Captions welcome.........

Blue hat to the white hat "that's right baby, come to mamma...."

The loser's guide to getting lucky (click here)

Do you feel lucky? Well do you punk.........? I spotted this article earlier and present it here in order that the Cloud Hands readership might enjoy a little extra luck.

Getting what you want

I have joined LoveFilm.com recently. I am signed up to the service whereby you get two films at a time. It is all very straight forward, you populate your list on the website with films you want to see (you can prioritise them) and then they send you them in an envelope which you use to return the disc(s) at your leisure, post free. There is a facility on their site whereby you can order additional envelopes, you may have received two in one envelope but only want to return one. I have been exchanging emails with them on this very subject.

Hi

I have asked for spare envelopes twice and not received any, as it
means that I am not able to return discs as soon I would like, I am
not getting the full benefit of two discs at a time. Can I have more
envelopes?

Regards

Adrian

Dear Adrian,

Thank you for your email.

If you could please return the DVD in a protective case with a note of your
full name, email address and the DVD reference number to the free post
address:-

FREEPOST RRAZ-ZJJS-XESH
LOVEFiLM International Ltd
Peterborough
PE2 6UG.

If you have any other questions then please do let us know.


Kind regards,

Georjo

Thank you. (Does that mean that you won't be sending me additional envelopes)?

Adrian

Dear Adrian,

Thank you for your email.

This is to inform you that you can of course send more than one disc back in the same return envelope, in the same way that they arrive. Our new plastic sleeves allow you to fit up to four discs in one envelope. Alternatively, you may send the discs back individually if you wish. You can order any extra return envelopes you may require on our Envelope Request page. You can find this here: www.lovefilm.com/account/envelope_request_form.html

Should you require any further information, please do not hesitate to contact us again.

Kind regards,

Ash
--
Customer Services
LOVEFiLM.com
The new way to rent DVDs
www.LOVEFiLM.com

If you check back to my initial email you will see that I have ordered additional envelopes twice already and none have come. All I want to know is whether you are sending me any?

Dear Adrian,

Thank you for your recent email.

Please accept our apologies for any inconvenience caused.

This is to inform you that the title "I'm Not Scared (aka Io Non Ho Paura) (Subtitled) (Sell Through)" is dispatched to you on 22/01/2007.

Should you have further queries, please do contact us again.

Kind regards,

Sushma
--
Customer Services
LOVEFiLM.com
The new way to rent DVDs
www.LOVEFiLM.com

Hello

Banana, telescope, litmus test. (Hopefully this email will defy your standard email system and you will check my question from my original mail).

Adrian


Postscript:

I have today been informed that I cannot have additional envelopes.

Dinner Rush ****

A couple of weeks ago I joined LoveFilm.com having thought about it for a couple for years. What pushed me over the edge was that I realised that I like to watch my nice TV but that lately, I end up watching stuff I don't really want to see; due to laziness. I decided that I would be making much better use of the machine if I watched things I actually wanted to. As I considered this, my mind started to drift to films that I have seen in the past and would like to see again, but that I might not necessarily remember the name of; if I could track them down then Love Film might have them.

In about the year 2000 I watched a film at a smaller Leceister Square cinema that I really enjoyed set in an Italian restaurant in Manhattan. The only thing I could remember was that one of the characters was played by an actor I had seen in a couple of episodes of Sex and the City. With the help of iMDB I tracked down Dinner Rush and it was the first of the Love Film disks to arrive.

There are no particularly big stars except perhaps for Danny Aiello who has appeared in many Italian/mafiosi movies over the years (you might remember him in the role of Papa in Madonna's Papa Don't Preach video). This is a film about revenge that builds patiently, it is only an hour and half long, the first hour and twenty minutes is scene setting, the denouement is delicious.

