Rediscography

Two or three months ago I attempted to convert my favourite old cassettes into MP3 and would have been successful but for the fact that I seem to have a mono rather than a stereo mic socket on my pc. What did happen was that I started playing the cassettes again. I came to the conclusion that I would (in an unhurried way) watch out for Cds of my favourites and replace the tapes in due course.

I reckon that I will be able to go a long way to achieve this in a shop called Fopp. I found something that wasn't even on my list this morning; "All of this and nothing", by the Psychedelic Furs. As I type this, songs like "Love my way" and "Highwire Days" are having a similar affect on me to encountering someone that I was very fond of once upon a time, someone I didn't even realise I missed.

China Syndrome

At the moment, the media is full of advice about precautions to take during the warm weather. Despite not being in an "at risk" category I do feel I have identified an omission. If you put a couple of cups of cold water in your kettle, place it on a high heat (don't put the whistle in if you want to avoid uneccessary noise) and leave for about an hour and twenty minutes, when you return your kitchen area will be a lot hotter than when you left it, even when it was uncomfortably warm in the first place. Next week; nuclear fusion and the domestic boiler and also, 20 things to do with your kettle handle.

Dietary problems

George cross (or at least a little upset)

I enjoyed a pleasant Saturday afternoon in the Kings Rd doing a bit of shopping in that near-deserted thoroughfare. The bars were jammed to overflowing with ocassionally roaring and singing England fans. I am not one of those Scottish people who support anyone that England is playing, I am just someone who prefers, when possible, to shop without it getting too physical. It was quite interesting; the community feeling. I might be sampling the quality of a Comme des garcons shirt one minute but it would not be long before a taxi driver would ask if I knew the latest score; there was an all pervasive sensation that something was going on.

Eventually we decided to go for something to eat. When we got to the Big Easy, it was chokka but I realised that there would be a significant exodus in only a few minutes when I spotted that the game had reached the penalty stage. We considered the menu on the wall outside and in due course a particularly big sigh emanated from within and the building disgorged its unhappy occupants on to the pavement.

I felt vaguely guilty that the reason we were able to saunter in and enjoy a tasty burger was that so many had left, gutted.

Previously unpublished France photos

Azur in the area

Bvd Victor Hugo

Nautical illusion

Techno prisoners

Dom was telling me about showing his children where they'd be going on holiday using Google Earth and how exciting they found it. I suppose one day soon it will be live video that they will be showing, we'll be able to log on and witness each other doing what we do in which ever country we happen to be but probably quite small. I was thinking I could let off a firework or cause a distrubance, perhaps a medium sized road traffic accident would be visible.

A few weeks ago my American friend Neil was visiting his grandma in Dunoon and he rang me. He told me that he was beneath the Dunoon High Street web cam and that if I logged on he'd wave to me, unfortunatley it was out of service on this occasion. If I checked out if there was one in Leeds or Harrogate then I took my laptop to one of the Brighton ones (there is apartently free wifi on the beach although I've never used it) and someone I know in Leeds or Harrogate could get on line from somewhere in view of the web cam there and then one of us rang the other, then we could have a free video conference (except for the cost of the phone call ofcourse).

On a tengential subject I went to an introduction to NLP course the other day and they were discussing techniques for dealing with tricky situations which included making images in your mind smaller. I was reminded of a fairly unpleasant time in my life where I had to attend a weekly meeting and explain why sales figures weren't better. Often the other people in the meeting were in Glasgow and I was video conferencing from my PC in my office in London. I discovered that an effective way of dealing with the stress was to reduce the size of the window; sometimes I had to be careful not to laugh. Eventually I got sacked and the problem disappeared completely. I am not particularly a big NLP fan, I went because there was a free space and it was being run by a friend of a friend and I thought that I might get to like it better as a result of going; but I didn't. I am working on a different method which I will announce to the world in due course.

Au revoir de France

Day 10

Panoramique

Very nice techno breakfast. Went for a swim and got chatting to an Antwerper.

