days after the Police gig, via Hong Kong. Elissa and I managed to find them at the airport and I drove them home, via Maroubra where we walked a little way along the beach. It was a beautiful sunny day. Since then, it has rained everyhwere they've gone in Australia. With the exception of the Great Barrier Reef, where we were all sunburnt from laying face-down for 5 hours, looking at fish.

We've been round Sydney, seen the bridge and the Opra House, Mrs Macquarie's Chair, Fort Denison and the Botanical Gardens, Chinatown and Central Station, walked on Bondi Beach, had Fish and Chips in Watson's Bay, seen kangaroos, kookaburras, fruit bats, cockatoos, lorrakeets, a wombat and a wallaby. We've visited the Hunter Valley, and tasted wine and beer, unusually. We've seen the Blue Mountains and the Jenolan Caves in a single day. And we had dinner with Elissa's family. And we've spent a week in Cairns, seeing Kuranda, the reef, the rainforest, the Daintree river and Cape Tribulation. In amongst that, they've been to the Great Ocean Road, Canberra and Melbourne, Phillip Island and other bits of rural Victoria and New South Wales. And now they're touring the Red Centre, seeing Kings Canyon, Uluru, the Olgas, Alice Springs. Then they go to Perth, and see Wave Rock, Fremantle, maybe Rottnest Island. And then I meet them in Singapore, in the Long Bar of Raffles for a Singapore Sling. Apparently they taste like toothpaste.

Being away from home has had lots of ups, most, but not all of which, I write about here. It's had a few downs though, and having my parents here helped alleviate those. They helped me feel like I was at home again. So I'm very grateful to them for coming all this way.

Anyway, here's some photos from the last couple of weeks.


And here's some more, specifically from the reef: