Would anyone object if I got a few things off my chest? No? Good.
If you are an angry man wishing to shout and swear at a female I would suggest you call the following number, and not my line at the office: 0908 082 9451. Thanks.
Didn't God tell Noah about the flood and give him a chance to build an ark? Where was our heads up today?
Reality TV show producers, and particularly the people behind X-factor, do you know what you've done? I endured a train journey with four school girls who think they've got talent, and exhibited this with a nice Rihanna / Mariah medley all the way home.
Giles Coren: Give the subs a break, try doing their job for a day, get a life and take a pay cut. Not necessarily in that order.
Celebs selling their baby pictures for cash can't be right can it? How are Brangelina going to explain to Shiloh Jolie-Pitt that she's worth less dollar than Knox and Vivienne without denting her self-esteem?
That's better.
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Sunday, 27 July 2008
Running into trouble
Disaster has struck! Nine weeks away from The Great North Run and I have sustained a bona fide sporting injury.
Predictably it was all my own fault. The reason I've twanged my knee is the same reason I'm running 13m in the first place: I'm fiercely competitive.
When another journalist asked me if I was thinking about doing the GNR I could just have told the truth - which would have been, "No I hate running" - but we'd done our training together and our entire relationship is about bettering each other so I couldn't back down.
On Friday another competitor, sorry, friend said she was running a 10k race in Battersea Park to prepare for Newcastle.
Not to be outdone I decided to match the distance, and bin my training plan.
What do the professionals know anyway?
Quite a lot, as it turns out. I did it in an hour five - but then noticed my knee felt floppy in a ligament-y sort of way.
The result? Two days rest and the gentle jogging for a week. Which puts me miles behind the competition.
Predictably it was all my own fault. The reason I've twanged my knee is the same reason I'm running 13m in the first place: I'm fiercely competitive.
When another journalist asked me if I was thinking about doing the GNR I could just have told the truth - which would have been, "No I hate running" - but we'd done our training together and our entire relationship is about bettering each other so I couldn't back down.
On Friday another competitor, sorry, friend said she was running a 10k race in Battersea Park to prepare for Newcastle.
Not to be outdone I decided to match the distance, and bin my training plan.
What do the professionals know anyway?
Quite a lot, as it turns out. I did it in an hour five - but then noticed my knee felt floppy in a ligament-y sort of way.
The result? Two days rest and the gentle jogging for a week. Which puts me miles behind the competition.
Friday, 25 July 2008
Barefaced cheek
Question: What do Sienna Miller and Max Moseley have in common?
Answer: They have both served writs to News International for breach of privacy after The Sun and NOTW published semi naked images of them involved in morally dubious activities.
Nazi orgies and topless husband stealing are not practices I'd be wanting to discuss in a public court - but then again Max and Sienna are very private people, and as such they need to protect their privacy.
Max has already had his very successful day in court, and over at News International they're counting the £910,000 cost of that, so Sienna is probably banking on a nice apology and big out of court settlement.
She's got Carter Ruck on the case - so she's certainly making like she means business.
Answer: They have both served writs to News International for breach of privacy after The Sun and NOTW published semi naked images of them involved in morally dubious activities.
Nazi orgies and topless husband stealing are not practices I'd be wanting to discuss in a public court - but then again Max and Sienna are very private people, and as such they need to protect their privacy.
Max has already had his very successful day in court, and over at News International they're counting the £910,000 cost of that, so Sienna is probably banking on a nice apology and big out of court settlement.
She's got Carter Ruck on the case - so she's certainly making like she means business.
Birthday presents for boys
What do you buy for a 23 year old guy?
I have a day off because it's my brother's birthday - but I have no birthday gift.
There's just no winning as far as I can see. Girls are supposedly the difficult ones, but I don't know many that would say no to Chanel perfume, or a bunch of flowers. OK, so they aren't original ideas - but they'd always make her smile.
I'm currently refusing to go down the socks and underpants route - but I see a time in the near future when I'll cave in and join the majority of the female gift buying population.
