Je Ne Regrette Rien
Up where I live we have a forum on t'web that allows us locals to converse with various waifs and strays that have left the locality and ventured to places as far flung as Didsbury and *gulp* that there London. Generally it's a jolly affair with the usual links to bizarre news events and the like. Occasionally friendly banter regarding the various merits (or otherwise) of Manchester City and United - along with shots across the bows from a raggle taggle band of Oldham Athletic aficionados ensues and, generally a good time is had by all.
There is one particular friend of Eldest, Youngest and their mates though, who seems to want to stir things up every time he posts something. Apart from the fact that he is constantly disparaging about the place he left, he gives the impression of sneering at everything and anything that others do or say. Occasionally some of the more outspoken contributors will have a go back at him and he invariably replies with apologies that his remarks were taken out of context and heartfelt regrets. A couple of days later he's back again with a comment here, a veiled put down there. I have a feeling if he still lived in these parts he would no longer be part of the gang.
At the same time the guy is a fairly talented musician and puts together dancy-type tracks featuring repetitive motifs that slowly build to climax before fading out or stopping suddenly. He has stuck a few tracks up on MySpace and has then visited many
other sites and adding them to his list of 'friends'. This, naturally has the effect of generating visits to his page and compliments being left about his tracks - usually with entreaties by the authors that he listens to their stuff and comment on it. This, he has interpreted as genuine interest in his stuff. Maybe it is, maybe not. What it most certainly isn't is the "Artic Monkeys" type conquering of the music industry that he thinks it is.
And so, back to the forum. One of the great areas for debate is naturally music. Over the past year or so we have had some thought-provoking discussions and it's good for me as an *ahem* older contributor to read the opinions of those young enough to be my children as well as my children. Whether the young 'uns benefit from my interjections is open to conjecture but there you go.
Anyway, a comment was posted regarding the closure of OLGA, the online guitar archive by the music publishing industry due to the fact that free tablature was available on the site and that was copyright infringement. I replied saying it was sad and reminiscing about the difficulties fledging axe-meisters had in the late 60s trying to get sheet music that was transcribed for guitar and how, if easily-accessible tab had been around my guitar playing would improved imeasurably. Mr Music Man replied saying he didn't play other people's music, it was "boring". He only ever played his own. So a friendly debate ensues. Some of us in favour of the "learning other stuff outside your comfort zone stretches you" school and him. "I create I don't regurgitate" he wrote, and "I'm doing something fresh and new".
"The pompous prick" I thought to myself.
So I wrote a post asking how repetitive motifs that slowly build to climax before fading out or stopping suddenly could be "fresh and new" when everyone from Ravel to the Chemical Brothers - via Steve Reich and many others - had already probably wrung every drop of freshness and newness out of the genre. Sure there's nothing wrong with exploring that particular avenue - and some his stuff is quite good - but to maintain he is at the forefront of some cultural breakthrough is over-egging it a bit.
I was fairly amazed at the nasty personal reply he posted, accusing me of "mocking his music". (Oh purleeeeze let's not play the "sensitive little soul" over this). Letting me know that as I was in my fifties I should know better - whatever that means. So I told him he'd completely missed the point and left it at that. But he wouldn't give up so, in the end I told him I wouldn't be replying to his posts anymore. He then apologised.
But y'know what? He can fuck off.
Still it left me a bit shook up, the idea that he was harbouring those thoughts all along. I must be giving out the wrong signals when I write. Perhaps I'm not conveying what I'm thinking clearly enough. Perhaps I am a bit of twat.
Dearest, myself and the shit-machine are off for a few days in the wilds of Northumberland next month. We were considering a romantic cottage tucked under the imposing might of Bamburgh Castle listening to the crackle of a log fire as the autumn tides crash beyond the dunes, but the prices were, frankly, a piss take. We could've taken a family of eight on a continental holiday for four months for a similar outlay. On top of that we were expected to pay for the dog? Now what's that about? £40 a week - what do we get for that? Dog food? No. Perhaps the jolly proprieter nips round each evening for walkies? Errrrr......No.
So we've settled on a caravan near Lindisfarne - £110 for four nights (including £20 for the dog). Not quite the same but, then again, I've not been in a caravan for ages and, after all, it's only a base.
I'm in a bit of a quandary though. I've been searching
Flickr for images of the North East and I'm now tempted to do something I would've thought was unthinkable from the moment I acquired my first digital camera: dig out my trusty
Pentax K1000 with SMC 35-75 zoom lens and put some good, old-fashioned film in it. Inspiration requires control over aperture and shutter speed and that's just what my Pentax offers. Can't wait to get the film back from Jessops or wherever I take it, although there will be a CD of the images as well. I think I'm going back indeed.
So, Lindisfarne, Bamburgh, Alnwick, Craster, Dunstanburgh Castle, Berwick-on-Tweed and Beadnell here-we-come.
So, last Sunday Mr and Mrs Youngest were transported to Manchester airport to await their honeymoon flight to New York. An hour later they get a phone call from the kennels informing them that one of their greyhounds had collapsed and was in a bad way.
The local has finally kissed goodbye to H the landlord for the past 15 years. A staunch City fan, H has allowed his pub to be used as the venue for the local City Supporter’s Club for quite a while. We’ve had visits from players, managers and coaches past and present and generally had a good time. It was a bit of a worry when we discovered he was upping sticks as the prospect of a dyed-in-the-wool Red taking over didn’t bear thinking about.