The hole truth

If you drive north from Sedona in Arizona for an hour or two through a beautiful lush valley, you will eventually emerge at Flagstaff. This town has a kind of gritty reality about it, Route 66 passes through here as does a railway line and from time to time those seemingly interminable trains, sounding their horns. There may be snow on the ground, some people will be wearing cowboy hats. Here is a good place from which to launch your assault on the Grand Canyon (an hour or so further north) or to visit the Museum of Northern Arizona or the Lowell Observatory . It isn't flash here, it is a university town and feels like it represents the end of something and start of something else. Point your hire car east, stick on the cruise control and another hour and a half or so later having passed no landmarks whatsoever, turn left and head north on one of straightest most featureless roads you'll ever drive. After 60 or 70 miles you will end up in Hopi territory. By the way, when I did this I was faced at one point by a dilemma; a car coming towards me, perhaps half a mile away, was weaving about the road as though it was drunk. I had plenty of time to think about this problem, opting in the first instance, to flash my headlights and pump my horn in the hope of rousing the dosing operator of the other vehicle. After a few seconds I was considering my next move. Fortunately the other car had regained its composure for long enough to satisfy me that I was unlikely to be involved in a head-on collision as plan B involved heading off into the desert roughly perpendicular to the tarmac, coming to rest several tens of yards away, where I would probably have languished in deep sand until rescued by some kind of off road truck. Anyway, the Hopis live in rudimentary settlements and villages on top of escarpments or "mesas". Imagine a run down council estate perched on beachy head but, in your mind's eye, replace any colour (eg sea, white cliffs, grass etc) with mile upon mile of beige......sand and rock.

Unattractive as this may seem, I found it to be very alluring. There is a simplicity and power about the place that is hard comprehend without taking yourself there. The history of the Hopi People,(the word Hopi means peace) tells of their travels throughout the world searching for a place to settle before selecting this desert. Later on their territory became smaller and more isolated as they were surrounded by the more modern minded and aquisitive Navaho. Did you know that there is no alcohol on the Navaho reservations? I checked into a hotel, went for dinner and asked for a beer to accompany my beans. The big Indian lady looked at me like I'd called her mother a terrorist whore; part of the no alcohol thing is aparently to do with the problems that that and other drugs have caused in their communities over the years.

Anyway, I am painting this picture in an attempt to set the scene which leads me not entirely neatly to the work of James Turrell I mentioned in a post featuring a trip to Paris last year. I cannot claim to be an afficionado, however, I know he does appreciate something about the area. He is a pilot and in his DVD "Passages", he tells us about how he spent months flying all over the north west of the states looking for the ideal place to contruct his works. He settled on this area because, although it did not meet the criteria he had set for himself prior to embarking on his search, he felt a "power" which allowed him to experiment with light in a unique way. His work is not about any particular medium but about the manipulation of light itself and the individual's perception of it, about "going inside" as he called it (which is the Hopi way to describe meditation). He creates or uses spaces in the land; craters or Kiva. The viewer, experiencing light in those spaces, is introduced to an aspect of it, not necessarily perceptible elsewhere. "Going into the space is like going into yourself; the light you see reveals yourself". Mr Turrell points out that light from stars, captured in one of his kivas is unique and may have been travelling across space for thousands of years. Perhaps witnessing a small slice of the sky gives it an intensity. Experiencing his work facilitates a connection between the viewer and the cosmos.

Coming soon: (more on) the work of Mark Rothko (trust me, it is relevant).

Ciao, grazie

It is 1994, I am in a cab on the way from the offices of a new internet company in Cambridge back to the station. Rolling along I chat with my colleague Charles about various things, Liverpool football club, Ayrton Senna and other topics that interest us individually but which we find aspects of that we share an enthusiasm for. I had first encountered this guy when I joined a new company in 1993. He was head of one of the three business divisions, I was a saleman in another. He had levels of enthusiasm and energy that were very unusual, his team were very loyal to him, he was probably ten years younger than the heads of the other two divisions.

Whilst at that company, despite not initially working in the same area, we shared a few taxi rides and generated much business. When the initial phase of the business was over, many changes were made and we both left and went our seperate ways, but kept in touch. He set up his own business and I worked for two or three others before joining him again in 1999. There followed what was probably the most intense year of my life during which we, and others, formed a partnership with a large established media business, raised venture capital funding and charged about the place trying to change the world, before the money ran out and everything crashed to a halt. I remember the meeting at the lawyers' office in the City when the funding had been signed up, it was in a very large penthouse type meeting room, they had a butler there and I seem to remember being told I could order anything I fancied. We were all so knackered with it all though that we just went to the pub afterwards for one, rhater downbeat drink.