Tray jolie.

Later on enjoyed the Japan - Brazil game in a bar where many people were speaking English. They were from different countries and so English was the most readily available common language; are they allowed to do that?

Day 11

Tried out the water beds on the roof, much lovlier than I had anticipated.
Went shopping, ended up in the Virgin Megastore cafe trying to keep my eye off the heavy petting teenagers. Heading back to the hotel we noticed a bus at a stop round the corner advertising its destination as the airport. So we collected our bags and boarded the next one; total journey cost 2.60 euros (rather than the 40 euro taxi ride), most satisfactory. (You may be relieved to know that we did actually have to go to the airport).

Tart irritating wife.

Salut de France (IV)

Techno Prisoners

Dqy 9

So we have arrived at Hi Hotel, and a "techno corner" room. After a short burst of sunbqthing on the roof I returned to the room to cool off qnd beco,e properly aquainted zith its powers. The TV is projected on to a screen which is slides into the gqp between the bed qnd the bqth so you cqn watch it fro, either. I decided to hqve q cool bqth; whilst it was running I fired up the TV qnd negotiqted the complicqted controls to find the correct chqnnel and sound etc. I also set the lighting levels and closed the rqther nice electric shutters.

A little nice oil qdded to the bqth, I plonked my bottom down into the water and the TV picture simultqneously dissappeqred. I decided to bite the bullet qnd get out qnd dry ,yself to sort the TV. At this point I discovered thqt there was quite q lot of water on the floor. In the dqrkness I checked round the other side of the bqth next to the wall dicovering even more water. As I stood up I hit my heqd on the brqcket thqt holds the gold fish bowl. It hqs tqken a few hours to beco,e qble to operqte things but I have now leqrned how to operqte the screen by stqnding on the bed to press the buttons on the porjector qnd found thqt no ,qtter how you hqve set the water, so,e will co,e out of the shower heqd which is neqr the bqth but not qbove it: The roo, is nice but there is nowhere to put qnything so I would reco,,end it as a novelty but think it would beco,e chqllenging for q week, unlike this french keybqrd which took no ti,e qt qll.

Salut de France (le troisieme)

Day 7

Tree house

The safe in our room is too small to accept my lap top so I decided that rather than carrying it around as I have been; I would conceal it on top of the wardrobe. I stood on a slightly wobbly chair to achieve this. I am thinking about stepping down when it shoots out behind me and my attempt to regain my balance results in it returning sharply to the vertical. I am however horizontal now, hovering for a fraction of a second six inches above it. What happened next was quite sore.

Quite sore (too many abdomen shots, ed.)

We walked to the old town to see the flower market but there was a flea market there instead. After an orange presse we pressed on into the little alleys and came across a building called the Palais Lascarais. It was impressive in the way that it was so vertical in a tight space. I particularly liked the way the small (room size) courtyards, (open to the elements) were treated almost like indoor spaces. They were cool because they were so deep (and presumably fairly dry in the rain). My ideal house would have outdoor space for living in, rather than (or as well as)a garden.

Alley Palais

Returned to the hotel kind of early after a drink in a Libyan place which came with falafels and dips and things; nice. Enjoyed a comedy cocktail in the hotel bar. Asked for a vodka martini and the woman said she'd have to get the barman. He came and gave me a glass with vodka, sweet martini, a chunk of lemon rind and an olive in it. Not very Sanderson Hotel, but you had to admire its gung-ho attitude.

Those balconies and windows are painted on.

Saw no celebrities today but did dream that Bob Geldof stopped me in the street to mention how much he liked my jacket.

Day 8

Best lunch of the holiday so far at a place called Karr on a nice little street with willow trees on either side shimmering in the breeze. I ordered something called Poelee de seiches which was delicious (google has just explained to me that it is cuttlefish; I had not asked in the restaurant) followed by figs in port. Call me naff but I will be returning before I go back to England; I wanted everything that I saw being eaten at the other tables.