We bought my grandfather a box of liquorice allsorts for his birthday every year until he died, and that didn't seem to do him any harm.
One year I deviated from the strategy and bought a stupidly expensive pair of magnetic teflon oven gloves, which he was thrilled with. Last night I found them in the bottom of a drawer in my grandma's kitchen - unused.
I have a day off because it's my brother's birthday - but I have no birthday gift.
There's just no winning as far as I can see. Girls are supposedly the difficult ones, but I don't know many that would say no to Chanel perfume, or a bunch of flowers. OK, so they aren't original ideas - but they'd always make her smile.
I'm currently refusing to go down the socks and underpants route - but I see a time in the near future when I'll cave in and join the majority of the female gift buying population.
We bought my grandfather a box of liquorice allsorts for his birthday every year until he died, and that didn't seem to do him any harm.
One year I deviated from the strategy and bought a stupidly expensive pair of magnetic teflon oven gloves, which he was thrilled with. Last night I found them in the bottom of a drawer in my grandma's kitchen - unused.
Wednesday, 23 July 2008
Data disaster
Forget your kids, your kidneys, the keys to your porsche carrera - the most precious thing you own in this world is your Personal Data.
And like Gollum in Lord of the Rings we need to keep the precious safe, all to ourselves, and away from those hairy hobbit-like civil servants at HMRC.
Ooops, too late.
Ever since they popped that disk with 25 million people's personal information in the post to the Bermuda Triangle we've started taking a bit more interest in who knows what about us.
It was back on November 20, 2007 that Alastair Darling had to own up that the data disk had gone astray, and in the intervening eight months there have been a steady supply of information-at-large stories.
This week started with an MOD laptop containing "sensitive information" stolen from the Adelphi in Liverpool and today the spread of data despair reached the shores of the Wirral.
The Wirral Globe's splash warned: "U.S FIRM TO HAVE ALL YOUR HEALTH DETAILS". Presumably this revelation sent sales of shredders at the Birkenhead branch of W H Smith rocketing.
The thing is that while it's a great story, and I read it all the way through to find out how to opt out, no good can come of it. We waved goodbye to our data years ago. The proof of this theory? Two words: Market research.
When I worked in PR I spent a day training in data capture and TGI marketing research. It was a little bit of hell in Ealing Broadway.
What I learnt there is that there are many, many members of the British public who, if you pay them £5, will tell you everything about themselves. The questionnaire they have to fill in to collect their fiver is as thick as the Yellow Pages. It asks how much you earn, where you live, what you do, how many children you have, if you cook with stock cubes, if so how many times a week, and with what meat. It goes on and on and on - and so do the cretins filling it in.
When the results are in the real fun starts - the raw data forms the basis of a software programme that media companies pay a fortune for. It allows them to tell clients that the people who drink their brand of juice read The Times, never use stock cubes and drive their 3 children to school in a Volvo.
So, if we're giving all of this information up for less than the price of a 0845 phone call to cancel our bank cards, how come we're so worried about what happens to the information we give to the government?
It's ok for us to tell everyone on facebook our name, birthday, occupation, educational history and marital status - but if Whitehall were to put it on a disk and lose it without coughing up £5, well we'd be outraged.
And like Gollum in Lord of the Rings we need to keep the precious safe, all to ourselves, and away from those hairy hobbit-like civil servants at HMRC.
Ooops, too late.
Ever since they popped that disk with 25 million people's personal information in the post to the Bermuda Triangle we've started taking a bit more interest in who knows what about us.
It was back on November 20, 2007 that Alastair Darling had to own up that the data disk had gone astray, and in the intervening eight months there have been a steady supply of information-at-large stories.
This week started with an MOD laptop containing "sensitive information" stolen from the Adelphi in Liverpool and today the spread of data despair reached the shores of the Wirral.