That little business employed some great people which was largely down to Charles's charisma, everyone believed that amazing things were going to happen and I reckon that if we used the same business plan about now, the technology and the market would be ready for it (unlike then). I remember going to Cannes with him to some exhibition or other. We got pretty drunk one evening (I had been serving drinks in the bar as the barman was frequently elsewhere) and the following morning we got up after everyone else. We (or rather he) decided there wasn't much point in going to meetings as our colleagues would be there and report back to us later. He asked if I wanted to suggest anything, so we got the train along the coast to Beaulieu sur Mer and then got a taxi up to the Voile D'Or on Cap Ferrat where we had a delicious lunch overlooking the port. We left there in time to get back to Nice Airport in the late afternoon, we had been the only people in the dining room. It was a very Charles 24 hours; he was full of wisdom and big plans.

There is no question at all that he was unusually bright, he had a kind of confidence bordering on arrogance, but you couldn't help wanting to see him win. The office was round the corner form the Eagle, next door to the Guardian. I remember he got in an argument with the proprietor about some thing or other which he proposed to resolve by "buying the fucking pub". We had to drag him out of there.

By the time the company was being dismantled our relationship had become rather tense, what with the various pressures and we lost touch for a while except through mutual friends.

In 2002 I heard that he had been diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumour, that his wife was divorcing him and that he couldn't work properly due to having frequent seizures.
I made contact again (thanks to our friend Tina) and we started to see each other fairly regularly. Typically we would meet up, have a few drinks or a meal, he would tell me about his various projects (of which there were many). I'd stay at his or he would come to Brighton for an evening.
On one occasion I met him at the Hotel du Vin in mid afternoon. By late afternoon, as it was very busy, we were joined by a small hen party (which had nowhere else to sit). The bride to be was marrying someone called Charles and her dad's name was Adrian, she took this as some kind of omen and we spent most of the evening with them, it was one of those slightly weird incidences when you feel you know everyone. Another time I accompanied him to Copenhagen ostensibly to hang out but also to visit a Matisse exhibition. I have mentioned that trip elsewhere in this organ.

His seizures had got him into all sorts of trouble; falling off his pushbike (he was not allowed to drive), falling over generally and bashing himeself quite badly. One Saturday though, I was on the Kings Road when he rang me. That was the one and only occasion he asked me for anything or gave any indication that he might be a bit cheesed off about his circumstances, he was amazingly diginifed, despite everything. He was calling from Chelsea and Westminster Hospital, he had been transferred there three weeks before, due to the serious burns he had sustained when he had managed to pour a kettle of boiling water over his leg when he had a fit making himself a cup of tea. I met him in a pub just along Fulham Rd from the hospital. When I arrived, he was sitting at a table outside with someone he'd persuaded to go in an buy him a drink; he was in a wheelchair. When it was time to leave we headed off back to the hospital looking (I suspect) quite a lot like those two little Britain characters. When we pulled up outside the hospital he started to say cheerio and I offered to take him in to his room. He thought about it for a second and then said ok, but that if asked, I was to say I was his cousin and he had not been drinking.

About a year ago he came to Brighton. He seemed different, it felt kind of final, we went for a couple of beers, he told me about his plans for the year, he was going off to Spain for six months or so to continue to write one of the books he was working on. There was a kind of a calmness maybe even resignedness about him that I did not recognise. He asked me about my business and I reported a particular problem that I had been on my mind. He told me in no uncertain terms what I needed to change to fix it, I still think about that advice.

In September I was trying to find the handbrake in a hired people-carrier in the station car-park in Jasper, British Columbia when my phone rang and I noticed that it was Tina, I would not have expected a call from her as she knew I was out of the country, I had a bit of a moment and started to breathe a bit harder.

The other day I was outside Boots in Brighton when a young Charles doppelganger strode passed. I felt like congratulating him on the achievements and contribution to other people's lives he was due to make in his own. I will always remember the fun we had and appreciate the strength he is aparently still able to share with me.

Jackass Number Two ***

I really laughed out loud at some of this latest Jack Arse (as Ralph calls it) production. Some of the sketches were only quite amusing and some I could have done without, but it was definitely worth it overall; I love all the rocket propelled shopping trolley kind of stuff. Johnny Knoxville seems to be an interesting nutter; he obviously works hard at what he does, succeeding in getting his mates to do some very painful things to themselves. At one point he and two or three of his cronies are planning to stand in front of a device that is designed to protect besieged embassies by firing dozens of little pellets at high speed at the offending marauders. We witness the machine being discharged at a dummy target and shredding it. "Why should we do this?" someone asks. "It's footage", replies Mr Knoxville before taking the full brunt of the thing; it knocked him over and left penny sized welts all over his chest. As each skit happened I tried to imagine if I would be prepared to have a go at it, there wasn't one. Not a film to watch with your mum.