Bought some black toilet rolls and other toiletries.

Other tall trees

Salut de France (deux)

Day 4

After breakfast at the usual place, we check out of the hotel with a bit of a heavy heart and head for Nice. I am a bit grumpy as the next hotel is not very nice. Dinner at a restaurant where they are showing a football game. The waiter is playing the "I cannot understand you game". Gemma says it is my fault but his wife takes over and things move much more smoothly.

Day 5

Walked along Rue de France as far as the Taoist bookshop where, as last time, I had a short conversation with the owner. He has no books in English, and I suspect thinks I am a bit of an idiot.

Lunch at a cafe near the Galleries Lafayette. Got chatting to an English couple. He was quite intense, fit looking, wearing nice clothes, 59 (aparently), his wife looked attractive and expensive. He was excited about the new Lexus hybrid he will be getting at the end of the month. He told me that he and his wife had been in Nice only a few months ago with another couple. They were in their hire car, stopped at some lights when someone opened one of the back doors and tried to relieve his wife of her handbag. Our new friend looked like he would have been quite tasty in his day. He told me that the most interesting thing about the experience was his response to it. He said that he was "the kind of guy that you could throw a glass of wine over in a club and he would walk away". (Somewhere in my head I enjoyed experimenting with this idea, deciding it was not very safe). However he had seen red and rugby tackled the young tike as he sprinted off. In so doing he badly damaged his knee and the would be thief wriggled free to jump on the back of a waiting get away scooter. This was a big deal for him and his account of it felt very personal, like a warning. He had turned his chair towards me and I noticed that several times he touched my arm, unusual I thought.

Saw those two gay Scottish TV interior designers coming out of Emporio Armani, they saw me pointing them out to Gemma.

Day 6

Moved to the Hotel Windsor. Much better. Continuing the celeb theme, Michael Caines, (the two Michelin Star chef with a plastic hand) was sitting in reception.


Walked all the way up to the Matisse Museum in Cimiez, the posh bit of Nice up the hill. From his early work there was a still life of a small pile of books on a table. It didn't appear to be painted particularly delicately, nontheless I could imagine the feeling of the pages of one of the books with a slightly turned up corner against, my thumb. Is that why they call it still life? Art like that brings things to life, it has a kind of heat. I noticed that the French for still life seems to be Nature Morte however.

Nature very much not morte in the garden of the Hotel Windsor

Salut de France

Day 1

Train to Gatwick where we got to cross that massive new bridge and then share a plane with Lawrence Llewellyn Bowen. I like him, (I think he may be misunderstood) but he still chose to wear his Ray Bans emerging from Nice Airport in the dark.
Hire car to Cap Ferrat and the Brise Marine hotel.

Day 2

From the Brise Marine Terrace

Breakfast at a cafe in the port. Found a 100 euro note on the ground outside Spar, spent it at Paloma Beach on Lobster Pasta and Steak and Chips and stuff. After lunch we lay on sun beds. Next to us were an American couple. Cast your mind back to Ursula Andress emerging from the sea wearing not a lot in the Dr No film. Now replace her with a lady 40 years her senior and 40 inches larger in the chest, without a bikini top and carrying a small dog instead of a conch. The Americans were doing their best to disguise their excitement. Back in Iowa (where going topless is much more frowned upon than shooting someone), they were going to get to show their buddies a photo of this abomination. Bear in mind nobody else is batting an eyelid, the camera is passed boy to girl, she discretely points and presses. The deed done, the bloke wanders off.

We have not even exchanged a hello up to this point. "Don't see that very often in the States", I mention casually to the girl. There is a bit of a delay as she realises she is busted. "No", she manages. "A little dog like that in the sea", I continue.

Short dip.

That evening we trudge about the peninsula, dressed up so we can sample a couple of cocktails at The Grand Hotel du Cap. Not bad.