The Wirral Globe's splash warned: "U.S FIRM TO HAVE ALL YOUR HEALTH DETAILS". Presumably this revelation sent sales of shredders at the Birkenhead branch of W H Smith rocketing.
The thing is that while it's a great story, and I read it all the way through to find out how to opt out, no good can come of it. We waved goodbye to our data years ago. The proof of this theory? Two words: Market research.
When I worked in PR I spent a day training in data capture and TGI marketing research. It was a little bit of hell in Ealing Broadway.
What I learnt there is that there are many, many members of the British public who, if you pay them £5, will tell you everything about themselves. The questionnaire they have to fill in to collect their fiver is as thick as the Yellow Pages. It asks how much you earn, where you live, what you do, how many children you have, if you cook with stock cubes, if so how many times a week, and with what meat. It goes on and on and on - and so do the cretins filling it in.
When the results are in the real fun starts - the raw data forms the basis of a software programme that media companies pay a fortune for. It allows them to tell clients that the people who drink their brand of juice read The Times, never use stock cubes and drive their 3 children to school in a Volvo.
So, if we're giving all of this information up for less than the price of a 0845 phone call to cancel our bank cards, how come we're so worried about what happens to the information we give to the government?
It's ok for us to tell everyone on facebook our name, birthday, occupation, educational history and marital status - but if Whitehall were to put it on a disk and lose it without coughing up £5, well we'd be outraged.
Tuesday, 22 July 2008
Mercury rising
The shortlist for the Mercury Music prize was announced today, with both bands from the Wirral and UCL in with a shout
The massively talented jazz boys Portico Quartet are thoroughly deserving nominees. If you've never heard of them, let this be your excuse to be bewitched by their Knee Deep in the North Sea album. It's jazz, but not as you know it.
They're a UCL group who were knocking around Russel Sq at the same time as me. I'd seen them play before, but had never had a proper chat with them until I interviewed them for The Journal in Newcastle when they played a gig at the Sage. It's funny how things work out.
Here's my interview: http://tinyurl.com/5pzuxs
Not to be outdone Wirral's own Miles Kane is in the running as one half of the shortlisted duo The Last Shadow Puppets. Miles who hails from Hoylake, teams up with Alex Turner of The Arctic Monkeys on nominated album The Age of The Understatement but still also plays with homegrown indie kids The Rascals.
I know a few guys who are in with The Rascals, so the first thing on my to do list tomorrow is to ask nicely for an interview with Miles for The News. Watch this space.
And the odds? Portico are the rank outsiders at 16/1 while The Last Shadow Puppets are a safer bet at 7/1.
I'd love to see one of them pull it off.
The Shortlist
Adele - 19
British Sea Power - Do You Like Rock Music?
Burial - Untrue
Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid
Estelle - Shine
Laura Marling - Alas I Cannot Swim
Neon Neon - Stainless Style
Portico Quartet - Knee-Deep In the North Sea
Rachel Unthank & The Winterset - The Bairns
Radiohead - In Rainbows
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss - Raising Sand
The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age of The Understatement
The massively talented jazz boys Portico Quartet are thoroughly deserving nominees. If you've never heard of them, let this be your excuse to be bewitched by their Knee Deep in the North Sea album. It's jazz, but not as you know it.
They're a UCL group who were knocking around Russel Sq at the same time as me. I'd seen them play before, but had never had a proper chat with them until I interviewed them for The Journal in Newcastle when they played a gig at the Sage. It's funny how things work out.
Here's my interview: http://tinyurl.com/5pzuxs
Not to be outdone Wirral's own Miles Kane is in the running as one half of the shortlisted duo The Last Shadow Puppets. Miles who hails from Hoylake, teams up with Alex Turner of The Arctic Monkeys on nominated album The Age of The Understatement but still also plays with homegrown indie kids The Rascals.
I know a few guys who are in with The Rascals, so the first thing on my to do list tomorrow is to ask nicely for an interview with Miles for The News. Watch this space.
And the odds? Portico are the rank outsiders at 16/1 while The Last Shadow Puppets are a safer bet at 7/1.