"Rectal bleeding......another first for Jackass".

Jet set

My Mum had just boarded the shuttle bus that takes you from Glasgow airport into town. She noticed that the volume level of the conversation between the driver and a guy who had just got on was increasing.

"What ja mean you wullny take a twenny pound note, what sort of fucking bus is this anyway?"
"It's the sort of fucking bus that goes te Buchanan Street Station"
"See youz, youz are a fucking arse..."
"Do you wann me to call security, 'sthat what you wann"?

There was a pause and the man with the twenty climbed off the bus. A couple more moments passed and a voice at the back announced just loudly enough for the rest of the bus to hear.

"Ah it's good te be home right enough"

Casino Royale ****

On Saturday I celebrated the fact that I was still breathing on my 44th (consecutive) November 23rd. I started by going to the fantastic place that is the Odeon Leicester Square to give the new bond film a whirl. In the last scene of the film Mr Craig's character shoots someone in the leg before introducing himself in the customary "Bond, James Bond" way. I thought to myself, yes you are, you may have ginger hair, alright fair hair, but based on the last two hours I reckon you have earned the right to the name. I found that I was bothered about what was happening which is a good thing (as a friend of mine would say). Everyone has been raving about the grittiness and edginess and I would boringly have to concur with them, I did feel pain. I would say that if I were to be planning to enter Blofeld's lair then, given the choice, I would be taking this bond with me, on the basis that as he quite tasty, I wouldn't have to rely so much on rediculous luck to survive (also, I reckon I'd be in with more of a chance when it came to dishing out the totty).

The thing about that particular Odeon is that you can sometimes enjoy an amazing atmosphere. In the 1987 or there abouts I went there with a few people to see Aliens. If you have seen said movie, you might remember Sigourney Weaver emerging from behind a warehouse door strapped into a kind of forklift truck with legs and announcing to the alien in question; "get away from her you bitch". That prompted the biggest cheer I've ever heard in a cinema. Casino Royale didn't quite achieve that, but I reckon being at that cinema improved the experience.

On to Kettners to join some more pals for a bottle of vintage Louis Roederer and then to Imli, a kind of Indian Tapas bar. We were served by Monica from Madrid who looks like she might be Fernando Alonso's big sister. The food was unusual but very palatable and included comedy breast-shaped ice cream. Then to La Casa del Habano which is a kind of cigar bar. There was a lady rolling massive stogies in the corner (not on her thighs) so naturally I approached her to pass the time of day. It would appear that her English does not extend as far as "hello". Perhaps I'd better steer clear of Bond baddies' places all together.

Hard Candy ****

An everyday story of a 14 year old girl systematically destroying a man she suspects of abuse. First you can't believe it, then you want to look away but you can't. Amazingly, the shock factor doesn't overshadow the brilliant performances. Go on.....rent it if you think you're man enough.

"So they weren't brass then!"

Colourful

This morning, as I sometimes do, I went up to the South Downs for a bracing walk.






I set off west along the South Downs way before veering off down Fulking Hill towards the village (I did wonder if the Fulking Phone Box might be working or not) then a mile or so back east to Poynings before climbing up the flank of Devils Dyke.

Little bag of pretzels

It is a beautiful clear day. I'm in a plane on my way from New York to Vancouver. My faced pressed against the window, I line up its edge with one of the many long straight roads 30 000 ft below and imagine I am down there; hurtling along at 500mph, scorching through the landscape, blowing up a big trail of dust. Sigur Ross is moaning away most satisfactorily through my headphones.

Last time I travelled this far west I wasn't that happy about being so far from home. On my way back I had to stop in Boston, my then business partner and I had a little spare time so we drove up the coast to Portland (Maine, having been in Portland Oregon a few days before). It is just like driving along a bit of UK coast,(I suppose it was part of the UK a billion years ago)and I felt much better with the familiarity of the landscape and the knowledge that I was just a flight across the Atlantic away from home. This time I am aware that in another metal tube, right now, people from home are following me across the sky, four hours behind me, having set off from Heathrow a couple of hours before I left New York.

It's flat out there at the moment, endless oblong fields, stretched out like a picnic blanket, purples, oranges, greens and yellows. There's another of those extremely meandering rivers that appears to have charcoaled a wiggly line on the material. I have been told that when a river meanders it becomes pi times longer than a straight line between the same two points. Sometimes this seems to make sense, other times not.