Day 3

Cafe by the port (zoom in for traditional knife sharpening action)

Breakfast at the same cafe. I ask an old man next to me how much he paid for his Daily Telegraph. He has just had time to tell me 3 euros and his wife promptly grabs it off him, gives it to us and then goes next door to buy another "tidier" one. Two seats beyond the lovely old man is a big English guy about my age, who I hear explaining to the lady that he has cancer of a great many parts of his body, including his bones. He is in France to be taken care of by French physicians whom he says are excellent. (He is not allowed the treatment at home on the NHS but the French Doctor's bills are paid by the NHS). God bless him, he didn't look good.

Later we had Tapas at the Mirador Hotel in Monaco. Not expensive, very tasty.

"They went that way...."

Spring loaded

Wakehurst Place

Trike of the light

One of my first memories is of manouvering around the carpark at the flats where we lived in Hamilton near Glasgow in my red pedal car. I am told I could reverse park instictively which my mother found irritating; she was learning to drive at the time and had to think before deciding which way to turn the wheel when backing into the gap between two vehicles.

Aged three and now we live in quite a big house in the country. Whilst my parents sip their gin and tonics in the porch, they time my circuits of the property; I have now upgraded to a tricycle.

Memories of this time include my mum decorating a bedroom for my soon-to-be-born brother, I can remember the smell of the paint and the transfers of fairies that were applied to the furniture.

My dad came home in a blue Fiat 500 one day, a present for my mum, we all drove off to Biggar in it. Later my grandfather had decided to make me a kite and I think there were five of us in that little car, (the smell of which is still clear in the space in my head between my eyes), heading into a nearby town, ostensibly to buy the necessary materials (bamboo and brown paper). A hitchhiker put out his thumb, grandad sqeezed his arm out of the passenger window and returned the gesture; that might have been the first joke I ever got. Early memories of achieving a meditational state, are of me in the passenger seat of that car, in front of my toy steering wheel. As the Fiat had a metal dash, the wheel stuck on perfectly with its big sucker. It had a horn in the middle, an indicator projected from one side of the plastic steering column and a gear stick from the other. Perhaps my engagement with this pretence was such that it appeared real to people other than just me. I wasn't a child who wildly sawed at the wheel as I gazed out of the side window or attempted to extricate some soggy biscuit from my crotch; this was serious and I drove the road as I found it. I remember my mum momentarily wondering what to do with her own set of controls as I announced that I would be taking the next left off a long straight road that we were whiring along. Better still was the feeling when I was allowed to steer my dad's car up the drive, I could feel the power.

When that kite was finished, it weighed more than than a medium sized dumb bell. It might have actually flown in that storm we had in 1967 (or there abouts). I remember being allowed to sleep in my parents bed. My dad went out to check on something and reported that he could not stand; such was the wind. The next morning the green house was smashed in a pile, about 30 yards from its concrete base.

There were woods in the garden. I used to venture in sometimes. Once I emerged from there; crying. I had seen an animal which must have been about 8 feet tall, I clearly remember it's huge mouth and eyes. My mum collected me in her arms and on the way to the house we encountered Mr Lamby, the gardener, who wanted to know what all the fuss was about. He suggested that I might have seen a frog. This was the first time I experienced outrage.......a frog......that size!?

My mum and I would walk into the village with my brother (smelling lovely like a baby does) in his old fashioned pram. We would pick fruit from the side of the road; have you ever tasted a perfect gooseberry? Mm mm. Every so often a van would appear at the top of the drive, there was a grocer one and a butcher one, those really had distictive aromas. For some reason when I think of those, I make a connection in my mind to those little coloured canvas shoes kids wore then, I think I can see mine negotiating the metal steps at the back.

One November the 5th, right about the spot where those vans used to park, my dad was crouched over a box of Standard Fireworks. I was sitting on the upstairs hall window-ledge peering out into the darkness with my mum. My dad could be seen sprinting away from the potential pyrotechnics and there followed a disappointingly long haitus. We were eventually rewarded for our patience by a short but intense display of sparks. I learnt that that's what happens if you drop your lit cigarette in a box of fireworks.