I'd love to see one of them pull it off.
The Shortlist
Adele - 19
British Sea Power - Do You Like Rock Music?
Burial - Untrue
Elbow - The Seldom Seen Kid
Estelle - Shine
Laura Marling - Alas I Cannot Swim
Neon Neon - Stainless Style
Portico Quartet - Knee-Deep In the North Sea
Rachel Unthank & The Winterset - The Bairns
Radiohead - In Rainbows
Robert Plant & Alison Krauss - Raising Sand
The Last Shadow Puppets - The Age of The Understatement
Monday, 21 July 2008
Joking aside
Right, glass of red at hand it's time for a serious blog post. I'll try to keep it brief.
You see, it's this business of "Can we laugh at Obama?" that's getting to me.
Ever since the cover of The New Yorker crashed and burned the media has been navel gazing, asking itself if it can poke fun at the presidential candidate.
We're talking serious column inches dedicated to this non-issue. Presumably WASP journos are keeping themselves awake at night fretting about whether they've become institutionally racist without even noticing. Please stand up: Joel Stein, LA Times, Jeff Zeleny, New York Times, I won't even go on.
Obviously, they haven't. But they have noticed that something is happening.
The public don't want to laugh - whether the jokes are funny or not.
Facing more crises than the human brain can easily comprehend (just for starters: Iraq, Iran, credit crunch, rising food costs, climate change, Afghanistan) maybe people are prepared to take politics seriously again.
Maybe it's because we seriously need some solutions, and seriously need to lose the apathy. Who else is betting we see a record turn-out at both the next US and UK elections?
Satire just doesn't sit right with the current public mood - there's a real desire to believe in something. For once we're not hoping for another juicy Oval Office scandal, we're looking for someone to give us hope.
Now that we're in a corner we've decided we need the next J F Kennedy and Martin Luther King rolled into one. The fact that we're happily manufacturing a Democratic Presidential candidate who embodies the two biggest talismanic icons of 20th century America suggests it might be time to kill the wise cracks.
Can Obama deliver? Maybe. I'd like to think so, but to this issue that's irrelevant.
What's boring, and what made me write this in the first place, is that the minute a joke about a black guy bombs it's because he's black. No, New Yorker - it's not, it's because you can't let go of the cynicism and key into the mood of your readers.
You see, it's this business of "Can we laugh at Obama?" that's getting to me.
Ever since the cover of The New Yorker crashed and burned the media has been navel gazing, asking itself if it can poke fun at the presidential candidate.
We're talking serious column inches dedicated to this non-issue. Presumably WASP journos are keeping themselves awake at night fretting about whether they've become institutionally racist without even noticing. Please stand up: Joel Stein, LA Times, Jeff Zeleny, New York Times, I won't even go on.
Obviously, they haven't. But they have noticed that something is happening.
The public don't want to laugh - whether the jokes are funny or not.
Facing more crises than the human brain can easily comprehend (just for starters: Iraq, Iran, credit crunch, rising food costs, climate change, Afghanistan) maybe people are prepared to take politics seriously again.
Maybe it's because we seriously need some solutions, and seriously need to lose the apathy. Who else is betting we see a record turn-out at both the next US and UK elections?
Satire just doesn't sit right with the current public mood - there's a real desire to believe in something. For once we're not hoping for another juicy Oval Office scandal, we're looking for someone to give us hope.
Now that we're in a corner we've decided we need the next J F Kennedy and Martin Luther King rolled into one. The fact that we're happily manufacturing a Democratic Presidential candidate who embodies the two biggest talismanic icons of 20th century America suggests it might be time to kill the wise cracks.
Can Obama deliver? Maybe. I'd like to think so, but to this issue that's irrelevant.
What's boring, and what made me write this in the first place, is that the minute a joke about a black guy bombs it's because he's black. No, New Yorker - it's not, it's because you can't let go of the cynicism and key into the mood of your readers.
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